Look UP!

Our lives are lived in intense and anxious struggle, in a swirl of speed and aggression, in competing, grasping, possessing, and achieving, forever burdening ourselves with extraneous activities and preoccupations. - Sogyal Rinpoche in the Zen Calendar (December 24, 2006).

Day 71. It makes me happy every time I get to type a seven!

My partner is manifesting his mid-life crisis through purchasing bicycles. Yes, the plural of bicycle. In the past six months he bought a new mountain bike, a new road bike, and - as of last Saturday - a new tandem for "us." Regarding my reaction, now seems the perfect time to practice non-attachment. In the big picture, I figure a couple of new bikes are much less intrusive than a red sports car and/or a buxom twenty-two-year-old. Bikes take up much less space in the garage.

He was preoccupied with the computer after our ride last night, and finally summoned me to check out the result of his concentration. As I gazed with mock interest at the glowing screen, he escorted me on a twenty minute tour of data pertaining to the night's ride. The data had been accumulated, tabulated, formulated, summarized and graphed by his pricey new Garmin cycling computer. The results were impressive. Colorful graphs depicted ride speed, distance, elevation change, pedal cadence, heart rate, calories burned. Minimums, maximums, and averages had been calculated. Air temperature was reported. The finale included a map straight out of MapQuest with our route juxtaposed on top. Just in case we couldn't remember where we had ridden. My partner was ecstatic. You would have thought the computer screen depicted stats on his firstborn.

I made appreciative noises and complimented our cadence. Nodded reassuringly at the accuracy with which our route had been recorded, while biting my tongue to avoid blurting out, "I know. I was THERE!" I have an odometer on my road bike that I occasionally reset before a ride. It's the same mechanism I forget to check at the end of the ride. I know that my heart rate is high when I feel like I am about to puke up my goo. I recognize elevation changes because I'm either sweating buckets and breathing like a border collie after a round up, or enjoying the rush of wind in my face. I know and remember my route because: a) I am the child of an alcoholic, and survival depended upon astute awareness of time and place, and b) I carefully choose my routes to reduce the probability of being struck by an Oklahoma driver. I estimate air temperature according to the rate sweat is dripping into my eyes or the degree of numbness in my fingers and toes. In other words, I cycle like a Buddhist!

Mustering loving kindness, I did not share any of these reflections with my partner. Far be it from me to detract from his toy joy. I sat zazen and went to sleep comparing my experience of the ride with the computer representation of it. Picturing the summary graphs in my mind, I wondered where they depicted the time Grady got dropped and Tracy bravely went back to pull him (straight into the 25 mph headwind) up to the group. There was no mention of the fact that Everett (all 65 years and 5'3", 135 pounds of him) hurtled by me and partner on the tandem, not once, but TWICE, shouting over the tailwind, "Let's blow past those guys up there so fast they can't catch us!" I didn't see a thing about the lovely scissortail fly catcher perched on a wire by the lake, and the irrational pride I felt at sighting our state bird. Nothing in the data about the intimate moment when Pete rode up beside us, gesturing toward the shiny new tandem and saying with a grin, "The family approves!" Though our maximum speed of 37.5 mph on a sprint was listed in bold black and white, there was no trace of the moment Ted appeared at our wheel, pleased as punch over his new cog set and the way it enabled him to catch us. The deep colors of the Spring sunset weren't depicted, nor was the perfect circle of camaraderie our sweaty bodies formed as we stood in the parking lot gloating over the ride.

I recognize the usefulness of accurate training data and am trying to walk the Middle Path regarding the predominance of technology in our society. My point is that, in order to fully experience the wondrous passing of the moments of our lives, we need to LOOK UP from the computer depictions of it. There is a whole generation coming of age with cricks in their necks and cramps in their thumbs because texting is their primary form of human interaction. We look down at the credit card machine to swipe our plastic, never acknowledging the human being standing at the register. For large portions of each day, the object of our gaze is the screen of our Black Berry, cell phone, lap top, or big screen TV. The dopamine levels in our brains (this has actually been measured) are being impacted by a lack of human eye contact. We are confusing the pixel representations of life with Life Itself. They are not the same thing.

I'm feeling pretty passionate as I write this. I can tell because I FEEL my heart beating, and I'm not even hooked up to a monitor. Pry your eyes off your screens. Touch, hear, smell something generated in nature. Register the human at the register. Gaze deeply at someone you love. Stretch your neck and relax your thumbs. Look UP!

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc