Rime-n-Reezun

Image taken from Google Image search

Two times in the last 48hrs I’ve encountered things from freinds who were in one way or another kind of questioning the “why” behind certain actions. I think this is important and wanted to post briefly on this.

I recall from when I was a child some discussion with my mom or maybe overhearing her remark about something… the lesson was, if you’re not grown enough to talk about your actions without embarassment, you probably shouldn’t be performing those actions. Agreed.

Embarassment doesn’t pertain to what either of my friends were dealing with (one was writing about tilak/bindu application and the other about wearing a brahmin thread/upanayan and having to explain it to his significant other), but there’s an underlying principle at work in all of these contexts – know why you’re doing anything you’re doing as well as why or why not you should be doing it.

The friend writing about tilak application touched on this. He mentioned wearing it out and abouty, including at work where it would be a bit out of place for him. He also mentioned other outward expressions – like wearing an Om pendant on the outside of one’s shirt – and how that kind of thing is sometimes perceived. He also mentioned applying tilak with a mostly invisible substance, knowing it was there although no one else did. I think that’s brilliant.

The other friend indicated that he wears the brahmin thread and that his spouse was having a hard time understanding why. A number of questions were asked this friend by many who noticed the post. On the surface, it seemed as though this “brahmin” didn’t actually know why he himself wore the threads. After more dialogue, it turns out that the spouse in question might be demanding a logic-based reason for wearing the threads – which will remain debatable. Otherwise, it’s a fairly cut-and-dry matter and an explanation should be relatively easy to provide by someone wearing the garment. I remain not entirely convinced that the person wearing the brahmin’s thread actually knows every in-and-out as he should, or perhaps he’s just a poor communicator when it comes to this stuff and talking about it with his spouse. Any which way, the numbers don’t quite add up as they should in my opinion. I’m thinking that someone demanding a logic-based reason for this samskar could receive a full answer from someone wearing the thread and would fill the rest of the blanks in for himself. That is, unless the spouse is a bit unreasonable to begin with and might be looking for reason where there is none, and refusing to accept anything else.

Whether you’re talking tilaks or threads, it’s all the same – the what simply doesn’t suffice, unless you’re cool with looking like a shallow doofus. You’ve got to know something’s why as well as that why’s implications, or you probably shouldn’t be doing it. It’s part of what sets the reals from the wannabes.

Om Shri Ganeshaya Namaha
Om Shanti

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Mata pita cha

Is it odd that I’m proud of my parents when someone compliments me?

Lest y’all think I’m overly vain or arrogant, I’ll spare you details, but suffice it to say that often enough -for one random thing or another – I’m complimented. I should admit that I have a fairly confident outlook and a really developed sense of who I am, which makes being true to myself easy -even when myself is constantly dissolving and evolving.

Oddly enough, whenever someone compliments me I immediately think of my parents. I’ve been clear enough in past posts regarding what amazing humans I perceive my parents to be. They’re surely incomplete without their own, very human, flaws, but beyond this I adore them. And no matter what someone says about me, my mind recognizes the compliment and immediately attributes it to one of four components: My father, my step-mother (my mom, before now often referred to as my mother), my birth mother, or any combination of these.

Someone says something nice to/about me and BAM – I get that from my mom. Someone else is impressed with something else and my mind immediately identifies that I inherited that trait from my father. Occasionally, I’ll encounter a mixture. For instance, some friends call on me to “win” debates they find themselves in on Facebook. For the record, when arguing or debating anything you can be sure two things will happen: I’ll not hesitate to jump in (stupid? brave?) and try to shred my “opponent,” (my unfortunate birth mother’s influence) and I’ll win (my mom should have been a lawyer and taught me well!).

These mixtures have helped form a number of “rules and observances,” my own personal yamas and niyamas, that now govern my life. One is never to ask anything of anyone that you yourself aren’t already giving, or aren’t willing to give. Another is to leave every person, place, or thing you encounter better than before you interacted with it. (I actually LOVE that personal observance because it can manifest in literally every move you make; every breath you take. Ask me and I’ll share more about this.)

