She’s at it again. Sarah Palin is opening her big yap and begging for attention. And even though probably well over 50% of the population can’t stand the woman, we all fall for it. Within minutes Sarah Palin was the top trending topic on Twitter. Everyone is speculating on the true reasons for her resigning. To me, it’s obvious that she’s clearing her calendar to make a hard run for president in 2012.
As I’ve written before, I can’t stand the woman. And while I could try and justify why I hate her so, it still is hatred. And I don’t want to hate. Being consumed with hatred and anger does not feel good. Being consumed with hatred and anger serves no purpose. As someone much wiser than I said, having hatred towards someone is like drinking poison, and expecting the other person to die. Hatred is futile.
While training the mind in wisdom and compassion, it is always good to challenge oneself – to not avoid difficult situations or people simply because they disturb your peace of mind. However, sometimes you simply have to turn away and keep quiet. For the most part, I do make an effort to keep my Buddhist precepts – no killing, no stealing, no sexual misconduct, no intoxicants and no harmful speech. Of all those, the last one is the hardest to keep. And when it comes to the now former governor of Alaska, it is darn near impossible. So, to that effect, I make this vow:
I, LazyBuddhist, vow to avoid any and all coverage of Sarah Palin. I shall refrain from participating in discussions about her, and in particular giving into my urge to rant about her. My hatred of her only diminishes me. The energy that would be expended in Palin bashing can be much better channeled into something positive and worthwhile.
We all need a hobby, and apparently my new hobby has become scaring the bejeebus out of old dudes while threatening to mow them down in my car. I was unaware of that this was my new passion, but apparently it is. Twice in the last couple of weeks I have been accused of such with a shake of a cane and a waggle of a finger as I merely tried to turn in or out of the driveway at work.
The first time I had no idea what this old fella was going on about. I clearly saw him. I stopped a yard or two in front of him. Yet as he made his way across the parking lot entrance, he felt obliged to mutter at me while shaking his cane in my general direction. I made sure I he had fully cleared the driveway before I continued to pull in. His anger at me was truly puzzling.
Not so puzzling was why the fellow today was pissed off. And under normal circumstances I would feel horrible about scaring someone like that, and would have been full of apologies. But, this was hardly a normal driver/pedestrian near miss.
This time I was pulling out of the driveway. The busy medical center where I work is located on a very busy thoroughfare. After I made my way up the ramp to the head of the driveway, which was free of pedestrians at that time, my attention was focused to my left as I waited for a clearing to turn right. Now, I’ve walked up this street many a time, and many a time I have had to wait as a car waits to make its turn. And I’ve had pedestrians have to wait for me, or perhaps pass behind my car. But never before have I encountered anyone who has attempted to walk in front of my car when my focus was clearly to the left.
When traffic cleared I made a break for it right as this elderly fellow decided to start walking in front of my car. I did not hit him, only startled him I guess. I was pretty damn startled too. Normally, my next instinct is to make apologetic gestures to show how deeply sorry I was about my mistake. I can do a mean mea culpa when I want to. But, this time was different. Rather than looking startled or frightened about the near miss, the old guy just stood there and glowered at me. I gestured to him that it was safe for him to pass. He continued to glower at me. I gestured again. More glowering. Seriously, the guy stood there for a good minute or two and glowered. Any sympathy I had for him was quickly dissolving.
Eventually when he did start to move he did this whole pantomime with his arms up in the air acting like he was afraid I was going to hit him. After he had cleared the front of my car, he continued his silent condemnation. And since the opening in traffic had passed, I was forced to continue to look in his direction waiting for the next clearing as he exaggeratedly shook his finger and then proceeded to make fun of my physical appearance. It was not a pleasant experience.
Perhaps I need to reconsider this new hobby. It’s not really all that much fun. Maybe I’ll take up knitting again instead.
I’m almost back to normal. I no longer eat a snail’s pace savoring each individual bite. I now speak with my usual cadence and volume. I haven’t caught myself standing still as a statue simply to take in the all the sights, the smells and sounds in the moment. And, it’s been a week now since I have petted a tree. You can look at this in one of two ways: either I have been fully re-integrated into daily work-a-day life or; my retreat mind with all its openness and presence has dis-integrated.
Which is not to say I have not been changed, touched by my experience. I most certainly have. But, lately I am having more thoughts about attaining an iPhone 3Gs than I do have about attaining liberation. When I first got home all I wanted to do was to go back outside and listen to the birds and feel the warm sun on my cheek. My boyfriend, computer and TV made me somewhat apprehensive. How was I to hold on to this extraordinary state of mind in my all too ordinary life?
It’s a process, I guess. My friends and people at work have been incredibly supportive. I had to laugh when I came into the office and one of my colleagues shouted “Child! You can come in here and sit down and talk all you want.” Apparently the rumor was that I was going to be silent for two whole weeks and that I would going straight from retreat to work. I certainly appreciated the sentiment, I just wish it wasn’t necessary to shout it. I love the people I work with and around, but damn! they are loud. On the home front it has been a bit easier. After the simplicity of life on retreat, it did occur to me I have a lot of stuff. Oh, and a lot of dust. But, my home meditation practice has definitely improved. And while I may not be as motivated to do all the work necessary to turn my yard into a serene meditative garden, I still think I will place some bird feeders in hopes of surrounding myself with more bird songs
As time moves on, I know my retreat will feel more and more distant. But, I also know that I will still be able to occasionally touch the stillness that remains underneath all the clutter of everyday life.
*******************
I had a very pleasant surprise the other day. I opened my email to find an inquiry from an editor of a small newspaper located out near Spirit Rock. He asked if the could print an abridged version of my last post – Excerpts from my retreat journal.
While this may not be the most assertive strategy in getting myself published – I mean writing my little blog with a readership of maybe 50-75 hits a day and waiting for editors to come flocking to me seems a tad lazy. But, hey, that’s the way uh huh uh huh I like it uh huh uh huh.
We were warned at the end of our retreat to not try and come to any conclusions about it until about a week or two after the retreat ended. Fair enough. There is a sense that things are still being processed in my head, in my heart. However, after fussing about on this blog about all my fear and trepidation (or as my friend Annie called it, “living in the wreckage of the future”) about my impending week-long silent meditation retreat at Spirit Rock I figured I should post something to let you know I survived.
At first I was going to write out the entire daily schedule – all eight sitting meditation and five walking meditation sessions – but then I realized that you may get the impression that I am not truly a lazy Buddhist, and would insist I change my moniker. But, be assured, my laziness is still quite intact. While others were hauling their asses to the cushion at 6:30 in the morning, my lazy ass was still in bed. My day started at 8:45 am which, in my mind, was an entirely reasonable time.
So, here are some daily notes from the journal I was keeping during my retreat. Enjoy.
Sunday evening:
All my worst fears seemed to be coming true. After parking my car and putting my luggage in a truck, I am instructed to hike the 1/2 mile uphill to check in. Why can they give my luggage a ride and I have to walk? I arrive sweaty, cranky and reaching for my asthma inhaler
My relief knows no bounds when I discover that I have a single room. Also relieved to see that the shared bathrooms in no way resemble that of the high school locker room of my nightmares
As we (the 70 or so retreatants) left our first session in silence, a beautiful full moon was rising over the San Geronimo valley. Many of us stopped for a minute or so and just took it in, and then moved on.
Monday:
I HATE walking meditation!! I’m incapable of slowing my walking down to a crawl without toppling over. Instead of moving slowly and serenely, I pace impatiently and mutter how stupid this practice is.
People who annoy me (thus far): the old dude who sits behind me and breaths loudly; the angry-looking Asian guy who has way too many cushions, yet still can’t sit still; cushion hoarders in general – I just needed a couple of the small knee cushions for my back, yet they are all gone because some people have four or more of them; yoga chicks.
I think the teacher and I have a different definition of the word “feast”. Tofu, kale and green salad does not a feast make.
Slept much of the day. Missed all of the afternoon sessions. Entirely expected.
Up until this week, I was doing a very good job of not thinking about the week-long meditation retreat I had signed up for at Spirit Rock. When I initially signed up I was pretty excited and more than a little proud of myself. It was a big step, and to me, indicated that perhaps I wasn’t such a lazy Buddist after all. (BTW, if you’re here just to see a shaved Maine Coon cat – a big percentage of my visitors, apparently – just skip to the bottom.)
