Happy zappy Sunday, fun folks!
This is a quick-a-doodle (but deep!) newlsetter for you. Hope you enjoy!
- Is Burning Man a Religion? I share my thoughs on a podcast
- The moment of death
Hugs. —maria
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#1 Is Burning Man a Religion?
I was on the Diversity & Spirituality Network's podcast recently, chatting about Radical Inclusion, my 2017 Ten Principles Project, Buddhism, Millennials and Spirituality, and my thoughts on how Burning Man might be more of a religion that first meets the eye.
Would love if you have a listen! It's a fun one, and I was delighted to actually like the sound of my own voice(!)
Listen: Burning Man as Pilgrimage (38 min)
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#2 The Moment of Death
A few weeks ago I was upstate and met Jean-Claude van Itallie, an eighty-something playright who wrote an adapted version of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, to be read aloud to those who were dying (light convo, I know).
I expressed interest in the book, and he pulled out a copy. As I flipped through he stopped me on one page.
The page featured a singular, beautiful, black ink blot — delicate and swooshing and full— resting on a crisp white background. He smiled and said, "that is what I believe the moment of death looks like."
I paused. "Tell me more."
Still smiling, he replied, "there's nothing else to say!"
...
The interaction made me feel like I had come in contact with a zen master, largely because I'm still noodling on it. My best interpretation so far, has been through this poem, which punches at the end:
....
"If You Knew", by Ellen Bass
What if you knew you’d be the last
to touch someone?
If you were taking tickets, for example,
at the theater, tearing them,
giving back the ragged stubs,
you might take care to touch that palm,
brush your fingertips
along the life line’s crease.
When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase
too slowly through the airport, when
the car in front of me doesn’t signal,
when the clerk at the pharmacy
won’t say Thank you, I don’t remember
they’re going to die.
A friend told me she’d been with her aunt.
They’d just had lunch and the waiter,
a young gay man with plum black eyes,
joked as he served the coffee, kissed
her aunt’s powdered cheek when they left.
Then they walked half a block and her aunt
dropped dead on the sidewalk.
How close does the dragon’s spume
have to come? How wide does the crack
in heaven have to split?
What would people look like
if we could see them as they are,
soaked in honey, stung and swollen,
reckless, pinned against time?
...
I love the last line -- "pinned against time." And aren't we? To me that's not morbid, but true. We are all pinned against some measure of time. And maybe there's some compassion for all that.
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Thanks all!
Hope you have a lovely week. And thank you to the readers who did join my Koru Mindfulness Course! We filled up with 11 people, and are kicking off class 2 of 4 this week. It's always a pleasure :)
Big hugs, as always.
xxx maria 🙋
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