Spinning With the Four Elements

During the retreat, I got to practice mindfulness of the four elements, as explained in the Four Foundations of Mindfulness Sutta:

[One] contemplates this very body — however it stands, however it is disposed — in terms of properties: 'In this body there is the earth [solid] property, the liquid property, the fire [hot and cold] property, and the wind property.'

Walking the Covered Bridge trail near Cloud Mountain, I noticed the earth against my feet, and I saw the tall trees, and the big rocks, standing still, weighed down with seemingly complete solidity. There was also the gently cool breeze taking turn with the hot sun against my cheeks, and the sight of leaves dancing with the wind. And in the morning, the dew from the blades of grass on the path, that made my feet wet, just a little. 

The four elements. One can decide on just one, and keep one's awareness on that one only. Or, one can  simply notice whichever is most prominent at any moment. 

This morning, back to my daily exercise routine at the Y, I played again with the four elements. Sensing the solidity of the bike handles under my hands, and the pedals supporting my feet. Feeling the rising heat from body working hard, and once in a while the cool air from the nearby fan. Breath getting increasingly labored, forcing more and more air in and out. And, after a while, droplets of sweat, to remind me of the liquid nature of this body. 

However your body stands, however it is disposed, it is always possible to practice the four elements. According to Leigh, this practice can help us break down the appearance of solidity in one's body, other bodies and other things. It is a tool for experiencing not-self. I also found it a very grounding practice. 

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 . . . 

Breaking the Rules

I heard from the Dhamma Dena sangha that Ruth had broken her arm, and that she was recovering just fine. My thoughts were with her often today. Such a formidable teacher she is . . . I have been meaning to share this video I took of her recounting the now famous episode during which she was asked to leave the U Ba Khin tradition:

Thank you Ruth for breaking the rules. Thanks to you, I and many others have been able to discover and appreciate the benefits from walking meditation. Not just sitting . . . 

Just Cool It!

(Back from two and a half week retreat with Ruth Denison, at Dhamma Dena Desert Vipassana Center, I am devoting the next few weeks to sharing Ruth's wonderful teachings.)

Ruth Denison, Teaching the Subtleties of Walking Meditation - Part II

This is the second in a three-part series of posts on walking meditation, as taught by Ruth. Here she sprinkles her teaching with a good dose of her habitual wit, telling us to "Just cool it!" and not get too excited about enlightenment . . . :)

Walking, walking everywhere with great thoroughness in our attention. 

You Have to Be Fast

(Back from two and a half week retreat with Ruth Denison, at Dhamma Dena Desert Vipassana Center, I am devoting the next few weeks to sharing Ruth's wonderful teachings.)

Ruth Denison, Teaching the Subtleties of Walking Meditation.

"First let us stand and notice: just standing. What are the sensations?" 
"Then let's do a few movements to loosen up before we start."
"And now we start walking in circle." 
"Notice 'Lifting - forward - placing'". 
I have heard the same instructions before, from other teachers, but Ruth has a way of saying things that make them stick. This time, I am listening as if for the first time, and am able to really focus on the movements of each foot. Feeling "Lifting - forward - placing". I get into a rhythm with the rest of the group, as we move slowly inside the zendo. 
"Did you notice which lands first, the toes or the heel?" Ruth is urging us to become more precise. "How about the knees?" "And the shift of the weight with each step?" 
Ruth steps out of our circle and grabs a maracas. She asks us to walk to the rhythm of various beats. "Are you listening?" True listening is hard. It requires letting go of thoughts.

Then, Ruth takes us outside, and launches into a brilliant demonstration of how to handle thinking during the course of walking - in response to question from me:

Walking slowly, seeing, thinking, feeling the caress of the desert breeze and the intense heat from the afternoon sun . . . meanwhile being fast, with the mind.

Back and Forth

A combination of restless mind and unhappy back had me do lots of walking, back and forth, throughout the day.

Each step

taking it slow,

welcoming the contact

with steady ground.

First the heel,

then the outer edge,

the ball of the foot,

and last, the toes.

Sucking up 

all the coolness 

from beneath.

A different take on the traditional practice of walking meditation. Different impetus. Same outcome of mind, calmed, and body, happy from no longer sitting. 

Green Grass and Beyond

Ground unfolding, 

in front, with each step. 

A break in the cement, 

gives way 

to a patch of green grass.

Soon I  see,

only a patch of green, 

then just a patch 

with no name attached, 

then just 'it'.

Tears stream down,

oh so sweet,

from being one

with 'it', 

with everything.

PS -  Sayádawgyi U Sìlánanda, gave a great talk on this, in Concept and Reality 

Trying Too Hard

Gil offered this simple concentration technique for our walking meditation:

Use counting as you walk slowly back and forth. Give one count to each step, to actively encourage being present for that one step. Keep track of count as you go, counting up to 5, then start over, this time counting until 6. Then over, until 7. Then over, until 8. Then over, until 9. Then over, until 10. Then back down to 9, then down to 8, then down to 7, . . . then down to 5. Start over from beginning, starting with count up to 5, . . . Throughout, making sure that count is soft and relaxed, but also committed. If you lose count, don't worry, just start again from the beginning. And observe how it carries over into subsequent sitting meditation.

