z: Sincerely Lost

This is my understanding of what practitioners at the zen center do when they decide to ‘take the precepts’ (they’re like a set of vows, a commitment to live your life in a way that benefits others). They begin an important process in which they work with a teacher to study the teachings of Buddhism and to figure out how to manifest these beliefs throughout all aspects of their life. The teacher and student do this side by side and it involves great study of the self. My other understanding is that in the process, the teacher gets to know the student deeply and, at the end of the process, the teacher gives the student a dharma name. This name represents the essence of that student in their practice.

I’ve always thought this was really cool and totally wanted a dharma name. I’ve even thought about what name I would get. Last week, while I was running, my dharma name came to me:

Sincerely Lost

And that's not a joke. It is, it's pretty funny. I am, utterly and totally lost when I go to the zen center. I don't know how to meditate, can't seem to get the bows right, never know which way to turn, always mess up the chants, and end up showing up for things I am totally unprepared for. I am the Mr. Magoo of the zen center (though I think I may be finding my way and so maybe there are others who are more Magoo than I am). But there's a sincerity to my cluelessness and in some ways, there's an intention to my cluelessness as well.

There’s a very formal procedure at the zen center called oryoki where you eat breakfast in the mediation hall. A friend of mine suggested that I attend it so I studied up on the forms so I wouldn’t mess it up. What I hadn’t planned for, however, was the service before oryoki. Service, to me at least, is a pretty sacred event at the zen center. It involves a lot of chanting and bowing and everyone seems very serious. As I said, I did it with a friend and she was gracious enough to make sure that we were right next to each other so that I could follow her. But then, of course, someone shifted spots so that I ended up in front of her. In a panic, I started following the guy in front of me, looking at him to know when to bow and where to face. This was fine until we got to the chanting part.

There are books to read from so you don’t have to memorize the chants but during service, there are multiple chants and since it’s so formal, there’s no announcement saying ‘turn to page 3 in your chant book.’ On top of that, many of the chants are in Japanese so I couldn’t distinguish one from another and they’re often written in block form so all the chants look the same on the page. Needless to say, I could not discern which chant to read by simply looking over the shoulder of the guy in front of me. The woman next to me was extremely nice. She saw me struggling and kept showing me her chant book, literally putting her finger on the page number so that I could find it. By the fifth or sixth time, I honestly considered just giving up: put my hands in some shape or another and just “hum along.” In fact, I did, I actually put down my arms, but then I pulled them back up again and searched for the page. I did this not so much because I wanted to chant, but more because if chanting was part of the bigger practice that was helping me so much, if chanting was what the people who actually do commit to this practice are doing, then I needed to do it too, and do it well. And in this way, I actually chose to let myself be lost, to be Mr. Magoo, I didn’t pull out of that discomfort, that awkwardness.

And now I’m making an effort to continue to do that.  I'm sincerely letting the zen center carry me along in really choppy waters. I do know that I am not totally giving myself up to it. I definitely draw the line in places, hold on to the side of the pool, grab at a log here and there or kick my feet to head back upstream but for the most part, I am choosing to be lost here and in doing that, my practice is going farther.

So, that's who I am right now, Sincerely Lost. I do hope I can stay that way. I think that if I start to get found, it'll mean that my self is rearing its impatient little head, demanding stability and predictability, foolishly believing that those things could stop the flow of this rushing river of life.

Ruling with compassion

  As I was setting up my classroom this week, I came across an index card with students names on it. Next to each student’s name was a series of checkmarks. “Uh oh," I thought.

I remember making this index card. I remember saying things like “There are some people who are not paying attention right now and so they are going on my list. Oh, now I have to put checks next to their names and each of those checks is a minute off of their recess.” I didn’t say the students’ names so I wasn’t publicly humiliating them. Most of the kids started paying attention as a result and had their checks erased. I remember this being an effective tool for managing their behavior because no one knew who was on the list so everyone straightened up. But now, if I’m trying to ‘teach with compassion,’ I’m thinking this won’t fly.

These are the three things that I set out to do when I started writing this blog:

see things just as they are

accept that I can't control the universe

see beauty in the chaos that is life

That first one, seeing things just as they are, is part of a bigger concept that I’ve talked about: responding to situations instead of reacting to them. I first started using the cards during a meaningless math lesson in a desperate attempt to reel the kids back in from their off- task behavior. I was definitely reacting to their behavior instead of responding to it. I didn’t want to see things as they were: they were just as bored by this lesson as I was.

The second one: I was trying to control the universe and I wasn’t willing to accept the fact that there are times when the lesson is not that interesting and the kids are going to act in certain ways as a result. But does that mean that I just let them be off task? No, but I think that if I had done the first thing- see things for what they are- I would have focused my effort on working with the kids to make it more interesting instead of working against them by threatening to take away recess.

Seeing beauty in chaos:  this ‘seeing beauty’ one is about me seeing the individual kids for who they are. The two kids on the index cards are kids who struggled with math all year long. Yes, they did need to be paying attention, maybe more so than others, but they didn’t need fear, they needed support and some scaffolding to make the lesson accessible.

So then I looked at our ‘color card’ chart (our school uses the green, yellow, red behavior system) and I thought “Oh no! Public humiliation at its finest!” But I also thought, “No way, don’t make me give up the core behavior management system of my classroom! I just can’t do that yet.” But then I thought about what I had written earlier- about the difference between the bars of a jail cell and the slats of a white picket fence. If I could use the color cards as guidance for the kids, as a boundary for them, as an expression of my concern for their learning, then maybe it could be a tool of compassion. And actually, one of the teachers at my school explains the color card chart to her kids in this way. She explains that the yellow card is there to help you, it’s like a little flag waving at you to say “Hey, you’re doing things that aren’t helping you right now. Try your best to pay attention to yourself so that you make choices that are going to help you.”

So I need to present it that way at the beginning of the year and I need to use it that way too. I can’t say things like “If you don’t stop talking, I’m turning you to yellow.” Or “You’re on red! No recess for you!” I need to say, calmly, “I’m turning you card for you. I want you to learn and I hope that this will help you to focus on your learning.” Ha! Like that’s gonna happen… But I’m going to try and I think that that calmness, that caring is only going to come if I’m not caught up in my own reaction to the situation, if I’m actually focused on the kids and what they’re experiencing. This is going to take a lot of presence of mind- eeeek! And I still have to teach them how to read and multiply!!!!

z: Looking for love in all the wrong places...

Every year my third graders and I go on a camping trip and I bring in my backpack to actually show them what items they need to pack. I do this because every year, at least one kid forgets to pack their underwear. Before I get to the part where I unpack my underwear to actually show it to the kids, I say this:

“Your teacher is about to show you her underwear.” Audible gasp from the entire class, immediate loss of eye contact from all boys in the room, whispers among girls.

“This is how much I love you. I am going to embarrass myself by showing you my underwear and you will probably be embarrassed too and when your parents ask you why I showed you my underwear you will say: ‘It’s because she loves us… and also, so we remember to pack our underwear.’”

So, I am about to show you my underwear, and it’s because I love you. Well, okay, not really, I don’t even know you, but it’s because I’m pretty sure that what I would like (which is human connection, love, intimacy) is something that you might like too. Maybe you already have it, your underwear is safely nestled in that mesh thing near the zipper, but maybe, in this world of computers and cubicles and closed doors you would like to feel less alone, more connected. On the off chance that that’s true, I’m going to tell you about my experience with intimacy… at the zen center.

One of the things I’m learning about intimacy is that it actually comes from being present (which is why they talk about it at the zen center). By being present I mean being open, being willing to accept experiences as they come to you, just as they are. But guess what, you can be present for people too, you can be open to people as they come to you and, just as important, you can be present to yourself just as you come to you.  And here’s what I discovered when I actually put this in to practice: when I am present with others, and with myself, I actually connect with others, I develop relationships, I feel less alone.

And here’s what surprised me most about this: the connections that I began to make happened really quickly, almost immediately, and for reasons that, in my logic of relationships, didn’t really make sense. You know that friend that you have that you hit it off with immediately? Or that friend who, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve seen each other, you totally reconnect with, like no time has passed at all? And, sadly, you know those people whom you’ve known your entire lives but you feel like you don’t know at all? Why is that? I think it’s connection. And I think that in our society, we tend to think of connection as coming from shared experiences, common interest, or even time spent together. And so we think that if we want to create a connection with someone or we want a relationship, we should look for shared interests or we should spend more time together. I think there’s truth to this, I do think that time spent together and shared interests support intimacy. But I also think that it is less about time or similarity and more about being present for each other, sticking around, being willing to see each other.

And here’s where I show you my underwear:

I’m 40, I’m single, and, yes, I am looking for connection, for relationships, for intimacy. I tried to find connection in places that made sense: meeting people through friends, going to events that interested me, making the effort to spend extra time with old friends so that I could reconnect and create a community around me. And this has been helpful, it has created a community in which I have people to interact with. But when I look at the relationships I’ve developed over the past year, I realize that those relationships came from me listening, me sticking around to find out about someone, me sharing parts of myself that I feared would make the other person not like me, me quieting those thoughts in my head that said ‘pull back, they don’t want that from you’ or ‘leave them be, they’re uncomfortable, give them space.’ It’s the sticking around and taking the risk that makes the relationship, not the time or commonality.

So, and here’s more pairs of underwear for you, I’m not ‘looking for love’ in places anymore.  I’m staying right here. I’m being open to the people around me and to the relationships that I am having, for all their awkwardness, for all my failures in them, for their littleness and bigness, even for when they make me feel alone. I’m not saying you shouldn’t go to bars or cruise Craig’s List or get set up by a friend, I’m just saying that if you do want intimacy, be present when you do those things, be open to yourself and the person you’re with. It’s not going to be all wine and roses, you’re going to have rejection and sadness and you’re going to have to be present for that too, but in the end,  in my experience at least, you will feel more connected and less alone.

And, just, one more thing because I'm pretty sure that I just called a spade a spade so I might as well keep going...there are those of you who are reading this who are saying: "Intimacy, schmintimacy, I want a boyfriend/ girlfriend." And I get that, I've been there, am there on certain Friday nights or on afternoons walking through Dolores park with all its twosomes. Just do this for me:
Think about those relationships that you've been in or friends you know who are in relationships, who do have a boyfriend/ girlfriend where the relationship is just kind of there. They're together, but not. I'm not passing judgment on that, I just want you to think about those relationships.
Now think about the person who you always connect with no matter what, or the friend who says those things to you that might hurt at the time but that end up making things better. Think about that feeling.
Now think again about what you want when you say that you want a boyfriend/ girlfriend. Isn't it that second feeling you're looking for? That being seen, that togetherness, that home? That feeling is intimacy, it's connection, and it comes from being yourself and seeing others for who they are. Who knows, maybe those little intimacies are leading up to that big life partner that you want, maybe not. There's one thing I can say for sure- it's not going to happen unless you're willing to be present for it, all of it.

I am closing my underwear drawer now, you no longer have to look.

If a blog is written but nobody reads it...

Okay, before I begin I must say to the, let's see, one.. two...three, yes, three, I think there are three of you now who read this, that you are not nobodies, you are lovelies. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your encouragement, your whispers, your subtle referrals to my blog in public, your sweet playing along of my game of writing a blog, but not telling anyone about it. Thank you for reading but mostly, thank you for supporting my delusion of anonymity while giving me the recognition that I need to make me keep writing. So when I title this post the way I do, please know that it's not because I think you are nobody...It's just, well, here's what's happening:
Lately in zazen (meditation), I've been paying attention to what thoughts come up for me while I'm meditating and where they come from. And, basically, I've been composing my blogpost during meditation- not such good practice, eh? The first time I noticed this I thought "Well, I'm trying to wrap my head around this whole zen practice. I'm trying to understand Buddhism, that's why I'm thinking about it during zazen." But this morning I thought about it again, and I tried to actually feel what I was feeling and this is what I saw: me, waving my hand in the air, saying "Hey! Look at me! Notice me! See what I'm doing? See me?"
Not the prettiest thing to admit but, it's true, it's what I'm doing. Apparently I am writing a blog to get noticed. (I'm not only doing it for that. I actually do want teachers and not-so-hot-on-the-whole-meditation-thing people to have a place where they can see that they're not the only ones struggling. But still, what's coming up in zazen is a need to be seen). It's sad, but not as sad as what I'm actually doing which is: typing words on a computer, publishing them over some sort of wireless connection, and THEN, not even telling anyone that they're out there. Okay, logic? Sorry, it just went out the window.
I know that what I really need to do, if what I want is to be seen, is to actually talk to people about what I'm writing about on the blog. So then I pictured myself talking to people about this and I pictured them disagreeing with me or wanting me to prove zen practice and I thought "No, that's not what I want, I just want them to listen and say Oh, I see you. You are doing this. That is interesting, tell me more." But, if I've been reading my blog, I know that it doesn't work that way. You can't just have the parts that seem good, you have to take all of it. If I want to be seen, I need to show myself and if people want to disagree with me or ask me to prove it or, heaven forbid, that they might want to share something too, I need to be present for that too.
So, off I go, turning off the computer now, backing away from the keyboard, out in to that world of crazy people like me who just want to be seen.

Rules of containment

 Lately at the zen center they've been talking about containers. Not glass containers or cookie jars but things that contain us, that maintain our practice, that keep us, I guess, grounded. Now, you could easily look at containers another way (oooh, look at that, I’m making a koan!): you could say that containers restrict us, hold us in, limit us. I thought about my experience with these “containers” at the zen center, all of the rules and procedures they have there. When I first started at the zen center if felt like there were a million rules. They felt overwhelming and it felt like they needed to be taken really seriously and that I was bad if I broke them. They also felt removed, handed down from high, some tradition or system designed for the monks.

Those same rules still exist at the zen center but I now find comfort, familiarity, security, community, sweetness, home in them. So I tried to figure out what is it about the rules now that makes them feel like that. I know the rules haven’t changed, my attitude toward them has. So then I tried to understand what is it about a container that can make you feel held rather than confined. What is the difference between the slats of a white picket fence and the bars of a jail?

I thought about it a while, even wrote a poem about it, and I think I have an idea about what I can do to make rules and procedures feel like an embrace or a play yard instead of a choke hold or prison. I think that if the rules are there to provide you with a safe place, if they're meant to give you feedback or guidance or advice when you're starting to travel somewhere unsafe, then they feel good, they feel like they know you and are trying to help you. But if the rules start to infringe upon you, if they start to squash something out of you or enclose you, suffocate you, then you run from them. You try to break free of them, go to a place where you know you can be yourself. So my rules need to be that- to provide a safe container for the kids in which they can be themselves. I want the rules to come from a place of warmth, of caring, and that allow the kids to be themselves while coexisting with their classmates.

And I need to think about that when I make these rules and share with the kids why we have them, that I've actually thought long and hard about them, that I designed them with them in mind, they aren't just random or controlling. But really, I really do have to look at my rules and rethink any of them that are arbitrary or that don't have a reason behind them or that restrict the kids. So that’s what I’m hoping to do in the next couple of weeks as I prepare for the school year to start: genuinely investigate my rules, why I have them, what purpose they serve, and tweak or remove any that are designed to control the kids rather than support them. Wish me luck!

z: One hand clapping...

