Paying Attention

In our group discussion of Thich Nhat Hahn's book, we talked about how paying non-judgmental attention to something—anything—always warms your heart to the object of your attention.

For example, if you begin to pay close attention to one baseball team, sooner or later you will become a fan of that team. (Years ago, my son did this with the Detroit Tigers when they were the worst team in baseball.)

But this heart-warming effect of clear-eyed attention works with even the most mundane object. A crumpled piece of paper will do.

One way to really pay attention to something is to draw a good picture of it.

Watch this video, and see how paying attention warms the heart, even to a crumpled up scrap of paper.



Now, imagine how you might benefit from paying attention to someone you love.

Experiment

While recently on vacation at Lake Tahoe I tried dispensing with my usual morning meditation practice. 

I began meditating in the mid seventies. For twenty years I meditated on and off. Mostly on: I know its benefits. But since 1996, the year my mother died, I’ve devotedly practiced every day, with very rare exceptions usually due to illness.

Fifteen years is a long time to do anything continuously. I had become so accustomed to it that I began to wonder whether the beneficial effects might accrue without actually having to sit. 

There, in the mountains with my family, I had little to do beyond enjoying the scenery with the people I love most deeply. Further, being away on vacation, far from my home alter and zafu I found myself in a suite of rooms that didn’t have a quiet place to easily accommodate my devotions. 

After a few days of ducking into the bedroom in the mornings to meditate after my wife got up, I convinced myself that I had found the ideal situation to discover what life without a meditation practice might be like. I was willing to undergo an experiment.

For the first few days I was delighted to find out that I seemed to do just fine. I could discern no obvious changes to my mood, my outlook, my temperament, or my discernment. In fact, I told myself that I was doing everyone a favor by not disappearing every morning. Instead I could join the family for coffee and conversation in the dining room.

In the middle of the vacation we rented stand up paddle boards. As we returned the boards to the shop, I saw a canoe on special sale. I really, really wanted to buy it. In retrospect, I can see now that the force of this desire was stronger than any desire I had endured in fifteen years—a desire strong enough to intrude on my thoughts even when engaging in other activities. At the time, though, my mind was so wrapped up in the object of desire that I was not aware of my rapture.

This desiring grew each day. It became almost an obsession. Then, near the end of our vacation, when we returned to our home near the coast, I found myself having to cope with something new: anger. 

I was getting peeved over small events that normally don’t even raise a ripple in the waters of my mind. I usually take in stride little things like being cut off on the freeway by an inattentive driver. Now it was enough to tick me off. I found myself taking offense  and even colorfully expressing my displeasure loudly enough for my daughter to hear. This is quite unlike me.

In the last hours of our family vacation, I began to get peeved even at members of my family!

Finally, I suspected that my heightening greed and anger might be the result of this experiment with meditation-free living. I was amazed that my discernment had been so severely impaired. 

My experiment was done. The day after my daughter flew home I resumed my practice. I got up early and sat. After a good long sit, I decided to listen to non-human wisdom, the kind you find on rivers. 

I went out paddling alone to listen to the trees, to the birds and to the murmuring waters. Their sagacity seeped slowly in. Afflictive mental factors unwound backwards, like a skein of yarn stretching out into space. Anger cooled and mellowed back towards equanimity. Family, of all people, are to be loved. 

Greedy mind loosened its tight bind on my mind. I knew I was satisfied with what I already have. My problem is that I have too many possessions! To release my belongings, to pare down, down and down some more—this is the way to approach fulfillment.

I could breathe again.  

Refreshed by my breath, my mind could relax and broaden. I could feel the truest truth: inhalations and exhalations—the simplest, deepest, and most vital of all pleasures between being born and dying. 

I came back to my breath, to my senses, to my contentment, and to the degree of equanimity to which I've grown accustomed.

Summer Affluenza

“If an individual has a sufficient spiritual base, he won’t let himself be overwhelmed by the lure of technology and the madness of possession. He or she will know how to find the right balance, without asking for too much, and know how to say, I have a camera, that’s enough, I don’t want another. The constant danger is to open the door to greed, one of our most relentless enemies. It is here that the real work of the mind is put into practice.”  the Dalai Lama

Eleven months of the year I am content with the things I have. Mostly I think about paring down my possessions.

But each June, the fires of greed flare up. I’ve noticed this for almost as long as I’ve been teaching. For 30 Junes I’ve ventured into the marketplace to buy bikes, canoes, kayaks, computers, sailboats, camping gear, even cars! It’s always something. I would tell myself that I was only equipping myself for summer vacation.

I know better now: summer provisioning does not really explain my June bouts with affluenza. 

Underneath my greed I see churning feelings of sadness and loneliness. A lot of it comes from having to suspend my teaching. Teaching rewards me deeply, and I miss it during the summer. Retail therapy also distracts me from facing long lonely hours that can be difficult to fill when living on a budget. (And it sure doesn’t help to have blown the budget as the summer gets underway!) 

Apple computer company understands and exploits the links between loneliness and greed. They don’t market their products so much; they market a promise that their newest tech-toy will make their customers feel more connected, entertained, or creative. 


I've fallen for this false promise so many times!!

These gadgets actually—let’s be honest—have exactly the opposite effect: these devises separate us from the people who join us in our actual here and now.

So, how did I do this summer? Well, the gap between knowing this and putting what I know into practice is still huge. 


Sure, I didn’t buy the car I was researching on the Internet. 


I did buy something I did not need—an iPad—as did other teachers on my staff.

We Are With Them

Here is the conclusion of this week's series on a master teacher in Japan, Mr. Kanomori.

Empathy

When tragedy strikes a member of Mr. Kanamori's class he asks his students to help. Difficulties can connect us.

Do you have 7 minutes? Kleenex handy?

Then you're ready:

Wrong!

Since teachers are humans we make mistakes. Sometimes we get it wrong.

In this clip you'll see Mr. Kanamori make a bad call.

And here's the thing: he's big enough to see it.

Like him, I've make the wrong call. Like him, I've had to find the courage to admit it.

For me, at least, this makes some pretty riveting viewing.

A Bully's Remorse

Bullying is one of the hot issues in education these days. A master teacher will deal with meanness by going all the way to its source—the very root of the problem: the perpetrator's unresolved hurt.

Watch this video clip as Mr. Toshiro Kanamori takes his class from denial through to acknowledgment of bullying, then on to investigate the roots of the bullying in his class.

So often we find what Mr. Kanamori finds: we've been hurt and we have not grieved. We have not allowed the hurt to wash through us. We haven't received compassion from others for the injuries we've endured. So our injuries fester. And then they flare up to hurt others.

Here, in the eight minutes it takes for this video to unfold, watch as Mr. Kanamori extinguishes the flames of bullying in his class. He creates the conditions for psychological and emotional healing to take place. He's tough, but tender.

First, may I suggest that you go find some more kleenex.

Transforming Suffering into Happiness

My life's work, whether as a kindergarten teacher or a spiritual practitioner, can be understood metaphorically as growing flowers and veggies from fertile compost. What I do—as well as I possibly can—is to transform suffering into peace, joy, and happiness.

If a videographer were to visit my classroom for a year, the result would be similar to this. The video I offer to you today (part one of of five parts) is a look at a teacher in Japan whose work is exactly parallel to my own work. His focus is mine: Be Happy!

This video documents fourth grade teacher Toshiro Kanamori engaged in deep teaching practice. In this part, he helps his students touch their suffering and transform it into happiness. His students discover they are not alone: they share much. He builds community. He builds happiness.

Enjoy!



Two notes:

1. Find 10 minutes to see it. It gets better and better as you go along; you won't want to be interrupted.

2. Have a box of kleenex handy. Your cheeks will get wet.

Well-Being

I’m amazed that I ever got interested in Buddhism in high school and college.  

I was scarred by a difficult childhood. Although I tried to appear confident, intelligent, and happy, a cursory glance would see right through my façade. Just below the surface and almost to the core, I was anxious, insecure, and depressed.

Luckily, I had the good fortune to grow up in Palo Alto where I would occasionally see statues of The Laughing Buddha (a Chinese folkloric figure, Budai, Hotei in Japanese). 

I had read Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse in high school English class. Hesse’s Buddha didn’t hold much interest for me. I thought perhaps that Hesse’s novel was somehow tangential to actual Buddhism. I had heard names like Gautama and Shakyamuni, too. Were these all the same guy? Were they all different?

I wasn’t sure. Concentration wasn’t my strong suit.

I confused Hotei for Gautama Buddha. That is akin to confusing Santa for Jesus, but I was desperate to find a way out of my depression. 

What gifts did this subtropical Santa, this Laughing Buddha offer me?

Opening the encyclopedia I saw that Buddhism’s basic teaching is the Four Noble Truths. The first two are: 

The Truth of Suffering

The Truth of the Causes of Suffering

Seeing suffering mentioned twice so early on had the effect on me of seeing images of the Crucifixion. Get me out of here! I’m suffering enough already.

My interest in Buddhism almost died right there. My reaction was probably not unusual. I know people who see Buddhism as a religion for dark and depressed people. 

A few years later, going beyond the encyclopedia, I read a pamphlet published in 1975 by the Fellowship of Reconciliation called the Miracle of Being Awake by a Vietnamese Zen monk named Thich Nhat Hahn who seemed able to enjoy life in ways that escaped me. He seemed to have some of the Laughing Buddha's wisdom in him. I began studying Buddhism in earnest there.

Thirty six years later, I’m reading another book by Thich Nhat Hahn, The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings. In Chapter Eight he suggests a reformulation of the Four Noble Truths, reworded here by yours truly. 

Begin with the benefit of Buddhist practice: Well-Being

First Noble Truth: 

Well-Being

Second Noble Truth: 

The Eightfold Path to Well Being

Wise View

Wise Intention

Wise Speech

Wise Action

Wise Livelihood

Wise Effort

Wise Mindfulness

Wise Concentration

Third Noble Truth: Ill-Being

Fourth Noble Truth: The Eightfold Path to Ill-Being

Wrong View

Wrong Intention

Wrong Speech

Wrong Action

Wrong Livelihood

Wrong Effort

Wrong Mindfulness

Wrong Concentration

Set forth like this, we'd see that Buddhist practices are aimed at creating happiness and well-being for us and for everyone we know. Having walked this path as well as I can, I know these teachings to be efficacious.

Perhaps if the Shakyamuni were alive today he’d see that for many of us our suffering is so intense that we are not willing to look—even briefly—at our suffering. Perhaps he’d change the order of his Four Noble Truths along the lines Thay suggests.


Hotei, Budai


Gautama Buddha


Heart of the Buddha's Teaching

Laryngitis

“Don’t speak unless your words will improve the silence.”

For the past three days laryngitis has made it nearly impossible for me to speak. The few words that I do manage to croak out loud hurt my throat.

Despite my tender vocal chords, Sarah and I were faithful to our planned social engagements: yesterday’s group kayak outing on the Laguna de Sebastopol followed by a picnic at the Balletto winery, and today’s opening of the Sebastopol Farm Market at the town plaza. We agreed that Sarah would talk for me. She told my stories about the stress at work that spawned this malady. As she told them, I noticed how she tinted my stories just slightly, but enough so that they became her stories, not mine.

My laryngitis has reminded me of two things:

• The great spiritual teachers are too dead to talk. Their greatness derives in no small part because they are not here to correct us when we inject into their teachings our own (mis)interpretations. Isn’t it like us to find our own retellings particularly satisfying, agreeable, and meaningful?
• The first independent steps on my spiritual journey took me into a Quaker Meeting Hall where people worship together in silence. I have since gone on many silent spiritual retreats, mostly Buddhist, where I have come to appreciate, keenly, that the third step along the Noble Eightfold Path is Wise Speech. Wise Speech is mostly about refraining from speech.

The wordless flower sermon was one of the Buddha’s most memorable Dharma talks. Perhaps the Enlightened One simply had laryngitis that day.

The Laguna

A Cosmic Ecology

“Insects and plants can look alike.  Science calls this ‘camouflage’ and ‘mimicry,’ constructing a paranoid fantasy of bug behavior.  The camouflage theory says moths, beetles, mantises, and so on are so steadily menaced and so wily that they must disguise themselves as twigs, sticks, leaves, buds, pods, blossoms.

Perhaps they did learn or selectively breed to adapt; perhaps, however, they like to dress this way, or perhaps the plants have put on the insects’ clothing; or perhaps the bug and the plant share a common habitat and climate, and so both present themselves in a manner fitting to it.  Suppose the bug doesn’t know that it’s not a plant, doesn’t follow our classifications into ‘animal’ and ‘vegetable,’ never read Linnaeus or took Biology 101.  Suppose its dress, its mask, its body habits were so vegetative that mimicry is not only of the one kingdom by the other, or of each other, but of a third factor that requires them to accommodate with one another in a sympathy with all things, a cosmic ecology.  Perhaps it is love that attracts these life forms to each other and inclines them to look alike.”

—James Hillman, Dream Animals, 1997;  Chronicle Books, San Francisco

Hijacking Happiness

I know I’m not the only one to notice that when unhappy things come along, they arrive with unexpected joy.

The other day someone hijacked my email and tried to get my friends to wire away money. This fraud has resulted in some hassle for me. I had to open a new email account. I changed all my passwords. I spent many minutes on the phone, waiting to talk to a person employed by Yahoo! I’m sure you know—or can imagine—the drill.

Ultimately, what happened to me was only inconvenience. Still, I had to remind myself to stay calm and NOT believe my stories about the perpetrators.

The results of this fraud were not all bad. I ended up talking to friends who were genuinely concerned about my welfare. I hadn’t talked with some of them for months.  


I was free, wait, let me say that again, with emphasis, FREE!!!! of email for about 36 hours. I had forgotten how nice life without email is.

My inconvenience was nothing compared to the Japanese who are dealing with earthquakes, tsunamis, and nuclear radiation. Nothing. 

Not all the news from Japan is depressing. Read this post by Anne Thomas who is living in Japan where the earth shook. It may lift your spirits. It lifted mine.  A Letter from Sendai.

And thanks to my friend and neighbor at Temporary Reality where I learned of Ms. Thomas.

Love is Something

Here's the reading taken from A Year With Rumi by Coleman Barks for March 15.

Before death takes away what you are given, give away what there is to give.

No dead person grieves for his death. He mourns only what he didn’t do. Why did I wait? Why did I not...? Why did I neglect to?

I cannot think of better advice to send. I hope you like it. May you stay in your infinity.

Peace.

—Rumi

Rumi’s message is one I try to remember and pass along.

I am grateful to teach kindergarten where I am expected to promote generosity and sharing. I teach these by my example and in many other ways including singing songs, none better than this little gem by Malvina Reynolds, “Love is Something.”

She sings her song with the panache of someone who knows homespun music beats manufactured music every time:






I had the pleasure of seeing and hearing and singing along with Malvina Reynolds when I was a student at UC Berkeley many years ago. The song has worn well.

Faith

With a nod to Bonnie and Ruth for bringing it up:

when i was seventeen
i was bewildered
befuddled

i had lost faith in christianity
forlorn, empty—
like a forgotten garbage can

i knew that i was
—without faith in jesus—
not worthless or empty

i found a teacher and sat
for decades—
zazen

sitting practice:
me chasing after
ease, equanimity, enlightenment

these three had been here
all along
waiting for me to notice them

breath followed breath
sitting revealed faith
just sitting revealed what is

searching in shadows
feeling sun warm
shoulders, back, heart



a haiku:

like whales in the sea
we breathe, writhe, make love, pray and

sing in sure, blind faith

May I read it to you?

  Faith by Dan Gurney

Love Your Enemies

As a kindergarten teacher it took me a few years to figure out (the hard way) that the quickest path to having a great year is to help the kids with the most difficulties. The happier the least happy kid is, the happier we’ll all be—including me. Especially me, I'll admit it.

Sunday School lessons I was given about Jesus teaching "Love your enemies" had something to do with it. I am so grateful for that teacher.

“If all your enemies are well, happy and peaceful, they would not be your enemies. If they are free from problems, pain, suffering, affliction, neurosis, psychosis, paranoia, fear, tension, anxiety, etc., they would not be your enemies. Your practical solution toward your enemies is to help them to overcome their problems, so you can live in peace and happiness. In fact, if you can, you should fill the minds of all your enemies with loving kindness and make all of them realize the true meaning of peace so you can live in peace and happiness. The more they are in neurosis, psychosis, fear, tension anxiety, etc, the more trouble, pain and suffering they can bring to the world. If you could convert a vicious and wicked person into a holy and saintly individual, you would perform a miracle. Let us cultivate adequate wisdom and loving kindness within ourselves to convert evil minds into saintly minds.”

—Henepola Gunaratana Mindfulness in Plain English

What if this idea were applied to the enormous kindergarten of world politics?

What if nation states decided to invest as much money in health care, environmental restoration, and the arts as they now spend on the Armies, Navies, and Air Forces?

What if my country, the US, shrank its military spending so as not to exceed the budget it now has for the Peace Corps?

Would we find ourselves living in a far safer and happier world for everyone, even the bugs?

Authenticity and No Self

Bonnie, over at Original Art Studio (link at right or right here) got me thinking about authenticity as a blogger. I left a comment there that developed into this post below. Thanks, Bonnie!!

What (who?) is my real, authentic self?

I ask myself that question as a husband, a father, a friend, a kindergarten teacher and as a blogger, too.

The answer is the same for all my “selves.”

I'm most authentic when I don't wish to take back my words, or to undo what I’ve done.

Many times I have heard someone say something mean or hurtful, followed, eventually, by a recantation like, "I’m sorry. I didn't really mean the hurtful words I said."

I've done this myself.

How authentic were my mean words? How authentic was my apology? Just wondering.

From a Buddhist point of view there is no "self." Seen from this very helpful perspective, the issue of authenticity shifts, lightens up, and even disappears, sort of.

Sort of, because I've learned—the hard way—to force myself to become familiar, even friendly with, my "shadow side,” the dark, negative, angry, sad, and scary realms within. Darkness doesn’t like being lit up with mindfulness. Fear, anger, sadness—they don't like being lived with, looked at, tolerated, accepted. They lose their power when I'm able to sit with them. Poor babies. Poor monsters under my bed.

So the question remains. Given my multifaceted "self," what facets do I want to display to my family, to my friends in real life, to my readers in blogland and to my students in kindergarten?

Maybe karmically that is the key question for me: What sort of person do I wish to be as I stand up in kindergarten as a teacher of very young and very impressionable children?

That's easy. I wish to share the positive, uplifting, optimistic facets. These facets are solidly genuine, really authentic, and surely worthy of sharing. And they’re the facets of me I wish to cultivate.

I’ll look under my bed in private.

The Greatest Loss

Last night the Society of Friends of the Buddha met in my living room. We discussed some teachings of the Buddha. I want to share some of our discussion with MindfulHeart friends and with members of our Sangha who were not able to be here last night. In a reading titled, “The Sharpest Sword,” the Buddha answers a series of questions. His answers to these questions are, I believe, well worth contemplating.  The Buddha was asked, “What is the greatest loss?” His reply was, “The greatest loss is to receive without gratitude.” His reply to this question was not something I would have guessed as an inevitable answer to this question.  His anwer is, however, well worth thinking about.  Please allow me to ponder the Buddha's answer for a moment, for I think his answer applies to me, and perhaps to many others of us as well. You see, I count myself among a very, very, very small minority of human beings who has never known real hunger in an entire lifetime.  I was born in the United States in 1951, and I have always enjoyed only  plenty of food. Grocery store shelves have always been fully stocked wherever I go. A huge variety of foods from around the world is available to me at very little cost. Half a dozen stores within walking distance from my front door compete among themselves for my food dollar which has buying power that is not less than astonishing. Am I grateful for my great good fortune? Well, I try to be. I really do. I try to remember to be grateful for the plentiful food that has always been available to me.  But as often as not, rather than really tasting and focusing my attention on the tasty and nutritious food that I am eating, Sarah and I talk—as we did, again, this evening—about local city politics or the music class in kindergarten this morning or some non-gustatory subject of the sort.  To be fair, we cook our food from scratch; we linger an hour or more over our meals by candlelight. We have some very pleasant music playing in the background (Stan Getz's tenor saxophone tonight). We keep our conversational pleasant, and interactive, and, if you will permit me to say this, pretty interesting. But the food we eat falls into the background of our consciousness. It's not the main focus of our meal time together. The fact is, I take my incredible good food mostly for granted. With climate change, peak oil, ecological collapse (is there really any other word for it?), and topsoil degradation, it is not difficult for me to imagine a very different scenario within my lifetime (or, since I’m getting on in years) certainly within my children's lifetimes. The days of plentiful good food for the many are numbered and probably fewer than we realize at the moment. Before too long, the abundance of food I’ve known my whole life will come to its natural end. Plentiful food will someday be a fond, and bittersweet memory. As the Buddha said, “The greatest loss is to receive without gratitude.” I can imagine a time not so far in the future when I’m hungry, really hungry, and without anything to eat. At that time,  I may remember the meal I had tonight and wish I had been less concerned with city council business and more attentive to the rice and green soup and vegetable salad that I enjoyed this evening. Will I wish I had heeded the Buddha’s answer to the Deva's questions? Will I wish I had avoided the greatest loss by receiving my meal with genuine gratitude? I think it’s more than possible. What do you think?

A Comment on Afterlife

Bonnie, on her Original Art Studio blog (there's a link on my "Blogs I Read" list) asks the question, "Do You Believe in an Afterlife?"

Her question got a lot of people to weigh in with their comments, even me.

At first I resisted the temptation to leave a comment. It's too big a topic to address in the comments section of someone else's blog. In the end, though, I left a comment. Here is what I wrote:

Hi, Bonnie!

Wow. Big topic. But I cannot resist attempting to answer your question in such a laconic format, so here I go.

Quoting myself from last Monday's MindfulHeart post:

"I'm among those who recognize the fact that the vast majority of people throughout history have believed in some form of reincarnation. I'm not prepared to dismiss the vast majority of human experience simply because there's no scientific basis for ancient wisdom's belief in an afterlife.

And, perhaps, there IS is a scientific basis for such a belief...

Physicists say that some 90% of the universe is composed of dark matter about which we know very little.

Perhaps this dark matter hides heavenly realms?"

The Dalai Lama believes in reincarnation, and I'm willing to defer to his thinking on the matter. He's thought and written about this matter longer, harder, and with far more insight than I will ever be able to apply....

I'm happy to proceed in this life under the assumption that the actions I take today will affect future lifetimes. If this assumption proves to be true, my good behavior in this lifetime will pay off in future lifetimes. If the assumption proves to be wrong, I haven't lost anything valuable. Happiness, despite what corporations would like you to think, comes from deciding of your own free will to behave morally. 

That said, I don't give this sort of speculation too much thought. It's plenty difficult simply to be the kind, thoughtful, non-judgmental person I wish to be.

In the Nikaya Sutras when the Buddha was asked questions like this, he avoided answering them. Speculating about the unknowable can serve as a distraction from attending to issues that need more urgent attention, like loving your kids or spouse.

How karma works across lifetimes when there is no self to begin with—as Buddhists insist—well, this is one of those paradoxes that, in my mind, can only be true.

Is there an afterlife? Yes, but don't worry about it.

Work instead in this present moment to be the kindest person you can be.

The Blessing Chant on a Full Moon Night

Here's something I'd like to share with my bloggy friends. It's one of the texts we're going to discuss at our next Society of Friends meeting on Tuesday night. It seems especially apt because in my part of the world tonight is the full moon.

Just as water flowing in the streams and rivers fills the ocean, thus may all your moments of goodness touch and benefit all beings, those here now and those gone before.

May all your wishes be soon fulfilled as completely as the moon on a full-moon night, as successfully as from the Wish-Fulfilling Gem. May all dangers be averted; may all disease leave you.

May no obstacles  come across your way and may you enjoy happiness and long life.

May those who are always respectful, honoring the way of the elders prosper in the four blessings of old age, beauty, happiness, and strength.

---adapted from the Pattamunodana, an ancient Buddhist text

Every Loving Thought is True

One of the members of our group, Marc, shared this last night at our meeting. I wanted to share it here. It is from "A Course in Miracles," which is said to be a channeled text, supposedly dictated by the voice of Jesus. It has quite a following. The voice is male-centered—lots of "brother" but not a single "sister" for example and no female pronouns. It contains some blindingly bright, compassionate, and forgiving passages. This is from Chapter 12, "The Holy Spirit's Curriculum," in the first section, which is entitled, "The Judgment of the Holy Spirit." 
  

"There is but one interpretation of motivation that makes any sense....  Every loving thought is true. Everything else is an appeal for help and healing, regardless of the form it takes.

. . .

Only appreciation is an appropriate response. . . . Gratitude is due for both loving thoughts and appeals for help, for both are capable of bringing love into your awareness if you perceive them truly. And all your sense of strain comes from your attempts not to do just this."

Every loving thought is true. Everything else is an appeal for help and healing. Wow. Thanks for sharing, Marc!