I start my classes off with three deep breaths every day. I

tell the kids that whatever is going on in their lives outside

is just happenings…it’s not them. They don’t happen; they just

are. The space they feel when they take three deep breaths-

that’s them. Not every student could give over to the three

deep breaths. I had one student who would blurt out, “I don’t

want to breathe today!” I would smile and look at him and say,

“Think about what you just said.” And then we would all giggle.

But, it’s true. Sometimes we don’t want to breathe, ridiculous

as it sounds. We’re scared. Kai was never scared. Kai embraced

the breathing and often sat in a meditative state longer than

the three deep breaths with a look of pure joy on his face.

It is with gratitude and pleasure that I now share with you Lauren Roedy’s sensitive, compassionate and inspiring graduation speech to Westmark School’s graduation class of 2011:

A Snake Sheds Its Skin When It’s Time

Not long ago, I found myself at a party talking about my students, as I am wont to do. I was explaining how at the beginning of the year, in September, I start the structure of my class and how it continues the same way through June. I start each week by handing out an agenda that includes what we will do each day and what the homework is and when it is due. It’s all right there on that piece of paper, plain as day. On top of that, just to be diligent, I go over what the homework is each day in class. This is my brilliant plan, so simple to follow, so logical, such a great way to help students manage their time and stay organized. However, much to my dismay, inevitably, at random points during the week, students will ask me, “What’s the homework?” As if it is a big mystery that is impossible to unravel. “Well,” I say, “it’s right there on the agenda…just like it is every week.” And shockingly still, even after a kagillion repetitions of what is due, someone will come to my office hours and ask, “Hey, what’s the homework tonight?” And my instinct in that moment is always to freak out and scream, “Are you kidding me? Really?! A kagillion reminders weren’t enough?!”

I explained to my friend at the party that I’m baffled by this situation that continues to occur through June and that always makes me feel like I’m just banging my head against the wall. I want to grab the confused kid by his collar and drag him to his notebook and fling it open to where my gift of an agenda is just sitting and waiting to be read and understood. And that’s when this wise friend of mine kinda rocked my world with this simple sentence: “You know, a snake sheds its skin when it’s time.”

Leave it to nature’s metaphors and a wise friend to wake you up to a fundamental truth. A snake sheds its skin when it’s time.

I don’t know a lot about the snake community. Perhaps there are teacher-snakes and parent-snakes and friend-snakes who all support a particular snake in its run up to the big shedding. Maybe that happens. A bunch of snakes helping a snake be all it can be, helping it to be a better snake. I don’t know. But I can tell you for sure that within the snake community, there is not a lot of yelling or frustration over the condition of a snake’s current skin layer. They do not lift a scalpel or a laser or any blunt instrument and proceed to rip the skin off that snake because they want a new layer NOW. No they do not.

But we attempt to do that too often.

In every way at our disposal-with our wills, our voices, our expectations, our reactions, with all the tools of progress, we try to rip that skin right off. Our work screams-SHED, you snake, EVOLVE! Inevitably, as this metaphor dictates, we are just left with carnage-a wounded snake, a fleshy mess, a sad heart. All because we think we know how and in what time frame the snakes around us should grow and change. We create a lot of pain this way.

We should stop ripping the skin off. We should let Life lead the shedding. A snake sheds its skin when it’s time. And it’s better that way. Who are we to know the timeline of each snake in its evolution? We’re not cosmic reptile experts. Also, our struggles, problems, issues…those aren’t the whole snake. They are just one layer of skin. They will, always, shed themselves on Life’s timeline and give way to a new layer. And, we really never know just how awesome that new layer will be. We might have a vision for how it should look, but Life’s design is often much better than our limited ideas for what should be.