I took Gil's instructions to heart. I was going to make it through the 45', without skipping a count. Counting, counting . . . easy at first, surprising myself by how good I am with this. After a while, boredom, and a glance at the clock. 30 more minutes to go. I concentrate even harder, not enjoying process really. Feeling strain in the brain. Looking at the clock more and more often. Meanwhile keeping up still. I am going to make it to the end. Never mind nascent headache. I notice some people taking a break, and having some tea. Not me! Counting, counting, competitive streak is taking charge. By the end of the session, I inherit dim satisfaction from drill well done, and discomfort from full blown headache.

I tell Gil about the strain from concentrating so hard, and the headache. His answer: "You were trying too hard. It is supposed to have the opposite effect. You should be feeling relaxed afterwards, not more tense." Interesting how I took on the 'committed' part of Gil's instructions, and used it to feed my natural tendency towards competitiveness.

An Intimate Walk With the Heart

Breath, breath, and steps, and the jingle from Bailey's tag. I have just set out for another fast walking meditation. Heart takes over, quickly with lots of emotion. Labeling mind pops in, wonders what's this? love, grief, . . . No, not the point. I remember Gil's instruction this past Wednesday:

Need to focus on body felt awareness. Take awareness into felt sense. Come down from control tower of attention. Do not hold oneself at a distance. Don't treat what is happening inside as object to manipulate, think about, do something about. And do not ignore control tower either. Make room for it in awareness. (Not exact words, just my notes)

And so I just walk, with the thing in my heart. Feeling it in its whole, inside the vast expanse of chest cavity. Heavy, deep breaths, from moving fast. Grateful for gift of friendship, presence to myself. Full heart, fleeting thoughts from fluid mind, blood flowing from energized body, rain drops, smell of rotting leaves,  comfort of Bailey at my side. . . All taken in. Heart wants to speak. Love words.

Hard Work and Reward from Right Effort

Inspired by today's Dharma Practice Day with Gil Fronsdal, on topic of 'right effort', I decided to go 'naked' on walk with Bailey. No audiodharma talk to keep me entertained. Only dog, and myself. I could feel vague unease. Best thing was to go and investigate. Right effort . . .

Boredom, feeling boredom. Maybe taking a different route will help. Bailey wonders what's up, wants to turn right, as usual. I pull at her leash, annoyed. Yep, there is frustration also. Boredom, frustration . . . and breath, and fast steps. Sound of quick breaths draws my attention, temporarily. And so does nature's call for Bailey. Trying to focus on the task of unknotting plastic bag from her leash. Almost welcoming the poop pickup. Anything to not feel the unpleasantness.

Wise mind intervenes, suggests mindfulness, instead of avoidance. Thought, I don't like this, turns into, I don't like being with myself. Oh! such an old feeling. I chronicled similar encounter on this blog, not too long ago. Something about self-love, talk with Gil about it. Importance of loving one self . . . Bailey, oblivious to the internal drama, turns back, and looks up, wanting to make sure I am still there. I mumble a feeble "Bailey", and reassure her with gentle tap on the head. Feeling summons me back, urgently. I get a clear sense of distinct physical presence. It's no longer just me and dog, but depressed, lonely, self also.

There is something comforting about the three of us taking a walk in the dawning darkness of this winter evening. It feels right, for one. Also, resistance has left me completely, and I am now willing to entertain my sad friend for as long as needed. Feeling the depression, completely with each breath, each step. Giving it room, as much as it needs. Not trying to understand where it's coming from. Breathing, walking, feeling the feeling. Until, I notice feeling gone. Only breath, walking, and dog pulling on her leash, wanting to go home.

Tonight, right effort was about honoring mindfulness vow, and favoring direct, mindful experience of unpleasantness, as opposed to escaping into false pretense of listening to dharma talk.

Gifts From Another Day at the Hospice

I had planned to share the recipe for my carrot and fennel salad, and at the same time, write about the virtue of practicing mindfulness while mincing carrots. That was last night, during a tranquil moment in the kitchen, and before I went back to Hospice of the Valley for a second round of volunteer training.

Six hours spent learning about symptom management, and universal precautions, and hospice patients and their diagnosis, and death awareness, invited a strong emotional reaction that I could not ignore. Rather than sitting, I chose to take Bailey out for a long walk on the Stanford campus. My body needed a break after a whole day spent in the hospice's conference room.

Step after step, I kept being brought inside. First meeting what felt like anger, although I wasn't so sure. Hardly any thoughts. Only feeling, and breath, and tug from the dog. Lingering anger, begging for attention. Soon joined by sadness. Heaviness in the chest, tightness in the throat. Powerful stuff. Temptation to resolve with thinking, and interpretation. No, I knew better. Back to the breath, and each step.

Tonight, I feel grateful for this day at the hospice, being exposed to the reality of life, and death. And for the emotions that got stirred up as a result. Another door opening inside . . .