who is my current best friend and why

This one is easy

Every day she is exposed to the best and worst of me. Every day she remains true.

Every day my fuse is lit. Every day she continues.

Every day I have a great idea for how she can improve. Every day she makes her world a little better.

I decided to devote myself to her happiness. Every day she let's me be me.

Every day (well most days) I decide to love her. Every morning, wherever we are in the world, she makes oatmeal.

Every day I discuss plans for our future. Every day she loves dogs, plants, children.

Every day (well most days) I try to become better. Every day she thinks about osprey and beavers.

Nuit debout. Impressions of an ignorant outsider (me).

Last November we spent three weeks in France. We had the distinct impression then that people were more stressed than in previous visits. Smoking more, smoking harder, body language tense and closed. The complaints about their lives, more bitter.

And then Nov 13 the terrorists attacked. The city came together, as it does. The motto of the city of Paris is "a ship that is always buffeted, never sunk."

This spring we spent a month in France, three weeks in the Vendée, the most conservative region of the country - anti-immigrant, pro military and pro-church. Every village has a life-sized calvaire, a cross with a Christ. The entrance to every village has a hand-scrawled sign - Agriculture in Distress or Livestock Raising in Distress. 

And back in Paris, the mood seems different. Less stressed it seems but everyone is fed up. Something has to give. The system just isn't working. Young people have no opportunities. Immigrants and the grandchildren of immigrants are locked out of the mainstream. Business is stifled at every turn by a bureaucracy whose only function seems to be to stifle business.

And still, we see a thousand ways that Parisians help each other get through their days. The large back man who automatically lifts an elderly woman down from a bus. The Uber driver finds a handful of coins for Syrian beggars. The small kindnesses and courtesies that make life a bit more tolerable.

But the government is at an all-time low 20% approval. Socialist government that chooses neo-con decisions at every turn - Libya, Syria, the economy.

The state of emergency after the November attacks is not lifted. It is extended and extended. The police have the right to break down any door without warrants or habeas corpus. So far over 5,000 raids of homes, offices, and mosques have been conducted. People roughed up. 5,000 doors broken down, . Results - 2 arrests. Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have each documented physical and psychological abuse of the Muslim minority.

A community is being terrorized in the name of anti-terrorism.

I talk to a friend in the ministry of finance, a very senior official. Something has to give he says. He uses the word revolution, either of the left or the extreme right.

And now nuit debout. If you've heard about it at all through the 24/7 cacophony on Donald Trump, you probably heard it is a protest against labour reforms. That is a bit like saying WWII was about Poland or global warming is about polar bears. Perhaps you heard nuit debout is 'like' Occupy.

Nuit debout - to rise up in the night, the rising that does not sleep. Unlike the normal French protests and demonstrations, nuit debout is not run by the organized labour movement, peace groups or other mainstream lefty organizations. It appears to be run by no one. Unlike regular French protests, nuit debout does not start or stop at scheduled times. It runs all night. 

Nuit debout has spread to sixty French cities and several other countries.

On Sunday afternoon we visit the Place de la Republique. A few thousand people are there with tents, stands, and makeshift structures. In a tented area, several hundred people sit on the ground. One by one they talk about their issue of choice - education, immigration, the state of democracy in the Congo. The listeners signal approval, disapproval or boredom with hand signs we cannot decipher. Someone passes us handmade snacks.

In another area a sign says to come back at 3:00 PM for a debate with several economic professors.

Tables are set up with a food line for all comers.

At five Monday morning, the police arrive to clear the square. They say they can not allow structures to stay. They say they can not guarantee security. Monday afternoon the protesters return.

In another section of Paris, at the headquarters of UNESCO, a different kind of revolution is being presented. Thousands of people view an exhibition on Buddhist scriptures - the Lotus Sutra, our Universal Spiritual Heritage. The Lotus Sutra's message of equality and humanism seems especially apropos today.

Adventures in French health care, part II Keith meets the surgeon

It has now been a week since the bite. I’ve been on two antibiotics for three days.

The village nurse has come each evening. She knows the house well. The owner of the house is a widow and the nurse cared for her late husband for about a year.

She knows Barney well. She can’t understand him biting me. Too gentle, too slow, too bizarre.

This morning I went in to another town, a different hospital to meet an orthopedic surgeon. He doesn’t like my hand. The swelling is down, my digits work fine, but the wound isn’t closing and the skin looks bad.

Thursday morning they will perform surgery to clean out the hand, look inside to see what is going on.

At 6:45 PM I met the anesthesiologist. He went over my history (Crohn’s, nine major surgeries, blah, blah), allergies. He says he wants to do a general. Less chance of spreading the infection systemically. He says he is ordering an EKG.

OK so now I am paying for a full operating suite, OR team, the whole nine yards. He says I will only be out ten or fifteen minutes and he guarantees a return trip.

And I have to pay him 28 euros cash for the consult.

See you Thursday.

Adventures in French health care, Part I

We are looking after a farm on the outskirts of the tiny village of Bazoges-en-Pareds (population 1,000). Amongst our charges are two elderly Newfoundlands, a male and female. They are large, arthritic, gentle and, to all appearances, slow.

Unfortunately last Tuesday evening Barney bit my right hand. Since then I’ve been washing the wound and applying various ointments and solutions.

Barney’s owner recommended I go to the village doctor, which I did. He refused to see me without an appointment and told me to go to emerge in the closest city, about a half hour drive. This seemed like overkill. Since I have Crohn’s and children I am familiar with emergency waiting rooms and triage and process and I did not want to waste an entire day and who was going to pay for this?

On Friday our friends from Paris came for a visit. I had lots of plans for trips to the sea and eating local delicacies and drinking wine and such.

Our friends refused to allow my plans get in the way of a good medical situation.

So Saturday morning of the Easter long weekend off we all went to the hospital at Fontenay-le-Comte.

In Calgary non-life threatening emergency patients can wait four hours to see a doctor.

At Fontenay-le-Comte it went like this: The triage/reception nurse saw me immediately. She examined the wound and took my temp. She took a basic history and asked no questions about insurance or who I was. She repacked my bandage, told me I would be there about an hour and sent me to an admin lady in the next office. The admin lady apologized because she was on the phone, then took my name and address. She sent me to a waiting room. Instead of one large waiting room as in Canada, this hospital had small, semi-private rooms.

Everything was dignified and utterly lacking all the humiliation and bureaucracy of our system.

The usual array of crying children and sick folk came and went.

After about 20 minutes a nurse asked for Madame Robinson. She took me to the examination room and unwillingly allowed one friend to accompany. The real Madame Robinson had to stay behind with our other friend. (yes, it takes a village.)

The doctor had a look and told me that if you are bit by a dog you should not wait to come in. She said I would have to see a surgeon. A surgeon.

I learned if you ever get bit by a dog on your hand or similarly damage your hand the first thing to do is take off your rings. If your hand becomes infected and swells up the ring can cut you very seriously.

Of course I  did not know or think of this.

So the doctor said the tiger eye ring Yoshiko made was coming off. Not an option. One way or another it was coming off. I am just a bit heavier then when the ring was made and my hand was swollen.

The ring was not coming off.

We'll get a infirmiere in and will try with a little soap.

The ring was not going to go over the knuckle.

The nurse squirted a lot of liquid soap on my finger. Do not be gentle I told her. This ring has a lot of meaning to me.

She twisted and pulled and occasionally looked at my face to see if she was hurting me.

The ring had nowhere to go and was not coming off. One of the male nurses left for reinforcements.

So I tried. I pulled. I twisted.  I pulled AND twisted.

Nada.

Male nurse came back with a really ugly pair of cable cutters. Ugly and big. In an instant we were transported from a 21st century ultra modern examination room to a 19th century torture chamber.

Hang on, I said. One more try I said. Let's get this thing off.

She poured more liquid soap, twisted and pulled and very slowly forced the tiger eye ring over the now bruised knuckle and off my finger.

Everyone cheered. The doctor cheered Bravo and said see, once the ring saw the cutters it decided to move.

