z9: Meditation: My nemesis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, that's a thought!

“What?” I thought.

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

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

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

Staying on topic

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

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

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

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

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

z8: In a relationship with the zen center

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

z7: Dating the zen center

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

z6: 2nd date with the zen center

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

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

z5: 1st date with the zen center

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

And then I read the blog...

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

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

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

z4: Flirting with the zen center

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

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

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