Okay, it wasn't my entire bike that was stolen, just the back wheel but, in terms of getting home from the zendo, having your back wheel stolen is pretty much the same as having your entire bike stolen- you have to walk home. And that's what this post is mostly about, my walk home after my back wheel was stolen this morning. But before I get to that, I wanted to give some info to people who ride their bike to the zen center:
#1 Apparently, any time is a good time to steal something that isn't locked and #2 If it isn't locked, it's likely to be stolen.
I used to only remove my bike lights when I came in the afternoon. I never thought someone would steal my bike lights at 5AM until, about 3 months ago, my light was stolen at 5AM. So now, I always take my lights with me.
I used to use a cable to lock my back tire to my lock, but then I decided that no one would actually bother to steal the back tire, especially at 5 in the morning. But, that's what was stolen this morning: an unlocked quick release back tire. Fortunately, they didn't notice that my seat is quick release too.
#3 It doesn't matter how valuable the item appears.
My bike is probably older than you. It's an '89 Cannondale- not fancy, no shocks, no disc brakes, etc. It's just a bike and my tire was not a fancy tire.
Okay, is your bike locked? Is your helmet locked? Do you have your lights with you? Are you bored and want to read about someone having their back wheel stolen? Read on...
So, when I walked out of the zendo at 6 this morning I looked at my bike and thought, "Huh, my wheel isn't sticking out from the metal rack, that's funny." And then I got closer and saw that it wasn't sticking out, because it wasn't there. All that was there was my chain, hanging off my frame. "No way, " I thought. But, there it was, no wheel. So, I unlocked my bike, put on my helmet, lifted my bike on to my shoulder, and started walking up the hill.
My first thought was, "I'm going to be so late. It's going to take me forever to walk home." I considered hailing a cab but then remembered that I had no money on me. Then I considered walking over to Haight street to catch a bus, but, again, remembered that I had no money on me. So, I just walked.
About a block up the hill, I saw four men standing outside a van that had its side door open.
"What happened to your bike?" they asked.
"Someone stole the back wheel," I said smirkily.
What I was thinking was, "It was probably you and my tire is probably in your van and you're probably asking me because you like the power that you have, having my tire right there, knowing that you stole it, and yet still asking me what happened."
And then I thought, "Wow, what prejudice you have against these guys in the van. What assumptions you are making. You have no idea what they're doing. What is it about them that makes you think they stole your tire? And look how closed you are. If you were more open, you might even find that they would be willing to help. Maybe they even did steal your tire and are just checking to see your response."
But I just kept walking, bitter about the fact that I was walking and couldn't do anything about it. So then I thought, "Okay, experience your suffering- feel what it feels like to have your tire stolen." And then I thought, "Ummm, that's not going to bring my tire back! That's not going to get me home any sooner!" And then I thought, "Darn it! Apparently I only want to embrace suffering when I think it's going to make things better. Darn that too!"
So I just kept walking. The same van drove past me and I thought, "See, if you had been open to them, they probably would have given you a ride home and you would have ended up getting home early. Maybe the van door was open because they are delivering newspapers." But as they drove away, I didn't see any newspapers being thrown out of the van...
As I walked, I noticed how many more people were out because I thought I was so late. I imagined grabbing a power bar instead of eating breakfast, just so that I could get to school on time. When I got home, it was 6:15, only about 8 minutes later than my normal arrival time- not such a big deal. I did some things to make up for lost time and got to school, at the most, five minutes later than normal. By recess, I had forgotten all about the fact that my tire was stolen this morning.
3 months ago, when my bike light was stolen, I felt totally wronged. I thought, "What?! I'm meditating. I'm, like, trying to save all beings... Shouldn't I not have things stolen from me while I'm doing this? Shouldn't I be exempted from things like this since I'm being so noble? And man, that person who took my light... they've got some serious bad stuff coming their way- stealing outside a Buddhist temple, come on!"
And this morning, I at first thought about this being some life lesson or having some meaning. But really, all that happened was that my tire was stolen. All this is, is someone seeing something valuable and taking it.
So, no morning zazen for me this week. And, another long walk this weekend, only this time it will be to the bike store for a new fixed back wheel. And, with our extra hour for daylight savings, I'll search the house for the leash so that my seat can't be stolen either. Does this mean I'm trying to avoid future suffering? Maybe, maybe not. Mostly it just feels like I'm getting a new tire so that I can ride my bike to the zendo again, and I'm getting a fixed one so that I don't have to carry around a cable to keep it from being stolen.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
z: Buying a car part 2
So, when I first started meditating, it felt like I was having more thoughts, not less. In an earlier post, I compared this to buying a new car: once you buy one, you see that car everywhere; not because there's a sudden increase in the number of those cars on the road but because you're suddenly noticing and paying attention to that car. I think it's happening again, but this time, it's with my intention: letting go.
In an earlier post I described how, in attempting to let go, I was noticing when I didn't let go. And I noticed that I seemed to be doing this all the time; that, like, 80% of my time was spent trying to change my experience. And that was bumming me out. It felt like all day long I was constantly grasping and avoiding and rephrasing and controlling things. It felt like no matter what I did I was doing it wrong- I could never seem to let go of anything.
It happened too when I was trying to practice Sila: trying to do those things which support your practice. I knew that in order to support my practice of sitting in the morning, I needed to get more sleep, that at 9:00 each night I needed to be in bed. And each night, at 9 o'clock, I was noticing that I wasn't in bed. I was watching myself checking email, cleaning my room, taking a shower, trying to squeeze in that last thing before my normal bedtime of 10:00 rolled around. And this was bumming me out too. I was annoyed at myself for never seeming to be able to do what I needed to do. I was noticing that 90% of the time I wasn't practicing Sila.
I asked Paul about this in my dokusan- that perhaps the reason I felt like I was failing so much wasn't because I was suddenly grasping more and letting go less, but more because I was paying attention to it. He said that that might be what was going on, and that eased me up a bit. It made me look at my behaviors less in a "you're not doing it" way and more of an "oh, look at that" way.
It's funny, I was going to say that I feel like I'm grasping less and letting go more but actually, that isn't the case. I'm just not even looking at it. I'm still paying attention to what I'm doing but it's within the context of just looking at myself, not within the context of whether or not I'm letting go. When I see myself doing it, I notice it and do one of two things: change it and actually let go or say, "Well, I guess that's what you need to do right now. Sorry about that, but that's what you're doing."
It kind of makes me think of what we talked about in Young Urban Zen when we talked about setting goals; that when you set a goal as a fixed notion, it actually narrows your experience into a categorization of "did I or didn't I achieve my goal." I think I planned to have just an intent to let go, but I turned it into a goal to let go when I started judging my behaviors against it, when I watched myself not doing it instead of just noticing what I was doing.
I don't know if it was my dokusan with Paul or it was just time passing but I'm not beating myself up so much about it. I know for sure that I still try to change my experience, pretty much all the time, but now I'm finding it interesting, instead of bad.
In an earlier post I described how, in attempting to let go, I was noticing when I didn't let go. And I noticed that I seemed to be doing this all the time; that, like, 80% of my time was spent trying to change my experience. And that was bumming me out. It felt like all day long I was constantly grasping and avoiding and rephrasing and controlling things. It felt like no matter what I did I was doing it wrong- I could never seem to let go of anything.
It happened too when I was trying to practice Sila: trying to do those things which support your practice. I knew that in order to support my practice of sitting in the morning, I needed to get more sleep, that at 9:00 each night I needed to be in bed. And each night, at 9 o'clock, I was noticing that I wasn't in bed. I was watching myself checking email, cleaning my room, taking a shower, trying to squeeze in that last thing before my normal bedtime of 10:00 rolled around. And this was bumming me out too. I was annoyed at myself for never seeming to be able to do what I needed to do. I was noticing that 90% of the time I wasn't practicing Sila.
I asked Paul about this in my dokusan- that perhaps the reason I felt like I was failing so much wasn't because I was suddenly grasping more and letting go less, but more because I was paying attention to it. He said that that might be what was going on, and that eased me up a bit. It made me look at my behaviors less in a "you're not doing it" way and more of an "oh, look at that" way.
It's funny, I was going to say that I feel like I'm grasping less and letting go more but actually, that isn't the case. I'm just not even looking at it. I'm still paying attention to what I'm doing but it's within the context of just looking at myself, not within the context of whether or not I'm letting go. When I see myself doing it, I notice it and do one of two things: change it and actually let go or say, "Well, I guess that's what you need to do right now. Sorry about that, but that's what you're doing."
It kind of makes me think of what we talked about in Young Urban Zen when we talked about setting goals; that when you set a goal as a fixed notion, it actually narrows your experience into a categorization of "did I or didn't I achieve my goal." I think I planned to have just an intent to let go, but I turned it into a goal to let go when I started judging my behaviors against it, when I watched myself not doing it instead of just noticing what I was doing.
I don't know if it was my dokusan with Paul or it was just time passing but I'm not beating myself up so much about it. I know for sure that I still try to change my experience, pretty much all the time, but now I'm finding it interesting, instead of bad.
Day 30: The ladder at the side of the pool
I mentioned in an earlier post that I was sitting on the fence with all this; that I kind of knew what I needed to be doing to ease my mind and stop the spinning in it, but wasn't really ready or willing to actually do it. I knew that what I needed to do was to give up my need to have everything planned, to give up the notion that thinking about my day would make it better, to be willing to walk into my classroom in the morning with the awareness that many things were going to happen and that they were beyond my control.
Doing that terrified me, mostly because it felt like I was jumping into an ocean with no shore, no boat to cling to, and not even a way to swim- just the knowledge that I would do better to just "let the waves take me." Humph- YOU try that, I'll be over here on the beach waiting with a nice plush towel.
But at the same time, I really did know that my thoughts were what were making me spin. I wanted to do something about them, something to slow things down or make me feel less frenetic. So, I did what I do at the deep end of a cold swimming pool: I grabbed on to the metal handles of the ladder on the side of the pool and stuck my foot into that first notch, with the full awareness that if it got too cold or scary, I could just step back up and out of there! I started by just trying to "let go" of time and getting things done.
On Sunday, I went in to school to "get things done." So, clearly, I didn't let go completely of "getting things done." But here's what I did do. I did what needed to get done. I looked over what needed to be done on Monday and I did it. I had made a list of everything I wanted to do, but when I finished what needed to be done on Monday, I looked at the rest of the list and let it go. It's still there, waiting for another time I guess, but I'm not beating myself up over it and, more importantly, I see that doing those things isn't going to make my week any better. And letting go of them quiets that voice inside me that keeps telling me to do them. The feeling of things hanging over my head is absent- not because the things that need to be done are absent- but because the feeling that getting them done will make things better has gone away, for now at least.
I've also been letting go of time. At first, I just stopped looking at the clock altogether, but that felt a whole lot like avoidance. So instead, I've been looking at the clock and noticing my reaction to it. Apparently, I use the clock to judge myself. If I'm on time or early, I'm doing well, keeping up with my day, and, believe it or not, I think that things will go well, simply because I'm on time. If I'm late, I feel like things are going to control me, that I'm behind, that I need to catch up and that things are going to be chaotic. When I'm late, I stop being present, try to speed up and consolidate things, and rush through things, completely unaware of them and totally focused on the clock. I make mistakes and forget things, and often end up having to do extra work because I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing when I do it. This week, I've looked at the clock and noticed it instead. Oh, it's 5:13, you're on time to the zendo. Oh, it's 6:33, you're probably going to get to school later than you normally do. Hmmm, that's interesting. I wonder what else is going to happen.
On Friday, I was especially late and I knew it. I started to do what I normally do which was to get everything ready for the kids for the day. But then I knew I needed to make photocopies and that there is a "rush hour" at the photocopy machine and so if I did it now, I'd be less likely to have to wait. But then I thought about why I was making the photocopies. I was making them as a back up so that the kids wouldn't have any down time so that the parents would never see the kids in any off task behavior (the parents were coming in to help with our Halloween party). I was trying to control my day, to control the kids, to control the parents' experience of me as a teacher. So I decided to "let go". Not completely, I just let go of making the photocopies right away and focused instead on getting done what needed to be done for the kids- not what needed to be done to control the kids, but what needed to be done for them to have a fun day. And once that was done, I made the photocopies. I needed the photocopies and I was glad I made them but I made them when I had time to make them, not in a rush, not with this feeling that I had avoided having to wait, and not with a belief that the kids would be better behaved because they were there.
It's not a big thing these little incidences. I'm not jumping in, my mind isn't suddenly silent and peaceful but in those moments when I'm willing to let go, just a little bit, my mind is quieter and I'm grateful for that. And probably, I'm more willing to go to the next notch in the ladder...
Doing that terrified me, mostly because it felt like I was jumping into an ocean with no shore, no boat to cling to, and not even a way to swim- just the knowledge that I would do better to just "let the waves take me." Humph- YOU try that, I'll be over here on the beach waiting with a nice plush towel.
But at the same time, I really did know that my thoughts were what were making me spin. I wanted to do something about them, something to slow things down or make me feel less frenetic. So, I did what I do at the deep end of a cold swimming pool: I grabbed on to the metal handles of the ladder on the side of the pool and stuck my foot into that first notch, with the full awareness that if it got too cold or scary, I could just step back up and out of there! I started by just trying to "let go" of time and getting things done.
On Sunday, I went in to school to "get things done." So, clearly, I didn't let go completely of "getting things done." But here's what I did do. I did what needed to get done. I looked over what needed to be done on Monday and I did it. I had made a list of everything I wanted to do, but when I finished what needed to be done on Monday, I looked at the rest of the list and let it go. It's still there, waiting for another time I guess, but I'm not beating myself up over it and, more importantly, I see that doing those things isn't going to make my week any better. And letting go of them quiets that voice inside me that keeps telling me to do them. The feeling of things hanging over my head is absent- not because the things that need to be done are absent- but because the feeling that getting them done will make things better has gone away, for now at least.
I've also been letting go of time. At first, I just stopped looking at the clock altogether, but that felt a whole lot like avoidance. So instead, I've been looking at the clock and noticing my reaction to it. Apparently, I use the clock to judge myself. If I'm on time or early, I'm doing well, keeping up with my day, and, believe it or not, I think that things will go well, simply because I'm on time. If I'm late, I feel like things are going to control me, that I'm behind, that I need to catch up and that things are going to be chaotic. When I'm late, I stop being present, try to speed up and consolidate things, and rush through things, completely unaware of them and totally focused on the clock. I make mistakes and forget things, and often end up having to do extra work because I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing when I do it. This week, I've looked at the clock and noticed it instead. Oh, it's 5:13, you're on time to the zendo. Oh, it's 6:33, you're probably going to get to school later than you normally do. Hmmm, that's interesting. I wonder what else is going to happen.
On Friday, I was especially late and I knew it. I started to do what I normally do which was to get everything ready for the kids for the day. But then I knew I needed to make photocopies and that there is a "rush hour" at the photocopy machine and so if I did it now, I'd be less likely to have to wait. But then I thought about why I was making the photocopies. I was making them as a back up so that the kids wouldn't have any down time so that the parents would never see the kids in any off task behavior (the parents were coming in to help with our Halloween party). I was trying to control my day, to control the kids, to control the parents' experience of me as a teacher. So I decided to "let go". Not completely, I just let go of making the photocopies right away and focused instead on getting done what needed to be done for the kids- not what needed to be done to control the kids, but what needed to be done for them to have a fun day. And once that was done, I made the photocopies. I needed the photocopies and I was glad I made them but I made them when I had time to make them, not in a rush, not with this feeling that I had avoided having to wait, and not with a belief that the kids would be better behaved because they were there.
It's not a big thing these little incidences. I'm not jumping in, my mind isn't suddenly silent and peaceful but in those moments when I'm willing to let go, just a little bit, my mind is quieter and I'm grateful for that. And probably, I'm more willing to go to the next notch in the ladder...
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Day 29 One Day Sit Part 2: Work and Release
Work: A fellow practitioner commented on my post about "not setting goals" that having to stop work when the bell rings to end the work period is great practice in "letting go." I've been keeping this present in my mind since then, just stopping when it's time to stop instead of grasping to finish. This is definitely a struggle for me but it's also a huge relief for me when I actually do let go.
I was on bathroom duty for soji. I immediately read the instructions and worked to make the most of my time, spraying the disinfectant first so that it could sit while I cleaned the rest of the bathroom. I cleaned the mirror, sorted the garbage, and started cleaning the sink when... the bell rang! OMG- I hadn't taken out the garbage, hadn't even cleaned the inside of the toilet bowl, and all the surfaces were wet with disinfectant! I couldn't let it go. I rushed to clean the toilet bowl, quickly wiped down all the surfaces, and the only reason I didn't take out the garbage was because I didn't think I could get down to empty it and back up to return the container before I had to be in the zendo. I decided that it could be taken care of by the next person.It was OKAY to let it be. But guess what? The garbage was still there at lecture, still there in the afternoon, and still there when I left that night. It's not the end of the world but I definitely felt responsible for it still being there.
During work period, I ended up helping three other women to clean the residents' bathroom. It actually felt kind of good to scrape off soap scum from the walls and to rinse it down the drain. It was also nice that all four of us didn't really know exactly what we were supposed to do but figured it out enough to clean the bathroom together. When the bell rang, I started to leave but one of the women said, "Shouldn't we bow?" So, we waited while the third woman finished up, got together in a circle, and bowed to each other. I'm grateful to that resident for doing that- it kept me mindful of the group effort we had made instead of my individual work.
I do have to admit, though, that at one point I thought, "This is kind of weird. We're, like, working. They're making us work." It felt a little like the monkeys working for the bad witch in the Wizard of Oz, like, forced labor or something.
But then I thought, "Mmmmm, not so much. We're keeping the bathroom clean because we all use it. This is our bathroom, this is our building, this is our place that we come to to meditate. This is ours, of course we should clean it, we want it to be clean."
Zazen: Like my first one day sit, much of my zazen was filled with thoughts. In the morning, I'd say it was 80% thoughts, 20% empty. Lately, I feel like the only way I can empty my mind is to almost hold it in position, freeze it, like clenching your teeth. This doesn't feel right at all.
