Dear Friends,

In Mhlangeni farmers are weeding their maize fields. Summer has brought good rains, and sprouts are growing into strong stalks. Me, I’m enjoying the community projects, the people, and the gift of time and space for the inner work these past two years have given me.

Peace Corps welcomes engaged volunteers to apply for a third year extension. It was only well into the second year that I was feeling at home in the community and in my work. The familiar faces and the slow rhythm of rural life were taking hold. As importantly, I was seeing the not-so-pleasant parts of myself and sensing opportunity for further growth. How could I leave?

It’s interesting, the conditioned negativities and judgments that come up in the mind. On a superficial level I wanted to believe that Swaziland and what I viewed as Swazis being out of step with modernity were the source of my irritation and criticism. Weren’t my judgments justified? The problem was my opinions vacillated. One week I thought Swaziland was the greatest place to be, the next week, the worse. Then I began to see my own defenses, like negativity and guardedness, and a general irritation with life. I saw that I’d been in a low-grade argument with life for so long I could hardly hear the bickering anymore. I wanted this, I didn’t want that, why were people this way, why couldn’t things be different? This rub with life.

Swaziland has been perfect for me. It gives me the absence of culture that once reinforced my anxieties. Here the old rules are out of synch with the new place. No one in Mhlangeni plays my game. So I’ve had to shift my gaze inward for answers.

Peace Corps staff said yes to my extension. My close of service date moved from August 2011 to September 2012. I’m in the same community, same house, in the same and new work. But this year without John. Being without him is a push toward growth in itself. On my own again . . . until September.

Yet I’ve never been alone. Other forces come together for support. Books by Carl Jung and social worker Douglas Davies, meditation retreats, whales at Hermanus, quiet nights and the pull of a bright moon, a disciplined and focused mind. The meditation teacher last month who said just the thing that helped me go deeper and then gave the prick that brought up despair, that old demon that before I could hardly bear. This time I could bear it. I met the protector herself, the creator of my defenses. I felt the hurt self trying so hard to do the right thing and to be so good. All of it exposed. Surprising, how it all came together. And so an awakening to sources of negativity and defense, so that at even at age 51 I get the chance to shed old habits and become a mature adult.

I can’t help but think we are pulled toward healing and wholeness despite our best efforts to deny the best parts of ourselves. The extraneous noise can be so loud we can hardly hear the persistent inner voice. And yet an invitation to awaken . . . .

I want to write about culture and its power, because stepping outside of America offered such freedom. The feeling of spaciousness. Never had I observed the force and constraint of culture so powerfully, itself also impersonal. Swazi and American. Being in both worlds, an American in Swaziland, and yet contained in neither.

What do I mean by culture? I mean in America the pressure of time (time as something precious and coveted and spent like money), the quickness of things, the prodigious intellect, the efficiency, the devaluing of things old, even people. The fostering of imagination and creativity. For Swazis, the pride in custom and tradition (and erring in defining these alone as culture), the over-valuing of old that blocks honest progress, the conditioned dependence on aid, the system of extended family and place and roots weaved into a web of support absent and wanting in the nuclear family.

In common, the arbitrary and maybe necessary nature of it all, the maintenance of status quo, the relentless pressure of conformity, the shaping of an individual and continuation of societies.

What freedom I’ve had in Swaziland! Yet, I’m glad to be an American and honored to be a US Peace Corps volunteer. I love my country but the thought of returning to it, in less than a year . . . . I’m afraid of loosing my connection to the inner life and the peace and stillness I’ve tasted. How can I hold on to the best in myself and return to America an American?

So this is my edge. Where is my home?

Please keep me in your prayers, as I pray for you.

With love,

Jordan

Then there are all the toys and games that the children come up with. In my community in Swaziland, the plastic bags you get at the supermarket are in high demand – in the talented hands of a small boy, they are skillfully transformed into solid, round soccer balls. There are no Toys’R’Us stores and no money even if there were, so when boys want to play cars, they have to build their own. Or, as a developmental psychologist might say, “they have the marvelous opportunity of building their own.” Toy cars, trucks and buses race up and down the dirt road, many complete with functioning suspension and steering systems, all made from scrap wire, bottle caps and whatever other “car parts” can be salvaged from the trash heap. Here’s an example:

When the neighborhood boys tire of steering their toy cars around and want something to ride, they build what in my day, would be called a go-cart. Where I used scrap store-bought lumber from one of my brother’s building projects, old lawnmower wheels and steel bars bought for a couple of bucks at Western Auto, these boys use tree branches, seats from discarded chairs and whatever else they can find in the trash or the nearby forests. No lawns or mowers here and certainly no money for a boy’s go-cart. Check out their creations.

These boys in Ecuador did the same. Must be something universal in the nature of little boys – a strong need for speed…

I felt I was nine again and hanging with my buddies, showing off the neat cars we’d built. Of course, some of us take our own sweet time moving past this strong attachment to our wheels. But, I’ll save that discussion/confession for another blog

I looked beyond the children to their parents who like fully half of those living in today’s world, were struggling to live on less than $2.50 a day. Here I found this creative genius had matured. Now it was being expressed in providing food and shelter for growing families – still drawing heavily on the materials that nature provides. I saw it in the traditional building methods and materials – bamboo, open walls and waxy palm leaves for roofs in the jungles of Peru. Rocks, mud and stiff grasses in the frosty Andes.

In Swaziland, a traditional home has walls made of sticks, rocks and mud with a thatched straw roof. With the introduction of metal roofing and cement, these sticks and rock dwellings became more durable, their lifespan extended, and their level of security increased. Here’s one such building, the best of its kind that I have seen. It was built to house a neighborhood care point in the community where Jordan and I lived during our first months of PC training.

As you can see, it’s constructed from materials that are close at hand and free for the taking. At some point, mud will fill the gaps in the rocks and a covering of cement will make the walls resistant to powerful summer rains. All that was purchased was some sheets of metal roofing, a handful of nails, a couple of hinges, a latch, a lock and a few of bags of cement – less than $200US total. Not bad for a structure that will bring on-going NGO support allowing vulnerable children to have a hot meal each day and pre-school education for years to come. Talk about good long-term return on a short-term investment!

I guess on some level I’ve always understood that money’s power is relative to one’s situation and environment. A dollar in Tampa is not the same dollar as one in a remote village in Peru or Southern Africa. A dollar in a rich man’s deep pocket isn’t the same as a dollar in a poor man’s tattered coat. But it wasn’t until I had lived in Swaziland for some time that I came to truly appreciate the potential value of a small amount of money. It was in my rural community that I saw first hand how a little money could make the difference between a sick or dying child and a healthy one, a failed garden and one overflowing with veggies, a bright child with no education and few prospects and a college graduate well on his way to a fulfilling life. In this world of stark contrasts, I was able to see how a little money at the right time, in the hands of the right person, can be a truly wonderful thing. On the other side of the coin, an old saying comes to mind, “for the lack of a nail, the shoe was lost… the horse was lost… the soldier… the battle… the kingdom.”

The road ahead: I am currently sitting and serving in a beautiful Vipassana meditation center  just outside of Worcester, a small city 90 minutes north of Cape Town, South Africa. The center rests in a green valley surrounded by tall mountains, dotted with lakes and farms and bordered on one side by a wildlife preserve. Hearing lions roar at night and watching elephants and other wild critters move through their day may not be what one usually associates with a meditation center. Welcome to Africa! Here’s one of my views.

While I am committed to staying at the center as a “long-term server” at least until the end of May of next year, I may very well stay longer. It feels like a nice place to settle with Jordan once she finishes her PC service. By that time, I will have many months of experience living and working here so, we can cross that bridge when we come to it, as they say. At some point Jordan and I still  hope to travel to  India and Nepal to sit and serve at retreat centers there at least for several months, maybe longer.

Wherever we may find ourselves, we will draw from our Peace Corps training and experience living in a poor rural community, and seeking out situations where a little money can make a meaningful impact. Following the golden rule of sustainable development, “help first those who have found a way to help themselves,” we expect to frequently be in a position to make a few dollars go a long way.

Flowing Dharma will be the financial vehicle for this aspect of our work. In the coming years, along with other development projects, Jordan and I will seek out organizations that are already doing a good job of sharing the Buddha’s teachings, in whatever tradition, with those living in their community. We plan to carefully and strategically place a few dollars in the hands of those already making these teachings available to anyone regardless of financial standing. From our perspective, this is an excellent example of sustainable community development. As one’s mind and heart are cleared of greed, hatred and delusion, new and varied possibilities present themselves that otherwise would have remained obscured. Possibilities arise for income generation, food production, home security, education, and health maintenance. Living in peace and dignity may not require wealth but I suspect it does require a level of mental and spiritual clarity – the very qualities cultivated through disciplined meditation practice. Flowing Dharma is an organization committed to helping people find a path to clarity of mind and heart, whether in Tampa Bay or in a developing country.

I was recently moved by the lyrics of an old Dolly Parton song that drifted up in the mind. For me, it speaks of the creative and loving spirit that I often find among those living with little material wealth. I am frequently humbled by these encounters – that someone can do so much with so little in such a challenging environment. Knowing these people has been perhaps the greatest reward of living “among the world’s poor” these past three years. I hope you find time to move slowly through the words of the song, “Coat of Many Colors.”

Back through the years I go wonderin once again … Back to the seasons of my youth …I recall a box of rags that someone gave us …And how my momma put the rags to use …There were rags of many colors …Every piece was small …And I didn’t have a coat …And it was way down in the fall …Momma sewed the rags together …Sewin every piece with love …She made my coat of many colors …That I was so proud of

As she sewed, she told a story …From the Bible, she had read …About a coat of many colors …Joseph wore and then she said …Perhaps this coat will bring you …Good luck and happiness …And I just couldn’t wait to wear it …And momma blessed it with a kiss

So with patches on my britches …Holes in both my shoes …In my coat of many colors …I hurried off to school …Just to find the others laughing …And making fun of me …In my coat of many colors …My momma made for me

And oh I couldn’t understand it …For I felt I was rich …And I told them of the love …My mama sewed in every stitch …And I told ‘em all the story Momma told me while she sewed …And how my coat of many colors …Was worth more than all their clothes

But they didn’t understand it …And I tried to make them see …That one is only poor …Only if they choose to be …Now I know we had no money …But I was rich as I could be …In my coat of many colors …My mama made for me …Made just for me

Like last year around this time, Jordan and I are asking you to set a place at your holiday table for a few guests. All donations are tax deductible and will be used in their entirety to support organizations engaged in sharing some form of Buddhist meditation practice with anyone regardless of their financial situation. Along with information about our 501.c.3, you will find a PayPal link at the bottom of this page: http://www.bemindful.org/tvg.htm

Thank you, and may God continue to bless and keep you and yours safe, peaceful and prosperous during these challenging times.

John