The doctor wrote three prescriptions, two for anti-biotics and one for a nurse to come to the farm daily to attend to me. Every day. Including Easter Sunday. She said I was to phone on Tuesday morning after Easter Monday to make an appointment with the surgeon. But if I had a fever I was to come back to emerge immediately.

I wondered what they did for people who were actually sick?

The nurse cleaned the wounds, put some goop on it, put some more really sticky goop on in, bandaged it then wrapped my hand and arm in gauze.

Back to the admin office the lady gave me a small mountain of papers outlining everything they did (in Canada they would never give this directly to a patient, only to another doctor) told me again everything I was supposed to do and gave me a bill - 48 euros.

Everyone assured me that ‘insurance’ would take care of everything. I don’t know what kind of insurance they have but there is no way my insurance will pay for this.

We went to the pharmacy for amoxycillin and flagyl and dressings and goop, another 46 euros.

Tonight the nurse comes to the farm to dress the wound. Stay tuned.

Paris during terrorist attacks

Yoshiko and I were in Paris during the terrorist attacks November 13, 2015.  We stayed with an old friend who is a Soka Buddhist leader in the area of Paris that was attacked.

The attacks were all in Paris’s north east neighborhoods. This is the area our friend Annie lives in, the area we stayed. We love this area - it is working class, filled with immigrants from Africa and the middle east, younger and culturally progressive and cosmopolitan. It is not the Paris of high fashion, Chanel #5 and tourists. It is the Paris of street art, arab bakeries, middle aged Chinese prostitutes and struggle. We love it.

The terrorists did not attack the famous monuments or tourist areas. Perhaps  you have seen pictures of hundred of tourists lined up outside the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower. You would think those people would be perfect targets for terrorism - they are vulnerable and out of their element. The terror would be felt in every country. The long term effects would destabilize France’s tourism industry.

But no. The attacks were on the east side of Paris, where Parisian live, work and play. Parisians of all nationalities, colours, and lifestyles. Coincidentally, Yoshiko and I were also in Paris in January, exactly one week after the terrorist attacks on Charlie Hebdo and on the Kosher supermarket.  The January attacks were also in the north east. The supermarket is a few blocks from Annie’s apartment.

This time we were in Paris because we were invited to an Airbnb global conference. Six thousand Airbnb hosts attended from 110 countries, 125 hosts from Canada.

Friday, November 13th was the next to last day of the conference. The 125 Canadian hosts still hadn’t all met each other so a meeting and party was scheduled for Friday night. The meeting was planned for a cafe in the northeast. The cafe is about a five minute drive from the restaurant La Petit Cambodge. At 9:25 (2125) Gunmen with Kalashnikovs would attack La Petit Cambodge, killing 15.

Yoshiko and I wanted to go to the cafe, but one of the hosts from Calgary had been sick in her apartment for two days. It must be the worst to dream all your life of going to Paris and spend your time alone, sick in a tiny apartment.

So Friday evening, as soon as we could get free, we called an Uber, not to go to the party but to our sick friend’s place.

Another guy from the conference was also waiting for an Uber. He asked me, why don’t the Ubers here have logos on their windshields. Every other town the Ubers have the ‘U’ clearly marked. I told him, the taxi drivers in Paris are not a friendly lot and they don’t like Uber. If they see the logo they will break the windows with bats and pour dog shit on the customer’s head.

The Uber took us from the conference centre to our sick friend’s apartment in the Jewish quarter. Along the way we passed the Place du la Republique. It was filled with Parisans enjoying the fall evening. Yoshiko and I looked at each other, smiling. So many people, we said, they are having a good time. About an hour and a half later the Place du la Republique would be filled with blood and bodies. About a day later a man from Germany would pull a grand piano into the Place de la Republique and play John Lennon’s Imagine.

We found a pharmacy and bought a bunch of medicine and after a search found the apartment.

Our sick friend is an amazing young woman. She is a full time musician with the band Sidney York.  She is a marathon runner and a sailor with the Canadian Forces, a flight attendant with WestJet and she hosts with Airbnb.

So we dropped off the medicine and told her the instructions the pharmacist gave us.

By now we were hungry and tired and did not feel like searching for the party, so we grabbed a falafel to eat then went home.

Back at Annie’s place we conducted our evening prayers and chanted. At 9:20 the attacks began. A few minutes later Annie’s daughter interrupted us. She had many messages from friends and social media.  The messages said violence and gun fire was in many places in eastern Paris.

I moved everyone away from the windows, closed the curtains and turned off the lights. Annie’s daughter turned on the news on TV.

Now, some people ask, why do you go to Paris after Charlie Hebdo, aren’t you afraid. The answer is not complicated or heroic. When your lover is hurt you want to be with them. We wanted to be there.

The 100 or so Canadians were locked in the cafe until 3 AM. Finally the police said they could leave in groups of five, each group with an Airbnb staff to walk back to the conference centre. They left in one minute intervals. The last group did not get back until about 4:45 am.

None of the conference participants were hurt and no Soka Buddhist members were killed. But many friends of members were killed or injured. Annie’s children lost friends.

One of the Soka women’s step-son was at a place that was attacked. She heard no news about him. Between 1 AM and 6 AM she chanted the daimoku mantra of great power. At 6 AM she heard from the hospital. A grenade exploded behind him, blowing up his shoulder, arm and part of his face. He is alive and filled with gratitude and determination.

Within minutes of the attacks Parisians started the hashtag #porteouverte, open door. They offered shelter to anyone on the streets who could not get to safety.

I am certain if your town were attacked the people would open their doors to strangers. They would not lock their doors in fear.

Within minutes of the attacks the Paris taxi drivers, known for their racism and lack of generosity, united to drive anyone home without charge.

If there were an emergency in your city, I am certain strangers would pick up strangers off the street and drive them home.

Within minutes we received messages and prayers from friends everywhere. But we were fine. I know people were worried and now I feel a bit awkward. It must of been harder on our friends. We were fine. Every minute was a treasure, every second was a gift. Yoshiko said, “we are having a wonderful time every second, even though the situation is so painful.”

The government declared a state of emergency and banned all public gatherings, so the last day of the conference was cancelled and all Soka France meetings were cancelled.

On Saturday Yoshiko and I went to visit people who were alone. People should not be alone the day after a terrorist attack. Of course we did not know it was the day after. No one knew if the attacks would continue.

Yoshiko wanted to donate blood but the line-ups to donate were very long.

We tried to encourage the soldiers and police we met. People were out in the cafes. They were cautious but having a good time. They were not careless but they were not blase. They were alert but they were alive. The media said Paris is gripped with fear. We saw no grip. We saw no fear. So I took pictures of people and sent them to friends to post around the world.

When we arrived  back to Annie’s Saturday afternoon a few neighbors had gathered. Parisian’s, it seems, are not good at following instructions not to gather.

Annie was receiving reports minute by minute from women around eastern Paris. She was busy, so Yoshiko tried to encourage the women at Annie’s apartment.

After the women left, Yoshiko and Annie made Quince jam. It was utterly delicious and I declared it “Confiture Quince Anti-terroriste.”

We had many experiences like this but I want to share one experience coming home. We flew from Amsterdam to Calgary via KLM, the Dutch airlines. You know, the Dutch are a strong people, known for being stoic, so what happened surprised me.

Our flight attendant was a tall blonde Dutch woman, very capable, obviously experienced and professional. I was just one fat traveler among hundreds, no one special. But for some reason she started talking with me. She asked if we were visiting Calgary. I said no, Calgary was home. Were we visiting Amsterdam? No. we had been in Spain and France on business. We were in Paris during the attacks. Her face turned grey. She asked me many questions about the attacks.  She said you must of been so scared. I said of course it was horrible but we were not really scared. We wanted to be with our friends.

Abruptly she cut off our discussion, “I can’t do this,” she said and ran to the front of the airplane. I started the daimoku mantra furiously in my head. About fifteen minutes later she came back, but this time she was pushing a trolley ahead of her. She crouched behind the trolley so no one could see her. I think Yoshiko was also making daimoku. The flight attendant was crying. She knew her job demanded she not be crying but she could not stop. This was her first flight after the attacks. She had three children, 15, 14 and 9. Before she left home that morning her nine year old had begged her, momma please do not go.

I had no idea what to say. What could I say? What would you say? I told her, It is OK to cry. Obviously we are frightened, we are all frightened, but we can not live in fear. You are clearly very good at your job, helping people relax and getting them safely to their destinations. You must also be a wonderful mother. It is OK to cry. It is not ok to live in fear.

Later we gave her some chocolate loonies we’d brought from Canada to give to her children. Yes, I get the irony of me giving some crappy dollarama chocolates to the Dutch.

Thank you all for your prayers and your lovely messages and your prayers for Paris. But did you know that one of the surviving Charlie Hebdo cartoonists said do not pray for Paris. Drink wine for Paris, kiss and dance for Paris.

Thoughts on Makiguchi's theory of value

November 18, 1930 is considered the day Soka Gakkai was founded. We honor that day as the starting point of the modern movement to spread peace, culture and education through Nichiren Buddhism.

What happened that day, 84 years ago, was the publication of Mr Makiguchi's book The System of Value-Creating Pedagogy. Mr Makiguchi had wanted to publish a book for a number of years, but was unable to, because he was a poor school principal without resources. It was his protege, Josei Toda, who single handedly compiled, edited and financed the publication of The System of Value-Creating Pedagogy .

Mr Makiguchi identified three values – beauty, gain and goodness. He thought that the purpose of education; schools, families, and society's purpose in raising children, should be to teach how to create values.

What do we mean by values? Values are the underlying beliefs that influence all our thoughts, words and behaviours. Our values lead to our thoughts. Our thoughts lead to words, then to deeds, and have a profound effect on our experience. Values are the things that are important to us, what we prize, what we find precious.

What we choose to value is important. I say choose because if we aren't choosing what we do, if we simply react the same way over and over to stimulus, hurting ourselves and others, then maybe we don't have values. Maybe we have addictions. If what we find precious is pathological, such as a magic ring, we may find ourselves in a lot of trouble and create trouble for others.

The value of beauty is that which appeals to our senses. Aesthetics. Sights, hearing, taste, smell, touch. Daisaku Ikeda has said the value of beauty indicates transforming reality, to change our circumstances, and in so doing find meaning and purpose.

In our society the value of beauty has been completely corrupted. Society has created a fixed externalized model of beauty that all must adhere to. In truth, beauty is what appeals to our senses. It is our experience of beauty that matters. What is truly beautiful is the ability to find meaning. But our society dictates standards of beauty that become rigid rules. This is leading to the destruction of our sense of personhood, our body-hood – a kind of daily, insidious, incremental rape.

In 1993, in Vancouver, Ikeda Sensei taught us that true beauty is found in sincere and diligent striving. Beauty is in our earnest efforts, not in externalized referents.

The second value, gain – that which enhances the whole person not just senses. Ikeda has identified the value of gain with changing our destiny to enhance our own existence. You think gain, or benefit, is getting what you want. But Sensei says true gain is the capacity to transform ourselves and so enhance the totality of our self.

According to the heretical philosophy of our times, gain lies only in the accumulation of things, money and consumption. We think all problems can be solved through consumption.

In 1993, in Vancouver, Ikeda-Sensei taught us that true wealth is in living with latitude and generosity. Having a little bit of room for others is to be truly wealthy.

The third value, goodness, means that which contributes to others well being. Again, Sensei identifies the value of goodness with working for others' well being, regardless of our circumstances and regardless of their circumstances.

In our world goodness is only vaguely sensed as a judgemental moralizing. All our behaviours are judged by nebulous sets of rules that shift with the demands of the production/consumption society. Basic activities, such as eating, working, exercising for example, are seen as moral choices, rather than demands of nature.

The three values of beauty, gain and goodness are not equal. Gain is greater than beauty because gain enhances our entire life, not just our senses. Goodness is greater than either beauty or gain because goodness enhances the lives of others. However do not think this is a ladder. You do not advance up a ladder from beauty to gain to goodness. You have this mistaken belief that you can only act for others once you have a basis of a strong self. You think you can only share the greatness of the Mystic Law on your good days. You decide who to give an experience based on who is not having trouble. This is completely mistaken; there is no evidence for this position in the Daishonin's Gosho or the guidance of the founders of our organization. The fact is we experience beauty and gain only by developing goodness. We experience beauty and gain only by contributing to others. It is our actions for others that is the cause for our own transformation.

I will tell you a short story to emphasize my point that every person, no matter their circumstances, no matter how low they appear to be, can make a tremendous contribution to others well-being. This is the true story of Philip Gonzales and Ginny. Philip is a big guy, a steam fitter, a man's man. He had a horrible accident, was disabled, lost his job, became depressed. He lost all hope and ultimately refused to leave his apartment.

Philip was exactly the kind of person that you think of as needing help, powerless, a victim. Philip, you think, needs a whole lot of help, before Philip should even think about helping others.

Philip lost all his friends, except one. That friend said, Philip, you should get a dog. Philip thought, I can't take care of myself, how can I take care of a dog? Very reluctantly Philip went out of his apartment. He went to the local shelter. Philip thought, I am a big strong man who has lost my strength. I will look for my type of dog – a big, strong dog, so when I go out no one will pick on the cripple. Philip was still a macho dude.

Now, there is one thing lower than a hopeless, powerless person. That is a hopeless, powerless dog, waiting to be destroyed in a cage in a shelter. We feel pity for them, we try to help them, we contribute to the local humane society. We do not expect abandoned animals on their last hours and minutes to help anyone, certainly not change the world.

Philip did not find his big strong macho man's dog. Instead Ginny found him. Ginny was an abused, abandoned Schnauzer-husky mix. Ginny was neither large nor strong. She was sick and about 48 hours from being destroyed. The shelter people said, take Ginny for a walk. Philip said, I don't walk so good. They said, Ginny will help you. So Philip, who because of his disability did not walk very well, took Ginny for a walk. Within a few steps he sensed something about Ginny, some energy. Within seconds Phillip started feeling better, moving better. Philip took sick, broken Ginny home.

Slowly Ginny's love and caring started to work on Philip. Philip knew Ginny was special and felt it his purpose to help Ginny. He became healthier, stronger, more sociable.

Now the story really begins. There is one thing lower than an abandoned, sick, abused dog – feral cats. Cats left on the street to return to their wild state. We despise them as a society and fear them when we meet them.

One night Philip and Ginny were walking when Ginny found an abandoned, feral cat. Philip thought, this is not going to go well, someone is going to get hurt. The cat and Ginny did not fight. Ginny started licking and caring for the cat. Ginny, the dog, acted like the cat's mother.

Ginny and Philip started taking care of feral cats. They went out, night after night. They rehabilitated abandoned cats and found homes for them. Ginny loved cats, no matter how damaged they were – blind, legless, deaf, sick. She not only rescued them from fields and streets, but also from hard-to-find places such as drain pipes, dumpsters, and the glove compartments of abandoned cars. Ginny, the dog, was even named Cat of the Year, for her uncanny skill and bravery in rescuing and caring for cats. One time at a construction site Ginny threw herself against a vertical pipe, using her little weight to topple it and reveal kittens trapped inside. Another time she dug through a box of broken glass, ignoring her own cuts to find an injured cat inside.

Ginny finally died in 2005 after rescuing over 8 hundred cats.

What happened to Philip? Philip has written two books about Ginny and has established a foundation in her name to care for abandoned cats. He gets up at 2 every morning to make the rounds of nineteen colonies he and Ginny built in abandoned fields and alleys, where he feeds approximately 320 cats. He has since adopted other dogs but none of them have the slightest interest in caring for cats.

Moral of my story, moral of the three values is not to get a dog. It's not to get anything. It is to stop thinking about what you can get and start thinking about what you can give.

The three values have a social implication. When people work together to create beauty, we call it culture. When we strive collectively to teach how to truly gain, we have education. When goodness is a social value, we achieve peace, the highest value of all. This collective action of peace, culture and education is called the Soka Gakkai International.