I talked about this with Paul in dokusan and he advised me to try two things: 1-instead of trying to hold on to that place, just keep coming back to it when you notice that you've left and 2- notice what draws you away from that place.
It turns out that school (my work) and this, writing blogposts, are what draw me away from that place- uh oh!
But then I looked a little deeper at this and realized that I'm doing two things. When I think about school, it's to plan lessons or have conversations with Girl 1. I do both of these things in an attempt to control school, to make it go one way or another, to reduce the unknown factor of my day. It helps, especially the planning of lessons. But what helps more is when I go in without expectations and just let the lessons (and Girl 1) be what they are.
The blogposts are also helpful. I learn a lot about my practice by writing about it. But I also think that often, I write to try to make sense of what I'm doing, to make it fit into a neat concept or accessible idea, and this is kind of grasping, and not so much letting go. I'm still working on this one. I like writing the blog and I don't think it is responsible for ruining my zazen. But I do think that I turn to writing it as a comfort when my mind gets quiet.
Walking back into the zendo, after dokusan with Paul, felt a lot lighter. The last three periods of zazen were about 60% thought, 40% quiet but much more open, not so much clenching. For now, coming back to quiet instead of maintaining it, seems to help. Also, in general, I just felt more peaceful after the one day sit. I didn't notice a point at which this happened, I just felt lighter as I left, and more willing to let things go.
I was on bathroom duty for soji. I immediately read the instructions and worked to make the most of my time, spraying the disinfectant first so that it could sit while I cleaned the rest of the bathroom. I cleaned the mirror, sorted the garbage, and started cleaning the sink when... the bell rang! OMG- I hadn't taken out the garbage, hadn't even cleaned the inside of the toilet bowl, and all the surfaces were wet with disinfectant! I couldn't let it go. I rushed to clean the toilet bowl, quickly wiped down all the surfaces, and the only reason I didn't take out the garbage was because I didn't think I could get down to empty it and back up to return the container before I had to be in the zendo. I decided that it could be taken care of by the next person.It was OKAY to let it be. But guess what? The garbage was still there at lecture, still there in the afternoon, and still there when I left that night. It's not the end of the world but I definitely felt responsible for it still being there.
During work period, I ended up helping three other women to clean the residents' bathroom. It actually felt kind of good to scrape off soap scum from the walls and to rinse it down the drain. It was also nice that all four of us didn't really know exactly what we were supposed to do but figured it out enough to clean the bathroom together. When the bell rang, I started to leave but one of the women said, "Shouldn't we bow?" So, we waited while the third woman finished up, got together in a circle, and bowed to each other. I'm grateful to that resident for doing that- it kept me mindful of the group effort we had made instead of my individual work.
I do have to admit, though, that at one point I thought, "This is kind of weird. We're, like, working. They're making us work." It felt a little like the monkeys working for the bad witch in the Wizard of Oz, like, forced labor or something.
But then I thought, "Mmmmm, not so much. We're keeping the bathroom clean because we all use it. This is our bathroom, this is our building, this is our place that we come to to meditate. This is ours, of course we should clean it, we want it to be clean."
Zazen: Like my first one day sit, much of my zazen was filled with thoughts. In the morning, I'd say it was 80% thoughts, 20% empty. Lately, I feel like the only way I can empty my mind is to almost hold it in position, freeze it, like clenching your teeth. This doesn't feel right at all.
I talked about this with Paul in dokusan and he advised me to try two things: 1-instead of trying to hold on to that place, just keep coming back to it when you notice that you've left and 2- notice what draws you away from that place.
It turns out that school (my work) and this, writing blogposts, are what draw me away from that place- uh oh!
But then I looked a little deeper at this and realized that I'm doing two things. When I think about school, it's to plan lessons or have conversations with Girl 1. I do both of these things in an attempt to control school, to make it go one way or another, to reduce the unknown factor of my day. It helps, especially the planning of lessons. But what helps more is when I go in without expectations and just let the lessons (and Girl 1) be what they are.
The blogposts are also helpful. I learn a lot about my practice by writing about it. But I also think that often, I write to try to make sense of what I'm doing, to make it fit into a neat concept or accessible idea, and this is kind of grasping, and not so much letting go. I'm still working on this one. I like writing the blog and I don't think it is responsible for ruining my zazen. But I do think that I turn to writing it as a comfort when my mind gets quiet.
Walking back into the zendo, after dokusan with Paul, felt a lot lighter. The last three periods of zazen were about 60% thought, 40% quiet but much more open, not so much clenching. For now, coming back to quiet instead of maintaining it, seems to help. Also, in general, I just felt more peaceful after the one day sit. I didn't notice a point at which this happened, I just felt lighter as I left, and more willing to let things go.
Day 29 One Day Sit Part 1: Oryoki and Dokusan
My second one day sit was pretty much as uneventful as my first one day sit, but this was a good thing. I went to it mostly "unprepared" which, as experienced by my Full Moon Ceremony, seems to be the way to go.
Oryoki: Granted, this was my third experience with oryoki, so I wasn't completely unprepared, but it was my first time with real bowls. I definitely watched the person next to me (and am SO grateful to her for her help) and I got a bunch of the sequences wrong, but guess what? The bowls are your bowls, all day, so how you clean them and the order in which you put things away/ take them out, mostly only affects you. The forms, like everything else at the zen center, will come with time and practice.
At breakfast, I was so focused on the forms, that I was late to clean up. Then, at lunch, I was so focused on not being late, that I ended up cleaning while other people were being served, and that was really rude. By dinner time, I just focused on being present for my food, the people who were serving me, and the people around me in the zendo.
Dokusan: I decided on Wednesday night, after something that Marc said in the dharma talk, that it was time for me to get a teacher. So, I signed up for dokusan at the one day sit so that I could ask Paul how one goes about getting a teacher. Between Wednesday and Saturday I did everything I could to NOT imagine dokusan with Paul, to NOT plan my questions or imagine his answers, to actually just show up for dokusan ('cause that's what I've heard you're supposed to do). I have to admit that I did go in a little bit prepared. I had read in zen beginner's blog that Paul asks about your sitting practice. I didn't go in with an answer in mind, but I did expect to be asked about it.
I showed up for dokusan, asked Paul how to get a teacher, got my answer, and then felt really kind of silly. "That's all I wanted to ask," I said, with an embarrassed smile.
He then, of course, asked me about my sitting. We talked about my posture, about my sprained ankle, about what's going on in my mind during zazen, etc. We talked about repeatedly coming back to a place of quiet instead of trying to stay in that space. We talked about how teachers help to see you from the outside, (while we tend to see ourselves from the inside). We talked about other things too and once or twice my mind started racing: He's smiling, does that mean I'm doing the right things? He's quiet, was that the wrong answer? He's looking at me, should I ask the next question or do I let him lead? Is my time up? Am I talking too long?
But mostly, I was present, not even intentionally, I was just there, and it was nice. I'm glad I didn't plan dokusan ahead of time, I think it would have been horrible. I think I would have missed a lot of it. Of course since then, I've relived dokusan over and over in my mind about 100 times... Oh well, I've never been one for letting go of pleasant things.
Oryoki: Granted, this was my third experience with oryoki, so I wasn't completely unprepared, but it was my first time with real bowls. I definitely watched the person next to me (and am SO grateful to her for her help) and I got a bunch of the sequences wrong, but guess what? The bowls are your bowls, all day, so how you clean them and the order in which you put things away/ take them out, mostly only affects you. The forms, like everything else at the zen center, will come with time and practice.
At breakfast, I was so focused on the forms, that I was late to clean up. Then, at lunch, I was so focused on not being late, that I ended up cleaning while other people were being served, and that was really rude. By dinner time, I just focused on being present for my food, the people who were serving me, and the people around me in the zendo.
Dokusan: I decided on Wednesday night, after something that Marc said in the dharma talk, that it was time for me to get a teacher. So, I signed up for dokusan at the one day sit so that I could ask Paul how one goes about getting a teacher. Between Wednesday and Saturday I did everything I could to NOT imagine dokusan with Paul, to NOT plan my questions or imagine his answers, to actually just show up for dokusan ('cause that's what I've heard you're supposed to do). I have to admit that I did go in a little bit prepared. I had read in zen beginner's blog that Paul asks about your sitting practice. I didn't go in with an answer in mind, but I did expect to be asked about it.
I showed up for dokusan, asked Paul how to get a teacher, got my answer, and then felt really kind of silly. "That's all I wanted to ask," I said, with an embarrassed smile.
He then, of course, asked me about my sitting. We talked about my posture, about my sprained ankle, about what's going on in my mind during zazen, etc. We talked about repeatedly coming back to a place of quiet instead of trying to stay in that space. We talked about how teachers help to see you from the outside, (while we tend to see ourselves from the inside). We talked about other things too and once or twice my mind started racing: He's smiling, does that mean I'm doing the right things? He's quiet, was that the wrong answer? He's looking at me, should I ask the next question or do I let him lead? Is my time up? Am I talking too long?
But mostly, I was present, not even intentionally, I was just there, and it was nice. I'm glad I didn't plan dokusan ahead of time, I think it would have been horrible. I think I would have missed a lot of it. Of course since then, I've relived dokusan over and over in my mind about 100 times... Oh well, I've never been one for letting go of pleasant things.
2nd One Day Sit: Oryoki, Dokusan, Bathrooms, and Dinner...
Here's the highlights, read the next post for details:
At the end of oryoki, when everyone was tidying up their bowls, the person next to me UNDOING her perfectly tied orkyoki knot, then waiting to make sure I was watching, then retying it at the same time as I tied mine in order to show me how to tie my oryoki knot.
Giggles, falling spoons, whispers and nods of encouragement from the residents to the newbies (Pssst, put your hands in gassho, you NEED guest bowls).
Watching the guy across from me to figure out oryoki forms then watching HIM watch the guy next to him...
After cleaning the bathroom, waiting to leave until we were all together, so that we could bow to each other.
Thinking that Paul said that my ankle might be "awakened" for a while, when actually he said that it would likely be "weakened" for a while.
The sighs of the guys behind me as we turned over the chant card for a full second page of the chant.
Dinner! In the zendo! Macaroni and, well, I'm sure it was veggies but it felt as comforting as mac and cheese. Plus, only two bowls to deal with!
Only low point: knees. Three periods of zazen (sitting seiza) then full prostrations on a hard wood floor. Next time, I'm wearing thicker sweats...
At the end of oryoki, when everyone was tidying up their bowls, the person next to me UNDOING her perfectly tied orkyoki knot, then waiting to make sure I was watching, then retying it at the same time as I tied mine in order to show me how to tie my oryoki knot.
Giggles, falling spoons, whispers and nods of encouragement from the residents to the newbies (Pssst, put your hands in gassho, you NEED guest bowls).
Watching the guy across from me to figure out oryoki forms then watching HIM watch the guy next to him...
After cleaning the bathroom, waiting to leave until we were all together, so that we could bow to each other.
Thinking that Paul said that my ankle might be "awakened" for a while, when actually he said that it would likely be "weakened" for a while.
The sighs of the guys behind me as we turned over the chant card for a full second page of the chant.
Dinner! In the zendo! Macaroni and, well, I'm sure it was veggies but it felt as comforting as mac and cheese. Plus, only two bowls to deal with!
Only low point: knees. Three periods of zazen (sitting seiza) then full prostrations on a hard wood floor. Next time, I'm wearing thicker sweats...
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Day 26: The safety of a fencepost
So, all this week I've been sitting on the fence- the fence between what I'm doing and what I know I could be doing to make me feel less like I'm feeling (which is anxious, tired, basically, not at ease). I'm sitting on this fence watching myself on each side.
On the one side, I see myself organizing, planning, thinking: "Okay, if I do this..." or "I need to do this so that..." or "How come I feel this way when..." I'm watching myself trying to get more out of my time, trying to get things done, trying to "fix" what the kids didn't understand. And from atop the fence I see that I am grasping, trying to control things, deluding myself into thinking things will be better if, avoiding instead of accepting my experience.
But when I'm on that side of the fence, it feels really safe. My thoughts are wrapping me like a flannel blanket or hot cocoa. They're familiar, they're safe, they're reliable.
From the fence I know that these things are actually what is causing me to need my thoughts. I know that what I need is to climb back up from that place of my thoughts and get to the other side where I am present and aware.
And from atop the fence I can see the other side, where I could be letting go and giving in. I actually know the feeling of release when I let go (I felt it last week at the Full Moon Ceremony). I can feel what it's like when I'm free of my thoughts. I can remember the days when I'm present for the kids, when we have fun because I'm not trying so hard, when I just see them as eight year olds. I see it, and I know I should just jump off this fence down into that place.
But this fencepost feels safe too. And jumping off, especially into the realm of letting go, feels super scary. Cognitively, practice wise, awareness wise, I totally know and can even cite examples of how great that side of the fence is, but I'm afraid to go there.
Actually, I don't think I'm afraid to "go" there, I think I'm afraid to jump. Because I know the thinking, grasping, controlling side of the fence. I know it brings me suffering but I also know it like the back of my hand.
But the letting go side, even though I've been there, and have had good experiences there, is still unknown. That's kind of the whole crux of this practice, "not knowing," standing there, in front of some "automatic fastball pitcher of life" and responding to whatever comes my way. Jumping off the fence feels like jumping into nothing, which it is.
And I know it's up to me. I'm the only one who can jump off and all it takes is a jump but right now, I'm sitting on the fence, just watching.
On the one side, I see myself organizing, planning, thinking: "Okay, if I do this..." or "I need to do this so that..." or "How come I feel this way when..." I'm watching myself trying to get more out of my time, trying to get things done, trying to "fix" what the kids didn't understand. And from atop the fence I see that I am grasping, trying to control things, deluding myself into thinking things will be better if, avoiding instead of accepting my experience.
But when I'm on that side of the fence, it feels really safe. My thoughts are wrapping me like a flannel blanket or hot cocoa. They're familiar, they're safe, they're reliable.
From the fence I know that these things are actually what is causing me to need my thoughts. I know that what I need is to climb back up from that place of my thoughts and get to the other side where I am present and aware.
And from atop the fence I can see the other side, where I could be letting go and giving in. I actually know the feeling of release when I let go (I felt it last week at the Full Moon Ceremony). I can feel what it's like when I'm free of my thoughts. I can remember the days when I'm present for the kids, when we have fun because I'm not trying so hard, when I just see them as eight year olds. I see it, and I know I should just jump off this fence down into that place.
But this fencepost feels safe too. And jumping off, especially into the realm of letting go, feels super scary. Cognitively, practice wise, awareness wise, I totally know and can even cite examples of how great that side of the fence is, but I'm afraid to go there.
Actually, I don't think I'm afraid to "go" there, I think I'm afraid to jump. Because I know the thinking, grasping, controlling side of the fence. I know it brings me suffering but I also know it like the back of my hand.
But the letting go side, even though I've been there, and have had good experiences there, is still unknown. That's kind of the whole crux of this practice, "not knowing," standing there, in front of some "automatic fastball pitcher of life" and responding to whatever comes my way. Jumping off the fence feels like jumping into nothing, which it is.
And I know it's up to me. I'm the only one who can jump off and all it takes is a jump but right now, I'm sitting on the fence, just watching.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Day 20: Cookie and cauliflower suffering?
In class this week, Paul pointed out that by setting an intent, we notice when we miss our intent. My intent was to "let go." Lately I've been noticing how frequently I don't "let go" or "let things be." These aren't big things that I do, I'm not striving for more or being greedy. It's way more subtle than that. It doesn't bring me great suffering and I'm not getting all down on myself about it but I'm definitely noticing that, about 90% of the time, I don't accept reality.
Example 1: It was my friend's birthday so I asked what I could bake for him. He said oatmeal raisin cookies. I don't like oatmeal raisin cookies, I don't even like raisins and didn't really want to buy a bag of raisins just for his cookies. So, the next day I said, "Hey, what about oatmeal chocolate covered raisin cookies?" He said, "Not so much. Raisinets kind of creep me out."
And you know what, I still wouldn't accept this. I bought the chocolate covered raisins anyway, and made two doughs, one for him and one for me. Just out of curiosity, I tried one of his. It turns out they were really good and now I kind of like oatmeal raisin cookies.
If I had just accepted that the cookies I made for him weren't going to be my favorite, I would have been fine. But I didn't. I wanted things my way and ended up making two batches, just to avoid eating raisins! Did this cause me suffering? No, it made me good cookies and now I have a kind of fun recipe to try. But it's interesting, to me at least, how much effort I put into making things go the way I want them to.
Example 2: I was making cauliflower millet polenta. I don't like cauliflower (except in this recipe) and the recipe called for a "small head" so I set out to find the smallest head of cauliflower I could so that I wouldn't have extra. I went to Trader Joe's and found that they only had prepackaged large heads. So, I went to Safeway. Unfortunately, they also only had prepackaged large heads. I ended up buying orange cauliflower just because it was the smallest. When I got home, I unpacked the Safeway bag and put the orange cauliflower in the fridge. Then I unloaded my Trader Joe's bag. Guess what was at the bottom? A second head of cauliflower. Apparently in my quest to find a smaller head at Safeway, I didn't pay attention to the fact that I had already bought a head at Trader Joe's.
Is this suffering? No, not at all. Did I succeed in avoiding my suffering of having extra cauliflower? No! I ended up with more cauliflower exactly because I was trying to avoid the reality of extra cauliflower. Again, this is not a big thing but in noticing when I do and don't let go, I see how much time I spend trying to change things. And in trying to change things, two things are happening. 1: I'm kind of "wasting" my time because in the end, I don't actually end up changing things. 2: I'm missing out on what life actually is giving me: oatmeal raisin cookies and extra cauliflower (which I'm going to use next weekend to make a cool curry dish. Hmmmm, I can't tell if I'm letting go or not in doing that...)
Example 1: It was my friend's birthday so I asked what I could bake for him. He said oatmeal raisin cookies. I don't like oatmeal raisin cookies, I don't even like raisins and didn't really want to buy a bag of raisins just for his cookies. So, the next day I said, "Hey, what about oatmeal chocolate covered raisin cookies?" He said, "Not so much. Raisinets kind of creep me out."
And you know what, I still wouldn't accept this. I bought the chocolate covered raisins anyway, and made two doughs, one for him and one for me. Just out of curiosity, I tried one of his. It turns out they were really good and now I kind of like oatmeal raisin cookies.
If I had just accepted that the cookies I made for him weren't going to be my favorite, I would have been fine. But I didn't. I wanted things my way and ended up making two batches, just to avoid eating raisins! Did this cause me suffering? No, it made me good cookies and now I have a kind of fun recipe to try. But it's interesting, to me at least, how much effort I put into making things go the way I want them to.
Example 2: I was making cauliflower millet polenta. I don't like cauliflower (except in this recipe) and the recipe called for a "small head" so I set out to find the smallest head of cauliflower I could so that I wouldn't have extra. I went to Trader Joe's and found that they only had prepackaged large heads. So, I went to Safeway. Unfortunately, they also only had prepackaged large heads. I ended up buying orange cauliflower just because it was the smallest. When I got home, I unpacked the Safeway bag and put the orange cauliflower in the fridge. Then I unloaded my Trader Joe's bag. Guess what was at the bottom? A second head of cauliflower. Apparently in my quest to find a smaller head at Safeway, I didn't pay attention to the fact that I had already bought a head at Trader Joe's.
Is this suffering? No, not at all. Did I succeed in avoiding my suffering of having extra cauliflower? No! I ended up with more cauliflower exactly because I was trying to avoid the reality of extra cauliflower. Again, this is not a big thing but in noticing when I do and don't let go, I see how much time I spend trying to change things. And in trying to change things, two things are happening. 1: I'm kind of "wasting" my time because in the end, I don't actually end up changing things. 2: I'm missing out on what life actually is giving me: oatmeal raisin cookies and extra cauliflower (which I'm going to use next weekend to make a cool curry dish. Hmmmm, I can't tell if I'm letting go or not in doing that...)
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Full Moon Ceremony Part 2
As I mentioned in the last post, the Ino wouldn't tell me anything about the bowing and chanting involved in the Full Moon Ceremony so I went into it completely innocent. It turns out that this was a great gift.
Since I couldn't get it right (he wouldn't tell me what to do), I didn't try to get it right. I definitely watched everyone around me, and made sure I was behind people who knew what they were doing but it was just to do it, not to do it "right." I mostly just followed and let the people around me do what they were doing.
I know I made mistakes. I almost missed the first bow because I had to close my eyes to keep from laughing at the crazy toy piano that was playing below the window of the Buddha hall. (That piano made me laugh throughout the entire ceremony). But mostly, I just watched, and listened. And this time, it wasn't even to learn about how the Full Moon Ceremony worked, it was just watching and listening. I saw some beautiful interactions between residents, learned how to bow without putting my hands on the tatami by watching the person next to me, and heard the sweet sound of sincere effort in the calling of the chants. I don't really want to get into all the details of the event because then I'll ruin it for you. The reason I liked it so much was because I had no attachment to it, I just showed up. And I don't even know that I totally liked it, I just know that I wasn't embarrassed or mad at myself or thinking that anyone thought, "Oh there's that plain clothed girl again. Is she ever going to get the forms right?"
There was definitely a point at which I stepped back from the situation and looked at what I was doing: It is a Wednesday night and you are in a Buddhist Temple. You are bowing, like, big time bowing, like head on the floor, like "oh-I-submit-to-you" bowing. You are chanting things that you don't totally understand. And you are doing both of these things when some bell rings or some gong gets hit, not because you understand it or because it makes sense to you or even because you're choosing to do it. You're just doing it.
Honestly, if anyone saw you they would say, "Wait, what are you doing?"
And I would answer, "I don't know."
Since I couldn't get it right (he wouldn't tell me what to do), I didn't try to get it right. I definitely watched everyone around me, and made sure I was behind people who knew what they were doing but it was just to do it, not to do it "right." I mostly just followed and let the people around me do what they were doing.
I know I made mistakes. I almost missed the first bow because I had to close my eyes to keep from laughing at the crazy toy piano that was playing below the window of the Buddha hall. (That piano made me laugh throughout the entire ceremony). But mostly, I just watched, and listened. And this time, it wasn't even to learn about how the Full Moon Ceremony worked, it was just watching and listening. I saw some beautiful interactions between residents, learned how to bow without putting my hands on the tatami by watching the person next to me, and heard the sweet sound of sincere effort in the calling of the chants. I don't really want to get into all the details of the event because then I'll ruin it for you. The reason I liked it so much was because I had no attachment to it, I just showed up. And I don't even know that I totally liked it, I just know that I wasn't embarrassed or mad at myself or thinking that anyone thought, "Oh there's that plain clothed girl again. Is she ever going to get the forms right?"
There was definitely a point at which I stepped back from the situation and looked at what I was doing: It is a Wednesday night and you are in a Buddhist Temple. You are bowing, like, big time bowing, like head on the floor, like "oh-I-submit-to-you" bowing. You are chanting things that you don't totally understand. And you are doing both of these things when some bell rings or some gong gets hit, not because you understand it or because it makes sense to you or even because you're choosing to do it. You're just doing it.
Honestly, if anyone saw you they would say, "Wait, what are you doing?"
And I would answer, "I don't know."
Day 19: Full Moon Ceremony Part 1
I had heard about the Full Moon Ceremony: that it was everyone's favorite, that you shouldn't miss it, that it was an ab and core workout. When I looked a little further into it, it kind of freaked me out. It involved lots of chanting and bowing, things I'm not so fond of. And there were small groups, which I crave emotionally, yet cognitively fear. I think the biggest roadblock for me, though, was the idea that it centered around the "precepts" and "avowing one's ancient twisted karma." Honestly, it sounded a whole lot like when I was a kid and had to go into the "confession booth" to "admit my sins." But this time, since it was on a Wednesday night when I would have gone to the Dharma talk anyway, I went.
Beforehand, I attempted to reduce my suffering around bowing and chanting by asking the Ino to simply describe the ceremony to me. (What I really wanted was to know exactly when to chant and bow so that I wouldn't make mistakes and be embarrassed. What I told him was that I wanted to know what was "expected of me."). This is what the Ino said : "What's expected at the Full Moon Ceremony, like everything else at Zen Center, is that you show up, and if you don't know how to do something, you carefully observe your fellow participants to have a sense of what might be the usual form, in the full knowledge that they might be leading you astray by not knowing themselves, and that you don't feel attached to ideas of whether you are doing it right or wrong or worried by the thought that you might possibly be making an exhibition of yourself, but instead fully give yourself to the activity of the moment, which in this case is usually bowing or chanting or both together." Clearly, he saw straight through me...and I pretty much wanted to punch him for that.
Then Tuesday happened.
So by the time I actually got to the Full Moon Ceremony, I was feeling exceptionally bitter, totally removed, and a little like a junior high kid at an event organized by adults: I'm here because I have to be but you can't make me like it. As soon as I sat down they explained that we were going to meet in small groups to talk about the precepts. I started to get up and leave but instead pushed my hands down on my thighs to make myself stay.
My group met in the Buddha hall and it wasn't as bad as I thought. We each talked about whichever precept was kind of "speaking" to us in our current state. I chose "harbor ill will," because I was totally harboring ill will. I was bitter and I was relishing it. I was walking around, closed to everything around me, clinging to this notion that things sucked and this practice was stupid and nobody could do a thing to change my mind about it.
After I spoke, I watched (and listened) as each person in our group spoke and I thought, "This is pretty incredible. Like, literally, incredible. I just met these people and now they're sharing about themselves (and I just shared about myself). And we're all grownups, with all kinds of hang ups about intimacy and embarrassment and shame and judgment and yet, here we are, sharing our mistakes and fears and inadequacies... Seriously, why are we all okay with this?"
And then I thought about the core practices of the zen center: You accept things as they are. You try really hard not to label things as good and bad. You meet people with compassion and you do what you can to support them to be their true selves.
And honestly, that's what I felt like after I spoke. Not so much that people were being all compassionate to me, but that what I shared was just what I shared. My words flowed out of me into the group and, like my thoughts, they just floated away. No one was holding on to them or using them to judge me. I'm not even sure what they were doing them or what I was doing with them. But that was all it was, people in a circle, talking.
I definitely remember relating to what people said, and learning from their experiences but I didn't attach their experiences to them. I just thought, "Oh, yeah, I hadn't thought about that," or, "Oh yeah, I totally do that too."
And then it was over, and it was time to bow and chant...
Beforehand, I attempted to reduce my suffering around bowing and chanting by asking the Ino to simply describe the ceremony to me. (What I really wanted was to know exactly when to chant and bow so that I wouldn't make mistakes and be embarrassed. What I told him was that I wanted to know what was "expected of me."). This is what the Ino said : "What's expected at the Full Moon Ceremony, like everything else at Zen Center, is that you show up, and if you don't know how to do something, you carefully observe your fellow participants to have a sense of what might be the usual form, in the full knowledge that they might be leading you astray by not knowing themselves, and that you don't feel attached to ideas of whether you are doing it right or wrong or worried by the thought that you might possibly be making an exhibition of yourself, but instead fully give yourself to the activity of the moment, which in this case is usually bowing or chanting or both together." Clearly, he saw straight through me...and I pretty much wanted to punch him for that.
Then Tuesday happened.
So by the time I actually got to the Full Moon Ceremony, I was feeling exceptionally bitter, totally removed, and a little like a junior high kid at an event organized by adults: I'm here because I have to be but you can't make me like it. As soon as I sat down they explained that we were going to meet in small groups to talk about the precepts. I started to get up and leave but instead pushed my hands down on my thighs to make myself stay.
My group met in the Buddha hall and it wasn't as bad as I thought. We each talked about whichever precept was kind of "speaking" to us in our current state. I chose "harbor ill will," because I was totally harboring ill will. I was bitter and I was relishing it. I was walking around, closed to everything around me, clinging to this notion that things sucked and this practice was stupid and nobody could do a thing to change my mind about it.
After I spoke, I watched (and listened) as each person in our group spoke and I thought, "This is pretty incredible. Like, literally, incredible. I just met these people and now they're sharing about themselves (and I just shared about myself). And we're all grownups, with all kinds of hang ups about intimacy and embarrassment and shame and judgment and yet, here we are, sharing our mistakes and fears and inadequacies... Seriously, why are we all okay with this?"
And then I thought about the core practices of the zen center: You accept things as they are. You try really hard not to label things as good and bad. You meet people with compassion and you do what you can to support them to be their true selves.
And honestly, that's what I felt like after I spoke. Not so much that people were being all compassionate to me, but that what I shared was just what I shared. My words flowed out of me into the group and, like my thoughts, they just floated away. No one was holding on to them or using them to judge me. I'm not even sure what they were doing them or what I was doing with them. But that was all it was, people in a circle, talking.
I definitely remember relating to what people said, and learning from their experiences but I didn't attach their experiences to them. I just thought, "Oh, yeah, I hadn't thought about that," or, "Oh yeah, I totally do that too."
And then it was over, and it was time to bow and chant...
Day 17: 2 steps forward, 1 step, well, the staircase collapsed...
So, I kind of got shattered on Monday night. I was mentioning that in some ways, it's kind of comforting to know that though we can't control the world around us, we can control how we respond to it. A couple of people pointed out to me, in the gentlest way they could that, in fact, we can't really control that either. Our selves, our responses to this life, are equally affected by this world that we can't control.
This totally bummed me out- not so much that I can't control my response to this world but that this "thing" that I thought I had "figured out," this apparent basic tenet of this practice, was not true. And I was left totally confused and disheartened because I didn't know what to do about it. If this wasn't true, what else wasn't true? And, honestly, what did I know anymore? And, why bother knowing when what you think you know, you totally don't know?
Then I started worrying about this blog and what I was writing. Had I been misleading all 12 of you followers? (Ha, that's a joke to my lovely faithfuls... I know you're not reading this for advice on zen practice!). But I actually was kind of worried about what I was writing and if I was telling people things that weren't true.
But then I remembered all the times when I was just starting out and how helpful it was to hear about people struggling with practice. I remembered how encouraging it was to hear someone talk about something they experienced that I remembered experiencing; or to hear about something and not understand it at first, and then later totally get what they were talking about. And I realized that I'm kind of in the middle of something and that I'm always going to be in the middle of something. What I am understanding now is what I am understanding now. And at another point, this understanding will fall away too.
And that's when I realized that this isn't even a path. I want it to be a path. I want to make progress. I want to understand it, have it fit, to be at ease with it, master it, probably even control it. Being shattered tonight wasn't about not understanding, it was about feeling at the mercy of this practice, of this life.
And here's where my I bring in my experience as a surfer... Ha!
So, when you "wipe out" in surfing, when the wave controls you instead of you riding it, you often get shoved down underwater, kind of trapped in a world without oxygen. Your gut response is to swim to the surface, kick and paddle with all your might to escape this underwater world. But guess what happens when you do that? All that kicking and paddling uses up all the oxygen in your lungs and you run out of breath before you get to the surface. Guess what you're supposed to do? Just.. lay... still. When you lay still, you float to the surface. Your breath, that little reserve of oxygen in your lungs, acts like a flotation device and delivers you right where you need to be, effortlessly.
I can keep going with this parallel but I think it's pretty obvious. Darn it- this world is an ocean. It is so much bigger than I am. I can't control it, it has no beginning and no end, it is definitely not a path and the more I just float in it, let it cradle and throw me, the less time I'll spend being held down by it.
Now, how my lovely 8 foot surfboard fits into this analogy, I still have to figure out...
This totally bummed me out- not so much that I can't control my response to this world but that this "thing" that I thought I had "figured out," this apparent basic tenet of this practice, was not true. And I was left totally confused and disheartened because I didn't know what to do about it. If this wasn't true, what else wasn't true? And, honestly, what did I know anymore? And, why bother knowing when what you think you know, you totally don't know?
Then I started worrying about this blog and what I was writing. Had I been misleading all 12 of you followers? (Ha, that's a joke to my lovely faithfuls... I know you're not reading this for advice on zen practice!). But I actually was kind of worried about what I was writing and if I was telling people things that weren't true.
But then I remembered all the times when I was just starting out and how helpful it was to hear about people struggling with practice. I remembered how encouraging it was to hear someone talk about something they experienced that I remembered experiencing; or to hear about something and not understand it at first, and then later totally get what they were talking about. And I realized that I'm kind of in the middle of something and that I'm always going to be in the middle of something. What I am understanding now is what I am understanding now. And at another point, this understanding will fall away too.
And that's when I realized that this isn't even a path. I want it to be a path. I want to make progress. I want to understand it, have it fit, to be at ease with it, master it, probably even control it. Being shattered tonight wasn't about not understanding, it was about feeling at the mercy of this practice, of this life.
And here's where my I bring in my experience as a surfer... Ha!
So, when you "wipe out" in surfing, when the wave controls you instead of you riding it, you often get shoved down underwater, kind of trapped in a world without oxygen. Your gut response is to swim to the surface, kick and paddle with all your might to escape this underwater world. But guess what happens when you do that? All that kicking and paddling uses up all the oxygen in your lungs and you run out of breath before you get to the surface. Guess what you're supposed to do? Just.. lay... still. When you lay still, you float to the surface. Your breath, that little reserve of oxygen in your lungs, acts like a flotation device and delivers you right where you need to be, effortlessly.
I can keep going with this parallel but I think it's pretty obvious. Darn it- this world is an ocean. It is so much bigger than I am. I can't control it, it has no beginning and no end, it is definitely not a path and the more I just float in it, let it cradle and throw me, the less time I'll spend being held down by it.
Now, how my lovely 8 foot surfboard fits into this analogy, I still have to figure out...
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Day something: Sometimes this sucks
So, today was fine at school. I was mellow, the kids were great, I didn’t try to do too much and for some reason, Girl 1 decided to be honest with me this morning and then she participated in school and actually learned some things today.
But the last hour of my life sucked. And it feels like it sucked because I’m trying to be zen. And I’m sure that it “sucked” because I’m “trying” to be zen and that these are all “thoughts” and if I would just “let go” of them, all would be fine and I’d be enlightened. But right now, I’m kind of over it. I’m actually laughing at myself as I write this and I guess I’m not totally “over it” but I am kind of annoyed and tired of the whole thing.
Basically, it started when I tried to squeeze in starting a load of laundry before I rode my bike to the zendo. As I was checking my watch, I heard myself say “You’re trying to squeeze things in. You’re trying to do two things at once. You’re rushing, thinking you can control things.” But guess what, I totally got it done and made it to the zendo with plenty of time, so there.
Then instead of meditating in the zendo, I was thinking. I was composing blog posts, reminding myself to warn Girl 1 about lining up at the end of recess, considering whether or not I wanted to go out for dinner or stay home. Then I stopped myself, told myself that this was the one time of day that I could be free of my thoughts, tried counting my breath, asked myself those 5 questions, and tried really hard to just concentrate on opening my mind. I spent the entire time trying not to think and thinking. Then people started tiptoeing around for service so I tried one more time to stop thinking but instead just tried guessing who was doshi based on the sound of their tiptoes.
Then we did service, which I already don’t like. And I immediately made a mistake in bowing and got really pissed off. “This causes me such suffering- what am I doing here?” And that same lame voice said, “You are embracing your suffering. You are choosing to come to service to make peace with it.” And I thought, “Well then why the @#&* isn’t it getting better?”
Then we chanted, which I also hate. And I chanted with such passive aggressiveness you wouldn’t believe it. I was totally monotone and straight faced and I thought that anyone looking at me would think “Wow, she’s so sad and solemn. I wonder what’s going on?” Then I got all present again and listened to the voices in the room and realized that it was about them and not about me and I repeated in my head, “This is about everyone else in the room, not about you. Do what you can to support them.” And I’d say that was the most genuine thought I had.
When I got home I thought about why I was pissed and realized it was because I was trying so hard: to get the forms right in the zendo, to “not think,” to “be present.” I was “grasping” at things, wanting to “figure things out” doing everything except “letting go.” And then I said, “So what? What’s so wrong about wanting to figure things out? What’s bad about trying to save time? I’m a curious person who likes to make sense of things and the whole “time” thing is just a habit from my dad.” And then I thought, “This is good, you’re being compassionate with yourself, seeing yourself.”
And then I said, “Shut up. Enough with you. I’m going to eat my bagel chips, from a bag, as many as I want and not be present for them at all. And then I’m going to eat chocolate pudding and compose a blogpost and hope that lots of people read it and think it’s funny. I’m not going to stop myself from any of this. I’m just going to do it.”
And so, here I am. Hope you thought it was funny. Not going to give some resolution or neat happy ending.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Day 15: Getting Things Done
This weekend I was in Portland visiting old friends and meeting their new kids. I was noticing when I was and wasn’t being present for them, when I was just listening and when I was listening with my own agenda. I noticed, as I was making breakfast, that when I had to “get something done” (making chocolate chip scones) that I was less present for my friends. Basically, as I was cooking I was thinking, “Could you stop talking about yourself? I’m trying to bake here.”
And this made sense to me, of course I couldn’t focus on them, I was focused on getting the scones in the oven. But then I thought about what would have happened if I actually had stopped to be present for them, to listen to them. I realized that my stopping would have taken, in all honesty, a minute at best, five minutes at worst. And those scones would be cooked either way.
I actually have a choice when I feel like I need to “get things done.” I think that I often use this as an excuse or a rationale for not being present- that I’m allowed to get caught up in a task if there’s a deadline or an actual thing that needs to be made. But when I step back and look at the bigger picture, the reality of the situation, the delay that “being present” will cause is pretty small in relation to the stress, anxiety, or even just lack of presence of mind that comes as a result of letting myself get caught up in getting things done.
Day 14: Meditating In the Moment
I’ve always known about meditating in the zendo. I’ve known about meditating at home. I’ve thought about meditating before school starts or at recess, but this week, in class at the zen center, someone described how they had meditated in the moment.
This person had been involved in some less-than-compassionate emails with another person. Their initial response to the most recent scathing email was to shoot back a scathing response. Their second response was to send an email that sent the same message, but that was couched in more compassionate terms. Then they considered sending an actually compassionate email, one that really did “take the high road.” Instead, they got off the computer and meditated for 10 minutes.
I’ve definitely noticed myself reacting rather than responding to the kids this week, so I decided that when I felt myself doing that, I’d actually stop and meditate. Not sit down or face the wall, but just take a walk around the classroom, a mini-meditation to bring me back to the moment.
Or course, Girl 1 gave me the perfect opportunity to try this out. During Art she was walking around, bugging other kids, and then arguing with me when I was asking her to stop. I called her over to talk with her and she argued some more, acting like she didn’t know that it was not okay to grab someone’s pencil or bump their desk as she walked by. While I was talking to her about respecting personal space and listening, she stretched her foot toward the office chair I was sitting in, and pressed the button that lowers the chair.
I was livid: hello? Are we talking about personal space? Did you just stick your foot in my personal space and lower the chair? Are you really not listening to me while I’m talking to you about listening?
I shot up out of the chair and headed toward the color card chart to “teach her a lesson” by turning her card to yellow. But then I stopped and thought about what I had agreed to do. Instead I turned left and walked the perimeter of the classroom. Girl 1 watched me and as I walked past the card chart, I hoped that she was feeling uneasy and thinking about her choices. She wasn’t, or if she as, she wasn’t willing to admit it. When I got back, she was still in her defensive mode, acting like she didn’t know what I was talking about. But by that time, I was less angry and so I focused instead on telling her what she needed to do.
Taking the walk did not change Girl 1. She continued to argue with me and bug other kids. But taking a lap changed my interaction with her. Had I not taken the walk, she would have just been on yellow and sitting back in her seat. We both would have been disengaged from each other: she feeling hurt, rejected, and angry; me feeling like I was a bad teacher for reacting to her. Taking the walk gave me space to refocus on what I was doing and to see her as a little girl again.
Writing this days later I see even more clearly what was going on: she either is just being an eight year old and pushing the cool button on the chair or, more likely, has issues with personal space. She certainly wasn’t thinking what I was feeling, “Oooh, how can I annoy her? How can I do the opposite of what she wants me to do.” And what she needs from me is not disengagement, but interaction, instruction about what she is doing and how it affects others.
This clarity of thought is what Paul has been asking us to have as our first response to our situation. And he has been pointing out to us that meditation is what allows us to have the clarity of thought when we’re in the moment, instead of days later as we’re composing a blogpost. Today was a start and I’ll continue to try meditating in the moment. It didn’t fix everything or change Girl 1 but it did affect our moment together.
Day 13: Don't just DO something, SIT there...
Tonight in class, Paul (the abbot) cautioned us against confusing doing with being. He had mentioned this in an earlier dharma talk- pointing out the fact that as soon as you ask someone to meditate, they immediately want to "do" something: to sit, to put their hands in a certain position, etc. But in reality, what we need to do is just "be." He talked about this again tonight when he referred to a koan about a young monk and an old monk.
The young monk is meditating and when the old monk asks him what he is doing he says something to the effect of: "I'm sitting so that I can become a Buddha." The old monk then picks up a brick and starts scraping it on the ground. When the young monk asks him what he's doing he says something to the effect of: "I'm polishing a brick to make it in to a jewel."
When I first heard this koan, I thought that the old monk did this to point out the impossibility of polishing a brick in order to make it into a jewel; with the parallel lesson of the impossibility of becoming a Buddha by just sitting there. But then I thought, "That's really confusing. Isn't that what they're telling us to do? Meditate so that we develop the practice of responding to things instead of reacting to them? Of being present to what comes up? Of seeing the world just as it is? If sitting doesn't lead us to being a Buddha, then what does?" But after tonight, I think this koan is telling us other things.
First, I think it comes back to what I had blogged about earlier: the concept of having intentions instead of goals. You don't sit with a goal in mind that it will help you to become a buddha, because if you do, you will experience disappointment in the fact that you haven't reached your goal. You sit with the intention of developing a presence of mind that allows you to be more present, etc. But when you aren't more present, you don't evaluate your sitting or feel like you've failed, you just respond to it the same way you respond to the rest of your experience: see it just as it is.
But the other part of this is this thing about kind of embodying this practice rather than grasping at it. This is harder for me to articulate but I do think it's about being present instead of acting present. Paul used the example of walking into the zendo: that people walk into the zendo quietly, with certain forms, with this thought of "am I entering the zendo correctly?" or "look at me and how well I am entering the zendo." When in reality, you just enter the zendo. You do it in a way that doesn't disturb others and that allows you to come in and meditate.
When I think about the times that I am most present, it is often when I'm not actually trying to be present. It's those days when I don't know why things worked out, they just did. Now maybe they worked out because I wasn't thinking about them, because I didn't have expectations about them so I wasn't disappointed. But I kind of think these days show up when I've been pretty regular in my practice, meditating without really thinking about it, and being aware of maintaining my practice but in a way that I just am it instead of trying to attain it.
And I guess this all fits in with the first part of the class that Paul is teaching: Sila- supporting your practice. It seems like it only comes over time, with continued effort and a willingness to let go.
The young monk is meditating and when the old monk asks him what he is doing he says something to the effect of: "I'm sitting so that I can become a Buddha." The old monk then picks up a brick and starts scraping it on the ground. When the young monk asks him what he's doing he says something to the effect of: "I'm polishing a brick to make it in to a jewel."
When I first heard this koan, I thought that the old monk did this to point out the impossibility of polishing a brick in order to make it into a jewel; with the parallel lesson of the impossibility of becoming a Buddha by just sitting there. But then I thought, "That's really confusing. Isn't that what they're telling us to do? Meditate so that we develop the practice of responding to things instead of reacting to them? Of being present to what comes up? Of seeing the world just as it is? If sitting doesn't lead us to being a Buddha, then what does?" But after tonight, I think this koan is telling us other things.
First, I think it comes back to what I had blogged about earlier: the concept of having intentions instead of goals. You don't sit with a goal in mind that it will help you to become a buddha, because if you do, you will experience disappointment in the fact that you haven't reached your goal. You sit with the intention of developing a presence of mind that allows you to be more present, etc. But when you aren't more present, you don't evaluate your sitting or feel like you've failed, you just respond to it the same way you respond to the rest of your experience: see it just as it is.
But the other part of this is this thing about kind of embodying this practice rather than grasping at it. This is harder for me to articulate but I do think it's about being present instead of acting present. Paul used the example of walking into the zendo: that people walk into the zendo quietly, with certain forms, with this thought of "am I entering the zendo correctly?" or "look at me and how well I am entering the zendo." When in reality, you just enter the zendo. You do it in a way that doesn't disturb others and that allows you to come in and meditate.
When I think about the times that I am most present, it is often when I'm not actually trying to be present. It's those days when I don't know why things worked out, they just did. Now maybe they worked out because I wasn't thinking about them, because I didn't have expectations about them so I wasn't disappointed. But I kind of think these days show up when I've been pretty regular in my practice, meditating without really thinking about it, and being aware of maintaining my practice but in a way that I just am it instead of trying to attain it.
And I guess this all fits in with the first part of the class that Paul is teaching: Sila- supporting your practice. It seems like it only comes over time, with continued effort and a willingness to let go.
Day 12: Thinking about thinking
I had mentioned in an earlier post that as things got more stressful for me, I was clinging more to my thoughts, actually believing that they would help improve my situation: "if I could just do this" or "once this is in place then...." But in reality, things only became less stressful for me when I finally decided that the most important thing to do was to do what would support my practice: go to sleep on time.
But later, once I actually was relaxed and not so caught up in my thoughts, I thought about those thoughts and realized that some of them were helpful. I discovered that if I entered the kids info online ahead of time, I could do their paperwork on the plane (where there was no internet access). I had also come up with a progression of lessons that I thought would help my struggling kids develop their number sense. This got me thinking about thinking and whether or not there is a place for thought in zen practice.
Looking at the situation I just described, I can see where an experienced zen person would say, "Yes, those thoughts appear to be helping you. You feel more organized and in control. But that is because you are operating in the conext of a delusion that organization and planning will allow you to control the future and that this will allow you to experience less suffering. These are delusions and will only lead to greater suffering." Conceptually speaking, I agree with the experienced zen person. But part of me also feels like thoughts like these won't necessarily lead to greater suffering. At first I thought that it was the kind of thoughts that I was having: productive thoughts or thoughts that lead to greater awareness of my self or the situation seemed okay because they weren't "worried" thoughts or "stressful" thoughts.. But now I'm beginning to think that it's actually the context in which I place these thoughts.
Many of the thoughts I had this week did bring me suffering. When I believed that getting certain things done would allow me to avoid extra work or uncomfortable situations, I simply experienced more stress, constantly attempting to change things that really were out of my control. But when I was thinking about organizing for my trip, it was more in the context of what made sense, of responding to the reality of the situation: internet at home but not on the plane. I'm still thinking about this one but right now it feels like there actually might be a place for thought or reflection in this practice, as long as its in the context of what it is: an awareness of the situation and a response to it rather than a practice of being caught up in thoughts or believing that they have the power to change things.
But later, once I actually was relaxed and not so caught up in my thoughts, I thought about those thoughts and realized that some of them were helpful. I discovered that if I entered the kids info online ahead of time, I could do their paperwork on the plane (where there was no internet access). I had also come up with a progression of lessons that I thought would help my struggling kids develop their number sense. This got me thinking about thinking and whether or not there is a place for thought in zen practice.
Looking at the situation I just described, I can see where an experienced zen person would say, "Yes, those thoughts appear to be helping you. You feel more organized and in control. But that is because you are operating in the conext of a delusion that organization and planning will allow you to control the future and that this will allow you to experience less suffering. These are delusions and will only lead to greater suffering." Conceptually speaking, I agree with the experienced zen person. But part of me also feels like thoughts like these won't necessarily lead to greater suffering. At first I thought that it was the kind of thoughts that I was having: productive thoughts or thoughts that lead to greater awareness of my self or the situation seemed okay because they weren't "worried" thoughts or "stressful" thoughts.. But now I'm beginning to think that it's actually the context in which I place these thoughts.
Many of the thoughts I had this week did bring me suffering. When I believed that getting certain things done would allow me to avoid extra work or uncomfortable situations, I simply experienced more stress, constantly attempting to change things that really were out of my control. But when I was thinking about organizing for my trip, it was more in the context of what made sense, of responding to the reality of the situation: internet at home but not on the plane. I'm still thinking about this one but right now it feels like there actually might be a place for thought or reflection in this practice, as long as its in the context of what it is: an awareness of the situation and a response to it rather than a practice of being caught up in thoughts or believing that they have the power to change things.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Day 11: Sila- supporting your practice
As part of my participation in the practice period, I’m taking a class with Paul Haller, the abbot of the zen center. The class that I’m taking is focused around what you can do to support yourself to practice what you do at the zen center in your everyday life. In class on Thursday, Paul talked about Sila: things that you do to help promote your practice, that help you to be present when you’re out there in the world. He asked us questions like: are you getting enough sleep? How do you feel when you exercise? How do you feel when you eat a lot? How do you feel when you eat a little? What tasks do you do that leave you feeling mentally exhausted? What tasks do you do that leave you feeling mentally invigorated?
I left class thinking about the answers to these questions; aware that I feel better when I exercise and that, even though I love the thought of a big meal, I actually do feel better when I eat only what I’m hungry for. I also realized that I am mentally exhausted when I try to control the kids. I feel invigorated when I plan lessons that are interesting, and when I sit back and just enjoy the kids for being kids. This focus, this awareness of supporting my practice lasted through Saturday evening, when I was all “present” at a bar in the Mission instead of thinking and worrying. But for some reason, Sunday rolled around and I got all caught up in my thoughts again. I think it may have been the extra free time or maybe it was just Monday, looming, as a reminder that “things weren’t done.”
All day Sunday, part of yesterday, and all of today until the last half hour, I’ve been totally caught up in my thoughts. I’ve been worried about parent- teacher conferences, about planning this week and next week ahead of time so that I feel like everything is in place before I fly to Portland to visit friends this weekend, and I’ve been trying every which way that I can to both totally finish and completely avoid writing the kids’ report cards (which are due on Tuesday). I spent zazen this morning planning a math intervention for Boy and Girl 1 and I spent zazen this afternoon problem solving so that I can finish the report cards at the airport without having to lug all the kids’ work to Portland with me.
It’s been interesting to see how much I am clinging to my thoughts as I am experiencing more stress. I am fully aware of how much time I am spending with them and how much power I am giving them. I am cognitively aware that they can’t help me, but I’m totally hanging out with them anyway. They’re totally causing me suffering but I’m holding on to them for dear life, believing that they’re going to make things better.
But then I stopped and thought about the suffering that I was experiencing and decided to get closer to it, to feel it. I imagined the worst that would happen: I might not finish the report cards on time and would have to print them myself (instead of the district doing it for me). I imagined the parent teacher conferences and realized that they would be fine. In some ways, I’ve been preparing for conferences all year long, getting to know the kids both academically and socially. And then I thought about what Paul had said: Do what you need to support your practice. What do I need? Sleep. I need to be in bed, reading, winding down by 9 so that I can get up at 5. I don’t need to enter all their information into the database so that I can work on the report cards in Oregon. I can try, I can enter some of it, but when 9 rolls around, I need to stop. I need to let go of my belief that one thing will lead to another and just take care of the things that support me: sleep. And, unfortunately, I’m 45 minutes past that right now so….
Day 10: Stopping happiness
Last night at Young Urban Zen the conversation turned toward “stopping:” stopping in the moment, stopping to take a breath, stopping thoughts, even an acronym based on STOP (as I remember it, it was: Stop what you’re doing, Take a breath, Observe the situation, Proceed with awareness). I definitely have gotten better at stopping, or pausing, and stepping back to see the situation for what it is. But I only do this in times of anxiety or anger, when I feel myself tensing up. I do it to avoid yelling at the kids, to avoid losing control, to avoid suffering. I never do this when I’m feeling happy or successful. When I have a good day, I relish it, reenact it, congratulate myself for it, analyze it, and often use it as an indicator of my future success.
Last night when I realized this inconsistency in my practice I thought, “Well, that’s something I should probably work on; but really, I have no interest in changing this habit. I’m totally fine getting ‘caught up in’ or ‘controlled by’ my happiness.” There was a moment when I remembered how much suffering I experienced when I had gotten caught up in delusions, so I thought that there might be a problem with the expectations I created by relishing my happiness. But then I imagined myself stepping back and taking a breath when Girl 1 was smiling and getting her work done and I thought, “What? No way. Why would I do that?”
Did I mention that Tuesdays suck in my classroom? Today is Tuesday. Today sucked. Well, it didn’t totally suck but I raised my voice, got impatient with the kids, and reacted instead of responded to them. Why did I do this? Because things weren’t going according to plan. Where did that ‘plan’ come from? It came from my head, on Monday afternoon, when I was reflecting on how great my day went.
See yesterday, I was feeling like I was all that; like I was teacher of the year, like some parent was gonna nominate me for most inspiring teacher because I had somehow managed to get Girl 1 to control her anger, finish all of her work, and smile and hug me all day long. And now today I feel awful. I’m upset with myself for losing control, I’m perceiving the kids as being totally unfocused, and I’m annoyed with Girl 1 for not being so sweet and wonderful like she was yesterday when I was patient with her.
So that relishing that I had, that self- congratulation, that analysis and ultimate belief that I actually could control the situation, just lead to disappointment today. I don’t think that I should have ignored yesterday’s “success.” I think there are things to learn from how well yesterday went but I think it has to stop there. When I relive my happiness, when I spin it over and over in my head, I think it becomes bigger than it actually was, and is starts to affect my perception of reality. I think I’m going to have to mull this over for a while but I also think I’m going to try to just experience the happiness as it comes and then let it go too.
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