Not Chasing After the Past

I was at a dinner last night and a woman there who is a rep for a cosmetics company, tried to convince me to buy her miracle anti-aging cream. 'Look at me! I am sixty one, and I look twenty years younger . . .' She took a look at my face and decided I probably needed the 'Re-Define' line.' I was polite, took her fancy brochure, and dumped it in the trash after I got home. How foolish, I thought, this refusal to go with the inevitable. 

You shouldn't chase after the past.

or place expectations on the future.

What is past 

is left behind.

The future is as yet unreached.

Whatever quality is present

you clearly see right there, 

right there.

Not taken in,

unshaken,

that's how you develop the heart.

Ardently doing your duty today,

for - who knows? - tomorrow

death may come.

There is no bargaining 

with Death and his mighty horde.

Whoever lives thus ardently, 

relentlessly ,

both day and night,

Has truly had an auspicious day:

So says the Peaceful Sage.

- Bhaddekaratta Sutta: An Auspicious Day, MN 131 - 

Are you chasing after the past?

Old Bags of Bones

I laughed so hard reading Susannah Bianchi's article in the latest issue of More magazine. Susannah talks about what it's like to be a woman of a certain age. Here is a brief excerpt, just to give you a taste:

Just when I got my brows under control, my jaw began to sag. I was stunned. What about all those upward-facing dogs I do, or the series of facial exercises (which, I'll admit, look more like tics) I perform, without fail, every day on the bus? [ . . . ] I did what any other hysterical, hormonally challenged 50-year-old would do: I became possessed. I spent most of my time in front of the mirror on a reconnaissance mission, waiting for the other jaw to drop. Out of nowhere, I seemed to have little satchels under my eyes, and laugh lines when I wasn't laughing. Add these to the occasional hot flash and a vagina as dry as a bran muffin, and I'll show you a weepy woman up on a ledge. I thought of all the ways I could handle aging without actually going under the knife. I could become a recluse like Greta Garbo, buying my groceries at the all-night Food Emporium, or just pack up and move to Japan, where they respect the elderly. ~ 'How George Clooney Saved My Self-Esteem', More, January 2012 ~

You will need to read the whole piece to know how George saved Susannah . . .

I can relate to Susannah's moments in front of the mirror. Not that I spend too much time there. But, yes, I too have had my share of surprises this past year. A few months ago, my previously smooth chin started to show some uncharacteristic bumpiness. Worried about cancer, I rushed to the dermatologist and was told to not worry. "It is just part of aging. Your skin is sagging unevenly, that's what's creating the dimple in your chin". More recently, my left knee has been acting out. A scan revealed a torn meniscus, worn knee cap, and a bit of arthritis. Yes, there is no mistaking the downward slide taken by this body that I call 'mine'.  This body is increasingly feeling like an old bag of bones in need of more and more maintenance. 

Not a big deal really. 

Of course, I have my practice to thank for this relative ease with what is objectively a rather unpleasant process. Without the understanding, and the acceptance of the true nature of this human life, and of impermanence, who knows how I would react?

How do you feel about aging?

Two Strong Men

I encountered them in my dream. Two men from the Israeli commando forces. Handsome, and filled with youthful energy. I wondered aloud what they were doing in my world, and got a quick answer. "We have come to take care of business." Not an ounce of aggression in their voice, only steadfast determination. 

Starting with my authoritarian father, I grew up to become afraid of power, my own and that of others. Power usually meant anger, and fear of the other person's anger. It has taking me years to start owning what is rightfully mine: power decoupled from old situations, power infused with the positive qualities of strength, resolve, patience, and yes, love also. Not letting the past dictate what ought to be done in this moment. Letting go of the identity of the scared little girl. 

Being on the Buddhist path has been a mixed blessing in that regard. I have struggled to understand the true meaning of some of the teachings about loving kindness, and acceptance for instance. Between non harming and non action, not defending one self, lies an invisible line that I have crossed too many times. Being a woman, in a patriarchal universe, there is of course the added layer of gender, and what that does to one's relationship to power. Misconstrued dharma and disempowered feminine make for a toxic brew. The good news is mindfulness practice has enabled me to see more and more the devastating impact of unfounded fear on my ability to be happy. Fear stemming from an illusory sense of self, and slowly being brought to light for what it really is.

From a practice standpoint, I find it useful to reflect on the Buddha's Five Powers of:

Success 

Desire 

Persistence/Energy/Effort 

Intention, Mind, Thoughtfulness 

Investigation/Discrimination 

"Go ahead, do what you have to do." I am now living out my response to the two young men, and realizing the positive qualities of power, embedded in wisdom. Both internally, during the course of practice, and out into the world, at home, at work . . . 

The Way of the Feminine

Tale of a Woman on the Buddha's Path.

I am still processing dream from two nights ago, where I was in South East Asia, playing Cinderella . . . 

On my hand and knees, I am collecting with a small brush the human hair that has collected in a dirty red carpet leading to a business office. The job is tedious and unpleasant, and the brush ridiculously small compared to the amount of work to be done. I don't even have gloves, and have to pull all the hair out of the brush with my bare hands, into a bucket. A man with glasses comes out of the office and warns me that another bigger job awaits the next day, at another location by a large river. 

Being a woman on the Buddha's path is an interesting journey, one of increasing awareness, where the world is viewed under the double lens of the feminine and the Dharma.

It makes one more and more discerning of the wrongful ideas, conventions, and constructs that permeate our patriarchal world. The patriarchy is everywhere, including in Buddhist circles. When I told one of my teachers that I was going away on a retreat with famed rebel, elder, and teacher  Ruth Denison, his answer was, "You are!!! You know she talks all the time . . . " I wondered why so much contempt? Another teacher, a woman and a student of the first teacher, gave me a similar response, almost verbatim. The patriarchy feels threatened by strong women. 

The patriarchy also operates within lay institutions. One such example is in traditional mental healthcare, where the person is viewed as a patient to be fixed, with medications* preferably. The inequality in the doctor-patient relationship is flagrant and keeps striking me during my work as a psychotherapist, where I am often called to work in partnership with psychiatrists who are part of the medical establishment. There is hope however, including from men with a developed sense of the feminine. John Kabat-Zinn, Saki Santorelli in their work with Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, Dr. Allen Power as an advocate for humane dementia care, are example of such men leading the way and  transforming healthcare from the inside out.

Defying my teacher's contempt, I am leaving today for two-week retreat with Ruth Denison in her monastery, in the California desert. With the persons I am privileged to serve in psychotherapy, I continue to be their fierce advocate. I am also eagerly looking forward to bringing our Joy of Caring Mindfulness-Based Dementia Care approach into the mainstream of dementia care training for family and professional care partners. At Zen Hospice, I delight in serving the dying in a way that's in accord with their very needs, not those of a system that would like to deny the reality of death. And in this blog, and at the Huffington Post, I work relentlessly at highlighting some of the insidious thoughts that permeate the patriarchal way of thinking, and introducing a different way of meeting various situations, that is based on authenticity, and human connectedness. 

How do you fit within the patriarchy?

*Not that I am opposed to medications, for there are instances when medications can definitely help!

Where Are the Women?

In preparation for my upcoming two-week retreat with Ruth Denison, and fact that I will not be able to post on this blog during that time, I went to YouTube, looking for videos of inspiring women teachers to feature in my absence. The pickings were slim, to say the least, and I had a hard time coming up with enough videos to cover the whole fifteen days. The Tibetans seem to be best at getting their voices out, with Pema Chodron as leader of the pack, followed by Thupten Chodron and Tenzin Palmo. The Theravada and Zen sisters less so . . . 

This is in contrast to their male counterparts who appear to be more bold about letting themselves be seen and heard in the Buddhist online world. 

Yet another instance of detrimental feminine shyness! Contemporary Buddhist women teachers need to leverage the power of online and video technologies to let their voices be heard beyond just the limited audiences of their local sanghas.

A New Moment

From Katherine Rand, Buddhist blogger extraordinaire, this powerful video from Charlotte Selver, in my Facebook mailbox this morning:

Charlotte Selver was 101 at the time of the video. She was Ruth Denison's teacher, and the pioneer of Sensory Awareness. Charlotte's talk reminded me of something I wrote a year ago:

I just started this new practice. I call it the 'first time' love practice.

Imagine relating to your loved one as if you were meeting him or her for the 'first time'. Mind untainted by memories, good and bad from past encounters. And free of expectations regarding how things should and should not go between you two. Leaving all your baggage behind. Being totally present for each shared moment as it unfolds second after second.

New time, new experience. I look at him with virgin eyes, and I listen to him with open ears. As if meeting him for the 'first time'. Present moment as only reality. He's leaving his things behind, also. Fleeting thoughts come and cloud my view for a short while, and I brush them away, remembering they do not belong to now. Same with familiar feelings that threaten to weigh me down, if I am not careful. The desire to meet him is stronger. And I say to myself, the first time mantra, over and over, until I see him clearly, and I hear him well, again.

I have tried the other way before, and it hasn't worked. All that baggage was wearing me, us down.

Of course, sticky mind does not give up that easily . . . Since the time of my post, I have encountered many moments that felt like old moments.

I needed this timely reminder from Charlotte Selver.

Today, when I call my mother at her nursing home, and she repeats for the nth time, "So when are you coming?" I shall experience her question each time with fresh ears, and respond to her as if for the first time.

Will you join me in this practice?

In the Heat

Welcoming Anger and Letting it Do its Work of Positive Self-Transformation: a Crucial Part of Feminine Mindfulness.

Anger is not to be mistaken with ill-will, its close cousin. Anger, of the kind that has been visiting me more and more, is to be welcomed, not uprooted. 

The challenge lies in how to live skillfully with that anger. Not projecting it as it would be so easy to do, but owning it fully instead, and seeing it for what it is: a helpful force and a necessary step along the path of feminine actualization. I am finding Linda Schierse Leonard's analysis extremely helpful in that regard:

"Rage can release the wounded woman, for her wound has a burning center that stings and hurts. Some women repress the hurt and the anger that goes with it. And then that anger turns inward, perhaps in the form of bodily symptoms or depressive suicidal thoughts that paralyze their lives and their creativity. Others let their rage out, but run over people in the process. In their hurt, they hurt others. No matter in which direction the rage goes, it is unfocused, unformed, and explosive. But it also carries powerful energy which, if utilized well, could release their potentiality as women. Rage can be a central force fro redeeming the father and transforming the feminine . . . 

The rage needs to be recognized and released before it can be transformed . . .

How can the wounded woman connect with such powerful rage instead of being threatened and terrified of it? And how can she transform the rage into creative energy? In my experience, there are at least two stages: first getting the rage out and then transforming the power of the anger into creative energy . . . 

Quite often the wounded woman is afraid of the fire and energy raging within . . . Letting the rage out into the open with a burst of feeling can actually limit rage by releasing it. For rage can be an act of assertion that sets limits and establishes identity by saying, "I won't take any more of this!" Confronting the suppressed rage with rage  . . . 

