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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br>
Dear friend,<o:p></o:p><br>
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="">
</span>At the Center for the Working Poor we are continuing to
live out our mission as a community living in voluntary poverty and
serving the
poor. You may have first heard of us not too long ago when we had just
one
full-time volunteer. We have since grown to a house of seven with
four-full
time volunteers. Our mission is growing, too. More and more families
are coming
to us looking for support in times of crisis. And we are finding new
ways to
support them in their struggle for a living wage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="">
</span>We hope you enjoy the most recent update about the Center.
Paul calls it “Looking for flowers in the dumpster.” As the title
suggests, we
live simple lives here at the Center. At the moment we have barely
enough to
carry out our work for the next few months. Your generous donations are
always
appreciated. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">(Donations can
be made
online at <a href="http://www.centerfortheworkingpoor.org/">www.centerfortheworkingpoor.org</a>,
or mailed to 1289 Bellevue Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90026)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span
style="font-family: Arial;">Looking For Flowers In The Dumpster</span></b><span
style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">I am
still running the Center for the Working Poor
(aka the Burning Bush Community), delivering food to families of the
working
poor, writing and speaking about issues of poverty, and supporting
local living
wage and immigrant rights campaigns. In the last seven months, there
have been
some big changes at “the Center.” Then again, the whole journey thus
far has
been a whirlwind. It was just a year and half ago that I left my
professional
career at a labor union (running boycotts and organizing workers),
donated my
money to the common good, and started living in voluntary poverty. The
result
was the start of this intentional community, based on Gandhian
principles and
the lessons of the Catholic Worker movement. Shortly thereafter a new
immigrant
rights movement erupted, opening the minds and hearts of the union
leadership
to a vision of bigger protests for living wages. Finally, some of my
dreams of
massive non-violent civil disobedience were actualized. Only a few
weeks later
a good friend of mine flew me to her wedding in India. It was an honor
and an
adventure, and I could not have anticipated what all it would involve.
In the
end, I talked with the Tibetan prime minster in exile. Two months
later, I was
back in LA. We moved into a larger house of hospitality to accommodate
our
growing community. We serve a growing number of families that have been
fired
from their jobs for being whistle-blowers of one sort or another. <u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <u1:p>
</u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">All
this kept us very busy. But the biggest change
for our community has come from the trash. We started collecting from
grocery
store dumpsters, and now we have more incredible food than we can eat.
If you
are willing, we will share it with you.<u1:p> </u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent3"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <u1:p>
</u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">Until
recently, I sustained myself on a diet of
primarily rice, beans, and spinach. I was touched when people wrote to
me to
express concern about my diet. When an older couple sent me 20 dollars
a month
with the expressed wish to expand my diet, it felt like my grandmother
lovingly
scolding me. Well, they don’t have to worry anymore. My life has been
transformed by a harvest of food from the trash. I am serious when I
say that
95 percent of all the food I eat now comes from the trash. Once a week
we go to
dumpsters at a few, mostly organic gourmet grocery stores. Having eaten
rice
and beans every day for so long, the first time I went to the dumpsters
I was
eager to expand my diet to include bread and more vegetables. I had
modest
expectations.<u1:p> </u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <u1:p>
</u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">They
were wildly exceeded. In just matter of hours we
had crates and crates of food. More than just a wide variety of
vegetables, we
found tons of gourmet food: Crates of breads pastries, pies,
vegetables—even
expensive vegetables like eggplant and portabella mushrooms—plus cheese
and
tofu eggless salad. Last but not least, we found endless amounts of
frozen
fruit; soon I would have the makings to fuel a full-on smoothie
addiction. <u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <u1:p>
</u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">I know
many of you must be thinking that this stuff
is repulsive. You’d be surprised. Our society’s system is so wasteful.
The
globalization of our food supply, combined with the rise of processed
food, has
created a system where food is wasted at every level. So much of it is
perfectly good by any reasonable standard. Take, for example, Trader
Joe’s (a
gourmet grocery chain, also known as dumpster diver heaven). This chain
processes and pre-packages everything in saran wrapped
packages--everything
from sandwiches to fresh fruit and vegetables. If it is not selling
fast
enough, taking up too much space on the shelves, or, God forbid, is
approaching
too near the expiration date, the food gets tossed. For us to pick up
the
mostly air-tight containers, then wash and inspect anything we want to
throw
into our fridge, is easy as can be. There is nothing better for the
environment
than dumpster food. Instead of consuming a massive amount of energy to
produce
more unneeded food, we are instead eating the discarded excess of the
system.
We are like environmentally friendly, human-sized bacteria processing
some of
the waste produced in putting food on America’s tables.<u1:p> </u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <u1:p>
</u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m not
such a picky eater by nature. But it feels
all right to be choosy when I am saving food from the trash. These days
I am a
dumpster snob. I want more than carefully packaged whole grain bread,
pomegranate juice, and flourless chocolate cake. That stuff is easy to
find.
These days, I want pretty flowers. To my amazement, the dumpsters will
provide
an occasional score of cut flowers--dozens of bouquets with only a few
bent
flowers in the bunch that apparently make them unfit for sale. In a
short time,
I cultivated a bourgie interest in arranging flowers around our house,
and on a
few occasions I have been able to surprise the families we serve with
beautiful
bouquets. I cannot tell you how much having so many flowers around—not
to
mention an infinite supply of gourmet organic food from the
dumpster--has
changed my life. I am constantly cooking, eating, and organizing big
dinners. We
always advertise: “food fresh from the dumpsters.” <u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <u1:p>
</u1:p><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span
style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial;">Going to India <u1:p></u1:p></span><span
style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br>
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Soon after the
major civil
disobedience I helped to organize on September 28<sup>th</sup>, a good
friend
asked if I would go to her wedding in <span style="cursor: pointer;"
id="lw_1184188244_1">India</span>. Aware that I did not have any
money, she
offered to fly me there, making use of her immense accumulation of
airline
miles from her corporate job. I realized that this trip might seem like
a total
contradiction to me living in supposed “voluntary poverty.” Her offer
provoked
me to reflect on the nature of voluntary poverty in the light of my new
life. “Voluntary Poverty” has given me a nice (although crowded)
communal
house, tons of gourmet food, flowers from the dumpster, and, last but
not
least, “a free trip to <span style="cursor: pointer;"
id="lw_1184188244_2">India</span>.”
True, voluntary poverty is an act of profound renunciation. It means
letting go
of our will, our plans, and our ideas —even our survival instinct to do
as
Jesus said when he told us, “do not store treasures here on earth.” But
in
doing this we receive the grace of God; we enter into the abundance of
his
kingdom, which is expressed in a beloved community of sharing and in
countless
acts of spontaneous generosity. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Imagine that in
the heat of
the moment you donate your brand new <a
href="http://www.cardata.com/images/2007/2007_Ferrari_599.jpg"
target="_blank" rel="nofollow"><span id="lw_1184188244_3">2007 Ferrari
Testerrosa</span></a> to
charity. It’s a great feeling, but you soon find yourself stuck on the
side of
the road. But if you keep your eyes, ears, and heart open, you’ll
probably soon
hear a whistle blowing—it’s God’s train coming around the bend, and
this is
your chance to jump on board. We often cry like little babies because
God’s
train leaves at weird hours or doesn’t go where we want it to. But boy
it is
sure a fun and wild ride, and it will take you places the Ferrari never
could. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span
style="font-family: Arial;">
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">One of the most
horrible
aspects of the involuntary poverty of the workers we serve as compared
with our
voluntary poverty, is the horrible immobility that confines them
physically and
psychological to urban ghettos. In contrast, within my voluntary
poverty
I have found a strange new freedom. This confirms that experience of
the early
Christians and Franciscans who took seriously Jesus’ explicit order to
his
disciples to travel far to serve “without payment” as well as “take no
gold. .
. in your belts, no bag for your journey, or (even) two tunics. . .”
It
was their willingness to own nothing and ride God’s train that made it
possible
for them to spread their beloved community all over the globe. In fact,
<span style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1184188244_4">Saint Francis</span>
made many
international trips. These included his famous effort to single
handedly end
the world war of his time by making himself a human kamikaze bomb of
pure love
headed for the Muslim Sultan in midst of the Crusades. As for me, the
freedom
still feels scary. My faith remains so limited. I sometimes find it
hard to be
at any peace when my bank statements show that my community will go
bankrupt in
10 months. However, spending some time in prayer, I discerned that this
was all
part of God calling me to jump on his train. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">When I accepted
April’s
invitation to attend her wedding and departed on my travels, I was
still
committed to living on only the $200 monthly stipend that each
volunteer living
at the Center receives. But when I arrived in <span
style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1184188244_5">India</span>, this
turned out to be a fortune. April was
marrying into an amazing Indian family. Because April career had moved
her all
over the country, I was one of her only friends from <span
style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1184188244_6">Iowa</span> (where we
grew up) to meet her Indian family.
She was so excited to have some old friends to represent her in what
would be a
small Iowan cultural delegation amid the hundreds of Indians that would
show up
to the wedding. I was literally and figuratively adopted by April’s
in-laws in <span style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1184188244_7">India</span>.
I
lived and ate with them, and I ceremonially played the role of April’s
older
brother at the wedding service. I sincerely love April, her husband
Bunny, and
their Indian family. The hospitality they offered was deeply touching.
At
times, I wanted to cry because I was so grateful to receive their
hospitality.
It truly felt like an expression of God’s grace. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span
style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial;"> Visiting Samdhong
Rinpoche</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial;"> </span><span
style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I arrived in <span
style="cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; background-attachment: scroll; background-repeat: repeat;"
id="lw_1184188244_8">India</span> 3 weeks before the weeding, so I
decided to
go to Dharamsala, a place renown as a center of spiritual practice. It
is home
to dozens of prominent monasteries of different religious traditions
including
the Dali Lama’s. It is also the home of the Tibetan government-in-exile
and the
Tibetan freedom movement. I rented a room at a Tibetan Buddhist
Monastery and
settled into a strict early morning schedule of long hours of
meditation,
broken up by a late afternoon visit to the cafés. Although I consider
myself a
contemplative Catholic, I went to <span
style="cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; background-attachment: scroll; background-repeat: repeat;"
id="lw_1184188244_9">India</span> expecting
immersion in my religious practice; I pictured myself mediating for
weeks,
sitting half naked on a mountain top next to long-haired swami. But
instead, I
was surprised to find myself being born once again into the life of a
political
non-violent warrior, spending hours at loud bars drinking Tibetan
butter tea
talking strategy all night with a dozen young activists who had just
gotten out
of jail after serving two-week sentences for protesting the visit of a
Chinese
official to <span style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1184188244_10">India</span>.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">
Because my college had an exchange program with a Tibetan university, I
knew a
few Tibetan activists. Owing to these contacts, I was quickly adopted
into
their scene in Dharamsala. It was amazing to be half a world away from <span
style="cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; background-attachment: scroll; background-repeat: repeat;"
id="lw_1184188244_11">Los Angeles</span>, thinking “these people are
just like
me.” But there was one person that I had impractically dreamed of
meeting: the Venerable <span style="color: black;">Samdhong</span>
Rinpoche.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">As you may know,
I am a
Gandhi nut. I read Gandhi’s work as often as I’m able. In <span
style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1184188244_12">India</span>, he has
become such a
cultural icon that almost all politicians claim Gandhi as their own.
Yet few
share <span style="color: black;">Samdhong Rinpoche</span>'s
dedication to
Gandhian ideas, which, if followed with dedication, will leave you poor
and
might just get you killed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">A word about <span
style="color: black;">Samdhong Rinpoche</span>. Maybe my admiration is
a bit
naive, but I feel like a screaming girl at a Beatles concert when it
comes this
guy. Why? Well, he is one of the most prominent Gandhian scholars
alive, having
written and spoken widely about nonviolence. He is a high-level
incarnate Lama
and very respected religious leader in Tibet, and many suspect the Dali
Lama is
grooming him to replace him in his politically role after his death.
But what I
love is that he is an amazing political radical, regularly challenging
Tibetans
to maintain their non-violent resistance and their spirituality. He has
advocated going to non-violent war with the Chinese government and has
volunteered
to be the first to sacrifice himself as a human kamikaze bomb of pure
love to
likely death at the hands of the authorities in order to create massive
non-violent protest in <span style="cursor: pointer;"
id="lw_1184188244_13">China</span>.
In other words, this guy is hard core. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Before he
started forming
his “non-violent army,” which was to be made up primarily of monks, the
overwhelming majority of people in the Tibetan community voted for him
to be
their highest elected political leader: the prime minister in exile. He
now is
responsible for all the schools, cooperatives, and institutions of the
Tibetan
government in exile, and he runs them with open dedication to doing so
as
Gandhi professed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">A few activists
I knew put
in a good word for me, so I could get a meeting with him. Just as I had
dreamed,
a week later, we were sitting together in his office and having an
intense
conversation about non-violence, Satyagraha, and his vision of a
non-violent
army. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">For so long my
own visions
of a nonviolent army kept me up at night, got me in lots of trouble in
my
professional career, and gave me a sort of “crazy Paul” reputation.
This
developed an insecurity within me, a kind of dam around my heart.
Sitting in
the presence of such a wise and respected man, listening to him share a
non-violent vision almost identical to mine, I felt that insecurity
washing
away at long last. I know now that it might take years, or decades, to
realize
this shared vision of non-violence, for which the. The Center of
Working Poor
is a vehicle. But I believe that God has put me here to make my humble
contribution to making a vision of a community of non-violence and love
a
reality. For so long I have been wondering alone for this place of my
dreams.
But I have faith that, although the pathways may be long and windy,
this place is
a sure destination on God’s train. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
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