Not Just at Hospice

From Zen Hospice training I have taken these three precious gems:

Sit

Breathe

Listen

and carried them around with me everywhere, all week. 

Sitting, not always literally, as in taking the time to settle into each moment, fully. There is a grounded-ness to be had there, that says, yes, I am here in this place, at this moment. I sit while I walk. I 'sit' while I drive. I 'sit' while I am talking to someone. I 'sit' everywhere, nowadays . . . 

Breathing, as a way of staying anchored in the body. I can't say enough about the gift of belly breath. So much calmness to be drawn from each breath, rising and falling in the belly. Breath has become my constant companion, my best friend, that can help me survive even the most turbulent circumstances.

Listening, as in paying attention to self, and all the thoughts, and emotions, and sensations that arise, moment to moment. Listening, as in keeping eyes, and ears, and all the other sense organs fully open to receive others. This often means talking less, and putting aside the chattering 'I'. 

Three simple things, that can change your life, and the lives of those around you!

Part of the Program

I finally got around to listening to Paul Haller's entire talk on Practice as Process. And I am very glad I did. His way of normalizing the daily 'grind' of practice experience is most helpful for novices like me. In the back of my mind, still floats the fantasy that, if only I got my act together, and I was not so flawed, I would not have to deal so often with difficult mind states. Not so, says the teacher. The struggle is part of the program. Our responsibility is to meet the moment, no matter how challenging, with patience, kindness, curiosity, honesty, and compassion. And to not fall into the temptation to anesthetize the discomfort through going numb, or distracting ourselves. 

This is not the first time I hear this discourse. Gil Fronsdal, Jack Kornfield, Sylvia Boorstein, Sharon Salzberg, and pretty much every other teacher I have come across . . . all say the same thing. I just keep on forgetting. 

Hanging in There

I made a new friend this morning in the YMCA locker room. She and I got to talk about meditation. She tried it once, she said, but decided it wasn't for her. "I could not sit, I got restless . . ." The ability to sit with anxiety, or any other unpleasant emotion, does not come naturally, and its lack thereof is one of most often cited reasons for not pursuing meditation. Speaking from my own experience,  I know it is also one the greatest challenges of day to day meditation practice. How to continue to be mindful, through the grief, and the powerlessness, and the fear, and the anger, and the myriad of difficult emotions that are an integral part of human living? This begs the question of how to cultivate that important quality, what Norman Fischer refers to as forbearance:

Though it is not very popular or exciting, forbearance is the greatest of all spiritual qualities, because without it all other good qualities, intentions, insights, and powers will be wipe away as soon as the first leopard, serpent, or boar appears in the vicinity. You can be strong, intelligent, kind, say your prayers every day, meditate till your legs fall off. You can have beautiful spiritual experiences, meet God face to face, serve your neighbor with compassion and zeal. You can be creative and talented in many ways. But if you are not ready and able to hang in there when conditions suddenly and fiercely change, then your spiritual practice, however devoted or brilliant it may be, is in the final analysis pretty useless. It's the changes, the constant shifts and sudden reversals, that prove us, so we ought to appreciate them, even look forward to them, unpleasant though they may be at times, for it is thanks to them that we are forced to develop forbearance. 

 The Chinese ideograph for forbearance is a heart with a sword dangling over it, another instance of language's brilliant way of showing us something surprising and important fossilized inside the meaning of a word.

Vulnerability is built into our hearts, which can be sliced open at any moment by some sudden shift in the arrangements, some pain, some horror, some hurt. We know and instinctively fear this, so we protect our hearts by covering them against exposure. But this doesn't work. Covering the heart binds and suffocates it until, like a wound that has been kept dressed for too long, the heart starts to fester and becomes fetid. Eventually, without air, the heart is all but killed off, and there's no feeling, no experiencing at all.

To practice forbearance is to appreciate and celebrate the heart's vulnerability, and to see that the slicing or piercing of the heart does not require defense; that the heart's vulnerability is a good thing, because wounds can make us more peaceful and more real - if, that is, we are willing to hang on to the leopard of our fear, the serpent of our grief, the boar of our shame, without running away or being hurled off. Forbearance is simply holding on steadfastly with whatever it is that unexpectedly arises: not doing anything; not fixing anything (because doing and fixing can be a way to cover up the heart, to leap over the hurt and pain by occupying ourselves with schemes and plans to get rid of it). Just holding on for dear life. Holding on with what comes is what makes life dear. 

Today, is about hanging on to the leopard of fear. It started on the dentist's chair, and has stayed with me on and off ever since. Fear of the root canal tomorrow, that rejoins all the other fears, big and small, that are attached to some of my present life circumstances. Heart open wide, breathing in, breathing out . . . through the fear.  

The Call of Now

This afternoon, driving to pick up my daughter, I seized the opportunity to finish listening to Paul Haller's recent talk on 'Practice as Process'. I have been intent on becoming acquainted with him, since he will be my teacher for the year to come at San Francisco Zen Center. Usually eager mind surprised me though, as it, for once, refused to cooperate. I was hearing Paul Haller's words, but could not make sense of them. Heart was tugging at me, asking to be noticed. There was no room for thoughts. In what felt like a radical gesture, I turned off my iPhone. 

Driving to pick up my daughter, I just sat with my heart, and welcomed the grief inside. And paid attention to the road.

Driving to pick up my daughter, I felt at one with the now. Just right.

Practice as process. :)

The Power of Felt Powerlessness

Visiting the Total Care Unit at Laguna Honda Hospital yesterday, stirred things up in me, that I am only starting to comprehend now. The sight of men and women, trapped in their bodies, and unable to do anything for themselves, even breathing, resonated with buried part that keeps me bound, despite my will. 

Hands still, mouth shut, 

I sit and feel

the powerlessness from long time ago.

First grade, oblivious,

I want to walk about and play,

not sit and read.

I will teach you, she says,

and sits me down,

and ties my hands behind my back,

and puts tape over my mouth.

Powerless, I want to kick and scream.

Will someone please rescue me?

Powerlessness, dissolving under the light of bare awareness . . . What Jack Kornfield describes in his chapter on 'The Ancient Unconscious', in 'The Wise Heart'. 

A Precious Moment

Tonight marks the end of Zen Hospice training. Taking a walk on Stanford campus, I stopped to sit, and capture a precious moment:

Too tired to think,

there is only heart,

heavy with grief,

my own, and that of others,

met in the wards,

waiting for death.

Burden floating,

in sea of calm awareness,

and gratitude

for wisdom gained.

At once, I see 

the air, warm with Spring,

that brushes me, gently.

I am so lucky.

Stephen Batchelor's Response On the Four Noble Truths

I just got an email back from Stephen Batchelor regarding my recent post on 'Reconstructing the Four Noble Truths', inspired by his recent talk at IMC. Here is his response:

'I’ve just read your blog and can confirm that, yes, you got it. I’ve been trying to get this idea across for a long time now; it is basically all I’ve been teaching – though I admit that my own understanding keeps developing (I hope) so my way of expressing it also changes. What surprises me is how few people are able to retain the idea after they’ve heard me talk about the four truths in this way, and quickly revert to the default orthodox view again. It can’t be because my interpretation is difficult to grasp – if anything, it is far simpler and more economical than the traditional one, so it must be because of some attachment formed out of habit over time to the usual view. I plan to write a book-length study of the first sermon at some point. Maybe that will help shift the pack-ice of fixed thinking.'

Since writing that earlier post, I have been giving a lot more thought to Stephen Batchelor's interpretation of the Four Noble Truths, and I must admit, part of me keeps getting confused, between his view, and what he calls 'the default orthodox view' that is part of contemporary mainstream Buddhist teachings. My hunch is a lot of the debate has to do with semantics, around the interpretation of the various levels of dukha. The way I see it, there is 'primary dukha' (my own words), or unsatisactoriness with life's inherent unpredictability, and impermanence. This primary dukkha causes us to seek some escape routes, in the form of cravings for anticipated, more pleasurable states. This, I feel, is Stephen Batchelor's primary contribution, as recognized by him in his response above. Paradoxically, this strategy results in added dukkha, what I call 'secondary dukkha'. This is akin to popular distinction made in Buddhist circles, between inevitable pain, and optional, added suffering from lack of acceptance of the pain. Where that view gets a bit twisted in my opinion, is in the logic commonly used to interpret the connection between the first and second noble truths. That logic says, cravings are the cause of suffering/dukkha, not the result of it. Based on my own personal experience, this is a wrong view. Cravings are the natural inclination in response to primary dukkha. They are also the cause of secondary dukkha. The wise approach as expressed in Four Noble Truths consists in knowing and fully embracing life's primary dukkha, and adopting Eightfold Path as alternative strategy to pursuit of cravings. Cultivating detachment from all earthly experiences that are inherently flawed with built in dukha, and pursuing instead unconditioned happiness. I am reminded of Thanissaro Bkikkhu's recent remark, something to the effect of, "It is worth foresaking small short-term happinesses, for the sake of long-term happiness".