Peter Clothier's Blog, page 5

READING THE TEA LEAVES

For as long as I can remember, likely most of the 50 years of our life together, I have been up early to brew a wake-up cup of good, strong English tea for Ellie and myself. Well, the brand has changed. Nowadays it's Yorkshire Gold; for a long while, it was PG Tips. But the ritual has been the same. Rain or shine, as they say. And this morning as I popped the tea bag into the pot it came to me that tea bags had not yet been invented when I was young. You'd heap a good measure of tea leaves in the pot, add boiling water and let it stand to brew, then you poured your tea from the pot directly into your cup. When you drank the last drops of tea from your cup, presto! Tea leaves, left clinging in strange, unpredictable patterns to the curved porcelain depths, just waiting to be read. 
You needed, of course, a trained eye to read the tea leaves. It was not something anyone could do. It was a way to foretell the future, like a crystal ball, or a tarot pack, or the palm of your hand. The phrase remains, an oddity in the language, to remind us of a different, perhaps more innocent, perhaps more trusting time. A time when the future might have seemed steadier, more stable, easier to rely on, even when it showed up in the form of random tea leaves at the bottom of your cup. 
Today's world is much different. It merits a more Buddhist mistrust in any kind of certainty. It has always been the reality, of course, that no one can predict what might happen from moment to moment in our lives, that the only thing that's certain is change itself. Still, I believe that we have lost even the illusion of security at an accelerating pace in the past century. Two massive and ruinous world wars have done their part. Life itself seems less secure. But in the past few years particularly, with our country and the world at large perpetually in a state of cliff's edge torturous suspense, unpredictability has become the norm we have to learn to live with. 
So I have no leaves in my morning cup of tea this New Year. I made our tea in the convenient modern way: with a tea bag. The bag, once used, goes down the garbage disposal, chewed up and lost forever. Even if I had the skill, I have no tea leaves to read; and that leaves me feeling more than a little sad for a past that's also lost forever. 
Please be well, everyone. Be sane and hale. And be as safe as possible.

PANTOMIME

A mention in a newspaper article this morning reminded me of our family tradition, when I was growing up, of going up to London's West End for a theater event. There was always Peter Pan, of course, with Tinkerbell and the pirates and the family of boys who lived underground. And the crocodile, and the ticking clock. Magical. But there were also the pantomimes, with British humor at its most raucous and absurd. They were mostly spoofs on fairy tales--Cindarella, Red Riding Hood--and the main antagonist, the villain or the antihero clown, was invariably a man dolled up in outrageous drag. We children must have missed it in all the antics and the slapstick humor, but the adults must surely have been seeing it quite differently than we children, having endless fun with the coarse, bawdy humor and the (to me now obvious) sexual overtones.

It seems to me that what we're living through today is a kind of nightmare pantomime. Everything has the same air of unreality. Everything is wildly exaggerated, a Goon Show enacted in real life. The lead character has all the appearance of an overblown clown, with his protruding belly, his ridiculous hairdo, his overlong red ties, his absurd behavior and his outrageous dialogue. Trouble is, it's not being acted out on the stage for the benefit of a rapt and hugely enteratined audience. It's happening in real life, and there are real consequences to this melodrama. People are truly suffering as a result of his behavior; they have nothing to keep them "rolling in the aisles."

Post-war London needed a good laugh. We need one now. But now I long for the curtain to come down on this endless pantomime. There will be no applause.

IN EXTREMIS

After 17 years without a federal execution," according to a report in The Guardian today, "the Trump administration has executed nine inmates since July, and plans five more executions before Joe Biden takes office on 20 January. " The execution, this morning, of Brandon Bernard, is yet another instance of the spirit of vindictiveness and cruelty that characterizes the man who occupies our Oval Office, along with his administration and the millions of Americans who will continue to cheer him on--despite, or because of this act of "civilized" barbarity. Even more than the loss of a single life, I mourn the growing absence of civility and compassion in my adopted country. I watch in grief and horror as humanity itself is led toward the execution chamber.

MY SECRET WISH

I am not proud of a secret wish I have, that some close associate of those in high power in this country should experience a truly serious (but not fatal!) case of the virus whose effects, to the great harm of all, they continue to minimize, ignore, or outright deny. There is, I admit, some less than noble part of me that wants these people to "be taught a lesson" they can't ignore. 

It appalls me that in this wealthiest of all countries in the history of the world, politicians persist in squabbling over helping those millions who are suffering, whether from the disease itself or its effects: loss of income or employment, eviction, hunger, or the pain of loss of loved ones. The "both sides" argument on who deserves blame does not wash with me. There is only one side to blame in this--the side of those in power: the president and his fumbling, corrupt administration, and senators on the right side of the aisle whose refusal to negotiate for appropriate aid amounts to nothing less than cruelty.

My secret wish is not for their suffering but their awakening, and it seems there is no other way. Their removal from the reality of others' pain is such that I see no other way for them to learn than to experience it firsthand. The immunity afforded them by rank and privilege seems impermeable, and is itself protected, with cruel irony, by those who stand to suffer most from their neglect. 

So when I hear of the Covid-19 infection of a prominent member of that team of powerful people indifferent to the suffering of those they are supposed to serve, I find myself wishing, secretly, for some serious learning opportunity to take place. It's a kind of desperation, I suppose. In normal circumstances I like to think that I would not wish anyone ill. And as I say, I am not proud of that secret wish. But there it is. The circumstances are far from normal. And, like it or not, the wish arises in my mind.

OP-ED

Am I to "understand" and respect the opinion of someone who believes the earth is flat? 

Two columns of letters published in today's New York Times editorial page led me to this question, many of them insisting that those 74 million who voted for the current occupant of the Oval Office to remain there for another four years should be listened to, sympathized with, understood--as though they were children whose selfish needs and misinformed opinions must be addressed in order to maintain household peace. No matter that their opinions may be based on a demonstrably false set of facts, they must be respected.

There's a difficulty here, and one that presents a serious threat to the future of our country. To come to agreement on the solution of a problem, any problem--and no one can surely doubt that we have many of them--requires consensus on the underlying facts. If one who represents an opposing "view" that climate change, for example, is a hoax when the vast majority of the world's best scientists agree that it's a reality, there's really no basis for an exchange of thoughts on a solution to this global threat. If a person is led to the unshakeable belief contrary to all evidence, that the recent election was rigged, there are no reasonable grounds for discussion or argument.

I come from another culture, whose tradition is that of the European Enlightenment. Many of my fellow citizens today have been brought up since kindergarten to believe their personal needs and opinions deserve respect, no matter how misguided--or disrespectful of others--they may be. Does this make of me an "elitist"? An intellectual snob? Is it purely academic to insist that certain objective facts exist, that truth matters, that these are essential to find common ground in the pursuit of values that we share?

The problem that plagues us is not a political or even a cultural one. It's epistemological. It has to do with the difference between knowledge and belief. That distinction has been blurred--and to such an extent, it's hard to see how we shall ever return to the common sense--the common sense--required to return not only to efficacy in government but to simple sanity. It appalls me, in all honesty, that a newspaper with the standing of the New York Times should even think to publish such unserious "discussion".

THE CROWN

I have been wondering why it is that I dislike "The Crown" so much. I am not an ardent monarchist by any means, and it's clear from the history of the past thirty or so years that the family has been somewhat, um, dysfunctional. I think what disturbs me is the undisguisedly negative portrayal of people who are still living. As represented in this soap opera, they are universally unpleasant in their emotionally removed and snobbish contempt for their inferiors--and each other.  None of them so far as I can tell, is blessed with any redeeming qualities. People, even royals, are more complicated than this, and more deserving of our compassion. The characters in this voyeuristic blend of fact and fiction are too easy targets for scandal-mongering such as this.

GETTYSBURG

We are taking care of our nine-year-old grandson while his Mom is taking a long weekend to visit her friend in Amsterdam. It's quite a challenge. Like many (most?) boys (?) his age, he is digital device addicted, and the hardest part is preventing him from spending every hour of the day with his nose inches from a screen. If it's not video games--Minesweeper is the current favorite--it's the inexhaustible supply of other YouTube videos, or other things too arcane for me to understand.

So this morning I racked my brains to think of something else at seven in the morning, and stumbled into an old memory of James Thurber stories. I thought they might amuse him. I read him "The Bear Who Could Let It Alone"--one of my favorites--along with "The Little Girl and the Wolf" and a couple of others. He was, let's say, mildly amused. 

It was "Birds and the Foxes", which ends up with a moral about "government for the birds, etc." that led us to the Gettysburg address. I thought it would be good for him to hear it, especially given our current political circumstance, so I called it up on the computer (what else!) and started to read those memorable words from the Gettysburg battlefield. 

I was unable to finish. I found myself in tears before we got to the last line, and I nudged him to finish the reading for me. I wondered why I had been so overcome, and I think it's perhaps because of the sheer, grand, powerful nobility of the words that Lincoln spoke, and because we live in such a different time, when such words from our practically illiterate president would be unthinkable. A time, too, when the great experience of American democracy is so threatened by a would-be tyrant and a political party that has proven unwilling to resist his autocratic wiles. 

So I wept as little Luka read that last line. Then he wanted to watch a funny cats video, and I surrendered.

HANDS: GRASPING

Here we are, November 21st and I have been silent on The Buddha Diaries for more than a week. My mind has been preoccupied with the completion of a quite different piece of writing that I got engaged in. Now that it's completed, I'm feeling a sense of release and relief. 

I have also neglected the political observations that I've taken to posting on Facebook. I was brought up with a social and political conscience that will not permit me to ignore what's going in on the country and the world a time of political upheaval complicated by the ravages of a deadly pandemic. I consider myself fortunate to have my meditation practice to help me through these deeply troubled times. It continues to provide me with at least a spiritual and emotional refuge when they are most needed. I can't say that it frees me completely from the feelings of anxiety, grief and anger that beset most of us these days, but it does help me to maintain something of an even keel.