A former Westmark student who graduated a few years back paid a visit recently. He had struggled all through high school. Reading was a struggle, writing was a struggle, turning in homework was a struggle, paying attention was a struggle. His first year of college was a struggle, too. And then his second year…a miracle happened. He said during that second year he was just able to do what he couldn’t do before. He didn’t know why exactly. He was paying attention, doing his homework and using so many of the tools that his Westmark teachers demonstrated…but he couldn’t use them previously even when he wished he could. But, he uses them now. He was surprised at himself. Surprised and happy in his new skin. I’m really glad none of us ripped his skin off before he could shed it himself.

And, as if I needed more evidence to back up this skin shedding metaphor…another former struggling student sent me an email. He spent two years after Westmark bouncing around at different colleges. He had avoided attending a place where we had recommended. Eventually, though, he decided to give that place a shot. In the email, he attached his transcript. He wanted me to see it. There were six classes listed. He had gotten A’s in every one. All six. A’s. Believe me, his high school transcript didn’t look like that.

Yes, a snake sheds its skin when it’s time.

So, class of 2011, give yourselves a break. You are in the skin you need to be in right now. It’s perfect. You are just where life wants you to be. And She will move you forward from here. Your entire life will progress in this miracle fashion. You’ll shed the old and grow the new…effortlessly if you let it…love the skin you’re in and respect the skin that others are in. We all shed our skin when it’s time, no scalpel necessary. And right on time, you are here. It’s the perfect moment to shed your high school selves and evolve into graduates. We love you all dearly. Will the first row please stand.

Editor’s Note: Teacher Roedy (in above photo with student Kai) told me that she has written a book, a fictional novel about a girl at Westmark during her senior year in high school. It will be published by Penguin in the spring of 2012. “I’m proud of it because it embodies the spirit of the kids I’ve taught these many years,” she says. This Newsletter will let you know when it comes out. I’m sure the author will see that if you want to own an autographed copy you’ll be able to purchase one at her website when it’s up and running.

From Kids and Skin-shedding Snakes to Dolphins . . .

From Jean Parcher: “It is of interest to note that while some dolphins are reported to have learned English — up to fifty words used in correct context — no human being has been reported to have learned dolphinese.” -Carl Sagan, astronomer and writer (1934-1996)

. . . then Back to Snakes, the Black Snake of the Ego

Recently, my intellectual and sculptor friend, John Storojev, recommended this Newsletter’s book pick for a great summer read. Quite appropriate, I might add, in view of the topic of this month’s Newsletter’s subject, for the book’s title is Bitten By The Black Snake. I loved this book and I’m indebted to my cherished friend for telling me about it.

Renowned spiritual teacher, Osho, said: “Man has many scriptures, but none are comparable to the Gita of Ashtavakra. Before it the Vedas pale, the Upanishads are a mere whisper. Even the Bhagavad Gita does not have the majesty found in the Ashtavakra Gita . . . it is simply unparalleled.” Bitten By The Black Snake presents this ancient sutra “with a clarity and power very rarely matched. It has been called “a quantum leap into the absolute.”

Manuel Schoch, author of this wonderful writing, has interpreted with modern sensibilities, the timeless wisdom of this ancient sutra, which predates Jesus, Mohammed, and perhaps Buddha. Step by step he shows us how “one can simply observe, instead of engaging in the constant reaction and struggle created by the black nake of the ego. Instead of identifying with one’s body, thoughts, feelings, habits, and experience, one can be connected to the everlasting consciousness that manifests these.”

Bitten By The Black Snake is a short book of just 114 pages, available in paperback and packed with wisdom. Read it and find out, among lots of other things, why the Buddha wasn’t a Buddhist.

Mindfulness means being focused on each present moment of one’s existing experience or activity; not only occasionally or when meditating, but at all times. When one practices mindfulness the aim is to become mindfulness; to constantly be mindful of and in the present. If the purpose of our meditation is to be the present moment, not just to be aware of it, then the practice of it is no longer necessary.

