I'm off to sesshin for a week, starting this evening. I have agreed to be the timekeeper for the retreat. I'm one of the few who will admit to enjoying the job. The relationship between time and consciousness becomes very clear. And even better, I'm excused from washup after meals.
In what might appear to be other news, I've been trying for some time to compose an essay that discusses the war from a personal point of view —not in the abstract, but in terms of its impact on ordinary people in small towns in Oregon.
It's all to easy, even in Corvallis, in the circles I frequent, to forget that real people from our community are serving and fighting and dying violently. The reality of the war as it is actually experienced is so easily buried under ideas and principles and reflexive beliefs—on both sides.
This essay in today's Oregonian does a better job than I ever could, and I must confess I don't mind lacking this young man's qualifications to comment on the war's impact.
I am particularly struck by how the piece concludes. (In my own life, the senseless and violent death of an acquaintance forced me to address some burning questions about the purpose of this life. Eventually, this propelled me to the Zen practice. In talking to others, I have found there there is a sizable demographic of practitioners for whom a senseless death in their lives marked the beginning of a search for truth: a dharma gate.)
Finally, the piece is political in that it deals with a political event: the war. It is not particularly partisan, however, and it asks us all to investigate the question "Is this suffering worth the benefits?" Everyone will have a different answer to this question, and even that may change with time. Regardless of the answer, not to appreciate the price paid for one's current lifestyle and circumstance is shortsighted, even arrogant.
Finally, at the end, a poem by William Stafford. Whatever is needed to snap us into awareness of this moment: masterful poetry and senseless death are both our teachers.
When the wake of war rips at the heart
Monday, February 20, 2006
My cousin Adrian Stump was killed in the mountains of Afghanistan a few months ago. We grew up together. We were going to share our first legal drink when he came home for Christmas.
He didn't show. The helicopter he piloted was shot down by a rocket-propelled grenade launched by one of the "terrorists" we often hear about, the ones who hate freedom. It took the military three weeks to gather his body, which was ripped apart by the impact of the grenade into his helicopter.
Christmas was depressing. My aunt and uncle had lost their first-born child; I had lost a great cousin and even better friend.
I tuned the world out. I didn't come out of my room for three days except to make attempts at eating. I drank more than usual. I smoked more than usual. The numbing effect made Adrian's passing slightly more tolerable.
I gave up on the news because every time I turned it on, a slide show of my life with Adrian would reel inside my head, and I would cry until my body became limp from exhaustion.
I almost cried during the recent State of the Union address when President Bush asked us to never forget the families who have lost a loved one in this war. I thought of what my family has been through these past months.
I was told that neighbors could hear my aunt's scream blocks away when the government vehicle arrived and uniformed officers told her that she would never see her son again. Human brains are not wired to handle the emotion that floods a mother's body at the moment her son's heart no longer beats. The brain cracks, and the body collapses. My aunt's eyes are empty now; I have a hard time looking into them because I don't see her pain, I feel it. And it's at that moment that I realize I'm experiencing only a fraction of what's coursing through her body.
As I watched the president speak, I heard him say that freedom is on the march, and I wondered, is it? I thought it odd that freedom is the bastard offspring of military intervention and mass murder. I thought it odd that in a world so large, a single man has the power to kill thousands of people without answering legitimate questions from the people he is supposed to be serving.
My friends and family went out for drinks on the day we had planned. Adrian didn't make it because his body was blown to pieces, cremated, then spread in the Blue Mountains in Oregon.
Now I sit through my classes and wonder if the discussions we have are even worth the mental energy. Are we talking about the meaning of life? No. Are we talking about how to realistically arrive at a better world? Or is it simply liberal fantasy? Probably the latter.
I don't like being alone because there's too much time to think about how sad and angry I am that an Oregon National Guardsman is dead because the soldiers in Afghanistan were transferred to Iraq and replaced with guard units who were supposed to respond to local catastrophes.
Everyone tells me that my cousin's death was not in vain. I look into their eyes and know they are lying to me and to themselves. I know they are trying to make me feel better; I nod my head. There are people -- good people -- who honestly believe that Adrian's death wasn't in vain. And to them, I shake my head but say nothing.
Our existence on this planet is not very significant. The world keeps spinning when we die. People move on. But when the world loses someone like Adrian, it should stop, if only for a moment. Rains should pour. Our collective self should pause and reflect: Are we acting as pawns to some other powers that distract us from what truly matters in our life: family, friends, ourselves? Are we doing what we truly love in our lives?
Religious or not, it is a miracle that we are here. We don't have much time, though. Time eventually catches up and runs its course on our bodies. My cousin's death called me back to the nucleus of my life: family, friends and myself. So much had distracted me for so long.
I won't attempt to explain what a great person my cousin Adrian Bovee Stump was because words just don't apply. Emotions do. You listen to him with your eyes and your heart because words lack substance. They cannot describe Adrian or people like Adrian.
After his death, I envisioned myself on my deathbed, staring blankly out a window and asking, "What was it all about?"
If your life isn't on the path you would like it to be, begin a new one. The clock is running.
Harry Beckwith of Pendleton is a senior at Santa Clara University in Santa Clara, Calif. Adrian Stump of Pendleton died in Afghanistan in September. This essay was originally published in The Santa Clara, the university's student newspaper.
You Reading This, Be Ready
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
-- William Stafford
Monday, February 20, 2006
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Things About Lay Life
Greatest Things About Lay Life
•Estate Sales; and the handembroidered linens and 20th-century kitchen ware that occasionally result.
•Going out to Breakfast; and the waffles that accompany.
•Bookstores; the great weakness and joy.
•Cinema; especially bargain matinees of art films.
•Helping people on the street.
•Jazz 90.1 from Rochester, NY.
•Access to cheese/fish tacos/protein in general.
•Freedom in preparing and consuming food of my choice.
•No wake-up bell.
Hardest Things About Lay Life
•Lack of dharma conversation; and just missing my friends.
•Traffic and other pedestrian dangers.
•The onslaught of print media; so many words....
•Paying the bills..or not.
•No wake-up bell.
•Estate Sales; and the handembroidered linens and 20th-century kitchen ware that occasionally result.
•Going out to Breakfast; and the waffles that accompany.
•Bookstores; the great weakness and joy.
•Cinema; especially bargain matinees of art films.
•Helping people on the street.
•Jazz 90.1 from Rochester, NY.
•Access to cheese/fish tacos/protein in general.
•Freedom in preparing and consuming food of my choice.
•No wake-up bell.
Hardest Things About Lay Life
•Lack of dharma conversation; and just missing my friends.
•Traffic and other pedestrian dangers.
•The onslaught of print media; so many words....
•Paying the bills..or not.
•No wake-up bell.
True Intimacy
"Please take good care of yourself. This is always the best way to take care of everything. In your daily life, please accept yourself as you are and your life as it is.
Be intimate with yourself.
I want you to take good advantage of every chance you have to be a truly intimate being."
—Maezumi Taizan Roshi (1931-1995)
I dreamed I came upon a large old building as evening fell. Through the windows I could see people of all ages sitting down to dinner together at large tables, chatting companionably. Several of the building's residents were coming home from work; I followed them inside. I asked a woman with very short hair if they sat zazen together, and if it would be possible to join. She took me to see the waiting rooms for sanzen, and then we went down into the bowels of the building to see the zendo.
It seemed that the residents also had an amateur theatre company, because to get to the zendo we had to pass through a room crammed with ornate ruffled costumes in luminous orange and yellow silk. The zendo itself was smallish and dark and womblike, with some non-traditional sitting equipment and no altar.
I came back out into the theatre area, where a trio of friendly young residents were reading through a play together. One of them, I knew I had come there to meet. He had dark skin, long dark hair, and a kind open face. His body seemed distorted, as if his chest were missing. In spite of being so short and deformed, he was absolutely beautiful, and I was riveted on everything he said.
I realized I had dreamed him before, and not realizing at first that I was in a dream at that moment, I began to cry silently in wonder that I was finally meeting him, that I was socially and emotionally engaging with this wise, warm, beautiful soul. His voice was so familiar, the way it curled around the words and caressed them.
I asked him where he was from, knowing it must be Northern Ireland, because he sounds just like the men in Belfast. He said something I didn't catch —no, he was from the Orkney Islands. Interesting, that. (The dreamer's grasp of geography was wanting, and she/I imagined the Orkneys were near New Zealand, confusing them with Easter Island. That would explain his dark countenance, I reasoned—he'd have some Maori blood or something.)
I woke up feeling—still do—such an outpouring of pure feeling. As if in this dream I finally stumbled into an answer to a slowly-dawning truth: that trying to hold myself apart from feelings a) doesn't work anyway, and b) is just wrong in every dharmic sense.
As to what it's "about": it's obvious; if you know me and see something, the answer is "yes, that's it." The inner guide who steps out the darkness of the psyche; that giant building; the yellow and orange; the missing heart-center—these are not unrelated to SF Zen Center, monkhood, and my own recent instinctive misguided vain hope of avoiding the heart's quiet truths.
With no medical history of such things, I've had these terrible headaches lately. They're debilitating, and they last for days if I'm not careful. Secretly, I've known what they're about. As if I could keep secrets from myself.
Last night we watched a movie that dealt quite beautifully with the deep bonds between humans, and climaxed with one of the great love poems of the twentieth century. (The film was "In Her Shoes," directed by Ridley Scott, who also brought "Aliens" to the world!)
It was e e cummings:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
We turned off the television and wheeled it back to its hiding place.
Quietly reverberating inside was someone saying, "That's almost right. Really, it's 'I am your heart. I am your heart.'" This is what's higher than the soul can hope or the mind can hide.
Just as gravity is itself the orbit: falling, opening, becoming...this is not something to turn away from, but the very truth itself. Not something to shut out of "my life", but this very life itself
(and this can be offered to the internet because it's not the property of "my" little heart, or some phenomenon that excludes anything...as if it possibly could).
My fingers are cold, and the light on the windowsill is so beautiful. Just right now.
Be intimate with yourself.
I want you to take good advantage of every chance you have to be a truly intimate being."
—Maezumi Taizan Roshi (1931-1995)
I dreamed I came upon a large old building as evening fell. Through the windows I could see people of all ages sitting down to dinner together at large tables, chatting companionably. Several of the building's residents were coming home from work; I followed them inside. I asked a woman with very short hair if they sat zazen together, and if it would be possible to join. She took me to see the waiting rooms for sanzen, and then we went down into the bowels of the building to see the zendo.
It seemed that the residents also had an amateur theatre company, because to get to the zendo we had to pass through a room crammed with ornate ruffled costumes in luminous orange and yellow silk. The zendo itself was smallish and dark and womblike, with some non-traditional sitting equipment and no altar.
I came back out into the theatre area, where a trio of friendly young residents were reading through a play together. One of them, I knew I had come there to meet. He had dark skin, long dark hair, and a kind open face. His body seemed distorted, as if his chest were missing. In spite of being so short and deformed, he was absolutely beautiful, and I was riveted on everything he said.
I realized I had dreamed him before, and not realizing at first that I was in a dream at that moment, I began to cry silently in wonder that I was finally meeting him, that I was socially and emotionally engaging with this wise, warm, beautiful soul. His voice was so familiar, the way it curled around the words and caressed them.
I asked him where he was from, knowing it must be Northern Ireland, because he sounds just like the men in Belfast. He said something I didn't catch —no, he was from the Orkney Islands. Interesting, that. (The dreamer's grasp of geography was wanting, and she/I imagined the Orkneys were near New Zealand, confusing them with Easter Island. That would explain his dark countenance, I reasoned—he'd have some Maori blood or something.)
I woke up feeling—still do—such an outpouring of pure feeling. As if in this dream I finally stumbled into an answer to a slowly-dawning truth: that trying to hold myself apart from feelings a) doesn't work anyway, and b) is just wrong in every dharmic sense.
As to what it's "about": it's obvious; if you know me and see something, the answer is "yes, that's it." The inner guide who steps out the darkness of the psyche; that giant building; the yellow and orange; the missing heart-center—these are not unrelated to SF Zen Center, monkhood, and my own recent instinctive misguided vain hope of avoiding the heart's quiet truths.
With no medical history of such things, I've had these terrible headaches lately. They're debilitating, and they last for days if I'm not careful. Secretly, I've known what they're about. As if I could keep secrets from myself.
Last night we watched a movie that dealt quite beautifully with the deep bonds between humans, and climaxed with one of the great love poems of the twentieth century. (The film was "In Her Shoes," directed by Ridley Scott, who also brought "Aliens" to the world!)
It was e e cummings:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
We turned off the television and wheeled it back to its hiding place.
Quietly reverberating inside was someone saying, "That's almost right. Really, it's 'I am your heart. I am your heart.'" This is what's higher than the soul can hope or the mind can hide.
Just as gravity is itself the orbit: falling, opening, becoming...this is not something to turn away from, but the very truth itself. Not something to shut out of "my life", but this very life itself
(and this can be offered to the internet because it's not the property of "my" little heart, or some phenomenon that excludes anything...as if it possibly could).
My fingers are cold, and the light on the windowsill is so beautiful. Just right now.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
My Other Life
I was once a graduate student conducting research into the genetics of aging and lifespan. I authored a Genetics paper Genetic Analysis of Tissue Aging in Caenorhabditis elegans: A Role for Heat-Shock Factor and Bacterial Proliferation.
Received my PhD in early 2002 and went to live at Tassajara the following year. There are few things I miss after taking that unavoidable leap. I'll always have the skills I learned in graduate school: comfort with a destinationless grind; familiarity with Photoshop; appreciation of a flexible schedule; enthusiasm for commuting on foot.
Not to mention extemporaneous speaking. As a child and teen, I had a stutter, and I prayed for an end to it. After five years of routinely defending my research strategies before an audience, it was gone.
Received my PhD in early 2002 and went to live at Tassajara the following year. There are few things I miss after taking that unavoidable leap. I'll always have the skills I learned in graduate school: comfort with a destinationless grind; familiarity with Photoshop; appreciation of a flexible schedule; enthusiasm for commuting on foot.
Not to mention extemporaneous speaking. As a child and teen, I had a stutter, and I prayed for an end to it. After five years of routinely defending my research strategies before an audience, it was gone.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Zen Teachers of Tomorrow: Part I
When I went to Seattle to visit my childhood friend, Adam Price, his daughter Nia fixed me with a look I've only seen in the sanzen room. I was completely visible to this tiny person, it seemed.
In keeping up with my favorite little girl, I found this photo on her web site:
I can't wait to hear her talk.
In keeping up with my favorite little girl, I found this photo on her web site:
I can't wait to hear her talk.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Consciousness Of/In/As Objects
This next post is launched somewhat bashfully. The new site monitor lets me see traffic coming into this very little blog, this rarefied corner in a vast universe of vaguely self-centered content. And although I cannot see who you are, the site monitor shows where you're from.. and I do not always have the slightest clue who the three loyal non-family/non-dharma-friend readers might be!
Anyway, hello out there. You know I am not a complete new-age idiot. Please enjoy what follows.
Corresponding with Josh Bartok has been an unmitigated pleasure. I'm interested to see how he responds to this one:
"What I'm thinking about" is the teaching that this mind creates the world. That this mind does not reside entirely between my ears or even within the confines of this body. I am increasingly under the impression that consciousness dwells within material objects other than this body. I have heard that all things supposedly have (no--ARE) the Buddhanature. Is this related, perhaps?
This percpetion of the ordinary aliveness and sentience of "things" will probably dissipate; perception for me gets quite mystical (and also quite UNmystical), depending on the time of month!
I guess I'm interested in what is reliable; the Dharma is that which is true at all times and under all conditions. So my own transient impressions of anything can be just that--interesting and subjective. And I can endeavor to relate that to a rational body of teachings. For example, my personal, subjective, experience of dukkha is informed by the presentation of the Four Noble Truths. Along the same lines, I'm trying to reconcile this other feeling--that everything participates in consciousness and has/is awareness-- with what I have heard about the nature of "things". Although I'm only beginning to explore and articulate this, it seems to relate to something that's been percolating for a long time.
That's rather an embarrassing and complex pastiche of thoughts I've just put forth. I'm not sure how well I've expressed myself, and I'm tempted to "send" it quickly before I get cold feet. :-)
In that same spirit I throw it out there, unedited, and forget what I've said.
Anyway, hello out there. You know I am not a complete new-age idiot. Please enjoy what follows.
Corresponding with Josh Bartok has been an unmitigated pleasure. I'm interested to see how he responds to this one:
"What I'm thinking about" is the teaching that this mind creates the world. That this mind does not reside entirely between my ears or even within the confines of this body. I am increasingly under the impression that consciousness dwells within material objects other than this body. I have heard that all things supposedly have (no--ARE) the Buddhanature. Is this related, perhaps?
This percpetion of the ordinary aliveness and sentience of "things" will probably dissipate; perception for me gets quite mystical (and also quite UNmystical), depending on the time of month!
I guess I'm interested in what is reliable; the Dharma is that which is true at all times and under all conditions. So my own transient impressions of anything can be just that--interesting and subjective. And I can endeavor to relate that to a rational body of teachings. For example, my personal, subjective, experience of dukkha is informed by the presentation of the Four Noble Truths. Along the same lines, I'm trying to reconcile this other feeling--that everything participates in consciousness and has/is awareness-- with what I have heard about the nature of "things". Although I'm only beginning to explore and articulate this, it seems to relate to something that's been percolating for a long time.
That's rather an embarrassing and complex pastiche of thoughts I've just put forth. I'm not sure how well I've expressed myself, and I'm tempted to "send" it quickly before I get cold feet. :-)
In that same spirit I throw it out there, unedited, and forget what I've said.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Relating to a Spiritual Teacher
In response to my allusion to Niall that "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" my blood-cousin and brother in the dharma Ryushin had this to offer:
Ryushin: We were talking in the workshop this weekend about relationships and how in the West we fall in love and then decide that this is “the one.” Chozen was relating that in most other parts of the world it goes the other way. You are set up with someone, or somehow wind up with them, and through the actions of showing respect, appreciation, and love for them the feelings come. She actually said, “Feelings do not determine whether we are in love or not.” I found this a stunning statement. However, I agree.
So, with the intimate nature of a teacher student relationship I think the same can be said. I thought that I should have some mind blowing experience when I met “my teacher.” When I met Hogen he was sitting in his office on Larch Mountain over looking the Columbia Gorge. He turned around and greeted me with a bow. A moment later I was whisked off and met Chozen in her office in the house next door. A moment later I was being shown the garden and meeting Alison/Yuko. No fireworks.
There was a point where I realized that I would have to let go of my idea of what my experience was going to be like if I would ever let the universe teach me something. This can also be seen in the way that we treat certain objects sacredly and they become sacred, and others we don’t and they are considered ordinary or profane.
Naturally I had plenty to say in response and resonance.
Shugetsu: I think of the relationship with a teacher as analogous to a romantic relationship. You are asking to be seen, and you are vowing not to leave, and some very deep parts of the self are getting stirred. Through my own twisted karma, I am a bit of an expert in falling in love!
I've fallen in love so often that I don't necessarily consider having a strong initial psychic/emotional reaction to a person to necessarily indicate anything other than a strong psychic/emotional reaction! However, I do "recognize" certain people, and I've never been wrong: they've all been amazing companions on the path. There are also amazing friends who I did not initially "recognize," or fall in love with, or feel all woozy around.
And having of course psychic fireworks don't indicate you should be "with" a person. I've had some very strong psychic stuff happen with one teacher in particular, and to me it's reason enough to steer clear. And even though I "recognized" Hikari, and was happy with him for years, a romantic partnership really isn't right, given who we are now. And it wouldn't be, even if all obstacles were magically removed. (You wouldn't believe how long it took me to get that one figured
out.)
In November I went to the wedding of another ex boyfriend, Rajeev. It was an arranged marriage, and my first Hindu wedding. As you might imagine, the relationship was not established on passion, but the wedding was nevertheless a very sweet affair. Rajeev and Reema had established a mutual committment to a lifetime together, which they vowed to carry out. (Interestingly, the bride and groom made different vows, reflecting the practical differences in how power is historically distributed within a marriage. So the groom vows not to get angry if the bride goes back to her mother's house for a break
without telling him. And he promises to consult with her before purchasing any big-ticket items!)
The wedding was a turning point for me. I "got" it. Being as passions are unreliable, and even a profound psychic connection doesn't necessarily guarantee the suitability of a partnership, on what do we base our alliance? On shared vow.
But even though I put little stock in mystical meetings, there is still a mysterious sympathy that develops between people with a shared purpose. Being as humans are tender creatures, should there not be some spark of promise, some internal resonance that will allow me to work in very deep places, or at least be willing to be uncomfortable in this person's presence? There needn't been rainbows and birdsong, but there should be some sense that the ground is a fertile, so that what needs to come forth can do so in optimal circumstances. You wouldn't marry someone *only* because they are a good match on paper; what if you knew you could never love and trust them? Allying yourself with them would be counterproductive.
Basically, I'm looking for promising circumstances. Some ease of relating. And a vow I'm able to support. This is not to denigrate the Bays or their work in any way at all. In spite of faithful efforts on all sides, I just never felt that Great Vow was a place I could land. Others don't understand; to return to the arranged marriage metaphor, it's like a promising suitor not working out. But from the first, I knew I wasn't yet where I needed to be, and that's been a pretty constant certainty.
I am secretly fearful that nothing will ever satisfy, and that I will always feel some vague sense of unease. Lately some things have started feeling very right, though. In the past month, something has shifted, and I realize I am more than interested in ordination. It's where I'm going. Along similar lines, I am no longer averse to being married. It could be a very nice thing. Until now, I wasn't really ready for that level of committment. I think I'm a late bloomer in general!
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" my blood-cousin and brother in the dharma Ryushin had this to offer:
Ryushin: We were talking in the workshop this weekend about relationships and how in the West we fall in love and then decide that this is “the one.” Chozen was relating that in most other parts of the world it goes the other way. You are set up with someone, or somehow wind up with them, and through the actions of showing respect, appreciation, and love for them the feelings come. She actually said, “Feelings do not determine whether we are in love or not.” I found this a stunning statement. However, I agree.
So, with the intimate nature of a teacher student relationship I think the same can be said. I thought that I should have some mind blowing experience when I met “my teacher.” When I met Hogen he was sitting in his office on Larch Mountain over looking the Columbia Gorge. He turned around and greeted me with a bow. A moment later I was whisked off and met Chozen in her office in the house next door. A moment later I was being shown the garden and meeting Alison/Yuko. No fireworks.
There was a point where I realized that I would have to let go of my idea of what my experience was going to be like if I would ever let the universe teach me something. This can also be seen in the way that we treat certain objects sacredly and they become sacred, and others we don’t and they are considered ordinary or profane.
Naturally I had plenty to say in response and resonance.
Shugetsu: I think of the relationship with a teacher as analogous to a romantic relationship. You are asking to be seen, and you are vowing not to leave, and some very deep parts of the self are getting stirred. Through my own twisted karma, I am a bit of an expert in falling in love!
I've fallen in love so often that I don't necessarily consider having a strong initial psychic/emotional reaction to a person to necessarily indicate anything other than a strong psychic/emotional reaction! However, I do "recognize" certain people, and I've never been wrong: they've all been amazing companions on the path. There are also amazing friends who I did not initially "recognize," or fall in love with, or feel all woozy around.
And having of course psychic fireworks don't indicate you should be "with" a person. I've had some very strong psychic stuff happen with one teacher in particular, and to me it's reason enough to steer clear. And even though I "recognized" Hikari, and was happy with him for years, a romantic partnership really isn't right, given who we are now. And it wouldn't be, even if all obstacles were magically removed. (You wouldn't believe how long it took me to get that one figured
out.)
In November I went to the wedding of another ex boyfriend, Rajeev. It was an arranged marriage, and my first Hindu wedding. As you might imagine, the relationship was not established on passion, but the wedding was nevertheless a very sweet affair. Rajeev and Reema had established a mutual committment to a lifetime together, which they vowed to carry out. (Interestingly, the bride and groom made different vows, reflecting the practical differences in how power is historically distributed within a marriage. So the groom vows not to get angry if the bride goes back to her mother's house for a break
without telling him. And he promises to consult with her before purchasing any big-ticket items!)
The wedding was a turning point for me. I "got" it. Being as passions are unreliable, and even a profound psychic connection doesn't necessarily guarantee the suitability of a partnership, on what do we base our alliance? On shared vow.
But even though I put little stock in mystical meetings, there is still a mysterious sympathy that develops between people with a shared purpose. Being as humans are tender creatures, should there not be some spark of promise, some internal resonance that will allow me to work in very deep places, or at least be willing to be uncomfortable in this person's presence? There needn't been rainbows and birdsong, but there should be some sense that the ground is a fertile, so that what needs to come forth can do so in optimal circumstances. You wouldn't marry someone *only* because they are a good match on paper; what if you knew you could never love and trust them? Allying yourself with them would be counterproductive.
Basically, I'm looking for promising circumstances. Some ease of relating. And a vow I'm able to support. This is not to denigrate the Bays or their work in any way at all. In spite of faithful efforts on all sides, I just never felt that Great Vow was a place I could land. Others don't understand; to return to the arranged marriage metaphor, it's like a promising suitor not working out. But from the first, I knew I wasn't yet where I needed to be, and that's been a pretty constant certainty.
I am secretly fearful that nothing will ever satisfy, and that I will always feel some vague sense of unease. Lately some things have started feeling very right, though. In the past month, something has shifted, and I realize I am more than interested in ordination. It's where I'm going. Along similar lines, I am no longer averse to being married. It could be a very nice thing. Until now, I wasn't really ready for that level of committment. I think I'm a late bloomer in general!
Monday, February 06, 2006
Having No Future Thoughts
I've been exploring lately the committment I've made to Rob, and what keeping and violating it looks like.
Without getting into details, I’ll just say that it’s not working the way a long-term partnership should. And, given the option, wouldn’t it be better to turn one’s energy toward a promising life situation?
Nonetheless, last Fall Rob and I made a committment until late March. Unless there is some emergency of sanity, I intend to keep that commitment. Doing so is mostly an internal orientation. When I find I'm not really honoring it, it’s because I really think I know the answer (“no”) and am turning away and looking toward the next step– planning for the fabulous life that comes after this draining and infuriating and charming situation is behind me.
Staying true to the commitment means being willing to engage with yet another bizarre inexplicable crisis. With being open to a few days of blessed ease and humor. With just giving up on having any answer at all and not knowing what lies ahead.
And it’s not so bad; this is a precious and productive time, largely because it is finite. We’re certainly learning a great deal about our selves! A little bit of psychological insight goes a long way. Our basic understanding of subpersonalities, mostly through Voice Dialogue theory, has been priceless; without this perspective, the situation would have degenerated long ago.
There's no need to plan for Spring (or Summer, or thereafter) until this committment is through. And if I stay the course until then, I will almost certainly learn something I don't know now.
Without getting into details, I’ll just say that it’s not working the way a long-term partnership should. And, given the option, wouldn’t it be better to turn one’s energy toward a promising life situation?
Nonetheless, last Fall Rob and I made a committment until late March. Unless there is some emergency of sanity, I intend to keep that commitment. Doing so is mostly an internal orientation. When I find I'm not really honoring it, it’s because I really think I know the answer (“no”) and am turning away and looking toward the next step– planning for the fabulous life that comes after this draining and infuriating and charming situation is behind me.
Staying true to the commitment means being willing to engage with yet another bizarre inexplicable crisis. With being open to a few days of blessed ease and humor. With just giving up on having any answer at all and not knowing what lies ahead.
And it’s not so bad; this is a precious and productive time, largely because it is finite. We’re certainly learning a great deal about our selves! A little bit of psychological insight goes a long way. Our basic understanding of subpersonalities, mostly through Voice Dialogue theory, has been priceless; without this perspective, the situation would have degenerated long ago.
There's no need to plan for Spring (or Summer, or thereafter) until this committment is through. And if I stay the course until then, I will almost certainly learn something I don't know now.
Friday, February 03, 2006
To Karmic Obstacles
I'm continuing to reflect on karma. To have karmic obstacles requires a sense of "self" to be obstructed. And so here I think I am.
One of the very tangible ways I've changed in the past few years is that when I feel ill, I just feel ill. In Lithuania I lay on a bed and vomited for two days. Last week, I had a very strong headache that lasted for days. And now my tummy is very unhappy.
I used to fret. Now I sit in the fog and surrender. This came from somewhere. And it will go away. And there's nothing but now, already past, the momentary fruition of previous karma. Of seeds too subtle and manifold to identify. But here I am, yearning and typing and breathing and hurting and shaking my head ruefully at something Chozen once said about vows.
Namely, that when a vow is made, the conditions that oppose it also come into being. They find form, begin to clatter their weapons and shout threats on the wind. They hoist their standards, array themselves in all their glory on a nearby ridge, and proceed to glare hungrily. And you find yourself thinking, "Shit, what have I gotten myself into?" Looking at that, a writhing stomach is the least of my worries. And is exactly my worries.
One of the very tangible ways I've changed in the past few years is that when I feel ill, I just feel ill. In Lithuania I lay on a bed and vomited for two days. Last week, I had a very strong headache that lasted for days. And now my tummy is very unhappy.
I used to fret. Now I sit in the fog and surrender. This came from somewhere. And it will go away. And there's nothing but now, already past, the momentary fruition of previous karma. Of seeds too subtle and manifold to identify. But here I am, yearning and typing and breathing and hurting and shaking my head ruefully at something Chozen once said about vows.
Namely, that when a vow is made, the conditions that oppose it also come into being. They find form, begin to clatter their weapons and shout threats on the wind. They hoist their standards, array themselves in all their glory on a nearby ridge, and proceed to glare hungrily. And you find yourself thinking, "Shit, what have I gotten myself into?" Looking at that, a writhing stomach is the least of my worries. And is exactly my worries.
Comfort vs Liberation
Ejo Patrick Mc Mullen Osho is the dharma teacher at Eugene Zendo. Misunderstandings are entirely my own!
There is a difference between the experience of "suffering and the cessation of suffering" and the teachings about it. Teachings vary, describing various numbers of factors and causes, depending on the tradition and circumstances. There is no one "right" teaching. In fact, the litmus for a true teaching is its effect on practitioners. The Buddha said that misunderstandings of the nature of Karma are by definition those that discourage practice and benevolent action on the part of those who subscribe to them.
The present experience of the self is wholly based on previous karma. Actually, it is nothing but previous karma. The fundamental delusion is that there is a "self" that things happen to. There is a very real distinction between saying "I exist in dependence on everything" and "I am everything. Similarly "Everything changes" versus "Everything is change."
The diligent, active acceptance of karma is key foundation for practice. Understanding that karma laid down in the past appears in the present as the sensation of "self." For example, encountering a person who has hurt me brings all the hurt flooding back; I'm right back in that experience, which has lain dormant as a seed until now.
Outside of continual cycling through realms of difficulty and pleasure, there is the possibility of practice: karma which ends karma. The goal of our lives is not comfort, but liberation.
It was so good to be in a didactic class again. I have great respect for Ejo's understanding; I studied karma a fair amount and have found that even otherwise accomplished teachers have trouble discussing it in an accurate and satisfying manner. Ejo's mastery of the history of Buddhist thought is evident, and his manifestation of it in the present is—effortlessly, without fanfare—amazing.
There is a difference between the experience of "suffering and the cessation of suffering" and the teachings about it. Teachings vary, describing various numbers of factors and causes, depending on the tradition and circumstances. There is no one "right" teaching. In fact, the litmus for a true teaching is its effect on practitioners. The Buddha said that misunderstandings of the nature of Karma are by definition those that discourage practice and benevolent action on the part of those who subscribe to them.
The present experience of the self is wholly based on previous karma. Actually, it is nothing but previous karma. The fundamental delusion is that there is a "self" that things happen to. There is a very real distinction between saying "I exist in dependence on everything" and "I am everything. Similarly "Everything changes" versus "Everything is change."
The diligent, active acceptance of karma is key foundation for practice. Understanding that karma laid down in the past appears in the present as the sensation of "self." For example, encountering a person who has hurt me brings all the hurt flooding back; I'm right back in that experience, which has lain dormant as a seed until now.
Outside of continual cycling through realms of difficulty and pleasure, there is the possibility of practice: karma which ends karma. The goal of our lives is not comfort, but liberation.
It was so good to be in a didactic class again. I have great respect for Ejo's understanding; I studied karma a fair amount and have found that even otherwise accomplished teachers have trouble discussing it in an accurate and satisfying manner. Ejo's mastery of the history of Buddhist thought is evident, and his manifestation of it in the present is—effortlessly, without fanfare—amazing.
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