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“There is the world that we see, and then there is the world that artists like Mr. Dorsky see and generously share.” — Manohla Dargis, The New York Times

Save the date: The experimental San Francisco filmmaker Nathaniel Dorsky is back in Paris for a projection of some of his recent films at Beaubourg on May 15 (Wednesday) at 19h.
This is a rare occasion to partake in the poetry of the whole of life just as it is, the ordinary caught on film in all its gorgeously sublime suchness. No one else makes films so exquisite, so moving and tender and whole.
info: Centre Pompidou

“If we do relinquish control, we suddenly see a hidden world, one that has existed all along right in front of us. In a flash, the uncanny presence of the poetic and vibrant world, ripe with mystery, stands before us.” — Nathaniel Dorsky, Devotional Cinema

Late afternoon, it’s pouring rain on the worker’s holiday. Haven’t heard whether the usual union marches went forth or if sales of the traditional (here in France, anyway) lilies of the valley were stable. Never know what to expect in these hard economic times. In fact, the truth is we never know what to expect at any time…
Yet my own day has again been one of slow and limited movement, as all the days have been, to varying degrees, for a week…
And what a week it’s been. Since something in my back locked up last Tuesday, it feels more like months, years, lifetimes, have gone by. Being stuck painfully in bed, unable to get up, helpless and immobile for a few days, now remains like a timeless, sickening memory, neither distant (although it was a week ago) nor near (although it was only a week ago). I suppose in another week this rainy day and my lingering aches will have faded, too.
Nothing like a bad back to get the mind moving, though. And I had plenty of time to let it move, to let it all come and go – or not. Pain was thick and rich. It led me to experience frustration, anger, fear, impatience, helplessness, vulnerability, despair, desire, gratitude, openness, tenderness, acceptance, patience, compassion… and at least ten thousand other emotions.
Learning was also thick and rich. I discovered: I am more impatient than I think I am (I want to recover very quickly). I often move too fast (a bad back is a forced slowdown). I sometimes let myself be sucked into the rhythms and ways of others, failing to respect my own (like not walking at my own pace in the street or Métro). I have a tendency to “do” too much myself rather than ask for help (I had to ask for a lot of help this past week). I realized I’m identified with an image of myself as being “reliable,” and felt that because of my “unreliable” back I was letting down so many people (canceling my presence at a sesshin in Belgium, for example), although a bad back is not a sign of unreliability; it’s a sign of being human.
I can’t say any of this is unusual. It’s not. I also can’t say I didn’t already know these things about myself. I did. But each experience is unique, for each of us, and this one was particularly extreme, for me.
Thanks so very much for all your thoughts, kind words, care, understanding.

What is a retreat?

Retreats are precious opportunities for members of the sangha to come together and share practice. In the Wild Flower Sangha, that practice is radical: The universe is our zendo, the earth is the altar, all beings are buddhas and hungry ghosts and they all belong to our sangha, the dharma is everywhere we turn, our practice is to include whatever arises wherever we are. In the midst of our busy secular lives in this crazy modern world, including it all is a daunting challenge. Chogyam Trungpa likened it to trying to meditate in the middle of a busy freeway at rush hour. Which is why retreats are essential, giving us a brief respite from all that madness of our worldly lives.
We have the great good fortune to have teachers and fellow practitioners who are willing to make those retreats available for us, sometimes in our own city, sometimes not far away. Such a situation is extremely rare. As the evening chant notes, “Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost…” Do we truly appreciate how lucky we are? Do we seize every opportunity to join in the retreats that are offered? Do we offer to help make those retreats happen, for ourselves and for others?

What does it mean to organize a retreat?

The practice of the retreat organizers is to organize the retreat. Finding and visiting a retreat center, answering emails, transporting zafus, buying carrots or incense, taking care of the registrations, and setting up the zendo and altar are equally important tasks, all part of the practice. We couldn’t do the retreat without any of them. There are no small and no big tasks.

Who organizes retreats?

Everyone! But it’s no easy job. Which is why in my experience, it is essential to delegate duties and work as a team. Each person has a limited amount to do, which lightens everyone’s load. Everyone can contribute something according to his/her skills, situation, ability, etc.: One person communicates and coordinates with the retreat center, another answers email and receives registration and payment, another does food shopping, another organizes transport of zafus and other equipment, another takes care of picking me up and getting me to the retreat, etc. Of course, someone has to oversee it all. That person could, and perhaps should, be me. I’m happy to do it if that’s what works best.
In Portugal, what might be called a North-South or an us-them dichotomy has taken shape in the sangha. This attitude misses the basic reality: We are all in this together, one sangha. As the sutra says so beautifully, “In ordinary life there are wise men and fools, but on the Way there is no Northern or Southern patriarch.” I understand that this is an issue with deep social and cultural roots in Portugal, which is all the more reason to look into and transcend it.
Organizational tasks can be divided up no matter where people live. Obviously it makes sense for people nearest the center to visit the place and coordinate with the owners and for those who have a car and live near where zafus are stored to transport them, for example. But other tasks don’t depend on geography; anyone can keep track of registrations and answer questions by email, regardless of location. Even the shopping can be divided up if someone is coordinating it from the standard list we have developed.

Why do we help organize?

Indeed, it’s a thankless activity. And yet, we are doing the work of bodhisattvas; we can delight in doing it for the others, not just for ourselves. Myself, I know no greater joy than doing whatever I can to help others join us on this (Zen) way into the most intimate heart of life. That’s why for years I helped organize retreats and maintain the daily practice center where I lived with my teacher. That’s why I created the Wild Flower Sangha, first in France and then in Portugal, and that’s why I continue to go to Portugal. That’s my practice, whatever it takes. And I must constantly let go of my ideas about what that “whatever” is.
While it is nice (for our ego) to be recognized for our work and practice, that’s not why we do it. While it is nice to think only of myself and my own practice, commit to nothing and let other people do all the work, that’s not what the practice (or life) is about. If we do let ourselves become ensnared in these (ego) traps, it is almost guaranteed that we’ll end up tired, angry, frustrated, disappointed, discouraged, defensive, in conflict… We’ll lose sight of the point, and probably end up either 1.) working alone, doing everything by our self and resenting it, feeling righteous or victimized and then blaming the others for not helping, or 2.) not helping, doing nothing except for my self, then finding myself blamed by those whom I let down and not understanding why, feeling righteous or victimized. We’re caught in this viscous circle that revolves endlessly around “me.” We call it samsara.

What about the money?

We try to set the retreat price according to a 50-50 rule: half of the fee goes for food and lodging, half goes for the teaching and supporting the practice. We rarely meet that goal, however, with a larger portion of the fee usually spent on food and lodging. To keep the total price low for participants, we look for moderately priced centers and shop carefully for food. We’re always looking to see what is “the right amount.’’ In so doing, it’s important to keep in perspective the value of the teachings and practice relative to the food and lodging: Why should participants pay more for one than for the other? Of course the rules of the marketplace are ruthless and unforgiving, as we all know in these hard economic times: The airlines don’t let me fly for free or even at a reduced price (unfortunately!), the centers aren’t reducing their prices for lodging, and neither are the supermarkets, etc. We have to play by those rules, which are part of our situation in the modern world, and find the “best’’ center and prepare the “best’’ food at the “best’’ price.
In the Zen tradition as I was taught it, there is a flat price charged for a retreat. Everyone pays the same price, no matter who they are or where they sleep, eat, wash, sit, work. This notion arises from the Buddha’s intention for his disciples, which reflected his experience of the true nature of all beings: They were each to be no one special, all truly people of no rank, and they were to dress with and eat only what was given to them. We make an exception, however, accepting that if participants want something “special’’ – a single room if that possibility exists, or sheets and towel, for example – they must pay for it themselves.

What is a “good” retreat and what is a “bad” retreat?

There are no good retreats or bad retreats. Each retreat is different: different place, time, date, length, people, air, water, food, floor, weather, heartbeat, breath, emotion, thought… In life and on retreat, our practice is to sit where we are, with whatever arises, to not be limited by how we want things to be or how we think things should be, to make do with what we have and appreciate our life just as it is at this very moment. Insects, crowded conditions, beautiful countryside, highway traffic, rain, sun, cats, dogs, snoring, laughter, pain, joy – we include it all in our practice, moment to moment.
In daily life as in retreat life, no matter where we are and what arises, true freedom lies in improvising in response to and in accord with the circumstances. If we don’t, we do nothing but imprison ourselves with expectations of how we want or think things should be.

And even so, can we change how we do things?

Yes we can! In fact, if we don’t, we will certainly have problems, because everything is changing all the time. Every retreat is a learning experience, as is every moment. What does a particular retreat teach us about what works best for finding a center, setting arrival and departure times, arranging cooking and shopping, setting up before and cleaning after? What does it tell us about what is the “right” space, equipment, time and place to sit, sleep and feed 30 people or 10 people? What can we learn about working together? Can we individually and as a group seize this occasion to deepen our practice, and look into ourselves and our actions?

Preparing for a new voyage today: I'll be heading in a few hours for retreat near Lisbon.
I'll cross national borders and time zones, shift from one set of cultural habits and ways to another, enter the realm of a language other than the two I usually speak. And yet...
Amid all our differences, we'll all come together as one "body" for these few days.
The truth is that we are all always this "one body" all the time, wherever we are, whoever we are, whether we are aware of it or not.
And our practice of coming together involves a "retreat" from our sleepy "worldly" ways of separation and discrimination so that we can awaken to this wisdom of nonseparation.
You're welcome to join us right where you are.
A bientôt.

Since my last post here...
...life... and spring without fanfare.
And meanwhile: Whatever snow there was is now long gone. And the sun is as loyal as ever, behind or before the clouds. And night, too, falling upon us quietly.
All without fanfare.

In the Métro full of commuters the other morning a man was selling what I thought was just another publication, the usual cheap guide to restaurants or the history of Métro stations. Then I listened for a moment and realized it was something different: "Trois poèmes voluptueux: La muse singulière." And so it was, three "voluptuous" poems, by Toulet, Gautier, Baudelaire, photocopied on a folded page for €1.
I bought it.
One small effort to "keep the world safe for poetry"?
Or maybe it helped keep the world safe for the guy selling it? Or not?
Or maybe it was just a chance to read Baudelaire's poem "Les bijoux" on the way to work the other morning.
Without fanfare.

Here's my self-interview for the ongoing Next Big Thing project connecting us all and reflecting each of us and our work, gem-to-gem, around the net. Each writer/artist gets the same set of questions to answer about his/her current work.
I was tagged to join the project by Pansy Mauer-Alvarez, who was tagged by Dylan Harris (whose corrupt press has also published two of my books). Thanks to both.
The people who accepted my invitation are Bonny Finberg and Peter Cunningham; their interviews will appear on March 23-24.


What is/was the working title of the book?

For the moment, the working title is Here We Are. But actually that could be the title of any of my books, so it may well change as the work goes on. It’s like what Joyce said about his writing, that it was all one ongoing work that could in fact be called Work in Progress. Lucky for us, he agreed to break it up into a few books with different titles.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I’m not sure how to answer that question. Mostly I stumble on things and eventually realize that’s what I’ve been looking for all along. More directly, these poems arise from what I stumble upon in my daily reading of three or four or more newspapers, in English and in French and in print and on the Web, from listening to all-news radio in French, and in my part-time day job as a journalist, and from what I stumble upon more generally in my life as a human being at this particular moment, in this particular place, in this particular world with all its strange and beautiful manifestations, its fatuous foibles and sometimes devastating, distracting delirium.

What genre does your book fall under?

Poetry, in a sub-genre that could be called Gurlesque Love-Reporting from the Trenches of Now.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Great question. First I have to figure out who the characters are! Anouk Aimée could star as her character in Fellini’s 8½. And Mastroianni as his character, and Fellini, too, for that matter, but playing himself, as would Obama, Bin Laden, Sarkozy, Bush, Cheney, Lance Armstrong, Usain Bolt, Alex Ferguson, Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi, Colin Kapernick, Karl Lagerfeld, Kate Moss, Oprah Winfrey, Mrs. Merkel, Patti Smith, Gertrude Stein, Basquiat, Roberto Bolaño, Janis Joplin, the Dalai Lama, DSK, Hillary Clinton, Laurie Anderson, Louise Bourgeois, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg and Warren Buffet, Depardieu, Polanski, Godard, Jodi Foster, Terence Malick, Agnès Varda… There would be the crowds in revolt in Cairo, Tunis, Athens, Lisbon, Madrid, a chorus of international clerks from Starbucks, joined by Springsteen, Dylan, Jagger and Richards, Amadou and Mariam, Putin and Pussy Riot and the pope (but which one?) under the direction of Ariane Mnouchkine… In any case there would have to be a cast of thousands, equipped with smart phones and free high-speed Internet. And Nathaniel Dorsky would film it.

What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

All the news that’s not fit to print.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

I’m still working on it. I started about a year or so ago, with a break in summer and fall to shepherd through the publication of Giacomettrics in November. On the other hand, like I said above, it’s all one ongoing work without beginning or end.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Maybe I addressed that a bit in the answer to the second question? The Arab Spring was definitely a catalyst, and the ‘‘indigné’’ upheavals in Europe, as is the continuing demise of the news media as we know it and the saturation of our lives with ‘‘information technology,’’ ‘‘social media,’’ franchises, conglomerates, blockbuster ‘‘art,’’ rampant consumerism, the culture of materialism and the materialism of culture, outsourcing... I feel like telling it like it is: we’re all connected, but not the way we think we are.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

‘‘It’s all about you.’’

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

No and no. But as there is no publisher in sight yet, all comers are welcome.

I'm not a Catholic, nor a Christian for that matter, nor an ardent follower of the Vatican. Among my favorite "pope" moments recently was the terrific Nanni Moretti film "Habeus Papum" starring Michel Piccoli as the man-who-wouldn't-be-pope. I couldn't help but chuckle while thinking of that delightful film's impeccable staging of the conclave, vote, white smoke, etc. as I watched the real-life Vatican's impeccably staged version of the same thing on live television Wednesday night. Also kept thinking of Fellini's hilarious ecclesiastic fashion show in his "Roma"! (Supposedly the Vatican censored some of the designs.)
But ultimately, what now ranks as another favorite "pope" moment must be the silence that befell the crowd when the name of the new pope was pronounced (who? they seemed to be thinking), then his request that the "faithful" might offer a blessing for him and the immense task that is now his. And most of all, his choice of Francis as his name. If he can return the Catholic Church to the spirit of Francis of Assisi, who knows what kind of change we may see in the world.

Something came up yesterday that I just knew was the next entry here. Involved with some other preoccupation at the time, I had no choice but to put off the noting of that brilliant moment.
And now as I sit before the screen to finally make record of it, whatever "it" was has escaped me.
What remains "present" is the "absence," the "presence" of what-might-have-been-but-isn't. I'm left with not knowing what's "present" or what's "absent" because they both are and are not.
Stop making sense, the Talking Heads song goes. I have another load of laundry to do.

During a pause while the dentist was doing work in my mouth today, he was telling me something (I can't now recall what). I asked him why he was telling me this. He replied, to my surprise, "Je meuble le silence." (I'm filling the silence.)
So much in the news, in the movies, on television, on the screens of our computers and "smart" phones, in our heads, is filling silence.
Maybe that's why I've slowed down the entries here, allowing more space/time between them? Or maybe not. Maybe I can write more often, with shorter intervals of space/time, and still not fill the silence. Maybe the words can indeed be present and silent.
Let me know what you think.

As I consider where I am at this moment (in light of where I have been since setting out on this Zen path 20 years ago), I came upon this beautiful account from the historic Buddha:

This Dharma I have reached is deep, hard to see, difficult to awaken to, quiet and excellent, not confined by thought, subtle, sensed by the wise. But people love their place: they delight and revel in their place. It is hard for people who love, delight and revel in their place to see this ground: this-conditionality, conditioned arising.

(Many thanks to Stephen Batchelor for including it in his book, Confession of a Buddhist Atheist.)

A quick note since it's been awhile: For me, one of the finest moments (among many!) of the past week was when Barack Obama, after taking his official oath of office for his second term as president of the United States, after all the typical American show business was over, made his way up through the crowd to the portico of the Capitol and then stopped. He paused just inside the door, in the shadow, and turned back to take in the throngs of people filling the expanse of the Mall on a gray, cold winter midday, the flags flapping, the spindly trees standing tall, the celebratory, hopeful moment, unlike any other. I've never seen another moment like it myself, a president aware of impermanence and pausing to appreciate it. In Zen, we call it beginner's mind.
In any case, it was another manifestation of what makes Obama, despite whatever failings he may have, so extraordinary: He is quite simply profoundly human.
No one has said anything about the moment in the press, the television commentators said nothing as I watched it live. But I managed to dig up a video clip of Obama's beginner's mind moment on the Web.

Having been traveling back and forth across an ocean and continents in past weeks, I've had a good opportunity to expand my direct experience of the world beyond my usual parameters. As ever, all that I needed to do was pay attention to and open to whatever was before me, wherever I found myself. Because I was not in my familiar surroundings, however, that seed practice bore unfamiliar fruit.
I was struck by everything from the airplane that carried me from Paris to New York, surprisingly spacious and living up to its airline's name, "Open Skies," to the near-hysteria sweeping America about a feared flu epidemic. I noticed the unfathomable diversity in airports, supermarkets, roads, cars, books, magazines, newspapers, fruit and vegetables, fish, bread, traffic signs, rules, laws, shoes, clothing, laughter, anger, courtesy, greetings, broadcast news, post offices, doctor's offices, restaurant menus and service, currencies, advertisements, relations to space and time... And yet, amid the myriad changing forms, across borders, beyond local languages, styles and tastes, there remained what I can't name, what I know by not knowing, what is shared, what is unseen, unspoken, unborn, undying... I must use the three dots because, as the American Zen teacher Eve Marko wrote recently, I don't know any beginning without an end, and I'd add that I don't know any end without a beginning...
And so. Now here I am. Home again, the clock advancing, waiting late in a gray afternoon for a heavy snowfall we've been told is on its way.
The headlines tell of chaos, violence, uncertainty, fear, the three enduring "fires" of greed, anger, ignorance/delusion. Looks like hard times everywhere we turn. How do I, do we, face that, I wonder? For me, the "how" is not a solution, it is a way: May we go forth not with denial, fear, rejection, violence, but with patience and an open, loving heart.

With these few modest words, I offer each of you my wishes as big as the world for a bountiful coming year, moment to moment, wherever you go, whatever you do.
Ringing in the new year, ringing out the old, may we start over again and again - all together, leaving no one behind - on the path to the boundless heart of this one and only life.

A family member in America tells me that the U.S. media is in a frenzy over the country's latest shooting massacre, in which 20 young children were riddled with dozens and dozens of bullets from a semiautomatic rifle on Friday at their school. I'm not surprised: I am a journalist, after all, and American-born, although the greater part of my life has been spent in France, so I know something about how the press works, and something about how America works. No, I'm not surprised, but I am saddened.
It occurred to me, I said, that if Americans could somehow collectively leap out of their country and look at themselves from afar, they would be horrified at what they saw.
Americans believe obsessively in what they call "freedom," but it looks more and more like they've lost sight of what freedom means.
They call their country "the land of the free" and "the home of the brave." But how can owning and carrying weapons be cherished as a fundamental freedom? What's brave about that?
Where is the freedom and bravery in arming oneself?
And by clinging to the illusory belief that "I" need never-ending protection against the endlessly threatening "you," where is the freedom? And where is the freedom in the resulting murders and massacres?
Americans love to say, "It's a free country!" But is it?

Days are growing shorter and colder here as December deepens.
I find myself doing the same, slowing with the slowing down, turning with the turning to the deep that lies inward.
A few days ago (Sunday) was the day that in the Zen tradition we celebrate as the day of the historic Buddha's awakening.
You might ask: What does that mean, his "awakening"?
Well, here's a nice little quote from Eihei Dogen, a 13th-century Zen master and poet:

The true person is
Not anyone in particular;
But, like the limitless sky,
It is everyone,
everywhere in the world.