flying

I posted a version of this the other day, then took it down. Usually, I won’t take something down even if I’m not satisfied with it, but this time… I felt that I wasn’t conveying what I wanted to, it wasn’t just grammar or changing a sentence. So, read on. It’s mostly the same, with a few changes (especially at the end). That said, I’m still not sure it’s done, but I’m going to post it anyway. If I make any changes, I will add notes in the comments section.

When I was 17 my dad and I went on a vacation to Lake Tahoe. It was beautiful, but overwhelming. The combination of thin air and grandiose vistas didn’t sit well with my psyche. I couldn’t place the feeling, but it was uncomfortable. When my dad suggested we check out the scenery, I opted to stay in and read. That didn’t go over well with my pop. He thought I was being a stubborn, cranky teenager and got kinda pissed off. Since I often was a stubborn, cranky teenager, it wasn’t a far stretch of the imagination. However, this time he wasn’t correct. He got mad at me, and I tried to explain that it wasn’t that I didn’t /want/ to go out, it was that I /couldn’t/.

We cooled down and talked. Inside. By then it was getting towards sunset. I tried to explain to my dad what I was feeling – this big, ambiguous, scary, disoriented feeling that overwhelmed me every time I looked at the mountains. They didn’t look real. Everything looked kind of flat and like a beautiful painting. My brain couldn’t handle that.

My pop, having had experienced similar feelings, understood. I was suffering from ‘existential heebie jeebies.’ The cure, he said, was to go into that scary place, confront my fears, and dissipate the hold they had on me.

Um. NO.

He finally talked me into joining him down at a dock by the lake. It wasn’t a far walk and there were two chairs conveniently placed for us. We sat there, leaned back looking up at the stars and marveled at the clarity of the Milky way. He turned to me and told me to tell him everything I was feeling. I didn’t want to. I felt that by saying the feelings out loud, it would make them more real and bigger and scarier. He told me that by speaking the fears, they would turn into clouds and float away. I gave it a shot.

After a while, I realized that we were having a conversation and I didn’t feel scared anymore.

It had worked!

The conversation turned towards the idea of ambition and success. He talked about how important it is to do each endeavor with all you’ve got. He spoke of an eagle lifting off from a cliff. The bird spreads its wings and commits to soaring away. If the eagle hesitates, or only raises its wings part-way, the bird will plummet to death. Or at least a lot of broken bones and bruises, and certainly feel rather silly.

When you set out to do something, he said, you have to fully spread your wings and take flight with passion and courage.

I think that on the surface, and perhaps even a little further, when we start something we think we are giving it our all. We feel that we have tried our hardest and are doing everything in our power to make it work. The problem is that too often we are hiding things from ourselves. We have fears and concerns and bad habits. So really, we only try as far as we are comfortable.

The trick is to break out of your comfort zone and take risks. If you jump out of fear or a bad habit, you aren’t guaranteed to fall, but its far more likely that the outcome won’t be very good. It’s scary to jump off that cliff, but you have to trust yourself (your strength, your abilities, your knowledge).

on faith – a letter from father to daughter

This afternoon, I found an old folder with a bunch of my dad’s letters to me from 1989-1996.

I really loved, and miss greatly, our discussions. Almost all of his letters to me contain come kind of advice, or thoughtful paragraphs. Many contain silliness and thoughts on the idea of “Vinnie” which was his existential, well, the closest I can possibly describe “Vinnie” is kind of a cross between God, Buddha, Jung’s Collective Unconscious, and the local pizza guy.

Here is an excerpt from a letter he wrote to me in September 1996 in response to a short story about his boots I’d written for a contest (I got second place! and unfortunately, have no copy of that story.)

——

I enjoyed your letter. Loved the question at the end, “Do people with faith survive better than those without (in a survival situation)?” Difficult to answer directly. First have to define faith. The meaning can range from what I suppose grandpa means – ‘don’t be afraid, it will turn out okay’ to the very religious for whom faith means an absolute belief in a higher being who directs all the action and will determine the outcome.

Then, of course, we have to define survival situation. Do you mean trapped in a snowstorm at the top of Mount Everest, certainly a survival situation. On the other hand, everyday life can be seen as an ongoing series of survival situations – which we just tend to take for granted.

I have been in many tight spots. Typically I am or was always the one who had it together. So was your mother.

To your specific question I would answer that people who handle crisis or who can meet the challenge of a survival situation are first and foremost people who have faith in themselves.  For whatever reason I have always had the faith that somehow I could handle whatever had to be dealt with. Faith in oneself demands a deep inner conviction to be pro­ active, to be powerful, to not see oneself as a victim. Those who fail in crisis are those who don’t believe they are up to what needs to be done. They quickly give in to fear, are seduced by fear, giving up their innate power, they go belly up and hope for mercy. They allow themselves to feel powerless.  Needless to say, this loss of faith in the self always makes whatever is happening a lot worse.

