z: Just breathe

Today I did my second Beginner’s One Day Sitting. This means that I sat in the zendo, meditating, for most of the day. But not really, because it was a beginner’s sitting so we didn’t start sitting until 10:15, only sat for 20 minutes at a time, and had lunch, a dharma talk, and tea.

This is what I learned from my one day sit: all you have to do is sit there and breathe. Really, that’s all I had to do. I also figured out, that this is all just about breathing.

I’ve kind of been experiencing a mini- crisis, in a bunch of ways. I skipped morning zazen two days last week because I was sick and because I had to stay up late the night before to attend school events. Even when I did go to zazen, I was mostly thinking, not really breathing. Then with figuring out how all of this fits in with teaching, I’ve just been totally in my head.

When I sat today, I just kept reminding myself to breathe. And that’s all I did, breathe. I breathed during zazen, breathed during kinjin, and the coolest thing was that, during lunch, as I started rushing through my pasta salad, I stopped and just breathed. And I ate the rest of my lunch that way, just breathing, just slowing down. I felt much like I had this summer: present without even trying.

But then things got kind of funny- and not in a good way. After having a somewhat breathful morning of zazen, I kind of freaked out. See, before school started up again this fall, I had this great fear that I wouldn’t be in to teaching, that I would be more interested in what I was doing at the zen center than what I was doing at school. Halfway through the first week of school, it actually happened, I felt like I wasn’t in to teaching anymore and I was totally bummed out. But then I made it through the first week and ended up having a really good weekend, learning about the kids and planning the next week’s lessons and genuinely wanting to be back in the classroom.  

But then with the Beginner’s Sitting going so well this morning, I felt this draw toward the zen center again and away from teaching. I don’t like this feeling. I don’t want to not be a teacher and I can’t say that I actually want to be whatever I would be if I followed my interests at the zen center.

Then Jamie, the person who lead the one day sit, gave this quote during his dharma talk (I’m paraphrasing): attachment: the flowers fall… avoidance: the weeds grow. And I pictured myself grabbing at a cherry blossom tree and all the little silky flowers falling off and then I pictured myself avoiding my feelings about teaching and the zen center and them just getting stronger and stronger.

Then I sat some more, in the afternoon, and then we had tea. And this is what I came away with: all I am doing is breathing. I can grasp at my identity as a teacher, attempt to hold on to feelings I have had in the past and try to maintain them even as I am changing. I can stick with my preconceived notions about what it means to be a practitioner at the zen center, refuse to accept that whatever that is might actually be a part of me. I can also just avoid this whole thing by spending less time at the zen center and more time at school. 

But if I grasp, if I hold on to the past, I will be simply shaking those dead blossoms on to the ground and will only be left with a bare branch. And if I avoid this by walking away from the zen center and whatever it is that is drawing me there, those weeds will sprout and grow and I won’t even be around to watch them and eventually they’ll take over my whole garden.

Then just sitting this afternoon, just breathing, I realized that really this is all just about breathing. Going to the zen center every morning to meditate is just breathing. Going to school and being present with the kids is just breathing. Sitting with this crisis, this change, this part of my life which is taking me instead of me taking it, is also just about breathing. I don’t really have any choice in the matter, except to breathe, to accept that this is what is happening in my life right now.

At the dharma talk on Saturday, the speaker (who, by the way, is a school teacher and a zen practitioner) talked about three kinds of faith: faith in your teacher because you think they know what they’re doing, faith in yourself because you’ve experienced what you’re being taught, and faith even though you don’t really know what either of you is doing (again, I’m paraphrasing).

I can’t say that I’m necessarily having faith that this is all going to work out. What I really want is to just be a teacher who practices compassion with her students. My good feelings at the One Day Sit still frighten me and I don’t know what I’m going to do if the zen center continues to draw me to it or if I lose interest in teaching. But the thing is, I can’t actually change these things, no matter how much I want to. I’m a living being and things affect me, change me, live me. If I fight them, then they really will control me, they’ll make me anxious and worried and sad. But if I sit there with them, actually see them as they are, then at least I’ll be with my life instead of fighting it.