I Vow to Make Mistakes With GUSTO!

The image in my mind is of an Olympic gymnast, making an absolute train wreck of some ending part of her routine, recovering to a minimal degree, then doing that TA-DA! move anyway. TA-DA! with the arms way up. TA-DA! to this side of the room, TA-DA! to that side of the room. Apparently that's called "sticking the landing".

I looked on YouTube for a gymnast moment like this, but ended up being fairly traumatized by some videos of really serious gymnast injuries. I don't recommend it.

But then I found this. "How to Stick the Landing." Someone with some video skill had the same idea. TA-DA! with every success, and TA-DA! with every mistake. Don't just meet mistakes, but greet mistakes!

All you need is

1) Coordination

2) Shamelessness

and 3) The ability to laugh at yourself.

How To Stick the Landing on Howcast

I am actually pretty coordinated. It's #2 and #3 that need a little more practice.

I vow to stick the landing.

Enjoy.

A Tribute to Claire

My mom turns 76 today. She is from that cohort that would go to any lengths to lie about her age, and for years I had no idea how old she was. She even made herself a couple years younger on my birth certificate! Nowadays she says she lies in the other direction, telling people she's 85, so they remark about how great she looks for 85.

My mom loves baseball. And her mother before her. My grandmother used to take my mom out of school to watch the St Louis Cardinals play. Then my mom would fill her diary with baseball statistics. She still keeps score at games, and so do I.

Claire keeping score

My mom loves dogs. She talks for dogs and gives them all their own unique voices and accents. We had a standard-sized dachshund when I was little who had a German accent. I think dogs love her because they know she can read their minds. My mom can also speak Horse and Cat.

"Dolly" by CC Fawcett

Her dad, my grandfather, was an artist for Ralston Purina, and painted dogs for a living. She grew up among dog show people, and is one herself. She is authorized to judge Kerry Blue Terriers and a few other breeds. She married my dad, a veterinarian. That was probably the next best thing to marrying a baseball player.

My mom loves me -- she has observed me making choices in my life that I am sure make absolutely no sense to her. She is a seriously conservative Republican lady. My dad says she's "to the right of Ghengis Khan", which is a slight exaggeration. There are topics that my mom and I have no need to or interest in discussing, and we probably cancel each other's votes out in any election (my mom is also a die hard poll worker). One thing that probably worked in our favor was that politically and as a parent, she believed in laissez-faire. I think that I am among the last generation of kids who got to grow up roaming the neighborhoods until the streetlights went on. Actually, to call us in, she would honk the horn of the giant gold Oldsmobile Delta 88 (the "golden oldie"), and you could hear that for miles around.

She worries for me because Buddhism is really not about taking Jesus as a personal Lord and Savior. But I think in her quiet moments she can probably find some confidence about life and the afterlife working out okay for me. She has managed to communicate to me -- subtly and without a lot of sentimentality -- that she'd love me if I belonged to a Satanic cult. She would never say it in those words, but she has communicated it. A small pat on the shoulder when she's walking by communicates volumes in the WASP world. And she had a blast at my big fat Zen wedding (my dad, on the other hand, a slightly different story).

Ah, family.

She does worry a lot, and is a gentle person, afraid of pain, and has never gotten her ears pierced because of this.

She is also generous, and routinely holds up traffic to let other cars merge. She would always drive a small handful of my grade school softball team home from our games and stop at McDonald's for a snack on the way.

Once they got to know her, whether they were grade school or high school or even now, my friends will usually come to a similar conclusion that goes something like, "Your mom is so cool!" Not the cool let-you-get-away-with-anything-kind of cool. My curfew was 11:30pm until I went away to college. But the appreciate-the-beings-visiting-this-house-and-listen-to-them-kind of cool.

She is smart and funny, and loves a play on words, a crossword puzzle, a Tom Swifty, and can still speak damn-near fluent Spanish after only a few years of high school Spanish.

She is thrifty, and was recycling way before it was cool.

She is seriously into gardening, and I would not be surprised if she starts bowhunting deer from her rooftop to keep them from eating her roses. She asked for a chainsaw for her birthday one year -- relatively recently-- so she could clear out some brush in the back yard. She knows the names of most iris, which is her all-time favorite flower. When I took her to the iris gardens here in the Pacific Northwest, and she saw the sprawling acres and acres of blooming iris in ridiculous variety and color, she whispered to me, "It's even better than I thought it would be!"

So Happy Birthday Claire! Not everybody gets to have such an awesome mom. I am very glad you are my mom.

Exuberant Helpers

From innocent donuts, a wonderful post from my backyard, Providence St Vincent Hospital in Portland, OR.

Let me just take this opportunity to encourage some exploration of the pink-ification of breast cancer, the amazing organization Breast Cancer Action and their campaign, "Think Before You Pink", and the speech I heard Barbara Ehrenreich give in 2001 that got me questioning the value of all these pink ribbons, and her latest article on the subject. This is what I consider breast cancer awareness.

Nevertheless, this video is irresistible. Especially when viewed through this lens:

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
~Mister Rogers

My Mind Is A 2-Year-Old Black Lab That Eats Poop

Woof originally uploaded by Jim Sneddon

This latest retreat was helpful to some degree in clarifying something about right effort. My Puritan roots tend to give me the default mode of over-effort, striving, and being quite mistrustful of anything that is not at least a little uncomfortable. This applies to meditation as well.

Hold It Tight originally uploaded by jbelluch

Also revealed were some unarticulated expectations I had tucked away: "This retreat will require less effort because there will be so much outdoor meditation. It will be easier." In some ways this was true. Someone else noted at the week's end that just feeling a breeze on the face during sitting provides such a pleasant focus for the mind. And indeed, listening to the tiny creatures rustling around in the forest, the mind just zooms right in. Someone else half-jokingly mentioned that they weren't sure this really counted as Zazen because it was so joyful! But does pleasantness make it easier? Does nature do our Zazen for us? If we sit outside and drift around in thought, is that any different than doing so in the Zendo?

Blades and Droplets originally uploaded by surfonaut

Chozen brought in a wonderful metaphor for Sesshin: You can't fix your car while you are driving around on the freeway. You have to drive it into the garage, turn it off, open the hood, and take some time to look and learn about how it works. The carburetor = the breathing system. The fuel injection = mindful eating, and so on.

Lucky Motors Bermondsey originally uploaded by MairiMcCann

So if this is true, then my mind wants to read Consumer Reports over and over. On this retreat, I was able to more closely observe some of my mind's favorite habits. This was a little easier to do, since I recalled previously cataloguing them after a Sesshin last September. In fact, here is the outline, and aside from the worries over the geriatric dog, now passed away, everything is just about the same:

I. What is everybody going to think of me?
A. Oh My God, I'm doing it wrong
1. Rehearse
2. Replay

II. Judging
A. Making up stories
B. Guilt about judging

III. Miscellaneous
A. Repetitive songs
B. Sudden thoughts of hilarity
C. Sudden thoughts of catastrophe
1. Health status of geriatric dog at home
2. US / World politics and economics
3. Health / mental health status of husband currently working in US politics.

I was thoroughly bored with myself and the above litany by evening of the first full day. It has previously taken me until about day 3 to get that bored with myself. There were no discoveries; just the same discursive mind. It's repetitive, it's annoying, it causes jolts of anxiety. And it's apparently highly addictive.

Hi, my name is Laura, and I'm addicted to self-making. The Pali word for which I learned from Ajahn Amaro in June: "Ahamkara." Self-making. There's supposed to be a little dot under the 'm' to indicate that the 'm' is actually pronounced with the sound "ng". "a-HANG-ka-ra". Short 'o' sound on the second syllable. Great word. Nice to have a word for something I do pretty much all the time.

Girl Doll and Clock originally uploaded by runran

I had a rather negative interaction with someone early in the week. And this was what my mind settled upon to obsess about. How could they talk to me like that? Aren't they supposed to be more skillful than that? Replay, replay, replay. How will I respond to them when I come out of Sesshin? Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

Bo-RING!

Broken Record originally uploaded by Mista Kingasaur

It is amazing how bored I was with this, and yet, it persisted for days. I would catch myself in it, even after deciding once and for all that I would piously let it go, and NOT in fact talk to the person or anyone about it. Up it came anyway, like bad indigestion. I tried labeling it, giving it room, smiling at it. On and on it went.

Then I began to think of it more like poop. I was still catching myself churning about this brief conversation days and days later. It was like returning to analyze the long-digested and expelled breakfast of 3 and 4 and 5 days ago. And as if that is not gross enough, all the while, there is a gorgeous forest setting all around me, with chirping birds and crickets and breezes and swaying trees and bamboo and loveliness that keeps getting pushed to the edge of awareness. For thinking that is equivalent to poop.

green bamboo leaves originally uploaded by surfonaut

It became clear that I needed to take some steps to respond to this mind's broken-record antics. So I redoubled my effort at the primary practice -- at that point it was listening -- and I started using some of the tools that have been effective for me in dealing with repetitive discursive thinking.

One that is especially good for my repetitive rehearsing and replaying of conversations, is to imagine myself and whomever else as finger puppets. Then, in as much detail as I can imagine, really having the conversation between the finger puppets. Often the ridiculousness of this is enough to take the energy out of it. Then returning to the primary practice.

Tara and Finger Puppet Theatre originally uploaded by dimitrij

Another tool is that I sometimes imagine the sword of Manjushri dramatically cutting the line of thinking, Samurai warrior style, complete with internally yelling the word "No!" Then return to the primary practice.

Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom originally uploaded by Wonderlane

I was surprised I needed to bring these out. I had not expected to be so plagued, and for my mind to be so hypnotized by this content that it would drown out even the idyllic monastery grounds.

Misty Rain Sunbeam Log originally uploaded by opalmirror

I ended up saying "No" so many times, that it reminded me of training a dog. Which immediately allowed me a soft patience with myself and my mind, because I love dogs and all of their honest, wholehearted ways. I decided that my mind was most like a 2-year-old black lab that has had some training, looks like an adult dog, knows a few basic commands, but still has a lot of puppy energy. "Sit? Okay. Done. Now run around, right? Chew on stuff? Oh, sit again, okay. Done. Now run around, right?"

crazy dog originally uploaded by Phil Romans

One that likes to eat poop, and will do so whenever it can get away with it because it simply can't resist. One that can tell exactly when you are just saying "no" and when you actually mean "no" and have some behavioral intervention with which to back those words up. I don't have to be harsh. I don't have to be cruel. I don't have to extend too much effort. Just enough effort. And to be consistent. To follow my intention with action.

It appears my mind, too, is prepared to respond to my practice only as much as I mean it. Even in a delightful forest setting. I can sit there and sure wish I had a quiet mind, but unless that is backed up with some direction towards practice, it seems like it results in a distractable poop-eating puppy mind!

Nosey originally uploaded by A30 Tsitika

The Five Remembrances

I am of the nature to grow old;
there is no way to escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health;
there is no way to escape having ill health.

I am of the nature to die;
there is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love
are of the nature of change;
there is no way to escape
being separated from them.

My deeds are my closest companions;
I am the beneficiary of my deeds.
my deeds are the ground
on which I stand.

Women of the 14th Moon

I just returned from this amazing ceremony. I feel so fortunate to be connected to the women who invited me -- two women friends of mine who didn't actually know each other, but who have been attending this yearly ceremony for quite a few years.

It's a weekend in a wooded place - the location rotates, the ceremony planners and leaders rotate, but a few things are constant: The purpose is to take time and energy to celebrate and honor the elder women in our community, and to celebrate and honor women in each of three phases of life: Maiden, Matron, and Elder.

Since it was a women's ceremony, I had just assumed it would be Wiccan -- with ostensibly pre-Christian European origins. Wicca recognizes these three phases, using the terms "Maiden, Mother and Crone." I had some affinity for that path for some time, so I thought I knew what to expect.

But this ceremony was rooted in the Native American traditions. I have never been to anything like that before, and had some questions in my mind throughout the weekend about cultural appropriation. I seem to recall some controversy about that in the late 80's and early 90's, as many of these kinds of ceremonies and practices were becoming popular among New Age Caucasians looking for non-Christian spiritual connection. More on that in a moment.

So there was smudging -- cleansing with the smoke of burning sage. There was a circle with gateways representing the four directions. There was a huge drum with 6 or 7 drummers leading in song and rhythm, including some songs in Lakota and other Native American languages. There were references to animal totems. There were in fact, visitations by some animals! All the Elder women were given large wooden staffs. Some have had theirs for many years, and attached various feathers, bells, and other symbols or items of significance. There were beautiful and moving dances by three women who worked on creating a mask throughout the previous year to represent themselves as the archetypal Maiden, Matron, and Elder, and they danced to express the energies of each life phase.

Unfortunately, I don't have many photos of this actual event. Photography is not allowed during the ceremony, and the ceremony encompassed the vast majority of the weekend -- from morning to evening. There were few opportunities for this newbie to take some time to get some shots of the land. I was mostly too busy figuring out what was going on. So I've trolled my own pictures of other events and environments, as well as Flickr, and I'm sharing some photos that just seem to communicate the mood (and provide permission to share them). You can click on the photos that are not mine to find their original location on Flickr.

I am going to do my best to communicate about this experience, but I may have a few things not quite right, and I also want to be careful not to reveal too much of what was a sacred event. So what are these three phases of a woman's life?

MAIDEN: A woman who has had her first menstrual cycle, and who is 25 years old or under. Maidens all wore springtime pastel colors to ceremony. East is the direction associated with the Maidens -- the dawn of all beginnings, a breath of fresh air, springtime and new growth.

"2008-08-24 037" by rbatina

MATRON: A woman who is 26-50 years old or who is a mother. The Matrons all wore the colors of fire: Reds, oranges, yellows. South is the direction associated with the Matrons -- the fire of action, and the energy needed to get everything done.

"Dancing Queens", by zenamoonbeam

A WOMAN OF THE 14TH MOON: A woman who is at least 51 years old AND who has not had a menstrual cycle in one year and one month (14 moons). The Elders wore the colors of the sea: Blues, greens, purples, black. West is the direction associated with the Elders. The wisdom of water, the emotion and reflection.

"Ricky" by kk+

North was the direction associated with Earth, and the Ancestors. It was represented by a white gateway, decorated with bones and copies of photographs of female ancestors we all brought.

I recall a fairly recent conversation with Genko from Dharma Rain Zen Center. She is a Zen monk in training, and she revealed that she is in her late 50's. She reported from that experience, rather bemused, that she finds herself invisible a lot of the time; no longer having to put up with the constant attentions and judgments around her appearance. I imagine this can feel like a delightful secret at times.

But I also imagine that it can feel invalidating and tiresome.

What I observed this weekend was the importance of really actually seeing these women. The importance of hearing their voices, and listening to their words. Appreciating their beauty, power, and wisdom. This ceremony fills a gap in our society. A large one. We don't generally do this, and the need is achingly clear.

But then there is this question of cultural appropriation. In searching for images on the web that might communicate some aspects of the ceremony, it didn't take me long to find something like this:

It appears there are some folks out there who purport to have affiliation with tribes when they in fact do not, and who charge a hefty sum for participation in rituals or weekend workshops, and seek to profit financially from these activities. They are referred to in some websites as "Twinkies" or "Plastic Shaman".

I will say that the cost of the weekend I attended was nominal, and I believe covered just the rental space, porta-potties, breakfast foods, small gifts for each participant, etc. and did not appear to be enriching anyone in any way other than spiritually.

Additionally, I met a woman there who very recently participated in the Longest Walk 2. As I understood her description, it was a re-creation of The Longest Walk, from California to Washington DC to draw attention to legislation about freedom for Native Americans to practice their religion, which occurred in 1978. The woman at the ceremony was in her late 50's, and was one of only six people who actually walked the entire way, the other five being about half her age. She appears to be Caucasian, but I do not know her heritage. So here she is, participating in this ritual, also who took five months out of her life to stand -- and walk -- for Native American rights. Somehow to me that counts for something.

And then I recalled the Womyn of Color poetry slam at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival last year, at which a woman of Japanese descent was talking about cultural appropriation, i.e. white people wearing chopsticks in their hair, and going to meditation retreats and such. It disturbed me a bit. She made it clear that appropriation was different than appreciation, though she wasn't clear what appreciation might look like. One of my friends said that poetry slams are generally a place for anger to be expressed rather than nuance, and not to worry about it. But I gave it thought. I wondered if you could say that Japanese Zen was appropriated from China, which was appropriated from Indian Buddhism. Though really, Buddhism was purposely delivered from India to China, and just as purposely from Japan to the United States. I don't know. Maybe it's not so clear cut.

Taizan Maizumi Roshi, founder of the Zen Center of Los Angeles

Nevertheless, the ceremony was beautiful, and even though I consider myself one who sees our elder women, I realized I needed to see even more clearly, more lovingly, more appreciatively.

And it was nice to be appreciated. The Matrons this year were gifted these medicine bags:

We each were assigned to write a brief love poem about another woman we may have just met. They were then read aloud, and were the first "medicine" we got to put in our bag. So very sweet. I sewed on some of the beads from my little name tag, and also some of the gifts given by the archetypal dancers -- a feather, a sachet... It was such a sweet weekend. So important to take time to appreciate ourselves and each other.