I've been fascinated with Eastern philosophy off and on since I was 18. Shintoism, Taoism, Zen and Tibetan Buddhism. I read "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind" and "Peace is Every Step" in my thirties. And when I took martial arts with my kids, I was more interested in the self-control and spiritual aspects than the sparring. Later on, Reiki called to me so deeply that I spent three years becoming a Reiki Master.

But it wasn't until I picked up a little Tibetan singing bowl, that I realized this was a previous life speaking to me.

About the same time, I decided that I needed some serious spiritual time. I started looking for a retreat. That was the day before Thich Nhat Hanh sent out an email asking his friends, fans, and followers to support efforts to preserve the area around Deer Park Monastery from development. There was no hesitation. I booked a retreat for the first 10 days that I could (which was not as soon as I would have initially liked).

As my bowl collection grew, so did my desire to relearn more about Tibetan Buddhism. I started consuming books and movies and recordings. My NetFlix queue now looks more like a research list than entertainment. Then a colleague at the university where I teach suggested that I look into a graduate degree so that I could teach full time. I remembered overhearing somebody talk about getting accepted to a graduate institute that Joseph Campbell helped get started.

On Monday, I mailed off my application to this institute (which is still accepting applications for fall). Now I'm pulling together the loose ends to complete my application (references, a sample research paper, financial aid). I'm heading to the campus for an information session in June — something I would not have been able to do had Deer Park Monastery accepted my first time-slot request.

Last night was the clincher, though. That was when I realized this wasn't just an interesting exploration. I took a different path to get to my sacred hiking spot, and while driving along, I thought I saw the word Zen on a sign. I quickly turned around to discover a Zen meditation center about two blocks from where I live. They have daily meditations, Saturday morning practices, meditation retreats (Sesshin), and private meetings with a teacher (Dokusan) to deepen your personal practice.

Orientation is this Wednesday evening. I'll be there.

After all, when the gentle nudges become full-on pushes, it's best to listen.

Yes, this is a blessed day. Not because it's the Friday before a long weekend (though that does make me feel very good), and not for any anniversary. It's a special day because I'm still here, working on realizing myself.

I'm coming to grips with the idea that I need to focus more on what I desire for my soul's evolution in this lifetime and less on what others deem "urgent" in a world of unquenchable desire and unrelenting deadlines. I need more time to truly vacate, empty my head, and sit with the knowing of all that I've experienced.

Sounds like a mid-life crisis. Maybe it is.

Then again, perhaps after living 49-1/2 full years, I've reached that point where I have experienced enough that I can begin the process of taking what I've learned and using it to better know myself. I've known heartache, pain, discomfort, joy, love, wealth, poverty, friends, lovers, career success, disappointment, dissatisfaction, the triumph of victory and the agony of defeat.

But I haven't truly taken the time to sit down and look at how I want these events to define me. To develop a deeper sense of self awareness.

So now my goal is to find gentle ways to do more of what's important for me and less of what's urgent for others. And to do it in ways that don't invalidate the needs of others, but rather allow me to step out of their path so they can take care of themselves.

How this looks, I don't know. But do it, I must. For I want to see all of the Universe in a single leaf.

I know this is going to sound strange, but last night an old friend came home in a FedEx box. A small Tibetan Singing Bowl, in the note of F (the Heart Chakra), was the last one out of the box. And it immediately became my favorite.

Outwardly, this seems to make no sense. It's a little 5-inch plain bowl. I have beautiful bowl that are 8, 10, and almost 12 inches in diameter, wonderfully inlaid, with deep resonant sounds. But this little plain bowl is the one that makes me smile.

The more I sat with it, even putting this bowl by my bed, I realized that this was an old friend. I have used this bowl before, many times, to calm the noise and to heal. Suddenly it all started to make sense. This is why these bowls are so easy for me, so utterly fascinating, and so compelling.

Intuitively, I have practiced rituals with these bowls since they first came into this lifetime a couple weeks ago. I have cleansed them and filled them with my energy. I have tried to share their beauty with others, even with people I don't know.

My old friend leaps to song when I touch it with the wand. And it reverberates long after I'm done. It gently leads me to listen for the silence when it ends. And it plays at the right level for me at any given moment.

It surprised me. I'm glad I was open to the messages. And to its song.

Namaste

As you might or might not know, I've been feeling the pressure to make a huge life change. You know, the classic leap of faith into the unknown, and start living my life in greater alignment.

Today I took the first step. I will be spending a week at the Deer Park Monastery, which is one of the schools based on the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh. I wish I could stay longer, but without actual vacation pay, that would be quite a bit out of my price range. I figure I'll go back at a later date.

What led me to do this was walking into the local Himalayan store, and having a Tibetan man teach me how to play the singing bowls. I've really enjoyed the practice, and I'm teaching myself how to play them for greater effect.

Just thought I'd share this with you and ask for your prayers and support.

Namaste,
Mark

"If you knew what I know about the power of giving, you would not let a single meal pass without sharing it in some way." ~Buddha

It's not really fair to begin a Monday feeling so groovy about people. Imagine what the world would be like if we all sang with this much love and joy just a little more often.

Lately I've been working on relaxing into a deeper understanding, initially just of why I make the choices that I do. In letting go of an outcome (which is what I mean by "relaxing into it") I've come to really understand the concept that we all do the best we can in each moment. Sometimes that doesn't seem like the best I can do, but in that moment, it usually is.

There are things I do that seem to make no sense, until I go back to that moment, fully. When I look back with objectivity and feeling, I grasp the swirl of emotions, the feelings in my heart, soul, and body, and can feel why I did what I did.

This all came about because I've been having challenges with somebody who wants to reconnect after many years away. Seven, to be precise. It wasn't a pretty end to a tumultuous relationship, but I've grown significantly since then, and I thought that she might have too.

But when we got together, the energy wasn't comfortable for me. I'm much more grounded these days, more calm, and more aware of not getting caught up in the energy waves that come at me from time to time. Eventually, I asked for some time and space to see if things would calm down.

Things did calm down, for me. And as I stepped out of the shower this morning I realized the importance of time and space for relaxing into understanding and compassion. Without the pressure to make a decision in the moment, I could step back, and be objective with Love.

The key for me here was realizing that being objective doesn't mean removing Love or feelings, it means not being attached to a judgment in this case. When I step back in Love, I don't judge or make assumptions about why something happened. No motives are assigned. I just know that everybody involved was doing the best they could at the time.

And that's all I could ever ask of anybody -- even myself. Just do your best, and be your best you.

I'm at a point where this holding pattern just isn't working for me. I need to do something more. I'm not exactly sure what that entails, I just know it's more.

I've been here before. Many times. And I've started down a path, only to go back to the comfort of a holding pattern. Which never really provides much in the way of comfort. It's just lazy. It's easy. And it's damned uncomfortable right now.

Right now the work I do for money isn't fulfilling me. But it is succeeding in exhausting me and eating up my hours. Yes, it pays the bills, but only just. And not in a way to gives me the luxury to escape. To explore. To feel comfortable.

So I'm at a crossroads. And I'm not sure how much of a leap of faith I'm capable of at this time. It will all change in a few months, when both kids head off to college. But even then, I want to be able to support them. How much of a risk can I take? Can I step off into nothingness and truly trust?

I guess this is where I find out the true strength of my internal fortitude and my faith.

As I approached the little cafe near the Old Mint around 7 on Wednesday morning, I was chuckling at a pigeon that just kept turning into my path. I looked up to see a big, bright, toothless smile laughing with me. I smiled at him. I was almost past the very thin man when he said, "Sir, can I bother you for..." and his voice trailed off.

"Would you like some breakfast?" I offered, being in a great mood this morning. He looked at me quizzically. "Or would you rather have a dollar?" I countered, holding out a bill.

He smiled and said, "Thank you, sir." He took the dollar with weathered fingers, the tips of which were black. He was very frail, had no teeth, but there was a joy in his eyes that touched me. He wasn't doing well, but he wasn't complaining.

So I walked into the cafe, ordered my breakfast, paid, and left, walking back to the smiling man, and gave him some of my food. He just looked at me, as though he never expected to see me again. He smiled and said thank you again.

I turned to walk away, smiling. Then I heard, "Sir?" I turned back to the man, thinking he needed something else. He leaned back and said, "You're an honorable man."

I swallowed hard, and smiled. "Thank you," I replied. Funny how those four words touched me.

Later, a friend of mine gave me her slant on an AA mantra, "We always want to leave just before the miracle."

I'm glad I didn't.

Today was one of those days where the sun was a little brighter, my steps were a little springier, and my smile was a little warmer. Guess that's why Stan picked me.

Stan was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning up against the a building where a lot women who don't speak much English sew clothes for not much money. He asked if I would be willing to listen to his story. Which I did.

Stan was a retired operating engineer. But he had fallen on hard times and now he just wanted to get something to eat. Having no change, I invited him to walk to the burger place around the corner with me.

As I asked Stan more about himself, he explained that he used to operate a crane, like the one we could see on the horizon. He told me he had helped build some of the nicer hotels in San Francisco. He was an gentle man who had hit a rough patch after 35 years of building this beautiful city.

I got him a combo meal and treated him like a friend.

He promised me he'd pay it forward. I told him that while I'd never been there, I'd been close. And that's when he said something that made me want to tell his story.

"You don't need to be in the gutter to know it's there. You understand. And I love you for it."

I know you understand too.

My prayer is that the next time you encounter one of the millions of Stans out there, that you take the opportunity to walk with him, talk with him, and maybe share a soda with him.

It really is a gift from above.

I keep forgetting to promote my book about life in the refugee camps in Northern Uganda. So here's the link. You can even preview the book. And $5 from each sale goes directly to Inveneo, who is doing something to help.

So you can read the book and do some good if you're so disposed.

You can see Picturing Hope here.