It was a vehicle. She stood waiting for it to round the corner so she could see what manner of human intrusion this was to be. Sad to say, she assumed people meant trouble. She knew the Forest Service wouldn't approve of her inhospitable outlook, but this mountain would be a superior place if people stayed off it altogether. - Barbara Kingsolver in "Prodigal Summer."
Day 186. Dog days of summer. Triple digits in the forecast for the foreseeable future. One of my dad's favorite phrases (ranked just below "Because I said so") was "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" (interesting advise from a man with no misgivings whatsoever about the not-so-nice things spewing from his lips). Today, I'm following his advise. Regarding the weather, I shan't say anything at all.
For the first time this year, I rode hills on my single bike. In the Spring months, we rode several hill routes on the tandem while training for Tennessee, but I haven't been out alone on the hills at all this year. The Monkeys were busily planning my route last night during zazen. I eventually got them shushed, and I have to admit the pesky primates did a durn good job formulating a plan. This morning I followed it to a T.
When my alarm went off at 5:45, I felt trepidation about sticking to the plan. I have previously ridden all of the streets on the route, but never in the sequence the Monkeys had devised, and never by myself. Though I am fond of depicting myself as a Cycling Stud on the blog, I must admit to feeling anxious this morning. As planned, the ride was entirely novel. On past Saturdays when I pedal out into the dawn, I've headed north and west. Today's route first took me south and east. My usual route quickly accesses roads with less traffic and no dogs. This ride began with several city miles before dumping me into fairly rural countryside. Past Saturdays were clear and sunny from the start. This morning, the light of dawn was delayed by cloud cover. Humidity was high. Visibility was low. My sunglasses were too dark. I switched on my rear light, selecting a blinking pattern with a manic strobe effect that made approaching me from the rear reminiscent of entering a disco bar in 1977. With Oklahoma drivers in cloudy pre-dawn darkness, you can't be too careful.
The sky had lightened by the time I hit the first stretch of hills. Lightened enough for me to look ahead and see a ribbon of steel gray pavement seemingly rise to the sky. "I used to pedal up THAT?" I asked myself, recalling the stretch of road from regular Thursday evening rides with my friend Amy, back in 2005. "It wasn't that steep five years ago." Hills are psychologically challenging as well as physically. My style is to ride them with a vengeance. I get into a tight tuck on the descents, frantically pedaling in my smallest gear to work up as much speed as possible to carry into the ascents. I love how it feels to come screaming down a hill into the coolness of the hollow at the bottom, pedaling like a madwoman. With wild abandon, I surrender myself to sheer instinct, sensing the grade through the pressure in my quads and the tilt of my bike. I've become so strong from Pilates that I can stay in my big gear up front, and - if I can tolerate the pain in my legs and lungs - maintain most of my speed to the crest of the next hill. Shifting gears requires no conscious thought; an instinctive internal sensation triggers my shifting finger with perfect timing and precision. Almost magically, my gears are shifted as I need them. Riding hills hard means riding out of my mind. The Monkeys can't even access their vocal chords.
I followed my plan. Stuck to the exact original configuration. I had no idea about the mileage (almost 40), which is less relevant when riding hills. I passed two lone joggers (at seven a.m. on remote country roads - now that's Stud) and zero cyclists until the last five miles or so. Saw lovely green pastures with new insight and appreciation after reading Barbara Kingsolver's detailed description of insect and plant life in my current novel. Listened carefully to early morning bird sounds for the same reason. Rode hard, rode well, gathered data about my cycling that is inaccessible when riding with a group. Concluded definitively that roads are a superior place if cars stay off them altogether.
Some of the tougher hills threatened to demoralize me; however, I kept returning to the feeling of sitting on my cushion, stock still, for forty minutes over the past few days. I thought about sticking to my plan for blogging and meditating. Thought about commitment and courage and follow through as values that are meaningful to me at a private, sacred level. Acknowledged the tremendous gift offered by my practice in the form of being brave when facing uncharted territory. I avoid a lot less since beginning to sit. Things seem much more manageable when you approach them as "Just this."
Make a plan and stick to it. Be brave. It's just another form of bliss.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
A Clear Pure Pool
What can it mean to "practice Zen?" Are not zazen, koan study, sutra chanting, etc., all contrivances? On the other hand, if all such are to be eliminated, how will the Zen student ever progress from her unenlightened condition to a state of enlightenment? - Bernard Phillips in the Zen Calendar (November 13, 2007).
My heart's like the autumn moon
reflecting in the clear pure pool.
Nothing to compare.
What can I say? - Han-Shan in the Zen Calendar (November 14, 2007).
Day 185. Leafing through my Zen Page-A-Day quotes makes me serenely, obscenely happy. A couple of nights ago I began sorting them according to some categories I created (e.g. Nothingness, Simplicity, Zazen, Nature), with the idea that I could then select quotes for the blog more efficiently. It was like herding cats. Some things defy categorization. Though my OCD felt mortally wounded, I was inspired and entertained simply from reading over so many pages at a time. The only fruitful outcome - and I am becoming dangerously and joyously unattached to any outcome whatsoever - was a whopping big pile of quotes under the category "My Favorites." They may or may not relate to future subject matter, but I am certain each and every one of them will be a blog opening in the next six months. They are too good not to share.
I had a Peak Experience Squared as I read through quotes for tonight. Bernard Phillips eloquently expressed a question I frequently pose to myself regarding my practice. If Zen is "Just this", why bother to sit zazen, chant sutras, and study Zen writing (which tends to make my neurons clang against one another in perplexity)? On the other hand, with what else can we possibly pave the surface of the Road to Enlightenment? Like all Zen meanderings worth their muster, Mr. Phillips didn't follow his question with an answer. Ah, such is Zen!
