Collective Efficacy: An Abstraction or a Real World Application?

           I hold a soft grudge against Ivy-League graduates; maybe not so much a grudge, but more of an incredibly high expectation. One of my good high school friends had the opportunity to attend a school at the level of above and beyond that many people so highly esteem. And, knowing how diligent of a student he was, I think that my high standard for Ivy grads is somewhat suitable. That being said, I find that some forms of higher education, me not to be excluded, can involuntarily distance a college student from the “real world.” Somehow, in my instance, my food just happens to be magically paid for when in fact there are quite a few sacrifices being made. My parent’s financial and moral support, the kitchen staff that seemingly lives in the back of the cafeteria, the university for overseeing that our tuition goes to the right places so we can we eat better. I say all of this because I, as a university student, like to immerse myself in what the “real world” dubs as the real world. What I mean by that is attending something along the lines of a seminar on youth violence in Philadelphia. I find that being informed on my surrounding community keeps me in touch with reality, which includes my thankfulness for being able to attend college. So to connect my points: acknowledging sacrifices, seeing the opportunity to hear about the “real world” from the real world, I feel like it’s my role to hear what people have to say. And then form my own opinion on it, of course.

               Dr. Felton Earls sees himself as a witness. He says he wants to become an ally, a potential partner with Philadelphia. His soft spoken demeanor suggested he retains experience in his field; he has been to Tanzania. He possesses credible data from his studies and has many awards tagged to his name. He has even created a new term called collective efficacy.

               While in Chicago, Dr. Earls measured the disorganization of 343 neighborhoods in the city limits. Collective efficacy was a scale that he established that used a universal rating system to determine how safe neighborhoods really were. His discoveries from investigating neighborhood responses to illegal activity broke social norms; Hispanic and middle class black neighborhoods apparently ranked very high on his scale. He also drew an interesting, yet not incredibly profound, correlation between death rates and low birth weight. I think it was unbelievable that collective efficacy was such an efficient means to measure this statistic; kudos to Dr. Earl. But I was at a loss when I started to think, “How could what we would already have been inferred without collective efficacy, now presented to us in data, be any more useful and applicable to the unsolved issue?”

               Between 1995 and 1999, Dr. Earls worked in Tanzania during a severe outbreak of HIV/AIDS. While working among two and three thousand population pockets, Dr. Earl found that 10-14 year old age groups worked the most effectively in conveying how to prevent the spread of HIV, educate the community on the biology of the disease, as well as become what he keyed “active citizens.” (Here’s where I got somewhat hung up on his titles and awards.) In essence, yes, as the opening speaker at this seminar, his story gave evidence to what the audience, panel, and community wanted to hear: children are capable of being more than violent, uneducated beings.

But what I personally found misleading was the veiled hope that a biased data collection from a rare pocket of two to three thousand population groups in Tanzania (of all places) was somehow grounds to promote the idea that collective efficacy was to be applied to American cities. Still, I did not see the connection between the data collected in Chicago or Tanzania to the positive results that Dr. Earl sheepishly denied had any relationship to his “work.” In the instance of Chicago, shortly after the data from his collective efficacy came in, the homicide rate dropped. I do not know if I did not catch the relationship between the data and the aftereffects, but I personally do not recall in his retelling how the raw data brought about change. Similarly in the Tanzania example, even when he explained that he was educating the masses, I could not figure out how whatever data he drew from the limited population groups linked to his effectively educating teenagers. I think that the data enabled for him to see where more education on diseases was needed. Certainly. But could he have not looked at the HIV/AIDS count and have said the same thing?

I thought the panel to follow his opening remarks would fill the missing link between the raw data and the resulting application of that knowledge. What I listened to instead was the hardships reality imposes on theoretical concepts. The panel included many prominent figures, much to my Virginian-boy surprise. It was the first time I had ever been to a seminar where the Deputy Philadelphia Police Commissioner, Acting Superintendent of the School District of Philadelphia, Deputy Mayor of Philadelphia-and others-sat together and spoke plainly and pragmatically about the issue at hand.

What followed inevitably cut and dried the lofty concept of collective efficacy. While each member of the panel agreed with the idea of collecting data, it seemed pointless to use time and resources to establish what they had already known. Youths are in danger. Youths are the future. Youths need to be protected in order to secure a better future. Data was not needed in order to convince any member on the panel to act now. They already were. And in the instance of the Police Department of Philadelphia where community policing has begun, collective efficacy was too late, or rather, it was already applied.

I spoke with a woman I work under that also attended the seminar the next day. When Ms. Jill asked what my impression was, I said it was coordinated and informative. Especially since my hometown experiences violence on a much smaller scale, the seminar brought me up to speed on Philadelphia’s current events and issues. Nevertheless, I told my employer that at the end of the session, something did not sit right inside me. While there was a positive flow of energy, there were no calls to action or any commitment or proposal put forward to initiate action against youth violence. Ms. Jill informed me that while we were in the lecture, four kids were shot and two later died from their wounds.

At that point, my optimistic sentiment took a turn for the worse. I feel like my cynical point of view expressed in this review of the seminar was created as a result of that startling reality. While it was important to acknowledge accomplishments and hear new ideas, the luxury of stopping to study and analyze is just too slow and impractical in this instance. 

Paul and Puzzles: What is it about Lucky Charms?

   Everyone must feel selfish after having breakfast. I cannot wake up before eight o'clock (thank you university-lifestyle) with a smile on my face. Nothing beats having to taste the remnants of last night's late night snack on the hard-to-reach part of your tongue. As sour as that flavor might be, I always feel even more bitter; hating that I have to wake up before eight one day out of the week.

   Yet, when I finally dragged myself to the buzzing cafeteria, even after ignoring the over-looming reality that lots of other people are up at this hour, I found solace in a good bowl of Lucky Charms. As another rainbow marshmallow found my lips, I can't help but think: you selfish bastard! I wake up early to go to Service Learning. This isn't about me. Well, it is actually. The Jesuit slogan for community service states 'for and with others'; implying that someone has to be there in order for the preposition with to grammatically work. Service doesn't work if my body shows up and I'm not there there. Somehow the Lucky Charms fuel me with my passion that brought me to SJU to serve.

   Again, like the last post suggested, I can't help but see my new home in west Philadelphia with a new set of eyes when I get behind the wheel of a Ford Focus. Traffic somehow snapped my college-oriented mind back to a real world setting. The radio has the similar effect when everyone has PCs or Macs to blare their own tunes off of; no one possesses a transistor radio, and no, the speakers that iPods plug into do not have FM or AM radio. They are strictly car -a symbol of autonomy- items. I chatted with my service partners that it was yet another gray day as we headed into north Philly. 

  We reached Mercy Neighborhood Ministries with five minutes to spare; I casually weaved in and out of traffic to avoid causing a bad first (second) impression. Something changed this second time we parked. I, for one, was not panicking over the MapQuest directions that were off by half a block. This allowed for a better look. What I found was that the lighting changed. It was not the actual light, for the sun was covered by a thick blanket of ominous clouds. It was more of PhotoShop effect in which someone must have toggled with the sepia and cyan tones. (Try it to catch my meaning!) I didn't feel foreign to my surroundings which could no longer be classified as "new."

   On entering, we received the same cheerful 'good morning!' from the receptionist as last time. Our arrival time happened to be, and will continue being an awkward time between breakfast and the morning's first activity. There was a lot of shuffling of feet as we seemed to be "thrown to the wolves"; two individuals sat at different tables with a staff member. One of my fellow service members went to the lady on our right while by default I found myself entering a conversation between Paul and Kim. 

   "Hey Kiiimmm!" a voice croaked. 

   "What Paul?" returned a tired voice. It was only 9:05 and cloudy. Yet Kim was wearing sunglasses inside the building.

   "Why are you wearing sunglasses already, Kim. There's no sun in here," Paul nagged; a grin hiding behind his pursed lips. 

   "I told you already. I'm taking medication for my ulcer."

   I chimed in, "Ulcer, that ain't no fun." Kim proceeded to explain that her medications had to be taken once every hour (including the night) and a separate pain killer twice a day for the ulcer in/on her eye. Sheesh! Not only did Kim's sickness explain her preposterous idea of wearing sunglasses inside, but it also set an incredibly high standard for us three new service volunteers. If Kim could come to work under such miserable circumstances, there was no way I could ever come half-assed and not ready to participate in the activities. 

   I couldn't stop smiling as Paul wanted to pick a fight with Kim if she didn't make his coffee right and the way he yelled out after staff members as they came and went from the cafeteria. However old  Paul was,  he would not let my smiling and snickering go unnoticed. 

   "What's so funny? Stop following me with that big goofy smile!" 

-

Shiva Linga (the black stone represents the godhead of Shiva,
also known as Nirguna Brahman-God in the abstract form.
Shares similarities with the Christian Holy Spirit.)
A further explanation can be found here.

   We eventually found ourselves in the activities room. Other members sat around the TV as Ms. Barbara started to lead current events and gave the weather. The activity that followed hit a soft spiritual spot within me. In the middle of the circle was a plant with a tall vase of water. Libations. Ms. Barbara asked if anyone knew what libations were. The thought that came to my mind was a Hindu process of worship called Shiva Linga in which devotees pour liquids over a sacred rock. 

  While we individually poured a little water into the plant, we spoke a name of one of our deceased ancestors. This simple ritual was followed by the lighting of incense. Using a feather, Ms. Barbara wafted the smoke towards us. Cleansing, as I have learned from my participation in a Lakota sweat lodge earlier this summer, smoke has several uses in Native American practices. It was moving, to say the least, to be in Philadelphia and have a strong recollection of being in Virginia in a sweat lodge. Coincidentally, one of the aspects in sweating and in Lakota traditions is a respect for the elderly. Among the members at Mercy Neighborhood Ministries (MNM), I felt close to God in that quick instance. 

-

   The other woman we first encountered in the cafeteria was named Shirley. She picked me to be her "tutor." Ms. Barbara explained to us in our last visit what that title entails for the day. Shirley was illiterate until a year ago in which she learned the alphabet, spelling, and reading. Her tutor would continue helping her learn how to spell and read. I had no idea at what level she would be writing or reading, but when we began to write letters that would be sent to a former employee at MNM, I was blown away at her capacity to write as if she was literate from an early age. I could only think about how a commonly held belief today is that the brain is a sponge. And somewhere after a few years from birth, the sponge dries up and it becomes difficult to learn at the same quick rate as a developing child. Working with kids at summer camp throughout high school, I have no doubt seen that sponge effect work. It's incredible. Yet I was stunned to watch this woman write so simplistically. I was humbled. 

   But not humbled enough. Puzzles: one of the activities closely related to Bingo as one of the elderly's activities. Shirley wanted to work on her 300 piece Under the Sea puzzle which was vibrant with two octopi, a crab, and clown fish that she dubbed "Nemo." Talk about a lesson in patience. She worked twice as fast as I did putting pieces together at a rate I could never keep up with. I ripped through the box looking for matching colors. I thought that would help until I realized there were two octopi...I really didn't want to separate the two. I felt waves of stress crashing over me as the decisions of where to start looking to put pieces together, what went with what, and how dumb I must've looked to Shirley began to fill my head. 

  Time for us to go. 'Phew' was all I could think. Puzzle solving had me worked up. And before I knew it, goodbyes were exchanged, my service partners and I were back in the car, and I found myself in our own cafeteria eating another bowl of Lucky Charms for lunch, watching how the marshmallows connected as they floated on top of the milk. Like a puzzle... 

What's With the Ineffective Wanted Signs?

Many university campus security units must have campus alerts. A basic heads up and constant reminder for university students to be wary of their surroundings, I have been troubled by the content that is posted. While I cannot really put my finger on what is necessarily wrong, I feel that it is appropriate to discuss the effectiveness and side effects that derive from their frequent appearances. 

A little informal background information of my current area would include that west Philadelphia has a predominantly black neighborhood (so I've heard,) we are NOT the south district of Philly that has experienced new curfews, and students are constantly reminded to travel in packs of at least two if not three. 
Now, the last three campus wide alerts all report a crime against university students. The general format of the warnings start with a simple explanation of what happened, (maybe too simple because I have heard the same story retold with new facts added when people gossip over it.) My confusion or issue comes from the next segment of the alert; the description of the perpetrator/suspect. The third and final piece of the alert ends on a friendly reminder to avoid being alone. 
While there is a simple issue over how much facts should be shared with members of the university, I would argue too little information, which in the last three cases prove to be evident, allows for false rumors to spread. The idea of how much information is to be shared obviously has lots of strings attached, such as the privacy of the victims.
But nevertheless, the privacy of the perpetrator/suspect is not. And of course it isn't. Typically, a wanted sign pops up after a crime is committed when the perpetrator is not found. A victim or a witness recalls as best they can the details of the perpetrator-now-made suspect.
This process is attempted in campus alerts, so I have found. While a sketch gives university members (faculty, students, staff) a rough, sometimes inaccurate portrayal of the suspect, it still gives the brain something to remember. I find that the problem arises from the campus alert, which uses words alone because the victims in the three recent instances cannot recall their attacker. This allows for all the university to use their oh-so-creative minds to formulate what the suspect looks like. What's the problem in that?
Well, for one, it is ineffective and self-demoting for campus security to only possess the means to give a half-hearted description of a criminal. It would also help for you to know that the last three crimes that ended up on campus alerts were committed by "black" people. 
At this point, I am at a complete loss what to think. Is it racist to be identifying the criminals by their race? By no means is it when a complete description of the suspect is given. However, the only characteristic that is shared is the perpetrator's race. What's to be gained from the knowledge that one black male committed a crime in a predominantly black neighborhood? The last instance goes like this: "While the precise location of the assault remains unknown, it is believed that the assault occurred inside of what was perceived by the student reporting the assault to be a taxi-cab. The vehicle has been described as being either green and white or black and white." So are university students not suppose to enter taxi cabs with any color of the rainbow with a "black male, dark complexion with a raspy voice, no accent?"

Maybe I think in a teleological sense in which everything must have an end and a purpose. But really, with a description that vague, all the reader is left with is an incomplete description of a black cab driver. So maybe the message is stereotyping. Well, what does anyone take away from the campus alert then? Be wary of taxi drivers? "Also, please make a concerted effort to notice descriptors of vehicles, including taxi-cabs and details regarding the driver, when entering a vehicle."
I do see the value, the recompense, the equality in which the victim has a right to use the resources that are given. But when the positive effectiveness of his or her description is outweighed by the negative, is it not incriminating (to say the least) to just throw a description out there?
I can't decide what to think over this. Is it racist? I don't particularly think so. But what is it called then when the description gives no more evidence other than skin color? Maybe I am over-exaggerating the ineffectiveness of the recent campus alerts. But who is being kept safe by now knowing the last three crimes against university students were committed by one of the many black members of west Philadelphia?


Please share your thoughts and comments below as my opinion is far from being formulated. 

Seeing the Underbelly of Philadelphia

My nerves were shot Tuesday morning. I have been spoiled this far in my first year at college: waking up incredibly early at 8:40 for my nine o’clock class. Rising for a reason non-Jack-schedule oriented was something new; Tuesday morning also marked the start of my complete first month spent away from home in my environment. Monumental, Tuesday was the gateway from my newly nested home to the bare, gray world of North Philadelphia.

                Service Learning was one of my highest reasons for coming to Saint Joseph's University. In order to continue a path of service for (and now with-as the Jesuits have put it) others, I have been anxious to begin. Having the luxury of choosing where in Philly I would go, there has been nothing but bright lights, the beautiful downtown area, and cheery SEPTA workers. Home back in Virginia was nothing like this except for the shared sense of nonchalance that came with my absent-minded consumerism on the weekends. I have to admit that the cool weather this past weekend set a pretty scene among the gridlock, but a cold front must have moved in as Tuesday saw nothing but rain.

                I drove to Mercy Neighborhood Ministries. Consequently, my perspective of my new home and its surroundings drastically changed. In a car there is safety, comfort, and protection from our external world. All of these qualities could be seen in a positive light, but having not driven for a month, I had become quite comfortable walking to classes, to SEPTA, to eat, to survive. Now, the car gave me status, a leg up on any of my neighbors in the community that had to still walk. I subconsciously judged in the slightest of ways as our 35 mile per hour speed allowed for us to zoom by anyone else I would have had to look in the eye, say hello, or walk awkwardly by without even a nod. Cut off from my surroundings as I drove to engage with the community, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

                My father pointed in the paper to the new curfew that was set six weeks ago in Philadelphia within our sun-filled family room. I knew that community service would enable me to go at the beast head on when I reached Philadelphia; single-handedly solve all the city’s issues through Jesuit tradition! But this past Tuesday sang a different tune; one of bleakness and a never ending depth. It must have been the clouds as we drove over the Delaware River, which in my mind, had been the line drawn between my home and the great unknown.

-

                My two service partners, Graziella and Earl, sat in our gold Ford Focus as we snaked through elevated cemeteries. Eerie. I felt twice as far away from home, wherever that was now, as we passed garbage-strewn streets. Litter, shady sections of cities, and the hair standing on the back of my neck have all been past experiences. It irked me, nonetheless, when the realization hit me that I would be serving here.

                I have done PACEM meals, I have worked with kids with chronic illnesses, and I have volunteered for the Special Olympics. None of the above had placed me into the direct area where my new community partners lived. Frustrated when the MapQuest directions ended with us a block away from our actual destination (without me knowing our proximity,) I panicked. Ask Graziella or Earl. I did not want to park and walk aimlessly in the hope of finding our endpoint.

                Once inside, we had a second set of doors to go through. But there was a doorbell that rang at the front desk. Again, this was a small difference from something I am familiar with back home. As to the people inside, they had nothing but smiles. Strong smiles. There was no falsehood in their words, especially Ms. Barbara, who toured us around. Leaving, I could not decide whether the five and six year olds’ smiles out did the elderly’s, or vice versa, but both rekindled my passion to get involved.

                But our thirty-six minute meet and greet had us back in the Focus sooner than we expected as I timed every little detail for our trip next Tuesday. I took note of where the young children would walk to school after coming to Mercy Neighborhood in the morning. I saw several people out and about. I wished that the immediate area had somehow cheered up as the sun came out, but I realized that dedication and diligence was more needed than wishful thinking.

                I had the luxury of sitting co-pilot on the return trip. We passed many abandoned buildings. It seemed as if every other shop was boarded up. I recognized the SEPTA emblem at a bus stop. There is a connection between the community across the river and us university students, and it is more than the transportation system.

Lessons from Prison: Learning To Make the Hard Right

               Justin Paperny looked like a prestigious business man; the nice suit, the expensive watch that reflected one too many times into my eyes, and the composure of a sophisticated man. Yet there appeared anguish in his eyes that my almost-front row seat allowed me to catch. There, his past rested. I knew no more than that he was about to speak on white-collar crimes, a foreign concept to a humanities major. Nevertheless, his diction and speaking skills, both of which emanated his valued education, enabled me to follow his story.

               Before getting straight to the point, which must be what any business man does I presume, Mr. Paperny gave a short disclosure. “I speak in absolutes. I have no intention in indicting you or your future of becoming what my past was. I have been told I do not come across as remorseful. By the end of this talk, if you share that opinion, then I should never be invited back to speak to you again.”

               For the next fifty minutes, Mr. Paperny relived a business catastrophe in which he lost everything. As one might expect, his story started with his high post-graduation business expectations that led him down a path of quick money in return for compromising his ethics and morals. His tone suggested that he was still strong; resilient even after imprisonment. Still, I could see the pain and chaos that ensued shortly after his graduation.

               While his crime basically entailed taking a simple six million dollar hedge fund to get back at his sly business partner, (who happened to be taking 75% of the commission while Paperny received the other twenty-five,) he promised his client the impossible. His switch from Merrill-Lynch to Bear-Stearns depicted his growing greed and constant dissatisfaction with being the “rookie.” While his initial salary at Merrill-Lynch, a meager $100,000 for his first six months out of University of Southern California, was not enough, Paperny looked to Bear-Stearns where he was bullied into taking only 25% of the shared commission by his senior-partner. “Kenny” was not aware of the new six million dollar transaction that Paperny alone would handle and receive the full commission and responsibility over.

               The issue began when Bear-Sterns introduced a new policy shortly before Paperny received the six million dollar client, a former colleague at USC. Paperny recalls how he knew this business partner was shady even in college. The policy stated that no funds under $100,000 were acceptable for Bear-Stearns. When approached by this former colleague, Paperny was quickly made aware that many of the accounts and funds that he would be dealing with did not make this standard. Nevertheless, bribed by money and revenge against his senior partner Kenny, Paperny took the client.

               Among other crimes that somehow or another played into the major decision Paperny made were listening to senior brokers lie to new clients asking how their company was doing in the past year. The percent of growth switched from 25% to 27% and Paperny sat and listened to these repeated lies. One thing led to another, and when the FBI came knocking at Paperny’s door, he lied about the events listed above, deepening his crime.

               The interesting thing about Mr. Paperny was that when asked after his talk about whether or not there was a set number of clients he would take like the six million dollar one in order to get back at Kenny and the deficit created between the unevenly split commission, he said there was. He calculated five years of taking hedge funds and brokers without Kenny’s knowledge. However, even as human as his calculation made him out to be (instead of some heartless machine,) he was not any more above the law and was unable to make it five complete years with his illegal activities.

               He also spoke about his upbringing. “There was no inclination from my childhood that I was to become a criminal. Ask me how my childhood was…Perfect.” I immediately thought how he contradicted every study, every belief that suggests the childhood is the most important developmental period in one’s life. He also disproved that living successfully implied that he was living a fulfilled life. Another life lesson he explicitly stated was he knew when he was in the wrong. He knew when he crossed the line, and anyone with an education should easily be able to determine what is right and wrong, especially in the business world.

Furthermore, he put it to the whole audience that when faced any decisions, business or some other field of work, to always make the hard right. “I know that no one in this room will end up in prison like I did. But only some of you will be strong enough to make the right decision.” He painted a picture that was all too familiar to him; one in which a group of high-ranking bosses, business partners, and colleagues sat and discussed unethical decisions. Noting that it is not difficult to stand up and do what is right, he still challenged us when we graduate to make the hard right and save ourselves the prison time in which he learned to do just that.

  

Starting Back Up

Well, after a long absence from blogging due to my extended post-highschool summer, I am back to work as a full time student. One of the nice things about being a student (as opposed to being a lowly member of the work force) is the academic exposure to literature. Possibly due to my lack of literature maturity, I have a great appreciation for professors and teachers alike that take students by the hand and lead us through various literary materials; plays, manuscripts, stories, novels, bibles-you name it, it sure beats reading The Freshman Survival Guide to College as a deep read! In addition to using my spiritual and philosophical classes as launch pads for blog posts, I had some really interesting and life changing experiences through out the summer. Hiking was a reoccurring theme that establish a large part of my identity before I embarked for my new life at college. I also had the wonderful opportunity to be the low man on the totem pole at a restaurant and work my way up to being a waiter-(a juicy topic filled with many a spiritual lesson.) Among the hectic and ever-so quick goodbyes before my grand departure, I did find the time to partake in a sweat lodge which had a profound impact on my personal faith. To say the least, there is much for me to write and reflect further upon as my academic year expands. Hopefully, I will be able to churn out some essays and, most-definitely, responses to   other bloggers that I should be following a little more closely! Eventually some in-depth reflections will come out as well!

Power Outage In A Rest Stop Bathroom

Luckily, there was a rest-stop on the Maryland-Virginia border. There was no way I was making it all the way to D.C. without stopping to relieve my bladder. No way. I fumbled to hit the turning signal as I got off on the exit ramp. It was a grey day, so it was worth travelling today. The smell of fast food and gasoline hit me as I crossed the crowded parking lot.

Inside, warm, stuffy air hit my face as I entered through the doors that had sticky handles. I passed a Hispanic family, then an African American family; such a diverse rest-stop being that the nation’s capital was less 20 miles away.

There was a line for the bathroom. Of course there was, and I became impatient as I was delayed longer than I anticipated. I pulled my cell-phone out to pass the time. No service. Curious as to why such a crowded area would lack 4G, I looked around as if the answer was in the air. The man in front of me had peculiar clothes. Wrapped in black and white robes, I couldn’t help but think that using a urinal would prove to be difficult.

The line moved forward. However, the man in front of me didn’t shuffle a few steps further. Attempting to hold back my impatience, I casually tapped the man’s shoulder. His neck straightened out, and I happened to realize I interrupted some sort of meditation as I obtusely pointed out that the line moved a couple of inches. I blushed as embarrassment rushed over me. I apologized, “Sorry, I just have to go real bad.” I felt childish saying this, but no shame. The man’s face quickly brightened as he realized I was embarrassed.

“It’s no problem,” said the man who must’ve been no older than twenty-five. “I’ve been waiting for about five minutes already.” The light-hearted feeling I had just gained from his kind facial expression quickly left.

“Five whole minutes?” I whined.

 “Apparently there is some sort of electrical problem at this rest-stop. They’ve rigged a makeshift toilet while the plumbing is out.” He grinned. Possibly at the absurdity of the situation, but I couldn’t tell as I was growing more impatient by the second. “Just let go,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I replied, not sure what he was referring to.

“Just let go.” He added a wink to his referral. Huh. I looked at my cell-phone to check the time, realizing I wouldn’t get home in time to catch The Office reruns that TBS has every Tuesday. “The receptions bad because of the power outage,” he informed me. “Do you have somewhere important to be?” he inquired. I sheepishly admitted no, understanding that TV wouldn’t have any significance to this holy man. Curious, I had to ask what he was wearing. I had nothing else to do as the line slowly shuffled forward.  “I’m a roshi.”

“A what?”

“A roshi. I’m a Zen Buddhist master, sort of like a priest, if you will.”

“Oh, so like some yin-yang sort of deal, right?” I said, thinking I’d impress him with lack of ignorance for other cultures.

“No not quite the same thing,” he smiled. Again, I felt childish but without shame. The man, clearly younger than me, had this strong affect and I couldn’t understand why. His eyes looked welcoming as I turned over in mind whether or not to dive into a religious conversation here in the bathroom line. I noticed I had let go of my impatience as the line shuffled forward. We were almost by the tiled entrance of the bathroom.

“Okay, well, how would you summarize your faith? In one sentence or less. Because Christians can say, like, that Jesus died on the Cross and rose from the dead. What’s your religion got like that?”

“Equanimity,” he simply replied. I recognized a Latin word within that definition.

Fishing back into my high school Latin knowledge, now gone, I spat out, “Equal-hearted-ness?”

“Almost. It’s literally ‘equal-mind-ness. Close, though,” he reassured me as he smiled again.

“Ah, well what does that mean?”

“To put it simply, it implies an “equalness” towards every day events; letting go of needless attachment.” I was somewhat baffled by this definition. Hmm. Just then, a worker of sorts walked out of the bathroom.

“Excuse me gentlemen. If I could have your attention please: this restroom is closed for the day. I’m sorry for making you wait for nothing. As you have probably found out, there is an electrical power outage, and it is difficult to pinpoint the exact spot that will fix this problem. Again, I am sorry.” A large, collective groan emerged from the line of unrelieved men. My companion just nodded and shot me a grin. The line was led by the worker to the backside of the facilities. Outside, there were plenty of trees and the plumber, or maybe he was an electrician, pointed the crowd that way. Slightly disgruntled, but aware of this new idea of “equanimity,” I strolled alongside this roshi to the trees. The crowd of men dispersed, some headed for the trees, but the majority continued to shake their heads in disbelief of such an inconvenience.

I heard chuckling up ahead. Perturbed by the laughter, I thought, what could be so funny right now? I looked at my line-partner and his smile reappeared. I was flat out confused. We reached the source of the laughter by the trees. My roshi friend went towards the figure that had laughed. Tapping on his shoulder, my friend embraced the older man as he turned around. Still needing to relieve myself, and very confused at what was going on, I approached the two men.

“Kind sir-“ the roshi began. I cut him off, “Sam. Sam Rogers.”

“Sam Rogers,” he started, “this is Chun Tzu Lee.” I awkwardly shook hands with the gentleman, noticing that his back was slightly bent, maybe as to bow.

“Funny how we have to come out here to relieve ourselves,” Mr. Lee said with a hint of sarcasm. “I can’t believe they’re forcing an old man to the wilderness when all he wanted was to use a bathroom!” I couldn’t see how he thought himself to be old. His skin retained a noticeably model-esque tan that made him appear as if had justreturned from the beach. There wasn’t an age mark to be found on his face.

-

As we made our way back from the trees, the two men stopped at an old Nissan Altima. The roshi, whose name I still did not know, opened the driver side’s door and pulled out a satchel. “Come join us for lunch,” he invited. Hesitant, I thought of home and my TV show. But I soon realized how bizarre this rest stop had been: wait in line for one toilet, meet a Zen Buddhist, go to the bathroom outside, and meet a friend of the Buddhist. Wishing to learn something about either of them, I agreed to some lunch.

Inside, it was emptier than it was ten minutes ago. The power outage left the food court helpless and the bathrooms empty. Luckily there were some burgers and fries to be found at McDonald’s. I offered to pay. The roshi’s friend didn’t hesitate to let me do so while the Buddhist himself had to be coaxed. We sat down at a window seat. The roshi pulled out a few pieces of literature from his satchel. I asked the older man if he was a Zen Buddhist too.

Lao Tzu

“No,” he replied. “I am a chun tzu.” I chewed mindfully on my burger.

“Oh,” I said shortly. The roshi smiled at him, and then at me.  “And how does that differ from a roshi?” I inquired. Everyone sipped from their soda straws simultaneously. With the older man in no rush to explain, the roshi began to talk.

“Well, first of all, as I told you, I am a Zen Buddhist. Chun Tzu Lee is a chun tzu. A gentleman of sorts. He’s Confucian.” Confused again, I was puzzled by the fact Buddhism and Confucianism were two separate religions. I had always believed them to be fairly similar. Well actually, I just knew they were Asian religions, and that was it.

“Would you explain your religion to me a little bit more?”

“Certainly. Zen Buddhism differs from a Tibetan Buddhism. We focus on meditation. It’s a method of emptying in order to refine our attention. We believe that ‘the mind has other ways of working than its normal, rational way, Zen is convinced.’” (Smith, 89.)

“So this meditation doesn’t come so easily does it?” I pondered aloud.

“I wouldn’t say so,” said Mr. Lee with a soft laugh.

“Well, there’s a type of meditation called zazen. This literally is a seated type of meditation. Monks will ‘sit for hours on end in the lotus posture they inherited from India.’ They hope to ‘awaken the Buddha-mind that will reshape their daily lives.’” (Smith, 88.)

“Well, do Zen Buddhist’s use any holy texts?”

“Mmm, not always. We like to focus on sanzen, or a type of consultation with our masters to discuss meditation. In these meetings, we discuss koans, or problems. They’re kind of like word problems…For example, what is the sound of one hand clapping?” I couldn’t think of anything. Wasn’t that a Simpson’s episode? Hm. He wouldn’t find that amusing. Um…

Without cutting my train of thought, he said, “Don’t worry. Monks repeatedly visit twice a day with their masters to figure out their koans. They make an initial breakthrough called satori. It can take several years for them to figure it out.”

 I slurped the remnants of my soda through the bendy straw. I couldn’t help but feel extremely overwhelmed with the knowledge that was placed before me. I offered to get Mr. Lee and the roshi more soda. And as I returned to the table, I realized that a quick conversation had taken place.

“Mr. Rogers,” the chen tzu started, “Roshi Thomason wishes for me to tell you a little bit about my religion.”

That was the roshi’s name! “Oh please do!” I said as I sat back down.

“Well as you may or may not know, Confucius lived in the sixth century B.C. ‘Agonizing over the inhumanity of his day [that is, during the Chou Dynasty], Confucius looked in an altogether different direction for a cure. He became obsessed with tradition and its power to civilize.’ (Smith, 107.) And as you can imagine, a system of ethics were established to create peace and stability.” The chen tzu sipped some more of his soda, “While I could go into specifics, the ethics are founded on four main ideals. So remember both the four Zen Buddhist points that Roshi Thomason told you as well as mine,” he said with a smile.

“The second idea is chen tzu, like roshi, it is an esteemed title given to superiors. A chen tzu is a gentleman of sorts. He is to be treated with respect. You have instinctively done this for me, and I am pleased to tell you that you’d make a good Confucius practitioner because you respect your elders.” I blushed a little to the comment.

“That is part of the third concept, propriety, which encompasses filial piety. There isn’t much to say here other than that you embody this well. The fourth idea is called te. It’s the power of moral example. (Clark, Class Notes.)You also displayed this well with a firm handshake. It also looks like a ruler who rules by example, not by law.”

“Huh, so there are four concepts in Confucianism too?”

“Mhm. Oh, wait, excuse me! There are five!”

“Oh? And what is the fifth ideal?” I was ready to get going now.

  “You’ll have to get in touch with us for that! We’ll just have to leave you with a cliffhanger. Give us your email, I have a class to teach tomorrow and have to be settled in tonight,” said the chen tzu.

“Likewise I also have to be back and my zendo, my church, for tomorrow!” said the roshi. Our conversation was abruptly cut short. I wasn’t disappointed, though. And somehow I knew I would keep in touch with them, and still possibly learn a thing or two from these two men.

-

On the car ride home, I couldn’t help but ponder over what I had just encountered. And pulling into my driveway, I pressed my garage door button. It was late now, and I was in a crummy mood from coming home so late. When the door didn’t open, a feeling of impatience rushed over me. But rather than giving into the emotion, I thought equanimity.  

