Nope, not there yet, but I'm definitely noticing a difference in how I respond to my family; and the interesting thing is that it's mirroring how I've begun to respond to myself. And I think there's a reason for that; I think acceptance of others only comes from acceptance of yourself.
I first noticed this last week when I was having dinner with a family member. See, often, when I am with a family member, I notice certain behaviors in them, and at the same time recognize those same behaviors in myself. In the past, when I've seen my self in my family members, I've had a variety of reactions. At first, it was annoyance: why do you have to be like that? (I think I was asking this both of them and of myself). Then it was blame: No wonder I'm so (insert criticism of self here)...I was surrounded by this behavior in you guys. Then it was an attempt to change: Okay, so, if I can just accept this about this person, maybe they'll stop being like that. Or, if I can just accept this suffering that it brings me, I can respond to them instead of react to them, and then it won't bug me so much that they are like this.
But last week, at dinner, I just noticed our behaviors, I just noticed that we do these things. That's all, I just saw it. I almost had a fondness for it, like, "Awww, this is how we work. This is how we negotiate this life that we sometimes struggle with." I wasn't mad, I wasn't bitter, I had no need to blame or complain to try to change, I just saw that this is who we are. And it was fine. Actually, it was nice to not be so attached or caught up in it, to look at it with fondness and affection.
It's how I've been looking at myself lately. I didn't mean to start looking at myself this way, it just happened. I stopped trying so hard to change who I am because I can't; believe me, I've tried. But whoever this person is who's manifesting herself inside of me doesn't seem to respond to anything other than me just getting out of her way.
I also didn't mean to suddenly accept my family, and I definitely haven't accepted them yet, I still get caught up and want to change things. I still get mad that we are like this and wish we could be otherwise, who doesn't? But there are times when I just see us, and I'm starting to feel kind of grateful that we are who we are because we kind of have some place in this world. I don't really know what it is or why, but I can see us and I can see that I'm a product of my family and, for better or for worse, this is who I am and, to some extent, it's because of who they are, and I feel kind of lucky about that.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
How to NOT figure things out...
I like to 'figure things out.' I like things to have a system, a way, something I can follow or hold on to that gives me a framework for understanding things. Apparently, this is not conducive to zen practice, at least in my experience. I have found when I say things like "Oh, okay, so if I do it this way," I am met with a kind smile.
To me, this kind smile means, "Mmmm, not really. There's isn't really a way to do this."
This is really hard for me to accept. I don't know how to not have a way to do things. I don't understand how to "figure this out" without "figuring this out." I mean, what am I doing here if I'm not trying to learn, to understand, to follow the models of others around me and pattern myself after them? If I don't ask questions, if I don't notice, if I don't think about what I'm doing, how can I learn to be present, to even do any of this stuff?
This came up for me during sesshin. Immedately after the whole "Be Silent and Still" experience that I had, I felt like I had a deepened and true understanding of what needed to be done to really embody this practice. I honestly felt like I felt this practice, like I got it, without even trying.
But then, two days later after repeatedly coming back to 'be silent and still' I started to notice that I was using 'be silent and still' as a sort of catch all phrase, as a panacea, as some sort of rule, guideline, absolute truth and I thought. "Uhn unh, you know it doesn't work that way. This isn't your only answer and you know, all too well, that you're not even supposed to feel like this, like you've arrived, like you've got it. You haven't figured it out; this was a good teaching, but you can't cling to it."
And then, in dokusan, Paul actually said to me, "It isn't about figuring it out, Eli."
And I knew he was right, but I didn't know what to do about it. I honestly didn't know how to not figure things out. How do I not learn, how do I not think, how do I not try to deepen my understanding of things?
On the last day of sesshin, Victoria Austin was kind enough to meet with me for practice period discussion. I sat down in front of her and said, literally, "I need your help. I know I'm not supposed to figure things out but I don't know how to not figure things out."
She smiled and checked in with me about the kids in my classroom. She asked me what I did in certain situations with them. As we talked, I thought to myself about the fact that I often respond to things that happen in my classroom by figuring things out. I often try to determine the source of the problem and then base my response on what would best address the problem, what would prevent it from happening in the future.
So then she talked about how figuring things out can be a tool that we use to help us. But, well, it's not that it's a bad tool, it's just that it doesn't always work. We talked about the fact that there are situations in my classroom where, no matter how much I figure a kid out or think I know what needs to be done for them, it just doesn't work. Maybe they're not ready to learn, maybe I don't get it, whatever it is, there are times when you honestly can't figure it out. It's not bad practice, it's just not that effective because, well, the world, and people, and ourselves, we're not so figure-out-able.
And then she started talking about cupcakes. She said, "It would be like saying 'Okay, if twelve cupcakes take twenty minutes, then twenty-four cupcakes cupcakes would take forty..."
