Parallel Play

Zen is really extraordinarily simple as long as one doesn't try to be cute about it or beat around the bush! - Alan Watts in the Zen Calendar (September 19, 2007).

Day 87. The winds have softened. So has my mood.

I am heavy with a fatigue reminiscent of last year when I burned out my adrenal gland in a heat incident. I recall waking in the night thirsty, and it would take a half hour to summon the energy to reach for the glass on the bed stand. This weariness should allow for some very still sitting. Hope I don't drop my mudra.

The Monkeys have taken a slight sabbatical this week. They didn't file a leave of absence, so I am not sure when they will return. While upon my cushion, I am learning to, well, sit. Just sit. Strange how long it is taking me to master this. I must house some particularly robust Monkeys. The trick (not that there is one -- I'm just sitting) seems to be to not try. This is not rocket science; every syllable ever written about Zen and meditation essentially says, "Just sit." Easier read than done. When I sit tall and straight and sink downward from my brain, sometimes it becomes extraordinarily still. I can't stay there for long. Before I can consciously feel anxious or fearful, the Monkey Chorus usually strikes a high note to deliver me from the quiet. It is frustrating, and then I get frustrated because I'm not supposed to feel frustration. My instincts say this quiet is a good place to be. My habits yank me out like an AARP member on a deep sea fishing trip.

Outside of work, I am experiencing a reluctance to interact. Perhaps my writer persona is emerging! I took the dogs to the lake again this evening. The winds had calmed, and the frothy brown water had stilled to a murky blue. As we walked along the shoreline, I felt so grateful that Katy and Ruby can amuse themselves doing dog stuff. Nothing is required of me. I make enthusiastic noises when they pop out of the woods and tear down to the water, but I don't think they care much. I can do my Reflective Person thing, and they can do their Wild Dog thing.

This reminds me of a concept from Child Development classes. Up to a certain age, you can place a couple of babies next to each other, and they don't have much to do with one another. They will both just entertain their Self with whatever is currently holding their attention. They "play" (non-play?) this way side by side, but with no actual interaction with each other, which is why the phenomena is called "parallel play." Interestingly, babies are usually quite content with this non-interactive proximity to each other. It's as though being near is enough, and you don't botch it by exchanging anything else. That's the cool thing about being at the lake with my dogs. We stay in relative proximity to one another while flowing along separately. It is effortless and peaceful. A bit like "just sitting" on my cushion.

I am aware that when I sit, I am sitting for all sentient beings. I would like to say I feel equal compassion for all beings, but I am not there yet. I feel most compassionate toward those that leave me alone. The ones that don't need anything. The ones that, literally or metaphorically, are sitting on their own. The ones that can parallel play. Especially the ones that don't try to be cute or beat around the bush.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc