minimalisto

May all beings be endowed with happiness.
May all beings be free from suffering.

Not too long after arriving in Kansas City, I attended a presentation by Lama Chuck Stanford at Grace & Holy Trinity Cathedral. It was part of a series on world religions, and he was there to give a general overview of Tibetan Buddhism. I was quite taken with his presentation and his demeanor, I found him to be rather kind and approachable. When the presentation ended, I went up to thank him and to ask a question, “Can an atheist be a Buddhist?” I was surprised with his reply, “Certainly. There are no gods in Buddhism.” That is how little I knew about this ancient religion. I learned he was the spiritual leader of the Rime Center, our local Tibetan Buddhist community, and I decided I should check it out someday. That was eight years ago.

Last October, my sister and I were having one of our regular philosophical and spiritual conversations and she said she was curious about the Rime Center, since she had been looking into meditation. “Oh yeah,” I said, “I’ve been meaning to go visit since I moved here.” When I got home that night, I found the center’s website and decided to attend the following Sunday’s service. I don’t know what took me so long, I’ve driven by the center just about everyday for so many years now. Better late than never, I suppose.

Many more visits came after that first Sunday morning’s. And then I took a twelve week “Basics of Buddhism” class. Every week, and with every chapter, I found myself feeling like a jigsaw puzzle that was finally coming together. I attended my first half-day meditation retreat, and gained a deeper appreciation for the practice. A five-week class on Shantideva’s “The Boddhisattva Way of Life,” came soon after. Then I started going for noontime meditation. On February 29, having completed the membership class, I was received as a member of the Rime Center. After that, I enrolled in “Eight Mindful Steps to Happiness,” a class based on Bhante Henepola Gunaratana’s exposition of the Eightfold Path. And today, April 29, I took refuge vows and became a Buddhist. Yes, indeed, better late than never.

As part of the refuge vows ceremony, I was given a new name, a Dharma name: Tenpa Dhargye. The meaning of this name is “doctrine, progressing.” Names are assigned in a random fashion. You don’t choose your name and neither does the Lama. I suppose the name chooses you. So, it is no surprise that I find my Dharma name to be quite auspicious. My life has certainly been a progression of doctrine(s). And everyday, as I spend more time in the Dharma and on the meditation cushion, I find my understanding progressing even further. I’m so very much a beginner, there is so much yet to learn. My meditation practice is rudimentary at best. But I do feel myself progressing.

I still struggle to put into words how it is that I’ve been so taken by Buddhism. It just makes sense to me, and I can clearly see how it’s shaping my worldview in such positive ways. There are times when I wonder if perhaps I’ve been a Buddhist all along and have just now realized it. As Steve Jobs might say, “It just works!” For now, I think it is enough to say that I’m experiencing a very real happiness and an unprecedented peace of mind.

May all beings never be separated from happiness.
May all beings abide in equanimity, undisturbed by the eight worldly concerns.

So much has happened since the last time I posted and entry, nearly a year ago now. During my absence from this blog, I joined two musical projects, went back to work after a six month parental leave, began studying Buddhism and practicing meditation, took up yoga, developed a love affair with tea, my partner and I became pregnant with our second child (due August) and I made a long-awaited return to a vegan lifestyle.

All of these things have made my life even fuller and happier than it already was, and I’m happy to say I’ve very much stuck to my minimalist convictions (with the one exception being an ever-expanding record collection). I have been keeping a journal lately, documenting my thoughts on the changes I’ve seen in my life throughout this year. Now I think I’m finally ready to start writing about these in a public forum.

In the weeks ahead I will begin posting on a regular basis again. For now, I just wanted to say that I’m back.

We are a cloth diaper family. Let me rephrase that, we are the parents of a cloth diapered baby. It’s nice to know that we’re saving hundreds of dollars by using cloth diapers. Even more gratifying is the realization that we are keeping disposable diapers from the landfill, where they may take hundreds of years to decompose. But the highest reward for me comes once a week, when I sit down to fold a freshly laundered set of diapers.

I’ve turned the task of folding diapers into a meditation. I sit on the floor, in front of the coffee table. The coffee table sits directly in front of the stereo, which makes it perfect for listening to records while I fold. As I fold each diaper, my mind goes into neutral, the task is repetitive and the result of my work is made evident by the growing stack of folded diapers. Half way through, I get up to turn the record over and assess my progress. I try not to go too fast, I want to fold the last diaper at the same time that the last song on the record fades out.

Few things are as simple as a flat piece of cotton cloth and folding these diapers makes me feel like an origami master. Only my work will not sit on a shelf to be admired. Instead, my work will be wrapped around my baby’s bottom, immediately losing its perfectly creased folds and eventually getting soiled. But that only means that the cycle begins all over again, thus enabling my weekly meditation.

For the past three weeks, my life has been simpler and more fulfilling than ever before. March 18th marked my last day of work before embarking on a six month leave. The official term is “parental leave,” but I have decided to refer to it as “paternity leave,” mostly because nobody ever chided Emily for referring to her time off as “maternity leave.” I think it’s only fair, I’m am the pater, after all.

We get up at around 7:00. I prepare breakfast and tea for Emily and me, make the bed and straighten up the apartment while she gets ready. By the time Emily leaves for work, Julia has already had two breakfasts and will sleep until 9:00 or so. During that time, I’m usually able to read the paper, check my e-mail and take a quick shower. When Julia wakes up for the day, I change her diaper and we play on the floor for a bit until she lets me know she’s ready for big breakfast, which is usually rice cereal.

There are no words to express how much I’ve enjoyed this time. Really, there aren’t. I’ve been racking my brain. Of course, the best thing is the time I get to spend with Julia. Naturally, I’m biased, but I just have to say she is the easiest baby to care for. Up until now, only three things cause her disposition to turn from sunny to cloudy with a chance of hellfire and brimstone: 1) she’s sleepy, 2) she’s hungry, 3) she’s learning to pass the solids she so enjoys eating. I can help her with the first two, no problem. The third…not so much.

Another reason I love this time is the quietude it affords me, us. I speak, read and sing to her (mostly in Spanish, because NPR says that’ll make her smarter) throughout the day, but there are refreshing periods of time when she’s entertaining herself or sleeping, and you could almost hear a pin drop.

But perhaps the thing I most treasure during this leave is that I am the master of my own time (okay, Julia lets me believe I am). If I decide that we are going to a children’s sing-along in the middle of the morning, then that’s what we do. If we decide its time to get a turntable and go back to really listening to music, then Julia and I pack up and go spend a couple of hours at the audio store.

We’re making every day count, Julia and I. Before we know it, my six months of parental bliss will be up. Time already seems to be ticking away so quickly. Julia is such a joy to be with and a constant reminder of the value of time, of treasuring every moment together, of living intentionally.

There has been very little activity on this blog during the month of March, but there is a very good reason for it. March is the month of my birthday, and ever since I turned 30, I decided to celebrate the whole month instead of just the one day. Seems a bit self-absorbed when you think of it, but to me it is a sort of sabbatical in which for 31 days I do something I love. This time around, I’m drinking a different beer with a different friend each day of the month and blogging about it at 33beers.net.

What does this have to do with minimalism? Isn’t this excess the opposite of simplicity? I thought about that when I first decided what my birthmonth project would be. Over the past couple of years, I’ve really enjoyed learning about beer, which is essentially a minimalist concoction. In its most basic form, beer consists of four ingredients: water, malted grain (most often barley), hops and yeast. Something absolutely fascinating occurs when a master brewer applies her craft to the finest ingredients and allows the gift of time. There are so many variations and styles of beer, and yet they all have those four ingredients in common.

But the truth is this birthmonth project is not only about the beer. In fact, what I’ve learned in the first half of this month is that beer is simply the means to an end. That end, for me, is reconnecting with people. The idea of connecting to disconnect has been on my mind for a few months now. The time I’m spending each day, face to face with a friend is to valuable for words. By contrast, I have spent very little time on Facebook and Twitter, I just don’t have the time for it these days. And yet, as I said to a friend, I would gladly exchange all of the “likes” and status updates in the world, for an hour of a friend’s time.

In my exchange with Ben, I mentioned I couldn’t see myself closing my Facebook account any time soon. But I have to say, the past eighteen days have shown me how easy the social network makes it for us to feel connected when we really aren’t. Some of the people I’ve met with are people I consider to be dear friends. Some of these friends live so close, and yet in some cases it’s been a year or two since we last sat down for a visit. That’s unacceptable, that’s the opposite of being connected.

Friendships, relationships require time. Clicking “like” or commenting on someone’s picture will never replace the face to face time that meeting for a beer, or a coffee, provide. Facebook enables us to multitask our relationships, and if there’s anything I dislike more than clutter is multitasking. When you sit down for a couple of hours with someone, your whole attention is focused on that person and that moment. And that is how this all ties back to minimalism. Drinking one beer, having one conversation, makes my connecting time much more meaningful. I just have to take the time for it.

As I journey toward a life with fewer possessions, this will be an ongoing record of the items that once belonged to me but have found a new home.

• 2000+ mp3s that were cluttering up my hard drive are now gone into the ether.
• 5000+ digital photos, mostly doubles and triples, all gone. This really made me long for the days of film. Digital clutter is clutter, too.
• iMac, sold and gone to a good home.
• Computer desk, couldn’t be without the iMac, followed suit.
• Assorted cables. Where did they all come anyway? Gone, hopefully to a good home.
• Two feet’s worth of CDs and DVDs sold to Half Price Books.
• Bookends and other little knick knacks donated to Salvation Army.
• Metallic storage boxes donated to Salvation Army.
• Juicer, also donated to Salvation Army.

When I first became an episcopalian, Ben Newland was a priest at my new church home, Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral. In addition to being one of my favorite preachers, he quickly became a dear friend. Ben and I will be carrying out an epistolary conversation on minimalism and monasticism this week, which will be published here. Please join our conversation in the comments, if you feel so inclined.

Dear Sergio,

This has been an enlightening week; I’m so glad we decided to have this semi-public conversation about minimalism. I feel like I’ve got a better idea of what those internet minimalists are up to and where their struggles match up with my own.

