Perspective

Superman waits on the sidewalk for his mother to emerge from the bookstore

I've been looking at thousands of news photographs lately, shot by some of the industry's most notable photojournalists. What's intrigued me is the varying perspectives.  In other words, a rather mundane shot can be enhanced into something incredibly  interesting if the photographer simply changes the perspective.  I viewed some of James Nachtwey's works where he shot an average street scene through the jagged opening of blown-out wall, the rubble of the wall framing the shot, making it far more interesting.

I believe this is where photography can lend itself to life, i.e., if we work to change our perspective than we may see things in a more interesting or enlightened way.  For many, they are attached to their own perspective, seeing it as the one and only truth of the world.  If they could only release themselves from that grasp and move a few inches either way it may open up an entirely different world for them.  What would happen if perspective were applied to politics, religion, social morays, etc.?  I contend that we would have a much more inclusive, tolerant, and compassionate world.  Move a little to the right or left and see what the world looks like then.

Fodder For Morality

From the NY Times this morning:

WASHINGTON — Statistics compiled by the American-led military mission in Afghanistan indicate that 2,537 civilians were killed and 5,594 were wounded in 2009 and 2010, according to a study released Thursday.
Official military statistics provided to Science magazine show that about 88 percent of civilian casualties in Afghanistan over the past two years were caused by insurgents, while about 12 percent were the fault of American and coalition forces.

What's the argument here, that they kill more innocent people than we do, so somehow we are "more right"?   Having spent most of my adult life as a serving military officer I understand full-well about civilian casualties in war, but this argument has no place in the public space.  Using innocent civilian statistics to somehow morally justify a nation's actions seems obscene to me.  Every civilian fatality, regardless of who is at fault, should be treated with the same moral importance as those of fallen U.S. service members, and not be used as fodder for who's right and wrong arguments.

Off The Cushion

Sitting in Starbucks this morning I was contemplating a topic for a blog post when a guy dressed in wanna-be military garb sits down beside me and announces, "Ya know, if you were here thirty minutes ago there wasn't a black person in here".  Bingo…. you're my blog post of the day.  Are you kidding me?!  I thought guys like this only existed in the movies, and certainly not in southwest Atlanta where the populace is well-over 90% African American.

For the next twenty minutes I was treated to an unsolicited ear-full of how when the gas prices go up all of the blacks are going to leave, and how all of the kids at the school bus stops have babies in their arms.  I struggled to exfiltrate myself from the conversation but part of me, like driving past a car wreck, wanted to hear this guy's destructive, hate-filled rant. 

I contemplated loving kindness and how this guy, as misguided as I believed he was, deserved my compassion.  It's easy to love the world's down-trodden and unfortunate, but when faced with someone that is the victim of his own limited mind, the task becomes much more difficult.  How do you show compassion for someone that you find so distasteful? 

The other take away for me was the question of why do I find his rant so offensive in the first place?  Clearly I'm attached to my viewpoints, and when confronted with such a dramatically different perspective I quickly retract and begin to judge and form opinions.

Buddhism is a wonderful thing, and when sitting on a cushion its simple to follow it's tenants.  Applying the same in the reality of a crowded Starbucks is a bit more challenging.

Let Go Of The Ordinary

Apache over Baghdad

I'm terrible.  I'm now getting lifestyle advice from television commercials. This morning over coffee and my daily dose of CNN I overheard a travel commercial claiming, "Let go of the ordinary and grab a hold of the extraordinary.  Be who you could be, not who you used to be".  What a great mantra for life!

My life has always been about the pursuit of the extraordinary, and I humbly submit that this idea has served me more than just well.  I tell young people all of the time, at the first opportunity go out and do the hardest thing that you can think of, whether that's an Ironman triathlon, getting an advanced degree, or trekking some remote mountain slope.  Set yourself up for an extraordinary life. Don't accept the mundane.  Take the path less traveled, and carry your own pack along the way.

None of this is to say that we all have to be globetrotting, adventure seekers to have an extraordinary life.  Be an extraordinary parent, partner, son or daughter.  Take whatever you have and make it that much more special. Set exceptionally high goals for yourself.  Never compromise or accept excuses.  If you found yourself on your deathbed today could to look back with a massively satisfied grin?  Would you know that you had lived and loved at a level that most only dream of?

