My newsletter is named after a traditional Jewish blessing upon encountering the majesty of a large body of water: “Blessed are you, our eternal G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who made the great sea.” BTS is a free, monthly publication which shares Jewish and non-Jewish approaches to mindful, contemplative living. Some come from from spiritual teachings from the past and the present; others from my Zen practice and Jewish faith. Included here are also some of my own news as well. BTS is a conversation, and I enjoy hearing from and responding to the readers.
“When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by,
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck, your plans
all proving deceptive – don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving. . .
Go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with the whining pleas of a coward;
listen – your final delectation – to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.”
— Constantine Cavafy, “God Abandons Antony” (1911)
Everything had been moved out. The books, the furniture, the dishes, even the nails that had held the pictures on the walls. The apartment was as empty as a washed-out jar.
I stood by the window watching the bustle outside – the skateboarders in the park, a homeless man spreading his possessions on the grass, a bus emptying out its passengers across the street, crows chasing a flock of parrots in the upper branches of pine trees.
The world was moving, and I wasn’t. And yet I was – out. This being our second move in 18 months, we seemed to have gotten it down: packing, wrapping, cleaning, unpacking, unwrapping, cleaning. Our permanent new home, on Naples Island in Long Beach, would be our last, but it also started to feel like a traveling theater: same play, same stage set, same costumes and actors, but a new stage.
In this transitory space, I felt what Vipassana teacher Phillip Moffitt calls choiceless awareness.
“You still care, you still love, but you cease to take caring so personally” (Dancing with Life).
In other words, engage, but stay detached, taking care of the minutiae, but not clinging to it.
The Jewish tradition also does not support clinging to things that are not of lasting value.
As Rav Kook wrote, “All immoral deeds, flawed character traits, and erroneous opinions stem from the same fundamental mistake: not recognizing that life in this world is transitory” (Ein Ayah I).
[Left: Rav Kook’s study at his house museum in Jerusalem]
In this transitory place, I can see now how the necessary minutiae of the past, like the condo HOA squabbles, phone calls to the police about the shenanigans in the park, in retrospect, weren’t worth getting upset over. They are gone like they never happened.
What remains is the new friends made in the neighborhood, sunset walks on the beach, the taste of the olive bread from the farmers’ market in the park, watching hundreds of people streaming daily to the yoga practice on the ocean bluff.
Moffitt suggests to observe the rising and passing of events and emotions at the micro-level – now. “You realize,” he writes in Dancing with Life, “that every want you ever had faded away. Likewise, anything that arises in the mind also disappears. You note that each minute, each hour, and each day ends.”
Watching life as if from the driver’s seat of the car is Moffitt’s apt metaphor for choiceless awareness:
“You start to see how each moment is like a scene in a movie that quickly arises and passes.”
Not everything is transient though. The Divine isn’t, nor is our relationship with it. Holiness is permanent.
“We need to stay focused on that which is enduring and eternal, and not confuse the way-station for the final destination,” Rav Kook urges in Ein Ayah. “Our existence in this world is transient,” he adds in a different part of this book, “and we should strive towards more lasting goals.”
Embracing transience one can see what those lasting goals are.
Our household move aside, October has been quite busy in other ways too. I spoke in two places:
As part of the “Dad Lit” panel at Belmont Shore Book Fair, Sunday, 10/19, where four of us, Dads/writers, approached fatherhood from different perspectives, and the conversation flowed freely.
An interesting tidbit. The fair was held outdoors in a busy shopping area. Sharing over a microphone my parenting issues, as people were literally walking by the side of the stage to stores, coffeehouses, and bars was, shall I say, . . . unusual😲?
The following Sunday, 10/26, I gave a talk to the Stanford Club of Palos Verdes, an alumni club here in LA.
The one-hour presentation extended, unexpectedly, into another hour. Half the attendees, it turned out, had already read my book, and some were adoptive parents themselves! Clearly, we had plenty to share and discuss.
Stanford isn’t just my alma mater. My parenting journey, as I mentioned during the talk, began there as well.
Back in 1996, working a student job at Stanford News Service, I came across a magazine article about gay families. I saw the answer right in front of me.
I knew it would be my story too.
With the move came a renewed sense of clarity and a rededication to following through on my goals – writing, speaking, and staying engaged with my faith and heritage. Those are the things that last, not to be overshadowed by things that arise and pass.
Warm regards,
–Lane
Lane Igoudin | Author, Professor, Dad 