The artist formerly known as Mom

My mother's name was Artice. It was an unusual name, and it brought her unusual attention. Almost everyone thought, on first hearing, that her name was Artist. So she was an artist, and she was a mom. I am a mom, and it's taken me a long time to realize that I am an Artist too.

A few months ago, the photographer Denise Andrade came up to my house and before she could knock at the front door I opened up a side door from the bedroom and hollered for her to come in. So she came in through the bedroom. I suspect that's the way she comes in most places, through the hidden chamber, to the real you. She said something right off that she will not remember, but that I will not forget, since it is something that I would never in my right mind say about me. She said:

You have a cute figure.

I think that's why she got pictures that looked like this. Like no one I'm used to seeing, but who must live around here off a side door to a hidden chamber.


Now I'm not supposed to be hidden. I make a point of being all up front and in your face. But even that pose, you know, that Zen pose can get stale and predictable. I'm so glad I didn't fool Denise for one minute. She has an eye, you might say, that doesn't sleep. That's a big-time Zen compliment, but I'll leave it to you to find out what it means.


I asked Denise to come over because I wanted updated author photos. Because I want to be up front and in your face. Because the last ones were taken three years ago, and because a lot can happen in three years when you get to be my age. So then Denise went and made me look about 30 years younger.

A friend I haven't seen or spoken too in 15 years saw one of Denise's photos of me online and said, "Is Zen the secret of ageless beauty?" Zen is ageless beauty all right, but Denise is the secret.


So if you're an artist, like a writer, and you need a stunning author photo for a book jacket or something, even if there is no book jacket in sight, especially if there is no book jacket in sight, you should go straightaway to Denise and invite her in through a side door. Sometimes you have to get a photo first, and then the book jacket shows up. I know. This one here is the photo my Dutch publisher chose. That's right, Dutch as in the Netherlands as in Amsterdam, where Georgia and I are going, courtesy of my Dutch publisher, in April, to celebrate the Dutch translation of Momma Zen.

Song for reasons of eating

There were several items in the New York Times this week that got me salivating. But the one that cut closest to home was this one about the minstrel and erstwhile Zen Buddhist monk, Leonard Cohen: "On the Road: For Reasons Practical and Spiritual."

As you might expect, the writer finds it paradoxical that Cohen has decided to re-take the stage at this late age. The story's hook is that Cohen's road tour is a mystical mingling of the sacred and the secular. The writer thinks that is notable, but I'm certain Cohen doesn't. He's not mingling anything. He is simply singing for his supper, because he's broke.

Can anyone relate?

Cohen doesn't pit the practical against the spiritual and make a divine quest out of it. There is no difference between the two. There is no either and no or. That ideological distinction is only in the mind of the writer. And it might be in your mind too. When you're hungry, and you are broke or near-broke, it's a good time to get your ideas about spiritual versus practical out of your mind and strap them to the bottom of your feet. And then walk the heck out of them.

Eating is a divine act. It is a mingling of the practical and the spiritual. Pass the ketchup.

A painting of a rice cake does not satisfy hunger. – Zen saying

Cohen is the kind of icon to whom we all lay claim. In truth, I have no claim. I was born a poor, illegitimate music lover and I heard my first Cohen when he was all but done as a singer, living as a mountain monk, and his Ten New Songs was released in 2001. A fellow Zen practitioner gave to me. When I heard Cohen's bottomless voice surfacing from somewhere deep beneath his navel, when I heard the pure, raw, spare simplicity of the words, I was amazed. "Damn," I thought, "this guy has spent serious time on his butt."

But there's a time to get up off your butt, and it's about the time you realize that coming or going, walking or sitting, standing up or lying down, you're always on your butt. Run out of money and what are you going to do? Put your butt on the road.

"Past mind is ungraspable. Future mind is ungraspable. Present mind is ungraspable. With which mind will you eat this rice cake?" – Zen koan

So everyone's struggling now. Who's not struggling? Since last summer, every idea I had of my illustrious future has been chewed up and swallowed. Every previous source of income has vaporized. These days I do many, many things, and I do anything for money. Little dribs that come when I need it most. Little sums that get me through. Funny, I actually see more possibilities now. There's far more tunnel, to be sure. And there's more light that shines in from all those cracks in the way I thought my life would go.

