Beans, Gratitude, Generosity

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Sunday Lecture - Children's Lecture

AI Summary: 



I vow to taste the truth of the Tathāgata's words. Good morning. I wish you could all see the garden I get to see in front. Many, many beings. Well, welcome. This is a special Sunday right before so-called Independence Day, which we're going to rename Interdependence Day. I think that's a better name tomorrow. And celebrate it with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, beginning today, this morning with the young people. Now, I'd like to start by, of course, telling you a story, a wonderful story. And also, maybe even before the story, acknowledging all the beings who are here in this room, along with you, young people.


All of the beings that you love and know, and even those you don't love and know, are present. Just this last week at Green Gulch, Phu and other leaders here at Green Gulch have welcomed young people from the Navajo Nation, from the first, deepest, oldest world. Children coming here all the way from Arizona to practice with us, along with some of our kids. Was anybody involved in that? Is Sabrina here? She's outside, yeah. Well, she'll tell you more about what actually happened, but those children are here, too, even though they're not here in person. And in particular, in this little container, I have a handful—can you see what these are? Beans, yeah. So not only are many children and beings and beans here this morning, but the stories that go along with children and their food


and their ancient prayers are here, too. So this handful of beans is meaningful because this morning, along with Sarah and the whole team outside, you're going to be planting these actual beans. And I think there are so many children, I'm going to give you these, too, just in case. About eight years ago, I received a handful of beans, about this many, not very many, from a very good friend who's a farmer. She grows tomatoes. She's a wonderful farmer. She gave me a handful of beans and said she'd received them from a friend in England who had received them from a family who lived in Kosovo. Do you know where Kosovo is? It's in southern, kind of southeastern Europe, in the Balkan Mountains. Anyway, my friend received them from a friend who received them from a family living in the Balkan region of Kosovo.


And it turns out there was a tremendous war and fighting and confusion in the country of this family that gave us the beans. And they realized, this family realized, they weren't going to be able to grow their favorite beans because there was so much fighting. In fact, not only were they not going to be able to grow these very beans, but they had to leave their home. They had to completely pack all of the things that mattered most to them and quickly leave the Balkans where they loved to live. And they had a beautiful garden there. They didn't have a chance to plant their garden. So she, the mother of the family, entrusted these beans to her friend in England and said, won't you see if you can plant these beans for us? Because they need to be grown every year, at least every year, maybe every other year. And keep the seed so that when we go back home, when we can go back home, when the fighting stops


and our country is peaceful again, we'll be able to plant our garden and we'll have these very beans that we love, that make up our home food or what we often call a staple food or a food that we're made of. And they're beautiful beans. So our friend in England, of course, had a huge garden in England, but she also entrusted a small handful of the beans to her North American friends. And luckily, I was given a few of them. And we were really grateful to receive these beans. They're large, they're tasty, and we knew if we grew them with other children who were not in harm's way, and when we planted them, if each child made a wish for the well-being of the family and the many families that are unsettled by war and confusion, then the beans would have a kind of vigor and truth in life


that would be really tasty. So we brought them back here to Green Gulch, and years ago, down in the garden, we made a little teepee. And all around the edge of the teepee, the structure, we planted these beans and we made a wish for peace. And they grew up and up and up. And is anyone here eight years old? How perfect. Because some of the children in that family were eight years old when they had to leave their country. And my daughter was eight years old when she planted the beans. She and her friends planted these beans. And I'll tell you, they grew mightily. We got a little greedy because the first year we had only a few beans, maybe this many, but the next year we had a big pot. We planted a whole trellis in the back of the garden, and you know what? The deer ate every single bean on that trellis. So that's a lesson about pride and having too big a view. But the ones we planted on the teepee with the kids really grew. And so I told you it was eight years ago.


Do you think the beans got to go back? How long do you think it took for the beans to be able to go back to their homeland? See if you can guess. Do you think they went back the next year? They did not go back the next year. That was the year we planted them and the deer ate them. What about two or three years later? Do you think they went back that recently? Any ideas? Now how long do you think? Yeah. It took seven years. Seven years of fighting an unsettled life for those beans to go home. And actually they went home last summer. We had by then a huge bowl full of beans. And you know, we love to eat what we grow just to make sure they're certified organic and delicious. Just strictly for those kinds of reasons. Anyway, we salivated every time we harvested these beans. We wanted to eat them. Do you think we ate them? We did not. We were so good.


Every year we waited and we just thought we have to collect the beans so that there's enough to go home to the Balkans. But eventually it became clearer that it would be all right for us to taste. So we had one little party where we tasted them and they are delicious beans. Last year we have a teacher who also practices here at Gringolchen. It's one of our good friends, Susie Stewart. Last year she and her husband went to the Balkans, to the area where there had been so much fighting. And you know, there's a special camp that's been happening there in the Balkans since 1993 for about 12 years. There's a camp especially for children and children that have experienced war and fear. They have a special camp where they just play and enjoy themselves. It's called the Global Children's Organization. And last year, 108 children from Croatia,


from Sarajevo, from Bosnia, from all different parts of the Balkans came together in this camp. And it was on an island called Badija Island, right off the Dalmatian coast, in a beautiful place, in an old monastery, actually. And the children spent the entire summer playing and enjoying themselves. And kind of toward the end of the summer, Susie opened up a bag that my farmer friend, she actually knit a bag out of ribbon, beautiful bag, beautiful. All the colors of the earth, red and brown and gold and orange. And she opened up the bag and these beautiful beans spilled out. And the children were quite excited. They ran forward and they wanted to take some home, but you're not supposed to take them home in your hot sweaty hands like my hands. You're supposed to take them home in a very careful way so they don't start to grow until they get home. So they looked around and all they could find was an old blue sheet from the monastery. So the monk said, yes, they could tear the sheet up


and they tore it into strips and tied little packages of beans and all 108 children took home a handful of these beans. And with the extra red yarn that they tied the beans together with, they made friendship bracelets for each other. These are children whose families only as recently as eight years before had been fighting. And actually they were children of children of war, some of them. So they went home with these beans and I don't know what happened, but I certainly hope they were planted. Anyway, we have just a handful of the beans left, so we thought today, in honor of Interdependence Day and of all beans in the ten directions, that you could each take a bean seed and Sarah and the team will go over with you how you're going to do it, and then plant it in the ground,


maybe make a wish for peace, and let that bean grow and grow, and then in September or October come back and harvest them. And maybe then we can have another special family day where we write letters to the children and we send off the beans to our friends in the Balkans. So that's the plan for today. Do you have any questions? Comments? Nothing? All right. Thank you very much for listening and I hope you have a good time and I hope that you will keep coming back to this garden because you know when you plant something in the ground and you water it and take care of it with love, the garden becomes your garden too. So I hope you'll feel that today as you plant these special Kosovo beans. May I give them to somebody to carry? Somebody who's careful? Would you like to? Come forward. You might need two hands. Thank you very much.


Aren't they big? And I have also a picture here for your altar of a Saint Ysidro, who's the patron saint of gardeners. And do you notice what he's got flying around his head? Beans. He has a halo of beans. I think he's the perfect protector for today. Thank you very much for coming and have a wonderful day. This can go down too. Want to take it? Okay. Would you like to give it to the woman in the blue sweater? Right there. Yeah. There's going to be warm seats here in the front where you can come and sit if you'd like. Thank you very much.


Thank you. I'm always so sad when they go, and also so glad. It's kind of living with contradictions. You know, I am a front-line gardener. My life is gardening and growing food and growing and practicing meditation at the same time. And they fit together beautifully, especially when there's an opportunity to remember where we come from, to really remember where we come from. I think of that handful of beans, the beautiful, complex, rich, mottled beans that carry a story. You know, in ancient times, the bean is one of the oldest crops, one of the oldest plants from the New World,


actually from all worlds, because all cultures have a bean seed. And one of our great friends and teachers, Gary Paul Nabham, reminds us that beans depend on persistent cultures, cultures like the Navajo. A culture persists when it guards and protects and grows out its food. When Sicilian farmers came to this country and went to Ellis Island in turning out their pockets, some carried a handful of earth from Sicilia. Some carried beans or the food of their culture to the New World. That culture would persist and grow and abide and be renewed on fresh soil. Very much that's the vow of interdependence, that we persist and be renewed in our interconnectedness. And the bean is a great teacher.


I have two young friends who, when they were pregnant with their first child, called her Bean, Little Bean. I always thought it was great. She came out long like a string bean and very full of devilry, too, and surprise. So the bean, actually in ancient Incan culture, beans were used as communication. All the different colored beans, the richness of the culture, was carried by runners, by Incan runners, giving news in the ten directions. Even the word news, north, east, west, south. It's an acronym for all the directions. Carrying beans on the running road and delivering the beans was a way of transmitting culture. So that's very much what's at the heart and root of the project that the children are doing today, but not in a metaphorical way. We're talking about real beans, real beings,


real children, real suffering, real delight, all mixed together. What I didn't say when the children were here is that in the same summer at the Global Children's Organization in the camp, a 17-year-old child named Yaz, who is a Muslim boy, grew up in Mostar, and hid eight years ago when the gardens of his neighbors were being disbanded by war. He hid. The only place he could feel safe was hiding in his bathtub. He would lie down in the bathtub and be contained by the tub while there was shelling going on in his city. And this summer, as part of the camp and the reconciliation of children meeting each other beyond borders, he played guitar with a young Serbian boy from Novi Sad, and they made music together. Now, if that can happen in our world, in our times, and if that news is just as important


as all the news of devastation and loss that we're well accustomed to hearing, then we have reason to celebrate, to act our age. As my friend Joanna Macy says, we're at least five million years old, and we should act our age. Take our place in the wide embrace of this world and settle down and remember who we are. Remember our kinship. We like to say, in the plant kingdom, there are no kings. There's only kinship. Fu and I were talking this morning about, she asked when the Navajo elders came, do you recognize kinship with Chinese people looking at that beautiful quilt that's out in the entryway, which you'll have to be sure to check out as you leave. Do you recognize kinship? And they said, yes, we come from each other. Actually, they come from our lineage. So a recognition that Chinese people, Navajo people, Balkan people


are connected in a wide embrace of kinship. And to remember our roots and our kinship is so important, especially in these times. One hundred and eight children. I hope they planted those bloody beets. Oh, there's so much to say. You know, this morning I was thinking, walking through the fields, I was thinking of the truth of our times right now as the so-called superpowers gather in Scotland. Primary issue is global climate change. Thinking of the waters rising in the great northern provinces of this country,


thinking of the world we live in now where women in sub-Saharan Africa, women and children, have to carry water for five hours just to have enough to drink. Two and a half hours to the well, two and a half hours to the hearth, carrying water. We live in a world where there are more shopping malls than there are high schools now, as of two years ago. And where young people can recognize close to one thousand corporate logos but might not know the name of the Hidatsu Shield Bean or the Slagy Trail of Tears Bean or the Kosovo Beans or the birds that open their day with song. So to increase our commitment and awareness is the reason that you come together


on this beautiful morning, you come together to this hall, we come together, sit together, examine our minds, let's know the mind, shape the mind, and free the mind. So that we can feel again our kinship and interconnectedness and know it as our true inheritance, birthright and challenge in these times. I've had the pleasure of working for the last two months steadily in Berkeley, where I work with kids in a local middle school. Two days a week I work over in Berkeley. And for the last seven weeks, seven or eight weeks, we've been holding a class looking at the Buddhist precepts, looking at how they might relate to our life, to our modern life. Not at the school, but in the yoga room in North Berkeley with practitioners who are busy, worldly people,


really looking and examining what practices help us meet these times. And together we've spent a good bit of time looking at the importance of speech and how we talk to each other, how we describe our world. I think of the words of the Declaration of Independence, 1776, July 4th, 1776. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all beings, excuse me for changing the men, I absorbed them into a bigger pool. Pardon me, Mr. Jefferson. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all beings are created equal, that their eyes fade after a while, that they are endowed


with certain inalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. So I've been thinking what that actually means, what this proclamation or declaration is actually saying, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And it leads me pretty directly to teaching that we took up when we were doing this class in Berkeley. We took up this wonderful teaching from Dogen Zenji, who's one of the ancestors or kin in our lineage line, our great wide lineage line, which includes all beings. From the late 1200s, he speaks about four methods of guidance for bodhisattvas, for awakening beings that are committed to serving and working in the world


until all beings are alert, alive, and well. And those four methods of guidance are so simple. The first is generosity, cultivating generosity. And the second, kind speech, kind, truthful speech. And third of all, beneficial action, action for the benefit, for the well-being of the world. And then lastly, a sense, an innate, intrinsic, in-depth sense of the interconnectedness of all that is. Our kinship with the being, with the stones, with the rocks of this world, and our commitment to protecting. So beginning with generosity, it can be also translated as giving,


a heart that is based on generosity or the willing to give, to give up, to give in, to give out, to give beyond what you think you're able to give, at the same time being very aware of how much you have to give. You don't want to deplete yourself by being overly generous. So generosity is first, and actually in the lifetime of the Buddha, he's reputed to have said, a true spiritual life is not possible without generosity, without being generous. Generosity leads to confidence. And it has two aims, to free the mind from confusion and fear, and then to help and be connected


with all beings. Grand and yet absolutely simple aims. In the teaching of meditation, there's often some confusion about where generosity belongs. Sometimes we put meditation first, meditation, insight, understanding, and then with meditation and insight, hopefully cultivate a mind that is turned toward the precepts, and from that turning, we develop generosity. Whereas in its essence, in its original state, generosity is always first. Being generous with yourself, knowing who you are, taking your place, sharing your wealth, sharing your insight, sharing what you have to offer, and doing it wholeheartedly is first.


And from that generosity comes an apprehension or some understanding of moral presence or ethical life, precepts. And with generosity and a sense of a kind of orientation or finding your place with the precepts, meditation exists. So I like remembering the old roots of meditation because is it really possible to sit still and look at what is, which is so much the heart and mind of meditation, without first cultivating generosity and a willingness to really be generous with what is. Therefore, the Bodhisattva's method of guidance, first method of guidance, is to cultivate generosity. And courage comes along with that. Here's a great line from John Wayne,


Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway. I think that's accurate because in generosity we welcome what we are most afraid of, actually welcome it because it encourages us, our fear, our confusion, our apprehension. And there's plenty of source of this, isn't there, right now in our times? Plenty of source of this. That fear and apprehension actually strengthens us and can make us more alive, more alert, more generous with who we are, and more grateful. Generosity and gratefulness go along together. Gratefulness, says Brother David Stendler-Ross, Gratefulness is the heart of prayer. Gratitude for all that is and a willingness to take in that gratitude and to serve. From the 9th century,


Teacher Shantideva. For all those ailing in this world, until their every sickness has been healed, may I myself become for them the doctor, the nurse, and medicine. Raining down a flood of food and drink, may I dispel ill and thirst and famine, and in the ages marked by scarcity and want, may I myself appear as drink, as sustenance, as a handful of beans. For sentient beings poor and destitute, may I become a treasure ever plentiful and lie before them closely in their reach, a varied source of all that might be needed. And may I be a guardian for those who are protectorless, a guide for those who journey on the road, for those who wish to go across the water,


may I be a boat, a raft, a bridge. And like the earth and pervading elements, enduring as the sky itself endures for boundless multitudes of living beings, may I be their ground and sustenance. So this means when we're guided by generosity, not only giving money, giving material goods, although traditionally we say there are three gifts that come, the gift of material sustenance, the gift of non-fear or courage, and the gift of the teachings. Those are the greatest gifts you can give. So your awareness and your willingness to be a boat, a bridge, to be medicine, to be food, and then an equal willingness and commitment to investigating what that means is at the heart and root of cultivating a mind of generosity


or being guided by generosity. I love it that they're called the methods of guidance. Guidance and support along the path, asking for guidance and support along the path, beginning with generosity, and especially to ourselves. We'll have a good time in question and answer really looking at what this means, turning it so that it lives, so that it's true. And then, kind speech. Years ago, our teacher and friend Lou Richmond read in this room, years ago, when I was a rather new student, meditation student, I'll never forget Lou reading this reminder about kind speech, and it's so relevant now, coming from 13th century Japan right to 21st century North America.


Kind speech means that when you see sentient beings, you arouse the mind of compassion and offer words of loving care. Kind speech is contrary to cruel or violent speech. In the secular world, there is a custom of asking after someone's health. In Buddhism, there is the phrase, please treasure yourself, and a respectful address. May I ask how you are? It is kind speech to speak to sentient beings as you would a baby. Praise those with virtue. Pity those without it. If kind speech is offered, little by little, virtue grows. Thus, even kind speech, which is not ordinarily known or seen, comes into being. Be willing to practice for the entire present life. Do not give up, world after world, life after life. Kind speech is the basis


for reconciling rulers and subduing enemies. Those who hear kind speech from you have a delighted expression, joyful mind. Those who hear of your kind speech will be deeply touched. They will never forget it. Remember that kind speech arises from kind mind, and kind mind from the seed of compassionate mind. Ponder the fact that kind speech is not just praising the merit of others. Kind speech has the power to turn the destiny of the nation. It was that line that I remember. Kind speech has the power to turn the destiny of the nation. I'm not talking about lightweight words. I'm talking about words that have gravity and levity at the same time, words that open doors,


that remind us of our true age and our work. Like this speech from a 12-year-old child offered at the World Summit. This may surprise you, because it's fierce. Hello, I'm here with the Environmental Children's Organization. We're a group of 12 and 13-year-olds from Canada. We raised all the money ourselves to come 6,000 miles to tell you adults, please change your ways. Coming here today, I have no hidden agenda. I'm fighting for my future. Losing my future is not like losing an election or a few points on the stock market. I'm here to speak for generations to come. I'm here to speak on behalf of children around the world


who don't have enough to eat, whose cries go unheard. I'm here to speak for the countless animals dying because they have nowhere left to go. We cannot afford to be not heard. If I'm afraid to go out in the sun now because of the holes in the ozone, if I'm afraid to breathe the air because I don't know what chemicals are in it, if I used to go fishing in Vancouver with my dad until just a few years ago when we found fish full of cancers, I know I'm only a child, yet I also know we are part of a family, five billion strong, in fact, 30 million species strong, and we all share the same air, water, and soil. Borders and governments never change that. I'm only a child, and yet I know we're in this together and must act as one single world towards one single goal. And in my anger,


I'm not blind, and in my fear, I'm not afraid to tell the world and to tell you how I feel. I don't know if any of you were fortunate enough to hear this address. I remember about six years ago, Karuna Tanahashi was here. We had a children's program, and she read the full address to the assembly. Also coming from a North American mother and a Japanese father like this child. This is kind speech. Fierce, direct, edgy, no nonsense. She's saddling up, she's 12, and she's frightened. And this kind of speech has the ability to turn the course of a nation. If we listen, because kind speech


goes along with deep listening, with developing the ability, the stability, to be able to listen to what's difficult, to what's being said and what is not being said, and to be guided not only by the speech but also by listening. And you think of, think of words that have affected you. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Is that really our inheritance? How do we make it true? The third method of guidance is beneficial action. You know, this is such a great hall because it's visible, so visible in the practice, breath,


and life of this meditation hall. And all the many beings, and I'm not just talking about human beings, but the more-than-human world, the wood that makes the hall, the air that fills it and changes it, the plants, the flowers that generate broad mind, and the figures carved of wood and metal on Jushri Bodhisattva representing stability, courage, wisdom, understanding. Often depicted as one of our friends and teachers, Theratuku Rinpoche told us, as a sixteen-year-old male in the Navajo group that came here from Little Singers School, meeting with North American children, with children from this community, Navajo also live in North America, meeting together, the two cultures meeting, the real elders, the real teachers


of the group were two sixteen-year-old Navajo boys. They took their presents, made their weight be felt. So this figure on the altar is often depicted as a sixteen-year-old male with a flexible mind, not to be worshipped, but to remember the importance of cultivating wisdom. And in direct communication with Jizo Bodhisattva and Green Tara, the figures that represent active compassion, serving, getting up, walking out. And there's a direct bridge between them that we all walk and navigate as we come into this hall. And it's the bridge of beneficial action, action grounded in stability and motivated by compassion, by awareness of suffering in the life of the world and willingness to take our place within it. So, yes, we have to sit still, know our breathing, know our mind, shape our mind, free our mind,


and we also have to get up. And that challenge and movement is beneficial action. Beneficial action can also be sitting absolutely still in the face of fear. That is beneficial action. Lest we get too obvious about this and think that beneficial action has to be standing on the front lines and, you know, demonstrating. Holding still, really holding still, and maintaining, sustaining the gaze that looks into the world with kindness and capacity to see is extraordinarily important and is a form of action. So we're guided by beneficial action. What does that mean, beneficial for the good? And that's each one of us


gets to turn that question and make it real, make it true. In the Balkans this summer, there'll be another peace camp, not on Badija Island off the Dalmatian coast in the Adriatic Sea. Instead, in the mountains of Sarajevo, where a man named Jean-Claude Caron has just donated 15 acres of mountain land for the camp, which he's calling Friendship Without Borders. He purchased this land. Obviously, he's a Frenchman. He purchased this land in the mountains of Sarajevo when his son, Gilles, was killed by mortar fire as a United Nations peacekeeper. His father recognized that his action had to be bigger and in honor of his son.


So they set up this mountain camp, and this summer, children will meet in the mountains of Sarajevo. I hope that they'll be able to plant some of those beans and have a good bean. singing Action goes out in widening circles. Friendship Without Borders. And last of all, awakening, the mind of awakening is guided by our remembering how can we to all that is, or interdependence, hence Interdependence Day. Do we actually believe


that we could ever... Look at us now. Are we independent from England? Hardly. Politically, we seem extremely dependent on a country from whom we declared independence a couple of centuries ago, short centuries ago, as quick as that ago. So understanding that we are interdependent with all that is, is the fourth method of guidance, and it's a huge one. It depends on recognizing that we are not separate from each other, from our suffering and confusion, and from the land, earth, air, water, rock beings, animal beings, plant beings that sustain us and support us. Therefore, naturally, we would step up to protect and recognize our kinship. Do rocks, stones, and tiles


preach the Dharma? Asked an ancient monk of his teacher, loudly and clearly, rocks, tiles, stones preach the Dharma. Then why, asked the very sincere monk, why don't I hear them? And his teacher said, just because you do not yet hear them do not hinder that which does. So identity, even though we may not feel it or hear it or know it, we step aside or step back so as not to hinder that which does. So to be guided by interconnectedness is radical. Wonderful word, radical is the first root when we take the beans, lay them on their side, water them. In fact, one of the things we're showing the kids today


is we soaked some of those Kosovo beans in warm water last night. They're double the size, swelling with potential, with interconnectedness, with inner being, with interdependence, ready to go. And the first root that goes down goes down to the old world. It's the radical, goes down to ground that hasn't been opened yet. And with its muscular nose that secretes mucus as it goes down, it opens up the ground. This is big time what happens. So when you say, I have a radical mind, that's quite a pledge. It means you have a mind that's ready to penetrate your own confusion, seized places, and open up the ground. And when that nose of a seed, of a root gets, the vanguard root it's called, when it gets broken, right behind the cells at the tip that downward drive is the plume of the bean seed


going up, you know, into the light. So you go down into the darkness, up into the light, and recognize kinship. Cultivate, be guided by that kinship. Action that's, where you're willing, even willing, to change place with a handful of beans. Willing as Esau was to sell your birthright for a handful of beans. Or as Jack was to sell a cow in exchange for a handful of beans and climb up the beanstalk and get a different vantage point. Break out of this confinement and remember who we are. Act our age. I pledge allegiance, great, this should be going right along. I pledge allegiance to the soil of Turtle Island, turtles all the way down. I pledge allegiance to the soil of Turtle Island


and to one... I pledge allegiance to the soil of Turtle Island, one ecosystem, in diversity, under the sun, with joyful interpenetration for all. I love it. Interpenetration. Not vague. Not vague. May we interpenetrate. Here's a great poem from the irreverent Reverend Lou Hartman, turning 80 years old today. We used to... Lou lived here for many years. Pardon me. 90 years. Thank you. 90 years. He turned 90 years old. He lived here for many, many years and every New Year's Eve he would read from a novel that he was writing called The Monstrous Leatherman. So we'd listen to this novel


Into the Dark. That was before we had a more organized program. We'd listen to The Monstrous Leatherman. We'd like to speak to you this morning about the courting of the Berkeley Hills. Listen to the song sung by the cyclotron. Someday we too may mingle with the drifting Hiroshima haze. So... Thank you for coming today and for giving your attention, your generosity and kind speech, commitment to beneficial action and recognition of our interconnectedness to one another. May it make the red stripes on the flag of this little measly nation coarse with


the blood of the earth and the blue intensify, the blue sky and those white stars hidden in a handful of beans. May all beings have enough to eat and may we work for the interdependence of all that is. And may we all go outside and have some tea and muffins. Thank you very much.