Zenbob/ Pagan Babies

July 4, 2002

In a message dated 07/04/2002 1:11:43 PM Pacific Daylight Time,

sraddha54 writes:

<< "What is the stake, the investment in all of this rancor, for Zenbob?" >>

and what is it for Robert?

July 4, 2002

Dear Brother,

Perhaps it might be a kinder and wiser part of this sangha communion

to leave

the puberty of Alpha Male contests to the goats, eh?

Perhaps then you might just stop

and ask:

"What is the stake, the investment in all of this rancor, for Zenbob?"

Would you indulge me for a moment while I share part of a little

Story here with you and all?

Chapter 4

Pagan Babies (1)

"We become that upon which we meditate."

Muktananda

At the Catholic school in which I was enrolled in the 1950's, the

usual curriculum routine was occasionally set aside for "Audio-

Visual" presentations. Students were gathered into the auditorium,

lights were dimmed, and the whir of a film projector signaled the

beginning of another movie about precautions to be observed in the

event of a nuclear attack. This one was different, however. I was 9

years old, and as I watched the flickering images of babies, covered

with swarming flies, dying of starvation in some country I had never

heard of, my own young heart was burned. In fact, by the end of the

film I was on the verge of passing out until the lights came on and

an earnest missionary appeared in front of the assembled students. As

I listened intently to this Soldier of Christ, the mission which was

soon to dominate my life took form. In a vision of service not unlike

dressing the sacred wounds of Jesus, the task before me was suddenly

and undoubtedly made clear.

The missionary promised that, if each student was able to somehow

contribute $5.00, they would be able to adopt one of these "pagan

babies". Not only would it be "saved" but, as a side benefit, each

child would get to share the name of the contributor who had donated

the sum.

$5.00 seemed like a lot of money, but no obstacle was going to deter

me in my newfound crusade. I immediately threw myself into a fervor

of coin collecting. I started out using all of my milk money, but

found that wasn't nearly enough. Every minute another child was

dying! I began going into my father's pants pocket at night, after my

parents went to sleep. Each time I would take just a few dimes or

nickels to contribute, reasoning that they didn't need the money as

much as the pagan babies. I approached all of my visiting relatives,

as well as my parents' friends, soliciting spare change for the

mission. I would search the street on my way to and from school,

looking for any fallen coins that might go to the cause. There was a

girl next door who walked with crutches from polio, and I offered to

help her to school. When her parents inquired into my generosity, I

told them of the suffering of the innocents, and they were happy to

offer me a quarter each week for his help.

Soon I broadened my view to include the neighborhood as potential

recipients of goodwill. I began to take my bagged lunch and parcel

elements of it into people's mailboxes as I walked the girl to

school. I felt that it was better for me to go hungry than to have

anybody else in the world go hungry. By the time I arrived at class,

I had an empty bag but my heart was a little fuller.

Next I got a job as a paper boy, rising when it was still dark to

travel the streets delivering the news and forwarding my earnings

towards the pagan babies. At sunrise, I would pause for a moment and

pray to God that this new day would bring relief to the children.

I borrowed money from other kids. I traded baseball cards for coins.

I felt that I was doing something, but it was just not enough. I

knelt by my bed on the floor night after night, praying to Jesus to

intercede in His Mercy. Then I went to the Virgin Mary, Mother of

God. Then I went to the saints. Then to the angels. Then to anybody I

might have forgotten. The pagan babies needed all the help they could

get.

The nuns were amazed at my fund raising. Somewhere in Africa there

were now, hypothetically, about 20 or 30 people with my name on some

catholic certificate, saved from a life of certain starvation. I did

not feel good about this, however. There were so many more! So many!

It seemed the task was hopeless. How could I save them all?

Meanwhile, my parents started getting calls from the neighbors,

thanking them for the bananas and sandwiches, but asking for the

rationale behind such postal contributions. When my father and mother

confronted me, I told them about the starving children, the desperate

suffering pagan babies. They were not as convinced as I that giving

my lunch to the neighbors was the best tactic, nor were they amused

when I confessed that I had been taking their money to fund my

campaign to alleviate world hunger.

