The 23rd Minute

Do not follow the idea of others, but learn to listen to the voice within yourself. Your body and mind will become clear and you will realize the unity of all things. - Dogen in the Zen Calendar (October 5, 2009).

Day 92. This bout of fatigue is interminable. So was the wait for this fossil of a computer to boot.

Sometimes after I write a blog that resonates for me, I can't think of another thing to write. Like the refractory period after hot sex - for a while it feels physiologically impossible to repeat something as good. When writing, however, the refractory times may last longer. This is only a problem when you have promised to blog every single night. Maybe I should have committed to having hot sex every night for a year. I bet the blog would have more followers . . . .

I've noticed something interesting over the past several nights of zazen. Right around the twenty-third minute of sitting, the Monkeys wake up. It's as though they set their own timer, which sounds two minutes before mine. They resume a chaotic clamor: "Not much longer. . . the timer will soon go off. . . that went fast (or slow) . . . am I going to stretch? Do some yoga? Want to read? Headed for bed? Get any new ideas for the blog? Busy day tomorrow. . . got a ride coming up. . . are the cycling shorts washed? Tandem or single? Text my son? Shut the windows. Open the windows. Fill the dogs' water bowl. Take an Excedrin P.M.? Pack for Pilates . . . I am happy (sad, worried, exhausted, frustrated, apprehensive, angry . . .) Wait! Stop the chatter! What happened to my empty my mind? Did I bow to my cushion? This isn't mindfulness. Don't judge. Don't compare. Last night went better. . . . ."

I am mightily inept at silencing those Monkeys. Even after ninety-one consecutive days of trying. On some nights, for a brief time roughly between minutes eleven and twenty-two, there are periods when I think I am in meditation to some degree. For me, the seemingly effortless act of sitting on my cushion and not thinking is about as effortless as dusting the Pyramids with a Q-tip. I don't know what happens at the 23rd minute. I would like to relinquish my control clutch and be surprised by the sound of the timer, rather than fixate on the remaining 120 seconds of zazen. So far, that hasn't happened.

On two separate occasions, I have been told by different professionals that my body held more tension than any body they had experienced in their entire career, bar none. The first was a masseuse during her initial and only appointment with me. She had a stellar reputation among finicky athletes and prided herself on return customers who had fired numerous masseuses before her. Eerily, she spent three hours on the one-hour massage I had paid for, never accomplishing her personal standard of outcome. I was not conscious of the time passing, or her bewilderment at my body's inability to relax. We never discussed the massage. She never returned my calls. I think I freaked her out.

The second source of feedback was from my Pilates teacher. She is a perfectionist, schooled in the classic tradition of Joseph Pilates himself. I have studied with her for three years. Sometimes, when she is particularly exasperated with my poor form, she will physically attempt to position my body correctly. Mentally and emotionally, I feel utterly cooperative. I am invested in Pilates, committed to my teacher, and desirous of improving my skills in class. Doesn't matter. My body protests. I've noted before that I am freakishly strong, but so is my teacher. It's brutally embarrassing when my body is not malleable to even the most rigorous of her manipulations. In my mind, I want to receive her instruction and make a bodily change. Too often, even when working together, we just can't budge me.

I could spin out on analyzing this rigidity. I don't like it; it confuses me and is incongruous with the value I place on fluidity and willingness to change. It feels rooted in fear and control, neither of which I like in reference to myself. I suspect it is the bodily representation of my obsessive-compulsive wiring. Surrender is not in my genes. Meticulously tracking time, however, is.

Next month I will add five minutes to my zazen time, and I am curious about how this will affect the Monkeys. Will they chatter at the twenty-eighth minute? Will zazen help me learn to relinquish control? Will my rigid body and obsessive-compulsive mind fall away? Will I reach Nirvana? Will I ever fully trust the timer? Will I ever do the side-bend-Mermaid combination in Pilates correctly? Stay tuned - there are 273 days left to go.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc