by Barbara Coeyman, Intern Minister

First Unitarian Church

Portland, Oregon

A few years ago my children and I visited Pittsburgh, where we used to live. One afternoon, we drove from one friend’s house to another friend. As we negotiated Pittsburgh’s hilly streets, I vaguely heard a noise, but I didn’t think much of it. As we neared our destination, a guy driving by shouted at us and pointed. I couldn’t understand him, but I assumed his comments were derogatory. "Couldn’t he mind his own business!" I harrumphed.

When we got out of the car, I saw what his shouting was about. There on the roof, wedged in between the roof rack and the antenna, was my bulky black purse, with the strap flapping against the door frame. Obviously, I had left the purse on the roof when we drove away, but to this day I don’t know exactly what happened. I suppose that in loading up the kids and our paraphernalia, I set the purse on the roof and just forgot about it. I wished that I could thank the other driver, who I realized was trying to help, but he was long gone. We were lucky; if we had driven much further, the purse could easily have been lost forever. So now, when I travel with my kids, before we drive away, I always double check that my purse is secure. After risking the loss of something important, I’ve become alert to leaving things on top of my car.

I suppose I could berate myself for carelessness. Instead, I prefer to think of leaving things on top of cars as part of the human condition, since I know that I’m not the only one who does this. During seminary I heard of someone who had actually surveyed what people leave on car tops: a baby seat—without the baby; a birthday cake; a dissertation; and, my favorite, a whole roast turkey. It’s amazing, how we can become out of touch.

Since September 11, I’ve heard many people talk about feeling absent-minded, or numb or spacey. Some say they can’t concentrate, or they feel out of touch.

On the other hand, I’ve heard many others report just the opposite—that they’ve never felt so focussed, so attentive, like I am now over leaving things on my car roof. Many people have become awakened to a new sense of connections. Think about how many phone calls you made in the days following the terrorist attacks, or how your relationships may have felt deeper. It seems that tragedy and death can awaken us, to our one wild and precious life. This sense of becoming awake to the world, becoming mindful, may be one positive outcome of this terrible period in our history.

In the past weeks, I’ve actually observed different kinds of mindfulness. Some mindfulness seemed to happen spontaneously—without thinking much, we wanted to know that loved ones were secure and safe, and that life will continue. So we automatically reached out. However, there’s also been much intentional mindfulness.

People volunteered time and money for relief efforts. People intentionally flocked to churches. Mindfulness can be an important part of our spiritual practice during crisis, strengthening connections with ourselves, with others, and with the divine. Indeed, mindfulness is an important part of most religions in the world.

We can learn much about intentional mindfulness from Buddhists. There are many versions of Buddhist practice, but mindfulness is important to all. Quite simply, Buddhists explain mindfulness as being awake, being more aware of the world. Mindfulness can help anyone become Buddha-like; after all, "Buddha" means "one who is awake." In becoming Buddha-like, we can learn to live in this moment. By living in this moment, we are less inclined to worry about the past, or become anxious about the future. Living in this moment, we can approach what Buddhists call the true nature of reality, and discover what really matters in life. Living in this moment, we can eliminate fear, anger, and other obstacles to peace.

Mindfulness also helps reveal what Buddhists call the unity of existence, which resembles the concept of interconnectedness that Unitarian Universalists promote in their seventh principle. That is, mindfulness helps us see relationships and eliminate dualistic thinking that pervades so much of western culture. We humans—especially in the west—tend to compartmentalize life, often in opposites, and so set up barriers that close us off to possibilities for experiencing life. To illustrate barriers, there is a Buddhist story of a man who thought his son was dead and so did not consider the possibility that it was the living son knocking on his door. The man never opened the door and eventually the son went away forever. Mindfulness helps us break down the compartments and dualities we tend to fall into.

One of the most basic dualities we can overcome through mindfulness is the distinction between mind and body. Certainly, in mindfulness we focus our mind, but we also engage our body. Mind and body are connected: when one is calm, so is the other. Eventually the two merge into one.

In turn, mind-body unity can help overcome other dualities, such as distinctions between living and dying. In Buddhist faith, dying is seen as part of living, two faces of the same reality. As westerners come to understand this idea better, we can find more courage to face death. In a state of mindful living, dualities break down and we can become one with whatever we’re doing: all living and dying are connected. Thus, we in

Portland cried over deaths in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania.

Buddhists also practice mindfulness to transform awareness of the world’s suffering to awareness of its beauties, and to transform anger and hurt into peace. Once a person is peaceful, he or she can pass that peace into the world. Or said the other way, the world won’t be peaceful until individuals know peace. In these past weeks, I have heard many people intentionally wish one another peace, an act that I think helped us move beyond the pain and anger of tragedy.

One of the most popular Buddhist spiritual writers currently is Thich Nhat Hanh, the author of the unison reading we did earlier in the service. Many of you probably know the work of this Vietnamese writer. In the past weeks I’ve been drawn to his writing on mindfulness, especially mindfulness during crisis. His encouragement to practice everyday mindfulness is especially useful for getting through tough times.

Everyday mindfulness for Thich Nhat Hanh means being awake and aware in all that we do, potentially in every minute of every day. Everyday mindfulness is a way for any of us to regularly practice being Buddha-like. Everyday mindfulness does not require specific disciplines of sitting position or breathing style, and it need not take time out from daily routines. Instead, everyday mindfulness can be practiced by anyone, in the context of regular activities. Everyday mindfulness is engaged Buddhism: not going away from life, but coming toward life. I see everyday mindfulness as one of the Buddhist practices most applicable to faith traditions, such as Unitarian Universalism, with a strong commitment to social action.

Thich Nhat Hanh explains everyday mindfulness like this. When you wash the dishes, really focus on the dishes. Be with the dish-washing-ness of your life. While you wash the dishes, that’s all that matters. Don’t think about your dinner, or the TV program after dinner. Focus on the dish-washing. Make it a ritual. Or when you eat a tangerine, savor completely the wedge in your mouth before you take another. Or when you’re listening to your kids, really listen to them. Make them the only thing that matters, so that when they ask you to notice a star, you’ll really notice it. You’ll be glad of that star.

Let me also try to explain everyday mindfulness in Unitarian Universalist terms. Many of you have probably heard why Unitarian Universalists overall are poor hymn singers: they don’t pay attention to the line they are singing because they are so busy reading ahead to see if they agree with the words in the next line. I would suggest that that approach to singing is not mindful singing. When you sing, really focus on the note you are on. Be with the resonance of that note until it’s time to move ahead to the next.

I have noticed that I’ve been more mindful in everyday events since the terrorist attacks. All things being equal, my normal tendency is to overschedule, and run very fast. Like the man riding a horse, who when asked where he was going, said he didn’t know, that the questioner should ask the horse. In addition to running too fast, I also have a tendency to assume lots of responsibilities, and in some cases I’ve been known to go looking for responsibilities when none was coming my way naturally. When I get in that "I’m responsible for the world" mentality, I can easily ignore the task at hand, like when I left my purse on top of the car. I realize how much I can treat functional acts as means to ends, not as ends in themselves. I can hurry to finish the dishes, I can anticipate the next tangerine slice.

I’m not perfect yet, but I am getting better at everyday mindfulness. I’ve had a long-time habit of letting my mind go off on tangents when I read, but I’ve noticed that I’ve been making more of a ritual of reading lately and I don’t stray as much. Even more important than mindfulness to tasks like reading, I’ve also noticed more unity with other people and with nature. I’ve been more attentive to my three cats, to singing birds, to falling rain, and I feel some real intense connection with the hiking trails I frequent in the Portland area.

I’ve also noticed that I’m more appreciative of others’ mindfulness toward me.

In Texas, where I just moved from, many drivers are quite discourteous. So the brief, seemingly insignificant moments of road courtesy here—like not running red lights—are important to me. When I experience others’ courtesy, in turn I pass the courtesy on to the next driver.

There are many ways that any of us can improve our mindfulness without elaborate rituals or expensive spiritual retreats. By setting our mind to it, we can enhance inner and outer connections in daily activities. Thich Nhat Hanh urges us to take time to see the almond tree in our own front yard, or the snowflake, or the moonlight, or the flowers, and to notice how they relate to the true nature of ourselves. If we argue that we can’t focus on so many other things because we have too much work to do, he would tell us to focus on our work. Being mindful, even to frustrations, can calm our hearts and make us better equipped to handle difficult situations, at work, in life. He would also remind us that even ten minutes of daily mindfulness can make a big difference in how we approach the day.

Thich Nhat Hanh also emphasizes everyday mindfulness toward children. Maybe

we think that we don’t have enough time for their activities, but he says their time and our time can merge. We can’t short-change children—they know it. I recently read a story about a two-year-old child who was hospitalized because her stomach was not retaining food. The doctor could find no medical cause, but knew that the child’s mother had just died. So the doctor prescribed TLC for at least fifteen minutes after each feeding. The charge nurse in the hospital unit reported that if he hurried and cradled the child for less than fifteen minutes, or if he were not totally attentive even when he stayed the full time, the child invariably brought up her food. Children are excellent interpreters of adult mindfulness.

In order to nurture our interconnectedness and responsibilities to others, Thich Naht Hanh would also remind us to take care of ourselves first. He tells a story of two acrobats, a child and a man. In their act, the man balanced a tall bamboo pole on his head while the child climbed to the top of the pole. Both concentrated on their own tricks to maintain perfect balance. However, one day, the man suggested that instead of watching themselves, they watch each other, but the child realized that wouldn’t work. If each did not concentrate primarily on himself, neither would be any good for the other. They’d both surely fall.

If we do find ourselves becoming too scattered or running too fast, Thich Naht Hanh would also remind us to remember to breathe. Breathing slows us down. Our breaths become a bridge between body and mind, reminding us of their oneness. Some Buddhists would even say that breathing is mindfulness.

Finally, Thich Nhat Hanh would remind us of the importance of smiling. Smiling is one of the best ways of getting in touch with reality. When you smile, you are Buddha-like. When you smile you become the smile. Think about how we try to get babies to smile.

When a baby smiles, everyone around smiles as well. Smiling makes you master of yourself. Smiling helps connect you with your unity of reality.

It doesn’t seem very difficult at all, does it, to be intentionally mindful, more alert to both life’s troubles and beauties. I’m certainly not an expert in Buddhism, but I trust that the Buddhist 2500-year-old tradition of mindfulness must have something going for it. Daily mindfulness has the potential of making this holiday season more meaningful for each of us. Even if we are the only one in our families or work groups doing so, practicing mindfulness can sustain us in tough times and enhance the good times. Mindfulness can get us more in touch with the world.

During these holiday weeks, I’ve challenged myself to use mindfulness to help dissipate anger or other negative emotions that may arise. I’ve challenged myself to eliminate compartmentalized thinking through which I could develop misconceptions about people and events. Through the challenges of mindfulness, we may all approach a greater sense of unity with nature, with ourselves, with each other. Through the challenges of mindfulness, any of us may know more compassion, love, and peace. Through the challenge of mindfulness, we can become all the more awake to this precious gift of life.

So Be It.

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Copyright 2001, Barbara Coeyman.  All rights reserved.