Ultimately this expression of rage needs to be not only forceful but formed and focused effectively as well. And this conscious awareness of one's energy and how one wants to use ti may keep women from making those original false promises that keep them helpless. In learning to relate to their rage, they may raise the level of consciousness about the unresolved cultural rage which at worst leads to war and persecution . . . When women begin to become conscious of their rage, then the responsibility extends to giving it form and shape . . . The way to get access to all that energy is to wait patiently and approach it indirectly . . . To form the raging energy, it is necessary to gain access to it in its nondestructive aspect so that one does not become possessed by it. To do this takes patience and knowledge, i.e., waiting until the right time and knowing what that is . . . Knowing what is behind the rage is very important. And this takes conscious differentiation - differentiating from the experience of the rage and differentiating the various elements of the rage. That takes sorting out what part of the rage is the unsolved anger of the father, and what belongs to the woman herself and to the situation . . . To sort out what part of the rage really belongs to you and how much is the other person's, or the unsolved rage of the parent, or even the rage of the culture is an enormous task . . . Part of the forming is being able to contain what is to be formed . . . Containing the energy and forming it means not dissipating it in formless rage but asserting it creatively. And this might happen in a political act, a work of art, raising a child, relating, and most of all in being, in the quality of one's life.

Ultimately, the transformation of rage results in a strong woman who with her creative energy and feminine wisdom can contribute to her growth of herself, others, and the culture."

~ from 'The Wounded Woman' ~ 

Today, sitting, swimming, walking, going about with the fiery energy of anger as my almost constant companion, I got plenty of opportunities to practice. There was joy from being able to be with the anger, and from knowing that I was not possessed by it. Rather, I could see very clearly my part, and that from outside circumstances. There was wisdom in deciding to focus on the personal element, and letting go of the rest. There was love in choosing to not linger in hurtful mind states. No 'poor me', no 'you bastard', no helplessness, no wishing for what I have no control over . . . Rather, the conscious decision to practice loving kindness, both for myself and the outer source of irritation. There was strength in the deliberate channeling of the energy towards positive outcomes.

Holding the rage, with great love . . .

As a woman, how do you navigate the hot waters of anger? As a man, how does your rapport with anger shape your relationships with women? 

Living the Questions, Now

A few days ago, I found this quote from Rainer Maria Rilke:

"I would like to beg you, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, some day far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answers." 

~ as quoted by U Jotika, in 'Snow in the Summer' ~ 

I needed that wisdom . . .  Rilke helped put a halt to my need to figure things out.

And now, a collage, fresh from the unconscious, with more questions:

Earlier, I went for a walk with the dog. Walking, I repeated to myself, "May I be at peace, may I be at ease, may I be happy . . . "

May all beings be at peace, may all beings be at ease, may all beings be happy. It is September 11th after all.

Getting Ready For The Desert

More than two months away, . . . 

Subconscious, planning mind is in full gear, anticipating women's retreat with Ruth Denison in her desert abode.

Until then, of course, the real work is in practicing wise and kind attention to the now, as much as possible.

If Buddha Was a Woman

The Challenge of Detaching, From a Feminine Perspective.

Daughter number two left this morning early. I heard the sound of her suitcase being wheeled out on the concrete driveway. She was driving to meet up with her sister three hours away. The two of them are embarking on a cross-country adventure, ending at my oldest daughter's new school in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. 

Lying in bed, I noticed the time, 5.53 am. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Better instead, watch the body do its thing. Jaws clenching, stomach tying itself in a knot, heart pinched, arms becoming heavy, throat tightening. And thoughts to match, of all the things that could possibly go wrong during their upcoming trip. With the short-lived relief of being with a few breaths, here and there. 

I am a chronic worrier, just like my mother was before Alzheimer's did its job. Of the five hindrances, anxiety is my biggest enemy, and one I need to keep on investigating. Lying with it for two hours this morning, I was gifted with a few insights about the beast:

• One major culprit is mind's tendency to make up stories about future.
• Mind's wanderings is fueled by fear of grief and permanent loss.
• Mind deludes itself into thinking that it can use thoughts to control outcomes.
• Beneath rejection of impermanence, is clinging to foolish wish for a fixed state.
• When I go back to breath and present moment, anxiety lessens.
• If I am fully present with sadness and grief from actual situation, mind is less likely to wander.
• Just observing anxious state of mind is sufficient enough to bring some significant relief.
• Holding fear as mother would a scared child, is rather sweet.

