Spirituality’s Knottiest Problem

Quick story — in 333 BC, Alexander the Great, who at the time was still merely Alexander the Mildly Impressive, was challenged to untie a complex knot that tied an oxcart. Legend had it that whoever could untie the knot would be destined to rule all of Asia. Alexander took his sword and dramatically cut the knot in half. Problem solved.

The most complex problem I’ve encountered in spiritual evolution is the problem of attachment. It is the knotty topic I find myself returning to time and again in my own practice and the one I get most questions about from others. It is the sticky wicket of awakening.

The idea of releasing attachment is often misinterpreted as relinquishing what we love. We become afraid that our spiritual journey will demand the sacrifice of happiness, excitement, and the delicious joy of anticipation. Even after we become fully aware that the world of spirit has no push or pull, no up or down, no craving or aversion, we wonder what we might miss without them.

The attachment to even one craving or one aversion becomes a Gordian knot tying our beingness to ego.

But never fear — the metaphor stretches.

The sword that slices through the knot is joy. You see, the great mystical paradox of non-attachment is that we actually make room for more joy. So many parts of this human life are gloriously fun and immensely thrilling. Do all of them, if you wish. Non-attachment never asks you to say no to glorious fun. The attachment is not in the event we crave — it’s in the craving. Whatever you might look forward to, try releasing everything about it except the joy. That means releasing the need for it to happen and the need for it to happen in a certain way. Most importantly, it means releasing the belief that this event is the dispenser of your joy.

True joy exists independently of any happening in the dynamic push-pull, up-down world of material reality. If I go on that trip of a lifetime or not, if I get that new car or not, if I can buy that dream house or not — still joy.

We used to sing a song in Sunday School that borrowed lyrics from a verse in the Old Testament book of Nehemiah. It said, “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” It’s still a maxim that rings true even in my non-traditional, interfaith, syncretic journey. The joy of spirit is my sword. It cuts through every knotty attachment and sets me free.

The Man, The Bear, and The Divine Feminine

Just to bring the three people who haven’t heard about the man and the bear up to speed:

A woman on social media asked her husband if he would rather have their daughter alone in the woods with a bear or a man. You can see his tortured thought process in the brief video. What kind of man? Can I pick the man? How far away is the bear? When his wife shifts the question to whether he would want his daughter in the woods with a bear or a woman, he doesn’t hesitate — “A woman.”

The internet has erupted with this conversation, and women are saying a LOT:

  • “Now you know why we walk to our car with our keys between our fingers like wolverine claws.”
  • “The bear won’t try to convince me he’s a friend before he attacks me.”
  • “At least people won’t question whether I led the bear on or dressed too provocatively.”

Men also have a few things to say, but their defensiveness often proves the point. One meme shows a cartoon man walking away from a woman being mauled by a bear and saying, “Hey, you chose the bear.” That’s not quite the flex the meme creator believes it is. Implying that women should be mauled for seeing you as a danger makes you . . . dangerous.

But this question really isn’t about men. It’s about maleness, and more specifically, toxic masculinity. It’s about years of patriarchy, both social and religious, that have created an extreme imbalance of energy. It’s about the way we belittled and buried the necessary qualities of feminine energy — gentleness, intuition, non-hierarchical collaboration, receptivity, nurturing — and emphasized the masculine energy — leadership, assertiveness, power, strength, protection.

It’s important to remember that female and feminine are not synonymous. In the same way that my Aries nature often causes me to express as an assertive and strong woman, many men I know excel in following their intuition and nurturing those around them. Those men in touch with their feminine energies seem remarkably silent in the man-and-bear debate. It’s almost as if . . . they get it.

In religious circles, the slow recognition of the need for more divine feminine energy has sometimes led to a placebo that seems to have an effect for a time but doesn’t really heal. I’m talking about women in leadership. The answer to so many well-intentioned religious organizations who want to balance patriarchal energy is to put more women in leadership. But, if those women have been steeped in the same masculine soup of traditional religiosity, they are likely to perpetuate the divine masculine because they have learned that’s how you survive and succeed.

Eastern religions have long revered the divine feminine. Perhaps that is why their popularity in the West has grown so impressively over the past several decades. People may not always be able to put it into words, but when droves run from a religion that systematically reduced the role of women, Mary Magdalene in particular, and move toward wisdom traditions with goddesses and yin-yang balance, it seems a connection could be made to the yearning for balance.

You see, the real question is bear or toxic masculinity, and we’d all be better off with the bear, women and men alike.

And for those men who don’t know how to respond to the man v. bear question, here’s a suggestion: Don’t. Just listen. Acknowledge that women are generally terrified of toxic masculinity. And work to balance your feminine energy so you’re the Gentle Ben who would protect those around you.

Why Interfaith

Interfaith is a term that can be used in two distinct ways: first, interfaith can mean, and usually does mean, when people from different religious traditions join together for a common purpose. This is big. This means that people who identify with a religion that is probably more than just a religion — it is probably also culture and family and possibly even geopolitical ideology — decide to love and welcome and interact with and respect people of other faiths.

But there is another way to define interfaith, and it’s the one with which I most resonate. For me, interfaith is not just appreciating other traditions, but dipping into them as I feel called, creating my own syncretic faith, which, truth be told, is ultimately what we all do to varying degrees.

Picking one great wisdom tradition to claim as a sole identity would be like tilling a half-acre garden and then planting only marigolds. It would be like fielding a Super Bowl team with 11 running backs. It would be like trying to write a great symphony using only B-flat.

From Buddhism, I learn zen and mindfulness. From Judaism, I learn history and tradition. From Islam, I learn reverence and devotion. From Hinduism, I learn true yoga and the wisdom of non-duality. From paganism, I learn to honor the earth and recognize my place on it. From Christianity, I learn compassion and grace. From atheism, I learn respect for science and reason. From Sikhism, I learn service and kirtan worship. From Baha’i, I learn unity and peace.

Should I go on? Because I could. So many gifts from so many sources — how could I ever choose one?

Being a minister from this perspective means that no matter what spiritual identity a person claims, I will hold space for hope and divine connection on their behalf, offer my support for their journey regardless of which path they are on, and rejoice in their spiritual evolution, even if it looks nothing like my own. I will love Jesus with them and chant the name of Shiva with them and revere the Prophet with them. I will pray for them, meditate with them, light a candle for them, or sage them. I will accept them fully even as I am accepted fully by the One Supreme Being with whom I have my most precious relationship.

What a beautiful and glorious work is that to which I have been called. I live in a state of wonderment and delight that the Divine has entrusted me with this sacred task.

Peace be unto you. Om.

The Bluejay

John William Hill, “The Dead Bluejay,” watercolor, 1865
I saw him on the bench
as I pulled into the carport,
a bluejay, on his back,
pencil-lead feet curled
around a ghost perch.

I took my dinner inside
to eat before it got cold
and to give the bluejay
a chance to rouse if
it was only a stunning.

It was not.

Satiated,
I went to the shed,
got the shovel, then thought twice,
and got two shovels.

With one flat at the bluejay's edge,
the other tipped him onto the metal --
I feel it was a him --
bluejays so often seem more
they/them.

I suppose I could have
thrown him in the woods.
But I didn't.
I took him to the spot
where I dump yard trash --
not trash trash, yard trash --
sticks and weeds and the
dried husks of hanging
baskets I forgot to water.

I dug a grave, a shallow grave,
no more than six inches.
I was tired, and my full belly
didn't care for so much activity.
But, still, I dug a grave.

I put the body of the bluejay
in the hole and stood for a moment.
Should I say something?
I didn't know what.
I just looked at him,
saw him, stayed with him
in that moment.

It took just two heaping
shovels of dirt to secure
him in his final rest,
and I thought,
I wonder if he knows that
every time I take yard trash
to this spot, I will
think of him.
He will be remembered.
HIs grave will be visited.
He will be mourned.

I took my shovels back to the shed
and only then did I think of my father,
placed into a cremation oven
before I could see his face
one last time,
buried in a jar that sits
on my stepmother's mantel,
I suppose,
or was he scattered
in the mountains?
No one ever told me.

I have no grave to visit,
no headstone to decorate,
no symbolic point where
his memory lives on demand.

His voice fades a little every day.
His smell, I can almost . . .
not quite.
His laugh, the music of his laugh,
dying away.
And I don't know where to go
to bring any of it back
even for a moment.

So,
I named the bluejay
"David."