Heaven on Earth

My son had that look on his face. The one where the weight of the world pulled down the sides of his mouth, cheeks and eyes such that he drooped and dragged himself to bed with excruciating significance. Normally I might sigh and imagine the drama he was concocting...some frivolous argument with his brother or some imagined threat of doom from a TV show he saw earlier...something not worth my time to get into at 9:30 at night during my brother's wedding party. I have other things to do. "Stop sighing and GO TO BED!" I might demand.
But I am it. Meaning his father is working, not here. I am it. The full parental unit and that gives me total responsibility for the status of my children. So I step up.

I ask him what is going on and he sighs loud enough to scare a katydid. It's a big deal. It's bad words. Some ladies were saying them. He is upset and concerned. But over what? We walk from outside to his bunk bed and sit on the lower bunk. Maybe this is a place that occurs as more discreet because he stops sighing and lets it all out. He is afraid he won't get into heaven if he uses words like that...which he has...so he knows now that he is going to hell...and then the tears come. He is sobbing for his soul. My soul wants to sob with him. I don't want my son to fear hell, to fear for his life, to fear anything. Especially not over a word that means nothing except the meaning we attach to it. I want to know what his world is like.

I ask him about hell, what happens there, and with a cry that might tear my heart open he says, "It's burning hot and everyone is bleeding and working ALL THE TIME!!!"
My chest feels as heavy as a boulder, my hand weighs upon his and he clenches it. I get the doom he feels. Life can be so HARD as a kid I think. The world can seem so AWFUL.
I see his picture of hell and I ask him what might have him go there. He tells me about the swear word again. The A one. I say it just to verify. Ass. He blinks with fear. Then I ask what the ladies were saying. What happened.
It's good to get to what's so.

"Mine is bigger than yours..." he says. I get it. "So two ladies were talking and one was like "My ass is bigger than your ass, what are you talking about? and then, Uh HUH honey, NO WAY- my ass is way bigger than yours!"
I shake my hips and point to my rear and waggle my finger and soon a smile creeps on his face. I smile with gentle encouragement and then say "Ass ass ass ass ass." His eyebrows go up but the smile stays.
"They are just words, son. And the only meaning they have are the meaning we attach to them. Of course there are appropriate and inappropriate uses of words..." and I explain the bit about being around boys versus Grandma's or at school etc.

Then the concern creeps back to his face. It's really about getting into heaven. Even though he gets the meaning about the words. He has said that word before so that means he is going to hell.
"The only way I can get into heaven is to believe in God." he says.
I say, "Okay so there is only one way?" He nods. He is sad because he has ruined that one way, because God doesn't want us to swear and he has so that's it. His one chance is over. He is doomed.
"So sweetie, is there only one way to paint an apple?"
"No"
Is there only one way to make a friend?"
"No"
"Is there only one way to go home?"
"No" he is getting my point...
"So why would there be only one way to go to heaven?"
"Yeah, I can see what you mean...there are other ways..."
"If you even believe that there is only one place called heaven with one door...some people believe heaven is an energy or even a way of living right now here on earth."
"You mean heaven can be here on earth?"
"Well... what if it could? What if heaven and hell could be right here, right now? Is worrying, being fearful, being upset...is that closer to heaven or hell?"
"The last one," he said, still to concerned to say the words out loud.
"What would being free, being easy and forgiving and compassionate with yourself be closer to?"
"Heaven."
"Yeah, so you can create heaven or hell on earth right now for you today...can you see that?" I smooth his hair back and feel his warm soft forehead. It wasn't long ago that he was born and I knew, just from seeing him, that he was a blessed soul. I told him so, even if we never did a ceremony to bless him, which we did, but even if we hadn't he would be blessed. We all are. We are spiritual, blessed, amazing human beings and our purpose is not to worry, fret and fear what will happen after we die, whether we go to heaven or hell. It is to create heaven on earth right now.
His grip on my hand softens with his voice.
"That means being compassionate right Mom?"
"Yes And that includes being compassionate with yourself. Can you do that?"
The tears fell again, this time of relief, from being heard and redeemed.
"Yes."
Our hug melted all concerns...and as I hummed him the lullabye my mother hummed to me as a baby, I was touched by the gift she gave me, the concept of creating heaven on earth, right here, right now, is being present, loving and compassionate.
I sigh a sigh of fulfillment because, more important than teaching my son about one way to believe, I am inspiring him to wonder.
Thank you Mom for empowering me to be a Mom that, I am pretty sure, is not going to go to hell.

Zen Honeycutt

To the Rapture

Is Osama Bin Laden in his rapture? 72 virgins and all that?
As I wake up today to the news that this long hunted enemy of democracy is dead I feel both relief, triumph and darkness at the same time. I do not feel joy. I cannot rejoice in the death of a human life. I can rejoice in perserverance, a stand for freedom and for our brave soliders. But still, killing has taken place.
I wonder though, in the name of Allah, if it was all worth it to Osama and his followers, if his death now actually has him in peace, in his heaven as his religion tells him. In his point of view, he died fighting in the name of his God.

We have visited many places of worship, Buddhist, Greek Orthodox, Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, and in the past two weeks we have taken our children to two religious events where God, Heaven and afterlife have been of much discussion. Not sure how much my children absorbed while they ran around a park at an evangelical service on Easter morning and the minister spoke of Jesus being alive...or last night while they ran in and out of the Hare Krishna Temple in Laguna Beach and saw the devotees chanting, jumping and dancing...but the exposure was fascinating and important to me. It's important to me that my children are exposed to different ways to pray, to be devoted, to feel the rapture of divine connection, here on earth. The differences are vast and enchanting and a crucial part of being a compassionate and vital human being. There is something to my very core that opposes one way, even my way. That's why I try to remain open. There is no one way to get to heaven I believe. Really. Who says? Only us. Only the God that WE say is important, ( nobody makes God mean something to us but us) so in the end, only we say there is one way.
So standing in Adventure, Love and Learning, our family explores those ways.
At the Chapel service on Easter morning in a gorgeous San Juan Capistrano park, we are touched by the community, the welcoming, the attentiveness to children, fun and generosity. What a wonderful gathering of people devoted to the freedom of every person through choosing to believe that Jesus died for us and he is resurrected. I was moved to tears by the people who bravely chose to stand up and go to the front to chose Jesus Christ as their personal savior. I could relate deeply to the choosing of a new life, of being free from past "sins" (a loaded word for me, I detest the make wrong in it...we are simply human and do things that don't work, that's all) and choosing a pathway which has them assured a place in heaven and most importantly, freedom from worry and concern about that here on earth. I rejoice in their choice. I love their courage and connectedness to others. As they drape their arms around each other at the front of the stage, I cry tears of relatedness and relief for them. We all want to be free. They are free.

At the Hare Krishna Temple, sitting on a smooth, cool tile floor, I was fascinated by the presentation of the hundreds or thousands of temples around the world, curious about the words when the chanting began and soothed by the slow movement that began to ripple across the colorful crowd in the incensed temple. I swayed with them, gazing at the sensual blue figures of goddess and gods, manifested from Hare Krishna, a figure much like the Dali Lama who reincarnates over and over again. My eyes feasted on the apples, bananas, oranges and strawberries that decorated the stage, windowsills and alter, like sprinkles in this sacred temple. The woman wore bright saris, dresses, skirts and glowed with femininity. The men mostly wore white, varied between shaved heads or shaggy long hair, and they stood proud, men radiating power, strength and a steadfastness. The groups shifted and I noticed the men were mostly on the left and women mostly on the right. The women swayed, began taking dance steps and the men beat harder on the drums, chanting louder and louder. As the pace progress, hands were raised, smiles beamed across the room, women grasped hands or touched each others shoulders with tenderness and grace. The chanting grew louder, the steps moved faster and the energy built up, a palpable buzz swirling with intoxicating exotic incense and devoted rapture. I felt a stirring and then a wave of emotion, the energy of the room washed over me and I believe I flushed, I felt encompassed and swept up by the devotion and what they call cosmic energy in the room. They chanting and drum beats were so fast they overlapped each other, faster faster faster.My sons held their hands over their ears and needed to leave. I stayed and swayed, smiling with the women, admiring the all-out fever and jumping in the mens side. My heart swelled with admiration that human beings spend time to unabashedly, freely and completely devote themselves to something larger, something unseen, something completely of faith. People want to feel love and devotion. These devotees do.

They will all go to Heaven I believe, and most importantly, through their devotion I believe they are creating Heaven here on earth now. I believe my family will too, no matter our faith, because it's what we believe. Just as Osama, despite his unimaginable acts of violence, because HE believes he was a devoted servant of his God, is in his souls expression of rapture. I want to believe he is in Hell for what he did, but that's where the darkness sets in. I choose the light. He believed what he believed and he has what he believed.
As we continue to explore spirtuality, religion and faith, we are creating our own Heaven on earth. It is Heaven on earth to me to Learn together, to go on Adventures and be fascinated by other human beings, to be enveloped in Love and another's welcoming hands. Heaven.
Thank you to our hosts.
Someday, perhaps, we will choose a "home" for our expression of spiritual connection and host others the way we have been received. We continue the exploration.

Zen Honeycutt
www.zenspurplegarden.com

Precious Moments

“This is a precious time.” My Mom would say emphatically, looking lovingly at we three children at Christmas, a moment around the dinner table or during a family hug. Her eyes were shining and open.
We would gather in a family huddle, all five of us, and after seeing “The Dark Crystal”
We would all make a low chanting sort of “Ahhhhhhhh…” a communion of sorts.
You might have to see the Dark Crystal to really get it, but I’ll explain. There is a moment when all the old, scraggly, good guy creatures raise their heavy heads up and chant to connect with each other. No matter where there are, they connect, they are stronger and they are separate, but one.
My mother made a point to let us know daily that we were loved, that our lives are precious and that being together is the best. Saying I love you was second nature to her. We greeted and parted with hugs and “love you’s” and “see ya’s”...we blinked the lights at the door repeatedly as she departed honking the horn on the way down the rocky driveway. We waved and blinked until she was well out of sight. She rubbed our backs and feet, cradled our heads when we cried and watched us, amazed as we played Barbie’s. My mother’s entire being was, and still is, precious, valuable, beautiful and gleaming with love.

My father didn’t say that moments were precious. He didn’t look at us vulnerably or even very "lovingly" usually, he was working…but he did initiate the “Ahhhhhh..” moment many times. He did pat my head before sleep sometimes, his huge rough, calloused hand weighed down on my forehead and eyes, saying. “I’m here, you are safe. Go to sleep.” He did read to us occasionally, his deep vice rumbling as he read with energy and emotion the dramatic bank robberies of “O’Henry”or exciting escape scenes of “The Mouse and the Motorcycle”. Those were precious moments. He didn’t do that often. He often worked until dark. After dinner he worked on crunching numbers for the summer business, stuffing envelopes as mailers to get business or discussed boring adult matters like taxes or student loans with my Mom while she made lunches. He worked a lot. Providing for us. For him to take time to read us a story or pat our heads before sleep was rare and precious.

I think about these precious moments often as a parent. I may not say it the way they said it or do what they did, but there is creation and love in the new ways.
We hold hands before every dinner now, and each take a moment to look each other in the eyes (thank you to my Bulgarian house mates in NYC who taught me the proper way to cheers is to look each person in the eyes as you clink glasses.) That moment of connection acknowledges our separateness and togetherness as a whole. We say our dinner prayer which we borrowed from our son’s preschool five years ago… “God is great, God is good, and we thank you for our food. Amen.” Being grateful together is precious.

Between dinner and bedtime is precious time with Daddy. Sometimes they pig pile, tickle and wrestle on the big bed. Sometimes we talk a family walk in our neighborhood with flashlights in the winter or barefoot in the summer, soaking up the last bit of soft evening sun before bed. Laughing together and being outside in nature together is precious.
I hum a lullabye to them most nights, soft, off key notes soften the darkness and settle the boy energy like a splendid sigh. I make up words thanking God for nature, our home, Nana, Papa, Grandma and Grandad, Aunts and Uncles, cousins, teachers and friends by name. Feeling blessed with abundance of community is precious.
In a recent trip back east to see my family of origin, I had alone time with each person and I was very aware that that moment was a very precious time. Dancing with my niece, clapping for my mother's art, indulging on dessert with my father, celebrating my brother's and fiancées engagement, meeting their friends and being all together, was deeply precious.

In this moment I am present to the preciousness doesn’t come from the doing…the walking, singing, dancing, clapping or the tickling…it comes from who we are being in that moment. Looking into each other’s eyes, being present, being free, being peace, being fully self expressed, being love. It’s what Buddhist monks chant or meditate on for years to obtain, what Christians pray for hours to be, it’s available to all of us in a moment. There is no “someday” I’ll be enlightened, no “thing” to do to get there, no confession or redemption that will save us and THEN have us be blessed or in God’s favor. Many might disagree. There is an order to things, traditional, just the way things ARE they might say. I don’t disagree; I just come from another place. Empowerment now. We all have access to enlightenment and heaven on earth right now, in this moment, if we just get present to how precious it is, exactly the way it is.



Zen Honeycutt
www.zenspurplegarden.com