Bending Over...To Plug In Part 2

  As I had mentioned in the first post, the second requirement that a power outlet required me to do was "pick up the power chord after it had fallen off the table."

  There are two aspects that I picked up on while reflecting on this act. The first was my duty to pick up the power chord. Sucked into the vortex of desperately needing to plug in the laptop, I found myself frantically getting down on hand and knee to pick up the stupid male part of the chord. Did technology actually just make me stoop? I thought technology was to my benefit, not the technology benefiting from me. And this first aspect quickly ties back into my first point in Part 1, separating ourselves from technology to focus on our path.

   The second aspect was completely different, and maybe not as much of a stretch as the first aspect. Too often are we confronted with second chances that we refuse to take due to pride. I think of some of Siggy Freud's ego defense mechanisms which ultimately allow for our mind to delay, lie, hinder, cover, or mar our reaction to trauma. Two of the more commonly known mechanisms are rationalization and denial (of reality.) The first, as many of us already seem to know, is a way of finding excuses to justify either a traumatic experience done unto us, or that which we have done. Simply put, it's lying (: Denial is what we know denial as: rejecting reality. These are just two examples of how we refuse to just pick up where we have left off. We've either strayed too far, lost sight of, or got tired with what our current route has been thus far. And while religions do a fantastic job at giving you the step by step process how to get back en route to an ultimate goal (i.e. faith,) one most understand it is self-generated. So back to the computer charger on the ground, I myself had to get the plug from the ground. The dog wasn't going to get it, nor was the charger going to find its way back up the table. (And yes, I know how simple of an action this was, but that's the point: getting back on track, starting with the small things so that we are able to recharge our computers [a different analogy with the computer AGAIN!]) 

Bending Over...To Plug In

   I couldn't help but feel pathetic as I failed to plug in this laptop's power chord into a wall outlet. Tucked behind the futon I now sit on, that outlet was hard to get to...it required me to 1) put the laptop and its chord down, 2) pick up the power chord after it fell off the table, and 3) struggle desperately to connect the male part of the plug to the outlet. Why is this worth mentioning? I personally thought that there's a generic  life lesson to be learned from these three points. I admit that it seems like I constantly look for these life lessons in any and every instance.  And thus far, I haven't found any negative effect from searching (and then relating.)

Jokes on you

 First lesson: putting the laptop and its chord down. That is, put technology down. I found that it was necessary to put down what my arms were carrying in order to find something small. This could be translated into many things in order to be a life lesson. Putting down, or rather, emptying ourselves in order to be capable of being filled up. Just this past Sunday, I heard in new definition for humility within the homily. "Humility" did not entail being the doormat of the world, rather, it was the concept of emptying one's self in order to be able to fully receive Jesus. (I did say I thought in generic, all encompassing mode:) So is Jesus interchangeable with other religious concepts? No, absolutely not. However, this redefined humility is a shared belief among other faiths. Maybe not under the term "humility," but still, the idea remains. Because Taoism is centered around "the way," I thought that this faith could be used as a point of reference in order to make a more generic life lesson out of "putting down the laptop." Taoism, I have found, also favors emptiness. I'd go as far as to say that less is more in Taoism because the constant state of emptying seems to be a threaded theme throughout the Tao Te Ching, the holy book of Taoism. "It is empty yet not depleted." (TTC 5:6.) Because Taoism gives us another point of view on this idea of emptying, whether it be for the sake of embodying Christ or being able to follow the way ever more closely, I can now make a more generic life lesson, or rather, a more general reflection.
    Tying back into my first point of putting down the technology and its baggage it brings. I'd make the argument that technology is the fore frontal distraction/occupation of most people's time. Whether it be for better or worse, technology occupies the average schmo's time.You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a 40-50 year old guy staring down at his iPhone4. So an immediate benefit of putting down the technology would be that grown men wouldn't walk into people. Throw in loss of social skills terminated (as soon as the cultural emphasis on technology as the only means of communication has subsided.) But on a more life lesson level, what is to be gained from putting down the technology from time to time is a gain in dignity. I feel cheap to know that a screen has me so invested that I can't seem to function without it. The computer will run with or without us. Yea, sure, we need to turn it on, but once that sucker's up and running, we are sitting there, cranking out the power by pedaling. We, however, seem to be at the mercy of the computer/tv/cellphone. And like I pointed out, yes, there are all the social stats and communication reasons for us to stop using technology as a life source, but still, we could make significant progress along the path without our heads down, staring at the cellphone, or our eyes glazed, glued to the television, or our ears muffed by headphones.

to be continued

Getting Back Into the Mix

Spittle bugs

I have taken an extended break from this blogging business. Part of the reason for such a delay in coming back is due to the courses I'm taking. I had a lot thrown at me from two of my biggest influences: Comparative Religions and a philosophy class. And there was a lot of concrete, generic information being thrown at me from the philosophical arena while I was learning some mind blowing Eastern Asia religions (Zen Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism.) While I am digesting and reflecting what I have learned, I am able to produce some sort of reflection that can generally draw a line that connects some broadly shared concepts.
The driving factor to actually hop back into blogging came just about a half an hour ago while I lay with my drool on my chin, sitting in a dentist chair. I usually enjoy getting my teeth cleaned, but this was the first time I encountered some mental and physical dilemmas. The obvious physical issue was the drooling. I felt a little demoralized as I sat, incapable of controlling my dribble. I couldn't really find the right amount of stretch my jaw needed to have to please my hygienist. So instead of frequently interrupting her work in order to wipe my spittle, I turned inward. Ah, the great indoors of the mind. And I must admit, rather than practice a new meditation technique (which I tend to do when I have a free second,) I thought of ze blog. So there is no actual religious or philosophical affiliation in this specific post, but I do want to encourage my growing audience to comment. The reason I make such a request is that in signing back in, I have realized in a few of the comments, how quick I am to press publish, and then later discover, or be told that I have made a mistake. (I am referring to my Qigong mistype.) So my perfect dreamworld would be if I was questioned on definitions, references, and parallels that I loosely draw between philosophy and religion.
I hope to have a few reflections on Aristotle mixed in with the Asian religions I have really enjoyed thus far. I particularly liked the contrasts between Confucianism and Taoism, both of which (with Buddhism) play as significant influences in Chinese (among others) culture.
Read on,
Pass on the URL,
Thanks,
Jack-Michael       

New Method to Achieve Zen-like State

In Zen meditation, the objective is to clear the mind and end its monkey-mind nature. So commonly do our minds drop into a state in which we are at the mercy of self-propagated illusions; monkey-mind. Our minds quickly shift from thought to thought. What is the harm of monkey-mind? An immediate problem is a decrease in attention span. This can be simply viewed as how long one can keep focus on one individual thought or object. My explanation can be proved by a simple test: close your eyes and focus on one color. Quickly, our minds flood with common associations that we have each individually made during our lives. Uncontrollably, we lose our focus on our chosen color.

Zen Buddhism has established an ancient meditation method that resolves this problem that we encounter frequently in a matter of seconds. Multiple aspects of posture, breathing, and relaxation are used to achieve a seemingly impossible task: silencing our minds. It’s also crucial to point out that Zen Buddhists do not restrict their meditation to a set ritual. However, the prescribed method does indeed have a variety of benefits and is thus encouraged. The danger of falling into a repetitive “tradition” is losing what Shunryu Suzuki, zen roshi, calls beginner’s mind. Beginner’s mind can be seen as the first time one encounters the divine, an epiphany, or rather a rare state in which we are enveloped in pure innocence. As soon as we retrace our footsteps to achieve beginner’s mind for a second time, we are no longer able to grasp the same intensity of innocence. Thus repetition and tradition can both be seen as hazardous to meditation methods, even prayer in our Western religions. Suzuki states that we must come ready to meditate with a beginner’s mind.

I casually plotted out when my mind was jostled the most, and for me, this seemed to be when I was alone, or blotting out people around me. I found that looking inwardly was somewhat dangerous to do with limited experience in meditating because as soon as I tried to be still in my mind, I realized how loud and rambunctious my thoughts really were. My alternative method begins here: instead of facing my monkey-mindedness as a Zen Buddhist might, I thought, “Let’s attack the monkey in my mind when he’s not expecting it.” A devious but detrimental plan. I flipped the zen technique, if it can be said to be treating the monkey mind head on, to a more passive aggressive plot. When would my monkey-mind be unavailable, I thought. When would my thoughts be lulled asleep? [I write this as a narrative, but it so happened that I stumbled across this following method rather than planned it out.]

I played an excessive amount of video games over winter break, which really brought nothing but headaches and strained eyes. However, my mind felt fried, like unhealthily deep-fried french fries. With this feeling, I felt foggy, which can also be translated as dull-minded. My brain wasn’t working hard, or much at all after playing video games. After suffering these side effects, I found that the monkey mind was temporarily eliminated. [This isn’t to say that video games lead to some soft-core state of zen.]

It was what I began to do in this glazed state that reflected zen’s ideals. It’s very easy to fall into a negative mood when our minds half-asleep after staring into screens. I usually mumble or try to avoid talking which comes off as rude or obnoxious. Not very zen-like. But having cheated my monkey-mind for a few minutes, I found that the first thought that came into my head had to be a positive one. Buddhism does not try to shut the brain off or shut off our senses from reality. Rather, its goal is to have the mind cleared but still function on a very high, focused, and trained level that embodies equanimity. So in order to have done anything in the relative neighborhood of zen, I had to process through my deep-fried state in a way in which that I would fashion equal mindedness with my few decisions I had to make getting ready to go to sleep. With my gaming partner in crime still awake with me at these early hours of the morning, this was not easy. In fact, I failed every time I tried to act positively out of this state of exhaustion. I believed this was in part to the day having ended, and there was no apparent reason to act with equanimity.

So instead of trying to act positively after playing video games, I thought of a more natural, healthier method of reaching this fo-clear mind. As a reaction to staying up late, I woke up later. Unfortunately, this pattern was crudely disrupted when I was forced to wake up at the cruel hour of five a.m. in order to drive to Maine for Christmas. But again, I found a state in which my monkey-mind was shelved. And in this instance, the day was very young, and there were many benefits from being equal-minded at this hour. For example, getting on the road after packing was simplified with a positive attitude rather than a groggy, sappy one.

Having barely awakened when I embarked on my journey [as a passenger,] I was looking

at a thirteen hour drive. What better to do than meditate. In this specific instance, I had thought of the idea before doing it rather than finding myself in the midst of doing some techniques that surround zen’s method for meditating. Getting into the lotus position as best as I could with a seatbelt strapped across my stomach, I succeeded surprisingly well, I must say, at this early hour in staying focused on my breathing. My monkey-mind did not have the chance to wreak havoc on my fresh mind. I sat, eyes closed [non-zen technique] and inevitably fell asleep. The intriguing part was when I woke up, my mind was still blank, and I was able to control my initial thoughts very well. I found this to be a huge success because I was able to avoid monkey-mind’s invasion. And while this is quite obviously not a full on zen experience, I would highly recommend trying to use this model in order to take advantage of small slots of time we overlook or allow monkey-mindedness flood. Rather than meeting the monkey-mind head on, I thought that maybe beating the monkey-mind to “unadulterated areas” of my mind would possibly give me some confidence in order to face a very steep challenge.