"Childlikeness" has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self-forgetfulness. - D. T. Suzuki in the Zen Calendar (June 13, 2007).
Day 274. Peak Experience! I was feeling in my (OCD) bones that the three-quarters mark of blogging should be coming around soon. Grabbed my pencil and the back of a Zen Calendar page (calculators are for the wimpy, and/or those who didn't have Mrs. Driggs at Monroe Elementary to teach them long division). Voila! Three-quarters of 365 days is 273.75, which means that as of today's blog, I am three-fourths of the way through my sit/blog year! Seventy-five percent! Yahoo! I would have been crushed had I waited to do the math (by hand!) and discovered AFTER today that I had missed such a significant milestone. What a relief to know that my compulsiveness penetrates to the depths of my unconscious (as if there was any doubt)!
I am feeling a bit better today. How could I not? Chylene brought popsicles and Shari brought saltines. Thank the Buddha for my Goddess friends. I am still weak as a kitten (I started to use the analogy "weak as a Democrat in the 2010 elections" but it hurt too much to type it). Whatever degree of weakness I currently suffer, it should be interesting on the mountain bike trip I have planned for the weekend. I suspect my climbing will be moderately to severely affected. Not to worry. I still have 40 hours of recovery time left.
Yesterday's illness brought the most vivid memories of being sick as a child. Perhaps I was delirious with fever, but I could remember the exact shade of turquoise and the rough, scratchy texture of our ancient couch at the house on 67th street. I was four when we moved from that house. In vivid detail, I could picture Captain Kangaroo smiling from underneath his bushy mustache on our black-and-white TV set. The scene was complete with Mr. Green Jeans, Mr. Moose, and ping-pong balls raining down on the Captain's head. I remembered sipping 7-Up from the Tom and Jerry jelly jars we used as glasses (all of us - not just the kids), and nibbling saltines in the late afternoon when I was no longer throwing up my toenails.
Sometime after 5:00, my dad would come home from work, pausing by the sofa to ask how I was feeling. Exquisitely, I can still feel my embarrassment at being sick (I was such a strange child), and the grave necessity of convincing my dad that I felt fine. Come to think of it, my family still doesn't deal well with infirmity. We all just look politely away and hope the ailing member will exhibit a speedy recovery so the rest of us won't feel awkward about our negligence. Curiously, we are generally quite robust in health.
The cascade of such early memories included a rather isolated one that is odd in its intensity. When I was not much older than four, family friends from New Mexico came to visit. I recall the flurry of housecleaning my mother performed prior to their arrival, which was in itself highly unusual. Every evening they stayed with us, we ate together at the dining room table, rather than the informal kitchen area where my family regularly dined. One night I was helping my mom carry dessert to the table. To the delight of the five kids, we were making sundaes. I distinctly recall picking up a small, delicately cut crystal bowl filled with a rich, dark liquid. Unable to stop myself, I dipped a finger in and licked off the sweet syrup.
I can still recall the electrifying flavor that ignited my taste buds. To this day, that chocolaty syrup remains the most intense, delectable sensation to ever pass my lips. There was a purity, an immediacy, an intensity to its taste that I have never since experienced. It was as though my entire body froze in the moment while the sweet elixir melted its path across my palate. My brain was taxed by the heaviness of pleasure centers simultaneously stimulated. I almost dropped the bowl.
My mom later told me it was Hershey's syrup. Perhaps the first time Hershey's syrup has been served in an antique crystal bowl, but Hershey's nonetheless. I have no explanation for why something so ordinary, something so ingrained in my taste memory, could have such an extraordinary impact on me that evening. Perhaps it was the first time I tasted it straight up. Perhaps my childish endorphins were pulsating especially vibrantly from the excitement of having constant access to new friends. Perhaps the taste buds of a four-year-old are particularly sensitive.
Or maybe I simply tasted the chocolate with Beginner's Mind. No prior expectation, since it wasn't being dribbled out of a can reading "Hershey's." Somehow the memory of that chocolate syrup served in a crystal bowl feels like a metaphor for my practice. It was prepared with care and attention to detail. Served in a crystal clear container. Presented with enthusiasm and liveliness. When I approach zazen with the youth, innocence, and vigor of a child dipping her finger in the dessert sauce, I taste something magnificent. Something exquisite and gratifying. Something totally unexpected, indeed.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Sitting in Sickness
Awareness of emptiness brings forth the heart of compassion. - Gary Snyder in the Zen Calendar (December 18, 2006).
Day 273. I woke this morning, began to prepare for work, and became violently ill. Bummer. Did not improve as the day went on. Logging the first case of flu this season is not exactly how I would like to distinguish myself this fall. It is not at all conducive to blogging and sitting, much less cycling. I must admit that my preferred version of Reality does not include a 102 degree fever. Tell that to my thermometer. Reality always prevails. I am grasping that in spades.
I had grandiose plans to detail my experience on the cushion yesterday. In the interest of not slumping, inert, over my keyboard, I will write an abbreviated version. I continue to read segments of Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind almost every night. It is a great way to center upon sitting, which is, after all, the heart of this year's endeavor. Suzuki Roshi repeatedly refers to "right effort," and I have been repeatedly checking in with myself during zazen with the gentle question of, "Are you exerting right effort?" It is difficult to abide by the idea of compassionately returning my focus to the breath, time and time again, especially when refocusing seems to be required every two to seven seconds. Discouragement, judgment, frustration and impatience lurk just at the periphery, sharing space with the Monkeys.
Each time my attention wandered yesterday, I brought myself back to the moment, to my breath, with a short mantra: "This is my practice of zazen." Without consciously determining to do so, I found myself repeating the mantra several times, with each repetition having less words, e.g. "This is my practice of zazen . . . This is my practice . . . This is . . . This." It had the remarkable effect of assisting me with consistently keeping awareness on my breath. "Consistent" is a relative term; perhaps the more accurate statement would be, "My breath didn't wander every seven seconds." It felt like authentic, compassionate Right Effort.
When the timer sounded, it was one of the first times it interrupted simple, quiet breathing rather than Monkey chatter. Remarkable indeed. I vowed to re-center my practice on my practice. And to re-center my blog on my practice. It is, after all, what this whole crazy year is supposed to be about.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 273. I woke this morning, began to prepare for work, and became violently ill. Bummer. Did not improve as the day went on. Logging the first case of flu this season is not exactly how I would like to distinguish myself this fall. It is not at all conducive to blogging and sitting, much less cycling. I must admit that my preferred version of Reality does not include a 102 degree fever. Tell that to my thermometer. Reality always prevails. I am grasping that in spades.
I had grandiose plans to detail my experience on the cushion yesterday. In the interest of not slumping, inert, over my keyboard, I will write an abbreviated version. I continue to read segments of Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind almost every night. It is a great way to center upon sitting, which is, after all, the heart of this year's endeavor. Suzuki Roshi repeatedly refers to "right effort," and I have been repeatedly checking in with myself during zazen with the gentle question of, "Are you exerting right effort?" It is difficult to abide by the idea of compassionately returning my focus to the breath, time and time again, especially when refocusing seems to be required every two to seven seconds. Discouragement, judgment, frustration and impatience lurk just at the periphery, sharing space with the Monkeys.
Each time my attention wandered yesterday, I brought myself back to the moment, to my breath, with a short mantra: "This is my practice of zazen." Without consciously determining to do so, I found myself repeating the mantra several times, with each repetition having less words, e.g. "This is my practice of zazen . . . This is my practice . . . This is . . . This." It had the remarkable effect of assisting me with consistently keeping awareness on my breath. "Consistent" is a relative term; perhaps the more accurate statement would be, "My breath didn't wander every seven seconds." It felt like authentic, compassionate Right Effort.
When the timer sounded, it was one of the first times it interrupted simple, quiet breathing rather than Monkey chatter. Remarkable indeed. I vowed to re-center my practice on my practice. And to re-center my blog on my practice. It is, after all, what this whole crazy year is supposed to be about.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Monday, November 1, 2010
Buddha Doc
Even if you learn the truths of Buddhahood, that too is to misuse the mind. You have to be free of preoccupations. You have to be normal. - Zen Saying in the Zen Calendar (September 22, 2006).
Day 272. Peak Experience! I went by the bookstore to purchase another Barbara Kingsolver novel, and lo! and Behold! It happened to be on the "buy 2 get 1 free" table. The table also had another of her novels, AND "To Kill A Mocking Bird" which is on my Must Read This Year list because of the 50th anniversary of its publication. Obviously, blogs for the next - oh, say 57 days - will likely be shortened. I will be reading a couple of REAL writers.
I continue to observe the depth of my practice penetrating my consciousness in ever increasing manifestations. During a session with my last client this evening, I found myself discussing the concepts of Non-Dualistic Thought and Big Mind. I drew a little circle with the words "A's Preferred Version of Reality" inside; then I drew a large circle that encompassed it with the words "Big Mind . . . . Reality As It Is" written along the border of the larger circle. In the space between the small circle and the larger one, I listed two of the topics that are currently causing my client emotional pain, noting that they fell "outside" of her preferred version of reality, but "inside" Big Mind. Next, I pointed to the space between the inner circle and the outer circle and said, "This is where our suffering lies. When we are attached to a certain preference for how Reality is, anything that falls outside of that preference causes us pain. Reality doesn't much care about our preferred version of it. It simply unfolds as it is going to. Healing occurs as we enlarge our 'preferred' version of Reality until it encompasses everything. That is when we have Big Mind. That is where our suffering ends."
I am studiously mindful regarding the imposition of Buddhist terminology on my clients, but this client had previously indicated an openness to Buddhist thought as it might relate to our therapy. I shared my hunch that the reason statues of the Buddha usually depict him smiling is because he is chuckling at the numerous occasions each day in which he catches himself having a "preferred version of reality." Several examples of how I do that in my own life came to mind and I mentioned a few: my preference that a traffic light stay green until I have passed through the intersection; a preference that the first store I go to has a certain jigsaw puzzle I am searching for; preferring that my son's car actually runs for two weeks in a row. We discussed more serious examples, including her preference that her dad responds with empathy when she confronts him about his neglect of her during the throes of a serious eating disorder.
It was a powerful and productive session. Though my field continues to publish extensively on applying eastern thought to the practice of western psychology, I feel my practice of Buddhism influencing my clinical work at a very personal level. I don't usually identify it specifically as Buddhism (this is, after all, Oklahoma); nonetheless, my sitting practice is ever present in my office. It feels ethical and applicable. Clients seem to think so, too.
Perhaps my not-so-big mind is growing Bigger. I sense an evolving integration among previously disparate facets of myself. The common denominator can be reduced to dwelling in Reality, which is proving to be a truly vast space.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 272. Peak Experience! I went by the bookstore to purchase another Barbara Kingsolver novel, and lo! and Behold! It happened to be on the "buy 2 get 1 free" table. The table also had another of her novels, AND "To Kill A Mocking Bird" which is on my Must Read This Year list because of the 50th anniversary of its publication. Obviously, blogs for the next - oh, say 57 days - will likely be shortened. I will be reading a couple of REAL writers.
I continue to observe the depth of my practice penetrating my consciousness in ever increasing manifestations. During a session with my last client this evening, I found myself discussing the concepts of Non-Dualistic Thought and Big Mind. I drew a little circle with the words "A's Preferred Version of Reality" inside; then I drew a large circle that encompassed it with the words "Big Mind . . . . Reality As It Is" written along the border of the larger circle. In the space between the small circle and the larger one, I listed two of the topics that are currently causing my client emotional pain, noting that they fell "outside" of her preferred version of reality, but "inside" Big Mind. Next, I pointed to the space between the inner circle and the outer circle and said, "This is where our suffering lies. When we are attached to a certain preference for how Reality is, anything that falls outside of that preference causes us pain. Reality doesn't much care about our preferred version of it. It simply unfolds as it is going to. Healing occurs as we enlarge our 'preferred' version of Reality until it encompasses everything. That is when we have Big Mind. That is where our suffering ends."
I am studiously mindful regarding the imposition of Buddhist terminology on my clients, but this client had previously indicated an openness to Buddhist thought as it might relate to our therapy. I shared my hunch that the reason statues of the Buddha usually depict him smiling is because he is chuckling at the numerous occasions each day in which he catches himself having a "preferred version of reality." Several examples of how I do that in my own life came to mind and I mentioned a few: my preference that a traffic light stay green until I have passed through the intersection; a preference that the first store I go to has a certain jigsaw puzzle I am searching for; preferring that my son's car actually runs for two weeks in a row. We discussed more serious examples, including her preference that her dad responds with empathy when she confronts him about his neglect of her during the throes of a serious eating disorder.
It was a powerful and productive session. Though my field continues to publish extensively on applying eastern thought to the practice of western psychology, I feel my practice of Buddhism influencing my clinical work at a very personal level. I don't usually identify it specifically as Buddhism (this is, after all, Oklahoma); nonetheless, my sitting practice is ever present in my office. It feels ethical and applicable. Clients seem to think so, too.
Perhaps my not-so-big mind is growing Bigger. I sense an evolving integration among previously disparate facets of myself. The common denominator can be reduced to dwelling in Reality, which is proving to be a truly vast space.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Sunday, October 31, 2010
I Will Buy the Muffins
I am searching for the quote.
Day 271. I have, literally, rode hard and will be put away wet (as soon as I get out of the shower). My hunch is that I will not write long this evening. I want to use the here-and-now to process the past couple of days' worth of heres-and-nows. I recognize the idiocy of that statement, but somehow, as I typed it, it made a strange and perfect sense.
There is nothing like participating in a group endeavor to be reminded of how far I have yet to go regarding my practice and the principles that form its bedrock. On our return trip from Tyler this morning, we had ridden less than five miles when a team with whom we had not previously had the great and good fortune to ride threw down the gauntlet during the first major climb. It did not require astute powers of observation to recognize them as Alphas. Clearly, they were accustomed to being the first tandem to top each hill - regardless of who they were riding with. I suppose our presence as newcomers necessitated an (undoubtedly biologically based) display of dominance. Ah, such is sport.
To me, it seemed a bit early in the day for gauntlet throwing, but I am not the person at the controls of our tandem. As the other team rocketed down the descent prior to the first climb, leaving the rest of us in their distant wake, me and my captain momentarily observed them. "Hmmm," we thought, "What's this? They seem to be riding a bit aggressively." There was the tiniest pause in my captain, as though he were weighing the decision to give chase. A (fast beating) heartbeat passed. I felt my captain shift his position on the bike, moving into the tight tuck that signals MY tight tuck, which results in an extreme acceleration on the downhills. "Hmmm," I thought. "Appears as though we are going to chase them."
There are infinite subtleties in cycling technique, and I don't presume to know a fraction of them. What I do know is that there comes a point at which two slender, cardiovascularly superior people who can spin really fast cannot keep up with two not-so-slender, incredibly strong people who spin a little less fast in a much larger gear. On a good day, when we are both on our game, my captain and I are freakishly strong. We combine our strength with an obscenely efficient pedal stroke and a couple of well-conditioned (and well worn) blood pumpers. Long hills are our specialty. The longer the climb, the better we pedal. Needless to say, we caught the Alphas and dropped them like frat boys hurling pumpkins from an overpass.
We were far classier than frat boys, however. We weren't showy, or arrogant, or excessive. We just held our momentum, and steadily, soundly outperformed them to the crest of the hill. Didn't look like we were exerting especially hard as we did it. Watched them throw another gauntlet as they sped past us on the descent (we weren't yet pedaling), then soundly beat them again. Repeated the scenario over four more hills. Consecutively. It felt very different from the spirited, good-humored hill competitions we engaged in with our friends the day before, in which we shouted out encouragement and complimented one another. At least to the other team, the stakes seemed pretty high. Alpha battling at its most intense. I had visions of those humongous bull elk on the Discovery Channel - gnashing their antlers in fierce battle for the prize of the alpha female.
After the fourth hill victory, my captain grew weary of reacting to hurled gauntlets. I'm pretty sure he, along with all the other teams observing the competition from a safe distance, knew who was going home with the prize. He checked in with me to see how I was feeling (I was on an adrenaline high and could easily have pedaled to the moon - just like ET). I said, "Great!" and we blasted away, riding the final 12 miles to the half way point alone. There wasn't a tandem within a quarter mile of us. We reached the rest stop at the bakery in Edom, stripped off our helmets, gloves, and CamelBacks, and posed the bike for a photo op. In the world of cycling, that is a LOT of elapsed time before the rest of the group rode up.
Before long, the entire group of tandem teams collected at the bakery and we chomped on muffins and cookies in great fellowship. Discussed the lovely weather and route options for the remaining fifty miles. The Alphas caught up with us on the wide veranda of the bakery. We talked bike parts and muffin texture. That's all. As for cycling ability, there was nothing left to be said. At least for today.
I have much to learn regarding the juncture at which Buddhism intersects competition. Sport is a vital part of my life, so I will aim my practice at reconciling loving kindness with thrashing the occasional tandem team on hills. I am feeling hopeful. Sports history is resplendent with gracious winners. New year, I will buy the muffins.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 271. I have, literally, rode hard and will be put away wet (as soon as I get out of the shower). My hunch is that I will not write long this evening. I want to use the here-and-now to process the past couple of days' worth of heres-and-nows. I recognize the idiocy of that statement, but somehow, as I typed it, it made a strange and perfect sense.
There is nothing like participating in a group endeavor to be reminded of how far I have yet to go regarding my practice and the principles that form its bedrock. On our return trip from Tyler this morning, we had ridden less than five miles when a team with whom we had not previously had the great and good fortune to ride threw down the gauntlet during the first major climb. It did not require astute powers of observation to recognize them as Alphas. Clearly, they were accustomed to being the first tandem to top each hill - regardless of who they were riding with. I suppose our presence as newcomers necessitated an (undoubtedly biologically based) display of dominance. Ah, such is sport.
To me, it seemed a bit early in the day for gauntlet throwing, but I am not the person at the controls of our tandem. As the other team rocketed down the descent prior to the first climb, leaving the rest of us in their distant wake, me and my captain momentarily observed them. "Hmmm," we thought, "What's this? They seem to be riding a bit aggressively." There was the tiniest pause in my captain, as though he were weighing the decision to give chase. A (fast beating) heartbeat passed. I felt my captain shift his position on the bike, moving into the tight tuck that signals MY tight tuck, which results in an extreme acceleration on the downhills. "Hmmm," I thought. "Appears as though we are going to chase them."
There are infinite subtleties in cycling technique, and I don't presume to know a fraction of them. What I do know is that there comes a point at which two slender, cardiovascularly superior people who can spin really fast cannot keep up with two not-so-slender, incredibly strong people who spin a little less fast in a much larger gear. On a good day, when we are both on our game, my captain and I are freakishly strong. We combine our strength with an obscenely efficient pedal stroke and a couple of well-conditioned (and well worn) blood pumpers. Long hills are our specialty. The longer the climb, the better we pedal. Needless to say, we caught the Alphas and dropped them like frat boys hurling pumpkins from an overpass.
We were far classier than frat boys, however. We weren't showy, or arrogant, or excessive. We just held our momentum, and steadily, soundly outperformed them to the crest of the hill. Didn't look like we were exerting especially hard as we did it. Watched them throw another gauntlet as they sped past us on the descent (we weren't yet pedaling), then soundly beat them again. Repeated the scenario over four more hills. Consecutively. It felt very different from the spirited, good-humored hill competitions we engaged in with our friends the day before, in which we shouted out encouragement and complimented one another. At least to the other team, the stakes seemed pretty high. Alpha battling at its most intense. I had visions of those humongous bull elk on the Discovery Channel - gnashing their antlers in fierce battle for the prize of the alpha female.
After the fourth hill victory, my captain grew weary of reacting to hurled gauntlets. I'm pretty sure he, along with all the other teams observing the competition from a safe distance, knew who was going home with the prize. He checked in with me to see how I was feeling (I was on an adrenaline high and could easily have pedaled to the moon - just like ET). I said, "Great!" and we blasted away, riding the final 12 miles to the half way point alone. There wasn't a tandem within a quarter mile of us. We reached the rest stop at the bakery in Edom, stripped off our helmets, gloves, and CamelBacks, and posed the bike for a photo op. In the world of cycling, that is a LOT of elapsed time before the rest of the group rode up.
Before long, the entire group of tandem teams collected at the bakery and we chomped on muffins and cookies in great fellowship. Discussed the lovely weather and route options for the remaining fifty miles. The Alphas caught up with us on the wide veranda of the bakery. We talked bike parts and muffin texture. That's all. As for cycling ability, there was nothing left to be said. At least for today.
I have much to learn regarding the juncture at which Buddhism intersects competition. Sport is a vital part of my life, so I will aim my practice at reconciling loving kindness with thrashing the occasional tandem team on hills. I am feeling hopeful. Sports history is resplendent with gracious winners. New year, I will buy the muffins.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Racing in the Non-Race
As I grow to understand life less and less, I learn to live it more and more. - Jules Renard in the Zen Calendar (December 13, 2007).
Day 270. I am posting from Tyler, Texas. Rode the tandem 58 miles today with 11 other teams. Though not a formal "race," the racers all seem to find each another and engage in an interesting form of "non-racing," which feels, curiously, a lot like being in a race. Our EZ rider captain, Randy, who tells us always to "Represent," would have been proud. We decidedly won the non-race against a few prestigious teams who were non-racing with us. I had the strangest feeling I was in a parallel universe with the one I inhabit when I am grappling with my attachment/non-attachment conundrum. Similar to the way my practice of non-attachment facilitated my ability to form deep and meaningful attachments, my attitude of non-racing enabled me to perform spectacularly on the bike. Go figure. My zazen practice manifests in so many facets of my life. There is no way it couldn't, since it permeates my entire being.
I am typing on the single computer of the hotel's "business center" (read: a computer stuck just inside the lobby). Apparently, several teens lurking around my periphery are at risk of spontaneous combustion if they can't get on the computer to check their Facebook status in the near future. In the interest of loving kindness, I will post this blog and continue it in longhand in the privacy of my room. No worries. It gives me more time with the dinosaur when I get home tomorrow.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Translating from Longhand: Hmmmmm, I can't much read my writing. I guess, at last, I have arrived as a doctor -- we are known for our illegible penmanship (penwomanship?) I know I chose the quote for tonight because of the inspiring time I spent with two particular tandem teams today. They consist of two couples slightly older than my captain and I: intelligent, kind, inclusive, evolved people who have tandem cycled throughout the world. It was a privilege to ride alongside them through the lush green meadows of eastern Texas. In addition to being exposed to their cycling expertise, I received another great gift. These four individuals (the four of them are close friends who share extensive history both on and off the bike) model Living Life. They are all professionals with impressive careers and achievements, but their zest is primarily prompted by bike riding and the traveling that accompanies it. The energy that surrounds them is light, playful, fearless and benevolent. From them and others like them, I am learning to Live Life. More and More.
Gassho for the Second Time,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 270. I am posting from Tyler, Texas. Rode the tandem 58 miles today with 11 other teams. Though not a formal "race," the racers all seem to find each another and engage in an interesting form of "non-racing," which feels, curiously, a lot like being in a race. Our EZ rider captain, Randy, who tells us always to "Represent," would have been proud. We decidedly won the non-race against a few prestigious teams who were non-racing with us. I had the strangest feeling I was in a parallel universe with the one I inhabit when I am grappling with my attachment/non-attachment conundrum. Similar to the way my practice of non-attachment facilitated my ability to form deep and meaningful attachments, my attitude of non-racing enabled me to perform spectacularly on the bike. Go figure. My zazen practice manifests in so many facets of my life. There is no way it couldn't, since it permeates my entire being.
I am typing on the single computer of the hotel's "business center" (read: a computer stuck just inside the lobby). Apparently, several teens lurking around my periphery are at risk of spontaneous combustion if they can't get on the computer to check their Facebook status in the near future. In the interest of loving kindness, I will post this blog and continue it in longhand in the privacy of my room. No worries. It gives me more time with the dinosaur when I get home tomorrow.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Translating from Longhand: Hmmmmm, I can't much read my writing. I guess, at last, I have arrived as a doctor -- we are known for our illegible penmanship (penwomanship?) I know I chose the quote for tonight because of the inspiring time I spent with two particular tandem teams today. They consist of two couples slightly older than my captain and I: intelligent, kind, inclusive, evolved people who have tandem cycled throughout the world. It was a privilege to ride alongside them through the lush green meadows of eastern Texas. In addition to being exposed to their cycling expertise, I received another great gift. These four individuals (the four of them are close friends who share extensive history both on and off the bike) model Living Life. They are all professionals with impressive careers and achievements, but their zest is primarily prompted by bike riding and the traveling that accompanies it. The energy that surrounds them is light, playful, fearless and benevolent. From them and others like them, I am learning to Live Life. More and More.
Gassho for the Second Time,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Friday, October 29, 2010
Back in the Saddle Again
To set up what you like against what you dislike - this is the disease of the mind. - The Hsin-Hsin Ming in the Zen Calendar (December 20, 2006).
Day 269. I am in complete and utter Nirvana. Who would have guessed I would arrive here via Mabank, Texas? I know! I am plunked down in the middle of a Texas prairie field (quite literally - the sign by the road to the hotel said "Prairieville") at a brand spankin' new Comfort Suites. There is nothing within five miles of the hotel, except for a vibrant orange Texas sunset. I just race walked a couple of laps around the hotel, breathing in the freshest, cleanest, country air of which my lungs have gulped since . . . I'm not sure . . . probably Durango! I am contemplating ranking the caliber of the computer on which I am currently typing (at approximately 150 wpm) as a Peak Experience! The keyboard is so plush, the monitor so humongous that I can read the words as I type them WITHOUT reading glasses -- I may stay and bust out my novel right here and now. At 150 wpm, four hundred or so pages shouldn't take long at all. The only drawback is that I am perched in a highly visible spot in the middle of an enormous lobby. Everything's bigger in Texas!
There are DQ's on every corner, and I dined at a Mexican restaurant that had soft serve ice cream -- for FREE! I just finished a Texas-sized twist and am feeling resplendent and content. When it comes to ice cream that is self-dispensed, the Middle Path is a tough road to follow.
I am here with my captain to take part in the Halloween tandem event sponsored by the Dallas Area Tandem Enthusiasts (DATES). Exactly one year ago, this was our debut into the world of tandem racing. It was an enjoyable, impeccably planned event. The weather is expected to be lovely; the routes are expertly detailed and pre-ridden, and the company spectacular. Should be an amazing weekend!
I want to write something profound and stellar to do this computer justice; however, I am ever mindful that I have 65 miles to stoke tomorrow, and I still need to sit. I have no idea how being a stoker for a captain cum former partner will be, but this much I do know: 1) I have a strong zazen practice; 2) Life is best lived from the here-and-now; 3) We are all borne of the One Great Love; 4) Everything is impermanent; 5) I will avoid setting up what I like against what I dislike.
I love being Buddhist. It provides an answer for everything.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 269. I am in complete and utter Nirvana. Who would have guessed I would arrive here via Mabank, Texas? I know! I am plunked down in the middle of a Texas prairie field (quite literally - the sign by the road to the hotel said "Prairieville") at a brand spankin' new Comfort Suites. There is nothing within five miles of the hotel, except for a vibrant orange Texas sunset. I just race walked a couple of laps around the hotel, breathing in the freshest, cleanest, country air of which my lungs have gulped since . . . I'm not sure . . . probably Durango! I am contemplating ranking the caliber of the computer on which I am currently typing (at approximately 150 wpm) as a Peak Experience! The keyboard is so plush, the monitor so humongous that I can read the words as I type them WITHOUT reading glasses -- I may stay and bust out my novel right here and now. At 150 wpm, four hundred or so pages shouldn't take long at all. The only drawback is that I am perched in a highly visible spot in the middle of an enormous lobby. Everything's bigger in Texas!
There are DQ's on every corner, and I dined at a Mexican restaurant that had soft serve ice cream -- for FREE! I just finished a Texas-sized twist and am feeling resplendent and content. When it comes to ice cream that is self-dispensed, the Middle Path is a tough road to follow.
I am here with my captain to take part in the Halloween tandem event sponsored by the Dallas Area Tandem Enthusiasts (DATES). Exactly one year ago, this was our debut into the world of tandem racing. It was an enjoyable, impeccably planned event. The weather is expected to be lovely; the routes are expertly detailed and pre-ridden, and the company spectacular. Should be an amazing weekend!
I want to write something profound and stellar to do this computer justice; however, I am ever mindful that I have 65 miles to stoke tomorrow, and I still need to sit. I have no idea how being a stoker for a captain cum former partner will be, but this much I do know: 1) I have a strong zazen practice; 2) Life is best lived from the here-and-now; 3) We are all borne of the One Great Love; 4) Everything is impermanent; 5) I will avoid setting up what I like against what I dislike.
I love being Buddhist. It provides an answer for everything.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Ripping the Stuffing Out
Every day you must say to yourself, "Today I am going to begin." - JeanPierre de Caussade SJ in the Zen Calendar (May 9, 2004).
Day 268. I am glad I chose to begin today. When the alarm first went off, I almost chose not to.
Yesterday was an exceptionally challenging day. In anticipation of leaving for a tandem event tomorrow, I had scheduled myself far beyond my long established "rules of engagement" for any given day. The outcome of these strenuous therapy marathons varies. My status depends on the day's client constellation.
I have noticed that when I am deeply immersed in my practice, I tend to think in metaphors. Last night, as I lay on my couch, dishrag limp and too tired to press the buttons on the remote, an image of Ruby flickered behind my eyelids. As you may recall, Ruby is our serious, contemplative, Buddha dog. Her IQ exceeds that of most registered voters; her work ethic exceeds them all. I have watched her concentrate on her Kong (Ruby's reason for living is anything digestable) for, literally, almost an hour. She can extract treats from it faster than it took me (with two opposable thumbs) to insert them. Ruby will not abandon the Kong until it is definitively empty. Doesn't matter if there is one stubborn biscuit remnant in there (the one I crammed in with the palms of both hands) with a perfect dog's leg (pun intended) that restricts its exit. She will ultimately prevail. Her perseverance rivals my slinkie untangling fixation.
Ruby applies this same single mindedness to removing the stuffing from any and every toy she has ever been given. She sincerely believes that the sole purpose of receiving a new toy is to eliminate every shred of synthetic foam occupying its innards. Once "assigned" a new toy, she undertakes her job with somber intensity. Watching her reminds me of the shots of assembly line workers the auto industry allows to be aired on commercials. Systematic, methodical, efficient. Utter concentration. No motion wasted. Not one iota of misdirected movement. Stuffing extraction at its finest.
Imagine the remains of the toy after Ruby has satisfactorily performed her stuffingectomy, and you get a vision of me after work yesterday. We call the leftover fuzzy, barely recognizable, formless material scrap a carcass. There is a whole box of them in the hall closet (I grieved the warthog casualty most keenly). After collapsing on my sofa last night, I felt like I had been gutted and quartered like Ruby's warthog. More like sixty-fourthed. Chewed up and spit out. An empty carcass, left with my innards strewn about in great poofy piles of white foam. Methodically used and cast aside. Like the surgeons on Gray's Anatomy following a particularly absurd day at Seattle Grace.
That feeling does not happen often. I have practiced for over 20 years, and experience has built stamina. Like all Perfect Storms, I never saw this one coming. Nothing I could do to prevent it, so I just tied a knot and hung on. Stayed in the moment. One excruciating moment after the next. If ever I felt gratitude for the certainty of impermanence, it was yesterday. It didn't fail me. The day came to an end.
I considered elaborating on the details of my stuffing extraction, but that is not the point of the blog. If ever there was a day when I wanted to skip my blog and sitting, it was yesterday. I sat down at the keyboard, and the image of Ruby's carcasses flashed. As my fingers tickled the keys, however, the windsurfer story poured out. I don't know from whence it came, but the longer I typed, the easier the words poured forth. Unlike Ruby's thoroughness with her barren toys, there must have been a bit of stuffing remaining in me. A little something hidden in a far corner of my blogging bin. Wedged in tight, like a dog-legged shaped treat stuck in a Kong.
After posting the blog, I realized I was spent. Stuffingless. I considered sleeping at the desk because the walk down the ten foot hall to my room required energy I couldn't summon. It was at that moment that my mushy brain issued the stark reminder that I had not yet sat zazen. Forty minutes on the cushion awaited me. Straight posture, symmetrical mudra, bows and breathing would be required. I wanted to sob.
I thought about the number 266. The number of consecutive days, out of my goal of 365, I have sat so far. I thought about Suzuki Roshi, my teacher Frank, and the millions of monks over centuries that got their butts on their cushions at five a.m. and stayed there a lot longer than 40 minutes. So I got my butt on mine, bowed, formed a mudra, and remained conscious and upright. Somewhere during the next 40 minutes, "me" fell away and "no me" joined the cosmos for a few of the ecstatic, connected Breaths of the One that occasionally come during zazen now. The timer sounded and I bowed with gratitude and benediction. The number of consecutive days of sitting grew to 267.
When the alarm blasted NPR this morning, my carcass arm reached out to silence it. My first waking thought was I couldn't have been asleep for more than nine minutes. Excuses for remaining in bed pinged through my brain like a high scoring ball in a pinball machine at Arnold's. Somehow, I chose to begin. I had a really good day. Apparently whatever got ripped out, zazen stuffed back in. Gassho to my practice. All 267 days of it.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
Day 268. I am glad I chose to begin today. When the alarm first went off, I almost chose not to.
Yesterday was an exceptionally challenging day. In anticipation of leaving for a tandem event tomorrow, I had scheduled myself far beyond my long established "rules of engagement" for any given day. The outcome of these strenuous therapy marathons varies. My status depends on the day's client constellation.
I have noticed that when I am deeply immersed in my practice, I tend to think in metaphors. Last night, as I lay on my couch, dishrag limp and too tired to press the buttons on the remote, an image of Ruby flickered behind my eyelids. As you may recall, Ruby is our serious, contemplative, Buddha dog. Her IQ exceeds that of most registered voters; her work ethic exceeds them all. I have watched her concentrate on her Kong (Ruby's reason for living is anything digestable) for, literally, almost an hour. She can extract treats from it faster than it took me (with two opposable thumbs) to insert them. Ruby will not abandon the Kong until it is definitively empty. Doesn't matter if there is one stubborn biscuit remnant in there (the one I crammed in with the palms of both hands) with a perfect dog's leg (pun intended) that restricts its exit. She will ultimately prevail. Her perseverance rivals my slinkie untangling fixation.
Ruby applies this same single mindedness to removing the stuffing from any and every toy she has ever been given. She sincerely believes that the sole purpose of receiving a new toy is to eliminate every shred of synthetic foam occupying its innards. Once "assigned" a new toy, she undertakes her job with somber intensity. Watching her reminds me of the shots of assembly line workers the auto industry allows to be aired on commercials. Systematic, methodical, efficient. Utter concentration. No motion wasted. Not one iota of misdirected movement. Stuffing extraction at its finest.
Imagine the remains of the toy after Ruby has satisfactorily performed her stuffingectomy, and you get a vision of me after work yesterday. We call the leftover fuzzy, barely recognizable, formless material scrap a carcass. There is a whole box of them in the hall closet (I grieved the warthog casualty most keenly). After collapsing on my sofa last night, I felt like I had been gutted and quartered like Ruby's warthog. More like sixty-fourthed. Chewed up and spit out. An empty carcass, left with my innards strewn about in great poofy piles of white foam. Methodically used and cast aside. Like the surgeons on Gray's Anatomy following a particularly absurd day at Seattle Grace.
That feeling does not happen often. I have practiced for over 20 years, and experience has built stamina. Like all Perfect Storms, I never saw this one coming. Nothing I could do to prevent it, so I just tied a knot and hung on. Stayed in the moment. One excruciating moment after the next. If ever I felt gratitude for the certainty of impermanence, it was yesterday. It didn't fail me. The day came to an end.
I considered elaborating on the details of my stuffing extraction, but that is not the point of the blog. If ever there was a day when I wanted to skip my blog and sitting, it was yesterday. I sat down at the keyboard, and the image of Ruby's carcasses flashed. As my fingers tickled the keys, however, the windsurfer story poured out. I don't know from whence it came, but the longer I typed, the easier the words poured forth. Unlike Ruby's thoroughness with her barren toys, there must have been a bit of stuffing remaining in me. A little something hidden in a far corner of my blogging bin. Wedged in tight, like a dog-legged shaped treat stuck in a Kong.
After posting the blog, I realized I was spent. Stuffingless. I considered sleeping at the desk because the walk down the ten foot hall to my room required energy I couldn't summon. It was at that moment that my mushy brain issued the stark reminder that I had not yet sat zazen. Forty minutes on the cushion awaited me. Straight posture, symmetrical mudra, bows and breathing would be required. I wanted to sob.
I thought about the number 266. The number of consecutive days, out of my goal of 365, I have sat so far. I thought about Suzuki Roshi, my teacher Frank, and the millions of monks over centuries that got their butts on their cushions at five a.m. and stayed there a lot longer than 40 minutes. So I got my butt on mine, bowed, formed a mudra, and remained conscious and upright. Somewhere during the next 40 minutes, "me" fell away and "no me" joined the cosmos for a few of the ecstatic, connected Breaths of the One that occasionally come during zazen now. The timer sounded and I bowed with gratitude and benediction. The number of consecutive days of sitting grew to 267.
When the alarm blasted NPR this morning, my carcass arm reached out to silence it. My first waking thought was I couldn't have been asleep for more than nine minutes. Excuses for remaining in bed pinged through my brain like a high scoring ball in a pinball machine at Arnold's. Somehow, I chose to begin. I had a really good day. Apparently whatever got ripped out, zazen stuffed back in. Gassho to my practice. All 267 days of it.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
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