Made in Detroit

I went to the Movement 2009 Detroit Techno Festival this weekend with my friend Charity. We met two years ago on a Street Retreat here in the Motor City. It was a funny feeling to see people dancing in Heart Plaza by where I had slept. I kept wondering where all the homeless people were going to sleep the next few nights while the festival was going on. The last time I was here my pockets were empty. This time I was very aware of my keys, cell phone, camera, and wallet.

The last time I saw some of these DJ’s spin was in the 80’s. The scene has changed a little since then. It’s a lot whiter than I remember. There were no glow sticks, angel wings, state-of-the-art light shows, or neon colored spandex. We danced in crowed basements and old warehouses. I’m not saying one is better than the other, just different. Like the difference between walking the city with a wallet in my pocket and walking without. Both situations bring freedoms and constrictions.

The memory of the sad boy who dancing in this broken city over twenty years ago makes me smile. The memory of the man who made peace with Detroit two years ago through living on her wounded streets brings with it a feeling of tranquility as the beats move through the ground and I sit under the trees in the grass by the waterfront. The memory of this past weekend dancing in Detroit as I sit at my mother’s computer and type this brings a state of self-reflection.

My hometown continues to break my heart. It is through these deep cracks that compassion comes in.

It’s good to be in the bitter-sweetness of home.

Charity w/ glow sticks

Glow Stick Devil

Let me respectfully remind you – (And me!)

I’m going back up to the Zen Mountain Center one last time for this training period. It ends this Sunday. The gang up there has been sitting hard for almost three months and I have enjoyed sitting with them once a month for the last two.

This weekend I will sit and then say good-by to my friends as they go off to new adventures. I will then drive back to Phoenix in time to see Apollo at Doc’s Place and say good-by as he heads out for his new Traveling Poet adventure. Monday I go back to work and say good-by to my seniors as they too move on to new adventures. With every hello comes good-by.

I called teachers troublemakers in a past post. Well, actually, Pema Chodron called them troublemakers. I borrowed her title and added my own two cents.

Not everyone liked the word troublemakers. Bad connotation I guess. How about the word instigator? A spiritual teacher drives us to strive harder and push further that we could on our own.

Ah, but there’s nowhere to go and nothing to gain.

True. . . .

NOW pick up that pen and write! Open that book and read! Go deeper into that Koan! SIT Stronger! Sew that rakasu! Build! Create! Help! Love! Smile! Shout!

STRIVE HARDER & PUSH FURTHER!

Yes, right now you are perfect and complete. But you’re not finished.
(And why would we want to be finished? To be finished is to be done.)

During training periods, like sesshins, there is a gatha (verse) that is spoken at the end of each day before we leave the zendo for sleep. It goes something like this:

Let me respectfully remind you -
Life and death are of supreme importance,
Time swiftly passes,
Opportunity is lost:
Awaken!
Awaken!
Take heed. Do not squander your life.

When I was up at ZMC in April it snowed and was quite cold for a little desert rat like myself. One afternoon I had a vivid dream. There was a break of a little over an hour after lunch. The sky was grey. I was cold, tired and decided to take a nap. I went back to my cubbyhole, set my alarm to give myself 25 minutes before the next sitting, and was out in seconds.

In my dream I was in the same room at the Zen Center, but it was down in the desert with palms trees out my window. I was a beautiful sunny day out so I opened my door and stood at the threshold taking in the sun. Then, literally out of the blue, Genpo Roshi walked up to me with a big smile on his face; arms outstretched, and hugged me warmly.

He said, “Dan! How are you?”

Still shocked by his surprise visit, I did not respond.

“And you say, ‘I am well. Good to see you Roshi. How are you?’”

I repeated what he told me to say. He pulled back with his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said a bit sarcastically but playfully, “There you go. Good.”

He let go of my shoulders, snapped into a serious look and said, “Oh and Hoen, WAKE UP!”

I sat up in my bed and saw that I had slept through my alarm. I had 8 minutes to get to the zendo. I swiftly put on my robes, ran over, and made it seconds before the first bell.

Thank you, Roshi, as always, for the push.

Hello. Good-by. Hello. Good-by. Hello. Good-by. Endless Practice.

Beautiful.

Who draws the line?

I had originally intended to write a post about my friend Eric’s opening this weekend. I even had a little film clip from last summer that we made on the rooftop of his studio in Brooklyn. Then I read this post on the Shambhala blog, SunSpace and felt the need to respond.

Here’s a quote from the piece: “Eric Manigian’s past reflects his respect for Zen philosophy; however, his use of the ensô could also be seen to reflect the co-option of religious symbols by secular commercial art. Most of Manigian’s art goes to high-profile private clients. The Ensô Table will be shown at BKLYN Designs, which is presented by the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce, May 8-10, 2009.”

The key issue I have with the post is the usual crap I see with “spiritual people” who feel that the sacred is somehow outside of the material, that people with money equals bad and people without it equals good.

I work with people who have little money every day. I find that only those in a position of money and privilege can afford to romanticize those without. Here is my response:

Who draws the line?

Art and architecture have always had high-end patrons, including projects of a religious nature. Buddhists temples (and magazines) in America are created by people with money. The Buddha himself slept homeless in a park designed and donated to him by a king.

In this post, Heisler elevates the ensô as a sacred religious symbol with lines like, “. . . only a spiritually complete person can draw a true ensô.” And then she suggests that Eric Manigian’s Ensô Table is “secular commercial art” because his “art goes” (is bought by) “high-profile private clients” (rich people).

The sacred remains sacred by its very nature.

An ensô creates a distinction of sacred AND secular, yet its essence points to the non-dual. If there is no outside to the circle, then nothing can be seen as sacred. If there is no inside, then nothing can be seen as secular.

Manigian is an artist and a Zen Buddhist who has been practicing for 20 years. What makes his Ensô Table any less sacred? It becomes “secular commercial art” because rich people might buy it? Really?? So rich people are bad and artists must be poor. Sounds like childish platitudes to me.

We’re Slammin’

I just came back from my school district’s poetry celebration called Poetry Central. It ended with a Poetry Slam and we were there to WIN. A few months ago I took a couple of my students to a poetry contest at South Mountain High School to read and it felt like an ambush. I had no idea they had slam team, a GREAT slam team. My kids are good but they were eaten alive. We went back to Metro Tech realizing we had to up our game. At this point we have no team, no club, no nothing. Just a couple of skilled kids with raw talent and little old me. Originally, all I was trying to do was show kids the power of their own voices though their own words. I tell them that on day one and then show them day after day six weeks at a time. Reading off paper just evolved as the next level. I told them that for four weeks they spend time spilling their words onto the page and for those that want to take it to the next level, we will take the last two weeks re-digesting those words on the page. Owning them consciously. Becoming a channel for them to move out onto those in the audience. I started bringing in local writers and poets who also read off paper to give the students inspiration and examples of others who own their words consciously. I told them, “When you’re reading from a page there’s still you and the page. There’s still a separation. ON stage and OFF paper, you can BE your words.” They listened. And practiced. Tonight we took the top two places with straight tens. Both of them were on fire channeling their words. It gives me chills right now just thinking about it. I've caught the bug and it' not from swine it's from talented kids finding and owning their voices right before my eyes. And now the students have asked that next year we take it to the next level and get a slam team going at our school. The South Mountain team is going to compete this summer in Chicago. I know they will do well. Some of their writers blew me away with their words tonight. I wish them great success. HOWEVER I think my students deserve to compete in events like this too. But they need a coach. If not me, then who? I guess I’ve got to up my game . . . again. Endless Practice . . . . Thankfully.