Beware the Spiritual Vampire

This doesn't bear taking about it--but I must. There is a class of person against whom we must avoid at all costs. I refer to the spiritual vampire. Spiritual vampires will pull you into their darkness before you'll ever draw them into the light, as my friend and teacher Brian says. They go about pulling people down; they understand the power of words--specifically, the complaint--to upset people, undermine confidence, and disrupt progress. Spiritual vampires have no moral, intellectual, or spiritual place in communities until they let out a sequence of words that rise into the air and form a dark cloud over others. They know it and they love it. In fact they get high on the power of their own voices.

The job done, the Spiritual Vampire will walk away and look for a new ray of light to snuff out.

One such being crossed my path last week as Brian and I were preparing a tea ceremony and origami workshop, respectively, for last Sunday at the local library. The librarian who had invited me to lead the workshop and graciously accepted my suggestion that Brian team up with me to do the tea ceremony had publicized the event in the local media. The connection between tea and paper folding? Buddhism, of course. Buddhist monks brought both to Japan a long, long time ago. Both the tea ceremony and origami are signature features of Japanese culture, yet they are also commonplaces of American culture (Have you ever folded a paper airplane? How about a fortune teller? Been to Starbucks for a gallon of tea in a paper cup lately?) We thought it would be interesting to present both in the context of their origins. It was that simple.

The world, minus one woman, was good with it. This woman, the spiritual vampire, called the library last Thursday and complained to the head librarian and the head of the children's department that we were forcing children to participate in a religious ritual in order to fold paper. Not so, said the librarians. Yes, said the vampire. No, said the librarians. Yes, no, yes, no...

I received a call from one of the librarians asking me to put this woman's mind at ease. I didn't want to. I sensed from the start she was one of those lovelies who is always right and believes she graces the world simply by walking around being right. Still, to oblige the librarian, I made the call. I said all of the above to the woman. "But why does a Buddhist priest [hiss] have to be there? What has religion got to do with origami?"

"We're not out to inculcate Buddhism but to put the tea ceremony in its historical and cultural context."

"Buddhism is a theology [hiss]."

"Yes."

"What place does theology have in the public library!"

My mind's eye traveled to the shelves of books about religious holidays, Bible story books, self-help books, and spirituality books that line the shelves of the public library. I thought of the years my daughter has dyed her Easter eggs there. I thought of the tree surgeon who once recited "The Night Before Christmas" for the kids in the library.

I could hear children in the background as the woman spoke. This woman was more interested in barking at a complete stranger about something we weren't going to do on a topic about which she admitted she knew nothing rather than tend to the children in her own home. Would she hear me if I dared to explain that paper folding, like every other art form, is implicitly a spiritual process, that it would be impossible to accommodate her nihilistic view by stripping it down to a strictly mechanical process? Could I explain that the tea ceremony is about being present in every way in the sharing of tea--making eye contact with the person giving you the tea, being in harmony with a group of people doing the same thing at the same time, being silent and still and aware of the world around you? Nah.

"I have nothing more to add to this conversation," I said. "Why don't you come on Sunday? I'd be happy to listen to your thoughts after you experience it."

Thus ended the conversation, but not the problem. The vampire wrote a letter to the library that repeated her complaints.

I wish I had trusted my first response and declined the request to call this woman. She had the effect of upsetting four people and wasting time. I should not have allowed her to destroy my peace and my time, even momentarily.

Brian's advice amused me when I told him about this woman--after the tea ceremony. To repeat: don't even try to explain. These people are spiritual vampires who will draw us into their darkness before we draw them into the light. Why is this amusing? Brian had no desire to lay claim to this woman's mind or soul; he is not a Buddhist evangelist. He desires only to be at peace with the world around him.

Is there a place for that in a public library? I think so.