I sank into a profound dilemma about the whole thing. I wanted to

give everything -- my life even -- to save others from suffering. I

could not bear to see anyone suffer! I felt no peace, knowing that

the pagan babies were crying for milk somewhere. The situation seemed

unresolvable.

By the time I turned 13, I had already decided to enter a catholic

seminary to become a priest and dedicate myself completely to a life

of unselfish service. Everyone seemed to agree that this was the best

thing, given my unusual inclinations.

Chapter 9

Pagan Babies (2)

When I finally returned to San Francisco, I moved in with some

friends I had met while still a seminarian, and who were active in

the Peace effort. They lived in the Haight-Asbury District – the

colorful home of the emerging Hippie Movement. One day I picked up

and read the Bhagavad Gita – an ancient Hindu Bible -- and this

little book had a profound and lasting impact on me. As I read the

verse:

"He who does My work, who is devoted to Me and loves Me, who is free

from attachment and from enmity to all beings, goes to Me."

a resonant epiphany rang in my heart. I proceeded to look up

meditation in the phone book, found a Zen Center nearby, and began

studying Buddhist practices geared towards the discovery of the truth

of one's own nature. To really serve others, I now believed, I needed

to "know myself" first, and this seemed like a good place to start.

Many of my friends were now experimenting with the growing counter-

cultural movement sweeping the nation, and by a play world had of

fortune I living right in the epicenter of all that. I eagerly drank

in all that this new world was serving up, but what most appealed to

me was the focus on universal love woven within the songs and

proclamations of this emerging vision. Nevertheless, I had learned by

now that vision without action is a dream, just as action without

vision is a nightmare. I was still propelled by that early call

to "do something" about all the suffering around me.

At the time, the Viet Nam War was in full gear and, having forsaken

my theological deferment upon leaving the seminary, I soon became the

recipient of the dreaded draft notice, requiring me to report for a

physical in preparation for induction into the army. I did not want

to shoot people, I only wanted to feed them. Consequently, I applied

for Conscientious Objector status, necessitating an appearance before

the Draft Board to argue my case.

When I stood before the esteemed assembly of citizens who were trying

to turn me into a weapon of democracy, I explained as patiently as

possible how a number of people "over there" probably had the same

name as mine by now, and I did not feel inclined to go shooting at

them after spending so much time and effort to feed them. Apparently,

this was convincing enough to Board, and so I began 2 years of

Alternate Service as a Child Care Counselor at a residential

treatment center in rural Northern California for emotionally scarred

pre-adolescents.

I was assigned to a group of 10 very unhappy and bewildered boys, and

I loved them and hugged them and watched over them, and also made

sure that they ate properly. I had the kitchen substitute fresh

fruits and vegetables for the standard white sugar and flour

products, and with my own money purchased multivitamins for the

children, rather than administer the potent "meds" (Thorazine,

Ritalin, etc.) that were prescribed to pharmacologically "manage"

their behavior. Rather than letting them sit around and watch violent

cartoons on the weekends, I would load them into the van and take

them to the parks and beaches of Northern California, and let these

inner-city kids get the feeling for the freedom singing through

nature. At bedtime, I would give them tender backrubs, and tell them

little stories about love.

(SNPPING PART NOT RELEVANT TO THIS POST}

Chapter 13

Pagan Babies (3)

"Someone who goes with half a loaf of bread to a

small place that fits like a nest around him,

someone who wants no more,

who's not himself

longed for by anyone else.

He is a letter to everyone.

You open it. It says,

Live."

Rumi

After leaving the Zen monastery, we traveled to San Francisco. I

found a job with a non-profit international relief agency while

Baraka began a course of studies directed towards becoming a Nurse-

Midwife.

{SNIPPING PART NOT RELEVANT TO THIS POST)

After about a year in the Zen Monastery, the Roshi had shared an

interesting observation with me. He told me that I clearly wanted to

give myself to everyone and everything, but that I still did not know

What I Was. As long as this was so, I was in no position to give

anything at all. It was all just dream giving, and of no real value

whatsoever. Moreover, I had never fully learned to receive. My false

garment of humility cloaked an armor of impervious resistance to

simple acceptance – acceptance of life, acceptance of the mystery of

what I am.

When I moved to Boston in 1975, ostensibly for a few months to study

more about Natural Foods, I met a man who had just purchased a small

health food store. Since I needed some work to cover my expenses, I

took him up on his offer of a job. Together, and with the help of

many others, we built a Natural Foods retail company over the next

decade that eventually became the largest Organic products

supermarket chain in the country. Hundreds of thousands of people

have been introduced to a healthier style of life through this

company, but this was still not enough for me. Nothing was enough.

Nothing could ever be enough.

Somewhere along the way a simple recognition dawned. There were no

fireworks, no lightning bolts or anything dramatic -- just an obvious

realization that my whole life-long quest was based on a false

premise. All along, I had assumed myself to be a separate individual,

trying to bridge an assumed chasm in my own being. I had superimposed

on this simple being all sorts of beliefs and solipsistic judgements

about myself as the one who is "doing" all of this, and then

projected that dreamy stuff out into "the world" -- as if "the world"

was somehow separate from myself. All along I had been repeatedly

graced with clues, but I have always been a stubborn sort. In my

earnest fixation on an idea of what I needed to become, I overlooked

the plain and simple truth:

There is no need for something to find a way to become what it

already is. It only has to stop assuming itself to be what it has

never been.

As layers of self-inflicted dilemma melted away, I finally realized

how arrogant my stubborn presumption had been -- the presumption that

I could ever be in a position of "saving" anybody. With that, even

the sense of the "other" – separate from myself – began to evaporate.

As that house of cards came crumbling down, the whole fictional fist

of contraction loosened its grip:

How could I have ever imagined myself to be in any kind of position

to impose my will on life!

At last I began to enjoy my meals without feeling guilty.

Everything returned to the ordinary happiness just briefly

interrupted by that fateful movie so many years ago. I was somehow

gracefully relieved of the concern that anything be other than what

it is. That I be anything other than what I am. What it is, what I

am -- the perfection of the universe shining in this endless moment

of now. And now. And now.

I can finally stop pretending. I can peel off the various costumes,

or perhaps maintain the costume -- knowing that it is just a costume,

and even enjoying the unique beauty of this and any costume.

Lately all these costumes seem to slip off on their own accord.

All is getting done, mysteriously.

Like melting snow in warming spring streams, the fascination with any

destiny dissolves in the flow – gradually, almost unnoticed. Chronic

reactivity gathered from past experience ceases to be recycled.

Suffering, confusion, and doubt resume their transparency.

The sense of individuality persists, but sifted now within the

context of awareness, of space with no borders – changing

perpetually, in harmony with simple circumstance.

Here is where we always meet – in our own incomparable vastness.

Here is where this love is real – in the heart of our ordinary beauty.

Everyone waltzes through me like the summer wind.

I hear their whoosh whipping them in all directions.

I am a swinging door, these hinges oiled with Heart's juices.

I swing both ways -- no longer remembering in from out --

enjoying this breeze,

this afternoon in timelessness.

The dream we dream of this life is a small shadow, arising in a vast

space of awesome mystery. There is not even one molecule that is not

permeated with the most amazing heartbeat of Life living us, just as

It does. We can go anywhere, already realizing that there is nowhere

to go! We can do anything, already realizing that "we" are doing

nothing! There are no barriers in life, except what we imagine in our

innocent misunderstandings. Even these are perfection and grace.

There is nothing and no one to save. Thus, all are truly saved. There

is no freedom or bondage. Thus, all are truly free. There is nobody

to bless. Thus, all are truly blessed. It may seem as though nothing

has changed, and that will be true. Then you will notice that you are

not afraid, and a thousand samadhis won't compare to just one dear

sweet breath of air!

Perhaps you will discover this for yourself, until it becomes totally

obvious that

All Is Well.

LoveAlways,

b

July 4, 2002

on 7/4/02 10:10 AM, mazie_l at sraddha54 (AT) hotmail (DOT) com wrote: