Archive for the ‘Buddhism’ Category

Bloodhounds and Buddhism?

The Wisdom of the Buddhist Bloodhound This is me and my husband having fun on Kindle… with our dog.  Introducing THE WISDOM OF THE BUDDHIST BLOODHOUND featuring our very own Frankie Rose. Not only is she incredibly photogenic, but just look at that face.  You can tell there’s a lot of deep thought going on between those oh-so-long ears!

This book is a humorous introduction to the basics of Buddhism according to Frankie the Bloodhound – debut author, kitty enthusiast, and seeker of higher thought. She has compressed thousands of years of spirituality into 39 nuggets of wisdom (with full-color photos) in this unique canine interpretation of enlightenment that will delight dog lovers as well as readers on the trail to greater awareness.

Who would have guessed that the high-strung Bloodhound we adopted four years ago off Craigslist would make her literary debut on Amazon?

 

Walmart and the Eightfold Path: Part II

Back in March, I wrote about a blow out I had with my husband in a superstore parking lot ( see Walmart and the Eightfold Path).   Over a trash can!  It’s been a very popular post.  I also discussed a yard sale, dog poop, the night I rode the Max train home after a Portland Trailblazers game… and how someday being a better person might come naturally to me.  One commenter, Terri Patrick, even suggested that the garbage can might be symbolic — a sort of trailhead on my path to greater understanding.

I think she’s right. 

 What’s more, that post was inspired by a book.  My husband’s book.  At that time I was editing his draft, and in the moment, I felt somewhat taken aback.  Did he have to share our long-ago spat… the bloom of our love forever tarnished by a fight over a garbage can… really?  But as I kept reading my husband’s personal journey to enlightenment, and his version of the Four Noble Truths, I had to admit I fell a little bit more in love with him on every page.  He’s a funny guy with a big heart and whole bunch of chainsaws.  He likes beer and loves me.  And best of all, he’s mine.  

 So today I am proud to announce the release of his new book, The Redneck Buddhist, along with his brand new website!  

 And to celebrate the day, his other book, The Walk, will be a free download on Amazon until midnight.  Enjoy!  enlightenment-retirement-spiritual-journey

Walmart and the Eightfold Path

My husband and I had a big fight in the parking lot of Walmart. Over a garbage can. He wasn’t my husband back then. We’d only just moved in together (2001) and in the process of “nesting” I busied myself with vanquishing his bachelor ways. As a newly-minted couple, this was our first big blowout. I’d crossed the line when it came to the kitchen garbage can.

Years later, that very garbage can rears its ugly head… in a book my husband is writing about Buddhism. I’m trying very hard to lead a more aware and enlightened life, so editing the final draft I’ve had a chance to reflect. Some aspects of Buddhism come naturally, others I need to keep working on.

Example of Wrong Action:

During a garage sale last summer a neighbor racked up $25 worth of bargains and promised to pay me later that day. You can guess how that turned out. Not a dime. Seven months later, my keen sense of dog poo timing means every time I take my Bloodhound out for a walk she somehow manages to “lay timber” in this neighbor’s yard… where I’ve NEVER picked it up.

Example of Right Action:

Coming home from a Portland Trailblazer’s game I got on the wrong train. I wound up heading in the wrong direction, changed trains, and somehow found myself STILL on the wrong train and heading to the airport late at night. By now, the once fan-packed cars were empty. Except for me. And a young Hispanic guy who was bleeding.

A lot.

His knuckles were a crisscross of open wounds. He sat directly across from me and stared. I wanted to say something, but really, what could I say? I felt a little scared, too. He looked angry. I finally thought of something I could do to help him.

My friends tease me about being such a girl scout, prepared for anything. In my wallet I carry a half dozen bandages and some first aid cream. Digging through the folds of my wallet, I fished out my medical supplies. I leaned forward, held out everything I had and asked him if he needed help. What happened next surprised me. His eyes filled with tears and he hurried off the train at the next stop. Not a word spoken.

Compassion came naturally to me that night and it doesn’t in other situations. Like with dog poo. Logically, I know I need to cut out this passive aggressive Sh%^ (literally!) and stop judging the neighbor, but as I edit the pages of my husband’s book I’m left wondering if a fight over a garbage can in the parking lot of Walmart was what actually set me on the path to enlightenment… as slow and gradual as it might be!

Jamie Brazil is the author of the contemporary romance, Prince Charming, Inc. and a coming-of-age novel, The Mayan Sisterhood.

How To Speak Power Paw

I have a quiet one.  My Bloodhound rarely barks.  And her long, sorrowful bays only happen at night.  Sleep baying.  It wakes my husband and I up… but Frankie finishes each round, paws twitching, never opening her eyes.  Not once.  I can’t help but wonder which scent memories have been conjured up in her vivid dreams. 

 In spite of her quiet nature, she is still quite the talker and her powers of communication are a stunning display of hound-doggery. 

Heavy sighs: Dinner’s late, she’s disgusted.

 Throaty grunts: Hoping to score after-dinner treats, Frankie does a full-body fridge block and grunts when I ask her to move.  My after-dinner workout includes pushing 85 pounds of hound dog out of the way and running the length of the house shaking a box of doggie treats.      

High-pitched nose whistle:  A supreme universal being has crossed her path… a cat!  Both curious and fearful of felines, she lets me know one’s nearby and keeps a worshipful distance.

But for meaningful hound dog conversation, look to the paw. 

The Power Paw.  That left front foot tipped in purest white fur speaks a language that’s impossible to ignore.   Whether she flings her empty ceramic bowl across the kitchen floor, scratches her snout before letting loose a mighty sneeze, thumps the edge of the bed letting us know she needs a middle-of-the-night pee, that left paw drives the message home.  

 Yet it’s the quietest moments when the paw speaks the loudest.   In times of trouble or sorrow, like when I learned a dear friend had lost his battle with brain cancer, my Bloodhound reads my mood and senses my loss.  Placing a paw on my leg, she comforts me.  That’s the true power of the paw, friendship, and love.  And sometimes that big pink tongue snakes out of her jowls and catches a tear or two.

 In memory of Kit, adventurer, chicken fried steak connoisseur, and self-styled Buddhist.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did Sigmund Freud have a Barbie?

I’m dating Barbie.  Three afternoons a week, while my sister is at dance class, I take Barbie away from Ken.  I’m practicing for the future. – from a short story by A.M. Holmes

 My Barbie had a name.  A real name, not the name written across the top of the box she came in.   Ken wasn’t Ken either.  

 In my make believe world, Silverwood and Mortimer were the ideal couple.  Mortimer was actually “Mort” when Silverwood was happy with him.  She only used his full name, Mortimer, when he ticked her off.  Mort cleaned and dusted their house.  He cooked and made the bed, too!  If he’d owned a pair of socks, he would have picked them up off the floor – though at the time, socks didn’t play into his wardrobe options.  Mort was the quintessential stay-at-home husband, while Silverwood worked and socialized with her Mattel-issued friends.  

Decades later, I’m still inventing lives.  Instead of letting my imagination play out in a three-story dollhouse, I write novels.   Heroic versions of Mortimers are the stoic, supportive cornerstones of the Silverwoods’ lives.  The Morts are kind, smart, often deeply misunderstood clean freaks who are just as comfortable on a motorcycle as they are powering up a Hoover vacuum.  The Silverwoods are independent girls with unusual careers.  They’re neat and tidy on the outside, messy and complicated on the inside.     

The truth of writing is that no matter how many times I profess to be writing for publication, ultimately, fiction is therapy.  Writing is the way I sort and process all the mental-emotional junk I’ve accumulated.  Or it deeper than that? 

My Buddhist-leaning husband, who is most definitely not a sock picker upper, thinks it takes several lifetimes to work out our crap.  If he’s right, next time I want to come back as Silverwood!

If you have a minute, click over to author Susan Lute’s January 17th interview with me over at See Jane Publish: http://seejanepublish.wordpress.com/2012/01/17/guest-author-interview-jamie-brazil-by-susan-lute/

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