Buddha is a Bad Ass 2

Inwardly seeing your own self-nature and being unshakable, indestructible -- that is Zen! - Zen Saying in the Zen Calendar (April 13, 2009)

Day 33. The number thirty-three always makes me think of a former consultant who would say, "That is your Jesus year." A reminder that He died when he was 33. So very young.

I'm still on a post trail ride high, though I'm pretty sure Monday morning will imminently squelch it. There was, however, another incredibly Zen moment during yesterday's ride that I want to brag about. Blog about. Whatever. It offered another meaningful metaphor that seemed relevant to my life, and hopefully to the lives of others.

When I last blogged about mountain biking, I described a section of trail in which I had to stop, balance beside a tree, and start again. The reason for the interruption to my flow was, essentially, a combination of unfamiliarity with the trail, extremely difficult terrain, and, uh, terror. I've never ridden that piece of trail all the way through. It is relatively new to the Clear Bay Trail system, and the result of diligent work on the part of ingenious trail designers (who also happen to be incredibly talented mountain bikers). The approach to the turn-off for this part of trail has two signs: one points away from it and says, benignly enough, "Bypass." The other sign points directly toward a deep ravine and says, "Advanced." Pretty straightforward, and how kind of them to build a shame-free alternative to the ridiculously challenging new stretch of trail. That said, I've always been somewhat of an overachiever, so I've never been able to "bypass" anything that says "advanced."

This little zinger is about half-way through the 18-mile loop. I'm cruising along, feeling all Zenned out, a little (no, a lot) cocky over the fact that the three stud guys I'm riding with have all had crashes, and I'm still blood-free. The two leaders have disappeared ahead of me - they live for this piece of trail. My cockiness falters as I careen down the first abyss and my front wheel skids some before I launch straight up the other side. That is just enough to trigger memories of my attempt to ride this section of ground two weeks ago. I would rocket headlong down the steep ravines and get three-fourths of the way up the other side only to hesitate, fail to pedal aggressively, wobble, and teeter on the edge of the tiny summit of the next crater. That moment of hesitation, my split second of indecision, would cost me the momentum I needed to successfully tackle the next sequence of roller coaster cliffs. This resulted in plenty of dirt-diving, bike pushing, and a decidedly dissatisfied attitude toward my mountain biking skills.

The moment of truth on sections like this comes just before you reach the apex of the climbs. The bike is pointing straight up, so momentum is quickly lost. You've gone from bullet speed to almost a dead stop, and every instinct says to kick your foot free from the pedal and put it down to prevent crashing back down to the bottom. The trick is to override your instincts and pedal hardest at precisely the moment you want to stop pedaling altogether. You have to commit. You can't equivocate. Or, as the EZ riders always say, "Ride through it."

During yesterday's ride, I didn't hesitate as I approached the tops. I tightened the core muscles I've worked so hard on in Pilates class, and pedaled those last revolutions like my life depended on it (and it might have!). I tried to visualize the layout of the trail so that I could have an extra nanosecond to anticipate where to steer my bike. Then my brain just shut off and shut up. I rode that segment of trail on pure reflex. My expression was a grimace of determination. I committed, flowing with the momentum until it gave out, keeping my feet glued to the pedals as I hammered those last couple of pedal strokes to bring me up and over. As I sailed over a crest I'd never ridden continuously before, I let out a whoop that was heard from across the lake. Sheer guts. Sheer glory.

I've repeated that part of the trail a hundred times in mind since yesterday, and I'm still grinning. I've been wondering how many times in my life I haven't, metaphorically, pedaled those last difficult, necessary strokes. How many times I've floundered, bailed, preempted an opportunity because I was afraid. I think we all prematurely abandon things when we can't see far enough ahead, when there is risk, when we haven't done it before. Imagine all the missed glory. My meditation is changing me from the inside out. Many times during zazen there have been painful emotions that bubble up, and I've learned to just keep breathing - to not bail out of the moment. Sitting helps me recognize and accept the steep climbs in my life. I'm going to keep pedaling up and over, because I like the glory.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

Buddha is a Bad Ass (And so am I)

Enlightenment begins where the pavement ends. - The back of my partner's Bar Harbor T-Shirt

Day 32. That puts me into my second month of blogging even if I didn't start in February!

It seems a bit ego driven to feel like yesterday's blog was a cliff hanger when I am the author. In all honesty, however, I was very curious to see how today's mountain bike ride would go. Suffice it to say, I am a Bad Ass!!

We rode every inch of trail at Clear Bay. We took the long way around the long ways. I banked as high as possible on every turn (that's where the cool carving is, anyway) just to be sure I covered the absolute most ground. The computers said 19.5 miles, but my body ache-o-meter says more like 47.5. Mileage is such an arbitrary thing. We ride the road bikes 60 miles at a time and I hop off and go mow the lawn. Let me assure you, nothing is getting mowed today. I'm resting between blog sentences because my fingers are so stiff! Pushing the keyboard letters is almost more exertion than I can tolerate.

I rode with the Buddha today. No kidding - I was one pedaling Bodhisattva. For my readers (not that I have any) who are rusty on their Sanskrit, a Bodhisattva is an enlightened one who sticks around on earth to help liberate all sentient beings. As I tore through the forest, I kept thinking that covering ground on two wheels was nothing compared to sitting utterly still under a bodhi tree for seven days. Now that's bad ass.

I never dreamed that my cycling would be so impacted by my Zen meditation (though if it applies to Motorcycle Maintenance, why should I be surprised?) Every aspect of my time on the cushion seems to transfer in some way to my time in the saddle. I used to feel some panic when my heart rate reached impossibly soaring heights. Now I just envision my breath passing in and out through my mudra - really, really fast. Nothing to panic about -- breath finds its own way and, when not impeded by thought, does what it needs to do. My breath seemed to permeate my body more efficiently. It was as though more oxygen was pulsing through me, fueling my churning legs. When various body parts hurt, I sort of just watched the pain from afar. I guess all that time pretzeled up in the lotus position has its benefits. At least on the bike I'm moving, rather than sitting perfectly still while my lower extremities grow tingly, then numb. I've become so accustomed to resigning myself to holding still until the timer sounds, no matter how loudly my body protests, that I was able to just wait out the long ascents. The timer always sounds, eventually, so it was easier to trust that the climb would end - eventually. And it always did.

It intrigued me that all my thoughts during the ride came in the form of metaphor. For instance, there is a long section of trail that consists of extremely tight, twisty turns. Riding it requires timing, balance, and concentration. You have to pay attention, but not over-think it. You have to maintain speed to stay upright, but not go so fast that you crash into the trees hugging the trail. You have to coordinate handlebars, pedals, wheels, bike frame and body parts so they are not scraped raw, and do all that without bumping the teammate in front of you or holding up the one behind. Not that you can see the people you're riding with, which is where my metaphor comes in. There I was, on a difficult portion of trail, registering the immediacy of everything around me, and feeling utterly alone because the turns prevented seeing the person in front of me. I thought about how, when I'm attempting something treacherous and difficult, most of the time I don't want to be alone. But I can become so focused on the demanding task, it may not occur to me that help is actually close by. It's easy to get swallowed up by the challenge, the overwhelmed feelings, the tunnel vision required by the difficulty. So I forget that I am not alone, and deprive myself of the true and present possibility of assistance, or at least company. While riding that twisty section of trail today, I vowed to remember that I can ask for help when I'm treading precarious ground on my life's path. I don't want to get so consumed with feelings of fear and loneliness that I implode within. Especially when loving people are just around the next twist of the trail, ready and willing to lend a hand. Or a heart. Or a goo.

There were some other insights while riding today, but I've been in an upright position long enough. Thank you, Buddha, for sitting under that bodhi tree. And thank you, EZ riders, for accompanying me on the trail.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

Breathe Through It

"Ride through it." - Every EZ Rider I know

Day 31. APoxOnMyBlog has been announced. At least to my closest friends - The First Friday Lovelies. My sisters, soul mates, Goddesses of the Universe. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And you really don't have to read this . . .

The EZ Riders are my cycling club. I'd say "team" but that implies a level of organization and, perhaps, formal financial structure, that is in no way applicable to this motley gathering of cyclomaniacs. I'm pretty sure we'd take a bullet for one another. I know we risk our lives for each other, but that is just the nature of riding a bike on the same roads with Oklahoma drivers. On many rides, I am the only female, and I am definitely the least experienced rider. Which means I must exhibit the highest pain tolerance and whine the least (my rule, not theirs).

I wasn't far into my first season with the EZ Riders (2007), when it became obvious that their panacea, the Ultimate Solution, the Encompassing Elixir for what ever has happened (real or imagined) or ever will happen to a person on a bicycle is: Ride Through It. Stomach cramps - Ride through it. Leg cramps - Ride through it. Thirsty, hungry, out of energy - Ride through it. Too hot, too cold, too wet, too slippery, too windy - Ride through it. Horrible, blistering saddle sore - Ride through it. Unmentionable in mixed company female predicaments - Ride through it (and don't talk about it). Hopelessly lost on some back country one lane pot-hole laden Oklahoma road - Yup. You guessed it. Ride through it.

This may sound harsh, and more than a little unreasonable. The strange thing is -- it works! I should know; I've ridden through all of the above. More than once. Can't quite figure it out, but I do know one contributing variable. They are all there to ride through it with me. They've all felt the same thing, been in the same situation, similarly suffered (well, all but the circumstances specific to being female). My teammates aren't mean, or arrogant, or ego bound. They are steadfast - always there to lend a wheel on which to draft, a water bottle, a packet of goo, and (relentlessly!) a sarcastic comment or two. There is no judgment, no objections, no impatience, no questioning the legitimacy of your complaint. The EZ riders just deal with things as they come. Like a bunch of pedaling Buddhas. The core group members have ridden together for thousands of miles. Being a part of them feels like merging into an ancient collective. The whole is, truly, greater than the sum of its parts. We all take off together; we all come in together. Noone gets dropped, or left, or abandoned because they are having a bad day. The EZ Riders make Robin Hood and his Merry Men look like a dysfunctional clique.

Only a small number of us mountain bike. We have a challenging ride scheduled for about 10 hours from now. We plan to ride all of Clear Bay, and ride it fast. I'll probably be the weakest link. Last night, as I sat zazen, I was going over the ride in my mind (in between my Ham's and my Sah's.) I felt anxiety, then fear, creep in as I envisioned some of the more treacherous sections of trail. On the heels of those feelings disgust came swaggering in; mountain bikers aren't supposed to be afraid. My breathing became erratic as my heart beat faster. My inhale got choppy and over compensatory. It began to feel disproportionate to my exhale, which was doing its best to stave off the fear and abate the disgust. The Monkeys began to chatter.

So I just sat there on my cushion, my mudra balanced and my spine erect. Thought about the EZ Rider mantra: Ride Through It. Thought about the zazen mantra: Breathe Through It. Sit with the fear. Calmly watch the anxiety. Concentrate on my breath. Ham, Sah. Ham, Sah. Don't evaluate the feelings, don't get attached to them, remember what is real. Gradually, the feelings drifted through and out of me. I felt the solidity of my cushion, the mudra at my middle, the constancy of my breath. Reality became that moment, that breath, and the next and the next, not some hypothetical future event. I relinquished my attachment to any certain feeling regarding the ride, and surrendered myself to the here-and-now. I calmed down, and the Monkeys grew quiet.

Zazen is permeating so many facets of my life. It's becoming an awfully powerful elixir itself, but I have no expectations. And if zazen falls short at a critical juncture in my life, I can always ride through it.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

Rice and Tea

"There are amazing healers in your world." - Kristen Allott, ND, LAc (March, 2010)

Day 30. This is a biggie. I told myself if I could get 30 blogs in a row I would let somebody know about this. Of course, I've let the blog out of the bag to a couple of good friends, but for the most part I've been in blissful anonymity. No comments means no impediments to my book deal fantasies.

My monkey mind is chattering, and I'm not even on my cushion. I was at a professional seminar all day, and then had the great joy of a tandem ride on a week day, and it's not even Daylight Savings Time yet! I may be too blissed out to construct sentences . . .

The seminar was titled "Nutritional and Complementary Treatment for Mental Health Disorders." I came out of it convinced that if Americans would meditate and cut out high fructose corn syrup, we would end all that ails us. I immediately came home, sequestered myself in the pantry, and furiously read through just about every label on the shelves. At first, "furiously" as in fast and frenzied, but the more I read, the more "furiously" turned into angrily. Clearly, American food manufacturers cannot let an item off the assembly line unless sugar, corn syrup and high fructose comprise three of the top five ingredients.

I am a dedicated food label reader from way back. My son was diagnosed with Celiac Disease soon after he turned one, so I developed an eagle eye for ingredients containing gluten. I must have become myopic for the ingredients containing sugar. Now, our highly credentialed speaker today was not recommending that all sugar and its derivatives be banned from our diets. She did, however, build a pretty convincing argument for the role excessive sugar plays in wrecking havoc with the human body and mind. I laughed aloud when she referenced the wave of "Mind-Body" literature in the past few years. While poking fun at America's fixation on a fact that was obvious to healers thousands of years ago, she said, "Oh yeah, the news is out. There is no separation between the mind and body." This just in. Thanks for the profound update.

So what does the seminar have to do with my zazen practice? Plenty. I became a vegetarian in 1997, the same year I began formal training in zen meditation. As the weeks and months went by, I found myself often craving tea and rice. Rice and tea. Before that, sugar was the food group at the bottom of my pyramid. My teacher never required or even advocated for us to give up meat. I didn't read about vegetarianism, and (being in Oklahoma and all) it wasn't like I was surrounded with other omnivores. There was no epiphany, no major precipitating event; I can't even articulate clearly my reasons for becoming vegetarian. It just felt like the right thing to do. At the time, not "right" in the moral sense, just "right" for my body and spirit. I was ultra casual about the whole thing, saying something like, "If I start wanting meat again, I'll have some." That was 13 years ago.

I believe that there are amazing healers in my world, and many routes to healing. In the still, quiet moments of breathing in and breathing out, it is much easier to find my way.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

Finding Grace

"You can't find God with your brain." - D.F. (March, 2010)

Day 29. Sunny skies. Life is good.

It seems like the "doc" part of CycleBuddhaDoc is clamoring for expression. This week has offered up so many examples of the wonder of practicing psychology. Clients are a gift. Their work can be spectacular.

In a session today I witnessed one of the most poignant moments of my career. My client was in anguish as she attempted to process the turmoil surrounding a first sexual experience. Her most precious values and morals had been challenged, and she was filled with confusion and self-loathing at her inability to act congruently with her beliefs. The depth of her regret was immense, and she felt a profound sense of betrayal - by herself, the young man, and (especially) the culture that had so ill-prepared her for the reality of having sex.

We were struggling with the concept of grace. God's grace. The guilt and contempt consuming my client left her bereft of the very grace she so desperately craved and needed to heal. Though our belief systems differ, I feel profoundly connected to this client, and her torment deeply moved me. Treading carefully, and mindful of the respect I wanted to communicate for her core values, I spoke of a more expansive conceptualization of sexuality. One that went beyond the dichotomy of morality/immorality and included the intricate complexities of biology, emotion, relationship, culture, context, and spirituality. I showed her my well-worn picture of the human brain, explaining how there are times when we are reduced to our "lizard brain" (as in trauma or at times of intense emotion), which may render us unable to access our prefrontal cortex - our thinking brain - at precisely the times we most need our higher decision-making processes.

We pondered creation and the Creator as she understands it. I watched her mental wheels begin to churn, and the agony in her eyes lessened. It dawned on her that her Creator designed her brain and body perfectly, with His master plan in mind. She tried to speak several times, and said she felt "tongue-tied." I heard myself say, in the softest voice, "Take your time. Let's just stay with this for a moment. It feels important." Together, we gently discussed and explored the Truth that she was made in God's image - that she arrived on earth utterly perfect, infused with grace. It was about then that she said, with clarity and certainty, "You can't find God with your brain."

My client went on to disclose that her church had provided her with "sex education" when she was ten, and that the essence of the message was "Sex is BAD and you do not do it until you are married." I validated the absurdity of reducing something as enormous and complex as sexuality into such a simplistic representation. She expressed anger at her lack of preparedness for the reality and intensity of a human sexual experience. My client said that, for the longest time, she had tried to "think" about the concepts of God, sin, forgiveness and grace. She had attempted to "act like" she understood while at retreats and during sermons. And today, on my office couch, in the middle of a sunny afternoon, this lovely woman-child was suddenly filled with grace right before my eyes. I watched her get it - BE it - transformed with the experience of her Maker's love and grace. It was spectacular. We tried to get words to her experience, and the best we could do was acknowledge together that she was never NOT filled with grace. That she arrived in the world perfect in God's eyes, and that he was steadfast in his love for her. She had traveled away from feeling connected to her Godliness -- temporarily separated from her goodness, rather than it ceasing to exist.

I don't know how the session would have gone today had I not returned to my own spiritual practice. My Buddhist understanding of the moment is that my client's body and mind fell away; she touched God within, feeling the One, the "no separation" from all that Is. Those weren't the words I said at the time. I didn't need to. She was with her God. Filled with Grace.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

For Play and For Work

Let's work for and with each other. - B.F. (March, 2010)

Day 28. What was I thinking when I committed to blogging every day for a year? Wasn't there a song line that went something like " . . . . Mama told me there'd be days like this . . . ."?

