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Yesterday in Parade Magazine, there was a report of a lengthy survey on religion and spirituality written by Christine Wicker. The long and short of the article is that we, as a nation, are considering ourselves as more spiritual than ever before. I go a step further, although I don’t have statistics to prove it. That is, we have always been spiritual. That’s why I started to write my book Zen Master Next Door nearly five years ago.In our huge world, we are all connected. Everything and everybody’s actions impact everyone else. Just think about it. We cannot survive without others, or without what grows on the earth, or the water that refreshes us, or the warmth of the sun–or a fire. If we made more time to listen to others, no matter who they are, and listen to ourselves, we might learn something. If we made time to see how this world works and how it is aligned with our Creator, we might make better decisions. Religion is good, but spirituality takes us further.
The short stories in Zen Master Next Door are about you and me in our everyday life trying to make the best decisions we know how. Slowing our pace, putting the blackberry down and listening to what a child has to say, could really be enlightening. Just think if we could see God in different ways–hearing Him in voices of those we meet and in the breeze wafting through the boughs of a tree.
But, today, the frenetic pace we seem to have accepted creates our largest barrier in our spiritual life. Our material “needs” are a giant step backward in our quest to learn about ourselves, our fellow man and our God.
To be human is to be spiritual, and I’m joyful more of us are recognizing what we already possess.
Check out Zen Master Next Door at http://www.edwardgkardos.com/
Tags: Add new tag, Christine Wicker, connection, materialism, Parade, spirituality, values
Posted on October 5th, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
You’ve heard people say that fifty is the new forty. Wrong. Fifty is the new fifty.
I celebrated my fiftieth birthday in August and nothing happened. Nothing at all. I was the same guy the day before as I was on my birthday, and finding out that things are going well six weeks later. I got to thinking about it, and it dawned on me that I felt, and still feel, the same as I did twenty years earlier — so is fifty, for me, the new thirty? Not really. As a matter of fact I feel and think “better” than I did way back when. Heck, I was too skinny and my nose looked even bigger then.
One thing is now very different for me. It is very liberating to say that I’m fifty. What gives me this sense of freedom? I’ve been around the block, as they say, but feel pretty relevant. I’m healthy and in good shape. I’m physically and mentally more active today then I was a few years back. I think I am beginning to understand that with my gray hair, I’m getting something that is known as “wisdom”. I’m not a soothsayer, but when I think about it, I’m a lot smarter–and kinder. We don’t use the word “wisdom” very much anymore, but I think I’m getting it and look forward to being the recipient of more.
I’ve experienced some wonderful goings-on in my life–some really beautiful happening. Events and activities I will honor and cherish forever. On the flip side, I’ve been humiliated and degraded by some, but haven’t we all? The wisdom comes when you can sort it all out, make sense of it, and see yourself for what you truly are. Taking time to put it all in perspective and being committed to what you think is most important is a step to wisdom. I’m looking forward to seeing where I’m headed with all this.
When you can look inside and you like what you see, that is all part of the journey.
Hey, I think fifty is the NEW fifty.
Tags: Add new tag, fifty is the new forty, turning 50, values, wisdom
Posted on October 4th, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
It was one of those rare times when I was home alone on a Saturday. It was quiet, and I was busy with the mundane when I heard the door bell ring. There standing in front of me, all four feet and one inch, was a cub scout with collar flipped up and cap cocked to one side. His mom was at the curb. With great verve and ten year old inflection, he mustered his sales pitch with some long distance coaching from the curb.
I looked into his eyes, and I listened to what he said, and I responded, “sure” as I bought some “original caramel corn ” for this pack fund-raiser.
His sale had nothing to do with the great taste of caramel corn, but all to do with this little fella. See, I have a twenty year old son in college. Ten years ago, it was my son who had to gather his nerve and ring the doorbell while I stood, with fingers crossed, at the curb.
How ten years goes so fast.
I, then, told this young scout to tie his shoe lace and to watch his step down our steep front steps and closed the front door. An immediate rush of emotion enveloped me. I had lonely and distant feeling and I didn’t like it. I missed my son. So, at onec, I called his cell phone as he was nearly two hundred miles away at school only to hear his recoreded message. Although I wanted to talk with him, I liked hearing his voice.
I miss my son. I miss my cub scout.
Tags: Add new tag, fatherly love, growing up, longing
Posted on October 3rd, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
Some folks grow impatient when others state the obvious. They shouldn’t– really.I’m an obvious talker, therefore, when I hark back to a simpler approach or say something they very well should know or comprehend, but have, or chosen to overlook, I see in their eyes a glaze of irritation.
But I know something, and they know it too. That is, if they take a moment to think, they would realize that the obvious is frequently overlooked for some grander way. It’s like air. We don’t give it a second thought until we gasp for it when we have little warning of losing it.
Paraphrasing a Zen parable I read in Wayne Dyer’s latest book, Excuses Begone!, a wise monk called Birdnest, because of his fondness of meditating in trees, was visited by a governor of the province. He wearily traveled three days to ask his burning question. When the governor approached the monk, perched in a tree, he called up and asked, “Can you tell me the most important thing the Buddha ever said?” After a deliberate pause, the monk answered, “Don’t do bad things; always do good things!” The governor was agitated and angrily responded, ” I knew that when I was three years old!”
Birdnest concluded by saying “Yes, the three year old knows it, but the eighty-year-old still finds it very difficult to do!”
Tags: Excuses Begone!, stating the obvious, values, Wayne Dyer, zen parable
Posted on July 18th, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
It’s warmer and brighter the higher you go. Sometimes the terrain is rockier and steeper, but once there, the feeling lasts –and builds. What feeling? One that plants itself on your very soul. And one that is pure. One that reflects who you are and want to be.
Take the high road.
Leave the low road to those at ease in the cold, dark muck below. It’s a self serving and fruitless journey. Some frequently travel there. This path renders lasting feelings–and it, too, builds upon itself.
Tags: high road, pure, soul
Posted on July 11th, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
Two days ago, Paulo Coelho sent me a note of “congratulations and success” on my new book. He happens to be an author I hold in high regard and who has inspired much of my writing.
I was overwhelmed–truly I was.
Coelho has authored numerous books, but the one that captured my heart was The Alchemist. It was given to me by a dear friend who felt it to be important for me to read. Now, I recommend it to all. It is a story of believing in yourself and following your dream.
Last December Coelho responded to an e-mail message I sent him. With his reply he sent me a copy of a story that he wrote that was published in many journals around the world. I was overwhlemed at his gift to me. His generous action and the simplicity, and power, of his story inspired me to write, Blessing the Poor. My holiday story may be found on my December 2008 blog. The book given to me by my friend years ago, and Coelho’s recent act, are testaments of why I believe the way I do; we must take time and value each moment of our life. But then, we need to do more–to inspire others to reach for what is good. Not only should we dream, and we should dream, but it is what we do with our experiences that counts.
In his message of two days ago, Coelho ended by telling me, “The Warrior of light concentrates on the small miracles of daily life.”
Truth is truth.
Tags: Coelho, following dreams, small miracles
Posted on April 18th, 2009 | 1 Comment »
I was with my wife, Kristin, and my twin eight year old girls today at the county dump. Well, you can get free mulch there–can you blame me? Four kids on my salary? Anyway, we loaded several huge unwieldy plastic barrels of free, but high quality mulch, and I had to somehow get my arms around each and lift them three feet up and into our mini-van. So I squatted using my legs, not my back, to lift each barrel. As my arms reached around the first barrel there was nothing to cling to. In my head I was searching for an answer on how to do this or maybe even a miracle– well, maybe not a miracle but maybe an adrenalin rush like I never experienced before.
Just then, I heard a voice next to me. “Need some help?” These barrels were heavy, I mean h-e-a-v-y. Simple words, I thought, for a not so simple task.
I turned and saw a man about my age– but I’m bad with ages– and said, “Sure, if you don’t mind.” I had done this thing before but thought this was not the time to be so proud.
We all need some help sometime.
This stranger helped me lift, with ease, all the barrels. It was that simple. When done, we simultaneously stuck out our hands and we introduced ourselves. Oh, I then said, “thanks so much; have a great day.” Well….
Anthony drove away as did we.
I’ll never see him again, but he left an indelible imprint on my mind. Yes, people have reached out to me in the past, and I have to them. But for some reason, this event seemed to truly resonate. It felt like I was being rewarded for something and maybe, in some way I was. But maybe not. Maybe this was an action that was to remind me about the kindness of others and maybe I was long overdue. For whatever reason, I was awed. He did not know my religion, my politics nor my mental wellbeing, but he offered a hand. A hand to help. Don’t we all need that–sometime?
Anthony inspired me and it is as simple as that. Now I want to inspire others in the same way.
Thanks, Anthony.
Tags: help, inspire others, random acts of kindness, values
Posted on April 10th, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
We learn so much from our fathers. Many times we learn in overt ways and other times we unwittingly learn over the years and in different circumstances. My dad specifically taught me how to shoot a jump shot and how to throw a baseball. But he also taught me, not so specifically, the value of hard work and perseverance as well as sacrifice.My father will turn 88 in May and he’s fit as a fiddle. He lives with my mother who is 87 and suffers from dementia. It is very sad as she doesn’t “know” her husband of nearly 65 years who lovingly takes care of her, and has been, since the onslaught of this hideous disease five years ago.
He may be fit, but he’s tired–and weary.
As I get older, I realize that I have subconsciously observed him over the years and have pulled out real gems he’s somehow provided that has helped me get through some tough times and how to handle the good ones too.
When I got married, I automatically became closer to my dad. When we were blessed with children, again, I felt another step closer to him. Thinking about it, some things about him or what he said when I was younger, I blew off–what an idiot! I now realize their significance. We don’t need to look to far to find who our heroes are– he is a true slugger without the use of anything artificial about him.
Today I visited with he and my mom in their one bedroom apartment. I was excited and happy to hand him a copy of my newly published book. I dedicated it to him and, of course wrote an inscription. I wanted to give him something so uniquely me to show him my love.
In his usual way he thanked me–no fanfare. But that’s him and that’s fine by me.
Upon arriving home the telephone rang and on the other end I heard my dad’s voice. His tone and his choice of words told me everything as he wanted to let me know how he felt. And even when I wanted to give him something, he still gave me so much more.
Posted on March 28th, 2009 | 1 Comment »
On the eve of the release of my new book, Zen Master Next Door, I found myself a tad nostalgic. I read, once again, chapter one of my first book, YOURS, AIDEN, and felt compelled to share an excerpt…
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Why I came back to Saint Augustine for that particular reunion was a mystery to me. Perhaps I returned to complete unfinished business or to rekindle old relationships. Perhaps it was neither. Maybe I came in part, to honor my journey. Twenty-five years ago I came here my senior year and while moving toward my goal I found more-much more. At the time I did not want any more than what lay in clear vision, but I am now grateful I learned as my senses became replete. What I thought was absolute was not. What I thought was corrupt was good. I overlooked what astonishes me now. I was not ready for what was a metamorphosis in my life. But what I was not ready for conceived new ways. Where I had been, in a way, and where I wanted to go, did not matter. Growth happened, as always, in my present. The journey was always in the now. I could not be told this, although some tried. Sometimes I asked questions of others and I heard them but did not listen. Placing a terrible burden on them, I so desperately wanted direction.
Years ago I fought my inward travel with each step. I kept looking outward and beyond. Like a recurring dream I saw myself running a race, but the race would not end although I kept my eye on the finish line. I sensed I was running the race only by myself and against no one but myself. The race was but a blur but getting to the finish line, my subconscious mind determined, was meaningless. Clearly, crossing the finish line was for naught. The blur of the race was everything.
In time I found what lied beyond the day, any day, only became smaller as my past became enormous. The present remained the only real time. The past was only a trace of who I was to become. Now my past was the taste of bitter and sweet. Without one, however, I could not savor the other.
Why three tiny bird eggs made an indelible imprint on my mind earlier that day I may never know. An illusion, perhaps, of simplicity but the reality of life’s complexities rattled my senses. But the change, the transformation and the need I had for so much more than what was simply before me pulsated in my mind. Was my life as fragile as those eggs? Lives change without warning. What really mattered? Those capsules of life swarmed with energy and delicately clung to a tree. This interlude was merely momentary. My life’s experiences and thoughts swirled aimlessly in me but, simultaneously, cleaved to my soul. The occasion of my life, as well, was but momentary.
Preoccupied that night and the entire weekend, I mulled over my life. I thought of that year and resolved that there was something remarkable to everything, even the transitory life affixed to the wispiest vein of nature.
Posted on March 24th, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
I say fiction. Recently, I heard that fewer and fewer people are cuddling up with a good novel than anytime in our recent past. Not good.We are reading more “how to” books. We are reading biographies of celebrities. We’re reading accounts of history and wars. Dieting books remain ever so popular. Take a look at the top books sold. Now, there’s nothing wrong with reading these kinds of books–don’t get me wrong. I just think that we need to include a fair dose of fiction in the mix. It could be short stories, poetry, novels or essays. It’s your choice.
Fiction stimulates our thinking and it soothes it all at once. It has a way to reignite our imagination; something that adults tend to tuck a way for more “serious” things. Oscar Wilde put it this way, “Life is too important to take so seriously.” He happened to write short stories, plays and a novel so maybe he was a tad biased.
Oral stories have been passed down for thousands of years as they hold our very truths. Those same truths that have stuck with humans long after most of the thousands of wars fought have been forgotten or last year’s diet has been proved faulty. Didn’t Jesus tell parables? How about grandpa and his stories. You know what I mean…what about the beautiful poem you heard in third grade or the one you made up in your head when you were alone; don’t worry, no one will ever know.
We learn from stories. We learn from them because we remember them. How did it make us feel? Why do we feel empathy for a particular character? Sometimes we think, “that could’ve been me.” Truths are relevant and are the most prized manifestation of our humanity. Truths are universal and they are of tremendous value– that’s why we call them “values” and they withstand physical, chemical or “mystical” change, so to speak. Truths are, what they are. We value love over hate, health over illness, knowing over ignorance, kindness over mean-spiritedness, and peace over war, just to mention a few.
What better way to ponder our values than through a good story. In the “lies” of fiction, I think we find the truth.
Tags: fiction, values
Posted on March 21st, 2009 | Be the first to comment »
