Another Queer Jewish Buddhist

Jubu Review: A response to the Venerable Shravasti Dhammika

A few months back, Shravasti Dhammika, a Buddhist monk of 32 years practice and the spiritual advisor to the Buddha Dhamma Mandala Society in Singapore, added a post to his blog on the subject of hyphenated Buddhists in general, and Jewish-Buddhists in particular.  The good monk wrote that whole idea of hyphenated Buddhists gives him an “identity crisis,” which is a pretty funny thing for him to say, given that an identity is about as insubstantial as it gets in Buddhism. I suspect he was winking when he wrote this, since his sense of humor is on display throughout this posting. After all, mistaking the skandhas for a self would be a shande. 

Nevertheless, the question of hyphenated Buddhists, and Jewish Buddhism or Buddhist Judaism in particular disturbed him. And it’s a question that that often comes up in my world, since I identify myself as a  Jewish Buddhist. I am hardly alone on this path, since it’s been estimated that 30% of American born Buddhists also identify in some way as Jewish. That’s enough people to become a market! And so,, no surprise, there are quite a number of books, films and t-shirts (blending spiritual path, identity and fashion with Western consumerism) on the phenomenon. The venerable Dhammika refers to some books by an IMC teacher I admire, Sylvia Boorstein, in particular. I don’t think she would define herself as a Jubu — her excellent essay in Beside Still Waters, an anthology of writings by Jews and Christians who have been profoundly changed by their Buddhist practice is her response to the question of hyphenated identity and I recommend it. This is my response to the venerable Dhammika’s post where he writes:

“Is it possible to be a practicing Jew and a practicing Buddhist at the same time? No it is not! The two are mutually incompatible. A Buddhist would have to see most of the practices of Orthodox and even Reformed Judaism as harmless but empty rituals that contributed nothing to the development of virtue or the freeing of the mind. If anything, they reinforce a specific identity; the very thing Buddhism seeks to transcend. The Torah’s unambiguous demand for total allegiance to the God of Israel and the Buddha’s God-free spirituality and world view, separate the two religions from the word go.”

I take issue with a number of things he writes here. Just as I take issue with Rabbi Akiva Tatz, who wrote a book called Letters to a Buddhist Jew, that I will write about in another post. However, what both gentlemen have in common is a lack or experience or deep knowledge of each other’s path, so that neither man has enough of an understanding of the other’s path to make a full judgment or fair assessment.

Today though, I’m sticking to the venerable Dhammika’s comments. So let’s start with his contention that the Torah demands “total allegiance to the God of Israel.”

I’m not sure what his concept of that God is, but I have to respond with the words of Rabbi Irwin Kula: “I don’t believe in the God you don’t believe in either.”

The word God itself is problematic. People tend to think of a character, a personage, a being with a personality, and for that matter, a gender. Thinking about god this way is basically a violation of one of the commandments — against idolatry, which isn’t restricted to making physical images. In Judaism one cannot speak the name of the Divine because to name something is to limit it, to have control over it, and the Divine is beyond language or limit.

One of the central Jewish prayers, said several times during services, is the Kaddish. The point of the Kaddish is to break through the tendency of the mind to reify God. Rather than being an empty ritual, it is a prayer designed to break through any definition of what is essentially beyond the limited power of language to express and thus help open the one praying to an experience of the unconditioned state. If one recites it rote, without consciousness, it is no different from simply reciting the sutras without mindfulness. Or for that matter reciting a sutra as a mantra in the hopes of getting a new car (Can you say Sokka Gakkai?).

The Kaddish is a deep teaching about the nature of the Divine, which in the Jewish mystical tradition is sometimes referred to as the Ayn Sof: infinite no-thing-ness. It is beyond form and formlessness. This is not the same thing as Nirvana (or is it?), though I can’t rightly say, never having experienced it. For that matter, it is an experience, from all I can gather, than can only be expressed by what it is not (which is expressed beautifully in the medieval work of Christian mysticism, The Cloud of Unknowing). This is the place where language breaks down. So while I can’t say with any authority that these concepts are equivalent, I have a sense that they arise from the same place (or no-place as the case may be).