"No no no!" I said. "Bad cupcakes! Bad cupcakes!"
"Right," she said. "It's more like, 'Hmmm, it smells like chocolate. I think they might be done. I should check before they start to smell like charcoal."
And I smiled, because I kind of got it. It's okay for me to think about this, to try to understand this, I just need to know that it's not an answer, it's not a finish, it's ongoing and changing and there isn't a system to it. It's like a dynamic, and being aware and present to what comes up, being aware and present to yourself and how you respond, I guess that's living life, and that's all it is, and it keeps the cupcakes nice and moist.
To me, this kind smile means, "Mmmm, not really. There's isn't really a way to do this."
This is really hard for me to accept. I don't know how to not have a way to do things. I don't understand how to "figure this out" without "figuring this out." I mean, what am I doing here if I'm not trying to learn, to understand, to follow the models of others around me and pattern myself after them? If I don't ask questions, if I don't notice, if I don't think about what I'm doing, how can I learn to be present, to even do any of this stuff?
This came up for me during sesshin. Immedately after the whole "Be Silent and Still" experience that I had, I felt like I had a deepened and true understanding of what needed to be done to really embody this practice. I honestly felt like I felt this practice, like I got it, without even trying.
But then, two days later after repeatedly coming back to 'be silent and still' I started to notice that I was using 'be silent and still' as a sort of catch all phrase, as a panacea, as some sort of rule, guideline, absolute truth and I thought. "Uhn unh, you know it doesn't work that way. This isn't your only answer and you know, all too well, that you're not even supposed to feel like this, like you've arrived, like you've got it. You haven't figured it out; this was a good teaching, but you can't cling to it."
And then, in dokusan, Paul actually said to me, "It isn't about figuring it out, Eli."
And I knew he was right, but I didn't know what to do about it. I honestly didn't know how to not figure things out. How do I not learn, how do I not think, how do I not try to deepen my understanding of things?
On the last day of sesshin, Victoria Austin was kind enough to meet with me for practice period discussion. I sat down in front of her and said, literally, "I need your help. I know I'm not supposed to figure things out but I don't know how to not figure things out."
She smiled and checked in with me about the kids in my classroom. She asked me what I did in certain situations with them. As we talked, I thought to myself about the fact that I often respond to things that happen in my classroom by figuring things out. I often try to determine the source of the problem and then base my response on what would best address the problem, what would prevent it from happening in the future.
So then she talked about how figuring things out can be a tool that we use to help us. But, well, it's not that it's a bad tool, it's just that it doesn't always work. We talked about the fact that there are situations in my classroom where, no matter how much I figure a kid out or think I know what needs to be done for them, it just doesn't work. Maybe they're not ready to learn, maybe I don't get it, whatever it is, there are times when you honestly can't figure it out. It's not bad practice, it's just not that effective because, well, the world, and people, and ourselves, we're not so figure-out-able.
And then she started talking about cupcakes. She said, "It would be like saying 'Okay, if twelve cupcakes take twenty minutes, then twenty-four cupcakes cupcakes would take forty..."
"No no no!" I said. "Bad cupcakes! Bad cupcakes!"
"Right," she said. "It's more like, 'Hmmm, it smells like chocolate. I think they might be done. I should check before they start to smell like charcoal."
And I smiled, because I kind of got it. It's okay for me to think about this, to try to understand this, I just need to know that it's not an answer, it's not a finish, it's ongoing and changing and there isn't a system to it. It's like a dynamic, and being aware and present to what comes up, being aware and present to yourself and how you respond, I guess that's living life, and that's all it is, and it keeps the cupcakes nice and moist.
"Getting things done" at work
Recently, at one of our YUZ meetings, someone expressed their frustration at putting "zen practice" into practice... at work. They talked about how hard it is to not respond to all their emails, to not strive to get all their work done within given deadlines, and to not feel stressed about all of this. Conceptually, zen was great, but in practice, it seemed impossible.
As I heard this, I wanted to say "Just try not answering all your emails, you'd be surprised at how okay it is to not answer them all. And those deadlines, if you miss them, it turns out that the world doesn't end. There will be some suffering, and probably some yelling, but life will continue."
But I didn't say that, because it was ridiculous. I wasn't going to ask someone to risk not returning an email just because they wanted to be zen. What if that 9th email that wasn't answered was the one email that everyone needed in order to finish the project?
And so then I thought about what had allowed me to start risking practicing zen at my work, what allowed me to leave at a reasonable hour each day, what allowed me to let those seemingly all important tasks not get completed. How did I gain the confidence to risk "letting go"?
I realized that I had only gained this confidence through practice, and that this practice had come from some very specific things I had been doing at the zen center. One of the most imporant things I had been doing was soji. I think soji translates to "temple cleaning," but it's not the cleaning that develops the skill of "letting go," it's the gong.
See, when you do soji, you do whatever task the work leader assigns you to do, and you do it completely, until you hear a gong. As soon as you hear the gong, you're supposed to just stop, whether you're finished or not. This is extremely hard to do, and on several occasions, I have secretly kept working after hearing the gong in an attempt to "finish" my job. But here's what has happened. I have worked after the gong, to completely clean a bathroom, only to find it dirtied again, within the half hour. I have also fully cleaned a bathroom before the gong, had extra time, and discovered that what I thought was fully clean, could use more cleaning. In doing this, I've come to understand that, in all honesty, jobs are never done, and they're always done. We're the only ones who are making up this concept of completion. If we want to feel done, we just need to consider what we think is done and once we've done that, we have to let it go.
So then I thought about how someone could do this at home, how they could practice "soji" if they weren't lucky enough to be able to do soji at the zen center on Saturday mornings like me. Here's my suggestion. Choose some chore at home and set a timer. Do the chore until the timer goes off and then stop, really stop, leave that hair on the sink, and walk away. Then do it again the next day, but set the timer for a different time, longer or shorter, doesn't matter, just different and do the same task and stop, no matter what. Hopefully, over time, you'll see what I saw- what feels like it has to be done, doesn't, and in the grand scheme of things, we're never done. Eventually, hopefully, you'll feel like this at work too. I'm not saying that you should abandon things that need to be done because it's five o'clock. I'm just saying that over time, with practice with not totally cleaning the bathroom, you might feel better about leaving work even if the millionth email hasn't been answered.
As I heard this, I wanted to say "Just try not answering all your emails, you'd be surprised at how okay it is to not answer them all. And those deadlines, if you miss them, it turns out that the world doesn't end. There will be some suffering, and probably some yelling, but life will continue."
But I didn't say that, because it was ridiculous. I wasn't going to ask someone to risk not returning an email just because they wanted to be zen. What if that 9th email that wasn't answered was the one email that everyone needed in order to finish the project?
And so then I thought about what had allowed me to start risking practicing zen at my work, what allowed me to leave at a reasonable hour each day, what allowed me to let those seemingly all important tasks not get completed. How did I gain the confidence to risk "letting go"?
I realized that I had only gained this confidence through practice, and that this practice had come from some very specific things I had been doing at the zen center. One of the most imporant things I had been doing was soji. I think soji translates to "temple cleaning," but it's not the cleaning that develops the skill of "letting go," it's the gong.
See, when you do soji, you do whatever task the work leader assigns you to do, and you do it completely, until you hear a gong. As soon as you hear the gong, you're supposed to just stop, whether you're finished or not. This is extremely hard to do, and on several occasions, I have secretly kept working after hearing the gong in an attempt to "finish" my job. But here's what has happened. I have worked after the gong, to completely clean a bathroom, only to find it dirtied again, within the half hour. I have also fully cleaned a bathroom before the gong, had extra time, and discovered that what I thought was fully clean, could use more cleaning. In doing this, I've come to understand that, in all honesty, jobs are never done, and they're always done. We're the only ones who are making up this concept of completion. If we want to feel done, we just need to consider what we think is done and once we've done that, we have to let it go.
So then I thought about how someone could do this at home, how they could practice "soji" if they weren't lucky enough to be able to do soji at the zen center on Saturday mornings like me. Here's my suggestion. Choose some chore at home and set a timer. Do the chore until the timer goes off and then stop, really stop, leave that hair on the sink, and walk away. Then do it again the next day, but set the timer for a different time, longer or shorter, doesn't matter, just different and do the same task and stop, no matter what. Hopefully, over time, you'll see what I saw- what feels like it has to be done, doesn't, and in the grand scheme of things, we're never done. Eventually, hopefully, you'll feel like this at work too. I'm not saying that you should abandon things that need to be done because it's five o'clock. I'm just saying that over time, with practice with not totally cleaning the bathroom, you might feel better about leaving work even if the millionth email hasn't been answered.
The universe is NOT out to get you (or teach you a lesson)
As I was driving down 101, I was thinking about a friend of mine, and a comment she had made about why she hadn't yet fully recovered from an injury.
"I haven't learned this life lesson yet," she explained. "I figure that once I learn what it's like to live with this injury, to slow down and accept this, that's when it will heal."
I understood why she made this comment. I could see how she might feel like she had gotten injured from working too hard or that she would heal once she slowed down and gave her body the chance to rest. In some ways, there was truth to her statement about why she hadn't healed yet. It was true that once she slowed down, she probably would heal faster.
But for me, there wasn't any truth to the idea that it was about a life lesson. For me, she was going to heal when her ligaments healed. Her ligaments had no idea whether or not she had learned this life lesson, they're just ligaments. Ligaments don't have any intentions, they aren't trying to teach you anything, they're just cells, they just heal, they're not thinking about you or holding off on their healing until you figure things out.
Then I thought about the universe and the fact that it doesn't have any intentions either. The universe is made up of cells too, and they have no interest in me, they have no awareness of me; they're just growing and interacting and dieing and colliding and doing whatever it is that the universe does. There is no way that the universe has an awareness of me and is changing itself in response to me-it's the universe for Pete's sake, I'm just a speck of dust in it.
But so often, it feels like the universe is punishing us or responding to us or that one action causes another. It feels so much like we have some control over this life and that if we do it one way or another, certain things will happen in one way or another. But the truth is, it isn't really like that. It can't be, the universe just isn't cognizant, the universe isn't thinking any more than my friend's ligaments are thinking.
But at the same time, the universe does exist, and we exist in it. We feel the interactions of the universe and our actions play a role in the universe. We aren't free of each other but we don't control each other either.
It's like my friend and her ligaments. Her ligaments are definitely not waiting to heal until she slows down and accepts her injury. They aren't monitoring her or watching her, their purpose is not to teach her a lesson. At the same time, it's likely that if she slows down, her ligaments will experience less stress and will probably heal sooner. But it's not necessarily true, her ligaments could do something completely different in response to her actions, they're ligaments.
So I guess the universe just is, and so are we. We co exist, we affect each other, but only so much as we do in the way that we share the same space, share the same make up, are actually different formations of the same cells and elements. We may want to believe that if we do one thing the universe will do another or that when things happen to us, it's because of something the universe did in response to us or that we did in response to it but in truth, we're just not that significant. All we're doing is co- existing, living in this same space, being affected by others in ways that neither of us have any control over.
"I haven't learned this life lesson yet," she explained. "I figure that once I learn what it's like to live with this injury, to slow down and accept this, that's when it will heal."
I understood why she made this comment. I could see how she might feel like she had gotten injured from working too hard or that she would heal once she slowed down and gave her body the chance to rest. In some ways, there was truth to her statement about why she hadn't healed yet. It was true that once she slowed down, she probably would heal faster.
But for me, there wasn't any truth to the idea that it was about a life lesson. For me, she was going to heal when her ligaments healed. Her ligaments had no idea whether or not she had learned this life lesson, they're just ligaments. Ligaments don't have any intentions, they aren't trying to teach you anything, they're just cells, they just heal, they're not thinking about you or holding off on their healing until you figure things out.
Then I thought about the universe and the fact that it doesn't have any intentions either. The universe is made up of cells too, and they have no interest in me, they have no awareness of me; they're just growing and interacting and dieing and colliding and doing whatever it is that the universe does. There is no way that the universe has an awareness of me and is changing itself in response to me-it's the universe for Pete's sake, I'm just a speck of dust in it.
But so often, it feels like the universe is punishing us or responding to us or that one action causes another. It feels so much like we have some control over this life and that if we do it one way or another, certain things will happen in one way or another. But the truth is, it isn't really like that. It can't be, the universe just isn't cognizant, the universe isn't thinking any more than my friend's ligaments are thinking.
But at the same time, the universe does exist, and we exist in it. We feel the interactions of the universe and our actions play a role in the universe. We aren't free of each other but we don't control each other either.
It's like my friend and her ligaments. Her ligaments are definitely not waiting to heal until she slows down and accepts her injury. They aren't monitoring her or watching her, their purpose is not to teach her a lesson. At the same time, it's likely that if she slows down, her ligaments will experience less stress and will probably heal sooner. But it's not necessarily true, her ligaments could do something completely different in response to her actions, they're ligaments.
So I guess the universe just is, and so are we. We co exist, we affect each other, but only so much as we do in the way that we share the same space, share the same make up, are actually different formations of the same cells and elements. We may want to believe that if we do one thing the universe will do another or that when things happen to us, it's because of something the universe did in response to us or that we did in response to it but in truth, we're just not that significant. All we're doing is co- existing, living in this same space, being affected by others in ways that neither of us have any control over.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
THIS is love
I grew up watching the Brady Bunch (reruns). And then I moved on to Family Ties and The Cosby Show. I watched the Christmas specials with all those people gathered around Christmas trees and families together and parents holding kids in their laps and maybe even holding hands while they said grace or something around some Thanksgiving dinner table. I watched this and I thought, "This is what families do. Parents are affectionate with their children and everyone is all in harmony and parents look lovingly at their kids and everyone is happy. This is a family. This is parents-loving-children."
As I got older, I watched 16 Candles and heard about romances among seniors at my high school and heard about perfect boyfriends and pined over romantic lyrics in pop songs and I thought, "This is what a boyfriend is. This is what boyfriends do for girlfriends. Love is thinking about the person all the time and secretly sending flowers and saying the perfect thing at exactly the right moment and just when you thought he didn't like you, he liked you all along and..."
