Another Invitation to Love

Grief as I felt it this afternoon was of the more subtle kind. Nobody had died. Instead, I had been reminded of a painful bond, a loss not clearly visible to the outside world, but very real nevertheless. Heart aching still, I got to see up close again, the suffering that comes when love gets thrown back onto itself, with no one to respond at the other end. This is where mindfulness practice is put to the test. Mindfulness helps one to not wallow in self-pity and despair. Instead, one can investigate the full impact of hanging on to the idea of love on one's own terms. One can feel the physical pain from grasping, and make the connection with ancient wisdom. 

Every time I fall into that place, I feel compelled to revisit Ayya Khema's Metta talk. And each time, I come up with another treasure. 

There are six billion of us, so why diminish ourselves to one, two, or three? And not only that, the whole problem lies in the fact that because it is attachment, we've got to *keep* those one, two, or three in order to experience any kind of love. We are afraid to lose them: to lose them through death, through change of mind, to leaving home, to whatever change happens. And that fear discolors our love to the point where it can no longer be pure, because it is hanging on.

Grief begs us to listen to the suffering within, and to slowly let go of the cause. Life is too short to waste one more moment in self-inflicted misery. True love is limitless and independent of external conditions.

Do Not Hang On

My mother died earlier this morning.

My friend Christine shared this gift with me, and I want to share it with you:

This is the note left by Joan Baez's mother who died Saturday April 20th, just a few days short of her 100th birthday:

"Friends who want to celebrate my new adventure, please gather round. Don't grieve, for it's only a worn body that's leaving and the memory of any sad times goes with it. The good memories are in my spirit and my spirit is with you today. I'm in your midst, for there's nothing more valuable to me than to be with you my beloved family and my gracious friends.

Take a moment for silence and wish me well. I'll hear you. Then make the bottles pop. You know I love champagne almost as much as I love you!

Big Joan"

I may not be in the mood for champagne, but I do agree with the 'don't grieve' part. My mother was so clear in what she expected of me during those last few months. Let me go, do not hang on, this is what needs to be done now . . . 

Mindfulness, Right View, and Letting Go

When the mind is calm enough, and the heart opens, insight can arise. 

This morning, sitting, I could clearly 'see' that practice is very simple. To sit with the intention of putting  awareness on the breath. Then sitting back and watching what happens. First in the body. Where is the tightness that prevents the free flow of breath in and out? And what comes along with it? Getting in touch with the heart stirrings, the hindrances in the mind. This morning was sadness, and longing, laced with a bit of fear and tiredness. And thoughts, mostly about 'me' in different roles, past and future. 

Remembering the intention of mindfulness, and that breath is where the truth lies. Everything else, a product of disturbed mind. Sitting, I could feel the repeated pain from each automatic thought coming at the forefront. Each one a variation on clinging, and the product from deep seated illusion about the solidity of self. 

Each time sitting like this, the mind gets a bit wiser, a bit less attached to itself. There is no way around practice. One needs to put in the time. 

A Lesson in Living, From the Dying

Back from visiting my mother, I have been met by a flurry of good news on the work front. Many seeds planted a while ago, are now sprouting all at once. Success is sweet, on the surface . . . Not far below, the pain of clinging has been tugging at my throat. For the overachiever that I am, it is hard not getting attached to accomplishments. 

Most effective antidote has been the remembrance of my last moments with my mom. Ever since I left her last week, I have been holding the image of her lying in her bed, almost floating, with only a touch of breath, here and there. A picture of complete letting go, and the opposite of what happens when the mind lets self-habits take over. 

Going about my day, I carry my mom in my heart. And I am grateful for the gift of her unwitting teaching. 

What Grief Can Teach Us About Love

Grief is not all the pain it appears to be. Grief as I have come to know it, is also an extraordinary opportunity to experience and see close up the suffering from clinging in its most extreme form. This is my mother’s parting gift to me.