Experience at world peace prayer meeting July 6, 2014

Thank you everyone for this opportunity to share my experience. When Shirley asked me if I could tell my experience I told her I am always ready, always eager to talk about how great the philosophy of Nichiren is, how great is our objective of kosen-rufu and how great is our mentor, Ikeda Sensei.

My experience is long and a bit strange. It is the story of the unlikely meeting of a lonely sickly boy and the greatest philosopher of our time, in the world's most beautiful city. If you've heard it before, if it does not interest you, or if you fall asleep I will not be offended.

I began my practice when I was 13 years old. My oldest brother introduced me when we lived in Los Angeles. This was the pioneering time of our movement in North America. Most of the members were young but none as young as me.

I do not remember exactly how Peter started. But he came home one night with some others and they enshrined his gohonzon. He began to tell me about chanting and about the philosophy of peace of Daisaku Ikeda. Pete told me that Ikeda had an idea that world peace could be achieved through individuals transforming their lives.

I was interested in peace, possibly because I did not know peace. My family was not happy. My parents fought constantly. It was not a home of love or trust or nurturing. In fact our friends told us that some of the worst times of their lives were when they visited us. I longed to live in a place of happiness but had no idea what that looked like.

My family moved a lot, always because of my father's career. We followed him wherever his career took him. I went to five different grade schools, two junior highs and two high schools.

Also I had no peace internally. I was sick constantly. My body was at war with itself. At the time I did not know the name but I have Crohn's disease. My body is allergic to my own digestive tract and tries to expel my intestine.

Pete and his new Buddhist friends taught me about Ikeda's ideas. And so I started my own practice. Unlike today there were no activities for children so I tried to go to the regular meetings, often hitch-hiking for hours across Los Angeles, even at night. My parents, of course, were vaguely concerned, but too preoccupied by their own troubles to pay much attention.

In those days the members would go to Japan for pilgrimage to the head temple. But when they came back they mostly talked about Ikeda. They would talk about how happy Ikeda was; they even said he glowed. I tried to learn from them more about Ikeda's ideas, but I had my doubts about the glowing bit.

I wanted to go with them to Japan and meet Ikeda, but they always said I was too young or I was too sick. Also it cost a huge amount of money and, of course, I had no money.

Now the bizarre part of the story begins. I heard that Ikeda-Sensei was coming to America. I was over-joyed. Finally I would meet him. Then my father told me he was going on sabbatical. My parents were going to the Middle East and Europe for a year and I had to go with them.

My joy was immediately crushed. I thought I must be the most unfortunate person alive. Ikeda was coming to Los Angeles and I would have to leave. Of course, most young people would be very happy at the idea of travelling around the world for one year. Today that would be a dream for me. But at that time, for me, it was my worst nightmare come true.

I phoned a guy I knew who worked at the organization's headquarters. He said Keith, you have to go to Europe. You can not live on your own in L.A. He said, next April, go to Paris. He gave me an address, 64 rue du Lycee, Sceaux, France.

So I received my own gohonzon and I graduated from high school early and I flew to meet my parents in Israel. In a tiny shop in Jerusaleum, once a Crusader's horse stall, Arabs sewed me a container to protect my Gohonzon. I travelled all over north Africa and Europe with my quarrelling parents. I was lonely and sick and scared.

Then in April 1972 I left my parents in Geneva and got on a train to Paris. I spoke no french, did not know anyone and only had my gohonzon and few American dollars. And I had this address my friend had given me. It was the headquarters of Soka Gakai in France. I went there and a man met me. He naturally asked what was I doing there. I said I have come from America to meet Ikeda-Sensei. He said, “Sensei is not coming.” I said, “that is ok, I will wait for him.”

So I found a tiny place to stay. Most every day I went to this place in Sceaux. I had very little money and the place where I stayed took most of what I had and so survived on one loaf of Baguette a day.

I was hungry, lonely and sickly. When I wasn't at Sceaux I either chanted or slept or wandered the streets of Paris. I saw many beautiful things. I loved the museums, parks, monuments, libraries, streets, everything. I am a bit odd, as you probably know, but although weak I had a passion inside. Something burned in me, despite me.

I met another man at the place in Sceaux. He was a doctor and the leader of the French organization. He spoke English very well and asked me why I was there. I told him I wanted to meet Ikeda-Sensei. Unlike the first man, the doctor said, “great, please help us!” I liked the doctor better.

And so, in my own stumbling, clumsy way, I tried to help the French members prepare for Sensei's arrival. Likely I caused more problems then help.

Finally Sensei and his wife were coming. The French put me in a room where I could chant. There was a big room upstairs that Sensei would have a meeting. They put me in a small room downstairs that Sensei would not go.

After the big meeting Sensei and Mrs I came into the small room where I was. He walked up to me and shook my hand. He was so happy. He glowed, just like the members said. I'd never seen anyone so happy to be where he was, in the moment. He moved with his wife with incredible grace and beauty, like a beautiful dance.

Now I will tell you why he was there. As you know Sensei has conducted dialogues with the greatest thinkers of our time. Together with dozens of great scholars and philosophers he has written many books. The dialogues are all about how to create a peaceful world. Through these dialogues Sensei and those great thinkers have identified the necessary steps out of the crises our planet faces. Over 1600 dialogues have created a kind of philosophical and practical structure for transforming humanity's destiny. Our bookstore has many of those books. If you are interested in the future of our society and our planet I heartily recommend you visit our bookstore and talk with Bokin and Sachiko and start learning.

The first of those dialogues was with the great British historian Arnold Toynbee. All the dialogues and collaborations and public work for peace that SGI engages in today grew out of that first dialogue with Toynbee. Their discussions have been translated into 28 languages. Ikeda-Sensei first met Arnold Toynbee in May of 1972 in London, england. Before going to London to meet Toynbee, Sensei and Mrs I came to Paris for one week to prepare, to celebrate May 3 and to celebrate their anniversary. It was his first May 3^rd outside Japan.

At the time I knew none of this. All I knew was he and I were together in this amazing city of light. I spent a week with Ikeda and his wife. We did gongyo together every day. In my own stumbling, clumsy way I fought with all my might for that week to help him. His secretary, a man named Harada who is now president of Soka Gakkai, assigned me various tasks. People came from all over Europe and Africa to meet him. He and Mrs I tirelessly encouraged members and non-members, children and VIPs. Mrs I put on a simple, beautiful kimono and they visited the Louvre. One morning after gongyo Sensei patiently taught two hundred people how to perform the Japanese tea ceremony. And all the while he quietly prepared for Toynbee. During that week I made a pledge. I decided that whatever else I did with my life I would try to help him in his work and protect him from his enemies. I was seventeen years old.

After that experience I returned to Los Angeles. I thought my life would soar, but actually my life declined in every respect from that time. My health deteriorated severely. Finally I had surgery and they removed a huge portion of my intestine. I was in the hospital for over six months. I lost my job and dropped out of university. I lost my girl friend. I lost my car. I started stealing things to sell. I was thrown into jail twice.

I thought I was so smart, seen so much, done so much. But just like John Snow in Game of Thrones, I knew nothing. I was a mess.

Eventually I came to Calgary and met my one true love.

Now life is long and has many twists and turns and many ups and downs. I have done many stupid things and met many wonderful, interesting people and had many amazing experiences. I have seen great beauty and witnessed tremendous ugliness.

But not for one day, no matter how low or how high I've been, not for one day have I forgotten the pledge I made that spring in Paris. And in my own stumbling, clumsy way I have tried to be true to that decision. Hemingway was absolutely right – the feast has moved with me.

And very slowly, slower perhaps than necessary, I have built peace inside me. Together with the love of my life, my dearest Yoshiko, we have built a family and a home where people can come and be refreshed, be encouraged and find hope.

Last Tuesday, we celebrated Canada Day. Yoshiko and I had guests from Saskatchewan, a wonderful family. A beautiful man, his wife and three lovely bright children stayed at our place for a holiday. They are not members, never heard of SGI. But on Tuesday, Canada day, something happened. The man's mother passed away in Saskatoon. His celebration turned to anguish. His holiday in Alberta turned to regrets for not being with his mother. So we took him to our prayer room and together chanted and prayed and grieved and found hope.

Thank you for listening.