More from the email to Niall:
Interesting that you ask who my teacher is. That question is such a common one in zen and buddhist circles, and the relationship with a teacher is usually thought to be some sort of metaphysical mystical bond. I haven't found a teacher who I can study with in the way I want to, with whom there is ALSO the mystical bond I assume must be there. It's a topic of much introspection about my picture of practice vs the reality.
I received precepts from Shohaku Okumura, who I love, and I studied very deeply (or so it feels to me) with Hogen Bays at Great Vow. But I have not asked either of them to be my teacher or (more to the point) viewed them as "the one", the person to whom I am responsible for my practice, from whom I dare not hide any aspect of my personality, however unflattering. For years.
I am increasingly aware that ordination and spiritual ministry are a very likely path. I've been slow to figure this out, and I'm biased to mistrust the desire of those who come upon a vocation suddenly. So it's obviously time to work with someone in a more structured and committed way.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Ordinary Mysteries
(I started to write this to Niall, and then thought, Why should I share my deepest thoughts only with a 19-year-old zen prodigy in Northern Ireland? Surely others can relate as well. It's not so complicated.)
When I left the monastery I had the idea that life in the outside world would seem very concrete. But no. The impression that things are constantly falling apart continues. As does the experience of consciousness rooted largely in a mythic realm.
In fact, it's getting worse. Because so much more can happen when events are not bound by routine and schedule, there are many more opportunities for mysterious themes and coincidences to congeal. This "normal" life is thoroughly magical and beyond understanding.
When I left the monastery I had the idea that life in the outside world would seem very concrete. But no. The impression that things are constantly falling apart continues. As does the experience of consciousness rooted largely in a mythic realm.
In fact, it's getting worse. Because so much more can happen when events are not bound by routine and schedule, there are many more opportunities for mysterious themes and coincidences to congeal. This "normal" life is thoroughly magical and beyond understanding.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Bodhidharma
That man Bodhidharma
Planted tea bushes in my heart
And turned my head to flame.
So who now moans, as if nothing will do?
And how have I failed, to feel so unwhole?
Hills of bright trees are now silent sticks,
Geese pass over—thick fog.
Let's break the damn cup, and start over again.
12/05
Planted tea bushes in my heart
And turned my head to flame.
So who now moans, as if nothing will do?
And how have I failed, to feel so unwhole?
Hills of bright trees are now silent sticks,
Geese pass over—thick fog.
Let's break the damn cup, and start over again.
12/05
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Food Insecurity and the Finer Things in Life
$20 worth of cheese has moved through our refrigerator in the past week or so, and I've eaten only the barest portion of it. My housemates buy Muenster and smoked Mozzarella. I buy the most boring California Cheddar at $5 a pound.
Actually, I would rather not buy cheese.
This is not because I dislike fine cheese. To the contrary. Next to the others the Cheddar is nearly tasteless. Not as bad as what comes from Safeway, but still more exciting for its brilliant orange color than anything else.
I have taken to feeling personally hurt or worried when the heat is turned up to 68 degrees, and this joyful consumption of cheese—Rob melts it on nearly everything, burns it black in the broiler half the time—feels like something I can't afford.
Perhaps I could. I've earned $284 working at the store, or will have when Ruby pays me. Apparently she's notorious. (Which came as no surprise: I've been taking increasingly shrill calls from her landlady, on the 20th of the month, no less!)
I think the issue has to do with feeling pressure (largely self-generated) to pay for a luxury I wouldn't otherwise choose. I feel obligated to force bits of cheese into my diet so I'll get my money's worth. It feels terrible.
The view of My Self as an accomodating team player is clashing with some harsh economic realities. And it doesn't have to be like this. Saying what I need would be one way to cut through a lot of anxiety. But somehow I'm ashamed. I wouldn't mind being seen in the store paying with food stamps, and I wouldn't mind if people knew. Yet to say to the people I live with, "This isn't working for me," is a stretch.
In other words, welcome to the edge of practice. Where DeliaShugetsu gets to examine her assumptions that Worthwhile People don't have individual needs, and that Good Zen Students just trust the universe like clouds and water. I might have to work a bit to get the gratitude flowing, but I know this is exactly what I need to deal with. Thanks be to the cheese!
One of the girls at the store is on food stamps. Which is incredible considering how social services have been cut. But this happy young thing told me she and her boyfriend each receive $150 a month for groceries, by virtue of being OSU students who qualify for financial aid.
That's a tremendous amount of money.
I assumed that 32-year-old aspiring writers need not apply, but I looked at the online eligibilty calclulator, and...I'm going to go talk to a caseworker at the Benton County "Self-Sufficiency" Office. The prospect of receiving "Self-Sufficiency" rather than "Welfare" is awfully inspiring.
Actually, I would rather not buy cheese.
This is not because I dislike fine cheese. To the contrary. Next to the others the Cheddar is nearly tasteless. Not as bad as what comes from Safeway, but still more exciting for its brilliant orange color than anything else.
I have taken to feeling personally hurt or worried when the heat is turned up to 68 degrees, and this joyful consumption of cheese—Rob melts it on nearly everything, burns it black in the broiler half the time—feels like something I can't afford.
Perhaps I could. I've earned $284 working at the store, or will have when Ruby pays me. Apparently she's notorious. (Which came as no surprise: I've been taking increasingly shrill calls from her landlady, on the 20th of the month, no less!)
I think the issue has to do with feeling pressure (largely self-generated) to pay for a luxury I wouldn't otherwise choose. I feel obligated to force bits of cheese into my diet so I'll get my money's worth. It feels terrible.
The view of My Self as an accomodating team player is clashing with some harsh economic realities. And it doesn't have to be like this. Saying what I need would be one way to cut through a lot of anxiety. But somehow I'm ashamed. I wouldn't mind being seen in the store paying with food stamps, and I wouldn't mind if people knew. Yet to say to the people I live with, "This isn't working for me," is a stretch.
In other words, welcome to the edge of practice. Where DeliaShugetsu gets to examine her assumptions that Worthwhile People don't have individual needs, and that Good Zen Students just trust the universe like clouds and water. I might have to work a bit to get the gratitude flowing, but I know this is exactly what I need to deal with. Thanks be to the cheese!
One of the girls at the store is on food stamps. Which is incredible considering how social services have been cut. But this happy young thing told me she and her boyfriend each receive $150 a month for groceries, by virtue of being OSU students who qualify for financial aid.
That's a tremendous amount of money.
I assumed that 32-year-old aspiring writers need not apply, but I looked at the online eligibilty calclulator, and...I'm going to go talk to a caseworker at the Benton County "Self-Sufficiency" Office. The prospect of receiving "Self-Sufficiency" rather than "Welfare" is awfully inspiring.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Fire and Flood
19 Jan 2006, Corvallis, Oregon
Under a billowing black trail, the warehouse behind the mill is being eaten by red flames.
We watch from the park. The floodwater has climbed at least two feet since yesterday, and now benches and bike paths are part of the river. This wide and muddy Willamette bulges beneath the overpass, where cars go by, and roils under the mill. Under the smoke that pours skyward.
A few people with dogs and lattés in to-go cups gather to watch. Some pop open a digital camera, and try to make it into a picture: See the hungry flames, the dying mill, the surging water. As if the moment could be held against its will.
As if we will not all be destroyed in turn. As if the lesson is not being shouted by every log truck and new townhouse development: this world is eating itself.
I am crying, but I have to go to work. At the store, I dress in a shining silk mandarin jacket: metallic green armor for a morning in the retail realm. Mythology converges in sudden lucidity: we are always in witness to Kali the destroyer, birthing and eating her children; we are always attempting to ignore the self-consuming serpent, to face away from a world as terrifying and beautiful as a scorpion in the moonlight. To put something between ourself and flames that billow above a rushing flood.
The local paper reported this in their own way....
Under a billowing black trail, the warehouse behind the mill is being eaten by red flames.
We watch from the park. The floodwater has climbed at least two feet since yesterday, and now benches and bike paths are part of the river. This wide and muddy Willamette bulges beneath the overpass, where cars go by, and roils under the mill. Under the smoke that pours skyward.
A few people with dogs and lattés in to-go cups gather to watch. Some pop open a digital camera, and try to make it into a picture: See the hungry flames, the dying mill, the surging water. As if the moment could be held against its will.
As if we will not all be destroyed in turn. As if the lesson is not being shouted by every log truck and new townhouse development: this world is eating itself.
I am crying, but I have to go to work. At the store, I dress in a shining silk mandarin jacket: metallic green armor for a morning in the retail realm. Mythology converges in sudden lucidity: we are always in witness to Kali the destroyer, birthing and eating her children; we are always attempting to ignore the self-consuming serpent, to face away from a world as terrifying and beautiful as a scorpion in the moonlight. To put something between ourself and flames that billow above a rushing flood.
The local paper reported this in their own way....
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Writing Sample: Recycling's Rebirth
I wrote the following article for the newsletter of First Alternative, a grocery cooperative in Corvallis.
When I was little, we would drive 45 minutes to shop there. It had that health food store smell, bulk bins, and lots of idealistic propaganda strewn around. A vibrant quilted banner urging us to "Think Globally, Act Locally" hung on one wall. The panels were made by various individuals, and depicted fabric foodstuffs, or multicolored hands joining together, or ...toothbrushes.
In retrospect I realize how effectively I absorbed a progressive agenda by osmosis while my mother filled canning jars with soy sauce and ground peanut butter in the big machine.
Today I'm back in Corvallis, and volunteering on the recycling crew at First Alternative. This earns my household a 15% discount on groceries--which amounts to real money very quickly--in exchange for two hours of (wet, smelly) work per week.
The old "Think Globally, Act Locally" banner has been taken out of the store, and is hanging in the nearby "meeting room". This small cinderblock building in the parking lot was, back in the day, a scary, grimy bar sitting bizarrely on the edge of a hippie utopia. Now it's been absorbed into the co-op empire. And the banner is now severely faded, a relic of some other time. The colors have gone muddy, and only in my memory are they still bright and clear.
Recycling’s Rebirth
Everything we throw “away” has to end up somewhere, and thanks to First Alternative’s recycling program, a substantial stream of waste is diverted from the landfill to see a new life. The recycling compound behind the South Store parking lot serves households all over the Willamette Valley, and is the only location in Linn and Benton counties that accepts freezer board, aseptic containers (typically milk and soymilk cartons)—and even clean Styrofoam. These are all processed, sorted and packaged by volunteers. The packaged materials are hauled away for recycling: Styrofoam is taken to Portland by Parrott’s Home Furnishings, and First Alternative owner-workers haul aseptics and freezer board to Eugene.
This program—an outreach effort by First Alternative that touches many, many lives—is currently being reworked to make the recycling experience more pleasant and efficient for the community. It’s also being rebuilt from the inside, as a model for implementing the Owner Relations Committee’s recommendation that owner-worker committees become more self-governing. We hope you’ll appreciate the changes as they come, and consider joining us in this pioneering volunteer model.
Casual users of the recycling area can look forward to improved signage, instructions on how to prepare your recycling, increased neatness in the midst of inevitable chaos, and an overall streamlined experience.
You can help this community effort by remembering that another person must handle everything you leave behind. You’ll save the volunteers a lot of work—often dirty work—by bringing your recyclables in a state that makes the job easier:
Remove plastic spouts from aseptic containers—both the short square spouts that grace soymilk-type cartons and the tall round spouts on orange juice cartons.
Items should be clean of dirt and food residue. We can’t clean dirty Styrofoam or filthy bottles—these items are just thrown in the garbage. Excessive food waste also encourages mice, which is bad news for everyone, including the mice.
Flatten cartons and cardboard.
Sort your recyclables rather than leaving us with the proverbial mixed bag.
If a collection container is full, stack items neatly nearby. Disorder breeds disorder, and a little bit of mess soon leads to full-scale chaos.
Don’t dump nonrecyclable items. The range of items that can be accepted is pretty well-defined. Tires, car batteries, and household trash aren’t among them! And although larger pieces of Styrofoam are accepted, packing peanuts aren’t.
Dumping is unsightly, strains Co-op resources, and is potentially harmful to recycling workers. You can bring small batteries to Customer Service at the South Store for recycling.
Consider joining our team for spirited work parties, an exploration of the self-governing model, a 15% discount on your groceries, and—most importantly-- a deeper appreciation of the vast amounts of waste we generate, and the potential for positive change.
When I was little, we would drive 45 minutes to shop there. It had that health food store smell, bulk bins, and lots of idealistic propaganda strewn around. A vibrant quilted banner urging us to "Think Globally, Act Locally" hung on one wall. The panels were made by various individuals, and depicted fabric foodstuffs, or multicolored hands joining together, or ...toothbrushes.
In retrospect I realize how effectively I absorbed a progressive agenda by osmosis while my mother filled canning jars with soy sauce and ground peanut butter in the big machine.
Today I'm back in Corvallis, and volunteering on the recycling crew at First Alternative. This earns my household a 15% discount on groceries--which amounts to real money very quickly--in exchange for two hours of (wet, smelly) work per week.
The old "Think Globally, Act Locally" banner has been taken out of the store, and is hanging in the nearby "meeting room". This small cinderblock building in the parking lot was, back in the day, a scary, grimy bar sitting bizarrely on the edge of a hippie utopia. Now it's been absorbed into the co-op empire. And the banner is now severely faded, a relic of some other time. The colors have gone muddy, and only in my memory are they still bright and clear.
Recycling’s Rebirth
Everything we throw “away” has to end up somewhere, and thanks to First Alternative’s recycling program, a substantial stream of waste is diverted from the landfill to see a new life. The recycling compound behind the South Store parking lot serves households all over the Willamette Valley, and is the only location in Linn and Benton counties that accepts freezer board, aseptic containers (typically milk and soymilk cartons)—and even clean Styrofoam. These are all processed, sorted and packaged by volunteers. The packaged materials are hauled away for recycling: Styrofoam is taken to Portland by Parrott’s Home Furnishings, and First Alternative owner-workers haul aseptics and freezer board to Eugene.
This program—an outreach effort by First Alternative that touches many, many lives—is currently being reworked to make the recycling experience more pleasant and efficient for the community. It’s also being rebuilt from the inside, as a model for implementing the Owner Relations Committee’s recommendation that owner-worker committees become more self-governing. We hope you’ll appreciate the changes as they come, and consider joining us in this pioneering volunteer model.
Casual users of the recycling area can look forward to improved signage, instructions on how to prepare your recycling, increased neatness in the midst of inevitable chaos, and an overall streamlined experience.
You can help this community effort by remembering that another person must handle everything you leave behind. You’ll save the volunteers a lot of work—often dirty work—by bringing your recyclables in a state that makes the job easier:
Remove plastic spouts from aseptic containers—both the short square spouts that grace soymilk-type cartons and the tall round spouts on orange juice cartons.
Items should be clean of dirt and food residue. We can’t clean dirty Styrofoam or filthy bottles—these items are just thrown in the garbage. Excessive food waste also encourages mice, which is bad news for everyone, including the mice.
Flatten cartons and cardboard.
Sort your recyclables rather than leaving us with the proverbial mixed bag.
If a collection container is full, stack items neatly nearby. Disorder breeds disorder, and a little bit of mess soon leads to full-scale chaos.
Don’t dump nonrecyclable items. The range of items that can be accepted is pretty well-defined. Tires, car batteries, and household trash aren’t among them! And although larger pieces of Styrofoam are accepted, packing peanuts aren’t.
Dumping is unsightly, strains Co-op resources, and is potentially harmful to recycling workers. You can bring small batteries to Customer Service at the South Store for recycling.
Consider joining our team for spirited work parties, an exploration of the self-governing model, a 15% discount on your groceries, and—most importantly-- a deeper appreciation of the vast amounts of waste we generate, and the potential for positive change.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Driving Toward the Future
Today I drove up to Portland to talk to middle schoolers at The Catlin Gabel School, where I went from 8th-12th grade. Representatives from various religions were there to talk about ethics.
As an adult, I marvel at how beautiful they are. Their skin and eyes are so bright, and their minds are so fresh. And they have no idea what vibrant creatures they are. Some of them are clearly special-- quirky and lovable old souls sharing themselves without reservation.
I could say a lot about the talks I gave and the conversations we had. Mostly I'm humbled by my own inability to express the dharma. And that people respond anyway, because the truth is just so damn good, easily surviving mangling at my hands.
But the notable thing I'm here to write about was that: I drove to Portland, did the program and drove back. Ninety minutes each way. And the drive was wonderful.
The light reflected off the wet freeway, the sun came out, distant smokestacks puffed against a background of black clouds. It is possible to express metta--lovingkindness-- from the driver's seat, and to undertake the drive in a spirit of collaboration and love. Just sitting and driving and feeling the body (so the arms don't start to get tense). A ninety-minute heart-opening meditation.
This spirit first came over me when I made a 5.5 hour trek from Mt Vernon, Washington, to the monastery in Clatskanie, Oregon, just after Christmas. I saw two overturned SUVs on that drive. One was a Cadillac Escalade, the most ostentatious and muscular expression of anxiety salved by conspicuous consumption on the road today. To see that proud, nasty vehicle, freshly flipped and quivering, the people inside in great danger... after that, I am no longer "offended" by this dangerous monstrosity. I am just sad.
It's so unfortunate that people feel the need to climb into giant mounds of metal in order to feel safe. At a time when resources are dwindling and the very nature of Nature is changing, all we can do in our fear is to use more oil, drive bigger cars, make the problem worse?
One could hope that being faced with real shortages and consequences in oil consumption would force us to cut through the illusion of separation and begin to cooperate as if our lives depended on one another. As they always have. Pragmatic cooperation certainly does exist-- but it's also tempting to grab what little is left. When privation looms, who doesn't want to find some security against the rising tide of chaos?
But what security there is, is not in "things." Being able to be happy after three hours of driving seems much more satisfying.
As an adult, I marvel at how beautiful they are. Their skin and eyes are so bright, and their minds are so fresh. And they have no idea what vibrant creatures they are. Some of them are clearly special-- quirky and lovable old souls sharing themselves without reservation.
I could say a lot about the talks I gave and the conversations we had. Mostly I'm humbled by my own inability to express the dharma. And that people respond anyway, because the truth is just so damn good, easily surviving mangling at my hands.
But the notable thing I'm here to write about was that: I drove to Portland, did the program and drove back. Ninety minutes each way. And the drive was wonderful.
The light reflected off the wet freeway, the sun came out, distant smokestacks puffed against a background of black clouds. It is possible to express metta--lovingkindness-- from the driver's seat, and to undertake the drive in a spirit of collaboration and love. Just sitting and driving and feeling the body (so the arms don't start to get tense). A ninety-minute heart-opening meditation.
This spirit first came over me when I made a 5.5 hour trek from Mt Vernon, Washington, to the monastery in Clatskanie, Oregon, just after Christmas. I saw two overturned SUVs on that drive. One was a Cadillac Escalade, the most ostentatious and muscular expression of anxiety salved by conspicuous consumption on the road today. To see that proud, nasty vehicle, freshly flipped and quivering, the people inside in great danger... after that, I am no longer "offended" by this dangerous monstrosity. I am just sad.
It's so unfortunate that people feel the need to climb into giant mounds of metal in order to feel safe. At a time when resources are dwindling and the very nature of Nature is changing, all we can do in our fear is to use more oil, drive bigger cars, make the problem worse?
One could hope that being faced with real shortages and consequences in oil consumption would force us to cut through the illusion of separation and begin to cooperate as if our lives depended on one another. As they always have. Pragmatic cooperation certainly does exist-- but it's also tempting to grab what little is left. When privation looms, who doesn't want to find some security against the rising tide of chaos?
But what security there is, is not in "things." Being able to be happy after three hours of driving seems much more satisfying.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Gratification Lost and Found
What was lost in space has been found in Santa Barbara, CA. I’ve no idea how it got there, but my roller bag is on its way home, twenty-five days after we were separated between New York and Las Vegas.
I will be grateful to have my rakusu back; I had finally resorted to asking the Universe, very politely, for its return.
(A rakusu, according to the claim form I filed with America West Airlines, is a “handmade religious garment” valued at $248.)
More exciting to my housemates is the fact that the luggage contains a large quantity of Lithuanian chocolate. As my nearest, if not dearest friends, they are looking forward to this sweet, dark “sokolade” from Vilnius. Especially the dark chocolate filled with Camembert cheese.
There is some alchemy that takes place when this creamy high-fat cheese is married with chocolate. It’s quite intoxicating. After eating just one, your mind stops. You don't want or need anything. I mean anything. There is only complete hedonic overload. Every pleasure circuit is awake and humming. Of course as meditators we greet all phenomena with curiosity and gratitude. So it will be interesting to investigate this chocolate again.
I don’t have an easy relationship with extravagance, as I found out today on my first day of my first “real” job in ten (sorry, mom) years. I’m very happy to be at Golden Crane, a Corvallis store that sells beautiful, cute, flowy, creative garment–as well as gifts, jewelry, and house wares. If you need incense or Indonesian handicrafts or stained-glass Tiffany-style lamps, Golden Crane is your place. It certainly would have been mine a few years ago. It’s what I used to refer to as a “Delia trap.” (Nowadays, dharma books are my weakness.)
All my jewelry and vintage dresses and cute jackets are packed away, sitting in the damp silence of a basement in California. So I reported for work completely unadorned: no hair, no jewelry, no ruffles or furbelows-- a little Zen pinhead in the midst of all that opulence.
Ruby, the owner, is a good person to work for. She’s a Buddhist in the Tibetan tradition, and is very smart, trim, and stylish. In an earlier life as a computer programmer–a VIP in the days when almost nobody programmed computers–she wrote an assembly language. Her programs were stored first on punch cards, then on perforated tape, and finally floppy discs the size of LPs. (LPs, called “records”, were a music storage device before we had cassette tapes, CDs or iPods.) Eventually the discs would come in a stack of five, which you’d tote around in a big plastic case.
Ruby understands the practice of helping people connect with material objects. She wrapped a fancy scarf around my neck and put me to work doing something I know well: cleaning.
I swept and dusted and straightened racks of yoga tunics and spangly skirts. Lifted up crystal balls and Japanese bowls to dust underneath. All was peaceful –I was getting the hang of things, even enjoying the pretty scarf around my neck– until customers started coming in!
I was at a loss. What do I do? I'm a friendly person, but intruding on someone who is in their own space is not a skill we cultivate in Zen monasteries. Much easier to stand there looking vaguely beneficent. Or just looking vague. By the time my three-hour my "first day of work" was over, I was brimming with anxiety. Not believing it– but brimming nonetheless.
I walked over to the Book Bin and had two mugs of decaf coffee and a brownie. Read People magazine rather than dharma books. It was perfect, even though the brownie was old and dry and I recognize none of the current celebrities. I just felt so much better: the system was reset by polyphenols and sugar.
How wonderful to encounter relief, when so few problems are actually solved by food! Body and mind at rest, I walked home peacefully, enjoying my rare good fortune: o be saved by chocolate. It will not be so easy again. Next time, I’ll need the Lithuanian stuff.
I will be grateful to have my rakusu back; I had finally resorted to asking the Universe, very politely, for its return.
(A rakusu, according to the claim form I filed with America West Airlines, is a “handmade religious garment” valued at $248.)
More exciting to my housemates is the fact that the luggage contains a large quantity of Lithuanian chocolate. As my nearest, if not dearest friends, they are looking forward to this sweet, dark “sokolade” from Vilnius. Especially the dark chocolate filled with Camembert cheese.
There is some alchemy that takes place when this creamy high-fat cheese is married with chocolate. It’s quite intoxicating. After eating just one, your mind stops. You don't want or need anything. I mean anything. There is only complete hedonic overload. Every pleasure circuit is awake and humming. Of course as meditators we greet all phenomena with curiosity and gratitude. So it will be interesting to investigate this chocolate again.
I don’t have an easy relationship with extravagance, as I found out today on my first day of my first “real” job in ten (sorry, mom) years. I’m very happy to be at Golden Crane, a Corvallis store that sells beautiful, cute, flowy, creative garment–as well as gifts, jewelry, and house wares. If you need incense or Indonesian handicrafts or stained-glass Tiffany-style lamps, Golden Crane is your place. It certainly would have been mine a few years ago. It’s what I used to refer to as a “Delia trap.” (Nowadays, dharma books are my weakness.)
All my jewelry and vintage dresses and cute jackets are packed away, sitting in the damp silence of a basement in California. So I reported for work completely unadorned: no hair, no jewelry, no ruffles or furbelows-- a little Zen pinhead in the midst of all that opulence.
Ruby, the owner, is a good person to work for. She’s a Buddhist in the Tibetan tradition, and is very smart, trim, and stylish. In an earlier life as a computer programmer–a VIP in the days when almost nobody programmed computers–she wrote an assembly language. Her programs were stored first on punch cards, then on perforated tape, and finally floppy discs the size of LPs. (LPs, called “records”, were a music storage device before we had cassette tapes, CDs or iPods.) Eventually the discs would come in a stack of five, which you’d tote around in a big plastic case.
Ruby understands the practice of helping people connect with material objects. She wrapped a fancy scarf around my neck and put me to work doing something I know well: cleaning.
I swept and dusted and straightened racks of yoga tunics and spangly skirts. Lifted up crystal balls and Japanese bowls to dust underneath. All was peaceful –I was getting the hang of things, even enjoying the pretty scarf around my neck– until customers started coming in!
I was at a loss. What do I do? I'm a friendly person, but intruding on someone who is in their own space is not a skill we cultivate in Zen monasteries. Much easier to stand there looking vaguely beneficent. Or just looking vague. By the time my three-hour my "first day of work" was over, I was brimming with anxiety. Not believing it– but brimming nonetheless.
I walked over to the Book Bin and had two mugs of decaf coffee and a brownie. Read People magazine rather than dharma books. It was perfect, even though the brownie was old and dry and I recognize none of the current celebrities. I just felt so much better: the system was reset by polyphenols and sugar.
How wonderful to encounter relief, when so few problems are actually solved by food! Body and mind at rest, I walked home peacefully, enjoying my rare good fortune: o be saved by chocolate. It will not be so easy again. Next time, I’ll need the Lithuanian stuff.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Year-End Statistics
Holiday Cards Sent: 30
Holiday Cards Received: 4
Estimated Value of Lithuanian Chocolate I attempted to bring home: US$60
Cost of dental work in Lithuania, including one filling replacement, and large-scale repair of two teeth (just short of capping): US$50
Hours in the dentist's chair in Lithuania: 1
Hours in transit home to the US: 36, not including an unanticipated overnight stay in Las Vegas, NV
Books Acquired in 2005
(*)= currently reading
Ching……………Sutra on the Past Vows of Earth Store Bodhisattva
Dalai Lama……………The Universe in a Grain of Sand *
David-Neel……………Intiations and Initiates in Tibet
Emoto……………The Hidden Messages of Water
Harada ……………The Path to Bodhidharma
Hirschfield……………Nine Gates
Kennedy……………Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit
Keizer ……………A Dresser of Sycamore Trees
Kelly …………… Eleanor of Acquataine and the Four Kings
Kerr…………… Lost Japan
Larkin …………… First You Shave Your Head
Monks of New Skete ……………In the Spirit of Happiness
Oliver……………American Primitive
Nagao……………Madyhamika and Yogacara
Packer…………… The Art of Presence
Pine ……………The Heart Sutra *
Seife ……………Alpha and Omega
Stone …………… The Shadow King
Swaan …………… Japanese Lantern
Unno ……………River of Fire, River of Water *
Various…………… Pure Land, Pure Mind *
Waddell…………… Wild Ivy *
Watson…………… The Old Man Who Does as He Pleases
Wick ……………The Book of Equanimity
Holiday Cards Received: 4
Estimated Value of Lithuanian Chocolate I attempted to bring home: US$60
Cost of dental work in Lithuania, including one filling replacement, and large-scale repair of two teeth (just short of capping): US$50
Hours in the dentist's chair in Lithuania: 1
Hours in transit home to the US: 36, not including an unanticipated overnight stay in Las Vegas, NV
Books Acquired in 2005
(*)= currently reading
Ching……………Sutra on the Past Vows of Earth Store Bodhisattva
Dalai Lama……………The Universe in a Grain of Sand *
David-Neel……………Intiations and Initiates in Tibet
Emoto……………The Hidden Messages of Water
Harada ……………The Path to Bodhidharma
Hirschfield……………Nine Gates
Kennedy……………Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit
Keizer ……………A Dresser of Sycamore Trees
Kelly …………… Eleanor of Acquataine and the Four Kings
Kerr…………… Lost Japan
Larkin …………… First You Shave Your Head
Monks of New Skete ……………In the Spirit of Happiness
Oliver……………American Primitive
Nagao……………Madyhamika and Yogacara
Packer…………… The Art of Presence
Pine ……………The Heart Sutra *
Seife ……………Alpha and Omega
Stone …………… The Shadow King
Swaan …………… Japanese Lantern
Unno ……………River of Fire, River of Water *
Various…………… Pure Land, Pure Mind *
Waddell…………… Wild Ivy *
Watson…………… The Old Man Who Does as He Pleases
Wick ……………The Book of Equanimity
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