"Just continue in your calm, ordinary practice and your character will be built up."
I recently started reading (for the second or third time), Shunryu Suzuki's Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. It's one of those books that is so rich with little gems, it's impossible to absorb all in one read. I remember struggling with many of the paradoxical stories and statements the first time I read it, trying to underline what struck me as true. I soon realized that no amount of underlining could capture the essence of the book-- it would simply have to be read again and again.
I've included a few of my favorite excerpts from this book below.
On Breathing:
When we become truly ourselves, we just become a swinging door, and we are purly independent of, and at the same time, dependent upon everything. Without air, we cannot breathe. Each one of us is in the midst of myriads of worlds. We are in the center of the world always, moment after moment. So we are completely dependent and independent. If you have this kind of experience, this kind of existence, you have absolute independence; you will not be bothered by anything. So when you practice zazen, your mind should be concentrated on your breathing. This kind of activity is the fundemental activity of the universal being. Without this experience, this practice, it is impossible to attain absolute freedom.
On God Giving:
...And we should forget, day by day, what we have done; this is true non-attachment.
On Studying Ourselves:
The purpose of studying Buddhism is not to study Buddhism, but to study ourselves...To study ourselves is to forget ourselves...When we forget ourselves, we actually are the true activity of the big existance, or reality itself. When we realize this fact there is no problem whatsoever in this world, and we can enjoy our life without feeling any difficulties. The purpose of our practice is to be aware of this fact.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Best Way to Love
Yesterday I finally made it to a yoga class. I had been planning to go on Tuesday, but prior commitments that I thought I had gotten out of, came up and there was nothing I could do. Surprisingly, though I hadn't made it to the studio in the past week and a half, I had been practicing regularly on my own at home (though, in front of the TV, which isn't really the same, but nevertheless...). I was so relieved to finally make it to a class, not only because my body needed it badly, but because I feel the past few weeks have taken their toll, and I needed to open my heart. I was yearning for something that I could not put my finger on, but I knew exactly where I would find it.
Bethany, a fellow yoga teacher trainee, found me before class and said hello. I got up from my mat, and I think when I hugged her, I actually lifted her off the floor. All I wanted was to hug someone-- and lucky Bethany, she was it. Class was about to start, but all I wanted to do was talk to her, see how she was, let her know how I was...give her another hug.
Barbara, my instructor, owner of the studio, and teacher for my 200-hr training, came over just before starting as well. It wouldn't surprise me if she instinctively knew what I needed: someone to look into my eyes deeply, and let me know they're there. And that's exactly what she did. Her eyes are so bright and kind, and always when I see her, I know she sees me--right through me I feel. Sometimes it's uncomfortable, but tonight, it was exactly what I came for.
The asana practice was hard, but it didn't really matter. My body went through the motions, I breathed, I felt, I connected with myself, but it was nothing special. Sometimes all the asana is, is moving my body, and I remember where to go and how to open intuitively. I am graceful and at ease and calm.. I am home, but it is nothing spectacular. I did not feel a rise of emotion, I did not feel like crying or laughing. I just went through the motions, and it felt familiar and nice, but it was nothing special.
After class, Barbara and Bethany and I talked some more. We reminisced about the training, about how we missed it, about how the week after our last weekend together there was a physical ache in our hearts. Actual heartache. We talked around this heartache, but we did not identify it until Barbara, in her matter-of-fact, straightforward, lovely way said this:
"This spiritual awakening that people are looking for," she touches her heart, and then opens her palm to us, "it's just a yearning to truly connect with others."
And it's so true. The reason I went to yoga class last night, and the reason I missed it so much is because of this connection. I go to work, I go home, I go to the grocery store, and I try to be present and I try to connect. But how often do you get the chance--or people give you to chance--to really look into their eyes and make a connection. It feels uncomfortable most of the time because we don't do it often--or ever. But when Bethany and Barb took the moments before and after class to see me and connect with me, I felt more connected to them and to all people, to the world as a whole.
I can do yoga on my own, and I can go to classes all day and all night, and I will probably feel great. And going inside is important, making that personal connection with yourself, knowing what your body is, opening your heart, it is all imperative in order to be open to connecting with others. When we see other people as conscious beings, though, it's different than going inside. Looking outside of ourselves we are presented with the opportunity to understand and physically see how we are all connected. Sometimes I feel like there is no where else to go inside-- either I've put barriers up around the things that hurt, or I'm empty of things. But connecting with others gives me somewhere to go, somewhere to grow and reach out, a way to remember that we're all holding the whole together somehow.
Look into someones eyes today and see them, and in doing this you let them know that you're here too, you suffer too, you don't have all the answers either, and it's alright. It may be uncomfortable, but it is simply the best way to love.
Bethany, a fellow yoga teacher trainee, found me before class and said hello. I got up from my mat, and I think when I hugged her, I actually lifted her off the floor. All I wanted was to hug someone-- and lucky Bethany, she was it. Class was about to start, but all I wanted to do was talk to her, see how she was, let her know how I was...give her another hug.
Barbara, my instructor, owner of the studio, and teacher for my 200-hr training, came over just before starting as well. It wouldn't surprise me if she instinctively knew what I needed: someone to look into my eyes deeply, and let me know they're there. And that's exactly what she did. Her eyes are so bright and kind, and always when I see her, I know she sees me--right through me I feel. Sometimes it's uncomfortable, but tonight, it was exactly what I came for.
The asana practice was hard, but it didn't really matter. My body went through the motions, I breathed, I felt, I connected with myself, but it was nothing special. Sometimes all the asana is, is moving my body, and I remember where to go and how to open intuitively. I am graceful and at ease and calm.. I am home, but it is nothing spectacular. I did not feel a rise of emotion, I did not feel like crying or laughing. I just went through the motions, and it felt familiar and nice, but it was nothing special.
After class, Barbara and Bethany and I talked some more. We reminisced about the training, about how we missed it, about how the week after our last weekend together there was a physical ache in our hearts. Actual heartache. We talked around this heartache, but we did not identify it until Barbara, in her matter-of-fact, straightforward, lovely way said this:
"This spiritual awakening that people are looking for," she touches her heart, and then opens her palm to us, "it's just a yearning to truly connect with others."
And it's so true. The reason I went to yoga class last night, and the reason I missed it so much is because of this connection. I go to work, I go home, I go to the grocery store, and I try to be present and I try to connect. But how often do you get the chance--or people give you to chance--to really look into their eyes and make a connection. It feels uncomfortable most of the time because we don't do it often--or ever. But when Bethany and Barb took the moments before and after class to see me and connect with me, I felt more connected to them and to all people, to the world as a whole.
I can do yoga on my own, and I can go to classes all day and all night, and I will probably feel great. And going inside is important, making that personal connection with yourself, knowing what your body is, opening your heart, it is all imperative in order to be open to connecting with others. When we see other people as conscious beings, though, it's different than going inside. Looking outside of ourselves we are presented with the opportunity to understand and physically see how we are all connected. Sometimes I feel like there is no where else to go inside-- either I've put barriers up around the things that hurt, or I'm empty of things. But connecting with others gives me somewhere to go, somewhere to grow and reach out, a way to remember that we're all holding the whole together somehow.
Look into someones eyes today and see them, and in doing this you let them know that you're here too, you suffer too, you don't have all the answers either, and it's alright. It may be uncomfortable, but it is simply the best way to love.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Entropy...The Story of our Life
Woke up late today...My alarm must have gone off, but I don't remember it ringing. I got out of bed at about the time I usually leave for work. Didn't shower. Didn't do my meditation. Didn't eat breakfast or drink coffee. I got to the office later than usual, but no one was here to really notice. I was going to go to the gym during lunch because Will and I are planning on going to see a movie tonight, but Will's car is in the shop and he needed to take my car to run errands. Work is crazy, and my co-worker is out on vacation for the week, so I'm picking up some of the slack. Will and I still haven't heard about the house that we put a bid on 2 months ago. I turned down a potentially wonderful yoga teaching position because it was too far away. Sometimes it feels like life is disintegrating beneath me. This web that I have carefully crafted with all my planning and routines and consistency fails to hold me up sometimes. And this is called entropy.