So come on now, everybody, sing along. Let's sing and then have supper. You're invited to my place for dinner, you see, because it's all one place.

Ring the bell that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

– Leonard Cohen

PS My friend Ted says you can find the unfiltered Leonard here. And you can find Ted here.

Fan of the undergarments

Please read this article I wrote about my favorite Mormon mommy blogger who isn't a fan of the undergarments and other interesting bits.

Someone asked me if I didn't also read that other Mormon mommy blogger, that ex-Mormon mommy blogger. The one who is drop-dead funny, skinny, blonde, rich and popular. Yes of course I do. Anyone who hasn't yet dropped dead probably does. It's alluring. Hers is an altogether better looking, smarter sounding life than mine. She has so many readers talking back to her that she has to close her comments. When that happens, it's no longer communication; it's entertainment. Damn funny entertainment. Entertainment is good.

And yet a long time ago I came to my own crossroads about my entertainment choices. I came to the spot where I learned, the way all hard lessons are learned, how far I could go by entertaining my own good looks and cleverness. How long I could last on my acerbic wit and abrasive tongue. How far I could fly on style and chemical highlights. One thing I learned is that too much chemistry can lead to the day your hair falls out! And so while I find entertainment entertaining, I do not find that it goes the distance on a daily basis. I don't know about your daily basis, but my daily basis often requires a stronger salve.

Faith is what goes the distance. Not a certain kind of faith, mind you. But faith in action. Faith in trial and error. Faith that cannot always be trivialized or repudiated. Faith that is sometimes difficult and demanding and entirely unreasonable.

On faith alone, then, go and read whatever you like, but read the article too.

My pitiable little comments are open.

Zen stimulus plan

Get up when the alarm goes off. Make your bed without a second thought.

Walk your child to school. Notice the sky, the buds and the berries. Let the sunlight and fresh air dispel the mood of sullen reluctance.

Greet her teacher with a wide smile that imparts your trust and respect.

Walk the dog. The dog knows the way.

Say hello to your neighbor sweeping his sidewalk. He is nearly recovered from that terrible train collision. When he asks you for some good news, say, "Rain is in the forecast."

Let him tell you about the groundcover seeds he's about to plant. Laugh that between the two of you, you'll keep the nursery in business this year.

Visit Jim's blog and donate a couple of dollars to rebuild the far side of the world. Extend the domestic rescue and recovery to Mongolia, where English is still revered as the language of liberation, and learning it is an act of love.

Using what's at hand, make dinner.

Drop by the grocery store for extra cheese from California, Wisconsin and Ohio.

When the checker asks if you found everything, say yes. Then ask her how her day is going, and mean it.

Clean up the kitchen without complaint, because one day soon you may need the rain gutters cleaned.

Day done, go to bed. Don't waste a minute of this wondrous mind to self-criticism, worry or distraction.

Rest easy, knowing that tomorrow won't bring any more than you can handle, or any less than you absolutely need.

Grace in acceptance

The first time to watch the Academy Awards is overwhelming for any young girl, especially an aspiring actress. We carried her crying to bed, her heart overcome with imaginary acceptance.

Mom, do you know what would be nice? If they gave the ones who came in second at least a medal.

The one who comes in first, of course, gets a shampoo bottle.

Possible dreams

Within hours of the birth, the complicated and life-threatening birth of my beautiful and brilliant daughter, a single word began whizzing across that high-speed thoroughfare between my ears. Back and forth along the byway that bisected my mother nature. As I simmered in the newness of motherhood and the inconceivable possibilities that lie ahead, convinced of the utter perfection and excellence of her future, the word on my mind was not now or possibility. I was grateful, but the word was not grateful. I loved her, but the word was not love. It wasn't peace, or calm, or happiness. It wasn't blessing or miracle. It wasn't amazing or grace.

It was Stanford.

Ninth Annual Palo Alto Mothers Symposium
Stanford University
Palo Alto, California
Saturday, March 7
9:30 a.m.-noon

Momma Zen: Finding Peace and Patience in the Everyday
with Karen Maezen Miller

How or if or when my daughter gets there no longer matters. What matters is that you do, that we all, each of us, get to a place of peace and patience, by the very means we have at hand. Then, and only then, have we finally given our children lives to make their own.

"Year after year, this unique gathering of mothers generates a spirit of support and compassion that ripples out into our families and our community. We hope you will find refuge from the demands we all experience as mothers, sometimes enlivened and sometimes burdened by the magnitude and influence of this role. We invite you, for a morning, to take a break from all the rules, goals, consequences, and other criteria against which we measure ourselves; and to embrace the possibility that most of what you need to know about mothering is available within you and the present moment." - The Mothers Symposium

The secret life of men

I don't have anything to wear.
Does this make me look fat?
You hurt my feelings.
I hate my hair.
Does my breath smell?
Does waxing hurt?
My boss doesn't like me.
I'm beginning to look like my dad.
It's my natural color.
I borrowed your moisturizer.

The secret life of men is the secret life of us all. So there are no secrets.
Now, can you keep it a secret?

Aha moments

Hey mom, I have an idea to make money.

What's that?

Let's invent medicine that really works.

Why hasn't anybody thought of that?

And that tastes good!

***

Mom, you know what worries me every time I fly?

What's that?

You know when they say in the event of an emergency landing do not take your personal belongings?

I've heard that.

What if I'm carrying my American Girl doll?

We'd get you another one.

Just checking. That's what Dad said too.

***

Mom, I'm worried about some of the kids in my class.

Why's that?

Well, they are in third grade already.

Yes they are.

And if they don't know anything by now how will they ever graduate from high school?

***

Mom, I feel sorry for God, you know why?

Why?

Because he has to create like a billion, million jillion fingerprints.

And she said

I'm so honored to meet you. I'm so sorry I'm late. I love your book. It has helped me so much. I can't believe I'm here with you. I haven't been a very good mom. I need this so much. I haven't even finished reading it yet. I've tried to meditate on my own but I can't do it. I tried other books but they were so complicated. I love to hear you speak. Will you write another one? Will you write about marriage? I hope so. My friend met you and she burst into tears. This is really helping me. You've helped so many women. How did you become so wise? There's no one like you out there. Let me ask you a question. I'm going to come back. I'm going to come see you again. I can't wait to read your next book. I love you. You don't know how much you're helping me. Thank you for being here for me.

And I said:

I'm not here for you; you're here for me.

In honor of Mandy who came to the beginner's retreat yesterday and showed me how to begin again.

And to you, who do the same for me every single time you come here. You cannot know how much you help me.

5 reasons to stay calm in turbulent times

It's that time of the month. No, I don't mean that time of the month. It's the time of the month when the savings statements come. I hate to even get them, let alone bring them in from the mailbox, and when I do, I toss them aside hoping they will get lost, which is what we all probably do in these times, that is if we still have these times.

Eventually I compel myself to open them. I actually put it on my to-do list, "3. Open envelopes" and then one day, like today, I open them.

It's a good practice, really, for facing life as it is. It's just not a practice that I would pay this much money for.

So opening up the envelope where a certain bank tells me that I spent $50,000 of my IRA last year learning to face life as it is, out comes a glossy newsletter bearing the headline, "Five Reasons to Stay Calm During Turbulent Times."

I don't buy their reasons anymore, just like to don't buy anything anymore, but there really are Five Reasons to Stay Calm During Turbulent Times, and this is what they are:

1. You don't need a college fund. Your kids won't even want to go to college. Because there won't even be colleges. There won't even be jobs. There will just be the Facebook 25 Things About Me meme. And everyone will be famous.

2. You don't need to eat. It's not good for you. Researchers have proven that a starvation diet is the best and only way to extend your lifespan, and the time to start is now, so you can look forward to being hungry forever.

3. Money is overrated. Indeed it is worthless. Money doesn't buy happiness. Now are you happy?

4. You can't take it with you. You can't even go anywhere. Don't believe those ads for low airfares. Click on them and you'll find out it still costs $600 for a round-trip ticket to a place you don't even want to go. Like your in-laws. So just stay put and start starving and be happy.

5. You don't even have a time of the month anymore. What turbulence?

Your girlfriend is a priest

As much as it shocks me to realize it, sometimes as I cup my hand consolingly under someone's elbow, I hear myself say, "I'm a priest." And then I tell them something or other that they probably already know.

So here are some priestly items for now:

1. Never ask your husband if he remembered to feed the dog. He doesn't like to be reminded that he always forgets to feed the dog. Just feed the dog no matter what.