But last week, as I was walking to work, I thought about my family. I thought about breakfast on the table every morning and french toast that was cut into pieces small enough for me to eat. I thought about the bag lunch with my name on it that somehow made it to school by lunch time, even if I forgot to put it in my backpack when I left that morning. I thought about pajamas and the did-you-brush-your-teeth breath check. There was no bedtime story but there was dinner and staying up a little late because the 'specials' were on. I thought about long drives in the car and conversations that didn't have to happen, but that did.
And it occurred to me: I was loved, and I missed it. I've been loved my whole life, but I missed it because it wasn't TV love, it wasn't nuclear family love, it wasn't Meredith Baxter Birney putting her arm around you or saying I love you. I was so busy wishing that I had that kind of love that I didn't feel the love that I was given every morning when I was woken up, when I was given breakfast, when I was handed the lunch that was made for me the night before. All my life my grownup has been loving me, just because. And yet I've been searching to be loved 'just because.'
It was right there, it is right there, it's always been right there, I just wouldn't see it, because I thought love was what they showed on TV.
I was sad when I saw this, sad for the love that was given but not recevied. But then I thought that the person who was giving it wasn't giving it to get something back, they were just giving it freely, just because. And they still are, in their lovely way. And I can start to see it, to feel it, maybe connect with them around it, but most importantly to actually see it, for the love that it is.
And then I thought about the love that's all around me that I don't see either. The door held open for me, the smile in the hallway, the 'you first' in the grocery store, the compliments I don't receive. And I thought too about the love of friends, the conversations, the noticings, the truthful words that risk our harmony but are said anyway. And I thought about relatives and phone calls and parties and 'how are you?'s and food that is shared.
"I'm surrounded by love," I thought to myself. "I've just never seen it, or felt it, because I only had one view of love. All this love...everywhere...and I'm so busy looking for it somewhere else. All I have to do is see it, right in front of me, understand that this is love, all of this. All of this, is love."
As I got older, I watched 16 Candles and heard about romances among seniors at my high school and heard about perfect boyfriends and pined over romantic lyrics in pop songs and I thought, "This is what a boyfriend is. This is what boyfriends do for girlfriends. Love is thinking about the person all the time and secretly sending flowers and saying the perfect thing at exactly the right moment and just when you thought he didn't like you, he liked you all along and..."
But last week, as I was walking to work, I thought about my family. I thought about breakfast on the table every morning and french toast that was cut into pieces small enough for me to eat. I thought about the bag lunch with my name on it that somehow made it to school by lunch time, even if I forgot to put it in my backpack when I left that morning. I thought about pajamas and the did-you-brush-your-teeth breath check. There was no bedtime story but there was dinner and staying up a little late because the 'specials' were on. I thought about long drives in the car and conversations that didn't have to happen, but that did.
And it occurred to me: I was loved, and I missed it. I've been loved my whole life, but I missed it because it wasn't TV love, it wasn't nuclear family love, it wasn't Meredith Baxter Birney putting her arm around you or saying I love you. I was so busy wishing that I had that kind of love that I didn't feel the love that I was given every morning when I was woken up, when I was given breakfast, when I was handed the lunch that was made for me the night before. All my life my grownup has been loving me, just because. And yet I've been searching to be loved 'just because.'
It was right there, it is right there, it's always been right there, I just wouldn't see it, because I thought love was what they showed on TV.
I was sad when I saw this, sad for the love that was given but not recevied. But then I thought that the person who was giving it wasn't giving it to get something back, they were just giving it freely, just because. And they still are, in their lovely way. And I can start to see it, to feel it, maybe connect with them around it, but most importantly to actually see it, for the love that it is.
And then I thought about the love that's all around me that I don't see either. The door held open for me, the smile in the hallway, the 'you first' in the grocery store, the compliments I don't receive. And I thought too about the love of friends, the conversations, the noticings, the truthful words that risk our harmony but are said anyway. And I thought about relatives and phone calls and parties and 'how are you?'s and food that is shared.
"I'm surrounded by love," I thought to myself. "I've just never seen it, or felt it, because I only had one view of love. All this love...everywhere...and I'm so busy looking for it somewhere else. All I have to do is see it, right in front of me, understand that this is love, all of this. All of this, is love."
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Time to die
I was at a "post apocalypse" bookswap at The Booksmith and this guy and I started talking about living forever vs. being forever young. He said that if he could take a pill that would allow him to live forever, he'd do it in a second. I pointed out that he'd have to watch all of his friends and family die. He said that would be okay because he would meet new people and he'd always have the trees and the mountains and the oceans, etc. He talked about how much he loves this life and how sad he would be to leave it.
I remember that. I remember not wanting to leave this life, not being able to imagine wanting anything more than being here. In some ways, I guess I still do want to be here more than anything else, to live this life, but I don't want to live forever. I originally thought that it was because I'd have to say goodbye to everyone, to watch everyone die and feel kind of lonely still being here when everyone I knew and loved had left. But as I thought about it, it felt more like there's a point at which, you don't really belong here anymore.
Have you ever been at a party, after most people have gone home, and the host is cleaning up, and you're just, there? It's like it's done, but you're still lingering. Or when you've put a ton of work in to some project and it's up and running on its own and you can just leave, but you're still there watching it, from the sides, feeling a little superfluous? When I pictured myself living forever, it felt like that- like I was still lingering around after my life was over. It's not so much that I don't love this life or want to be here in it, it just feels like there will be a point in my life when I'm kind of done. I don't know when it's going to be and I might even die before I reach that point, but still, it just feels like there will be a time in my life when I have offered all my stuff and I'll feel comortable leaving.
The next morning during service, it struck me that maybe my mom was done when she died, that she had reached that point too. But then I thought that that didn't make sense. It didn't make sense that my mom's "purpose" in life was to raise three kids and to only be there for 6 years of the youngest one's life. That just didn't sound right.
But then I thought about the fact that she had cancer. Maybe she had a purpose in life, maybe it was fulfilled, maybe it wasn't, but then cancer showed up, and it changed things. Maybe by the time she actually did die she really was done: with fighting cancer, with saying goodbye to her friends and family, with accepting that she couldn't live this life anymore. Maybe if she kept living after the point at which she was supposed to die she would have suffered, through worse cancer or something else that no one knew about. I don't really know. It just feels like maybe she just died when she died, that it was her time, that her life was done, even if none of us wanted it to be.
I don't think it makes it any easier but I guess it feels more matter of fact, like there wasn't a choice, like we didn't lose her, like she just took another step, in a road she was already on.
I remember that. I remember not wanting to leave this life, not being able to imagine wanting anything more than being here. In some ways, I guess I still do want to be here more than anything else, to live this life, but I don't want to live forever. I originally thought that it was because I'd have to say goodbye to everyone, to watch everyone die and feel kind of lonely still being here when everyone I knew and loved had left. But as I thought about it, it felt more like there's a point at which, you don't really belong here anymore.
Have you ever been at a party, after most people have gone home, and the host is cleaning up, and you're just, there? It's like it's done, but you're still lingering. Or when you've put a ton of work in to some project and it's up and running on its own and you can just leave, but you're still there watching it, from the sides, feeling a little superfluous? When I pictured myself living forever, it felt like that- like I was still lingering around after my life was over. It's not so much that I don't love this life or want to be here in it, it just feels like there will be a point in my life when I'm kind of done. I don't know when it's going to be and I might even die before I reach that point, but still, it just feels like there will be a time in my life when I have offered all my stuff and I'll feel comortable leaving.
The next morning during service, it struck me that maybe my mom was done when she died, that she had reached that point too. But then I thought that that didn't make sense. It didn't make sense that my mom's "purpose" in life was to raise three kids and to only be there for 6 years of the youngest one's life. That just didn't sound right.
But then I thought about the fact that she had cancer. Maybe she had a purpose in life, maybe it was fulfilled, maybe it wasn't, but then cancer showed up, and it changed things. Maybe by the time she actually did die she really was done: with fighting cancer, with saying goodbye to her friends and family, with accepting that she couldn't live this life anymore. Maybe if she kept living after the point at which she was supposed to die she would have suffered, through worse cancer or something else that no one knew about. I don't really know. It just feels like maybe she just died when she died, that it was her time, that her life was done, even if none of us wanted it to be.
I don't think it makes it any easier but I guess it feels more matter of fact, like there wasn't a choice, like we didn't lose her, like she just took another step, in a road she was already on.
Sejiki
I was waiting for the 71 to take me to the zen center for Sejiki when my friend called to say she wasn't going to make it in time for the ceremony. She mentioned that she was disappointed because she had enjoyed it so much last year, and hoped that I would enjoy it. After I got off the phone with her I realized that I was going to a ceremony, and it was kind of for dead people or, at least, for "spirits" in another realm.
"Uh oh," I thought. "This might bring up some stuff for me."
I thought about the idea that I should have put my mom's name in with the list of people who had died but then I thought that I didn't really want my mom to be at the Sejiki ceremony. It didn't feel right. To me, Sejiki was a Halloween party, and my mom didn't belong there.
But then I remembered my friend describing how she had liked all the chanting in the ceremony and I thought, "This isn't a Halloween party, this is a ceremony, to kind of welcome the spirits of the underworld. This is a serious ceremony, not a Halloween party."
So then I decided I didn't want to go. I didn't want to be in the Buddha hall, crying, at Sejiki. Sejiki is definitely a ceremony but it's also kind of funny- everything is all turned around and everyone is in costume so there's kind of this playfulness or lightness to it, it's borderline tongue-in-cheek. I didn't want to be the one all solemn at it, I didn't want to be the downer and I really didn't feel like crying while everyone else was in costume and playful. I considered stalling so that I'd be too late to get a seat at the ceremony, but I was early, impossibly early to be "late." So then I considered sitting on the steps outside the zen center until it was all over. But it was raining so I couldn't do that either. Instead, I just walked in, and was greeted so warmly by the work leader that I immediately forgot about trying to not go to the ceremony.
As soon as I stepped in to the Budhha hall, several faces looked up at me and smiled. Then I saw my friend, who was "one third" of our "Team Triple Treasure" costume, sitting right in the front row and I was so excited that she was there (I thought she was going to be late too) that I just walked across the room and sat down.
There was a creepy ghost sitting next to me whose face I literally could not see. And over to my right, my friend was a pinata or a fiesta, I couldn't tell. There were random costumes, goofy hats, and someone who seemed to be playing the part of a "new guest student" enthusiastically attempting the forms with such gusto it was comical. I just kept looking around, seeing all the fun things that were happening, just watching the scene, and forgetting completely that this was a ceremony.
But then the procession started and I heard the familiar "ting" of the bells but it was followed by this harsh thump, which I really didn't like. This thump kept coming, like a mummy or a dead person, stumping their body across the floor. As soon as the abbess walked in the room with the procession I surmised that it was her, intentionally hitting the floor with the stick she was carrying in her hand. Then I heard the bells again, but they rang out of time with each other, and as I watched the people ringing them, it seemed like they were intentionally misaligned, like they were trying to create a sense of non-harmony of unsettledness. And I pictured all these hungry ghosts, all these spirits living between two worlds, wanting to be in one but feeling pulled in by another. I felt really unsettled and uneasy and I remembered that I don't like scary movies and that I always cover my eyes at these parts.
And then the abbess said something about inviting the spirits in to the room or welcoming them or something and there was all this misalignment of noise and sort of a cacophany and I pictured the ghosts swirling around the room in a frenzy. But in that same image, I saw my mom. She wasn't swirling around the room like a phantom, she was just like she is in the picture and I thought, "This is kind of unfair. It's not really fair to make all these ghosts seem all unhappy and misaligned and swirling around. They're just dead, it's not really their fault. They're not really ghosts, they're just people, who died."
And then I acknowledged that my mom was a person who had died. I guessed she was a ghost, if in this ceremony we were being categorized as the living and the dead, she definitely was in that realm, not this one, and that was kind of sad. She's over there, not here. But at the same time, I felt a connection to her, and to all the "ghosts." We're all going to be them some day, it seemed unfair to keep seeing them as experiencing such suffering. But I also knew that really, she was over there, and I was here. She was dead, she was with all those ghosts swirling around the room. My mother was one of the dead people in the room.
I really didn't like that and I started to cry but I really didn't want to cry, so I swallowed my sadness and rubbed my palms against my thighs and fought back the tears. But then I remembered that it was in this same spot in the zendo, almost two years ago, that I "sat" for the first time. And I knew that it was this act of "sitting" that first caused me to cry, and then allowed me to continue to cry when I heard that someone in the community had been moved across the street to hospice. And I knew that back then, even though I might have thought that I was crying for the person who was losing someone, really, it was the beginning of my own process of grieving- that back then was the beginning of me mourning the loss of my mom. So I let myself cry, a little bit, and then we started chanting.
As soon as we started chanting, the baby in the room started to cry, and I think we all kind of laughed about that. It was nice to have some life in this ceremony, it was nice to have someone not like all the chanting sounds, it was nice to hear someone kind of prefer the harmonious and happy side of things.
After the chanting, names were read. It was beautiful to hear these names, pronounced the way they were, and those names were placed on the altar, for us to offer incense to, at the end of the ceremony.
By the end of the ceremony, I was over all the drama about my mom and had moved on to being excited about my costume and what smelled like macaroni and cheese for dinner. Member three of Team Triple Treasure showed up, we took pictures, and there was chocolate pudding for dessert. I guess in the end, it kind of just was a Halloween party but I also have to accept that my mom belonged there too. I guess she's a spirit, I just don't really want to think of her that way. I still want her to be real, and alive, and somewhere that I can visit her.
"Uh oh," I thought. "This might bring up some stuff for me."
I thought about the idea that I should have put my mom's name in with the list of people who had died but then I thought that I didn't really want my mom to be at the Sejiki ceremony. It didn't feel right. To me, Sejiki was a Halloween party, and my mom didn't belong there.
