my queer heart is breaking

To be honest with you, the stories about the recent suicides of young gay men in the USA is hurting me.

Please click here to read about Asher, a young Buddhist man who took his own life after experiencing violence and bullying. And click here to read about a young man who took his life in Oklahoma a couple of days ago. (Be careful of the comments written after this article - mostly they are full of hate.) There are many more stories like this one - all around the globe.

Other people’s blogs have echoed my feelings. All of us that have a heart think about the death of these young people and something in our guts twists and churns and eats at us. Whatever we think of people of diverse sexualities, whether or not we agree with someone being gay - at some level we get that a death has occurred where it need not have happened.

But yes, let’s be clear, it is our world in which this occurred. In someone’s house right now, in a refuge or a shelter somewhere, young people sit in misery wishing they were something that they aren't. They know the world for what it is. And somehow they still get up in the morning, and try again. Try to be the same as other people, to put on our shiny faces and be happy.


Let’s not generalise here. Sexuality, like gender, is a beautiful spectrum. Sexuality is fluid and gorgeous and a serene back and forth. We can love this one, then this one, then another. This is our wonderful opportunity, and a gift. How can we see it as anything else?


But that is not our world.


Other blogs have placed focus on the bullies who were part of this tangled, brutal tragedy. I don’t want to talk about that. Mostly because my anger is so thick in my throat I can’t be trusted to speak without screaming. But my focus is on us – our teachers – on you – on me – on our online community.


Consider a recent example of an argument on the net between a student and a teacher. (I won’t link to it because it is some months ago, and I have NO WISH to reignite that ugly situation.) The student is quarrelsome and unpleasant. The teacher bites the hook and becomes equally as nutty. Both are Westerners. A flamewar ensues and all around it bloggers chip in to urge the two stop fighting, or else to variously take sides. Horrible and regrettable things are said from all sides.


As a new Buddhist my heart was breaking watching this craziness unfold, but I tried to stay clear. Until the teacher levels a particular criticism at the student. “You and your butt buddies...” he begins. Yes, yes, yes... his insult is to call this student gay. My heart fell into pieces, and tears leaked from my eyes.


Who are we? What do we stand for? And more than this, by our silence, what do we permit? What do we condone?


And did that teacher know that those words, said in haste, said in anger, would continue to bite at people? That words written in this way extend homophobia again, and tell me that my identified sexuality is just a joke to throw at people we dislike? That his comments would breed self hatred in some of our most vulnerable people? That I would read this comment and again wonder, how welcome am I in this community?


So to the Buddhist community I would like to say – make the link. Make the link between our everyday actions to the hurt that stays with others. Our words can become so casual when we are continually talking – commenting on blogs, tweeting, chatting on forums. But those words stay – and people who come after us will read what we say, and will think about the way we have said it.

Here on the interwebs we are our own nation. We can be citizens of another world. That is why here in this strange space we are powerful, and special, and full of possibilities. We can make different rules here. I can tell you that I will never be the one to be silent on these things, these twists of the heart. In my strange, befuddled and circular way I will try in earnest to do this. And I also know with clarity that the blogging community that I love, my sangha on twitter, my Online Meditation Crew – we too can stand together on this one.

And perhaps this is the lesson of rightful speech? To be not silenced by ignorance, hate or cruelty – but to speak with the considered voice of the warrior?

Finally, I want to say this to myself. For the benefit of all sentient beings, may I learn this lesson for the rest of my goddamned life. May I keep my integrity and hold my head high. May I be proud of who I am and unafraid to be visible. And by taking this action mindfully, may it allow others to stand by my side.

stuck in the middle with you

At four a.m. this morning I had the horrible realisation that I am stuck with myself.

Have you ever had that experience where you are working on a project, a project that you are really invested in, and by circumstances out of your control are teamed up with someone who just pushes your buttons? Rubs you up the wrong way? Completely has all the wrong ideas? Soon, everytime this person opens their mouth you are cringing, expecting something that is irritating, emotion driven, judgemental and lunatic in every way.

You know you are being irrational about this person. You know that this person who you are working with is just a human being. But you just want to kick them in the shins repeatedly - and you also can't wait for the project to be over. 

Well I have realised that my worst partner in the world is me. And I am stuck with myself. For The Rest Of My Life. 

But then, I have always been skilled at self harm, at hating myself into small corners. That is something I do very well. 

Me as a little person with my dear Granny

When I was a small child I remember thinking about death all the time. I would walk into a room with my friends and think, where is the best place for me to sit in the classroom? If the roof collapsed, where am I most likely to escape damage? I would look up at the heavy beams and consider their weight. Would I die if one fell on top of this chair? Would I just suffer an injury? If I died, my parents would be devastated and miserable so I had better not die. It would just cause them harm. But if my friend dies, how would I feel then? Am I genuinely feeling that my life is worth more than my friends?

In the end I would subtely navigate my friend so she was sitting away from a beam, and I was under it. I would spend the day haunted and fearful that it was my last. Picturing the funeral over and over. This is not so good at about ten years old.

The other day I was having a conversation with my lovely partner. I was saying that I genuinely wished it was me dying right now, and not my mother. That would feel right to me. She looked at me, concerned, and said, but think of the fact that we would all be so upset to lose you. And I thought, oh yes, my family would be devastated and miserable if I died so I better not die.

So little changes. These patterns I have given myself are harsh and feel unyeilding. I value myself so little - and I am used to it. I don't know how to move away from that.

But as I write this I wonder if I have been moving after all. Gently, slowly towards kindness and compassion towards myself. I have several very good friends right now who hold my heart. I have a partner that I am vulnerable and real with, and that loves me beyond reason. I have family that love me. None of that love is about obligation - its about really knowing me and loving me because of it. I think this is the first time in my life I can really see that.

I want to make that crazy project partner my best friend. I need patience to see the things I have done and said and forgive myself over and over. I need to really see the First Noble Truth - that there is suffering - but also value the other Three Truths. That is to say: yes, there is suffering, but seeing how I cause myself suffering can lead me to relief from this pain. It can give me tools to work with it. And then maybe, teach me how to help others.

I don't know where any of this leads me but maybe its a start.

Lama Surya Das - pith instructions

Being new to Buddhism, I get most of my dharma teachings via the wonderful interwebs. Therefore I have to say, I love the invention of the podcast.

This dog appreciates Tami as much as I do



Witness now the Bookbird, strolling down her street on a Sunday, meandering along, contemplating Fractal Time. Or running on the treadmill at the gym, getting a bit pissed off with the sharp talking dude from Against the Stream but also liking him a little bit too. Consider her, her little feet tapping along as she walks to work, contemplating the dubious fellow who is talking about non-meditation. And look - there she goes - trying to do the grocery shopping and listen to a fantastic talk about the movie Unmistaken Child (Do a search for Tricycle Magazine on iTunes for this last one).

So I recently heard a podcast from Sounds True with Lama Surya Das. I had never heard of him. But actually I really liked it! Tami is a great interviewer and is funny as well. She also often asks the question that is floating through my mind at the time. If you look at the iTunes list of Sounds True podcasts, you will find this one with Lama Surya Das on the 18th of August.



Lama Surya Das is talking about pith instructions. Instructions that are designed to be given in ten words or less - very suitable for our fast talking, quick thinking generations. He also talked a lot about his history as a teacher and concepts he had found helpful.

Here is an example of a pith instruction: "As It Is."

That's it - that's the whole thing. But bam! It really got me! Yes! That is what I am trying to do - where I am trying to go - how I am trying to sit. Yay! I am thinking to talk to The Kamikazen about incorporating it into one of his wicked cool designs - and then getting a tattoo. Yeah! 

Another one: "Everything Is Transition." The idea that we are all in liminal spaces - in between - where things are neither here nor there - completely liminal - like bardo, I guess.

Lama Surya Das also gives some nifty instructions for Tibetan Dream Yoga - which I haven't tried as yet so can't vouch for their entire niftiness. However it seemed kind of cool.

I liked the humanness of Lama Surya Das as at one point he gives a little weary pause and says, yes it is very hard to bring Bodhisattva principles to dealing with "hormone ridden" teenagers. It is hard to be wise, kind and centred. That was a moment of celebration for me. If even this guy has trouble with teenagers, well then maybe my struggles are okay as well.



