The Mindful Life with Waylon H. Lewis

Toshiro Mifune, Willy Ryken, Cary Grant & Cyndi Lee—vs. the World.

By Waylon H. Lewis, 3-22-06

	Caption: The Mindful Life, that is.

Christians may be excused if they look upon 2006 as a dark time: for pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed and sloth are in rampant excess, for sale at every 7-11, as seen on TV.

Those heathens, the Buddhists, couldn’t agree more. They call this ‘the dark age,’ when even devoted ‘warriors’ for peace and gentleness are losing heart. One of the signs of this ‘dark age,’ it’s said, is a lack of respect for one’s elders (reverence is a value particularly pronounced in Confucianism, the Tao and Tibetan Buddhism—three ways of life that, less than welcome in their native country, survive primarily in $90 textbooks that college freshman have to, but don’t, read).

I grew up as the only child of a single mom. I had to teach myself (ow!) how to shave. I had to rough and tumble my way into respek (Ali G) on the basketball court and baseball diamond (having skipped a grade, I was a little runt).

Oh, my mom made sure I had good father figures in my life. First among these was Sergeant Willy Ryken, a hard-living, ever-smiling Vietnam Vet/Buddhist drill instructor, who taught me how to be a (gentle)man—how to give up my pride, again and again (a lesson I’ve learned incredibly well, thank you). But I never felt comfortable around authority. I was the brash, demonstrative, insecure Icarus who always wanted approval, and never felt like I got it.

I thought Cary Grant was suave & funny, and Errol Flynn the kinda naughty yet noble hero I wanted to be like, some day, sweeping Lady Marian off her feet. Toshiro Mifune & Groucho Marx filled out my top 10. I loved my parent’s Buddhist teacher, Chögyam Trungpa—but frankly he was so slow-moving (he was half-paralyzed) and slow-talking that he bored me. I much preferred his Regent, the charismatic Ösel Tendzin, who always made sure that the children in his Buddhist talks understood what he was talking about and enjoyed themselves. And I particularly loved the Karmapa, who, equal in the Tibetan Buddhist world to the Dalai Lama, was nevertheless happiest when talking and playing with little punk kids like myself. The Big Man in the Big Hat, I called him. But Dave Winfield and Magic Johnson were at the top of my shrine—and somehow, they always played particularly well whenever I watched, in fervent reverence.

So what’s the point? We all still have our hero(in)es. There’s plenty of respect left in the world. As Uma once said, some of us love Elvis, and some of us love the Beatles. Some are fascinated with Jennifer Aniston, Brangelina, Paris. But no matter how pedestrian our affections, the intensity and joy with which we follow our idols’ every move—every expression—is a precious thing. It means we’re open to change, even if just in our hairstyle.

Now that I’m all grown-up, my Magic and Winfield (and Elle MacPherson) posters are down—Clooney, Jon Stewart, and RFK Jr. have taken their place. Bill McDonough and Yvon Chouinard are up there with Georg Feuerstein and Alice Waters, Pema Chödron, Paul Hawken, Jonathan Rose, Richard Freeman and Cyndi Lee. I’m one of the few remaining to find a breath of fresh air and integrity in Howard Dean, and I join many in respecting John McCain. Franti rocks my boat; Gary Snyder is my kinda sage; Reggie Ray and Ken Wilber light up my dark brain like a roman candle. Newman and Redford, having taught me more about being a man than my old man, remain on the list—for they’ve leveraged their fame, through Newman’s Own and Sundance, for the benefit of others.

Christian or Muslim, rich or poor, straight and/or gay—we all just want to be happy. Well, Buddhists say the secret is to stop thinking about yourself all the time. Oh, you can still buy yourself elegant clothes and eat good food. We’re not talking Mother Theresa, here. You don’t have to be the Lord Jesus Christ or Thoreau or Gandhi or MLK, Jr. or Thich Nhat Hanh or the Dalai Lama. That kind of self-sacrifice is a helpful example for the rest of us—these are the kinds of heroes we need in this dark age—but no.

We’re talking about something as simple as bothering to recycle that torn envelope or bicycling to work or meditating two minutes each morn and eve or supporting your local mom n’pop instead of Targét. We’re talking about brightening up this dark age, day by day, in little ways, by trying to mind our every action. And that, I’ve found, is a more joyful way to live. The Mindful Life, I call it. You can call it whatever you like.
[End of article]

Hey,
Maybe a little more praise to Mr Ryken for saving your life would be more accurate.
Jim

Great read. Love the energy for life and thought in your article.

Dear Jim,

Hey, Daddio! How’d he do that? You mean, literally? Or Dharmically? He certainly did that, many times over.

Yrs.,

Way

Heros - we need them. At different times and in different ways. As I walk through life my hero's have changed/evolved. I have come to rely on different sign posts along the way. My hero's as a young girl were Kate Hepburn & Emma Peal. Not because one was a famous actress and the other the fictional female equalivent of James Bond - but because they communicated an essential energy I seemed to have needed -- brilliant unperturbed confidence, an elegant carriage, rapier wit and the motivation to defend the defenceless. Hey, maybe they still are my heros!

Anyway - thanks Way. Keep on writing.
Cheers,
Johanna

Well put, little nephew. But, Howard Dean? Still? He's such a putz.
Remember, be respectful -- no zingers back my way, Way. I am old. ;)

Love, Auntie

Hi Waylon,
I like the entry. Jon Stewart is definitely worthy of admiration. some of my heroes have recently passed: Fred Rogers, Joe Strummer, and Don Knotts (who is kind of my secret kasung hero, slogan #6 and all that).

But, c'mon: Dave Winfield? wasn't he Barry Bonds before Barry Bonds? you seem more like a Kirby Puckett kind of guy (speaking of recently passed). something about devotion trumping raw talent.

"yo, Mickey Rooney..." --Ali G, to Andy Rooney in interview...

never give up.

Dear Waylon,

It's great to read your writing. I think of you often, whenever I go past BU, and because my daughter, Claire, has been doing some journalism classes this winter, after graduating from Reed as a chemistry major. Now she's working in Portland, OR in a job that uses both chemistry and writing.

Anyway, although you maybe have too many heroes, it's a well-written piece and I'm glad you're out there writing things down.

We miss you.

Best,

Mary

Rick,

I loved Winfield, as a child, 'cause he was so outrageous—and yet dignified. 6 foot 6, lanky, big swing, big sideburns, big smile, always getting into fights with the evil (particularly at that time) Yankee owner George Steinbrenner. Kirby was an amazing star considering his round, short physique—but he was sorta too cute. But you're right—considering 'what he had to work with,' he shoulda been up there with my favorites. — W

PS: Mary—so good to hear from you! So long! As for too many heroes, I think you can't have too many heroes—but I do think you can have the wrong sort of heroes, you know. — W

Growing up I had lots of male movie star heros: Cary Grant, Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Paul Newman. I still think those guys communicated great qualities.
Nowadays my heroes are women: Helen Mirren showing the way for women everywhere to grow old and still pack a punch. Susan Dexter who cared for minaiture horses and taught teenagers Shambhala Training in a language they can understand before she died.
As the single mother of a teenager now, I look back and I how I am the heroine of my own life. I work at a wonderful job where people love what I do and enjoy who I am. I teach Shambhala training in ways that make people laugh and cry, and I care for a border collie.
I see you as a role model too. I can't believe how much you achieve. I love the things you do. Elephant is amazing! Every issue is a good read!
You don't hesitate or worry, you just do it! I stand in awe.

Sincere Best Wishes
Elaine Logan

Wow.
Waylon that is a beautiful piece of writing and I don't think anything needs to be said more these days. So glad I had the chance to read it.
Thank you,
Winston Baker

I enjoyed reading your story. I've given up becoming Gandhi or the Dali Lama, or even Milarepa. I'm becoming a clown.

Lois De

aka... LoLo the Clown

thanks for your reminder to remember who i've memorialised, and sometimes forgotten. when i was about six, and growing up in DC, for a school project i made a life size (for a six yr old) three-dimensional (padded) cut out of reggie jackson swinging the bat.

i knew very little about him or sports in general but for several years there was reggie, propped against a wall in my room, swinging the bat. i think the energy and action of that swing was both an inspiration to me and a focus of hope...hope for myself always to have energy with purpose....not sure i manage that all the time but thanks for helping me dig up that memory.

mf

Beautiful piece.

I can relate. It humanizes our aspirations to live a meaningful and fulfilling and useful life.