IT'S THE ONLY THING

Before I left LA for Austin I did a run of podcast interviews. I love podcasts because I love conversation. There’s always a danger in my line of work of being misquoted or quoted out of context. Barring some lousy editing, there’s no risk of that with podcasts. The entire interview is there for you to listen to. I also find I sometimes need a little space and time to work out a thought - I don’t really think in soundbites and snappy one-liners (hence my conflicted relationship with Twitter) Podcast hosts rarely come in with any kind of agenda. It just seems more like “Let’s wind our way forward and get to know each other on-the-record and have a nice chat.”

Here are some nice chats I had recently:

--Anna David’s “You’ve Got Issues” where we discuss pet peeves (not entirely proud to admit I have more than a few.) A really fun and lively talk: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/youve-got-issues-anna-david/id1114613516

--David Huntsberger’s “Space Cave.” I got to know David when I was a guest on his old podcast Professor Blastoff, which he hosted with Tig Notaro and Kyle Bornheim. We had a great talk even though we lost the first twenty minutes of it (which i maintain was perfect and no big deal, but which - you’ll hear - continues to haunt David) The talk is in two parts:
http://www.thespacecave.com/57-figuring-out-life-with-josh-radnor-pt-1/
http://www.thespacecave.com/58-figuring-out-life-with-josh-radnor-pt-2/

--Katie Dalebout’s “Let It Out” podcast. A terrific, wide-ranging talk about creativity, spirituality, staying sane, and all sorts of other good stuff: http://katiedalebout.com/podcast/joshradnor/

I think the podcast phenomenon speaks to our need at the present moment to engage in long forms. I know that’s part of the draw for me as both listener and guest. Our attention spans are eroding, no doubt. So there’s something refreshing and slightly rebellious about listening to a ninety minute uninterrupted conversation. I think as things continue to speed up we’re going to see more of this kind of thing. (Prediction: meditation places as the new Starbucks. Hand in your phone, grab a cushioned seat, close your eyes, etc.) I loved Krista Tippet’s interview with the poet Naomi Shihab Nye on “On Being” (a GREAT podcast for the spiritually-artistically inclined…) Here’s the link to the interview: http://www.onbeing.org/program/naomi-shihab-nye-your-life-is-a-poem/8720 The whole interview is worth a listen but I’m so grateful that it led me to this perfect poem of hers called “Kindness”:

KINDNESS

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

I was at Bhaktifest last month, which is a music/yoga festival held in Joshua Tree every September. I’ve been going the last few years and it’s always a reliably terrific and inspiring time. Trevor Hall was the headliner Sunday night (Don’t pass up a chance to see him live, he does not disappoint) and my dear friend David Newman (a.k.a. Durga Das) called me up on stage Sunday afternoon to sing with him and my other dear friend Brenda McMorrow (pic above):

When I got off the stage after singing with David and Brenda a young woman, who clearly only knew me from TV, approached me and said “You’re into spirituality?” And my response was “Yeah. It’s the only thing.” I was kind of shocked by my response, I’d never quite said it that way before, but I believe it.

I see my life and life in general in spiritual terms. I think everyone is spiritual, whether they know it or not. By that I mean we all have some belief or faith in the unseen. Love is spiritual, no? We can’t measure it or hold it. Yet we know it’s real. All virtues - kindness, compassion, forgiveness, mercy, charity, patience - are intangible spiritual things. They exist and when put into action have very real and wonderful consequences.

While spirituality can offer untold comforts, it also – if approached correctly – messes us up. I think that’s part of the point. Anytime I observe myself with rigorous honesty, I find I’m not nearly the blameless saint I had supposed myself to be. My mind is overrun with contradictory impulses, opinions, preferences, and hungers. But beneath all the noise – if I can get quiet enough – is something else entirely: something steady, wise, and true. Something undeniably good.

How am I to hear that steady voice of truth and goodness – that which I believe to be my true nature – amidst the deafening static of the mind? This is the central question and the root of the struggle. Something calls me forward. I try to walk only to notice I’ve cinder blocks around my feet in the form of habit, resentment, grievance, temptation, distraction, and judgment. This can be a bitter pill to swallow, confronting the fact that the chief obstacle to my peace and equanimity is something inside of me. But it’s also incredibly good news. Many spiritual masters have said some version of the following: “Only the man who realizes he is asleep can truly awaken.”

When I think of myself as an ego in a body suit who’s only here to chase pleasure and avoid pain, I get depressed. That, to me, is a life drained of meaning. But when I remember that I am connected to everyone else, and that we are all connected to an infinite and loving source (which I can neither name nor describe) some calm comes over me. I know that there must be a point to this. I remember the words of the Sufi mystic Al-Ghazali: "Know O Beloved, that man was not created in jest of at random, but marvelously made and for some great end.”

Wishing you all a beautiful week,

Welcome to the September/October edition of the now (I think) officially titled Museletter.