Icicupi

“It was a cool but sunny day by the lakeside in Yerevan. I was soaking up the last bit of summer sun while singing ashoughagan and folk tunes with some college friends. Ludvig had brought a duduk and was accompanying our friend Talin on her oud. As she strummed, the rest of us chimed in when we recognized the songs. Crowds of people were flocking to the water’s edge, and a jam-packed trolley bus inched its way towards us along the top of the dam.

“Suddenly, I heard a crack, like a gunshot. While I scanned the horizon, wondering if there was someone shooting, I heard a wail and screech of trolley wheels. We watched in horror as the bus flew off the tracks and into the water, and quickly submerged.

“Earlier I’d noticed a pair of men running towards us from the other direction along the lakeside. When the trolley fell into the water, they burst into a sprint, and as they came closer, I recognized them. The Karapetyan brothers were local celebrities; Shavarsh was a world-record holder in finswimming, and at the age of 24, just a bit older than I.

“The rest of us were frozen in disbelief, but Shavarsh and his brother Kamo dove into the frigid water without hesitation. The area around the bus was now murky with silt from the lakebed. I could see Kamo treading water, but Shavarsh had disappeared. Then up popped his head, and we could see he had a person in his arms. He passed the passenger, an older woman, to his brother, who swam towards the lakeside. By now, more people had moved to the lake’s edge to help.

“Shavarsh repeated the ritual, over and over. Every half a minute or so he would pop to the surface, sometimes empty handed, but usually to pass a body to one of the students who’d waded into the water to help. Then he would dive back down. One time he brought up an empty leather chair, and grimaced when he saw what it was. Remembering the faces I’d seen crowded against the windows, I estimated there must have been almost a hundred people in the trolley. Shavarsh just kept going. In the end, he saved 20.

“Some divers had by now showed up to help, but their air tanks were empty, and of course by then it would have been too late to save anyone else: The bus had been submerged for more than 20 minutes. When Shavarsh was finally dragged to the shore by his brother, we could see deep cuts along his well-muscled swimmer’s legs, streaking dark red blood. He collapsed and was taken to a local hospital. Our friend Narine was a student nurse there, and told us later he’d gotten pneumonia from the filthy water, and was in a coma for 6 weeks.

“The illness did not quite kill Shavarsh, but it killed his athletic career, as his lungs were never the same. This was in the Soviet era, so there was nothing in the papers about it. Later we heard there’d been a fight between a passenger and the trolley driver that caused the accident. The story of Shavarsh saving all those people came out only years later. Most survivors hadn’t even known the name of the man who’d saved them! Since he lost his athletic ability, Shavarsh had to try something else. I heard he went to Moscow and started a shoe company. He called it ‘Second Wind.’

“A friend of my father once commented on it. He said, ‘Shavarsh’s lungs and legs might have made it possible for him to save those people. But his great heart made it certain.’ “

--
  
On September 16, 1976, the champion swimmer Shavarsh Karapetyan saved the lives of 20 victims of a trolley accident on Lake Yerevan, Armenia. As an athlete, Shavarsh was used to a certain form of hero worship. The Lakota Sioux say that the virtues of the hero include Wo'hitika (Courage) and Wowa'cintanka (Fortitude). And on that day Shavarsh showed these. But that day Shavarsh Karapetyan showed us one more virtue of the hero. That day Shavarsh Karapetyan showed us the meaning of Icicupi (Sacrifice).

May we see the gates of Icicupi, and perhaps make a home there. 

Jen

He who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the north polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it.
--Analects II, 1

Today marks the tenth anniversary of the death of one of the greatest political activists and visionaries of the Polish people, Jerzy Giedroyc. (First name “YEHTZ-ih”, last name “GED-roich.”; b. 27 July 1906, d. 14 September 2000.) Giedroyc worked his whole long life to promote a free and democratic Poland. Known as “The Editor,” he founded several publications thoughout the 20th century that gave voice to important thinkers and artists from all over Europe, including two Polish Nobel laureates, the writer Czesław Miłosz and the poetess Wisława Szymborska.

Giedroyc’s passionate belief in just governance and human rights, with a willingness to feed the minds and souls of his countrymen, to me suggests the Confucian virtue of Jen (sometimes written Rén). “Jen” has been translated into English as “Humanity” or “Benevolence,” but also as “Authority,” and even simply as “Virtue.” In the Analects and other writings, Confucius emphasized that the legitimacy of a ruler derives from Jen, his moral authority, which in turn cultivates morality among his/her people.

Likewise, Jerzy Giedroyc viewed morality as central to political leadership. Giedroyc lived at a critical time in the history of Poland. After a century of being ruled by other nations, Poland regained its independence as a sovereign nation in 1918, at the end of World War I, when Giedroyc was just 12 years old. He studied history at college and worked in the government, and then became the head of a political magazine, Polityka, at the tender age of 24.

Polityka gathered together politicians and writers who took advantage of the brief, fertile peace to proclaim bold visions for Polish society. In 1938, with Poland facing the imminent loss of its independence to Germany and later Russia, Giedroyc’s group issued a statement, “The Polish Imperial Idea,” in which they

reject[ed] the concept of politics as a free play of political parties whose main objective is to seize power and satisfy personal aspirations of their leaders... Political activity must not be isolated from care for common good, i.e. the state. Politics is tied with ethics, and demands a respect for basic standards. Moral authority is the most valuable asset of a political or state leader.

Such idealism persisted in Giedroyc’s vision as he worked after WWII to again win independence for Poland, this time from the Soviet Union. From offices in Paris, he created a new journal, Kultura, which for over half a century bolstered generations of Polish (and other) thinkers and artists. Kultura nurtured three Polish protest movements well into the 1970s. Poland finally overthrew Soviet control in 1989, voting in Lech Wałęsa as the first popularly-elected president of the Third Republic a year later.

I confess the story of Jerzy Giedroyc's life of faithful effort leaves me gobsmacked. Like so many, I find modern politicians snared by personal ambition and partisan squabbling. I see my nation lost, and far from the lofty precepts of Confucius.

Then I think about the saga of Poland, whose people did not even have free control of their nation, but finally won their independence, and I feel abashed . Giedroyc, like the north star, shines down history with the light of Jen to remind us that leadership with and for the human heart is (still) possible.

It starts with us. Whether we sign a petition, sit in a nonviolent protest, or simply learn about the ballot issues and vote our conscience, let us bring Jen, the virtue of moral leadership, into our daily lives.

May we see the gates of Jen, and perhaps (like Jerzy Giedroyc) make a home there. 

Symphony

A symphony must be like the world. It must contain everything.
--Gustav Mahler

Exactly 100 years ago today, Gustav Mahler premiered his Symphony No. 8, also known as the “Symphony of a Thousand,” in Munich, Germany. Both a critical and popular success, it was the last work whose premier he’d live to see. While not as famous as Nos. 5, 2, or 1, Mahler’s Eighth has distinction as one of the largest choral works in the classical music repertoire: a staggering number of voices and instruments must come together to produce it. This inspired me today to consider Symphony as a virtue--and the perfect caravansary at which to discuss root and aggregate virtues.

While we may be familiar with “symphony” as a piece of music, my trusty American Heritage Dictionary also defines it as “characterized by a harmonious combination of elements.” As such, Symphony may be best thought of as a group virtue--a virtue mainly manifest in the interactions of multiple individuals. Other examples of group virtues include Cosmopolitanism, Fraternity, or Hospitality (all of which we will visit later in our travels). Whenever a group of human beings unite to produce a beautiful outcome not possible with one individual, there is Symphony. This might include anything from creating a peaceful protest, to getting a ball down the court to score a basket, to caring for a sick relative.

The virtue of Symphony touches on a mathematical idea called emergence, the notion that individual parts can come together to produce a whole whose properties are unique, surprising, and would not have been predicted from examining the separate parts alone. Think about a single termite wandering around. Now think about how thousands of termites come together to produce one of their gigantic mounds. Some scientists would call this pretty mathematics, but I think Symphonic or emergent phenomena have something of the Divine about them. The beauty of the forest is not just that it’s a bunch of trees. It has a soul.

Symphony also may be thought of as an aggregate virtue--meaning, a virtue made up of pieces of other, more fundamental virtues a.k.a root virtues.  If we, for example, use Peterson and Seligman’s virtues list as a source of ingredients, Symphony’s recipe calls for Creativity, Vitality, Social Intelligence, Teamwork, Humility, and Appreciation-of-Beauty. Each of these ingredients, in turn, traces back to the universal root virtues of Wisdom, Courage, Humanity, Justice, Temperance, and Transcendence--virtues the authors say we can find across all human cultures.

Working the cities metaphor, think of how the boroughs of Manhattan, Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Queens unite to make New York City its delicious pastiche, or how the unique neighborhoods of the Mission, the Sunset, the Haight, Russian Hill, and dozens of others give San Francisco its spicy diversity. Likewise, the root virtues can be thought of as districts within the City (the Virtue) they make up. No neighborhood alone makes the City what it is; it takes them all. (If we mistake one neighborhood as representing the entire City, we fall into a “synecdochal fallacy” and miss Truth; we find this illustrated in the famous parable of the blind men and the elephant.)

At any given moment, you are manifesting Symphony in your interactions with members of your family, worksite, team, community, and even the ecosystem. So, give Mahler’s Eighth a whirl, and while it plays, think on the miracle of Symphony for a moment.

May we see the gates of Symphony, and perhaps make a home there.

And Happy Hundredth Birthday, Mahler’s Eighth!

Musubi

I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work them, water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.
--Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Today, September 9, is Chrysanthemum Day (Kiku no Sekku), a national holiday in Japan honoring the royal dynasty. For that reason, I thought today would be a perfect occasion to visit Musubi (Becoming/Blooming), one of the virtues of Shinto, the traditional religion of Japan.

To better understand the meaning of Musubi, I consulted the Institute for Japanese Culture and Classics at Kokugakuin University, who define it as

the spirit of birth and becoming. Birth, accomplishment, combination. The creating and harmonizing powers. The working of musubi has fundamental significance in Shinto, because creative development forms the basis of the Shinto world view.

In other words, Musubi stands for the power of creation. In the sacred text the Kojiki, which relates the myths and legends of ancient Japan, it is said that three Musubi deities--the God of Sky, the God of Earth, and the God-Who-Rules-the-Center--gave birth to all things in the Universe. Many Shinto worshippers revere these three creator Gods, along with the Sun Goddess Amaterasu, above all others.

As Shinto is the state religion of Japan, it also honors the Emperor, whose family chose the chrysanthemum, symbol of perfection, to represent their seat of power: the Chrysanthemum Throne. For over a thousand years, the Japanese have featured chrysanthemums in their main harvest festival, held on the ninth day of the ninth month (9 being the highest number and so associated with full bloom). A single petal of the celebrated flower is placed at the bottom of a wine glass to encourage a long and healthy life. In some areas, cotton is draped on chrysanthemum blossoms, and the following morning the dew caught on the cotton (kiku-wata) is used to bathe the body to impart the “bloom of youth.”

In an era of supermarkets stocked year-round, the meaning of the diverse harvest festivals that populate this time of the year has waned for many of us. Still, the sentiment of the harvest--in which the energies of the natural world combine with our own sweat and labor to bring the fruits into being--is worth remembering. Even if we are not farmers, we all in one way or another have watered the stories of our lives--our jobs, studies, relationships--with our blood, tears, and laughter. The stories have bloomed. And hopefully, so have we.

So, take a moment to celebrate the virtue of Musubi. How have you manifested this beauty of creating, and being created? Sprinkle some chrysanthemum petals on your food and wine, and enjoy your harvest.  

May we see the gates of Musubi, and perhaps make a home there.  

Týr

My hand do I lack, | but the Great Wolf thou,
And the loss brings longing to both;
Ill fares the wolf | who shall ever await 
In fetters the fall of the gods.
--the words of the Norse god Týr, from Lokasenna, st.39, in the Icelandic Poetic Edda (heroic sagas)

Today we’re going to discuss Týr, one of the Asatru Nine Noble Virtues, often described by their runic names. Asatru (also spelled Asatro) is a living modern-day religion honoring the traditional Gods and Goddesses of Scandinavia (the Gods of Asgard). As a virtue, Týr stands for Courage, emphasized by many Asatru elders as their most important value.

Týr is also the name of one of the Old Norse Gods. Known for his courage and wisdom, Týr was the deity of war-making and combat, as well as justice. It is fitting that the virtue of Courage shares its name with this God, for the story of why Týr came to have only one hand demonstrates his bravery. (Also fitting, we do this on a Tuesday, a day that takes its name from this deity.)

Once upon a time, a great monster, the Fenris Wolf, menaced the realm of Asgard. While the Gods attempted to chain the beast, he always broke free. Finally the Gods asked the dwarves to make a magical leash for the wolf. The dwarves took six magical ingredients from the world: the sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of birds. (Because they used these things, they are no longer found in the world. Well, almost.)

From the six elements the dwarves wove a fine ribbon they called Gleipnir, which the Gods used to leash the beast. While the Fenris Wolf was confident he could break the chain, he sensed a trap, and so insisted one of the Gods put a hand in his mouth as they put the leash on him. Týr agreed. Once Gleipnir secured him, the Wolf, struggling unsuccessfully to snap the chain, bit off Týr’s right hand. For this reason, Týr gained the nickname “Leavings of the Wolf.”

