Don't Fit

“There is such dignity in what you are going through. Life has called you to the deepest kind of trust in your own experience. Do not turn away. This is your unique invitation. From the cosmic perspective, nothing has gone wrong. Only the false can die. From the perspective of the heart, it is always a brand new day. Your beauty lies in your willingness to break. I walk with you, my perfectly broken family.

Look at yourself in the mirror, and at first perhaps you will feel disappointment, shame, even disgust, because that’s what you were taught to feel. But allow yourself to feel these feelings, and know they are not “you,” only old energies moving. And let thoughts appear in the mind, like “ugly” and “fat” and “bad” and “broken,” and know that they are just words and sounds, and familiar, and old. Let the mind chatter away, like so many birds. You have to love yourself by also loving the part that doesn’t love yet, or trust yet. Allowing all of you to be reflected now. Begin to see yourself through the eyes of a loving mother who sees you as precious even if you have pimples or deformities or rashes or birthmarks, even if you have half a face or missing limbs. You have to see yourself through these bigger eyes, eyes of pure loving attention, eyes that do not judge but allow all judgments, too.

Your eyes have been too small up until now. You were taught by people who didn’t love themselves, and you got infected. Until you looked at yourself today. And the medicine now is naked, choiceless attention, being as spacious as the mirror itself, making room for thoughts and feelings but not mistaking them for the truth. Your beauty lies in your willingness to feel, and see beyond all labels. Hold the totality of the image the way the mirror holds it, not resisting, not hiding, not shaming, not trying to adapt yourself to some secondhand idea of beauty or perfection. Your imperfections are so perfect in this light; your wrinkles and blotches a work of divine art, fascinating and real, and so human. See. And in the seeing, allow yourself to be seen. You are beautiful, without changing a thing; your beauty is not earned.

Bow to your awkwardness. Kneel at the altar of your failures. Smile at your clumsiness. Befriend your incompetence. Laugh when you stumble and fall. These are all perfectly precious waves in the oceanic vastness of you. Perfection is unattainable in time, but found only in presence; the presence of imperfection makes you real, and relatable, and that’s perfect. You’ll be consistent when you’re dead. Until then, celebrate your silly old self, your marvelous inability to conform, or to live up to any image at all. Don’t bore yourself into a spiritual coma. Say the wrong thing, just for once. There is such freedom in allowing yourself to screw up, to be kind to your mistakes, to kiss the ground as you rise again, to adore the falling, too. Don’t let your spirituality numb your humanity, your humility, and most importantly, your sense of humor.

Sometimes . . .
. . . you have to fail to succeed
. . . you have to lose to win
. . . you have to break to mend
. . . you have to be weak to be strong
. . . you have to be wrong to be right
. . . you have to disconnect to reconnect
. . . you have to stop trying to change things to change things
. . . you have to say “yes” to saying “no”
. . . you have to cease seeking to truly find
. . . you have to forget to remember
. . . you have to be foolish to be wise
. . . you have to fall to fly
. . . you have to plunge to soar
. . . you have to die to really live!

Face it. You’ll never fit in. And that’s a wonderful thing. And there’s a very good reason why you’ll never fit in. There’s no such thing as “fitting in.” You see, objects fit in. Things fit in. Lumps of concrete fit in holes. Blocks of wood fit in containers. Humans cannot fit in, unless they have reduced themselves to lumps, numbed themselves to life and adventure and the ever-present possibility of transformation.

Humans relate. Humans feel. Humans experience life firsthand, touch life where life is happening, have attitudes and perspectives that are ever changing, urges that are constantly shifting. Something alive and vital cannot “fit in,” no matter how hard it tries. Therein lies the rub — and the freedom. The secret? Everybody is trying to fit in, and nobody feels like they fit in . . . even when they seem to fit in! Fitting in is not possible when you realize that you are alive and therefore have no fixed self, no constant shape, no “hole” with your name on it.

Because even if you were to fit in, even if they finally let you into the club, at what cost would that come to your mental health, your sanity, your inner peace, your awakening? Would you have to play a role to fit in? Squeeze all that precious aliveness out of yourself? Numb your deepest longings and urges? Behave? Perform? Adapt? Be a good, very kind, or very “spiritual” boy or girl? Say the right thing? Hide what you really feel? Stop asking questions? Try to be something you’re not? Deny your true path? Stop exploring? Abandon yourself?

