I was at a dharma talk this past weekend, given by Jordan Thorn, and in it, I heard Jordan say, "This is a Buddhist Temple." And I immediately laughed, at the timing of things, because literally, two days before, I had admitted in my way-seeking-mind-talk that I had no idea that the "zen center" was a Buddhist temple.
And then I thought about the word Buddhist, and how it seems to be made up of the name of a guy- Buddha- and the suffix ist, which I think means study. And then I thought about the word Christianity and how that word is made up of a guy's name- Christ- and anity, which I'm guessing means something to the effect of "acting like" or "emulating."
And I thought, "Oh, these 'religions' are named after their 'leaders,' and the people who follow them are following them because they want to follow their example, maybe to be like them, maybe to live like them."
And then I thought about leaders from our time, like Martin Luther King Junior and how if there were a statue of Martin Luther King Junior on an altar, I would totally bow to it. (Well, actually, I don't know if that's true, I think it would feel weird to bow to Martin Luther King Junior). But he is a guy whose example I would like to follow. And he is a guy to whom I am grateful- for his courage, for his ability to speak in a way that drew our attention to our common humanity, that made us see that how we were treating each other wasn't how anyone wanted to live.
And Martin Luther King Junior was an actual person. He was born just like everyone else, grew up like everyone else, tried to find his way in this life, and then did some amazing things that, I believe, moved us forward in our humanity (or maybe brought us back to where we were all along).
But the point is, he was just a person. And following him isn't turning him in to a god or some other worldly being. Following him, or wanting to be like him, is simply saying, I'd like to live that way. I respect the way he did things and would like to act in a way that can have the same effect.
I don't think anyone thinks of Martin Luther King Junior as a god. I don't think anyone thinks of him
as from another world. I think everyone knows he was a human being, just like everyone else.
And that brought me back to Buddha. As far as I know, he was just a guy too. From what I've heard,
he was a prince who stepped outside his castle gates, saw suffering and said, "No way! This is out
there? And I'm in here? I need to figure this out." And then left his castle (or whatever it is that
princes lived in back then) and tried to figure it out. And he struggled with it a lot and tried all these
different ways to, I don't know, relieve suffering or understand it... I'm not really sure, but then he came to this place in which he felt like he did understand it, or at least made peace with it.
And then he shared. He said, "This works for me. It might not work for you, but this is how I'm doing it." (okay, darn good thing there aren't any rights or laws about paraphrasing religious leaders, I think I'd be silenced forever at this point!) And I think some people tried it and they were like, "Yeah, this does work. Let's follow him and try to live the way he is living."
And then I thought about how we often 'pay homage to' the ancestors of the temple: Boddhidharma and Ei Hei Dogen and I'm pretty sure that they were people too. And I'm pretty sure that they each had some teaching to offer, that they had a way of understanding this practice in their lives and that they shared that with others. And I think that when we 'pay homage' to them we're saying "Dude- thank you so much for your way of seeing these things and for sharing that with us. It totally helps us to get a better understanding of how to put these things into practice."
It's like being a Buddhist doesn't mean you're becoming some ascetic or some other worldly person, you're just saying "Huh, I think I'd like to live my life this way, or at least part of it. I believe in what that guy was doing. I think it's an effective way to live and I'd like to live that way too. So I'm going to study it, see what it's all about, learn about how other people put it in to practice and then try to put it in to practice in my own life."
And yes, I am fully aware that I am writing this blogpost to make peace with my own issues around Buddhism. Yep, got it.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
We... are random
And I mean that in the most mathematical of terms. We... are random. You know how sometimes when you flip a coin a bunch of times it starts off all heads, heads, heads, heads... and you think it's fixed or weighted or something? But then, if you keep flipping it, tails show up every once in a while- or there'll be a long run of tails after that? And you keep flipping and you see that, over time, when you count up all the heads and all the tails it still comes out 50/50?
I think we're like that too. Actually, I'm pretty sure we are; mostly because we are natural beings and, as such, are part of this natural universe and, as such, are just as much a part of the random nature of nature as everyone else is (everyone else being the laws of probability and physics and weather and animals and life and death etc.).
But I think, that because we're actually living this coin toss experiment, I think that because we're in it, we kind of only see the short- term part of the experiment: the all heads in a row, or occasional tails. And I think, we start to use this experience of seeing one pattern or another to believe that there might be a pattern to us, a predicatability to us, an order to us. And, depending on the flip, this idea of a stable or predictable aspect of our future, can either bring us great comfort, or great despair.
But in reality, in the big picture of this all, our behaviors, our personalities, our experiences, our existence I think is pretty much just as random as the coin toss: maybe it will end up 50/ 50 but in the mean time, there's gonna be a bunch of heads and maybe a little tail here and there but all those heads in a row don't actually mean that there's gonna be a bunch of tails in a row after that or the scarcity of tails doesn't mean there isn't going to be a whole mess of tails in the future. Our existence is actually random. As little as I'd like to accept it, I think my experiences are pretty much random.
I'm not saying that I have no agency in this, I'm not saying I have no control over how I live. To me, that's a completely separate issue. What I'm talking about is our expectation (or at least my expectation) that we make sense, that there is an order to us, that who we are or how we act or even how others interact with us follows some logic or pattern or order. I think I want it to, but I think I have to accept that it may not always. I think that when things come up that surprise me, that aren't according to plan, that don't fit with what I thought that person would do, I just need to say "Oh yeah, there it is, there's that random tail in the run of heads. It's not bad, it's not cause for alarm, it's not time for intervention or mid-life crisis, it just is. It's the universe, I'm a part of it, we're all pretty random. But also, in the big big picture of all of this, it's all gonna come out 50/ 50 anyway, I just may not see it because I'm in it.
I think we're like that too. Actually, I'm pretty sure we are; mostly because we are natural beings and, as such, are part of this natural universe and, as such, are just as much a part of the random nature of nature as everyone else is (everyone else being the laws of probability and physics and weather and animals and life and death etc.).
But I think, that because we're actually living this coin toss experiment, I think that because we're in it, we kind of only see the short- term part of the experiment: the all heads in a row, or occasional tails. And I think, we start to use this experience of seeing one pattern or another to believe that there might be a pattern to us, a predicatability to us, an order to us. And, depending on the flip, this idea of a stable or predictable aspect of our future, can either bring us great comfort, or great despair.
But in reality, in the big picture of this all, our behaviors, our personalities, our experiences, our existence I think is pretty much just as random as the coin toss: maybe it will end up 50/ 50 but in the mean time, there's gonna be a bunch of heads and maybe a little tail here and there but all those heads in a row don't actually mean that there's gonna be a bunch of tails in a row after that or the scarcity of tails doesn't mean there isn't going to be a whole mess of tails in the future. Our existence is actually random. As little as I'd like to accept it, I think my experiences are pretty much random.
I'm not saying that I have no agency in this, I'm not saying I have no control over how I live. To me, that's a completely separate issue. What I'm talking about is our expectation (or at least my expectation) that we make sense, that there is an order to us, that who we are or how we act or even how others interact with us follows some logic or pattern or order. I think I want it to, but I think I have to accept that it may not always. I think that when things come up that surprise me, that aren't according to plan, that don't fit with what I thought that person would do, I just need to say "Oh yeah, there it is, there's that random tail in the run of heads. It's not bad, it's not cause for alarm, it's not time for intervention or mid-life crisis, it just is. It's the universe, I'm a part of it, we're all pretty random. But also, in the big big picture of all of this, it's all gonna come out 50/ 50 anyway, I just may not see it because I'm in it.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Love yourself, and then watch yourself become lovable
I've been noticing something. I've been noticing what happens when I just love myself. And by 'love myself' I mean: meet myself with acceptance, with acknowledgement, with: "Oh, so that's what you're doing right now."
I've been noticing this most when I am acting in what I would consider a less-than-lovable way. My normal response to this behavior is to get disappointed in myself or try to figure out how to change myself- I basically deny this part of my existence as a part of me and work really hard to get rid of it.
But occasionally, when I am being especially present, I will see a part of me like this and look upon it with kindness, with love, with "Oh, look at you." And the weirdest thing happens. It's like I look up from this place in which I am cowered and hiding and hoping that no one will find me and I see someone smiling at me, encouraging me, and I think, "That's it? I'm okay? You mean you don't hate me?"
And in the past, I would have thought that if I were met with this- with acceptance and love- that it would encourage the "bad" behavior in me, that I would go right back to what I was doing that was so unlovable. But instead that face- of acceptance and kindness- draws me out of that cowering place, out of hiding, toward whoever that person is who is smiling.
And then two things seem to happen: first, that behavior, that I was convinced totally defined me as a person, that would only go away if I worked really hard on it, is gone. It's like it was just an event, instead of who I am, forever.
And then the second thing is that I actually want to act in a way that harmonizes with that person who is encouraging me. I don't actually want to be that person who I was being before. But instead of trying to will that "bad" person out of me, I have this feeling that I can walk away from it, leave it there, just drop it, instead of trying so hard to make it go away.
I'm a teacher- so this relationship of noticing behaviors and trying to change them, is a really big part of what I do... all day long. I have little ones who shout out things like "You don't know that?!" when someone says the wrong answer, who take granola bars that belong to others and then lie about it, and who run to the front of line even though they totally know that 'you can't cut!"
I want them to stop these behaviors because I want them to be accepted by their friends. I want others to see that this is not all that they are. I want their sweet selves to be what everyone else in class sees, not this somewhat self- centered mode of thinking that pisses everyone off.
So I work really hard to come up with ways to discourage these behaviors, to keep them from happening again. And, to be honest, the most common way that I do this is to punish the behavior- provide consequences for the behavior that are unpleasant so that when the child thinks about doing it again, they will avoid doing it to avoid these consequences.
But now I don't think that's really all that effective. Because when I think about myself, how I respond to getting mad at myself, to being disappointed in my behavior, to focusing only on changing myself to avoid that in the future- I see myself as this person, in this corner, focused only on how bad I am. I am stuck in that place of being a bad person and all I can seem to do is focus on how bad I am. I don't see anything good in myself and don't really have any place to go other than just "Bad you! Bad you!" So I just stay there, and hope it doesn't happen again. I might try to imagine future scenarios or come up with strategies to control myself next time but until that situation happens again, I can't really do anything about it.
And then I compare myself to when I was met with kindness- and it's a totally different ball game. The ickiness that I feel about myself for doing what I've done is still there, but when I look up, instead of being met with further rejection and confirmation that, in fact, I am a bad person, I am met with this look of "You're okay. We still love you. We get it- it was a bummer... and,,, we still love you."
And that changes everything. It's like it's over. It's like there's hope for other things. It's like I might be able to be someone else. And that encourages me to let go of who I was, helps me to see that I am that and I am other things too- that there is a world of possibilities of who I am and that when I try them, I will still be okay. And that makes me want to go forward, to come out of that place of "badness," to move on to being whoever it is that I am next.
I've been noticing this most when I am acting in what I would consider a less-than-lovable way. My normal response to this behavior is to get disappointed in myself or try to figure out how to change myself- I basically deny this part of my existence as a part of me and work really hard to get rid of it.
But occasionally, when I am being especially present, I will see a part of me like this and look upon it with kindness, with love, with "Oh, look at you." And the weirdest thing happens. It's like I look up from this place in which I am cowered and hiding and hoping that no one will find me and I see someone smiling at me, encouraging me, and I think, "That's it? I'm okay? You mean you don't hate me?"
And in the past, I would have thought that if I were met with this- with acceptance and love- that it would encourage the "bad" behavior in me, that I would go right back to what I was doing that was so unlovable. But instead that face- of acceptance and kindness- draws me out of that cowering place, out of hiding, toward whoever that person is who is smiling.
And then two things seem to happen: first, that behavior, that I was convinced totally defined me as a person, that would only go away if I worked really hard on it, is gone. It's like it was just an event, instead of who I am, forever.
And then the second thing is that I actually want to act in a way that harmonizes with that person who is encouraging me. I don't actually want to be that person who I was being before. But instead of trying to will that "bad" person out of me, I have this feeling that I can walk away from it, leave it there, just drop it, instead of trying so hard to make it go away.
I'm a teacher- so this relationship of noticing behaviors and trying to change them, is a really big part of what I do... all day long. I have little ones who shout out things like "You don't know that?!" when someone says the wrong answer, who take granola bars that belong to others and then lie about it, and who run to the front of line even though they totally know that 'you can't cut!"
I want them to stop these behaviors because I want them to be accepted by their friends. I want others to see that this is not all that they are. I want their sweet selves to be what everyone else in class sees, not this somewhat self- centered mode of thinking that pisses everyone off.
So I work really hard to come up with ways to discourage these behaviors, to keep them from happening again. And, to be honest, the most common way that I do this is to punish the behavior- provide consequences for the behavior that are unpleasant so that when the child thinks about doing it again, they will avoid doing it to avoid these consequences.
But now I don't think that's really all that effective. Because when I think about myself, how I respond to getting mad at myself, to being disappointed in my behavior, to focusing only on changing myself to avoid that in the future- I see myself as this person, in this corner, focused only on how bad I am. I am stuck in that place of being a bad person and all I can seem to do is focus on how bad I am. I don't see anything good in myself and don't really have any place to go other than just "Bad you! Bad you!" So I just stay there, and hope it doesn't happen again. I might try to imagine future scenarios or come up with strategies to control myself next time but until that situation happens again, I can't really do anything about it.
And then I compare myself to when I was met with kindness- and it's a totally different ball game. The ickiness that I feel about myself for doing what I've done is still there, but when I look up, instead of being met with further rejection and confirmation that, in fact, I am a bad person, I am met with this look of "You're okay. We still love you. We get it- it was a bummer... and,,, we still love you."
And that changes everything. It's like it's over. It's like there's hope for other things. It's like I might be able to be someone else. And that encourages me to let go of who I was, helps me to see that I am that and I am other things too- that there is a world of possibilities of who I am and that when I try them, I will still be okay. And that makes me want to go forward, to come out of that place of "badness," to move on to being whoever it is that I am next.
Monday, October 14, 2013
You can't feel your thoughts
I was baking, thinking about someone I knew and had just hung out with. As I thought about them, I tried to feel how I was feeling, to see if I could kind of figure out how I really felt about them, what might be going on between us.
And it was the weirdest thing- I couldn't feel my feelings for them. I tried to notice where in my body I was feeling what I was thinking. I tried to tap into the gut response I was having to this person, but there was nothing. The thoughts I was having about this person were nowhere in my body.
And I pictured them (my thoughts), kind of floating around inside my head, but just at the top, right below my scalp, but nowhere else could I actually feel them.
"No way!" I thought to myself. "These aren't feelings! I'm not actually having feelings for this person, I'm having thoughts! And the way that I know that is because I can't feel them. You can't feel your thoughts in your body, that's how you know that they're just thoughts, not reality...this is so cool!"
And so then I focused on my body, on just feeling the body in front of me, and I watched as my hand opened the pantry door and grabbed some sugar. And then I watched as I washed my hands in the sink. And then I watched as I dried my hands on the towel and I saw the wrinkles on my hands and the workings of my fingers and thumb together and I saw how physical and human I really am and then I thought, "Ooooh, creepy, I don't like this. Discomfort, discomfort, discomfort. Aversion, aversion- quick....aversion!"
And I can't remember what I thought about next but I promptly moved away from being in my body 'cause it was just too weird, too truthful to accept that I'm just a body: just hands and fingers manipulating objects.
And then I went on with my baking.
But still, it's pretty cool. If you're not sure whether or not you're making things up, whether it's you who's creating your reality or whether you're experiencing reality, try feeling it. Chances are, if you can't feel it anywhere, it's just a thought. Although, who knows? Maybe the things we feel in our body are brought on by thoughts so maybe they're made up too but still, it sure seems like if you can't actually feel it, if you can't actually physically experience it, it's not really happening, or, at least, it's only happening inside your head.
And it was the weirdest thing- I couldn't feel my feelings for them. I tried to notice where in my body I was feeling what I was thinking. I tried to tap into the gut response I was having to this person, but there was nothing. The thoughts I was having about this person were nowhere in my body.
And I pictured them (my thoughts), kind of floating around inside my head, but just at the top, right below my scalp, but nowhere else could I actually feel them.
"No way!" I thought to myself. "These aren't feelings! I'm not actually having feelings for this person, I'm having thoughts! And the way that I know that is because I can't feel them. You can't feel your thoughts in your body, that's how you know that they're just thoughts, not reality...this is so cool!"
And so then I focused on my body, on just feeling the body in front of me, and I watched as my hand opened the pantry door and grabbed some sugar. And then I watched as I washed my hands in the sink. And then I watched as I dried my hands on the towel and I saw the wrinkles on my hands and the workings of my fingers and thumb together and I saw how physical and human I really am and then I thought, "Ooooh, creepy, I don't like this. Discomfort, discomfort, discomfort. Aversion, aversion- quick....aversion!"
And I can't remember what I thought about next but I promptly moved away from being in my body 'cause it was just too weird, too truthful to accept that I'm just a body: just hands and fingers manipulating objects.
And then I went on with my baking.
But still, it's pretty cool. If you're not sure whether or not you're making things up, whether it's you who's creating your reality or whether you're experiencing reality, try feeling it. Chances are, if you can't feel it anywhere, it's just a thought. Although, who knows? Maybe the things we feel in our body are brought on by thoughts so maybe they're made up too but still, it sure seems like if you can't actually feel it, if you can't actually physically experience it, it's not really happening, or, at least, it's only happening inside your head.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
The comfort of blame
My room mate was frying chicken and after he finished, I offered him the glass jar that I had used earlier that morning to collect bacon fat.
"That's okay," he said.
"But what do you do with the fat?" I asked him.
"It's okay," he explained. "It's just olive oil, not fat, so it's fine to send down the sink."
This thoroughly confused me. In my head, it didn't matter what kind of oil it was, all oil went down the sink as a liquid and then turned to solid and clogged your pipes. Bacon fat and olive oil were the same in terms of the whole liquid to solid changeability. Liquid bacon fat seemed to me to be the same as liquid olive oil. But I trusted my room mate on this one, decided that fat was different from oil, somehow, and let it go, until...the next day.
The next day, I was doing dishes and the drain filled with water instead of running down nicely.
"See!" I exclaimed. "Olive oil does clog the pipes. I'm not totally crazy (and my room mate doesn't know what he's talking about)."
And I noticed that I had great delight in watching the sink clog.
"That's weird," I said to myself. "You're happy that the sink is clogged. That's really weird."
And at first I thought I was happy because my room mate was wrong. But then I felt what I was feeling and it wasn't self righteousness, it was settled, it was safe, it was that things made sense.
And then I realized two things.
Having the sink clog was comforting to me because it confirmed my experience with hot liquids turning to cold solids, no matter what kind of fat or oil they were.
But the other thing was that I had a reason for the sink to be clogged- and that was comforting to me.
See, I think we like to believe that things happen for a reason. I think we like to believe that there is a cause and effect to things because if there is, then we have some agency in this life, some control, some way of determining or at least having an idea of the future or how things work in this place we call living.
But the truth of it is that we are random beings living in a random universe and, though we want to believe that there are patterns or direct consequences to our actions, that's not always true. The only actual truth is that we are subject to the same physical laws of the universe that everyone else is (including the sun, moon, ocean, plants, animals, etc.).
But when things happen that we don't like, or that aren't what we expected, it's kind of nice to be able to blame it on someone or some thing. When we do, it gives us this feeling that things happen for a reason, that there is a relationship between what we do and how things happen, that we actually have some control over our lives and that if we could just change that one thing (that we blamed it on) we can keep it from happening again.
I don't know, maybe this isn't true, but it feels like that's the reason we blame events on people or things- it reassures that that there is an order to things, that we can keep things from happening in one way or another, that there is a factor that is in our control.
"That's okay," he said.
"But what do you do with the fat?" I asked him.
"It's okay," he explained. "It's just olive oil, not fat, so it's fine to send down the sink."
This thoroughly confused me. In my head, it didn't matter what kind of oil it was, all oil went down the sink as a liquid and then turned to solid and clogged your pipes. Bacon fat and olive oil were the same in terms of the whole liquid to solid changeability. Liquid bacon fat seemed to me to be the same as liquid olive oil. But I trusted my room mate on this one, decided that fat was different from oil, somehow, and let it go, until...the next day.
The next day, I was doing dishes and the drain filled with water instead of running down nicely.
"See!" I exclaimed. "Olive oil does clog the pipes. I'm not totally crazy (and my room mate doesn't know what he's talking about)."
And I noticed that I had great delight in watching the sink clog.
"That's weird," I said to myself. "You're happy that the sink is clogged. That's really weird."
And at first I thought I was happy because my room mate was wrong. But then I felt what I was feeling and it wasn't self righteousness, it was settled, it was safe, it was that things made sense.
And then I realized two things.
Having the sink clog was comforting to me because it confirmed my experience with hot liquids turning to cold solids, no matter what kind of fat or oil they were.
But the other thing was that I had a reason for the sink to be clogged- and that was comforting to me.
See, I think we like to believe that things happen for a reason. I think we like to believe that there is a cause and effect to things because if there is, then we have some agency in this life, some control, some way of determining or at least having an idea of the future or how things work in this place we call living.
But the truth of it is that we are random beings living in a random universe and, though we want to believe that there are patterns or direct consequences to our actions, that's not always true. The only actual truth is that we are subject to the same physical laws of the universe that everyone else is (including the sun, moon, ocean, plants, animals, etc.).
But when things happen that we don't like, or that aren't what we expected, it's kind of nice to be able to blame it on someone or some thing. When we do, it gives us this feeling that things happen for a reason, that there is a relationship between what we do and how things happen, that we actually have some control over our lives and that if we could just change that one thing (that we blamed it on) we can keep it from happening again.
I don't know, maybe this isn't true, but it feels like that's the reason we blame events on people or things- it reassures that that there is an order to things, that we can keep things from happening in one way or another, that there is a factor that is in our control.
Bacon
I had the most interesting experience with bacon tonight. Actually, it was prosciutto, but it's the same idea.
Tonight I was making a recipe that involved, basically, sautéing onions and mushrooms and then simmering them in wine and then tossing them with bacon (or prosciutto) and pasta. When I read the recipe, I considered omitting the bacon because often I find that the meat in recipes isn't where the flavor is, it's the sauce or fixings that I like, so cutting out the meat doesn't really affect the flavor. But then I looked at the recipe and realized that it was only 3 ounces of prosciutto, and I love prosciutto, so I decided to keep it in there instead.
I started sautéing the onions and mushrooms, added the wine, and set it on its long simmering (40 minutes). Then I went about the business of boiling the water for the pasta and frying up the prosciutto. But a funny thing happened when I peeled back the corner of the plastic container: it didn't smell right. I smelled it again, checked the label to make sure it was prosciutto, and then smelled it one more time.
"Yep, that's familiar," I said to myself. "That actually is what prosciutto smells like, but it doesn't smell the same anymore."
And I thought to myself, "Well, what does it smell like, if it doesn't smell like it used to?"
And what I answered was: "Flesh and meat."
And then I read the ingredients and it said: pork and salt and spices. And I thought, "Yep, that's pretty much what I smell."
And that bummed me out.
See, this is what prosciutto normally smells like to me:
thin slivers of salty meat- just enough flavor to make a sandwich- on really good bread with some tasty mild cheese.
Or, in other words, my three weeks spent in Northern Italy where I could actually order a sandwich that was just bread, meat, and cheese; not all that other stuff that I've always hated about sandwiches: mustard and mayonnaise and icky lunch meat piled too high on blechy bread.
It also smelled like:
Salty wrappers that you bite through to get to mango or watermelon or some other juicy fruit.
Or, in other words, the first time that I made a recipe for friends (prosciutto wrapped mango) that was actually good, and kinda fancy.
And I have to say that as I fried up the prosciutto, it definitely did NOT smell like bacon, the way I had hoped it would. It didn't smell like my grandma's house on a Sunday morning, before church, when we would be treated to homemade krullers with powdered sugar or thin crepes filled with grape jelly.
What it smelled like was meat, and fat, cooking. And honestly, what it felt like, was a pig, being cooked, for me to eat.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have no problem with the smell of blood as it is released from a burger frying in a pan. I also have no problem with the smell of bacon fat, as it sizzles away from those delicious shrinky-dinks of goodness we refer to as cooked bacon. Honestly, I have no problem with those smells. In fact, I love those smells. Those smells remind me of outdoor barbeques, leisurely mornings with friends in the kitchen, and, honestly, get- togethers with cousins, aunts, and uncles (we rarely had bacon or burgers at my house, for no reason other than the fact that we had sausages and steak instead).
But tonight, I didn't have those associations. All I had was the actual smell of raw prosciutto. And then all I had was the smell of cooking prosciutto.
I'm assuming this was because all I was focused on was the thing in front of me; that I was aware not of my thoughts and associations with the food that I was preparing but instead of the actual food in front of me: pork and salt and spices.
Bummer.
Prosciutto is nowhere near as delicious when it is pork and salt and spices as it is when it is all the memories and events that I associate with it.
Also, I can see now why people would want to be vegetarian. I can see why people wouldn't want to eat dead animals. They just don't taste all that good when that's what you're eating.
Tonight I was making a recipe that involved, basically, sautéing onions and mushrooms and then simmering them in wine and then tossing them with bacon (or prosciutto) and pasta. When I read the recipe, I considered omitting the bacon because often I find that the meat in recipes isn't where the flavor is, it's the sauce or fixings that I like, so cutting out the meat doesn't really affect the flavor. But then I looked at the recipe and realized that it was only 3 ounces of prosciutto, and I love prosciutto, so I decided to keep it in there instead.
I started sautéing the onions and mushrooms, added the wine, and set it on its long simmering (40 minutes). Then I went about the business of boiling the water for the pasta and frying up the prosciutto. But a funny thing happened when I peeled back the corner of the plastic container: it didn't smell right. I smelled it again, checked the label to make sure it was prosciutto, and then smelled it one more time.
"Yep, that's familiar," I said to myself. "That actually is what prosciutto smells like, but it doesn't smell the same anymore."
And I thought to myself, "Well, what does it smell like, if it doesn't smell like it used to?"
And what I answered was: "Flesh and meat."
And then I read the ingredients and it said: pork and salt and spices. And I thought, "Yep, that's pretty much what I smell."
And that bummed me out.
See, this is what prosciutto normally smells like to me:
thin slivers of salty meat- just enough flavor to make a sandwich- on really good bread with some tasty mild cheese.
Or, in other words, my three weeks spent in Northern Italy where I could actually order a sandwich that was just bread, meat, and cheese; not all that other stuff that I've always hated about sandwiches: mustard and mayonnaise and icky lunch meat piled too high on blechy bread.
It also smelled like:
Salty wrappers that you bite through to get to mango or watermelon or some other juicy fruit.
Or, in other words, the first time that I made a recipe for friends (prosciutto wrapped mango) that was actually good, and kinda fancy.
And I have to say that as I fried up the prosciutto, it definitely did NOT smell like bacon, the way I had hoped it would. It didn't smell like my grandma's house on a Sunday morning, before church, when we would be treated to homemade krullers with powdered sugar or thin crepes filled with grape jelly.
What it smelled like was meat, and fat, cooking. And honestly, what it felt like, was a pig, being cooked, for me to eat.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have no problem with the smell of blood as it is released from a burger frying in a pan. I also have no problem with the smell of bacon fat, as it sizzles away from those delicious shrinky-dinks of goodness we refer to as cooked bacon. Honestly, I have no problem with those smells. In fact, I love those smells. Those smells remind me of outdoor barbeques, leisurely mornings with friends in the kitchen, and, honestly, get- togethers with cousins, aunts, and uncles (we rarely had bacon or burgers at my house, for no reason other than the fact that we had sausages and steak instead).
But tonight, I didn't have those associations. All I had was the actual smell of raw prosciutto. And then all I had was the smell of cooking prosciutto.
I'm assuming this was because all I was focused on was the thing in front of me; that I was aware not of my thoughts and associations with the food that I was preparing but instead of the actual food in front of me: pork and salt and spices.
Bummer.
Prosciutto is nowhere near as delicious when it is pork and salt and spices as it is when it is all the memories and events that I associate with it.
Also, I can see now why people would want to be vegetarian. I can see why people wouldn't want to eat dead animals. They just don't taste all that good when that's what you're eating.
Zen love
As I was walking to work this morning, I was thinking that what I really wanted to do was make my friend feel better. It wasn't that I didn't want to go to work, it was just that if I could have done anything, it would have been to do things that would somehow make things less painful for her or that would make her smile.
Then I thought about the fact that I make brownies and baked goods for people, a lot. And then I thought about the fact that my dad baked us a cake on our birthday and that my brother and I made chocolate pudding when we were growing up and I thought that maybe that was why I baked so much for my friends- that baking was how I showed my love for them.
And then I thought that was kind of sad- that baking was how I showed love- and that maybe I should stop that. But then I thought that this was the way that I did show love, feeble as it may be- and that this was the way that I do things.
And then I thought about loving others, and how sometimes that's hard for me, and I pictured myself just trying to love others, and all the fear and rejection I feel around it.
And as I saw this image- of myself attempting to love and pulling back- I saw that all I really wanted to do, was love.
And then I thought that was lame- that my fulfillment of self was to love others- and I watched as my reaching-out-to-love-others self shrunk back into itself.
And that's when I noticed that it wasn't others' rejection of me that was stifling me, it wasn't fear of abandonment, or being left, or being alone. It was me not letting myself love others that was causing me suffering. All I really want to do is love others, actually be free to love them.
And it was funny, because nothing in all of this involved being loved back. In my image of myself wanting to love others, I didn't picture being loved or embraced or being in a relationship. I simply pictured myself being able to love someone, to actually express my fondness and affection for them.
And then I pictured myself doing this, loving them freely, loving them at will, loving them as an expression of my feelings, not with any other intention in mind. And I also pictured their reaction to me- which was a bit awkward- but I just laughed, and did it anyway, and noticed how good that felt.
And that's when I saw how this was unconditional love- the expression of love, not the receipt or engagement or relationship of love- but one actually expressing their love to someone- without any expectation of anything in return because it isn't about them and their reaction, it's about you and your expression.
I thought about how in the past, I had had so much suffering around love- because it wasn't romantic, because it wasn't reciprocated, because it wasn't the kind of love that I wanted or didn't illicit the response that I was hoping for. My focus on love had been what I would get in return and so I had calculated my love, evaluated it, modified it or stifled it to make sure that it was pleasant and well received. But in doing this, I was keeping myself from freely expressing my love, and that was what was causing me the suffering: the monitoring, labeling, and controlling of my love. What had brought me joy was the times when I had stopped trying so hard to love someone and just let myself love them how I loved them, regardless of their reaction. When I gave in, and accepted that I loved them, regardless of how they felt about me, that's when I was fine and free and myself and happy.
So I think this is zen love. Zen love is the expression of love, in whatever form it takes. Zen love is broad and changing and little and big. It is free, without boundaries or definitions or labels. It is what it is in that moment and it is true because it is simply an expression of ourselves- a manifestation of our hearts, of our deep desire to love others, however it is that we do that.
Then I thought about the fact that I make brownies and baked goods for people, a lot. And then I thought about the fact that my dad baked us a cake on our birthday and that my brother and I made chocolate pudding when we were growing up and I thought that maybe that was why I baked so much for my friends- that baking was how I showed my love for them.
And then I thought that was kind of sad- that baking was how I showed love- and that maybe I should stop that. But then I thought that this was the way that I did show love, feeble as it may be- and that this was the way that I do things.
And then I thought about loving others, and how sometimes that's hard for me, and I pictured myself just trying to love others, and all the fear and rejection I feel around it.
And as I saw this image- of myself attempting to love and pulling back- I saw that all I really wanted to do, was love.
And then I thought that was lame- that my fulfillment of self was to love others- and I watched as my reaching-out-to-love-others self shrunk back into itself.
And that's when I noticed that it wasn't others' rejection of me that was stifling me, it wasn't fear of abandonment, or being left, or being alone. It was me not letting myself love others that was causing me suffering. All I really want to do is love others, actually be free to love them.
And it was funny, because nothing in all of this involved being loved back. In my image of myself wanting to love others, I didn't picture being loved or embraced or being in a relationship. I simply pictured myself being able to love someone, to actually express my fondness and affection for them.
And then I pictured myself doing this, loving them freely, loving them at will, loving them as an expression of my feelings, not with any other intention in mind. And I also pictured their reaction to me- which was a bit awkward- but I just laughed, and did it anyway, and noticed how good that felt.
And that's when I saw how this was unconditional love- the expression of love, not the receipt or engagement or relationship of love- but one actually expressing their love to someone- without any expectation of anything in return because it isn't about them and their reaction, it's about you and your expression.
I thought about how in the past, I had had so much suffering around love- because it wasn't romantic, because it wasn't reciprocated, because it wasn't the kind of love that I wanted or didn't illicit the response that I was hoping for. My focus on love had been what I would get in return and so I had calculated my love, evaluated it, modified it or stifled it to make sure that it was pleasant and well received. But in doing this, I was keeping myself from freely expressing my love, and that was what was causing me the suffering: the monitoring, labeling, and controlling of my love. What had brought me joy was the times when I had stopped trying so hard to love someone and just let myself love them how I loved them, regardless of their reaction. When I gave in, and accepted that I loved them, regardless of how they felt about me, that's when I was fine and free and myself and happy.
So I think this is zen love. Zen love is the expression of love, in whatever form it takes. Zen love is broad and changing and little and big. It is free, without boundaries or definitions or labels. It is what it is in that moment and it is true because it is simply an expression of ourselves- a manifestation of our hearts, of our deep desire to love others, however it is that we do that.
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