A bunch of things happened when I was twelve that, in the aggregate, left me feeling pretty sad and pretty lonely. I turned to my teddy bear for support: he consoled me, told me I was a good person, and assured me that everything was going to be okay. But over time, I noticed some things about my teddy bear that made me question his identity: his fur was synthetic, his eyes were made of plastic, and his tag said "All man made materials."
"Wait a minute," I thought. "You're a stuffed animal, you can't talk!" And then I thought, "Hey! That voice was me. I'm the one who's been consoling myself, reassuring myself, making me happy." At the time, this made me feel safe, knowing that I could take care of myself, no matter what happened. Looking back, I realize now that it set in motion a habit of relying on myself in times of need and believing that no one else could help me. It also set up a false belief in that voice inside my head. But I have to admit that that voice is always there, sometimes comforting, and a really important thing for me: will never leave me. It's my thoughts, it's my habits, it's myself but often, I believe it's reality. This past weekend, as I was listening to that voice again, I realized that voice really is me, only me. Here's what happened.
As I walked out of the Budhha hall after service, I ended up moving from spot to spot in the work circle, each time feeling like I was in someone's way. Shortly thereafter, I was sweeping the steps for soji. As I was sweeping, I was reflecting on my behavior in the work circle and I imagined that people in the work circle were watching me and thinking: "Poor kid, she's just trying to find her place at the zen center." And then I remembered what everyone keeps telling me: no one is thinking about what you are doing at the zen center. And I thought, "Oh, yeah, that's you. You are thinking to yourself: Poor kid, you're just trying to find your place at the zen center." And then I realized: wait, that's you. You're judging yourself. You're looking at yourself as a poor kid who's just trying to find herself at the zen center, no one else is doing that.
At first I was kind of crushed: even my self is judgmental. I'm kind of a judgmental person. And then I felt kind of lonely. Hearing that voice judge me felt like it was another person, like it was separate from me, and I wasn't quite sure who I was left with if they weren't me either. But then I realized that that judgment actually was separate from me, it was made up, it only exists if I want it to exist.
I've known about thoughts for a while now. I've known about judgment, and recently begun to cognitively understand that the judgment I feel is coming from me, not others, but I never really got that it is an option. The judgment isn't just coming from me, it's being made up by me. It feels real, it feels like I know myself and am seeing myself, but I'm not. I'm just generating thoughts. These ones feel more real because I used to attribute them to others but now, seeing that I'm the only one doing it, makes me see that I don't have to do it.
I'm not quite sure how I'm going to stop generating judgmental thoughts, maybe that's not the point. Maybe the point is to just recognize that what feels like judgment is just a thought.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Coulda brought the brownies...
So, I tried something this weekend: I tried to interrupt a habit of mine. It turns out, it didn't work. I think it didn't work because I was looking at the manifestation of the habit instead of the habit itself. Or maybe I was trying to change my conditions instead of just accepting them or even just investigating them. Actually, now that I really think about it, I think I was trying to deny who I was, who I am. That's not such a good idea, and I'll bet that if you wanted to do that, it would take a whole lot more than just not making brownies.
Basically, I didn't bring brownies to an event in the hope that by not bringing brownies, I would allow myself to just be a person, instead of being a cool person who brings brownies. I was pretty intentional about breaking this habit so I was watching myself, my interactions with others, kind of looking for my identity. And it was funny, I had thought that by not bringing the brownies, I'd be kind of incognito, that somehow my self would just blend in with the rest of the group. But that didn't happen. As soon as I got to the event, I started watching myself and I immediately saw that there's a whole lot more to me than just a cool girl who makes brownies. It turns out that I am also the person who makes jokes, the person who tries to help out, the person who laughs really loud. I'm sure that I am also a bunch of other people, that's just who I saw in the initial moments. After that, I stopped watching because I realized how silly it was- to think that by not bringing brownies I could somehow suppress myself. Myself is myself is myself and it's going to show up no matter what and in full force. And honestly, I'm beginning to think that I need to spend a lot less time thinking about it.
Basically, I didn't bring brownies to an event in the hope that by not bringing brownies, I would allow myself to just be a person, instead of being a cool person who brings brownies. I was pretty intentional about breaking this habit so I was watching myself, my interactions with others, kind of looking for my identity. And it was funny, I had thought that by not bringing the brownies, I'd be kind of incognito, that somehow my self would just blend in with the rest of the group. But that didn't happen. As soon as I got to the event, I started watching myself and I immediately saw that there's a whole lot more to me than just a cool girl who makes brownies. It turns out that I am also the person who makes jokes, the person who tries to help out, the person who laughs really loud. I'm sure that I am also a bunch of other people, that's just who I saw in the initial moments. After that, I stopped watching because I realized how silly it was- to think that by not bringing brownies I could somehow suppress myself. Myself is myself is myself and it's going to show up no matter what and in full force. And honestly, I'm beginning to think that I need to spend a lot less time thinking about it.
Bowing: it's like French kissing
When I think of bows, I think of a big person making a little person do something. I think of supplication, dominance, or control. As a result, I'm not so much a fan of bowing. It makes me feel little, controlled, and not so much my individual free self.
It's a little tricky to not be a fan of bowing at the Zen Center because at the Zen Center you bow, a lot. Over the past year I have been bowing, a lot. I've been bowing, because it's what you do. I've tried to learn when to bow and how to bow well. But I've never enjoyed it.
This past week, I bowed...voluntarily...three times. And one of them was even outside of the zen center. It was after school, on Thursday, when the parents picked up their kids right on time. I bowed in gratitude for their promptness that allowed me to start my glorious four day weekend right away. The first voluntary bow was at Young Urban Zen on Monday night.. It was 9 o'clock so we had to end, but I didn't want to end without bowing to each other. I wanted to express my gratitude to the people in the room for the wisdom and insight they had offered me but I also wanted us to be together. I wanted us to bow in unison because we're a community now and bowing together is like one big group hug, only not so cheezy and awkward. But the last bow was the one that really got me thinking. It was after practice period tea on Thursday night. People were packing up to leave and I wanted to say ,"Wait, wait! We haven't 'bowed out'" I didn't actually say anything but when I thought about saying it I thought, "What are you doing? You're asking for a bow?" And then I thought, "Oh, this is like when you first learned to French kiss."
The first time I traveled outside of the US it was to visit my friends who have a pearl farm in Tahiti. Tahiti is French controlled (or it was when I was there), so many of the customs there mimic those in France. When you say hello or goodbye, you kiss people on each of their cheeks. I did NOT like this custom. First of all, this was beyond no personal space, this was shared personal space. You had to actually kiss another person's cheek, the first time you met them! And then, logically, it made no sense to me. How can I kiss your cheek, if you're kissing my cheek? And then there's the whole form: do you kiss the air, do you kiss the cheek, who kisses first, how long do you kiss, do you make noise, etc. It took me a while to get used to it, especially when we would go to someone's house and have to kiss everybody in the room.
But I stayed in Tahiti for three weeks. And over those three weeks, all of the Tahitians we met were so incredibly generous with their space, their food, their belongings, their time, their love... And I kissed every one of their cheeks. And we stayed with my friends' good friends'. And I kissed their cheeks too. And over time, we saw the same people over and over again and I began to associate a kiss on each cheek with either a fond hello or a sad goodbye. By the time I flew home to California, I felt like kissing everyone on the cheek when I saw them. I was grateful for hugs, but I also wanted to repeat that gesture of greeting, of sweetness, of intimacy.
I think that this is what has happened to me with bowing at the zen center. My association with bows has changed.. What I once perceived as forced supplication, awkward mimicry, and an attempt to follow forms has become a genuine physical embodiment of gratitude, community, and love. And the interesting thing, is how this change has come about. The change in my perception of bowing has come not through analysis or reading or instruction, but through physical experience and presence to myself and others while bowing.
I mentioned earlier that I have been bowing over the past year and that I've been bowing a lot. These are the bows that I have been doing. I bow to the person who stays to clean my dishes as I walk away to enjoy my Saturday. I bow to the doorwatch for standing while we sit. I bow to the server who picks up my spilled rice. I bow to the person who sits across from me in the zendo. I bow to the people in my small group at the Full Moon Ceremony after they share their fears and effort over the past month. I bow and smile to my friends when we get to see each other and talk. And I bow to them when they listen and let me be sad. And I bow to the feet, the robes, the jeans, the clogs, the physical embodiment of all the people at the Zen Center. All this time I have been bowing and bowing and bowing and now bowing means something completely different to me, just by bowing over and over and over again and feeling how I feel when I bow.
To me, this is the most interesting part. Because there are a lot of things, (and there are a lot of people) in this life, that I'm not so much a fan of. There are things that I avoid, that I judge, that I dismiss because they make me uncomfortable or because I don't see value in them. I guess this is part of life, to have these feelings about these things. But then I think about bowing, and how much I now cherish its act and how I used to not have it in my life because of my perceptions around it. And that makes me start to wonder about some other things. About how those things that I am so sure I don't want, that I don't need, that cause me such discomfort...well, maybe they're like bowing too. I don't know, maybe it's a stretch, but also maybe, if I start to just experience them, try to be present with them without my perceptions and associations, maybe they'll turn out to be something I cherish too. Either way, I feel like I might be missing something by not experiencing those things that I seem to dislike so much, that maybe they have something to offer me too.
It's a little tricky to not be a fan of bowing at the Zen Center because at the Zen Center you bow, a lot. Over the past year I have been bowing, a lot. I've been bowing, because it's what you do. I've tried to learn when to bow and how to bow well. But I've never enjoyed it.
This past week, I bowed...voluntarily...three times. And one of them was even outside of the zen center. It was after school, on Thursday, when the parents picked up their kids right on time. I bowed in gratitude for their promptness that allowed me to start my glorious four day weekend right away. The first voluntary bow was at Young Urban Zen on Monday night.. It was 9 o'clock so we had to end, but I didn't want to end without bowing to each other. I wanted to express my gratitude to the people in the room for the wisdom and insight they had offered me but I also wanted us to be together. I wanted us to bow in unison because we're a community now and bowing together is like one big group hug, only not so cheezy and awkward. But the last bow was the one that really got me thinking. It was after practice period tea on Thursday night. People were packing up to leave and I wanted to say ,"Wait, wait! We haven't 'bowed out'" I didn't actually say anything but when I thought about saying it I thought, "What are you doing? You're asking for a bow?" And then I thought, "Oh, this is like when you first learned to French kiss."
The first time I traveled outside of the US it was to visit my friends who have a pearl farm in Tahiti. Tahiti is French controlled (or it was when I was there), so many of the customs there mimic those in France. When you say hello or goodbye, you kiss people on each of their cheeks. I did NOT like this custom. First of all, this was beyond no personal space, this was shared personal space. You had to actually kiss another person's cheek, the first time you met them! And then, logically, it made no sense to me. How can I kiss your cheek, if you're kissing my cheek? And then there's the whole form: do you kiss the air, do you kiss the cheek, who kisses first, how long do you kiss, do you make noise, etc. It took me a while to get used to it, especially when we would go to someone's house and have to kiss everybody in the room.
But I stayed in Tahiti for three weeks. And over those three weeks, all of the Tahitians we met were so incredibly generous with their space, their food, their belongings, their time, their love... And I kissed every one of their cheeks. And we stayed with my friends' good friends'. And I kissed their cheeks too. And over time, we saw the same people over and over again and I began to associate a kiss on each cheek with either a fond hello or a sad goodbye. By the time I flew home to California, I felt like kissing everyone on the cheek when I saw them. I was grateful for hugs, but I also wanted to repeat that gesture of greeting, of sweetness, of intimacy.
I think that this is what has happened to me with bowing at the zen center. My association with bows has changed.. What I once perceived as forced supplication, awkward mimicry, and an attempt to follow forms has become a genuine physical embodiment of gratitude, community, and love. And the interesting thing, is how this change has come about. The change in my perception of bowing has come not through analysis or reading or instruction, but through physical experience and presence to myself and others while bowing.
I mentioned earlier that I have been bowing over the past year and that I've been bowing a lot. These are the bows that I have been doing. I bow to the person who stays to clean my dishes as I walk away to enjoy my Saturday. I bow to the doorwatch for standing while we sit. I bow to the server who picks up my spilled rice. I bow to the person who sits across from me in the zendo. I bow to the people in my small group at the Full Moon Ceremony after they share their fears and effort over the past month. I bow and smile to my friends when we get to see each other and talk. And I bow to them when they listen and let me be sad. And I bow to the feet, the robes, the jeans, the clogs, the physical embodiment of all the people at the Zen Center. All this time I have been bowing and bowing and bowing and now bowing means something completely different to me, just by bowing over and over and over again and feeling how I feel when I bow.
To me, this is the most interesting part. Because there are a lot of things, (and there are a lot of people) in this life, that I'm not so much a fan of. There are things that I avoid, that I judge, that I dismiss because they make me uncomfortable or because I don't see value in them. I guess this is part of life, to have these feelings about these things. But then I think about bowing, and how much I now cherish its act and how I used to not have it in my life because of my perceptions around it. And that makes me start to wonder about some other things. About how those things that I am so sure I don't want, that I don't need, that cause me such discomfort...well, maybe they're like bowing too. I don't know, maybe it's a stretch, but also maybe, if I start to just experience them, try to be present with them without my perceptions and associations, maybe they'll turn out to be something I cherish too. Either way, I feel like I might be missing something by not experiencing those things that I seem to dislike so much, that maybe they have something to offer me too.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Showing up without brownies
I like to bake. I think it's because I like to eat chocolate and when you bake, you get to eat the dough too. I really like the dough. However, I have been noticing some things about myself and this includes my "propensity" to make people like me. This stems from some early habits and delusions that if I make you happy, you will not leave me and you will enjoy my company.
In looking at this, I noticed a connection between my "propensity" to make people like me and my "propensity" to bake for others (or to bring sweets or other treats to group functions). I did not like seeing this. I did not want to believe that I was bringing chocolate to class in the hopes that it would make the people in class like me. I wanted to believe that I was just bringing chocolate, just sharing with others. But when I sat with it, really felt it, felt my expectations, my gratification when people appreciated my chocolate and associated it with thoughtfulness or generosity, felt the security it brought me, I felt like there was a connection there. In some way or another, maybe not completely but at least somewhat, I really was bringing treats or making sweets with an expectation that it would please the person, and that would make them like me and not reject me. It's not as simple as that but there was still a connection there that I needed to see to understand this habit of mine.
This weekend, I am going on a retreat to Green Gulch with YUZ. I have Friday off of school and I was excited because it meant that I could bake something for the retreat. I considered making peanut butter kiss cookies because everyone always loves those and the batter makes a ton. Then I considered making these sinfully horrible double stuffed oreo, chocolate chip cookie, brownie towers- just to counteract the whole zen purity of Green Gulch (or something like that). And then I remembered reading in the email that we would have access to a kitchen and I thought, "Ooooh, I'll make my chocolate chip scones! Those are always super good right when they're fresh and I could make them that morning and everyone would say Wow- these are amazing!"
So, I checked with one of the organizers of the retreat, just to make sure that we had access to the oven. He asked me why I would want access to the oven and I explained that I wanted to make scones. He looked at me, a little perplexed, and asked when I would be making the scones. I said that I would make them in the morning and he explained that there would be plenty of baked goods and that breakfast would be provided and that we didn't really have access to an oven other than a hot plate. But he thanked me for the offer and said that it was quite kind to think of doing that.
Okay, I thought, I'll go for the brownies, a little midnight snack for the retreat. But then I thought a little more about what he had said, about how we didn't need scones. And I thought that we probably didn't need a little midnight snack either.
And then I thought about why I might be bringing the brownies. "No, really? Really am I bringing brownies to make people like me, really? It doesn't feel like I'm bringing brownies to make people like me. It feels like it's a fun recipe and it would be fun to eat brownies late at night and be all sugared up and share in delicious hydrogenated oils and preservatives and feel like we're kids again."
And then I pictured what it would be like if brought the brownies and this is what I pictured people would say as they ate them:
OMG these are so good!
You are an amazing baker!
It is SO COOL that you brought these!
Dude, remember when we ate those BROWNIES?
And I thought, Darn it! It's about me being "that cool girl who made the brownies."
So then I pictured what would happen if I didn't bring brownies and this is what I thought:
Oh, I'll just be like everyone else. I'll just be part of the group.
Double darn it!
I can't bring the brownies! I'm using them to control people's perception of me. I'm trying to make myself into someone instead of just showing up as who I am.
Darn it!
I'd like to say that I'm okay enough with who I am to bring brownies to this event and keep people's response to them separate from my feelings of security or belonging. But if I'm being true to myself and willing to discover who I am, I think it's better to show up and see who I am without the brownies.
In looking at this, I noticed a connection between my "propensity" to make people like me and my "propensity" to bake for others (or to bring sweets or other treats to group functions). I did not like seeing this. I did not want to believe that I was bringing chocolate to class in the hopes that it would make the people in class like me. I wanted to believe that I was just bringing chocolate, just sharing with others. But when I sat with it, really felt it, felt my expectations, my gratification when people appreciated my chocolate and associated it with thoughtfulness or generosity, felt the security it brought me, I felt like there was a connection there. In some way or another, maybe not completely but at least somewhat, I really was bringing treats or making sweets with an expectation that it would please the person, and that would make them like me and not reject me. It's not as simple as that but there was still a connection there that I needed to see to understand this habit of mine.
This weekend, I am going on a retreat to Green Gulch with YUZ. I have Friday off of school and I was excited because it meant that I could bake something for the retreat. I considered making peanut butter kiss cookies because everyone always loves those and the batter makes a ton. Then I considered making these sinfully horrible double stuffed oreo, chocolate chip cookie, brownie towers- just to counteract the whole zen purity of Green Gulch (or something like that). And then I remembered reading in the email that we would have access to a kitchen and I thought, "Ooooh, I'll make my chocolate chip scones! Those are always super good right when they're fresh and I could make them that morning and everyone would say Wow- these are amazing!"
So, I checked with one of the organizers of the retreat, just to make sure that we had access to the oven. He asked me why I would want access to the oven and I explained that I wanted to make scones. He looked at me, a little perplexed, and asked when I would be making the scones. I said that I would make them in the morning and he explained that there would be plenty of baked goods and that breakfast would be provided and that we didn't really have access to an oven other than a hot plate. But he thanked me for the offer and said that it was quite kind to think of doing that.
Okay, I thought, I'll go for the brownies, a little midnight snack for the retreat. But then I thought a little more about what he had said, about how we didn't need scones. And I thought that we probably didn't need a little midnight snack either.
And then I thought about why I might be bringing the brownies. "No, really? Really am I bringing brownies to make people like me, really? It doesn't feel like I'm bringing brownies to make people like me. It feels like it's a fun recipe and it would be fun to eat brownies late at night and be all sugared up and share in delicious hydrogenated oils and preservatives and feel like we're kids again."
And then I pictured what it would be like if brought the brownies and this is what I pictured people would say as they ate them:
OMG these are so good!
You are an amazing baker!
It is SO COOL that you brought these!
Dude, remember when we ate those BROWNIES?
And I thought, Darn it! It's about me being "that cool girl who made the brownies."
So then I pictured what would happen if I didn't bring brownies and this is what I thought:
Oh, I'll just be like everyone else. I'll just be part of the group.
Double darn it!
I can't bring the brownies! I'm using them to control people's perception of me. I'm trying to make myself into someone instead of just showing up as who I am.
Darn it!
I'd like to say that I'm okay enough with who I am to bring brownies to this event and keep people's response to them separate from my feelings of security or belonging. But if I'm being true to myself and willing to discover who I am, I think it's better to show up and see who I am without the brownies.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
You're late, you want to ADD anger to that?
I came back from the zen center this morning, went through my usual routine in the kitchen, then headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth: 6:45?! The clock said 6:45, it should have said 6:30. How did this happen? I didn't wait that long for my oatmeal to cool. Really, I can't be 15 minutes late.
And then I thought: "Damn Doan!"
(That's zen speak for 'Curse you person who rings the bell to say that meditation time is over and we can leave.')
I stomped in to my room. "I knew meditation went over time this morning, but I didn't check because I wasn't wearing my watch 'cause I was all 'zen' and 'following the schedule.' Fat lot 'zen' brings me: late on a day when I can't be late, late on a day when I left early the day before."
I grabbed the quickest outfit I could put on, rushed out the door, and hot-footed it up the hill. I thought about what I could do to make up for time, imagined what the people at school would say when I got there late and imagined how I would respond: "It's not my fault. The person at the zen center rang the bell late this morning." And I could feel myself getting angry. And I felt totally fine being angry because the person who rang the bell late was wrong. And then I remembered the last time I felt justified in my anger and how it led me to just spew my anger all over another person and how it didn't make me feel any better and made me really sorry for spewing all over them. Then I felt how fast I was walking and I thought, "Umm, you're fast, but not 15 minutes fast. You're late. No matter how fast you walk up this hill, you are still going to be late. You just are. Now you are getting angry too. Do you really want to be angry? 'Cause you were just fine until you looked at the clock. You were peaceful and present just moments ago and now you're all tense and angry. It's true, you're late, the clock showed you that. But the anger, that's you making stuff up."
And I didn't want to be angry and I knew that it was true that I was late so I went back to walking regularly and I stopped thinking about how wrong the Doan was and how it wasn't my fault. I just walked.
But then I thought about something we had talked about at Young Urban Zen the night before. We were discussing the difference between emotion and 'emotional chatter.' I had been struggling with whether or not to pay attention to emotions that felt completely real but were actually habits. I was trying to understand how you knew which ones were true emotions, and which ones were just habits that had been ingrained in you so long that they felt like they were true.
One of the leaders said that he had heard once that most emotions last for about a millisecond, and that all the rest of it, the stuff that we continue to feel, is stuff that we add on to that emotion: perceptions, judgment, denial, clinging, etc. That stuff is the 'emotional chatter.'
And then I thought about myself and what I've been seeing. Just yesterday in zazen, I kind of came to terms with the fact that this stuff that I'm seeing about myself, has been around for a long time. I'm struggling with seeing it now partly because I've been denying its existence throughout my interactions. I need to accept all of it, see what I've been trying to hide, accept that it's what I did because honestly, I've known all along that I was doing it, I just didn't want anyone else to know. And I remember feeling kind of free about that, feeling less caught up in it when I accepted all of it.
And then I thought, "Oh, my sh%@ is like being late. It just is, I can't change it. But the stuff I put on it- the fear that this is who I am, the anger that it happened this way, the grasping at some other explanation, the blame on others, the delusion that I can make up for it by doing something different- that's emotional chatter, that's what's bumming me out, and that's what's hanging around causing me suffering. It isn't the seeing it, it's the judging it and the adding of stuff on to it that makes me sad and scared and lonely."
Now, I'm not all awakened about this or anything. I'm not suddenly embracing stuff that I have been terrified by for the past three weeks, but I am kind of opening up about it, making space for it to exist and seeing it, just seeing it, like it's just there instead of feeling like it's attacking me and tearing apart my very existence.
And then I thought: "Damn Doan!"
(That's zen speak for 'Curse you person who rings the bell to say that meditation time is over and we can leave.')
I stomped in to my room. "I knew meditation went over time this morning, but I didn't check because I wasn't wearing my watch 'cause I was all 'zen' and 'following the schedule.' Fat lot 'zen' brings me: late on a day when I can't be late, late on a day when I left early the day before."
I grabbed the quickest outfit I could put on, rushed out the door, and hot-footed it up the hill. I thought about what I could do to make up for time, imagined what the people at school would say when I got there late and imagined how I would respond: "It's not my fault. The person at the zen center rang the bell late this morning." And I could feel myself getting angry. And I felt totally fine being angry because the person who rang the bell late was wrong. And then I remembered the last time I felt justified in my anger and how it led me to just spew my anger all over another person and how it didn't make me feel any better and made me really sorry for spewing all over them. Then I felt how fast I was walking and I thought, "Umm, you're fast, but not 15 minutes fast. You're late. No matter how fast you walk up this hill, you are still going to be late. You just are. Now you are getting angry too. Do you really want to be angry? 'Cause you were just fine until you looked at the clock. You were peaceful and present just moments ago and now you're all tense and angry. It's true, you're late, the clock showed you that. But the anger, that's you making stuff up."
And I didn't want to be angry and I knew that it was true that I was late so I went back to walking regularly and I stopped thinking about how wrong the Doan was and how it wasn't my fault. I just walked.
But then I thought about something we had talked about at Young Urban Zen the night before. We were discussing the difference between emotion and 'emotional chatter.' I had been struggling with whether or not to pay attention to emotions that felt completely real but were actually habits. I was trying to understand how you knew which ones were true emotions, and which ones were just habits that had been ingrained in you so long that they felt like they were true.
One of the leaders said that he had heard once that most emotions last for about a millisecond, and that all the rest of it, the stuff that we continue to feel, is stuff that we add on to that emotion: perceptions, judgment, denial, clinging, etc. That stuff is the 'emotional chatter.'
And then I thought about myself and what I've been seeing. Just yesterday in zazen, I kind of came to terms with the fact that this stuff that I'm seeing about myself, has been around for a long time. I'm struggling with seeing it now partly because I've been denying its existence throughout my interactions. I need to accept all of it, see what I've been trying to hide, accept that it's what I did because honestly, I've known all along that I was doing it, I just didn't want anyone else to know. And I remember feeling kind of free about that, feeling less caught up in it when I accepted all of it.
And then I thought, "Oh, my sh%@ is like being late. It just is, I can't change it. But the stuff I put on it- the fear that this is who I am, the anger that it happened this way, the grasping at some other explanation, the blame on others, the delusion that I can make up for it by doing something different- that's emotional chatter, that's what's bumming me out, and that's what's hanging around causing me suffering. It isn't the seeing it, it's the judging it and the adding of stuff on to it that makes me sad and scared and lonely."
Now, I'm not all awakened about this or anything. I'm not suddenly embracing stuff that I have been terrified by for the past three weeks, but I am kind of opening up about it, making space for it to exist and seeing it, just seeing it, like it's just there instead of feeling like it's attacking me and tearing apart my very existence.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
We are all the same in the zendo
I have been gently reminded BY EVERYONE AROUND ME AT THE ZEN CENTER, that I am no different from anyone else at the zen center. This is not easy for me to see or to accept. I wish I knew why this is not easy for me to accept because it kind of sucks for me to keep being on the outside when I really want to be on the inside especially since I'm the only one who's keeping me out. However, as with everything in zen, things come slowly, in little bits and then, because it's zen, they come all of a sudden, all at once, and in full force.
Tonight, in the zendo during service, I tried really hard to be present, to do a kind of bowing/chanting/ meditation thing: like how kinhin is walking meditation, this would be service meditation. I tried to be present to where I was at that moment. I was present to a few things: I was present to the particular kokyo who has some magic in the way his announcements of the chants flow somewhere between words and song, and this made me smile. Then I imagined that people were watching me smile and thinking either "Awww, how sweet, she's happy again" or "Huh, she's not being very respectful or solemn." And then I remembered what one of the priests had written on my blogpost about being judged at the zen center- that he was too busy worrying about tripping over his robes to even notice what anyone else in the zendo was doing.
Then I saw the look of the guy standing across from me. He was glancing sideways, shuffling his feet, and he looked to me like he wasn't sure when to bow or where to stand. "I remember that look," I thought. "I totally know that feeling." And then it was time to get the chant cards and a bell gonged and the two of us near the chant cards kind of made motions like we should get them but weren't sure if it was the right time and whether we were the ones who were supposed to get them and then the guy next to me got them and handed them out.
And then we were chanting and I was feeling a little unsettled about the whole no eyes, no ears, no sounds, no taste part. And then I was taking a breath because you just can't do that whole thing without taking a breath and I thought, "Hey, everyone in this room has to take a breath. And I'll bet they might worry about when to take a breath or how to take a breath while you chant." And then I thought, "You know what, I'll bet that there are other people in the room who are thinking WTF am I saying when I chant this stuff?"
Now, I honestly don't know what anyone else in the zendo was thinking. I have learned that lesson well- I do not know what anyone else is thinking, or even if they are thinking. But we were all breathing and we were all chanting and we are all bowing and we are all in the zendo and we have all chosen to be there. That makes us all the same and all the different and that is all.
Tonight, in the zendo during service, I tried really hard to be present, to do a kind of bowing/chanting/ meditation thing: like how kinhin is walking meditation, this would be service meditation. I tried to be present to where I was at that moment. I was present to a few things: I was present to the particular kokyo who has some magic in the way his announcements of the chants flow somewhere between words and song, and this made me smile. Then I imagined that people were watching me smile and thinking either "Awww, how sweet, she's happy again" or "Huh, she's not being very respectful or solemn." And then I remembered what one of the priests had written on my blogpost about being judged at the zen center- that he was too busy worrying about tripping over his robes to even notice what anyone else in the zendo was doing.
Then I saw the look of the guy standing across from me. He was glancing sideways, shuffling his feet, and he looked to me like he wasn't sure when to bow or where to stand. "I remember that look," I thought. "I totally know that feeling." And then it was time to get the chant cards and a bell gonged and the two of us near the chant cards kind of made motions like we should get them but weren't sure if it was the right time and whether we were the ones who were supposed to get them and then the guy next to me got them and handed them out.
And then we were chanting and I was feeling a little unsettled about the whole no eyes, no ears, no sounds, no taste part. And then I was taking a breath because you just can't do that whole thing without taking a breath and I thought, "Hey, everyone in this room has to take a breath. And I'll bet they might worry about when to take a breath or how to take a breath while you chant." And then I thought, "You know what, I'll bet that there are other people in the room who are thinking WTF am I saying when I chant this stuff?"
Now, I honestly don't know what anyone else in the zendo was thinking. I have learned that lesson well- I do not know what anyone else is thinking, or even if they are thinking. But we were all breathing and we were all chanting and we are all bowing and we are all in the zendo and we have all chosen to be there. That makes us all the same and all the different and that is all.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Feeling judged at the zen center
PLEASE READ the comments at the end of this post. You'll see that the actual "people in robes" (as opposed to my made up image of them) have so much to teach me and have never ever judged me.
I was talking with the Ino about judgment: where my feelings of being judged come from, what I get from feeling judged, and who is doing the judging. At one point, he pointed to the people in the room (we were in the dining room at the zen center) and asked, "Who in this room is judging you?" And I knew without even looking that no one in the room was judging me. I knew that all of the people sitting at the tables, the very same people who sit next to me in the zendo, who bow and chant alongside me during ceremonies or even just plain old dharma talks, are not judging me. I know it, I just do.
But I also know how I feel when I walk in the zendo and bow. I know how I feel when I open my bowls during oryoki. I know how I feel during service when I bow at the wrong time.
I feel like I'm being judged: that the people in the zendo (and I'm sorry, I have to be honest here, when I say "people" I am referring specifically to those wearing robes) are watching me, are evaluating my "behavior," checking to see whether I am doing it "right" or "wrong."
And here's the really interesting thing: In the same way that I know, absolutely, that no one at the zen center is judging me; I also know, absolutely, that the people at the zen center, especially the ones in robes, are watching me. They are paying attention to how I enter the zendo, my opening of oryoki bowls, my timing of bows during service. I know this because they say things to me like "You always bow when I walk by you in the gaitan." Or they make announcements like "Oryoki bowls should be carried at chest level as you enter the zendo and at eye level when you are in the zendo" (during an oryoki in which I carried my bowls at
whatever level I could to balance them on my support cushion).
Now, there are a bunch of things going on here. There is my actual experience: people at the
zen center have said things to me that they could not possibly have known if they weren't
paying attention to me. So to me, it feels pretty safe to say that I am being watched at the
zen center.
But there's also the "judgment" piece, and I'm discovering that this has a bunch of parts to
it. There's the role that I play in this feeling of judgment: that I desperately want to do
things "right" at the zen center. I want this for a bunch of reasons: I don't want to stand
out as the idiot who can't seem to figure out how to bow. I don't want to "disrupt" others who
are practicing. I don't want to be such distraction that they ask me to leave. I want to be
accepted and loved and my history around this is that if you follow the rules and don't
disturb others, then we will let you stay and we might enjoy being around you.
But there's another piece, and I think it has to do with a really fine distinction between
"judgment" and "feedback." I think that judgment has a value aspect to it: that there is a
"good" and a "bad" or that there is a "right" and a "wrong." But then there's "feedback" which to me means someone observing you and telling you what they see.
Last week, right before Vikki gave posture adjustments in the zendo she said something to the
effect of, "This is not meant to be a correction, this is not to say that you are sitting
right or wrong. This is "feedback" to your body, helping it to feel the posture that allows
you to breathe." At the time, I laughed; knowing full well that people were going to
feel corrected no matter what she said. I know for myself that every time they offer adjustments in the zendo, I totally straighten up as the person walks by. If they pass me, without offering adjustment, I think "phew, my posture must be good enough that they don't have to correct it." At the same time, though, I know that I kind of like the touch of someone adjusting my back and I've actually been really helped by the instruction I've been given around my posture.
And that made me think about a student in my classroom. He and I often spend a lot of one on one time together so that I can help him with his reading and math. He absolutely loves my
attention, but he also has some parameters around what kind of attention I can give him. We
can read together but he hates it when I correct him. We can do math boxes together but when I
start to point out to him where he is making a mistake, he suddenly wants to do it on his own.
Now, I know that he is totally sensitive to criticism and that he, like me, takes any kind of
rejection really hard because we both associate rejection with abandonment. But at the same
time, I'm his teacher. I can't just let him subtract starting with the hundreds digit instead
of the ones digit because it might hurt his feelings. I have to be able to correct him.
One day, after a morning in which he had gotten so frustrated by my corrections that he had
scribbled all over his math boxes, I said to him, "I'm your teacher. It's my job to help you
learn this stuff. I can't let you do it that way because it will get you the wrong answer, and I know that you want to get the answer right. I'm helping you not because you are dumb or that you don't get it. You do get it, you get a lot of it, but there are things that are confusing and when you confuse them, I'm going to show you how to do it because I've been teaching third grade for a long time so I know about these things." He didn't magically start taking my feedback or stop getting frustrated or suddenly become open to my corrections, but he did begin to be willing to listen to what I had to say about the math problems.
And these two things together got me thinking about the zen center: how the actual people there aren't judging me and yet still I feel like I'm being watched. This is what I started to see about this apparent contradiction:
#1 The "people in robes" (or at least some of them) are teachers. They have been studying
this stuff a long time. They know that it is confusing, they know you want to get it right,
and so they are going to give you "feedback" on your behavior.
#2 You have chosen to come to the zen center. You come a lot and so people are paying
attention to you; not because you're standing out, not because you're special, but because you
have chosen to attend a Buddhist temple filled with Buddhist priests and practitioners who
have taken a vow to awaken all beings. It's pretty much their life's passion to help you with
this stuff. You feel "watched" by them because honestly, they probably are watching you.
But they aren't watching you to accept or reject you. You may take their "watching" as judgment, as an evaluation of whether you are doing it "right" or "wrong," but that has to do you with you and your issues around judgment and acceptance. They are just giving you feedback in the same way that you are giving your students feedback.
And so, if you are feeling "judged" when you come in to the zendo, know a couple of things:
The judgment you feel is most likely coming from you (and you can go where you want with that statement)
But also, it's only judgment when you choose to see their responses to you as an evaluation, a criticism, a "right" or "wrong" instead of a "walk here" or a "bow at this time."
I was talking with the Ino about judgment: where my feelings of being judged come from, what I get from feeling judged, and who is doing the judging. At one point, he pointed to the people in the room (we were in the dining room at the zen center) and asked, "Who in this room is judging you?" And I knew without even looking that no one in the room was judging me. I knew that all of the people sitting at the tables, the very same people who sit next to me in the zendo, who bow and chant alongside me during ceremonies or even just plain old dharma talks, are not judging me. I know it, I just do.
