Languidly Launched

And all the loveliest
things that there be
Come simply,
so it seems to me. - Edna St. Vincent Millay in the Zen Calendar (September 11, 2003).

Day 163. Head butting on the Tour. Now I've seen everything. Let's just say Mark Renshaw was a little too attached to launching Mark Cavendish. Can't believe he got sent home. Bye, bye Renshaw.

The Lone Pedaler was out on the PBJ this evening (no head butting to speak of). Rather than feeling like I was at death's door, it felt more like I was just standing on the front porch with the knocker raised. Progress. I'm feeling cautiously optimistic. There are no adequate adjectives (or expletives!) to describe the heat. It's difficult to build much strength on the bike when my energy is so consumed with not stroking out. When I saw hitchhiking Monkeys on the side of the road, I sped up. A couple of times I swerved directly at them and exhaled a super big "OM!" as I whizzed on by. That sure kept those pesky primates at bay. Cycling is an excellent form of practice (though the seat is much harder than my sofa cushion). So much transfer from zazen to the saddle. Both are optimal when I stay in my breathing and out of my head. I'm learning that a surprising number of things go better if I don't think. Or speak. Breathing and watching serve me so much better. Try it and see.

I am exceptionally fatigued this week. The good news is that my exhaustion is obviously caused by external demands rather than internal system failure. I will rest at some point. Languor has an interesting effect on zazen. There is never a threat of falling asleep on my cushion; my prelude to unconsciousness is historically prolonged. Last night, however, my weariness contributed to a new experience on the cushion. During the few occasions when I have entered a deep state of meditation, it felt like a gradual descent into the quiet emptiness. More like going down a ramp than stepping into a void. No so last night. It was as though a switch was flipped between Monkey Mind and Nothingness. I just dropped into the abyss. I noticed on an inhale that my mind was wandering, and on my exhale gently guided my attention back to the space behind my mudra. Instantly: deep meditation. Not deep enough for my mind and body to fall away, but very quiet indeed.

I didn't track time, and forgot to hate the last five minutes. A foot was thoroughly numb, so I knew I'd done my time. So many astonishing things to learn when I get my butt on my cushion. Take that, you Menacing Monkeys!

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc