Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I live in an area where we interface with the homeless continually.  I went through a phase when I gave money and let them tell me wild stories about children with chicken pox and the long sorted history of their substance abuse.  That got them pounding on my door and begging to wash my car.  I awoke each morning at dawn to two homeless men coming from opposite ends of the street with their shopping carts rattling and clanging.  One of them sang "Home on the Range" angrily at the top of his lungs. 

When we moved a few blocks away, I was determined to remain incognito.  But I still walked the same streets.  Turning away and not making eye contact, acting as if they were invisible, felt terrible.  No speech seemed a condemnation.  It felt wrong.  Giving money directly was paying for their drugs or alcohol, and that felt like enabling.  So I came up with the plan to give to shelters and food banks, but not directly to these people.  If I went in a food place, I'd come out with a sandwich or coffee and give it to them, but otherwise, no exchange. 

But I decided to acknowledge them, each and every one.  Look them in the eye and respond verbally in some way, so they'd know I'd really seen them.  If they asked for money, I'd say "No, I"m sorry, but have a good day".  If they said "Have a nice day" I'd answer, "You too.  Looks like it's going to be a beauty."  Even in the car, yesterday, a guy was walking along the meridian with a cardboard sign asking for help.  I looked over at him and mouthed "no" but nodded.

I don't kid myself they appreciate my sensitivity.  Most of them are mentally ill and have little awareness of others.  But I won't turn away from this tragedy of people out on the streets with no one to help them with meds or shelter.  The police have become social workers, and I've seen them be very tender.  But there is no structure to care for these people.  It's a shame.

There is one very overweight woman who sits at the corner where my bank is.  I speak to her every time, and after going through her getting angry at me, shouting, because I won't give money, she now exchanges pleasantries with me.  She's one of my neighborhood people and I'm one of hers.  We share a community.  I admire the smarts that has her placed next to the ATM.  I guess it must work out well enough for her.  She's coping, and I respect that, and I'm rooting for her, even if I don't subsidize her.

Wandering Along the Path: RIght Speech

The history of my family includes quite a lot of alcohol abuse.  In my thirties, I went to AL ANON religiously.  Hearing others speak at the meetings was healing.  I also went to a few AA meetings to hear the abuser side of the disfunction.  So when my brother, an alcoholic from age sixteen, courageously got sober after decades of abuse, I was proud of him.  When, years later, he referred one time to making amends to me, I was startled, because I was still waiting for him to make amends, and longing for him to hear my side of the disfunction.  How he'd scared my children, followed us like a stalker when we moved, said many cruel things  and acted contemptuous of me. 

I was stunned, because his idea of amends meant he forgave himself, without any curiousity about what he'd actually done to me.  I had believed, from attending AA meetings, that  I was supposed to fit in there somewhere in the process. 

Now I can understand how hard it is to tell another something painful, and I might have to work up to it by trying out what I wanted to say to a friend and get their feedback first.  Presumably, my brother had an AA sponsor.  But shutting me out of the process left me as wounded as before, with no healing really possible.  It is not surprising to me that a few years later he stopped communicating all together.  I made him uncomfortable, not because I ever brought up what he'd done when he was a drunk, but because I was waiting.  Still waiting.

Right speech involves allowing the other person to respond to you.  If you can't bear it right then, take a rain check.  Say, "I'm embarassed and ashamed that I hurt you, but I'm not strong enough to hear what I did yet."  Then the other person gets to hear at least an acknowledgement of harm having been done.  Bringing up a painful subject to shut it down is cruel. 

If that is what would have happened to my brother, he would have been set back in some way by hearing how it affected me and my family, then, of course, first of all, I wish him to remain sober.

But our connection was broken.  Words do harm.  Controlling the words does harm.  Sometimes the truth is we cannot move on in silence.  We remain stuck.  And in pain.  It is sometimes necessary to say the words.

As Yvonne Rand says, if it's ten years or fifty years later, say it.  Whenever you are able to, try.

Wandering Along the Path: RIght Speech

I really resisted saying "I love you" back to my parents when I was growing up.  I'm guessing I was a bit stuffy, hating hypocrisy and wanting to be completely truthful.  That was back when I believed I could determine what complete truth was.  So I didn't like feeling forced to respond in the devoted child manner if I wasn't "feeling it" as they say.  Sometimes I loved my parents, sometimes not so much.  I wanted to be free to say I loved them when I felt the need arise, though who knows if the need would ever have actually arisen.  I knew darned well my parents loved me, it was a given.  I knew I loved them.  Why get all gushy?

There may be heavy convoluted psychology at the bottom of my stubbornness, like resenting my father's frequent travels or my mother's crystal clear disappointment in my looks and popularity, but frankly, I don't think I was that deep.  I was wide and shallow.  I didn't want to be forced to vow my devotion.  I was my own girl.  This made them determined to bend me to their will.  And I bent, responding back I loved them, but not feeling it at all, in fact, feeling angry and trapped.

Is right speech not harming the hearer or the genuineness of the speaker?  Hummm.  I clearly didn't want to hurt my parents' feelings, and who knows?  Maybe I needed to verbally affirm my love.  I may even be a better person for it.  But just in case, I'm mighty stingy to people whom I love with the "I love you" refrain.   I don't want them to feel bushwacked, as I did.  I want them to know I perfectly understand they might not be thinking warm fuzzy thoughts about me at that moment.  And that's normal. 

Now with my husband, if he asks me, "Do you love me?" I'm as liable to answer, "not right this moment" or "I was feeling that way yesterday when you took out the trash" as to murmur sentimental love words.  He's used to it, and it doesn't seem to faze him.  He knows I'm quirky and probably has his own theories on my excessive honesty.  Wisely, he keeps them to himself.

To say I love you or not to say I love you:  that is the question.  Is right speech about honesty or not harming?  I'd have to go with my inner child.  I love you, too.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Do I think or do I feel?  Sometimes, when I say I think something is a good idea, I really mean I feel.  It's easier for me to say I think, more detached and neutral, but if I say I feel, that seems to make me more engaged and also it's more personal.  I've been practicing saying I feel lately, and doing so seems to change the nature of what I say.  If someone asks me about my younger daughter's upcoming wedding and I say I think it's great, I'm an observer.  If I say I feel great about the event, happiness is conveyed. 

In my case, I speak and act more out of feeling and instinct that much thoughtful processing.  I hope my actions are an amalgam of the two, but honestly, the weight leans heavily in the feeling end of things.  I'm highly reactive, as many of us are.  I'd rather speak out of measured response, and I attempt to have that pause that not only refreshes but keeps me out of trouble, but often I'm impulsive.  I'm an enthusiastic sort of person, highly verbal, and social.  I can lose my mind a little bit.  Just being aware of my own nature helps me pause, these days.  But sometimes the right thing to do is be impulsive and get caught up in playfulness and joy.  So my now normal habit of caution spills over and acts like Jimmny Cricket to the wild and crazy me.  Mostly.

For me there is a freedom in saying I feel.  I own what I'm saying, there is no adversarial stance, as there seems to be when saying I think, and I'm invested without wishing the hearer to be persuaded to my point of view.  I can't expect others to feel as I do.  But sometimes I expect others to think as I do.  It sort of takes my pronouncements out of the political arena.

I may feel optimistic about the A's baseball team, but others are free to feel despondent, or think they haven't a chance, given their recent statistical history.  But those others are going to cut me some slack, because I'm not proselytizing or arguing.  I'm just live and let live, and you can right me off as goofy if you wish.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Perhaps I'm oversensitive about this, but commenting on a child's looks often has an unintended harmful result.  From the time when I was very young I knew that when relatives called me "cute", that meant not pretty, and my brother, 2 3/4 years younger, was pretty, because he had red hair and green eyes.  People fussed over him.  My nine year old granddaughter is a redhead, and people touch her hair, compliment her, fuss over her.  A stranger once told her her hair was a blessing from God.  Now, I'm not saying that when the child is all dressed up you don't tell them they're looking "mighty fine", but 90% of our comments about children should be encouragement and praise for a job well done, as well as how well they've solved a problem or helped out.  Because those are things a child can DO, no matter what the color of their hair and eyes.

Words like pretty, beautiful, gorgeous etc are usually not right speech in describing people.  They're fine for paintings, landscape and flowers. 

Because I knew early I was not pretty, as those words weren't used with me, I decided my power lay in my brain.  And, thank goodness, I got plenty of praise for being smart.  My currency was never going to be in my looks, as my mother's was, but in my mind.  But that didn't heal the wound entirely, as I didn't feel pretty enough to attract the kind of guy I was attracted to, after about fifteen.  I was funny, smart and had a singing voice, but I didn't have what the culture made me long for:  beauty.

I refuse to help such a culture along.  I KNOW what I value, and if something comes out of my mouth I try to make sure it is MY values, what I treasure in another human being.  Compassion and generousity, kindness and joy in the world, these are treasured traits in a child or a friend.  We should make our speech reflect what makes humans worth saving.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

As a parent, I witnessed plenty of parents denigrating their children, and it made me wince.  I didn't believe in corporal punishment, nor did I condone name calling and ridicule.  But from what I read today, there is a new danger with parenting:  over praising your children.  There has been impressive research that shows that children do better if they are encouraged to try a bit harder or redo a task done sloppily.

We went through recent eras where over praising was considered essential to the development of self esteem.  Now it seems to have turned out that either the kids know it's often phony, or take it for granted that whatever they do is the best of the best.  Now this research is goal oriented.  Nobody seems to be saying that you can tell your child he's special too many times.  It's behavior that we're speaking of, not the essence of your child.

Give her a hug and tell her she's the best.  But if she's making little effort in a task, gently suggest she work a bit longer, or show her how to sweep, give her tips and give her five more minutes to do her best.  Not be her best, she is already that, but do her best.

My foster granddaughter's mom was tearing her hair out because her daughter wanted to quit piano.  She asked for my take on it.  I suggested she cut the practice time, ask the teacher to give her less work, and then act as if there was no option to quit.  Because, as I said to her, when she's fifteen and wants to audition for a role in West Side Story, she won't be able to compete for the role, because she can't sight read the music and she has no experience before an audience.  As the parent you have to take the long view.  Work is a drag, but it has rewards that can't be gained by wishful thinking.  And yesterday when my granddaughter was practicing piano I sat right next to her and commented and asked her to play something again, tolerated all the tangents when she was playing Heart and Soul, and acted engaged.  When I drove her home and we came in her door, she ran up to her mom and said she'd practiced, and "Granma really likes hearing me play and sing!"  I have the time, as her mother often doesn't, since she has a two year old as well and teaches elementary school, to help make work rewarding.

And Right Speech, at that point is saying, "I sure do love to hear you play the piano!  You're getting so good at it!"

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My Zen teacher, Yvonne Rand, warns us not to employ the words "always" and "never", as they generalize and solidify our own self image, and close down possibility.  All her students have learned to say:  "Up until now, I've not been a graceful dancer", "Up until now I had little facility with math problems", "Up until now, I've not enjoyed parties". 

Opening up possibility is good for us in so many ways.  We are more willing to try things we are afraid of, as well as not labeling ourselves unrealistically.  Remaining open and curious presents so many opportunities to redefine ourselves and others.  It used to be called giving the benefit of the doubt. 