I remember when I had walked away from Judaism entirely, and had given myself over to meditation practice and the study of the sutras and the various commentaries. My friend Marion asked me what I had found in Buddhism that I hadn’t found in Judaism. I read her some passages and spoke to her about what meditation had given me. She opened up a siddur — the book of Jewish prayer — and pointed to some passages that went to the heart of what I was talking about. In fact, several of these prayers were mindfulness practices — they weren’t something so much to be read as instructions to a practice of awareness. I was dumbfounded, since I had never recognized this before. Like the venerable Dhammika, I saw the liturgy as empty ritual. But of course, no rabbi in my youth had ever taught these prayers as an awareness and mindfulness practice. I wasn’t even sure there were rabbis who understood these prayers in that way.

Of course, that was my ignorance of my own tradition. And the fact that no rabbis in my youth taught in this was was a result of the history of post-enlightenment Judaism in the U.S. and the broken lineage of deep teachers in the last century — . I knew nothing of masters like Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, who taught a meditation technique that reads like a text on Vipassana, and who was murdered in the Holocaust.

When I delved deeper into the tradition of my ancestors I discovered many texts I would never have understood but for my experience with Buddhist meditation. And I met rabbis who not only understood the practices these prayers called for, they actively taught them.

As for a hairy thunderer in the sky demanding total allegiance — well, that’s just a story. A teaching story. I don’t imagine that the venerable Dhammika literally believes all of the Jataka tales. And I doubt he believes in a literal being called Mara. These tales are told to point to a deeper truth.

I can’t deny that Judaism, like Shinto, carries the mythic history and consciousness of a particular people from a particular time. The Torah, like the Kojiki, are the stories that encode the deepest teaching of the tradition. Taking it literally is about as delusionary as believing that the Japanese emperor is a direct descendent of the sun goddess, Amaterasu. Ahem, well. Obviously many Japanese did believe this well into the last century — the Venerable Dhammika neglected to ask the same question about hyphenated Buddhists to the entire Japanese nation, whose population pretty much considers itself both Buddhist and Shinto. But as always, I digress…

The problems arise when people take the stories literally — it’s what leads to kamikaze pilots, the suicide bombers of WWII, not to mention murderous zealots like Baruch Goldstein. Or lunatics like Fred Phelps. I stray again…

Getting back to the empty prayers and rituals…perhaps the most important prayer in Judaism is the Shema – which, rather than being a demand for total allegiance is a radical statement that calls one’s full attention to the unity of reality.

While my interpretation of the prayer may sound unorthodox to many who grew up with the English translation that appears across from the Hebrew in the siddur, it is actually within the realm of orthodoxy (which is not usually where I find myself):

Listen/Be mindful, you who wrestle with the Inexpressible, the Inexpressible is Greater/Beyond Anything you can imagine, and it is Indivisible from Reality - there is nothing that is separate or not a part of It (including you and your struggle).

The Hebrew is a lot shorter, but it’s a language of great economy that manages to express a non-dual experience of the Divine that is both transcendent and immanent simultaneously.

Now certainly there are places where Judaism and Buddhism clearly part ways. There is no monastic tradition (that has survived, i.e. the Essenes) in Judaism. While Buddhism sees the way out of suffering through equanimity, Judaism calls for passionate engagement with all of life — experiencing joy and suffering as the fullness that is human existence. While Buddhist monks don’t marry, don’t work and don’t own anything, historically rabbis have been expected to marry, work and provide for their families. This is where the paths diverge for those who wish to practice, not simply as laymen (ah, the innate sexism and limits of language), but as complete devotees.

By our very nature as humans, we cannot see or express the whole truth. Each of our traditions displays merely one facet of the jewel of Reality. Each does it’s best to give its adherents a practice that will enable them to see this and apprehend an experience beyond the limits of expression.  And each has practices that can be bizarre and counterproductive to the goal — how could it be otherwise, given their long history and the addition of any number of adopted teachings and offshoot branches.

The rabbi of  Congregation Har HaShem in Boulder, in his blog notes an beautifully strange similarlity between the writings of the Soto Zen monk Shunryu Suzuki and the 18th century Chassidic rabbi, Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. This great master wrote that:

“we are holy in that we can become aware of our essential nothingness – 'Know that you come from nothing' – and that Jewish practice (mitzvoth) raise our consciousness of the nothingness underlying our existence, and the transitory nature of our materiality.”

At this point you would be excused if you quoted Shakespeare and said of me, “I think the lady doth protest too much.”

Yes there are differences, and there are practices in each tradition that would be anathema to the other. I do my best to live fully in the real contradictions while celebrating the ultimate oneness. Duality is real. I live in it every day. There’s just a greater reality. And the teachings of both traditions create a feedback loop that helps take me deeper to a place that transcends both.

Rabbi Arthur Green, in Tormented Master, his biography of the Chassidic master, Rabbi Nachman, related this conversation between the rabbi and a close disciple. R. Nachman explained that he really no longer needed to follow many of the commandments. Because in following the path of mitzvoth, of living in blessing, he had “reached the other shore” and no longer needed the vehicle of the form. But he continued to follow these practices because he had followers — and if he kept up the practice his followers would be inspired to continue, despite the difficulties of the path, and could someday reach the far shore themselves. Sounds like a boddhisatva vow to me.

I’m grateful to the venerable Dhammika — his words gave me an opening to write about all this in more depth than usual and possibly open a dialog.  And I am grateful to my teachers in both traditions: their words and their living examples have been a blessing in my life.

One more parenthetical — a postscript: here is a question/koan to consider on the dual path from this Jewish Buddhist — to go with the collection of Jewish Buddhist haiku that gets sent around by email endlessly (and believe me I’ve seen it many times, so please stop sending it to me!):
Mu. Nu?

Sex and the Sutras: Sarah Jessica Parker, Public Relations, Jews and Buddhism

A very odd item was posted on the pr-inside.com website about Sarah Jessica Parker’s interest in Buddhism. Titled “Sarah Jessica Parker: Hollywood's Newest Jew-Bu?” It starts with a lead-in that is disingenuous to say the least:

“Vanishing from public view to her discreet Irish hideaway, superstar Parker seems to be seeking tranquility down a path that many of her faith have trodden in the past.”

Uhhh, you haven’t vanished from public view if a public relations firm is writing about your inner spiritual explorations. The real question is who or what the PR firm is flacking. As PR goes, this isn’t a very good story for SJP. It suggests that the reason for her interest in Buddhism is that her marriage is “incontinent.”

Before I even go on considering the reason for the story, I have to stop and ask what Jeff Culhane, the writer of the story, meant by using that word. Incontinent usually refers to the inability to control one’s excretory functions. Unless SJP or Matthew have had surgery recently, I don’t think that’s the issue.

Incontinence can also refer to an unrestrained expression of emotion — such as incontinent rage. Not being inside that relationship there’s no way of knowing, and I won’t speculate. Last, the word can mean a lack of sexual restraint, which, once again, there is no way of knowing. Except to say that given the public persona of both SJP and Matthew (who I had a crush on the moment I saw him in Torch Song Trilogy off Broadway years ago) none of these definitions seems to suit the situation. But what do I know?

Perhaps the whole story is a joke, since one “close confidante” quoted in the interview said: “ 'Sarah travels a lot, mostly by air. And in the Jewish mystical tradition -- where Judaism comes closest to Buddhism -- God exists on many planes.” Ba-da-bump.

Another quote in the article ends with an extremely random sentence, making me wonder whether an editor looked at this piece at all:

'Buddhism fills a void left by her traditional Jewish faith,' confides a close friend of Parker's. 'It's a way for her to understand and diminish personal suffering, let go of fears, and to get pieces of mind. She still appreciates the strong community and traditions of Judaism, but wants to discover the wisdom of another religion without abandoning her born faith. She enjoys getting mail.'

Mail? You lost me. So back to the question of why this story in the first place? SJP doesn’t need any publicity right now. Who else is mentioned in the story? Ajahn Brahm, author of 'Who Ordered This Truckload of Dung?: Inspiring Stories for Welcoming Life's Difficulties' is mentioned by name along with tbe book, but it hardly seems like a way to sell this volume. Other books mentioned are the usual Jubu suspects: "The Jew in the Lotus," "One God Clapping," and, of course, "Funny, You Don't Look Buddhist!"
Well, if all this reading is truly on her list it’s at least getting information from respected sources. I can only wish SJP discovers wisdom and peace in her search for the end of suffering. She isn't chasing the delusionary teachers whose spread their insanity — unlike Madonna, who decided she’s actually 36 years old because her Kabbalah teacher explained the mathematics of her recent 50th birthday mystically. Right.

The Interrobang: Americans Are Torturing Prisoners At Gitmo?!?!

No, the interrobang is not a new style of violent interrogation akin to waterboarding. It is a punctuation mark created by a real Mad Man, advertising executive Martin K. Speckter in 1962. A combination of the question mark and exclamation point, it is used at the end of a sentence to convey astonishment, disbelief or to ask a rhetorical question.

The word itself comes from a combination of the printer’s jargon for the question mark “the interrogation point” and the exclamation point — the “bang.” Unfortunately, the use of an interrobang at the end of the question in the headline is appropriate, since the fact that we are torturing prisoners is astonishing, unbelievable, and unfortunately true as Jane Mayer's appalling book, “The Dark Side: The Inside Story of How the War on Terror Turned Into a War on American Ideals,” proves beyond a doubt. Perhaps we will read a headline that ends with an interrobang someday that says "Bush Administration Officials Arrested For War Crimes!?"

Speckter's new punctuation mark never caught on, even though Specter used it in ads his agency created for accounts like The Wall Street Journal. Seems much more appropriate to use for a tabloid though.

It actually appeared on a typewriter (not however the Hermes model used by Douglas Adams that is currently up for auction) in the 60s. It was on a Remington that I’d like to add to my collection of Empires, Royals, Olivettis, Hammonds, Olivers, Smiths and Franklins. (Yes, I am afflicted with the collecting bug, and as a writer, typewriters speak to me.

And typographers include it with some fonts. It’s even available on many computers. On a Mac, four different versions can be found in the wingdings 2 font. Simply hit the ` ~ key, the ] } key, the 6 ^ key, or the - _ key and you'll be able to add this unusual punctuation to your documents.

I have to say, I don’t like the use of it in advertising. It’s kind of cheap, like the star burst, which is hated by creatives and loved by clients everywhere. In fact, a rather amusing ad was posted today to adsoftheworld by an agency in Columbia that addressed just this issue of the star burst. You can see it below — it adds to my collection of print ads that use a toilet as the location of the action.

However, I do think the interrobang works well in comic books, and one typographer has created a variation of the interrobang for the Fritz font that I like very much, seen at right. And I do think the more traditional(!) interrobang works well in a tabloid. Both are less formal venues. Which brings me to this venue: while the interrobang exists in some Unicode fonts, I can’t seem to be able to use it here except as a graphic. Too bad.

Then there is the symbol that appears almost entirely on the web: the copyright question mark. I have yet to determine its proper use though. Unlike copyleft, which offers up the usage of the material for non-profit use with proper attribution, I assume the copyright question mark is used when a web publisher uses material of uncertain copyright status, and wishes to make that known.

So what would a copyright interrobang mean?

A Gay Collection

This lovely little book from 1948 is titled The Bed Side Tales: A Gay Collection. The witty cover, shows a man in bed with a woman tarted up for more athletic bedtime activities — except that he is blind to her supposed charms, lost in a book.

There can be no question that this cover, by Peter Arno, is a wink. While the word "gay" still had not entered the popular language (although it had come to have its homosexual connotation by the 1920s) certainly a cartoonist for the New Yorker would have certainly been aware of what he was doing when he created this book cover.

The stories are a wild collection of fiction from a wide selection of writers from the first half of the 20th Century. Names everyone will recognize: Hemmingway, Dorothy Parker,  S J Perelman, Damon Runyon, H L Mencken and John Steinbeck to name a few. And then some who are less remembered or forgotten: Clarence Day,  Oscar Levant, Corey Ford, Paul Gallico, and Erskine Caldwell.

It's a shame not many people remember Oscar Levant. I remember watching him on Jack Paar. He was unafraid to say caustically funny things on the air:

"Everyone in Hollywood is gay, except Gabby Hayes — and that's because he is a transvestite."

and

"I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin."

But best of all, as a fellow hypochondriac I loved his epitaph:

"I told them I was ill."

I collect New Yorker covers (not those framed reproductions sold on the street, or through the New Yorker Cartoon Bank but actual covers from the magazine's early years. If you follow the link be sure to check out his cover from Roosevelt's 1933 inauguration, it's hilarious.

I still take issue with the fact that subscriber's copies of the New Yorker have an address label that can no longer be peeled off without taking the artwork with it (anyone at Conde Nast listening?). And of course, news stand copies have the dreaded bar code. I have one cover by Arno from the politcal conventions of 1948 . And now, thanks t my friend John in Providence, I have this delightful not-so-little volume with an Arno cover and many funny stories.

The Tzohar, The Triple Gem and The Jewel Trader of Pegu

Both Judaism and Buddhism share an important metaphor — that of the jewel. In Jewish mysticism, the Tzohar is a jewel that seems to be lit from within. And indeed it glows with the primordial light of creation that it carries. Those who possessed the Tzohar possessed the light that is stored for the righteous, that particularly Jewish phrasing for enlightenment.

There are many folk tales about the Tzohar, some of which can be read in the collections edited by Howard Schwartz (one of my favorite stories, in the volume Gabriel's Palace, is called The Sunken Forest). The Tzohar, like the oral tradition it represents, is passed down from one person to another as is any esoteric teaching.

Some readers may wonder about the similarity to the word Zohar, which is the name of one of the most important books of kabbalah. I will simply note in this digression that zohar means brilliance or radiance. Tzohar means illumination. And kabbalah comes from the Hebrew verb root kbl, which means to receive.

In Buddhism the jewel is a central metaphor, much more than in Judaism, where it is merely a symbol in a particular mystical tradition.

In the Anguttara Nikaya the Buddha speaks of the diamond mind, the mind that is strong enough to cut through all delusion. And the of course there is the triple gem — the spoken formula by which all followers of the Buddha’s path take sanctuary. I have spoken the words of the triple gem every time I have started a ten-day meditation retreat. But unlike an esoteric tradition like that of the tzohar, the teaching of the triple gem is open and clearly explained to all. This is not the story of a hidden light, but one that is shared.

Why this long explication of jewels and Jews and Buddhists? Well, recently Jeffrey Hantover published a new novel, The Jewel Trader of Pegu, and one of its central images is a jewel that the main character finds.

The jewel trader is indeed a Jew, named Abraham, who wanders from his home in the Jewish Ghetto of Renaissance Venice to a small kingdom in Burma known for its fine gemstones. There he builds a small fortune as a trader of gems, and in his work he comes across a unique jewel that, like the tzohar, seems to glow with an inner light, that actually “pulsed with life.”

Indeed, Abraham does trade jewels when he settles in Burma. Having escaped from the confines of the ghetto, and of the calumny of Christians, Abraham begins to experience a freedom he never knew. And at the same time, he discovers a ghetto he never knew that he lived in — the ghetto walls that encircled his own heart.

In his talks with his Burmese business partner, he learns about the teachings of the Buddha. And he sees how these teachings are part of the lives of the people. This is a novel of culture shock. And one of the jewels Abraham trades is the tzohar for the triple gem. I do not mean to suggest at all that he becomes a Buddhist. But that his heart opens in a way that he experiences the Divine in ways that do not seem to him to connect with what his tradition has taught him.

Please don’t get the idea that this is a philosophical or religious novel. One could make the argument that it is historical romance, since the most important relationship in the book is between Abraham the trader and Mya, a young widow who is destitute. And the action is framed by the historical events of the time, an egomaniacal king who leads his country into ruin through his self-delusion. However, in the discussions between Abraham and his Burmese business partner Maung Win we see how each man discovers the beauty in each other’s tradition, the other facets of the jewel reflecting the one light.

As in any good novel, Abraham discovers that with freedom from the ghetto of the heart comes choice and responsibility. He realizes that “An ox yoked to the grinding wheel cannot claim to be virtuous for not trampling the crops in the field.” Freedom is no longer “just a prayer at Passover” for him, and he discovers its true meaning.

What is the true meaning of freedom? Reading The Jewel Trader of Pegu will give you a hint. It will also capture you in a story of people in love who are caught up in events beyond their control. Sound familiar? Of course, it is one of the few great stories in the world, and in this case it is told anew with masterful grace. Whether you are Jewish, Buddhist or another queer Jubu like me, you will find much beauty in this slim volume.

Proof that Valentine's Day is Gay

Not only is Valentine gay, but he's into older men. Works for me. So what's with the fish, eh?

Nerdy Gay Teen Into UFOs

Yep, that's me in the ultra modern sweater on the far left 41 years ago today. I was a member of NICAP — the National Investigations Committee on Aerial Phenomena. I'd read Incident At Exeter. And even the insane books by George Adamski that had us actually holding our sides in pain with laughter. I've long been out of touch with the guys I hung out with here (nerdy gay boys ultimately don't mix so well with Italian boys in Canarsie). But I look back on those days with affection and humor. Seven months later I was at my first World Science Fiction Convention. Is it any wonder I was into escapist literature?