But then I remembered my friend describing how she had liked all the chanting in the ceremony and I thought, "This isn't a Halloween party, this is a ceremony, to kind of welcome the spirits of the underworld. This is a serious ceremony, not a Halloween party."
So then I decided I didn't want to go. I didn't want to be in the Buddha hall, crying, at Sejiki. Sejiki is definitely a ceremony but it's also kind of funny- everything is all turned around and everyone is in costume so there's kind of this playfulness or lightness to it, it's borderline tongue-in-cheek. I didn't want to be the one all solemn at it, I didn't want to be the downer and I really didn't feel like crying while everyone else was in costume and playful. I considered stalling so that I'd be too late to get a seat at the ceremony, but I was early, impossibly early to be "late." So then I considered sitting on the steps outside the zen center until it was all over. But it was raining so I couldn't do that either. Instead, I just walked in, and was greeted so warmly by the work leader that I immediately forgot about trying to not go to the ceremony.
As soon as I stepped in to the Budhha hall, several faces looked up at me and smiled. Then I saw my friend, who was "one third" of our "Team Triple Treasure" costume, sitting right in the front row and I was so excited that she was there (I thought she was going to be late too) that I just walked across the room and sat down.
There was a creepy ghost sitting next to me whose face I literally could not see. And over to my right, my friend was a pinata or a fiesta, I couldn't tell. There were random costumes, goofy hats, and someone who seemed to be playing the part of a "new guest student" enthusiastically attempting the forms with such gusto it was comical. I just kept looking around, seeing all the fun things that were happening, just watching the scene, and forgetting completely that this was a ceremony.
But then the procession started and I heard the familiar "ting" of the bells but it was followed by this harsh thump, which I really didn't like. This thump kept coming, like a mummy or a dead person, stumping their body across the floor. As soon as the abbess walked in the room with the procession I surmised that it was her, intentionally hitting the floor with the stick she was carrying in her hand. Then I heard the bells again, but they rang out of time with each other, and as I watched the people ringing them, it seemed like they were intentionally misaligned, like they were trying to create a sense of non-harmony of unsettledness. And I pictured all these hungry ghosts, all these spirits living between two worlds, wanting to be in one but feeling pulled in by another. I felt really unsettled and uneasy and I remembered that I don't like scary movies and that I always cover my eyes at these parts.
And then the abbess said something about inviting the spirits in to the room or welcoming them or something and there was all this misalignment of noise and sort of a cacophany and I pictured the ghosts swirling around the room in a frenzy. But in that same image, I saw my mom. She wasn't swirling around the room like a phantom, she was just like she is in the picture and I thought, "This is kind of unfair. It's not really fair to make all these ghosts seem all unhappy and misaligned and swirling around. They're just dead, it's not really their fault. They're not really ghosts, they're just people, who died."
And then I acknowledged that my mom was a person who had died. I guessed she was a ghost, if in this ceremony we were being categorized as the living and the dead, she definitely was in that realm, not this one, and that was kind of sad. She's over there, not here. But at the same time, I felt a connection to her, and to all the "ghosts." We're all going to be them some day, it seemed unfair to keep seeing them as experiencing such suffering. But I also knew that really, she was over there, and I was here. She was dead, she was with all those ghosts swirling around the room. My mother was one of the dead people in the room.
I really didn't like that and I started to cry but I really didn't want to cry, so I swallowed my sadness and rubbed my palms against my thighs and fought back the tears. But then I remembered that it was in this same spot in the zendo, almost two years ago, that I "sat" for the first time. And I knew that it was this act of "sitting" that first caused me to cry, and then allowed me to continue to cry when I heard that someone in the community had been moved across the street to hospice. And I knew that back then, even though I might have thought that I was crying for the person who was losing someone, really, it was the beginning of my own process of grieving- that back then was the beginning of me mourning the loss of my mom. So I let myself cry, a little bit, and then we started chanting.
As soon as we started chanting, the baby in the room started to cry, and I think we all kind of laughed about that. It was nice to have some life in this ceremony, it was nice to have someone not like all the chanting sounds, it was nice to hear someone kind of prefer the harmonious and happy side of things.
After the chanting, names were read. It was beautiful to hear these names, pronounced the way they were, and those names were placed on the altar, for us to offer incense to, at the end of the ceremony.
By the end of the ceremony, I was over all the drama about my mom and had moved on to being excited about my costume and what smelled like macaroni and cheese for dinner. Member three of Team Triple Treasure showed up, we took pictures, and there was chocolate pudding for dessert. I guess in the end, it kind of just was a Halloween party but I also have to accept that my mom belonged there too. I guess she's a spirit, I just don't really want to think of her that way. I still want her to be real, and alive, and somewhere that I can visit her.
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