This morning's meditation found my attention focused on my hands. Our hands, I realized, function in two notable ways to cause us suffering: they grasp and cling. I decided to give my attention to each of those functions separately, to see where that might lead me--and possibly to share the results of my investigation with the neighborhood group that joins me for a sit each Wednesday.

First, then, grasping. This action is motivated by need, or imagined need. If I rest quietly in attention to the hands, I can feel it there; and if I'm able to identify it, I can perhaps succeed in letting go of it. 

There are many questions I can ask myself:

What is it that I need, or think I need? Love, attention, even adulation? Success? Recognition? Money? Food, drink, sex? With so many potential needs, it's perhaps sensible to concentrate on just one of them. If I pick only what appears to be the most pressing of them I can ask:

Whatever it is, do I really need it? Will it change my life in any significant way if I succeed in getting it?

Will it assure an increase in my happiness if I get it?

Will I be satisfied with what I get of it, or will I still need more? Will I ever have enough of it?

If I get it, will it prove harmful to myself, or others? Will my getting it deprive others of what they need? Are their needs greater than my own?

Any one of these questions would in itself deserve the full length of a meditation. That would be one way to approach the challenge, the long way: to sit in contemplation of each question in turn in a succession of meditative sessions. Another way to deal with it, however, would be simply to have all the questions in mind and to sit without asking them, to leave them tucked away in the back of my mind as I rest in attention to the actual, physical grasping hands and make the conscious effort to let them slip away through the fingertips. 

So that's the intention that came to me this morning as I sat. I have often paused to rest in attention to the hands in the past, observing the tightness in them and the tension that I hold there, so I think it's something worth paying more attention to, working with the hands slowly, day by day, experimenting in greater depth to see where that might lead me.  . 

It would be one way, perhaps, to address the hungry ghosts!

ANNIVERSARY

 It was a special pleasure, yesterday evening, to celebrate our 48th wedding anniversary with a more than usually large number of members of the neighborhood meditation group that I started--I had to check this in my old email records to believe this!--in December five years ago. The theme for our sit: armistice, the cessation of hostilities and the wish for peace.

Ellie and I finally got married, appropriately, on Armistice Day in 1972, and toasted the occasion with our neighbors at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Yesterday afternoon, thought we no longer live right next door to them--thought we do still live on the same hill--we met with those same old friends for a glass of champagne in their back yard.

I posted a note about this on my Facebook timeline and received more congratulations than I could possibly have expected, some coming from friends with whom we have been out of touch for years; and many coming from close friends and family from whom we have been separated for a mere few months by this cruel pandemic. I have many reservations about Facebook--and indeed about all related social media--but there are benefits, too. I enjoy being able to say my piece, whether personal or in recent days mostly political, and knowing that my words have resonance. I hear back.

To celebrate after our sit with fellow meditators who have now become our friends--and in view of the dining restrictions imposed on us by the pandemic--we called out to order a pizza and a beetroot and cucumber salad. Which we enjoyed quietly at home with a glass of wine, under the watchful, envious gaze of Jake, the dog, who is not allowed to share our pizza--though he does think he deserves it. So it was, yes, a happy anniversary. Only two more, with luck, to fifty!

HOPE

I am breathing easier, this Monday morning, and my heart is lighter. I still have lingering fears about the state our democracy, with regrettably few Republicans following the example of Sen. Mitt Romney in offering their congratulations to the new president- and vice president-elect. The silence of these political hacks and hedge-betters serves to validate the conspiracy theories of a mass of Tr*mp supporters who are willing--eager, even--to believe that the election was stolen. 

They know better, these supposed leaders. This further evidence of their bad faith--if it were needed--is dispiriting, and bodes ill for the near-term future of the country. Should their intransigence this time be the echo of that when Obama was in office, the new president will be hard put to fulfill his campaign promise to reunite the country. He will be constrained to exercise his executive power for whatever he wishes to accomplish.

I take comfort in the knowledge that there will be a different, more experienced, more competent team working with him, dedicated not to the advancement of their own power or that of the president but to the needs and wishes of the American people. Gone will be the Attorney General who serves the whims of his apparent client-president; gone will be those other cabinet members, Mike Pompeo, Betsy DeVos, Wilbur Ross, Steve Mnuchin, so many of them with financial and ethical conflicts and personal agendas. And gone will be the spoiled, entitled Tr*mp clan, privileged by nepotism, who hold high offices, receive unearned salaries and are protected at the expense of the American people. Gone will be the poor, dour First Lady, so clearly, sadly, out of her depth in the position I suspect she never wanted to hold.

I do believe that Joe Biden will seek out and nominate the best and most qualified people he can find. I do believe they will act, with him, in the best interests of the country. I do believe they will be guided by facts, not fantasies; by science, not gut instincts; by the considered work of qualified public servants and intelligence officers, not by whims and personal interests. My hope is that their work will assure the people who were duped into idolizing the former president that competence, honesty, hard work and respect for decency and reason are what is needed for our recovery from the many crises that beset us.