Entropy is the natural chaos of the world. There are times that are more chaotic than others, but it always exists. Entropy is when--no matter how clean you get your house--it always regresses into its cluttered and disassembled state. Dust always accumulates. Those little "dust bunnies" of cat fur entangle themselves in countless balls in countless corners and in places you would never imagine. Even if you sweep every day, there's always something to sweep.
I am a very tidy person. I like everything to be in its place. I've always been this way. And I am this way about my life as well. I compartmentalize, organize, write out schedules, map out days by the hour. I am this way emotionally, too. If I get in an argument with a loved one, I will drill that problem down into the ground until it's dead. I know it's annoying for them...I keep bringing up the same problem over and over again, but it's because I have to. I can't sleep at night unless everything is settled.
Sometimes, though, because of the entropic nature of life, no matter how much planning, or cleaning or emotional digestion takes place, there's just no way to conquer it all, let alone conquer it gracefully.
What to do on these days? In these weeks? In the years that never seem to settle? Well, there's nothing to do. It helps to remember sometimes that we are not human-doings, we are human beings. We don't need to do. We need to be, and it is the way that we are that really matters. Walking into the office this morning my mind wondered off and started ticking off all the crappy things going on. "I haven't even gotten to yoga class in 2 weeks" I said to myself. And then I took a deep breathe, decided to be in a good mood and be grateful anyway, and reminded myself: "let this be my yoga".
We can always pick ourselves up from dark places, but it takes an uncanny sense of humor to do so. You must look at the web you've created, and instead of seeing all the holes, look at the light shining through.
Entropy is the natural chaos of the world. There are times that are more chaotic than others, but it always exists. Entropy is when--no matter how clean you get your house--it always regresses into its cluttered and disassembled state. Dust always accumulates. Those little "dust bunnies" of cat fur entangle themselves in countless balls in countless corners and in places you would never imagine. Even if you sweep every day, there's always something to sweep.
I am a very tidy person. I like everything to be in its place. I've always been this way. And I am this way about my life as well. I compartmentalize, organize, write out schedules, map out days by the hour. I am this way emotionally, too. If I get in an argument with a loved one, I will drill that problem down into the ground until it's dead. I know it's annoying for them...I keep bringing up the same problem over and over again, but it's because I have to. I can't sleep at night unless everything is settled.
Sometimes, though, because of the entropic nature of life, no matter how much planning, or cleaning or emotional digestion takes place, there's just no way to conquer it all, let alone conquer it gracefully.
What to do on these days? In these weeks? In the years that never seem to settle? Well, there's nothing to do. It helps to remember sometimes that we are not human-doings, we are human beings. We don't need to do. We need to be, and it is the way that we are that really matters. Walking into the office this morning my mind wondered off and started ticking off all the crappy things going on. "I haven't even gotten to yoga class in 2 weeks" I said to myself. And then I took a deep breathe, decided to be in a good mood and be grateful anyway, and reminded myself: "let this be my yoga".
We can always pick ourselves up from dark places, but it takes an uncanny sense of humor to do so. You must look at the web you've created, and instead of seeing all the holes, look at the light shining through.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Bird Incident
Yesterday, on our way to the garden, I hit a bird. I was driving a leisurly 40 mph down Charter Oak Street, and the bird came flying out from the left. The last thing I saw was the flaling of a wing, and then we heard a thunk as we made contact. Will and I looked at eachother and decided I'd better pull over at the Highland Park Market and get the bird out from where it was likely stuck in the grill of our car. I pulled into the parking lot inconspicuously. Will jumped out to inspect the damage, and when he asked me to pop the hood, grey feathers went flying-- it was almost cartoon-like, and it broke the grimness of the incident.
Will recovered the ordinary robin from it's not so ordinary deathbed (the grill, as we suspected).
"Do you think it's still alive?" he asked.
"No."
Will put his hand on its tiny chest. "You sure?"
"Yes."
How could the bird have possibly survived? I heard that thunk. Not good. Needless to say, I felt awful. So we brought the bird to the garden and laid it to rest on the outskirts of Will's parent's yard.
There's no real story here...other than that this stuff happens sometimes. We try the best we can to be and do good everywhere, but life throws strange things in our path that we are unable to avoid. I guess I've run into a few things on this road lately...the turtle, and now the bird...I suppose it has been a rough few weeks.
Will recovered the ordinary robin from it's not so ordinary deathbed (the grill, as we suspected).
"Do you think it's still alive?" he asked.
"No."
Will put his hand on its tiny chest. "You sure?"
"Yes."
How could the bird have possibly survived? I heard that thunk. Not good. Needless to say, I felt awful. So we brought the bird to the garden and laid it to rest on the outskirts of Will's parent's yard.
There's no real story here...other than that this stuff happens sometimes. We try the best we can to be and do good everywhere, but life throws strange things in our path that we are unable to avoid. I guess I've run into a few things on this road lately...the turtle, and now the bird...I suppose it has been a rough few weeks.
In honor of the robin I killed with my car...
Monday, June 23, 2008
Rainbows, Sunshine and Butterfly Bags...
Life truly is magical.
This past weekend my mom asked me to clean out the crawl space of my old room. It's strange the things we hold on to...old photos, old letters and cards, old projects and workbooks, report cards, and all my gymnastics ribbons...but it's even more surprising how we hang on to things emotionally and spiritually throughout our lives. Looking through all my old journals and art projects, there's an essence that's still with me. I know I have changed over the years, but I know I am also the same in many ways.
Something that became apparent to me this weekend was that I have a hard time saying what I want. I'm always the one to say "I don't care" and go along with whatever the other person wants to do. I figure, I can be happy doing anything anywhere, so why should I need to do what I want to do? I think it's good that I can be content in any situation, however, there's something not right about holding in my truth and always allowing others to take charge. Not to suggest that I have no backbone or that I let others lead...in fact, I have a very strong backbone and I am a natural leader, but it's in the small details of life that I often let go of my desires and let other people take over. I've always been a people pleaser, but somehow, this is more than that. This is about not speaking the truth, not thinking that I have a right to be heard, not hearing myself.
There's something so strong and certain within me that I have tended to shy away from. Perhaps it's because this person that knows exactly what she wants is not so likable and I'm afraid that I will push people away if I don't go along with what they want. Maybe I don't listen to this voice because it will lead me in a different direction than I am heading. It could be that I am so accustom to ignoring what I want that I no longer recognize the voice inside.
I was once told that happiness is simple, all you have to do is lead with your heart. But listening to your heart is not always easy, and it's rarely supported by the people and circumstances around you. However, it is imperative that we lead with our hearts. I may be a happy person, but until I start listening more closely to this voice that knows what she wants, I will not be complete.
Looking through all my old things, I see more clearly that a voice has always been there. She is wise, she is my best friend, and she can be quiet. I read through a journal I wrote when I was about 7 years old...I can't count the number of times I apologised to my journal because I didn't write the day before or didn't have time to write out everything that happened. I read and remembered a time when I was told to sit in time-out by my 2nd grade teacher because I was laughing too hard. I read about all my frustrations, confusions, yet an underlying sense that everything was alright, always remained. This is the voice that's always been there.
Life is magical because it reveals these truths to us just when we need them. Life is magical because just when you feel lost, your best friend shows up (maybe at Blockbuster...true story!!!), and the past comes flooding into the present. I thought I knew my inner voice...but it was just the beginning, and she spoke up just in time.
This past weekend my mom asked me to clean out the crawl space of my old room. It's strange the things we hold on to...old photos, old letters and cards, old projects and workbooks, report cards, and all my gymnastics ribbons...but it's even more surprising how we hang on to things emotionally and spiritually throughout our lives. Looking through all my old journals and art projects, there's an essence that's still with me. I know I have changed over the years, but I know I am also the same in many ways.
Something that became apparent to me this weekend was that I have a hard time saying what I want. I'm always the one to say "I don't care" and go along with whatever the other person wants to do. I figure, I can be happy doing anything anywhere, so why should I need to do what I want to do? I think it's good that I can be content in any situation, however, there's something not right about holding in my truth and always allowing others to take charge. Not to suggest that I have no backbone or that I let others lead...in fact, I have a very strong backbone and I am a natural leader, but it's in the small details of life that I often let go of my desires and let other people take over. I've always been a people pleaser, but somehow, this is more than that. This is about not speaking the truth, not thinking that I have a right to be heard, not hearing myself.
There's something so strong and certain within me that I have tended to shy away from. Perhaps it's because this person that knows exactly what she wants is not so likable and I'm afraid that I will push people away if I don't go along with what they want. Maybe I don't listen to this voice because it will lead me in a different direction than I am heading. It could be that I am so accustom to ignoring what I want that I no longer recognize the voice inside.
I was once told that happiness is simple, all you have to do is lead with your heart. But listening to your heart is not always easy, and it's rarely supported by the people and circumstances around you. However, it is imperative that we lead with our hearts. I may be a happy person, but until I start listening more closely to this voice that knows what she wants, I will not be complete.
Looking through all my old things, I see more clearly that a voice has always been there. She is wise, she is my best friend, and she can be quiet. I read through a journal I wrote when I was about 7 years old...I can't count the number of times I apologised to my journal because I didn't write the day before or didn't have time to write out everything that happened. I read and remembered a time when I was told to sit in time-out by my 2nd grade teacher because I was laughing too hard. I read about all my frustrations, confusions, yet an underlying sense that everything was alright, always remained. This is the voice that's always been there.
Life is magical because it reveals these truths to us just when we need them. Life is magical because just when you feel lost, your best friend shows up (maybe at Blockbuster...true story!!!), and the past comes flooding into the present. I thought I knew my inner voice...but it was just the beginning, and she spoke up just in time.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Something Yoga
I was challenged to write about yoga... and for whatever reason, I've always resisted writing about this huge piece of my life. Perhaps because I have such a hard time segregating my asana practice from the rest of my life and the rest of my writing. But here are a few poems that stem from this very sacred practice...
The Pulsing Heart
I forget
Where I’ve been.
Laying on my back,
Limbs spreading out,
Jaw relaxed, heart mended.
Pulsing out into the static world
I am warm and mind wanders,
Then draw it back to pace
Just like you might
Make a puppy
Sit again
And again,
Until it stays.
Innocent mind,
I forgive you over
And over again until you
Obey and purify, stop leaning
Grow upright, become transparent.
We argued about the fate of life,
This human race going on,
And you made the point
That we are most vile
Comparatively.
But, I said
That feeling of
A genuinely good
Seed, perhaps compassion,
The capacity to feel makes us truly
The blessed ones, and to deny this truth,
That we experience these peak moments in time,
This feeling that we may just get once
In the hundred years we might live,
This is the meaning of life for us.
We are not vile because
There is that seed
Of light shining.
Pulsing.
This is why
We must go on so
Others might understand,
Their worth in a brief bolt of lightning
Hitting the soul’s soil, turning the humus
Into a solid gem that can never be destroyed.
This is the lesson you’ve taught me, mind
Sitting quietly, continually reaching
For the reigns to bring you back
To touch my heart once more.
Just before I cave inwards
You come running,
Filling me up
With purest
Joy.
Falling Open
Falling open can hurt
Initially, it can
Bruise the skin a
Deep blue-purple pool
Of blood under the surface
That sits, stagnant
For an undefined time.
Uncertain of
The forces that heal,
That they will find
This dark bruise amidst
Countless others.
Go ahead and sing
That sad melody,
But don’t drown out
The heart’s healing.
For it will rebuild
What’s been hurt,
And falling open will
Feel like freedom
Pinched your skin
Just so you could
Heal again.
Pigeon Pose
Pain sleeps in the hip,
Wraps a thick blanket
Of muscle tissue
And memory, tightly
Around the synovial joint.
Where the body must
Always seek support.
Where the mind, it must
Reserve its worries.
Accumulating the world
Of suffering life
This place is home,
The door jammed shut
With rusting hinges,
Awkwardly hanging on.
Cannot retrace steps,
Walk backwards through time
To undo the mess
That has unfolded
In a sad, entropic fate.
It is trapped within,
Seemingly passive
In a cold, clenched bed
Where tears fall from closed eyelids.
Breath there,
Forgiveness, if that too
Is sleeping somewhere forgotten,
Slowly peel the fingers from the fist.
Everything slowly fades away,
If you let the tide come in.
Going In
Old ways
Have found me here,
Fighting wind on the shore.
Used to be so sure of myself
And life.
This ocean
Has another name,
But its salt taste the same
As all of the other oceans
I’ve known.
I go
Far, far away
From everything I know,
Only to return home again,
Grateful.
Searching
Outside myself,
I’ve found so much beauty
But the greatest journey travels
Inward.
Most things
Worthwhile are hard
Like standing in wind,
Upright and at ease, gazing out
To sea.
The Pulsing Heart
I forget
Where I’ve been.
Laying on my back,
Limbs spreading out,
Jaw relaxed, heart mended.
Pulsing out into the static world
I am warm and mind wanders,
Then draw it back to pace
Just like you might
Make a puppy
Sit again
And again,
Until it stays.
Innocent mind,
I forgive you over
And over again until you
Obey and purify, stop leaning
Grow upright, become transparent.
We argued about the fate of life,
This human race going on,
And you made the point
That we are most vile
Comparatively.
But, I said
That feeling of
A genuinely good
Seed, perhaps compassion,
The capacity to feel makes us truly
The blessed ones, and to deny this truth,
That we experience these peak moments in time,
This feeling that we may just get once
In the hundred years we might live,
This is the meaning of life for us.
We are not vile because
There is that seed
Of light shining.
Pulsing.
This is why
We must go on so
Others might understand,
Their worth in a brief bolt of lightning
Hitting the soul’s soil, turning the humus
Into a solid gem that can never be destroyed.
This is the lesson you’ve taught me, mind
Sitting quietly, continually reaching
For the reigns to bring you back
To touch my heart once more.
Just before I cave inwards
You come running,
Filling me up
With purest
Joy.
Falling Open
Falling open can hurt
Initially, it can
Bruise the skin a
Deep blue-purple pool
Of blood under the surface
That sits, stagnant
For an undefined time.
Uncertain of
The forces that heal,
That they will find
This dark bruise amidst
Countless others.
Go ahead and sing
That sad melody,
But don’t drown out
The heart’s healing.
For it will rebuild
What’s been hurt,
And falling open will
Feel like freedom
Pinched your skin
Just so you could
Heal again.
Pigeon Pose
Pain sleeps in the hip,
Wraps a thick blanket
Of muscle tissue
And memory, tightly
Around the synovial joint.
Where the body must
Always seek support.
Where the mind, it must
Reserve its worries.
Accumulating the world
Of suffering life
This place is home,
The door jammed shut
With rusting hinges,
Awkwardly hanging on.
Cannot retrace steps,
Walk backwards through time
To undo the mess
That has unfolded
In a sad, entropic fate.
It is trapped within,
Seemingly passive
In a cold, clenched bed
Where tears fall from closed eyelids.
Breath there,
Forgiveness, if that too
Is sleeping somewhere forgotten,
Slowly peel the fingers from the fist.
Everything slowly fades away,
If you let the tide come in.
Going In
Old ways
Have found me here,
Fighting wind on the shore.
Used to be so sure of myself
And life.
This ocean
Has another name,
But its salt taste the same
As all of the other oceans
I’ve known.
I go
Far, far away
From everything I know,
Only to return home again,
Grateful.
Searching
Outside myself,
I’ve found so much beauty
But the greatest journey travels
Inward.
Most things
Worthwhile are hard
Like standing in wind,
Upright and at ease, gazing out
To sea.
This is a picture of me in one-legged king pigeon pose (Eka Pada Rajakapotasana) when I was doing my SEVA volunteering at Kripalu. In my opinion, this is one of the most beautiful asanas, not just because of the way it looks, but because your hips must be open in order to get there. We tend to store a lot of life in our hips...all the stuff we don't deal with often accumulates there. It took me a lot of tears and falling open in order to come to this place. So be gentle with yourself as you go in. Take it slow and feel every fiber of your body come undone. Only when you've been through it and felt it all, can you journey into an asana like this one.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Turtle in the Road
On my way home from work last night, I saw a turtle cross the road. He was just reaching the other side when I passed him. For whatever reason, this amazing feat -- that the turtle had actually lived after crossing such a busy street -- made me want to cry. I cry a lot, so that's not all that impressive...but there was something so touching about his success.
As a creative writing student at Goucher, I was trained to look very carefully at the details in life. Too often we are in our own head and rushing from one place to another, that we forget to witness the details of our own lives. There are metaphors everywhere. And perhaps they don't mean anything...but I prefer to believe that they do.
As a Buddhist student, I have been trained to contemplate the conditioned circumstance of every detail. I have learned to see how every instance, thought, feeling, event arises somewhere so far back that it's true origin becomes untraceable. It's better known as the Butterfly Effect. Google it.
These two ways of training my mind have become intertwined, and so I notice the details of life and I see how they are no coincidence. Everything is relevant, and this is why I choose to believe that the metaphors that lay themselves out so honestly in our lives are not to be ignored, but honored.
There is a story about a raft in Buddhism. The teachers, books, koans, lessons of Buddhism are represented by this raft that carries you across the river. They are necessary in order to understand and fully realize enlightenment. Often times, people will be inclined to hold on to their raft, strap it to their back, and carry the burden of it for the rest of their lives. But the truth and lesson in the story is this: the teachings of Buddhism, the books, the sayings, the stories, are all just material to help you get to the other side. These material things are not enlightenment themselves. Striving to get to the other side of the river, I have listened to the teachings, I have built my raft, and I am still using it. But when reaching the other side, I must remember to let go.
I witnessed this turtle make it to the other side yesterday, with nothing but its will and a hard shell on its back. Many days I wish I had the perseverance and hard shell of this turtle, because we are all just trying to make it to the other side. More often than not, life comes at us, barrelling down the road, distracted, rushed, thoughtless, it hits us hard, and we suffer. Sometimes life creates such high waves in the water that it laps at our raft, shakes us from side to side, we struggle to stay on the raft. Sometimes it is lost to the ocean.
Yesterday was one of those days where life came at me, and all I wanted to do was lie there in the road and give up and jump off my raft. But a good nights rest does wonders for the spirit, and today I feel like putting the hard shell on my back and crossing the road.
As a creative writing student at Goucher, I was trained to look very carefully at the details in life. Too often we are in our own head and rushing from one place to another, that we forget to witness the details of our own lives. There are metaphors everywhere. And perhaps they don't mean anything...but I prefer to believe that they do.
As a Buddhist student, I have been trained to contemplate the conditioned circumstance of every detail. I have learned to see how every instance, thought, feeling, event arises somewhere so far back that it's true origin becomes untraceable. It's better known as the Butterfly Effect. Google it.
These two ways of training my mind have become intertwined, and so I notice the details of life and I see how they are no coincidence. Everything is relevant, and this is why I choose to believe that the metaphors that lay themselves out so honestly in our lives are not to be ignored, but honored.
There is a story about a raft in Buddhism. The teachers, books, koans, lessons of Buddhism are represented by this raft that carries you across the river. They are necessary in order to understand and fully realize enlightenment. Often times, people will be inclined to hold on to their raft, strap it to their back, and carry the burden of it for the rest of their lives. But the truth and lesson in the story is this: the teachings of Buddhism, the books, the sayings, the stories, are all just material to help you get to the other side. These material things are not enlightenment themselves. Striving to get to the other side of the river, I have listened to the teachings, I have built my raft, and I am still using it. But when reaching the other side, I must remember to let go.
I witnessed this turtle make it to the other side yesterday, with nothing but its will and a hard shell on its back. Many days I wish I had the perseverance and hard shell of this turtle, because we are all just trying to make it to the other side. More often than not, life comes at us, barrelling down the road, distracted, rushed, thoughtless, it hits us hard, and we suffer. Sometimes life creates such high waves in the water that it laps at our raft, shakes us from side to side, we struggle to stay on the raft. Sometimes it is lost to the ocean.
Yesterday was one of those days where life came at me, and all I wanted to do was lie there in the road and give up and jump off my raft. But a good nights rest does wonders for the spirit, and today I feel like putting the hard shell on my back and crossing the road.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I will start at the beginning...
I've been trying to bring people together my entire life. My earliest memory is from when I was almost three. My mom was sitting on the couch reading a story to my older sister, and my dad was in the kitchen washing dishes. I grabbed my mom by the hand, and as she reluctantly stood up , I remember my gaze falling just at her knees. I led her into the kitchen where my dad's back was turned to us, and then I announced, grabbing his hand: "Mommy, love Daddy. Daddy, love Mommy." It was just that simple to me, but my plea could not undo the damage, and my parents divorced soon after.
The second memory I have is my mom spreading a big map of the United States across our kitchen table and pointing to Maine. "We're going here," she said to us, and I don't know that we objected. The drive was long, and we had to pull over on the highway at some point because we thought we lost our hamster, Fluffy. But he was only hiding among the blond flakes of filling in his cage. We moved on, passing the granite towers lining I-95 that I thought would topple on us at any moment. We arrived in Yarmouth, Maine, and the three of us stayed through the long, miserable winters, making light of this uncertain life.
It wasn't until a few years ago that these memories came back to me. I had to call my mom to confirm, and it made me cry when she said yes. It's these abrupt things that we block out, and the subtleties of life that filter in, shaping our path, touching us so slightly, shifting our view, that make up the consistency of our lives. Though I never remembered these things, the memories were ingrained in my life all along. It's going deeper and understanding these things that make us conscious of our subjectivity, and open us up to the subjectivity of others.
In my heart, life and love are still simple to me; as simple as they were when I was three years old, telling my mom and dad that they just need to love each other and then everything would be okay. In my mind, I understand how things are not this simple, how life takes strange twists, things change, love shifts. It's hard making sense of the two, and I'm finding it's our great plight as conscious beings to reconcile the connection between our hearts and our minds. I'm not going to attempt to conciliate the accord one should strike between these two powerful entities, because it's different for everyone, but it's something worth exploring, and we must go inside to find out.
The second memory I have is my mom spreading a big map of the United States across our kitchen table and pointing to Maine. "We're going here," she said to us, and I don't know that we objected. The drive was long, and we had to pull over on the highway at some point because we thought we lost our hamster, Fluffy. But he was only hiding among the blond flakes of filling in his cage. We moved on, passing the granite towers lining I-95 that I thought would topple on us at any moment. We arrived in Yarmouth, Maine, and the three of us stayed through the long, miserable winters, making light of this uncertain life.
It wasn't until a few years ago that these memories came back to me. I had to call my mom to confirm, and it made me cry when she said yes. It's these abrupt things that we block out, and the subtleties of life that filter in, shaping our path, touching us so slightly, shifting our view, that make up the consistency of our lives. Though I never remembered these things, the memories were ingrained in my life all along. It's going deeper and understanding these things that make us conscious of our subjectivity, and open us up to the subjectivity of others.
In my heart, life and love are still simple to me; as simple as they were when I was three years old, telling my mom and dad that they just need to love each other and then everything would be okay. In my mind, I understand how things are not this simple, how life takes strange twists, things change, love shifts. It's hard making sense of the two, and I'm finding it's our great plight as conscious beings to reconcile the connection between our hearts and our minds. I'm not going to attempt to conciliate the accord one should strike between these two powerful entities, because it's different for everyone, but it's something worth exploring, and we must go inside to find out.
This is Maine...where, thanks to the twists and turns of life and love, I ended up.
I could not have asked for a more nurturing and pristine childhood.
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