Did you ever really want to fit in, friend? If you were accepted, liked, approved of by others for the role you were playing, the persona you were carefully crafting, the “self ” you were holding up, would it truly satisfy? Surrounded by a cast of thousands, playing an empty role devoid of truth, wouldn’t you still feel like an outcast, far from home? In the perfect relationship, yet having sacrificed your inner freedom and silenced your precious voice, wouldn’t you long to break free again?

It’s delicious, ingenious, perfect, intelligent that you never felt like you fit in. It means that you were always alive, and therefore unique and irreplaceable, designed to resist any kind of labeling whatsoever, unable to be pinned down or reduced to a category. To paraphrase Groucho Marx, you’d never want to belong to a club that would have you as a member. Friend, I love your rebellious heart.”

~ Jeff Foster, The Way of Rest

Human

“Today we've got this view that people are only human when they act like utter fools. What's human is what's highest in us. It's not what's lowest or what's weakest.” --John Maher, 1977

“He was a junkie and a child alcoholic--but he whipped his problems, then set about helping other addicts do the same. The people who still care about John Maher remember him as a man with sparkling blue eyes and a special Irish gift for gab, a former heroin addict from New York who turned his own life around and then inspired hundreds of others to do the same. The founder of a drug rehabilitation program called the Delancey Street Foundation, Maher conquered and charmed this city with a comic wit and a tough-talking mix of swagger and compassion that made him seem half hoodlum and half saint…

And then, just as suddenly as he had become a part of the San Francisco scene, Maher disappeared… Maher, a child alcoholic before he discovered heroin, had started drinking again. A series of drunken escapades, including a drunk-driving incident on the Oakland Bay Bridge, forced the final separation. In Maher's absence, Delancey Street continued under the direction of Mimi Silbert, a criminologist and psychologist who served as Maher's co-president for years. Maher and Silbert had lived together for more than a decade, and Maher had helped raise Silbert's two teen-age sons.

Delancey Street's closest supporters initially feared a deluge of negative publicity over Maher's personal troubles. But most of the press had no idea of what had happened. Those in San Francisco who knew about the drinking chose not to make it public. As time passed, the fears subsided. Delancey Street not only survived but flourished. Slowly, Maher became an almost forgotten man. Callers to Delancey Street were told simply that he was no longer with the organization. Increasingly, there was no mention of his name in references to Delancey Street's early history.

Thousands of miles away from San Francisco, Maher was on his own, fighting to survive. "I was in terrible trouble. I had a breakdown for a couple of years, but I'm in much better shape than I was. I haven't had a drink in the last four months. Now, I'm your normal, average scum trying to get through. I always say I'm like the Titanic, found but not surfaced."

Maher, 47, blamed the start of his drinking on personal problems. At first, only Silbert had known about the situation and had tried to solve things on her own. Finally, she and Maher went to a small group of senior Delancey Street residents and supporters. Maher offered to resign, but the group gave him a chance to sober up with the foundation's help. The drinking continued, however.

One night, while heading toward San Francisco from Oakland, Maher's car smashed into another at the Bay Bridge toll plaza. After failing a sobriety test, Maher was arrested and jailed for drunk driving. Maher pleaded guilty. He was fined $664, his driver's license was suspended for three months and he was placed on probation for three years.

He was also sent by Delancey Street to a remote ranch facility operated by the group in Santa Fe, N.M., where it was hoped that he might still respond to Delancey Street's traditional "tough love" approach to therapy. According to both Maher and others, however, Santa Fe turned into just one more disaster, and this time Maher showed up drunk in front of Delancey Street residents. By now, Delancey Street had accepted Maher's resignation, but was still committed to trying to help him. Stays in a private treatment program in West Sedona, Ariz., and another Delancey Street facility in Brewster, N.Y., followed.

Still drinking, he moved into a Manhattan apartment, continuing to struggle with his drinking problem, as well as deteriorating health that led, according to Maher, to a series of heart attacks. Maher moved out of his first apartment as his drinking progressed and began moving around New York, staying with friends, he said. Most recently, he added, he has been living with a friend in suburban Rockland County outside New York City but occasionally sleeps in the small construction trailer on Roosevelt Island, where he has been working for the last few months.

As Maher spoke, he repeatedly reached for a cigarette from a dwindling pack of Marlboro Lights. He appeared at least 40 pounds overweight, and his face had a puffy, beaten look. Maher appeared bitter that some of his closest old friends in San Francisco have urged him to stay away from the city for at least a year until he can demonstrate that he is capable of remaining sober. At the same time, he is grateful that organized labor connections in New York got him his present job with the Operating Engineers Local 14, which runs the heavy machinery at construction sites.

"I had great difficulty in getting employment because I had never worked before," Maher said. "I was a heart patient with no job history and no credit outside Delancey Street. So I had to start a new life. . . . For me, it's a way to make a living and get back on my feet." Ultimately, Maher said, he "would love" to return to Delancey Street or to some kind of job in San Francisco involved with social and political issues. As he spoke about his hopes, a little of the old brashness crept into his voice.

"Any of us can go down the tubes if we don't lead ethical lives. I said it many times and it's true," Maher said. "I miss Delancey Street and the excitement of playing on a larger stage. I would prefer to see it done a little differently, but it is clearly still the most effective, best place for an addict or an ex-con to rehabilitate himself or herself and build a new life.

For the moment, you could say I've become a hero of the working class. Ultimately, I will go back to San Francisco to some job in the political realm, anything that pays enough to live and provides some sort of ethical thing for the white hats to fight for. That's really the only thing I can do. It's a limited market for aging gurus."

Silbert's ordeal, according to friends, was as difficult in many ways as Maher's painful downfall. Not only was she struggling with the breakup of their relationship and the impact of Maher's drinking on her children, she was working around the clock to stave off an unprecedented crisis for Delancey Street. Silbert's romance with Maher had seemed to many a classic love story. At one point, Jane Fonda, a friend of both Silbert and Maher, had contemplated producing a movie about the pair. There was talk of Fonda playing Silbert and possibly Jon Voight starring as Maher.

The only key member of Delancey Street's hierarchy who never had a drinking or drug problem of her own, Silbert was a graduate of UC Berkeley and a former student of philosophy under Jean-Paul Sartre in Paris. She currently is a member of the California Board of Corrections. "I think I'm the only person who has come to Delancey Street who has led a straight and decent life who is proud of it," she said once. "I think it's despicable that so many Americans feel compelled to pour out their flaws. People seem almost obliged to tell others how bad they are."

While Maher was the guiding force behind Delancey Street in the early 1970s, many of the group's top supporters say Silbert had the main responsibility for actually running the organization in the years before Maher's drinking surfaced. Maher was increasingly less involved with the operations of Delancey Street and more interested in outside politics, particularly the Irish movement to obtain the independence of Northern Ireland from Great Britain, his former supporters say.

"What John did best was the public kind of speaking and rally. Mimi was the one who refined everything and made Delancey Street into a place that actually worked," said JoAnn Mancuso, 39, a Delancey Street resident since 1971. The impact of Maher's departure on most Delancey Street residents was minimal because they had so little contact with him, Mancuso said. "Mimi held a meeting with the residents at the clubhouse," she said. "I'm not sure they quite understood what it meant to them. I think they felt sad that we all looked sad. It was not something that was affecting them personally."

Among Delancey Street's most senior residents, however, Maher's drinking triggered a much stronger response. "I think most of us were really angry and outraged," said Abe Irizarry, 44, a Delancey Street resident since 1973 and now one of the organization's two vice presidents. "Mimi went through hell. She was torn over the loss of the man she loved and trying to hold Delancey Street up. I don't know how she did it, frankly. She's just a very classy lady."

After Maher's ouster, Silbert threw her energies into the most ambitious building project in the organization's history: a $30-million apartment and retail shopping complex called the Embarcadero Triangle in the South Beach section of the San Francisco waterfront. Ground-breaking for the 400,000-square-foot complex, which will house up to 600 people in 177 apartment units, was in November, and the project is scheduled to be completed late next year, subject to some remaining financing arrangements. "This is a do-or-die project for us," Silbert said last week in an interview at Delancey Street's current headquarters, a Pacific Heights mansion that once housed the Soviet Consulate in San Francisco. "Everything we have is riding on it."

Delancey Street's population has doubled in the last few years to more than 600 residents in facilities in San Francisco, Santa Monica, New York, Santa Fe and Greensboro, N.C., Silbert said. The new construction project, she added, is needed to provide space for further growth. Silbert would not talk publicly about Maher. But others said she has made it clear that she hopes he will stay away from the city until he can demonstrate that he has come to grips with his problems.

Many of Delancey Street's top supporters and Maher's closest former friends share Silbert's concerns, as well as grief, over Maher's decline. "I hate the guy for what he's done to himself," said Dugald Stermer, a San Francisco artist who was one of Maher's closest friends. "John had the world. He had mayors and presidents calling him up. I met Jimmy Carter in his office. "And he had the best friends in the world. And he had Mimi. And he chooses vodka and orange juice over everything. "Every day I expect to hear he's died," Stermer said.

Maher's younger brother, San Francisco Supervisor Bill Maher, himself a former Delancey Street resident and reformed drug addict, takes a more optimistic view. "John is a wonderful man in terrible shape at the moment," Bill Maher said. "The problem with John is that he and Chuck Dederich (the founder of Synanon) wrote the book on curing addicts. If you know every scam and trick in the book, it can be harder on you finding something that will work. "I haven't given up on John," he added. "My brother is my hero." ~ Los Angeles Times

"John Maher and the foundation became fast friends with Cesar E. Chavez and his organization, "The United Farm Workers of America." 1975 Delancey residents worked as part of Cesar Chavez's personal security team, marching in the "Thousand Mile March", culminating at the Farm Worker's convention. John and Cesar were the same guys in separate bodies. John's few minutes long speech brought the convention to its feet in thunderous applause. Maher was excellent at delivering a speech.

Bill Maher, John's younger brother, who was a resident, got a law degree, ran for and won the presidency of San Francisco's school board, and then was elected the San Francisco Board of Supervisors.

Delancey Street owned and operated several businesses. A construction company, an automotive repair service, an advertising marketing sales department, a restaurant on Union Street (Now at Brannan and the Embarcadero), a moving company and an indoor decorative plants company. These companies helped to not only serve as training schools, but as money making businesses to help support the program, since Delancey Street did not accept or rely on government stipends. During the 1970s, Delancey Street was awarded a liquor license for its Union Street restaurant and also a Federally insured Credit Union. With the help of donations, Delancey has been self-sustaining for over forty years.

Within a year of its founding, the Delancey Street community had grown to 100 members. By 2002, there were 500 residents in San Francisco, living in a self-contained group of 177 apartments known as, "The Triangle." The complex was built between 1989 and 1990 by Delancey Street residents

The later half of the 1970s, Delancey Street acquired an old "dude ranch" in New Mexico and over the past forty years has opened facilities in New York, Southern California (the defunct Midtown Hilton hotel on Vermont Street in Los Angeles in 1993), as well as North and South Carolina, and Stockbridge, MA.

As of January 2015, Mimi Silbert and six residents from the early seventies Abe Irizarry, Jack Behan, Tommy Grapshi, Stephanie Muller, Jerry Raymond and Teri Lynch Delane have remained to help run the Foundation." Wikipedia

Fall

“… Teachers tend to fall from grace. Our immortality becomes mortal, whether it's power, money or, as in my case and others, the amorous and loving encounter. As years go by, students develop two inner strengths, namely wisdom and confidence. If students are seeing clearly, then their clarity will reveal both past and present, and have the confidence to express what they experience and know. The student finds her or his voice that invites one expression of the embrace of the Non-Dual (namely teacher and student). One hopes as a teacher and servant of the Dharma, that students will learn from both the wisdom and foolishness of the teacher, the kindness and reactivity of the teacher.

We, who are in the privileged position of teaching, must never forget that the clear and the unclear within are merely a thought apart. Your website provides a service since it makes those of us who live in the rarefied realms, called a spiritual teacher, accountable to those we serve. I know very well. I've attended a few meetings with students and co-teachers, some of whom I made teachers. At times, they pulled me over the hot coals because of a romantic event years ago or some things I have written or spoken about. Unfortunately, inner pain and fear hide beneath aggression and that makes it harder for you to find reconciliation with Andrew who, judging from your reports, still seems to have an unconscious need to belittle people.

All credit to those of you who speak up. In a certain way, it is a kind of backhanded compliment to Andrew that his students do speak up. Isn't that an emphasis in his teaching? He should be proud of you all! Some may contribute to your website from outside the story; others are still inside of it. If one has moved outside the story totally, then you express an authentic freedom of the Non-Dual (realizing the dependent arising of so-called 'self 'and 'other'), and a seeing through the fictional mindset that give substance to the ultimately insubstantial; and that surely is the heart of any worthwhile teaching.

If students who have left Andrew write from a place of reaction, faultfinding, and blame, then consciousness is still embroiled in the story and still hooked emotionally into Andrew's inner world. Such students will be revealing echoes within themselves of the very criticism levelled at Andrew - namely negative and apparently dehumanizing treatment. Those who point the accusing finger at another should remember they have three fingers pointed at themselves. Hopefully your contributors, whether anonymous or not, remember to look within themselves, even if your former teacher cannot.

In the Dharma, Christopher Titmuss”

 

“I was personally effected by Christopher’s sexual predatory behavior when he stuck his hand down the pants of my wife on a beach – I then discovered at least 4 of my personal friends had been similarly treated or worse. I don’t know if you any idea of the effect that can have. In total there are dozens of woman around the world that have been similarly burnt.

I was then faced with a wall of the denial the size of the wall of China and had to wade through years of treacle to try and get this issue addressed. Why nobody wants to hear an uncomfortable truth is beyond me –

It took 10 years to get anything done about this and I eventually attended a meeting with the all the teachers of Ghia house where many woman risked making public representation of how they were abused.

Even in the face if this barrage of evidence Ghia house was still slow to act – they were more concerned about their reputation than about the abuse and offered no support or follow up to any of us. The whole affair is frankly disgusting I am not afraid to state that publicly. I should add though that to their credit Stephen and Martine Batchelor promptly left the organization. It is now a matter of public knowledge that Christopher has left this trail of devastation.

He was publicly challenged by a worldwide gathering of teachers at Spirit Rock (over 100 people present) and he still declined to accept any admonishment, which why he has finally been banned from using most centers around the world… This is why I lost my head – I can’t stand seeing this being white washed AGAIN -and if the story reemerges I feel obliged to rock the boat.

Christopher is now getting old and has cooled down somewhat – I am not without compassion for the guy – but I cannot let worldwide public support for him go by without addressing it“ ~ ‘uberme’ post on BATGAP

~ Christopher Titmuss, is a retired Theravada Buddhist monk, an Insight Meditation meditation instructor and an author of books on Dharma who resides in Totnes, Devon, United Kingdom.

Bird

"I suddenly realized I was as much the sound and the bird as the one hearing the bird, that the hearing and sound and bird were all manifestations of one thing. I cannot say what that one thing is, except to say one thing." - Adya

Minority

“… My ancestry is Chindian — Indian father, Chinese mother — and I was born in Malaysia, a country with a dominant Malay population. By birth I am a minority, that would not have been accepted in both of my parents’ traditional ethnic groups. Their marriage was an act of courage in those days, and fortunate to have been protected by British colonial law. All those Chinese and Indians who could afford it sent their children abroad to study, knowing that if they stayed in Malaysia there would be no chance for them to succeed in school. We were lucky, having moved to Taunton, Somerset, by the time that started.

This was in the 1970s, a period of general strikes that brought the country to its knees; the xenophobic, fascist National Front party was prominent, and supported by the growing population of uneducated young people with no hope. When walking home from school, or just idling in town, it was a weekly occurrence to be called “Paki” (generic term of abuse for any south Asian) or “Chink,” often accompanied by an expletive and aggressive facial expression. It became fascinating to me how they decided whether we were Pakis or Chinks, but they were usually absolutely certain. “Go home” or “Get back where you came from” were exhortations we would regularly hear — these from young adults or adults. Kids would follow us yelling “Chink” or “Ching-chong Chinaman” or just “Paki,” not doing anything more than jeering — but there were times I would just hunker down and quicken my steps for fear of the abuse turning physical. It was not uncommon to be standing in a bookshop looking at a book, and then raising one’s eyes to see a face a few yards away glaring with loathing as the mouth spat out “f**king Paki.” My recollection is that these verbal assaults took place a few times every week and were felt as a daily reality.

This was a period before Political Correctness, and there was no training in “cultural sensitivity” or respect for “diversity.” At our school there was an uneducated man who maintained the swimming pool boiler. Joe was a sweetheart and loved to talk with me, and would say things like, “Gimme a smile! You darkies always have such white teeth.” I never felt anything he said to be racist: while the words he used might have come from systemic racism, the man himself was unfailingly kind and respectful to me, and there was never a jot of hatred in anything he said.

The Hare-Krishnas had just made it to the West; on TV and in Middle England they were a symbol of ridiculous exoticism. Sometimes, without knowing what my actual name was, kids would follow me around chanting “Hare Krishna.” Of course, I got this a few times at school from kids who did know my name. One result was that it made me dislike my own name immensely and hate to be even remotely associated with Hindu devotional cults.

These regular tauntings would have been sufficient to make any sensitive person dread to venture out; there was no question of a harmonious relationship with our surroundings, and there was always fear of physical attack. The first assault I remember was when I was eleven, and my brothers and I, together with an English friend, went to play soccer a few blocks away from home at a public field adjacent to my brothers’ primary school. We were kicking around when, seemingly from out of nowhere, about eight older boys turned up, encircled us, started pushing us around, and then made us sit on the grass while they yelled at us, kicked our ball at us, and hit us.

“What the f**k are you doing here? F**king stay over your side of fucking town. This is our field, do you hear? F**king Pakis. You come to our country and take all the f**king jobs. Go back where you f**king came from. We don’t f**king need you here…” And so on for about thirty minutes. We sat there frightened and crying. They made us get up and leave, and we trudged home in silence. I knew that what they were saying were things they had heard from other people, and we never encountered this particular group again — but after that we could never go out and just play. There was no movement of Asians resisting this kind of thing, and in those days no wider social movement standing strong against racism, so we didn’t really have the tools to think about this or to help us figure out what to do about it. No one talked about it at home or at school; there was never an invitation to talk about such things, and no developed vocabulary for doing so.

It always started with pushing and verbal abuse. About once every two months there would be an incident on the walk back from school, when a bigger boy or — more commonly — two or three boys would crowd me and start the abuse. On one occasion two boys started to hit me lightly and I flew into a rage, grabbing one by the collar and swinging him round and round, keeping him between me and his friend. I hurled him to the ground and started to kick him. Meanwhile, cars were going by. One car pulled up, and a mustached old man popped his head out of the window and told me sternly, “Don’t kick a man when he’s down, boy! I saw the whole thing, and you could easily handle both of them without doing that.” The two louts took this opportunity to escape. After this, I did not feel triumphant or pleased — just physically sick. I sat on the curb and tried not to throw up; this is how sensitive people actually feel even after winning a fight.

When I was 13, my class went on a field trip to Chester Zoo. There was another school there at the same time. We were free to roam, but once out of sight of the teachers I was hounded by a group of crewcut thugs from the other school who called me every racial name they could think of and, brandishing empty bottles, started to chase me around the zoo until eventually I found my teachers again. This was my first Mad Max chase. Another one involved a crowd of drunk soccer fans at a motorway restaurant where I worked; they were determined to beat the little Paki up, and I hid in the toilets till I knew they were gone.

Both these incidents I had successfully repressed until I was about 45; the sudden resurgence of these memories at this later age took me aback, because I had never stopped to reflect just how bad it had been. In those days, dread of the streets was normal, the imminence of physical assault was normal. Compared to similarly motivated assaults in the U.S. the level of violence was relatively mild because there were no guns involved, but the intensity of aggressive emotion was what shook a person more than physical violence: we saw for ourselves that we were intensely not wanted there. Of course, the physical expression of this hatred was only the most obvious face of it; there were countless more subtle expressions of racism every day, many of which we wouldn’t have even noticed because we were more focused on the more physical expressions.

All of this had a deep and pervasive effect on me. I became less social, and consequently read more, listened to music, and learned to love solitude. I have a permanent dislike of large crowds, loud groups of people, and abusive obscenities. When at 14 I overheard a pretty girl saying that she’d never go out with a Paki, it was another blow to any hopes I might have had for a normal social life. Altogether, my relation to communities after this upbringing has been an anxious one, and I have become content with staying at the periphery of community. Fundamentally I do not know how to trust a community and unselfconsciously inhabit one. If I were either a Paki or a Chink, I might not have developed this unease because there would be somewhere where I’d fit in — but being Chindian, born in Malaysia and brought up in England, there can be no place where I would simply be at home. Without the childhood experience of racism, I might never have become a reader and writer, and might never have discovered the delights of solitary activities. And I would not have studied martial arts without this special incentive. In addition, the permanent Alien status has brought with it a thoroughgoing skepticism about traditions and cultures, because I know how manufactured those things can be in the effort to establish groups against other groups.

After the Midlands I studied in Cambridge — more educated, more cosmopolitan, more tolerant, although often too more subtly racist — and then lived in Germany, where the hated minorities were Turks and Greeks, but Asians got some too. It was nothing as bad as in my teenage years though. In China I was treated very well, but was aware of the severe abuse of African students in some of the larger universities.

Occasionally something will happen that stirs up again the dread of racist violence. In India five years ago I tried to visit my great-grandfather’s temple in Trivandrum, the ultra-rich Padmanabhaswamy Temple (whose vaults hold over $24 billion of treasures). I had entered a few months before in the company of my venerable uncle, but now, going in by myself and without an elder as shield, I was stopped at the gate and told to show my ID. Non-Indians are not allowed in, but as an official “Person Of Indian Origin” my status was ambiguous, so I tried to reason with the guys and appealed to my ancestral connection to the temple. They would have none of it. To them, I was an apostate Indian, a traitor, and within a few minutes they were shouting at me and about to start pushing. When more men started arriving, I left — calmly, because I had seen this before. The body language and facial expressions were entirely familiar to me; these boorish Hindu nationalists were no different from the English louts on that soccer field.

For almost three decades now I have lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, about as far removed from any of the nationalisms I have known, and a town that prides itself on its difference and its hospitality to difference. Even so…during the first Gulf War six young men cornered me near the railroad tracks at the center of town, started pushing me around, and accused me of looking like Saddam Hussein. They had been drinking, and I wasn’t scared because I knew I could outrun them — but the questions (“Where do you come from?” “England.” “Yeah right, you wish!”) and assertions (“You people don’t belong in the U.S.A.”) told the old story. I broke out of the circle and ran before things got bad.

There have been occasions when my credit card and driver’s license received longer than usual scrutiny because of the suspicious name — from people who cannot be expected to know that no Islamic terrorist would go by the name Krishnan Venkatesh. On the other hand, in my years of long hair, after a particularly disheveling session of fencing at the gym, I have had my credit card refused at a gas station because I must have looked to the Hispanic clerk like a drunk Indian who could not possibly have a Mastercard; only when the white friend who was with me vouched for me was my card accepted. This has happened twice. And as in England, incidents of subtle racism are more numerous.

I realize that the minorities for whom I am mistaken get treated like this regularly. They are experiencing daily the same unease and fear that I experienced as a teenager. Women generally experience subtle and not so subtle abuse daily...  a sufficiently large number of bigots now feel empowered to express their loathings. I already know their faces.”

~ Krishnan Venkatesh was born in Malaysia to a South Indian Brahmin father and a Hakka Chinese mother. Venkatesh was brought up in England and studied English literature at Magdalene College, Cambridge, where he obtained First Class honors. Both his personal and academic background make him well suited to being a “bridge” between various traditions. With Socrates in the Phaedrus, he believes strongly in conversation as the most powerful mode of learning – the “writing in the heart.” In the last decade he has spent a total of about two years in India. His recent area of work is the Pali Canon of the Buddha. The first of these discourses culminates with, ‘Do you know who you are?’

Passion

“The guru cuts a strange figure in the eyes of society. Indeed, the functional condition of the Divine contradicts all conventional standards. The cherished notions of the world are pointed out as delusions by the guru, and the movement towards union is declared invalid. The truth of existence is so potently simple that once you understand it, it seems totally unreasonable not to expect everyone to acknowledge your obvious grasp of the Divine process that is life. What does happen when you express this simple clarity? Not only are you not lauded, you are ostracized, vilified and attacked. The world does not take very kindly to the guru, because the awakened one is a living challenge to convention itself. The only challenge.” ~ Lee Lozowick, In the Fire

“I am a firm believer in structure . . . I’m a firm believer in tradition, in the essence of tradition because I think that the laws of consciousness are the same now as they ever were but the world we live in is not the same as it ever was. So, I’m a firm believer in the need for a response to universal laws but not necessarily trying to recreate the old times and the old forms. Every human being at the level of intrinsic dignity and intrinsic nobility, automatically knows how to live. If we are intelligent and educated, we know how to adjust to the circumstances that we find ourselves in. Obviously different than the circumstances fifty years ago. So, my whole emphasis is on an instinctual search for that intrinsic dignity and that intrinsic nobility and from that, by definition, to be noble and to be dignified, is to have integrity, practice with impeccability, to live rightly and justly . . . I mean who knows how to? . . . If people don’t make an absolutely fundamental decision, an irrevocable radical decision . . . then they play around the edges . . .”

"To ultimately "make it" in this Work of Awakening, of Transformation, you have to embrace the miraculous -- always. And that miracle is you being so much at peace with yourself that you can turn your energy towards welcoming and using the opportunities that are always falling into your lap. To embrace and devour these opportunities will make you free, happy, full of life, full of passion."

~ Lee Lozowick, the spiritual son of Sri Yogi Ramsuratkumar of Tiruvannamalai, died November 16th, 2010 in his own bed in Prescott, Arizona, after a long battle with cancer. They say he died with a smile on his face.

"GURU LOOKING FOR SERIOUS INDIVIDUAL TO REPLACE HIM (WANTS TO GO FISHING): can be man or woman - no children, please - long hours - (or no hours) - much adulation and affection (if desired) - very poor wages (or very rich wages) - fame and fortune await (if you ‘re willing to dumb down and compromise) – no experience needed (or all experience needed) - some small difficulties but these won’t be apparent until you’re in too deep. All inquires welcome. Lee c/o PO Box 4272, Prescott, AZ 86302 " http://www.leelozowick.com/

Sunday Assembly

“… Pippa said, “You really have to do that! Make sure you do that!” That kicked my ass into gear! We started fleshing it out: coming up with the order of service; the language to describe what we were doing… people have come… saying that they want to start a Sunday Assembly. They started organizing. We have to come up with a way that people can do their own Assemblies!

