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Fight against the hardening of our hearts
I pray that our hearts may be softened.
I pray, not to an absent God, but to a humankind that has lost its humanity.
My prayer is a hopeful imploring, a desperate beseeching:
it is not in God’s hands, but ours.
My prayer is a stark question:
Will we ever be able to actually love each other?
Our ancestors watch through our eyes and our children, some yet unborn, watch through our memories.
They watch our wars, our pillage of the earth.
They see our hearts fill with hatred when confronted with someone outside our cherished group.
They wonder why we can’t just talk to each other, try to understand each other, fight against the hardening of our hearts.
They wonder why we can’t try.
To them, my prayer takes the form of an apology.
I am sorry. I will not let my heart turn to ice.
My prayer is a request for guidance:
Show me how to be led by this frostbitten heart.
Allow me to let it thaw.
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A Brief Message To My Family Who May Or May Not Judge Me For Converting To A Different Religion Than Them
My life is not a sterile thing to be
poked and prodded in a petri dish.
It is not a concept to be theorized about with inscrutable language
by learned scholars.
There is no need for justification,
no need for a public service announcement to explain why.
I am sorry—
to myself and to others—
that I thought there was.
This is how it is;
this is what I have chosen,
and here we are.
I release my desire to be understood,
because I don’t understand you either,
yet, I still love you.
That is enough.
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Supported
Since there was no way to test out the decision,
I could only decide.
I could only leap. I could only surrender.
Now, I wake up in the mornings in a fog of unreality—
did I really do it? Am I really here, on the other side?—
mountains outside my window,
the cool breath of morning flowing in.
Did I really align my life with my daydreams,
fuse them together until they were inseparable?
No. I didn’t.
I was gathered up in an insistent embrace by people who love me,
who, once I made the decision,
leapt to action,
coming with open arms
to offer their various gifts
to pull the curtain from my daydream
and reveal my new life.
And that is the most important lesson my decision revealed;
I am not alone.
How could I have ever believed I was?
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Only flux
Swept up in a breathless story
as a child,
I was shocked to learn that all the events so far
were just the prologue
of a larger, grander story.
But how did the people in the story know it’s only the prologue? I wondered. And not the most important part?
They didn’t, of course.
How do we know what’s the prologue? And what’s the most important part?
Is there a main story?
Characters and settings more important than the ones that came before?
A larger section of the book that needed a beginning,
a foundation?
Or is all of this simply a series of beginnings,
running off tirelessly
into a future that never arrives
because there is no main event
other than in the minds of individualized beings
such as we?
What is the main event for Earth?
For the universe?
For God?
How terrifying,
to imagine that our story is only the prologue
to what really matters—
if anything really matters at all!—
to imagine that the reader needs us only for context
and not for substance.
Yet what elegance
in a system that knows only renewal,
only flux,
only beginnings.
What possibility!
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A letter to the Supreme Court
I wrote this letter on June 26, 2022, shortly after Roe v. Wade was overturned. I posted it on my old blog and am re-posting it here.
Dear brothers and sisters on the Supreme Court,
It is hard to write this letter. It is even harder to refer to you as my brothers and sisters, a term I usually reserve for people I feel camaraderie with or, at the very least, like. But, I must try to see you as such, and I hope that by the end of the letter you will think of me as a sister as well. A sister who disagrees with you, but a sister nonetheless.
I come in peace. Or, at least, I am trying to get on the path to peace, and that is why I am writing this letter. My intention is not to barrage you or insult you. My intention is singular: to let you know that we are going to suffer.
By “we,” I mean my fellow women, girls, people with uteruses, and the men who love them and who contributed 50% to their situation. (I would argue that, in the case of rape, the rapists contributed 100%, but they are not the ones who are going to suffer).
My sisters with darker skin than me will suffer more than I will, and so will my low-income sisters.
Most people did not want this. Most people do not believe this is a good thing.
I know very much about the religion that was the backbone of the reversal of Roe v. Wade— I was raised in Christianity, and most of the people I love follow it. I myself, however, converted to Buddhism a few years ago.
