We ALL are f*#ed up…

I know, that seems like a mean way to start a blogpost but I don’t mean it in a mean way. And I’m writing this blogpost not to point out how f…ed up we are; but to point out that what we think of as f…ed up, is actually the human condition. I’m not being pessimistic here, I’m being realistic and asking you to reframe what you think is so f..ed up about yourself.

Here’s the deal: things happen, to people, and they experience some stuff and develop some habits as a result. It’s just the way life is. But when we fear this stuff or hide it from others, it develops its own identity and can create a wall between ourselves and the people around us who, if we’d show them our stuff, would probably love us anyway (at least that’s my theory).

In Young Urban Zen, we’ve been talking about people giving ‘way seeking mind’ talks. I think this ‘talk’ is different for each person, but it seems to be mostly about either what brought you to the zen center or how zen practice plays out in your every day life.

I thought about giving a ‘way seeking mind’ talk. I even started to practice saying it, but every time I did, I started crying. I thought to myself, “There is no way that I can give this talk. I can’t even say it at home without crying- no way am I going to say it in front of a bunch of people and make them cry.” I thought I would put a damper on the room, I thought my talk would be too depressing, and honestly, I got kind of scared. I thought that people wouldn’t like me anymore. I thought that people would not know what to say to me or would feel awkward around me. I even thought they would think, “Hey, what happened to that fun girl? I’m not so sure about this one that’s all tragic.”  

And then I thought about the other way seeking mind talks that I had heard at the zen center. I started to compare their ‘tragedies’ with mine. (I know, this seems like a really bad idea, but in the end, it was what made me realize that we all are f..ed up). But when I started to do this I said to myself, “Really? Do you really think that what happened to you is so incredibly tragic? Do you think that you’re the only one who has experienced suffering?” And it turns out I’m not. Everyone experiences suffering of one kind or another and it isn’t about the degree or type of suffering. Honestly, it isn’t really about anything except that we all experience it. 

But then I realized some other things. I thought about how I felt about the people who gave their talks. Their talks, their stories of their lives, didn’t change my opinion of them, they just helped me to see how zen practice plays out in life. I didn’t suddenly see them in a different light, I often just gained a new perspective on how one person sees or experiences things in their life. Sharing your suffering doesn’t make people judge you or stop liking you, it just brings it out in the open so that others can see that we’ve all experienced some s@#$.

I also realized that our ‘stuff’ is kind of our stuff, and kind of not. Life happens, and it happens to us. We don’t always choose to have this stuff happen, sometimes it just happens. But when we start to own it and identify with it, we suddenly start to think that it’s all there is to us. And it is, it’s a big part of us, but it’s not all of us, and sometimes, it can be what makes us beautiful and real.

And I then I finally thought about my own so-called-tragedy. I realized that it’s not so much a tragedy, it’s just what happens in life sometimes. It’s real, and I need to acknowledge and experience the suffering it caused me because at the time that it happened, I didn’t acknowledge it at all and that has caused me more suffering than the actual thing itself. But still, it just is. It’s not me, it’s not more sad than others, it just is, it’s part of who I am.

And honestly, that part of you that you think is so f..ed up, that if you told anyone about it they would immediately reject you, isn’t.  It isn’t! You’re not f..ed up, you’re just human and us humans, we’re all f..ed up. So really, by comparison, no one is f..ed up, we’re all just here.

Famous last words

Those of you who follow this blog know that, a couple of months ago, the back wheel of my bike was  stolen while I was in the zendo at 5 in the morning. I wrote a blogpost about it mostly so that other bikers wouldn't suffer the same fate. In that blogpost I advised: "If it's not locked, it's likely to get stolen." And this morning, I got proof of that, in good ways and bad.
As I walked out of the zendo this morning, I noticed that the one thing that I hadn't locked on my bike was missing: my seat. Now, I had actually tried to lock my seat with a seat leash after my wheel was stolen but I couldn't get the screw undone to attach the leash and I figured, if they didn't steal it the first time, they wouldn't steal it again. Clearly, I was wrong.
I have to admit that I laughed when I saw that my seat was missing. It was pretty funny. It really was the one thing I hadn't locked and I wondered if the people who had stolen my wheel were assembling a bike of stolen pieces. I thought that maybe they finally had a seat and so someone now had a complete Christmas present of a new bike (well, new to them at least). But then I remembered that Christmas was two days ago and really, this was just about me not having a seat because someone stole it.
And then I noticed how nice it was that the things that were locked were still there. It made me feel like I had some control over the situation. And I also noticed that having your seat stolen is way better than having your wheel stolen because you can still ride your bike.
So I decided that I would go back to Avenue Cyclery today to buy a new seat and that I would ask them to install my seat leash so that it doesn't get stolen again. I also started to think of ways to avoid this in the future. I considered asking if I could keep my bike in the building, considered locking it in a different place, etc. And then I thought, "Hmmm, am I avoiding my suffering? Aren't I supposed to embrace it?" But then I thought, "Ya know, I think I'm pretty intimate with this suffering now. We've hugged a couple times, I'm familiar with the contour of this suffering's body, I don't need to hold on to it anymore."
So, I'm off to get a new seat and scope out a bunch of places where I can lock my bike so that I can rotate it around so it's not such a sitting duck. Part of me is a little worried about moving it somewhere new. I feel like I know the people who steal it from its current spot- they're kinda lazy and won't steal things that are actually locked. Maybe if I move it somewhere else I'll be showing it off to someone with lock cutters who'll take the whole bike. I guess that would be a whole new kind of suffering and I'm not really interested in embracing that.
In the meantime guys, lock your bike- all of it!