What can a person expect if they go to a Sunday Assembly? What’s it like?  The one we have in London… we pick a theme. We’ve had a theme of “Lend a Hand,” we’ve had a theme of “Wonder,” had a theme “Beginning.” The next one coming up is called “Easter for Atheists,” because that is a British story. It’s originally a Spring Festival, so we’re well on the way to chuck away anything! For that one, we’re coming up with songs which are about new life, rebirth, and a bit of magic. So, looking at “Look on the Bright Side of Life.”

Then we’re going to have a couple of talks, along how Italian peasants in the Renaissance would have experienced that time of the year. Then focus on how we can use mixed stories and metaphors as a way to understand the world. And so, people come along. Then for each song, as it starts off with a song, there’s a reading, then there’s a talk, there’s another song, a bit from the congregation, a moment of silent meditation, then the collection to pay for the rent of the room, then an address and another song.

It’s all done up in an hour and a bit, and afterwards everyone has tea and cake. And the wonderful thing is, people are bringing cake! It’s free to get in, and the tea is free at the end. We’re just starting now to go from here to work out how to apply it to other people and how we can deepen the sense of community. Do community activities – all sorts of stuff which is happening way quicker than we imagined, but it’s really exciting. It’s fantastic!...

I’ve been thinking about this for years, and Pippa has too. She went to church a lot as a teenager, a really fun church, which she really enjoyed. I’ve not been inspired by that, but anything which is a way of showing that we can do this but be an Atheist? Not believing in God is one thing, but the more interesting question is: how can we use humans, who are designed for meaning in their lives, and for self‑improvement – to really help each other, and then to help other people?...

There’s a lot of people who might be that way inclined, who used to have those experiences. In fact, people who are religious are far more understanding of a group of people getting together and concentrating on what they want, how they want to live their lives and having that community. There’s been a lot of Atheists, who have been against us. We’ve just try to say: look at our actions and labels and keep to the important stuff…

Most people are hugely supportive. It’s amazing – after just describing it, people really want to start a Sunday Assembly. Admittedly not everyone, but lots of people who really think and who really connect with the idea? There’s been some Atheists who’ve been against it; we’ve had one Christian minister say, “The Devil is working through them. They are trying to replace the Church of Christ with the Church of the Devil!” Mostly people understand it as being really interesting.

What’s been interesting is… that there’s this interesting Asian, Ex‑Muslim Atheism community. Someone from the London Black Atheists got in touch, and they said what was great was to see other Asians and black people, because if you’re Atheists in that community, then it can be really isolating. They said the reverse [of what you might think about demographics] – but, again, I think it’s one of the ideas was slightly formulated on a BBC program with a Vicar who said that he can’t see this getting out of a “right metropolitan elite”. I think that’s incredibly condescending.

All we do is we get together, we sing songs, we concentrate on thinking about living life better, and helping other people. I would think that that would appeal to people. I think that it’s going to be certain followings, maybe it’d be a challenge to see all manner of different forms of the Assembly. There’s one person who’s even saying they’d like to see an Atheist Mosque. That’s a very interesting concept!

We’re really clear about what we’re a godless congregation that celebrates life with people who want to live better, to help often and want more. Our aim is to help people find and fulfill their own potential. We meet together, because we think we’re stronger together than on our own. It’s actually a possible thing. I think that is what appeals to people.

There’s so many people that want to start them, but word of warning – it’s quite a lot of work! The point isn’t just starting them, it’s making sure they can be sustainable. Once they’re up and running, once a month, then next year… then we can plan the next step which is to try to go and find people who can come in and host it. That’s the word we use, full time. We’re just really excited to see where it goes!..”

~ “The Sunday Assembly was started by Sanderson Jones and Pippa Evans, two comedians who were on the way to a gig in Bath when they discovered they both wanted to do something that was like church but totally secular and inclusive of all—no matter what they believed. The first ever Sunday Assembly meeting took place on January 6th 2013 at The Nave in Islington. Almost 200 people turned up at the first meeting, 300 at the second and soon people all over the world asked to start one.

Now there are over 70 Sunday Assembly chapters in 8 different countries where people sing songs, hear inspiring talks, and create community together.

"Why do we exist? Life is short, it is brilliant, it is sometimes tough, we build communities that help everyone live life as fully as possible.”

The gathering is mostly for non-religious people who want a similar communal experience to a religious church, though religious people are also welcome."