Practicing with big ones

Though we’d all like to hang out in our classrooms and spend our days with the little ones, there are times when we have to interact with grownups.  This past year, after I had been going to the zen center for awhile, I had a situation in which I had to interact with a grownup. Let’s just say that this grownup was in charge of some things in my life. This grownup was suggesting that certain things in my life, that they were in charge of, might change. I did not want those things to change and was pretty livid about it. But then I decided to be all zen about the situation. I decided to meet this grownup with compassion:  to try to see the situation for what it was instead of seeing it through my own history and story.

I looked at the situation from the grownup’s point of view, saw the pressure that they were experiencing, how they were trying to help the kids, and decided to make an offer that I thought would help the situation. When I made this offer, the grownup pretty much refused. The grownup explained what they needed to do and then continued to explain why the changes were necessary. I expressed my disappointment and my feelings of being used. The grownup simply said that this was the best decision for the situation.

I was sad. I met this person with compassion and got what felt like a total unawareness of my situation and an apparent lack of interest in my benefit. I was surprised that my offer wasn’t met with gratitude and that the expression of my emotions weren’t met with sympathy or understanding. Basically, I gave compassion and got nothing.

So, I talked with my good friend about the situation. She asked me, “Did you really meet them with compassion?”  We thought about it. If I had truly met them with compassion I would have come to them and said “What do you need? What can I do to support you? How can I help?” And I didn’t do any of those things. It doesn’t mean that they were right in what they did, it’s just that I didn’t really meet them with compassion. I looked at the situation from their point of view and came up with an offer that I thought benefited both of us.

Am I ready to meet grownups with compassion when it involves a consequence for me? Back then I thought I was, but clearly I wasn’t. Am I ready now? Hmmm, I’m not sure about that. I’m going to try, I think. At least I’ll have this situation underneath me to remind me of what compassion should look like but I do think it’s going to be a lot harder when it affects me. I have to be willing to let go of my own story and think about the concept that we are all connected, that by benefiting this person, I am benefiting others, that their happiness is as important as mine. I think this is going to take a lot of trust, which I don’t really have in this person, but which I do have in this process.

 

z18: Trapped in the zendo

I decided to try my hand at the zendo, not because I wanted to be there, but to prove everyone wrong, to show them that the gaitan was just as good as the zendo and, in fact, was better for me. By this time, I had been attending Thursday night beginner’s zazen where you meditate in the zendo and can ask any questions. It was there that I learned why I had been blocked by the Ino. Every morning, the priest “opens” the zendo by offering incense to the altar and walking around to all parts of the zendo and bowing. Obviously when he’s doing this, you don’t want people walking around and settling in their seats so the zendo is temporarily “closed” during this time. I also found out that there’s a sort of a “clock” that tells you when this is happening so if I listened closely enough, I’d know when it was okay to enter the zendo.

I showed up early the next morning and approached the zendo door. I stepped in with my left foot, took three steps, and bowed. I walked to a seat, bowed to and away from my cushion, hopped up onto it and settled in. I immediately felt tightness in my throat. I tried to swallow, to relax, but it didn’t work.  Suddenly my mouth felt dry. I tried to moisten it but it just kept clenching up and I felt the need to cough. I never had to cough in the gaitan. Then I heard the curtain to the zendo close and I totally freaked out. What if I actually have to leave the zendo? Can I even open that curtain? It was awful. I spent the whole time trying to calm down and be quiet. Finally they rang the chime and I got out of there as fast as I could.

That night, I shared the news with my room mate. I explained that I had a panic attack in the zendo and that I was totally going back to the gaitan because all I did in the zendo was freak out- that wasn’t helping me to meditate!  He looked at me and smiled.

“You didn’t have a panic attack. You were nervous and worried, but that wasn’t a panic attack. Also, you’re going to the zen center for community and the community is in the zendo. If you want to stay in the gaitan, go ahead but really, you should go back in to the zendo and deal with whatever it is you’re dealing with in there"

I glared at him. He was so totally right and it was totally unfair. I picked up my dishes, washed them, and went back to my room.

And yes, the very next morning I went back into the zendo and have been going in there ever since.

z17: You can run but you can't hide...

The zen center is a funny place. No one talks but everyone knows each other. One Saturday after lecture, I approached one of the monks because I had a question about why you were supposed to wear your shoes in the hallway. She answered my question and then said to me, “You sit in the gaitan, don't you?”

“Yes,” I answered, aware that I probably wasn't supposed to be sitting in the gaitan.

“Are you intimidated by the zendo?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “What's so great about the zendo?” I asked coyly.

“Well now that's something you should think about,” she smiled, “that one is better than the other.”

“Well no...” I started to explain.

“We're in the zendo,” she said. I looked at her like, “So what, we're all silent and facing the wall, who cares who's in the zendo?”

Then I thought about it. “Is Blanche in the zendo?” I asked.

“Of course Blanche is in the zendo,” she answered.

“Oh,” I said. “I guess it would be nice to be near Blanche.”

“Just think about it,” she said, and walked away.

I did, for about two seconds. Then I said “Meh, she doesn't know me. She thinks things are better in the zendo. They're not. If I go in the zendo all I will think about is rules and monks and what I'm doing wrong. The gaitan is the place for me.”

A couple of weeks later, I came to sit at the evening zazen and was so early I was there even before the Ino. As he walked past me, sitting in the gaitan when I clearly didn't need to (most people sit in the gaitan if they're late) he pointed to the zendo with a big smile on his face and said “Lovely zendo there...” I so wish I had had the speed of mind to respond: “Lovely gaitan here!” but I didn't. I think I said something like “Someday, someday...” But I was surprised. Even the Ino knew I was sitting in the gaitan for no reason.

The final straw was when the shuso, the head student at the zen center, remarked on my habit of sitting in the gaitan. I had attended her lecture that night and wanted to let her know how impressed I was with her teaching. After I complimented her she asked, “You sit in the gaitan, don't you?” Damn, I thought, what is it with these people, can't I just sit in the gaitan and not have everyone notice?

“Yes, I do,” I answered hesitantly.

“You put your hands in gassho when I pass by,” she said.

“I thought that was what you were supposed to do,” I answered, totally afraid that I actually wasn't supposed to be doing that, that for some reason all the other people were supposed to do it and that by copying them without being a monk I had somehow offended her.

“Yes, you are,” she said. Then she asked, “Are you intimidated by the zendo?”

“Ummm,” I answered. “Let's just say it's working for me right now.”

“Okay,” she answered and let it go at that.

I was totally annoyed by this. I have a weird tendency to do things that people suggest just to prove how very wrong they are in their suggestion. I knew that the gaitan was the place for me but I decided that I would sit in the zendo the very next morning just to prove to these people that they didn't know what was best for me.

z16: Staying on the wagon

Around the time that I decided that my new year's resolution would be to meditate every day, NPR had a report on how people are able to keep their new year's resolutions. They said that there were two kinds of people in the world: those who keep their habit by giving themselves a break from it now and then and those who, if they take a break from the habit, drop it completely. I took a look at myself and I knew: I was one of those people who, given a break, drops the habit completely. I had to go to the zendo like I brush my teeth: it's what you do when you get up. I wasn't any more committed than anyone else, I just knew that if I were given the option between meditation and sleep (or, meditation and anything, actually), I would never choose meditation. So I just removed the option. 

The other thing was, I was already awake at the time I was supposed to be awake to get to the zendo (though I wished I were able to sleep later). I was in my bed, thinking about my day and I figured if I was up thinking anyway, I might as well go to the zendo and try not to think. But I also had it easier than most: I live really close to the zendo and I started this habit during vacation. Dragging oneself out of bed at 5AM for a five minute bike ride after which you can sleep for as long as you like, is very different from what most people have to do in order to develop a practice of meditation.

I was pretty consistent with my habit throughout winter break and up through my first week back at school. But during my second week, I was feeling exhausted and stressed. I decided that it was because I wasn't getting enough sleep. I was staying up late worrying and then getting up early to go to the zendo to try not to worry. It seemed like I should let myself sleep in, so I stopped going. But that didn't make things better either. It dawned on me that I might be feeling stressed because I wasn't going to the zendo each day, not because of lack of sleep. So, I started going again and have been going pretty much ever since. I still miss a day if it's raining or I'm sick or if I stayed out late the night before but for the most part, I go every morning at 5AM. I do have to say that going every morning took some pressure off of the meditation time itself. Going once a week or infrequently, I felt like I had to make the most of my meditation, to get it right. Now that I go every day, it doesn't matter so much that I have a song in my head or have an imaginary conversation with a coworker during zazen, maybe I'll do better tomorrow.

z15: Beginner's mind

So, the name of the San Francisco zen center’s temple is “Beginner’s Mind.” Often, the abbot starts his talk by advising the newcomers in the audience that they have a leg up on the rest of us because they’re coming at it with a beginner’s mind.  I titled this post beginner’s mind for two reasons: 1) I’m going to talk about what my mind was doing when I first started meditating and 2) I really am going to make a case for the abbot's assertion that beginners do have an advantage.

The craziness, the confusion, the “grasping at straws” feeling that you have at the beginning is, believe it or not, the state that you want, the state that you’re supposed to stay in, it’s the mind of an experienced monk. I’m not kidding, it’s totally true! It’s not a comfortable mind, it’s not one that you can describe or teach, but that mind that you have as a beginner, the totally not knowing what you’re doing but trying anyway, that’s kind of what monks try to maintain in order to meet the world as it is. Don’t think it’s always going to feel confusing and that you’re lost, you’ll definitely begin to come into your own with more practice, but do know that as long as you’re willing to stick with those feelings of confusion and not knowing, you’re on your way. It’s the sticking with it part that makes the difference, I promise.

So, here’s what my mind sounded like when I first started:

Is your mudra on your navel? Yes. Okay, breathe in, now out and down to your mudra, does my mudra catch my breath? Stop thinking!

Okay, breathe. No thoughts. Empty your mind. Okay, my mind is empty, it’s hollow. I don’t have any thoughts. Okay, what if a thought comes? Stop thinking!

Dude, you suck. You can’t stop thinking. What is your deal? Just empty your head! Empty your head! Okay, let your breath breathe you, wayyyyyt for your breath. Should my stomach be pulling in like that? I think I stopped breathing.  What if I stop breathing? Can I pass out doing this? Stop thinking!

Seriously, what is your problem? Why can’t you just shut up? Stop thinking! Be quiet!

Now what? I’m quiet but only ‘cause I’m holding my breath and tightening every muscle in my body.  I can’t do this for 30 minutes. I don’t think this is what they want us to do. Is this it? Cause it doesn’t feel like nirvana, at all.

And then I learned that I should be compassionate with myself, that I should love myself into this, that when thoughts come up I should acknowledge them and let them go instead of trying so hard to push them away or stop them altogether.

It sounded like this:

Who is that walking past? Oh, that’s a thought. Hey how come they’re walking the other way? Oh, that’s a thought. Okay, just relax, breathe, feel your breath, in and out. Wait for your breath. Oh, that’s okay that you’re trying to breathe, it’s okay, at least you’re trying. Okay, let’s try to wait for your breath. Oh, that’s okay, try again. Relax, it’s okay, you’ll get it eventually. I wonder how other people count their breath? I heard you weren’t supposed to count your breath. I’m not going to count my breath ‘cause that’s a crutch. I wonder what makes it a crutch? Am I giving my kids a crutch when I meet them in their zone of proximal development? How am I going to scaffold that lesson on decimals today? Do they get tested on decimals on the CST? Wasn’t that cool how Robby got decimals immediately? It was so great for the other kids to see him knowing something, for him to be an expert. I’ll have to make sure to call on him during the lesson today, give him more opportunities to shine…

I did that for, like, a whole month. It made meditation kind of fun. I could process all kinds of things in the zendo (actually, I think I was still in the gaitan at this point). But after a while I realized that I really wasn’t meditating and I tried something else.

After those two phases, it gets kind of fuzzy. I don’t really recall my “development” after that, and maybe there wasn’t any development. Maybe it was just fits and starts and gradual growth. I do know that the first time that I quieted my mind was really huge for me (z12) and the morning when what I had been practicing in the zendo followed me out into the world (z9) made me want to keep trying. It’s not easy and it’s only going to get better if you’re willing to let it be not easy. Sorry, I wish I could help more than that.

My advice? If you can, find someone else who’s trying to meditate and talk to them about it. If you can’t, figure out a way to stick to it. For me it took a really long time before I felt like I was actually even beginning to have a moment in which I quieted my thoughts. Just don’t think that the confusion is futile, if you’re doing it every day (or at least on a regular basis) all that noise, all that frustration, all that stuff that feels like it’s doing nothing and going nowhere actually is part of the process, it will come, but only if you stick with it.

Back to school jitters

In an earlier post (being seen) I said that I was going to ask the kids to share their fears with me so that I could get to know them better. I also said that if I was going to ask them to do this, I would need to do it myself. My original intent in doing this was to see my students for who they are. But now I have a couple of other reasons for doing it as well.

One of the things that I want to be able to do in my classroom is to be able to respond to situations that come up instead of react. This idea comes from a lecture given at the San Francisco zen center about sun/ moon buddha. It's mostly about the fact that in any given situation, we perceive reality based on the stories or personal histories that we bring to the situation. This summer I've been trying to look at my own stories, my fears and insecurities, the thoughts that I bring to situations. Knowing what those are has helped me to recognize them while I'm in the situation and, therefore, allowed me to step out of them and see the situation for what it is. This allows me to respond with clarity instead of react with the muddiness of my own fears and personal history.

The second reason I want to do this is that during meditation lately, I've been noticing what thoughts come up for me (another lecture at the zen center: directed versus responsive listening). I've been looking at these thoughts and figuring out not only why they're coming up for me but where they're coming from. As a result, I'm seeing that a lot of my thoughts are coming from fears, and that when I look closely at those fears and where they're coming from I find that they're totally unfounded. And the really great thing is that once I did that, looked at their source and saw them for what they are, a lot of them went away. That was really cool, to have my thoughts go away on their own instead of me having to keep telling them to leave.

So, I'm going to try to look at my fears around teaching, see where they're coming from. I'll decide later which ones to share with the kids and I'm still debating about which ones I'll share on this blog. But I think the important thing is this: reflect on my fears or thoughts around teaching both so that I can share them with the kids but also so that I know them well enough to recognize them so that when they start to take over the situation I can tell them to go away and get back to teaching.

z14: Exiting the zendo

In some ways, I was lucky that by the time I had committed to meditating every morning, it was late December. I'm pretty sure that my first week of trying to meditate in the zendo coincided with the city center's “interim” period- their formal break from practice that usually occurs after an intense period of practice. This meant that there just weren't a lot of people in the zendo (many residents go home or, if they stay, sleep-in during the first morning meditation because it's not mandatory during interim). My two prior experiences in the zendo (see z13) had made me a bit wary of disturbing the “real monks” so it was nice to be in there and feel like I could sit wherever I wanted, for the most part, and didn't feel as pressured to get everything right. 

But then formal practice started up again, the rules were back in place, and I just couldn't seem to get in to the zendo. Here's what happened. I showed up, took a step into the zendo with my left foot, and was blocked by a white hand, attached to a big black rectangle of fabric, attached to... the Ino. I backed up, turned around, and walked toward the coat room. On my way, I saw a bunch of people sitting on cushions in the hallway (the gaitan) leading to the zendo. Hmmm, I thought, maybe I'm supposed to meditate here. So, I bowed to my cushion, bowed away from my cushion, and sat down to meditate. The next morning, I did the exact same thing: showed up at the zendo door, tried to step in with my left foot, and bam! there he was again, blocking my entrance to the zendo! I turned around and sat down in the hallway to meditate but I was done. You didn't have to tell me more than twice. I wasn't sure why I couldn't go in to the zendo but there was no way I was going to go through that again. So, I just started meditating in the gaitan (the hallway).

I stayed in the gaitan for three months. I loved the gaitan. There were no rules in the gaitan. I could show up when I wanted, I could cough, I could pick and choose my seat or my cushion: no one was watching me, and the monks who actually were sitting in the gaitan only sat there for a while, and then they left. It was like my own private zendo, only without any of the rules.

Now, was it being blocked by the Ino, picking the wrong seat, not knowing when to start walking that sent me into the gaitan? Yes it was, no it wasn't.

Was it my own desire to “get things right,” to not disturb others, to be a “good practitioner” that sent me into the gaitan? Yes it was, no it wasn't.

Or was it the allure of the gaitan, its ability to allow me to be separate, to choose when and how to follow the forms, to not yet commit to this practice?

Yes it was, it was all of these things. But looking back on it now I realize that I didn't walk out the door, I stayed in the gaitan, and I think that's important. Also, if you keep reading you'll see that the very same practitioners of whom I was afraid, whom I so wanted to please, ended up inviting me back in to the zendo and helping me to understand why I did belong in there, robed or not.

z13: Entering the zendo

The next two posts are pretty specific to my experience at the San Francisco zen center (they're about all of the forms you follow in the meditation hall). If you meditate at home, they probably won't be all that applicable to you so feel free to skip away...

Anyone who has been to the Saturday intro to meditation thing knows that the zendo is full of rules. There are rules for entering the zendo, for exiting the zendo, for walking in the zendo, for getting on a cushion, for getting off a cushion. There are places that your hands should be, that your feet should be, that your butt should be. There are bells, there are drums, and there is complete silence; so even if you wanted to ask about the rules, you couldn't, you would be so rude to even whisper in the zendo.

I had been to the Saturday intro thing a bunch of times so I knew the basic rules about the zendo and could mostly follow them. However, I had also had a couple of prior run-ins with the zendo that left me feeling like no matter what I did, I was doing it wrong and in so doing, was disturbing the others who were doing it right.

My first mishap with the zendo occurred the first time I went. At the Saturday intro, one of the teachers had said that it often helps to follow other people in the zendo if you're not sure what to do. So when I came in, I sat at the very last seat in the zendo. This was fine until zazen ended and it was time to walk out. Unbeknownst to me, you file out of the zendo from the back, one person from each side stepping in line to exit. So, I stood there, hands all perfect like they had taught me, and waited for someone to start leaving. Meanwhile, the entire zendo was waiting for me to step in to line. This went on for a while, though I was totally unaware of it. I just stood there, eyes reverently averted, relying on my peripheral vision to glance at others to figure out when to walk. Finally someone decided to break the rules and step in line in front of me. They did it a little huffily, but I just followed after them. It wasn't until someone approached me in the coat room afterward and explained that I was in the spot that starts the filing out of the zendo that I understood what I had done. The person who told me this was nice about it but they also said it with an importance to it, not an “ah, it happens all the time, don't worry about it” more of a “just so you know for next time” kind of tone. I, of course, felt totally embarrassed, ashamed, and a little mad that there were rules that no one had told me about.

My second incident happened when I tried to sit in a seat that “belonged” to someone else. At the Saturday intro thing, they tell you that you can sit anywhere in the zendo that doesn't have a wooden marker on it and it's true, you can. But it's also true that there's a bit of a seating hierarchy in the zendo. There are assigned seats for sure (that's what the wooden markers signify) but there are also different sections of the zendo and if you sit in there long enough, you discover which are the bleachers and which are the sky boxes. At this point, I knew where the bleachers were, and I sat in them. But one morning, my little seat was taken, and so were a lot of seats so I stopped in my tracks and turned to face the first available seat.

“Eli!" whispered the Ino.

I immediately stepped back into line and walked forward to find some other seat. It was fine but it left me confused again and made me totally afraid of making the same mistake at another seat. Now, it's possible that that seat had a wooden block on it and I didn't see it. I know now that it was the fourth seat and the first four seats are reserved for the people who run the chants and bows that occur in the zendo. At the time, however, I thought that I was sitting in a seat that didn't have a wooden block and I was still messing up. And I think that that's what was hardest for me about these two incidents: Even when I followed the rules, I was breaking them.

z12: Deconstructing meditation

Now, I know that I just wrote a post that said that meditation is indescribable and that no one can teach you how to do it. And, as you can see from the title, I am about to try to analyze meditation. So, I must be one of three things: a hypocrite, a zen master (there is no truth, the answer that I gave you wasn't the answer) or an analytical learner. You decide (but at least wait until after you read the post...).

Before I start, I want to provide some context for meditation. For me, the whole point of meditation goes back to why I started writing this blog: I want to be present for my students so that I can see them for who they are and be present with myself so that when things come up in the classroom, I can respond to them with a clear head instead of reacting to them with all my fears and personal history (emotional baggage). I am practicing, cultivating, developing the mental ability to be present for the situation.

So, meditation: clear head, mind free of thoughts but present to the environment around you. For me, the first thing you need is, to actually know what that feels like. I spent a really long time trying to quiet my thoughts. I just kept blocking them out, getting mad at myself for thinking, and basically holding my breath to try to be still. One morning, it got quiet, for, like, two seconds. My head was empty. And then thoughts filled it up again. But for those two seconds, I had felt it. So after that, I kind of knew what I was looking for, and when I would feel it, I would try to hold on to it. Before then, I just felt like I was trying every which way and constantly failing. I have no idea what caused those first two seconds of quiet- maybe it was all the practice, I don't know, but it definitely helped me to have that first experience of quiet.

The second thing for me was the physical aspect of meditation. From the beginning, people have always told me to “focus on your breath.” It never worked for me. When I would focus on my breath, I would just hold it, tighten up, and worry that I was going to suffocate. I'd try to wait for my breath but it took forever. Then when I'd try to do that whole breathe in-breathe out thing, I'd just start doing this weird elongated breath and end up feeling like I was hyperventilating. Recently, though, I've been focusing on the upper part of my body during meditation: straightening up my torso, elongating my lower abdomen, opening my chest, and, as a result, lengthening my neck and aligning my nose with my navel. When I first started this, it felt completely unnatural. I felt like I was constantly “pulling back on the reins” of my upper torso: pushing back my shoulders, straightening my lower back, and tucking in my chin. My body shook, my muscles quivered, I felt totally stiff. But, just like the two seconds of emptiness that I finally felt after trying so hard to clear my head, I actually experienced a quieting of my body. It also didn't last long but I finally felt relaxed, relaxed enough to feel my breath. And now, occasionally, I feel it again- I feel a filling up of my whole torso, and it is relaxing, it calms me, and allows me to focus on my breath instead of my thoughts. I don't like to admit that my body affects my mind, that they're connected but, apparently, they are. It has changed my meditation from a struggle to a letting go, which is still a struggle for me, but it feels more like a settling than a fighting, which makes things more pleasant for me.

And that brings me to the last part of meditation: pleasure. Don't worry, I'm not going to say that meditation is a pleasure for me. It's not. Sometimes, it is- I love it when it is- but mostly, it's practice and effort. However, I have found that it is getting easier for me to let go of my thoughts the more that I enjoy, and trust, having that clarity or emptiness of mind. I mentioned before (z9) that I find security in my thoughts. I like them, they make me feel like I'm in control and I can use them to create another reality that's better than my current situation. So when thoughts come up during meditation, I go with them. I don't actually want to stay in that empty place. It's kind of scary to have no thoughts, to have no control, to be alone. But recently I've been having some really great experiences in being present. In my life outside of meditation I've tried staying in the moment, experiencing feelings instead of avoiding them, and actually seeing reality without all of my made up stories. When I've tried this, I've gotten mostly good responses (though some have been hard). I think that has really helped my meditation. I actually prefer the quiet to the thoughts because that quiet is what's helping me to be present outside of the zendo.

So, that's what working for me now. However, I also know that it's summer- I'm super relaxed, have no responsibilities, and can spend a lot of time thinking about this. I know for sure it will change when school starts again and I guess I'll have to figure it out in a new way then.

z11: Falling in love 101

Sorry, unlike the last post, this will not be a list of pointers on how to fall in love. It would be absurd for me (alright, yes, me in particular too, that would be absurd) or anyone to “teach” someone how to fall in love. Falling in love is so unique to each individual, even to each time. To imagine that I could tell you how to fall in love would be utter fantasy when you think about it. We are such complex individuals and we are constantly changing, what is true for one person is absolute repulsion for another. And then the whole actual experience of falling in love is indescribable. Can you describe it? And even if you did, would you think that you were describing someone else's experience at falling in love? And on top of all that, if I taught you how to fall in love, even if I could describe it to you, would that make you fall in love? Would that help you to fall in love? No, falling in love is falling in love, it just is.

Oh you saw this coming, didn't you....

Meditation is like falling in love! No, don't worry, I'm not even going to say that, 'cause it's just not true. BUT, there are aspects of it that are a little similar:

the feeling is pretty indescribable, it's unique to each person, it changes all the time, it doesn't always last (sorry about that), it can happen when you least expect it, and, honestly, it happens when you let yourself fall (not when you grasp for it or pursue it).

All of this is to say that when people tell you that there's no one way to meditate or that there is no answer, it's not because they're trying to keep some secret from you, it's because it's the nature of meditation.

And now you hate me because you're stuck in the same spot: you still don't know how to meditate. Welcome to the club, neither do I....

z10: Meditation tips

Like I said, one of the main reasons I wanted to write about my practice at the zen center was so that other people who were struggling with it might relate to my experience and be willing to keep at it. Throughout my attempt to meditate, there have been times where advice, or a description of someone else's experience with meditation has clarified the practice for me, or given me something new to try. None of these were a defining moment for me but all of them helped. In the hope that one of these will be helpful, I've listed them below. (and if anyone is reading this and wants to add things that helped them...)

Sitting:

It doesn't matter which way you choose to sit. The point is, you're trying to sit still for 30 minutes. You want your body to be in a position that allows it to be still and supports you to breathe. The full lotus, half lotus, Burmese, seiza positions, etc. are just positions that, traditionally, support the body to do this. Do what feels good for you and yes, this totally includes a chair or lying down.

Do your best to sit still the entire time, but if you find that you are in such pain that you can no longer meditate, stop. Change positions or move your body so that you can find another position that allows you to continue.

It's not a competitive sport- no one cares how long you can do it (and what might look like “good” sitting from the outside might just be a calm body who's totally planning what they're going to eat for dinner tonight).

Meditating:

Your brain creates thoughts. Your lungs breathe air. It's not about stopping your thoughts, it's about noticing them. Just like you notice when your breath quickens, you can notice what your thoughts are doing. And just like you can pay attention to and calm your breath, you can pay attention to and calm (well, maybe let go or not run away with) your thoughts.

Your mind is like a mountain, your thoughts are clouds- let them float by.

Greet your thoughts, then show them the door.

For some people it helps to 'block out' the thoughts- to hold an empty place in their mind and not let anything come in. For others it helps to imagine an open place through which everything flows. Both are valid and may even change as you experience meditation in different ways.

When you start to get carried away by your thoughts, find your breath. Actually feel it in your body, wait for your breath to arise naturally and then let it "breathe you" instead of you “taking” a breath.

Put your mudra so that your thumbs are lightly resting on your navel. Breathe in. Feel the rise/ expansion of your stomach against your hands. As you breathe out, imagine your breath flowing down to your mudra.

Tell yourself: “This is all: all I have to do for the next 30 minutes is breathe. All the things that are in my head that seem so important will not change in the next 30 minutes. My only responsibility is to breathe.”

Your mind is like a two year old, wanting to run around. You can chase after it or you can acknowledge its need to run and watch it go.

z9: Meditation: My nemesis

As I've mentioned before, I didn't come to the zen center to meditate (z2). I didn't like meditation, didn't see the point in it, and am a total brainiac- telling me not to think is like asking me to give up my security blanket. So, you might not actually want to read the next few posts, 'cause I still suck at meditation. But, before I go there, I do want to share one insight. It didn't help my meditation practice but it gave me a reason to keep trying.

I was sitting at the zen center, attempting to meditate. I had recently learned the technique of acknowledging your thoughts instead of trying to block them. Each time a thought came up, I would simply say to myself: "Oh, that's a thought!" Here's how it went:

Is my mudra right? Oh, that's a thought!

I wonder if you can sprain your ankle by sitting on it. Oh, that's a thought!

Hey, I wonder if they used asbestos to make the walls of the gaitan...DING! (that's the bell, ending the meditation session).

Drat, another session in which I did NOT meditate. I fluffed my cushion, bowed to and away from it and walked to the coatroom to get my things. I quietly walked out the door, unlocked my bike, and started walking up the hill back to my apartment.

I started thinking about the day ahead of me. We had a field trip and I wondered which parents were going to be chaperones. I wondered whether they'd get mad at me for stopping at every intersection or whether they'd complain about the fact that I had started crossing when there were only 20 seconds left. I pictured them whispering about me, after school, as their children ran and played on the yard.

Oh, that's a thought!

“What?” I thought.

“Oh. My. Gosh. That's a thought. We haven't even been on the field trip. I don't even know who's going on the field trip and even if I did, I don't know what those parents are thinking about me! I am making this stuff up and if I want to, I can keep holding on to those thoughts and spend my morning worrying. Or, I can realize that they're just thoughts and move on with my day.”

“I GET IT!” I wanted to shout. You stare at a wall to practice. You do this thing over and over so that your brain does it without trying. The only reason that I realized that my fears about the parents were just a thought was because I had just spent the last half hour paying attention to my thoughts. It's a habit- I'm developing a habit. And I'm developing it so that when I am out there in that big world and dealing with parents and kids it will happen much easier. I'll be able to “return to the moment” to not “read into things but to see them for what they are” to “have the presence of mind to respond to the situation instead of react.”

Now, the practitioners at the zen center are probably going to get mad at me for saying that I meditate for something, you're only just supposed to meditate to meditate (and I actually get that now because if I meditate in order to reach a goal, two things will happen: I will never reach my goal ('cause, really, you never do- you totally know this is true) and I will be disappointed that I didn't reach my goal.) But I think that they would agree with me that practicing meditation on a regular basis is, at the very least, helpful in developing the mindset that allows you to see the world for what it is. So, when I fail at meditation, I think “Well, it's just part of the process and maybe this one wasn't all that great but I'm still developing the muscles and training the brain and it's helping.”

Staying on topic

I had a bit of an obnoxious realization last night- kind of like my best friend's advice that I hate taking but is always right. I attended Young Urban Zen (YUZ) at the zen center. I'll talk about it more in a later post but for now, let's just call it a study group for people who are interested in putting into practice what they're learning at the zen center.

So, the normal format of YUZ includes an introduction of a topic, then a break out into small groups to discuss the topic, then a sharing out again with the whole group. Because the group was small last night, we just discussed as a whole group. The topic was 'chanting.' I don't really like chanting but I thought that the discussion would help me to understand it better. I ended up enjoying the class but I have to admit that about a third of the way through the class, the teacher in me surfaced.

Shundo (he's the Ino- the one in charge of the meditation hall) started off by just asking us about our experiences with chanting in general. People had a lot to say about chanting and we talked for awhile. Then Shundo actually passed out the chant and we talked about how to chant, and that went on for a while. Then we actually chanted the chant. Then we talked about how it felt to chant the chant. We also talked about yoga and religion and music and Bill Gates and I started to get nervous. In my mind, we were off topic. I thought that Shundo had an agenda and we were keeping him from it (and I say we intentionally because I was just as much a part of the discussion as everyone else). I looked at Shundo to see if he was feeling the same distress as I was- nope, not at all, he was just listening.

And then I got it, it wasn't about the agenda, it wasn't about Shundo talking, it was about all of us in the room and what we thought. Drat! Actually, it was a really beautiful evening and I learned a lot because everyone in the room was talking.

Now, I'm an experienced teacher so I know about 'everyone participating' and 'activating prior knowledge' and that 'the one who's learning is the one who's speaking' and all that but hold on a minute! When I saw Shundo smiling away and came to the realization that that's what this is supposed to be about I thought Oh no! How am I going to do this with third graders? We will talk about Pokemon and poop all morning long. And I know that it's not that simple and no one thinks it's a good idea for me to just let the kids talk but still, this is going to be a tough one for me. I really do think that what happened tonight was important- it really is true that what the kids bring to the conversation is what it's all about: I learned way more tonight than if Shundo had just lectured. But I also know the reality of 'covering' third grade standards in nine months and the responsibility of making sure the kids understand the content (and I actually like what we learn in third grade, I want them to learn about inference and simile and metaphor). So, I think I'm going to have to muddle over this one for a good long while to figure out how to translate it into teaching place value.

z8: In a relationship with the zen center

Okay, so, you know when you reach that point when you're dating someone when you have an interest in them that goes beyond the time that you're spending together? When it goes from “he's cute, we have fun together” to “hmmm, what's this guy all about?” It's like you want to get to know more about the actual person. And so the nature of your interaction, for me at least, changes from “doing stuff” to “discovering” who this person is. It's that point at which it switches from simple interest, to intrigue. I don't know what causes this switch, and I think that often it doesn't happen all of a sudden, it kind of seeps into you and you find yourself drawn in without thinking.

I got to that place with the zen center. I was still reluctant to be there, I still wanted to assert my ability to leave whenever I wanted, and to say that I was different from everyone else. But I was beginning to enter in to 'a relationship' with the zen center; not a long-term or committed relationship, but a relationship all the same.

I've been trying to figure out what it was that propelled me to enter into a relationship with the zen center. I think I got there for three reasons: Intrigue, purpose, and New Year's.

As I mentioned before, I had an experience at the zen center that confused me, but in a good way (z7) . I wanted to know more about why I had that experience, I was genuinely intrigued by what had caused me to feel that way.

The zen center finally became useful to me. When I first started attending lectures at the zen center, most of it was totally over my head. Often they would tell stories about two brothers. I would try to figure out which brother was doing the right thing and, invariably, I always chose the wrong brother. But even after that, the lecturer would keep going and suggest that maybe that wrong brother's response actually was the right response, which left me even more confused. And then they kept telling this one about an ox whose whole body could fit through the window but then his little tail would get stuck. Everyone in the audience would be nodding their heads in deep understanding and all I could think was, “Wait, how come his whole body can fit but not his tail- did someone close the window to just a crack after his body went through?” I might have learned a thing here or there but it was in snippets and it was more like pointers than some sort of structure that I could use in my everyday life. It all seemed related more to the guys in robes than to me. But there was one talk that actually fit to my own experience. It was called the Sun-faced Buddha, Moon-faced Buddha talk. As a result of the lecture, I felt like the zen center could actually offer me something, something beyond my time there, something I could use in my life. I guess it would be like if a guy started saying things to you that were helpful or if he brought you things that you liked. Your date actually started benefiting you, not just showing you a good time.

The third reason was just plain timing. This shift from interest to intrigue happened during the holidays: I had two weeks off of school so I had some time on my hands AND it was almost New Year's. I had New Year's resolutions on my mind, wanted to develop some good habits and so decided that I would start my New Year's resolutions early. I decided that I was going to try to meditate every morning. I did it because I was intrigued by this “guy” (the zen center). I was willing to give him the time of day, try him on for size, get to know him and in this case, that meant meditating.

 

z7: Dating the zen center

Yep, it happened, I actually started dating the zen center. We weren't exclusive. If I had a meeting at school or if my dad had tickets to the theater, I totally blew off the Wednesday night talk. And if a friend wanted to go to breakfast Saturday morning...forget you dharma talk and Q and A! I had better things to do.

Unfortunately, about this time, the zen center went through a period of significant loss. Several people within the community died. Some were unexpected while others lost their long battles with disease. I was witness to this. Each of these losses was experienced with fondness, affection, sadness and remembrance. I didn't know any of the people who died but I watched the effect of their loss on the practitioners there.

As I mentioned before, I had an unexplainable feeling of calm whenever I was around the senior dharma teacher Blanche. Around this same time, Blanche's husband of 60 some years, had become quite ill. I was completely unaware of this until it was mentioned at a Wednesday night lecture that Lou, Blanche's husband, had gone across the street to the zen hospice. This announcement was made with Blanche in the room, sitting on her cushion, across the room from me. I started bawling. Okay, actually, I silently cried for the entire lecture.

Here's the thing: I don't cry. I cry, obviously, but not in public, not in front of friends, not in front of family. But here I was, crying, in a room full of strangers for someone I had never actually spoken to (I may have asked Blanche a question once at a Q and A but we certainly did not know each other and I never met Lou). And, unlike my normal response to crying in public- wipe away the tears, straighten up my face, push down any sadness that arises- I actually cried. Tears streamed down my face and I let them. I wiped my nose but only because I was crying so much, not in an attempt to hide the fact that I was crying. And I just kept crying until I was done. I didn't stop because I was supposed to or because I might be bothering others. I was just out of tears.

I left that night with a great sadness and a desire to comfort Blanche. At the same time, I was aware that she didn't actually need comforting. She was very present with the situation, she was accepting it with the same grace with which she held herself and treated others.

The next few days were confusing for me. I was still sad for Blanche but I also didn't understand what was going on. I was feeling connected to the people at the zen center without ever having spoken with them. Why could I cry with them but not with friends or family? What was it about the zen center that made me feel safe enough to cry, openly?

I talked with a good friend about the situation. It's hard for me to remember now what it was we talked about but what I came to see was that there was a shared belief at the zen center. This belief was that people take care of each other, that we treat others with kindness and compassion, and that we are all connected to each other because we are all human beings (though I'm sure that the teaching was that we are all buddhas). I didn't mean to become a part of the community, I really didn't. In fact, I did everything I could to prove how separate I was from it. Yet here I was, connected and crying.

z6: 2nd date with the zen center

At this point, I was going to the zen center on Saturdays for the dharma talk and on Wednesday nights for lecture. Though I was sitting on a cushion on the floor, I still wasn't meditating and I felt totally fine about that. However, at the same time, I was starting to get to “know” the people at the zen center. I put “know” in quotes intentionally. I didn't know them at all, but I saw them every week and, in some ways, knew them incredibly well. I relied on them for cues about how to bow, when to chant, etc. I also “knew” what I guess you could call the “big monks.” The Abbot, Paul, and the senior dharma teacher Blanche, often gave the lectures on Wednesday and Saturday. Sometimes they would share parts of their lives, but mostly I got to know them through their lectures the same way you get to know your professor. In attending the Q and A sessions after the Saturday talks, I began to see them in a more human setting. During the Q and A sessions they often said things like “I don't know” or “in my experience.” They would even ask us questions back; not in the obnoxious YOU figure out the answer way, but in order to clarify their understanding of our questions and to better answer them. They started to become real people, instead of ominous figures in robes.

Now, I can't explain this next part. I don't believe that people are special or gifted or have a calling or anything like that. In some ways, I think it's what makes me a really good teacher because I genuinely believe that everyone can do anything. However... the first time that I heard Blanche speak at a dharma talk I thought two things: 1) She reminds me of my dad and 2) I hope that someday I can have the presence that she has. I can't explain why Blanche has this effect on me and others, but when you're around her, you just feel better. It's not like a “high” or a friend who boosts you up. It's a feeling of grounding or safety; like things will be taken care of. But she doesn't do things for you or protect you, thing just get done, and they're done with respect and with a certain honor but still within this humble sense of just doing it because it needs to be done. Needless to say, I felt connected to Blanche and so, began to feel connected to the zen center- I just wasn't ready to admit it yet.

z5: 1st date with the zen center

After attending the Saturday lectures for a while, I discovered that there was a Wednesday night lecture too. The first time I went, I was kind of freaked out. I'm not sure why, but the Wednesday night lecture is a little more formal. They do that bow where you kneel all the way down and put your head on the floor. Fortunately, I had learned about that bow in one of the Saturday intros. I knew enough to put my head on the floor and raise my palms as if I was lifting Buddha's feet above my head three times. I didn't believe in it, but I was also aware that I was a guest in a buddhist temple and I wanted to respect their traditions. Each time I went, I paid attention to all of the rituals that the monks did. I tried desperately to figure out when to bow this way or that way, when to read the chant on the paper, when to relax and sit down, when to get up and leave. I did this mostly out of fear of standing out, but also because everyone there seemed very sincere in what they were doing and I wanted to honor that. However, I participated in the rituals with an air of separation. I would do all their bows and chants but I still wasn't going to meditate. In fact, I always sat on the benches in the back instead of on the cushions, asserting my power to pick and choose which parts of the practice served my needs.

And then I read the blog...

On the city center's website there is a blog written by the Ino. The title “Ino” refers to the person who is in charge of the zendo (the meditation hall, the place everyone goes to meditate). It's fun to read his blog because you feel like you're getting a behind the scenes look at what goes on at the zen center. On one of his posts, he described his experiences with sitting full lotus (that's when you sit with both your feet on your opposite thighs). He explained that even after years of not being able to sit full lotus, he was finally able to and he encouraged others to just try it.

I am not a flexible person. I can only touch my toes because I've been practicing yoga for the past year. When I tried to sit in the intro to meditation thing on Saturdays, I was always uncomfortable and tight and so ended up in a chair. But on the blog, the Ino said that he had come to sitting late, had not been able to do it for the past ten years, but recently found that he was able to do it. So, I decided that at the next lecture I would actually sit, on the floor, with everyone else. I showed up the next Wednesday for lecture, walked past the benches, and approached a cushion. I did what I had learned in the Saturday classes: bow to your cushion, bow away from your cushion, and sit down. At the time, I couldn't sit the way I sit now (Burmese style) so I sat seiza (on my knees with the cushion under my butt).

As soon as I sat down on the cushion, a weird thing happened: my shoulders immediately relaxed, my breath slowed down, and I felt calm. I'm not sure if it's because the only time I ever sat like that was in the Saturday intro classes or if it's because my body was just ready for it. For whatever reason it was, I felt peaceful and happy. I wasn't sure if I was ready to meditate or not but I was at least ready to join all the monks who were sitting on the floor.

z4: Flirting with the zen center

I've been going back and forth about the next few posts. My original intent was to share my experience so that people who had similar hesitations and fears would read about my experience, and be willing to try the zen center. In writing the next few posts, it occurred to me that my path to the zen center might actually be pretty idiosyncratic and so, not all that helpful. However, if, like me, you have a voyeuristic tendency, read on to watch me work my way toward genuinely wanting to go to the zen center at 5AM each day. Otherwise, skip ahead to z10  where I talk about meditation.

Like I said, I came to the zen center looking for community. I did not want a religion, I did not want to bow, and I wasn't all that in to meditation. I went to the Saturday intro to meditation thing and was willing to try to learn to meditate because that's what they kept saying was what you were supposed to do. I learned a few things: enter with your left foot, take off your shoes, turn clockwise, hold your hands like this. But I was also kind of annoyed. If it was all about meditation, how come they didn't teach us a thing about meditation?

I always stayed for the lecture afterward and I found that after spending my mornings there, I felt really relaxed. Walking home each Saturday I felt peaceful and I liked that. I decided that the peaceful feeling was coming from the mental engagement that I had during the lecture so I stopped going to the intro to meditation thing. I usually stayed for the question and answer session afterward and I loved being able to ask about how what they said in lecture would work in my life. I occasionally stayed for lunch but for the most part, I just showed up to get the peaceful feeling and go home. I never really connected with anyone there because I wasn't really committed yet to being a part of the community. Basically, I was flirting with the zen center: playing around with it to get what I needed but totally unwilling to give it my name or number.

rules of warmth and consideration

I struggled last night to write a post that articulated the relationship between the rigidity or coldness of rules and the compassion that can come from enforcing them and following them. Then I gave up and wrote about my current experience with rules at the zen center. Here's what popped out:

When I come in to the zendo now

I bow in gratitude.

I press my palms together

and bend at the waist

in the same way

that I wrap my arms

around a dear friend's frame.

I fluff my cushion

the same as I fold the top sheet

over the quilt

preparing the bed for my out of town guest.

When I am done

I bow to my cushion

like doing the dishes

for someone who has made me dinner.

Dokusan with a little one

I don't actually know what "dokusan" means. As far as I can tell, it's a meeting between a teacher and a student and I think it's meant to benefit the student. I actually had dokusan once. I'm sure I'll discuss it in detail later but for now let's just say that for me, dokusan means meeting with your teacher to see how you're doing.
Today I had dokusan with a young friend of mine. I knew I couldn't be with him for his actual birthday, so I had promised him we'd do something special for his birthday during the time that I was in town. He chose to go hiking. I chose to be present with him the entire time. It was really nice. We just walked and talked. There are some things that I have, in the past, tried to change about him. There are some things that he does that frustrate me. While we were on the hike, I just listened to him. He likes facts. He likes to know things. He thinks he knows more than I do (and maybe he does...) AND he likes to use his facts to protect me (hadn't seen that part of him before). I let him tell me things that I knew weren't true. I let him lead me up rocks and across streams and follow paths that he felt were "easy enough"  for me to cross. I even let him keep hiking way beyond the time that we were supposed to turn back. (Though it was really interesting to me how much less present I was for him on our way back when I realized how late we were- apparently tardiness is a trigger point for me and I need to pay attention to that- breathe deeper when I feel it and come back to the moment).
A few things came up for me during our "dokusan" but one stood out for me:
I wanted our time together to be meaningful, I wanted to learn something about him or somehow improve my relationship with him and I didn't. At one point he looked at the scenery and said "This is my safe haven!" I thought, "Wow, this is great, I'm learning what makes him feel safe, what brings him peace." I wanted to know more so I asked him, "Why is this your safe haven?"  He just said, "I mean, it's just this natural resource just everywhere!" He's 9. He probably doesn't understand the term safe haven and might not be able to explain it if he did.
But I don't think that dokusan is really FOR something. I think that it's just me being there, with him, and that's all. I know, that sounds so totally zen and "if a tree falls in the forest..." but this is what I'm discovering: You know how things just happen in life and they're just life happening? And then later, some thing that happened a long time ago ends up connecting to something now? I think that's what this whole "do it without having a goal" thing is about. I'm working on trying to accept that I can't control things and I think that's what this is about: you really don't know, so just see it for what it is, not for what it can be. It doesn't always happen that something comes up later but it's kind of cool when it does; and it only connects later if you experience what happened earlier, and now, fully. And honestly, when he and I got into a conflict later that afternoon, he genuinely listened to me (which made me be so much more honest and sensitive when I explained what I needed him to do). Now, was he like that because we had "dokusan"? I don't know, maybe, but the point is that dokusan, or anything like that, when you're "being" with someone just is, it just is.
So, of course, since I'm still a teacher even in the summer, I thought about doing dokusan with my students (I SO hope that I'm not bastardizing this term...). At the beginning of the hike, I thought about having lunch with each of my students so that they would feel connected to me, so that they could open up to me, so that we'd have a relationship. I imagined a series of questions I would make sure to ask, topics to cover, etc. But by the end of the hike I realized that I'm just going to have lunch with my students. That's all, and as long as I'm present, that's enough.

z3: Hitting on monks

I have to admit that the first time I went to the zen center it was an attempt to meet cute guys. A cute guy worked at the zen-center-stall at the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market. I tried everything I could to extend our interaction beyond the brief “That'll be three-fifty,” but it didn't work. So, I decided to go to the source. If this guy was clever, engaging, and sweet, wouldn't all the guys at the zen center be like that? I went to the Saturday intro to meditation thing and there were cute guys there but there wasn't any opportunity to talk to them. I went to the dharma talk after the instruction and all the guys there were with their girlfriends. There might have been cute guys at the zen center but there was no way to meet them (and, it felt a little wrong to use a temple as a place to pick up guys...)

The second time I went to the zen center was when I first returned to teaching after a two- year hiatus. It seemed like a cool thing to do and I felt like it fit me: I was pretty even keeled and happy and mellow in general. But that year's teaching was really difficult for me. The second graders in my class experienced stress in their lives and they took it out on each other and on me. I started the year calmly responding to them and maintaining a classroom of respect and safety. But by December, I had changed. I started reacting to them instead of responding to them. I yelled at them, used my power to control them, and grasped at anything I could to contain their emotional outbursts. In my desperation to control the situation, I just spent more time at school and less time taking care of myself. So, I stopped going to the zen center.

The third time I went to the zen center it was to find community. I didn't know that at the time, but it was what I really wanted. I went, because I was trying to follow my best friend's advice. Guess what her advice was: go to church. Ugh...I totally wanted to do what she said but I had way too much history with church to set foot in one (see z2 if you want to know more).

Now, it just so happened that this same summer I had gone to church. I was visiting relatives and church is where you go after breakfast on Sundays. But this time when I went, I went as an observer: what was this thing that was so important to my friend and relatives? This is what I saw: good friends hugging my cousins and asking how they were, kids playing with each other, and a priest shaking hands with everyone as they left. This is what I heard: updates on efforts to help a sister church in Central America, a call for volunteers for the local food bank, and a sermon that offered advice on balancing the conflicting needs of making enough money to support your family and actually having time to spend with your family. “Now I get it!” I thought. Of course people love church: it's a bunch of people getting together to share in each others' lives, to help their community, and to get advice about how to live through this funky thing we call life.

I came home and thought about going to church, but it felt like it didn't fit for me. I was pretty sure that I could go and meet people; people with whom I could hang out and share my ideas. But I also felt like if I didn't agree with the bigger structure, eventually, that would cause a problem.

So, I talked with another friend about going to church. She said that “church” was a lot of things: the actual church that I grew up in, the institution of church, religion, spirituality, community, etc. We talked about the zen center as a place where I could find community without feeling like I had to “buy in” to some greater belief system or religion. So, I decided to go to the Saturday intro to meditation thing.

z2: Why I didn't want to bow or meditate

Just, really briefly, I want to describe my history with religion and meditation because I think I share the same history as a bunch of people and because I think it'll help explain some of my initial reluctance to get in to the whole “zen” thing.

#1 Religion: Raised Catholic and attended church every Sunday until I was 18. Basically, I wasn't that into my church and only went because it was what we did on Sunday. Once I went to college, it was gone from my life completely. However, in college, I had some experiences that confused me. There seemed to be a duality between a belief that everyone was equal (Love your neighbor as yourself) and a hierarchy (some people go to heaven and some go to hell). It felt hypocritical and exclusive: two things that rubbed me the wrong way. I think I over-generalized that feeling to all churches and just kind of stepped away from religion in general. If you had asked me back then what my religious beliefs were, I would have had to say something between atheist and agnostic with maybe some sort of paganism in there? Nothing really fit. I believed in humanity: that there was some sort of goodness/ basic human kindness in all of us and that that was what propelled the universe.

#2 Meditation: A friend of mine from high school once gave me a tour of Green Gulch (it's kind of like the Marin version of the San Francisco Zen center, but probably really different- sorry, don't know much about it). My friend was smiling the entire time he was showing me around and I could see how happy he was with his practice there. I, on the other hand, was mortified. When he showed me the tea room and told me all about the ceremony for drinking tea I thought, “How ridiculous! Why all these rules? Can't two people just sit together and drink tea?” Then he showed me the meditation hall and I was just sad. I knew nothing about meditation but when he explained to me that everyone comes in and faces the wall and sits in silence I just thought it was a total waste. I pictured all of these beautiful happy people (like my friend) turning away from each other instead of being together and sitting in silence instead of sharing their thoughts and laughter and individual selves with each other. I had a lot of respect for my friend and figured there was something good there but was very aware that it was definitely not for me.