But I also know how I feel when I walk in the zendo and bow. I know how I feel when I open my bowls during oryoki. I know how I feel during service when I bow at the wrong time.
I feel like I'm being judged: that the people in the zendo (and I'm sorry, I have to be honest here, when I say "people" I am referring specifically to those wearing robes) are watching me, are evaluating my "behavior," checking to see whether I am doing it "right" or "wrong."
And here's the really interesting thing: In the same way that I know, absolutely, that no one at the zen center is judging me; I also know, absolutely, that the people at the zen center, especially the ones in robes, are watching me. They are paying attention to how I enter the zendo, my opening of oryoki bowls, my timing of bows during service. I know this because they say things to me like "You always bow when I walk by you in the gaitan." Or they make announcements like "Oryoki bowls should be carried at chest level as you enter the zendo and at eye level when you are in the zendo" (during an oryoki in which I carried my bowls at
whatever level I could to balance them on my support cushion).
Now, there are a bunch of things going on here. There is my actual experience: people at the
zen center have said things to me that they could not possibly have known if they weren't
paying attention to me. So to me, it feels pretty safe to say that I am being watched at the
zen center.
But there's also the "judgment" piece, and I'm discovering that this has a bunch of parts to
it. There's the role that I play in this feeling of judgment: that I desperately want to do
things "right" at the zen center. I want this for a bunch of reasons: I don't want to stand
out as the idiot who can't seem to figure out how to bow. I don't want to "disrupt" others who
are practicing. I don't want to be such distraction that they ask me to leave. I want to be
accepted and loved and my history around this is that if you follow the rules and don't
disturb others, then we will let you stay and we might enjoy being around you.
But there's another piece, and I think it has to do with a really fine distinction between
"judgment" and "feedback." I think that judgment has a value aspect to it: that there is a
"good" and a "bad" or that there is a "right" and a "wrong." But then there's "feedback" which to me means someone observing you and telling you what they see.
Last week, right before Vikki gave posture adjustments in the zendo she said something to the
effect of, "This is not meant to be a correction, this is not to say that you are sitting
right or wrong. This is "feedback" to your body, helping it to feel the posture that allows
you to breathe." At the time, I laughed; knowing full well that people were going to
feel corrected no matter what she said. I know for myself that every time they offer adjustments in the zendo, I totally straighten up as the person walks by. If they pass me, without offering adjustment, I think "phew, my posture must be good enough that they don't have to correct it." At the same time, though, I know that I kind of like the touch of someone adjusting my back and I've actually been really helped by the instruction I've been given around my posture.
And that made me think about a student in my classroom. He and I often spend a lot of one on one time together so that I can help him with his reading and math. He absolutely loves my
attention, but he also has some parameters around what kind of attention I can give him. We
can read together but he hates it when I correct him. We can do math boxes together but when I
start to point out to him where he is making a mistake, he suddenly wants to do it on his own.
Now, I know that he is totally sensitive to criticism and that he, like me, takes any kind of
rejection really hard because we both associate rejection with abandonment. But at the same
time, I'm his teacher. I can't just let him subtract starting with the hundreds digit instead
of the ones digit because it might hurt his feelings. I have to be able to correct him.
One day, after a morning in which he had gotten so frustrated by my corrections that he had
scribbled all over his math boxes, I said to him, "I'm your teacher. It's my job to help you
learn this stuff. I can't let you do it that way because it will get you the wrong answer, and I know that you want to get the answer right. I'm helping you not because you are dumb or that you don't get it. You do get it, you get a lot of it, but there are things that are confusing and when you confuse them, I'm going to show you how to do it because I've been teaching third grade for a long time so I know about these things." He didn't magically start taking my feedback or stop getting frustrated or suddenly become open to my corrections, but he did begin to be willing to listen to what I had to say about the math problems.
And these two things together got me thinking about the zen center: how the actual people there aren't judging me and yet still I feel like I'm being watched. This is what I started to see about this apparent contradiction:
#1 The "people in robes" (or at least some of them) are teachers. They have been studying
this stuff a long time. They know that it is confusing, they know you want to get it right,
and so they are going to give you "feedback" on your behavior.
#2 You have chosen to come to the zen center. You come a lot and so people are paying
attention to you; not because you're standing out, not because you're special, but because you
have chosen to attend a Buddhist temple filled with Buddhist priests and practitioners who
have taken a vow to awaken all beings. It's pretty much their life's passion to help you with
this stuff. You feel "watched" by them because honestly, they probably are watching you.
But they aren't watching you to accept or reject you. You may take their "watching" as judgment, as an evaluation of whether you are doing it "right" or "wrong," but that has to do you with you and your issues around judgment and acceptance. They are just giving you feedback in the same way that you are giving your students feedback.
And so, if you are feeling "judged" when you come in to the zendo, know a couple of things:
The judgment you feel is most likely coming from you (and you can go where you want with that statement)
But also, it's only judgment when you choose to see their responses to you as an evaluation, a criticism, a "right" or "wrong" instead of a "walk here" or a "bow at this time."
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