One of my favorite stories that I tell has me, as a young Captain, sitting down over a couple of beers in a dusty Panamanian bar with my Special Forces battalion commander.  It was just the two of us; the older Lieutenant Colonel was weaving tale after tale of a lifetime of doing the King's bidding in Latin America, stories of intrigue, adventure, sacrifice, and failure.  At a point I looked at him and stated, "Sir, you should write a book". He smiled and with the wisdom of age replied, "I would, but I don't want my mother knowing what I've done".  Awesome.

A Voice From The Past

I was contacted by an Iraqi friend of mine who has the opportunity to immigrate himself, his wife, and his young son to the United States as part of an official U.S. Government program to help out those Iraqis that have assisted us in the past.

My friend is an young, exceptionally bright, and industrious guy who has bank-rolled a ton of money over the years while working for American contractors.  He, quite frankly, has the means to do anything that he wants to in this country.  I've spoken with him in the past about this opportunity and his dream has always been to open a convenience store in a small, non-Muslim neighborhood someplace in the United States and enjoy a life of security and opportunity for his young family.

When looking at prospective landing places in the United States he confided in me that he and his wife were looking through a picture book and came across a photograph of someone holding an umbrella during a rain storm.  That became his other criteria; he wants to go someplace where it rains a lot.  I smiled.

Warrior

I decided to brave the 58 degree sunny weather and go for a trail run through the Chattahoochee Hills along the river. The horse trail works its way through the forest, up and down hills, and along the banks of the serene water way.  It felt good to get out and push myself again, I haven't done so  since I hiked the Inca Trail in Peru before Christmas.

It wasn't far and it wasn't fast, but I felt my lungs expanding, my legs burning, and a gentle calm settling over my mind.  I concentrated on my breathing, letting thoughts come and go, not following any of them.  The next thing I knew I was face-planted into the dirt having tripped over a hidden root. So much for moving meditation.  Nonetheless, the fall was a not so gentle reminder to stay in the present moment, nature's (God's?) very own kyôsaku.

I got up, covered with dirt, blood, and probably a bit of horse dung and moved on; ego bruised, but that's a good thing right now.  At the end of the trail I was breathless, in pain, and covered with nature.  I felt like a warrior again.

Once Again

My view or understanding of God is my own, it's deeply personal.  It may or may not conform with current religious dogma, but frankly I don't care.  I feel that God exists in each and every one of us in his own way, making himself known in his own time.  This is my relationship with God.  Maybe it's better to say "my God" instead of just the singular, one-size fits all God.  I don't know.

As I wrote in a previous post, God has been speaking to me for my entire life through various means, but only now as an adult have I cleared my mind and soul to the point where I can really sit and listen to him.  I can look back and see where he has reached out to me.  The parable of the Boy and the Starfish comes to mind.  Today when I relay the story to people I can barely hold back my unexplained emotions; it's that powerful for me.  Clearly God wanted it to touch me, to have meaning. I do not know why.

Right now God is speaking to me through those "Ahhh moments", glimpses of deeper understanding, recognition, and patience.  I am learning to sit quietly with my fears and shortcomings; examine them, become familiar with them.  I take solace in knowing that I am not alone in the journey.

God

Sebastián

As a child, I was taught that God was some bearded guy that hung out on a golden throne somewhere in the sky and oversaw the events of the Universe; I often confused him with Santa Claus.  That's a great image for a 6-year old, but it's no wonder that as an adult I have questioned his existence, especially in the face of personally witnessed poverty, war, strife, disease, etc…  How can a benevolent God allow his children to be so self-destructive?

Over the past week I've wrestled with a lot of things in my life; I've sought better clarity, understanding, peace, and grace.  All things that if God exists, I believe that he would want me to find... on my own.  I've taken time to sit quietly in a style that I was taught and to clear my mind of the incessant noise.  At the end of the day, once the noise stops and everything just simply exists as it truly is; I found God.

I can't describe in words what I've come to understand, but I've realized that God has been there my entire life, speaking to me in countless ways, but I've just failed to listen.  Those who know me are not that surprised (smile).

The picture above is of a boy named Sebastián.  I found him in a camp in Port-au-Prince not to long after Haiti's horrific earthquake, and only days after doctors had removed one of his legs above his knee.  He was completely alone in the world, having lost his entire extended family.  When we met he was still struggling with his new crutches, hobbling around the muddy camp making friends, sleeping and eating where he was able. 

Sebastián and I chatted as best we could given the language barrier.  He smiled as we fist-bumped, and in his eyes I saw something; something that until only a few days ago I could not identify.  It was God speaking to me through this child.

Settle Into Quietness

Osorno, near Puerto Montt, Chile

When I took my Zen Buddhist vows I was given the name So Enjaku by my teacher, he pointed to a mountain; unmoving, settled sitting in quietness.  Lately I have been seeking to return to that peacefulness, to find my center and abide in stillness.  Tragically I had let it all slowly slip from me over the past two months,  allowing my ego to run amok within my life.

Now, things are quiet.  I'm able to once again sit in stillness and stare down my ego when needed, watching as if a parent were monitoring a young child playing in the park.  Ever mindful. 

I have just finished Harvey Cox's When Jesus Came To Harvard.  It turned out to be a wonderful book extrapolating moral choices from the time of the historical Jesus and applying them to the world that we share today.

In my pack I also have a copy of Lama Suyra Das' Awakening the Buddha Within; and SIT, The Zen Teachings of Master Taisen Deshimaru.  Both books I've read before, especially Surya Das' which remains a beacon in my on-going yearly pilgrimages toward greater spirituality.

Central to it all is simply sitting, quietly and peacefully, watching my thoughts as they erupt from my mind like a movie theater popcorn machine.  The breath comes and goes.  I sit and watch.

Walking Away From Your Ego

Argentine-Chilean border.  The gateway to Patagonia

“Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death”
-Miyamoto Musashi
c. 1645

For years I've understood Musashi's meaning, but only insofar as it has applied to medieval Japanese warfare. The 17th Century "Sword Saint" on one level is stating that a warrior must engage in battle with the full realization that he will die.  Only then can he cast off egotistical thoughts of self-preservation and truly be victorious.  Contemplating Musashi further, a deeper understanding emerges, one that applies to all things in life.  You must transcend your personal desires in order to wholly realize what life offers to you, otherwise your experiences are limited by your own sense of self-preservation.

Carrying Musashi's lesson into my life, I've recently come to understand that in any human relationship you must be willing to leave it,  walk away at any moment if need be. With this in mind, only then can you devote yourself wholly to your partner and the relationship which you share.  Otherwise your ego, occupied with protecting what you have, screams out in a yelp of self-protection, fingers squeezing tightly as the water runs out from in between.

Loss

As a young boy my father looked at me and passed on a bit of wisdom; if in the end you've had five friends in your life you can consider yourself lucky.  Sage advice from a man who fully understood that his son was a deeply private person, one who would forever place the ultimate value and trust on those few individuals that he chose to let in close.

I lost one of those friends yesterday morning, and I am saddened beyond all words and expressions.  Of course I've known loss in my life, but nothing remotely to the extent of this.  At the news I sat for a very long time feeling the tears pour freely down my face onto my shirt.  The loss is complete and totally unexpected, so much so that I expect to carry this emptiness with me for the remainder of my days.

A Life

“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in that grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”
-Theodore Roosevelt

Live Well

A rose prospers in the Baghdad rain.

I’ve always strived to lead a remarkable life, one that when I look back on several years from now, bed-ridden in a nursing home, that I will be proud of. My greatest fear has always been reaching that point in my life and suddenly realizing that I did nothing; that I wasted my time given to me on this earth.

The challenge for me has always been leaping from the open ramp of the C-130, standing on the start line of an Ironman triathlon, or taking that first step on a long and epic journey. It’s hard to break out of the comfort and safety of ‘normalcy’ and throw yourself into the void. In the end, however, I've always looked back with pride knowing that I did the right thing and accomplished the ‘remarkable’, one step further away from the dreaded mundane and boring.

Of course everything is not without consequences. Epic journeys take me away from my family, and being a good father and husband. Spending forever in a pool, on a bike, or in some sort of course is one more moment that I can’t be with my sons, teaching them how to lead their own remarkable lives.

The ‘remarkable’ is not how many races we’ve run, mountains we’ve climbed, or continents we’ve trekked across. It’s how we choose to live each and every moment of our lives. To live and love with honor and compassion is every bit as remarkable as climbing the highest peak. Again, in the end, it’s just you in the rocking chair, and it’s only you who will be able to look back and judge your life’s accomplishments. Live well.