The Buddha has his own take on the subject:

"What do you think, monks: is corporeality permanent or impermanent?" — "Impermanent, Lord." — "And what is impermanent, is it painful or pleasant?" — "Painful, Lord." — "What is impermanent, painful, subject to change, is it fit to be considered thus: 'This is mine, this I am, this is my self'?" — "Certainly not, Lord." — "What do you think, monks: Is feeling... is perception... are mental formations... is consciousness... permanent or impermanent?" — "Impermanent, Lord." — "And what is impermanent, is it painful or pleasant?" — "Painful, Lord." — "And what is impermanent, painful, subject to change, is it fit to be considered thus: 'This is mine, this I am, this is my self?" — "Certainly not, Lord."

"Therefore, monks, whatever corporeality, whether past, future, or present, in oneself or external, gross or subtle, inferior or superior, far or near — all corporeality should with right wisdom, thus be seen as it is: 'This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.'

"Whatever feeling... whatever perception... whatever mental formations... whatever consciousness, whether past, future or present, in oneself or external, gross or subtle, inferior or superior, far or near — all... consciousness should, with right wisdom, thus be seen as it is: 'This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self.'

"Seeing this, monks, the well-instructed noble disciple becomes disgusted with corporeality, becomes disgusted with feeling, with perception, with mental formations, with consciousness.

"Through his being disgusted, his passion fades away. His passion having faded, he is freed. 

~ Discourse on the Snake Simile: Alagaddupama Sutta (MN22) ~ 

The Buddha is very pragmatic. Why get attached to something that cannot be relied upon? I understand his point, intellectually at least.

I also think women have it a little harder than men. Women as bearers of the mother archetype are inherently set up for strong attachments, particularly to their children. This makes the job of detaching particularly challenging. I wonder if the Buddha's discourse would have been different, had he been a woman?

There is some wisdom in anxiety, after all.

How about you? What is your experience of being with anxiety? What have you learned?

20 Great Living Women Buddhist Teachers in America

Finally, after much research and deliberation, here is my humble attempt at a list of '20 Great Living Women Buddhist Teachers in America' (in alphabetical order):

1. Tsultrim Allione - Tibetan
2. Dale Asrael - Tibetan
3. Jan Chozen Bays - Zen
4. Pema Chodron - Tibetan
5. Thubten Chodron - Tibetan
6. Ruth Denison - Theravada
7. Christina Feldman - Theravada
8. Joan Halifax Roshi - Zen
9. Blanche Hartman - Zen
10. Anne C. Klein - Tibetan
11. Narayan Liebenson Grady - Theravada
12. Judith Lief- Tibetan
13. Kamala Masters - Theravada
14. Michele McDonald - Theravada  
15. Ayya Medhanandi- Theravada
16. Lama Palden - Tibetan
17. Yvonne Rand - Zen
18. Khandro Rinpoche - Tibetan
19. Sharon Salzberg - Theravada
20. Judith Simmer-Brown - Tibetan

Such a list can never be complete, nor perfect. I expect you will come up with more names and will volunteer them in comments section.

Sources:

• Twitter 'Twangha': @luminousheart @nalandawest @FullContactTMcG @zendirtzendust @robmac_ @preciousmetal @gary_blonder @electronicist @ommnane @dialogimed @dramaqueen82
• Top 10 Buddhist Teachers Living in America 
• Meetings With Remarkable Women: Buddhist Teachers in America
• Outstanding Women in Bhuddhism Awards
• 10 Most Influential Buddhist Women
• Who's Who of Buddhism

Where Is The Feminine?

As part of the research for my upcoming post on Great Living Women Buddhist Teachers in North America, I chanced upon this video of Lama Tsultrim Allione discussing the role of the feminine principle in our world. Being a woman, I am naturally drawn to that question. 

Throughout my life, I have certainly felt very deeply, the absence of the feminine values described by Tsultrim Allione:  

as a child in Catholic Sunday school, listening to the priest teaching about  God as a benevolent patriarch watching over all of the us,

as a student in engineering school, being part of 5% minority of women students,

as an advertising executive needing to ask for VP promotion, whereas my male counterpart was handled his on a platter,

as a daughter, feeling my mother's lack of esteem for herself as a woman in a men's world,

as a mother, when asked the question, "what do you do?" and being dropped out of the conversation when I admitted to 'just being a mom',

as a junior social worker, working in a hospital, and being paid as little as the housekeeper,

as a dweller in the Silicon Valley microcosm, being bathed in a world where money, greed and ambition supersede all else,

as an artist, struggling to get funding for public art project, and realizing that art comes last in terms of priorities, because if is not 'useful',

as a Buddhist, bumping against the patriarchy again, both in the ancient and present worlds of Buddhism,

as a citizen, seeing every day the effects of the feminine principle being trampled upon, as in the lack of mobilization against climate change,

. . .

We need more feminine voices like Tsultrim Allione.

Woman in Nature

From my days as an art therapist, I have kept the gift of collage as a self-visioning tool. Today, straight from the unconscious, almost exclusively, some images of women in the midst of nature. 

Not to be interpreted, but contemplated instead.

Malaise at Beaubourg

During my days as a conceptual artist, I used to enjoy contemporary art. A lot.

What a difference a few years can make . . . 

Yesterday during my visit of the elles@centrepompidou collection on the 4th floor  of the Centre Pompidou Museum, I felt a sudden urge to flee. A strong aversion to the so called works of art from contemporary women artists, bombarding me with their messages of angry, depressed, arrogant, cold feminism. Culminating with Betty Tompkins's Fuck Painting, a black and white photorealistic closeup of heterosexual intercourse, on a 7 by 5 feet canvas. And Sigalit Landau's Sado Hula's masochistic video performance of herself with a barbed wire hula hoop.

Not even Niki de Saint Phalle's fantastic Crucifixion could save the show . . .

Last night, I dreamed of a woman artist who was dying of brain cancer.

One Big Mistake

I just came back from listening to Gil's Sunday morning talk, on the value of meeting ourselves fully, including embracing the big mistake(s) in our lives, as a source of compassion and humility. Not dwelling on the past, and beating ourselves up, but rather moving forward, taking appropriate reparative actions with others we may have hurt, and making the necessary changes in ourselves, so that we do not keep on perpetuating the same mistake. Gil's talk was very timely, considering that I have been spending lots of time lately facing my big mistake, up close.

During recent week-long with Gil and Andrea, I encountered a part of myself that I did not expect. Every night, I met her in my dreams. And during the day, I felt the effects of her presence, as I sat with a whirlwind of emotions.  Anxiety, rage, fear, sadness, and grief, taking turn to keep me engaged, in my seat. 'Her' is the puella girl who refuses to grow up.

She has been a part of me, my entire adult life. And although I have known this on an intellectual level, it was not until I dwelled in mindful awareness, for hours on end during the retreat, that I started to actually relate to her in an intimate fashion. I saw her for who she is, a weak feminine presence, who does not believe in herself, and cannot figure out a way of her own.  She has come to rely on male authoritarian figures for her survival, and resents it. Although she may dazzle others with her brilliance, she never stays long enough anywhere, to reap the fruit from her efforts. She has become a burdensome presence in my life, whose detrimental effects are far reaching, both professionally and personally. 

After I came back home from the retreat, I reread Linda Schierse Leonard's chapter on The Eternal Girl, in her book, The Wounded Woman:

Ultimately, what is demanded of the puella in the process of self-transformation is to give up her clinging to girlish dependence, innocence, and powerlessness and to accept the strength which is already there - to really value herself. For if she accepts her power and strength, then her girlish innocence will show itself as youthful, feminine elan and vigor, as the spontaneity and openness to new experience that makes creativity and fruitful relationship possible. 

I really get it now. The time has come, to part with my puella friend. No less than my life, and the happiness of those around me, is at stake. Which brings me back to Gil's original point during his talk on compassion.  There is something incredibly humbling about owning one's big mistake, as I am doing. From Heal Thyself, by Saki Santorelli:

Compassion begins at home, with ourselves. Whether offering or seeking help, we are all wounded and we are all whole. 

Now, tell me, what is your big mistake? What can you learn from it? 

Under Her Black Cloak

Last night, I faced death, up close. Fear and dread, still very much present, I review the dream that visited me:

In a vast complex, she was waiting to be executed, along with all the other women in the building. Only fifteen more minutes before her time came. She was terrified but would not show it. Instead, she decided to adorn herself, and also to gather her personal belongings. Her plan was to go say goodbye to her husband and to leave her baggage with him. She came down the stairs, into the lobby where much activity was taking place. There, she ran into one of the executioners and his helper. The man wanted to know where she was going. Didn't she know she was supposed to be executed soon? The man appeared without any feeling at all. She reassured him, yes, she would be right back. At that very moment, though,  she experienced a change of mind. What was she thinking? No, she would not abide. She would fight for her life instead, and con her potential killers. She made her way towards the elevator to her husband's place. A large group of men, all seeming to have a good time, were gathered. She heard them discuss their imminent departure. Up on the higher floors, she found herself in a deserted maze of hallways, happy to find one man at last who knew where her husband was. She told her beloved about her plan to escape her deadly fate, and to elope, unseen. She would need to change her identity most likely, and would no longer be able to communicate with him. Maybe he and her could decide on a time and place  to meet, every year, in the chance that some day she might be completely free again? She left him, tearfully, and made her way out to safety, ending in the Arab quarter in Paris. There, a young  man agreed to help her and pretend to be her new husband. Under the protection of her black burka, she could lead her life again, safe from indiscreet eyes. 

To bear witness, she documented her journey in a secret diary. And all along,  she relied on her practice of mindfulness to carry her through her ordeal. After a very long time, she finally heard the much awaited news, that a coup had toppled down the rulers that had tried to kill her. That evening, she saw her husband appear on TV, asking for her to reconnect with him on Facebook.

Primal fear related to forces at war inside. The feminine experience of Mara. About risk that loving heart   may get annihilated by cold, power hungry masculine principle. Resourcefulness of feminine, that can con negative complex. Waiting it out, until it gets destroyed through practice of mindfulness.  The way back to the heart requires no less than complete sacrifice of all attachments - material things, self-identity, relationships. Not holding on, letting go. With the loving support from patient lover.

To you, my Dharma sisters, I ask, do you know that story?  

In One Spot

Things have been a bit rough on the home front, as of late. During such times, I turn to Uttama, my elder sister, for comfort:

Four times, five, I ran amok from my dwelling,

having gained no peace of awareness,

my thoughts out of control.

So I went to a trustworthy nun.

She taught me the Dhamma:

aggregates, sense spheres, and elements.

Hearing the Dhamma,

I did as she said.

For seven days I sat in one spot,

absorbed in rapture and bliss.

On the eighth, I stretched out my legs,

having burst the mass

of darkness.

And like her, I sit in one spot, absorbed in ebbs and flows of breath. Body, dissolved. Heart, cracked wide open. Mind, clear.

The Gift of Beauty

Perched on top of the stupa marking the site of ancient Kapilavastu, I watched the dancing colored dots of women heading home to their village for the evening. And I admired the beauty of their graceful stride, and feminine attires.