One of the insights of Buddhism and of other Eastern religions is, as Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh called it, “interbeing”— the perception that we humans are intimately interconnected with nature, with other people, and with the universe as a whole. It seems like we’re separate from others, but the deeper reality is that there is no such thing as separation. We all spring from the same source, we are made of the same stuff, and on the deepest level of reality we are one. We are different manifestations of the same energy.
I want you to understand, my brothers and sisters on the Supreme court, that your decision is hurting so many people. And hurting other people only hurts yourself. We share this world with you— our one, fragile, precious world. We have needs and fears and desires just as you do. When something goes wrong, we need support. But you have taken away that support. You have deepened the chasm between us. Your actions have caused irreparable damage, injustice, and instability. We are scared and hurt and angry. We, your neighbors, your sisters and brothers. I worry that you do not see our suffering, or that you dismiss it. Or maybe, you weigh it on a scale— our suffering versus God’s will. And you have deemed God’s will to be more important.
But how can you be sure that you have a good understanding of what God’s will is?
Is it really so black-and-white? If so, then He must not be very loving and understanding at all— He must be a tyrant who cannot see shades of gray. I mean this with the utmost respect: if you really believe this is God’s true nature, is He really worth following? The God I knew in my childhood and the God my Christian loved ones follow seems to be very different from your God. He sees shades of gray. He was a human once, and he understands that things go wrong.
In “Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet,” Thich Nhat Hanh speaks of political divisions. He says:
“Which side does not have hatred? Which side does not have misunderstanding? We may consider ourselves righteous, walking on the right path, without blame, without hatred. And we may consider the other group as a threat to civilization or global security. More than ever, we need to use the sword of understanding to free ourselves from labels. This side labels the other side, and vice versa, in order to resist one another, or even to kill one another, in the name of God, democracy, freedom, or civilization.”
Dear brothers and sisters on the Supreme Court, please— help me understand.
I would like to invite you to take a deep look at yourselves. I invite you to honestly appraise the fear, the anger, and the suffering in your own hearts. Only deep suffering could cause such a deep misunderstanding of what the right thing to do is.
Please know that I would not ask you to do something I would not do myself. I am also looking deeply into myself. I have to be aware of my own wrong perceptions, my own feelings of my moral superiority, my own biases and judgments. I have to do these things because it will make me a better person. I cannot assume I am always right. That arrogance is dangerous.
I am interested in our civilization continuing. But how can it continue when we hate each other so much? How can it continue when we strip each other of rights, and call each other killers, and truly believe that the other side is not only wrong, but going against God’s will?
Thich Nhat Hanh says that “it takes insight and courage to throw away an idea.” Can we, all of us, take the time to examine our ideas? How do we really feel? As humans, group identity is incredibly important to us— when we belong to a group, we are accepted, we are not lonely. We will do anything to not be lonely. But is our group identity worth oppressing other people?
I do not agree with you, my brothers and sisters. I am not enlightened and I do not have access to the underlying fabric of reality. As such, it is difficult for me to fully grasp the insights that Thich Nhat Hanh expounds so beautifully. It is difficult for me to explain it to other people as well, and yet, I believe him. It is uncomfortable, but I do believe that we are the same, me and you. We want what is best for our country. We want to do the right thing. We want to please our higher power; we want to be in sync with the universe and what is Right and True. We want to create meaningful, lasting change. We want to be the orchestrators of that change.
But is a change worth making if it causes so much suffering? So much suffering, to other versions of yourself?
I am simply a person. I am not well-versed in debate, and I do not have any special qualifications to engage in this dialogue. I am just aware of the suffering. And I am scared. I appeal to you not as a representative of Buddhism, or of my profession, or even of women in general. I appeal to you as a human being, another version of you— someone who is you.
Please, brothers and sisters. Reconsider.
With hope for a better world,
Kirsten
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Estuary
After a lifetime of rejecting predetermination,
I call upon it now.
I get quiet.
Okay, I’m ready.
Tell me what to do.
Point me in the right direction.
Give me a sign,
but one that is unmistakable,
because you know me,
you know I think everything is a sign.
Okay, I am quiet.
I am trying to not cling,
to not attach,
to a particular outcome.
How does it work?
Is it just that I think I’m making choices,
like the flowing river thinks it’s really doing things,
really going places on its own,
but the whole time the course was charted,
the sea destination beckoning all the while?
