Rev. Laura   Horton-Ludwig

At worship this weekend I talked about the mindfulness bell I've set up on my computer. It's been ringing once every hour, really nice meditation bell tone. I've promised myself, each time it goes off, I pause from whatever I'm doing and take three mindful breaths. I've found it works whether you're at your desk alone or in a meeting - just a quiet reminder to take a breath and recenter. (Just one caveat: don't crank up the speakers on your computer too loud, or it won't be quite so calming!)  

Many of you asked for the download link for this bit of software. Unfortunately and ironically, as I was looking for the link to send you, I came across a discussion thread that warned this file was corrupted. Oops. Indeed, I've now just spent the last half hour getting the darn thing off my computer. So, please do not download the Mindful Clock from the Washington Mindfulness Community. Darn it, I was really enjoying that one! Luckily, here are some other links to mindfulness bells and smartphone apps that are safe as far as I know:

• Web-based mindfulness bell:  I'm just trying this one out and it seems to work fine so far.
• Download for Mac users: I'm a Windows person, so I don't have any direct experience with this one. Any Mac folks using it?
• For iPhone/iPad users: I use this one for timed meditations as well as timed or random bells throughout the day. The one disadvantage is that you have to turn it on manually each day.

If you are drawn to this kind of practice, I'd also recommend a book I'm working through: Soren Gordhamer's "Wisdom 2.0." He applies traditional Buddhist mindfulness teachings to our use of technology, social media, etc., and the constant sense of busyness many of us feel. It's extremely practical and hands-on. For example, check out his chapter on "The Pause," where he speaks of the anger we may feel when a red light, a long line or any other delay forces us to stop. "The stress around stopping," he writes, "often comes from a discomfort with what we may call our inner life - how we experience ourselves internally" (p. 86). Here's an alternative: "During the time you are waiting, explore viewing it as if the universe in its great compassion is giving you a much-needed break" (p. 89). Nice, no?

What other mindfulness practices and apps have you found helpful? Add a comment below and let's see what the wisdom of the community brings forth.  

Wishing you a peaceful week,

Laura

by Hal Fuller

This year the Unitarian Universalist Association General Assembly was held in Phoenix. The purpose of this "Justice GA" was to show support for UU congregations in Arizona and solidarity with undocumented immigrants in their struggle with the impact of repressive legislation.

These are both worthwhile causes. But that is not why I went to the GA. I went because I grew up next door in New Mexico. There, I witnessed first hand the dehumanizing effect of racial and ethnic discrimination directed at my friends and schoolmates.

I went to GA for Emilano, who worked on my family's homestead. I remember that he carried me on his shoulders across our fields and pastures. Emilano came home from World War II a hero. He died the town drunk because the only way he could recapture the temporary adulation he received upon his return was through an alcoholic haze.

I went for Leandro, who against all odds made it through college and returned to our school as its first Hispanic teacher, only to be refused entrance to a community dance in the school gym by one of the school board members. Anglos had their dances; Mexicans had theirs. Separate but equal?

I went for Ramon. When he cut a particularly loud and smelly fart one day in third grade, the teacher made him take off his pants and shake them out the window. Right in front of everybody. Even at eight years old, I knew that would never happen to an Anglo kid.

I went for Mary Helen, who lived on the homestead down the road from us. She died all too young from breast cancer. Hispanics have a higher death rate from almost all kinds of cancers than Anglos. Late diagnosis, little insurance and little money for treatment.

I went for Ida, who drifted into alcohol, drugs and prostitution. We could not locate Ida when it came time for our 40th class reunion. One of her cousins said she was around, but probably didn't want to be found.

I went for Pete, who counted among his probable ancestors a "buffalo soldier" - one of the Negro U.S. cavalry troopers who protected the Anglos and Mexicans alike from Apaches and Navajos (and vice versa) during the post-Civil War period. Pete eventually found acceptance in the African American community of a large Midwestern city - acceptance that largely was denied him by both the Anglo and Hispanic populations of our home town.

I went for Mike. After suffering more than his share of indignities - both small and large - Mike went to the town cemetery (Mexicans on one side of an invisible fence; Anglos on the other). He lay down between his parents' graves, stuck a shotgun in his mouth, and blew away the top of his head along with unbearable pain and sorrow.

I went for my classmates. We were 40-odd when we started out - about half Anglo, half Mexican. We were multicultural before multicultural was cool. I went for Claude and Rufino. I went for Carmen, Cecilia, Gloria, Inez, Ruth and the others who dropped out of school long before their potential was realized. They understood only too well that no amount of education would open doors for them. So why waste time in a system that was not welcoming?

I went to GA for all these long-ago friends and neighbors - mostly now dead, a very few still living.

I went for their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, so that no more generations will know what it means to be dehumanized and to be denied the spark of divinity that resides in each of us.

But I also went for myself - perhaps most of all for myself - in hopes of exorcising the ghosts of actions I did not take and words I did not say on behalf of my Hispanic friends and neighbors and school mates of 60 years and more ago.

Would what I could have said, but didn't - what I could have done, but didn't - have significantly changed the courses of their lives? Probably not. But perhaps more words and stronger actions on my part could have provided them momentary comfort along a very bumpy road.

One thing I did learn at GA: It is never too late to start.

NOTE: Hal Fuller was a facilitator and participant in "Building the World we Dream About," a Unitarian Universalist Association program offered at UUCF that "seeks to interrupt the workings of racism and transform how people from different racial/ethnic groups understand and relate to one another."