Thursday, August 13, 2009

4 and a half months and counting...

That's how long I have left. 4 1/2 months, more or less.

I've been asking myself, more than ever, how I want to spend those days. Honestly, I've been questioning whether or not to continue the Year to Live practice at all. It's been a hard road lately. Meditation, once my refuge, has become something...well, scary. A place where I really face up to my demons. Where I see them clearly for what they are, where they came from, and (sometimes) let go of them.

Sometimes. More often, I find myself in bed at the end of the day, having been "too busy" to meditate.

This is what I do, I guess. I get busy (stop snickering, Cape). I find 1,000 ways to occupy my time, usually with work. And of course, some of that is necessary. I need to work, to get clients, to research, to write. That's what I do.

But lately it's all been a blur. Too much, too fast. No time to be present.

Amazing, isn't it? I mean, really, there's always time to be present. In fact, that's all there is. this moment is it. And yet I keep waiting for the next, and the next, and the next. Trying to stave off...what?

I don't have any real problems right now, at least not compared to the last year or two. I have some money coming in, a job I really love, good friends, a great relationship. There's no recent traumatic event that I'm reeling from. But here I am, with just as much suffering as when things were darkest.

Maybe I'm just more aware of it, so I see it more clearly. A constant background noise--a static-y buzz that digs into my heart and sets my nerves on fire. The feeling of constant, never-ending discontent. Craving.

Ah. See, that's why I write this. It helps me see clearly. When I write things out, the 10,000 little buzzing thoughts that rattle aruond in my head fall neatly into line. I'm forced to focus on what I'm really trying to convey, what my real experience is. when I write--really write, when I'm not self-editing but just letting things flow--it's very meditative. Moreso than just about anything else I do.

Before, when my life took a sudden and harsh shift, the suffering of others was all I could see. My own pain reflected back at me...but more than that, I could see, for the first time, how others suffered. In a deep and very real way. Out of that perception grew more compassion, more caring, more mercy and forgiveness--for myself and others. After all, if we're all suffering in our own way, it's hard to hold a grudge against somebody. Not to say I have no grudges, of course...

Then, after a few months, a new awareness came: Fear. Fear was all I could see, and it dominated my meditation. Anxiety, worry, all the related emotions came up. But I had guidance, and I understood that this way simply another level of awareness. "Oh, here's what's causing that suffering--all that worry and anxiety and fear!".

Now it's shifted again. Now I see craving, and it's twin aversion. The constant hunger for more, for something else, for things to be different. To have everything the way it "should be". To not have to put up with difficult emotions or people. To just "have a normal life".

And I think that's underneath the fear, the root of it. The root of everything.

Of course that's what Buddhism teaches. Suffering is caused by craving. I knew that. I knew it was true the first time I read it, 20+ years ago.

But to see it, to feel the truth of that in my bones...that's something very different. Beyond words.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Why We Practice

Yesterday, after the Dharma Punx group, someone who is new to meditation asked me "What's the goal of this practice?"

I shot back without thinking: "Enlightenment. Freedom from suffering." I also mentioned that the Buddha said that he really only taught "about suffering and the way to end suffering."

Which is true. But her question got me thinking. I realize now that my answer may have been pretty unsatisfactory, a little too quick. Too trite and easy. "Unsatisfactory", if you'd like to put a little dharmic irony into it.

So what is the goal of practice? As I thought about it, I kept on coming back to the Year to Live practice. After all, it's essentially a Buddhist practice condensed into a finite time frame. And of course, that's true of all practice, and everything we do. We don't know when that final bell will ring. It may happen today. Or tomorrow. Or fifty years from now.

And we have no way of knowing what will happen to us during that time. We only know that everything that arises will fall away. That nothing is permanent and unchanging. That there will be joy, and love, and happiness. And that there will also be pain, and sorrow, and grief.

What Buddhist practice has taught me is that we can choose to sit with those experiences fully, not pushing them away or clinging to them--and that this is the only way to true freedom. This is detachment and equanimity in action.

It's important to be clear when using those terms in my view. "Detachment" or "non-attachment", as well as equanimity, are somewhat loaded terms. It's easy to interpret them as literal detachment--not caring about what happens to us or others in a meaningful way. A kind of spiritual hard-heartedness that keeps us from getting hurt too much by the ways of the world and the teachings life hands us.

I see this in many spiritual practicioners, including myself. In trying to relieve our suffering and be "ok" with letting go of our suffering, or not craving or clinging to pleasure, it's all too easy to become truly detached. We can meditate and think ourselves into a state where we don't get touched by anything at all. Where we can fool ourselves into thinking we are free. In fact, we may succeed only in giving aversion and craving a spiritual veneer. In the end, we can end up neglecting our true work--the "heavy lifting" of spiritual practice--in favor of a false sense of well-being.

For instance, it's easy for me to ignore that fact that some relationships in my life are very difficult for me. I can breathe, and relax around my own feelings and emotional reactions. I can tell myself it doesn't really matter, that all things are impermanent, and that this is too.

And that is all true.

But if I don't take that a step further and look at the root causes of my suffering, and the suffering of the other person, all I've succeeded in doing is putting a Band-Aid on a deep wound. I may cover up what is there, but the root causes are unaffected. In the end, that wound will likely fester, cause more suffering, and feed itself.

In some cases, those deep, old wounds can consume our entire lives. They often do. Or they may scar over, hardening us, protecting us, but never really healing.

True spiritual work can be hard, it can be ugly, and it will probably be scary as hell. It requires you to look deeply at the things you would like to leave untouched. Real practice, for me anyway, is not all sunshine and roses. You have to get your hands into the shit and mud to plant the seeds that will grow into awareness, compassion, equanimity and true freedom.

So back to my example. If I go deeper, I can see that the person I am having difficultly with is suffering. I can see that they are probably unaware of this fact, and that they are totally caught up in samsara--the cycle of karma, attachment, and so on. I can see that their life experience has conditioned them to react in certain ways, and that these reactions shouldn't be taken too personally. Underneath it all, they are like a small child, pure, capable of unconditional love and compassion.

In reality, they are trapped in a hell of fear, pain, and confusion. They only want to be happy. But they only know how to react, rather than respond. In short, their angry words are 100% rooted in their own shit, not mine, and I don't need to take it personally.

Now if you follow that line of thought, it's hard not to have real compassion for someone. It's hard not to see yourself in them, to see them as a being that needs some loving-kindness and understanding rather than rejection.

Taking that further, it means we have to recongize our own anger, fear, confusion, and so on. We have to recongize and be accountable for our own actions and how they created the situation. And we need to do all that without casting blame or making it someone else's fault--including our own. Too often we take on burdens that aren't ours, matyring ourselves to play the saint, or allowing someone to do that same to us.

We also need to see clearly that we can't change anyone, ever. We can only accept them as they are, with all their warts and blemishes--and do the same for ourselves. All we can do is show them a better way, and offer support. The work must be their own. And we have to be OK with things if they (or we) try and fail to change, or if they willfully ignore our heartfelt advice.

That's a hell of a tall order, isn't it? That's what real practice requires. In my opinion, anyway.

It's a lot of hard work. Most of it done alone, sitting quietly with whatever arises. Letting it develop fully, watching our reactions, and then letting it go when it wants to be let go. Our time on the cushion teaches us all of the above. Nothing else I've found really does that--not in the deep, internalized way meditation can. I can talk til I'm blue as Krishna about all of the crap I wrote, but if I don't get it--really get it, in a totally non-intellectual way--those are just words. Maybe useful ones. Maybe not.

It's up to us to put in the hard work and time to develop our own awareness, loving-kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy and equanimity. Only when we start to forgive our own faults, to accept ourselves as we are--with all our fear, delusion, and hatred as well as our innate loving-kindess, compassion and awareness--can we truly do the same for other people.

Otherwise it's too easy to forgive, but hold a grudge. It's too easy to forget an old hurt and pretend it doesn't affect us. It's too easy to become detached.

So what is the goal of practice? All of the above. But also:

To have a clear seeing and--most importantly--a non-judgemental awareness of everything that has brought us to this moment. To be in this moment fully, living completely in the body, heart and mind.

When we can do that, we're free. There's no suffering, no craving, no attachment. At the same time, we are fully engaged, unconditionall loving, and compassionate--to ourselves, to others, and to the world at large. And we do it all without expectations or attachments to an outcome. We're just there, fully.

That sounds like a lot to ask of anyone. But I believe, and the Buddha said, that enlightenment is available to anyone in this lifetime. Our true nature IS that Buddha-nature. All we have to do is wipe the dust from our eyes and see life clearly.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Dharma Punx Boston

More gratitude:

Thank you to everyone from the Dharma Punx Boston group. You are all amazing people with amazing stories of struggle and triumph, even if you don't see the triumph yet. Thank you for having the courage to sit down, shut up, and face down your own greed, hatred, and delusion. There is nothing more difficult or more rewarding. Most of all, thank you for showing me what the human heart is capable of.

Thanks to Sean and Michael for keeping me moving forward and helping me get this whole thing up and running. It never would have happened without you. You guys are a huge support and I deeply appreciate everything you've done.

Thanks to the absolutely incredible folks who came to Mudfist 2009, the Bacon Dharma camping trip. What an awesome weekend. I have been grinning for three days straight. I think people assume I'm either crazy or high. Maybe both. But for the first time I can remember I'm actually not affected by the city-stress, the aggravation of traffic, the constant invasions of personal space. OK, a little bit. But I hardly ever want to punch people in the face.

In all seriousness, everyone there made it the best weekend I could imagine. Sure the rain wasn't great, but hey--it kept us under the tarp and around the fire. We ended up talking and getting to know each other way more than we might have if it was sunny and 75 degrees. So thanks for the rain, baby Jeebus. Or whoever.

Having that weekend mark the halfway point of my Year to Live practice was perfect. So again, deepest thanks, much love and metta sent to all of you. Hopefully we'll get together again in August, and again in September at Kripalu!

*knuckle bump with the giant rubber DharmaFist*

The Halfway Point.

Today marks the halfway point of my Year to Live practice.

I wish I could find the words to describe the changes I've seen in my mind, my heart, my relationships. All I can do is offer gratitude for the teachings--all of them--that I've been fortunate enough to receive during my time on this planet.

I'm thankful I was born human, and therefore able to understand the Dharma. To whatever hiccup of karma landed me here, and now, I thank you.

I'm thankful I was born into the family I was born into, and given the oppotunity to practice compassion, forgiveness, and unconditional love. Thank you for showing me so many things about myself, the world, and how I relate to it.

I'm thankful for the amazing friends I've made--and those I've lost to sickness, accident, or violence--for everything. You cannot know what you've meant to me. Even the crazy ones, the thugs, the criminals and hooligans. And the ones who have been there, good times and bad, in all seasons. Even when I am not the easiest person to be around, you've all ignored my sometimes difficult nature and chosen to see the person under it all. Thank you.

I'm thankful for the gift of loving a few incredible women in my life, and what I learned from them--in good times and bad. Most of all I'm thankful for the amazing woman who is teaching me so many valuable lessons right now. My few words fail to describe your tremendous impact on my life and view of the world. Thank you.

and thank you all, for reading this. I hope that you go through your day with awareness and compassion. I hope you can see the incredible opportunities for growth and healing, forgiveness and gratitude, in all things.

May you be happy
May you be at peace
May you be free from suffering

Friday, May 22, 2009

Metta Practice

Metta (loving-kindness) meditation is a major practice of the Theravadin tradition of Buddhism that I practice. Interestingly, I find most meditators prefer to focus on a strict vipassana (insight) practice, rather than the more heart-based practices of what the Buddha called the “4 Divine Adobes”, or brahmaviharas.

Why is this? I don’t know. But I suspect that many of us got into meditation to fix something in our lives—that is, to try to escape our suffering in a more positive way than drinking, drug use, etc. I know I did. If it wasn’t for martial arts, Buddhism and meditation, I very much doubt I would be here today. Like many of the kids I hung out with, I likely would have ended up trapped in addiction to drugs or alcohol or in jail, or dead.

To be completely honest, the latter is the most likely scenario. As my meditation practice has deepened, as my mind and heart have opened, I can see clearly the urge for self-destruction that drove me to live my life looking for a fight. Fighting was my favorite thing in the world—the only place I felt perfectly at home was in the adrenaline dump of a good brawl. I had so much hate and anger boiling up inside of me that I needed to let it out somehow—and that was the only way I knew.

How no one stabbed, shot, or simply beat my dumb ass to death during those times is still something that amazes me. We are so fragile; all it would have taken is a bad fall on concrete to end my life, or someone else’s. Thank God, or whatever is out there, that none of that ever happened.

I think it’s that awareness of my past motivations that brought me to metta practice. I knew that I needed to find a way to deal with those old angers, the old wounds, the resentments, judgements and grudges that still drove me in so many ways. And I knew that my insight practice wasn’t cutting it, nor was doing Muay Thai or any other martial art. They helped relieve the symptoms—the day to day frustrations, lack of awareness, etc—but the root was something that went much deeper.

Metta practice allowed me to see clearly for the first time in my life that I was worthy of being loved. That I wasn’t someone who was inherently bad or undeserving. That I didn’t need to walk around with this weight on my chest. I could open myself to myself—and by doing so, to others.

Initially, it was very difficult to sit and repeat the phrases:
“May I be filled with loving-kindess
May I be peaceful and at ease
May I be well
May I be happy”

My mind kept on intruding and asking me who I thought I was fooling. Weren’t other people more deserving? Why was I wasting my time on this ridiculous, useless practice?

Yeah, my mind is kind of an asshole. But maybe you recognize those thoughts. They are very common especially when you being to practice metta. Hell, they’re some of the first thoughts that came up for me when I started vipassana practice.

I have an idea why:
Our society still has a deep, unconscious remnant of the idea of Original Sin—that we are all inherently bad. On top of that we pile the habitual separation of body and mind, and the shackles of a warped version of the Protestant work ethic—one where nothing is ever good enough and our worth is measured only by our work and wealth. And the cherry on top is our modern need to consume, to define ourselves by what we own. Like the bumper sticker says “He who dies with the most toys wins”.

And all of this—even if we consciously reject it—still works on our subconscious mind and our hearts. Especially the deep cultural programming of the Judeo-Christian idea of Original Sin. That simply doesn’t exist in many other cultures.

For instance, when the Dalai Lama was asked by an American psychologist whether or not meditation could help his patients deal with their self-hatred, he was dumbfounded. The DL went back and forth with his translator for a good ten minutes, and then finally asked the psychologist to explain what he meant. When he did, the Dalai Lama replied (more of less) “We don’t understand. The Tibetan language doesn’t have a way to describe what you’re talking about.”

Think about that. They have no concept whatsoever regarding the self-hatred and self-judgment that is so common in Western societies. It doesn’t exist for them.

But we do and I think a major part of our meditation practice—if not the vast majority—should focus first on uprooting these deeply-held and very damaging beliefs. This is also the view one of Jack Kornfield—in his book “A Path With Heart” he prescribes metta practice first, before all others—even vipassana.

So give it a try. At first, just focus on yourself. Later, you can expand the practice to include loved ones ,enemies and even the whole world—but it all starts inside. After a good year or so of metta practice I still work primarily on myself, although I do include others towards the end of the meditation session.

Metta has made a dramatic difference in my quality of life—moreso than anything else, although the compassion , sympathetic joy, and gratitude/forgiveness practices come close. I hope it does the same for you.

Here are the basic instructions, as well as a copy of the text of the Metta Sutta. I like to read the sutta aloud or to myself at the beginning and end of a sitting—I find it sets the mood and centers me a bit. I am not a meditation teacher, however, and I strongly suggest you read Salzberg’s “Loving-Kindess” as well as Kornfield’s “A Path With Heart” for more information.


How to Practice Metta (Loving Kindness) Meditaiton:

Find a comfortable place to sit. Relax your body and become aware of bodily sensations—the touch points (where your body makes contact with the floor,cushion or chair), your breath, or sounds. Relax and soften your belly.

After a few minutes of this, you can start the metta practice by repeating the phrases:

May I be filled with loving-kindess
May I be peaceful and at ease
May I be well
May I be happy

Repeat the phrases mindfully—really get behind them emotionally. Picture yourself as a beloved child or being held in the arms of a being of pure compassion—Kuan Yin,Buddha, Christ, Gandhi, Mary, whoever or whatever makes you feel unconditionally loved.

Pay attention to the resistance you may have. Don’t push it away or judge it or judge yourself for having those thoughts of “not good enough”. They are complete normal. It’s what the mind does and it’s nothing to personalize. Just note it and go back to repeating your phrases with real feeling.

You may noticed bodily sensations: warmth in your heart, a tightness in the belly or throat, or even full-body waves of energy. I’ve actually felt energy move up through my chakras—although I didn’t know where they were at the time.

Don’t resist these sensations, but don’t cling to them either. They are positive and pleasurable, but if you start focusing on them you can create a craving for them. Just accept them for what they are, enjoy them and let them go when they want to go.

After 10 to 15 minutes, stop the metta practice and spend a few minutes just sitting and watching your mind. Notice how much calmer it is, and note the sensations –good and bad--that metta practice created for you. Open your eyes.

As a side note, metta practice can also be done walking, standing or lying down—I like to do a few run throughs right before I fall asleep at night.

A Translation of the Metta Sutta:

“May I be happy. May I preserve my happiness and live without enmity. May all beings be happy. May they be of joyful mind, all beings that have life, be they feeble or strong, be they minute or vast, visible or invisible, near or afar, born or are to be born, let all beings be joyful.
Let no one deceive another, let none be harsh in speech, let none by anger or hatred wish ill to his or her neighbor. Even as a parent, at the risk of their life, watches over and protects her only child, so with a boundless heart of compassion I cherish all living beings, suffusing love over the entire world, above and all around limit; thus I cultivate an infinite goodwill toward the whole world.

Standing or walking, sitting or lying down, during all my waking hours, I cherish the thought that this way of loving is the noblest in the world.

Thus shall I, by abandoning vain discussions and controversies and by walking a wise path, be endowed with insight, let go of attachment to sense desires, and know the deathless. May this also be the cause for all other sentient beings to be fulfilled in the conditions leading to their realization of liberation. May all sentient beings escape the dangers of old age, disease, and death. May all beings be liberated.”

There are many other versions, but I like this one the best. To see some of the others and to learn more about metta (loving-kindness) meditation practice, you can go to http://www.accesstoinsight.org/cgi/search/search.pl?Terms=metta

For books, the best one I’ve read—and really the one that kick-started the widespread practice of metta in the U.S.—is Sharon Salzberg’s “Loving Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness”. You can pick up a copy at Amazon.com.

I hope you find this post helpful and that it benefits you and all beings in all directions.

May you be filled with loving-kindness
May you be peaceful and at ease
May you be well.
May you be happy.
May you be liberated.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Second Thoughts

Lately the Year to Live practice has felt like a burden. I have been struggling with so much resistance--to sitting, in particular. Especially the "Life Review" part of the practice.

The Life Review is just what it sounds like--you sit, calm your mind, and allow events from your past to arise and pass away. You try to let go of all the bad stuff, express gratitude where appropriate, and ask for forgiveness if needed.

In the book, Levine says to stay away from the heavy stuff, the negative experiences, when you begin the practice. And this is where I get stuck. Most of my life has been crazy, especially up to about age 21-22 when I got into martial arts and started meditating a bit.

I was very different then. Violent, for one thing. Against myself, in the form of drug and alcohol abuse. Against others, both physically and emotionally. At one point in my life my favorite thing to do was get into a good brawl. I would get drunk and just go looking for fights. How I didn't get shot or stabbed is beyond me.

I had so much rage and hate boiling up inside of me that it was all I could do to keep myself under control. Sometimes that effort alone was exhausting.

So there's lots of bad stuff there. Lots of painful memories, going all the way back to when I was a really little kid. I don't have that many happy childhood memories. I mean, I have them, but they are far outnumbered by ones dominated by feelings of fear, regret, and anger.

I remember more good things now. But to get to the good things I've had to go through the pages of my old books, reading all the old stories of pride, abandonement, rage, and fear. And as I read them, reliving them vividly. Feeling the waves of emotion that only a 6 year old can feel--utterly consuming, overwhelmingly intense. Letting them pass through me, finally, and trying to come to some sort of resolution. Trying to forgive and let go.

So I guess it should be obvious why I've been resisting practice. It's hard. It's tiring. I don't feel like too many people understand what it's like. I think most of my friends and loved ones find the Year to Live practice interesting; some of them even find it amirable. But it seems like it's one of those things you need to do in order to really understand.

It's intense. When I am fully in it, fully aware of Death on my left shoulder, everything in life is so precious--even the painful parts. In some cases, especially the painful parts--because it's through those experiences that we can gain the most wisdom. And those "bad" experiences have their own beauty; they're real, they're raw, and they're totally human. They are life, in all it's ugly glory.

And that's not to say that I don't think there aren't benefits to the more pleasant experiences I've had. I've had feelings of compassion, forgiveness, and gratitude so intense during a sit that I can feel them--feel them arise from the thoughts, crest as they move through my heart, and then settle deep in my lower belly. Sometimes they start from the other direction--running up through the lower chakras through the top of my head.

But I try not to cling to either of them. And yet, I find myself clinging to the negative, the painful, the things that create suffering. I suspect that's a sign of some unfinished business, some old (and new) loose ends that need to be tied up.

and there are lot of them. I made a list of all the people I feel like I need to make amends to, or that I have some unfinished business with. It's long. In some cases--ok, in ALL of the cases--apologizing and asking for forgiveness is going to take a lot. My ego definately does NOT want to come along for the ride. There are lots of thoughts about "Ah, let it go, it's not a big deal, they probably are OK with it..."

And maybe the people I need to talk with are "Ok with it". But I don't think I am. I have some attachments to those past events. And I committed myself to this practice. I have 7 months and 3 weeks to let go of all of them.

What's really funny is that I get kind of upset when I think of January 2, 2010. Intellectually I know it's not my real death (well, hopefully not) but it still creates a little wave of fear and grief. If I dwell on it, those feelings get very intense. And at the same time--I am totally aware that it's only a mental construct. But...I can't see past 1/2/2010. It's just a blank, an endless black void.

I like it that way. I've always believed that the best way to use an opporunity is to burn your bridges behind you. Not in the sense that we usually use that term--but in the sense of taking away the "outs" we like to leave for ourselves...just in case. Not having a vision of life beyond the next 7 months and 3 weeks forces me to "be here now". There's nothing else, no second chances, no mulligans.

And the truth is, that's our life. All of us, every single person reading this, will die. Sooner or later--and I hope that for all of you it's later. But as far as I know there aren't any do-overs. Once this moment is gone...it's gone. And we can very easily go through our whole life like that. Half-asleep and stumbling through the wilderness, grasping and clinging to anything that we think will show us the path out of the woods.

Wow, depressing. Yeesh. See what I mean?

But in all seriousness...I'd like to challenge everyone who reads this (and there's a surprising number of you--very good for my ego) to spend one day, just one day, living like it was your last. Your last chance to have that conversation with your mom. Your last chance to call up the lover you hurt so many years ago and say "I'm sorry". Your last chance to go to the park with your kids--and really be there with them, not on the phone or chatting with other parents.

Go for it.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Yesterday Was a Hard Day

Yesterday was a hard day.

On April 15, 2008, my friend and mentor Michael Goldstein passed away. Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of his death.

I found out the next day, via email.

I sat there, stunned. Michael had been dealing with leukemia for about a year—initially, a slowly progressive type that would take a while to manifest any severe symptoms. Luckily, they had caught it early, and he seemed to be in good spirits when he told me. He mentioned he would eventually need to do chemo and the rest of the cancer treatment, but that it would be a while before that started.

Ironically, Michael had been involved with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in RI for years, even serving as its head. He raised who knows how much money to fight the very disease that killed him.

At first, Michael simply cleaned up an already healthy diet and started to exercise more. He switched to a macrobiotic diet, and pretty soon he was looking healthier than ever—and at 67 was probably in better shape than I was. Our weekly coaching sessions became more focused, our goals more clear, our relationship deeper and more honest.

I wonder know if the knowledge of his illness—that his life now had a foreseeable end—made him put more effort into everything he did. I like to think it did, especially in light of the Year to Live Practice. Having an end date makes everything very, very clear and every moment precious.
Sometimes I find myself wandering through the day, lost in whatever mind games I’m playing with myself, lost in samsara. And then I see something, or feel something that reminds me just how precious every second of this life is.

In Buddhism, it’s said that a human birth is a rare and wonderful thing. To paraphrase, it’s as rare as a single turtle in a vast ocean rising to the surface in a random spot and putting his head through a ring just big enough for his head.

It takes thousands of lifetimes to earn a single human birth. Even the hardest life, the worst experiences of suffering, are better than being reborn as an animal—or worse, into a hell realm.
The Buddha viewed human life as the ideal state for attaining enlightenment. The combination of awareness and physicality, along with the suffering and joys available to us in this life, create ideal conditions for spiritual growth. In fact, the Buddha also said that while there were higher realms, those realms were basically too pleasant to motivate us to practice. So here we are, human, with a chance to grab that brass ring.

But I digress. Or maybe not. So much of my spiritual growth is due to Michael. So much of my clarity and self-awareness has grown out of what he taught me and the seeds he’s sown. Even now, years after going through the crucible of self-discovery Michael created in his program Powerfuliving, new lessons are being taught. As I go deeper into my own life, my own relationships, everything Michael gave me becomes more and more important.

And this loss goes deep. There is a hole in my life where he was. His wise advice, warm smile, and commitment to helping me fulfill my potential changed my life. There are so many times when I want to call him up and ask for his advice, when I could use his wisdom and insight to bring me back down to earth.

But he’s gone. And the grief is still there. Not as intense as it was, of course. But there. I suspect it will always be there. I hope it will, because grieving means you cared, that you opened yourself up enough to feel real loss. Grief means you lived honestly.

And even in grief, I learned so much. I learned to let go of what I wanted to be, or what I wished wasn’t happening, and be with it. To let grief move through me, without pushing it away or clinging to it. I learned that grief can open my heart to others, offer healing and awareness, and create new opportunities to connect with myself and others on a deep and profound level.

Most importantly, I learned to not be afraid of grief. I’ve lost a lot of people close to me in my life. I’ve had too many friends leave this earth too soon. And for the most part, I’ve carried on. Head down, pushing forward, ignoring the huge amount of suffering and grief that was in my heart. I could get through it. I could go on. And if I just ignored it long enough…it would go away.

That’s all bullshit, by the way. Grief—or any strong emotion—doesn’t disappear when we push it away from us. It sticks around, buries itself in our hearts and minds, and then shows up in 1,000 different ways. Most often it shows up as armor—the hardening of our hearts that we accept as normal and even healthy. As we get older, this is often seen as a good thing. We can “roll with the punches”. We can “tough it out”. We can shove away our experience and hope it doesn’t come back. God forbid someone should see us lose control—cry, wail for our losses, get angry at the injustice of it all. God forbid we should drop all the bullshit and be real.

And that’s really what Michael taught: how to be real. How to live honestly, with integrity, wisdom and compassion. How to be with others and how to create relationships—of all types—based on respect, awareness, careful listening and honest communication. How to be vulnerable—a word he used so often—and real. How to take risks and open ourselves to what’s right in front of us.

So often we miss it. I did. In the stress and financial worry of my day-to-day life, I assumed Michael was going to be OK. I knew in my heart he was seriously ill, but I didn’t let myself entertain the possibility that he could die. I couldn’t; it felt too big, too horrible to contemplate.

And then it happened.

So much was left unsaid between us. Even as I write this, a deep well of regret and grief boils up from inside. There were so many things I want to say; I want to tell Michael just how much his teachings have helped me, how they’ve changed my life. I want to thank him, although “thanks” just doesn’t seem like enough. I want to tell him I love him and that he gave me the greatest gift anyone can give another—the tools for creating a deeper and more meaningful life.
But I can’t. He’s gone, and these regrets are here.

So for any of you reading this: where is your unfinished business? Who do you need to say “I love you” to? Who do you need to forgive or be forgiven by? What do you need to let go of to move on?

These are the only questions worth asking, I think.

That’s all for now, folks. I’m exhausted.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Impermanence

This morning I thought 'Hey, wouldn't it be a good idea to write a blog post for my FB group Dharma Punx? And then I can cut and paste it to the main blog..."

Seems I forgot about how wonky Facebook can be. After a good 1/2 hour of writing--and of course, not saving anything--I managed to somehow lose the whole damned thing.

There was lots of cursing and a sudden and powerful urge to throw my completely blameless laptop out the window. Thankfully, reason prevailed.

So there we are. Impermanence. I was so involved in making a point, proving something about myself to someone (me? you? both, probably) that I was furious when a technological glitch stymied my plan. Ok, I'll be honest--I was in a hurry and may have had something to do with it as well. Still, I like to place blame on Zuckerberg and da 'book. Much easier that way.

I wanted things to turn out a certain way; I wanted to connect with people, to create interest in the group. Nothing wrong with that, in and of itself, but my attachment to it certainly created some real (if brief) anger.

Hmmm...attachment. Clinging.

It's really what I was writing about in the first place, actually, although I don't think I realized that. Not clearly.

I was writing about my frustration with my practice lately, how I missed the deep states of awareness and realization I've had in the past. How annoying it was to not be able to simply sit and be with the moment, in the face of normal day-to-day life.

That's the funny thing; my life is pretty good right now. Really good, in fact, especially if I compare it to the last year.

And I think that's part of the problem. I suspect I am clinging to my suffering, looking for connection with grief and loss, looking for pain to open up to . And to a degree, that's a good thing--in that I know I should be aware of whatever's happening in the moment, no matter how unpleasant.

But I am seeking the suffering, and the release from it; almost as if it's a drug. As if it makes me more righteous, more aware, more...Buddhist.

lol. How many ways can this monkey-mind find to confuse us? I'm using the very tool of freedom and liberation--awareness--to keep myself locked into a holding pattern, one that is keeping me from moving forward.

Interesting.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Life is Funny.

So after everything I wrote yesterday, I went over to the meditation center for a beginner's drop-in class. If you're in the Cambridge area, and want to get into meditation, I highly recommend it--you can check it out at the center's website at www.cimc.info .

Anyway, the usual teacher wasn't there--but the one who was gave a dharma talk the spoke to everything that was roiling around inside me. And suddenly I was just like "Oh, right. That's just the way the mind is. OK. I can deal with that."

And all that stress, all that knotted up fear and anxiety...just poof.

So I'm sure you want to know what he said. It wasn't anything new. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard (or even written about here) many times before.

It was just this: dukkha --often translated as "suffering", although it can also mean "stress" or "unsatisfied" is part of the human condition. When we hold onto anything--or push anything away--we lose our ability to be fully present, to be fully here in the moment.

And that's our normal state. The mind creates worries, fears, attachments, aversions. It runs in circles, bouncing from state to state and from thought to thought and from feeling to feeling, creating a bubbling stew of fear, desire and delusion. And that's pretty much what we all live off of. Not always, but a lot of the time.

The only time we're free from the monkey-mind is when we are totally present in this moment.

But what does that mean? It doesn't sound that interesting, does it? Aren't we present just by being here?

Well, no. and yes. It's very hard to "be here now". We plan, we worry, we create stories about the past and what it means. We project into the future and create scenarios about how if we had that perfect relationship, that great job, that bit of extra money, that dream vacation...that we would be happy.

Or we worry about what may happen to us--that those happy scenarios will not work out, that we don't deserve that happiness, that we won't get the brass ring. That it will all fall apart. And what will we do then?

Well, sometimes that does happen. Sometimes things DO fall apart. In fact, one of the best dharma books I've ever read is Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart". If you're having a hard time, if things seem dark and hopeless, go buy this book and read it carefully.

It's not going to tell you to wish away your problems. Instead, Chodron takes a typicall Buddhist approach: witness your suffering, allow it to be as it is, and use it as part of your practice. Deny nothing, and accept everything. Even if it feels too big, too terrible, too scary to allow into your heart, into your awareness.

Narayan, one of the teachers at CIMC, answered a question of mine with a similar answer. She had mentioned that dealing with difficult and unpleasant emotions are part of the practice. I asked her HOW we do that.

Her answer was beautifully simple: "Just ask yourself if you can allow that feeling to be here, just in this moment. See if you can create enough space for it in the present. You don't have to do anything else."

It sounds so simple. And it is. But to open ourselves to the moment--really open ourselves--means we have to accept everything that arises as part of our experience.

Of course, day to day life is usually not so dramatic. And that's what I've been struggling with.

Last year--a year of death and loss and grief--taught me a lot about being present, about not running from my emotions. About accepting everything that I'm experiencing, and not judging any of it.

And I had some really dramatic meditation experiences. Deep states of awareness, physical releases, openings of both body and mind. Sometimes I lost all sense of myself as a seperate being--which is an incredibly blissful state. When I first read about rapture and bliss in meditation, I thought "oh, ok. I guess that's some Hindu/Buddhist theology thing, that probably doesn't really happen."

But it does. There were times when it was utterly terrifying--when waves of energy would make my body shake, causing totally involuntary vocalizations and deep releases of physical tension and emotional stress.

There is something to be said for those spiritual highs. And there is something to be said for the lows, too--the times when I touch some deep place of sadness and grief that shakes me to my core.

The truth is the neither of those states--the ultimate highs of spiritual bliss or the deepest lows of very, very human grief and pain--mean anything. They're just states. They're just passing through. Attachment or aversion from either is a sure recipe for suffering.

And yet, I find that many meditators only want the good stuff. Which is natural I guess. And that's what many "teachers" sell--promises of bliss, constant happiness, and endless sunny days.

But we all know that's not possible. Pain, as the Buddha pointed out, will always be part of our experience. Suffering, however, is optional. We can't run from our full experience. Doing so will ALWAYS bring suffering, sooner or later. Attachment or aversion--it doesn't matter. Either will tie us up in knots, and get us running in circles trying to fix whatever we think the problem is.

But in reality, the only thing that is required is to come into the present moment. To experience it fully, without judgement, clinging to anything, or pushing anything away. To see everything with fresh eyes, an open heart and open mind.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Acceptance vs. Fear

So it's been a long time since I posted anything here. For some reason, I've been having a lot of resistance to the practice-- to the entire idea of the Year to Live practice, to meditating, to really doing much of anything.

That's not say I've been moping around--actually I've really been enjoying the last few weeks. I feel engaged, aware...just...there.

And yet, there's something else, a sort of self-judgement about not "sitting enough". Somewhere in my head there's a voice telling me I should do it, and it's not a happy voice. It's harsh and judgemental. The voice of "not good enough".

In some ways that awareness--of not living up to my ideals or my potential--is a very good thing. It keeps me honest. It keeps me moving forward. But for some reason it's taken on a very sharp edge in the last few weeks.

And I DO resist it. I don't want to do something out of a sense of obligation or guilt. I don't want to do anything because I "should" do it, but because I want to. I don't want to do something because of a fear of being judged.

Hmmm. There I go again. All about the "I". What "I" want. The very thing I'm trying to lose is what's keeping me tied up in the frantic motion of the monkey-mind.

And it's soooo easy to just stop, to not sit, to not eat mindfully, to not be aware. To let it all go and let awareness fall away. And sometimes it's necessary--after all, there are times we should be fully present, with no "witness".

But stopping (and now starting again) has created some interesting conditions. The fear that was so pervasive is back, in stereo. Louder than ever--or maybe it just seems that way because I'm more aware of it. And he's brought his friends; anger, depression, and judgement.

On the upside I'm a little more aware, so I can sometimes step back and watch those feelings arise; I can see the conditioning they arise from; and I can watch them dissolve. Intellectually I know none of them are real, or have any external validity--they're just processes of the mind, the products of conditioning and experience combined with an external stimulus. The thoughts, the emotions, the feelings those processes generate aren't reality.

But unless we stop, unless we learn how to focus the mind and develop the Witness, that's all we know. That's what I knew, anyway. That's all I know when I get caught up in it--when fear drives me, fools me into going into autopilot mode, when I sleepwalk through my day blind to the life--real and vibrant and whole--that's pulsing right below the surface.

So that's fear. And I am trying to accept it, to sit with it, to see it for what it is. But it's very hard.

Especially now; as the Year to Live practice has progressed, I've started the Life Review meditations. Just like it sounds, this is a process of meditating on my life. Remembering what I can, watching it with awareness, and then working with what arises. It's especially difficult for me because of my childhood...which, without going into great detail, was not great. Violent, filled with fear (and often terror) and sadness...and to be honest there are few, very very few happy memories from that time. Even writing about it makes me stomach knot up and my throat tight.

But I breathe, and soften my belly. I accept what comes up and I don't try to change it, or make it go away. Nor do I cling to it. I just watch, and see it for what it is: a physical reaction to a reimagined experience from the past. Not real--and with no real meaning except for whatever I assign to it.

Hmm. Acceptance. Such a simple word for a totally ego-shattering, life-changing process. So little of what acceptance "is" gets conveyed by the word itself. The letting go. The loss of ego's control of the mental process. The loss of self-righteousness. The relaxing and letting go of old conditioning, the witholding of judgement.

Heady, and heavy, stuff.

Time to go to a meditation class.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Metta Vs. Fear

Recently I've been working with fear a lot. Thankfully, I have some great resources, and one of them--a teacher at the meditation center I go to--gave me some simple and very helpful advice regarding the fear I've been experiencing.

Like most of what I've experienced so far in my vipassana practice, it wasn't quite what I expected. And of course, true to form, it was to the point, simple, and not exactly what I wanted to hear.

But before I get into that, I want to talk a bit about the internal struggle that I've come to believe defines much of the human experience. Well, mine at least.

I've become intimately aware over the last month of the the pervasive nature of fear, in all it's myriad forms:

1.) Fear --what we recognize as fear. The big one. Heart racing, tightness in the chest, tunnel vision, fight or flight hardwired reactivity. fear.

2.) Aversion-- not in the Buddhist sense so much as the "I don't wanna" feeling I get. I don't want to do that right now...maybe later. Or another time. Which brings me to...

3.) Procrastination. What is procrastination but the fear of a potentially unpleasant outcome? I see this all the time with my meditation practice. My mind comes up with all sorts of reasons why I can't sit RIGHT NOW. I've got stuff to do. I need to go to the grocery store. I need to walk the dog. Walking the dog, that can be mindful, can't it? And let's be serious, I can't be sitting around when there's work to be done.

Of course this line of thought quickly leads to...

4.) Anxiety. About everything. The future. The past (and what I and people think about it, and how it will affect the future). This is the one that gets me over and over. I get wound up...and up...and up...until...

5.) Judgement. I shouldn't be this way. I'm a dude. I don't feel anxiety. Guys don't feel worried. We just get hungry and drink and punch people in the face. Or... I meditate. I shouldn't feel this way. That's not what we meditators do.

Which leads to judging others, to seperation, to the ego-self. Which in my view is pretty much the root of most interpersonal and societal problems. And what is judgement but the ego's desperate attempt to retain some sense of "I", of seperateness? Without that, the ego dies, and one of it's last ditch efforts this fear of extinction create is the seperation of me/you, us/them, etc.

Leading to...

6.) Anger. Both self-directed and outwardly directed. Stress, anxiety, fear, worry, aversion all pile up until there's too much pressure...and...POW. Out it comes. Maybe not like it used to. But it's there, burning up awareness and compassion and then turning on everything else, ready to consume it all.

Judgement allows anger to exist. How can you be angry with someone without judging them?

"You asshole! How dare you do ______ to me! You always do shit like that!"

So now I've defined them as "other", and not in a positive way--they're an asshole, and that's all they are. They did something to ME, personally. And they always do that sort of thing. That's who they are. Man, they suck.

Or do they?

Are they really that way? Or are they suffering in the confusion of their reactive minds, thrown back and forth from emotion to thought to reaction to emotion? Aren't they just trapped in their conditioning, blind and searching for a way to feel better?



And anger leads to...

7.) Depression. The ultimate end result of fear, judgement, and anger. Fear of life. Fear of living. Fear of not being "good enough". Anger turned inwards. Fear as the primary emotion. The conscious mind feeding on it's own conditioned suffering, in a potentially endless loop.

Of course none of these states, including depression, are endless or permanent. They're just conditioned reactions to our experiences. By digging out the root of our conditioning, our reactivity, and breaking free of them...we can just let go of all that suffering.

That's not to say there isn't sadness, or pain, or grief in life. Even enlightened beings feel those things--but they don't attach false meanings to them or invent stories about "how it ought to be".

When one of the Buddha's longtime disciples died, he said "it is as if the sun itself has been extinguished". For a fully aware person to say that...wow. We can see from that simple statement how intense the Buddha's grief must have been, and how honest he was about it.

But he didn't create undue suffering over it. He didn't say how unfair it was that we die, and that those we love die. In fact, death is probably the most fair thing there is--unlike the other unavoidable thing in life, we all pay the same price.

In our society we run away from death, deny it, hide from it, wish it away, and pray that it never happens to us or to anyone we love.

That's the big fear, the one I'm creeping up on.

But that wasn't always that case. 100 years ago, death was much more frequent, and people often died at home, with family. Most died long "before their time"--from illness, injury, infection, and so on.

Medicine has made it possible for us to live for decades longer than we used to (on average at least--and assuming you have access to medical care). It's pushed death away into hospitals, hiding it from our sight. We've become obsessed with youth and beauty. We inject, we nip, we tuck, with lift and stretch our bodies to make them look "young"--and for what?

Fear. Fear of seeing ourselves age, and what that means: death is coming. And before that, infirmity. Weakness. Dependence.

And for acceptance. Acceptance by others, to fit a cultural norm that is so distorted that it would be funny if it weren't so tragic. And what is acceptance but love?

Love and Fear. The two forces driving us.

Love is a loaded word in our culture. It brings to mind ideas of chivalric love, romantic love, familial love, etc. All of which are well and good, but most of them (if not all of them) are conditional.

I'm not talking about that kind of love; I'm talking about metta, loving-kindness, the sincere wish for all beings to be happy, to be free from suffering, and so on. It's the first of the bhramaviharas--literally "the divine emotions" or "divine abodes" in Theravadan Buddhism. That requires total acceptance of people and things as they really are, not as we wish them to be.

The fact that it's the first is important, I think. The rest--compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity--all have their roots in that attitude of loving acceptance the metta practice creates.

True metta has no conditions. No "I'll love you if you do X" or "I love you because of _______." It's simply the deep, selfless desire for oneself and others to be happy. Not happy in the sense of "I got a new XBox!" happy, or even " I found the love of my life" happy, but happy in the sense of contented joy. True happiness--which is also unconditional. And it can't be taken away.

When you met someone who has done serious metta practice for many years, it's an amazing experience. They radiate compassion and acceptance. They don't want anything from you, other than for you to be happy. The first time I met someone like that it was almost too much--too intense, too real. My analytical mind immediately rebelled and started critizing--"You're looking too deeply, what do you want--a guru or something? Get a grip!"

See? there's the fear again. The judgement, doubt, etc.

So I've come to see my practice, right now, as being aware of the constant struggle of the mind to hold onto fear. To use it as a way to define the self in opposition to the world.

And the other side of that--and the only thing that can overcome that tendency--is acceptance; metta (loving-kindness) and panna (wisdom) combined.

Hmmm...

This has gotten a bit longer than I thought it would be...so I'm going to continue this next time.

PS--the instructions I got on how handle fear? Focus on the touch points--the feet, sit bones, and so on--rather than the breath. So simple and so powerful...and you can do it anywhere. Walking, sitting, standing, lying down...anywhere.

And of course, when I told my teacher about my struggles with fear, how it came up so strongly, how it was dominating my mind...

he said "Yeah, well...that happens." and added "It's a good sign. It means you're becoming more aware."

lol. I was hoping for something to make it go away...I should know better by now. :)

Monday, February 23, 2009

Learning to Let Go

So I've decided to stop dicking around and get right to the heart of the matter: Why I am here (blog wise) and why I'm even doing this practice.

Most people who know me know that the last 12 months of my life have been all about loss and change--a lot of it the big, wrenching, sudden changes that leave us face down in the dirt wondering "Why?"

Why now?

Why this?

Why ME?

I think these questions are all normal, and depending on how they're used they can either take us into deeper levels of awareness or keep us locked into the idea of a seperate self. They can either help free us or help us put up new walls between our hearts and the world.

Unfortunately none of the answers to those questions are particulalry ego-gratifiying. At least not the honest ones.

Answering them honestly requires us to be fully accountable and aware of where our responsibilities lie--and where they end--without assigning blame or judgement. Most of the time, in my experience, they asnwers that arise only create more questions.

Accountability. It's a loaded word. When I first started hearing in the context of awareness work/mindfullness I didn't really get it--I thought it was the same thing as responsibility, blame, etc.

It's not, at least not in the context I use it and the way it was taught to me; it's simply an awareness and acceptance of our role in creating our lives. It's the first step towards creating any real change.

It was through program called Powerfuliving that I first became aware of the whole concept. I had been working with a business coach named Michael Goldstein for about 6 months when I took the course. Michael suggested that I try it, since he felt we had hit a bit of a wall with the coaching--I was getting more organized, more successful, more productive, etc., but there was something interal holding me back. I was not happy with...well, anything. Myself, my relationships, my business. Everything seemed to be...stuck. In a holding pattern.

Michael ran Powerfuliving out of his home in Rhode Island. It was a good hour drive from my house outside of Boston.

Now before we go any further, I need to make one thing very clear: I am habitually five minutes late for anything. All the time. Always.

Of course, I always assumed this was OK. And true to form, I got a late start that first day. I left my house at 7:00am or so on a clear, sunny springtime Saturday morning--and I had committed to be there at 7:30.

whoops.

Of course, I drove like a maniac. I sped. I wove in and out of traffic, cursing everyone on the road...who the hell did they think they were, driving 65 mph on a Saturday morning?

And then, of course, I hit traffic.

A little over an hour later I walked into Michael's house. Everyone else (with one exception) was already there--8 other people who had committed the next 8 weeks of their life to this course. I took my seat on the floor with everyone else and started to apologize.

It was a rather shitty and insincere apology. At least that's what Michael made abundantly clear over the next 10 minutes as he grilled me on why I was late--and why I thought it was OK to make everyone else late.

Of course I threw out all my reasons, all of them perfectly reasonable and totally unacceptable to him.

"I woke up late" I protested.

"Ok. Do you do that often?"

"Um, yeah."

"And you knew you had to be here at 7:30?"

"Uh....yeah."

"So why didn't you set your alarm earlier?"

"I don't know, I di---"

Michael held up his hand, a gesture I would see frequently over the next few weeks. As in almost every time I opened my mouth.

"Paul, I don't really want to hear it. This isn't about you--it's about the commitment you made to me and everyone else here. Just sit with it and think about it for now."

I was fuming. My nature is to argue, to be right, to wind and wend my way around everything using logic and data to prove myself in the right. What the hell do you mean I can't talk?

"So" he continued "why else were you late?"

"Um, well...I got a late start. But I tried to get here fast--I sped like crazy--and then I hit all this traffic! And then I got lost driving around trying to find your house."

He held up his hand again.

"Ok, fair enough. why didn't you call?"

"Oh" I said. "I didn't have your number handy."


Whew. How could he fault me on that? I was a busy guy after all, taking a whole Saturday off of selling real estate to be here. I could be making money right now, damn it. Anyway...safe. Traffic and no number! Can't argue with that, can he?

How little I knew.

"Couldn't you have assumed there might be traffic? Or that you might get lost?"

"Uh...yeah, I suppose."

"And you could have saved my number in your cell phone. Or called Anne. She works with you--you must have HER number, right?"

I could feel my face turning red. He had me dead to rights. Man, what an asshole I was.

"Well...yeah. Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

something in my face must have betrayed what was going on in my head--the self-judgement, blame, etc. Michael smiled and said simply "Fine. As long as we're clear on where your accountability lies. And it's not blame; but you made a commitment to be here, and you broke that commitment. Do you see why that's a problem?"

I said yes, of course; anything to get the spotlight of off me. To be honest, I was furious by this point and was planning on leaving ASAP. Fuck this--I had better things to do! I'm important, damn it.

But there I was. For once I couldn't charm or manipulate my way out of something. I had to sit there and deal with what was going on in the moment. I had no choice.

Well, I did--I could have left. But I am almost as prideful as I am arrogant, and pride won out--I decided I'd be damned if I wasn't going to sit through this whole thing. I'd show him, damn it.

Finally, he looked at me and asked "Where else in your life do you think you might do this?"

Ouch. Uh...everywhere?

He held up his hand "Again, Paul--I don't want an answer. Just sit with it."

So that was my introduction to accountability. It sounds harsh, doesn't it? And it was. It had to be, because I was so resistant to the idea that I wasn't in the right all the time.

But the truth is, Michael didn't get angry or assign blame--he just confronted me with my own immense pile of bullshit. I kept on trying to squirm away, to justify, to fib and charm my way out of trouble. And he wouldn't stand for any of it--because he cared too much to allow me to live my life like that any more.

Wow.


It's been almost a year since Michael died. I ended up working with him for over 2 years after that day--both as a student and a fellow coach, helping him run Powerfuliving. In many ways he became a true father figure to me. Through his words, actions, and even his death, he was and is the teacher of the most important lessons I've learned so far.

I think of him every day, of what he taught me, and even now those teachings are just starting to make sense. It took years and so much work on my part--and now those teachings just blossom on thier own.

If it wasn't for Michael, I wouldn't be who I am. I wouldn't have the awareness and understanding I do, the openess, the compassion, the ability (however small) to accept loss and gain with a wise and open heart.

This is the first time I've written about him. And far from the last.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Fear and the Self

So it's been awhile since I posted.

Fear has been fucking with me, hardcore. It's been creeping up on me during meditation, infecting my dreams, tightening my chest with icy fingers.

Fear. Not so much the typical"I'm afraid of X", but the awareness that fear and aversion dictate so many of my habitual reactions--as in pretty much all of them. It's either the fear of suffering (clinging to pleasure) or the fear or pain/suffering (aversion). From these attempts to push away awareness, to keep the present moment at bay, I create more and more suffering. Suffering leads to more and more isolation, disconnection, and fear.

It's a vicious cycle, and one that is repeated over and over again in Buddhist texts and teachings. Suffering is caused when we are attached to pleasure or when we try to avoid pain.

This is a basic tenet of Buddhism, and I've heard and read it...I don't know, a few thousaand times? I've meditated on it, written about it, talked about it...

But I didn't really understand it. I didn't know what it really meant, not on the gut level. Not on the level of awareness, as limited as mine is. And I know I am only seeing a fraction of the truth; that my level of awareness is keeping me from a full understanding. And I suspect that the only way to get through it is...through it.

Right now I'm noting it when I can, naming it. Saying "Hey fear...I see you. I recognize you for what you are: impermanent and arising from my own confusion." And doing so without trying to push it away; simply noting it without judgement and letting it arise and fall away on it's own.

At least that's what I do when I'm on the ball. Other times I might as well be a robot--the fear program kicks in and I'm just following orders. Of course those orders are self-destructive and tend to feed on themselves; unskillful actions create negative karma, and the cycle repeats itself over and over...until finally something breaks, or a second of mindfulness shows me that Mara has caught me again.

But all I can really do right now is be patient, and aware.

I've been reading the Bhagavad Gita again, and along with it Ram Dass' excellent book "Paths to God: Living the Bhagavad Gita". Lately the Hindu practices, chanting and yoga--especially bhakti yoga--have been more and more appealing to me. More involved with the heart, and less in the mind. Something in them resonates deeply with me.

Of course Buddhism grew out of Hinduism, and the two share many practices. But I think this a nudge towards something important; some part of my brain is telling me "You can't do this shit on your own; you need a higher power to break through this fear."

And maybe that's true. Up until recently I considered myself an atheist. More recently, I have come to the understanding that I can't know one way or another--there may be a god, gods, flying spaghetti monster, or nothing at all. I can't know--and neither can anyone else, I think. That's why it's called "faith".

In retrospect, my steadfast belief in no afterlife, no divine beings, etc. is extraordinarily arrogant. I don't mean to say that's true for all atheists--I don't think it is. But for me, it was a trap--the righteousness of knowing "the truth", and the high horse it put me on.

Man, it's easy to look down at all those religious folk. And of course they can be hypocritical and arrogant too...sometimes incredibly so. But then again, they seem to be the same people working at the Pine Street Inn. Or with the Salvation Army. Or with the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta. I, on the other hand, have largely lived my life solely for myself for 33 years or so.

So who am I to judge?

I'm not. I don't have the right, or the awareness, or the understanding of the big picture. For the first time in my life I am aware of just how little I know about anything of real importance.

Maybe that is where some of the fear is coming from --the awareness of my own greed, hatred and delusion. Of my own blindess, my own self-centered-ness.

Something to think about...

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Dying Meditation

Part of the Year to Live practice--a large part, it seems--is a meditation on dying. Essentially, you are supposed to become aware of your body (OK), the field of consciousness (OK...), and then slowly...breath by breath...come closer to "death".

Then you take one breath--your last--and let it out. Let it go. Give up the body, all attachments to this life, and "die".

It sounds simple, even easy. How hard could it be to imagine your death? I mean, it's not "real", so what's the big deal?

True. Except that our subconsicous (and to a degree, our conscious) minds can't tell the difference between an intensely imagined and visualized experience and a "real" one. That distinction is made by consciousness itself. If your conscious mind is focused completely on manufacturing an experience...that's real enough your subconscious.

That's one of the reasons why visualization works so well in sports--if an athlete can visualize an outcome in detail--the more the better--they will almost always perform better. In fact, you can do the same thing with almost any skill--playing piano, giving a speech/sales presentation, etc. I've done it hundreds of times in dozens of different contexts.

To be clear, I'm not talking about day dreaming or normal "that would be nice" thinking, but a clear, focused meditation on a process and a desired outcome. If you want to learn more, the book "Psycho Cybernetics" by Maxwell Maltz is the best source; pretty much all sports psychology and related fields grew out of his work.

Anyway, back to the topic: the meditation on death and dying. Did I mention it was scary as hell and I'd been avoiding it for days?

But like most things in life, the fear is worse than the expereince itself. As I got closer to that last breath, I became very focused on each and every part of that process--the air drawing in at the nose, cooling the nasal passages and throat, filling the lungs, expanding the rib cage and belly, and the sensation of it leaving--the relaxation of the muscles of the stomach and the diaphragm, the contraction of the rib cage and the the slow emptying of the lungs, the warmed air passed out of the lungs, up the throat, and out of the nose again.

Each part of it one moment, perfect, eternal, rising and falling away, no two quite the same.

There was an intense feeling of presence, peace, and acceptance. And then fear, worry, contraction, holding...

"I can't do this. It's too much. Too big."

"This is stupid. Why am I doing this?"

"Ok, this is what you're thinking about in the seconds before death? How annoying the person three seats down and to the left is with their sniffling and coughing?"

And so on. And then back to the breath.

So much more intense than my typical breathing meditation. So much more awareness, more presence, more internal quiet.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Fear.

a few days ago a I posted about fear, and how it was coming up for me more and more as I got deeper into the practice.

It's gotten worse. I mean all-consuming kind of bad. And it's not that I'm afraid of everything--it's that I am starting to see clearly how utterly pervasive fear and aversion are in my life. Almost everything I do is touched by it and/or a reaction to it in some way.

Some of these fears are big , like death, suffering, etc.--and some of them are so minute that they are barely noticeable, like rocks in a fast flowing stream.

You may see some of them--the really big ones that actually break the surface-- but what affects the flow of that stream the most are the thousands and thousands of unseen rocks, from boulders to pebbles, that force the water to change course and pick up speed. And the faster the water moves, the less you see.

Of course the flip side of that is that over the course of time, the water always wins. It will always wear down the rocks. Unfortunately, that takes millions of years in some cases.

The Buddha often spoke of his teachings as going "against the stream"; he warned his intial followers that the way he taught was not easy, and that it required constant effort to avoid being swept along with the currents of the mind. But he also spoke of "entering the stream" as the first level of consicious awareness--the state of becoming aware of the nature of suffering and the impermance of the self.

I know that for me, floating along is the easiest thing to do. It requires barely any effort--just enough to stay afloat. And in the good times, it's so easy to fall into--after all, who wants to go sit on a meditation bench for a couple of hours a day when the sun is shining and everything is hunky-dory?

But the truth is those rocks are still there. And we almost never float facing downstream, with a clear view of what's ahead. Even if we do, by the time we realize what's happening, we're usually already deep into the rapids, without a raft or even anything to hang onto. In those cases, all I've been able to do is tuck and cover and hope I don't drown.

And that's one of the things I'm afraid of--more suffering. But mostly I am simply overwhlemed by the contant nature of suffering and the role of fear in creating it. I see it everywhere--in me, in others, in the world at large.

Last fall I had a similar experience of being able to see suffering clearly--my own and others. It was not fun, but very enlightening. At first I felt like everything was slightly out of sync; like I was a little out of step with the rest of the world.

Well, I've always felt that way. :) But this was different. I could see the suffering in people's faces, in their walk, in everything they did. Big suffering--the suffering of obvious physical or emotional pain--and the small kind, the little disconnects in conversations, the walls we put up around parts of ourselves, the isolation I think most of us feel to some degree or another.

And likewise, now I see fear. I see fear of death, fear of rejection, fear of pain, fear of loss, all of it, on large and small scales. I see it in myself in all it's endless forms. I see it in others, too. Or at least I think I do.

Fear is one of the roots of suffering, in Buddhist thought. It's aversion to what is really present in the moment, and it's a sign there is something we need to work with. It can also be the result of clinging to something that is pleasant--an experience, a relationship, an idea of "how it's supposed to be." Aversion and clinging. The two roots of all suffering.

hm. It just occured to me that this is (hopefully) a progression; from the awareness of suffering to the awareness of one of it's causes. That makes me feel good, like I am moving in the right direction.

On the other hand, that means an awareness of desire/clinging is probably the next step. Ugh.

See? There's that aversion/fear thing again...lol. I'm terrified of more awareness...oh, irony. Hilarious.


Stephen Levine once said "If you can't be bored, you can't be Buddhist." I wholeheartedly agree.

But I think a healthy appreciation of irony helps too.

Friday, January 30, 2009

http://dyingpractice.blogspot.com/

This is someone else who is currently doing the Year to Live practice; a monk, actually. I sent him off an email this morning thanking him for chronicling his experience. He is much further along than I am (in a lot of ways), but it's oddly comforting to know that even someone whose life revolves around spiritual practice has some of the same struggles I do. Mabye it makes me feel a little more enlightened. :)

If you're interested in learning more about the practice I'm doing, check it out. It's very, very well written and clearly explains the author's experience.

So I am more or less one month in.

It's been a very informative month. Everything is a little clearer to me now. I see the value in so much---especially the small things. I've always been able to really enjoy a beautiful winter day for instance--but now there are times when the simplest thing can actually move me to tears. Well, almost. I get a little veklempt, if you will. but there is no sadness, just a sense of being totally connected in that single moment--a feeling of complete prescence and total awareness and acceptance.

I feel like there is no barrier--or less of a barrier--between myself and the world. As if the roadblocks and walls I've built over the years are crumbling as I focus more and more on the soft-belly and metta meditation practices. This has been going on for a couple of years now, but in the last month it has intensified. The walls are breaking down faster now, and I don't care about shoring them up anymore. I don't care about being safe, secure, or cool.

All I care about is being free. Free from my conditioning. Free from the stress of trying to fulfill others' expectations. Free from the need to please others or be liked. Free from ego, from seperation. Most of all--freedom from fear.

While I was sitting the other night I had one of those sudden flashes of realization that happens during insight meditation (hence the name, I guess). I saw clearly how fear had dominated my life, from the time I was a child until the present day. How I lived in reaction to it, tried to control it, and tried to run from it.

Everything--except for the last few years--was completely fueled by fear. Fear of abandonement. Fear of being alone. Fear of being trapped in a relationship. Fear of not being in control. Fear of being IN control--and not being able to handle. Fear of not being good enough, smart enough, cool enough, tough enough, and so on.

I saw how much of what I do and say is done for all the wrong reaasons--to impress others, to paint an image of myself in their eyes, to be the center of attention. All of it done from fear, in one way or another.

I sat with the fear. We had become friends over the previous few months. Fear's not such a bad guy--er, thing, really. It just wants to show you where you need to pay attention very, very closely.

It's there to help, if you listen. But if you run away, turn your back on Fear, denying that it's there...well, then it gets pissed. He gets bigger. And stronger. And pretty soon that's all you can see--if you're lucky. If you never see Fear, you just bounce around life as it boxes you in more and more.

Fear feeds on itself. That's all it needs--a little resistance, a slight aversion to something we don't want to deal with...and it's there. And it will grow, consuming itself, consuming everything good in your life, and eventually, Fear will consume you.

The nice thing about Fear is that it's very persistent and has a loud, clear voice. It has to be that way, really, because in our society we are taught to run screaming from anything painful or unpleasant. Unfortunately, much of life can be either one--or both. And running from that reality, that pain and suffering and unpleasantness--is what creates Fear.

So I sit with Fear, and acknowledge it, and try to listen closely to what it wants me to learn. "Here" it says "right here. Feel this fear of losing, the need to win, to be the best. Why can't you try harder?"


"Or here. Remember this old hurt? What if it happens again? Maybe you should close off that piece of yourself. Don't risk it."

and of course the ever-present:

"What would X think?"

But even though Fear can show us what we need to work on, it only has one answer for all questions, and it's always the wrong one. It comes in different forms, but it's always the same message:

Contract. Hide. Withdraw. Don't take the chance. Be safe. Be smart. Do what you're supposed to do.

I am getting better at seeing the places in my life where I've allowed those to become the answers. Where I've accepted Fear's only solution, the one-trick pony of contraction.

I'm finding there are a lot of those places--but I'm not afraid of them anymore. After all, as part of this practice, I have the Big Fear to face--Fear of Death--and I need to face all the small ones first, for all sorts reasons. I need to face them to tie up loose ends--to finish any unfinished business. I need to free up my karma. I need to strengthen myself, so to speak, for the job of facing that fear of death--and the only way to do that is to face the smaller ones first, and work up to it.

And by facing those small fears, a funny thing happens; each time I do, I feel a little more free. A little clearer. A little less attached and a lot more aware.

Well, that's it for today; I do have work to do outside of this. So until tomorrow (or whenever)...

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Magic of Thinking Big

The Magic of Thinking Big is a book that has been floating around in my home office for a long time--probably a year or so.

It's one of those old-style positive thinking books, written in the 1959. The author, David Schwartz, was a professor and educational consultant for most of his life, and the book reflects 30+ years of experience as a "life coach" well before that term was coined.

My inital reaction to these books (Think and Grow Rich, etc.) is aversion. After all, aren't my eyes on a different, higher prize these days?

In the past, I was all about success. Making money. Being "that guy", with the $1000 suit, the $100 haircut, the $2000 watch, the expensive car, the condo, etc. I was addicted to it; the thrill of the deal, the large checks, the lifestyle. The ability to do whatever I wanted...even though I never did, because I was too busy working, so I could make more money. So I could...do what?

My original plan was to save up, live lean, and invest. Retire by 40 and live simply, free and clear and mostly off the grid. But somewhere along the line, that got lost.

It started simply. Hey, I'm in sales. I need some nice suits. I need to look the part.

Now, I need nice shoes. A watch, one that is understated but luxurious enough to say "I'm on your level, and I don't need to flash my money around." A nice car. Now I need money to maintain that car, to keep putting 93+ gas in it. Now I can't park that car at my apartment, I need a condo, one that says "I've arrived" but isn't too big for me.

And that's what was important to me. Sure, other things were too: my girlfriend (at the time...who left mostly because, you guessed it, I was always working), personal growth (as far as success went), and pretending everything was great.

Except that it wasn't.

Looking back, I wasn't such a stereotype. I wasn't a bad guy, in fact people always praised me for my integrity and willingness to work my ass off for a client. I figured--and still do--that if someone puts their trust in you, you owe it to them to do your best and go way above and beyond what anyone else will do. That attitude, more than anything, is what made me successful at such a young age. I honestly cared about people, and wanted them to be happy.

Except I couldn't let that go. I got tied up in their dramas, their conflicts, their fears and worries about buying or selling a home. I went home at night with my stomach tied up in knots and drank to loosen it. A lot. Most nights I would go home to a very sweet and caring woman, mostly ignore her, and break out my bottle of vodka and few beers. By a few, I mean 5-6. And I would do a shot, and drink a beer, and do it again and again until I passed out.

Ah, regrets. Although I knew she and I couldn't work in the long run, I still regret not giving her the attention she deserved. She is a great woman and is married now, hopefully happily. Her life hadn't been easy but she always pushed on and looked on the bright side of everything.

Wow, holy digression Batman.

Anyway, back to my original topic: The Magic of Thinking Big.

Despite what you may think initially, these older self-help books are fantastic tools for personal growth. I know many of us who are on a more "spiritual" path tend to discount material success; but these books aren't really about that. they also tend to be written by people who actually studied and/or taught psychology and worked with patients, often patients who were recovering from traumatic and life-changing accidents or illnesses.

Schwartz's book is only peripherally about success in terms of money, and I think that is largely due to the inital audience for these books: executives and salespeople, almost exclusively male and above the age of 30. Which, in modern terms, means 40+.

But the real message--and the practical exercises it gives you--reach alot further than just making more money or getting ahead in your company.

Really, it's about seeing your true potential clearly. Not in a "trust the universe" froofy sort of way (don't get me started), but in a real, practical way. It's about learning how to see yourself as you really are-- as someone with vast unrealized potential and power.

Sound a little to Tony Robbins for you? Yeah, that's my gut reaction, too. The whole Gen X cynicism thing.

But I'm tired of that. Do we need that cynical bullshit anymore? What purpose does it serve, other than to isolate from what's real and good? None. All it really does is keep us safe, secure in our "too cool for skool" world.

Fuck that. Look at our president. Can you honestly tell me you don't feel real, honest hope? That real change isn't here--change the we created?

So why shouldn't that hope be applied to our own lives? Why should it be kept private, silent, shut away for fear of ridicule from someone too shut down and scared to see their own inner beauty, infinite potential and untapped strength?

Thinking big in some things means thinking big in ALL things. Setting huge goals, ones that scare you a bit--the ones that require real commitment and honest self-inquiry. Running towards them full speed and being OK with falling flat on your face a few times. Taking the risks--whether it's starting that business (ok...think of it as a non-profit. Hippie), having that painful but necessary conversation, or opening your heart to someone who you thought you could never forgive.

Form a Buddhist perspective, it also means believing that you...yes, YOU, can attain freedom. Liberation. Enlightenment. That you are worthy of it and capable of it, and that's it's available to you right here, in this lifetime.

Scary stuff. And exciting.

Off to meditate...

Monday, January 26, 2009

Mistakes Were Made

So it's been almost a week since my last post.

Before I go on, I'd like to let my reader(s) know--that is, those of you who don't know me--that I lead an odd and irony-filled life.

Meaning irony pops up for me, over and over and over, often in hilarious ways. Usually not that hilarious at the time. The odd stuff that happens to me could fill a library, and is a subject for other posts. Suffice to say, I am pretty sure the way my karma is working itself out is proof of a higher power. One with a sense of humor. Sort of.

Usually the odd/ironic stuff is showing me exactly what I need to learn. Which is nice, especially since I find it tragically hilarious. Sometimes it's just so perfectly shitty you have to laugh.

To get a sense of what I'm talking about, watch a bunch of Ben Stiller flicks. The ones where you cringe because ridiculous things keep happening to him, over and over. Sure, it's funny. As long as it's not you.

Turn it down a notch and you have my life.

So anyway, last week was chock-full of drama. All of it related to the subject of my previous post regarding relationships. I'm not going to get into specifics, as I care very much about the person(s) involved...but it was upsetting, and exhausting, and intense.

It's not fun when someone you care for deeply is suffering and you can't give them what they're asking for. Especially now, when I am so wired into other people's suffering. It feels like my own.

That's one of the lingering effects of last year, amplified by my metta and vipassana practices. I am really aware of the pain others are in. I can see it in their eyes, their face, their posture, and the awareness--and the compassion that it creates--is so strong at times it's almost overwhelming.

Compassion. It's an interesting word. It literally means "to suffer with" . That your heart feels another's pain as your own. Of course, part of that awareness is that you don't want them to suffer anymore.

Anyway, the events of the last week were stressful, enlightening, and even great, in some ways. Not in a feel-good way so much as a "look at how much work you have left to do here" sort of way.

And I was thinking last week how super-awesome and sorta enlightened I am. How well my practice was going, how much more aware and open and alive I felt. How GOOD everything was. And then Life says "What? Are you fucking serious? Hey, here's a big pile of shit you fucked up. Have fun, Mr. Enlightenment!" and walks away laughing.

Hilarious. I hate that guy sometimes, but he's better than the alternative.

So due to the events of the last 6 days, I am now quite aware of many of my own conflicting fears and desires regarding relationships. More aware than I wanted to be, to tell you the truth. Awareness can suck. It can be too much to take in, and it makes me hesitate, too fearful of making a mistake. Eventually I know it will all settle in and I'll be OK with it, but right now it's a little much. It feels like I am a little out of sync with the rest of the world.

In some ways I feel good--I have come very, very far to a place of awareness and internal quiet. On the other hand, I realize I have a lot of work to do--especially with the first month of my last year almost gone.

Man, if I knew what I was getting into when I sat down on that meditation cushion for the first time...

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Loose Ends, Fresh and Old

A big part of the Year to Live practice is tying up loose ends--i.e., making amends, forgiving those people you need to forgive (including yourself), finishing any unfinished business, and so on. Basically, the idea --at least as I understand it--is to clear up any negative karma or attachments so that when you "die" at the end of the year you can move on peacefully.

Ok, sounds simple, right?

I thought so. Until it dawned on me that the other side of tying up loose ends is not creating any new ones. Not causing harm (physical or emotional) is the most obvious form of that, and something I work with every day.

Yes, really. Stop laughing. You know who you are.

Now let's stop right there for now and address somethign:

It's been brought to my attention that I have caused quite a bit of emotional harm to people in the past. Particularly in relationships. While in some cases I have sought out the person I hurt and made amends and/or asked for forgiveness, in other cases I have studiously avoided writing a letter or even sending an email to the person in question--let alone actually...you know...talking to them.

I have come to realize how much of my life has been lived for me. Not in a positive way, either, but a "fuck them--my life sucks, so I deserve this" sort of way--especially when I was younger. For the most part that is gone, although I still find myself operating from a place of carelessness. I try very hard to be aware and to avoid creating false expectations--but it still happens, and people still get hurt. So how do I avoid that, short of becoming a monk?

Now, though, I find myself wanting to...you know...like be nicer to people and stuff. And for the most part, I am. Metta practice has really broken down the walls between my ego and other people. It's very rare these days that I find myself trapped in my head in a "me vs. the world" dynamic. Sure, the old reactions are still there. But like I wrote yesterday, there is a bit of a gap. A stop before the action, a little bit of awareness and space.

On top of not causing harm, though, there's the question of not creating unfinished business. Being recently single again after a 4 year relationship, I've started dating again--really just in the last few weeks. And it's been really great. I'm not out there looking for "the one", just looking to meet women who may be great friends, fun dates, or...maybe something more.

And the "something more" is what gets me. What if I DO meet someone who I'm interested in pursuing a relationship with? How do I approach that? Do I want to do that at all? And besides all that...how do I avoid causing anyone any emotional harm?

That's some pretty heavy unfinished business. It almost...almost...makes me want to scrap the whole thing and go back to being celibate (yes, I was celibate for couple of months after the break-up...yes, it was intentional. And interesting. But that's another post.). BUT...isn't that denying life, really? Wouldn't that just be running from the really important work?

I think so. But I also think I need to tread carefully, and with real awareness--but without expectations or "rules" about what may or may not happen or develop. I know my spiritual development is my prime concern right now, but really...that encompasses everything in my life, including (especially so) relationships of all kinds.

Hm. That sounds like a lot...lol. Have I bit off too much, I wonder?

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Metta Practice

So despite the name of this blog, I have been slacking (big time) on my metta practice. Honestly, today was the first day I'd meditated in 3 days...and man, I could see a difference. Everything was...off. Before I sat today my mind was a mess, I was anxious and agitated and worn-out all at the same time.

The interesting thing is I was very aware of these mind states, and that they were there because I wasn't sitting. In the past, I wouldn't have had that awareness and wouldn't have been as mindful of my reactions and conditioning. But now there is the tiniest gap between thoughts arising and my actions. A little stop before I react.

So even when I'm feeling not that great--tired, irritable, anxious, etc.--I'm getting better at keeping my awareness centered and being mindful that those mind-states don't have to influence my actions--that they are just things, habits of the conditioned mind, and not part of me.

But despite that, I'm still not very good at writing when I'm this tired...so I am ending this now before I fade into total incoherence. I wonder if any of this will make sense tomorrow?

Snow. And focus, or lack thereof.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

A Note to My Smart Ass Friends:

So a certain someone mentioned he resisted the urge to post a smart assed remark on my blog/Facebook page...

cough...JAKE...cough...

In all seriousness, I know some of you funny bastards are reading this and I welcome your tomfoolery...so post away. Nothing is sacred. Come on, who's writing this again?

I want to see some offensiveness on these comments, toot sweet.

Mary Oliver

Last summer I discovered the work of Mary Oliver. Somehow, even though I say I'm a writer, I manage to stay in my own little box of short fiction, poetry, and novels I like...and sadly I'm seeing that's more out of laziness than anything. Too lazy to read new writers...how weird is that?

So I've been listening to new music (genres and artists), reading new writers, and trying new things and new approaches to old habits and ideas. So I've been getting into anti-folk/urban folk (Regina Spektor, Pablo Das, and Xavier Rudd are favorites right now), new poetry, new art, new philosophies (reading Heidegger's "Poetry, Language and Thought" right now), and so on.

And I've been approaching my days with new awareness, trying to be mindful of my old habits, my old routines, my old conditioning and ways of viewing the world. Stopping and getting in the gap of awareness is so different ow. With my "death " looking over my shoulder and whispering in my ear...everything is more present, more aware, more mindful.


It's very enlightening, especially in light of the Year to Live practice.

Anyway, here is something that Mary Oliver wrote that I thought was really fitting. I copied it out in my journal a couple of weeks ago and just saw it today.

Next Time

Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.

When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.

And for all I'd know more--the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.



-------------

This fits so well with where I right now. Which isn't really surprising--Oliver is a long time Buddhist practicioner and is well-known among the Buddhist community.

But there is no next time, is there? Not in the larger sense--i.e., a next life, another chance at the big game--and not in the day to day or moment to moment sense, either. This second, this moment is all there is. We don't get do-overs, we don't get second chances; when this moment is gone, it's gone, and the next one is arising and already falling away. And on, and on, and on. So all we can do, all I can do, is be present in this moment and engage fully, without fear or aversion or clinging or attachment.

Shit, have I bitten off more than I can chew???