I’ve also confirmed my initial suspicion: that minimalism and spirituality are related around profound issues. Issues like simplicity, connection, and intentionality. As we wrap up our week I want to add another issue that I know is a spiritual one and see if you think it plays out in minimalism as well.

I’ve flirted with the idea of Sabbath for years now, though never been a true adherent. It’s a religious word, of course, but more and more people are coming to see Sabbath as a human practice rather than merely a religious one. I’ve had this book on my shelf for months now, and I know the author thinks Sabbath practice is for everyone—gentile, Jew, or secular humanist—though I haven’t read it yet. I keep pushing it off, which is probably significant.

The reason I love the idea of Sabbath and think it goes with the conversation we’ve been having this week is that it combines several of the major themes of our discussion while adding the notion of time. Sabbath is meant to strengthen our human connections, to lead us towards mindfulness, and to give us an experience of simplicity. It also teaches us about time—about the pace at which we choose to live, and about how quality is as significant as quantity. We can’t always live in Sabbath time, which is why they are traditionally just one day in seven, but that weekly retreat into a different time and space changes the rest of our time and space for the other six days.

I’ve had different Sabbath practices over the years, though mostly they’ve been pretty amateur dabbling. I currently have a Facebook and email Sabbath practice most Fridays (I’m cheating today, obviously) which lines right up with the digital vacation idea you pointed up Wednesday.

There’s more to Sabbath than not-doing though, or there should be. It really is an exercise in manipulating the human experience of time. My morning coffee reading the past couple weeks has been Slow Time by Waverly Fitzgerald. Though not specifically affiliated with any particular religion, it’s both a spiritual and practical look at our relationship with time. As far as time management books go, this one’s the best (and not coincidentally least ordinary) of those I’ve come across.

From what you’ve said, I think that being present in the moment is a product of minimalism. This is another deep concept that many wisdom and religious traditions share. The first breath prayer I ever learned was about presence in time. It was taught to me by the chaplain at summer camp I attended in high school. It’s easy. As you breath in, you say to yourself, “A Time.” As you breath back out, the words are, “To Embrace.” A deep breath—“A time to embrace”. To this day it is the most powerful prayer I know. It never fails to snap me back to the moment, to the present, even if—no, especially if—the present moment isn’t a good one.

So here’s to the pursuit of minimalism, spirituality, and a life lived well. There’s much we’ve left unsaid, and perhaps there’s room for a sequel somewhere down the line. I’ve enjoyed this so much, friend.

Peace be with you,

Ben.

• • • • •

Dear Ben,

What a pleasure it’s been to have this conversation with you over the course of the week. Although I imagined we would find a good deal of common ground between monasticism and minimalism, reading your thoughts certainly opened my eyes to new things. Anyone who’s known me for more than ten minutes, knows that I favor extremes and that I tend to jump headfirst into whatever thing or idea happens to strike my fancy.

I’ve made an effort this time around to practice moderation in hopes that this does not become simply another fleeting phase, but rather a lifestyle. Believe me, the temptation to get rid of everything but the clothes I’m wearing is strong and ever present. But realizing that there is something deeper and more meaningful to this than whatever may be the number of my possessions keeps me grounded.

Discovering how much ancient and current practices in monasticism and spirituality have in common with minimalism has been reassuring. It’s not that I was looking for validation, but knowing these things makes me think there is something truly worthy, fulfilling and sustainable about this pursuit. While I don’t consider myself a spiritual person, I appreciate the benefits of spiritual practices and disciplines. I will be thinking about the things we’ve discussed for some time, and I will likely make them a part of my minimalist approach to life.

I’m pleased you have chosen to talk about Sabbath. This is a perfect example of the kind of spiritually-rooted practice even a humanist minimalist can greatly benefit from.  I have experienced something powerful about purposefully setting apart a time to withdraw from quotidian life and do (or not do, as the case may be) something that slows us down. What I most look forward to in a Sabbath experience is stillness. It can be the stillness the psalmist refers to, “be still and know…” But as you’ve mentioned, Sabbath mustn’t be limited to Abrahamic expressions of faith. It doesn’t necessarily have to be spiritual at all, right?

Some of the best moments of stillness for me came many years ago as I meditated upon the Tao, of which my favorite proverb was (and still is), “the way to do is to be.” Later on, while practicing Shotokan Karate, our sensei exhorted us to find stillness in movement. Curiously enough, while practicing Bikram Yoga, we were instructed to find movement in stillness. I often experience this stillness during mass, or during a particularly moving concert at the symphony. What I haven’t done is to make a regular practice of it. But I’m going to look into the books you’ve mentioned and perhaps pursue that next.

In closing I would like to once again quote (you guessed it!) Thoreau, “To be a philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust.” I wouldn’t call myself a philosopher, but this certainly describes the kind of life I want to live. As I see it, minimalism is not the end, but rather one of the means by which to reach this goal. It’s the means that happens to be working for me at the moment.

Thank you and thank you again for taking the time to engage in this dialog. I have rather enjoyed it and I have truly learned more than a few things. Talk to you soon, my friend.

Most sincerely,

-Sergio.