Under the impression that a visit with a friend is bound to go wrong, I almost will it to happen.  Instead, if I think over my own part in our last interactions, and change my speech and behavior even a just one tiny way, a new outcome may emerge.  I'm not saying I have not decided, with certain friends, that the relationship is toxic and I'm going to move away for a while.  That is an assessment that sometimes has to be made.  But if I tweek my attitude, I've also seen an opening up in the other person, and especially if I'm firm with my boundaries, there can be a new ease.

I have a friend who asks a lot of probing, personal questions.  This bothered me.  For some reason I felt powerless to refuse to answer.  I tried asking her questions back.  No deal.  It was a one way street.  Okay, I said to myself.  If that's the rule for her it will be for me, and then I will not feel so invaded.  So I began to say, "I don't really want to talk about that", "you'll have to ask her yourself", "gee, that's kind of personal".  The world didn't end, and neither did our friendship.  And I discovered I did not want to trust this person with my intimate thoughts and feelings, most of the time.  But, never say never.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday, an aqaintance characterized a friend as having been, during her illness, miraculously "patient".  My hackles went up, and I replied that last week such was not the case.  Last week she was claustrphobic and frightened and demanding, finally realizing how long her recovery was going to take before she could go home.  This week, yes.  She's more resigned, more rational, and more determined to work hard to get home.  And these are, of course, generalizations at best.

I've been thinking about why I had such a reaction, and why I didn't just go with the flow and let our friend be praised?  It sounds petty and ungenerous, and I'm examining myself for signs of such feelings which I can have as well as the next fellow.

But part of my response was labeling other people, complex people, with simple virtuous or unvirtuous qualities.  Why?  Because we have the tendency to make the story simple.  We talk about either the ups or the downs, when both are present.  I've had to listen to a lot of visitors' hyperbole, sitting with my sick friend, and I wonder if it doesn't have the opposite of the intended effect:  discouragement instead of encouragement, because the person recognizes the conflict inside, and the visitor wants the story to be heroic.  In fact, every story is so complex language cannot describe it, but, at least, if we show that all feelings are okay, normal and human, the person receives a kind of ease that is comforting.

So if we say, not "How patient you are!" with a tone of admiration, but "Wow, it must be tough to have to wait so long to get to (fill in the blank), we open up the floor to their description of their experience, instead of closing the door to honesty.  Do we have a real authentic moment of communication or do we close off complaints, fears, anxieties?

Yes, I know what the social rules are.  But those rules sometimes distance us from each other, and make our interactions false.  I'm struggling to be authentic while not harming the other, and hold myself to a high standard of right speech.  If I had the conversation to do all over again, I'd  handle it more skillfully, and perhaps explain myself better.  But I'd honor my sick friend by noting how challenging it is to be in her situation, and that naturally, her feelings and thoughts are in some turmoil.  Don't hold her to an unfair standard.  Appreciate her humanness.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I worked in safehouses for battered women on and off for twelve years.  Women often told me that the verbal abuse was worse than the physical.  You can heal from cuts and bruises but being told over and over how stupid you are, how ugly, that nobody else would ever want you, now that is demoralizing for years after the physical abuse has ended.  You begin to believe what the batterer is saying, and internalize it.

The threats are also a way to keep a woman in a battering relationship.  If you are told that he will kill your whole family or the kids, and it will be all your fault, you may subject yourself to him.  There are hostages at stake.  If he hits the kids or other family, kills the dog, mistreats a beloved pet, you know the threats are not empty.

Maybe most hurtful of all is when your own family sides with him, says you made your own bed now lie in it, refuses to help you get away, even tells him where you are hiding.  This is betrayal of the highest order, and it further devalues you in your own eyes.

Verbal abuse ruins lives.  Children grow up with warped images of themselves.  They have no developed instincts to protect themselves.  They make bad choices with what feels familiar:  abuse. 

If you underestimate this harm, you say you're just teasing, insist that the other person toughen up, that words can't hurt you, then you are an abuser.

People with these speech patterns left over from childhood or their culture need to pause before they say a word, and check out their language.  They need to speak in "I" statements and not label others with "you" characterizations.  Maybe they need to lay off the "humor" until it is about themselves and not others.  Your one negative word may be the tipping point for another person who is struggling to respect herself and having no outside support.  And don't judge others.  If those thoughts pop up, silence them.  No one ever needed a  judge to help them on the path to wholesomeness.  They need supporters.  If you can't be one, move away.  You're toxic.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Last night my husband and I finished watching a two hour BBC production of Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the D'urbervilles", and it was well acted and relevant today.  The tragedy of the story was the mixed messages of speaking versus silence.  Tess wanted to speak out when she was raped and became pregnant, but her mother advised her to keep silent, especially after the baby died.  Tess' heart told her to be honest, because though poor and uneducated, she had integrity, which no one seemed to appreciate.  Her rapist was of the upper class, so her word would be valueless.  She hides her shame, anger and sorrow, with no one to comfort her.  When she falls in love with Angel Clare and he asks her to marry him, she knows she must tell him and writes a letter, which inadvertently he does not see, and she wants love so badly she burns the letter.  On their wedding night he tells her of an indiscretion, and she feels she must be transparent as well, for surely he will not judge her since he himself is not a virgin.  But her mother is proved right, and he abandons her.  She struggles, but no help is forthcoming, and her mother sells her to her rapist to put take care of her other children.  When Angel returns and wants her back, she kills the rapist, is caught and hanged.

Her mother knows the world and it's judgments of women, and Tess cannot live with lies and tortured by the rapist, who resembles a stalker completely.  There no relief in honesty, as a woman must be pure above all else, and a man's ownership of his wife requires perfection.  Both Tess and Angel are undone by the mores of their world.

To offer up your secrets as a pledge of love is still, to this day, a dangerous enterprise.  Many a man or woman has been taunted by such honesty, and right speech, in this case, is the true test of love and respect.  Yes, one should be able to tell people you trust about an incident that is crucial to who you are, but can you?  Silence is often the right choice in the vow to be your own protector, as the Buddha said.  Your history is private, and though practically nothing is these days, with the internet, what you choose to tell to another and when is so very complicated.  Even Dear Abby type columns in the newspaper counsel against back history with the husband or wife.  It's sure to do harm, and unlikely to to make the teller feel better.  Would that it were a world in which transparency is treasured and not taken advantage of, but it is not.  Better to be circumspect, and watch out what intention you have with honesty, and be sure that is not a romantic notion from novels but important enough to find out how unromantic the world can be.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Right speech involves no third party talk.  I don't speak to you about someone who is not also present.  I fail at this all the time.  I talk about people I'm worried about with other people also worried about the subject.  I discuss being a parent of adult children with other parents similarly baffled.  I brag about grandchildren to friends with brilliant grandchildren as well.  I talk about my life, and my life includes people not living nearby and seldom present anyway when these discussions occur.

How to negotiate?  Intention is one key.  Do I want to talk about the third party in a harmful way, or reveal private information that they wouldn't wish to have known?  Well, then going down that road is going to make me feel crappy afterward. 

If, however, I want advice or perspective so that I may interact with that third person less harmfully, then I often forge ahead.  None of my friends or I know how to be appropriate with our adult kids in certain situations.  Getting feedback about how another has handled a situation gives me options and ideas.  And I can cool down if I feel hurt and realize it wasn't about me, it was a generational misunderstanding.  If I don't get phone calls and my friend says she texts, because that's the way they do it, then that helps me get connected to my kids by their cultural rules.  If a friend is behaving strangely, and I check in with a mutual friend, perhaps some important feedback will help people caring for that individual.  I have a friend who is having problems with short term memory, and two who are bipolar, and talking about safety issues and how to cope with challenges being around them is useful and makes me more skillful and therefore less likely to harm the person with such problems.

I like to worry with people.  It eases me, it eases them, and out of such speech information is shared and plans are made:  to visit the hospital, to help the family cope by preparing food or "spelling" them, by laughing during a painful time.  I need to take care of myself, so that I can be of use, and sharing the worrying leaves me feeling not alone and "seen".  I don't mean I need an audience, but I carry emotions and turmoil, to a lesser extent than the family, but still, enough to be respectful of my own involvement.  Right now, friends are visiting someone in the hospital, and sometimes we go together, or talk before or after, as a relief and as witnesses to what is so with the person.  It's a kind of "holding" of the sick person, and it includes speaking of her without her presence, but it aims at care and tenderness, not gossip.  I don't claim to know where the line is, but being aware that there is one can be determined by how I feel afterward.  If I'm comforted and able to comfort, I figure I'm on the right side of the line.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

There are limits to words, and it's wise to understand when I'm speaking in language, when hold a hand or a hug or just sitting with a friend is the kindest, least harmful choice.  Over my life, I've witnessed people avoiding a bereaved person or someone with an illness because they couldn't think of what to say.  If they've asked me, I usually say something like:  "Don't say anything.  Just your presence is enough".  What I don't add, is your absence is speech.  Recently, a friend was in a coma for a number of weeks, she's better now, thank goodness, and many of her friends understood that their presence was a body/atmospheric comfort.  I believe their sensitivity helped her heal.

Sometimes I avoid speaking because I don't want to be false, but the truth would be harmful.  I know that sounds like minding someone else's mindstream, but noticing manic behavior in a biopolar person is not my business, and I only verbally observe if requested by the person.  And then I tiptoe gently, saying something like, "Well, you are talking fast, it seems".

A long time ago a dear friend's child when she went away to college, contacted me after many years, and I did not write back.  Why?  Because I knew better than anyone else the circumstances of her mother's suicide, and it would shed a negative light on her father.  Her father had deliberately broken contact, because I was the one person who knew what really happened.  Why stir up a world of hurt?  She was raised by that father and her stepmother, and I felt like the truth was better left to the father, and if he chose not to admit his culpability, I was not going to be deluded into being the sword of justice.  You could suggest I connect but refuse to answer questions about her mother, but I don't think that would be accepted, and I cannot lie about this.  It's a deep well of grief for me that her husband didn't protect her, and I don't trust myself with the decision to not speak if I were around the daughter.  I backed away from being a source of information.  It still haunts me, but I don't regret not writing her.  That whole incident is beyond words for me.  I cannot imagine a way to not harm her, but not writing back is to my assessment, the least harm.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday I went to the choir meeting at my granddaughter's school in place of her mom.  I did the same thing last year.  The first thing I noticed was my granddaughter and her friend talking when the choir teacher was speaking to the whole group.  She noticed and asked them to pipe down.  I was quite the talker and note passer in elementary school myself.  I often got poor citizenship marks along with my A's and B's.  Friendship is more and more important at that level (my granddaughter is nine) and listening to instructions less appealing.  There is an adversarial quality with authority, and it continues to grow as we grow.  Our confidence may be growing or our disconnect and disturbance, but it's often manifested and speech that defies the big narrative going on.

I also noticed that the teacher was skillful at engaging the children, but having them answer all the questions posed by herself and others, and sending them to the front of the room to do so.  If she asked "Why do you want to be in choir?", their answers reenforced the reason they'd signed up and focused them.  All most all the answers were about a friend or sibling joining or convincing them it would be fun.  Not parents.  Most kids love to show off and be in front of their peers at that age, so that was encouraging as well, though there was no problem if a child was shy, as it was strictly hands up volunteering.  The teacher was giving them and encouraging their voices.

As an adult along the Buddhist path, I hope to notice when I'm saying something out of an ancient adversarial impulse to push against authority, or to show off for my peers, or for reasons that are murky to me.

Also, letting others take center stage increases the likelihood of engagement and openness to communication with me, if that's my goal.  Droning on and on with my own opinions shuts down the whole enterprise.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Observing my speech netted these results:  sometimes I am trying to entertain, sometimes I'm nervous and talk too much, sometimes I'm thinking out loud, sometimes I'm trying to make another feel better, sometimes I'm re-enforcing my "story", sometimes I'm excited and sharing, sometimes I want to hear what is going on with the other person.  All these intentions can be masked by me, or conscious, depending on the particular incident. 

None of these intentions are "bad", though nowadays when I notice I'm telling a "story", I try to stop.  Because I don't need a story, not when I'd rather be transparent and not "canned".  I don't need everyone to love me or empathize with me or see me in a certain way.  That's ego, and it's just getting in my way and messing up being authentic.  Yvonne relates the story Bette Midler used to tell in her act:  "Well enough about me, what do YOU think about me?"  When I'm in "story" mode there is no genuine connection with others.

I handle nervousness with pausing, taking a breath, and having some patience that my pauses will encourage the other person to express themselves and I'll actually learn something about the person with whom I'm speaking.

The thinking out loud is usually done with close friends and I try to be up front about my rambling.  I'll say something like:  "I want think out loud for a minute.  Can you bear with me?  I'd like to hear your response."

When I'm trying to make a friend or aquaintance feel better, I warn myself internally not to be patronizing or pitying, and I know the best way is to encourage them to speak and be a good listener.  I might say "Gee, that sounds hard" and wait for them to gather their thoughts and open up.  Patience is essential, otherwise I do my harmful thing:  I tell them how they feel or recount a story from my life, comparing and distancing the possible intimacy we might have had.

Being excited and sharing is great, but overwhelming the other person is my danger.  Pauses for responses and being comfortable with silence is important for me.

When I want to know what is going on with another person, asking questions that are open ended is essential, and I am not good at this.  I'm shy in some ways, and this is one of them that makes me seem not as interested as I am, and leaves me feeling I've missed an opportunity to know the person better.  I often find myself "grilled" by a friend, and then not being able to ask a single question of her and feeling run over with my own information, which I didn't need to hear.  I'm learning to say, "I'd rather not talk about that" or "you'll have to ask her" or "I'm tired of going over this stuff, I'd rather hear about you".

When entertaining is my goal, I need to be sure the context is right, the other person wants to laugh and tease, and I feel truly exuberant.  Mostly, I entertain when I'm with a very close friend, so there are other times when we are intimate or share advice or "catch up".  For me there is a huge amount of trust involved, and my confidence is high about how funny I can be.  My humor is making fun of myself, not others, and also in exaggerating.  I'm part Indian, so the big, goofy, obviously exaggerated tale is a delight for me and those who also like this way to pass time.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been a Buddhist for 25 years and studied with some inspiring teachers.  I took my vows and still see Yvonne Rand as well as Anam Thubten.  Yvonne has often focused on Right Speech, and I've found this vow a rich vein for examining my own behavior, and how it affects others.  Do no harm is challenging in the best of circumstances, but once I open my mouth, it becomes the Mount Everest of climbs.
Integral with speech of any kind is, of course, silence.  The wise course is often not speaking, or at least pausing until I'm sure what is floating through my mind is relevant or useful or appropriate for others' ears.  My first practice directly aimed at Right Speech was to wait 24 hours before responding to my email.  Wow!  Was that illuminating!  I found I wrote something completely different that the response I would have immediately sent.  I saved myself embarassment and miscommunication, and, more importantly, unintended harm to whom I was writing.
My experience of silent retreats is how profoundly relieving it is to leave that ego behind, cease presenting myself, and step out side the structure of language all together.
In this blog I hope to chart my struggles with my own speech, how to use speech wisely, and to sit with "don't know" and remain open and curious about how my path unfolds, and when I stub my toe along the way.