Like the Buddhist teaching of no longer needing the raft once we have used it to cross the river, once our practice has become a part of who we are, then we are in a constant state of meditation. Then we need to ask ourselves if we need the tool any longer. Have we crossed the river? Being in that meditative state means simply that we are mindfulness; we are the experience of the present moment. It means that there is no one having the experience, there is only the experience itself. Not only are we the reflection of consciousness, but we are in the present moment experiencing what is happening, not an experiencer, but the experience itself.

To become mindfulness, it is necessary to practice two additional Buddhist teachings: effort and concentration. These three teachings, mindfulness, concentration and effort make up the Samadhi section of the Noble Eightfold Path. Samadhi is being in control of what the brain is thinking. It enables a practical approach to eliminating or lessening dukkha, the Sanskrit or Pali word incorporating in its meaning the negativities of unsatisfactoriness, frustrations, anxieties and suffering. We need to extend the necessary effort to accomplish our goals, and we need to concentrate on the goal.

I remember coming across a bit of humorous philosophy during my teen years, which have always emphasized for me the need to concentrate. I think the philosopher was also a baker, for his advice was “As you wander on through life, brother, whatever be your goal, keep your eye upon the donut, and not upon the hole.” No doubt the baker-philosopher was also a Buddhist.

You can’t become an expert at baking . . . or playing a musical instrument . . . or at painting, crocheting, dancing, or anything else, unless you extend the necessary effort and concentration. You have to keep focused on what you are doing. You have to be mindful of the goal (the donut), which is the result of your baking (your practice), your acquisition of sufficient wisdom to know that you have lost dukkha and found sukha (satisfaction, contentment).

The Buddhist approach to eliminating dukkha is the practice of The Path. Following The Path is like taking, on a daily basis, eight vitamins: U, T, S, A, L, E, M, and C; translation: skillful and realistic Understanding, Thought, Speech, Action, Livelihood, Effort, Mindfulness, and Concentration.

Usually, the Buddhist teachings of Samadhi, (effort, mindfulness and concentration) is explained as exerting the necessary energy to enable learning to see things as they really are and being focused and aware of whatever one is doing or experiencing. A deeper meaning might be to create oneself to lose oneself in the reality of recognizing that you are the experience or object of your mindful and concentrated effort.

Back in 1982, Burt Bacharach and Carole Bayer Sager wrote a song in answer to that question; Dionne Warwick’s recording of it is an all-time classic.

The dictionary defines friend as a person whom one knows, likes, and trusts; a favored companion; one who supports and sympathizes. I even have some young friends who fit that description. I feel very fortunate to have the friends I have, both the old ones and the new ones. But, of all of them, two of my best friends in life have been my mother and my father. Although they are both gone, they are still my friends. I use the wisdom they gave me often; I cherish it and them and know I am blessed to have had them in my life. While they were here we shared our joys and sorrows with each other; we were connected, interdependent, and felt a certain oneness when together.

One of my students and a friend Barbara Page, whose father had recently died, shared with me a letter he had written to her when she was 13 years old. Barbara had had a “crushing” experience at a dance and was very disappointed and depressed over the experience. Her dad, sensing her sadness, wrote her the letter, which she has carried with her in her wallet all these years . . . and still does

Dearest Barbara,

The greatest thrill of happiness is the sharing of our joy with the
ones we love and the ones who love us. Equally important is the
sharing of our sadness, both great and small, with our loved ones.

How terrible it would be to have to keep our joys and sorrows silent!

But, joys and sorrows are brief interludes, signposts sprinkled along
our journey through life. When joy comes to us, we relish and share
the pause, and continue on; but when momentary unhappiness befalls
us, we pause only long enough to tidy up our hearts, and then we
continue on wiser and better equipped for the much rougher road
ahead. A full life has never known complete joy, because unhappiness
is the lubricant to a full life.

“Along my journey, I cried ’cause I had no shoes,
‘Til I met a man along the way who had no legs.”