Competitive bowing

I never thought it would happen. Actually, I never thought I would even bow, but still... (For those of you reading who don't come to the zen center, when I say 'bow' I'm referring to that really supplicant bow: that one where you're on your knees on the floor and even your forehead is on the floor in front of you. I think it's referred to as a 'full prostration.').
I had heard people talking about their bows, discussing who could kneel and pop back up without using their hands, who was more stiff and rigid, who was more loose, etc. I thought it was ridiculous. I mean first of all- dude, you're bowing! It's 2011 in San Francisco the most individualistic, free thinking, 'screw the man' place in the world and you're bowing?
Secondly, at the time, I thought the whole point of bowing was showing humility, deferring to a 'higher being,' saying basically, 'you are great and I am just a little person, bowing in deference.' Being competitive about this, being a 'better bower' seemed totally counter intuitive to the act itself.
But a couple of weeks ago, at a Wednesday night Dharma talk, I found myself bowing and thinking, "Well hey, look at that! I can go from upright to totally flat without using my hands. And check me out, I can get right back up to standing from that same position. I don't even have to take a step or steady myself. I am, literally, 'rocking' my bow: no hands, no stepping, just one smooth motion down and one smooth motion back up again."
I watched the people around me who were using their hands or taking a step back to get up again and yes, I admit it, of the ones who looked physically able to do it without using their hands, I actually thought: "Wimps." Gasp!
But, I also thought, "Hey, shut up, they're bowing. They're doing what they need to do to show their respect. It's not about how well you do it or what you need to do it, it's about doing it."
But I still felt pretty cool that I could do it in one smooth motion without using my hands.
And then, a week later, I was at afternoon service in the zendo. I was doing my smooth 'rocking' bow, feeling all good, until I rocked it a little too hard. As I was leaning back on my feet to get up again, I rocked back too far and started to fall on my butt. Fortunately, I had my hands there to catch me and I pushed myself back up to standing.
I was pretty embarrassed, not at my bow, but at my foolishness. I was so caught up in 'getting it right' that I had totally missed the point. I still don't actually know the point of bowing, but I know it's not about being 'better' at it than others and it certainly isn't about getting so caught up in it that you're judging the people around you.

Warning: Do NOT attempt this at home

So, I've been figuring some stuff out about myself this week. And in doing that, I'm starting to see what I could do if I want things to get better in this area. While I was thinking about this I thought, "Oh, I could start right now, at home, with my family."
And then I thought, "Are you kidding me? That's the worst idea ever! Why would you try this in the place where you have the most history, where you're most afraid of falling back into the same patterns that you developed in the first place!"
And of course, I started telling myself this: "You know that if you do this with this family member, they're going to do that. And if you say this to this family member, they're going to say that," and on and on. I just knew exactly what was going to happen, I was sure of it.
And then I thought, "Hold on a minute. What about 'beginner's mind'? What about 'not knowing'? What about going in to a situation without expectations?"
And so I pictured myself, trying something with a family member without being sure what they would do, just trying with them. And I thought that maybe, just maybe, they might do something different. Maybe the behaviors that I'm so sure of, are actually really old behaviors and they're only sticking around because I'm holding on to them. Maybe, if I would just let the person actually do what they do without fitting it into what I've already decided they would do, that habit of our interactions might just go away.
And then I thought about having no expectations of my family. Of not going in with wants or needs or deciding what they're going to say before they speak and I thought " If I'm not expecting anything from them, I think we'd all feel a whole lot more at ease."
Now, I have to tell you, that I did NOT do this at home. I did NOT practice this with my family. I was present for my family this weekend and that helped. But this particular thing that I'm noticing about myself is still too vulnerable and I'm still too afraid of it going back into hiding if I fail at working it out that I'm not willing to try it with my family yet. I just might try it with people who don't know me first.
But who knows, maybe one of you is brave enough to try it with your family. And maybe I'll be brave enough to at least go into my next interaction with my family without expectations, without 'knowing' what they're going to do.

Buddhist chants- they're like Christmas carols... kinda

I was at the symphony last night with my dad. When we got to the sing-along part, the woman next to me struggled to find the lyrics in her program. I leaned closer to her, placed my book in front of her, and then pointed to the page number in the corner.
Bam! I had a flashback : I was immediately transported to my first morning service in the Buddha hall when some lovely practitioner pointed to the page numbers in the chant book so that I could find the page and chant along. And I thought, "Oh, chanting at the zen center is like singing at the symphony! Well, kind of...."
So then I started listening to the lyrics of the Christmas carols and it was all about how great Christ is and how much we should appreciate the time we have together and that even though we have struggles, we'll make it through somehow and how you better be good for goodness sake (no goals, no attainment!)... Hmmmm, I thought, this sounds awfully familiar...
But then I thought about chanting at the zen center and how it's all monotone and makes you feel like a drone, like you're giving up yourself. "Darn it!" I thought as I heard myself say 'giving up your self.' "Chanting must be practice in giving up the self! All that starting and stopping together, all that moderating your tone and rhythm and timing to match the drum and those around you, that's all practice in giving up all those thoughts you have and just giving in to what's in front of you."
So then I pictured us singing the chants together at the same time. I mean, wouldn't that be giving up the self if we're doing it all at once, together? And then I thought about melody and highs and lows and tempo and adiago and lento (forgive my musical terms) and I thought, "Nope, zen center wouldn't go for that. Too much getting 'carried away' with extremes, not so much 'middle way' there..."
But then I thought about the people around me at the symphony- how we actually were total strangers, singing together. And I thought about being together and how 'giving up the self' is also about joining with others (which, is something, I have issues with. But still, giving up the self feels a little better when it means joining with others. And joining with others seems a little less daunting when I realize that it's just about removing all those boundaries I create when I cling so much to keeping my self).
And I think it changed my perception of chanting in the zendo. It's definitely not singing and it really isn't Christmas carols. But it is being with others, in the same way that sitting, staring at a wall, and not speaking with each other is being with others.
Some day, though, I totally wanna bust out in some melodic version of the Avalokiteshvara one, complete with interpretive bowing. Oooh, and the Ino is out of town....

Family and the holidays: extra oxygen required...

This week, I worked in my classroom for a bit. I went in without any expectations of how much work I would get done. Once I got there, I did create an idea in my head of what needed to "get done" and I made sure that those things got done first. As I was leaving to meet a friend, I looked around at my classroom in disarray and started to worry about how much more needed to get done before school starts. But then I asked myself, "Did you get done what needed to get done?" and "Did you do it well?" The answer to both those questions was yes, and so I was able to walk away from my classroom and let go of its apparent disarray and "not ready" ness.
As I was walking away I thought, "Well that was nice. I wish I could do that with people too."
And then I started thinking about people in my life that I grasp at, or with whom I have difficult interactions and I thought, "Hmmm, I wonder if I did with them what 'needed to get done' and if I did that 'well' then maybe I'd be able to let go of the stuff that kind of stiffens my relationship with them, that blocks me from seeing our genuine interaction."
It was hard to figure out what 'needed to get done' with people. It also felt weird to think of my interactions with people in that way- in terms of 'getting things done,' like they're a task or something that I need to do.  But today, as I was emailing my dad, I noticed that I was just 'typing an email' to him. I was definitely composing it but I noticed that I was composing it in a way that was attempting to control our interaction together.
This didn't feel like I was "doing it well" so I stepped back and thought about what I actually wanted to say to my dad, not what I could do to coordinate our time together this evening. And what I wanted to say was "Thank you for getting tickets for us. It will be nice to listen to holiday music together. I'm looking forward to spending time with you."
I didn't type that exactly. I edited it because, well, I'm still working on things like this. But I did thank him for getting the tickets, mentioned how excited I was about hearing holiday music, and confirmed what time we would meet.
It's a start, but I also think it's something to think about as we enter a weekend filled with scarily open and abundant amounts of time with those people with whom we have so much history. Good thing I've been running this week; I should have the lung capacity for the number of deep breaths I'll need to keep stepping back and seeing myself and the person in front of me for who we are.

Figuring out people

Honestly, this post probably doesn’t relate to anyone else ’s experience but I’m posting it anyway. I guess this one is for me, not so much for others.

During sesshin, Paul said (or maybe he quoted) this: “If you’re trying to figure it out, you’re already separate from it…” At the time, it made me think about the blog and whether or not I should be writing it. But this morning when I thought about it, I thought about people.

Basically, I had been trying to figure someone out. I had been thinking about how to get them to like me. I was thinking about how to cultivate a secure relationship with them: a guaranteed, ongoing, consistently pleasant experience between the two of us. Yes, I see now how ridiculous of a request this is, but it’s what I was thinking.

But because I was thinking it during zazen I told myself, ‘that’s a thought’ and then thought about why I was thinking it. In doing this, I realized that I was trying to figure things out between me and this person. And then Paul’s quote popped back into my head: “If you’re trying to figure it out, you’re already separate from it.”

Now, to me, Paul’s quote is saying that in trying to figure things out, you’re creating a separation between yourself and the practice. When actually, you already are the practice, you’ve got a natural inclination to be present and awake. When you try to grasp at the practice or do it a certain way, you start to create things that actually block you from being this naturally awake person.

So then I thought about this person, and people in general, and I thought, “Oh wait, we’re already  connected to others. We’re not actually separate from each other.  This person is already here, right next to me.” And that’s what I pictured in my head: the person, sitting right next to me. And I looked at them and I said, “Oh, you’re here.” And they said ,”Yeah, I’ve been here all along, where were you?” and I didn’t have an answer, I just looked down at my hands and they went back to what they were doing, which was just sitting there.

And I thought about trying to figure them out and how unfair it was. How I was trying to fit them and our relationship into some certain box or category and in doing this, I was creating a wall between us, blocking any interaction we might have, not seeing the person who was right in front of me while at the same time, trying desperately to get them to come over to me.  

And then I thought about it some more and at first, I felt pretty great. I smiled at this person and gave them a sideways hug and felt how nice it was to have a loosening around this thing that has been such a struggle for me. But then this person was still there, just sitting next to me, doing their thing. And I thought, “Hey! We’re connected, how come you’re just sitting there, doing your thing?”

And then I realized two things:

All we are is connected. Connected doesn’t necessarily mean pleasant or nice or even secure, it just means that that person, with all their stuff, is right next to you.

I need to just accept that we are connected, not use this realization that we’re connected as a way to become more intimate with this person or to think that if I just let go and accept our connection that I will guarantee continued intimacy with this person.  It just is, we’re just connected, it’s a fact, it’s not going to be good or bad, secure or insecure, it just is.

So that’s where I am, connected to this person.  And when I see this person next, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can’t say that I like that fact, but I’m going to try to be present for it, present for myself in my interactions with this person and present for the person in front of me.   

On vacation, permanently.

This morning I was thinking about how relaxed I've been this weekend, how aware I've been of myself, how I've even been able to catch myself judging or "knowing" something in time to take a deep breath and just listen instead of inserting my own agenda into the conversation. It felt like instead of "working" to put my practice into place, I was just kind of "living" it.
And I thought "Well yeah, it's 'cause you're on vacation. You're not thinking about getting to school on time, planning the homework and lessons for next week, worrying about the day ahead of you." I thought how nice it would be if I could be like this all the time: relaxed, present, open to the world in front of me. And I thought about sesshin and Tassajara and wondered if that's why the zen center has those places and structures set up, to give people that place in which, free from the stresses of every day life, they can focus on their practice and begin to embody it rather than struggle to practice with it.
But then I thought again about why I was so present and relaxed: it was because I wasn't thinking about getting to school on time, I wasn't planning the homework and lessons for next week, I wasn't worrying about the day in front of me. And I thought "Oh, it's the lack of thinking, planning, and worrying that's making me feel this way, not the fact that I'm on vacation. If I want to be on vacation, I just need to stop thinking, planning, and worrying."
Now, I'm not saying that I'm suddenly going to stop thinking, planning, and worrying and I'm certainly not negating the fact that it's a whole lot easier to not think, plan, and worry when you're on vacation. But still, this is a choice. Honestly, if I really do want to be on vacation: relaxed, present, open to the world around me, I just need to stop thinking, planning, and worrying. It's not the classroom, it's not the time, it's not this world around me, it's what I do with it, how I choose to spend my time in it.

Could you just tell me how to do this, please?!

A friend of mine loaned me a “zen” comic book this weekend. It was super cool. It took many of the basic teachings of zen and placed them in this little compact succession of ideas that, though they weren’t simplified, were kind of pared down to the essence of the teaching. As I read the strips of stories I had heard before, it was like this little “aha” went off in my head when I saw them in visual form. In the introduction, the translator of the books (they were originally written in Chinese) describes, among other things, the common practice in zen of teaching without words.

I have to admit that if there is one thing that has frustrated me most about this practice, it is the fact that no one will tell me how to do things. Every time I ask, I am either told to just do it (and not worry so much about whether or not you’re doing it right) or I’m given cryptic instructions that usually involve doing two things that are mutually impossible: have a goal, but don’t try to reach it; focus on your breath, but try not think so much about your breathing.   

This. Pissed.  Me. Off. Especially the people who just plain old wouldn’t tell me what to do. They were often the most senior people in the practice and I just thought it was completely unfair. Here they were with all this knowledge and they wouldn’t share it.

But this morning, as I was sitting zazen, and even as I write this post, I’m beginning to understand what they’re doing. They’re teaching without words. And why are they teaching without words?  you ask. Because words are thoughts, words are explanations, words are interpretations, words are our selves trying to label things, words add on to the essence of something, words change something from its actual existence to an interpretation of that existence. If you’re really practicing zen, if you really want to teach someone about zen, you can’t use words because when you do, you’re immediately doing what zen teaches not to do: think, interpret, add on to something instead of letting it be what it is.

Part of the reason I was thinking about this was because I was doorwatch this morning. As I was being doorwatch, questions came up for me about which door to open, when to turn off the light, etc. and I considered asking my friends who had done the job before, what to do in that situation. But then instead, I thought about the job that I was doing right now: was the door open enough for people to get in and out during kinhin? was the light on so that people could get their stuff? And I realized, that in doing this, in noticing my job as I was doing it, I was learning how to do it.

So when those senior people were telling me to just do it, they were telling me to do just that- actually do my job and notice what’s going on while I’m doing my job. If they had actually told me what to do, I’d be thinking about whether or not I was matching what they had told me to do, instead of being open to the job in front of me and being present for what was happening with it. They’re pushing me to actually practice zen when they refuse to tell me what to do (either that or they just totally enjoy watching me get frustrated…)

And then, because I’m a teacher, I thought about how this fits with my classroom. I thought about how much the kids learn when I tell them what to do, and how much more they learn when they  do what I’ve taught them. I thought about how often I tell them to just try it, and how scary that can be for them.  And I realize that this really is true. We learn by doing, by trying and noticing what we experience in the situation.

It’s not a complete parallel between what the practitioners at the zen center are doing with me and what I’m doing with the kids. In teaching the kids, I actually am interpreting things for them and for now, that feels totally right. I’m not teaching them to be present or to free their mind of thoughts, I’m teaching them about the fact that in decimals, tenths are bigger than hundredths and they need me to explain that distinction to them.

But it was still interesting for me to see that there’s a reason no one will tell me what to do. They’re respecting the practice, they’re upholding it, they’re actually practicing it and by not telling me what to do, they’re inviting me to hop on their boat and ride along with them.

Will I ever "master" this?

So, I’ve been trying this whole “being present” thing and “not thinking” thing and it’s pretty exhausting. It’s like I’m constantly stopping myself and taking a breath, constantly noticing that I’m thinking, constantly refocusing on the mundane task in front of me. While I was doing this this morning, I thought, “Man, when will this ever end? Seriously, is this how I’m going to spend my time from now on: noticing, refocusing, breathing? Won’t there come a point at which I, like, master this and can just relax and be done with it?”

And then I listened to myself and I thought, “Oh, you know why this is causing you suffering? It’s because you think there’s an end to this. It’s your concept of a beginning middle and end that’s making you feel like you’re never going to get there. You see yourself on a path like there is a path, like there is an end and because you see yourself on a path, you’re evaluating your practice as “not there yet” and your effort as something that seems to “get you nowhere.”  

So then I tried to see what I was doing within the concept of zen: being in the middle of things, being present in the moment, experiencing what’s in front of you, right as it happens.  And according to that, I’m “there” already.  Constantly noticing what’s in front of me, stopping in the moment to refocus on my breath, being aware of my thoughts ALL THE TIME, darn it, that’s actually practicing zen.

I’m not saying that I like practicing zen, but at least now, when I’m doing it, it doesn’t feel like I’m not doing it. Seeing “it’s never going to be done” as a bad thing, that’s something I need to let go of. I need to see “never going to be done” as “being in the middle of things” and know that when I feel that way, I’m actually practicing what I’ve been trying so hard to practice.