Dance Naked With Music: An Appreciation of the late Laura Archera Huxley

Laura Huxley was 96 when she died the other day. Most people know her husband Aldous Huxley, the man who gave us Brave New World. But Mrs. Huxley did not live in her husband's shadow — the NY Times noted in their obituary that:

Over the years, Mrs. Huxley was also a concert violinist; a freelance filmmaker; a lay psychotherapist; a self-help author; the head of a children’s foundation; a lecturer on the human potential movement; and, in her words, a restrained investigator of LSD.

And it is on the subject of self-help author I want to take a moment to remember her, since a number of years ago I came across her book "You Are Not The Target" at the Strand and bought it in a flash. The last line of the Times obit mentions some essays in that book with just a touch of condescension:

The book offers a set of what Mrs. Huxley called recipes for getting through life’s many difficulties. These include punching a tetherball, imagining one’s own funeral and dancing in the nude.

Sounds, like so much self-help writing, rather airy-fairy. Well this fairy jubu was very taken with her "recipes" and most particularly with the essay called Dance Naked With Music. Here is an excerpt — try it and change your life:

Go into a room by yourself. Put on your favorite music. Throw off your clothes. And dance.

For one hour, in complete privacy, you are going to be naked — physically, emotionally, and psychologically.

This may seem to you an extraordinary thing to do. I agree that most people do not ordinarily shut themselves into a room and dance naked. Nevertheless, put aside shyness, reserve, convention — and do this recipe. There are sound principles behind it, and good values to be gained from it.

You are going to set your body free of all its limitations and inhibitions, set it free to feel the music, to move with it, to be at one with it.

This is not an artistic undertaking, so do not judge yourself. Ignore the mirror, or if you cannot ignore it, cover it. Do not correct your movements; do not even allow yourself to make a mental image of your movements. Do not compare of evaluate — stop judging.
The goal of this dance is not art. The goal is personal freedom.

Whether you are nineteen or ninety, whether you weigh one hundred or three hundred pounds, whether you move with ease or difficulty, whether your joints are supple or stiff — no matter. Dance.

This dance is not for anyone’s eyes, not even your own.

You are dancing from within, dancing only your feelings, especially your repressed feelings. You are dancing what you cannot tell your mother or father, your husband, lover or friend, what you cannot tell your minister, priest or psychoanalyst, what you cannot tell yourself.

When you are throwing off your clothes, think and feel that you are throwing off all the ideas, feelings, compulsions, embarrassments, fears and shames that have been superimposed upon you. Some of these ideas and restraints are necessary and useful some of the time, but not all of them, and not all of the time. For this dance, throw off everything that has been superimposed upon your real self.

Be whatever you are.

BE — naked and alone.

With the first article of clothing throw off your social status. You may like your status, you may enjoy your social role — no matter. Throw them off.

With the next article of clothing, throw off the blindly accepted conventions of behavior; they may serve you well enough in public. But now, as you get ready to dance, throw them off.

With the third article of clothing, throw off your personal mask, the image of yourself that you present to others. Whatever it is, whether it is an heroic cover for desperation, whether it hides tenderness with a scowl, anxiety with laughter, loneliness with aloofness, resentment with humility — throw it off.

When you come to the last article of clothing, throw off with it the fear, ignorance and shame that have been imposed upon you by those who lack understanding and respect for sex and love. Throw off that last bit of clothing and that restraint before you begin your dance.

If it is loneliness you feel, let all your body feel it. If it is rage or hostility or fear, feel it with every cell. Through your naked dance, you expel all the unwanted, painful feelings.
If these feeling become people and faces and colors, look at them. If they haunt you, dance them away. Dance them out, out of you.
…
Dance. Let the music and your feeling and your body be one. Dance what you feel. BE what you feel. This is your dance. IF you feel like singing—sing. If you feel like shrieking or chanting or wailing, then shriek or chant or wail. This is your dance—your creation—your liberation.

Remember, this was written in 1963. When I first read this, it reminded me of a performance I had seen in the presence of another Laura, my friend and storytelling teacher, Laura Simms. One year at one of her amazing one week storytelling retreats one of our fearless companions performed the Descent of Inanna. As he told the story he danced it. And in this story, as she enters the dark realms of the Underworld, as she passes through each gate she must remove an article of clothing, until she arrives naked in the world her sister rules. I cannot think of a more mythically resonant ritual, and a more terrifyingly liberating "recipe." You may dance all night at a club, taking any drug you like, and you will never enter these realms and return whole and hale. No. Dance naked and find your self.

Some Light Reading for the Fourth Night of Hanukkah: The Buddha's Last Instruction

The Buddha's Last Instruction
A Poem by Mary Oliver

"Make of yourself a light"
said the Buddha, 
before he died.
I think of this every morning
as the east begins
to tear off its many clouds
of darkness, to send up the first
signal-a white fan
streaked with pink and violet,
even green.
An old man, he lay down 
between two sala trees,
and he might have said anything,
knowing it was his final hour.
The light burns upward,
it thickens and settles over the fields.
Around him, the villagers gathered
and stretched forward to listen.
Even before the sun itself
hangs, disattached, in the blue air,
I am touched everywhere
by its ocean of yellow waves.
No doubt he thought of everything
that had happened in his difficult life.
And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire-
clearly I'm not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
Slowly, beneath the branches, 
he raised his head.
He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd. 

Jubu Review: Recent Web Activity

I'm always on the lookout for others who write about the Jewish Buddhist phenomenon.  An article that recently appeared  on Ground Report notes that:

A majority of the board of directors of a leading Buddhist magazine, Tricycle: A Buddhist Review, are ethnic Jews. Half of the 10 Buddhist abbots to take charge of the Zen Center of San Francisco over the last 40 years were of Jewish ancestry. 

This quantifies what has been reported anecdotally, and certainly has been much of my experience. And not unlike the the story in Chaim Potok's classic novel The Chosen, where two Jewish boys (one Hasidic and one not) not only become friends but eventually trade places in their relationship to the faith, the article tells the story of Rabbi Alan Lew and his friend Norman Fischer. In the 70s both of them studied Zen together under Berkeley Zen Master Sojun Mel Weitsman (who also grew up Jewish). Everyone thought that Lew would follow in his teacher's path and become a Buddhist priest, while Fischer would become a rabbi. The opposite happened. Though Lew's books, much influenced by his Zen practice, bring meditation to the tribe in ways that work for those who might find the practice somewhat suspect — placing it firmly within the tradition. In fact, Lew's book on the High Holiday's "This Is Real And You Are Completely Unprepared" has to be one of the finest books on the subject. And today Fischer is a high-ranking (there's an interesting Buddhist concept) Buddhist priest going under the name of Zoketsu. Check out the article — there is much more of interest there.

Meanwhile, over at didJEWknow, it is reported that while most American Buddhists are of Asian descent, approximately 30% of converts (another peculiar concept that does not really apply to Buddhism unless one would consider taking refuge conversion) are/were Jewish. In this story Rabbi Lew makes another appearance, along with Jubu regulars Jock Kornfeld and Ram Dass (who is really a HinJew but since he is also quite queer he's a Queer Jubu Hero — and why quibble over the HinJew title, since I consider Buddhism a Protestant reformation of Hinduism anyway). This post also covers the dramatic story of Buddhist nun Aya Khema, who was born Jewish in pre-war Germany, escaped the Nazis only to be interned by the Japanese. She was ordained in the 70s in Sri Lanka. One quibble I have with the author of this blog however is that he consistenly refers to Jubus as Bu-Jews, which is certainly in currency. But like any Lilliputian, I am ready to go to war over this stubborn insistence on a divergent locution (may I be free of anger and ill-will....).

Last, somewhat tangentially, over at the Indwelling Spirit Blog, a site that covers LGBT Christian concerns, queer Lutheran Pastor Dan Hooper writes about some other locutions — recent colloquial phrases current in the queer religious community (including Jubu) along with their definitions. Some of them are quite funny and sad at the same time, such as this entry:

gay church, n. jocularly, a gym. Editorial Note: Popularized by, if not originated by, the American television sitcom Will & Grace. Occasionally, in various nonce uses as in the 2004 citation, the term is applied to other places or activities stereotypically associated with homosexuals.

Now I never really watched Will & Grace (heresy! burn him!) so this is a new one on me and pretty funny. But of course, it led me for the first time to consider another meaning for the title of the show. The definition also reminded me of a phrase from an affirmation satire book from the 90s I love: I Am My Own Best Casual Acquaintance:

My body is a temple.
Want to come over for midnight mass?

And that's the Jubu webweek review.