Stumbling along the path

I vow

LazyBuddhist — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 00:14:06 +0000

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.

Signed,

LazyBuddhist

Mowing down old men

LazyBuddhist — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 03:13:25 +0000

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.

Dis-integration

LazyBuddhist — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 18:34:05 +0000

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.

Excerpts from my retreat journal

LazyBuddhist — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 20:05:11 +0000

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.

Tuesday:

Per Mark’s (one of the retreat leaders) instructions, I have given up trying to do the more traditional version of the walking meditation. He basically said it was OK to just take a walk, but to slow down and do it mindfully. That I can do.
Not feeling quite as judgmental of my co-retreatants, however, the yoga chicks are still bugging me. Yes, we all know you have a slammin’ body so it’s really not necessary to wear your form fitting stretchy yoga pants every damn day.
Like everyone else, I’ve become a slave to the bell. When the large bell is rung calling us to meditation hall for a sitting, everyone slowly emerges from wherever they were hiding or doing their walking meditation. We walk slowly and deliberately, as if walking were new to us. But to the world we probably just look like very well-preserved upper-middle class zombies.
I’ve been pretty happy with my focus during the sitting meditations.

Wednesday:

With everyone eating so slowly and methodically in the dining room it almost looks like it could be an eating disorders clinic with everyone being taught to taste their food, chew thoroughly and put their forks down between each bite. Some eat with their eyes closed. The rest find ways to eat without being caught looking at others. And still others steal glimpses at the serving line to see if there will be enough for seconds.
I find the lack of joy particularly evident today. Some people are really struggling with their bodies and some look like the battlefield is in their mind. Me, I’ve been feeling some resistance this morning, but mostly I’ve been unfocused, dull. Lots of dreamlike appearances during meditation. I’m blaming the Benedryl.
After both lunch and dinner on my way back up the hill, I stop and sit on the bench in front of the stone Buddha statue. He is good company. But, today I am filled with doubts and I want him to give me answers. I feel like my NKT past is coming to haunt me. Which is the right path? The miniature sock monkey in the crook of Buddha’s arm mocks my question.
Finally, we are offered a dessert treat with our dinner (or any meal for that matter) – a chocolate cookie. I love the woman who instead of taking the cookie and waiting to savor it after dinner with a nice cup of tea, quickly grabbed a cookie and voraciously took a bite of it before she even got out of the serving line.
These days are incredibly long.
The last session of the day was so lovely. It is dark outside and they turned out all of the overhead lights in the meditation hall leaving only the gentle lighting of the wall sconces. You could feel the group’s vulnerability and fragility, yet the darkness enveloped us all like a warm beloved blanket. As the session ended I felt this tremendous warmth in my heart – it was a distinct physical sensation in the middle of my chest. At first it scared me, yet as I sat with it I realized it was more an opening of the heart as I felt a tremendous sense of caring for everyone one in the room, including the annoying ones.

Thursday:

Feeling a lot more at ease today.
I can’t help but be fascinated by the yoga chick who appears to eat nothing but green salad. Where does this girl get her protein?
As I watch the handless woman wipe down the dining room tables, I am struck at first at the irony of her work assignment, and then admiration as her lack of hands does not seem to be much of a disability for her. Amazing how humans can adapt when they don’t fall into the trap of self-pity and despair.
I have become incredibly fond of the two people who share the dinnertime dishwashing duties with me and I don’t even know their names.
This place is starting to work its magic on me. There is so much contentment in standing still and taking it all in – the landscape, the creatures, the sounds and the sky.
I don’t need to judge others out of my own insecurity, or impress others with how smart or devoted I am. To do so is a trap. I am enough.

Friday:

For the first time on this retreat, I spent an entire walking meditation session actually walking, and walking slowly (rather than head back to my room to write or go back into the meditation hall and do sitting meditation). I found an easy trail and walked slowly and mindfully. It felt good. For the first time in a long time I felt fully embodied. For way too long I have been living mostly in my head.
Even though I should have been mindfully eating my lunch, my mind kept wandering and wondering who are these people? What is their story? What brings them here? I mean, honestly, paying good money to spend a week in silence and put yourself through mental and physical torture is kind of crazy.
I already feel the pull of going back to the “real” world. Thinking about food. Yes, some good old fashioned heavy, cheesy Mexican food sounds good. Or maybe vegging out in front of the TV with a bowl of pasta. And yes, I also want to make changes for the better – get some good walking shoes, look into more classes, retreats about being present, because, well, I am so not present right now.
I had an almost magical afternoon. My 2:30 sitting was so peaceful and concentrated that I didn’t want to stop. So while others were doing yoga I sat outside and continued meditating for another half hour or so. I felt so stable, so strong. I pictured myself like my friend the stone Buddha – still and ready to weather all storms. Granted, I was feeling this when the conditions were pretty awesome – warm sun, gentle breeze, and “real” life not even a whisper in my mind. But, still, it was a lovely taste of liberation. Afterward, I went for a walk along my new favorite walking path, but this time I decided to go farther. To my delight there was a little grotto w/ various statues – Buddha, Kwan Yin, some goddess, and a very, er, expressionistic version of I think St. Francis. People had left offerings of remembrances of loved ones – pictures, letters, and most touching, a pair of brass baby shoes. There was evidence of so much love, and also so much sadness. I sat with both for a while.

Saturday:

While I am ready to go home, there is sadness. At the beginning of the first session, I started tearing up. Sadness, sadness. Couldn’t quite place what it was all about. Teared up again when Mark was talking about the importance of sangha in our lives. Despite how dysfunctional it was, I do sometimes miss the sense of community I had within the NKT.
Even though a part of me wants to fly out of here as quickly as possible tomorrow, I offered to give someone a ride home tomorrow. I don’t know who this person is yet – I only know faces, not names – but knowing my karma it is probably one of the yoga chicks whom I have been judging so harshly (but really now, seriously, didn’t you pack any other kinds of pants? Your butts are hella cute, but really, I don’t need that much detail.)
I’m going to miss the silence.
Image: 6-10 people standing stock still watching with delight as a 4 ft long snake made it ways up the hill along side a path. To an outsider, it may appear we are all stoned on acid. I mean, I was petting a tree the other day for godsake. How stoned is that?
The silence has been broken. We are lead in a form exercise where we partnered up and one person listened while the other one spoke. You know, just go to get the hang of the whole conversing thing again. My partner, a young woman named Jess, and I upon looking at each both broke down in tears. Jess spent most of her speaking turn crying, and most of my listening was done simply rubbing her back gently. She was able to get out how she was mourning how she was going to miss feeling so open-hearted and tender, and how she knew from experience, the feeling quickly disappears once we get back to “real” life. Me, I have no idea why I was crying.
Howie (another of the retreat leaders) is just one big gooey heart. I have developed so much affection for him (of course, it kinda helped he told me I was luminous).
So, I guess I wasn’t the only one having fantasies of ringing the bell for no damn reason except to watch people’s Pavlovian response.
People are beaming. Even one of the yoga chicks about whom I had some pretty harsh thoughts gave me the loveliest of smiles today.

Sunday morning:

I actually got to the 6:30 am sitting today. Since it was the only formal sitting I figured I would make it. Besides, I was also curious about what kind of breakfasts I had been missing. If this was typical, I wasn’t missing much. I had made a wise choice to bring my own fruit and energy bars.
So, this is it. The end. I have cleaned my room, my suitcase is back on the truck, and people are free to speak. Conversations are quickly turning very normal – the lives and jobs people are going home to. Yet, I can’t help but to continue to listen to the pervasive birdsongs and feel the gentle fog-tinged breeze. I will miss this place.
On my way down to my car, I stop and say thank you and good bye to the stone Buddha. And I wish a fond farewell to his little sock monkey too. Until next time.

A case of nerves & the shaving of the Sasquatch

LazyBuddhist — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 17:49:35 +0000

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:

Stuff that isn’t getting done

LazyBuddhist — Sat, 30 May 2009 18:17:37 +0000

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.

A friend falls

LazyBuddhist — Fri, 22 May 2009 17:03:32 +0000

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.

Fill in the blanks

LazyBuddhist — Thu, 07 May 2009 03:23:36 +0000

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.

An ode to Ian

LazyBuddhist — Sat, 02 May 2009 20:31:54 +0000

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.

After less than a year with that company, I quit to join my former boss in a smaller, younger company. Ian left shortly after I did to go back to school in San Diego. I figured that was the last I would ever see of him. But, a year or so later, I get a letter from Ian asking me if I knew of any job openings. He wanted to come back up to the Bay Area. I don’t remember if I actually had a position open, or if I just created one for him, but I was eager to rehire him on both a professional and personal level. This time our friendship extended outside the office walls. In addition to spending our days together in our shared office, we would hang out in the evening.

Now, in case you’re thinking, “hmmm sounds like a bit of a budding romance there”, trust me, it was only in my dreams. Ian was a declared “asexual”. Sex, according to Ian,was nice, but it wasn’t worth all the nonsense that you had to endure to get it. It was emotionally messy. He had maybe one girlfriend his entire life. And this was a good looking, smart, funny guy. A catch, even. Besides, I certainly wasn’t his type. But, I was happy to be his friend. He was perhaps my only good friend at the time. He certainly was the person I spent the most time with.

Again, we both left this company around the same time. Me, I left for a better position at a different company just a couple of blocks away. And Ian left to finally pursue his ambitions to be a videographer. He had always been an excellent still photographer, so he figured maybe he could be a news cameraman. Via postcards, letters and email, Ian and I continued our friendship as he worked his way up in the local news markets – starting in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, to eventually landing up in Dallas. And while he was certainly successful professionally, he wasn’t happy. He hated the politics and the petty ambitions of local news. He hated how he had to stifle his creativity. He never really developed any friendships along the way, so he spent his free time alone reading, writing lengthy emails to me, and eventually, drinking.

I forget whether he left his last job in Dallas because he was fed up, or because he needed to go take care of his dying father. I was always proud of him for being willing to go take care of his dad. For years Ian had refused to take his father’s phone calls or cash the checks he sent. All Ian wanted was an apology for the beatings his dad gave him, some kind of acknowledgment that it was wrong. When that wasn’t forthcoming, Ian cut him off. That was, until he got really sick. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him, but he did the right thing. After his father died, he and his sister split the proceeds from the sale of his father’s very nice house in San Diego that was sold near the top of the real estate market. Ka-ching!

Ian then started traveling and living abroad. Our correspondence became a bit more sporadic since it was now dependent on his access to an internet cafe. But, he would share with me his truly incredible pictures. During his trip to Thailand he met a girl. And while he wasn’t effusive (at least to me) about the relationship, his rare emails were now peppered with the term “my girlfriend” and according to the last email I received from him, he was thinking of moving out to her home in the countryside to be with her – that is, if he wasn’t thrown out of the country due to the recent military coup.

Before he disappeared from my life, I tried to communicate with him via Gmail chat. The first couple of times I saw him online we would exchange a few lines of conversation. But, as he explained, he was on a dial-up connection at an internet cafe, so it was really slow and a bit frustrating to try and chat. OK, no problem. I didn’t take it personally. After that, if I saw him online, I would drop a line like “Just wanted to say hi. Hope you’re well. “ I didn’t expect, nor would I get a reply.

And then one evening, a couple of years ago, I saw him online and just said hello with nary an expectation of a chat. He did respond this time, but in a way that hurt me deeply. Before my very eyes, his name disappeared from my Gmail chat menu. In response to my “hey there”, he went in and changed his security settings so that his name would never appear in my Gmail chat menu. What technology giveth in terms of ways of connecting, technology can also taketh away. Ouch.

I desperately wanted to send an email and say “what the fuck, Ian?”, but my pride and my unwillingness to get hurt further got in the way. I expected that eventually I would hear from him. We had gone weeks between emails before. But no emails ever came.

I dreamt of Ian about a year ago and I dropped him a quick line to say hello, wish him well and to let him know I would love to hear from him. No response. I’ve since done some research online and it appears he is back in the States and living with his sister in Washington. If I were truly motivated to get to the bottom of this, I could probably track him down. But, it’s not like he could not have found me if he wanted to – my phone number and email address hasn’t changed in ages. The other day I looked through our emails prior to the great silence to see if I could see any clues, and I just don’t see any. It’s a mystery. For me, a sad mystery.

Damn, I miss that limey bastard.

A big step

LazyBuddhist — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 16:06:05 +0000

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.