Recognizing the sources of the patches in my life’s quilt is super humbling to me and makes me incredibly grateful nearly every time I turn around. This perpetual “attitude of gratitude” keeps me going some days. I know not everyone comes from a background they can be as proud of as I am mine. Still, no effect is without a cause -whether we label that cause pleasant or unpleasant is irrelevant. Be grateful for the causes that contributed to the effect that you call yourself at this moment.

Om Shanti

Small Town Deity, or God of the Bumpkins

Virtually every year, almost since I was born, my Christmas holiday season involved just about as much travel as it did actual family/fun time. We’re a little spread out, not bad though, and my birth parents divorced when I was very young still, so… this business became the norm for me early on.

Part of this yearly routine involves going to my father’s parents’ home on Christmas Eve where the rest of my extended family from that side would also convene. We had food and lots of it. Always a traditional Christmas show on TV. And, of course, lots of chatting with relatives I don’t see nearly often enough.

This year my beloved and I arrived a little earlier in the evening that usual. My laptop was on the fritz and a cousin had agreed to look at it for me. However, those plans began to fall through and instead we found ourselves at my parents’ home waiting for the time that everyone was due at my grandmother’s. After piddling around for some time we decided to head to my grandmother’s and, as it happened, we beat her to her home.

As we arrived and exited our car, my parents motioned me and Wayne to follow them as they walked up to the front door of my grandmother’s neighbor. This happens to be the home of a good friend of my father and his new wife.

I was instantly uncomfortable. Forgive me for not being okay marching up to, and into, someone’s home unannounced on a holiday. Maybe it was just because this wasn’t the home of my best. Maybe I’m just uptight. It’s hard to say. I was everything but thrilled to have followed my parents right then.  My spouse and I found ourselves awkwardly standing in front of these folks’ television, while brief introductions were made and then a whole lot of nothing happened. Of course, the friends of my parents didn’t act bothered in the least.

All of this aside, something happened that I’ve never seen before in my life. Ever. There wasn’t much room in the house to begin with, but even with a huge lack of free space the missing Christmas tree was conspicuous. These people had no Christmas tree! Aside from the homeless and the Bah-Humbugs, I’m not sure when the last time I encountered people who celebrated Christmas, but had no tree. Care to know why?

The wife is a Christian.

No joke. My parents just about immediately began joking, “Where’s your tree?!?!” The husband, my father’s friend, is the quintessential “small town Indiana man” that people like John Cougar Mellencamp sing about. Not exactly a redneck, not exactly a country man, not exactly educated –but a little of all of them. This man’s new wife went on to explain, very briefly, that she refused to have a Christmas tree because not long ago she’d learned that it was of pagan origination.

I’ll tell you right now, she gave her explanation with no regard to respecting the possibly diverse religious backgrounds of the numerous other people present –typical of the Christian variety. All religious arrogance aside, I should commend her for celebrating a “scriptural” Christmas.

Oh wait –there’s no such thing. Christmas isn’t in the Bible. Jesus’ birth? Yes. The holiday? Nope. Any command to actually celebrate the birth? Nada. Literally everything we know about the holiday, in fact, the holiday no matter what form it takes isn’t scriptural. And as this woman pointed out, the Christmas tree is no exception.

Every year I gag when I hear pitiful whines of evangelicals as they lament the ever-growing “war on Christmas.” As the Christmas season (perhaps) becomes less Christ-centric, it’s just becoming more and more of what it was originally: Not Christian. Truthfully, if the Christians want to re-establish Christmas, they should shift its celebration to April or August when Jesus was most likely, actually, born.

But whatever. Arrogance and all, it was actually – almost – refreshing that this woman was somehow more aware of what actually pertained to her religion… and what didn’t. She’s certainly rare among her breed.