10/5/14

I've been reading Thomas Merton's The Sign of Jonas recently, which is making me nostalgic for my time at Our Lady of Guadalupe. The simplicity. The contemplative atmosphere. The experience of the Liturgy of the Hours. I miss all of it and hope to visit again soon.

Mass today was nice, and I finally got to meet Fr. Bill; but I was a bit distracted and didn't fully appreciate it. I accidentally deleted some data from a friend's computer while taking care of her cat these past two weeks, and today was the day she returned.

One thing that I did take away from the homily, however, is how important right action (i.e., actions in line with Dhamma/God) is. Some people, I think, tend to see the social justice side of Christianity as something beyond or outside of the spiritual messages contained within the Bible; but it's really not, in my opinion. Quite a few seem to be more than willing to criticize priests who they feel are too liberal and/or too focused on things like social justice. But the teachings in the Bible continually stress things like justice, love in action, moral uprightness, generosity, and our duty towards others in need, i.e., many are about how we treat one another. For example, one of this week's readings:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. (Phil 4:6-9)

"Put these things into practice." And to me, that echoes one of the implicit messages from the parable of the wicked tenants who failed in their duties. Or Jesus more explicitly, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me" (Matt 19:21).

For me, these teachings seem to be as rooted in, and applicable to, the here-and-now as they do the hereafter. So when priests relate many of these exhortations and parables to the recognition and support of social issues like a living wage, universal healthcare, immigrant rights and immigration reform, domestic violence, care of the poor and sick, etc., I think they're 'putting these things into practice' as much as they are when they're stressing the internal aspects of the spiritual life. Or as Fr. Charlie put it in his homily, we can't be passive in the face of injustice. It's an inspiring and proactive message that I think exemplifies the spirit of Jesus' commandment to his disciples: "[L]ove one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35).

Unfortunately, while trying to take all of that in and be fully present during the service, I was also fretting about whether I could recover the data I accidentally deleted from my friend's computer despite St. Paul's advice, and panicking about having to confess my epic fuckup right after mass after I got a message that she'd just got back from her trip. (Although she was understanding and not as upset as I feared she'd be, I still felt like the worst person in the world.)

As I write this, I'm still waiting for the recovery program to scan for the lost files, and I'm hoping and praying they'll be recoverable. But whether or not they are, I certainly learned a fairly painful and embarrassing lesson about the importance of mindfulness...

10/1/14

The topic for today's B- Catholics group was supposed to be the Eucharist, but it shifted somewhat due to a question raised by Dorothy about an article she read dealing with the lack of youth participation at Sunday mass. Part of Fr. Michael's response was that you can't force them to come; they have to want to be there. The question is, how can you connect with people and help them grow in their spiritual life?

At this point, Fr. Michael spoke about his attendance of an interfaith service at Augustana Lutheran Church yesterday. The event was to support Francisco Aguirre, who's taken sanctuary at Augustana after ICE agents arrived at his home on September 19th threatening to deport him. Fr. Michael went, in part, because of his passion for social justice. But he left contemplating the genuine hospitality and sense of community that he felt there, even among so many different people from equally as many spiritual traditions, something that the Paulist Fathers also seek to offer through contemporary culture and media.

It got me thinking about why I was there at the meeting, and why I've been attending mass and the inquiry class, as well. The most obvious answer is that I really like to be around spiritual people and places, I always have. And lately, the more I visit, the more I feel like I'm being nourished spiritually, socially, etc., and that it's a good place for me right now in my spiritual journey despite my years of avoiding Christianity like the plague. The few people I've already met seem to truly embody the welcoming spirit that Fr. Michael spoke of; and I also appreciate the parish's focus on social justice.

Social justice is something that's also important to me, including immigrant rights and immigration reform. I have a friend who's in a similar situation. Because my friend, his wife, and their first daughter initially came to this country 'illegally,' and his first lawyer screwed him over by putting the wrong country of origin on his paperwork because it's easier to immigrate from certain Latin American countries than others, he was ultimately denied citizenship despite the fact that he's been living, working, and paying taxes in the US for over 24 years, is an asset to his present employer, has no criminal record, has two children under 18 who are legal US citizens, and has been going through the immigration process since 2005. Now their future is in limbo.

