The Blue Bandana

I thank God for the things I do not own. - (Gotta look up her name) from the Zen Calendar (Gotta look up the date)

Day 41. Another day in paradise. Mountains, snow and sky. Surrounded by people I love. I understand now when Buddhists say: Just this.

In my Buddhist reading, I've come across a theme that feels very relevant to me. It has to do with separating the essential from the nonessential. This is a crucial distinction. Most Americans err in the direction of confusing the latter with the former. If you pay very close attention to your life, it will proffer opportunities to accurately separate the two.

Take skiing, for example. Most of the time, warm apparel is fairly necessary, but within the general outerwear category, there is a hierarchy. If your head, feet and hands are reasonably warm, it is amazing what low temperatures your body can tolerate. It stands to reason then that hat, socks and gloves rank highly on the essential list. Skis and some boots that attach to them probably come next. Poles, though useful on moguls, are nonessential. From here it gets a little blurry.

For me, the most essential item while skiing is my blue bandana. In the event of a hotel fire, I would probably reach for it first (certainly before my cell phone!) Foggy goggles? Blue bandana. Cold cheeks? Blue bandana. No paper towels in the women's room? Blue bandana. Runny nose, watery eyes? Blue bandana. Dirty camera lense? Blue bandana. Spilled PowerAid on the drive down the mountain? You guessed it. Reach for old blue.

I understand a fair amount about capitalism and the American foundation laid down upon it. What I don't understand is why a person believes it is essential to purchase anti fog spray and goggle wipes, a synthetic face mask, paper towels, Kleenex, eye drops, a lense cloth, and Handiwipes when they could simply tuck a blue bandana in the pocket of their parka. I'm worried about how reliant we have become on products. This overdependence on specialized "things" seems to undermine the development of our resiliency, creativity, ingenuity, and interdependence on one another. It fosters insecurity and competitiveness. We buy things to cope with painful feeling states, rather than looking to relationships to garner support and guidance in difficult times.

When I began to sit zazen last night, it was noisy and distracting. I could hear the TV and ongoing conversation in both adjacent rooms. Doors kept slamming, and it sounded as though the people in the room above ours were polka dancing in wooden shoes. Anger and resentment roiled. How can people be so oblivious? Briefly, I shifted my ear plugs from the nonessential to the essential category. Meditating in relative silence is difficult enough - how could I even begin to approach Nirvana in this melee? I straightened my spine, checked my mudra, and chose to keep breathing. I imagined the innumerable contexts in which those before me suffered while trying to meditate, and decided to press on. The din diminished - not in decibels but in relevance to my time on the cushion. Twenty minutes passed. Mentally, I shifted my ear plugs back to the nonessential category where they belong (no small feat for the woman who thinks paradise is a sensory deprivation tank).

The ritual of my sitting continues to fulfill me. To sit and breath requires very little. I'm learning to cherish my effort and commitment above all possessions. Except, perhaps, for my blue bandana.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc