It's you.
I'm not happy about this, but it's true- it's you.
I figured this out during the last full moon ceremony.
We were chanting the refuges or the precepts or something like that and I said the line: "Buddha's way is unsurpassable, I vow to become it."
"F*#@" I thought to myself.
Buddha's way is unsurpassable.... that's referring to you. It's not the "way" some guy (Buddha) lived eons ago that is so "right" that it's unsurpassable, it's that YOU- who you are, your thoughts, your actions, all that stuff that you do that you have no control over- THAT is what is unsurpassable. You can't pass on your life, you can't go around it, you can't decide what crap you're going to say or do next, it's just gonna happen, you're gonna be you, whether you like you or not.
And then I heard myself say the next part of the line: I vow to become it.
"Double crap!" I thought to myself.
That's how I'm supposed to respond to this truth that who-I-am-is-inevitable: I have to become it.
I have to spend my time being who I am, regardless of who that is. I have to be in alignment with myself, stop trying to be someone else, actually become who I am.
Dude, this sucks.
I mean, I know that it's true. It makes perfect sense. If I want to live with less "suffering," then I need to stop going "against" things and instead try to be in accord or agreement with them. So vowing to become yourself, to give in to the fact that who you are is inevitable, allows you to live more in alignment with who you are- puts your effort into being you instead of fighting you. And this whole practice of "studying" the self is what supports you to see yourself so that you can actually become the self, become you.
So this vow- acceptance that who you are is unsurpassable so you might as well just become it- is about giving in, being true to yourself, trusting that who you are might be okay and that its kind of your responsibility to be it.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Sunday, May 11, 2014
A friend's death
It is difficult to deny
your friend's death
when you are trying to decide what to wear
to her memorial ceremony.
When you are aware that on this day
Mother's Day
her husband and son
are doing something
and you wonder
what that something may be.
When last week
on her son's seventh birthday
you considered that it would be his first birthday
without her.
You wondered
if he asked
Where is she? Why isn't she here?
And you cried at the bravery
the tenderness
the absolute vulnerability
of his father's response.
Yet
Nothing has changed.
Her email is still in your inbox,
Her address pops up when you type the letter J.
The last time you saw her
is still the last time you saw her
and she was walking
and you were talking
about things like this
about how it would be
without her.
You knew it was coming
just not when it would come.
Tomorrow should be interesting.
She will not be there.
The first of your encounters
without her
her own memorial ceremony
without her
the celebration of her life
your first acknowledgement
of her death.
your friend's death
when you are trying to decide what to wear
to her memorial ceremony.
When you are aware that on this day
Mother's Day
her husband and son
are doing something
and you wonder
what that something may be.
When last week
on her son's seventh birthday
you considered that it would be his first birthday
without her.
You wondered
if he asked
Where is she? Why isn't she here?
And you cried at the bravery
the tenderness
the absolute vulnerability
of his father's response.
Yet
Nothing has changed.
Her email is still in your inbox,
Her address pops up when you type the letter J.
The last time you saw her
is still the last time you saw her
and she was walking
and you were talking
about things like this
about how it would be
without her.
You knew it was coming
just not when it would come.
Tomorrow should be interesting.
She will not be there.
The first of your encounters
without her
her own memorial ceremony
without her
the celebration of her life
your first acknowledgement
of her death.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
My mother is me
It turns out that my mother... is a fantasy.
This makes sense because my mother died, in late August, of 1977.
People die.
She is one of them.
She actually died.
She has not existed since that day, so she can't possibly be anything other than a fantasy.
Still, she has existed in my head, ever since.
I thought that existence was real.
I think I knew that the mother that I imagined as a six year old, the one in heaven, the one who hung out with the Easter Bunny and God, was made up. I think I figured that out the same way you figure out Santa Claus and all those other kid things. But figuring that out didn't stop me from thinking she existed. I'm not quite sure where I thought she was, but I know I thought she still existed.
So when this other one showed up, the mother I've been connecting with over the past three years, I really thought that she was real. I thought I was connecting with her. I thought I was actually feeling her. I thought I was finally getting to know her as an adult, as my mother, as someone like me.
But I was not.
How could I have?
She's dead.
It's all in my head.
It was all in my head.
About three weeks ago I got that she was dead. It wasn't a big 'aha' moment, not some earth shattering epiphany, more of a statement: she's dead. It was brief, I think it happened as I passed the photograph of her on my mantel but it felt like what it was: a fact. This is a wood floor. That person is dead.
I'm assuming that this acknowledgement on my part is what brought me to the conclusion I made this week: everything I experience with my mother has to be a fantasy. It can't be anything else except things in my head. She's dead. We can't actually interact, haven't been able to interact, meet, talk, touch, feel... for 37 years. We will never be able to do that, any of that. Everything with her is a fantasy.
All of this was fantasy.
And I am sad.
It was all in my head.
And I am alone.
I am a grown woman. I am experiencing this alone. There isn't anything else to do about it but be alone in it. I'm the only one who can be this: alive and without her. Grown up, older than her, continuing to live, without any shadow or trace or feeling or connection. She's gone, has been physically gone, since that day in my house when she said goodbye. I have not seen her since and will never see her again.
I'm sure I will continue to feel her- that part about no trace, no feeling, no connection- that's not true. It's just that all of those feelings, those connections, they really are fantasy. They may be here and they may be now, but they are not her- they are me.
She is not here. She is not now. She is gone, has been gone, this whole time.
This makes sense because my mother died, in late August, of 1977.
People die.
She is one of them.
She actually died.
She has not existed since that day, so she can't possibly be anything other than a fantasy.
Still, she has existed in my head, ever since.
I thought that existence was real.
I think I knew that the mother that I imagined as a six year old, the one in heaven, the one who hung out with the Easter Bunny and God, was made up. I think I figured that out the same way you figure out Santa Claus and all those other kid things. But figuring that out didn't stop me from thinking she existed. I'm not quite sure where I thought she was, but I know I thought she still existed.
So when this other one showed up, the mother I've been connecting with over the past three years, I really thought that she was real. I thought I was connecting with her. I thought I was actually feeling her. I thought I was finally getting to know her as an adult, as my mother, as someone like me.
But I was not.
How could I have?
She's dead.
It's all in my head.
It was all in my head.
About three weeks ago I got that she was dead. It wasn't a big 'aha' moment, not some earth shattering epiphany, more of a statement: she's dead. It was brief, I think it happened as I passed the photograph of her on my mantel but it felt like what it was: a fact. This is a wood floor. That person is dead.
I'm assuming that this acknowledgement on my part is what brought me to the conclusion I made this week: everything I experience with my mother has to be a fantasy. It can't be anything else except things in my head. She's dead. We can't actually interact, haven't been able to interact, meet, talk, touch, feel... for 37 years. We will never be able to do that, any of that. Everything with her is a fantasy.
All of this was fantasy.
And I am sad.
It was all in my head.
And I am alone.
I am a grown woman. I am experiencing this alone. There isn't anything else to do about it but be alone in it. I'm the only one who can be this: alive and without her. Grown up, older than her, continuing to live, without any shadow or trace or feeling or connection. She's gone, has been physically gone, since that day in my house when she said goodbye. I have not seen her since and will never see her again.
I'm sure I will continue to feel her- that part about no trace, no feeling, no connection- that's not true. It's just that all of those feelings, those connections, they really are fantasy. They may be here and they may be now, but they are not her- they are me.
She is not here. She is not now. She is gone, has been gone, this whole time.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Unconditional Love
It occurred to me tonight, during zazen, that if I want unconditional love- and I do- I'm the only one who can give it to me and...that I am capable of it.
For the longest time, I have wanted unconditional love. I originally wanted it in a romantic partner- thought that I would find someone who would love me despite- no, actually, not even despite, because of, all my faults. I thought that I would find someone who would look on the things that weren't so great about me with affection and fondness. I wanted them to be someone who I could come home to, after a long day at work, and just melt into, just be loved by, be fully accepted, safe, and immediately freed from all that went wrong that day.
I remember sharing this with a friend once and having him say to me, "I wish I could be that for you but I can't." And I remember thinking in that interchange that probably, no one could- that that's not what romantic partners were for, and that what I really was looking for, was a mother.
And over time I have come to discover that, in fact, that is what I have wanted: a mother. I have wanted to go back in time, be a little girl, be loved, unconditionally by her mother, her whole life. I have wanted to relive my childhood with my mom in it- have her there for all those times when I was sad, lonely, feeling down- wanting to be able to just give in and be held.
But tonight I realized that I am the only one capable of doing this: of seeing me, all of me, and accepting me. It isn't going to come from my mom- she is dead. It isn't going to come from another person- they can't possibly know me enough to actually see me, just as I am. It has to come from me, and... I am capable of doing it.
I am actually capable of seeing myself without judgment. I can actually look upon my actions as "just this" and "look at you now," I can do that, I have done it, both for myself and for others. And honestly, I really am the only one who can do this. Anyone else's love for me is going to come through my doubt, my disbelief that someone would find value in me, my fear that it won't last. But unconditional love of myself, by myself, is totally dependent upon me. I can regulate it, be aware of it, cultivate it, because it's coming from me.
Part of me is annoyed by this- that it is so simple, that it has been here all along, that the love that I so desperately wanted was right there, in me. Part of me is also sad and angry- sad that I don't get to be loved unconditionally by another and angry that I'm the one that has to do it.
But mostly I see that this is possible.
I was beginning to wonder if I would "find love." I was beginning to wonder if I would die alone, if I would be that person who "found love" in her practice, in the children in her classroom, in her passion for teaching, in her love for the children of her friends and family.
I didn't want to be that person. I wanted to be like everyone else- have a life partner, have someone to grow old and die with. And I was beginning to feel like I needed to get cracking on this, that I needed to make this a priority in my life, afraid that if I didn't, I would die alone without ever having loved and that would be my life's regret.
But now I see that it's right here. The unconditional love that I long for is right here, in me, I just have to do it. I can totally accept myself. I can see my failures as heroic attempts to help others. I can see my annoying traits as annoying traits. I can see my aversions and propensities as aversions and propensities. I can experience this- this freedom from judgment, this acceptance, these arms of compassion and love- by my own actions, thoughts, and response to myself. I can actually experience unconditional love of myself, by myself, by simply seeing myself just as I am.
I'm not saying it's going to be easy or that it will be fixed. I'm not saying it's going to replace having a life partner. All I'm saying is that the only person who actually can love me unconditionally is me. So it's here, right here, I can experience that love every moment that I choose to and, honestly, it is the only way that I actually will experience it.
For the longest time, I have wanted unconditional love. I originally wanted it in a romantic partner- thought that I would find someone who would love me despite- no, actually, not even despite, because of, all my faults. I thought that I would find someone who would look on the things that weren't so great about me with affection and fondness. I wanted them to be someone who I could come home to, after a long day at work, and just melt into, just be loved by, be fully accepted, safe, and immediately freed from all that went wrong that day.
I remember sharing this with a friend once and having him say to me, "I wish I could be that for you but I can't." And I remember thinking in that interchange that probably, no one could- that that's not what romantic partners were for, and that what I really was looking for, was a mother.
And over time I have come to discover that, in fact, that is what I have wanted: a mother. I have wanted to go back in time, be a little girl, be loved, unconditionally by her mother, her whole life. I have wanted to relive my childhood with my mom in it- have her there for all those times when I was sad, lonely, feeling down- wanting to be able to just give in and be held.
But tonight I realized that I am the only one capable of doing this: of seeing me, all of me, and accepting me. It isn't going to come from my mom- she is dead. It isn't going to come from another person- they can't possibly know me enough to actually see me, just as I am. It has to come from me, and... I am capable of doing it.
I am actually capable of seeing myself without judgment. I can actually look upon my actions as "just this" and "look at you now," I can do that, I have done it, both for myself and for others. And honestly, I really am the only one who can do this. Anyone else's love for me is going to come through my doubt, my disbelief that someone would find value in me, my fear that it won't last. But unconditional love of myself, by myself, is totally dependent upon me. I can regulate it, be aware of it, cultivate it, because it's coming from me.
Part of me is annoyed by this- that it is so simple, that it has been here all along, that the love that I so desperately wanted was right there, in me. Part of me is also sad and angry- sad that I don't get to be loved unconditionally by another and angry that I'm the one that has to do it.
But mostly I see that this is possible.
I was beginning to wonder if I would "find love." I was beginning to wonder if I would die alone, if I would be that person who "found love" in her practice, in the children in her classroom, in her passion for teaching, in her love for the children of her friends and family.
I didn't want to be that person. I wanted to be like everyone else- have a life partner, have someone to grow old and die with. And I was beginning to feel like I needed to get cracking on this, that I needed to make this a priority in my life, afraid that if I didn't, I would die alone without ever having loved and that would be my life's regret.
But now I see that it's right here. The unconditional love that I long for is right here, in me, I just have to do it. I can totally accept myself. I can see my failures as heroic attempts to help others. I can see my annoying traits as annoying traits. I can see my aversions and propensities as aversions and propensities. I can experience this- this freedom from judgment, this acceptance, these arms of compassion and love- by my own actions, thoughts, and response to myself. I can actually experience unconditional love of myself, by myself, by simply seeing myself just as I am.
I'm not saying it's going to be easy or that it will be fixed. I'm not saying it's going to replace having a life partner. All I'm saying is that the only person who actually can love me unconditionally is me. So it's here, right here, I can experience that love every moment that I choose to and, honestly, it is the only way that I actually will experience it.
Friday, March 14, 2014
Maybe it's just suffering
Maybe it's just suffering
Is it loneliness?
I asked.
This feeling.
Am I just
lonely,
in need of a friend,
of company?
Or am I just tired,
it's been a long week.
I've stayed up late
eaten things I shouldn't have
enjoyed them then
and am experiencing their ramifications now.
But that isn't it.
It isn't one thing.
I can't pinpoint
this quilt
of sadness
loss of place
lack of belonging.
There isn't something
that brought it on.
It isn't something
I need to face
it isn't caused.
And I fear
it isn't
fixable
or even
something I can experience
embrace
work through.
I am scared
that this just is
this is experiencing life
life is
this.
unknowable
unconditioned
not a cause effect relationship,
not an
if I do this
that will happen,
or this is
because.
just
is
now.
uncertain
yet
with no future
what is it
I am uncertain of?
now
I suppose now
is where
I can look
for peace?
choosing to let go the avoidance
accept the experience
that now
is this
and this now
is suffering
and this
is life.
Is it loneliness?
I asked.
This feeling.
Am I just
lonely,
in need of a friend,
of company?
Or am I just tired,
it's been a long week.
I've stayed up late
eaten things I shouldn't have
enjoyed them then
and am experiencing their ramifications now.
But that isn't it.
It isn't one thing.
I can't pinpoint
this quilt
of sadness
loss of place
lack of belonging.
There isn't something
that brought it on.
It isn't something
I need to face
it isn't caused.
And I fear
it isn't
fixable
or even
something I can experience
embrace
work through.
I am scared
that this just is
this is experiencing life
life is
this.
unknowable
unconditioned
not a cause effect relationship,
not an
if I do this
that will happen,
or this is
because.
just
is
now.
uncertain
yet
with no future
what is it
I am uncertain of?
now
I suppose now
is where
I can look
for peace?
choosing to let go the avoidance
accept the experience
that now
is this
and this now
is suffering
and this
is life.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Be still for love
Love
is quiet
it enters from around a corner
where you least expected it to be.
Waits
stands
steadfast in its truth,
surprises you
with its beauty.
Love
for all its fanfare
of enduring affection
guaranteed companionship
never alone again
takes many forms more than that.
It is ferocious
and tender
mistaken
and confused
misguided
well intended
and often
lost
in translation.
So you must be quiet
you must be open
you must be willing
to see
it is there
it is always
there
is quiet
it enters from around a corner
where you least expected it to be.
Waits
stands
steadfast in its truth,
surprises you
with its beauty.
Love
for all its fanfare
of enduring affection
guaranteed companionship
never alone again
takes many forms more than that.
It is ferocious
and tender
mistaken
and confused
misguided
well intended
and often
lost
in translation.
So you must be quiet
you must be open
you must be willing
to see
it is there
it is always
there
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Seeing yourself
This post is old. I wrote it in the fall, shortly before school started up again.
I wanted to be tanto.
(Tanto is head of practice, head of students, available to all the students whenever they need it and for whatever they need).
It was true, it was what I felt, and it was what I had said to myself when I first came to a dharma talk given by Blanche: "I could be her someday." Not so much because I was like Blanche or because she was tanto, (she wasn't at the time), but that I could see myself, sitting there, on that box, talking.
But I was uncomfortable with the idea of myself being tanto.
For me, being tanto meant that I would live at the zen center. It meant that I would be a zen priest. It meant that I would be a monk. It meant that I would no longer be an elementary school teacher. It meant that I would no longer have my monthly income. It meant that I would no longer have my lovely apartment where I could cook whatever I wanted. It meant giving up all the normalcy I had in my life and becoming something that I had all kinds of stories about- unpleasant stories, fearful stories, stories in which I did not want to be the main character.
But still, I knew that I actually wanted to be tanto, so I was kind of stuck. I couldn't deny what I wanted, but it wasn't what I actually wanted.
At first, I was kind of okay with it because when I saw myself as tanto, I pictured myself being it when I was much older. I saw myself as a 60 year old woman being tanto, and that felt okay. I felt like I could retire into being tanto- that being a zen priest would be a second career for me, that I would do it after I retired and so moving in there wouldn't be giving up my life or income or anything- it would just be like volunteering or having a second career. I could do it as long as I was financially stable and had finished my career as a teacher. It would be cool and acceptable to retire into a zen monastery- I might even be respected and revered for it. So I was okay with my feelings about it because I thought they were feelings that I could act on later, when it was convenient for me and when I didn't have to choose between them and my current self.
But then, those feelings of wanting to be tanto kept coming up for me: in zazen, in my fantasies, in my imaginary conversations. Usually, when things come up for me, it's because I'm not seeing them. So I knew that if I wanted them to go away, I had to see, and accept, that I wanted to be tanto at the zen center.
Meanwhile, I was also noticing how happy I was when I was doing things at the zen center. I noticed how much I liked helping new people when I was doorwatch. I noticed how often I would learn things in class and immediately want to write about them on the blog so that others could understand them too. I also noticed that when I was in the "audience" at events and people would ask questions, I would want to answer them. I found that what I really wanted was to be the person on stage, not the person in the audience.
"Darnit!" I thought. "This is who I am. This is who I want to be. I can't really wait until I'm 60. This is who I am now."
And that freaked me out. How could who I want, not be who I want? How could who I am not be under my control? How could this persistent assertion of myself be something I hadn't chosen? It didn't make sense and the power of it frightened me.
In the past, I had chosen my career path based on what made me happy: kids. I had made choices about where I taught, what kind of schools I would teach in, what my role would be, all based on what I thought was best for me. It had all been under my command but this, this had nothing to do with me. It had nothing to do with my interests or my career choices or what was best for me. I didn't understand how my self could be at odds with my self. And yet, it had this volition, this power, this thing I had to listen to. I knew I had no choice but to listen to it but I was terrified of how it sounded. I was also terrified that if I did listen to it, I would have no choice in the matter, I actually would have to be tanto: give up teaching, move into the zen center, leave behind my income and retirement....
First, I went to my teacher. I told him how uncomfortable I was about all this. I told him about how happy it made me to be of service at the zen center but I also explained to him that the more natural it felt to do this, the more it felt like it was really me, the more uncomfortable it made me.
He said he totally understood and talked with me about different aspects of practice and about our concepts of normalcy. He also told me to trust my own process.
Part of me wanted to say, "Easy for you to say! You trusted your own process and it got you here. If I follow your advice, I'm going to end up here too- and that's not what I want!"
But of course, I didn't say that. Instead, I listened to his advice and saw that this really was my own process, it wasn't anyone else's. I also saw that on the one hand, I needed to listen to what was coming up for me but on the other hand, it didn't have to be this huge decision. It could come as it came, I could let it unfold and maybe have some say in the matter.
Next, I talked to my therapist. She pointed out a bunch of things to me. Teaching in the classroom and teaching at the zen center were both aspects of teaching. It made sense that I would be drawn to the teaching aspect of this practice; me being tanto was me wanting to be a teacher, not necessarily me wanting to be a monk or a priest or all the stories I had tied up into being tanto at the zen center. It actually wasn't all that different from who I already am. This wanting to be tanto wasn't all that at odds with myself at all. I didn't have to choose between the two of them, they were different manifestations of the same desire: to teach.
She also pointed out that in both positions, I am doing a service and getting paid for it. When I teach in the elementary school, I get a paycheck. If I moved in to the zen center, I would be paid in room and board. They are both services, they are both compensated- they are just different ways of teaching and different ways of getting paid.
This made me feel better and worse at the same time. The way she was putting it, becoming tanto was just shifting from teaching third graders to teaching adults. It seemed so easy, so normal, so natural- why wouldn't I want to do that? But then that meant that I should be tanto- that I really should listen to the things that kept coming up for me, that I really should follow this path, and I really didn't want to follow this path.
So then we talked some more and realized that a big part of it was giving up my income and retirement, that that was a big fear for me. And so we considered me not being tanto at the zen center, me just staying teaching third graders. And, surprisingly, it turned out that I actually didn't want that. I didn't want to "only" teach third graders. Something in me actually wanted to teach this, to teach zen practice, to others.
And I think that's when I finally settled- when I finally saw that this is something that I want to do. It's not that I want to move in to the zen center. It's not that I want to be tanto. It's that I want to teach this to others- that's all. I want to teach this to others. How I do that.. is inconsequential. The point is that I want this, that I am happy when I do this, that it brings me ease. The point isn't to come up with ways for me to manifest this self, ways to allow it to be, the point is that I see it, accept it, realize that this is me too.
I wanted to be tanto.
(Tanto is head of practice, head of students, available to all the students whenever they need it and for whatever they need).
It was true, it was what I felt, and it was what I had said to myself when I first came to a dharma talk given by Blanche: "I could be her someday." Not so much because I was like Blanche or because she was tanto, (she wasn't at the time), but that I could see myself, sitting there, on that box, talking.
But I was uncomfortable with the idea of myself being tanto.
For me, being tanto meant that I would live at the zen center. It meant that I would be a zen priest. It meant that I would be a monk. It meant that I would no longer be an elementary school teacher. It meant that I would no longer have my monthly income. It meant that I would no longer have my lovely apartment where I could cook whatever I wanted. It meant giving up all the normalcy I had in my life and becoming something that I had all kinds of stories about- unpleasant stories, fearful stories, stories in which I did not want to be the main character.
But still, I knew that I actually wanted to be tanto, so I was kind of stuck. I couldn't deny what I wanted, but it wasn't what I actually wanted.
At first, I was kind of okay with it because when I saw myself as tanto, I pictured myself being it when I was much older. I saw myself as a 60 year old woman being tanto, and that felt okay. I felt like I could retire into being tanto- that being a zen priest would be a second career for me, that I would do it after I retired and so moving in there wouldn't be giving up my life or income or anything- it would just be like volunteering or having a second career. I could do it as long as I was financially stable and had finished my career as a teacher. It would be cool and acceptable to retire into a zen monastery- I might even be respected and revered for it. So I was okay with my feelings about it because I thought they were feelings that I could act on later, when it was convenient for me and when I didn't have to choose between them and my current self.
But then, those feelings of wanting to be tanto kept coming up for me: in zazen, in my fantasies, in my imaginary conversations. Usually, when things come up for me, it's because I'm not seeing them. So I knew that if I wanted them to go away, I had to see, and accept, that I wanted to be tanto at the zen center.
Meanwhile, I was also noticing how happy I was when I was doing things at the zen center. I noticed how much I liked helping new people when I was doorwatch. I noticed how often I would learn things in class and immediately want to write about them on the blog so that others could understand them too. I also noticed that when I was in the "audience" at events and people would ask questions, I would want to answer them. I found that what I really wanted was to be the person on stage, not the person in the audience.
"Darnit!" I thought. "This is who I am. This is who I want to be. I can't really wait until I'm 60. This is who I am now."
And that freaked me out. How could who I want, not be who I want? How could who I am not be under my control? How could this persistent assertion of myself be something I hadn't chosen? It didn't make sense and the power of it frightened me.
In the past, I had chosen my career path based on what made me happy: kids. I had made choices about where I taught, what kind of schools I would teach in, what my role would be, all based on what I thought was best for me. It had all been under my command but this, this had nothing to do with me. It had nothing to do with my interests or my career choices or what was best for me. I didn't understand how my self could be at odds with my self. And yet, it had this volition, this power, this thing I had to listen to. I knew I had no choice but to listen to it but I was terrified of how it sounded. I was also terrified that if I did listen to it, I would have no choice in the matter, I actually would have to be tanto: give up teaching, move into the zen center, leave behind my income and retirement....
First, I went to my teacher. I told him how uncomfortable I was about all this. I told him about how happy it made me to be of service at the zen center but I also explained to him that the more natural it felt to do this, the more it felt like it was really me, the more uncomfortable it made me.
He said he totally understood and talked with me about different aspects of practice and about our concepts of normalcy. He also told me to trust my own process.
Part of me wanted to say, "Easy for you to say! You trusted your own process and it got you here. If I follow your advice, I'm going to end up here too- and that's not what I want!"
But of course, I didn't say that. Instead, I listened to his advice and saw that this really was my own process, it wasn't anyone else's. I also saw that on the one hand, I needed to listen to what was coming up for me but on the other hand, it didn't have to be this huge decision. It could come as it came, I could let it unfold and maybe have some say in the matter.
Next, I talked to my therapist. She pointed out a bunch of things to me. Teaching in the classroom and teaching at the zen center were both aspects of teaching. It made sense that I would be drawn to the teaching aspect of this practice; me being tanto was me wanting to be a teacher, not necessarily me wanting to be a monk or a priest or all the stories I had tied up into being tanto at the zen center. It actually wasn't all that different from who I already am. This wanting to be tanto wasn't all that at odds with myself at all. I didn't have to choose between the two of them, they were different manifestations of the same desire: to teach.
She also pointed out that in both positions, I am doing a service and getting paid for it. When I teach in the elementary school, I get a paycheck. If I moved in to the zen center, I would be paid in room and board. They are both services, they are both compensated- they are just different ways of teaching and different ways of getting paid.
This made me feel better and worse at the same time. The way she was putting it, becoming tanto was just shifting from teaching third graders to teaching adults. It seemed so easy, so normal, so natural- why wouldn't I want to do that? But then that meant that I should be tanto- that I really should listen to the things that kept coming up for me, that I really should follow this path, and I really didn't want to follow this path.
So then we talked some more and realized that a big part of it was giving up my income and retirement, that that was a big fear for me. And so we considered me not being tanto at the zen center, me just staying teaching third graders. And, surprisingly, it turned out that I actually didn't want that. I didn't want to "only" teach third graders. Something in me actually wanted to teach this, to teach zen practice, to others.
And I think that's when I finally settled- when I finally saw that this is something that I want to do. It's not that I want to move in to the zen center. It's not that I want to be tanto. It's that I want to teach this to others- that's all. I want to teach this to others. How I do that.. is inconsequential. The point is that I want this, that I am happy when I do this, that it brings me ease. The point isn't to come up with ways for me to manifest this self, ways to allow it to be, the point is that I see it, accept it, realize that this is me too.
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