The 'Open' Road.

The long black ribbon stretched through the burnt oranges, yellows, deep garnet reds of fall. Beautiful bright colors had taken over from the lush green of summer.  The yellow center line danced from solid to broken, to double solid and back to broken – American backcountry highway. I swished and swayed down the road, surfing on the momentum of 80,000 pounds of truck, trailer and load. A magnetic satellite radio antenna hung on a pair of pliers that gripped the mirror bracket like a kid hanging on a roller coaster safety bar.  170 some channels of any damn thing I please - and yet, after three or four days, 13 hours a day, humming my way between the ditches, regardless of the quality or quantity of radio choices, my ears and my brain just tired of the stimulation.

Without realizing it, it was right there - with the radio off, driving on autopilot, gently bouncing along at 62 mph, lost in the hum of the big diesel engine under my feet - that I rediscovered the benefits of meditation.  Though I wasn't calling it meditation. I had attempted to start a mediation practice in a mid-Eighties dormitory at Michigan State University.  Needless to say, there was plenty of stimulation, and even some temptation, that prevented me from succeeding.  I had a shelf full of books on Buddhism and the spark of youthful enthusiasm but never quite found any traction.  Then life and career, marriage and divorce happened. 

Rolling along, just living in my own head, I began to see things more clearly. I toured different regions of the country.  I lived among people of different cultures; regional and international.  I saw the best and the worst of human behaviors.  I realized a simple truth: that which brings us together is good, that which separates us, or allows us to feel separated, is bad.

After a second divorce, mostly amicable but complicated, I was searching my past seeking how to be happy again; or at least contented.  Like an archaeologist, I dug through my memories for clues. I cataloged bits and pieces; tested hypotheses and ran experiments. I came across the memory of my earlier flirtation with Buddhism. 

After more than fifteen years as a hardcore atheist, there wasn't a chance that I could return to the Christianity of my childhood.  Since the age of twelve or thirteen, I had had issues with the 'F' word.  Try as I might, I could not muster 'capital-F' faith. On the road, I started reading about Buddhism again.  I went back to Suzuki, tried the Dalai Lama, stumbled upon Brad Warner.  I crammed my iBook with San Francisco Zen Center podcasts and listened as I traveled.  The meditation practice I couldn't get going 25 years previous in East Lansing was gaining traction on a three foot square sheet of plywood on top of the mattress in the sleeper bunk of my semi-cab.  Shortly after I quit driving to live and work in West Michigan, the Grand Rapids Zen Center opened. Surrounded by like-minded souls and an invaluable teacher, my practice has blossomed.

My mind had opened enough to let my heart expand.  The simple statement I had discovered – 'That which brings us together is good, that which separates us is bad" - fit like a lost key into a Buddhist way of thinking.  Just like a scientist, who is open to what he finds, not swayed by what should be but only by what is, the Buddha said 'don't take my word for it, try it yourself.' Be a light unto yourself. 

One thing I knew for sure after 500,000 miles, the traffic jams, the politics and the truckstop hustlers, what the world truly needed was loving kindness and compassion. I also knew that it could only start in my heart.  The world cannot be changed by arguing; by yelling and screaming. The world won't be changed by bluster or persuasion; not even by the pointing of a gun. The only way to change the world is to change your own heart.  The only person to convince is yourself.  Do the right thing for all of us at this very moment and everything else will follow. 
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Image lifted from http://www.imperfectwomen.com/october-roads-lead-to-all-things-good/ without permission.
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   from my Droid
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Todd R. Townsend
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What's so funny 'bout Peace, Love and Understanding?

Back to the prostrations and the sitting, my bones are doing better. My knees have stretched to take to sitting on the cushion. My back is accustomed to the new job and has grown stronger. The posture is more natural. These old bones have begun to make way for my heart.

At first, 3000 prostrations seemed like some stern Eastern hazing ritual; like having to 'man up' to deserve admission. In the last post, I described the physical problems I was having and the ego trouble that went along with them. To drop to one's knees and gently touch the forehead to the mat is a challenging physical act. To start sitting cross legged on the floor in midlife is a challenging physical act.

And yet asking us to do 3000 prostrations in 5 or 6 months had nothing to do with our physical bodies; nothing to do with hazing. The lesson of the prostrations was about the heart and mind. To decide that something is important to your humanness is relatively easy. To do something about it, even just once, a bit harder. Moreover, to actually dedicate yourself to do something deliberately every single day is next to impossible to accomplish on your own - just for yourself.

Its when I realized that this deliberate action was banking peace and compassion for all beings that it began to lighten. Its when I realized that the prostrating was part of a pledge to live a life of peace and love and understanding, that it became manageable.

As I begin to realize that I'm not doing this for myself at all, but for everyone and everything, the 'I' starts to dissolve into the 'all.' Its then that I can feel the universe is prostrating with me; has been all along. And it gets a little easier with all that help.

Prostrating Fool

In April, a Zen center opened in Grand Rapids. At first, I just dabbled. As I was returning to Buddhism in the last few years, reading Brad Warner, the punk contrarian Zen Master, and listening to podcasts from the San Francisco Zen Center, I had begun to think of myself as a Soto Zen Buddhist. In actual fact, I had never darkened the door of any Buddhist temple let alone a Soto one. I dipped my toe in the Korean Zen center only because it was the one I could get to. I held myself aloof. Then again, I was excited and happy to have a local temple and local practice opportunity.

Soon it became apparent, even to me, that it really is much better to study in a sangha, under a teacher. The author, Karen Maezen Miller, ironically a Soto Zen Priest, said “If you think there's a difference between Chinese Zen, Japanese Zen, Korean Zen, Vietnamese Zen and American Zen, it's not Zen.” I began to feel comfortable at the local center. As Fall approached, I joined a group at the center who aim to take the precepts in the Spring. To 'take the precepts' is to officially and publicly declare that you are a Buddhist and that you will strive to live your life accordingly. It is kind of like a confirmation or a baptism – only not.

With a bit of delicious pleasure, Sunim told us that we would have to do 3000 prostrations before the springtime ceremony to take the precepts in the Korean tradition. There was also something about burning our forearms with the end of a stick of incense to leave a permanent reminder of our commitment. As soon as he stated these requirements, my imagination ran wild. I was going to be the best prostrator they every saw. I would get my 3000 done right away. And not only that, when they went to burn my arm, I would lean into it and then have an enso tattooed around the scar.

Reality soon came to mock my silly ego. As soon as I started doing prostrations, I realized how unnatural a motion it was for my old knees. About the same time, my day job was causing a stiff back nearly every day. Often as I sat for meditation, rather than peace and harmony, all I knew was screaming knees and a painful knot in my back. The little whining ego began to chip away at my resolve. My meditation schedule waned. I stopped doing prostrations. The smallest distraction caused me to get up off my cushion and quit.

We preceptors are keeping a practice journal. The journal lists meditation time and number of prostrations along with what obstacles we encountered and a statement of gratitude. I began to dread when I would be asked to present my journal. Despite what I thought I was willing to strive for, my practice was sliding. I was sure that I was behind everyone else on prostrations. It seemed certain that I was lagging enough in effort that I might be asked to stop coming. My ego reaction had flipped and caused me to shrink away, rather than charge at my practice. I was feeling inadequate.

When I tried to make a big splash to restart, when I forced myself into a heavy practice session, all I ended with was sore legs and a couple more days off. I was very frustrated.

Last week, we were asked to use a new form and email a weekly journal. There was no request to see the journal in which I'd been recording my haphazard practice. Nevertheless, when I had to send in the first email journal, I had nothing to report. The holidays were a terrible distraction. It was wonderful to have lots of family around and catch up with them, but it was hard to carve out time for meditation. Then just as I was looking forward to having the house to myself again, contractors arrived to redo the kitchen. I was starting to doubt what I thought I wanted. I wondered if my distracted little pea brain could actually concentrate and begin to allow me to walk this path.

Rather than being asked to stop trying, I got the most wonderful answer to my empty practice report. Of course, my inadequacies were not deemed a problem. I was not judged and found lacking. Sunim told me that he thought that I was being pulled in a lot of directions and that it was more important to establish a habit, however light, than to try to take big swings at it and miss. Regular practice was more important than grandiose plans about long meditations and leaping up from prostrations. I think I can handle this.

It's already beginning to come back for me. Some of things in my crazy life may not be necessary. Some of it may be distracting. But rather than thinking of it like taking a stand, a small regular effort will erode at the rest. The dust and the chaff will wash away. That which is permanent – solid – will not only remain, but will shine again.

Fire Ceremony

I will strive to end the pursuit of fleeting pleasures.

I will strive to live deliberately for the benefit of all beings.

Great Grandpa's Slate

Some people sit with an older person like they're in a cave. They are overwhelmed by the dry, stale air and can see only cobwebs and bats. This is usually more a reflection of the younger person than the older one. Done right, sitting with an older person should fill you with wonder. If you listen deeply, and appreciate their life and wisdom, you'll feel a fresh breeze, like the air coming off a long fetch of ocean. You can smell little bits of all the waves that breeze has passed over. If you are open to them, you can bask in these gifts like the warm sun and the beachside salty air.

My Grandmother proffers these gifts of wisdom effortlessly. I spent an evening with her last night. Our conversations aren't necessarily deep, but have been on occasion. Often, there is no subject at all, just a certain rambling intimacy that is steeped in the peace she exudes. There is an equanimity in just chatting. The TV is off, the phone muted, the evening is dedicated to whatever it becomes.

We had a nice supper at the Cafe where she lives. The conversation flowed from news about the family, the friends of hers whom I know, the news of the world, my new-ish job and career. Later, we fetched a box of old things from storage that she wanted to go through. Though we hadn't intended to, the box was opened and she described every treasure. That breeze sprinkled the salty essences of a hundred waves from her past.

One item in the box was her father's slate. There was no paper in school when he went. Each child had a slate to write on, to do problems, etc. Great Grandfather's slate was tucked into a manila envelope and had been stored, with the other trinkets, in a re-purposed cardboard box tucked in the chain link cage that is her storage unit. When she held the slate and spoke of it, wading in all the waves of memory and association, it became like an treasured ancient tablet; the envelope and box became like a brocaded satchel and a gilded vault.

The peaceful simplicity of our evening chat was transformed by the artifact of the slate. Today's children are growing up in an increasingly paperless, networked world. Yet some of us remember the days when 'paperless' was a new goal. In business and commerce, paperless was going to be more efficient. We were kicking the habit of paper. Can any of us imagine a world where paperless was paper less? where paper was an expensive luxury item?!?

But is paperless more efficient? An unintended side effect is this constant connection that now encumbers us. When was the last time any of us went somewhere, on purpose, without our phone? We are walking network nodes. The piles of paper that we've given up have been replaced by the maelstrom of interconnectedness. We are always available. We are never alone. Are we ever at peace? Sherry Turkle, who heads the “Initiative on Technology and Self” at MIT, said “if you don't learn how to be alone, you'll always be lonely ... loneliness is failed solitude.” I just listened to her talk to Krista Tippett over at On Being. I began to realize my Zen practice was stuck right here at this very point.

For a guy who is working toward being an off-the-grid, disconnected vagabond, I am never without my phone. The networked habit is hard to break. I'm using twitter and facebook, to update my friends, among other things, on my progress toward this walking-the-earth goal. Huh? I have also been struggling against my monkey mind. When I sit down to be quiet and contemplative, my mind decides to have a block party. The noise of random thoughts and emotions drowns out any chance of concentration or peace. It's damn frustrating.

It occurred to me this morning that I was causing all this. OK, I've known all along I was causing this, but I discovered a specific mistake. That damnable phone is never more than six feet away from me. I've been trying to get up early enough each morning to spend some time meditating before I start my day. I'm not always successful, but when I do get up early enough, the schedule goes something like this: on waking, I head to the john for my morning constitutional [not the early morning walk] and then I brush my teeth. This way I don't have to sit there worrying about the status of my colon or thinking about the pasty mouth I woke up with.

However, each morning, I've been dragging that phone with me. The little green light is blinking in the dark when I wake. It screams, not for attention, but to the fact that I have attention waiting. Someone somewhere has communicated! The little green light breathlessly calls: 'YOU HAVE MAIL!' Until today, I've grabbed the phone on the way to the john. Sitting there, sometimes longer than necessary, I read the mail, check on the 'friends,' look at my calendar, and even read a bit of the New York Times! My great grandfather surely saw the emergence of the landline telephone, but imagine explaining to him telephones that are carried everywhere on a belt or in a purse. Then explain text messaging, or the fact that my phone ... is a camera. Next try explaining my ability to read a newspaper, this morning's paper, from New York City, a newspaper from 750 miles away – on my phone. Oh, and I have eight or ten books with me – in my phone!

My trouble has been that just before I sit down to exercise my peace, I've opened the floodgates to all the world's troubles and demands. By the time I set the timer and sit down on my cushion, my brain is already humming at top speed. I'm already plotting and planning; already lining up tasks; already deciding what's good and what's bad about the day ahead; already hard at work. And I haven't even showered or dressed.

This morning I dropped the habit. I left the phone right where it was when I woke. Um . . . the phone is my alarm clock. I had my morning constitutional and brushed my teeth. I sat down on my cushion, faced my patch of wall and set the meditation timer. Um . . . there's an app for that, my phone is a meditation timer.

It will take me some time to get to vagabond status; some time before I'm off-the-grid. My phone is still not that far away, physically. Perhaps, I've developed a more healthy distance, albeit mental distance. And I managed to tame the monkey a bit this morning too. Maybe next week I'll give him a tin cup and train him to bug the neighbors for spare change.

Encyclopedia Tachycardia

The incense wafted from the altar as I sat on a cushion in the meditation hall. People were arriving yet for the Intro Class. I had a small Moleskine journal for taking notes and had brought my Easwaran translation of the The Dharmapada as well. My well traveled old knees and hips were not happy about sitting on the floor, but had given up complaining. She walked by, catching my eye just as Sunim was sitting down to begin. Yeah, I know. Casting an eye in the meditation hall - not so cool, but biological and instinctual. Sitting on the floor, hearing her pad by on bare feet, I had looked up just in time to see her right cheek go by. A pretty girl with auburn hair tied back and a clunky pendant on a wide ribbon, she crossed the room and sat opposite me on the arc of cushions.

It was Week Two of "Buddhism Basics and Meditation." Ever since I began to meditate, I have struggled with 'Monkey Mind.' I can't decide whether its a hallmark of a creative person or its just me. I know I'm not alone in this affliction, but it's also just me. When I sit my mind races. All kinds of images, memories of old friends and old vexes, temptations and distractions seem to ooze from my brain like spit from a saliva gland. The Ego screams and struggles to maintain its domination. The opposite of procrastination, rather than mindlessly NOT doing what you had wanted to do, its doing and thinking and sweating about not doing or thinking. Instead of struggling to conjure sheep to count, its the incessant thundering of a hooves - thousands of bison, wildebeest and wild horses - pounding across your scalp - defying your efforts to just sit quietly.

A couple times, I turned to casually peek at her again. We all shifted our posture and struggled for comfort on cushions on the floor. When she stretched a knee and leaned another way, a tattooed foot popped out from under her other leg. Dammit, a painted lady. I struggled to not think about what other tattoos she might have. She was way too young for me and I am not on the make these days; especially not at the temple.

The lecture touched on impermanence, emptiness, and non-self; marks of the Dharma. The teacher spoke of the unsatisfactoriness caused by the ego's attachment to its nonexistent identity. Most of our problems are associated with habitual thinking about the 'permanent' self and its relation to other 'selves.' As Westerners, we can't seem to help but intellectualize. An unseen guy behind me had trouble with the impermanence of the past and spoke up. He chafed at the zen riddle answers. The gal with the clunky necklace chimed in as well.

She was smart and funny; perhaps even stubborn. Curious and struggling to understand, she questioned persistently. Her fair skin glowed when she felt the room's attention. With a smirk, she chose to agree - for now. Having let it go, she sat on her cushion in a casual mudra; the backs of open hands on her thighs. Sitting up on the meditation cushion with her shoulders thrown back, she seemed effervescent and eager. The loose t shirt and her hair pulled back accentuated a delicate neck and fine features.

After we'd meditated, Sunim revisited the strong discussions in a huddle. He made sure no one had taken anything personally. Afterward, we all chatted over tea and chuckled at our struggles to understand. As I threw on my coat to leave, the clunky necklace gal stood in the entryway talking to the guy who had also struggled with impermanence. I excused myself and passed between them onto the sidewalk.

"Have a good night, Todd," she called after me.

There is a certain lightness that men will understand. Perhaps, women know the same feeling but I don't think they are affected as strongly. It doesn't take much for a man. A random woman on the street might have smiled especially sweetly, or a waitress acted as if she actually found you interesting. In a flash, without the chance of stopping it, a man can imagine what she would wear on their first date, what kind of apartment they might rent together and the color of their kids' eyes. And then, like a nervous tic, or some kind of brain chemistry episode, it just passes. He is only left with the lightness, a brighter look to the sky, an airy feeling in his chest just below the throat. Its about the ego; the self. Its about feeling noticed, feeling important; about not feeling non-existent. Admit it, its about feeling good.

I stumbled toward my truck, just two car lengths away. My brain dumped all kinds of feel-good stuff into my bloodstream. She knew my name!?! How...?!? Have I talked to her before?!? She remembered, why can't I?? This is might be cool...

I stepped off the curb at my truck. Something caught my eye, like a coffee stain or a dollop of errant ice cream on my chest. It was the company logo on the left breast of my trucker jacket. I slid the key into the lock. As I opened the door and sat down, like the snap of a twig when you're all alone, it occurred to me . . . wait . . . also on my jacket, on the other side . . . my name - Todd. The hissing, farting sound of my ego slowly deflating briefly drowned out the noise of the city traffic. Aaahhhh, she read my name.

but . . . she was nice enough to say goodbye. The flatlining ego still trying desperately to resurrect itself. Holy Tachycardia, Batman, I have a lot of work to do.

Zen and the Art of Egoless Driving, Lesson 3

Slow Down.

That's it . . . . just slow down.





OK, OK, I'll elaborate. I lived and commuted in Detroit for a few years. I've been there, done that, never got the t-shirt or, amazingly, a ticket. I did have to call for bail money once but that was completely unrelated to speed. Recently, I've spent 300,000 or so miles on the highways and byways. Not many of them in rush hour traffic but just enough. Enough hours in traffic in different places in the world that I can tell you that Detroit Drivers are the worst. In fact, there were only three times that I experienced anything worse than Detroit; all isolated incidents. Twice in Texas with a fatal accident somewhere ahead of me. And once in New York City, I was halfway from Long Island City to the George Washington Bridge when a Yankees game let out. It wasn't just the traffic jam, everyone in New York thinks they're special and were fighting like lemmings to get to the front of the line. One guy got so excited, he changed lanes without looking and rammed his sexy foreign car into the dollies _underneath_ a semi trailer. Luckily, not mine.

My theory is that Detroit is the worst because, up until recently anyway, nearly everyone in town was building cars or had a link somewhere in the supply chain. Therefore, Detroiters think of cars as toys. Everybody zips along in Detroit Rush Hour - 75 mph [at least] and 8 inches apart. OK, in Winter it was only 73 mph and people are playing it safe - 9.5" apart. Detroit Rush Hour was one of the first virtual reality arcade games. Everyone was playing. You're watching all your mirrors and scanning the horizon, vectoring the cars around you and strategizing. Some guy is barely in front of you and you slip in right behind him. You're running so close together, the heat from your radiator is fogging the chrome on his rear bumper.

Once we have entered the fray, we have to win. We'll cut in and out of lanes, pass on the right, jam the gears and the gas, brake, jam, brake, jam. Hell, we'd consider passing on the shoulder if it meant getting the jump on those out-of-state-plates driving the speed limit! When the inevitable happens and we get bogged down, we are livid. DON'T THEY UNDERSTAND?!?! I'VE GOT TO GET TO . . . to where? To work? You aren't nearly that enthusiastic about your job once you've made into the office parking lot.

Lets assume you have a 45 mile commute. If you drive 75 mph, it will take you 36 minutes to go 45 miles. If you drive 57 mph, it takes you a little more than 47 minutes. Is all that stress worth getting to the office 11 minutes sooner?

What about a 90 mile commute? Maybe you're in management and you live out in some verdant, peaceful suburb. If you drive 75 mph, it will take 72 minutes. Driving 57 will stretch that to almost 95 minutes! If you're in management, you are definitely going to tell me that those 23 minutes are valuable. Read on.

Now, some of you readers are on to me already. There is a problem in my examples, though I tried to word them carefully. The times are only valid if you could leap into your car while it was already doing 75 mph! And you'd have to average 75 mph for the entire trip. If there are more than a couple stop signs, or the inevitable traffic jam along the way, your average speed will plummet. Every time you slow down and/or stop, you are losing most of the 11 minutes you gained in the example. You're spending lots of driving time at the same speed as someone who is only driving 57 mph on the highway. Take it from someone who gets paid by the mile, just stopping to hit the john will spoil your average speed for hours.

So, back when I thought I was done, I suggested you slow down. Not only will your fuel consumption and maintenance costs go down, you will gain an even more precious commodity. . . peace. Tranquility. You can laugh at all the stress puppies flying by you on the highway. You can smile at those slow out-of-towners. You can get to work in a decent mood and smile at your coworkers. You will become unbound. Think of smiling at the threshold of your house in the evening. Imagine hanging out with your family without that lump in your gut; without the crispy edges around your burned out life.

There is something else that happens to me regularly out here on the road. Someone will fly by me on the way. At the next stop sign, rest area or truckstop, that same vehicle is right there in front of me; just pulling into a parking space when I enter the lot. Imagine your coworkers stomping in to the building, cussing under their breath and swallowing all that pressure. If you take the slow lane, you'll likely be sauntering in right behind them. Except you'll be smiling, noticing that the landscape guys planted flowers. You'll remember someone's birthday as you walk by their desk. You'll be happy enough to just start your day instead of heading for the coffee machine to bitch about traffic. Imagine how you'll feel that night at home. You'll notice how beautiful your family is, how lucky you are. You'll be living a life instead of fuming about traffic.

So what's it going to be? Five minutes sooner to a job you don't really like anyway? Or the slow lane, smiles and peace? Well, no stress on the road. You're still just a hamster in the wheel once you get to work.

Zen and the Art of Egoless Driving, Lesson 2

Jim Morrison growled "Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel." Sage advice while driving. However, certain occasions arise when we are tempted to lift one hand from the wheel and extend a particular digit in response to some traffic transgression that has occurred against us. We used to call this gesture the Tampa Bay Turn Signal.

Try this the next time you feel like thrusting that one particular digit at another driver: use all ten. In Eastern traditions to bow to each other as a greeting is very common. This is actually more than just a greeting. The bow, with palms pressed together like a Western prayer, a hands breadth away from the nose, is the 'sacred' in you bowing to the 'sacred' in the other. Call it the sacred or Buddha or Vishnu or God or whatever you would like. Or think of it as recognizing our common humanity in each other. It is hard to stay pissed off at someone you are blessing.

As we discussed in Egoless Driving - Lesson One, there is no reason to allow any more stress into your life than you already have. Let it go by recognizing that you are the same as the other driver. Occasionally, you get distracted too. The act of letting go, forgiving if you like, empowers you to leave it behind. You won't think about it all day. The stess will be gone - evaporated not from the heat but from the coolness of your response.

So next time you're tempted to flip, try bowing. Put your palms together and nod your head slightly. Its as much for you as it is for them. You may want to wait until they pass by. If it turns out, in traffic, you bless someone you know, they'll wonder even more about you.

Zen and the Art of Egoless Driving, Lesson 1

It has happened to all of us, in a crowded parking lot or maybe a four way stop with two lanes coming from all directions. Somehow, you just didn't see that other car. You both come to a hard stop. With a sheepish look, you mouth the word "Sorry." Or maybe you avoid his glance and drive away as your face burns in embarrassment. Your driving record is clean, a good driver, but you just made a mistake. Everyone does.

When the shoe is on the other foot, however, and we were the one brought up short by the distracted driver, we don't seem to think of it the same way. That guy is a moron. He drives like an idiot; shouldn't even have a license. Now wait a minute. If we can make the occasional mistake, why can't he?

When we react badly to the distracted driver, we are forgetting that we is just like him. There are a few morons out there, of course, but most of us get along just fine. Take your ego out of the situation. The ego loves it when it can feel superior to someone else. When you let the ego run unchecked, you are just hurting yourself. The superior feelings of the ego are short lived, but the stress will be with you all day long. If you get cut off on the way to work in the morning, it'll wreck your whole day. It is wiser to just let it go.

It is far better to live with humility. We are all human. There are good days and bad days, but most of the bad days are an illusion of the ego. Next time someone brings you up short, thank them whether they show any contrition or not. Thank them for reminding you of your own humanity; our shared humanity. They have allowed you an opportunity to practice letting it go. The Buddha says all thoughts of selfish desire, ill-will, hatred and violence are the result of a lack of wisdom - in all spheres of life whether individual, social or political. We could use a lot more "letting it go" in our lives. Maybe you can start a trend. Let some of your serenity rub off on someone, but no trading paint in the H.O.V. lane!