My friend Steve Quill invited me to duck hunt with him in Port O'Connor this past week. The season ends in a few days and I begin chemotherapy soon. So, I skipped out on some things and rearranged others in order to spend some time in the duck blind.
The bay and lagoons around Port O'Connor teem with wintering waterfowl. Teal, redheads, widgeon, bluebills, pintails, golden-eyes and more spend their days feeding in the flats and soaking up the winter sun that reflects off the reefs. They join the pelicans, cranes, cormorants and myriad other shore birds in crisscrossing the jetties, lagoons, islands and sandbars of the larger bay. Ducks loaf the short winter days away, floating and paddling beside tailing redfish and surfacing dolphins.
We watched all this activity become visible as the full moon sank and the sun began its rise on the chilly morning of our hunt. Four of us stood in brushy pit blinds on a small island no larger than a suburban driveway. Retriever Jake crouched in his place near the water's edge, ready to bolt for downed birds.
After an hour or two, we'd taken our legal limit of redheads, as well as a pintail or two. We stood up in our blinds to watch the clouds of redheads fly over us, picking out the shiny, rusted heads of the drakes and the subtle browns and grays of the hens. Clouds of them flew over - hundreds of ducks at a time - swooping down to take a look at our bobbing decoys before they careened past us for more distant and enticing water.
One group, however, did not pass. They swooped low over us and then circled up, high and back - heading straight for the open water amidst our decoys. In a rush of swishing wings, the entire flock landed in the water not 20 yards from us. They floated and bobbed, fluffing their wings, shaking off water droplets from the splashdown.
Before we could even look at each other, another group buzzed in from behind us and joined the ducks on the water. Then another group came. And another. And still another. Within about 60 seconds, approximately 1000 redheads landed in our decoys right in front of us.
We were breathless. Not even our salty old guide who's hunted Port O'Connor for 60 years had ever seen anything like this. We looked at each other, giddy with amazement and joy, repressing the urge to speak so as not to scare them away.
At some point, I said aloud the only thing that came to mind: "God is good."
My friend Steve, a retired Lutheran pastor, smiled and nodded.
The ducks stayed with us for 5-10 minutes. Then, in one magnificent explosion, all of them rocketed up from the water at once and left, flying east for other waters.
For me, to hunt is to participate with intention in a fundamental law of life on this planet: that some things die so that other things may live. To hunt is also to socket myself down into the thick of things. Into the flow of life, of the earth, and of the world. Into the Rhythm of Life that was here before we were, and will be here when we are gone. Into the primal, natural realities that ground and determine our lives here whether or not we acknowledge them.
With the redheads - both the living and the downed - I feel my own soul expand into the Soul of the world.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Fields, Dogs, the Sky and a Friend
My to-do list today consisted of a round dozen. Blogs to write, website pages to create, book chapters to write, taxes to file, stuff to do around the house, on and on.
I managed to knock a few things out this morning in between episodes of walking out to the backyard lake to throw tennis balls for Dolly, our rat terrier. By 11:00 I found myself donning cammo clothes and packing shotguns into the truck. Nishta convinced me to take Dolly with me, so off we went in my big red pick-up to meet my favorite hunting buddy Bill on our lease near Wallis, Texas.
Bill is a retired guy with a scruffy white beard who drives a beat-up Chevy truck, owns a thousand shotguns and fishing rods, and has crates of hunting and fishing gear in his garage. We've hunted together for a decade or more. He hunts with his golden retriever, Hunter, a 3-year old bundle of energy and love.
Bill, Hunter, Dolly and I sat in a pasture all afternoon waiting for mourning doves to come to our decoys. Dolly is not a hunting dog, but loves to be in the field anyway - that is, until she gets tired and wants to take a nap in my lap. So, for a while I cradled a sleeping rat terrier while Bill took 2 of the 6 birds who flew within range.
Mostly, we just sat and watched things. We watched large flocks of redwing blackbirds swirl and swoop like black, living tornados across the pasture. We watched small groups of doves meander along a creek bed in the distance, far out of range of our shotguns. We watched Hunter and Dolly run and chase and smell and explore everything within 75 yards of where we were sitting. We watched a nearby herd of white cows - a big bull, a dozen or so heifers and a few calves - make their way through 3 big round hay bales. We watched hawks careen and soar overhead, hunting for their prey as we were, reflecting the sun off their wings and through the pale feathers of their tails. We watched 3 V's of snow geese pass over us, honking and crying to one another as the sun made them look like blinking diamonds in the sky.
Finally, at sundown, with guns unloaded and stored, birds cleaned and in the ice chest, we stood and watched the sun sink below the tree line and felt the sudden chill in the air. The full moon was already a third of the way up the sky. It was time to go home.
My to-do list is still here next to my computer. Only a few things have been crossed off. But, I don't regret a moment of this day that I spent not doing the to-do list.
I spent the day with my friend, our dogs, and the world - plugged deep into the natural rhythms of things. Practicing the only religion I practice.
I had a good day.
I managed to knock a few things out this morning in between episodes of walking out to the backyard lake to throw tennis balls for Dolly, our rat terrier. By 11:00 I found myself donning cammo clothes and packing shotguns into the truck. Nishta convinced me to take Dolly with me, so off we went in my big red pick-up to meet my favorite hunting buddy Bill on our lease near Wallis, Texas.
Bill is a retired guy with a scruffy white beard who drives a beat-up Chevy truck, owns a thousand shotguns and fishing rods, and has crates of hunting and fishing gear in his garage. We've hunted together for a decade or more. He hunts with his golden retriever, Hunter, a 3-year old bundle of energy and love.
Bill, Hunter, Dolly and I sat in a pasture all afternoon waiting for mourning doves to come to our decoys. Dolly is not a hunting dog, but loves to be in the field anyway - that is, until she gets tired and wants to take a nap in my lap. So, for a while I cradled a sleeping rat terrier while Bill took 2 of the 6 birds who flew within range.
Mostly, we just sat and watched things. We watched large flocks of redwing blackbirds swirl and swoop like black, living tornados across the pasture. We watched small groups of doves meander along a creek bed in the distance, far out of range of our shotguns. We watched Hunter and Dolly run and chase and smell and explore everything within 75 yards of where we were sitting. We watched a nearby herd of white cows - a big bull, a dozen or so heifers and a few calves - make their way through 3 big round hay bales. We watched hawks careen and soar overhead, hunting for their prey as we were, reflecting the sun off their wings and through the pale feathers of their tails. We watched 3 V's of snow geese pass over us, honking and crying to one another as the sun made them look like blinking diamonds in the sky.
Finally, at sundown, with guns unloaded and stored, birds cleaned and in the ice chest, we stood and watched the sun sink below the tree line and felt the sudden chill in the air. The full moon was already a third of the way up the sky. It was time to go home.
My to-do list is still here next to my computer. Only a few things have been crossed off. But, I don't regret a moment of this day that I spent not doing the to-do list.
I spent the day with my friend, our dogs, and the world - plugged deep into the natural rhythms of things. Practicing the only religion I practice.
I had a good day.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Life of Pleasure
Epicurus gets a bad rap as a philosopher.
Mostly, people think of him as someone who promoted licentious, orgiastic pleasure as the path to happiness. His name is associated with fine food, wine, sex and other such indulgences. Our contemporary society doesn't roundly condemn these pleasures - on the contrary, it endorses and encourages them - but Epicurus often gets left out of the conversation by those who discuss, with seriousness, what it means to live a good life.
This is a mistake, in my view.
Yes, he put the experience of pleasure - or at least the absence of pain - at the heart of his definition of happiness and the good life. But he was very careful to distinguish between different kinds of pleasures, and in which ones the wise person chooses to indulge in order to create a happy, contented life. Some pleasures are natural and necessary - like food, shelter, clothing, social intercourse (which includes the erotic and non-erotic) and the like. Some pleasures are natural and unnecessary - like certain kinds of food, shelter and clothing (lobster, starter mansions and expensive finery). Some pleasures are unnatural and unnecessary - like fame, glory, admiration, receiving honors, wealth and so on.
Epicurus says the path to a happy, good life is to focus one's life on the first category as much as possible, steering into the second category only rarely. Stay completely away from the third category, he says - it's a straight path toward anxiety and misery most of the time.
I think he's right on this in a general way. The pleasures in the first category are the simplest, most basic pleasures and, thus, are the easiest to obtain. The second category takes more effort and work to secure and, once obtained, even more effort to maintain. Bigger houses and cars, expensive clothes and food - these "cost" us more than the simpler pleasures, in money, effort, attention and more. The pleasures of the final category are largely out of our control anyway, since they depend on the thoughts and actions of others, so spending life trying to obtain them is a recipe for misery. And we lose ourselves in vanity and narcissism in the process.
My favorite quote from Epicurus centers on what he sees as a key ingredient to happiness. He says:
Of all the means which wisdom gives us to ensure happiness throughout ours lives, by far the most important is friendship.
Happiness is as simple as having one or a few really good friends. They don't even have to stay the same throughout our lives - people come in and out of our lives throughout the decades. But, at any one time, to have a least one person (if not more) who sees us and loves us for who we really are, and with whom we can share our triumphs as well as our struggles . . . this is indispensable to the good and happy life.
If true abundance is determined by the presence of friendship in our lives - and I think it is - then I am indeed a wealthy woman. Forget about the fancy house, cars, clothes and food.
I've got friends. I'm filthy rich.
Mostly, people think of him as someone who promoted licentious, orgiastic pleasure as the path to happiness. His name is associated with fine food, wine, sex and other such indulgences. Our contemporary society doesn't roundly condemn these pleasures - on the contrary, it endorses and encourages them - but Epicurus often gets left out of the conversation by those who discuss, with seriousness, what it means to live a good life.
This is a mistake, in my view.
Yes, he put the experience of pleasure - or at least the absence of pain - at the heart of his definition of happiness and the good life. But he was very careful to distinguish between different kinds of pleasures, and in which ones the wise person chooses to indulge in order to create a happy, contented life. Some pleasures are natural and necessary - like food, shelter, clothing, social intercourse (which includes the erotic and non-erotic) and the like. Some pleasures are natural and unnecessary - like certain kinds of food, shelter and clothing (lobster, starter mansions and expensive finery). Some pleasures are unnatural and unnecessary - like fame, glory, admiration, receiving honors, wealth and so on.
Epicurus says the path to a happy, good life is to focus one's life on the first category as much as possible, steering into the second category only rarely. Stay completely away from the third category, he says - it's a straight path toward anxiety and misery most of the time.
I think he's right on this in a general way. The pleasures in the first category are the simplest, most basic pleasures and, thus, are the easiest to obtain. The second category takes more effort and work to secure and, once obtained, even more effort to maintain. Bigger houses and cars, expensive clothes and food - these "cost" us more than the simpler pleasures, in money, effort, attention and more. The pleasures of the final category are largely out of our control anyway, since they depend on the thoughts and actions of others, so spending life trying to obtain them is a recipe for misery. And we lose ourselves in vanity and narcissism in the process.
My favorite quote from Epicurus centers on what he sees as a key ingredient to happiness. He says:
Of all the means which wisdom gives us to ensure happiness throughout ours lives, by far the most important is friendship.
Happiness is as simple as having one or a few really good friends. They don't even have to stay the same throughout our lives - people come in and out of our lives throughout the decades. But, at any one time, to have a least one person (if not more) who sees us and loves us for who we really are, and with whom we can share our triumphs as well as our struggles . . . this is indispensable to the good and happy life.
If true abundance is determined by the presence of friendship in our lives - and I think it is - then I am indeed a wealthy woman. Forget about the fancy house, cars, clothes and food.
I've got friends. I'm filthy rich.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
No More Messing Around
For years, I've taught the work of philosophers and thinkers who insist that in order to live well, we have to face the reality of death. And not just any old death - our own, individual death. Socrates, the Stoics, Epicurus, Buddha, Chuang tzu . . . many others - they all have their own distinct way of presenting this lesson.
This has always made sense to me on an intellectual level, and even on a personal level to some extent. Like most people, I've experienced loss in my life due to death. And every time someone close to me dies, especially if the death was sudden or unexpected, I hear myself and others talk about how life is short, we should all make the best of it, and so forth.
And then usually we all go back to our regularly scheduled life programming.
A few weeks ago I was diagnosed with cancer - a thymoma, a cancer of the thymus that is rare in adults. It's a big lemon-sized tumor sitting there in the upper right side of my chest. All indications, so far, are that it's treatable and that I'll recover to resume my life. Fortunately, I'm being cared for at the most famous and well-regarded cancer center in the world.
But let me just say: there's nothing like a cancer diagnosis to get you to stop jacking around in your life, wasting time on things that don't matter.
I've been more focused on the things that truly matter to me in the last few weeks since the diagnosis than I have been in the last several months. Why? Because suddenly I have a concrete realization that I don't have much time. I'm not expecting to die from this cancer or during the treatment, but still . . . this treatment alone will take me out of commission for a while and, well, I've got things to do.
I've got people to see, books to write, websites to build, and relationships to savor! I've got to get as much of it in as possible before I go "under the knife" because who knows when I'll be able to get back to it? And, truthfully, I don't really know how life will be for me afterwards. We never know the future of our lives, do we?
So, I think I get a little more viscerally what the philosophers are saying about death and facing our mortality in order to live well. I'm sure this is why people who have near-death experiences come back from those experiences and completely change their lives. They quit their jobs, start a wacky business based on their passions, get out of bad marriages, start new ones, move to the other side of the world, learn to pole dance, sell all they own to live out of a backpack - all sorts of radical things.
They get it. Big time. They get that not one of us has nearly as much time as we think we do to be and do what is ours to do on this earth. Right now - as you read and I type - we have the most time we'll ever have again in this life. From here, the clock winds steadily down, and there's not one of us who won't die, some of us far sooner than we think. I have to believe that if we truly lived mindful of that reality every day, we would live differently.
I know I'm living differently, at least these last few weeks. I haven't had a near death experience, but to hear the word "cancer" applied to me feels close.
I'm not grateful for this cancer. I'll be happy when that malignant lemon is out of my body and burned in a medical waste incinerator somewhere.
But, if an enlivened sense of urgency about doing what matters in my life is a lesson I can learn from this experience, well . . . I'll definitely take it.
This has always made sense to me on an intellectual level, and even on a personal level to some extent. Like most people, I've experienced loss in my life due to death. And every time someone close to me dies, especially if the death was sudden or unexpected, I hear myself and others talk about how life is short, we should all make the best of it, and so forth.
And then usually we all go back to our regularly scheduled life programming.
A few weeks ago I was diagnosed with cancer - a thymoma, a cancer of the thymus that is rare in adults. It's a big lemon-sized tumor sitting there in the upper right side of my chest. All indications, so far, are that it's treatable and that I'll recover to resume my life. Fortunately, I'm being cared for at the most famous and well-regarded cancer center in the world.
But let me just say: there's nothing like a cancer diagnosis to get you to stop jacking around in your life, wasting time on things that don't matter.
I've been more focused on the things that truly matter to me in the last few weeks since the diagnosis than I have been in the last several months. Why? Because suddenly I have a concrete realization that I don't have much time. I'm not expecting to die from this cancer or during the treatment, but still . . . this treatment alone will take me out of commission for a while and, well, I've got things to do.
I've got people to see, books to write, websites to build, and relationships to savor! I've got to get as much of it in as possible before I go "under the knife" because who knows when I'll be able to get back to it? And, truthfully, I don't really know how life will be for me afterwards. We never know the future of our lives, do we?
So, I think I get a little more viscerally what the philosophers are saying about death and facing our mortality in order to live well. I'm sure this is why people who have near-death experiences come back from those experiences and completely change their lives. They quit their jobs, start a wacky business based on their passions, get out of bad marriages, start new ones, move to the other side of the world, learn to pole dance, sell all they own to live out of a backpack - all sorts of radical things.
They get it. Big time. They get that not one of us has nearly as much time as we think we do to be and do what is ours to do on this earth. Right now - as you read and I type - we have the most time we'll ever have again in this life. From here, the clock winds steadily down, and there's not one of us who won't die, some of us far sooner than we think. I have to believe that if we truly lived mindful of that reality every day, we would live differently.
I know I'm living differently, at least these last few weeks. I haven't had a near death experience, but to hear the word "cancer" applied to me feels close.
I'm not grateful for this cancer. I'll be happy when that malignant lemon is out of my body and burned in a medical waste incinerator somewhere.
But, if an enlivened sense of urgency about doing what matters in my life is a lesson I can learn from this experience, well . . . I'll definitely take it.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Life in the Slow Lane
I quit my job in the summer of 2009, in the midst of the global recession. At that point, I'd spent nearly 20 years in academe working as a lecturer/professor and then as an administrator. The last 5 years of it were particularly frenzied. The line between work and personal life blurred, I was tethered to my blackberry much of the time, and I spent lots of time on airplanes. I enjoyed my work to a large extent, but for a variety of reasons I chose to walk away from it.
I wasn't really sure what I would do with myself those first few months. I had some money saved up, so I didn't have to charge straight into hustling up a living somehow. I also knew that another "job" was not what I wanted. So, I didn't do anything really for the first several months. Nothing productive, at least. I mean, I did a few local speaking engagements here and there for pocket money, but for the most part I read a lot, worked in the yard and garden, played with the dog, hunted and fished a little, filled the birdfeeders on the patio, and watched the purple martins teach their young to fly from the box stationed in the backyard near the lake.
At about the 2 month mark, my shoulders finally came down from around my ears for more than a few hours at the time. At the 4 month mark, I realized that I could think straighter than I'd been able to in a long while. At the 6 month mark, I realized I would never hold a traditional job again if I could in any way help it.
At first, I worried about money. I'd walked away from an executive pay package and was living off my savings initially. But, writing and speaking work drifted in bit by bit, and I've been able to make it just fine for the most part by downsizing my life just a little. I don't make as much money as I did before, but it's enough. And, I have something much more valuable than money, at least to me: freedom - especially freedom with my time.
I'm not "in the scene" as much as I was before, either. I don't get invited to the big galas and fundraisers and other such events like I used to. I don't miss it really. Only a few people at those things did I really care about seeing anyway. I still see those people over lunch, coffee, or just hanging out on the backyard swing.
When and where did I buy in to the idea that anything short of working 60 hours a week was some sort of cop-out or weakness? I guess it comes from my family background. I come from a blue collar immediate and extended family where everyone works hard into their elderly years - 5 and 6 full days a week, sometimes even 7. They were - and are - good people. They provide for themselves and their families. They provided for me, and I am forever grateful.
I still wonder, though, if Adam's curse in the garden - to sweat and toil for his sustenance - has to be the way for us. Especially now, when we have so much at our fingertips in terms of technology, communication, etc. Or maybe those of us living in this part of the world have simply lost ourselves in the feverish consumerism that washes over us every day, so we work all those hours for all the crap we supposedly "need" to be happy. Or maybe it's just become "the way it is" here. It's just what we do. Don't ask questions; get back to work.
I didn't intend to change my whole worldview about life and work when I quit my job a year and half ago, but that's exactly what has happened.
Life in the slow lane is proving ever more irresistible.
I wasn't really sure what I would do with myself those first few months. I had some money saved up, so I didn't have to charge straight into hustling up a living somehow. I also knew that another "job" was not what I wanted. So, I didn't do anything really for the first several months. Nothing productive, at least. I mean, I did a few local speaking engagements here and there for pocket money, but for the most part I read a lot, worked in the yard and garden, played with the dog, hunted and fished a little, filled the birdfeeders on the patio, and watched the purple martins teach their young to fly from the box stationed in the backyard near the lake.
At about the 2 month mark, my shoulders finally came down from around my ears for more than a few hours at the time. At the 4 month mark, I realized that I could think straighter than I'd been able to in a long while. At the 6 month mark, I realized I would never hold a traditional job again if I could in any way help it.
At first, I worried about money. I'd walked away from an executive pay package and was living off my savings initially. But, writing and speaking work drifted in bit by bit, and I've been able to make it just fine for the most part by downsizing my life just a little. I don't make as much money as I did before, but it's enough. And, I have something much more valuable than money, at least to me: freedom - especially freedom with my time.
I'm not "in the scene" as much as I was before, either. I don't get invited to the big galas and fundraisers and other such events like I used to. I don't miss it really. Only a few people at those things did I really care about seeing anyway. I still see those people over lunch, coffee, or just hanging out on the backyard swing.
When and where did I buy in to the idea that anything short of working 60 hours a week was some sort of cop-out or weakness? I guess it comes from my family background. I come from a blue collar immediate and extended family where everyone works hard into their elderly years - 5 and 6 full days a week, sometimes even 7. They were - and are - good people. They provide for themselves and their families. They provided for me, and I am forever grateful.
I still wonder, though, if Adam's curse in the garden - to sweat and toil for his sustenance - has to be the way for us. Especially now, when we have so much at our fingertips in terms of technology, communication, etc. Or maybe those of us living in this part of the world have simply lost ourselves in the feverish consumerism that washes over us every day, so we work all those hours for all the crap we supposedly "need" to be happy. Or maybe it's just become "the way it is" here. It's just what we do. Don't ask questions; get back to work.
I didn't intend to change my whole worldview about life and work when I quit my job a year and half ago, but that's exactly what has happened.
Life in the slow lane is proving ever more irresistible.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
What's With the Blog Title?
I suppose I should begin with the title of this blog.
For over 20 years now, I've taught classes, written books, posted articles and blogs, and given lectures around the world on world religions, and issues related to religion in public life. I've said many times - and it remains true to this moment - that the main thing I love about religion, and about studying it, is that it puts big questions about life "front and center."
In other words, religion doesn't mess around making idle talk about things that don't matter.
Who are we? How did we get here? Why are we here? Is there a purpose or meaning to my life, or to life in general? Why does everything and everyone have to die? What happens to us when we die? And finally . . .
Now that we're here, how should we live?
After two decades of my own intellectual and spiritual journey, this is the question that matters most to me. I don't much care about origins or endings - they are what they are and I have no say in them, as I see it. And death, it seems, is just part of the contract of living in this world. Things live and then die, so that other things may live. This is the way of the world.
Which leaves the question of how - how to live in this life. Is there a "good" way to live? What is that? Is it life with a purpose? If so, how do we find or know that purpose? Is it an ethical life? If so, what are the principles? Is it a life in community or largely alone?
I embed these questions and hundreds more into the question "how should we live?" Reflecting on, discussing and attempting to answer this question in its myriad forms is the focus of this blog.
I don't claim to know the Truth about anything really. I have some expertise in some areas, but that's just what it is - specific knowledge about specific things we humans have cooked up to give ourselves something to do. It's certainly not The Truth.
If the question of how to live a good life is something you're interested in, I welcome you to join me in this inquiry. I don't really have a master plan for this - either the inquiry or this blog. I'm doing it because it matters to me, and I figure it might matter to others.
I'll post about once a week or so. Thanks for reading this first one.
For over 20 years now, I've taught classes, written books, posted articles and blogs, and given lectures around the world on world religions, and issues related to religion in public life. I've said many times - and it remains true to this moment - that the main thing I love about religion, and about studying it, is that it puts big questions about life "front and center."
In other words, religion doesn't mess around making idle talk about things that don't matter.
Who are we? How did we get here? Why are we here? Is there a purpose or meaning to my life, or to life in general? Why does everything and everyone have to die? What happens to us when we die? And finally . . .
Now that we're here, how should we live?
After two decades of my own intellectual and spiritual journey, this is the question that matters most to me. I don't much care about origins or endings - they are what they are and I have no say in them, as I see it. And death, it seems, is just part of the contract of living in this world. Things live and then die, so that other things may live. This is the way of the world.
Which leaves the question of how - how to live in this life. Is there a "good" way to live? What is that? Is it life with a purpose? If so, how do we find or know that purpose? Is it an ethical life? If so, what are the principles? Is it a life in community or largely alone?
I embed these questions and hundreds more into the question "how should we live?" Reflecting on, discussing and attempting to answer this question in its myriad forms is the focus of this blog.
I don't claim to know the Truth about anything really. I have some expertise in some areas, but that's just what it is - specific knowledge about specific things we humans have cooked up to give ourselves something to do. It's certainly not The Truth.
If the question of how to live a good life is something you're interested in, I welcome you to join me in this inquiry. I don't really have a master plan for this - either the inquiry or this blog. I'm doing it because it matters to me, and I figure it might matter to others.
I'll post about once a week or so. Thanks for reading this first one.
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