Yesterday, when I arrived, I found her sitting at her usual table in the back of the dining room. Remembering our intense connection from two weeks ago, I expected at least an acknowledgment, a gaze of recognition, a smile. I was met instead with a blank stare. I sat by her side and waited. “Bonjour Maman. C’ est Margot, ta fille.” She looked up, gave me a look, and closed her eyes again. Aides had laid out dinner in front of her, and I was to help her.  It took forty five minutes for her to get one serving of the French version of Ensure down. I followed the aides as they wheeled her back to her room, and I kept her company as she laid resting in bed. Giving her kisses, stroking her forehead, reaching out for her shriveled hand did not produce the usual joy in her. Rather, it became clear that she wanted to be left alone. She is withdrawing from the world, I thought, and she is letting me know.

My mother mostly wants to sleep, and sometimes drink a little, that’s all. No more music, no more engagement, no more closeness, no more food. This is in direct contrast to the mother I knew who loved singing so much, and eating well, and being hugged and cajoled. That version of her no longer exists, other than in my memories, thoughts about the past with no relevance to the present conditions. Turning inside, I get in touch with the pulling away and the hanging on from lingering grief. What we call love is first and foremost attachment. The more we feel love, the tighter the bond, and the more difficult it is to let go of the object of our love. My mother is letting me experience what I first learned in words from Ayya Khema. True love is purified from all attachment, and demands that we not burden the loved one with the imposition from our clinging. It also requires that we reconcile with the universal truth of impermanence, that all that is born must die. Last, we must accept the not-self nature of our existence. The only thing that matters at this moment is to give this person who I have been calling my mother, the space to die at her own pace. Anything short of that is due to cause suffering for both she and I.

We tend to make a big deal of death. Watching my mother gently fade away, I am struck by the simple physical nature of end of life, same way I felt when my daughters were born, only in reverse. We are born, we live, we die, that’s all, and with each transition, we are given to a bunch a physical processes, of entering, being in, and leaving the body. At some point, the body gets worn out and starts shutting down. In the case of Alzheimer’s as with my mom, the end phase stretches over many years, giving loved ones a chance to work with grief and clinging not just once, but numerous times. One thing I have learned from this process is the need to appreciate all that is given at any moment. It is so easy focusing on what no longer is, as opposed to what still is. Before my mother lost the ability to speak a month ago, I did not realize how much it mattered to me that she be able to talk and respond still, even within the limited range of her late stage Alzheimer's narrative.

Now, treasuring the times sitting at her side and feeling her spirit, still flickering, and her breath also. I know soon there will be no life left at all. 

A Short Poem

Heart broken
equals heart open
wide.

Clinging urge
threatens
until the mind sees.

The possibility
of love, purified
lies near.

Lost in Moods

How little it takes to make one's mood darken, fast!

Things not going my way with several work projects, not being able to reach my mother at her nursing home, a relative with a difficult temper . . . and I am in a funk. A few days ago, when circumstances and people cooperated, I was on cloud nine.

From Ajahn Chah:

The untrained mind lacks wisdom. It's foolish. Moods come and trick it into feeling pleasure one minute and suffering the next. Happiness then sadness. But the natural state of a person's mind isn't one of happiness or sadness. This experience of happiness and sadness is not the actual mind itself, but just these moods which have tricked it. The mind gets lost, carried away by these moods with no idea what's happening. And as a result, we experience pleasure and pain accordingly, because the mind has not been trained yet. It still isn't very clever. And we go on thinking that it's our mind which is suffering or our mind which is happy, when actually it's just lost in its various moods.

Ayya Khema compares life to a continuous adult education. Each of life's irritant is there to show us the work to be done with our mind. The clinging still to pleasure, and the pain of avoidance in its absence. Felt present unhappiness is the best teacher, a call to see things as they really are, with the foundation from those who have gone forth before us, as a safe resting place for the practice to be done. 

Lost Luggage, Gained Wisdom

A lost luggage, is all it took to show me the fragility of ordinary calmness.

At first, it was easy staying magnanimous. No suitcase showing up at Carrousel 30 at Charles de Gaulle airport was no reason to sweat it. I even joked with the baggage claim lady. My suitcase had not made it in the plane in San Francisco, but had been tracked by the Air France computer. It had been rerouted through Minneapolis, then Amsterdam, and was on its way to Paris. I was assured "It will be delivered later today or tomorrow morning at the latest. Just call this number to check."

Later that night, phone call to the Air France number was met with casual response. "It usually takes 24 hours." No problem, I told myself, it's only a suitcase, and I can wait an extra day. I washed my clothes in the sink, and was glad for the disposable toothbrush provided by Air France. 

The next morning, several phone calls, and the wait turned into 48 hours. My new hat and gloves, my two favorite pants, my precious pashmina shawl, I could not have, at least not until Air France got its act together. I made a quick run to H&M for an extra change of clothes. The suitcase was starting to take up a lot of place in my mind. I found myself getting restless and annoyed.

The day after, more phone calls, and still no luggage. From annoyed, I became frustrated and ranted at the Air France folks for not caring more. I had enough sense to realize the source. Attachment, attachment, attachment was the real cause of my upset. I could use this unpleasant occurrence to investigate the mind's trappings.  Wanting the comfort of being able to use my things as planned, and also mistakenly counting on the permanence of possessions. Both desires trampled by the reality of the lost suitcase.

By the third day it became clear, I better plan for the suitcase not showing up at all. I replaced my whole wardrobe. Some of the restlessness was still there, but not enough to spoil my time in Paris any longer. The mind was starting to relinquish its grasp on the idea of 'my suitcase'.

Six days later, the suitcase has not yet appeared. We are going back home tomorrow, and I have reconciled with the idea of my luggage lost maybe for good. Little time gets wasted thinking, agitating about the suitcase. A quick phone call to Air France this morning, that's all.

How much the mind adds to life's unavoidable unpleasantness!

The Body Can't Abide, Not Yet

I have been walking
on the edge of possibility.
To continue to grab,
as I have
Or to let go
of the painful grip?
The mind sees,
but the body can't abide,
or at least not yet.
Right now, it is just breath
and the evidence
of the power of mind's habits.
Nothing to do,
but watch with loving patience
and trust in mindfulness.

The Deepest Attachment

Last night, I had a dream that I could not remember how to get back to my apartment. The general location, the complex, I knew, but the exact building, the unit number, I could not figure out. No one could really help me. I started to panic. 

Every day, I work with persons whose memory is failing them. I see what happens when one's mind can no longer be relied upon. The need to depend on others for the simplest tasks. The shrinking of life's possibilities. The carefully constructed self, taken away. And most cruel of all, the vanishing of awareness itself. 

No wonder, I am so freaked out about the possibility of losing my mind . . . The deepest clinging, that which causes the greatest fear in myself, and many others, is the attachment to healthy mind. Of course, being aware of this is critical to being fully present for those I spend time with. Not tainting our moments together, with this most deep attachment. 

The Wish To Not Cling

Waking up this morning, I found a knot, a tightness right in my core. 

Still lying in bed, I told myself, 'Clinging, there is clinging'. And dropped down to the body, letting it relax one breath at a time. Not looking for a reason behind the tension, that would be putting a strain on the mind. Plus, it did not really matter, clinging is clinging is clinging. 

Still lying in bed, I wished to not cling for the rest of the day. Or more realistically, to catch the clinging before it even gets a chance to take hold. 

Noticing the movements in the body, noticing the movements in the mind. Tightness, no. Expansion and stillness, yes.

The Ten Knots That Bind Us

Often I find a knot inside, usually not far from the surface. I call it 'the' knot. 

Last night, I learned something new. During his dharma talk about The Ten Fetters, Gil talked about  fetters, as being knots that need to be undone if we are to find ultimate release from suffering. There is not one, but ten different kinds of knot:

First 3 knots are cognitive:

#1. Attachment to personality view

We need to drop the stories we make up about ourselves. Sense of self is part of developmental task, but it ends up getting convoluted. We get into comparison, into who likes us, who doesn't. We need to realize limitations of such selfing. It is a prison. 

(This is a big one for me!)

#2. Clinging to rules and observances

Meaning, precepts and religious practices. We run into problem if we cling to them as absolute. 

#3. Doubt

Knowing freedom is to be found outside the prison walls. 

Next 2 knots are emotional, and harder to change:

#4. Attachment to sensual desires

#5. Attachment to ill will

(Oh! yes . . .)

Last 5 knots relate to attachment to meditative experiences and more subtle levels of consciousness:

#6. Clinging to deep states of meditation

#7. Clinging to meditation experiences where body disappears

#8. Conceit (much deeper rooted than attachment to personality view)

When we compare ourselves to others in any way at all (better, worse, or equal). We need to let go of comparison altogether. We need to let go even of sense of being-ness (no I involved). 

#9 Restlessness of the mind

#10 Ignorance

Full enlightenment is the absence of knots . . . Enlightenment is a gradual process of 'seeing', feeling, and releasing the knot, one by one, through mindfulness, concentration, and insight. My sense is this is not a linear process. 

I have been feeling a knot most of today. A knot, to do with emotions. Not liking, wanting . . . 

Do you have a knot, right now?

A House of Cards

One of the gifts from spending time with the ones experiencing old age, dementia, sickness and death, is the ongoing opportunity to come closer to the true nature of life. What set the Buddha on his path is good for me too . . . I now understand why the wise man recommended charnel contemplation as one of the mindfulness practices. It is one thing to read about death, and quite another to get close to it with all senses.

Seeing, smelling, touching, being in the presence of one whose body has become a worn out, pain-ridden bag of bones, I get to reflect on the destiny of 'this' body. Being in the presence of one whose mind no longer remember even the steps for basic activities of daily living, I understand that mind is not to be trusted. Sitting at the bedside of one at the verge of death, I get a glimpse of the unavoidable, all encompassing letting go awaiting. This is how things are.

Same with witnessing the many losses to be endured by so many toward the end of their lives, as they get 'placed' in assisted living or a nursing home. A place to call home, no more. The freedom to go as one pleases, forget it. The right to privacy, no, you are getting a roommate, one who may be dying right next to you in the middle of the night.  The pleasure of sitting in the kitchen, nose happily tickled by the familiar aroma of chicken soup simmering on the stove, not an option, you are now being wheeled from your room to the dining room three times a day and that's it. The need to feel useful and contribute to the world, what do you mean? you have paid your dues, now is time to be served and cared for whether you want it or not. A diagnosis of dementia, a stroke, a car accident . . . that's all it takes for one to lose all the basic constituents of one's ordinary well-being.

How precarious the nature of our day to day happiness, and how dependent on so many unreliable factors coming together in some kind of homeostasis! The house of cards could tumble down at any moment.

Ever since my grandfather's sudden death when I was four, I have had this felt sense of tragic unpredictability. An early brush with the First Noble Truth that has shaped my way of being in the world, very early on. Decades later, and rich with many more life lessons, I get a chance to reflect on the many ways that the mind wrap itself around the most inconvenient truth of impermanence. So many mind states, some wise, others not so much. Grief, loss, anxiety, depression, mindfulness, clinging, regret, remorse, anger, fear, patience, denial, avoidance, kindness, oblivion, compulsions, delusions, detachment,  busyness, . . . Finding, verifying the truth of clinging at the base of each instance of mind-created suffering.

I don't want to reside in the house of cards. I want to rest on rock solid ground instead. How about you? What is your relationship to the house of cards? 

One Easy Stress Reduction Practice

Stress is not difficult to figure out. Right there in this body, is the indicator.

I have now taken up the practice of stopping often throughout the day, and ask this simple question: is there tightness in the body? If the answer is yes, as it most often is, then I know. My body is stressed, and so is the mind. 

Getting in touch with the exact place where it feels tight, I tell myself 'clinging', 'clinging at work'. Sometimes thoughts are present that clarify the source of the clinging, either wanting something I cannot have, or not wanting something I do have. Sometimes there are no conscious thoughts. Regardless, I know what to do. 

To observe the tightness/clinging, and the unpleasantness of it. Not getting lost in its object. No, rather feeling the whole pain, and giving the tight spot a chance to relax a bit with each breath, assuming the body is willing. And trusting that the noticing in and of itself is already a big step towards de-stressing the body, de-stressing the mind.

And of course, there is the added long-term benefit, of growing tired of the pain from all this repeated clinging . . . opening the door to disenchantment, renunciation, and freedom.

I just wonder. Is there anybody else that does that practice as well?

Letting It Do Its Thing

Very much enjoyed spending the evening last night with Ayya Anandabodhi, at IMC. 

As usual, the nun had much wisdom to share. I especially resonated with this:

The body and karma have their own pace, that cannot always keep up with the mind. We need to just be with what is and give it time to do its thing. This (pointing to body) right there as it is, is our opportunity [to enter the path of awakening]. 

As much as I understand about clinging, how ludicrous the whole habit is, I am not completely in control of what the mind, and the heart, and the body do. Walking earlier, here it was, the anger, the tightness, the pain from clinging to what cannot be had. Walking, I meditated on Ayya Anandabodhi's words, and I held the hotness with much love, and patience. Giving it some space, and the time it needs. 

I also remembered this quote from Ram Dass: "If you think you're enlightened, go spend a week with your family." Being grateful for the crucible of family life to keep me honest with where I really am . . . 

Owning the Clinging, Finding Inner Freedom

There has been a big (good) change in my practice lately. Away from feeling at the mercy of the pain from clinging, to owning my part in the process. This is akin to a tectonic shift in self-awareness, a new way of seeing, and feeling that opens the way to true inner freedom.

Before, paired with the suffering, was much powerlessness, and resentment almost for being stuck with such unpleasantness. I realize lots of that had to to with some misinformed thinking. Maybe if I could unlock the cause of the clinging? It felt so old . . . Surely, something in my past needed to be dealt with. How much longer would I have to sit and feel the pain?

Now, I have stepped away from being a victim of the clinging, to fully owning my role. Realizing that clinging is an action that I can control. The letting go may be slower than I would like, but nevertheless, 'I' am the one doing the clinging, right now, in the present moment. The cause of clinging is almost irrelevant, although it does help to see one's rough spots.

Now, there is something I can do. Sitting is indeed a very active process. One of seeing, and taking necessary corrective action. Sitting, I notice tension, tightening in the throat, in the stomach, in the mind. And I use acquired wisdom to decide on what to do with the closing in. Sitting, I know to relax each tension point, using the breath as anchor, over and over again.

And I remember, the whole idea is of putting aside greed and distress with reference to the world. Putting aside, letting go, relaxing . . . all active words. 

Motherhood, Love, and Mindfulness

Mother's Day . . . has arrived, and with it the usual onslaught of happy stories glorifying mothers everywhere. 

Mother's Day . . . for me is a day to reflect on Ayya Khema's commentary on  the Buddha's fourth remembrance:

"Everything that is mine and is dear to me must change" relates particularly aptly to our relationship with our children and our partners. Children begin changing from the day they are born. But they disappear or they can disappear [. . .]

None of us really believe that our children or partner belong to us. Nevertheless we feel that way about them and want to hold on to them. The various relationship problems in families arise out of this. 

[. . .] We think we have to determine the way our children develop. We think we can decide what they should and should not do. We not only want to keep our children and partners for ourselves, but we think they should live in accordance with our wishes and our conception of them. And none of this is true. 

We have to let go if we want to live and love in freedom. Not even one's own body is "mine", the Buddha said, so how can another person be "mine"? Everyone creates his or her own karma. 

[. . .] Pure love is love that has not wish to hold and to keep but is simply given freely. 

~ Ayya Khema, I Give You My Life ~ 

Mother's day . . . is a time to thank both of my daughters for helping me awaken to the nature of true motherly love, as so beautifully expressed by Ayya Khema. 

Nothing Worth Getting Excited

Just found in U Tejaniya's blog, this very much worth pondering excerpt from his last book: Welcoming Each moment With Awareness+Wisdom:

Only when the mind does not perceive experiences as pleasing will it understand the Noble Truth of dukkha. As long as the mind perceives experiences as pleasing, then the Noble Truth of dukkha is still far from being understood.

Yes, just like Ajahn Chah's image of the wilted flower. No matter how beautiful, the rose carries within each one of its cells, its inevitable fate. Nothing lasting, nothing worth getting enthralled with. Hence the wisdom of disenchantment, and dispassion. 

This is not about being blase or dismissive of 'happy' moments. Rather it is about finding equanimity, from the stored memory of many many mindful times before, seeing impermanence. I will take equanimity a million times over the seesaw of mindless excitement and aversion. 

Sitting, this morning, there is delight about a world just how 'I' want it, calm and sweet. And the awareness, that too shall pass . . . pain and storms ahead. 

Until Only the Mountain Remains

The other part of Gil's talk earlier this week dealt with the other side of clinging. Here are my notes:

If you have to let go, you have already missed the boat . . .  the boat of staying in touch with peace, that is. Hopefully you will come to a place when you don't cling, you don't pick up, you don't react. This can happen once we have let go deep enough, and we can lean towards that non reactive stance. The more we get to know it, we can call upon our visceral memory of that experience. We recognize, there is stillness there, right in the middle of the day. And when something occurs, we don't let it ruffle us. The mind is so open, that it does not move. If you have let go, and have experienced some degree of peace, notice what you are willing to give it up for, e.g. letting go of peace for a red light, or for the sake of righteous clinging to a noble cause. 

What are you willing to give up peace for? What do you sacrifice it for? Is it worth it?

The birds have vanished into the sky,

and now the last cloud drains away.

We sit together, the mountain and me, 

until only the mountain remains.

~ Li Po (8th century Chinese poet) ~

Many times throughout the day, the possibility of choice arises. This road, or that one. Will I let mind go the lazy way of clinging or aversion? Or is the mind now convinced enough, and willing to let go? Been there, done that. In the end, it is a matter of remembering the suffering involved during times before, the pain from more constriction in the body, and in the mind.  It is also about having the presence of mind to notice what is really happening. 

Back to Gil's questions,  sitting this morning and dwelling amidst the peace of breath coming and going softly, and birds happily tweeting, it was clear where the risk lied. Thoughts about 'I' kept interrupting, 'I' in various situations, mostly in the future, and I could notice the beginning of trouble. Back to the breath, back to hearing sounds, and peace could become a possibility again. Still, I wondered, why this need of the mind to create such stories about 'me'? 

Until only the mountain remains, many more moments of sitting, with myself . . . 

What is your answer to those questions?

What Am I Clinging To?

Gil's talk last night was in large part devoted to the topic of 'turning towards clinging'. Listening to him reminding me of the importance of asking oneself the question: 'What am I a clinging to?' over and over again. Getting in touch with the second noble truth, as I did yesterday.

Sitting in my office, all to the joy of working, I got interrupted by rant from loved one about some stupid (to me at least) little thing. I knew better than to react back. I did all the right things. Took a breath, briefly surveyed mind, and said no to unskillful thoughts. I voiced what seemed like a reasonable response, and shared my honest feelings. After a while, loved one came to his senses and moved on. I didn't, and felt increasingly bothered as the day progressed. By evening, sitting at IMC with the rest of the sangha, I had turned into a hot coal, smoldering with anger. There was nothing to do, but sit patiently, being with heat rising all the way up to the top of my head, and the tightness from aversion to this unwished for reaction. 

Then, Gil spoke:

We need to eventually release whatever we are holding on to. As mindfulness matures, we become more and more inclined to take responsibility for our clinginess, e.g. what holding on to anger or resentment does inside of us in reaction to what other person has done. We don't turn away from the clinging but we turn into it. We need to understand our problem by bringing our attention to it and feeling it fully. It is not so much about thinking about as feeling our experience. We feel the unpleasantness, and our dislike of it. We get close and intimate with our bad feelings. Eventually our dislike and resistance to it fall away. Same thing with liking. Turning toward, sitting still, we feel what we are feeling, e.g. if feeling lousy, just feel lousy, instead of feeling lousy and hating it. This may take some time, as we let ourselves feel the clinging. We need to be patient, allowing whatever needs to unfold. There is an art in holding 'it' and letting the reaction fall away. Then we get a chance to see what we are holding to, e.g. beliefs, etc.

Break open a cherry tree,

and there are no flowers.

But the spring breeze 

brings forth myriad blossoms.

~ Ikkyu Sojun ~

Sitting, listening to Gil's recitation of the poem, meanwhile holding the unpleasantness, all of a sudden, a flash of insight, 'I am clinging to peace.' Loved one had interrupted my much cherished peace, and I had been resentful ever since the interruption. Why such an attachment to peace, and aversion to its enemy, conflict? I've got reasons, having been raised in a conflict-ridden home, with an angry father, always ready to erupt at the slightest (perceived) provocation. 

Sitting, I experienced the liberation from having understood the source of the clinging. I had been caught, only I did not know to what. 

A good reminder for next time unease arises . . . 

What are you clinging to?