Your Father

We even have friends we’ve never met. I have lots of those: Gandhi, Einstein, Thich Nhat Hanh, Schweitzer, Jesus and the Buddha, to name a few. In that category, one of my friends . . . the late mythologist, writer and lecturer Joseph Campbell, is the source of one of my favorite quotations. Who said it first isn’t known, but besides Campbell, Will Rogers liked it and used it often. Here’s the quote: “There are no such things as strangers, only friends we’ve not yet met.”

Actually, being a Buddhist, I think there’s a good possibility that the Buddha may be the original source for that quotation. If not, I’m sure he agreed with it. In fact, he took it a step further. He taught that not only were we all friends connected to and dependent on each other, but we are all one. Maybe that’s why we feel the way we do about our friends. Maybe we feel that they are a part of us. We know they are a part of our life, an important and needed part. But maybe it’s more than that. No maybe about it; it’s all of the above.

The Buddha spoke of two truths: the mundane truth which is the one we use in carrying out the daily routine tasks of life, and the ultimate truth. Knowing the ultimate truth makes us more skillful in our every-day decision-making process. The mundane truth is that we are each separate individuals. The ultimate truth is that we also are all one; each one of us a part of the whole, like the Earth is one planet, but it consists of land, water, flora, animals, people, etc. Like one’s body: one wonderful vehicle with lots of parts . . . including arms, legs, fingers, toes, eyes, brains, heart, etc. (See March 2010 blog.)

If our brains aren’t able to fully understand and process this idea of oneness, then perhaps it’s a truth we can just leave to the heart for processing. Who said that it’s only the brain that thinks, feels and perceives? And who said that all the heart does is pump? There’s something Zen-ish here that may be worth meditating on. In any event, it’s not difficult to understand and appreciate the idea of friends and friendships, whether they come from our family or someone else’s, whether we’ve met them or not, and whether they are here or gone away.

We share our life with our friends, and they share theirs with us. Sharing our friends’ joys and sorrows put ours in proper perspective. Each of us benefits from such sharing and helps us realize that the good times and the bad times make up the fullness of life itself. In fact, there are no good times and bad times; there are only times. We are the ones doing the labeling. Best not to get stuck with the label. Just keep smilin’, keep shinin’, knowing you can always count on a friend. It can be your dad or mom, your brother or cousin, a non-relative, or even someone you haven’t yet met.

In 1999, I had the pleasure of meeting both authors, His Holiness and Dr. Cutler, when the American Buddhist Congress held a fund-raiser and presented the Dalai Lama with its Bodhi Award for Compassion at the Wilshire Boulevard Temple in Los Angeles. Representing the Congress, I had invited the Dalai Lama to receive the award and speak at the venue, which actually is a synagogue, not a Buddhist temple. Upon receiving his acceptance, I called Dr. Cutler, who also agreed to come to Los Angeles to speak at the event and to introduce His Holiness to the attendees.

The event was very successful; through ticket sales the American Buddhist Congress and the Dalai Lama’s Foundation shared the proceeds, which were used to help Tibetan refugees and for other humanitarian projects in the United States. I must say, however, that arranging an affair like this is not easy; with it comes some suffering. The kind of suffering I’m talking about could also be called worrying: worrying about whether or not the tickets would sell, whether or not all the participants would arrive on time, etc., etc. Worrying is just another word for a type of suffering. I learned from reading The Art of Happiness that not only is happiness an art, but there is an art in suffering, too. One needs to find a way to suffer skillfully, realistically, and beneficially.

Nineteenth Century philosopher and writer Henri Frederic Amiel found a way when he asked and answered thusly: “You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering.”

Of course we know that the Buddha’s basic teaching was about dukkha, which is usually translated as suffering, but includes in its meaning such things as frustration, anxiety, displeasures, and the un-word unsatisfactoriness. His teaching is that although life for the unenlightened is filled with dukkha, it doesn’t have to be. Once one becomes enlightened the dukkha disappears. But even if all of it doesn’t all go away, one can benefit from even a little enlightenment. Dukkha or suffering isn’t a bad thing . . . and it certainly isn’t a good thing, either. It just is. It’s the nature of life. So if one can learn how to handle it, how to benefit from it, then one begins to wake up to the reality of life and apply the art of suffering to lessen our ignorance, our self-centeredness, and our feelings and expressions of frustration.

Since our last communication, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the first of January have been here and left, and we are left with only memories of those celebrations and commemorations. On Thanksgiving Day I paused and thought about how fortunate and thankful I am to be writing blogs and newsletters to friends all over the globe, and receiving comments and emails back expressing friendship, loving kindness and a feeling of oneness through our BuddhismTeacher sangha.

Follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow the Yellow Brick Road.
Follow the Yellow Brick, Follow the Yellow Brick,

We’re off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
You’ll find he is a whiz of a Wiz! If ever a Wiz there was.
If ever oh ever a Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because,
Because, because, because, because, because.
Because of the wonderful things he does.
We’re off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz,

I’m sure you all recognize those lyrics from the song sung by Judy Garland, Ray Bolger, Jack Haley, and Bert Lahr in the classic MGM musical, The Wizard of Oz. This year marks the 110^th Anniversary of the creation of author Frank Baum’s book, “The Wizard of Oz.” Written in the year 1900, the book was made into a stage play two years later. Then, in 1939, it became the ever-popular movie starring Judy Garland as Dorothy. That was 72 years ago.

Could it be that if the movie had been made 2500 years ago and the Buddha had seen it, that he would have recognized it as a metaphor of his Noble Truths and Path? It’s obvious that each one of us is on our own personal Yellow Brick Road, or some sort of path or journey through life. And, on the way, most of us are searching for wisdom, looking for a wizard or a wise man like Buddha, to help us escape from suffering and frustration so we can enjoy our trip . . . so we can have a happier life.

You all know the story, but let me first synopsize it: Twelve-year-old Dorothy lives on a farm in rural Kansas with her aunt and uncle. A tornado transports her and her little dog, Toto, from her peaceful and happy life to a strange faraway village of little people known as Munchkins. Dorothy is told by the Good Witch of the North, that if she follows the yellow brick road, it will lead her to Emerald City, where the mysterious Wizard of Oz, will help her get back home. She is warned to be careful, because the Wicked Witch of the West will try to prevent her journey.

On her way Dorothy meets a Scarecrow with no brain, a Tin Man with no heart, and a Cowardly Lion with no courage. All three decide to accompany Dorothy to the Wizard, thinking he can help them get what they are lacking. But along the way they demonstrate that they already have the qualities they believe they lack.

Their meeting with the Wizard reveals that he is a fraud, but he does have common sense. He tells them they already have what they are searching for and that since he also is from Kansas, he will take them all back to their farm.

The story and film ends with Dorothy awakening in her bedroom in Kansas, realizing that it was all a dream, but also that there is no place like home with the people you love.

Here’s the Buddhist interpretation of the story:

Dorothy represents each one of us. Dorothy’s aunt and uncle and Toto, the dog, represents those we love and are close to in life. Kansas, the home and farm represent security.

The Munchkins represent everyone and the Good Witch of the North is compassion and loving kindness. The Scarecrow reflects our need and search for knowledge, wisdom and enlightenment; the Tin Man, our search for love and understanding, to give it and to receive it; and the Cowardly Lion, our need of courage to meet life’s difficulties.

The Wicked Witch of the West represents all the obstacles we encounter in life, obstacles that prevent us from feeling secure and from being happy. They are mainly Buddhism’s three poisons: ignorance, selfish desire, and anger or hate.

Emerald City could be Heaven or Nirvana or just a safe place where we can be happy. The Wizard is (take your pick) religion, Jesus, the Buddha, insight, enlightenment, etc.

And the Yellow Brick Road? Well, that’s the Path to follow to reach the place of safety where one is happy. In Buddhist teachings it’s called the Noble Eightfold Path. You remember that special Path, don’t you? Well, to refresh your memory here it is in brief. Realistic, Skillful or Right:

View or Understanding, Thought, Speech, Action, Livelihood, Effort, Mindfulness and Concentration.

Right View or Understanding means seeing the reality proclaimed in The Four Noble Truths, that (1) life for the unenlightened is filled with suffering and frustration; (2) caused by the three poisons of greed, anger or hate, and ignorance; (3) but these poisons can be eliminated; (4) by following The Noble Eightfold Path, Buddhism’s Yellow Brick Road.

We are all on a trip down the Yellow Brick Road, trying to practice loving kindness and compassion as we search for enlightenment and a happy life. In that way, we are all Buddhists, regardless of what other name we may call ourselves. Remember what Shakespeare’s Juliet said: a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. Somewhere over the Rainbow, at the end of the Road or Path is a pot of gold . . . a chocolate hot fudge sundae . . . a dozen sweet smelling roses . . . or whatever it is that makes you happy. The Yellow Brick Road is the Eightfold Path to freedom from unhappiness. So relax a bit, plan your trip, and then enjoy your adventure down life’s Yellow Brick Road.

As said by S. N. Goenka, the re-discoverer of this ancient vipassana method of meditation, “The technique of vipassana is a simple, practical way to achieve real peace of mind and to lead a happy, useful life; vipassana means ‘to see things as they really are’, through self-observation.” A part of seeing things or better, feeling things as they really are (some things are so small they can’t be seen) includes becoming sensitive to the ever-changing, constantly dying and birthing of kalapas, those tiny microscopic particles that make up the basic units of matter and come into and out of existence many thousands of times per second. Feeling them leads to discovering and hopefully eliminating, or at least lessening, one’s own sangkaras, those nagging desires for things to satisfy one’s senses or to get rid of the things one doesn’t like or want. Sangkaras are what really cause all of our problems in this life: we don’t get all the things we want, we don’t want all the things we get, and we think life is all about satisfying those desires.

Goenka, who is Burmese but now lives in India, has established vipassana meditation centers all over the world, with many in the United States and several in California. I attended the one offered at North Fork at Yosemite, a beautiful pristine place where between meditation sessions one is further treated to deer and squirrels playing among the fragrant pines and beautiful dark red-barked manzanitas.

Morning meditation begins at four o’clock in the meditation hall with a hundred other meditators, continues until breakfast time at six-thirty, begins again at eight, lunch at eleven (the last meal of the day, except for a tea and fruit break in the evening), meditation again at one and continuing with a few breaks until the evening meditation sessions and Goenka’s televised discourse and short meditation, which ends each day; lights out at nine-thirty. In all, one meditates for about 10 hours each day.

Sounds tough, doesn’t it? Well, it really isn’t. You get used to it quite quickly, and after the second or third day you’re right in the swing, enjoying the good food and comfortable accommodations, and no longer concerned over the fact that for 10 days you can’t talk to anyone except for brief question and answer periods with the teacher . . . and I do mean brief. In even less time you are used to the fact that there are no televisions, radios, cell phones, reading or writing materials, cameras, or anything else that might take your attention off meditating and discovering your true self. I loved every minute of it. Well, maybe not every minute, but the whole experience was absolutely invigorating and unforgettable. Believe it or not, I can’t wait to do it again.

Meditation sessions are either in the Meditation hall or in your own room or dorm. Men and women are always separated, except during meditations in the hall, where the men are on one side and the women on the other. Never any contact with anyone, not even eye-contact. Meditation cushions are provided, or you can choose a chair, if you like. The food is wholesome, tasty, plentiful and all vegetarian.

For years I had been reading and hearing about vipassana meditation. I’ve recommended it to my students, read William Hart’s “The Art of Living: Vipassana Meditation: As Taught By S. N. Goenka,” which is available in paperback: click here
if you want to order a copy. The Vipassana method embodies the essence of the teaching of the Buddha. It is an extraordinary simple path to self-awareness that can be successfully applied by anyone. It is non-religious, non-sectarian, logical and beneficial to everyone.

Vipassana is unlike any other form of meditation. The Goenka method is unique, as is Goenka, himself . . . a charismatic, entertaining and enlightened guru, who looks more like a banker than a Buddhism teacher. His meditation centers are his gifts to all of us. And I do mean gifts; the 10-day experience, meditation, discourses, room and board, it’s all free. You can make a donation at the end if you want, but there’s no hard sell, no intimidation. Donations help defray costs and enable the course to be offered to all, regardless of their financial situation.

Being a Buddhist and committed to encouraging life not ending it, I view all life as precious, including creepy crawlers. So I immediately had compassion for her. But I found myself in a predicament, too: how to help the spider out of the tub and her situation and proceed with my shower with only me getting wet and not this tiny reflection of consciousness.

While I don’t mind sharing my home with spiders, after all they need a home too, I do like to shower alone, even though I’ve heard one can save water by showering with a friend. So, my first challenge of the morning was how to get the spider out of the tub so I could get in. Although I have a fondness for them, I don’t necessarily enjoy picking them up with my fingers; I’m fearful I might squeeze them too tight during the rescue.

When I noticed the dental floss on a nearby shelf, I pulled out a few feet of it and dangled it next to this little lady in distress, tempting her to grab hold, thus enabling me to swing her from the bottom of the tub to the top of the tub’s side next to the wall. It took a few minutes, but she finally grabbed hold and I swung her to safety. Then I gave her audible instructions to get moving out of danger.

“Get going, little one,” I commanded. “Get out of here and get on with your life,” I added. And off she went. As I turned on the water I saw her running up the wall toward the ceiling vent, no doubt her safe haven, at least until I finished my shower and she could get her tub back.

While taking my shower I couldn’t help but think about the predicaments we all get into occasionally during our adventure through life. We sometimes get stuck in a place, both physically and mentally, that we don’t want to be in. We want to get out and move on with our lives, but sometimes it’s so difficult we don’t exactly know how. We need help. We need a sympathetic friend to give us a little dental floss we can grab onto until we obtain the necessary courage to get going again and to move on.

One of the part’s of Buddhism’s Eightfold Path is “right effort.” Defined more precisely, right effort means working diligently to develop the skill to avoid dukkha (frustration and suffering), caused by our selfish desire, anger and ignorance. In short, that means “don’t get mad or discouraged . . . try, try again.”

Every life is precious, and that certainly includes your own. Don’t think about what you lack in ability or what you don’t have in material possessions. Chances are you already have what you need. And you’re more capable than you think. The spider incident reminded me of a crazy poem I latched onto when I was a kid. It was performed by Ish Kabibble, a nearly-forgotten radio comic during the early 40s, and I’ve never forgotten it.

Little spider on the wall,

You ain’t got no hair at all.

You ain’t got no comb to comb your hair.

What do you care, you ain’t got no hair.

The moral? Be thankful for the things you don’t need as well as the things you have. Things like good friends you can count on in times of need . . . and the things we take for granted, like a warm shower, a little dental floss and the selfless desire to share what we do have . . . with creatures big and small.

A lot of people and organization these days are having a tough time making ends meet; churches, temples, mosques and gurdwaras, are no exceptions. I don’t know of any religion that doesn’t encourage the practice of giving. It’s one of Buddhism’s Five Precepts. Usually these are stated in the negative: no killing, no lying, no drugs or alcohol, no improper sex and no stealing, But stated in the positive they are: encouraging life, speaking the truth, consuming nourishing food and drink, treating everyone with respect, and giving generously. But who is really the giver and who is the getter?

