Grow Mercy

Remembrance and Absence

2 comments November 11th, 2008

It is good on this day, as well, to remember the countless number of civilians who have died in all our wars.

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God’s home is absence. God is found in absence, says a Rabbi who should know. How he expects me to make sense of that is beyond me.

Annie Dillard instead offers an experience we can understand. She says, Many times in Christian churches she has heard the pastor say to God. "All your actions show your wisdom and your love." And every time she tried in vain to find the courage to rise and shout, That’s a lie!" Just, as she says, to put the things on solid footing.

Does God live in the consciousness of the cosmos, as quasi-mystic Joel Goldsmith surmises? I say it makes more sense to say he makes his home in the unconsciousness of the universe. A place where, as near as I can figure, absence is well rooted.

Do we find God in the coils of absence, just by seeking? or chanting? or praying?

I find that often, here in the monastery, in contrast to expectation, God’s absence is pronounced. And so I have no trouble singing along with the monks the Canticle of Isaiah: that God’s ways are higher than my ways and his thoughts beyond my thoughts. Which seems to me just another way of expressing God’s absence.

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It was said St. Martin of Tours was scoffed at, when, having been approached by a beggar who was freezing because of the cold, cut his cloak in half, keeping half and giving half to the unfortunate beggar. It was also said of St. Martin–who is celebrated on this day by all Catholics–that after this, he remained a soldier for two more years, but in name only.

Longing and Belonging

Add comment November 4th, 2008

(Pattaya, Thailand)

John O’Donohue thought about "belonging." It was his preoccupation, particularly before his premature death, where he found I imagine, that ultimate belonging.

I think about O’Donohue when I sense the return of a familiar unease. The unease, or dis-ease, is a kind of slight tremor that begins someplace in my soul’s viscera, signaling the arrival of a je ne sais quoi restlessness.

The tremor is always unexpected. Even though I’ve felt it a thousand times. That’s because its timing is all wrong. I’d expect to feel it when life is in the crapper. But no, it comes when life is in order.

When things, particularly relationships, are all in tune, with nothing major to resolve–there is it, startling me at the contented end of my emotional pool; the ripples, disturbing my tranquility and throwing my sense of place out of kilter.

After a while it goes away, but not without leaving the perennial reminder that ultimately, no matter how settled, how at home I feel, I’m never really at home.

Some part of it is about mortality. Angels wouldn’t have this longing-feeling. Although I wonder if they would like to feel what it feels like. But how could they long for anything if they are somehow completed beings? And anyway, who knows about angels.

All I know is that I’m not a completed being. I long, long and hard for something that I can’t describe, and which, apparently, I can never get this side of where angels tread.

And what is this tremor, this longing? John O’Donohue says its the longing to belong. He says that it’s an eternal longing that lets you know that there is something within you, that no one here, or no thing, will be able to satisfy. That sounds like bad news. My nihilist side could easily pick that up and run with it. Yes, perhaps it’s a trick of evolution meant to keep us perpetuating ourselves–meant to encourage and develop our "will to power."

That would be Nietzsche’s take. To him, the maitre d’ of desire, that restlessness was a call to grab our true humanity by the throat; to dead-eye the abyss without flinching and fearlessly move on into our inheritance–"Übermensch-dom." To we children of Nietzsche–and all of us are in some small way, "children of Nietzsche,"–this eternal longing points away from religion and superstition, to self-mastery. It’s the offer to finally become captains of our fate, environment, and destiny.

Well, that’s one way to handle that dis-ease for which we "can’t get no satisfaction." The other, perhaps more difficult opening, is to find that this longing, when hugged close, turns out to be a beautiful rumour about a crazy promise. …But this is no short cut. You can’t go through life allowing yourself to be fed the answers. (Just wait, I take that back, you can. Nietzche called that joining "the herd.")

Okay, so you can join the flock in order to avoid the knuckle biting ride the longing takes you on. It turns out that "staring into the abyss" and "hugging close" are not two different things. Both are scary and painful. At least this side of where angels stroll.

Reasons the Conservatives oppose InSite

10 comments October 29th, 2008

A comment from the last post requires, or inspires me, to a fuller response. Actually, forgive me, it turned out rather long. Feel free to skim.

Sam said:

I have read Connie Howard’s article, and while it’s well-written and presents a convincing case (to me at least) for keeping InSite operating, I was hoping also to read a presentation of the reasons why the federal government might want to close the site, and an argument about those reasons. That part of the broader argument seems to me to be missing. From my limited exposure to this work, I understand that harm reduction is still a controversial approach to the problems around drug use and abuse and that there are valid reasons for opposing this approach.

Thanks Sam. The reason, I suspect, you didn’t get a presentation of the reasons why the federal government is opposed to InSite, is because they have never clearly stated them. All they have said, repeatedly, is that safe injection sites add harm and offer no hope. But, as Connie Howard pointed out, even their own study refutes that stance. According to Simon Fraser University criminologist Neil Boyd, who was hired by the Conservatives to advise the committee overseeing their study, the research shows that "InSite has no apparent negative impacts, has resulted in "modest decreases" in drug use, and has not disturbed public order." In fact, Boyd said, "InSite should not only be continued, but the program should be expanded to other locations." Adding, "I think our data suggests… the building of additional facilities of a similar kind in neighborhoods where they are needed would yield benefits much in excess of the costs required for such projects."

So what, in light of this, are the reasons for the Harper government’s ongoing resistance? I’m guessing it has everything to do with the government looking soft on drug use. And that’s not an image Conservatives are comfortable with. At InSite, drug abusers cannot be arrested and prosecuted. That, I’m sure, rankles. And the Tories certainly don’t want to offend groups like REAL Women, and the Canada Family Action Coalition, who were quick to thank the Health Minister for resisting pressures to support programs that aid people in using illegal drugs. The Conservatives are loathe to carve out exemptions because it looks like caving in.

And so, on the defensive, Tony Clement puts on his priestly raiment and tells us that the government’s approach is the one that’s more caring and compassionate. He says he is not about to give up on the addicts, like the folks at InSite. And he scorns the perceived "enabling" of harm reduction.
Tony Clement is not an unprincipled or, I’m sure, an uncaring person. I understand his reasoning. I once held to it. But after 20 odd years of being around the problem, I now see that it’s reasoning that has a higher regard for a personal conviction than for grappling with the complexities and devastation of chronic drug addiction, and the reality of life on the street.

InSite does not give up on abstinence. But it does consider carefully the nature of addiction, and as a result offers a dignified and caring approach–that of harm reduction. Harm reduction is not a form of co-dependence, and is not the same thing as enabling. And there is no evidence that harm reduction encourages drug use. What it does do, is treat chronically afflicted addicts in a way that allows them to lead more bearable lives, and, in the process, find an oasis of calm, where choices may, perhaps, open up for then. For many addicts in Vancouver’s lower Eastside, InSite has been the first place they have encountered compassion, and is the first link they have had with the medical system.

Without doubt, many lives have been saved through the presence of InSite. The reactionary charge, without evidence, has been made that InSite’s existence has lead to more lost lives than saved lives. But that’s like blaming medical clinics for the existence of disease. If it could be shown that InSite adds to the number of addicts then it has stepped out of the realm of harm reduction. If InSite’s existence caused more crime, more drug use, more drug trafficking, more HIV/AIDS, even more general social disorder, it would not be in line with harm reduction.

And as far as chronic addicts being enabled by being given clean needles, a sanitary place, with watchful and caring supervision, while they engage in something they would have otherwise done in an alley…well, I don’t think so. But let me add, not all drug abusers are equal, and I do concede that for some, a safe injection site may, or may not, perpetuate an early habit.

It is true that for some, the immediate negative consequences of drug abuse is enough to convince them to enter a program. For these people, no safe injection site is needed. But hardcore drug addicts have experienced every possible negative consequence, save death. As it happens, it’s these hardcore addicts that InSite attracts. And that should be a salient point for consideration. Every parent knows that equal treatment, is not necessarily fair or just treatment. InSite is simply calling for a recognition of that common understanding. And with political will and desire, an exemption to the drug law can be upheld. To refuse to see this, as far as I see, is a refusal not on humane reasons, but for reasons, political and ideological.

Finally, with respect to enabling, here is something of a parallel consideration: As Gabor Mate’ points out, we don’t refuse life-saving treatment for chronic smokers with lung cancer; or inveterate over-eaters for cardiac arrests; or workaholics for stress related strokes; or abused women for staying with their abuser. Does treatment enable these addictions? Should we refuse medical care here so that they might feel a greater negative effect of their choices?

So here’s a plea to Conservatives: Do no harm. A safe injection site can provide a little haven where patient and compassionate human contact, opens an avenue for self-respect and possibility. At InSite, harm reduction makes the lives of chronic drug addicts bearable, with the potential of ushering in rehabilitation for some. Overall, harm reduction broadens the scope of hope.

(In writing this, I’ve had much inspiration from Gabor Mate’s book, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts. Mate’ has worked as a physician in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside for over 12 years.)

Letter to Stephen Harper in support of InSite.

Temple of the Emerald Buddha

Add comment October 20th, 2008

The first thing I saw upon entering the Temple of the Emerald Buddha (Wat Phra Kaeo), was the seated hermit.

He’s a comic figure–apparently not taking himself too seriously in a place that weighs heavy with formality, tradition, and gilt. But, I’m given to understand that he’s a good doctor, for which he is venerated. People bring him medicine, which he blesses, improving its therapeutic effect. He’s a happy hermit, and no doubt his good natured outlook goes far in conditioning all potions.

Except for the flow of tourists, the air within the rest of the temple compound is sonorous. This is, after all, the most sacred structure in Thailand. But it’s also said to be the repository of the spirit of the Thai people enmasse.

With this consideration, I walked slowly, trying to pick up the reverberations of that spirit. But it didn’t happen. For one thing, a camera is a distraction. One cannot, not, take pictures, but a camera keeps you at the surface. The other thing that cropped up was this incongruity: If the spirit of the Thai people lived here, it had to be underneath the near ostentatiousness, the almost garish-Disney quality of the temple. The Thai people I had met were warm, hospitable and gracious. The Temple, was overbearing. I decided I was missing something.

I wandered. I took a hundred pictures: the brilliant tiles, the gilt-bronze emblems, the marble monuments, the countless mother of pearl inlays, the stone guards, the half-deer people, the demon-monkey guardians-hardly frightening, and the rest of the pagoda’s and stupa’s and dagobas’.

At last I entered the ubosoth (chapel) of the Emerald Buddha. Here, as prescribed, I took off my sandals and refrained from taking pictures. (There is however a spot in the portico where you can zoom-in on the Emerald Buddha. He’s wearing his rainy season costume.)

The Emerald Buddha is not emerald but jade. It was a mistaken fifteenth century monk that made the claim, but the name stuck. The Emerald Buddha is seated in a glass case, high above a gilded wooden throne. Beneath and around him is a pyramid-like arrangement of images, golden Buddha icons, crowned gilded Buddha figures and more. On the wall behind the throne, I learned, is a mural of the Traiphum–the three worlds of Desire, Form and Non-Form.

(As an act of preparation before entering the ubosoth, people buy tulips, dip them in water and sprinkle themselves.)

The smooth marble floor in front of the Emerald Buddha shrine was crowded with curio-seekers, wonderers and worshippers. Everyone was seated, and presenting, I suppose, many variations of the Lotus position.

(A bhikkhu, or fully ordained Buddhist monk, honouring the story of Buddha’s enlightenment, depicted by the mural.)

In spite of all the coming and going, there was silence within the ubosoth. All I heard was the hum of fans. And in spite of the opulent surroundings, there was, within, a basic dignity and reverence.

(Found: Out of view, through a gate, behind the galleries, East of the Temple.)

It was possible, in that quiet, to catch something of the Thai spirit that is contained in the Buddhist understanding of samadhi, tranquility of heart.

Autumn Light

Add comment October 15th, 2008

Autumn has a salient light. That’s what I noticed when I left the walls of my office and walked with the sun over my shoulder.

It’s the sort of light that would, if you allowed it, pry your soul open with soft low angle rays.