Most of us will never face bloody sword battles or monsters like the Fenris Wolf, but this does not mean Týr has no place in our journey. As Asatru scholar Lewis Stead commented in the online ritual book of the Raven Kindred:

Few of us face such turmoil as a literal battle for one’s life. In fact, I believe it might be easier to manifest courage in such a situation than to do so in the many smaller day to day occurrences in which courage is called for.

Today, the Wolf at our door may more likely be the fear of poverty or loss as we struggle to make ends meet, holding onto our jobs or, for those out of work, struggling to keep above water while seeking employment. In these circumstances, I can think of no better quality than Týr to summon within us. Virtues such as Resilience, Resourcefulness, Faith, Endurance, Creativity, and Humor (all of which we will visit later in our journey) are close cousins to Týr and its brethren-in-arms.

Today, think about the people in your life who manifest Týr, whether in boldly battling monsters, or simply persisting against the challenges so many of us face in difficult economic times.   

May we see the gates of Týr and perhaps make a home there.   
--
Note: Graphic gratefully borrowed from the online journal Tyr.

Philomathy

A learned person is superior to a worshipper as the full moon is superior to all the stars.
--from the Hadith (narrative commentary) Sunan Abu Dawud, a sacred text of Sunni Islam

This afternoon I saw Hubble 3D, a documentary about the famous space telescope. It stunned me to learn that over 10,000 scientists and engineers collaborated for four years to create the Hubble. As I watched astronaut Megan McArthur maneuver the telescope into the shuttle bay for repairs, I realized how many thousands more helped make the safe spaceflight behind the Hubble possible. I sat in awe of what Philomathy (fill-OH-muh-thee) can deliver. 

“Philomathy” refers to the love of learning. As far as I am aware, it does not feature per se in any culture’s traditional list of virtues, but as the quotation above shows, many religious traditions recognize the value of learning (though whether they prize it more than piety, as the hadith above would have it, I leave for you to ponder on your own--at least for today). Modern scholars Christopher Peterson and Martin Seligman in their 2004 book Character Strengths and Virtues describe Love-of-Learning, as well as Curiosity and Creativity, as emanations of the root virtue Wisdom (of which we will speak later in this blog).

Today, September 5, happens to be the birthday of one of the greatest pillars of Philomathy who ever lived, the 11th century Islamic scientist Abu Rayhan Biruni (sometimes known by the name Alberonius). Few Westerners have heard of al-Biruni, whose intellectual sparring partner Avicenna gained greater renown in the West. Yet the accomplishments of al-Biruni are truly staggering. Consider this entry from Wikipedia:

Biruni was a polymath with an interest in various practical and scholarly fields that relate to what nowadays is described as physics, anthropology, comparative sociology, astronomy, astrology, chemistry, history, geography, mathematics, medicine, psychology, philosophy, and theology. He was the first Muslim scholar to study India and the Brahminical tradition... He was one of the first exponents of an experimental method of investigation, introducing this method into mechanics and what is nowadays called mineralogy, psychology, and astronomy.

In other words, al-Biruni used the scientific method hundreds of years before the Western Enlightenment, and applied it in all directions. Al-Biruni is one of the Islamic cultural giants who kept the flame of learning lit while Europe walked its night of Dark Ages. His variety of interests remind me of a more familiar historical figure who also demonstrated great Philomathy, the scientist, politician, and bon vivant Benjamin Franklin, whom he preceded by over 700 years. (I’m also a Franklin fan for his study of virtues, which we will explore at a future date here on Ten Thousand Virtues...)

Al-Biruni had an insatiable love of learning. In his book Spiritual Discourses, the mid-20th century teacher Ayatollah Murtaza Motahari told the following tale:

When he was on his deathbed, Biruni was visited by a jurisprudent neighbor of his. Abu Rayhan was still conscious, and on seeing the jurisprudent, he asked him a question on inheritance law or some other related issue. The jurisprudent was quite amazed that a dying man should show interest in such matters. Abu Rayhan said, "I should like to ask you: which is better, to die with knowledge or to die without it?" The man said, "Of course, it is better to know and then die." Abu Rayhan said, "That is why I asked my first question." Shortly after the jurisprudent had reached his home, the cries of lamentation told him that Abu Rayhan had died.

On a daily basis, we are surrounded by a dizzying array of amazing technology and information, sometimes to the point that we take these wonders for granted. (As Paul Simon sings in “The Boy in the Bubble” on his 1986 album Graceland, “These are the days of lasers in the jungle/..This is the long distance call.”) (Here's a great clip of Simon performing the song in Zimbabwe:)

So, right now, let’s all take a moment to feel gratitude for the human achievements made possible by study and learning. Consider the miracles and wonders created by the efforts of scientists, researchers, and scholars over the centuries. Think about all that you, personally, have accomplished through your education, and how much delight it has brought you.

May we see the gates of Philomathy and perhaps (like al-Biruni did) make a home there. 
--
Addendum: I have just learned that the "Dove World Outreach Center" in Gainesville, Florida, plans to burn Qurans this coming weekend as some sort of perverse memorial to the anniversary of 9/11. As a person who embraces many spiritual traditions, I find any act to desecrate a group of people's sincerely held religious beliefs to be horrible. I've written a letter to the editor of the Gainesville Sun, urging the people of that city to wage a counter-protest. You may wish to do the same. If so, you can find the letter entry page here. 

Hope

Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.
-Lin Yutang

On Tuesday I learned that my Gram’s sarcoma, treated with arduous surgery and radiation last year, probably has returned. It has sent a shock of fear through the whole family, especially my dad. My grandparents are in their 90s and have been slowing down over the past five years, but feistily have held onto their independence, living an hour’s drive south from most of the rest of the family. The recurrence of the cancer has brought all of us face to face with the Unknown, and with our fears--of illness, pain, death. Not easy territory.

We are hardly the only family confronting a loved one's life-threatening challenge. Amongst the bloggers I follow, the oft-hilarious tropical photographer Jan Messersmith at Madang - Ples Bilong Mi has kept us, his readers, attuned to news of his own beloved Eunie’s recent diagnosis of gallbladder cancer. His stark honesty as he walks his path through the Unknown has moved me.

And no doubt you’ve all seen news footage of the 33 miners trapped 2200 feet underground at a mine in Copiapo, Chile. For those who missed it: A tunnel collapse August 5 cut off an escape route for the men, who are holed up in a space the size of a hotel room. On August 22, rescuers contacted the miners and rejoiced that they still live. Experts believe it may take until Christmas (!) to get them out:



Ironically, I did not know about Gram’s cancer when I chose today’s virtue of Hope--and the news has resulted in a longer posting than planned. I hope (ahem) all four of you reading will bear with me...

Most Westerners have some familiarity with Hope as one of Christianity’s theological virtues. We recognize the phrase “Faith, Hope, and Charity,” sometimes expressed as “Faith, Hope, and Love,” even if we don’t know their origin in a letter written by Saint Paul (1 Corinthians 13:13).  It surprised me that few non-Christian traditions list Hope among their recognized virtues, though modern-day psychologists Peterson and Seligman cite it as an aspect of the universal human virtue Transcendence. The 14th century Duke of Burgundy counted it as a virtue of chivalry, but that’s still a Christian tradition. I found cultures with notions of Faith (e.g. the Chinese virtue of Xin Xin) and Steadfastness (the Celtic virtue of Fossad), yes, but not Hope. Why?  

It may have something to do with how Christian authors define this virtue. The Catholic Encyclopedia explains Hope as an innate trait instilled in the human soul by the Divine and intimately interwoven with a belief in the Christian God (referred to by Druid Anne Johnson of The Gods Are Bored as “the busy god.”)

How does Hope differ from Faith? From my reading, it appears that Faith, for the Christian theologians, has something to do with your creed, your belief in things you know, or at least think you know, about the Divine. Hope, on the other hand, has more to do with what you don’t know. I find it easiest to think of Hope as the absence of despair, made possible by a sort of fundamental acknowledgement that the Divine has more tricks up Her sleeve than we know. One of the other titles for Hope might be Infinite Possibility. The sentiment “It may yet turn out well in the end” captures this idea; a more theistic version might be “God has a plan for me.” This seems to apply whether we face a health crisis, or an existential one.

The Christian thinker Thomas Aquinas wrote at length about Hope in his Summa Theologica, and scholar Cathleen Kaveny gives a nice summary of his views here. In short: 1) Hope is not naive optimism, but has a toughness born of knowing the desired end will not come easy. 2) It requires work. 3) It often requires the help of others. 4) It leaves the time of its future fulfillment open to uncertainty.

While Christians, apparently uniquely, have framed Hope as a virtue, many traditions acknowledge its importance in daily life. The ancient Greek poet Hesiod, for example, recorded the myth of Pandora, who loosed all the evils upon the world, with the last entity left in her jar being Elpis, Goddess of Hope. More modern thinkers have taken Hope out of its religious context, while acknowledging its centrality to making our way through life. Ernst Bloch, for example, in his Principle of Hope pinned a vision of Marxist utopia on this human quality.

Personally, after the hell of my past year, I feel lately as if I sit down to tea with Hope and Despair everyday, served at an elegant table in a sweltering, overgrown jungle of a garden. Sometimes Hope serves, sometimes Despair: “One lump, cher, or two?” “Um, gosh, so far it’s felt like hundreds of lumps--so many I can’t find the tea. Let alone the sympathy!” Despair looks up and gives me a carnivorous grin. From underneath her floppy ridiculous hat, meanwhile, Hope gives me a slightly embarrassed sympathetic grimace, holds her finger up to her lips and says with her eyes: Wait, cher. Just... wait...  

It would be easy at this Existential Tea Party, with these alternatingly tortuous and ineffectual guests and the bitter, tannic tang of very bad Earl Grey straining through my teeth, to just dump spoonfuls of sugar into my cup and stare into the distance, or doze off, or excuse myself for a mercifully-beheading game of croquet with the Queen of Hearts. But there’s something about that meaningful look Hope shoots me--as if she wants to say something, but due to some sort of geis can’t bring herself to do so...

At this moment a rather dapper quartet of Knights break out of the jungle as they charge and leap our table, surrounded by a panoply of barking hounds and yelping attendants. (Or is that “yelping hounds and barking attendants”?) The First Knight blows a rather horrible vuvuzela-esque hunting horn in my face, leans his bewhiskered countenance down into my face, and says, “Rather wretched tea party, wot?” His companion, a slender, smiling chevalier--and to my mild surprise, a woman--leans past him and says, knowingly: “You don’t have to keep sitting there, you know.”

Further back, another of the Knights, a tenor-voiced paladin, says, “There’s more to the Party than this table, here.” And the last Knight, a rosy-cheeked boy of perhaps fourteen, hardly old enough to be a page, shouts: “Come with us!” And sounding like a troupe of elephants, a cyclone, and a bomber jet all mixed together, they rumble off into the Garden, trailed by the chaotic entourage.

It’s quiet, now. A few jungle birds can be heard hooting and calling in the distance. I look over at Hope. She bites her lip as if she’s about to break into a big grin, and nods her head towards the curtain of shrubbery through which the Knights have just bulldozed. Then, leaning down under the table, she brings out... a pair of heavy riding boots, caked with mud, which she plunks down in the middle of the table, much to Despair’s, well, despair. She leans down again, and on top of the boots drops a well-worn, rusty machete. Elpis touches the side of her nose, and winks...

So, every time I think I can no longer stand a minute longer at the table of the Dreadful Tea Party, I run into those barking, yelping Four Noble Truths. Yes, there is suffering--so long as I am dozing, cup in my hand. Our lot on The Swiftly Tilting Planet can shake us down, or shake us Awake. Finding out what’s happening in the rest of the Garden--the real Party we can’t see, out in the Unknown jungle somewhere--that’s the challenge. That’s the choice. The Party is not (only) what happens at the table... And what happens in the Garden does not happen to us, but for us. Hope, that maddeningly silent Goddess, has some mysterious connection to all that wild beyond...

To bring Hope back to a more prosaic but still heroic context: Astronaut Jerry Linenger, who survived a fire on the Russian space station in 1997, commented last week on the situation of the Chilean miners. He, too, acknowledged the essential role of Hope in getting his own team through their crisis:

If the hope is out there, hope can get you through that ordeal... I think it's a testament to mankind, our DNA and our ability to survive.

Whether we believe Hope to be instilled in our souls by the Divine, or in our DNA by natural selection, we can acknowledge its importance in facing life’s challenges. Without Hope, we have no possibilities. I like the image suggested by the Chinese literary-lion-cum-mechanical-genius Lin Yutang, whom I quoted above: Hope does not give us a road to the outcome, but rather emerges after we tread into where we cannot see a road. We find Hope in our encounter with the Unknown, in the undiscovered country of our future and our mettle. She hands us a machete, and a pair of boots, and reminds us that there’s more to the Party than the wretched table.

Whatever your spiritual path, take a moment today to send thoughts of Hope to the miners and their families in Copiapo. And say a prayer for my Gram and my Pop, will you? And for Jan and Eunie...

May we see the gates of Hope, and perhaps make a home there.