A political path to inner peace

Sunday: Punakha and Wangdue We visit the 3rd oldest dzong in the country.  It is ancient, not as well kept as the last two we visited, but every bit as holy. Overcoming a certain shyness, I approach Atum with a question that has followed me around the past 3 days.  How do I reconcile this place with my life?  I live in a political world, driven by ego and arrogance.  I don't want to be a person driven by ego.  But I love my work.  Where is the balance? Atum tells me the ego is important to maintain.  It is in fact a necessary tool in my line of work.  But I must ensure that it is in service of the greater good, as opposed to the "self."  We talk about the great political figures in history who have managed to "hold the center": Jesus, Mohammed, Gandhi, Jimmy Carter, even W.  He tells me I am in training as a spiritual warrior.  I smile.  I like that. I ask Atum about detachment in Buddhism.  Do I have to shirk...

This is a donor letter from the nonprofit, Partners in Health, which I began supporting as a senior in college.  After returning from a medical mission to Nicaragua and reading Tracy Kidder's  Mountains beyond Mountains , I turned away from my four year focus on international trade and instead wrote my Senior Thesis on public health in Latin America.  In my career since, I have been exposed to hundreds of nonprofits and other do-gooders, but Partners in Health is set apart from the rest.   This is just one example why: Dear Caroline, In nearly a decade with Partners In Health, I have been party to some wonderful achievements and countless small victories. But Monday, January 24th was my best day. On a stunning, remote mountaintop in northern Rwanda, scores of government leaders, PIH staff, friends and supporters, and community health workers looked on as Butaro Hospital opened its doors to the world. This 150-bed, world-c...

So much to say on this topic, but for now I'll leave it to the Sufi Master... The wise man should keep the balance between love and power; he should keep the love in his nature ever increasing and expanding, and at the same time strengthen the will so that the heart may not easily be broken.                          Bowl of Saki, January 21, by Hazrat Inayat Khan Commentary by Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan: Many seek protection from all hurting influences by building some wall around themselves. But the canopy over the earth is so high that a wall cannot be built high enough, and the only thing one can do is to live in the midst of all inharmonious influences, to strengthen his will power and to bear all things, yet keeping the fineness of character and a nobleness of manner together with an ever-living heart. To become cold with the coldness of the world is weakness, and to ...

I just emerged from two hours of shock, awe and shame.  I expect those last four words were an alternate subtitle to Charles Ferguson's documentary, " The Inside Job ," about the financial meltdown in 2008.  A painful look into the misguided yet entrenched banking system--fueled by instant gratification and short term incentives over long term failure.  Like I said, shock, awe and shame. I've never been one for what they call "high finance." In fact, I've spent the past six years learning about banking at the other end of the economic spectrum.  You know, for poor people...aka the unbanked...aka the world's majority.  We're talking loans of five or six hundred dollars.   Micro finance.  Add a half dozen zeros and extend that loan to a similar demographic in terms of education and relative income?  You're damn right I don't get it.  That's just insane. So when the public refrain during the meltdown echoed my novice suspicions, I si...

Last night, a group of friends and I "funked for the dream" at a local dance club.  'Clubbing,' if you will, is not an ordinary activity for me, but you could say I was moved by the spirit of Dr. Martin Luther King's extraordinary life, for which the party was thrown.  A small act in memoriam, but a fun one nonetheless. I don't know if MLK ever got "funky," but he certainly didn't mind shaking things up.  He grasped a truth that society wasn't ready to recognize.  Through the splintered, wooden slats of oppression, he saw the light of compassion. And time and time again, he summoned the strength to carry freedom forward.  Yesterday morning, I joined a dear family friend from New Orleans at the National Cathedral in Washington.  We attended the early Eucharist, sitting in the front row as witness to a beautiful memorial of Dr. King.  The sermon was a political message as much as it was a religious one.  "Act on what you wonder. God...

Today is the first Saturday in a looong while that I've been in DC.  Which means it's also the first Saturday in awhile that I've been able to attend my favorite yoga class, taught by my favorite teacher (aside from my sister, of course). So, I'm in class this morning, feeling extremely grateful and pleased with myself for making it there in the first place, and for creating this space in my life to reflect and take care of my body.  It is no small feat these days, let me tell you. After a series of rapid vinyasas, I'm hoping that my audible breathing is more an indication of my mastery of Ujjayi breath rather than being out of practice.  Then Faith (our teacher) invites us to move from warrior three (balancing on one leg with the other extending out behind you) to eagle pose.  Oh god.  Cue unyogalike dread.  Eagle pose is not my friend, insofar as poses go.  It involves balancing on one foot while wrapping the other leg around the calf, and also...

My grandfather died in his home at the age of 88.  He was surrounded by his wife, four children, a handful of grandchildren and loved ones.  When he opened his eyes for the last time—just minutes before his last breath—my mother was standing on a chair, shouting and waving her hands.  “Dad, it’s me!  We’re okay!  It’s okay!”  A life fully lived, with only despair and joy pulling at the edges of the final passage.   As mom shouted on a chair and my sister held GrandSam’s hand, I was walking across a golf course in Kenya.  I glanced at my blackberry, nonchalant one moment, melting onto the green the next.  Salty sobs on African soil.  I was in Nairobi.  They were in New Orleans.  I felt the distance in my bones.  His departure was crushing. *** I met the man known as Dr. Sam Logan six years ago in Nicaragua.  Of course, I had known him my entire life—GrandSam was the only grandfather I ever knew. ...

As is now apparent from this blog, writing=processing for me.  Shortly after my Incident, I wrote an email to all of my women friends in DC and beyond, recounting the experience and reminding them to stay aware of their surroundings.  (Like many, I never thought something like this could happen to me--as if I'm immune or invincible to worldly dangers!  Turns out there's no Superwoman belt beneath my business suit.) A couple days after I sent the email, I received a message from the founders of Hollaback DC, a nonprofit org that is fighting street harrassment and sexual assault in Washington (they also work in other major cities).  They had received my email via several forwards, and wanted to know if they could post it on their website.  Despite being in a dark place, I was uplifted that my story was circulating, and of course agreed to their request.  Several weeks later, I received another note from Hollaback, this time with the news that they had ...

A rather important post script to my last post on "The Incident":  The man who attacked me mere yards from my apartment was arrested soon after, and charged with two misdemeanor counts for sexual abuse.  The Assistant U.S. Attorney who is prosecuting the case called this week to let me know that the defendant has pled guilty and will likely face 6 months in jail, along with one year of probation and community service.  I am submitting a written 'statement of impact' that the Attorney will read in court.  (I've opted out of taking the stand in person).  To be honest, I don't know how I feel about "justice" as delivered in response to The Incident.  On one hand, I'm relieved that he will be reprimanded, and hopefully encouraged to reflect on his behavior.  On the other hand, he is one among many who act this way.  Does the penalty really address the root cause of the injustice?  I don't know.

It's been a busy couple of days for the residents of our Nation's Capital.  On Saturday, we welcomed hundreds of thousands of people to the National Mall, a historic public space, for the now infamous " Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear " with Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert (ehem, a fellow South Carolinian).  Three days later, we watched our democracy prove its point once again, as the Democrats lost control of the House of Representatives.   With my travel and spiritual preoccupations of late, I have been little more than a distracted spectator amongst the hype and fever of this rally and election environment.  If anything, I've been living proof that it's possible to reside in DC without being vitally entrenched in political discourse. That said, now that the results are in, I have the distinct sensation of sleeping through an alarm clock, and the subsequent anxiety that I've missed an important meeting.  It seems I hit the snooze button one too m...

I think we spend an inordinate amount of energy focusing on what things would be like if they weren't what they are.  The fact is, they are what they are, and any energy spent on wishing them to be different is a waste of time.  I have several thoughts on this cumbersome aspect of human nature. 1. Acceptance is freedom.  Once you accept a situation for what it is, and stop wishing it to be different, you give yourself the liberty to make the best of it and move on.  A lovely gift indeed. 2. Acceptance is not denial.  Ignoring a situation, especially the unpleasantries that come with it, does not help you move on.  It only propogates a false sense of reality.  No one wants to live an illusion. 3. Acceptance is not resignation.  It is the proactive appreciation of circumstances as they stand. 4. Acceptance is not easy.  It often means conceding defeat or giving up a certain hope.  Neither of which are particul...

Several years ago--I can't remember exactly when--I took a second look at Pity.  The emotion never sat right with me, especially the indulgent kind that we often offer to our own damaged psyches or broken hearts.  A process that typically results in multiple empty Ben & Jerry's cartons and wine bottles, if you will. My trouble with the dark force of pity is derived from a basic understanding of--and trust in--human capability.  In sum, it's that every person has the cognitive ability to better his or her own life and all of the unfortunate situations in between.  Of course, there are any number of external factors that influence said life and situations; but all else being equal, humans are pretty powerful forces of nature.  We all express pain, suffering, and disappointment differently; and coping mechanisms vary from one person to the next.  But ultimately, each of us has the power to accept the negative situation, learn from it, and move on. In t...

It was my first week back from Bhutan, and an email from a treasured colleague (a consummate DC networker with impeccable taste) pops onto my screen. "Caro--are you coming to the launch reception at my house this week?"  Without thinking, I write back "Sorry, I have a hair appointment."  What?   Several hours later, my boss asks me the same question, to which I give her the same answer.  "What do you mean you have a hair appointment?" she responds, "Caroline, have you lost your mind?"  Turns out while I was finding inner peace in Bhutan, I misplaced some of my sensibilities, particularly those related to work.  Luckily, that's why we have great bosses to remind us of priorities like important launch events for projects we deeply care about. The cocktail reception, like its host, is high-cotton.  After polite greetings to key people, I seek out a glass of wine and a colleague who is willing to listen to me talk about Bhutan for the thou...

Alarm goes off at 6:30.  No thanks, alarm, maybe later.  Up around 7, turning on lights (ugh), making bed (so I don't get back in) and blasting iTunes (digging the new Ray LaMontagne).  Stare at closet, decide on black dress and beige suit jacket.  Top it off with a glamorous HandPicked necklace and tall black boots.  One dark cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal later, I'm out the door. It's 60ish degrees outside, ominously cloudy, and way too humid for October.  I hike up my skirt ever so casually, jump on my bike, and ride across town to USAID's offices on G Street.  Just a 15 minute bike ride during rush hour, with my brown leather briefcase perched over my back-wheel-basket.  Did I mention I am wearing running shorts under my dress?  Yep, bright green ones.  And a helmet (of course!). Hikedupdress+tallblackboots+brightgreenshorts+bignecklace+helmet=Rush Hour Entertainment. The meeting at USAID is an interagency workshop on micro...

I just ran an impromptu 5K.  With an Ambassador.  From Atlanta.  In Peru.  On the Pacific.  Did I mention I'm not much of a runner?  Turns out running isn't so bad when you have a enthusiastic partner, talking about Latin American politics and the dynamics of US foreign policy.  Whew! The day started with an early meeting at the US Embassy, where we spoke with colleagues who are working on financial inclusion here in Lima.  Then on to a local microfinance organization, Caja Nuestra Gente, to meet with the Executive Vice President.  Though he spoke the fastest Spanish I've heard since living in Chile, I managed to catch most of his presentation.  My favorite part: a new program that offers working capital loans to microentrepreneurs who collect, sort and sell recyclable materials to manufacturers.  Empowering low-income individuals and helping the environment.  I like it. After a delightful lunch with two government lawyers ...

It’s been two and a half weeks since I returned home from Bhutan.  I have fully reengaged in my Washington life.  And yet, the lessons from my sangha are still making their way into my consciousness. While in Bhutan, I found myself craving more.  More direction, more guidance, more exploration through organized activity.  Meanwhile, the rest of the group commented on how much we were already doing.  I felt otherwise—I wanted to pack as much into those two weeks as the hours of each day would allow.  One night, Atum (our subtly magnificent teacher) reminded us that we were witnessing huge archetypal images every day, absorbing them through our 'crown chakra,' and receiving lessons that we may not yet be aware of.  It was true.  I did not realize how much we were already processing—so much was our activity on a different dimension. Now, weeks later, the lessons are materializing as potent thoughts.  Concepts and ideas so strong that...

I am, once again, sitting cross-legged on the floor.  Unfortunately, Buddha is not in front of me this time, though a small version of him hangs around my neck. Instead, I am in the Miami airport—not exactly a refuge of tranquility and comfort.  But I’m talking to Mom, who is, on the phone.  She’s just back from Mexico, and I’m en route to Peru.  (Yes, I am my mother’s daughter).  We’re discussing Thanksgiving plans, and how I might get from New Orleans to Kenya that Sunday.  Not a bad conundrum to have, despite its logistical complications. Half way through a sentence, I look up into the crowd of waiting passengers and see a character from my past.  It’s Liz Carty, my first boss at Oxfam America when I began interning in their DC office.  She was witness to the beginning of my development career.  I had not seen her in over five years (though she kindly participated in my background check during my transition to State).  Minutes l...

I have six unretrieved voicemails on my phone.  This is a new thing for me.  Not that friends didn't leave messages before--they left plenty.  The perplexing development is my comfort at letting the voicemails sit, unlistened to, with the glaring red '6' staring up from my phone.  Is this a minute consequence of my new spiritual self?  As If I am saying, "Hi, Six.  I am fine with your existence, and no, I don't need to diminish you in order to return to the natural balance of zero voicemails." Hmmm. *** Sitting on the floor in front of present Buddha, right ankle over left knee (mine not his), I tapped into something.  I didn't mean to; I was pretty new to this, after all.  But that's how meditation works--once you resign yourself to non-intention, the intention arrives.  And so it did: one phrase at a time, floating into my head.  I can still feel them sailing in, words strung together with the urgency of desperate need and the calm...

One month ago, I set forth on a journey of which the depth would far exceed the length. I returned ten days ago a changed person. Perhaps 'changed' isn't the right word. I was then the person I am now; I am now the person I was then. But an inner source has been tapped and a new dimension discovered; the center stronger and the path more clear. Of course, enlightenment doesn't happen overnight. Especially not for me. The separation anxiety I felt from my work was somewhere between 1) total panic and 2) the single-childless-woman's equivalent of postpartum depression. What do you mean there is no Blackberry service? The possibility of disconnecting entirely was more foreign a concept than 3G in a dial-up nation. By Day 3, I was in meltdown mode, with little chance of rescue. The only option was to drown in the ocean of calm. Of course, once I stopped flailing, I floated. Flying from East to West, against the spin of the Earth, I had the sense of going...