You see, there is nothing harsh or frenetic about fall light. It takes time to lounge, unfurl, reflect. It knows about detachment. It understands the circle.

Even with age, when it loses its hair and teeth, it continues to cast gentle beams.
And it’s power is in posing just the right question–for you.

Boonyoung and Bass

Add comment October 10th, 2008

It’s the smell that you take away with you.

I’ve encountered the smell before. It’s the one that assaults, just briefly, as you step over a manhole or sewer grate. I’ve encountered it on the farm too, when feed, water, shit, straw, heat and time, come together to produce a mephitis emitting blue-black slurry.

Here, the fetor gets inside and under your skin. If you live here, Pi-kun tells me, you get used to it.

But what gets in deeper, are the people of the slum. We spent part of an afternoon talking with Boonyoung. She had just come back from shopping–checking disposal sites for things saleable or eatable.

She’s something of a make-shift grandmother to 12-year old Bass–whose mother she had adopted years before. The mother is rarely around these days and the father long gone. Bass thinks Boonyoung is his real grandmother…and of course, she is. Boonyoung also cares for her ailing 80 year old husband.

Pi-kun and her field workers keep in constant contact with this family. Bass is a strong candidate for a live-in Project LIFE Child Sponsorship Program that–with the successful purchase of a building–should be up and running in the new year.

The Child Sponsorship residence is a short walk from the fetid Ram-2 slum–but a great distance.

Back at the "office" I asked Pi-kun about her name. She said her father named her just before leaving her mother. She said she was named after a flower with brown pedals that grows along roadsides and in Bangkok’s waste places. "At night," she said, "It gives off a wonderful smell!"

(Visiting Boonyoung: Muk, Pi-kun and Tika)

My own personal driver

2 comments October 5th, 2008

Apparently I hired my own personal driver. How was I to know. I paid 3800 baht for a tour–sounded okay. It would get me downtown and then over to wat Phra Kaew, (the temple of the Emerald Buddha) and the Grand Palace, and then over to the sleeping, or reclining Buddha. Anyway, those were the pictures I pointed to in the tour display.

I signed up, got my pack, and waited for people to start waiting for our bus. Instead Ai, pronounced "A," showed up and lead me out through a side door– bowing, and assuring me through other humble gestures, and kindly sounding Thai phrases, that I was to come with him. I followed him to a well-used Volvo. He opened the door, and I, dutifully, got in.

Ai knew at least 5 English words–"hello, meet, wait, thank you." And I knew 1 Thai word and a name. Sawatdee-khrab, which means hello.(If you’re female you say, Sawatdee-kaa), and Chao Phraya, the river that runs through Bangkok and the one I wanted a boat ride on–if there was time before it got dark. Other than Ai singing along to Thai pop songs, (he knew all the words) we rode in delicious silence, me grinning at every new sight, and Ai, once in a while, looking over at me and smiling back.

Ai was amazing. He would get me through a maze of madness– three-wheeled taxis, bicycles, scooters and cars…I thought New York had crazy traffic–to a temple or some such place, point me in a direction, then disappear. I would forget the time, walk and wander (and wonder), and then when I came back to the vicinity, he would spot me and be at my side.

(Superlative couple of days. Will post much more, as soon as I find a way to charge my laptop battery with 220 Bangkok volts. Just know this: the Emerald Buddha is a fake, he’s made of jade!)

Sweet, I did get the boat ride! (Yes, Ai got me my own personal boat driver) The "River lady" sold me a couple Thai lagers. So perfect, on a 36 degree Bangkok day. (Bought one for the boat driver, he thanked me and bowed profusely.)

An airport meditation

2 comments October 3rd, 2008

Serviceair carriers, baggage trolleys, conveyers on wheels, F-150’s racing around under the wheels of E-190’s and A-340’s, like hounds chasing cattle. All the scurrying–hilarious and necessary. In the distance, a plane tilts into the sky and is gone.

Above the pitch, an imperceptible curve of horizon holds the autumn colours under its tongue. Soon this brilliance will be swallowed up. But for now, all these yellow and orange deities transfuse their beauty. They are neither eternal nor omnipotent, but there is grace in their rule, and mercy in the hope of their return.

