Day 2: Letting go of time

  Today I tried to “let go” of time. Overall, I didn’t do so well with it. I think it’s because I wasn’t willing to let go of time completely.  I don’t think I’m actually supposed to let go of time completely, but I did notice that I was able to let go of time until I tried to grasp at it again.

Here’s how it worked. I woke up when I woke up- good, letting go of “time.” But then I immediately checked my watch to see what time it was, calculated how long it normally takes me to eat breakfast, compared that with what time Trader Joe’s opens, and decided that I “needed” to get out of bed immediately. Hmmmm.

As I was eating breakfast, I decided to let go of time again and said that it didn’t matter what “time” I got to Trader Joe’s. I relaxed, read the paper, drank some tea, and then actually wanted to go to Trader Joe’s- good, living in the moment.

But then as I was walking home from Trader Joe’s, I checked the clock again and compared it to what time I normally get back from grocery shopping and decided that I was doing pretty well for a Sunday, I still had time to relax and “get things done.” Again, acting within the constraints of “time,” a concept that I’m creating by deciding what’s early and what’s late, what’s efficient and what’s wasted.

When I reflected on this, I thought to myself: No way, I can’t just completely give up on time. I’ve tried that before and I end up unhappy on a Sunday night because a bunch of things need to get done before Monday morning and they’re not done because I was all: “time doesn’t matter, I’ll get to it when I get to it.” But I think it’s actually more complicated than just giving up on time completely or being controlled by a clock.

First, I know that I’m putting things into opposition with each other, seeing things in dualistic terms: early/ late, letting go completely/ totally grasping, done/ undone. From what I’ve learned, the world just isn’t that way and “zen” practice is about letting go of that duality. It’s not about doing things in one extreme way or another, it’s about practicing “the middle way,” trying to find a balance of the things that we set up against each other rather than choosing one over the other.

But it’s also about what Paul talked about: this bigger concept of being prepared for what life brings you so that you can respond to it rather than preparing for life as if you can control it. So, me trying to “get things done” by Monday morning is totally fine. Me wanting to get to Trader Joe’s before the crowds come,  also totally fine. I’m existing within the reality of my world: I need to prepare for the kids’ lessons, Trader Joe’s gets crowded after 9 on Sundays.

But this checking of the clock, this evaluating my “progress” of the day, this idea that if I get this amount done by a certain time; when I actually feel what I’m feeling when I do this, it’s an anxiety. It’s a fear that not enough will get done by Monday morning, that grocery shopping will take longer if I get there 5 minutes later. And this anxiety comes from a belief that I can actually control what’s going to happen on Monday or that there will always be a crowd at a certain time at Trader Joe’s.  I’m trying to avoid the discomfort of an unprepared lesson and a crowded Trader Joe’s.

I know this is a subtle distinction but I could have the exact same actions with a totally different motivation and perception. I could genuinely plan my lessons, focus on making them interesting with the awareness that this planning will not necessarily keep the kids from getting bored and out of control tomorrow. I can get to Trader Joe’s before 9, aware that there may be crowds and that it may be empty. My arrival time doesn’t actually keep a bunch of people from showing up at 8:30.

I think this is the bigger thing that I need to do. It’s not that I need to stop looking at the clock. I need to acknowledge that I’m using the clock as an attempt to control the future and  that I’m evaluating my progress at getting things done with the belief that if I get enough done I can avoid the discomfort of feeling “unprepared.” I can prepare all day and the kids could get the lesson in two seconds and I’d still be unprepared. It’s letting go of control that I need to do, not time. Man, and I still have 88 more days of this….!

Day 1: Experiencing what comes my way

Today was the first day of the Fall Practice Period at zen center. I'm doing it on my own: sitting twice a day, taking a class on Thursday nights with Paul (the abbot), and I just finished my first One Day Sit. I haven't decided yet whether or not I'll sign up for the other one day sits, we'll see how things go as the dates for them get closer. The people who actually have signed up for the practice period had an opening ceremony tonight and were asked to share their intention for the period. My intention is: let go.
I'm going to try to let go of my notions about "good behavior," about lessons only being successful if everyone gets the concept immediately,  and about the idea that mastering the standards is the most important thing we do each day.
So, how was the One Day Sit?
Well, I'm going to go with Paul on this one. He said a couple of things today that help me frame my day. He said that most times, at the end of a one day sit, something will have loosened or settled or at least opened up (I'm paraphrasing). That was true for me today and is why I chose "let go" as my intention for the period.
He also talked about something that's a little more complicated. Here's the deal (or my interpretation of it):
You know how when you step back from a situation or reflect on it you can often see it much more clearly, see it for what it is instead of getting all caught up in it? That feels kind of good and most of us want that experience all the time. The problem is that we do this SECONDARILY.
About 90 percent of the time, the FIRST experience we have with reality is often to perceive it through the somewhat muddy lens of our histories, thoughts, expectations, etc.
The trick is to develop the habit of seeing the world as it is right as you're seeing the world as it is, not later when you have a chance to reflect on it. Meditation, sitting zazen, knowing yourself and your habits, taking a  breath when you feel those thoughts coming in, all of this helps you to have that clarity AS YOU EXPERIENCE your life.
So, I'm attempting to see today's One Day Sit for what it was: A day of me experiencing what came my way.
Here's what came my way: thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts. I think that if I counted my breaths today I'd probably total about 12 (and yes, that's the total for all, I think, 9 zazen sessions I sat today...)
Here's what else came my way. I actually experienced bowing, like, I was laying on the ground, physically giving in (the same way I've been trying to do mentally).
I noticed that when we chant in English without a drum it seems like people are asserting their own emphasis or interpretation of the chant, putting their selves in it. When we chant with the drum, we're all together and it sounds way better. This is a change for me. I've been struggling with chanting to a drum, it always felt like I was being a mindless drone. I'm starting to see the idea behind it.
The forms of oryoki are starting to make sense to me but I still can't figure out if I'm supposed to be present for my food or efficient in eating it.
No one cares that I make mistakes and everyone wants to help (seems like I'm going to keep learning this lesson over and over again).
And finally: You get out of a One Day Sit what you put into it. In terms of zazen, I did not put much in to it. I don't know why I had such a hard time focusing on my breath and not getting carried away with my thoughts. It was definitely for lack of effort, I just don't why I couldn't maintain my effort. But that's what happened today, I mostly just thought. Some of the thoughts were beneficial, others were just grocery lists and plans.
When I did put in effort, it was pretty sweet. I was present when I ate a cookie in the afternoon and I could actually taste the sugar in it. I'm going to try to be present for my snack at school each day. I'm going to take that time to slow down again so that when the kids come back in from recess I'm as clear as I am when they first come in in the morning.
I'm also going to try to "know less." I realize that as I've spent more time with the kids, I've decided that I "know" them and I've been interpreting their behaviors through my lens of them instead of seeing them for what they are in that moment. I had set this intention way back at the beginning of the blog and I seem to have lost sight of that. My intent in the next 90 days is to maintain that clarity of thought of the situation. I'm going to try to "let go" both of my desire to make things turn out a certain way each day in class and to let go of my perception of the kids. I need to experience each moment with them for what it is.
Just, one more interesting thing. The first two things I did when I got back from the One Day Sit were: eat a decadent brownie and "get something done." This was kind of a bummer for me, that my response to being present all day was to try to catch up on work that I hadn't done and to "indulge" in sweets. Oh well, we're "perfect as we are and we can all use some improvement" eh?

First One Day Sit

Today I did my first One Day Sit. This means that I sat and meditated all day long (well, not really, there were breaks and stuff in between but it's like doing a half-marathon if you were a runner- sesshin would be a marathon).
Here are the highlights, (read the next post if you want details):
The plinking of almonds dropping in each person's "third bowl" during oryoki (and me thinking "Oh crap, how am I going to eat that many almonds with chopsticks?")
Watching newcomers (myself included) constantly bow because they: bowed when they knew to, bowed when anyone in robes bowed, and bowed when anyone near them bowed.
Noticing that the guy next to me during service had impeccable memorization and pronunciation of the chants in Japanese, then watching as he flipped through the chant book for the ones in English. 
Watching Paul and Lucy in the hope that they'd pick up their spoon to eat from their second bowl (meaning that I could use my spoon on the second bowl), then sighing as they effortlessly ate the soup in their second bowl with chopsticks (you're only supposed to use the spoon for the first bowl). 
The look on my server's face when (as she walked past with an empty pot of rice) I bowed to her in gratitude and she thought I was bowing for more. 
The sound of chainsaws and a chipper shredder during the last 45 minutes of zazen.
Paul, just Paul.

And, proof that I continue to be Sincerely Lost: Eating my entire dinner, bowing to my table, and clearing my dishes in time to hear... THE MEAL CHANT (from the kitchen right as I started to do the dishes). Yep, as everyone was chanting their gratitude for the meal before them, I was kicking myself for rushing through it. Oh well, at least I was present for BOTH the cookies I ate today...

z: 90 Days...

The practice period at zen center starts tomorrow. I'm signed up for it, but only in my own head. Each time I've heard the Ino talk about signing up for the practice period, he's described it as a commitment (maybe even a public one) to deepen your practice. When it came time to sign up for it, I didn't "sign up" for the practice period, just for the first one-day-sit and the Thursday night class with Paul, the Abbot of the zen center. It freaked me out to publicly sign up for the entire thing. I think I wanted to be able to pull back if I felt like it and not have anyone know (yes, I see the irony of announcing this on a blog, especially one read by the very people who will know that I signed up for this, but what else can I do?).
Last night I attended the dharma talk at the zen center and the speaker talked quite a bit about the practice period. She kept referring to it in terms of its length: 90 days. I hadn't thought about that, I was more focused on the one-day-sit and taking a class with Paul. 90 days is a long time. In some ways, this "practice period" is no different than what I have been doing since the summer intensive started in July: sitting twice a day and listening to lecture when I can. But the thought of really focusing on my practice for 90 days feels daunting. Actually, writing the words "my practice" freaks me out just as much.
But here's what else is really funny. For the past week, I haven't been sitting zazen in the morning. I won't go into the reasons why, but let's just say that it came from a place of genuinely thinking that I needed to be sleeping and taking care of things in my own life (as if zazen was somehow separate from my own life). And guess what, this past week was the first week that I lost my patience with the kids and fell back into habits that I watched fall away over the summer.
Then this morning, I sat zazen again. Things didn't magically return to where they were before my little hiatus and that makes me realize even more how much zazen maintains my place as a compassionate teacher. But it also made me see that, whether I like it or not, I need whatever it is that the zen center is giving me. I guess that's a pretty good place to be in before you start a 90 day commitment to anything.
But I'm still scared. I've heard that people cry at their first one day sit and I have no interest in doing that. I'm equally terrified and desperately craving the intimacy that I've been told comes from practicing with others for an extended period of time. And then there's the whole "study of self" that the speaker talked about as being the core of the practice period. I have no idea where that's going to lead. But as I was walking home last night, asking myself "What have you gotten yourself into?" it felt kind of good to be terrified- to not know what lay ahead of me but to walk into it anyway. I also think that I just need to give in to my fear of commitment. If there's one thing I've come to accept in all of this zen stuff it's that when I'm experiencing suffering, the closer I come to it, the less it controls me and causes me suffering. I can keep fighting my fears around commitment, find ways to back out or deny that I might need something or that I do better with others or I can just give in and commit.
Day 1 starts tomorrow night with orientation. I'll let you know how it went on Sunday...

z: Zen: Panoramic NOT zoom lens

So, last night at Young Urban Zen I had a kind of an "aha" moment. I'm still working it out in terms of my "sitting meditation" but in terms of being present for the rest of my life, it feels like a new and somewhat helpful way to look at things.
Halfway through meditation, Shundo (the Ino at the zen center), spoke up. It was really weird to be "interrupted" during zazen, especially by someone asking you questions, but I went with it. This is what he "asked" us (and how I responded):
Are your eyes open? (Well, they're kinda half lid, should I open them?)
Are your ears open? (Oh, hadn't thought about that, guess I should start listening to what's around me)
Is your chest open? (Oh yeah, gotta lift that up a little and broaden my shoulders)
Is your spine open? (Definitely not. Totally feel like all those vertebrae are stacked up on each other. How am I going to fix that? Sitting up taller just stretches them out... oh wait, maybe that opens them up.)
Is your mind open? (I actually didn't hear this one, I was too fixated on opening up my spine...)
And then I kept asking myself those same four questions over and over.
In response, my shoulders opened up, my chest lifted up, and there became this space that was rooted in my gut or my chest and radiated out, like the way light emanates from a lighthouse in the fog.
And then my thoughts started to come in and when they did, they narrowed that space, pushed in on its boundaries, like closing a pair of scissors. So I took another breath and tried to broaden that space again, to be open to everything around me, open to all possibilities. And the space opened up again, widened, radiated.

Often when I struggle with meditation, I remind myself to "return to the breath," to focus inward, to "quiet the mind." It feels like I'm trying to focus, to "zoom in" on that space where my mind is free from thoughts. But this concept of being open- literally having my eyes and ears open- this state of being somewhat vulnerable and willing to see everything with my eyes and ears, being attentive to EVERYTHING around me, not allowing my thoughts to narrow my perception of things, seems kind of true to what I think being present is all about. 
I tried to do this during meditation tonight and at first, it felt really active and a little frenetic. My eyes were scanning the wall in front of me and my ears were listening attentively to all the sounds of the street. It didn't feel very meditative or quiet. I tried it a few more times but then went back to focusing on my breath and quieting things down.
But during the day today, and last night after YUZ, I saw how much my thoughts limit me, how they narrow the possibilities of my experience. Sometimes this can be a comfort, especially when I'm afraid of what I think is going to happen, or when I'm not looking forward to certain events or interactions with people. But I see how my thoughts kind of cheat me out of the experience of life. It's kind of like how the first time you do something, if you know absolutely nothing about it, you often experience all of it and it's kind of magical. But the second time, you go in "knowing" it and it can be disappointing or even just plain boring.
I guess I had always thought of meditation as a "blocking out" of the world around me, and maybe it still is because it didn't work so well for me to be present when I was sitting in the zendo. But in terms of being present for the rest of my life; I feel like broadening my view, being alert, being open to whatever comes to me seems like a very true and somewhat healthy way to experience my existence.

z: Doing dishes...

I know that when you do dishes at the zen center, you’re supposed to be all present and mindful of the task at hand but sometimes, it seems like you should just clean them quickly so that the people in the kitchen can start their Saturday afternoon. Last weekend I did just that. This other volunteer and I sped through the dishes, used way too much soap, and joked about how unpresent we were being.

This weekend, however, I washed dishes with someone who actually knew what they were doing. It ended up being an interesting practice in our connectedness and giving up of the self.

The dishwashing started out fine. The resident asked me how I normally did the dishes and changed things around a bit to accommodate what I said we had done last week. Then we started cleaning. I focused on speed: piling multiple dishes into the soapy water, briefly rubbing them with the sponge, and quickly stacking them in the tray used to send them through the sanitizer. My soapy water quickly became dirty water. I emptied it, then reached for water sprayer to fill my bucket. My counterpart had to wait to use the sprayer while I filled my bucket. I immediately felt like I was interrupting her washing process and felt relief as soon as I could hand it back to her.

Once my next stack of dishes was done, I had to pile my dishes on top of each other because there wasn’t a tray to put them in. My counterpart pointed out that that didn’t work well, they just got dirty again, and then made a subtle comment about my dishes in general (which were covered in soap and had a few bits of lettuce, etc. on them) and how the sanitizer didn’t really clean the dishes, it just sanitized them.  So I found another tray, placed the dishes in them, and then had to use the sprayer again so that I could make the next set of dishes actually clean. Again, I felt her eyes on me as I used the sprayer for an interminable 10 seconds, and went back to cleaning.

This time, I rinsed my dishes after soaping them, trying to make them clean enough for the sanitizer. But now, because I was rinsing each dish, I had to use the sprayer even more. Each time I used it I felt like I was I was taking from her, keeping her from doing her work, and got the feeling that she would have been happier doing this herself. We played a wordless game of tug-of-war with the sprayer, each one reluctantly giving it up so the other could have their turn.

Then I telescoped back from the situation and saw the trays of clean dishes waiting to go into the sanitizer. I realized that we were both doing all of the dishes for the zen center. Granted, she was doing the bowls and I was doing the plates, I was focused on speed and she on cleanliness but our goal was the same: clean dishes for the residents. The grabbing of the sprayer changed to a handing off of the sprayer. Then I realized that my perception that she was annoyed with me was based on my expectation that she was trying to do one thing and I another. This wasn’t the case at all. We were actually working together, I was just perceiving it as working separately.

I introduced myself to her and asked her name. She confirmed my new perception by saying her name with a warm smile. I then started watching her dish washing process and followed it. This meant that we had to play tug-of-war even more intensely but I loosened  up a bit about this and just sat there patiently waiting, reminding myself that it would get done. As we finished, I overheard a couple of residents suggesting that they might actually be done before 1 o'clock that day.

So yes, I felt miffed when she subtly judged my cleaning process. And I was totally annoyed when I thought she was annoyed with me for using the sprayer to clean the dishes, when the only reason I was doing it was because she seemed to say that we should rinse each plate. But that was my self, wanting to be good at cleaning, wanting to think that my way was better. When I gave that up, the dishes got done and the feeling of judgment and contention went away.

z: I can’t make plans? I have to just “live in the moment?”

 “So, if I’m supposed to be “present for each moment,” does that mean I’m just supposed to let things happen? Not make any plans? Just be all passive and let the world do whatever it wants with me and have no say in the matter?”

I get this question a lot when I talk about how I practice zen. I’m going to talk about it now but if you really want to learn about it, go to this dharma talk by David Zimmerman (skip ahead to six minutes in to it, there's something funny with the audio up to that point). I promise, you won’t be disappointed. If you want my take on it, read on…

This weekend, Steve Stuckey (one of the people who fought the fire at Tassajara) gave the dharma talk. I missed much of the Q and A afterward but at the tail end of it, someone asked about planning for the future, making up stories or scenarios to make ourselves feel better or feel in control, and asked Steve to expand on this phenomenon. His answer: Cloudy, with a grain of salt. (okay, that’s actually me paraphrasing but it’s the way I understood what he said).

What he actually said was that you make plans all the time. You look out the window and see clouds and you bring an umbrella. What you don’t do is think that it is definitely going to rain or get disappointed because it doesn’t rain, or even think that you can keep it from raining by bringing an umbrella (again, I’m paraphrasing).  What you do do is be aware of what is going on and respond to what comes your way as it comes your way. Meditation is what helps to develop your mind in such a way that it actually can respond to things as they come up. Practicing the ability to actually see things as they are (instead of through our personal stories, fears, etc) and developing the flexibility of mind to then respond rather than react to life is what zazen (meditation) is all about.

The way that I understand it, plans are fine as long as you see them for what they are: plans, preparations, training, whatever it is that you do to allow you to cope with what life throws your way. Plans only become a problem when they become expectations, delusions, or avoidance tactics. Here’s how it’s been happening for me:

Plans as expectations:

Tuesdays suck. Tuesdays suck because Mondays are awesome in my classroom. I don’t really know why Mondays are awesome in my classroom but what happens is that after Monday goes so well, I start to imagine Tuesday. I make all these plans about how the kids are totally going to be engaged and Boy 1 and Girl 1 are going to feel all loved and when it’s recess they’ll say “Wait, it’s recess, already?” And then Tuesday happens and, of course, it’s nowhere near my expectations for it so it sucks. But this is what I’ve figured out by looking at Tuesday. It’s actually the same as Monday but because I expected it to be great, it ends up being bad. If I would just show up for Tuesday without expectations of it being great and just see it for what it is, Tuesday would be just fine. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t plan for Tuesday, it just means that I shouldn’t think Tuesday is going to be a certain way. And maybe that’s why Monday is always so great in my classroom, I never expect anything of Monday. I totally plan for Monday but I don’t want it to be one way or another.

Plans as delusions:

I’ve been doing this one all weekend. The kids are taking their first tests this week. I’ve been deluding myself about how they will score on their tests: planning lessons that focus on the areas they’ve been struggling with the belief that this pinpointing will suddenly change their brains so that they master the exact same skills they didn’t understand last week. This is a delusion. I have no idea how they’ll do on their tests. I have no idea how they’ll respond to my lessons. They totally bombed the predicate on their homework even though I focused my lessons on finding the predicate instead of on finding the subject. I can’t control how they’ll do on their tests. What I can do is plan lessons that I think will help them but I have to do this with the understanding that that’s all I’m doing, planning lessons that I think will help them.  

Plans as avoidance tactics:

I signed up for my first one day sit. I am not looking forward to the formal parts of the day (the chanting and the bowing). I experience suffering when we chant and bow: I’m embarrassed because I never do the right bow at the right time, I dislike the feeling of separation when I don’t know things that others do, and I am scared that I won’t know which chant to do and someone will have to help me and then I will be a ‘burden’ and will be rejected.  I have been actively attempting to avoid this suffering by “planning” for my one day sit: I’ve asked my friends all about the formal parts of the service, I’m going to “practice” the service this upcoming Saturday, and I’ve been attempting to make peace with the chanting thing when I go to afternoon zazen.

This “planning” is totally fine and actually quite useful in terms of learning the practices at the zen center. However, “planning” is not going to keep me from experiencing embarrassment, separation, and rejection (those things come from my own issues so if I really want to avoid them, I need to explore my issues with them).  We can’t control the future by practicing for it. We don’t actually know what the future is going to be, so practicing for it is kind of silly.  But we often do this, imagine that we can stop those things that cause us suffering by doing things one way or another. It doesn't mean we can't plan and we can't practice, it just means that these plans and practice aren't going to protect us from experiencing suffering.

So, go ahead, look out the window, see the clouds, but take your weather forecast with a grain of salt. It is San Francisco after all…

z: Newcomers breaking every rule...

I was the doorwatch at afternoon zazen last night. Being doorwatch at City Center, especially in the afternoon, is like being a driver on a Muni bus: ANYONE can walk through your doors and you just offer them service.
The first time I was doorwatch it was kind of sweet. There was an absolute newcomer who broke every rule imaginable (and this was during the three week intensive)! I had much sympathy for him, but totally feared what the Ino would do to me for letting him in without telling him about the seating assignments. The rest of the people that afternoon were mellow: respectful, inquisitive, and pretty innocent.
But last night, people were totally clueless. A group of people walked in talking, IN REGULAR VOICES! I couldn't believe it and totally wanted to shooosh them. But they weren't actually in the zendo yet, they didn't know that they were supposed to be quiet, and when I whisper/ asked them if they had any questions, they clued in and started whispering immediately.
Other people took off their shoes but then walked everywhere in their socks. I cringed with each step, imagining all the dirt they were collecting on their socks and how it would eventually end up in the zendo.
About half the people entered the zendo on the right, only 20% of them took three steps and bowed, and one guy turned left immediately, heading for the altar. I totally expected the Ino to jump out of his seat and grab the guy but he must have sat down before he crossed because the Ino didn't get up.
I cringed with each of these infractions, partly because it felt so wrong, partly because I felt responsible for not telling them enough, and partly in sadness that the Ino would conclude, "Well, she's not so cut out for this job, maybe we'll just have her sweep next time instead."
But for each infraction, there were just as many genuine questions: How do I know when to start and stop? Where is the Buddha hall? Is this a meditation center? What do I do, this is my first time? These questions, people's willingness to just 'show up at the door,' eventually softened my shoulders and made me smile. The whole beauty of City Center is that it actually practices what it preaches: we are all Buddha, enlightenment is available to everyone. I suppose we could post a little "top ten things to know before entering the zendo" poster by the door, but that would mean that we were saying that the rules are more important than the intent.
And I guess that's why the Ino can just sit there and let it happen. For all of my cringing, I imagined the Ino boiling inside. I'm just learning these rules and I learn them more for survival and respect for the people who practice here than as my life's practice. I wondered how in the world he could watch all these people break rule after rule outright and not go crazy correcting them. But I'm assuming that he's watching them the same way I did when I heard their genuine questions: they're trying, they want to make things better, they can't possibly learn all the rules of the zendo even if they do attend the Saturday intro. The point is that they're here. What they need from us is space to learn and encouragement to keep trying.
And I laugh heartily at myself as I write this post. I was the newcomer at this afternoon's zazen: bowing in shasu instead of gassho, still totally confused about the whole timing of chanting and bell ringing and drumming during service, and feeling just as petrified tonight as I was when I first entered the zendo over a year ago. It's pretty hilarious to hear myself talking about these rules like they're obvious, like they're normal, like everyone should know them. I'm not sure what it says about me, that these things are normal to me now and that watching others break them makes me cringe. I guess I hope that I keep the smile on my face instead of a stern look. I remember the difference in my heart between someone explaining the rules to me and someone chastizing me for breaking them. I hope I can keep welcoming newcomers with open hands instead of a wagging finger.

z: the chicken or the egg

Today was kind of confusing for me. I can't tell whether things got better for me because I let go, or if I was able to let go because things were easy.
I went to sleep last night annoyed. I felt like I never had enough time, that I was always catching up, that even when I got all organized, I was still behind (and this was after my whole post about slowing down!). I even went to sleep late so when I woke up this morning I decided to "meditate in bed" instead of riding my bike to the zendo. It didn't work. I just lay there from 5:10 to 5:50, thinking. Which is, actually, what I've been doing in the zendo anyway so maybe it was just as well...
Anyway, I knew that my annoyance was coming from my clinging to my own concept of time/ getting things done/"catching up" /being efficient but I honestly didn't feel like letting go of any of that. I knew that the clinging was what was making me annoyed but I feared that letting go of it would make things worse, that I'd feel less prepared and less in control. So I kept clinging: making photocopies early this morning, making sure I was all packed for the field trip, thinking I could make things go well if I could just prepare enough for them. And then, like always, life happened: busy photocopy machine, people not showing up, things forgotten in one place or another but for some reason, I didn't get upset or annoyed.
Now, part of that reason was that I was able to avoid suffering by being flexible- not quite sure if that's just another form of delusion. Photocopy machine was busy=> did other things while it was occupied. People didn't show up=> stalled until they showed. Things forgotten=> did them later instead. I even watched our bus to the Academy of Sciences drive right past us as we waited for the light to turn. My response: We'll get there when we get there, the Academy of Sciences isn't going anywhere. And when we got there as late as we did, it turned out we were still early.
I didn't consciously breathe or let go in any of these situations (except the bus one, I think that really was my zen practice bubbling up). In fact I tried to avoid my annoyance by substituting more pleasant things (doing other things while waiting for photocopy machine, deciding to do things later instead of suffering through trying to find lost item). And it was easy to be late when it turns out you're early. So I still don't know whether I let go or if it just turned out to be a good day. The kids were great on the field trip but I also hardly controlled them. But were they great because I hardly controlled them or was I able to not try so hard to control them because they were so great? Was the field trip fun because I maintained my focus on making sure the kids had a good time or did the kids just have a good time so I could relax and not worry? I still really don't know.
And I don't even know if this is good practice. It's weird, I guess it feels effortless but I've felt effortless before and this isn't what it feels like. It feels more like a coincidence or luck, to be honest. So I can't even recommend or advise it because I feel like I didn't even play a role in it. I woke up today knowing that I should be more intent in this, that if I would be willing to have faith in letting go, that things would be better. That's how I woke up, but my brain wasn't interested in doing any of that so I didn't intend to do any of it. Maybe this is "the fog of dharma" setting in but I kind of wish I was more involved so I'd know how to maintain it (still being a  Clingon (sorry Trekkies, had to change the K to a C))

Slow down, you move too fast...

So, this morning I was rushing- rushing through my oatmeal, trying to put away the dishes at the same time that I was boiling the water, at the same time that I was figuring out what to wear… Then when I sat down to eat my oatmeal I reminded myself to slow down, to be present for my oatmeal. I had tried this last week too. When I tried it last week I thought to myself, “Yeah right! Be present for my oatmeal and be late for work! How is that helping? This being present doesn’t work in a world that keeps moving!”

But this morning I thought, “Oh wait, I don’t have to buy in to that ‘world that keeps moving’ thing. The only reason that I think the world keeps moving is that I think that I can keep up with it or control it. It’s true, it is moving, time is passing every second but me being late? That’s just me thinking I’m being late for some thing that I’ve decided I can control or do something about.” Now, I’m not saying that I don’t need to get to school on time or that if I show up five minutes later it’s not going to affect the amount of time I have to prepare my lessons. But the thing is, there isn’t really a fixed thing that, if I get there on time, will make my day perfect, or even better. This thing is just me believing that I can control what’s going to happen today at school. I can prepare for it, but I can’t know what’s going to happen or make it happen one way or another. It’s going to happen to me, not me to it.

And that’s exactly what happened. I got to school and found out that I had breakfast duty which meant that I only had until 7:30 to get ready instead of 7:50. I was annoyed but I tried to do what I did on my first day of school when I was late: focus on what would make the kids happy. I did, and ended up having time to get their clocks ready for our math lesson. I wasn’t totally prepared for their math lesson but it turned out that they really don’t know time so I changed the lesson from duration of time to just reading the clocks. I wasn’t prepared for their dictionary lesson but we ended up getting way more involved in the reading lesson than I expected anyway.

It’s like things just kept popping up today but instead of them rocking me off course, they just popped up. I didn’t breathe or slow down or even be present for them but I also didn’t freak out or try to change them. They just were, and I responded by kind of going with them instead of fighting them or getting upset by them. I do wish I had taught more today and had been more prepared for the lessons that I taught. I know the lessons are better when I think them through from the point of view of my kids and make them really interesting and cool. But this afternoon, I actually responded instead of reacted to the kids. They were annoyed because I wanted them to wait until they knew all of the directions before packing up. I asked them to raise their hands if they knew what to do and most of them raised their hands so I just let them go. And they totally did it, they didn’t need me to control them. They weren’t perfect, they talked and teased and lost their homework on the floor but I let them be instead of holding on to what I wanted them to be. It wasn’t like some big epiphany today but it feels like a loosening, a confidence in letting things go.