I knew that on some days blogging would be more difficult than others. I just seem to have a knack for repressing the sheer exhaustion and brain fog that awaits me on exceptionally long work days. I used to question that phrase in athletics, "She left it all on the court (field, pitch, etc.)" Come on, is it really possible to give your ALL, your utter and complete ALL, your "I'm depleted and there is absolutely nothing left of me" ALL?? Since becoming a cyclist, however, I have changed my view. There have been occasions, both on the road and the trail, when I truly could not pedal another revolution of my cranks. My brain sent the "move" message to my legs, and they just hung - limp and unresponsive. I believe the formal terminology is "bonking." It's a little frightening and a lot humbling. I haven't yet heard the phrase, "She left it all at the office" but I think it's an escalating cultural phenomenon with a pretty hefty price tag. After days like this, my psyche arrives at home limp, lifeless, and unresponsive, just like my legs after a long bike ride. It's hard to feel inspired to write.

Well -- that was an interesting paragraph of free association. (Perhaps I will, after all, open an online journal to protect my blog from personal prattle.) I had intended to blog exclusively on associations to the quote for today. A client shared that sentence in the context of her session yesterday. For some reason, it really stood out for me: "Let's work for and with each other." She was discussing a colleague with whom she shared mutual respect, caring, support, intellect, and creativity. They were imagining a workplace void of the competitive, aggressive, narcissistic, ego maniacs that inevitably inhabit the academic departments in institutions of high learning. My client shared that she and her colleague jokingly envisioned the ultimate work environment as chairing various committees on which the other was the only member. Thus, the pact, "Let's work for and with each other."

The quote is an interesting play on words. I knew that my client was not talking about working "for" another in the sense of being dominated, subordinated, directed or controlled. She was referring to working for someone as in "being FOR them." Working for their benefit, advocating for them, contributing to their well-being. I also grasped that, in my client's context, working "with" someone wasn't referencing two people who are simply employed at the same place. She meant "WITH" as in working together toward common goals, working collectively and cooperatively, in tandem, supporting one another in meaningful endeavors.

In my workplace, I am extremely fortunate to enjoy the great goodness of working for and with my partners as this client meant it. I know such an environment is a rare and precious thing. I think the Buddha encourages us to create this climate in all of our endeavors. And now, I'm headed FOR my cushion.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

Ham Sah

Do you think I know what I'm doing? That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself? As much as a pen knows what it's writing, or the ball can guess where it's going next. - Jelaluddin Rumi in the Zen Calendar (July 31, 2002)

Day 27. February is over. Yahoo. Although, weather wise, today felt reMarchably like February.

I am discovering how tempting it is to utilize a blog simply as an online journal. The blank white square on my computer when I begin a new post BEGS to be filled with personal data of the day. Sometimes it is hard to stay on task. Tonight, however, I will cut to the blog (so to speak) because logging on to this ancient computer took longer than I will soon spend on my cushion.

While sitting last night, I focused on my breath utilizing a technique I learned from -- hmmmm. Don't remember. I want to credit a gifted teacher at a sweat lodge I visited once for a Fire Walk. I think that is my source. I'm fairly certain that the teacher in question would be most interested in my learning and applying the technique - even if I can't recall the exact circumstances under which I came upon it. I was taught to focus on the syllable "Ham" (rhymes with mom) during my inhale and "Sah" while I exhaled. Over and over again, "Ham; Sah. Ham; Sah" in rhythm with my breathing.

Focusing on these syllables - hearing the sound they made in my mind - really facilitated my capacity to stay in the moment (read: the Monkeys were silenced.) It felt effortless and mystical to accompany my breath with the words, AND it absorbed the incessant, distracting energy generated by my chattering mind. I became increasingly still and deeply peaceful. The longer I sat, the more my breath seemed to BECOME the sounds. They suited the movement of breath so perfectly. I noticed that the "h" sound in Ham occurred precisely at the moment my breath chose to draw itself up into an inhale -- it was as though the sound was conducive to the uptake of the breath. Difficult to explain; vivid to experience. As my inhale pulled itself deeply into my lungs, the sound/feeling of "Ham" beautifully accompanied it, like when a well-tuned chord coincides with a note sung in perfect pitch. A similar sensation occurred with the "Sah" and my exhale. They seemed to mingle in perfect harmony - in a symphony of synchronized sound and movement. Strangely, the cadence of the exhale exactly matched the length of the "Sah" in my mind's ear. My breath simply breathed itself in . . . and . . . out. It felt effortless and pure - like the Original Breath of the Universe must have felt. Ancient, strong, indomitable. The breath of all breaths.

This is yet another experience in which my practice offered a gift, and it feels utterly right to simply accept it with humbleness and gratitude. I am attempting to accurately share what happened, but as soon as I talk about it -- it's gone. Strangely, blogging about something so holy and mysterious feels a little blasphemous. Description can detract from the sacred -- perhaps it must only be lived. I'm headed to my cushion to find out.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc