I spent the weekend with my family in New Jersey, at my mother and father's house. It was a much needed break; I haven't had a full blown vacation in nearly three years. This was just an extra day, a Friday off before the Memorial Day weekend. And the weekend provided a little more perspective for me.
There were many great moments over the three days-walking the boardwalk for the first time with my wife and son, a great dinner with my brother and his fiance, breakfast with my niece and husband at their beautiful new home. But there was one moment that stands out above the rest; a moment when I was completely alone, Saturday night after everyone went to bed. I was sipping on some wine, watching UFC (a guilty pleasure that I can't resist, probably twice a year). I walked out into the backyard, to my parents' garden. It was quiet. More quiet than I am used to, living in my apartment on the main drag, where my family listens to the rush of transports all day and night. No road noise. Soft grass between my toes. And crickets, frogs, etc. It was so peaceful that I didn't know what to do with myself. It's a very small backyard, but it is beautiful. And I forced myself to stay out there for a while..
My father, after having been forced into his now pensionless retirement 4 years ago (see http://theperpetualwantrapreneur.blogspot.com/2014/04/i-have-very-good-friend-whos-in-trouble.html), was lost after losing his post-retirement hobby of going to the office, and permanently losing his income. My parents immediately sold their house in Florida, and they moved to New Jersey, to be closer to my family (my brother wasn't far behind). They bought a cute little home in a retirement community, which my brother-in-law worked tirelessly to renovate and beautify. And it is beautiful, inside and out. But my father needed something to do. He loves being outside. So he started painting. Not on a canvas, mind you (although we did encourage this idea), but on garden figurines. Yes, the cement ones which adorn the gardens of people all over the world. His yard is now full of beautifully painted garden statues (as well as my sister's garden, my niece's, my brother's, etc.). The colors are spectacularly vivid on each and every one of them, as if to give us a peek into the window of his soul. He also created beautiful birdhouses amongst the greenery. As kids, we would have never known that he possessed such artistic skill (I'll speak for myself on that one). As I looked out into the darkness Saturday night, with the soft glow of solar garden lighting cast upon the painted works, I wondered what was going through my father's head in the months following his devastating loss. He doesn't talk about it much, even when asked. He's an old-school Hungarian, who is much more apt to dispense great advice on life before discussing his own. So what was he thinking? We all know he was deeply hurt. And he turned to painting. None of us knew he had such talent. He had built sheds in the past (not the pre-assembled ones, mind you, but miniature houses, of wood and nails), assembled beautiful stone fireplaces, and he can stack wood in more stunning formations than anything you have ever seen. He's an artist. That's what I realized in the garden that night. Even though he was a textile manager his entire life, without any need to tap into his creative spirit, he has been an artist all along. And through his art, he found peace. And if you step into his backyard, you'll see the beauty in his art. And that's the moral of this story, the theme of this message. It's never too late to find your passion. His life is not much different than mine, or yours, in many respects. He chose to dig deep and engage in self-exploration. And he found his passion. That's what I need to do, what we all need to do. My father loved what he did for fifty years, and he never complained about anything. He still doesn't complain. Outwardly, he is an eternal optimist. Inwardly, nobody knows. But he is my hero, and I will honor him in my pursuits. So honor yourself, and whoever else inspires you. Find your passion. It's hard as hell, but you can do it. We can all do it. And we can walk on the summer grass, cool dew between our toes, content in the knowledge that we have followed our passion, and made a living out of it. So grab your own "garden gnome" and have at it. If you can see my father's garden, you'll love what you can create.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Thursday, May 8, 2014
The Force is with us all (whether you like it or not)
My sister burned 3 cds for me last weekend, after watching my son for the weekend while I attended a wedding with my wife in New York City. It is narrated by Peter Coyote, and it's called Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. It's pretty brilliant. I got what I needed out of it in the first 10 minutes of the cd, which was all about posture. By adopting the postures necessary for Zazen, I have eliminated virtually all of the stress that has settled in my abdomen. I'm not kidding. And this was immediate, seconds after listening to this segment of the book. I now stand (and sit) like a Buddhist monk throughout my day. People look at me funny. But I don't care. Look, I'm not a Zen master (I'm 3/4 of the way through a really nice bottle of a 2011 Clos Du Bois Pinot Noir, 10:30 pm on a Thursday night). I have no idea what it even means to be a Zen master, especially after my day at work today, when I read the riot act to three individuals, two of which were my direct reports, in the span of fifteen minutes. I maintained a professional approach, but there was a lot of fire, and little Zen. But if I were to have a gander at it, at what I believe is Zen mastery, I think it's Yoda. And if I'm right, that would be my goal. Which goes against many of the tenets of Zen Buddhism. Which is why I'm not a Zen master. But if I could be one, I would wield a lightsaber like Yoda. It's my own dream. I'm probably not the first to aspire to such heights. But if nobody has started a practice which encompasses the Yoda way to Zen mastery, let me be the first. Because to kick some ass once in a while falls within the practice of Buddhism, since there is no right, and there is no wrong. There is only transience, and we are all transient beings, whether we like it or not (more on transience later). But if you listen to the audiobook, we are virtually all Zen Buddhists. We all have Buddha within us. We start with the idea of enlightenment, and work our way back to practice. Practice, practice, practice. That is Buddhism. I am the lowest horse, the one who doesn't move until the whip has penetrated my skin. That is my state right now. I am on my third week of consistent 10-25 minute meditations every morning. And I am devouring this stuff. Read it, or listen to it. I'm on my second go-around. It's excellent. Here's the link on Amazon:
Duality is a prevalent theme in the book. Here is a Star Wars fan's version of duality, for you Star Wars fans out there (or even if you're not; you'll probably understand it better). I'm working on grasping this concept. Watch it, and see if you can figure it out. I couldn't, and still can't. But I love lightsaber duels. So I don't care. Here is the link.
http://www.galactic-voyage.com/images/Fan%20Movies/duality_640x272_sv3.mov.
So, transience. I love this word, and I love how it applies to Buddha nature. I stole the quote that we are all transients from Star Wars as well, Qui-Gon Jinn, specifically. He was attempting to teach this concept to Anakin Skywalker, the future Darth Vader. Vader didn't quite get it. He turned to the dark side (not that there is anything wrong with that, since there is no right or wrong in Buddhism. It just is). Obi-Wan Kenobi attempted to train young Darth after Qui-Gonn was killed by a Sith Lord from the dark side. But he failed as well. Or succeeded at helping Anakin on to a new career outside of Jedi knighthood. Nobody can deny Darth Vader's success at ruling the galaxy. And at the end of the day, we all have to take responsibility for our behaviors, our reactions, our lives. I relate more to Obi-Wan than anyone else. He was Zen-like in much of his behavior, but he had a temper, too (an example here, after his mentor Qui-Gon Jinn was impaled by the Sith lord.
He is the one without the horns; skip to 3:37 of the clip to view the duel between them. But the entire piece is kick-ass, especially the pony-tailed Qui-Gon Jinn's meditation before his inevitable death). Obi-Wan was vulnerable, and I liked that. We are all vulnerable, and we are in a constant state of transience. Life flows from one state of affairs to another and another. That is transience. That is perpetual change. And the sooner we accept that life is change, that it is transience, the better off we will be. I am working on that adaptation, every minute of every day. Are you working on change? Have you accepted that it is inevitable, and that it is a undeniable part of our existence? Are you accepting of the fact that a transient life is a life without good or bad, as the next steps toward enlightenment? How are you adapting? Be Yoda, Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, or Darth Vader. It doesn't matter. Just be adaptable to inevitable change, and embrace it. And maybe you can have your own vehicle, with Chewbacca as your co-pilot, capable of traveling at light speed to any corner of our galaxy...
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