Ordinary men hate solitude. But the Master makes use of it, embracing his aloneness, realizing he is one with the whole universe. - Lao-Tsu in the Zen Calendar (August 18, 2009).
You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet. - Franz Kafka in the Zen Calendar (May 19, 2006).
When I dance, I dance; when I sleep, I sleep; yes, and when I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, if my thoughts drift to far-off matters for some part of the time I lead them back again to the walk, the orchard, to the sweetness of this solitude, to myself. - Montaigne in the Zen Calendar (August 30, 2009).
In royal solitude you walk the universe. - Wu-Men in the Zen Calendar (May 29, 2006).
Only in solitude do we find ourselves. - Miguel de Unamuno in the Zen Calendar (July 15, 2006).
Day 339. When I was born in 1961, the world's population was 3.080 billion. Sometime in 2011, the population of the planet is expected to top 7 billion. The number of people on earth has doubled in the first 50 years of my life. And it's NOW that I crave solitude?!
Observing people in public places fascinates me. I don't think this is singularly attributable to my profession; I, too am a member of the species, and glean important data from watching my fellow humans. Current observations lead me to conclude that the generation presently coming of age is incapable of solitude. If awake (and often when not), it seems as though they must be in constant, ongoing contact with some other form of human life. The modality varies from a tightly packed meld of bubbly estrogen moving as an amorphous mass through the mall to a disparate scattering of thumb-jabbing, wrist-twitching gamers shouting instructions to one another through headsets as they slay a communal beast battled collectively via the internet. Tune me in, turn me on, beam me up. Text me, tweet me, skype me, call me - just DON'T leave me alone - not even for a second - lest I experience a thought that isn't immediately made known to another. Lest I look within, and find that - without a cable, a chord, a microchip, an oft-traveled circuit of cyberspace - I cease to exist.
I intend for my comments to be observations, not criticisms, though I do feel a modicum of concern for my son and his peers. As inconceivable as it sounds (and to him, it is utterly unfathomable), a moment in time may arrive when there isn't access to another being. When the myriad mechanisms providing unceasing interpersonal stimulation abruptly cease. When a human encounter requires eye-to-eye contact. And then what? Panic? Decompensation? Despair? Spontaneous combustion?
As reassuring - nay, necessary - as constant contact seems to be for most people under the age of 40, it also seems to have made discretion a thing of the past, and narcissistic self-centeredness the inevitable state of the present. The healthy "pause" for reflection and second thought that used to be required by a busy signal, concern over long-distance fees, or even the girlfriend's dad being the one who picked up the phone, is no longer socialized into young people's consciousness. They just act. And text. And type. And talk. And post. And push "send" faster than any set of neurons could ever contemplate the appropriateness of what was being expressed.
Perhaps the greatest toll exacted by the void of solitude is missing the sublime moments in life that can only occur when we are alone. I am thinking of a few of my own: Sitting alone munching sushi, watching the sun drop into the China Sea after riding my rented bicycle to a shore in Okinawa. Relaxing on a bench outside the ancient walled city of Rothenburg, Germany and contemplating what it must have been like to live there in 1070. Bowing prostrate nine times in an ancient Buddhist temple in Kamakura, Japan. Planing across Lake Hefner in a constant 25 mph wind, the hot pink of my windsurfer sail indistinguishable against the flames of an Indian Summer sunset. Rocketing down Lower Stauffenberg, my favorite run at Taos Ski Valley, as fresh powder glinted off my goggles. Resting on a rock at Clear Bay trail during a solo ride for my 36th birthday, my faithful Spalding leaning against a nearby tree. Sitting on a sofa cushion, night after solitary night, breathing my breath and creating space for quiet.
Cultivate solitude. Welcome it, embrace it, cherish it. Let the world roll in ecstasy at your feet.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Simplicity, Solitude, Emptiness (1)
Simplicity doesn't mean to live in misery and poverty. You have what you need, and you don't want what you don't need. - Charan Singh in the Zen Calendar (April 8, 2003).
Nothing is so simple that it cannot be misunderstood. - Freeman Teague in the Zen Calendar (September 5, 2003).
If one's life is simple, contentment has to come. Simplicity is extremely important for happiness. Having few desires, feeling satisfied with what you have, is very vital: satisfaction with just enough food, clothing, and shelter to protect yourself from the elements. And finally, there is an intense delight in abandoning faulty states of mind and in cultivating helpful ones in meditation. - The Dalai Lama in the Zen Calendar (April 3, 2009).
Simplifying our lives does not mean sinking into idleness, but on the contrary, getting rid of the most subtle aspect of laziness: the one which makes us take on thousands of less important activities. - Matthieu Ricard in the Zen Calendar (December 26, 2006).
To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter . . . to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring - these are some of the rewards of the simple life. - John Burroughs in the Zen Calendar (July 29, 2006).
Day 338. I swear, despite appearances, I am not resorting to excessive quoting to fill up empty blog space. I have resigned myself to the Reality that I have saved more Zen Calendar quotes than I will have blogs to match them with. I am also nearing resignation that (sigh . . . ) I may actually write a blog or two following February 3rd. But only when I take a break from The Novel.
My Zen Calendar pages are in a big stack, separated into categories. I noticed over the past couple of weeks that the last three categories in the stack are Simplicity, Solitude, and Emptiness. Crucial elements in Zen. I do not recall consciously grouping them in that sequence, but if there could be a sequence to Zen (there cannot), I would order the categories exactly as they occurred in my stack. If I could write a linear depiction of my experience with zazen during the past year (I cannot), it would read something like Emptiness emerged through Solitude, which was only possible after establishing a degree of Simplicity. I decided to write three blogs about these three elements of Zen. As if they could possibly be treated as distinct entities - Ha!
Through a fairly instinctive process, I believe I have attempted to establish Simplicity in my life. My office is essentially a small and harmonious place to work, and is two blocks from my home. As is my bank and grocery store. I don't shop, avoid serving on boards and committees, and elected to have an only child (something akin to a punishable crime in the state of Oklahoma). I look for quality rather than quantity in friendship, have a family who abides by healthy boundaries (whew! at last!), and honor my introversion, which requires me to replenish in solitude rather than relationship. I have, by today's standards, a minimalist relationship with media: I don't watch much TV, own precious few electronic items, limit the mediums through which I receive news, avoid FaceBook and (most) e-mail, basically ignore my computer, and turn off my cell phone. A lot.
Yet today I feel as though I performed a thousand tasks, and need to wrap up this post so that I can address a thousand more. Granted, I did elect to undeck my hall, interspersed with laundry, kitchen cleaning, and trying to locate the items I sacrificed to clear space for the snowpeople village. As I prepared to leave my office late this evening, I glanced around, feeling discouraged at the remaining clutter, even though I had done a major sweep over the past hour when my last client canceled. Sighing deeply, I had a distinct memory from the mid-90's, when each evening I exited my office at the university counseling center with my OC neurons sated and pacified. In box: Empty. Client charts: Completed. Phone calls: Returned. To Do List: Checked (I may have actually constructed one back then, because completing it wasn't so absurdly impossible). It doesn't seem as though I was particularly an overachiever (or underachiever, for that matter). The days were more reasonable with their requirements. There were a lot fewer piles.
I wonder if we have become numb to the lament of busyness because our level of activity has gone beyond the ridiculous to the absurd. Saying, "I am stressed/exhausted/overwhelmed" is so ordinary and redundant, it garners about as much interest as if we had announced, "I just blinked. My heart beat. My lungs inflated." Just about everyone appears to feel this way a lot of the time (my professional journals insist on documenting and quantifying the Overwhelmed Phenomena as though it were news). We recognize we need to . . . wait for it . . . Simplify! - and yet we slog out of bed each morning, bleary-eyed with chronic sleep deprivation, and mount the treadmill once again. I worry that, as a culture, in time we will forget that there is another way to be.
This blogger is going to keep issuing the reminder (along with the Dalai Lama) that Simplicity IS extremely important for happiness. I am going to keep watching the stars, pointing at wildflowers, and refraining from buying so many kinds of things that I do not need. I am going to mindfully apply the greatest skill there is for attaining Simplicity, starting right now: I . . . am . . . going . . . to . . . . stop . . . . . . . . . .
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Nothing is so simple that it cannot be misunderstood. - Freeman Teague in the Zen Calendar (September 5, 2003).
If one's life is simple, contentment has to come. Simplicity is extremely important for happiness. Having few desires, feeling satisfied with what you have, is very vital: satisfaction with just enough food, clothing, and shelter to protect yourself from the elements. And finally, there is an intense delight in abandoning faulty states of mind and in cultivating helpful ones in meditation. - The Dalai Lama in the Zen Calendar (April 3, 2009).
Simplifying our lives does not mean sinking into idleness, but on the contrary, getting rid of the most subtle aspect of laziness: the one which makes us take on thousands of less important activities. - Matthieu Ricard in the Zen Calendar (December 26, 2006).
To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter . . . to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring - these are some of the rewards of the simple life. - John Burroughs in the Zen Calendar (July 29, 2006).
Day 338. I swear, despite appearances, I am not resorting to excessive quoting to fill up empty blog space. I have resigned myself to the Reality that I have saved more Zen Calendar quotes than I will have blogs to match them with. I am also nearing resignation that (sigh . . . ) I may actually write a blog or two following February 3rd. But only when I take a break from The Novel.
My Zen Calendar pages are in a big stack, separated into categories. I noticed over the past couple of weeks that the last three categories in the stack are Simplicity, Solitude, and Emptiness. Crucial elements in Zen. I do not recall consciously grouping them in that sequence, but if there could be a sequence to Zen (there cannot), I would order the categories exactly as they occurred in my stack. If I could write a linear depiction of my experience with zazen during the past year (I cannot), it would read something like Emptiness emerged through Solitude, which was only possible after establishing a degree of Simplicity. I decided to write three blogs about these three elements of Zen. As if they could possibly be treated as distinct entities - Ha!
Through a fairly instinctive process, I believe I have attempted to establish Simplicity in my life. My office is essentially a small and harmonious place to work, and is two blocks from my home. As is my bank and grocery store. I don't shop, avoid serving on boards and committees, and elected to have an only child (something akin to a punishable crime in the state of Oklahoma). I look for quality rather than quantity in friendship, have a family who abides by healthy boundaries (whew! at last!), and honor my introversion, which requires me to replenish in solitude rather than relationship. I have, by today's standards, a minimalist relationship with media: I don't watch much TV, own precious few electronic items, limit the mediums through which I receive news, avoid FaceBook and (most) e-mail, basically ignore my computer, and turn off my cell phone. A lot.
Yet today I feel as though I performed a thousand tasks, and need to wrap up this post so that I can address a thousand more. Granted, I did elect to undeck my hall, interspersed with laundry, kitchen cleaning, and trying to locate the items I sacrificed to clear space for the snowpeople village. As I prepared to leave my office late this evening, I glanced around, feeling discouraged at the remaining clutter, even though I had done a major sweep over the past hour when my last client canceled. Sighing deeply, I had a distinct memory from the mid-90's, when each evening I exited my office at the university counseling center with my OC neurons sated and pacified. In box: Empty. Client charts: Completed. Phone calls: Returned. To Do List: Checked (I may have actually constructed one back then, because completing it wasn't so absurdly impossible). It doesn't seem as though I was particularly an overachiever (or underachiever, for that matter). The days were more reasonable with their requirements. There were a lot fewer piles.
I wonder if we have become numb to the lament of busyness because our level of activity has gone beyond the ridiculous to the absurd. Saying, "I am stressed/exhausted/overwhelmed" is so ordinary and redundant, it garners about as much interest as if we had announced, "I just blinked. My heart beat. My lungs inflated." Just about everyone appears to feel this way a lot of the time (my professional journals insist on documenting and quantifying the Overwhelmed Phenomena as though it were news). We recognize we need to . . . wait for it . . . Simplify! - and yet we slog out of bed each morning, bleary-eyed with chronic sleep deprivation, and mount the treadmill once again. I worry that, as a culture, in time we will forget that there is another way to be.
This blogger is going to keep issuing the reminder (along with the Dalai Lama) that Simplicity IS extremely important for happiness. I am going to keep watching the stars, pointing at wildflowers, and refraining from buying so many kinds of things that I do not need. I am going to mindfully apply the greatest skill there is for attaining Simplicity, starting right now: I . . . am . . . going . . . to . . . . stop . . . . . . . . . .
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Dance With the One That Brung Ya
"You gotta dance with the one that brung ya." - Someone else, originally; C.C. in Norman, OK on 1/5/2011.
Day 337. I am stupendously fortunate in my choice of career. I get to spend a lot of time with intelligent individuals who join me in asking difficult questions about themselves and their lives and then courageously look for answers. Not a bad way to earn a living. Though Buddhism permeates my clinical work in a thousand subtle ways, I occasionally encounter a client who also maintains a formal meditation practice and welcomes a more covert inclusion of Buddhist concepts into her therapy. The intersection of Zen and psychotherapy is an invigorating place from which to contemplate human behavior.
For the past several nights on my cushion, it has been extraordinarily quiet. An inexplicable silence has descended over my neighborhood and my home. The house itself, which is several years past its half-century mark, seems to have muted the periodic creaks and groans emitting from its old oak floors and shifting mortar. The Monkeys, who rarely take cues from anything other than their chattering peers, are similarly, eerily quiet. This unusual state of affairs is perhaps being fostered by my conscious decision to be meticulously mindful of the silence. To watch it, feel it, join it. Let go my hold, and drop into it. Feet first, until the crown of my head disappears into the muffled thick of it.
My ego can only tolerate the blissful quietude for so long. It is only a matter of time before a seemingly enormous green flag waves across the Primate faces, and merciless chattering ensues. Lately, the melee has focused on one thing and only one thing: When is the time up? How much longer? Why doesn't the timer sound? Is it over? Are we there yet?
At first, I found this occurrence astonishing and annoying. How can an Advanced Sitter like me STILL be concerned about the amount of time on the cushion? In 336 days, have I ever skipped zazen? (No). Have I ever prematurely ended a sitting session? (No). Have I ever stopped and actually dismounted my cushion and called it quits? (No). Have I ever shortened the time I originally committed to - which, since August 3rd, has been 40 minutes? (No). Do I plan to start now? (NO!). So why the obsession and incessant mind clatter about cushion time? Shouldn't this be have been unequivocally and irrevocably settled by now?
Apparently not. So I dropped the question, along with the feelings of astonishment and annoyance, and instead sat with the status of things as Reality depicted them. Invited that impatience and timer fixation right there onto the cushion with me. Watched it from a distance: no thought no feeling no perception no opinion no object of mind. And then it came to me: This IS your practice. Not a hindrance to practice, not bad practice or good practice, not superior practice or inferior practice, not progressed practice or regressed practice or advanced practice or poor practice. Just practice. The practice of zazen. Which encompasses everything. Absolutely. Totally. Completely. Everything.
The stimulating session with a Buddhist client today included a sparkly revisit to a couple of stark Buddhist truths: Everything is impermanent. Even "mastering" the presence of the timer in practice. Even the bizarre consideration of leg amputation that flickers during the seventh session of a day long sit. Even the 20-year-old conflict with a mate who is reticent to put holes in the wall to hang a picture or mount a towel rack. The second truth was this: Practice is everywhere, not just obvious places like the cushion and looking at a glorious sunset. I have the opportunity to practice when the toilet lid isn't down, when the cap isn't on the toothpaste, when the time the dogs are fed is an ongoing controversy.
Everyone is practicing, whether they label it as Buddhism or not. And, like it or not, practice requires you to dance with the one that brung ya. Sometimes that is your mate. Sometimes that is the tiny, irksome, repetitive, chronic irritations that Reality plonks in front of you. Most times, it's that dang being that plunked you down on the cushion in the first place. So I will dance on. Dance on. Dance on.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 337. I am stupendously fortunate in my choice of career. I get to spend a lot of time with intelligent individuals who join me in asking difficult questions about themselves and their lives and then courageously look for answers. Not a bad way to earn a living. Though Buddhism permeates my clinical work in a thousand subtle ways, I occasionally encounter a client who also maintains a formal meditation practice and welcomes a more covert inclusion of Buddhist concepts into her therapy. The intersection of Zen and psychotherapy is an invigorating place from which to contemplate human behavior.
For the past several nights on my cushion, it has been extraordinarily quiet. An inexplicable silence has descended over my neighborhood and my home. The house itself, which is several years past its half-century mark, seems to have muted the periodic creaks and groans emitting from its old oak floors and shifting mortar. The Monkeys, who rarely take cues from anything other than their chattering peers, are similarly, eerily quiet. This unusual state of affairs is perhaps being fostered by my conscious decision to be meticulously mindful of the silence. To watch it, feel it, join it. Let go my hold, and drop into it. Feet first, until the crown of my head disappears into the muffled thick of it.
My ego can only tolerate the blissful quietude for so long. It is only a matter of time before a seemingly enormous green flag waves across the Primate faces, and merciless chattering ensues. Lately, the melee has focused on one thing and only one thing: When is the time up? How much longer? Why doesn't the timer sound? Is it over? Are we there yet?
At first, I found this occurrence astonishing and annoying. How can an Advanced Sitter like me STILL be concerned about the amount of time on the cushion? In 336 days, have I ever skipped zazen? (No). Have I ever prematurely ended a sitting session? (No). Have I ever stopped and actually dismounted my cushion and called it quits? (No). Have I ever shortened the time I originally committed to - which, since August 3rd, has been 40 minutes? (No). Do I plan to start now? (NO!). So why the obsession and incessant mind clatter about cushion time? Shouldn't this be have been unequivocally and irrevocably settled by now?
Apparently not. So I dropped the question, along with the feelings of astonishment and annoyance, and instead sat with the status of things as Reality depicted them. Invited that impatience and timer fixation right there onto the cushion with me. Watched it from a distance: no thought no feeling no perception no opinion no object of mind. And then it came to me: This IS your practice. Not a hindrance to practice, not bad practice or good practice, not superior practice or inferior practice, not progressed practice or regressed practice or advanced practice or poor practice. Just practice. The practice of zazen. Which encompasses everything. Absolutely. Totally. Completely. Everything.
The stimulating session with a Buddhist client today included a sparkly revisit to a couple of stark Buddhist truths: Everything is impermanent. Even "mastering" the presence of the timer in practice. Even the bizarre consideration of leg amputation that flickers during the seventh session of a day long sit. Even the 20-year-old conflict with a mate who is reticent to put holes in the wall to hang a picture or mount a towel rack. The second truth was this: Practice is everywhere, not just obvious places like the cushion and looking at a glorious sunset. I have the opportunity to practice when the toilet lid isn't down, when the cap isn't on the toothpaste, when the time the dogs are fed is an ongoing controversy.
Everyone is practicing, whether they label it as Buddhism or not. And, like it or not, practice requires you to dance with the one that brung ya. Sometimes that is your mate. Sometimes that is the tiny, irksome, repetitive, chronic irritations that Reality plonks in front of you. Most times, it's that dang being that plunked you down on the cushion in the first place. So I will dance on. Dance on. Dance on.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Ultimate Decency of Things
To learn the way it is important to be sharp and inconspicuous. When you are sharp, you are not confused by people. When you are inconspicuous, you do not contend with people. Not being confused by people, you are empty and spiritual. Not contending with people, you are serene and subtle. - Lio-An in the Zen Calendar (May 21, 2006).
True words aren't eloquent;
eloquent words aren't true.
Wise men don't need to prove their point;
men who need to prove their point aren't wise. - Lao-Tzu in the Zen Calendar (May 17, 2003).
Every morning, our first thought should be a wish to devote the day to the good of all living beings. - Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche in the Zen Calendar (October 19, 2006).
I believe in an ultimate decency of things. - Robert Louis Stevenson in the Zen Calendar (November 26, 2002).
Day 336. Yes, I am opening with more quotes these days. Yes, this is influenced by the rapidly declining number of blog days remaining in proportion to my stack of saved Zen Calendar pages. Yes (unabashedly!) my OCD brain sector derives immense pleasure from the task of selecting and "grouping" appropriate quotes for a particular blog. On the whole, it seems like a more productive channel for my obsessive tendencies than folding the infinite layers of discarded clothes on my son's bed.
Today I opened an e-mail from a friend who had forwarded a powerful YouTube excerpt from an Eve Ensler lecture in Oxford, England (take a look if you'd like - I found it by doing a YouTube search on "Eve Ensler security talk" because the forwarded one was in French). She opened by saying, "I know some of you will be disappointed and some of you will be greatly relieved when I tell you I will not be talking about vaginas tonight." In case you are not familiar with Ensler, she is the playwright who wrote "The Vagina Monologues." She also started "V-Day" - a day of international awareness and activity aimed at ending violence against women.
I won't spend time summarizing the content of the talk, though I would highly recommend viewing it on YouTube. Obviously, the content was powerful and meaningful to me, but what seemed most blogworthy was to comment on Ensler's demeanor and presence during the talk. She was a moving and efficacious Bodhisattva.
It was evident that her speech was carefully prepared; she held it in her lap and referenced it frequently. I imagine her audience was primarily comprised of educated individuals who exerted personal time and expense to attend the lecture in Oxford. The delivery was precise and practiced without being rigid and monotonous. Ensler's speech is eloquent and measured - it seems as though she reflects on what she is saying as she speaks, and is invested in expressing herself thoughtfully. She doesn't get in a hurry. Her body language epitomized "calm, assertive energy" - relaxed, moderately animated, fluid, open, non-defensive. There was a marked absence of exaggerated gesticulation and labile voice inflection.
Ensler included numerous concrete and specific examples of personal life experiences that contributed to the credibility of what she was sharing. She didn't have to exaggerate or dramatize the material she conveyed. It felt like I was being talked "with," not "to." Her opinions and beliefs were unquestionably clear, but it never felt like I had to believe exactly as she did. As a listener, I felt respected and acknowledged. It seemed like she would be open to dialogue, and interested in what members of her audience felt and thought. There was mental and psychological "room" in her speech - room for input and reflection, adjustment and growth.
I was acutely aware of my feeling state as I listened to the clip. Like the dogs in Cesar Milan's "pack," I was calmed by Ensler's presence. I paid attention, and absorbed much of her lecture in exquisite detail. Some new neuropathways started firing as neophyte thoughts and questions vied for brain space. My mind and heart were stimulated and encouraged. It occurred to me how stunningly different this felt when I compared it to my reactions when I listen to the angry tirades that also find their way to YouTube and most major broadcasting networks. Angry speakers seem to get a lot of air time. A lot. Apparently, there are many people who voluntarily seek out and pay attention to angry, gesticulating, dramatic speakers. Who equate that speaking style with authority, knowledge, and credibility. Who believe that if someone is mad enough, and talks loud enough, they must be right.
The psychologist in me got curious about the segment of the population that reinforces and rewards angry, aggressive public speakers. I arrived at several hypotheses, but want to research the subject a little further. The point for the blog is this: I am going to consciously seek out people who speak with calm, assertive energy. I want to listen to contemplative, reasoned speech that strikes a sane balance between thought and emotion. I will watch for the inclusion of primary sources from which information is derived, and see if those sources are articulated in a manner that enables me to find them myself so that I can formulate my own opinions and conclusions. I'm going to devote energy to listening to people who seem open to dialogue, who respect and welcome different views, who are non-defensive, objective about what they do and do not know, and are desirous of growth and change.
When I speak, I'm going to emulate the qualities I admired in Eve Ensler. I want to learn the rare, beautiful art of modulating my passion with a delivery style that increases the chance that important points will be heard and considered by others. I bet the Buddha spoke that way. Most importantly, I am going to apply those skills specifically to challenging the angry, aggressive, fearful, authoritarian style of speech that, unfortunately, seems to be gaining a lot of momentum, attention, and press time in our country. Of course, the challenge will be to voice my challenge with calm, assertive energy. I really want to contribute to the ultimate decency of things.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
True words aren't eloquent;
eloquent words aren't true.
Wise men don't need to prove their point;
men who need to prove their point aren't wise. - Lao-Tzu in the Zen Calendar (May 17, 2003).
Every morning, our first thought should be a wish to devote the day to the good of all living beings. - Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche in the Zen Calendar (October 19, 2006).
I believe in an ultimate decency of things. - Robert Louis Stevenson in the Zen Calendar (November 26, 2002).
Day 336. Yes, I am opening with more quotes these days. Yes, this is influenced by the rapidly declining number of blog days remaining in proportion to my stack of saved Zen Calendar pages. Yes (unabashedly!) my OCD brain sector derives immense pleasure from the task of selecting and "grouping" appropriate quotes for a particular blog. On the whole, it seems like a more productive channel for my obsessive tendencies than folding the infinite layers of discarded clothes on my son's bed.
Today I opened an e-mail from a friend who had forwarded a powerful YouTube excerpt from an Eve Ensler lecture in Oxford, England (take a look if you'd like - I found it by doing a YouTube search on "Eve Ensler security talk" because the forwarded one was in French). She opened by saying, "I know some of you will be disappointed and some of you will be greatly relieved when I tell you I will not be talking about vaginas tonight." In case you are not familiar with Ensler, she is the playwright who wrote "The Vagina Monologues." She also started "V-Day" - a day of international awareness and activity aimed at ending violence against women.
I won't spend time summarizing the content of the talk, though I would highly recommend viewing it on YouTube. Obviously, the content was powerful and meaningful to me, but what seemed most blogworthy was to comment on Ensler's demeanor and presence during the talk. She was a moving and efficacious Bodhisattva.
It was evident that her speech was carefully prepared; she held it in her lap and referenced it frequently. I imagine her audience was primarily comprised of educated individuals who exerted personal time and expense to attend the lecture in Oxford. The delivery was precise and practiced without being rigid and monotonous. Ensler's speech is eloquent and measured - it seems as though she reflects on what she is saying as she speaks, and is invested in expressing herself thoughtfully. She doesn't get in a hurry. Her body language epitomized "calm, assertive energy" - relaxed, moderately animated, fluid, open, non-defensive. There was a marked absence of exaggerated gesticulation and labile voice inflection.
Ensler included numerous concrete and specific examples of personal life experiences that contributed to the credibility of what she was sharing. She didn't have to exaggerate or dramatize the material she conveyed. It felt like I was being talked "with," not "to." Her opinions and beliefs were unquestionably clear, but it never felt like I had to believe exactly as she did. As a listener, I felt respected and acknowledged. It seemed like she would be open to dialogue, and interested in what members of her audience felt and thought. There was mental and psychological "room" in her speech - room for input and reflection, adjustment and growth.
I was acutely aware of my feeling state as I listened to the clip. Like the dogs in Cesar Milan's "pack," I was calmed by Ensler's presence. I paid attention, and absorbed much of her lecture in exquisite detail. Some new neuropathways started firing as neophyte thoughts and questions vied for brain space. My mind and heart were stimulated and encouraged. It occurred to me how stunningly different this felt when I compared it to my reactions when I listen to the angry tirades that also find their way to YouTube and most major broadcasting networks. Angry speakers seem to get a lot of air time. A lot. Apparently, there are many people who voluntarily seek out and pay attention to angry, gesticulating, dramatic speakers. Who equate that speaking style with authority, knowledge, and credibility. Who believe that if someone is mad enough, and talks loud enough, they must be right.
The psychologist in me got curious about the segment of the population that reinforces and rewards angry, aggressive public speakers. I arrived at several hypotheses, but want to research the subject a little further. The point for the blog is this: I am going to consciously seek out people who speak with calm, assertive energy. I want to listen to contemplative, reasoned speech that strikes a sane balance between thought and emotion. I will watch for the inclusion of primary sources from which information is derived, and see if those sources are articulated in a manner that enables me to find them myself so that I can formulate my own opinions and conclusions. I'm going to devote energy to listening to people who seem open to dialogue, who respect and welcome different views, who are non-defensive, objective about what they do and do not know, and are desirous of growth and change.
When I speak, I'm going to emulate the qualities I admired in Eve Ensler. I want to learn the rare, beautiful art of modulating my passion with a delivery style that increases the chance that important points will be heard and considered by others. I bet the Buddha spoke that way. Most importantly, I am going to apply those skills specifically to challenging the angry, aggressive, fearful, authoritarian style of speech that, unfortunately, seems to be gaining a lot of momentum, attention, and press time in our country. Of course, the challenge will be to voice my challenge with calm, assertive energy. I really want to contribute to the ultimate decency of things.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Monday, January 3, 2011
Living the Life of the Buddha
All day long, we are living the life of the Buddha. - Maezumi Roshi in the Zen Calendar (May 24, 2004).
All beings are Buddha. All beings are the truth, just as they are. - Robert Aitken in the Zen calendar (July 13, 2006).
Day 335. Exactly one month from today, I will have come full circle. Around the calendar year and back to the day of my birth. Remarkable. Thirty more blogs to write. So much left to say, and also nothing at all. And an utter conviction that those two statements can simultaneously be absolutely true.
I am still riding a high of psychological release after writing an honest "bone blog" yesterday. The reminder that Stress is a wicked beast, though not original in the least, was miraculously freeing for me. My habit of applying a separate doctrine of Life's Rules to myself is ludicrous. Daily, I point out the legitimacy of stress as an influential component in my clients' lives. Why I operate as though I should be impervious to its impact is beyond logical explanation. Especially since I find it vastly reassuring to "be like everyone else." We are all Buddha, and all the truth, just as we are!
So I am going to coast on the idea of bone writing for a few more days. Not that I am feeling particularly passionate about anything at this precise moment. On the contrary, I am in a mood of lackadaisical mellowness that must be the antithesis of passion. The beautiful thing is that, rather than being alarmed and stressed and oppositional and judgmental about this mood state, I plan to bask in it with spirited abandon.
Here is what it looks like: Upon entering my home after work, I promptly removed my earrings, watch, and all superfluous undergarments and put on pajama pants, an old t-shirt of my son's, and dirty Christmas booties. My caloric consumption, so far, has consisted of potato chips, gluten-free Chex mix, an entire loaf of pumpkin bread (I feel compelled to mention it was a mini loaf, so perhaps I am not as mellow as I originally assessed), five Hershey's kisses, and a bottle of Gatorade. The unfinished Toblerone on the desk is looking pretty good about now.
I turned on the lights to my Christmas tree, which is still standing magnificently in the living room corner, and lit the snowman village on the piano. The snowpeople continued to grin merrily at me. Yesterday, the Monkeys chattered up a storm about the timeliness of un-decking my halls. They were relentless in their criticism of my failure to disassemble and store my decorations prior to the first day of the new year. It was exhilarating to recognize that Monkeys are nothing other than the internalization of ridiculous and arbitrary societal opinions. Illusions, all. Today, to them (the Monkeys AND society), I exclaim, "Rubbish! My holiday decor will come down when I feel like taking it down, and not a moment before! Guilt and OCD be damned!"
I shan't answer any e-mails, and shall carefully screen incoming vibrations on my phone. I will pop corn and stretch prone on my couch covered with the uncannily soft blanket my son received for Christmas. I will feast my eyes on the Orange Bowl, shouting arbitrarily at both teams until I determine (also, arbitrarily) a preference for who wins. After the game, I will bow deeply, chant loudly, and sit zazen as if my head is on fire.
It sounds lovely. More so because I am reminded that, all day long, I am living the life of the Buddha.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
All beings are Buddha. All beings are the truth, just as they are. - Robert Aitken in the Zen calendar (July 13, 2006).
Day 335. Exactly one month from today, I will have come full circle. Around the calendar year and back to the day of my birth. Remarkable. Thirty more blogs to write. So much left to say, and also nothing at all. And an utter conviction that those two statements can simultaneously be absolutely true.
I am still riding a high of psychological release after writing an honest "bone blog" yesterday. The reminder that Stress is a wicked beast, though not original in the least, was miraculously freeing for me. My habit of applying a separate doctrine of Life's Rules to myself is ludicrous. Daily, I point out the legitimacy of stress as an influential component in my clients' lives. Why I operate as though I should be impervious to its impact is beyond logical explanation. Especially since I find it vastly reassuring to "be like everyone else." We are all Buddha, and all the truth, just as we are!
So I am going to coast on the idea of bone writing for a few more days. Not that I am feeling particularly passionate about anything at this precise moment. On the contrary, I am in a mood of lackadaisical mellowness that must be the antithesis of passion. The beautiful thing is that, rather than being alarmed and stressed and oppositional and judgmental about this mood state, I plan to bask in it with spirited abandon.
Here is what it looks like: Upon entering my home after work, I promptly removed my earrings, watch, and all superfluous undergarments and put on pajama pants, an old t-shirt of my son's, and dirty Christmas booties. My caloric consumption, so far, has consisted of potato chips, gluten-free Chex mix, an entire loaf of pumpkin bread (I feel compelled to mention it was a mini loaf, so perhaps I am not as mellow as I originally assessed), five Hershey's kisses, and a bottle of Gatorade. The unfinished Toblerone on the desk is looking pretty good about now.
I turned on the lights to my Christmas tree, which is still standing magnificently in the living room corner, and lit the snowman village on the piano. The snowpeople continued to grin merrily at me. Yesterday, the Monkeys chattered up a storm about the timeliness of un-decking my halls. They were relentless in their criticism of my failure to disassemble and store my decorations prior to the first day of the new year. It was exhilarating to recognize that Monkeys are nothing other than the internalization of ridiculous and arbitrary societal opinions. Illusions, all. Today, to them (the Monkeys AND society), I exclaim, "Rubbish! My holiday decor will come down when I feel like taking it down, and not a moment before! Guilt and OCD be damned!"
I shan't answer any e-mails, and shall carefully screen incoming vibrations on my phone. I will pop corn and stretch prone on my couch covered with the uncannily soft blanket my son received for Christmas. I will feast my eyes on the Orange Bowl, shouting arbitrarily at both teams until I determine (also, arbitrarily) a preference for who wins. After the game, I will bow deeply, chant loudly, and sit zazen as if my head is on fire.
It sounds lovely. More so because I am reminded that, all day long, I am living the life of the Buddha.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Less Brain, More Bones
Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also
leaks through the holes
in the roof
of this ruined house. - Shibiku in the Zen Calendar (March 14, 2007).
People want so much. We want to be someone else. "I want to be stronger." "I want to be more directed." "I want to be superwoman." But it's not possible. You must accept your condition. But "accept" is active. Who you are is active. Passive acceptance - that's the immobile, inanimate Zen. It's not the zen I'm talking about. There's passion here. Spirit for the quest. This is important: the sincerity of our quest and how we go about it. It's a long path. Are you prepared? Do you want to walk on this path? Don't think about it too much. Just walk! C'mon, let's go! That's Zen. - Jakusho Kwong in the Zen Calendar (January 13, 2006).
Day 334. This is not (did I mention NOT?) the way I envisioned beginning a new year. I fell off the Cliffs of Despair and landed - splash! - into the River of Ruin. Just before being swept out to the Desponden-Sea, I somehow managed to clamor up the banks and collapse into the Melancholy Meadow. And here I bask. Trying to accept that this is where I am at this particular moment in time. Reminding myself of impermanence. Prying both hands off the Attachment Ledge to which they cling mightily. Despite my best efforts, my Preferred Version of Reality keeps sidling over to a desire to feel a wee bit happier.
Flash - Pop - Lighting bolt! (those are word cues signaling the epiphany that just exploded in my brain). I think I am anticipating and grieving the end of this year (uh, not the calendar year, the last-year-of-my-40's Year). So much for staying in the here-and-now. So much for mastering "no attainment." The specifics of my grief are not clear at this moment, but the word seemed to nail the feeling state I am in.
It is confusing, because at my most conscious level, I WANT to be through with this commitment. So why would I grieve its ending? Since a couple of weeks before Christmas, the blog and zazen have felt burdensome and tiresome and irksome and bothersome and any other "-somes" that might fit here. I begin thinking about writing and sitting sometime in the early evening, and feelings of dread and gloom descend over me. I feel stressed and exhausted and burnt out. I want to allocate the time to something else. As soon as I register that little sequence of emotion, a runaway freight train of guilt comes barreling down my neurological track. The caboose is a familiar feeling of obligation coupled with lasting sincerity about wanting to sit with pure intent and write a few last, exceptional blogs. My intent remains intact, but I feel tired. So tired.
Whew! What a catharsis to express those feelings. It is fascinating to watch the entirety of my analysis manifest in the blog. My enduring primary coping mechanism is, and always has been, to disappear into my cerebellum. To think, analyze, intellectualize, explain, and make sense of. In other words, to entomb my feelings (the stuff of which all good writing originates) beneath impenetrable layers of thought. I can go back through blogs (though I won't, literally, until the year is up) and watch it happen: this tendency to write several posts in a row where I am clearing "trying" to compose something stellar and substantive, and then - KAPOW! - emotion spills up and out and I "write down my bones" (as Natalie Goldberg taught me).
I think the last time I wrote from my bones was when I indulged a bit about the novel that continues to relentlessly circumnavigate my skull. I am ready to bust out of the confines of writing about zazen and Buddhism and cycling and psychology. Not that those are particularly constraining parameters in and of themselves; I believe it is entirely Me who is accountable for pulling too tight the reins (NOW I figure this out?! With only 31 blogs left to write?? Ah, well, better late than never . . . great, now I have been reduced to cliches.)
A fine time to be reminded of non-dualism. Buddhism itself does not require me to be exclusively serious and intellectual. Nor, for that matter, does cycling or psychology. Stress is one wicked and insidious beast. It shoved and crowded me into some rigid, sedate sector of my brain and damn near commandeered the final weeks of the blog. Thankfully, I am deciding (in this very moment) to shove back. To bust out. To sit and write from my bones. Less brain, more bones. Now there's a title for my next blog . . .
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also
leaks through the holes
in the roof
of this ruined house. - Shibiku in the Zen Calendar (March 14, 2007).
People want so much. We want to be someone else. "I want to be stronger." "I want to be more directed." "I want to be superwoman." But it's not possible. You must accept your condition. But "accept" is active. Who you are is active. Passive acceptance - that's the immobile, inanimate Zen. It's not the zen I'm talking about. There's passion here. Spirit for the quest. This is important: the sincerity of our quest and how we go about it. It's a long path. Are you prepared? Do you want to walk on this path? Don't think about it too much. Just walk! C'mon, let's go! That's Zen. - Jakusho Kwong in the Zen Calendar (January 13, 2006).
Day 334. This is not (did I mention NOT?) the way I envisioned beginning a new year. I fell off the Cliffs of Despair and landed - splash! - into the River of Ruin. Just before being swept out to the Desponden-Sea, I somehow managed to clamor up the banks and collapse into the Melancholy Meadow. And here I bask. Trying to accept that this is where I am at this particular moment in time. Reminding myself of impermanence. Prying both hands off the Attachment Ledge to which they cling mightily. Despite my best efforts, my Preferred Version of Reality keeps sidling over to a desire to feel a wee bit happier.
Flash - Pop - Lighting bolt! (those are word cues signaling the epiphany that just exploded in my brain). I think I am anticipating and grieving the end of this year (uh, not the calendar year, the last-year-of-my-40's Year). So much for staying in the here-and-now. So much for mastering "no attainment." The specifics of my grief are not clear at this moment, but the word seemed to nail the feeling state I am in.
It is confusing, because at my most conscious level, I WANT to be through with this commitment. So why would I grieve its ending? Since a couple of weeks before Christmas, the blog and zazen have felt burdensome and tiresome and irksome and bothersome and any other "-somes" that might fit here. I begin thinking about writing and sitting sometime in the early evening, and feelings of dread and gloom descend over me. I feel stressed and exhausted and burnt out. I want to allocate the time to something else. As soon as I register that little sequence of emotion, a runaway freight train of guilt comes barreling down my neurological track. The caboose is a familiar feeling of obligation coupled with lasting sincerity about wanting to sit with pure intent and write a few last, exceptional blogs. My intent remains intact, but I feel tired. So tired.
Whew! What a catharsis to express those feelings. It is fascinating to watch the entirety of my analysis manifest in the blog. My enduring primary coping mechanism is, and always has been, to disappear into my cerebellum. To think, analyze, intellectualize, explain, and make sense of. In other words, to entomb my feelings (the stuff of which all good writing originates) beneath impenetrable layers of thought. I can go back through blogs (though I won't, literally, until the year is up) and watch it happen: this tendency to write several posts in a row where I am clearing "trying" to compose something stellar and substantive, and then - KAPOW! - emotion spills up and out and I "write down my bones" (as Natalie Goldberg taught me).
I think the last time I wrote from my bones was when I indulged a bit about the novel that continues to relentlessly circumnavigate my skull. I am ready to bust out of the confines of writing about zazen and Buddhism and cycling and psychology. Not that those are particularly constraining parameters in and of themselves; I believe it is entirely Me who is accountable for pulling too tight the reins (NOW I figure this out?! With only 31 blogs left to write?? Ah, well, better late than never . . . great, now I have been reduced to cliches.)
A fine time to be reminded of non-dualism. Buddhism itself does not require me to be exclusively serious and intellectual. Nor, for that matter, does cycling or psychology. Stress is one wicked and insidious beast. It shoved and crowded me into some rigid, sedate sector of my brain and damn near commandeered the final weeks of the blog. Thankfully, I am deciding (in this very moment) to shove back. To bust out. To sit and write from my bones. Less brain, more bones. Now there's a title for my next blog . . .
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Saturday, January 1, 2011
I Hate Everyone
"I hate everyone." - D. L. in Rota, Spain (October, 2002).
Day 333. The dinosaur is protesting the blog tonight. Hopefully we will come to a compromise in time to revise and update tomorrow.
The Dinosaur Whisperer triumphs again. Just remember: calm, assertive energy (which, incidentally, combines well with Control, Alt, Delete).
(Transposed from handwritten blog): It occurs to to me that the quote chosen for today may seem mildly (wildly?) inappropriate, it being the first day of a new year and all. Ah, well, I calls 'em as I sees 'em (What is the deal with me and cliches lately? I thought the craft of writing was supposed to IMPROVE with practice!)
This particular quote is, at a deeply personal level, highly significant for me. It was said by someone I met while teaching at Rota, near the southern coast of Spain. As anyone who has been to Spain can attest, the rules of engagement are different there. I'm not even sure if gravity works the same. Las Vegas isn't the only place where "what happens (there) stays (there)." Suffice it to say, it was in Spain that I embarked upon a brief period in time that was Austenistic in scope. Imagine the scenario if you crossed Lizzie and Mr. Darcy with a plot from a movie starring Johnny Depp and Ellen Page. Nelly would write the sound track. Yeah. Like that.
I knew I was in too deep when, early in the first evening we spent together, he said the (now infamous) words: "The thing is, I hate everyone." The moment has been frozen in time. It might be relevant to note that the words were spoken by someone pursuing a Masters degree in Human Relations. Addressed to a doctor in psychology. I reverberated from the depths of my soul.
Both us would infinitely scoff at smarmy terms like "soul mate" and "kindred spirit" and "he/she completes/gets me." In fact, we hate everyone who utilizes those words in anything other than a sardonic and sarcastic context. However, eight years later, we remain connected by some bizarrely strong ties that bind. All the more unthinkable when I mention that we have seen each other in person exactly once (for about two minutes) during those eight years. We both loathe FaceBook and e-mail. Never used Skype. Go for months with no contact whatsoever.
Yes, our rules of engagement are unconventional. Yes, it is rare that the phrase "I hate everyone" becomes a foundation upon which to base a long term relationship. Nevertheless, on days like today, when I am filled with loathing for all sentient beings and most non-sentient things, it is good to know that someone gets me. Unconditionally. No form, no sensation, no perception, no formation, no consciousness . . . neither ignorance nor extinction of ignorance . . . no suffering, no cause, no cessation, no path, no knowledge and no attainment.* I don't have to explain this feeling state to him at all. And I don't plan on explaining it to anyone now.
Day 333. The dinosaur is protesting the blog tonight. Hopefully we will come to a compromise in time to revise and update tomorrow.
The Dinosaur Whisperer triumphs again. Just remember: calm, assertive energy (which, incidentally, combines well with Control, Alt, Delete).
(Transposed from handwritten blog): It occurs to to me that the quote chosen for today may seem mildly (wildly?) inappropriate, it being the first day of a new year and all. Ah, well, I calls 'em as I sees 'em (What is the deal with me and cliches lately? I thought the craft of writing was supposed to IMPROVE with practice!)
This particular quote is, at a deeply personal level, highly significant for me. It was said by someone I met while teaching at Rota, near the southern coast of Spain. As anyone who has been to Spain can attest, the rules of engagement are different there. I'm not even sure if gravity works the same. Las Vegas isn't the only place where "what happens (there) stays (there)." Suffice it to say, it was in Spain that I embarked upon a brief period in time that was Austenistic in scope. Imagine the scenario if you crossed Lizzie and Mr. Darcy with a plot from a movie starring Johnny Depp and Ellen Page. Nelly would write the sound track. Yeah. Like that.
I knew I was in too deep when, early in the first evening we spent together, he said the (now infamous) words: "The thing is, I hate everyone." The moment has been frozen in time. It might be relevant to note that the words were spoken by someone pursuing a Masters degree in Human Relations. Addressed to a doctor in psychology. I reverberated from the depths of my soul.
Both us would infinitely scoff at smarmy terms like "soul mate" and "kindred spirit" and "he/she completes/gets me." In fact, we hate everyone who utilizes those words in anything other than a sardonic and sarcastic context. However, eight years later, we remain connected by some bizarrely strong ties that bind. All the more unthinkable when I mention that we have seen each other in person exactly once (for about two minutes) during those eight years. We both loathe FaceBook and e-mail. Never used Skype. Go for months with no contact whatsoever.
Yes, our rules of engagement are unconventional. Yes, it is rare that the phrase "I hate everyone" becomes a foundation upon which to base a long term relationship. Nevertheless, on days like today, when I am filled with loathing for all sentient beings and most non-sentient things, it is good to know that someone gets me. Unconditionally. No form, no sensation, no perception, no formation, no consciousness . . . neither ignorance nor extinction of ignorance . . . no suffering, no cause, no cessation, no path, no knowledge and no attainment.* I don't have to explain this feeling state to him at all. And I don't plan on explaining it to anyone now.
Gasho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
*quoted from the Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra, San Francisco Zen Center.
*quoted from the Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra, San Francisco Zen Center.
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