As I was thinking about all of this, Fr. Michael said something that I thought was interesting. While talking about some of the reasons people may not come to mass, he mentioned that people often have the idea that communion is some kind of prize that you get for being good, that if you do x, y, and z you get communion as a reward. If you're not perfect, well, never mind. But he said that's not the right way of looking at it at all. Communion isn't simply a reward for being perfect or following all the rules; it's more like spiritual food for the soul that nourishes us and helps us heal our inner brokenness.

I found myself thinking of the story of Jesus and the adulterer — where he says, "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her" (John 8:7) — and how Jesus seems to have spent a lot of time with the poor and what many would consider the more unsavoury elements of society, wondering whether it might be because they weren't self-righteous and didn't deny their sins, weaknesses, and brokenness.

To paraphrase something Fr. Michael said, it's OK to be imperfect and to share those imperfections with one another. Communion isn't a reward for the perfect; it's for all of us who are imperfect to commune with one another (and God), and to be nourished spiritually. Just like in AA, acceptance of the problem/our brokenness is the first step towards healing. I got the same sense reading a passage from Thomas Merton's The Sign of Jonas, where he writes of his own imperfections:

It seems to me the most absurd thing in the world to be upset because I am weak and distracted and blind and constantly make mistakes! What else do I expect! Does God love me any less because I can't make myself a saint by my own power and in my own way? He loves me more because I am so clumsy and helpless without Him—and underneath what I am He sees me as I will one day be by His pure gift and that pleases Him—and therefore it pleases me and I attend to His great love which is my joy. (102-3)

This type of communion is subtle and difficult to put into words, however. I don't think it's meant to be a robotic, ritualistic obligation, but a genuine celebration of love, forgiveness, and reconciliation. It's an uplifting experience if we're receptive to it. Maybe many don't come to Sunday mass because they think they're not worthy. Maybe they're missing the spiritual maturity to understand its deeper meaning. Or maybe it's not being presented or received in the same spirit that it was first celebrated, when Jesus told his disciples to, "Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another" (John 13:34-35).

From the Buddhist point of view, one of the big dangers of clinging to rites and rituals in and of themselves is that we eventually sterilize those things of all honesty and efficacy. We tend to fall into the spiritual trap of thinking that just going through the motions is enough, i.e., doing things that may be outwardly correct but not necessarily with the right intentions. And I think that's true in this case, as well.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

9/28/14

This weekend I had the opportunity to attend my third retreat at Wat Atam, and the second led by Sakula, the spiritual director of Portland Friends of the Dhamma. The theme of the retreat was based around the threefold practice of virtue, concentration, and discernment, and how they're all integral to a successful practice.

The first night, when everyone attending was encouraged to observe the eight precepts while at the retreat, she talked about importance of virtue, which on the negative end consists of things we should refrain from doing, i.e., not harming living beings, not stealing, not committing sexual misconduct, not lying or using harsh speech, and not indulging in intoxicating drinks and drugs that lead to carelessness. But on the positive side, they encourage us to be kind and compassionate towards living beings, to be generous, to have safe and healthy relationships, to be honest and thoughtful in our speech, and to live in a clear and mindful way.

Besides helping to protect ourselves and others from the results of our unskillful actions, virtue is important because it acts as the foundation for our practice. For one, it helps to provide the meditator with a mind that's free from remorse and regret; and a mind that's free from remorse and regret is better able to develop deep states of concentration, which are difficult to develop when the mind is constantly worried or agitated (AN 11.2). And one thing Sakula had us do was to think of something skillful we did and delight in how good it made us feel.

(Believe me, a mind that's happier and lighter is a lot easier to observe and train. I know from experience. It's hard to meditate when you've done a lot of things you regret; they're the first things that pop up when the mind starts to get quiet.)

For most of the second day, the focus shifted to concentration. Often, living according to our desires, we develop habits that aren't necessarily good for us. We instinctively grasp for what's pleasant and push away what's not, rarely being fully aware of our intentions or even what we're doing. The problem is, in doing so, we suffer when that changes and we're separated with what's pleasant or come face-to-face with what isn't (SN 56.11). We may also do something because it gives us short-term pleasure, only to end up suffering a great deal later on because of it. And this happens because our minds are untrained in restraint, mindfulness, and wisdom. To strengthen these tools, we need to first develop our virtue and then develop our powers of concentration.