2. Never ask your husband to pick up the dog poop, since you yourself are most likely responsible for it in the end analysis (See point 1). And face it, your husband doesn't like to be reminded of that either.

3. Never buy underwear in the 75 percent off, free shipping, extra 20 percent off one-day-only sale at Victoria's Secret online because underwear that costs .17 cents a pair looks like it costs even less. Just wear the old underwear for the sake of the economic crisis.

4. Plus, this saves you the embarrassment of having to go up to a larger size when you buy new underwear because of the unconscionable fact that they only come in three sizes. Well four, but on my mother's side of the family we don't consider S a size for adults.

5. Then you can tell yourself that you are still the same size as Jessica Simpson will soon be.

6. Never compare yourself to someone who probably doesn't even wear underwear on a fairly consistent basis.

7. Never believe the words "self-cleaning oven."

8. Never blow your nose.

9. Hey, I'm not a doctor; I'm just a priest.

10. Silence is the ultimate kindness.

Too little time, too many facts

A nocturne to the strains of a full moon.

Mommy, don't be mad I can't go to sleep.


Make your mind empty. No thoughts. No pictures.

You mean like a TV screen that goes blank?

Yes, blank.

I don't want to grow up.

I'll always be with you.

How old was I when your mommy died?

Not yet two.

It's sad that I didn't get to see her or know her.

She watches you every night when you sleep.

Then she must be watching someone else tonight.

No, she's right here, waiting for you to go to sleep so she can come to you in your dream.

Mommy, don't be mad I can't go to sleep.

Are you nervous about something?

Yes.

What is it?

We have a timed test tomorrow and there are too many facts.

Facts don't matter. Make your mind blank like the night sky. Without the moon.

Mommy?

Yes.

I really love you.

I'll always be with you.

Disturbance at 30,000 feet

This is why I am disturbed by what the kids in my daughter's third-grade class say when asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Famous," they say.

It's what disturbs me about me, too.

Care instructions for an ordinary life

Lather.

Rinse.

Repeating my call for company at a one-day Beginner's Meditation Retreat on Sunday, Feb. 15 at the Hazy Moon Zen Center in Los Angeles to fill your lonely heart with light. Complete instructions, very short periods of sitting meditation, compassionate talks, a delicious meal, and the basket empties itself.

Register here.

Engulfed in meaning

Montag felt the slow stir of words, the slow simmer. And when it came his turn, what could he say, what could he offer on a day like this, to make the trip a little easier? To everything there is a season. Yes. A time to break down, and a time to build up. Yes. A time to keep silence, and a time to speak. Yes, all that. But what else. What else? Something, something . . .

And on either side of the river was there a tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month; And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Found 165 pages in, seventeen words from the end, read in the fading light to ignite the dusty embers of our day.

The call of the child

Update:
Georgia has sold enough cookies to win the license plate, beach towel and Love Your World t-shirt, which says it all.

In case you don't have a barefoot scooter-propelled cookie impresario on your block, you can borrow mine.

Does anyone want to buy at least 8 boxes of Girl Scout cookies to be shipped to their home or office? (Are there even any offices left in this country?)

My daughter Georgia will sell on credit, being the only solvent lender left on this planet, and pay for postage, because these days a good customer is that valuable, and the product is, well, a mint.

As economists predicted, the pedaling on our street this year is uphill. What can I say? It's the money.

For this year's selection of tantalizingly classic confections, look in the cookie cupboard. (But you might want to overlook the price, $4 per box.)

Her goal is to sell enough to win a personalized license plate for her scooter. The kind that costs $5 and requires her to sell $600 worth of cookies. What can I say? It's not the money.

The sale ends this Saturday. Your regrets won't arrive for a month. But when they do arrive, they are guaranteed not to last!

Not the first, not the last

Just came in from saying the children's memorial service I've chanted the first Sunday of every month since June of last year, a service in which I recite the names of lost and unborn children (some were long since children; some never were) sent in by readers. This is now the ninth time I've done this service in my backyard, usually with the dog, sometimes kids, always birds and bugs, over the din, under clouds and shine, planting a stick of smoking incense, a spiraling wisp of emptiness, and reading a list now 94 names long, some of them names, some of them not, each one reborn with the echo of sound, the heartbeat of time, the moment that comes on the first Sunday and goes on forever.

It's never too late to include your lost loves by leaving a comment here.

Photo originally uploaded by HoneyMill.