On Grapefruits And Graveyards

The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. - Alan Watts

On a sunny Tuesday morning in early May of the plague year, I finally offered to cut the grapefruit that my four year old daughter had been coveting since last week. The heavens rejoiced in her mind as she bound around the kitchen yelling, “YES!” On a whim, I purchased a grapefruit at the supermarket the week prior. As the world as we know it breaks down in fundamental ways, buying something as unessential as a grapefruit seemed almost transgressive. In the previous time, what would be as outdated and blasé as eating a grapefruit for breakfast? What is this? Some 1980s fad diet? Now, eating a grapefruit for/with breakfast has taken on some luxurious undertone in my mind. 

Since unpacking the groceries, this fruit took on great significance for her. La niña appeared, mainly to see if I had brought home some sort of “prize” from the supermarket, and then transitioned into interrogation mode regarding this purchase- what's this? What does it taste like? Can I have 'a piece'? Why does a GRAPEfruit have an orange rind? Since the moment it was shelved in the refrigerator, she's argued with me to cut up this fruit for her at every meal. She needed a grapefruit right NOW for a variety of reasons.

Finally, this morning the grapefruit was cut open. I segmented a half for her to try and placed it before her. Digging in, she ate two segments and then pushed it aside, to “save for later.” When I asked if she liked it, she gave a resounding yes, but that the real trouble was she was so full, there was no more she could eat. I offered her an out, “...but it's ok if you also don't like it.” Of course, the Iron Lady refused to recant her previous statements on the tastiness of grapefruits.

If you have never bargained with a small child, you've never truly experienced the unrelenting psychic stamina of another person. It's almost as though a pre-pubescent child's ability to physically stand in a freezing pool, teeth chattering and lips blue, can transfer to their mental state when required. Young children have “endurance.” This may sound like a cold assessment, but I'm awed by their skill. If only I had the endurance for endless small talk, bad arguments, or unrelenting pleas to cut random citrus fruits.

Since work has been minimized due to the new virtual format and constant worry about how much stress we can and should be putting on academic work during a pandemic, la niña and I have been walking quite a bit. We have a usual loop, in which I vary the path slightly, but typically head up a long, unbroken stretch of sidewalk that connects our town to a much cuter and prettier one which has a real downtown and a harbor to walk through. Tired of the usual the other day, I brought up going on a new adventure. We took a leisurely walk around a local cemetery. It's on a hilltop cleaning surrounded by a wooded area about 2 miles from our house, nestled inside one of the typical housing developments in this area. We took a Polaroid camera and a snack to visit tombs (her word) and learn more about them.

While walking through the back end of the cemetery, I saw a name on a gravestone that I recognized. Someone I had gone to school with since first grade (maybe kindergarten, even) was buried there. In fact, she'd died in 2014. The obituary revealed little when checked. This woman was not someone I was close to, although we'd gone to school together for 12 years. She was born in November and was likely one of the older students in my graduating year; I, on the other hand, with a late summer birthday, was always one of the youngest. While everyone matures at their own rate, sometimes the gap of nearly a year does create noticeable developmental differences. At some point in upper elementary school, she stood up for me to some other kids who were being a nuisance. That's pretty much the only memory I have of her besides thinking that in high school, she likely smoked cigarettes, which was what most suburban teenagers seemed to be into in the late 90s.

This "find" didn't necessarily provide pause for the contemplation of my own mortality – that's a nearly daily meditation anyhow. Instead, it led me down a line of thinking about the degree of anonymity our lives take on when removed from a daily routine. After a month of not being at work, I realized I hadn't thought of someone I see on a near-daily basis usually in the entire time we'd been away until that very moment. It was startling in a sense. And not necessarily because I'm a uniquely selfish asshole, but because removed from the daily grind, everyone's vision narrows to what's right in front of them. When people are imprisoned or held captive for a long time, sometimes they relay their time in that experience with a degree of calm more fit for a Buddhist monk. One of the reasons why is likely because they learned to accept their reality, to not struggle against it or to pin hopes on wishing it away. Maybe the suggestion for our quarantine time now should be to keep calm and meme on? Jokes aside, accepting that this is what the near entirety of the world is experiencing now would be a step toward allowing ourselves the space to breathe and be without having to answer to all of the demands we typically put on ourselves. 

When you consider the transitions we consistently face in our lives – graduations, promotions, moves, relationships, births, deaths, et al – it's no wonder internally we face such a degree of turmoil despite the mundanity of those events. Everyone goes through changes all of the time; change is the constant, not anything else about life is a constant as much as we would love that to be the case. Some of the changes we face, like aging, are much more gradual (and possibly) less abrasive to our psyches. But it is worth sharing our feelings about those tumultuous events with those we trust and/or love because, as it turns out, empathy is a great healer. It provides us the room to accept the situation and ourselves (physically, emotionally and spiritually). 

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recommended reading/listening:

interview - https://thedewdrop.org/2019/12/06/deneen-fendig-duncan-trussell/

music-  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zikXou8vDc 

Damn Fine Coffee

A few weeks ago, I began watching Twin Peaks in earnest. The first time I watched it, I was pregnant, distracted and not open to the experience. I ended up stopping halfway through the second season. This time around, I stopped trying to figure everything out, let my questions subside and took in the story in a more "gestalt" fashion. Not surprisingly, the show began to click for me. By entering the flow of the narrative and not resisting the presence of supernatural beings or hokeyness and camp in an otherwise dramatic show, viewing became more enjoyable and comprehensible.

So...what do I think is going on?

The entire show is a metaphor for an existentialist view of existence. Characters create their own purpose - or become victims of circumstance. The serendipitous twists and turns also leave even the most purposeful of characters adrift. The overarching theme seems to be how each character reacts to their fate that ultimately drives their growth (or stagnation).

Within all of us is a capacity to morph into better or worse versions of ourselves -rising above our pain and suffering, or succumbing to our most destructive vices. Even the incorruptible among us, like Agent Dale Cooper, can and do fall prey to darker forces that can render us unrecognizable to those who care about us.

The uncovering of the true nature of the mysterious white and black lodges becomes the main thrust of the show after the initial mystery of who killed Laura Palmer is solved. The lodges are discussed as singular places initially, though there is slowly a revelation that they are connected or may even be one in the same. That duality of "light" and "dark" forces is not only contained within an external location but also within us all.

The horrors of existence are portrayed in a Sartrean hell of "other people" throughout the series, culminating in the truth behind Laura Palmer's psychological pain. The revelation that her demon-possessed father sexually assaulted her repeatedly is laid bare to a chilling extent in the post-season 2 movie, "Fire Walk With Me." Although his actions are linked to an inexplicable evil that casts a dark shadow on the bucolic village of Twin Peaks, in a wholly materialistic interpretation, his demonic possession is actually an undeniably entirely human abuse of power. Sexual assault, physical and emotional domination and manipulation occur with enough regularity that one could only hope there's some sort of demonic possession at the root - a neat explanation to excuse people's heinous behaviors.

The question then becomes for me: what if the darkness that haunts Twin Peaks is humanity itself? If we were all hermetically sealed, atomized players, many of our daily miseries would fade away. There'd be no worry about being judged for our appearance, actions and interests. This question is partially answered by the character Harold. He is a young man content enough to read, tend to his flowers and never venture from his home. His compassion for Laura is evident, but by letting her into his world and guarding her secrets, he destroys himself. Similarly, as Heather, a former nun, emerges from the sequestered life in a convent, she allows herself not only to be emotionally available to others, but vulnerable to their attacks as well. With an acceptance of love from Cooper, she also has her life endangered by the psychotic Windham Earle.

Years ago, I waxed poetically about the quote attributed to Albert Camus, "Should I kill myself or have another cup of coffee?" I referenced Cooper's line about his first cup in Twin Peaks - "This is a damn fine cup of coffee." Coffee ends up being his link to who he was when he is Dougie Jones. A love of the drink carries through and provides a thread that runs between his lives. Furthermore, this mutual pleasure in a good cup of joe foreshadows the much more disturbing shared memory that links the incarnations of Laura Palmer. Ultimately, despite Agent Cooper's best attempts to right the wrongs that led Laura toward destruction, he is unable to better her lived experience. The moral that bleeds through here is the existentialist dilemma posited by Camus' coffee quote. The Sisyphean task that is life can never be avoided - there will always be trauma and pain as long as we're alive, no matter how we try to avoid or prepare for it. Suicide only negates the problem, it does not solve it.

Finally, early into my rewatch experience, my partner mentioned that David Lynch is into transcendental Buddhism. This piece of information helped to shape my interpretation of various aspects of the series as well. For those who criticized Lynch's inclusion of unnecessarily long scenes of silence between characters or of someone performing a mundane task on screen (like sweeping the floor for an extended period of time) the following quote came to mind, “Zen does not confuse spirituality with thinking about God while one is peeling potatoes. Zen spirituality is just to peel the potatoes." Alan Watts, Zen Buddhist practitioner, has perfectly translated Zen Buddhist spirituality here for Western audiences - being "bored," trapped in the mundane is the whole point of the practice. To be in the now - to experience everything as it is currently without constantly trying to change it, escape it or wishing it were something else is the end goal of the practice of mindfulness.

Even the magical realism aspects of the show fit in with the tenets of transcendental Buddhism  -there's something inexplicable in the Twin Peaks universe (and our own). Perhaps it's an overall transcendent being, like God or some other higher, supernatural power that provides this fuzziness. Or maybe it's a reflection of the general nescience humans are saddled with as finite beings in a vast universe that will always remain beyond our full comprehension. 
"I carry a log — yes. Is it funny to you? It is not to me. Behind all things are reasons. Reasons can even explain the absurd. Do we have the time to learn the reasons behind the human being's varied behavior? I think not. Some take the time. Are they called detectives? Watch — and see what life teaches." - Margaret Lanterman, "Log Lady"

Birth Pains of Astral Projection

“If we believe in nothing, if nothing has any meaning and if we can affirm no values whatsoever, then everything is possible and nothing has any importance.”― Albert Camus, The Rebel In 2001, I saw God, which is to say, I saw nothing. I was depressed about everything. Leaving the bubble to enter college- even though I thought I was open-minded - the deluge of responsibilities and possibilities for the rest of my foreseeable future hit me like a fucking brick wall.

Emotionally spent and at the point of literally laying down to die, I stuck myself in a closet, completely vision-denied. Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” worked as a mantra. Ritualistic phrases and orthodox adherence to a set mantra and style of meditation had not yielded results for me at that point, but the music allowed me to fixate enough on something else (actually depriving my sense of hearing of any intrusions) to let the mind wander inward. I saw nothing but darkness. And still I saw potential - the becoming. Coming out of my state, I laughed at how absolutely absurd life is. Everything we do or say we live for. Fabrications upon fabrications. We are nothing, and in that, everything. 

The days - nearly two decades - since that experience have been a continual struggle in some ways. It’s a trouble I chose though, once I was able to fully comprehend the gravity of non-being. I totally understand the evangelical mindset because I feel saved too. In my case, saved of any hope there’s some answer out there at all. Or perhaps the answer is completely irrelevant because it’ll never be confirmed by some official authority or understandable to me. It’s a faith in the unknowing. An acceptance of complete lack of control.

That realization made me simpler in some way. There’s a connection with the very nature of my existence that I cannot sever. The nature of my reality revealed itself to me in a wholly physical realm. So unlike the evangelicals, I believe the soul is the fleeting aspect. The body is the eternal, as it recycles into billions upon billions of atoms and reforms in myriad fashion. Stardust - algae - ferns - trees- ammonites - trilobites - and so on and so on all the way to - humans. The ego can’t bear to reconcile this fact. Everything about our society reinforces our tendency to want to escape our impermanence. However, once you see through the veil, it’s a game changer, and a relief.

An Atheist Laments the Loss of Spirituality

I write a lot about influences on my personal philosophy and worldview. 2 undergraduate history courses had a great impact on who I am today.The first was "19th Century Europe," and the second, "The History of Modern Japan." Time-wise, there was overlap, obviously, with both classes focusing on the "long century" that was the 19th. Chronologically, the 19th century was clearly as long as any other. However, certain historians designate the ideological underpinnings and mindset that came to signify the 19th century as beginning in 1789 (first French Revolution) and ending with the outbreak of WW1 in 1914. There is a dialectical forking that persists through this long century - one marked by the ideological optimism of Enlightenment thought that brought sweeping reforms as well as medical, social and technological advancements which ultimately made life more easily lived by most; the other prong characterized by a cynical secularism that arose from the waning power of religious ideology - a disregard for most of human history by training the eye always forward.

These two paths, I'd argue, didn't really coalesce into a new formation until after the devastation of the first truly "world" war. There is something absolutely beautifully breathtaking in the scope of the existential crises that WW1 inflicted upon humanity. Nietzsche was right about the men of his time - the scientists, the secularists, the non-believers in anything spiritual- so sure of themselves that the only thing that mattered was the material. If or when their "spirit" of life sought solace, the only choice became destruction - death. Such a man is capable of committing suicide to alleviate his angst, but only through mass homicide. And thus, the very long 19th century, one marked by practices in  restraint and propriety and logic, led to a bungle so heinous that the world was forever transformed, but scarred, in the process. Thus, for all of the measured control exerted by the Victorians, they succumbed to the same crushing defeat (through mass carnage) as any other historical era.

The burgeoning world power that was Japan at the end of the 19th century (fin de siecle) shared Western Europe's ideological, future-oriented optimism. However, the reasons I gravitated toward Japanese literature were grounded in their philosophical outlook - the first being that "Japanese existential essence." The canonical works (and even entire forms of expression like haiku) reflect Buddhism steeped in fatalistic waters. Japan lies on fault lines, hosts volcanoes, experiences real catastrophes based on sea level changes and is at the forefront of tsunami activity in the Pacific.  Secondly, in many works from the fin de siecle through WW2, the meteoric rise of a culture so divorced from real spirituality is evident. Rituals and relationships begin to ring hollow, and yet leaders push them to mean more and more. After the fall of the Japanese Empire in 1945 through such a brutal explosion of force (re: the atomic bomb) a new interface between existentialism and nihilism opened up. The collective consciousness of an entire nation became one of post traumatic stress disorder.

Personally, that type of existential crises intrigues me. How does someone (or in this case, an entire people) overcome such trauma? Not that my culture has ever experienced anywhere near that level of devastation (maybe some of the more recent hurricanes would fit the bill, but even those were not colored by the same gravity of being a choice made by humans to inflict directly on other humans), but for many empathetic people, one can imagine how quickly everything you know could change. We all know people whose lives were going one way....until they weren't anymore. On the other hand, American culture likes to promote only the successful stories - the rags-to-riches (and even the riches-to-riches) tales. As a species, we tend to learn more from the oppositely-oriented ones.

Subsequently, the development of Japan in the post-WW2 era is also fascinating. Fast-forwarding to today, the country's embrace of technological advancements and capitalism created a society of commodification. No time for a relationship? Go to a host club. No time for a pet of your own? Visit a cat cafe for the afternoon. Is the spiritual edge that once stirred me still there? According to various news reports in the past few years, old ways are indeed dying out. Less and less people are identifying as a member of any particular religion, and without patrons, historic temples are shuttering. Beyond the rise of secularism, Japan also faces a crisis of being at zero population growth. Is this a natural ebbing which will be followed by a flowing of fertility? Or has intense commodification wrought these changes? Much like in the Western world, many people of childbearing age delay having children due to extended educational careers, economic instability and generalized anxiety over bringing a child into a seemingly tumultuous world.

Would things be different if there was some degree of spiritual grounding? Populations that identify as religious have a been studied to have higher birth rates. Is there less anxiety about the future (and your children's futures) if a god/gods is/are involved? Personally, the idea of having children never scared me, nor did I think of "the right time" as being any other time than the present. Perhaps that's a stupid, short-sighted way of approaching the big responsibility of bringing another life into this world, but it's also a biological impulse for many that doesn't really warrant that much thought. People successfully had children when they were mucking around as serfs on some lord's lands. Children were brought into this world in the middle of wars, under enslavement, in concentration camps, during diasporas - in other words, the absolute worst conditions humans could endure. So the middle class professional who's "just waiting for the right time to bear children" might be overthinking things a bit. An industry of child-rearing books, products and experts has stripped away what humans have been able to do naturally, even under duress, for millennia.

Thus, the restrictions we face are often put upon us by ourselves. This fact is evident from about day 3 of being a parent or ever being in charge of anyone (even for a short period of time). Why the fuck do we care to continue to restrict human potential? Are we carrying on in ways we know are unsustainable, illusory, etc? What could possibly end some, even if not all, of the destructive behaviors we engage in? Literally wading through consistently flooded streets? And what can replace the desires that are not acted upon? Distractions...material accumulation? Virtual realities? I would constantly ask myself these questions while studying the 19th century, as I do regarding our society now. Surely we do not live in such a buttoned-up era as the Victorians, but there is some overlap ideologically. The confusing social milieu of now leads to personal censorship akin to the propriety of our predecessors. Say the wrong thing, share the wrong meme, and *poof* "cancelled." The fear of being shunned has dampened personal expression and experimentation. There is little room for mistakes. So people don't even try, as not to fail.

Perhaps with God being dead (and we, and our forebears in Western society, having killed him), the only way out of endless material accumulation IS (self) destruction.And not mass suicide or suicide through homicide, but the tearing down of a system that has failed. For the sake of all of us, and especially for the sake of the generations recently or even yet to be born, fuck this society. Let's band together to build a new, communal one.

A Higher (Moral) Standard...

As you know, I am a teacher. A public high school teacher, to be exact. As teachers and coaches, we are said to be held to a, "higher standard." What kind of standard? Legal? Moral? And if so, according to whose moral standard? In the past few years, due to various scandals and media frenzies over teacher behavior, schools have started to implement "HIB" training for all staff. HIB stands for harassment, intimidation and bullying. The main thrust of these types of trainings should be to help teachers identify HIB incidents in their classrooms, locker rooms and in the hallways to help maintain both physical and emotional safety for students and staff, but the presenters often make sure that teachers leave paranoid enough about everything in their lives to never even consider acting inappropriately in any way, shape or form (think about the worst kinds of sex ed classes where students are just shown pictures of diseased body parts and told to stay away from sex #noteffective). Why? Because these trainings are designed for more than the purpose of ensuring that students are safe in their learning and playing environments. These informational sessions are also inculcating teachers into self-censorship. The alternate interpretation of, "higher standard," can really be, "if you do anything wrong, you will be judged more harshly and personally for doing so," but that doesn't have as nice of a ring to it, so they went with the former. There is a level of anxiety provoked by HIB trainings and morality scares that keeps teacherss on their toes, looking out over their shoulder to see who is watching, and to potentially even report their coworkers to an authority figure. It also encourages teachers to report students to a "higher" authority for multifarious infractions instead of ever dealing with issues on their own. Obviously there are serious offenses that should be handled on a centralized basis, however, many of the teachers I know that actually have a good handle on discipline work through issues on their own. [aside: In the school in which I work, office detentions seem to do little to deter students from doing wrong. The same students end up on the detention roster over and over, as with the in-school suspension room. Repeat offenders end up in the "penalty box" month after month.]

So, I am held to a higher standard in both my "in" school and "out of" school behavior, but I should also defer to the central authority when it comes to making decisions on what is good, moral behavior (even though I am a supposed paragon of said behavior)? Confusing. And so when I start thinking about this title of the moral apex of society that has been bestowed upon me, I get a little miffed. Because I think it's hypocritical and a power move by those already in power. I am supposed to be a great teacher and live a clean life, but I am also not trusted with wielding power beyond the threshold of my classroom. If what I think would be an appropriate way of handling a situation is how I act, then am I not already fulfilling the duty of the higher standard? If, by nature, I am the higher standard over some regular Joe, than my opinion should be worth more, no? Shouldn't I be able to handle the issues within my room and in the school without deferring to a higher power? If I am held to a higher standard, is my boss held to an even higher one? What about the governor and politicians passing these laws?

What gives? It's all about obedience. It's not about safety and security or about positive role models, it's about maintaining a system for the system's sake. My compliance will help to prop up the hierarchy for another generation. The veiled attempt at making me think I will be helping children is a good one, and one that most people would not want to question. But, I'm that guy, so I am questioning it.

And while I was thinking about this entire scenario, I happened to read an excerpt in Confessions of  a Buddhist Atheist in which Stephen Batchelor explicated his research on Buddha's life. He found that there were no real details on the formative years, and in fact, conflicting information about the Buddha's personal history. However, once Buddha became a teacher and gathered a following, everything he ever did was recorded, which reminded me of Jesus' life. Just like Buddha, the details on Jesus prior to his thirties is fuzzy. What were these guys doing in their twenties? Praying? Working? YOLO-ing? Well, I came to the conclusion that it probably matters very little as to what they were doing in that time and that their lives would be interchangeable with yours or mine up until they were fed up enough with the world to let it be known. So what led to their transformative experiences and subsequent perspective shifts? For one thing, it was the questioning of their current, static social order and their disobedience to it. Both Buddha and Jesus give up their attachments to this world. They don't tell their followers to completely mimic their lives and ways, but instead provide a model for behavior and thought. There is no list of commandments nor contracts that have to be signed to live like either of them - those institutionalized aspects come later through their more zealous followers, like Jesus' disciple, Paul.

I'm not suffering from a messianic delusion here, nor am I looking for martyrdom, but I do think that if I did happen to stand up for myself and people in the same situation, I would probably be reviled and not revered, because WE LIKE BEING OPPRESSED. It's easier to stay in a shitty situation than to stand alone or to risk losing security of a job, relationships, etc.

How do we challenge the existing order in a more meaningful way than writing angry Facebook statuses and standing around the water cooler bitching about how much our boss sucks? For one, that change has to come with considering what is actually in the realm of possibility for changing. Hoping that everyone will suddenly be on board when you make a moving speech is not going to pan out in the end. The continued weaving of connections and the slow formation of communities (pro tip: start with the few people who are the choir you've been preaching to for all those years) will ultimately pay off in the end because people within that community will likely be loyal not only to the ideas you share, but to each other as well. And although it PAINS me to admit this, there is a positive side to this gradualist approach. It's just annoying that when you already see the hidden message in the Magic Eye drawing that is life, you have to wait for everyone else to get their eyes unfocused enough to see it too.

PS: The ironic thing about this analogy is that I can't actually see those pictures in the Magic Eye drawings... 

Being and Nothing

One evening at dusk, as I was returning to my room along a narrow path through the pine forest, carrying a blue plastic bucket slopping with water that I had just collected from a nearby source, I was abruptly brought to a halt by the upsurge of an overpowering sense of the sheer strangeness of everything.

It was as though I had been lifted onto the crest of a great wave that rose from the ocean of life itself, allowing me for the first time to be struck by how mysterious it was that anything existed at all rather than nothing.

"How," I asked myself, can a person be unaware of this? How can anyone pass their life without responding to this? Why have I not noticed this until now?" I remember standing still, trembling and dumb, with tears in my eyes. Then I continued on my way before night fell.

This experience made me uncomfortably aware of a chasm between what I was studying and something that had happened to me in my own life that struck me as vitally important. The Buddhist texts with which I was familiar did not seem to speak about, let alone value, such experiences as the one that had just shuddered through me.- Stephen Batchelor, Confessions of a Buddhist Atheist

I have been reading voraciously for the past two weeks. i went through 2 novels, a bunch of magazines I had been putting off and then I started the book from which the above quote is excerpted. This passage gave me pause when I read it. How many times have I been overcome by the same feeling of doubt about the world? What is the point of it all? And why does this thought come to me at the most random of times? Batchelor was a Buddhist monk, studied under various famous leaders and still rejected it all in the end. Why? What was lacking from his teachings? There was enough certainty, that's for sure. All of the beliefs he rejected had an air-tight response to his doubts, yet never actually addressed his doubts. 

Think about a great "teacher" (parent, religious leader, classroom teacher, professor. etc) you had, that you looked up to because they seemed to know everything. When you asked them about something that wasn't their forte, instead of telling you they didn't know, they instead brushed off your question as inconsequential. And perhaps, if you were younger, or less experienced, you might have believed them, and beat yourself up for being "stupid" in front of their great presence, but as it turns out, this teacher was just more like you than you thought. They were fallible. They did NOT know everything there was to know. But that's OK. Unfortunately, they were just not OK with it. 

I went to a teacher workshop and the instructor was talking about this exact situation. How, we, as teachers, need to accept that we do not know everything. How the students can see that it's OK to be continually learning and shaping the mind throughout life. The teacher is not an authority, but a guide. This is something that I take pride in doing. I did not need a workshop to tell me that, though, I think it is important that others hear and embrace the uncertainty of everything, especially in regards to knowledge. When a teacher sets themselves up as an omniscient authority, s/he's not only setting themselves up for confrontation and failure, but their students as well. 

Spiritually, the beauty of Jesus and Buddha as teachers were that they were open to experiences. They personally did not adhere any rigid dogma that their followers constructed in their wake. Their experiences and guidance, not commandments, are valuable tools. Similarly, one of the reasons that I am drawn to Zen Buddhism in particular is that there is an air of mystery to teachings like the koans. These logic puzzles leave breathing space for interpretation. What they ultimately mean to you is important. 

Another meaning that I think Batchelor also gets at in this quote, is what I find to be one of the great mysteries of the modern world. Do people really stop and think about their existence and why they're here? Is there a larger group of people out there than the few I have disclosed the uneasiness of being aware of my mortality to? How many people suppress that uncanny feeling he's describing? By time one gets to adulthood, I would say there is a good chance that people are more and more unwilling to talk about these feelings because....well, they're set in their ways, one step closer to the inevitable end, thinking about it would get in the way of their "plans" and their "life." But that feeling IS life. All of the other stuff we create is wonderful, but it's what Buddhists call Maya (illusion), and it distracts us from the realities of our finitude. 

The finite space of an art form like the haiku also works to help us get in touch with something deeper than the distractions of television, consumer products, relationship drama, etc. The master Japanese poets of yore so often encapsulated deep sentiments and experiences in carefully chosen, and placed. words. The one below appeared in one of those two novels I recently read. The narrator was discussing mono no aware, the Japanese aesthetic value of the transience of all living things - how we're filled with feelings of great awe and sadness as we view the world around us. Mono no aware is essentialized by the cherry blossom festivals in Japan. The beauty of the flowers is ephemeral, yet, to be enjoyed nonetheless. 

Thinking of the morning dew, it will pass away into the dry high noon of the summer, and yet we revel in those few minutes anyway. Life is a lot like that -when we revel in being alive, we can pay no mind to the fact that we will pass beyond this world in due time.

This dewdrop world

Is a dewdrop world –

And yet — and yet 

-Kobayashi Issa