In Buddhism, it is the giver who gets, as well as the receiver. In the Theravada Buddhist countries of Thailand, Myanmar (Burma) and Sri Lanka, where monks go out begging for food each morning, the monks don’t thank those who fill their bowls. Instead, it is the giver of the food who thanks the monk for the privilege and opportunity to practice the precept of giving. Of course the monk is the recipient of the food, but the giver of the food experiences the joy of giving it, as well as a feeling of connectedness, even oneness with the getter.

What and how one gives merits consideration. Giving something you don’t want or need is not really an act of charity; it is more an act of ego gratification, a deceptive act allowing one to pat oneself on the back when a kick in the butt would be more appropriate – as well as maybe more beneficial. If you truly want to feel good about yourself, try giving something you love or need, something that when you no longer have it you feel like you’ve lost something like a favorite ring or earring. That puts thing in proper perspective. You don’t have to give ’til it hurts, only ’til it smarts a little. You’ll see how smarting is really smart; and it’s followed by the high of feeling good about yourself.

Don’t be concerned with what happens to your gift after you’ve given it. The dollar you give the guy at the stop sign may help him buy a bottle of something other than milk, but it also could be spent on an apple or a hot dog. Don’t judge him. Don’t even judge yourself. Instead, analyze. He needs, you can help. He gets and so do you. It’s a win-win situation.

What we give isn’t really ours anyway. It’s just on loan to us; we can’t take it with us when we leave this place. I doubt we’d even want to. How many things do you still have that were so important or precious to you when you were in kindergarten or when you were a teenager? For that matter, how about that thing you bought last month that you just couldn’t live without? Is it still as essential as you thought it was or are you now wondering why you ever bought it in the first place? Give it away. You don’t need it or want it anymore. But give yourself something, too. Not a back pat, but a butt kick to wake you up to reality. Although there’s not much generosity in the gesture, it’s still in the category of giving. And that’s not all bad.

And not only is our conviction to our separateness a delusion, it is a harmful conclusion and leads us into acting upon this false belief. It leads us into taking the poisons that make us sick. Buddhism calls this sickness dukkha, which means suffering and that includes pain, frustration, anxiety and just plain unsatisfactoriness. How does thinking of ourselves as separate have the consequences of poisoning ourselves and making ourselves sick?

It is because the poisons are basically selfish desire, anger and ignorance. When we want things for just ourselves, when we get angry over things that displease us, and when we even unintentionally hurt others and ourselves, it is because we are ignorant of the fact that what we do to the least of us we do to ourselves. Test yourself: Do you want to end poverty, war, suffering? Do you feel good or bad when you are angry? Do you think you already know it all or enough and don’t need or want to learn more?

Feeling compassion for those in need of whatever it is, is an innate feeling of our oneness. Mentally we put ourselves in the shoes of others so we can better feel their feelings. Compassion is called karuna in Buddhism, but it includes an action or a physical reflection of the feeling. It isn’t enough to just feel sorry for someone or some thing; you have to do something about what you feel. That’s called “engaged” Buddhism. Like in marriage, one is engaged before one gets married and becomes one.

To better understand this concept of oneness, try imagining you are far out in space looking at the planet Earth. You see the Earth as one object, even though you know it has lots of parts . . . land, water, trees, rocks, fish, animals and people. Or look at your hand; it has five fingers, but all of them are part of the hand. And the hand is a part of the arm, the arm a part of the body and the body a part of you. And you are a conglomeration of not just your body and its parts, but also your personality, your characteristics, your likes and dislikes, your relationships, etc., etc. Look deeply enough and you will see those relationships as a part of your oneness. Depending on how many relationships you have or feel, your realization of your oneness is affected.

Try loving everyone, all the animals, the beauty of the mountain scenery and the ocean waves as they break upon the shore. The more you love, the more you realize that you are not separate from what you love. “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and you will be reflecting your oneness. You will be an engaged Buddhist along with all the other things you are. The word Buddhist means someone who has awakened. Waking up to the reality of who you are is like waking up from a night’s sleep feeling refreshed and ready to face the day positively, knowing you’re going to experience what people are always telling you to do: “Have a nice day.”