Do you ever wonder, when you're hoping to "meet" somebody, whether you should just "let the universe" present love to you or whether you're supposed to go out and get it? Me too! I don't have the answer, but I had an interesting encounter with it this weekend.
On Friday night, I went to the Bookswap at the Booksmith. The Bookswap is kind of my favorite thing ever. If they had invented it while I was in high school, I think I might have actually met guys and gone on dates like the rest of the world. The Bookswap is kind of like speed dating for people who love books and words and ideas except that it's not super fast, it's not superficial, and you go home with a book.
In a nutshell, people bring their favorite book on a theme, sit at a table and talk about that book, switch to a couple more tables (meanwhile actually meeting and talking with people about their books) and end the night swapping the book they brought for a new book in a white-elephant-style competitive brawl.
I'm never late for the Bookswap. I'm also never early for the Bookswap: it scares me to get to things early, I never know what to do with all that space and people and potential for conversations in which I might not have anything to say. But this night, I was late and I knew it. As soon as I got in the store, I walked straight up to the counter to get my name tag. As I put my book down, this guy pointed to it, looked straight at me and said how much he absolutely "loved that book."
"Oh really?" I said, and then turned and walked toward the back of the store, totally focused
on getting to the bookswap as fast as I could since I was "late." As I was walking I thought to myself, "He was kind of cute. He had really sweet eyes and he was actually engaging when he spoke. He was genuinely talking to you. And now you are... Walking away from him. Hmmmmm." But then I thought, "Whatever, he's just buying a book and leaving. Let it go. It was just an encounter." And I did, I went to the Bookswap, saw a bunch of my friends, and started catching up with them. After a few minutes, it was time to go to our tables, and I did. I heard about some cool books and then it was time to rotate. I stopped by the "snack" table for more cheese and chocolate and guess who was also filling his plate? Yep, the guy.
I thought fast. I started making jokes about something with my friend, jokes about general life, hoping he'd hear them and relate and join in our conversation. He didn't. Then I just hoped he'd end up at my table. He didn't do that either. So, I let it go and just continued to enjoy the evening.
But then, right before he left, he came up to me again and said, "That book was the most influential book in my writing career."
"Really?" I asked. (I know, I need to work on this)
"Yes," he replied and then said, "And the ending..." and gave me a knowing smile.
Now, here's the thing. I brought Cider House Rules by John Irving as my book. I haven't read it in ten years so I actually don't remember how it ended. But here was this guy, apparently wanting to share his love for this book with me and I wanted that too so I said something like, "I know, it was..."
And he replied with some great response that I don't remember and I felt kind of bad. I had basically pretended to connect with him around the ending when I really had no recollection of it at all. But I also felt kind of good. I liked this guy, he seemed genuine and honest and I think he kind of liked me, or at least liked my book.
And then I watched him walk away. And then I watched him walk to another table, and approach another person and talk with them with the same apparent intimacy. And then I watched him walk to another table and do the same thing. And at first I was kind of sad, and then I just laughed and I thought, "That guy actually is a sincere and genuine guy and your book really was influential in his writing career and that is all. Maybe he likes you, maybe he doesn't, it's really not about that. It's about being present for the interaction when it happens and then letting it go, letting it just be what it was."
The next morning, I told my room mate about my interaction with the guy.
"He was totally interested in you!" he said. "Or, he was gay. A gay guy would totally connect with a girl over a book and not think twice about it. Was he cute?" This is my room mate's way of cashing in on all the gay guys that I am attracted to because he is gay himself so he can date them.
"Super cute," I responded. And then we attempted to determine his sexual orientation...
But after that, I started to think. Maybe I should talk to the owners of the Booksmith, hint around my interest in him, find out if he's married, see if they could set us up. I even started to google him, and then I stopped. "This feels like grasping," I thought. "This feels like trying to control. This feels like I'm trying to make things happen instead of letting them be." And it's true, it was.
But then I thought, "But what am I supposed to do here? Just let this go?" But that kind of felt like not being present either. And then I remembered how I had responded when I first walked in to the Bookswap that night, how I hadn't been present at all, how I had just rushed past the guy, focused so much on "getting to the Bookswap." And I thought, "You know, I'll bet that if I had actually been present in my interactions with this guy, I would be okay with letting this go right now. If I had interacted with him, genuinely experienced him, I wouldn't be wondering if I should be doing something to "get" him, creating some false scenario to attempt to recreate the genuine interaction that I kind of missed."
So I'm letting it go. I'm not going to try to "make something happen" with this guy because, honestly, I can't. I mean, sure, I can, I can find a way to make a connection between us but it just doesn't feel right. I'd much rather let this happen, be present to who I was in this situation and try to be more present to the next person who shows up in my life, less focused on time and getting somewhere and more aware of the people right in front of me.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
3rd one day sit: Highlights
A cellphone. Really! A cellphone going off in the zendo in first five minutes of the first sitting of the practice period!
Feeling proud of myself for not putting away the chant book early because I thought I knew the order of the chants during service. Being humbled when I had to pick it back up again for the last chant (that I had apparently forgotten about).
Sweeping the steps for soji. I always saw this as a "you're lame" job. I thought it was the job that the work leader gave when she had too many people and not enough work to do. "Go sweep. You'll be out of my hair and I won't have to deal with you." I also thought it was given to people who were trying too hard to get things right, a way to show them that really, all we want you to do is sweep. I don't know if that's why I got it but I ended up loving it. I was totally present for it. I saw things about the steps that I had never noticed- they're kind of red and a little chipped. I was humbled by them too. They're way older than I am and they've given support to so many people. Can you imagine the feet they've seen? Finally, it ended up being a great lesson in being in the moment. As I was sweeping, two things occurred to me: 1) As soon as I sweep a step, it's going to be dirtied by the feet of the people walking up and down it 2) I have to sweep while people are walking on the steps. The second one ended up being a really nice dance. I'd sweep, and then I'd see feet, so I'd stop. Then I'd start again, then I'd stop. This should have been frustrating, but it wasn't. It was just a dance, a lesson in coexisting, a lesson in doing what you can in that moment. Also, it was kind of fun to see everyone's shoes and recognize people by them.
OMG the clementine! After oryoki, I was overloaded, exhausted, and done. During the break, there was tea and fruit and I grabbed a clementine and Oh My Goodness... it was amazing! The sensation of that clementine... it was so nice to have a physical extreme, to taste sweetness, to taste wet, to have physical sensory input after all that mental stuff I was dealing with. If I could have, I would have done a hundred thousand million kalpa prostrations to it!
The almost disaster during lunchtime oryoki. This is what I heard during lunch time oryoki: a clank of metal and a collective gasp by anyone who was near the source of the metal clank sound. But I didn't hear anything else. I expected to hear a continued clank as whatever the server was holding rolled across the floor and spilled its contents. I also expected to hear many whispers and a subsequent clean up. But none of that happened. Apparently said server caught themselves before anything spilled. Nicely done server!
Service in the zendo at the end of the day. First of all, it was kind of sweet to hear Vikki invite people to stand on the zabutons and point out that they made a nice cushion for our bowing. Second of all, there were 100 of us, I think, chanting the Dai Hi Shin Darani. Normally, I don't like chanting but this was different:100 people, all squooshed in together, all timed together, saying these syllables that I don't think actually translate to anything. I can't describe the beauty of it other than to say that it's actually a totally monotone chant but this night, it was in complete harmony. And finally, Paul. He must have been at dokusan because he got to the zendo after we had already started. And what did he do? He just squooshed in next to the rest of us, not bothering to get over to some abbott's seat or some place of honor (probably freaking out the practitioner he was standing next to- I know I would have freaked out to find myself bowing next to the abbot!), bowed and chanted with the rest of us, eloquently demonstrating why I like this place so much: here we are all equal.
Also, sweet potato gratin for dinner. So incredibly yummy that mix of sweet potato and salty onions/ shallots and cheese. Thank you kitchen crew and meal planner!
Oh, and being able to talk, finally, after the meal chant, with friends. Telling them that I freaked out. Seeing the looks on their faces and understanding that I wasn't making them sad by sharing my freakout, that their look of sadness was actually compassion, that they cared about me without trying to fix my freakout or feel sorry for me. Big sigh, stillness, beginning of understanding about this.
Feeling proud of myself for not putting away the chant book early because I thought I knew the order of the chants during service. Being humbled when I had to pick it back up again for the last chant (that I had apparently forgotten about).
Sweeping the steps for soji. I always saw this as a "you're lame" job. I thought it was the job that the work leader gave when she had too many people and not enough work to do. "Go sweep. You'll be out of my hair and I won't have to deal with you." I also thought it was given to people who were trying too hard to get things right, a way to show them that really, all we want you to do is sweep. I don't know if that's why I got it but I ended up loving it. I was totally present for it. I saw things about the steps that I had never noticed- they're kind of red and a little chipped. I was humbled by them too. They're way older than I am and they've given support to so many people. Can you imagine the feet they've seen? Finally, it ended up being a great lesson in being in the moment. As I was sweeping, two things occurred to me: 1) As soon as I sweep a step, it's going to be dirtied by the feet of the people walking up and down it 2) I have to sweep while people are walking on the steps. The second one ended up being a really nice dance. I'd sweep, and then I'd see feet, so I'd stop. Then I'd start again, then I'd stop. This should have been frustrating, but it wasn't. It was just a dance, a lesson in coexisting, a lesson in doing what you can in that moment. Also, it was kind of fun to see everyone's shoes and recognize people by them.
OMG the clementine! After oryoki, I was overloaded, exhausted, and done. During the break, there was tea and fruit and I grabbed a clementine and Oh My Goodness... it was amazing! The sensation of that clementine... it was so nice to have a physical extreme, to taste sweetness, to taste wet, to have physical sensory input after all that mental stuff I was dealing with. If I could have, I would have done a hundred thousand million kalpa prostrations to it!
The almost disaster during lunchtime oryoki. This is what I heard during lunch time oryoki: a clank of metal and a collective gasp by anyone who was near the source of the metal clank sound. But I didn't hear anything else. I expected to hear a continued clank as whatever the server was holding rolled across the floor and spilled its contents. I also expected to hear many whispers and a subsequent clean up. But none of that happened. Apparently said server caught themselves before anything spilled. Nicely done server!
Service in the zendo at the end of the day. First of all, it was kind of sweet to hear Vikki invite people to stand on the zabutons and point out that they made a nice cushion for our bowing. Second of all, there were 100 of us, I think, chanting the Dai Hi Shin Darani. Normally, I don't like chanting but this was different:100 people, all squooshed in together, all timed together, saying these syllables that I don't think actually translate to anything. I can't describe the beauty of it other than to say that it's actually a totally monotone chant but this night, it was in complete harmony. And finally, Paul. He must have been at dokusan because he got to the zendo after we had already started. And what did he do? He just squooshed in next to the rest of us, not bothering to get over to some abbott's seat or some place of honor (probably freaking out the practitioner he was standing next to- I know I would have freaked out to find myself bowing next to the abbot!), bowed and chanted with the rest of us, eloquently demonstrating why I like this place so much: here we are all equal.
Also, sweet potato gratin for dinner. So incredibly yummy that mix of sweet potato and salty onions/ shallots and cheese. Thank you kitchen crew and meal planner!
Oh, and being able to talk, finally, after the meal chant, with friends. Telling them that I freaked out. Seeing the looks on their faces and understanding that I wasn't making them sad by sharing my freakout, that their look of sadness was actually compassion, that they cared about me without trying to fix my freakout or feel sorry for me. Big sigh, stillness, beginning of understanding about this.
Floating in a stream of consciousness
I had been struggling with this one thing that had been causing me suffering for over a year. I had tried everything to deal with it: I had embraced it, noticed my thoughts about it, tried to be present around it, to see it without judgment. And I actually did all these things, and they helped me to see my suffering, loosen up about it, and ease it a bit. But still, no matter what I did, I found myself repeating the same interaction over and over again.
Finally, I looked at my self in it, what I was doing, and where this "doing" had come from. What I saw was that I was replicating (in this interaction) the exact same interaction and habits that I had been doing for most of my life.
I freaked. "Oh s#!%! This one isn't about thoughts. This one is way bigger than that. It's not even external, it's not like I'm acknowledging thoughts that interrupt my way of being, it's my way of being. And I am in this way of being, I am being carried along in this stream of consciousness, this habit of mind. What I thought were thoughts... they were just little rocks that I was bumping up against. By noticing them, I learned to make peace with them or to navigate around them but in the grand scheme of things, I was still in the same stream, the same habit of mind."
I wasn't sure what to do. I guess it was nice to know that this was true about me. At least I finally saw this for what it was. I also was happy to understand why all the things I had been trying weren't really working- because they weren't really addressing the bigger issue, they weren't pulling me out of the stream.
So I guess now that what I need to do is start swimming toward the shore. But I have to say that I don't really know how to do this. How do you swim across that current? I know that it's dragging me down the river, I know that I don't like where it's taking me, but I don't know how to get out of it.
Finally, I looked at my self in it, what I was doing, and where this "doing" had come from. What I saw was that I was replicating (in this interaction) the exact same interaction and habits that I had been doing for most of my life.
I freaked. "Oh s#!%! This one isn't about thoughts. This one is way bigger than that. It's not even external, it's not like I'm acknowledging thoughts that interrupt my way of being, it's my way of being. And I am in this way of being, I am being carried along in this stream of consciousness, this habit of mind. What I thought were thoughts... they were just little rocks that I was bumping up against. By noticing them, I learned to make peace with them or to navigate around them but in the grand scheme of things, I was still in the same stream, the same habit of mind."
I wasn't sure what to do. I guess it was nice to know that this was true about me. At least I finally saw this for what it was. I also was happy to understand why all the things I had been trying weren't really working- because they weren't really addressing the bigger issue, they weren't pulling me out of the stream.
So I guess now that what I need to do is start swimming toward the shore. But I have to say that I don't really know how to do this. How do you swim across that current? I know that it's dragging me down the river, I know that I don't like where it's taking me, but I don't know how to get out of it.
Cool, I don't have to worship any GOD or anything
I was surfing, bobbing up and down on the waves, when it occurred to me that the Buddha, is you. I don't mean that YOU are the Buddha, I don't mean that you're some enlightened being, or even that we all have Buddha in us. I mean it literally. The Buddha is you. You know that really great you, that person who's genuinely happy for others, that person who responds to their worst enemy by saying "Oh, so sad, how can I help you?" That's the Buddha.
I wish there were another term for it than Buddha because Buddha sounds like there's one person you're supposed to be or there's some guy that we're all supposed to revere, but I really don't think that's it. I think Buddha is that person inside of us that is genuinely open and vulnerable and compassionate and at peace. And if that is true, then this practice makes sense to me. Because this practice is about seeing yourself, it's about stripping away all those defenses and stories and fears and preconceived notions that stack on top of that genuine person and keep it from existing in this world.
Also, it makes me very happy. I never wanted to be part of something that involved a hierarchy or an exclusionary practice. Every time someone talked about having an altar or bowing to Buddha or even embracing the Buddha way, I thought, "I'm not going to believe in something that says that one person is better than another or that you can only be a part of this if you follow these guidelines."
But if when people say "Buddha", they're referring to that person in me who is compassionate and beneficial to others; if bowing to "Buddha" means a commitment to coax that person out of me and encourage that person to be who I am most of the time, then I'm happy to bow to the really great me, to set up an altar to the really great me, to practice the Buddha/ really great me way.
Now, there are some caveats to this, the first one being that I've never studied Buddhism so honestly, I could be totally wrong.
Second, I'm sure there are people who would say that the Buddha is much bigger than just your "really great self," that you are still being Buddha when you are a jerk.
Finally, I'm sure that there are people who will say that Buddha really was a person and that we should act like him. But from the little that I've read about him, I'm pretty sure that his whole point was "It's not about me. If you're worshiping me, you've got it all wrong."
Who knows? For now, it works for me to have "Buddha" be that self inside of me whose natural inclination is to connect with and genuinely support others to feel at peace.
I wish there were another term for it than Buddha because Buddha sounds like there's one person you're supposed to be or there's some guy that we're all supposed to revere, but I really don't think that's it. I think Buddha is that person inside of us that is genuinely open and vulnerable and compassionate and at peace. And if that is true, then this practice makes sense to me. Because this practice is about seeing yourself, it's about stripping away all those defenses and stories and fears and preconceived notions that stack on top of that genuine person and keep it from existing in this world.
Also, it makes me very happy. I never wanted to be part of something that involved a hierarchy or an exclusionary practice. Every time someone talked about having an altar or bowing to Buddha or even embracing the Buddha way, I thought, "I'm not going to believe in something that says that one person is better than another or that you can only be a part of this if you follow these guidelines."
But if when people say "Buddha", they're referring to that person in me who is compassionate and beneficial to others; if bowing to "Buddha" means a commitment to coax that person out of me and encourage that person to be who I am most of the time, then I'm happy to bow to the really great me, to set up an altar to the really great me, to practice the Buddha/ really great me way.
Now, there are some caveats to this, the first one being that I've never studied Buddhism so honestly, I could be totally wrong.
Second, I'm sure there are people who would say that the Buddha is much bigger than just your "really great self," that you are still being Buddha when you are a jerk.
Finally, I'm sure that there are people who will say that Buddha really was a person and that we should act like him. But from the little that I've read about him, I'm pretty sure that his whole point was "It's not about me. If you're worshiping me, you've got it all wrong."
Who knows? For now, it works for me to have "Buddha" be that self inside of me whose natural inclination is to connect with and genuinely support others to feel at peace.
When the exception becomes the rule
During the summer intensive, Paul gave a talk about responding instead of reacting to things. He talked about how often, in hindsight, we are able to see the situation for what it is and , because of this, respond to it in a way that is beneficial. He went on to say that this practice is about flipping things around so that our first inclination is that open response- that by being open and present to the moment when it happens, we have that clarity in the moment, instead of in hindsight.
This morning, after my nightmare one day sit, I'm starting to feel being present in the moment as my natural inclination, and my thoughts are becoming rude interruptions to it. Normally, my inclination is to "get things done" to "make the most of my time" to grasp at time and accomplishment and I have to make a concerted effort to take a breath, to be present, to "let go." But this morning, being present is my default and I find myself genuinely noticing (and kind of laughing at) the thoughts that are telling me to stop.
My friend and I were supposed to meet for breakfast at 8. She called at 7:30 because the smoke alarm was going off in her new home and she needed to stay there to figure out how to keep it from going off again. My first thought was "Oh, look at that, an extra hour in my day, how should I fill it?" I considered eating at home because it would maximize my extra hour but then I just felt like I wanted to eat out for breakfast so I started walking until I found a place to eat. As soon as I ordered, I saw an Irish newspaper and started reading it. As I was reading it, thoughts jumped into my head "You can read this at home. You should take the food to go. What do you need to get done today? You should have eaten in Cole Valley so that you could run errands at the same time." And I thought, "Meh, that's nice. I'm going back to reading this newspaper." The thoughts kept coming and it wasn't even like I was saying "Those are thoughts, take a breath" I just felt really settled in reading the newspaper, in walking home, in writing this blogpost, and so I did.
It's not like this is an emotionally charged situation or even a situation that I'm responding to or reacting to; but I find it interesting how my effort seems to have switched from trying to be present to just being present. I'm not even "blocking out" my thoughts, I'm just saying "Huh, look at you. You're kind of funny and frenetic and really determined. Huh- good luck with that." and then I just go to back to whatever I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted by them.
This morning, after my nightmare one day sit, I'm starting to feel being present in the moment as my natural inclination, and my thoughts are becoming rude interruptions to it. Normally, my inclination is to "get things done" to "make the most of my time" to grasp at time and accomplishment and I have to make a concerted effort to take a breath, to be present, to "let go." But this morning, being present is my default and I find myself genuinely noticing (and kind of laughing at) the thoughts that are telling me to stop.
My friend and I were supposed to meet for breakfast at 8. She called at 7:30 because the smoke alarm was going off in her new home and she needed to stay there to figure out how to keep it from going off again. My first thought was "Oh, look at that, an extra hour in my day, how should I fill it?" I considered eating at home because it would maximize my extra hour but then I just felt like I wanted to eat out for breakfast so I started walking until I found a place to eat. As soon as I ordered, I saw an Irish newspaper and started reading it. As I was reading it, thoughts jumped into my head "You can read this at home. You should take the food to go. What do you need to get done today? You should have eaten in Cole Valley so that you could run errands at the same time." And I thought, "Meh, that's nice. I'm going back to reading this newspaper." The thoughts kept coming and it wasn't even like I was saying "Those are thoughts, take a breath" I just felt really settled in reading the newspaper, in walking home, in writing this blogpost, and so I did.
It's not like this is an emotionally charged situation or even a situation that I'm responding to or reacting to; but I find it interesting how my effort seems to have switched from trying to be present to just being present. I'm not even "blocking out" my thoughts, I'm just saying "Huh, look at you. You're kind of funny and frenetic and really determined. Huh- good luck with that." and then I just go to back to whatever I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted by them.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Third times the... FREAKOUT: 3rd One Day Sit- not a charm:(
I had heard about people freaking out and crying during one-day-sits and I was wondering when my time was going to come. It came this morning. It came three times.
First it came when my head hurt. I got an actual headache from concentrating on my breath and holding out my thoughts. I didn't really know what to do after the second period of zazen because I was actually, like, exhausted in my brain.
This is probably what lead to the second freak out: oryoki, pinball, and no eye contact.
During oryoki, I was delusional about the people sitting in front of me in the zendo. In my head, they weren't paying attention to their meals, they were watching me and my forms and were utterly disappointed in me.
I knew that my perceived judgment by them came from my own issues around judgment and acceptance. I knew that I was seeing myself and that this seeing had come from me being so present. But I also knew that it made me feel worse. I tried so hard to accept it, to see it without judgment, but it wasn't happening.
By the time oryoki was over, I could focus only on getting out of the building, outside, where life was normal and things outside of my personal issues existed. But after the break, we sat more periods of zazen and I saw more of myself. This is when I started to feel like a pinball.
You know how in pinball, that poor ball is just trying to get from the top to the bottom but each time it lands, it gets catapulted to some other spot and then as soon as it finds another spot, that spot catapults it too? That's what I felt like. I would see myself and would try one zen practice: "that's a thought." Then I'd question that practice "Are you avoiding your suffering by referring to it as only a thought?" So then I'd try another one: embrace your suffering. And then I'd question that: "Are you harboring ill will? Choosing to stay in your suffering?" So then I'd try another one: "Let go, stop clinging, stop trying so hard." But letting go felt like avoiding. Nothing felt right and everything felt wrong- I just kept getting rejected from one practice after another. By the time we went upstairs for the dharma talk, I felt so bombarded by everything, I just put my head in my arm, to protect myself from any more stimulus coming at me. But then Blanche talked about continuous practice and great effort and benefiting all beings and I felt like a shmuck for having my head in my arm and so I was catapulted once more.
On top of all this, I wasn't making eye contact with anyone, because you're not supposed to. I actually totally support this concept- it allows everyone to be in their own space and not have to pretend like they're doing fine when they're not. So when I saw Paul and Jordan and people I knew, I just looked down, like I was supposed to, but what I really wanted to do was talk with them, smile with them, and interact with them. And then I noticed myself with that too. I was grasping at interactions with them to get that feeling of acceptance that I so need. And then I saw that it wasn't just acceptance, it was intimacy and feeling alone and that brought up even more stuff.
I was supposed to go back downstairs for kinhin but that would mean looking at myself even more. I wanted to escape again, but I still had my cushion from the zendo so I couldn't even leave the building. I went into the courtyard, but that was still the zen center, so I walked to the far corner and looked down on the street. I saw a couple walking by and imagined that they were looking up at me, clutching my cushion, and that I wordlessly begged them "Help me! I'm trapped in a Buddhist temple!" Then I saw a truck go by advertising corncakes: They're so sweet, you'll think it's a cake! And I laughed at the ridiculousness of this advertising and the fact that everyone loves cake and then I remembered someone saying that during sesshins, people will go into the bathroom just to read the label on the soap so that they can read something to distract themselves.
Laughter helped and I went down for the last zazen before lunch. Oryoki at lunch was way better- not because I stopped thinking they were judging me, but because I had way better form with my bowls. Work period was fine as was tea.
And then, the afternoon marathon zazen came and that was the ultimate freakout. It lingered into the evening and I'm pretty sure it's going to sit below the surface of my existence throughout the rest of the practice period. I'll get into it in the next post but let's just say for now that it felt like puking, involved the fetal position and a bottle, and made me wish I'd decided to be a knitter instead.
First it came when my head hurt. I got an actual headache from concentrating on my breath and holding out my thoughts. I didn't really know what to do after the second period of zazen because I was actually, like, exhausted in my brain.
This is probably what lead to the second freak out: oryoki, pinball, and no eye contact.
During oryoki, I was delusional about the people sitting in front of me in the zendo. In my head, they weren't paying attention to their meals, they were watching me and my forms and were utterly disappointed in me.
I knew that my perceived judgment by them came from my own issues around judgment and acceptance. I knew that I was seeing myself and that this seeing had come from me being so present. But I also knew that it made me feel worse. I tried so hard to accept it, to see it without judgment, but it wasn't happening.
By the time oryoki was over, I could focus only on getting out of the building, outside, where life was normal and things outside of my personal issues existed. But after the break, we sat more periods of zazen and I saw more of myself. This is when I started to feel like a pinball.
You know how in pinball, that poor ball is just trying to get from the top to the bottom but each time it lands, it gets catapulted to some other spot and then as soon as it finds another spot, that spot catapults it too? That's what I felt like. I would see myself and would try one zen practice: "that's a thought." Then I'd question that practice "Are you avoiding your suffering by referring to it as only a thought?" So then I'd try another one: embrace your suffering. And then I'd question that: "Are you harboring ill will? Choosing to stay in your suffering?" So then I'd try another one: "Let go, stop clinging, stop trying so hard." But letting go felt like avoiding. Nothing felt right and everything felt wrong- I just kept getting rejected from one practice after another. By the time we went upstairs for the dharma talk, I felt so bombarded by everything, I just put my head in my arm, to protect myself from any more stimulus coming at me. But then Blanche talked about continuous practice and great effort and benefiting all beings and I felt like a shmuck for having my head in my arm and so I was catapulted once more.
On top of all this, I wasn't making eye contact with anyone, because you're not supposed to. I actually totally support this concept- it allows everyone to be in their own space and not have to pretend like they're doing fine when they're not. So when I saw Paul and Jordan and people I knew, I just looked down, like I was supposed to, but what I really wanted to do was talk with them, smile with them, and interact with them. And then I noticed myself with that too. I was grasping at interactions with them to get that feeling of acceptance that I so need. And then I saw that it wasn't just acceptance, it was intimacy and feeling alone and that brought up even more stuff.
I was supposed to go back downstairs for kinhin but that would mean looking at myself even more. I wanted to escape again, but I still had my cushion from the zendo so I couldn't even leave the building. I went into the courtyard, but that was still the zen center, so I walked to the far corner and looked down on the street. I saw a couple walking by and imagined that they were looking up at me, clutching my cushion, and that I wordlessly begged them "Help me! I'm trapped in a Buddhist temple!" Then I saw a truck go by advertising corncakes: They're so sweet, you'll think it's a cake! And I laughed at the ridiculousness of this advertising and the fact that everyone loves cake and then I remembered someone saying that during sesshins, people will go into the bathroom just to read the label on the soap so that they can read something to distract themselves.
Laughter helped and I went down for the last zazen before lunch. Oryoki at lunch was way better- not because I stopped thinking they were judging me, but because I had way better form with my bowls. Work period was fine as was tea.
And then, the afternoon marathon zazen came and that was the ultimate freakout. It lingered into the evening and I'm pretty sure it's going to sit below the surface of my existence throughout the rest of the practice period. I'll get into it in the next post but let's just say for now that it felt like puking, involved the fetal position and a bottle, and made me wish I'd decided to be a knitter instead.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Stepping away, choosing not to suffer
Tuesday morning, a funny thing happened. I left the zendo convinced that I had taken too long to leave, to unlock my bike, to ride up hill, etc. and was sure that I was "late". My first inclination was to immediately turn on the radio to check the time. But then I remembered something: I'm only "late" when I look at the clock and compare the actual time with my expectation of what time it should be in relation to my morning routine.
I decided instead to try not being late, to try not using the clock to make myself feel bad for not being on time. So, I left the radio in my room and went to the kitchen to do my morning routine. I focused on making oatmeal and was present for it. I put away the dishes. I packed my lunch for school and headed back to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I was okay with all of this until I approached the bathroom clock. I suddenly had that sinking feeling of regretting the whole "living in the now" thing, convinced that all it gets you is a late arrival for 20 kids after a three-day weekend. But I didn't have a choice, our bathroom clock is pretty much unavoidable so I had to look at it. As soon as I did, I realized that I wasn't late at all, I was early and I was pretty happy about that. But then I realized that my relief at being early was just as contrived as my anxiety about being late.
I thought about how I had felt before looking at the clock, how I just was. And I realized that if I didn't want to feel late, I could just stop looking at the clock. And I don't mean that I'm avoiding this whole "time" thing. I actually did try that when I first started trying to "let go" of time during the last practice period. But this was different. It's not like I was blinding myself to time and my relationship with it, I was actually aware of the pull that the clock has on me, and chose to step away from that relationship.
So far, I've done it every day this week and it's kind of nice. I'm not any more early or late (still see that clock when I brush my teeth), I'm just not caught up in the concept of early or late as much as I was before. I just kind of let go of it, not of time, but of its pull on me. By seeing my relationship with time, I can step away from it, not get caught up in it, exist with it in a way that allows me to not suffer so much from my notions about it.
I decided instead to try not being late, to try not using the clock to make myself feel bad for not being on time. So, I left the radio in my room and went to the kitchen to do my morning routine. I focused on making oatmeal and was present for it. I put away the dishes. I packed my lunch for school and headed back to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I was okay with all of this until I approached the bathroom clock. I suddenly had that sinking feeling of regretting the whole "living in the now" thing, convinced that all it gets you is a late arrival for 20 kids after a three-day weekend. But I didn't have a choice, our bathroom clock is pretty much unavoidable so I had to look at it. As soon as I did, I realized that I wasn't late at all, I was early and I was pretty happy about that. But then I realized that my relief at being early was just as contrived as my anxiety about being late.
I thought about how I had felt before looking at the clock, how I just was. And I realized that if I didn't want to feel late, I could just stop looking at the clock. And I don't mean that I'm avoiding this whole "time" thing. I actually did try that when I first started trying to "let go" of time during the last practice period. But this was different. It's not like I was blinding myself to time and my relationship with it, I was actually aware of the pull that the clock has on me, and chose to step away from that relationship.
So far, I've done it every day this week and it's kind of nice. I'm not any more early or late (still see that clock when I brush my teeth), I'm just not caught up in the concept of early or late as much as I was before. I just kind of let go of it, not of time, but of its pull on me. By seeing my relationship with time, I can step away from it, not get caught up in it, exist with it in a way that allows me to not suffer so much from my notions about it.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
IT'S ALL GONE!!!! Yes... it is.
Last Sunday night, after an afternoon of running errands on Market street, I excitedly pulled into a parking space right in front of my apartment. I popped the trunk to retrieve my laptop and the new router I had just bought. As I lifted the lid to the trunk I saw... the floor of my trunk. The receipt for the router was there, but my laptop, the bag it was in, and the new router... were gone.
I opened the back seat door, hoping I had just forgotten that I had put the laptop in the back seat. It was empty. I looked in the front seat, it was empty too. I closed the door and walked into my apartment. I checked to see if my room mate was home, but couldn't tell if he was or not. I walked into my room and thought, "It's gone. It's all gone. My memory stick was in that bag with my laptop. All my writing is gone."
And here's where it got weird. As I stood there in my room, I didn't try to fix it. I didn't cry. I didn't rationalize it or see it as a punishment or a lesson to be learned. I didn't do anything. I didn't feel anything.
And then I was kind of bummed. I thought to myself, "This is a pretty devastating loss, and this is how I respond to it? With, like, nothing? I mean, how am I going to respond to something great happening? I don't want to be that flat person. I mean, I guess it's okay to not be devastated right now but I'd like to be feeling something." It was weird, and I still don't understand it.
I walked back out to my car, and looked again, with a flashlight this time. Believe me, my laptop, the pretty bag it was in, and the $80 new router are NOT there.
I walked back in to my apartment and my room mate was standing in the hallway. I told him all about it and he said "But all your blog writing is saved on your blog, right?" And he's right, it is, but there's other writing that I did that didn't really apply to everyone so I just kept it in a diary, on my laptop, and that's gone.
And then he pointed out that I had only had this laptop since March and so a lot of my writing was still on my old computer. And that made me feel better because it meant that all of the lessons and curriculum I had designed throughout my teaching career weren't totally gone either.
And then we went to the kitchen and I ate chocolate ice cream from a really big tub. I had chips and salsa for dinner and chocolate pudding for dessert. Then he went out and I went to my room.
I called my brother and my dad. My brother offered me his old laptop and suggested I file a claim with my credit card company to recuperate my loss. After I hung up with them, I happily realized that the laptop had been in my laptop bag, not my school bag as I had thought, so I still had my lesson plan book, the cards I had written for the kids, and the keys to my classroom.
Then I thought about some of the writing I had lost and, it just seemed, unimportant. Not that the writing was unimportant, it was really important, it captured some big things that had happened in my life over the past year, but that was gone. Those moments in my life, were done. The writing I had done in reflection of those experiences, those moments of processing what was going on with me, the insights I had gained in to myself, those were then and they were important then but they weren't affecting me now.
I wonder if this will hit me later, if I ever try to recreate the writing I lost. I also wonder if this is easy to deal with because my brother has loaned me his laptop, I was able to buy a new router the next day, and because most of my writing is still on my old computer or on the blog. But I also know that my initial reaction (before all of this relief about most of my writing still existing elsewhere) was just... honestly, I can't describe it because it wasn't. It wasn't acceptance, it wasn't a deep breath, it wasn't even acknowledgement. I don't know what it was, it was nothing. And I can't say that I like it and I can't say that I don't like it. I don't know what to think. I guess I'll just see what happens next time, because honestly, at the rate I'm going, I really do feel like I'm just kind of a sucker for theft lately.
I opened the back seat door, hoping I had just forgotten that I had put the laptop in the back seat. It was empty. I looked in the front seat, it was empty too. I closed the door and walked into my apartment. I checked to see if my room mate was home, but couldn't tell if he was or not. I walked into my room and thought, "It's gone. It's all gone. My memory stick was in that bag with my laptop. All my writing is gone."
And here's where it got weird. As I stood there in my room, I didn't try to fix it. I didn't cry. I didn't rationalize it or see it as a punishment or a lesson to be learned. I didn't do anything. I didn't feel anything.
And then I was kind of bummed. I thought to myself, "This is a pretty devastating loss, and this is how I respond to it? With, like, nothing? I mean, how am I going to respond to something great happening? I don't want to be that flat person. I mean, I guess it's okay to not be devastated right now but I'd like to be feeling something." It was weird, and I still don't understand it.
I walked back out to my car, and looked again, with a flashlight this time. Believe me, my laptop, the pretty bag it was in, and the $80 new router are NOT there.
I walked back in to my apartment and my room mate was standing in the hallway. I told him all about it and he said "But all your blog writing is saved on your blog, right?" And he's right, it is, but there's other writing that I did that didn't really apply to everyone so I just kept it in a diary, on my laptop, and that's gone.
And then he pointed out that I had only had this laptop since March and so a lot of my writing was still on my old computer. And that made me feel better because it meant that all of the lessons and curriculum I had designed throughout my teaching career weren't totally gone either.
And then we went to the kitchen and I ate chocolate ice cream from a really big tub. I had chips and salsa for dinner and chocolate pudding for dessert. Then he went out and I went to my room.
I called my brother and my dad. My brother offered me his old laptop and suggested I file a claim with my credit card company to recuperate my loss. After I hung up with them, I happily realized that the laptop had been in my laptop bag, not my school bag as I had thought, so I still had my lesson plan book, the cards I had written for the kids, and the keys to my classroom.
Then I thought about some of the writing I had lost and, it just seemed, unimportant. Not that the writing was unimportant, it was really important, it captured some big things that had happened in my life over the past year, but that was gone. Those moments in my life, were done. The writing I had done in reflection of those experiences, those moments of processing what was going on with me, the insights I had gained in to myself, those were then and they were important then but they weren't affecting me now.
I wonder if this will hit me later, if I ever try to recreate the writing I lost. I also wonder if this is easy to deal with because my brother has loaned me his laptop, I was able to buy a new router the next day, and because most of my writing is still on my old computer or on the blog. But I also know that my initial reaction (before all of this relief about most of my writing still existing elsewhere) was just... honestly, I can't describe it because it wasn't. It wasn't acceptance, it wasn't a deep breath, it wasn't even acknowledgement. I don't know what it was, it was nothing. And I can't say that I like it and I can't say that I don't like it. I don't know what to think. I guess I'll just see what happens next time, because honestly, at the rate I'm going, I really do feel like I'm just kind of a sucker for theft lately.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Just showing up
Over the last few weeks I’ve had this funny thing of ‘just showing up’ meaning two really different things. Both are beneficial, I’ve just noticed that I need to be present to what they do for me and how I interact with them.
The first kind of ‘just showing up’ had been happening in the zendo. I was going to the zendo twice a day, but not actually meditating. I was just sitting there, thinking. But I think that because it was in the zendo, it felt somehow okay to just think and not even try to meditate. I was all present to myself for this, all compassionate for where I was at, but after a while I realized that this was kind of a waste of time. It wasn’t really helping my practice to just think, and there wasn’t any point in going to the zendo if I wasn’t going to meditate. Also, I had been thinking about my zazen and how it wasn’t really going all that well. A large voice inside my head suggested, “If you want your zazen to go better, put a little effort in to it. At least try to mediate while you’re in the zendo.” And so I did. The next time I went to the zendo, I was actually very present to it. I put all my effort into noticing my breath, coming back to it, and saying no to those inviting thoughts. I don’t know if I meditated more or less but I was definitely more present and intent in my time in the zendo, and I think that helped.
The second kind of ‘just showing up’ happens at 5 in the morning on rainy days when really, I would SO rather stay in bed than get on that darn bike that keeps getting stolen and ride OUTSIDE IN THE COLD to the zendo. On these mornings, I think I need to ‘just show up.’ By that I mean, I just need to do it. In the way that I was ‘just showing up’ in the zendo, that I wasn’t really meditating but I was there, I think that sometimes, we need to just do the practice, without even thinking about it. It’s like, when things get hard or uncomfortable, sometimes we need the momentum of a “habit of practice” to carry us through. Because if I stop to think about the cold and rain, I will stay in bed. But if I just ‘show up,’ without even thinking about it, I find myself in the zendo, being at least aware that I’m not even meditating and sometimes, that’s what I need to keep me going.
I guess they both have a place and I need to see them for what they’re doing for me. Sometimes ‘just showing up’ allows me to be lazy and not really present to what I’m doing. But other times, ‘just showing up’ actually keeps me engaged, keeps me trying, supports me to maintain the practice, no matter what level of effort I put in to it.
Being present to failure
This weekend, I ran a race. I wasn’t that invested in the race, I just ran it because my friend invited me to. We started the race and I immediately realized that this race, was going to be hard. It was up hill, up a steep hill, that appeared to never end.
As soon as we hit this first hill, people around me started walking. I was tempted to join them but I knew that once I started it’d be really hard for me to start running again. Since I knew I had a long race ahead of me, I set a goal to just keep running. As long as I did that, I’d feel like I had done my best.
But then we hit some stairs- stairs that you really couldn’t run. I let myself walk because honestly, I had no choice. But then, at the top of the stairs, it was still steep so I just kept walking. And then we got to more stairs and I thought “Aw man! If I had known there were stairs again after that steep part, I would have tried to run, knowing I’d have a break on the stairs…” And so I decided that at the top of the next stairs, I would run the rest of the race, no matter what. And I ran, for a while, and it was hard, but I stuck with it and I felt good because I stuck with it.
Then we got to another steep hill. I was tired, my legs were dead, everyone around me was walking, so I joined them. At first, it was okay, it felt more normal, more like my body was working instead of being worked. But I also felt like I had given up. I had agreed that I would run no matter what and here I was walking. I considered starting to run again but it was even steeper now, and the ground was a little crumbly, so I just kept walking. I hung my head a bit and looked at the ground in front of me.
But then I thought, “Are you doing your best? Are you doing what needs to get done?” And I realized that I wasn’t- not because I wasn’t running, but because I was just walking. I wasn’t being present to my walking, I was just dragging myself up the hill. And then I thought, “You know what, you can’t run right now but you can walk, so walk well. Put yourself in to what you can do instead of beating yourself up over what you can’t do.” I focused on the ground in front of me, noticed my body, and walked well. Honestly, I probably was doing the exact same motion with my body but my intent was there and so I actually felt like I was doing my best.
And I thought about this, about how doing your best might change as conditions change. It’s not necessarily giving up on the goal that you set; it’s that when you find yourself not meeting it, you don’t give up there, you put yourself whole heartedly into where you are and do your best there.
We got to the top of the hill and I started running again. We crossed the saddle of the ridge and I’m pretty sure I saw Green Gulch in the valley below me. I did a running bow to it, grateful to have this support in my life, and ran up the next hill. Fortunately, it was mostly down hill after that.
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