There are things about this retreat that make me nervous as all hell. In terms of my top attachments in life, I would say this retreat is going to be challenging at least three of my top ten:
Privacy: I have lived alone for over 25 years now. And I like it. I like it a lot. Yes, that probably does make me a bit selfish and spoiled. Except for on the weekends when the boyfriend is here, I am free to keep my own schedule, to clean up or not according to my whims, and essentially do whatever I damn well please without having to worry about its impact on another human being. During the retreat I will probably be sharing a room with someone. Someone I can’t even speak to so as to take away some of the awkwardness of sharing a room with a stranger (the retreat is silent, remember?). Plus, there is only one bathroom on the floor, so who the hell knows how crowded that will be. (Yes, I have issues about doing certain bodily functions in public restrooms – and while this is not exactly public, I will be sharing it with complete strangers so it might as well be.)
Comfort: If I have a choice about challenging myself physically, chances are I’ll choose not to. I know that in addition to three hours (!) of walking meditation a day, that there will be a lot of hiking around the hilly grounds, and who knows what other physical challenges await me.
Routine: While I don’t think of myself as a highly structured person, I do have my routines. And something that is definitely NOT part of my routine is getting up at the crack o’ dark. According to the material I’ve read about Spirit Rock’s retreats is that the first sitting starts at 6:00 am! Also, they are adhering to a very healthy eating schedule where the main meal is at lunch, and instead of an actual dinner around dinner time (for me 8:00-ish), there will be a “light supper at 5:30″. What the hell? At least there are are no prohibitions about bringing food, so I’ll be heading over to Trader Joe’s to stock up on energy bars, nuts and fruits.
The close to four hours a day of sitting meditation doesn’t scare me, nor does the silence. I’m good with all that. I’m looking forward to deepening my concentration and seeing what crops up from the darkest regions of my mind amidst all this silence. So, that’s where I should be focusing my attention instead of sitting around freaking myself out. So yay! I’m going on retreat (she says with questionable enthusiasm)
OK, I need to stop thinking about this for now. Instead, let me share with you Sasquatch’s trip to the groomers:
The problem with being a lazy Buddhist, ah hell, a lazy anything, is that shit just doesn’t get done. You see, I’m not just lazy when it comes to my Buddhist practice, I can exercise this trait with almost anything. But, I have my excuses, er, reasons. I blame work. This whole commuting and working full time thing drains a girl. Even though projects and chores await me when I get home from work most of the times I simply don’t have the energy, or I simply don’t wanna. And then on the weekend there is the boyfriend, chores that simply can’t be put off (remember I do have four litter box using creatures) plus the obligatory thought that I must do something fun during those two days. So, can you see it? Can you see how shit doesn’t get done? So, here are some projects and topics that are dying to be tackled yet are just sitting there staring at me with these big pleading eyes making me feel as guilty as hell.
Last weekend after my big black walnut tree was chopped down (oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to post pictures or video of that) I went out and bought a bunch of plants. I figured now that that area was filled with sunlight I might as well fill it with pretty flowers and a tomato plant or two. They are all still out there in their original pots. Hey, at least I did remember to water them this week.
Momma got herself some new toys. A week or so I got a Flip MinoHD video camera. It’s cute, small, easy to operate and cheap! But, I quickly discovered my old, out of date computer didn’t have the horsepower to even download the videos off the camera, so I bought a laptop (oh yeah, I need to Yelp my experience at Fry’s). Sure, it seems to silly to have to buy a new computer to support a camera that cost less than $200, but I really needed one anyway, so this was a fine excuse. Now this whole world of video shooting and editing lies before me . . . geez, you mean I’m not going to become Scorsese overnight? Who has time for a learning curve? The world needs to see my epic The Feral Cats of Point Richmond NOW.
Lately I have a lot of new old friends, courtesy of Facebook. And frankly, I have a lot of mixed feelings about them. Good fodder for a blog entry . . . eventually.
Point Richmond, my lovely little community, just started having a weekly farmer’s market a couple of weeks ago. And while farmer’s markets are a dime a dozen these days, it’s been nice to go to our hometown market, shop for veggies and cheap orchids while running into people I know in the community. It’s not a huge market, but they have a good selection. I love to buy farm fresh fruits and vegetables. But cooking them? Well, I have ideas of what to do. Tasty ideas. Healthy ideas. Oh, the veggies are getting old? Thank goodness for the bunnies, they like their veggies raw and don’t mind if they are a few days old.
My retreat starts in a week. And if I’m really going to do this sucker I need to start making arrangements for a cat sitter, make a reservation to board the bunnies, and buy a one cup coffee maker (they don’t supply coffee, but you can bring your own). Mostly I have to find my lost enthusiasm for this project which was apparently abducted by my fear and anxiety.
If my eyesight was any blurrier, or if we were still in the dead of winter, I could almost convince myself it is snowing outside my office window. But, as it is, here in the late-ish of Spring and wearing my Dollar Store reading glasses, I can see clearly it that is not snow. The other dead giveaway is the presence of chainsaws and hard hat wearing men swarming my side yard. The snow that I am seeing is actually saw dust that is raining down from near the top of my walnut tree. Ultimately, the whole tree will be dismantled. By the end of the day, all that will be left is a stump where my once glorious old black walnut tree stood.
As they walk by my kitchen window with the fallen branches, it breaks my heart. Some of the cuts reveal branches so full of life that they look like they could bleed. Other branches reveal the painful truth – the tree was dying from the inside out. My beautiful old tree was sick and dying, and it had to come down. To my inexperienced eye, it looked like it could have lasted another few years. To my landlord’s eye, it was a risk to their property, and thus to their investment and source of income. It had to come down.
I opted to stay home from work today to bear witness to the falling of this great tree. I’ve loved this tree for many years – even before I lived in this house. When I lived just down the hill, I could see this tree from my bedroom window when I was lying in bed. No matter what the weather was like, I could always count on this tree to tell me the season. After a long barren winter, I could always look forward to the first buds on the ol’ walnut tree, and before I would know it, Spring was here. And it was always on time. It wasn’t one of those trees that could get faked out by a dry, warm winter. This tree had seen it all before.
I can now see my shade starting to disappear. They’ve made quite a dent on the upper branches. The tree guys probably think I’m being a nosey old biddy peeking out my window to watch them work. It’s not that I don’t trust them. They seem very competent and strong. I just feel like I’m at the bedside of an old friend as he’s dying. There’s nothing else I can do but watch and document, and pay homage to a great old tree.
When I came into my office today, I found a sheet of paper with a very basic drawing of a woman in my in-box. It was just an outline really, but with a short cropped hair-do and big ol’ blunt bangs. I figured this was Miss Patricia’s doing (the previous day I came in to be greeted by half a dozen squeezy bananas that she stuck in and around my door). If the first words out of my mouth are “what the fuck?” chances are, Miss Patricia has something to do with it.
Once I opened my email, I found Patricia’s proclamation that our area was going to have a drawing contest in honor of Mother’s Day. We were invited, nay, required, to do some kind of representation of our mother. It could be realistic or symbolic. It could be drawn, or collage, or made out of macaroni noodles. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that you played along, lest you incur the wrath of Miss Patricia.
Some people immediately took to the task, and the results were uh, interesting. Either I work in a place where everyone’s mother is a big ol’ glamor girl, (or a drag queen) or people are engaged in wishful thinking. Miss Patricia pressed me all day about what I was going to do for my drawing. “I dunno, a big ol’ puddle of tears, or perhaps I’ll put her behind prison bars.” “Oooooooooooo, I’m tellin’ your mama what you said!” Miss Patricia chided me. “What? You said we could be symbolic. My mother was a depressive agoraphobic. She gave a whole new meaning to the term ’stay at home mom’” Conveniently, Miss Patricia had a client waiting, so the conversation ended there.
I want to play along and do a drawing, but I’m at a loss. My mother has been dead for 28 years now. I was 22 when she died. I don’t have bad memories of my mother, nor do I have particular good ones. Truth is I never missed her all that much because we were never particular close. Is that a horrible thing to say? But, it’s not like I’m angry at her. She was mentally ill, and back in those days there was still a lot of stigma around mental illness. So, she stayed trapped in our shitty little house in a marriage that was completely devoid of affection. It does make me sad that she had to live like that. She was a smart lady. But something happened – I have no idea what – and after I was born, fear and depression overtook her life.
My brother and I turned out OK though so she must have done something right – I just can’t remember what it was. My best guess is that both my parents knew they could offer me very little, so they gave me a lot of freedom to get my parenting from other families, or from my teachers. And for that I am grateful. They also gave me a lot of independence from a young age, and trusted me enough that I wouldn’t get into too much trouble. They also fostered my love of animals, and I don’t think they ever said “no” when I brought home my newest injured or lost creature. They were good and decent people, but were far too wrapped up in their drinking and depression to be emotionally available parents.
Even though it is going to be challenging, I’m going to play along and do some kind of representation of my mother. Who knows? Maybe something will get dredged loose in my psyche and some nice warm and fuzzy mommy memories will reveal themselves. Yeah, that would be nice.
The other night I dreamt of Ian. That in and of itself is not so unusual. I mean, my friends often make guest appearances in my dreams. But, no matter how surreal or nonsensical the dream in which Ian appears, it is never more perplexing or mysterious than what happened to our friendship.
Ian and I met about 18 years ago. We were both hired around the same time at this very esteemed, but very dysfunctional survey research company. We were hired as part of an effort to bring some younger blood into the company and to help bring it kicking and screaming into the computer age. There was a big divide between the old timers who smelled of stale booze and cigarettes and the new kids who were so excited to be working for such a well respected company. I was given a shiny new annex to manage, away from all the typewriters and lunchtime drinking binges of the main office. And while I was free to hire all new interviewers, I had to inherit a bunch of the old timer supervisors who relished questioning my every decision. “…that’s not how Bob would do it” they would whine. I was always tempted to reply “No, probably not, but then again I’m not a bitter alcoholic abusive old queen with a taste for rough trade, am I?”
And then there was Ian. Ian was my freakin’ lifeline there. Ian was smart, good looking, and like me, younger than the old school supervisors by a least a decade or so. He wasn’t afraid of computers, and respected what I was trying to do there (I had come from an academic and public health background in survey research, and I was trying to bring the same kind of rigorous methodology to this company’s political polling and market research). As we got to know each we would spend more and more time in my office talking and laughing. Mostly laughing. Even though he was born in the US, his parents had only just imigrated from England, so Ian had a very British sense of humor, which I adored. He had also inherited the British reserve, so while in the workplace we could bust a gut, he had very defined boundaries around his personal life. I learned early on that the closeness we shared in the office did not translate outside the office walls. I remember once we were chatting at the end of the day, and it was time to leave. We continued talking as we gathered our things. I figured we would at least walk to the BART (subway) station together. But, as we hit the door, he clammed up, waved good-bye and then strode quickly away. Odd bird, that Ian.
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything about my spiritual quests. I mean, originally, way back when, that was sort of the point of this whole blog. I even named it Stumbling Along The Path to imply that this blog would be about one woman’s foibles as she pursues a spiritual path, a Buddhist path, a path to enlightenment even. I documented my life both in, but mostly out of the New Kadampa Tradition (NKT). Since I left the NKT about a year and a half ago, I’ve been seeing different teachers and traditions, though nothing steady. When I stumbled out of the NKT I was left somewhat bruised and a little wary. While it didn’t stop me from continuing along the path, my steps were a bit more tentative. I didn’t want to start plodding along another path until I was fairly certain of where it would lead.
Today, however, I’ve taken a big step. You see, I’ve been flirting with Theravadan Buddhism for a while now. I took a series of classes in Vipassana meditation last year, and would, when I could find parking (that is another post all together) go to teachings in Berkeley. And then a few weeks back, on quite the spur of the moment, I signed up for the first of three ten-week classes at Spirit Rock called “Essential Dharma”. And while I have not been as diligent about doing the homework and readings as I probably should be, I do appreciate having that weekly obligation that keeps me engaged in my practice. I’ve found without some structure, it becomes far too easy for me to stray from any practice at all.
But today, I finally dove in and signed up for a week-long residential retreat out at Spirit Rock. Silent retreat. Getting up at the crack of dawn retreat. Sharing a room with a complete stranger and a communal bathroom down the hall retreat. I’m equal parts excited and nervous. I’m nervous because adhering to a rigid early morning schedule is not my thing, and especially a little scared of not having access to any means of escape from my own mind. No computers, no phone, no TV, no idle chatter. But, I am excited about the prospect of being able to really deepen my practice and develop my concentration.
Back in my NKT days, I used to tell people that I was going “on retreat” when I was going to an NKT Festival. I think it was just easier that way. If I had told them I was going to a “festival” I would have to explain how being stuck in a moldy hotel in the Catskills or priory in Northern England was in any way festive. But, while we were all sequestered away from the “real” world for a period of time, retreating in our own way, it was far from austere and contemplative. And yes, I did do the Vajrayogini retreat where I spent two of the weeks alone and fairly concentrated, but I was in the comfort of my own home, my protective cocoon. So, this coming retreat feels like it will be my first real, serious meditation retreat.
I trust I will be in good hands. Unlike in the NKT where your teacher may have less experience than you in terms of practice, the teachers at Spirit Rock have been around the practice for a very long time, and are very experienced in leading retreats. So, when my head starts to explode, I feel safe that I’ll get good counsel from one of the retreat leaders.
Now, if I can only get over my fear of communal bathrooms, I think I’ll be all right.
Tonight I came home to find my entire block awash in darkness, with only the occasional light of a flashlight or a flickering candle. But, my house? The security light came on as expected, and the warm glow of the my living room lamp welcomed me home. Lucky me.
The other day one of my peers who works at another location called me simply because she needed to talk to someone outside of the situation who would understand, and mostly who liked her. She has the staff from hell who constantly are playing political games to get out of doing their job, and when they actually do have to work, they complain constantly. Me? Well, I inherited a truly awesome staff. They think about how to do their jobs better, and are unendingly pleasant and patient with even the most surly customer. And they are incredibly kind and generous to me, their novice manager. Lucky me.
Monday night I had the privilege of seeing Leonard Cohen perform possibly the most amazing concert I’ve ever experienced. I scored great seats and went with four wonderful friends and my man of over a decade (about whom I sometimes complain, but he would do almost anything for me and he’s just a really good hearted person). Lucky me.
In these crazy economic times, I have a fairly secure job making a decent living working with people who make me laugh everyday. Lucky me.
I have awesome friends, both human and furry. Lucky me.
“So, whatcha do this weekend?’ a colleague asked making friendly Monday morning talk. “Oh we went to Stockton.” I replied nonchalantly. “Really? Willingly?” he asked with a look of confused disgust. Then finally he sputtered out “but . . . why?”
Why it was Cambodian New Year, silly! Browsing about looking for things to do this weekend I came upon a listing for a New Years celebration at the Wat Dharmararam, a Cambodian Buddhist Temple. What a better way to celebrate Easter?* The place was a complete trip. Probably close to 20 hand painted huge Buddha statues depicting the story of the Buddha’s life. Not to mention hundreds of Cambodian families sitting on the ground in the shadows of the statues with Asian pop music was blaring from the stage. It truly felt as if we were in a foreign country.
As the boyfriend and I made our way along the statues we noticed that all the signage was in Cambodian with nary an English translation in sight. We went up to the information booth to see if they had a hand-out or something that could tell us in English what we were looking at. A kindly young American monk stepped out of the booth and offered to be our tour guide. We spent the next 45 minutes walking around the grounds as Boo, our new monk friend explain Buddha’s life story, his own life story, and amusing tales of being the only non-Cambodian monk in the monastery.
The Buddhas of the Three Times
Not sure what this was all about, but people getting eaten by sharks and crocs in the same pool was kinda cool.
The boyfriend and our new friend a monk named Boo.
I'm not sure if this would be my choice of t-shirt for a day out at the Temple, but who am I to judge?
We ended our tour in the Temple, which doubled as a dining hall. Unlike some of the other Buddhist temples I’ve been in, this was not particularly ornate, nor at all formal. Again, there were many Cambodian families camped out on the ground eating. Eventually, an elderly Cambodian monk took to a throne-like chair. “He’s going to give a talk now.” I got all excited and prepared to find myself a seat, until Boo stopped me with a simple question, “so, how’s your Cambodian?” Riiiiight. So, we hung out a bit longer to soak in the festive vibe amidst all these amazing statues – some gaudy, some scary, and some incredibly serene. It was a good day.
* I really don’t do Easter. I mean why should I? I’m not Christian, I don’t have children and I don’t get a day off of work for it, so the point is . . . ?