You know, we are kind of everywhere

My heart sunk a little at one comment he makes. He does say that it is better for children to have two parents. To that I say - no bloody way. I know many kids with one parent who are happy, healthy beings. I also know many families who have three or more caregivers - which just means more love for them. It's pretty regular for kids whose parents/ carers are in a same sex relationship to have a range of peeps around them to love them and tell them they are awesome.

I'm so over these kinds of generalisations! The diversity of families are myriad and beautiful. There is no need for a prescriptive formula. Come on Lama Surya Das! Move towards enlightenment on this one!

But in all this was a great interview and fun to hear. I really liked the statement that we should try and mingle our lives with the dharma. That was good! And something even I can work towards.

So roll on podcasts! If anyone out there has one to recommend, please post it below!

today's fashion brought to you by bookbird

You are trapped. There is no way out. Endless colours, shapes and people swirl in a giant eddy of terror. You are spun hideously around and around, until you realise with a shudder that this is the true nature of the existence of this place. 

The true nature of THE SHOPPING MALL.

Oh the terror, the complete mind altering terror

For some reason unknown to man, you have decided to buy new jeans today, thus entering the portal of the carpark, fighting your way to the surface and finally emerging into the many layers of THE MALL.

Around you, gorgeous and hideous beings drift. Endless prams spin their wheels as parents beg children to just behave, oh god, please behave. Nothing brings a person to their knees, babbling in terror, like trying to buy jeans in a place like this. Let alone the bizzare incongruity of listening to a talk by Pema Chodron on my ipod at the same time. 

I know I have erred but it is too late. I have been wearing two pairs of jeans over and over for too long and they are becoming frayed and disenchanted. I also harbour the illusion that by coming here I will somehow hunt down and capture that elusive thing called "style". What is "style"? How can it be that at the age of 33 I still do not have my own "style"? How is it that friends eye me with pity, kindness and occasional alarm when I try out something new? And how is it that the clothes I wore as an adolescent are almost identical to what I wear now?

When I was a teenager I strayed into the dangerous and daft world of reading Dolly Magazine. It was there that I read an "article" which was to shape my life forever. "Blue Jeans and A Black Tshirt!" screamed the article. "You Can't Go Wrong!" And thus, my "style" was born. I own many pairs of black t-shirts. But jeans is the key in this ensemble. Therefore I need the frigging jeans to make this work.

So I go into various stores in search of things to make me instantly acceptable, sexy and beautiful. I would also like items that make me look ethical, smart and down to earth. I want things that let me have my androgyny, whilst at the same time illustrating that I am a girl. I don't want anything that anyone else is wearing. And I would like my sizable, curvaceous and generally large arse to fit into the said items.

This last point proves to be the challenge. Witness me contemplating how to express to a tiny, excitable sales assistant that my beautiful buttocks are too enormous to fit into any item she has.

From my time in this shop I would like to also inform you that floral is somehow the new black. Hideous "vintage" floral, teamed with lime green and a shade of yuck. Ethics are somehow "fashionable", as illustrated by the fucking awful tragedy of a discount shop selling shirts by the World Wildlife Fund, which I am guessing are all made in China in an overcrowded factory. I briefly look at the shirt, examining the print of a lion wearing sunglasses, but decide there are other ways to save the world. I just don't know what they are anymore. I have been in THE MALL for too long.

I also want to tell the Sales Assistant that despite the endless remixes of Lady Gaga and Katy Perry music, everything here is dog ugly. You would have to be in a nightclub, on an eclipse, when the power went out for anyone to wear anything that is in this shop. Which is of course when I realise that the Sales Assistant is wearing the exact blouse that is on a clothes rack to my left.


This is when the criminal stuff begins. My mind says,"Actually it doesn't look too bad on her. Maybe if I just lost ten kilos, I could... Then maybe I would... They people would certainly think that I was... Hmm."


Is it good? Is it bad? I don't know!



It is around about this time that I leave the shop, having bought a mutherfucking blouse. Which I will never wear. Which I despise. Which I will replace almost instantly by a black tshirt.

Anyway - the Jeans Conundrum. I stumble into a Store of Immense Funkiness and find a bargain bin of last seasons jeans. After trying on a pair I note that they can zip up, they are blue, they appear to be denim, and they are $15. Yes. The price is right, and the need to escape is pressing. I buy the jeans and a five dollar hat. Why the hat? It was there. IT WAS THERE GODDAMNIT IT.

So here I am, having lurched to freedom at a nearby cafe. I have two shirts, one of which I hate, and a pair of jeans that may be ill advised.

But I have reckoned all of this with my Impeccable Bookbird Logic, which is as follows... I am sure I can lose ten kilos in the next month or two, and then I will be back. I know I have said this for the last ten years, but believe me when I tell you - I will be back.

Oh yes. And next time, "Style", your arse is mine.

book notes: Grace and Grit

A few people who read my blog will know that I have, of late, been grappling with the concept of death. Specifically, the idea that people I love will actually die. Probably before me. And it will hurt - more than I know what to do with.


So I came to this book really wanting to know how people manage this thing. And do they manage this thing? Or does it just manhandle them, push them around and kick them a lot?

Before I read Grace and Grit, I also had very little idea about Buddhism, Ken Wilbur, or anything. A friend lent it to me, saying, "Just skip the confusing philosophy stuff and read the bits by Treya."



Grace and Grit
(plus an unintentional fern)

So that's not a bad way to come to a book, really. And there was so much about this book that I just loved, loved, loved.

The basic story of this book is that two people called Ken and Treya find each other and fall crazy in love. They click completely and make each other happy. Then Treya discovers she has breast cancer. She is sick and becomes more unwell. The book charts the five years of this journey, the painful illness and her eventual death. 

What it also charts is the luminous nature of Treya. The profound and vulnerable letters she writes to her friends and loved ones. The incredible honesty. The surrender - the dark and painful surrender she makes - which in turn brings her light and joy.

For me one of the most brilliant parts of this book is the honest retelling of the disintegration of the relationship between Treya and Ken. For a time there, they lose each other. They lose themselves and they lose direction. Everything is messy and nothing is kind. And nothing in this retelling is a Hallmark Card ... everything feels completely real. I have to pay that, really.

The other fascinating part of this book is the journey of Ken. He is the carer and the intellectual. For me it felt like for much of the experience he is just trying to process things in his own way, by joining the dots between this and that, and finding knowledge where he can. I didn't mind reading his philosophical stuff, actually. I don't know that it was intentional, but over the course of the book his voice changes as well. The final chapter written by Ken completely undid me - left me bawling and happy and sad all at once. His voice is on the page, as raw as a person can get. There wasn't much philosophy or dense text. There was just simple descriptions of the transformative power of love and breath and living.

I took many lessons from this book. Firstly, in times of stress, all relationships can get a bit fucked up. But that doesn't mean there is nowhere to go from that. Or, that two people aren't supposed to make it through.

Secondly, Treya has a wonderful revelation that resonated for me. At some point she decides to move from "doing" to just "being". Oh yes, that sounds very simple, but for me it was like a sunrise.

So although this book is credited to Ken Wilber solely, I would suggest that you keep in mind it is written by them both. Treya's journal entries are fascinating and heartfelt  - just as much as Ken's words are descriptive and insightful. And I know Ken Wilber is now quite the dude in Buddhism circles - and there are lots of passionate points of view about him - but I don't think anyone can deny that this book is quite a wonderful piece of work.

This book was first printed in 1991, which is nineteen years ago. But as far as I am concerned, it could have been written yesterday. That is the way that it talked to my heart.

me and Homer compare notes

As many folks know, I'm a Buddhist n00b.

I'm so new on the path I don't know how to pronouce anything, bow properly, address monks and nuns appropriately or what tradition I really belong to. I haven't taken refuge yet because I don't really know how. I don't know what happens if you are standing there, attempting to take refuge and forget the words. Does Buddha have a sense of humour? I hope so. Do I get hit with a stick sometimes? And by who? Or is that only cranky zen folk that do the hitting with a stick? How many bowls of water are there supposed to be? Why is it water? What direction do we fill them in? How do I use the mala - do I even use the mala? Is it just for special people? If you pick a tradition to belong to and then decide you don't like the stick thing, can you swap? And so on.

from elephantjournal.com

I have a brother in law who is a Buddhist. He is very different to me. He likes to tell me the answers to questions I'm not very interested in without me asking him anything first. He doesnt like certain other traditions of Buddhists. He calls them rude names. It's kind of confusing. I guess he's human. Sometimes I really want to kick him.

I stopped writing this blog for a week or so because I suddenly felt like a dust mote on top of the speck that sits in the corner of the dark end of the meditation centre, probably facing the wrong way.

D'oh!

I feel like Homer Simpson, walking into walls and shouting D'oh! That is me. I kind of wondered to myself, what business is it of mine to have anything to say here? I dont know anything!

About a year ago I was talking to my friend M, and we were saying what a bummer it was to realise life was a delusion and that we were creating our own suffering. Now that I am woken up in this way I CAN NEVER GO BACK. I want to, sometimes. I want to get mad at people and blame them and eat cookies and reinforce that it was completely the fault of my childhood. I don't want to remember that if I am mindful I can work with my anger, and my cookie addiction.

And more to the point, now that I have a glimpse of mindfulness, I feel sensitive to everything. I am trying to stay in my body and feel what is happening when I get mad. How some anger makes me lightheaded, and some anger sits in my guts. And what happens when I try and ventilate this feeling, breathing into it, settling into it. It makes me accountable for my actions -- gives me an understanding of cause and effect. And it tells me that without doubt I am responsible for how I am in this world.

Last night I was thinking about all of this, tucked up in my little bed, warm and snug. And I thought, it can't be just me that is confused and feeling dumb. It can't be just me that starts every question with, 'This is going to sound silly, but..." So I thought, why not blog about this feeling.

Maybe lots of people started out like me - a Homer Simpson in the room full of Bodhisattvas. I have to think that it is better to keep writing, and reveal myself as a vulnerable, bumbling bookbird - than pretend I know what the hell I am doing.

You know, I like Homer though. He is eternally optimistic. He gets scared. He tries new things. He looks like an idiot. He laughs a lot. He feels things deeply but can also let things go. He's not afraid to be himself. He loves people.  .... Maybe it's not so bad to be Homer afterall. ;)

why blog?

I have been inspired to jot this down because of a recent piece from The Reformed Buddhist, where it's total squirrel thug life over there. His piece is called The Dukkha of Blogging, and I have seen a couple of bloggers asking these questions of late. Why blog? What's the point? People misunderstand us, get cranky, hook in to different aspects of our lives and having various things to say which can be hurtful. Or! They can say various things to us which stroke our ego, make us feel superhuman and like we have stumbled onto some kind of Buddhist motherload. For myself I can really feel buoyed by these comments! It's hard not to get attached to that. It's interesting watching myself try.

Well isn't that just the point? Why blogging is part of my practice? Because man oh man do I get sucked in by the Eight Worldly Dharmas- Praise and Blame (we want the praise, but not the blame), Loss and Gain (we just want the gain part) and Fame and Defame (ok so that's maybe why I sometimes feel happy when I get over fifty hits on a blog post) and Pleasure and Pain.

Here's a great and helpful post from Nathan over at Dangerous Harvests about this - except he calls it the Eight Worldly Winds. I like that - it does feel like winds that throw us all over the place. 

The thing is, from what I understand, we can't control any of this. We can't control when we will get blamed, or when we feel pain. We also can't really control when pleasure comes our way, when someone looks at our blog and says, "oh that's awesome and has made my day" - or when someone looks and says, "that mofo I should kick his/ her arse".

I don't want to make light of what others are feeling. It is NOT okay for someone to attack you personally for whatever reason. Getting negative or upsetting comments on your blog would be a crap and awful feeling. I personally think - delete them when they come in - why not? It's your personal space. It's not okay for someone to write hateful things on your bedroom walls, so why leave them on your blog? Who does it help to leave them there? It does show them up to be a bully and a nitwit - but if it feels yuck, then get rid of them.

But why do I blog? Well, a lucky and lovely friend of mine is a student of Venerable Pema Chodron. One of Pema's first requests to my friend was that she begin to keep a practice journal. I was inspired by that - so this is mine.

Dharma may be my map, but this blog aims to chart the territory. I blog to connect with people and to learn more. It helps me think about new concepts, and gives me a place to ask questions. It makes me reflect - do I really feel this? Was it really like that? Am I trying to portray myself as someone else and not myself? Why am I afraid to write this? Why does it matter to me if people comment or not? And so on.

Maybe this makes me a bit naive. Actually yes it probably does. But this blog is a touchstone of authenticity for me - a place where the rubber hits the road. And all I hope for is that people see that autheticity and through that, see me.