One unforeseen outcome of my trip to India, has been a radical change in the way I dress. Gone, the boring practicality of jeans, black Petit-Bateau tops, and neutral sweaters, that used to be my everyday uniform. Instead, I am finding great joy in emulating the effortless femininity of Indian women, adorning myself every morning, with a colorful Indian top and scarf to match, worn over a skirt and black leggings. I leave the best part for the end. Mindfully, I pick up the sandalwood mala bracelet I purchased in Bodhgaya, and I wrap it around my wrist, and savor for an instant, the sweetness of its subtle fragrance.  Utterly woman, I feel. I am now ready to start the day.

In the pool's locker room, an elderly woman compliments me on my skirt. "You are looking sharp today". I tell her about  my new resolution to dress like a girl, and how I ditched my old pants. She lights up. "My husband told me he prefers me in dresses. That was a long time ago, but I never followed up. You are giving me some ideas. How about bicycling with a dress? How do you manage?" No problem, I assure her, that's what the leggings are for. "Where can I get those?" She wants to know, she is on a mission now. "That was an important conversation", says she, as she heads out. 

Dressing nice is an act of love.

The Gift of Old Age

It hit me last night, as I washed my face. There, close up in the mirror, in plain sight for me to see, the subtle pooling of tiny wrinkles around my mouth. Over the years, I have drawn much contentment from my youthful looks. Got good genes, that way! Still, time marches on, and old age is on its way. It's not just the new lines on my face. There are also the pains and aches, more frequent, more persistent. The having to give up certain favorite activities because of knees, then back,  . . .

To be confronted with the reality of old age, and more sickness, and death getting closer for sure, has actually been a blessing. It has brought a sense of urgency, and also greater reality, into how to view my life. A radical change of attitude was in order, and the only sensible way that spoke to my heart and mind, both, has been the Buddha's path.

In the Footsteps of the Elder Nuns

I have spent a lot of time lately, immersed 'In the Buddha's Words: An Anthology of Discourses from the Pali Canon', by Bhikkhu Bodhi. This morning was the part where The Blessed One addresses householders, meaning lay folks like you and I. An interesting smorgasbord of patriarchal rants, mixed in with some good Dharma talk, which then led to an interesting thread on Twitter between @crazywisdom, @josephzizys, and myself:

minddeep: Continuing reading of 'In the Buddha's Words' - interesting to note Buddha's dated views on gender roles . . .

crazywizdom: although, to be fair, we don't know what the #Buddha said. We just have "the echoes of echoes" - as one C.19th #tibetan lama said

minddeep: I wish I could go back in time & hear firsthand what Buddha actually said, minus filter of male transcribers

crazywizdom: interesting #Buddhist text to be aware of is the therigatha - thought to be the songs of realisation of the 1st female arhats :-)

josephzizys: Here is the whole thing translated by one of the greatest Buddhist scholars of the Victorian era http://bit.ly/4x2MT4

josephzizys: And it is a fantastic and harrowing collection of real, humble and courageous womens experience of enlightenment.

Needless to say, I had to leave the Buddha, and spend some time in the company of the Elder Nuns, instead. And what a spiritual feast it was! Joseph was right. Ubbiri, the grieving mother,  Baddha Kapilani, the old woman, Vimala, the ex-prostitute, Mittakali, the wanderer, Canda, the homeless, Anopama, the millionaire's daughter, Gotami, the Buddha's stepmother, Gutta, the childless one, Punnika, the servant, . . . and my favorite, Mutta, the one who leaves her crooked old husband behind:

So freed! So thoroughly freed am I! 

from three crooked things set free:

from mortar, pestle,

and crooked old husband.

Having uprooted the craving  

that leads to becoming,

I'm set free from aging and death.

Women, young and old, rich and poor, single and married, with or without children . . . Women from all walks of life, who touched me with the rawness of their honest tales about their liberation, all told straight from the heart.  Ordinary women, just like me, who make the path to enlightenment, seem so much more approachable.