Wettest March in recorded history

Sewing Rakasu

For the past six weeks or so I have been working on a project called "Rakasu". In Buddhism, when your teacher has witnessed your commitment to study and practice, you are asked (or, in some schools, you may have to request) to take part in a ceremony called "Jukai". The jukai ceremony is considered a lay ordination, and is similar to Christian confirmation. During Jukai, you publicly vow to uphold the Boddhisatva Precepts. There are 16 precepts and they are simply a guideline for ethical behavior:

The first three are Taking refuge in the Three Treasures- the Buddha, the Dharma (the Buddha's teachings) and the Sangha (the community in which you practice).

The 3 Pure Precepts:

Not to do evil

To cultivate good

To work for the liberation of all beings

The 10 Grave Precepts:

1. Not killing

2. Not stealing

3. Not misusing sex

4. Not lying

5. Not abusing intoxicants

6. Not discussing faults of othhers

7. Not praising yourself while abusing others

8. Not sparing the Dharma assets

9. Not indulging in anger

10. Not defaming the Three treasures

The ceremony concludes with the student being given a copy of the lineage of their school, and being given a new Buddhist name.

So, the rakasu. We are told that our small rakasu (about the size of a laptop computer, and worn with straps around the neck) is a small version of an "okesa", a robe which is worn by Buddhist preists. Originally, in when a person became a follower of the Buddha, she or he gave away all their clothes and went to a "junk yard" to collect scraps of fabric. These scraps were sewn into a patchwork cloak, the basis of which is our patchwork robe. The Buddha tells us that this robe is protection from the weather, from insects and viscous animals, that it can deflect even a fire-breathing dragon. In reality, it is a way to be mindful of our vows, to remember that no matter what we are doing, we are part of the Dharma.

During the 4 months leading up to the jukai ceremony, we are to be sewing rakasu as well as reading a selection of books recommended by our teacher, writing a paper on the practice of the precepts and generally preparing ourselves for taking the precepts.

When I was asked to sew rakasu, my teacher gave me a large peice of blue cloth. and a set of very ambiguous directions. First, you cut your piece of cloth into smaller pieces:

Then you arrange them in the proper order:

Then you pin them together:

Then you sew them together to form the basis of your rakasu.

It's hard to see in this picture, but the robe is sewn with very tiny (1/8" stitches). Each time you make one of these stiches, you say "Namu kie Butsu", "I take refuge in the Buddha". Thousands of times. The entire process is meant to be a meditation.

Here is the back side, upon which my teacher will write my new Buddhist name:

And, the final product, with straps:

This feels like a very ambitions undertaking, especially for someone with no aptitude for sewing. And, indeed, the process has included (for me) the pulling out of nearly as many stitches as went in. The taking of the vows is somewhat intimidating, but the Buddha assures us that keeping the precepts is much less important that taking them at all. It is the process that is important- the daily practice of striving to maintain the precepts just like the daily process of sewing a robe. I look forward to my jukai ceremony in April and will post pictures then.

Senate Repeals DADT!!

It's about time.

New York Times article

October

Summer is slowly winding to a close, although it is still lovely and mostly sunny these days in the first half of Autumn. Got some bike rides in (including a flat tire)

went to the October Art Walk,

canoed a bit.

Mostly we're doing yard chores and buttoning the place up for winter.

BOOK ALERT!

My friend Boo Davis is publishing a rockin' new book about quilting today. Yay Boo! Check it out here. Boo was interviewed by the New York Freaking Times!! Check it.

Prop 8 overturned

"[I]t would demean a married couple were it to be said marriage is simply about the right to have sexual intercourse," ... "'[M]oral disapproval, without any other asserted state interest,' has never been a rational basis for legislation," ... "Animus towards gays and lesbians or simply a belief that a relationship between a man and a woman is inherently better than a relationship between two men or two women, this belief is not a proper basis on which to legislate,"

From Judge Vaugn Walker's ruling striking down California's Prop 8.

Check out this very excellent distillation of a dense legal argument at slate. I don't have much else to add.

Good for you, Judge Walker. Good for California. Good for America. We're one baby step closer to treating all American's as equal citizens under the law. Now, doesn't that feel good?

Last one

Hopefully, this'll be my last post from Iraq. I walked around today with a camera, to try and document some of the daily sights I've been living with for the past year. I haven't taken many pictures, but there just doesn't seem to be much that I want to preserve for the future. Still, these give a decent idea of what it's like.

The alley where I live. Everything here is surrounded by concrete T-walls, so pictures of buildings are pretty boring. I live on the left there, just past the garbage can.

Once you turn past the T-wall, here's my row of Containerized Housing Units. One trailer, three rooms, six people. (Well, actually 5 people, since I don't have a roommate. One of the few perks to being the only female in a unit of 400 guys.) Those things surrounding the trailer are HESCO barriers, filled with sand for extra blast protection.
The door to my own CHU.
Inside.

Saturday afternoon, must be time to clean the weapon.

The shower trailer. Not like I'm complaining. I'm happy to have a shower.

The building where I work

Inside the aid station

On my walk up to the dining hall, I pass by Strykers.

And more Strykers

And more Strykers

Yup. More Strykers.

Can you see the writing on the left rear panel of this vehicle?

Yes, it's true. The Coasties are here. There are about 5 guys from Jacksonville, LA. I see them at lunch sometimes. I think it's funny that everyone else is driving around in uparmored Humvees, MRAPs, Strykers and Abram Tanks. The Coasties have this.

Anyway. That's it. My life for the last 11 months. I can't think of much that I'll miss. Except the moon. I see a lot of the moon, walking out the port-a-john every single night at 1am; walking to the gym at 4. I've tried taking pictures, but nothing does it justice. Oh, and the sunrises/sunsets. Those are impressive too. I won't miss them much, though. Not enough to want to stay.

We did our final medical outreach event yesterday. These things are incredibly depressing. Women show up with children who have severe, severe illnesses- congenital defects, disease, genetic disorders- that we never see in the U. S. Children in America who are born with club feet have surgery and physical therapy, and are usually walking at a normal age. Children who have liver failure get a liver transplant. Mothers get prenatal education and care (usually). 30 years ago, Iraq had nearly first-world class health care. Now, not so much. Yesterday we gave out a couple of wheelchairs, which was pretty great, but unfortunately, the only thing we could offer to many of these families was sympathy. And tylenol. We brought plenty of tylenol.

Hey, how 'bout that climate bill? Seems like only a few weeks ago that I was reading that it was a sure thing. Now it's dead. Thanks Dems. Way to make a difference. Thanks GOP.

In Time

W.S. Merwin

The night the world was going to end

when we heard those explosions not far away

and the loudspeakers telling us

about the vast fires on the backwater

consuming undisclosed remnants

and warning us over and over

to stay indoors and make no signals

you stood at the open window

the light of one candle back in the room

we put on high boots to be ready

for wherever we might have to go

and we got out the oysters and sat

at the small table feeding them

to each other first with the fork

then from our mouths to each other

until there were none and we stood up

and started to dance without music

slowly we danced around and around

in circles and after a while we hummed

when the world was about to end

all those years all those nights ago

1 July

Ooh, ooh! Big news on the home front. The US has named a new Poet Laureate. W.S. Merwin will follow in the footsteps of the Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Robert Penn Warren and Conrad Aiken. The 82 year old Hawaii resident writes some tough stuff. This is no Billy Collins (who I love), whose poems are made for browsing and reading aloud to your sweetie while snuggling on the couch on a rainy afternoon. Merwin requires some real effort, but it is worth it. Anyway, Congrats to Merwin and to America for continuing a tradition of excellence in poetry.

Good People

BY W. S. MERWIN

From the kindness of my parents

I suppose it was that I held

that belief about suffering

imagining that if only

it could come to the attention

of any person with normal

feelings certainly anyone

literate who might have gone

to college they would comprehend

pain when it went on before them

and would do something about it

whenever they saw it happen

in the time of pain the present

they would try to stop the bleeding

for example with their own hands

but it escapes their attention

or there may be reasons for it

the victims under the blankets

the meat counters the maimed children

the animals the animals

staring from the end of the world

Source: Poetry (December 1999).

For A Coming Extinction

From "Lice", 1967

Grey Whale

Now that we are sinding you to The End
That great god
Tell him
That we who follow you invented forgiveness
And forgive nothing

I write as though you could understand
And I could say it
One must always pretend something
Among the dying
When you have left the seas nodding on their stalks
Empty of you
Tell him that we were made
On another day

The bewilderment will diminish like an echo
Winding along your inner mountains
Unheard by us
And find its way out
Leaving behind it the future
Dead
And ours

When you will not see again
The whale calves trying the light
Consider what you will find in the black garden
And its court
The sea cows the Great Auks the gorillas
The irreplaceable hosts ranged countless
And fore-ordaining as stars
Our sacrifices
Join your work to theirs
Tell him
That it is we who are important

Bagdad

Not much longer now! Might be home in time to pick blueberries.

I heard someone compare Baghdad with Miami. Flat, lots of brown, palm trees. Lots of interstate overpasses and highways. The main difference is that everywhere in Baghdad is surrounded by 12' high concrete blast walls. Some very poor quality photos, taken using an iPhone from the back of a Blackhawk at 500', or through the window of an MRAP while driving at 30mph. Still, I suppose it's better than posting nothing.

al Muthana

Can you find the kitty in this picture?

al Muthana

The roof of my aid station leaks.
Mangy, limping cats huddle under the hummvees.
Cockroaches and lizards emerge
From the cracks in my walls at dusk.
The air smells of burning trash,
My eyes water and my
Throat burns.

Next door, the Iraqi general breeds beautiful
White long-tailed chickens.
They murmur and cluck to each other as they
Pace along the high concrete walls.
I run in the morning, I listen to the
Call To Prayer and the soft coo of
Morning Doves.
At night, bats twirl and dive under
The sodium light.

Dog tags

You were named after a fish.
Flashing silver in the ocean,
Slipping up rivers to
Sun dappled mountain streams.

Your birthday, just shy of twenty.
A teenager.
A boy.

Your blood type, which we
Pumped into your broken body for an hour.
Praying for a helicopter
That never came.

Your religion.
One tag said "Buddhist",
The other, "Surfer".

I imagine you as you were- white teeth
In a young, tan face. A seashell necklace.
Two good legs.
A dog. A girlfriend. A fire on the beach.

I wonder what your parents thought,
The ones who named you for a fish,
When you came to them,

Sun bleached hair shaved off,
And told them what you'd done.
That you were coming here, to this dry land.
A land without fish or surfboards.