Just like a body that isn't used to exercise finds relatively intense physical activity difficult, if not impossible, a mind that isn't 'exercised' has difficulty turning inwards and being aware of the subtle mental activities and habits that give rise to suffering. We tend to take it for granted that what we're doing or thinking is the 'right' thing, but oftentimes what we're really doing is feeding our suffering. As Sakula mentioned, unpleasant thoughts and feelings will arise, but they'll also soon cease, unless of course we feed and sustain them, not being mindful of how feeding them can actually cause more problems than the initial thoughts and feelings themselves. We simply can't let them go.

We spent most of the day alternating between walking and sitting meditation, trying to focus on the breath or the soles of our feet while also trying to be aware of how our minds were reacting to thoughts and feelings and sensations, and when possible, letting them arise without pouncing on them and turning our attention away from our object. I had a lot of trouble with that, though, and found myself easily distracted.

At the end of the second day, as well as the last, she touched on wisdom. Wisdom is what can ultimately cut the roots of greed, hatred, and delusion. It's the aspect of our mental faculty that's capable of judging which of our intentions are skillful and unskillful, and more importantly, of abandoning what's unskillful. It dives through our desires and the narratives that we create, allowing us to see the deep and subtle way the mind works and giving us the ability to really go against the flow of our craving. With wisdom, we can enjoy the pleasant without indulging in it and getting carried away by it; and we can endure the unpleasant without having to become overwhelmed by it.

One of the similes she gave that I really liked was of a person walking on some train tracks who's completely distracted by all the sights and sounds around them, unmindful of the train coming up behind them. The person is our mind, the sights and sounds are all the pleasant things we instinctively grasp, and the train represents both the unpleasant things in life and the changing nature of phenomena that tends to barrel us over. Concentration is what helps us turn around and see the train coming; wisdom is our ability to step off the track and watch it pass by rather than let it barrel us over unawares or to try and stop it in its tracks, which is impossible.

The last day was a special treat for me since it was not only Thai Vegan Day, with Wat Atam's community of lay-followers providing a feast of vegetarian Thai food for everyone to share, but one of my old teachers, Ajahn Prasert from Wat Buddhanusorn, was visiting to help raise a fund for sick and injured monks in the US.

Admittedly, I had a hard time meditating or really cultivating any wisdom this weekend. I did gain a deeper appreciation of virtue, however, especially that of others, and felt a lot of gratitude the whole time for all the kindness and generosity that made this retreat even possible for me, from Ajahn Ritthi for hosting it and Sakula for leading it, to Greg and Alistair for lagging behind and braving the I-5 rush-hour traffic so I could carpool with them and Phil and Marie at work who gave me an extra hand so I could get out of work on time and actually catch my ride.

There was a lot more to the retreat, but those are a few of the things that stuck with me the most. It was disheartening to realize how much I've slacked on my meditation practice and how I was lucky if I could be truly mindful of three breaths the entire weekend, but it was equally as heartening being surrounded by such encouraging and supportive people.

9/21/14

I made it a point to go to mass at St. Philip Neri today after Fr. Michael mentioned that what I wrote about my monastic experience at Our Lady of Guadalupe gave him some ideas for his homily. We met for the first time Wednesday at the B- group meeting, and I'd sent him an email afterwards telling him a little bit about myself and included a copy of what I wrote at Our Lady. That, plus something his friend Mitch wrote about his own monastic experience, apparently gave Fr. Michael some inspiration.

His homily began with a reflection on a line from Leonard Cohen's "Anthem" — "There is a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in" — and the parable of the workers in the vineyard in Matthew, which was the day's Gospel reading. In the parable, Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a landowner who hires a bunch of workers throughout the day to work in his vineyard and pays each a full day's wage regardless of how long they've worked in the vineyard.

Our first reaction may be, as was that of the first labourers hired, that it's unfair to pay those who have only worked a few hours the same promised amount as those who have worked all day—the first should be rewarded more, right? But Fr. Michael said that this parable is a crack where the light of God shines through, challenging the ways of the world and teaching us to think bigger. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isa 55:8-9).

So what's this story teaching us? Fr. Michael offered one answer: that this parable illustrates both the idealistic and pragmatic side of Jesus' teachings. Jesus said that the kingdom of God is at hand, meaning that the kingdom of God isn't just a nice idea to dream about, it's a living reality if we live it. And this parable is an example of that. This person goes out and hires everyone he sees without work and pays them a full day's wage regardless of how long they've laboured. Rather than being an illustration of unfair reward, which is how we may first perceive it, what it's actually illustrating is unconditional compassion and generosity.

One reason we don't tend to see it from this point of view, suggested Fr. Michael, is that we rarely witness or experience such unconditional generosity and compassion in our day-to-day lives; so when we do come face-to-face with it, we don't recognize it for what it is. In our enviousness and subjective sense of justice, we may think the first workers are being unfairly compensated rather than seeing the compassion and generosity underlying the landowner's actions towards the last. Where we see injustice, there's actually the fullness of justice, of equal treatment, of Jesus' admonition to love one another. Everyone gets a full day's wage without exception, i.e., everyone is equal.

Here, in this parable, our worldly thoughts and ways are challenged, and we're invited to raise our thoughts higher, to become more compassionate, more generous, and more loving. Not for any kind of selfish reason, but unconditionally. We're invited, right here in the here and now, to live in the kingdom of heaven. We're called to see everyone as an equal, to not let envy poison our hearts, to share in one another's stories and be inspired by them, and most importantly, to do all things with love.

Fr. Michael went on to say how my story, and that of his friend Mitch, were like cracks or thunderbolts, letting in the light of our experiences into his life and giving him a sense of enthusiasm that he hasn't felt in a while. He said that we all need to be shaken up once in a while because we have a tendency to become complacent and miss out on all the 'cracks' around us. And it really made me happy that he got something out of my experience and my reflections about it, just as I was getting something out of his.

After mass, I joined Fr. Michael and Matthew, whom Fr. Michael had introduced me to earlier as 'a fellow seeker,' for the french toast breakfast that happens every third Sunday. It was nice getting to know Matthew, and we talked a bit about Buddhism, the contemplative side of Catholicism, and various things of that sort. It was also nice talking to Fr. Michael some more. I especially enjoy his peculiar sense of humour.

The more time I spend at St. Philip Neri, the more I think I like it. All the people I've met so far have been quite welcoming and friendly. Many of the parishioners are interested in the more contemplative aspects of the Catholic tradition. And as far as Catholic parishes go, it's fairly liberal/progressive, with a strong social justice leaning. In their weekly bulletin, for example, there's a flier for a Jobs with Justice Faith Labor Committee discussion this Tuesday about wage theft. It seems like my kind of place.

9/20/14

Yesterday a friend and I went to sit with the Friday PFoD group, which was notable for two reasons. The first was that Kyogen Carlson, the abbot of the building's previous community, Dharma Rain, suffered a massive heart attack and passed away unexpectedly the day before. The second was that, being the third Friday of the month, the Pacific Hermitage monks were in Portland to lead the meditation and Dhamma discussion. Due to the news of Kyogen's passing, the monks did some traditional Pali paritta chants before the meditation session, and the talk afterwards focused on death and dying.

Neither death nor dying are something that most people want to think about, but in the Buddhist tradition, these reflections are an important part of the practice. One reason is that they help give one a sense of urgency. Knowing that our time here on Earth is finite and relatively short, with death itself often being unexpected, we're motivated to use the time we do have wisely and develop the tools we'll need to confront death with a stable footing when our time comes. Another reason is that such reflections help remind us of the inconstancy of conditioned things, like our minds and bodies, and how little control we truly have over them:

Aniccà vata sankhàrà.
Uppàda-vaya-dhammino.
Uppajjitvà nirujhanti.
Tesaü våpasamo sukho.

Impermanent are all conditioned things.
Of a nature to arise and pass away.
Having arisen, they pass away.
Their calming and cessation is true bliss.

There's a lot of good we can accomplish in our lifetime. There's a lot of joy and happiness to be had as well. But by living heedlessly and ignoring the nature of reality, we run the risk of confronting death unprepared, whether that of a loved one or our own. Because we are born, death is inevitable, but we rarely seem to plan for it. All of the things we accumulate throughout life, wealth, possessions, status, relationships, etc., can't go with us; and yet our lives are almost solely focused on acquiring rather than letting go, so when it comes time to part with that which we hold dear, we sorrow, grieve, lament, beat our breast, and become distraught.

We all must face death numerous times in our life, and countless times if you believe the teachings on rebirth. For that reason alone it's worthy of our attention. From the Buddhist point of view, it's only with the cessation of birth that there's the cessation of death; and being mindful of death leads one to heedfulness—to developing mindfulness for the sake of ending the effluents of the mind. When mindfulness of death is developed and pursued in the proper way, it gains a footing in the deathless, and has the deathless as its final end. And even when our minds and bodies fall apart, there will be peace in the heart.

9/18/14

Last night I sat in on the B- group again. The meeting went much the same as the last one did, with the exception that Fr. Michael was there this time. To my surprise, everyone at the meeting I went to last month remembered me and apparently told Fr. Michael good things about me. I'm not sure there was a coherent theme, but the discussion touched upon a number of things relevant to me at the moment.

Fr. Michael began with a story about a friend of his named Mitch who spent two weeks at a monastery and the good it did him, which reminded me of my five-day stay at Our Lady. There was a little discussion about prayer and the contemplative aspect of spirituality—how work is neither mutually exclusive of prayer nor mutually inclusive, and how both are important to living a spiritually-balanced life. Then Fr. Michael brought up something Pope Francis said about the current global situation amounting to a piecemeal WWIII, and how our response to things is often also individualistic and piecemeal and not big enough.

In relation to this last part, Fr. Michael offered an example of 'thinking big' by asking us to imagine the archdiocese of Portland doing something like announcing the goal of making all their parishes' energy self-sufficient (or as close to it as possible) by 2030 as a response to global climate change, much like the city of Eugene is doing. The point I took away from this was that we should try to think bigger, to think outside of and beyond ourselves and the 'shadow of Cain' as Pope Francis calls it. Instead of asking "What does it matter to me?" or "Am I my brother's keeper?," we should recall what Jesus asks of us in the Gospel:

We have heard: he is in the least of his brothers; he, the King, the Judge of the world, he is the one who hungers, who thirsts, he is the stranger, the one who is sick, the prisoner… The one who cares for his brother or sister enters into the joy of the Lord; the one who does not do so, however, who by his omissions says, "What does it matter to me?", remains excluded.

Fr. Michael also shared the Gospel reading for the upcoming Sunday mass for reflection, which happens to be the parable of the workers in the vineyard. I thought this parable was interesting. On the one hand, it's clearly talking about something spiritual, about the kingdom of heaven, suggesting that all who accept this spiritual invitation will be equally rewarded regardless of when in life they do so, and warning against letting jealousy poison one's heart. But it also has fairly obvious socio-economic implications about how workers should be treated, justifying everything from a living wage to a universal basic income. At least it does to me, anyway.

Yesterday also happened to be the day before Fr. Michael's birthday, so one of the ladies made him a cake and we all sang "Happy Birthday" and had a piece of cake to celebrate it. It was nice to be able to share in that.

As much as I enjoyed my time at Holy Trinity last Sunday, this experience has reaffirmed my initial decision to learn more about the Catholic Church and attend the inquiry class at St. Philip Neri. For one, I feel that this particular community is more open and accepting than many others, and I feel drawn towards it. It feels as if I'm on the right track, where I need to be at the moment. Only time will tell if I'm right.

9/12/14

I'm confused and torn. I'm drawn towards so many different spiritual traditions and monastic orders at the moment, particularly Christian and Buddhist. I like certain aspects of each I explore, and dislike just as many. I dislike the sectarian triumphalism, however subtle, I find in each as well. I suppose one may be more right than another, and each tends to think their tradition is the bee's knees of truth, but I see in each a genuine core of honest suffering and purity that comes from the same place and points in the same direction. Each may use different words to convey these things, and they may have different philosophical and theological assumptions underlying them, but they're essentially trying to express, and own, something that's universal and open to all.

In Christianity, for example, love and forgiveness are key tenets. It's said that "God is love" (John 4:16), and the whole of the law is fulfilled in keeping one commandment: "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Gal 5:14). And yet, even within the multitude of Christian traditions, one church will refuse to be in communion with another for any number of seemingly trivial reasons, which to them are quite serious; but in relation to the core doctrines of Christianity — love, charity, and forgiveness — they seem rather meaningless. Is God one or three? Is Jesus lesser than God or are they equal? Does one have to be fully immersed during baptism or is affusion and aspersion OK? These kinds of things separate churches, and yet, can we ever fully understand God, to say with certainty that God is one thing or another? Would an all-loving God of forgiveness reject someone because of the way water was applied during their baptism? Buddhism has similar issues, of course, although not as pronounced.

Despite this, I have trouble living a spiritual life outside of religious institutions and communities. For me, worldly life is filled with so many comforts and distractions, and I'm surrounded by so many people who don't feel the same spiritual calling as I do, that I easily fall away from my spiritual practices. I'm easily swept up in and buffeted by the worldly winds of gain, loss, status, disgrace, censure, praise, pleasure, and pain. I'm seduced by pleasure and gain, and I become morally weak trying to live in a society that tends to idealize and promote greed and self-interest over altruism and the common good, and competition over cooperation. The world feeds my unskillful/sinful behaviour, and I need external sources of support to help motivate me and keep me on the right path. It's not that I'm a bad person on my own; but I need help to be an even better one, and that's why I constantly seek out spiritual people and places. I'm good at being lazy and selfish, mostly because it doesn't take a lot of work.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm trapped in a cage, trapped in my home and by all the distracting things in it, by my job, and by the expectations placed upon me. Like a bird who's lived its whole life in a cage and is afraid to venture beyond the open door, I feel the urge to fly but can't bring myself to make the leap. I'm conditioned to stay where I am even though my instinct is to sore amongst the white clouds. But the oppressiveness doesn't ultimately lie in my home, my job, or the expectations of others; it's in myself. It's a cage of my own making. I could be meditating, but there's always a new episode of something on Hulu I'd rather be watching. I could be nicer to people at work, but in my pride, it's so much easier to be critical, angry, and impatient. I could go to my Friday night meditation and discussion group, but everyone's meeting for drinks and I don't want to miss out.

Lately, because of this, I've been trying to spend more time at churches and read more spiritually-oriented books, and it's helped some. I've also been thinking about joining a church too, although I'm on the fence about which, if any, I should join. I'm Western, and I'm drawn towards the Trappists, so Catholicism? But I really like Orthodox churches, and they have their own contemplative traditions as well. The former's liberation theology speaks to me as a political creature, but the latter has a deep mystical tradition that speaks to me as a spiritual being. And yet, each has social/theological positions on things like same-sex marriage and sexual relationships and opposition to women clergy that I just can't accept, which brings me back to questioning why the hell I'm even thinking about joining a church in the first place, at least one outside of certain Anglican and Lutheran or Unitarian churches that are far more progressive in this area.

One thing that draws me towards Catholicism and Orthodoxy, probably the main thing really, is their comparable contemplative, mystical traditions, as well as their long-standing monastic traditions. I'm extremely drawn towards monasticism, and they're the main game in town when it comes to Christian monasticism. Plus there's something about their services, especially mass/divine liturgy, that I find beautiful and uplifting and want to be a part of. I guess I appreciate the ritual aspect of it, and I really enjoy the mysticism of it all. Because of my time at Our Lady of Guadalupe, I was pretty sure about wanting to attend an inquiry/RCIA class at somewhere like St. Philip Neri; but after a recent conversation I had with an Orthodox friend of mine, I'm now leaning towards checking out the inquiry class at a nearby Greek Orthodox church if it's not too late (I'd go to both, but it seems as if every church schedules them at 7pm on Wednesday to prevent that kind of competition.)

Part of me thinks I should just focus on my Buddhist practice, which would solve a lot of these dilemmas; but I'm drawn to both traditions because they each help complement my spiritual life. I want to be a student of every religion and learn what they have to offer. I wish I had someone to go to for advice, but I'm not sure who. Most probably wouldn't understand my point of view, my universalist desire to be a part of all these different spiritual communities and try to absorb all I can from them. My non-religious friends probably think I'm crazy, and my religious ones have their own biases and tend to pull me in one direction or another, making it hard for me to know what the best thing for me is. And it doesn't help that I'm the most indecisive person in the world.