So, there’s this thing in zen practice called a Koan (I think that’s how you spell it). My experience with it has been that it sets up a situation in which there is no answer or there are multiple answers. I referred to my confusion and frustration with them in an earlier post (Z8)  but it’s basically those stories that ask questions like “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” or “If a tree falls in the forest but no one hears or sees it, did it really fall?” They used to annoy me because I never “got” them and because no one ever told me the answer or even suggested that there was an answer (and yet they were asking a question!). But I think, and you need to read that big disclaimer above if you haven’t yet because this is just my thoughts, not zen practice, I’m beginning to understand why monks study koans. I think they’re practice for life.

One of the things that I keep learning over and over again is that, if we’re going to experience reality, we need to be willing to see life for the way it is: one big mess. It’s not something we can control and it changes all the time and just when we think we understand it, we don’t. But if you want to experience this life for the way it is, you have to just accept the messiness of it. I think that koans are practice for that. I think that when you read or study a koan, you practice being in a place where you don’t know the answer, where there are about a million ways of looking at the problem, where you try one thing and discover another and then see another, and I kind of think that’s practice for how to live your life in the moment, how to be present for what comes your way and how to respond instead of react. It seems like reading or studying koans is like a little playground for life. Over time you become much more comfortable not knowing the answer, just accepting this constantly changing situation and learning to look at the situation, study it, see it in a million different ways, instead of trying to solve it or bring it to a conclusion.  

None of this helps me to understand koans any better and I still totally want to solve them (though I think maybe next time I hear one I’ll just try to sit with it or even play around with it for awhile, instead of trying to figure it out) but at least I’m not annoyed with the monks anymore.

z: And then there's family...

A bunch of us were joking last week at Young Urban Zen about how much harder it is to practice all the things we’re trying to do (listening, being present, being compassionate) when we’re with family. With strangers or even with friends, we can be “zenny”  all day long but with family, it’s like there’s a 20 minute time limit, and then we just give up and fall right back into our old patterns.

I guess this makes sense. If habits and emotional baggage are what distract us from seeing things as they are, there’s no place more distracting or filled with habits and baggage than our interactions with family. Don’t take that the wrong way, families are full of history and emotions and habits and that’s a great thing. It just occurred to me that the reason it can be so hard is because our families are where we spent most of our time developing these habits, these roles, these stories about how things should be. So it’s extra hard to step out of these roles when we’re with them. It’s like just being in the presence of the people who share these habits, who play the parts in the roles that make up our dynamic with others, we fall right back in line to what had been so familiar for so long. In some ways, for me, it can be really good to be around family when I have presence of mind. When I can step back and watch myself and my family dynamic, I can learn a lot about myself, see my own habits in the behaviors of my family. But often, without even thinking, I end up watching myself totally reacting the way I always have and not having the presence to step out of that interaction.

This weekend when I went home, I just went home. I didn’t really think about being present or compassionate, I just spent time with my family. And, like I said, I fell right back into my regular interactions. It wasn’t bad but I definitely watched myself not being present, asserting my own agenda, and interpreting things through my own stories. There were times when I caught myself, took a deep breath, and tried to listen better or to see my family for who they are. But those times didn’t last too long and I was surprised by how easily and naturally I fell right back into my role and reacted based on it rather than on what was actually happening.

At the end of the weekend, totally by fluke, I had an interaction with a family member where I actually was present. I was listening to a certain someone but also thinking about some website on the internet that wasn’t working. I turned my thoughts back to the certain someone and, I think because I had been distracted thinking about the internet, just listened to what they were saying, not how I could respond back. And I saw that this person was being kind of funny, that this person was making a really clever commentary about priorities in society based on the relative thickness of the sports section of the paper in relation to the business section. And I thought “Wow, you have a really sweet way of seeing things by looking at them from a totally different angle.” I won’t share what thoughts I would normally have had about this interaction- they’re not bad but they’re caught up in my concern for this person, my power dynamic with them, and my overall identification with them as their family member. But I’m sharing this because I had a positive interaction when I was (by mistake or not) present for the interaction. And I guess that motivates me to try to be present the next time I’m home, to make the extra effort around family, because for all the stuff they’ve given us, they’re really cool too, and they’re worth the extra deep breath or  the effort it takes to just listen.