I remember years ago, I was stuffed in a Volkswagen with a bunch of SDS folks, driving through the night through the Midwest.   It was dangerous country back then. I was sound asleep. Suddenly people were waking me up and I noticed the car was stopped on the highway shoulder. Everybody was in a panic, like an old keystone cops movie. They were so fucked up it took me a few minutes to figure out what the problem was. Turned out we had a flat tire. Without saying anything or for that matter ever fully waking up I changed the tire, got back in the car, went back to sleep. Before shutting my eyes I told the driver to pull into the first gas station he or she came to and wake me up. We got to a station with a couple of redneck looking guys and my colleagues woke me up. I took out the flat tire, rolled it into the garage and said “I need this fixed”.  That was that. My friends thought I was a hero. Now here is how it went.  When they woke me up, I did not know what was going on, but it did not matter because I just by nature assumed whatever it was had to be dealt with – and I could deal with it.

Certainly I have played a similar role in more dramatic situations.

The point is that things happen i.e. crisis situations – the situation has to be dealt with. Some people will bury their head in the sand and hope it will go away, some go into denial – neither of these deals with the situation. You simply deal with it and have faith in your own problem solving abilities or whatever to just take it on. All of us have capacities and strengths far beyond what we assume. Crisis or difficult situations have often been beneficial to me, allowing me to realize I had capacities of which I had been unaware.

An aspect of the practice of Buddhism which is helpful is that of living fully in the moment. That extraordinary state of relaxed alertness tends to allow for the most appropriate response to a situation, as does a non  attachment to any given emotional/mind state.

So faith in yourself.

Now as to the other kind of faith.  It seems to depend. For some faith in a God helps them find the strength to rise to the occasion, for others it gives permission to just go belly up and pray for divine intervention.   So once again it gets down to faith in yourself.

In this sense, faith is that belief that something is always going to happen next, that you will be able to deal with it, or at least do the best that can be done, and then whatever happens – happens.

In this respect I have never noticed any real difference in people with or without or of different religions.

Ultimately faith, like everything else, is about death. There are some who neither believe in God or an afterlife – Jake* for instance.  But Jake is faithful in that death does not provoke fear in him but rather an intense commitment to living in the moment and the expectation that death will be okay.  That is a form of faith. As you know I have been spending time with devout Christians. For them, in dealing with death, faith is the belief in a Supreme God and his son Jesus and in everlasting life. They find strength and resist fear in the belief that one moves on to heaven – personality and all – and they expect to meet all their dead relatives and friends there. To you this may seem foolish. To me it is rather amazing.

The type of faith symbolized by Jake does not require much. It does not demand much struggle over fear or dis-belief.  On the other hand for my Christian friends, faith is very demanding.  Since there is so little, actually no empirical proof that anything they believe is real, they have to struggle that much harder to sustain faith.

Faith for a Buddhist is easy.  It is just the faith that there really is no one there for whom faith is a question.

But you asked about survival.  I have found that religious beliefs don’t mean much one way or the other.  The people to rely on are those who have faith in themselves. The wellspring of this is somewhat experience but I think it is much more a quality of the heart.
The bottom line is faith in yourself and the willingness  to accept and work with any situation.  Such faith inspires  others to find their own courage. I don’t think it has anything to do with what kind of religious belief one has.

You know  my favorite story about my father and the issue of faith, but it bears retelling.

My father is a working class fellow, he grew up in dire poverty, served six years in the infantry and then worked twelve hours a day, six days a week to support a family.  He is not a well read man and he is certainly not a religious man.  Throughout my life he has often ended conversations with me, especially when I was encountering difficult times, by saying “Well  just keep the faith”. He would say it quite casually, almost a throwaway equivalent  of “I’ll be seeing you”. This went on for years. Several years ago while visiting my family in New York, for some reason I turned to my father and asked him about this, “Pop,” I said, “You know how you are always telling me to keep the faith, you really mean that don’t you?” “Oh yeah, yeah, sure I mean it,” he responded .

I asked him if he had always been a faithful man.  He said “Oh yeah, sure” and then his expression changed, his mouth turned down, and a great sadness overcame him, palpable and powerful , tears in his eyes and he said, “No, I haven’t been, not during the war. The war. It was too hard, too terrible, too painful. All of us lost faith, it was just impossible to be faithful.”

I felt his sadness and responded with what seemed to me the obvious question – I asked “My god pop, how did you ever get it back?” His expression changed to a funny grin, one I knew from childhood, one that said, “My good but stupid son” and I asked again,

“My god pop, how did you ever get your faith back?”
“Oh” he said with a quiet smile, “the war ended!”

Self doubt is the anti-thesis of faith.   It is generally a waste  of time.
Don’t argue with it just let it go.
—–

* name changed

ballet

I studied ballet for about six years when I was young. I loved it. I had a friend, Molly, who was older than me who took me under her wing and encouraged me. My level had to wear leotards and standard tu-tus. Her level wore beautiful sheer mid-calf angled skirts. I thought those rayon skirts were so graceful and looked forward to when I earned wearing them too.

The ballet slippers were supple in my hands with a specific sweet tangy scent of the pink leather. There was a promise of beauty in those slippers – of grace and an orchestrated story waiting to unfold.

There are photos of young me front and center in performances, and like any young ballerina, I dreamed of being Clara in The Nutcracker.

My mom and I moved to a different city, different state, mid-way through middle school. If I wanted to continue my lessons I had to ride my bicycle across two major streets into the neighboring city. This didn’t last long and thus my dancing days were over.

When I was 19 I tried taking lessons. I put on a leotard and felt awkward and clunky. After a few classes, I folded up the leotard and put it away.

Sometimes dreams don’t happen and if you revisit them the dream has changed enough to where it doesn’t exist anymore.