Show me how to flow along as gracefully as the water.
Guide me.
Carry me to the ocean.
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Human vs. ego
How can I spew cliches about accepting and respecting differences
when I cannot accept and respect my own father?
How can I bemoan and condemn the opposite political party
for their egos and their hatred
when my own ego and hatred
has widened a family chasm?
How can I touch Oneness,
the underlying truth of interconnectedness
and revel in its beauty
without allowing my ego to release its grasp
on separateness
on righteousness
on superiority?
Even now
while writing these words
how can I be proud of myself for being so self-aware?
Thank you,
dad,
for the opportunity to confront this part of me
that wants so badly to be right
this part of me
that is thirsty for blood
while claiming to be the one
who was bitten.
I understand now that circumstance
is our only difference.
I release my attachment to myself as one who was wronged
and I release my attachment to the idea that it was you and your wife who wronged me
and I release my clinging to the idea of how I wanted it all to work out.
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A visitor
The night is cool (for Texas) and breezy. The sky is covered in gauzy veils of cloud; thick paintbrush strokes that obscure everything except for the moon, who looks rather fuzzy. I drag my quilt into the crunchy, leaf-covered grass of my backyard, spread it out, and lay down. The earth is still warm from the sun rays it soaked up hours before, but the wind drives up the goosebumps on my skin. I scoot to the edge of the quilt and pull the other half around me, becoming a burrito.
My perception is only mildly altered from the shrooms I consumed a few hours ago. I had been keeping them around for a long time, and their potency had lessened drastically since the last time I had used this batch. The effect was a friendly microdose; a slight vibration in my body, a slight whirling in my mind, a slight breathing of the objects of the world. Oh, to be aware of the constant flux of all things!
I have never taken plant medicine alone before tonight; I feared what might be unearthed in my solitude. But I am reading books by Joan Halifax and Ram Dass, both of whom speak about plant teachers and are indebted to the lessons they learned by the mind expansion gifted to them from psychedelics. So tonight I figured, “what the hell. I’ll probably be fine!”
My body feels perfectly content in the warmth and safety of the tightly-wrapped quilt. I stare up at the sky, inviting transmissions of truth and wisdom. Nothing comes, other than the desire for the cloud cover to dissipate so I could see the stars. Thoughts flash across my mind like pages being turned in a book. Desires, memories, perceptions, information from my senses. But this is nothing new. This always happens.
The clouds drag across the sky like they are a sheet being pulled slowly by the night goddess. A scattering of a few subtle stars make themselves known through the haze. Hi, Orion.
There are three cats inside my house; my roommate’s cats, but ones I pretend are my own, too. We don’t let them outside, but they are very interested that I am outside right now. I turn around to look at the glass door and see if any of them are still there, looking at me. Two of them are.
There is also a cat outside, standing a few feet away, motionless as a statue. Staring at me.
I bolt up to a sitting position. In the hazy moonlight I can see it is a black cat. Or, is it a cat at all? Is it actually a statue? My motion does not trigger any motion in the visitor. It remains stationary.
My heart rate quickens. We don’t have a cat statue. One of my roommate’s cats is a black cat. How did Cashew get outside? My muscles flinch in preparation for standing up to grab her, but I see that this one is smaller and has a collar. Not Cashew. I remain sitting.
Wow. I must not be microdosing after all. I see a whole ass creature who isn’t really there.
I fumble for my phone and turn on the flashlight, then aim it at the manifestation. It squints its eyes in the bright light, the first movement I have seen. The gaudy intrusiveness of the manufactured light shows me plainly that it is real.
Feeling remorse for temporarily blinding the poor guy, I turn off the flashlight. We continue to stare at each other.
A few moments pass, and the cat, perhaps pissed off that I assaulted it with my abrasive light, turns around and soundlessly slinks off near the side of the house, disappearing into the darkness. I hear nothing to signal its departure from the backyard. I remain sitting, marveling at the visitation, wondering what it means.
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Divine Comedy
Laughter is proof that the universe is inherently good.
There is an inner wellspring of laughter—
so naturally available,
present from the first moment of birth—
which, once awakened,
allows a glimpse of nirvana,
a glimpse of the truth of our human experience,
which is that we are here
to delight in one another.
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embracing samsara 