A quiet revolt
Lately, Cher has been on my mind. I have been humming “Love and Understanding” at my desk, in the kitchen, while riding my bike. (I checked the lyrics, as I tend to sing many of the 80s, early 90s songs in a jumble of English/made up language, but yes, she does indeed sing):
Not enough love and understanding
We could use some love
To ease these troubled times
Why Cher?
This spring I joined the course Zen And The Art Of Saving The Planet, based on Thich Nhat Hanh's teachings.
What does Zen have to do with activism? Are we going to meditate ourselves out of this mess?
I would think not.
In the book, carrying the same name as the course, the link is described as follows:
"Meditation and mindfulness is not an opiate to escape what is going on but a way for us to truly still the mind and look deeply, in order to see ourselves and the world clearly."
"From this foundation of clarity and insight we'll be able to take the most appropriate, effective action to transform the situation and create a regenerative culture in which all life is respected."
Yes. This is part of the 80% that I underlined.
Thich Nhat Hanh, as a Zen master, spiritual leader, poet, and peace activist, exiled from his native Vietnam, brought the notion of 'engaged Buddhism' to the West. He writes:
"Even if we want to help the planet and work for justice, human rights, and peace, we may not be able to contribute anything if we haven't yet been able to fulfil our most basic needs. (...) We need love. We need understanding."
Hence, Cher.
In my head.
Love and understanding.
The course included an immensely rich offering of talks, guided meditations, exercises and potent inquiries. It will run again in fall and I do so, so recommend it.
And, for me, one of the most touching elements was coming together in our (online) sharing group. Taking an hour, with a small group of people (most of whom I had never met before), and share how you are doing, what the course brought up for you that week.
No theory, no comparing notes, no fixing, no advice. But being there, for ourselves, and each other. Listening, to each other's story, each other's experience, each other's joy, pain, fear, doubt and wonder.
I had experienced this concept of 'deep listening' earlier in my yoga education, in the Regenerative Leadership Course and as part of Theory U.
But practising it now, in the context of engaged Buddhism, gave a new depth to it, as if the potential of it landed even more deeply.
It is hard to describe what exactly makes it so powerful - and maybe I am also a bit hesitant to overanalyse the magic of it.
But I do know that between taking the time to reflect on how you are doing and feeling, being brave enough to truly share your experience with others, and being fully present with the experiences and emotions of others - a revolt seems to take shape.
A rebellion.
A rebellion against never allowing yourself to stand still.
Against not feeling what you feel.
Against not 'having the time' to truly reflect.
Against the idea that we are on our own.
And with that, a connection is created.
A true connection with one self, with each other, with the human experience.
And dare I say, even with a bigger whole.
In the same period, I reviewed some episodes of The Crown (a historical drama about the reign of the British Queen Elizabeth II, which now even more than before felt like a stunning parable illustrating the many -isms we long to break down).
In the episode Moondust (season 3) the 'in-house' bishop of the royal family starts a 'sharing group' for (middle-aged) clergyman. Prince Philip (the Queen's husband) initially berates them for just 'sitting around and talking':
"I've never heard such a load of pretentious, self-piteous nonsense. What you lot need to do is to get off your backsides, get out into the world, and bloody well do something... Action is what defines us."
But, against the backdrop of the Apollo 11 landing the first humans on the moon, he realises he is in crisis. After an anticlimactic meet up with the three astronauts (Armstrong, Collins and Aldrin) - he hoped for deep reflections about the meaning of life but met an exhausted team with head colds and tech jokes - he returns to the bishop's sharing group, asking for support:
"Having ridiculed you for what you and these poor blocked, lost souls [chuckling] were trying to achieve here (...) I now find myself full of respect, and admiration, and not a small part of desperation, as I come to say: 'help'. Help me."
"And to admit... that while those three astronauts deserve all our praise and respect and undoubted heroism, I was more scared coming here to see you today than I would have been going up in any bloody rocket!"
And I agree. Yes, it is scary. And vulnerable. And it requires a re-learning.
Listening, offering love and understanding, to ourselves, each other, and all of the natural world.
It might be the simplest ánd the scariest ánd the most important and heroic thing we can do right now.
Like Cher sings (and Diane Warren, who wrote the Lyrics):
We've got enough cars to drive around the world
Enough planes to take us anywhere
We got more than enough, but there's one thing
There's just not enough of
Not enough love and understanding
We could use some love
To ease these troubled times