This sets me to wondering about omnipotence. Can there be great love and mercy in it? I’m not sure. There isn’t much in the Newtonian God–that omnipotent technician, scrupulous list keeper, calculating cartographer–that Lego Lord, as Annie Dillard called him; that great Neolithic proprietor, as Teilhard de Chardin called him.

Fortunately this marble monolith God has been sick and wobbly for a while now. And even though he keeps getting propped up and polished by a stratum of worshippers, the cracks are widening, as his clay feet crumble. How right and proper to keep hacking away at this god.

And how right to beware of erecting a mirror-image of this dying god. It’s a very real temptation that would leave us with a featureless God of no consequence. And great Love, that greatest feature, may not be omnipotent but it is never inconsequential.

In the end, it’s a well meaning but futile exercise to fret over any of God’s omni’s. All I know is that the edge of the world, just now, is blazing outside my window. The earth, all lit up from within. God’s immanence. And all around, the press of space. God’s transcendence.

And now, while flying over Taipei, I eat my supper. From where I come, it’s 4:30 AM. These things amaze me.   (Posted from Hong Kong, Oct 3, 8:40 PM)

Our real journey

2 comments September 30th, 2008

Like you, I love an adventure. I love the anticipation of a new experience. I love seeing new and different things. I even love the travel involved. I like all kinds of roads. I like hotels and lobbies and lounges. I like airports, ferry terminals…even bus stations–but especially train stations. I have romantic memories of all the train stations between Melville, Saskatchewan, and Montreal.

I love words like journey and junket, expedition and excursion. I place a great deal of import on place. And even while I believe that all ground is holy, I also believe there are sacred places, or places made sacred, and to journey to such a place–whether it’s under a birch tree in the river valley, or an ashram in India–is spiritually forming. And of course, that is pilgrimage.

But, however much importance one places on a geographical journey, it is crucial to remember, as Merton reminds us, that, "Our real journey in this life is interior; it is a matter of growth, deepening, and of an ever greater surrender to the creative action of love and grace in our hearts."

In 1968, when Merton penned these words, he added, "Never was it more necessary for us to respond to that action." It was necessary then, and it is necessary now.

Bangkok bound

7 comments September 28th, 2008

I’m on a journey to Bangkok. And even though I don’t leave until Thursday, (Oct. 2) I have an itch to begin today. Ostensibly, I go to represent Hope Mission at a board of directors meeting with Project LIFE, a kind of "sister" mission that works in the slums of Bangkok.

I’m interested to see the work that Project LIFE does with women and children–and am prepared–although apparently it’s never possible to prepare–to see the madly wretched conditions that Bangkok’s poorest of the poor live in. Does one worry about multibillion dollar bailouts when visiting such slums?

Having been given a week in Bangkok my hope is to absorb as much of the city as I can, without vexing about seeing it all. It worked for me in New York. I simply wandered around Manhattan for several days and picked up the energy of the place. Well, Bangkok is not New York, and that’s good, but whether I can "wander," I won’t know until I get there. Of course, guided tours to start.

First stop will be Wat Phra Kaew, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, and the adjoining Grand Palace. I’m interested in Thai Buddhism, that is, Theravada Buddhism. It is generally regarded as the oldest, and "purest," form of Buddhism, and I’m hoping to soak up what I can.

So I expect to visit any number of wats. A wat, I learn from the glossary of Thomas Merton’s Asian Journal, comes from the Sanskrit word "Vata," meaning "enclosed ground,"  and is a monastery or temple in Thailand. 

I thought that no better preparation for the trip would be to reread Merton’s Asian journal.

Incidentally, on October 17 it will be exactly 40 years since Merton landed in Bangkok to begin his fateful journey. Two months later, having visited India, the Himalayas, Ceylon (Sri Lanka), he arrived back in Bangkok for a conference of Asian monastic orders. On December 10, 1968, after giving his talk and retiring to his room, he somehow received a fatal shock from an electric fan. He was 53 years old (my age) when he died. His last words, given at his address, were, "And now I shall disappear."

The above photo was taken in Dharmasala, India by the secretary of the Dalai Lama, a month before Merton’s death. The Dalai Lama is 33 years old here.