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Being Change (an unfolding journal)by Judy Seicho Fleischman
Sunday, April 6, 2008. 12:50pm Soho, heading south from the Zendo. I'm walking at a brisk stride with Enkyo Roshi, my teacher and spiritual director of Village Zendo, and with sangha friends Eileen J, and Liam. We're heading to City Hall Plaza for the start of the "Be the Change" walk. Groups will be walking from four directions towards Union Square with messages of non-violence, ultimately gathering around Mahatma Gandhi, his statue that is, one which pays tribute to his teachings on activating peace in the world. As we walk, Liam keeps telling me stories that make me laugh. He's laughing too. Behind us, Roshi and Eileen have their own version of a cheery repartee going. 1:20 pm. City Hall Plaza We've been gathering here as a few people stream in to join the walk, along with a few walking tour groups. In the distance on the steps of City Hall we see and hear demonstrators. Roshi checks it out, going closer. She reports that it's folks from Harlem protesting new commercial developments on 125th St. Meanwhile, walking around and meeting folks, I notice a man dressed in a business suit who looks like he works downtown. He's standing, talking to two women, one wearing peace buttons. He says, "sometimes there's a need for violence." He says it very gently, though with a tinge of hesitancy, like he also is questioning. He says, "I want to believe non-violence is possible but sometimes, violence is needed." So I say to him, "These words can be tricky. I experience it these days as non-opposition. Do you see a distinction between non-violence and non-opposition?" He pauses quizzically. I ask him, "let's say you have a gun and I have a gun. If I come at you, would you shoot me?" He says, "I'll act to defend myself, protect my family." I say, "OK, now what if both of us put down the guns. Would that be OK?" He says, "sure." I say, "that's what non-opposition is all about. It's about not allowing things to get to point of picking up weapons. Instead, we recognize the possibility of picking them up and so we work at never picking them up. We see them and choose not to pick them up." He looks stunned, like he doesn't seem to know what to say. I breathe with him in this pause. Then he says, "I'd like to think that, but sometimes." His voice drifts off. I say, "how about right now? We're talking, we might not see things the same, we're fully engaged, passionate you might say, and at the same time, we are non-violent." He nods yes. "This is dialogue. It starts here. Where else can it start?" 1:30 pm Time to head north up Broadway towards union square. The man and I part; one of the women encourages him to explore the matter further. He says he will. Then she tells me that he told her he was at the World Trade Center on 9/11/01. Someone announces it's time to begin walking. She holds out her elbow to make room for my arm. It's cold out and her flannel jacket looks warm. I take her up on the invitation. We walk this way for two miles up Broadway. Our conversation is easy going and fascinates me. How to engage in these times? Internet we agree is major vehicle of expression and a wonderful way to build awareness. I notice as we're talking that a mom, dad, and son aged 10 or so are walking ahead of us. I think to myself, "it starts here." 2:30pm Union Square We arrive. Greeted by people giving out "Imagine Peace" buttons amidst a small gathering of 100 people or so, some carrying signs with quotes from Gandhi and Dr. King. Gandhi was assassinated 60 years ago and King 40 years ago this month. A strange synchronicity. We are here to honor and re-engage their legacy. Standing beside the statue of Gandhi, speakers offer their understanding of the deeper meaning. Phillip Glass speaks of what inspired his opera Satya-Graha about Gandhi. Earlier, a speaker mentioned that there is no word in English for "non-violence" as an affirmative, hence the importance of Gandhi's coining of satya-graha, which is commonly translated ironically to my ears as "truth force." Then a woman championing the "Dept. of Peace" campaign and a former schoolteacher speaks. She tells everyone about non-violent communication and how she taught this to her three year old. She recounts a story of their interaction. One day her child is sitting on the kitchen floor banging pots and pans. She asks him, "would you be willing to bang those pots on the couch instead?" he replies, "I don't want to but I'm willing." She says, "why are you willing to if you don't want to?" and he says, "because I want to take you into account." Well, maybe he didn't use those words, pretty big words for a 3 year old. Close enough as I recall. She then talks about a student once handing in a term paper on the subject of peace. It was 13 words, which she said was equally brief as it was eloquent. He wrote, Question: Why in this country are we violent and literate? Answer: Because we are taught to read. 2:45pm I need to head out to make it uptown for the other big peace event of the day, a Multifaith vigil, "Prayers for Peace in Tibet," at The Church of St. Paul & St. Andrew on Manhattan's Upper West Side. The event is being organized by Tibet Center and is co-sponsored by various "faith-based" organizations including the Buddhist Council of New York. I take a slight detour to stop at Panya bakery for a soy chai, not to sweet, made just so by smiling young Japanese American women. 4pm After a long walk to the subway and resting on the ride uptown, I stop by my friend Marjorie's apt. She and I regularly ponder new ways to engage in Buddhist Peace Fellowship. Today, she is not feeling well, yet offers me tea. I change into robes after eating the lunch I've been carrying with me. I leave my big knapsack with her, transferring what little I need right now to a shoulder bag. While doing this, I tell her I'll have two minutes to offer a peace prayer and am thinking about trying something call-response style but not sure what. She quickly hands me a poem written by Thich Nhat Hahn called "Walking Meditation." 4:30pm Time to head for the church. 4:45pm I arrive at the church as clergy assemble downstairs. Tibetan friends put out a tasty snack buffet. Two women in lovely long dresses offer me tea. She tells me it's only teabags. I tell her a story of visiting a patient in the hospital, being treated for cancer, who smiles as she recollects her garden. Then, noticing 2 teabags on her hospital tray, asks, "Would you like some tea?" I smile and say, "I'd love some." I go, get hot water from a lounge down the hall, and return as she unwraps the paper, dunks the teabag and brews me and her a cup of tea. I tell my newfound Tibetan friend how it was one of the loveliest teatimes I remember. She smiles. I grab a chocolate chip cookie and savor every bite. 5:30pm Time to get ready to head upstairs for the service. We get in two lines. One of the organizers, a woman, encourages me and some of other female clergy to "make sure you sit in front. We need some women up there." We get upstairs as the program begins. The church is full, standing room only. Over a thousand people listen attentively as a Tibetan group sings on the podium. They are finishing as we enter and go to our seats. Six of us are going to read eyewitness accounts from Tibet, 1 minute each. When it's time, all of us get up to stand at one of the three mikes. I walk past friends on the podium with my eyes towards the ground, an outer expression of Zen training. Just as I'm walking past the last person in the back row, I feel a tug at my robe sleeve. I look up, the man is smiling. I return the smile instinctively and as I walk past him, I realize it's Richard Gere. People are clapping after each reading. When it's my turn I pause to breathe silently then say, "My dear friends, to honor the accounts we're hearing, I'm wondering if instead of clapping, we might simply breathe together." I read, I go back to my seat. Soon it's time for the peace prayers. I stand with the other clergy near the tall mike in the center of the stage. I'm still wondering what to offer. Two minutes. I scan the room. It's a mix of many Tibetans, more than half, and westerners. I go up with the others towards the mike. As the Rev. Nakagaki introduces himself, saying he represents "Japanese Buddhism and Pure Land Buddhism," and chants in Japanese. Next, Bhante Kondanna speaks excerpts from the metta sutra in English. Then Moji Sunim and her student chant "Kwan Se Um Bosa," the Korean melody, which invokes the energy of compassion. Their passion inspires me. Now it's my turn. I go up and say, "In the Zen tradition and in Buddhist Peace Fellowship, we speak of touching peace in each step. "Tonight, we can do that together, just as the last chant invoked the energy of compassion, this now can be peace. In Zen, sometimes we make new prayers." I pause. "For these times. I want to invite you to join me in singing a simple song based on a poem by Thich Nhat Hahn called "Walking meditation." It's in call- response style so I'll sing then if you want to, you can repeat." I realize silently that I'm not sure which words I've excerpted and what is the melody I'm making up on the spot yet somehow am confident it'll be perfect. I sing, "Take my hand" as I extend my left hand. Many voices respond, "Take my hand." "We will walk." "We will walk." "Peace is our walk" "Peace is our walk." In a room lit with candles and with wonderful acoustics, these words ring out. On the third and final refrain, I place my hand on my heart and say, "thank you" and bow slightly. Many hands are in this posture and I see many people smiling. I'm smiling. Back in my seat, I listen as religious leaders from many traditions come forward to offer prayers. Then dignitaries speak and read statements, the crowd claps each time. Richard Gere talks about how his "heart hurts" to see those Tibetans who have "lost hope" and so resorting to violence. He reminds us of being brothers and sisters, speaks of his wife, children, and teachers. He speaks of Tibetan friends being family, all of us in this together. He reads a statement drafted by, as he puts it, "thirty brave Chinese" identifying twelve actions they urge their government to implement immediately to relieve suffering in Tibet. Shortly thereafter, five Chinese nuns come to the mike to offer a traditional blessing to everyone, chanting in their native tongue. We bow with them. Before the program ends, clergy are offered white or yellow scarves. I receive one with hands in gassho, a posture of prayer with palms together. Such love is inexpressible. Slowly, we all go out into the street and candles in hand, walk along 86th Street heading towards Central Park. Jeff, Buddhist liaison with NYPD, is there helping with other police officers to make this a peaceful transition. A reporter from Norway interviews me as we're walking, asking how I feel about the Olympics, saying her govt. just voted to OK their athletes going. I tell her, "if each athlete finds a moment of calm, considers the situation, and listens deeply to their own heart, they can ask, "right now, what is most important?" and decide coming from this awareness. I keep walking, mesmerized by the many bodies and glowing candles and the cold night breeze. I remember that just a few weeks ago, I was sitting with two friends in a BPF vigil beside a large demonstration of Tibetans, which to me had an entirely different energy. There is something transformative happening right now, a choice of how to engage, how to focus compassion and realize peace. I don't know what is needed in each moment. I am responding in a way that to me resonates with what United Nations-based activist Monica Sharma calls "the ground of being" and that feels wonderful. I am thankful to be here. After walking a few blocks in this procession, I turn back to gather my coat and bag, which I left downstairs. I hadn't realized this walk followed the program and that it would be long. Weaving through hundreds of people spanning many city blocks, I am greeted with smiles and bows, palms together. I keep my hands in gassho the whole length of this walk. Smiling comes easy. As I enter the church again, which doubles as the home for Shabbat Services for Congregation B'nei Jeshurun, I am greeted by Rabbi Marcelo Bronstein. He thanks me for coming. I place my hand on his arm and say, "I'm glad to be here. I'm also Jewish and I've been here many times for Shabbat services. It's nice to be here for this now." In a moment of mysterious silence, I am aware of feeling deep connection with him as well as confusion and tension, which bring up for me questions about identity and community. Who am I in this moment? A Buddhist, a Jew? A priest, an activist, a witness, a peacemaker? Perhaps simply a creature on Planet Earth? How to name this and why the need? All of this happens in a few breaths. Then I move on to get my things. Soon enough, I'm back at Marjorie's and after a brief sharing and change of clothes, I say goodnight and head off. Walking towards the train, I feel renewed and very tired all at the same time. The kind of tired I feel after hiking all day and getting ready to build a cozy campfire and slide into my sleeping bag. The world got larger today, and very small.
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