Part Two of my Peak Experience came when I read the quote immediately following Bernard's. I had planned to write about last night's meditation, and discovered that Han-Shan already had. I will try to put my own words to it, but his say it best.
Reaching the halfway point of my meditation year has proven to be highly significant. It dawned on me as I bowed last night that I will be sitting for 40 minutes for the next six months. In terms of how long I sit, I have arrived. I will not be increasing my meditation time. I acknowledged for myself that I had honored the plan I originally laid out - the one in which I incrementally added five more minutes to sitting time. There is something deeply gratifying about sticking to my plan. I am aware that commitment to a goal, particularly a goal with no discernible (or easily quantifiable) payoff, is no longer valued in our society. No matter. While keeping a firm grip on my ego reins, I have an extraordinarily good feeling about this most private of commitments.
Perhaps it is not accidental that my teacher held zazen for precisely 40 minutes. Unfathomably, it seems to facilitate a deeper state of meditation. As I ooze along on my interminable learning curve, the Monkeys quiet a bit more quickly of late. The abyss is a little darker. I drop into it more frequently, and hover for two or three nanoseconds rather than one. Often, I don't summon Monkey chatter for assistance with focus; I just invite myself to Nothingness. Like I'm becoming more familiar with the route, though there are still numerous forks in the road. Baby steps.
Last night an awareness of millions of others who practice zazen floated into my consciousness. There was some mild Monkey chatter as I calculated time differences, imagining extremely early rising European Buddhists followed by a vision of Asian Buddhists joining voices in a mid-morning chant. Something quite beautiful followed. First, I felt a profound sense of connection with these beings. As I drew some deep and peaceful breaths, boundaries blurred and disappeared, and the most incredible feeling of Oneness enveloped me as I grasped - not with my mind, with my heart - that we all breathed the Same Breath. It was like drinking from original Mother's milk. We were all nourished from the same source; we were a singular recipient of the goodness of the universe. Minds and bodies had fallen away.
As if that encounter wasn't nonmind-blowing enough, something even more life-altering followed. As my breath became The Breath, I was engulfed with an unequivocal experience of complete and perfect Love. Bathed in adoration. A love so divine and consummate as to render me fleetingly transformed. No experience of human love can compare. I know it was a glimpse of my - all of our - true nature. We are perfect beyond description. Loved beyond comprehension. For a transient moment, I lived Grace. I would like to dwell there forever.
Han-Shan was right: There is nothing to compare. What can I say? If I sit for a thousand more years, I don't know if I will enter that state of grace again. Then again, I may be there as soon as I land on my cushion tonight. For now, my heart is like an autumn moon that has dipped in a clear, pure pool. A pool of love. The purest love there is.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
My heart's like the autumn moon
reflecting in the clear pure pool.
Nothing to compare.
What can I say? - Han-Shan in the Zen Calendar (November 14, 2007).
Day 185. Leafing through my Zen Page-A-Day quotes makes me serenely, obscenely happy. A couple of nights ago I began sorting them according to some categories I created (e.g. Nothingness, Simplicity, Zazen, Nature), with the idea that I could then select quotes for the blog more efficiently. It was like herding cats. Some things defy categorization. Though my OCD felt mortally wounded, I was inspired and entertained simply from reading over so many pages at a time. The only fruitful outcome - and I am becoming dangerously and joyously unattached to any outcome whatsoever - was a whopping big pile of quotes under the category "My Favorites." They may or may not relate to future subject matter, but I am certain each and every one of them will be a blog opening in the next six months. They are too good not to share.
I had a Peak Experience Squared as I read through quotes for tonight. Bernard Phillips eloquently expressed a question I frequently pose to myself regarding my practice. If Zen is "Just this", why bother to sit zazen, chant sutras, and study Zen writing (which tends to make my neurons clang against one another in perplexity)? On the other hand, with what else can we possibly pave the surface of the Road to Enlightenment? Like all Zen meanderings worth their muster, Mr. Phillips didn't follow his question with an answer. Ah, such is Zen!
Part Two of my Peak Experience came when I read the quote immediately following Bernard's. I had planned to write about last night's meditation, and discovered that Han-Shan already had. I will try to put my own words to it, but his say it best.
Reaching the halfway point of my meditation year has proven to be highly significant. It dawned on me as I bowed last night that I will be sitting for 40 minutes for the next six months. In terms of how long I sit, I have arrived. I will not be increasing my meditation time. I acknowledged for myself that I had honored the plan I originally laid out - the one in which I incrementally added five more minutes to sitting time. There is something deeply gratifying about sticking to my plan. I am aware that commitment to a goal, particularly a goal with no discernible (or easily quantifiable) payoff, is no longer valued in our society. No matter. While keeping a firm grip on my ego reins, I have an extraordinarily good feeling about this most private of commitments.
Perhaps it is not accidental that my teacher held zazen for precisely 40 minutes. Unfathomably, it seems to facilitate a deeper state of meditation. As I ooze along on my interminable learning curve, the Monkeys quiet a bit more quickly of late. The abyss is a little darker. I drop into it more frequently, and hover for two or three nanoseconds rather than one. Often, I don't summon Monkey chatter for assistance with focus; I just invite myself to Nothingness. Like I'm becoming more familiar with the route, though there are still numerous forks in the road. Baby steps.
Last night an awareness of millions of others who practice zazen floated into my consciousness. There was some mild Monkey chatter as I calculated time differences, imagining extremely early rising European Buddhists followed by a vision of Asian Buddhists joining voices in a mid-morning chant. Something quite beautiful followed. First, I felt a profound sense of connection with these beings. As I drew some deep and peaceful breaths, boundaries blurred and disappeared, and the most incredible feeling of Oneness enveloped me as I grasped - not with my mind, with my heart - that we all breathed the Same Breath. It was like drinking from original Mother's milk. We were all nourished from the same source; we were a singular recipient of the goodness of the universe. Minds and bodies had fallen away.
As if that encounter wasn't nonmind-blowing enough, something even more life-altering followed. As my breath became The Breath, I was engulfed with an unequivocal experience of complete and perfect Love. Bathed in adoration. A love so divine and consummate as to render me fleetingly transformed. No experience of human love can compare. I know it was a glimpse of my - all of our - true nature. We are perfect beyond description. Loved beyond comprehension. For a transient moment, I lived Grace. I would like to dwell there forever.
Han-Shan was right: There is nothing to compare. What can I say? If I sit for a thousand more years, I don't know if I will enter that state of grace again. Then again, I may be there as soon as I land on my cushion tonight. For now, my heart is like an autumn moon that has dipped in a clear, pure pool. A pool of love. The purest love there is.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Wandering in the Wilderness
To learn to see, to learn to hear, you must do this - go into the wilderness alone. - Don Jose in the Zen Calendar (July 27, 2002).
Day 184. College football started today, minus one strong safety with a bum left hand. My son mentioned he spoke to his roommate (and former teammate) today. I asked if he felt a twinge. He said, "Yes. I woke up in a bad mood." I'm glad. I would have been worried if he hadn't. Grief is like the proverbial garage mechanic: "You can pay me now or pay me later." I believe in paying them both now. That way, you accumulate less interest.
I'm wandering in the wilderness alone. I don't mind. Most of my sublime moments have occurred when I am alone. I am much better at it than at being coupled. The main downside is this nagging expectation (mainly on the part of others) that I explain myself. In Oklahoma, if you are over the age of - oh, say 24 - and uncoupled, it makes other people nervous. They wonder about you. A twofold assumption accompanies others' interpretation of your single status: 1) you are miserably unhappy and 2) you are diligently looking for someone with whom to couple up. It's bizarre. I have not encountered this perception among the many states and several countries I've traveled. The possibility of 1) being happy while single and 2) consciously choosing to remain single is tolerated quite well in many parts of the world. Some of the most intact adults I know are not coupled up. Come to think of it, none of them live in Oklahoma . . .
Forty minutes on the cushion seems to suit me. Perhaps I'm just a "sit-for-an-even-number-of-minutes" kind of gal. I feel a mysterious sense of connection to my teacher and former sangha, since that is the length of zazen we sat together. To be honest, the first time I set my timer for 40:10, I felt an unexplainable sense of anxiety and apprehension. I am not sure why. It was just five minutes more. Forty minutes feels serious and solemn and official. It triggered elements of Zen Mind Beginner's Mind.
I have been very focused on my breathing during zazen. After six solid months of sitting, I am still the worst breather on the planet. It should be so elemental. Breath in. Breath out. I've been doing some version of it for just over 49 and a half years. While self-consciously hauling breath in and puffing it out last night, I thought about my Pilates teacher's observations for the first three years I learned from her: I overdo EVERYTHING! The rigidity and excessive efforting housed in my body astonished her. I over-correct, overextend, over-clinch, and over-think every instruction she issues. It is so metaphoric for my life. I suspect it's grounded in mastering and applying the extreme coping measures required for survival in my household. Erring on the conservative rarely resulted in positive outcomes. Anticipating the worst and preparing accordingly was generally a very adaptive strategy.
These are counterproductive in mastering Zen. There is nothing to anticipate, nothing to prepare for, no right outcome to prefer. Let it happen rather than make it happen. Any athlete or performer recalling a peak performance will tell you they were "out of their mind" during a time of supreme achievement. Phrases like "riding the wave," "in the zone" and "just flowing" are similar expressions. It is becoming increasingly difficult to enter these states of surrender. The world is so self-conscious. Too much psychobabble has trickled to the masses. We think too much, read too much, consult too much, compare too much, surf the internet too much, know too much. It is tragic.
Surrender requires trust. Trust that the universe will buoy you up at the moment you let go your hold. Trust in the innate goodness of something larger than ourselves. Trust that beyond ego control lies freedom and bliss. Trust that we can wander in the wilderness alone and ultimately emerge into the light.
I entered this year a skeptic of surrender. My trust has been violated in some pretty profound ways. Sometimes it feels impossible to relinquish my hold, even at the level of allowing my lungs to draw a relaxed and full breath. In the past six months, however, I've become less skeptical. A deep trust has formed in relation to my cushion and my bows and my practice. My lungs don't yet fully inflate, but - ever so gradually - more breath is finding its way in. I'm learning to surrender. At least, for forty minutes at a time.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 184. College football started today, minus one strong safety with a bum left hand. My son mentioned he spoke to his roommate (and former teammate) today. I asked if he felt a twinge. He said, "Yes. I woke up in a bad mood." I'm glad. I would have been worried if he hadn't. Grief is like the proverbial garage mechanic: "You can pay me now or pay me later." I believe in paying them both now. That way, you accumulate less interest.
I'm wandering in the wilderness alone. I don't mind. Most of my sublime moments have occurred when I am alone. I am much better at it than at being coupled. The main downside is this nagging expectation (mainly on the part of others) that I explain myself. In Oklahoma, if you are over the age of - oh, say 24 - and uncoupled, it makes other people nervous. They wonder about you. A twofold assumption accompanies others' interpretation of your single status: 1) you are miserably unhappy and 2) you are diligently looking for someone with whom to couple up. It's bizarre. I have not encountered this perception among the many states and several countries I've traveled. The possibility of 1) being happy while single and 2) consciously choosing to remain single is tolerated quite well in many parts of the world. Some of the most intact adults I know are not coupled up. Come to think of it, none of them live in Oklahoma . . .
Forty minutes on the cushion seems to suit me. Perhaps I'm just a "sit-for-an-even-number-of-minutes" kind of gal. I feel a mysterious sense of connection to my teacher and former sangha, since that is the length of zazen we sat together. To be honest, the first time I set my timer for 40:10, I felt an unexplainable sense of anxiety and apprehension. I am not sure why. It was just five minutes more. Forty minutes feels serious and solemn and official. It triggered elements of Zen Mind Beginner's Mind.
I have been very focused on my breathing during zazen. After six solid months of sitting, I am still the worst breather on the planet. It should be so elemental. Breath in. Breath out. I've been doing some version of it for just over 49 and a half years. While self-consciously hauling breath in and puffing it out last night, I thought about my Pilates teacher's observations for the first three years I learned from her: I overdo EVERYTHING! The rigidity and excessive efforting housed in my body astonished her. I over-correct, overextend, over-clinch, and over-think every instruction she issues. It is so metaphoric for my life. I suspect it's grounded in mastering and applying the extreme coping measures required for survival in my household. Erring on the conservative rarely resulted in positive outcomes. Anticipating the worst and preparing accordingly was generally a very adaptive strategy.
These are counterproductive in mastering Zen. There is nothing to anticipate, nothing to prepare for, no right outcome to prefer. Let it happen rather than make it happen. Any athlete or performer recalling a peak performance will tell you they were "out of their mind" during a time of supreme achievement. Phrases like "riding the wave," "in the zone" and "just flowing" are similar expressions. It is becoming increasingly difficult to enter these states of surrender. The world is so self-conscious. Too much psychobabble has trickled to the masses. We think too much, read too much, consult too much, compare too much, surf the internet too much, know too much. It is tragic.
Surrender requires trust. Trust that the universe will buoy you up at the moment you let go your hold. Trust in the innate goodness of something larger than ourselves. Trust that beyond ego control lies freedom and bliss. Trust that we can wander in the wilderness alone and ultimately emerge into the light.
I entered this year a skeptic of surrender. My trust has been violated in some pretty profound ways. Sometimes it feels impossible to relinquish my hold, even at the level of allowing my lungs to draw a relaxed and full breath. In the past six months, however, I've become less skeptical. A deep trust has formed in relation to my cushion and my bows and my practice. My lungs don't yet fully inflate, but - ever so gradually - more breath is finding its way in. I'm learning to surrender. At least, for forty minutes at a time.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Growing Pains
"I hate everybody." - D.L. in Rota, Spain (October, 2002).
Day 183. I am a woman on the edge. On the edge of what, I couldn't tell you. I probably have too much ego strength (not the kind of ego we're supposed to surrender as Buddhists -- the kind of ego strength you get from ten really good years in analysis) to ever go off the edge, since my primary coping mechanism is to get my butt on my cushion. I was all ready to write a dramatic blog about hating everybody and how crappy the world is, when lo! and behold! I log onto my blog, the dinosaur behaves perfectly and boots up in record time, AND I have a new follower!! Gassho to ToTravelThailand, and welcome to my blog. Your timing couldn't be more synchronistic. Gassho to the universe as well. The One always keeps me humbled, off center, and vastly appreciative of the wee spit of nothingness I occupy in the grand scheme of things. Irony always strikes me as a Peak Experience! I don't much believe in coincidence, and I NEVER believe a cigar is, actually, a cigar! Symbolism and metaphor make life so much more interesting!
An unfortunate combination of heat, hormones, and headache has rendered me all revved up with no place to go. Not a good combo for blogging as a sane person. Although, now that I think about it, I didn't commit to remaining sane; I committed to blogging and meditating every day, with sincere attempts at grammatically correct sentences. In utter truthfulness, I believe I've accomplished (to date) my original goals. Sanity is a relative term. The longer I practice as a psychologist, the wider my perimeters of sanity become. For myself as well as my clients. We are all doing the best we can.
I just returned from dinner with a friend I've known since we were ten years old. We met through our piano teacher, who required us to list our initials and the number of minutes we practiced each week on a little card by her telephone when we came to her house for our weekly lesson. Carla and I generally recorded 60 minutes or less, which averages out to (duh!) less than 10 minutes per day. As you might surmise, we were not overly dedicated to the pursuit of our instrument. I fell in love with "C.T." before we ever met. We were comrades in rebellion as we competed with one another for the weekly "least minutes practiced" honor and bonded over our shared loathing of the ass-kissing, 1,000 minutes or more of practice, overachieving students (I realize those two pianists probably went on to Julliard and are now happily employed with major philharmonics. Ahhh, well, to each her own!)
Focus. Carla is engaged to be married to a 68-year-old White Male. She is my age. You can imagine my conflict between a desire to unconditionally support my friend and a conviction that she is making the biggest mistake of her life. She disclosed today that her finance told her in no uncertain terms that if Carla's daughter has a child with her black boyfriend, the "brown" child ". . . is not welcome in (his) home." In my initial response, I deviated wildly from my Buddhist principle of Loving Kindness. I think it came out as something like, "Carla, are you ****ing kidding me? Is he ****ing serious? This is 2010, not 1964! You're really planning to marry this ****ing asshole?" Yeah, not one of my most compassionate responses.
I quickly regrouped and apologized to my friend, reminding both of us that I love her no matter what (including if she decides to marry a bigoted, racist fool). Wow. What a dilemma. I promptly came home and text my bigoted, racist, on-a-break partner. The message was not exactly laden with compassion. This cushion-sitting makes it very hard for me to be hypocritical. The implications of keeping my promise to myself regarding sitting meditation and blogging is proving to have larger consequences than I could ever anticipate. I've looked inwardly, and as best I can detect, I am certain that things are not unfolding in the service of a really good movie script. It is what it is. These are not original archetypes. Growing is painful. No way around it.
I have a pretty good story to relate about the origins of the quote I selected for tonight. However, given the present state of my psyche, I'm opting for getting to the cushion as quickly as I can. Good thing I've upped my time to 40 minutes. I have a great deal upon which to meditate.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 183. I am a woman on the edge. On the edge of what, I couldn't tell you. I probably have too much ego strength (not the kind of ego we're supposed to surrender as Buddhists -- the kind of ego strength you get from ten really good years in analysis) to ever go off the edge, since my primary coping mechanism is to get my butt on my cushion. I was all ready to write a dramatic blog about hating everybody and how crappy the world is, when lo! and behold! I log onto my blog, the dinosaur behaves perfectly and boots up in record time, AND I have a new follower!! Gassho to ToTravelThailand, and welcome to my blog. Your timing couldn't be more synchronistic. Gassho to the universe as well. The One always keeps me humbled, off center, and vastly appreciative of the wee spit of nothingness I occupy in the grand scheme of things. Irony always strikes me as a Peak Experience! I don't much believe in coincidence, and I NEVER believe a cigar is, actually, a cigar! Symbolism and metaphor make life so much more interesting!
An unfortunate combination of heat, hormones, and headache has rendered me all revved up with no place to go. Not a good combo for blogging as a sane person. Although, now that I think about it, I didn't commit to remaining sane; I committed to blogging and meditating every day, with sincere attempts at grammatically correct sentences. In utter truthfulness, I believe I've accomplished (to date) my original goals. Sanity is a relative term. The longer I practice as a psychologist, the wider my perimeters of sanity become. For myself as well as my clients. We are all doing the best we can.
I just returned from dinner with a friend I've known since we were ten years old. We met through our piano teacher, who required us to list our initials and the number of minutes we practiced each week on a little card by her telephone when we came to her house for our weekly lesson. Carla and I generally recorded 60 minutes or less, which averages out to (duh!) less than 10 minutes per day. As you might surmise, we were not overly dedicated to the pursuit of our instrument. I fell in love with "C.T." before we ever met. We were comrades in rebellion as we competed with one another for the weekly "least minutes practiced" honor and bonded over our shared loathing of the ass-kissing, 1,000 minutes or more of practice, overachieving students (I realize those two pianists probably went on to Julliard and are now happily employed with major philharmonics. Ahhh, well, to each her own!)
Focus. Carla is engaged to be married to a 68-year-old White Male. She is my age. You can imagine my conflict between a desire to unconditionally support my friend and a conviction that she is making the biggest mistake of her life. She disclosed today that her finance told her in no uncertain terms that if Carla's daughter has a child with her black boyfriend, the "brown" child ". . . is not welcome in (his) home." In my initial response, I deviated wildly from my Buddhist principle of Loving Kindness. I think it came out as something like, "Carla, are you ****ing kidding me? Is he ****ing serious? This is 2010, not 1964! You're really planning to marry this ****ing asshole?" Yeah, not one of my most compassionate responses.
I quickly regrouped and apologized to my friend, reminding both of us that I love her no matter what (including if she decides to marry a bigoted, racist fool). Wow. What a dilemma. I promptly came home and text my bigoted, racist, on-a-break partner. The message was not exactly laden with compassion. This cushion-sitting makes it very hard for me to be hypocritical. The implications of keeping my promise to myself regarding sitting meditation and blogging is proving to have larger consequences than I could ever anticipate. I've looked inwardly, and as best I can detect, I am certain that things are not unfolding in the service of a really good movie script. It is what it is. These are not original archetypes. Growing is painful. No way around it.
I have a pretty good story to relate about the origins of the quote I selected for tonight. However, given the present state of my psyche, I'm opting for getting to the cushion as quickly as I can. Good thing I've upped my time to 40 minutes. I have a great deal upon which to meditate.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Perfectly Half Way
How wonderful!
How wonderful!
All things are perfect
Exactly as they are! - The Buddha in the Zen Calendar (a page on my refrigerator that is at least five years old).
Day 182. Happy Half Birthday to Me!! Halfway through this blog I will be halfway through my journey (365 divided by 2 = 182.5)! I've thought about this day quite a bit. Figured I would write something profound and inspirational and milestone-esque. Instead, I got nothing!
Tonight I will begin sitting for a full 40 minutes. This is significant to me, because it is the length of time I sat with my teacher. I don't know why we sat for that long any more than I know why my psychotherapy sessions last 50 minutes. It's just how we do it.
I had imagined I would look back over the past six months and assess, reflect, and wax philosophical. Not feelin' it tonight. I've never been good at genuinely feeling the emotions that are expected on any given occasion. It's made for some mundane birthdays and holidays. More accurately, it's made for some durn rotten holidays. My peak experiences and genuine joy tend to occur arbitrarily and most often when I least expect them. While growing up, I spent so much time in the presence of the Poster Family for Co-Dependency, where no authentic and spontaneous emotion was allowed, I became quite inept at recognizing, much less labeling and expressing, true feelings.
(I interrupt this blog to bring you this important announcement: I am now PRECISELY HALFWAY THROUGH - 182.5 - MY 365 DAYS OF BLOGGING! GASSHO GASSHO GASSHO!)
Enter years of analysis followed by zazen. Ta-da! Authenticity mastered - better late than never! I am no longer willing to expend energy on portraying emotions I'm not truly experiencing. This frees up a vibrant depth and breadth of passion for the times when my feelings are real. Joy cannot be forced, or faked, or feigned. For that matter, neither can anguish. There are no words to describe how liberating it is to come into alignment with Reality. The energy conserved is astounding. I take my surplus psychic energy to my cushion, where it is quietly discharged into the cosmos, hopefully in the service of good karma. Perhaps in the service of nothing at all. Maybe it just quietly dissipates into the void.
Speaking of authenticity, a bolt of genuine certainty just resounded through me. During the second half of my CycleBuddhaDoc endeavor, I will blog less and sit more. Shorter blogs and longer sits. I feel it in my marrow, and just behind my mudra. The energy circumnavigating my egocentric fantasy of a book deal, mobs of followers, and the movie script HAS vaporized into the void. I don't even know when it vanished. I didn't even see it go. I don't even miss it.
Fascinating: I had no idea what I would write tonight, particularly since I was beleaguered by the pressure of my halfway point. Then, just like that! Keystrokes hammered beneath my fingertips with another reminder of the gifts of my practice: the ability to feel and express genuine emotion and the capacity to exist in Reality exactly as it unfolds. How Wonderful! All things ARE perfect, exactly as they are!
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
How wonderful!
All things are perfect
Exactly as they are! - The Buddha in the Zen Calendar (a page on my refrigerator that is at least five years old).
Day 182. Happy Half Birthday to Me!! Halfway through this blog I will be halfway through my journey (365 divided by 2 = 182.5)! I've thought about this day quite a bit. Figured I would write something profound and inspirational and milestone-esque. Instead, I got nothing!
Tonight I will begin sitting for a full 40 minutes. This is significant to me, because it is the length of time I sat with my teacher. I don't know why we sat for that long any more than I know why my psychotherapy sessions last 50 minutes. It's just how we do it.
I had imagined I would look back over the past six months and assess, reflect, and wax philosophical. Not feelin' it tonight. I've never been good at genuinely feeling the emotions that are expected on any given occasion. It's made for some mundane birthdays and holidays. More accurately, it's made for some durn rotten holidays. My peak experiences and genuine joy tend to occur arbitrarily and most often when I least expect them. While growing up, I spent so much time in the presence of the Poster Family for Co-Dependency, where no authentic and spontaneous emotion was allowed, I became quite inept at recognizing, much less labeling and expressing, true feelings.
(I interrupt this blog to bring you this important announcement: I am now PRECISELY HALFWAY THROUGH - 182.5 - MY 365 DAYS OF BLOGGING! GASSHO GASSHO GASSHO!)
Enter years of analysis followed by zazen. Ta-da! Authenticity mastered - better late than never! I am no longer willing to expend energy on portraying emotions I'm not truly experiencing. This frees up a vibrant depth and breadth of passion for the times when my feelings are real. Joy cannot be forced, or faked, or feigned. For that matter, neither can anguish. There are no words to describe how liberating it is to come into alignment with Reality. The energy conserved is astounding. I take my surplus psychic energy to my cushion, where it is quietly discharged into the cosmos, hopefully in the service of good karma. Perhaps in the service of nothing at all. Maybe it just quietly dissipates into the void.
Speaking of authenticity, a bolt of genuine certainty just resounded through me. During the second half of my CycleBuddhaDoc endeavor, I will blog less and sit more. Shorter blogs and longer sits. I feel it in my marrow, and just behind my mudra. The energy circumnavigating my egocentric fantasy of a book deal, mobs of followers, and the movie script HAS vaporized into the void. I don't even know when it vanished. I didn't even see it go. I don't even miss it.
Fascinating: I had no idea what I would write tonight, particularly since I was beleaguered by the pressure of my halfway point. Then, just like that! Keystrokes hammered beneath my fingertips with another reminder of the gifts of my practice: the ability to feel and express genuine emotion and the capacity to exist in Reality exactly as it unfolds. How Wonderful! All things ARE perfect, exactly as they are!
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Monday, August 2, 2010
Wad It All Up
The whole scene looked like something she'd like to wad up and throw away. - Barbara Kingsolver in "Prodigal Summer."
Day 181. I have plenty to say about the heat. It is wretched. It is ghastly, appalling and horrific. It makes my relationship with the Wind last March seem like a match made in heaven. Someone has hit a giant Pause button on the screenplay of my life. If it cools off, I'm hoping something hits "Play" so the action can resume. Until then, I'll blog and sit through it, but it's not going to be pretty.
For someone six months into practicing non-attachment, I can sure churn up a foaming batch of the Big A over certain things. For example, flagrant ethical violations on the part of professors at my son's very expensive college. Rationally, I recognize that bad behavior, in any context, is bad behavior. Somehow, though, raw breaches of professionalism cut deeper when I am paying large sums of money than when they occur at a public institution that was absorbing the entire cost of his education. It reminds me of when I get judgmental about judgmental people. Clearly, I remain on the lower rungs of the ladder to enlightenment. I struggle with applying my principles equally across all scenarios.
I want to be detached, but all this sitting and blogging infuses me with an inconvenient sense of accountability. Primarily to myself. Corny as it sounds, I want to Walk the Walk, not just Talk the Talk. Talking and writing are a gazillion times easier than action. Applying loving kindness to people and situations that agree with me and treat me well is like coasting downhill with a tailwind. Doesn't require much effort. Practicing compassion in circumstances that infuriate me and run counter to my core values is another thing entirely. Sometimes - most times - I just wish everyone would shape up and act right. Naturally, "right" means in accordance with what I prefer!
What did I expect? Did I truly think the bliss of my creative and ambitious project would last for an entire year? Well, it hasn't. Sometimes it is a real pain in the butt to get my butt on my cushion. I realize that less than 24 hours ago I wrote, on this very computer, some driveling nonsense about how automatic it has become to engage in meditation time. It was true yesterday. Yesterday it didn't reach 108 degrees. Today nothing seems easy; everything bites; I can't blink without sweating; six more months of blogging and sitting seems like infinity and beyond. I'd like to wad up the whole scene and throw it away.
But I won't. One of the most spectacular things about Zen Buddhism is the totality of experience encompassed by Big Mind. There is room for everything. Misery is predicted, expected, and allowed. You don't have to sugar coat it, lie about it, deny it, fend it off, or dress it up to look like something pretty. Crap packaged in shiny paper and colorful ribbon is still crap. In Buddhism, crap gets to be crap. It's a beautiful thing, and takes SO MUCH less energy. Reality is an enormous space indeed.
There are moments - sometimes very long ones - when the temperature soars and highly paid professors don't even hold class while their undergrads are expected to teach multivariate statistics to themselves. I don't have to like it. I don't have to agree with it. And I'm sure not going to stop sitting because of it.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 181. I have plenty to say about the heat. It is wretched. It is ghastly, appalling and horrific. It makes my relationship with the Wind last March seem like a match made in heaven. Someone has hit a giant Pause button on the screenplay of my life. If it cools off, I'm hoping something hits "Play" so the action can resume. Until then, I'll blog and sit through it, but it's not going to be pretty.
For someone six months into practicing non-attachment, I can sure churn up a foaming batch of the Big A over certain things. For example, flagrant ethical violations on the part of professors at my son's very expensive college. Rationally, I recognize that bad behavior, in any context, is bad behavior. Somehow, though, raw breaches of professionalism cut deeper when I am paying large sums of money than when they occur at a public institution that was absorbing the entire cost of his education. It reminds me of when I get judgmental about judgmental people. Clearly, I remain on the lower rungs of the ladder to enlightenment. I struggle with applying my principles equally across all scenarios.
I want to be detached, but all this sitting and blogging infuses me with an inconvenient sense of accountability. Primarily to myself. Corny as it sounds, I want to Walk the Walk, not just Talk the Talk. Talking and writing are a gazillion times easier than action. Applying loving kindness to people and situations that agree with me and treat me well is like coasting downhill with a tailwind. Doesn't require much effort. Practicing compassion in circumstances that infuriate me and run counter to my core values is another thing entirely. Sometimes - most times - I just wish everyone would shape up and act right. Naturally, "right" means in accordance with what I prefer!
What did I expect? Did I truly think the bliss of my creative and ambitious project would last for an entire year? Well, it hasn't. Sometimes it is a real pain in the butt to get my butt on my cushion. I realize that less than 24 hours ago I wrote, on this very computer, some driveling nonsense about how automatic it has become to engage in meditation time. It was true yesterday. Yesterday it didn't reach 108 degrees. Today nothing seems easy; everything bites; I can't blink without sweating; six more months of blogging and sitting seems like infinity and beyond. I'd like to wad up the whole scene and throw it away.
But I won't. One of the most spectacular things about Zen Buddhism is the totality of experience encompassed by Big Mind. There is room for everything. Misery is predicted, expected, and allowed. You don't have to sugar coat it, lie about it, deny it, fend it off, or dress it up to look like something pretty. Crap packaged in shiny paper and colorful ribbon is still crap. In Buddhism, crap gets to be crap. It's a beautiful thing, and takes SO MUCH less energy. Reality is an enormous space indeed.
There are moments - sometimes very long ones - when the temperature soars and highly paid professors don't even hold class while their undergrads are expected to teach multivariate statistics to themselves. I don't have to like it. I don't have to agree with it. And I'm sure not going to stop sitting because of it.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Ordinary Zen
To imagine that Zen is mysterious is the first grave mistake which many make about it. - D. T. Suzuki in the Zen Calendar (August 6, 2007).
Day 180. I want to say something wrathful about the heat, but I've decided not to dignify it with keystrokes on my blog.
During the first few months of writing the blog, I put a tremendous amount of forethought into each day's posting. It was agony to sit down in the evening without a predetermined "topic." My method has changed in the course of almost six months of zazen. I flow more like an unimpeded river than a cement drainage ditch. Another four of five decades of sitting and I may take up poetry. Of course, it will have to be iambic pentameter. So symmetrical. No amount of zazen will ever fully eradicate my OCD!
I've enjoyed revisiting familiar memories through my Buddha lens, though it occurred to me during last night's sit that I haven't said much about the Present of late. So I thought I would share a few reflections from the cushion. It is, after all, the heart of this whole endeavor. Yesterday I paid particular attention to the ritual proceeding meditation. I performed my bows slowly and deliberately, focused on the sensations in my core during my side bends, and adjusted my mudra several times to perfectly align the knuckles of both hands. I started the timer and chuckled at a segment of the ritual I have not blogged about. I always set the timer with ten extra seconds (e.g. 35.10) to allow for the time it takes to do a final bow after I set my timer down. This is my obsessional way of sitting for EXACTLY 35 minutes - Buddha forbid I end meditation after only 34 minutes and 50 seconds. Remember my True Nature: Precision counts!
While I'm being transparent about meditation minutia, I'll fess up to a recent occasion when I concluded beyond a doubt that my phone had gone dead and I had been sitting for hours. I checked my timer and there was one minute twenty-six seconds remaining to sit. I was mortified. Felt like I had cheated somehow. I set the timer down and completed what is likely the most earnest minute and a half of zazen ever emitted from a cushion.
The only other time I didn't end zazen at exactly the second the timer wound down was an error in the other direction. Both calves, ankles and feet were numb, my mudra had floated out into orbit somewhere, and several vertebrae felt like they had been fused. I counted countless sets of ten breaths. At long last, I checked my timer. Who knows how much time had elapsed since it signaled the end of zazen. Sometimes I have the phone on silent; instead of beeping, it flashes when time runs out. Somehow I had missed the lengthy bright flashing and just kept right on sitting. I was sort of hoping that my mind and body had fallen away, but I think the phone just slipped under the blanket I rest my legs on and I couldn't see it flash.
I can't say exactly when the question of sitting ceased to be a question. Now I just know I will. I generally don't have much feeling about it at all. If nothing else, I have successfully internalized the "get your butt on your cushion" aspect of Zen Buddhism. I think much less. I employ far fewer "focus" strategies. Most nights, I don't use a mantra, I don't Ham and Sah, I don't picture an empty black space between my ears. The Monkeys chatter on and off. The volume, though not entirely muted, is much quieter. Sometimes an intense desire to be in my bed reading a book permeates my consciousness while sitting. That's about the only thing I'd ever rather be doing. I let the feeling hang with me for a while, and it dissipates of its own accord. I chuckle at all the mental and emotional energy I expended in my early weeks of zazen. What a Westerner. Work myself into a lather when all I really have to do is draw a breath. Not even that. My breath is learning to draw itself.
Unconsciously, I made Zen much more mysterious than it is proving to be. That's okay. My grave mistake makes the true ordinariness of it even more precious.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 180. I want to say something wrathful about the heat, but I've decided not to dignify it with keystrokes on my blog.
During the first few months of writing the blog, I put a tremendous amount of forethought into each day's posting. It was agony to sit down in the evening without a predetermined "topic." My method has changed in the course of almost six months of zazen. I flow more like an unimpeded river than a cement drainage ditch. Another four of five decades of sitting and I may take up poetry. Of course, it will have to be iambic pentameter. So symmetrical. No amount of zazen will ever fully eradicate my OCD!
I've enjoyed revisiting familiar memories through my Buddha lens, though it occurred to me during last night's sit that I haven't said much about the Present of late. So I thought I would share a few reflections from the cushion. It is, after all, the heart of this whole endeavor. Yesterday I paid particular attention to the ritual proceeding meditation. I performed my bows slowly and deliberately, focused on the sensations in my core during my side bends, and adjusted my mudra several times to perfectly align the knuckles of both hands. I started the timer and chuckled at a segment of the ritual I have not blogged about. I always set the timer with ten extra seconds (e.g. 35.10) to allow for the time it takes to do a final bow after I set my timer down. This is my obsessional way of sitting for EXACTLY 35 minutes - Buddha forbid I end meditation after only 34 minutes and 50 seconds. Remember my True Nature: Precision counts!
While I'm being transparent about meditation minutia, I'll fess up to a recent occasion when I concluded beyond a doubt that my phone had gone dead and I had been sitting for hours. I checked my timer and there was one minute twenty-six seconds remaining to sit. I was mortified. Felt like I had cheated somehow. I set the timer down and completed what is likely the most earnest minute and a half of zazen ever emitted from a cushion.
The only other time I didn't end zazen at exactly the second the timer wound down was an error in the other direction. Both calves, ankles and feet were numb, my mudra had floated out into orbit somewhere, and several vertebrae felt like they had been fused. I counted countless sets of ten breaths. At long last, I checked my timer. Who knows how much time had elapsed since it signaled the end of zazen. Sometimes I have the phone on silent; instead of beeping, it flashes when time runs out. Somehow I had missed the lengthy bright flashing and just kept right on sitting. I was sort of hoping that my mind and body had fallen away, but I think the phone just slipped under the blanket I rest my legs on and I couldn't see it flash.
I can't say exactly when the question of sitting ceased to be a question. Now I just know I will. I generally don't have much feeling about it at all. If nothing else, I have successfully internalized the "get your butt on your cushion" aspect of Zen Buddhism. I think much less. I employ far fewer "focus" strategies. Most nights, I don't use a mantra, I don't Ham and Sah, I don't picture an empty black space between my ears. The Monkeys chatter on and off. The volume, though not entirely muted, is much quieter. Sometimes an intense desire to be in my bed reading a book permeates my consciousness while sitting. That's about the only thing I'd ever rather be doing. I let the feeling hang with me for a while, and it dissipates of its own accord. I chuckle at all the mental and emotional energy I expended in my early weeks of zazen. What a Westerner. Work myself into a lather when all I really have to do is draw a breath. Not even that. My breath is learning to draw itself.
Unconsciously, I made Zen much more mysterious than it is proving to be. That's okay. My grave mistake makes the true ordinariness of it even more precious.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
