Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Around the Missouri killing and subsequent events there has been little right speech evident.  It appears that everyone quickly, perhaps too quickly, takes a side, then pontificates.  In the silent center of all this chaos and rhetoric and violence is a young man, still a child, now dead.  He stands for a lot of African American teenagers, lost, trapped in cultural archetypes, symbolizing these youth with little or no future, no options, facing a terrifying future.  It breaks my heart.

I don't "follow" the news about this tragedy because I would hear people using his death.  I would hear righteousness and blame and all the speech that sets people against each other.  And I would hear the media, fanning the flames, keeping the anger alive by besieging the people of Fergeson, using hyperbole and exaggeration and breathless voices to keep all the wounds as alive as possible.

I am so sorry for his parents and family and friends.  I wish this incident could activate programs and plans that would help these lost boys.  I wish police had to face true accountability.  I wish all these people could be constructive instead of destructive, courageous instead of afraid, humane instead of combative.  I won't say, maybe something good will come of out of this, because we've seen this play out again and again without any creative ideas to help these kids and be responsible for giving them a future.  But I wish.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm really thankful for the writing group I belong to, as they practice such beautiful right speech.  They highlight positive qualities of a person's writing, encourage the writer, and don't nitpick.  Last night we problem solved a member's reluctance to write, and she felt better and so did we.  And I've experienced so many similar situations, where something I thought was below par I came out of the group feeling I could really work with this piece to make it better, and the suggestions were helpful and doable.

We want to write or we wouldn't be there.  Our lives are busy and we are distracted.  Yet we make the time for the group.  Our relaxation about attending, or having writing to share makes the group pressure free.  That is, we realize the pressure comes from ourselves, and examining that can be interesting.  I love that there is no competition, no judgment, and no envy.  We really are thrilled when another member writes something brilliant.

One of the reasons the group works so well is that we've known each other for decades, are friends in our regular lives, and we've gotten through all the stuff that sets us against each other.  We are FOR each other, deep down.  And in our own ways, we practice right speech, not necessarily from the official Buddhist point of view, but out of a shared belief in not intentionally harming others.  We are carefully respectful, and the tuning fork has been pitched to all our hearts.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

All weekend I practiced right speech by not cursing and getting angry at my phone company, which couldn't get my phone line fixed and somehow screwed up my internet connection on my computer.  Hence, no blogging etc.  I spent the weekend waiting for repairpeople who did not show up, and my nerves frazzled to a fine point.  By today, when the guy came to deal with my computer, I was in tears and ended up telling him about my brother's death.  All my boundaries dissolved in broken strings around my ankles.

He was kind, and listened and made me feel better, even though he's a young guy, and I guess I'm just going to forgive myself for falling apart.  My speech was grief.  He got that. 

Now that I got out of the house today and will have my writing group tonight, I'll get myself back up on the balance beam and hopefully will not fall again anytime soon.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I love Craig Johnson's Walt Longmire mysteries, which have been also made into an A & E TV series.  Set in Wyoming, they feature best friends Sheriff Longmire and Henry Standing Bear.  Henry calls Thanksgiving Thankstaking, and though he cooks a mean turkey is grumpy for reasons of indigenous rightousness.  I love that play on words, and it's right speech in that it corrects history and sets the record straight.  Who fed who?  Who was starving?  Who knew how to grown an abundance of crops?

A little humor in right speech takes the edge off anger and replaces it with irony.  Indians have been doing this for a few thousand years.  They play with speech, naming people and things and generally enjoy speech as an inside joke.  We like to tell a tall tale, but everyone is in on the joke.  And the butt of the joke is usually the teller, or a cousin who has a great sense of humor.  That's how we survive.

So I'm thinking, yeah, I like the meal, the whole nine yards, but I like remembering the REAL story as well.  And if they changed their minds after the first Thanksgiving and decided we were in the way, well, the joke is on them.  We're doing just fine, thank you very much.  Happy Thankstaking everyone.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I just finished trying to clear up a misunderstanding with a friend.  Even with the best of intentions, these things happen.  And right before, I was on the phone with my brother's insurance person, trying to understand clearly what repairs were going to be paid, and the deductible and all the convoluted ins and outs of the estate.  And, though headache producing, nothing can really be done until I have a court order declaring me next of kin and the death certificate.

The ray of light is the kindness and sensitivity of this claims person, who has been helpful, patient, and supportive.  He really seems to be on my side, and trying to make everything as smooth and stress free as possible.  He acts like a friend.  So there are these glimmers of Buddha nature showing up and officials and others who would not have to take so much care to do their jobs, but are choosing to work with the utmost sensitivity.  Wow.  There are Buddhas everywhere.

I, in turn, am attempting to call up my own Buddha nature, and be patient, kind and appreciative for all the hard work, and thankless, often, that they do with the public.  The tone of voice is so crucial, especially to me right now, when I'm very fragile, and I'm blessed with these encounters which could so easily be upsetting, but are instead comforting.  I am comforted by strangers, and blessed by their kindnesses.  Tennessee Williams rules!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

How do you handle phone solicitors in a kindly manner?  It's a dilemma, especially when I don't feel kindly, but exasperated.  But I don't want to kill the messenger.  Yet I definitely don't want to listen to a spiel.  What to do?  Yes, I have call waiting but it often doesn't identify enough for me to know it's a business.  It may say private caller, out of area, all kinds of misdirections.  Right now I'm dealing with my brother's estate and so unfamiliar numbers are the norm.

I have stock phrases I say quickly and then hang up:  "I'm sorry but I'm unable to give at this time", "I'm sorry but I can't talk right now", "This is not a good time.  Good luck", and "No, she's not in right now".  This last is a lie, but a kind one.  Metaphysically, I'm not in, because I don't choose to be.

Why bother over such a little issue?  Because it happens every day, and learning not to allow a reactive flareup of anger is good training.  So is showing compassion for the poor saps who have to make these calls.  They'd do something else if they could, and at least they are struggling to support themselves.  It's the little things.

Of course, I'll continue to attempt to screen my calls, but you've got to kind of admire the sheer deviousness of these phone IDs.  Entreprenership at it's capitalistic finest.  And the quick hang up still works beautifully, if you are fresh out of compassion or equanimity.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday I went to the quilting group.  It was soothing to talk about fabric and patterns.  The four of us could do it until the cows come home.  During the conversation, I thought perhaps my friend hadn't told the others about my brother's death, but after a couple of hours, when we were planning the next meeting, I said it was good unless I had to go to a hearing about his estate.  Then I realized everyone knew, but had kept to our topics and waited to see if I wished to bring it up.  Now that is right speech.  They held in their curiousity to wait for my signal.

Quilting has always been about women supporting women, talking about their joys and worries, gaining strength from each other.  So I had the relief of focusing on beauty and planning:  a baby quilt for one, a granddaughter's quilt for another, backing two beautiful quilts made many years ago, and just playing with patterns.  One person showed us how to do the pinwheel pattern, and there was a kind of magic in it that we all adored.  We talk about our fears that we won't finish a project we have begun, we admire fabric choices, we encourage each other to enjoy the process and not worry about the result.  Scraps not used in one quilt become part of another.  Fabric bought without any idea what to do with it years later becomes the piece de resistance in a new idea.  Nothing is wasted, and each quilt becomes a history of the quilter.

Is it any surprise that right speech flourishes in such an atmosphere? 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

This morning I saw my dermatologist, and I'd scratched a mole on my forehead.  It was when I first heard of my brother's death.  I told her my brother had died, and she gave me a hug and all the space I needed to talk if I wanted to.  I briefly did tell her he was younger, and he'd killed himself over health issues.  Her right speech was saying she was so sorry and encouraging me to be strong and take care of myself.  And then we had this strange little conversation about males and how the culture tells them they should be independent and not ask for help and how much that hurts them.  I said I felt sorry for men, who think they are not interconnected and don't need others.  It seems so lonely.  And that caused me to have even more empathy for my brother, who was a football player, an athelete, a tough guy.  He was scared and lonely but felt he couldn't admit those feelings to anyone.

My dermatologist is also my friend, and we laugh together and catch up every three months when I come in.  Right speech requires trust, and I trust her and I believe she values me as a person.  So, surprisingly, I was able, with her help, to open a little window on my brother and see a bit more of his struggle and suffering.  It's a gift, this right speech, right connection, right honesty.  Practicing it enlarges my view and my life.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've just returned from hearing a dharma talk from my teacher, Anam Thubten.  His subject was the human impulse  toward the divine.  He discussed how we evolve individually and collectively.  Sometimes the changes are sudden, sometimes slow.  He talked about our spiritual autobiographies.  I thought of my brother's note, and my surprise at how unangry and generous it was.  Loving and kind.  It is a blessing to know he had evolved enough to write such a note, and to be able to express love.

Sitting next to me was a woman I'd not met before.  She asked me a lot of questions about Buddhism, what the different kinds were, and how I'd found Anam.  My first reaction to her was negative, because she said she was having "difficulties".  I was angrily thinking about my brother having just shot himself, but I let that unworthy thought go.  I answered her as energetically as I was able, and slowly began to feel a compassionate response.  Who was I do judge our levels of distress?  As Anam had been saying in the talk, each person is a mystery to us and we to them.  Our complexity is infinite.  By the time we'd parted ways, I liked the woman, and we exchanged names, and she lives in the town next to mine, and I'd forgotten my impulsive reaction to her first words.  Words, words, who cares?  I "acted as if" (as they say in ALANON) I were friendly and open, and soon enough, my thoughts and feelings completely changed.  So for a few minutes I evolved toward the better.  And it felt good.  I kept my lips zipped through my first thoughts and opened my mouth and heart at the same time.  Amazing!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had a peaceful walk and talk with my friend recovering from a major illness that kept her in ICU all summer.  She was in a coma many weeks, and yesterday she asked about some aspects of her care while she was unaware.  She said her mouth was bothering her and told her I wasn't surprised, as the respirator and tubes had really torn up her mouth, as well as her face, arms and anywhere there were tubes.  She doesn't remember, because after she turned the corner towards wellness, they began taking tubes out, putting in a trach, healing her skin and by the time she woke up, she looked much better.  It's difficult for her to believe she was that sick or that damaged.  It must be hard to take someone else's word for it as well.

She said her husband hadn't told her about a lot of this.  I suggested he probably has post traumatic stress and cannot bear to relive or describe some of the terrifying moments.  Her grown kids were stunned and devastated as well.  I told her again how brave and faithful and tender they were with her.  Now that she is better they are relieved, but exhausted from mental and physical fatigue.  Just being in ICU is trauma.  And they were there for weeks.

I hope that I am filling in some blanks and saving her family from reliving the summer.  I was deeply upset myself, but I didn't bear the responsibility of her care.  Now I am experiencing the responsibility of my brother's affairs being settled, planning a ceremony, selling his house, possessions and car.  I find myself exhausted, as my friend's family was a few months ago.

Ironically, there is no one who can fill in the blanks about my brother.  He was extremely isolated.  I have a feeling sense of his suffering, but am spared the details.  We do what we can to listen to the truth.  But in the process we must protect ourselves and only take in what we are able to at the time.  A delicate balance, to say the least.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

One way I like to think I'm speaking rightly is when I share with certain friends my enthusiasm for books I've read.  Yesterday, my friend and her partner had lunch with my husband and I, and afterwards we browsed in two bookstores.  I was pointing out some books I'd read recently and loved.  Books like "Far from the Tree" and "Thinking Fast and Slow" and "The Trauma of Ordinary Life".  Reading them affected me profoundly, and caused some aspects of living to be illuminated for me. 

What is even better, is when a friend turns me on to an author or book and we can discuss it after I've read it.  One friend and I have done this for years.  No book club, just a talk on the phone or while walking.  We enhance the reading experience further and connect it to our lives.  Thus we can be in raptures over Murakami's new novel or James Lee Burke's latest mystery.  It's fun, it exercises the mind and it gives a framework for examining life's mysteries.

Right speech enriches our lives, our connections to others and our behavior.  A little reading nudge is often in that category.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My granddaughter and I browsed in a used toy store yesterday afternoon.  She scored, because she found some PetShop animals she collects.  And I found an Elmo puppet for her toddler sister.  When she asked me if I thought the owner would sell two PetShop animals without the lighted stage, I told her to ask herself and she did.  The owner said no, I offered to buy the set for her (we're talking $12 here) but she made the decision not to waste the set since she didn't want the stage, and then carefully selected two loose animals in plastic bags.  Again she asked the owner if the one, a dog, had stuff that would come off.  The owner told her they were used so there was certain wear and tear, but it might wash off.  My granddaughter took a chance, I paid for the two animals at $2.50 each, we returned home and the stuff washed right off.  She kept saying how pleased and excited she was.

I praised her careful assessment of what she wanted, her restraint in not picking the bird and another dog as well, and her not wasting the stage, since she said she'd never use it.  I also said I admired how careful she was in building her collection.  She now has 8 animals, when she could have many more from her savings.  She doesn't like the birds, so she avoided the temptation of the one in the store that was in great shape and I thought was adorable.  I said I liked her thinking process.

This is right speech:  to encourage her to ask the awkward questions of the owner herself, to see the owner treated her seriously and with respect, to be able to articulate her decision making. 

My right speech:  Being a witness to her shopping, curious about her thinking, interested and not judgmental about toys I actually think are plastic junk.  I was respectful.  And fascinated by her mind.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

So much loving right speech has surrounded me by friends and family.  I'm trying to respond in kind.  Even busy-bodies where my brother lived sounded good.  I responded to them as if I believed their rhetoric, because I felt they believed it.  My brother's note warned me of trusting them.  He could have been unfair, but I've been cautious.  With two neighbors I've thanked them for their offers of help and given my name, address and phone.  I won't call but they can.  The neighbor with whom my brother exchanged videos and occasionally talked outside, I answered her questions forthrightly, gave her a vase of my brother's and called when the note was found to tell her killed himself over health reasons.  I'm grateful she talked to him and made some of his days a little brighter.  I deduce she complained to him about little things:  the light in the back yard if it was on at night, maybe his garden sculptures, who knows?  Since she managed to complain to me of similar things, probably he stopped speaking to her, and that is why she didn't notice when she didn't see him for six weeks.

I want to be elegant in my interactions with people there to honor my brother and represent him well.  Now I'm, in effect, speaking for him.  My words and actions influence memories of him.  So I've not been saying what I think, but what I feel will protect him and his memory.  These are complicated social interactions, where there is a script which keeps people from intruding too much, and me from expressing my heartache.  I have my friends and family here for that.  Thank goodness.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I returned Sunday night from a week in the town where my brother lived.  We talked to police, lawyers, neighbors, insurance companies.  We had my brother cremated and brought the ashes back.  There was no will, so I'll have to return for a hearing to determine if I am the next of kin.  So there was and is a lot to do.  But I tried not to get too busy, not be numbed to what was happening, though I was in shock.

I saw the scene.  My brother shot himself between the eyes.  The house took a week to be detoxified, because the body was there for possibly six weeks.  It was the post office that notified the police.  No one missed him.  I feel great sadness about his aloneness.  But his note to me explained he was deteriorating in health and feared being an invalid.  His note was amazing.  The model of right speech, as it was distinctively his voice, he was able to joke and be business like and generous and loving.  There was no anger anywhere in the pages.  He told me he loved me.  He was lucid, at least when he wrote the note.  He took full responsibility for his life and death.  He lived independently, which was all important to him after twenty years long ago as an alcoholic.  There was no sign he drank in the last 30 years.

I've been grieving for him since I was 19 and he was 16.  Our parents tried every way to help.  I tried.  He had so much potential and I hope he had joy in his life.  He never lost his sense of humor.  And if his notes and letters were mostly fantasies, they harmed no one and perhaps gave him a door into the life he wished he had had.

We'll have a family ceremony here down the road.  We will treasure our memories of him.  He was a courageous man.  He woke up every morning and chose not to drink.  He chose not to hurt others or ask them to draw into his pain.  He blamed no one.  He didn't even blame bad luck.  He deserved better, as we all do.  He will be missed.