Shift

There's the story about the stone carver, skillfully, carefully tapping 99 times against a rock.  Then, on the 100th blow, the designated stone falls away.  I am sure I've heard it a million times about acceptance, but sitting with a visiting teacher, Arinna Weisman for a lovely weekend retreat recently, there was a shift.

She invited me to notice and appreciate not just the times I was connected to the practice (walking, breath, etc), but also the times I was not.  Inclusive. Accepting.

This has pervaded.  Zazen has felt like a safe place, a refuge, a place for there to be whatever there is unfolding, blossoming, changing.

Perhaps it is more noticeable in contrast to the past year or more trudging through the desert of Acedia with its blandness, its chores, and drudgery.

My husband in the Atlantic Ocean with his Pelican friends

Oh, the waters of compassion and acceptance; so large, so soothing.

The Secret Humane Society

I was waiting my turn in the barbershop today when my cellphone rang. It was the Humane Society. I went out into the alley to take the call.

The veterinarian we have been working with thought we should at least try to relinquish Hannah to the Humane Society, so I dutifully called them, though with plenty of concern about the dangers of them re-homing Hannah inappropriately. Turns out, not an option. They told me to take her back to the other shelter -- the one that said she was "good with children" in the first place, despite my concerns about the ethics / judgment of that place. I also learned that Hannah probably could not pass the Humane Society's temperament test (it would include strangers reaching for her collar).

The thing that was most striking in this experience wasn't the conversation with the Humane Society. This was someone putting up boundaries -- understandably -- and doing so in that way that is efficient, practiced, and repetitive. I recognized it well, having employed that strategy at times myself in my career as a social worker. It happens when we are overloaded by suffering, and / or forget that there is a real person on the other end of the phone. Both ends of the phone, really.

So there in the alley, I am in a tearful conversation about this painful situation when along the sidewalk comes a woman, maybe homeless, with a granny cart. She had bright blue eyes set into a wrinkled face, no top teeth, and a few very prominent bottom teeth with some gaps in between them. She saw me on the phone crying. She stopped and looked me very deeply in the eyes, and started mumbling some completely unintelligible mix of syllables which were as clear an expression of compassion as I have ever heard. She held out her left hand to me, and I took her hand with my right, and we stood there for a few moments, the harried shelter worker reciting policies in my ear, and this Bodhisattva of the streets pouring a balm of presence and metta right through her eyes and into my heart.

A Person Too? The Same Needs and Wants?

originally uploaded by .craig

What is a Mistake?

The Fool archetype has been allowed to express a little more of herself in my life since I began Zen practice. Now a large part of my practice is "to make mistakes with gusto". This means to notice and to be present for that very moment of realization when it becomes clear that my operating assumptions were incorrect. Not in accord with what is.

I stopped trying to avoid looking at mistakes I had made, and started holding them with gentleness. I also stopped trying to avoid making mistakes at all costs. Sometimes I even celebrated them: "TA-DA!" And I found that moment -- realizing that what I thought was true is not in fact the case -- can be quite delicious and amusing. Or really painful. And then either way, just sitting with it.

Oh, poor dear Hannah. It has come to light that she has problems of such complexity and depth. And as she gets more comfortable here in a safe and stable environment, still more problems are revealed. She has apparently been quite shut down, which is normal. But now she is unraveling. And the behaviors she now exhibits point to only a few possible origins: 1) Very unusual genetic makeup, 2) Definite neglect and possible / likely abuse, 3) A combination of 1 and 2. It is actually staggering to imagine what someone would have to do to make a labrador afraid of people.

Can a mistake even exist in this moment? The Jomon of a month ago and her state of mind and her decisions are gone. The Jomon of today looks at a completely different set of circumstances. Where is the mistake?

The Jomon of today looks at those and these circumstances through the lenses of the Precepts, and with as much clarity and compassion that can be mustered. We are here in this situation. We are responsible for this girl now. And she's a lot.

After training her onto a chest harness and then a halti collar, we were able to walk the neighborhood with her. If we don't see any people, other dogs, buses, trucks, bikes, cats or strollers -- within about a half-block radius -- it's fine. She is deeply scared of everything, feels unable to flee, and so responds with powerful leash aggression.

Hannah has also now snapped at two vet techs, and yesterday bit Greta, the behavioral specialist, who we had come into our home to evaluate her. Greta pointed out that the bite was inhibited; did not break skin, but my gosh. The significance of this is so heavy on our hearts.

I see now that along the line, there has either been deep unconsciousness about this dog and her true needs, or out-and-out lying. Or both. She is not, in fact, "good with cats" as I had been told, or even "good with kids", which I was also told (and am frightened to imagine that she could have been adopted by a family with children).

I have in the past 4 weeks become quite current on the state of the art of dog training. I like to read and research when I am stressed or in crisis. We have been able to make progress in some areas. The behaviorist was hella impressed that I was able to get this deeply head-shy dog into a head harness and love it. But there are places in Hannah's heart and brain that are not amenable to training.

Hannah can meet new people in our backyard okay, but meeting them in the house, like she did with the behaviorist -- 3 hours, lots of cheese (even tripe!), and still deeply suspicious. Probably because she feels she has nowhere to escape. And she gives not much warning either. Not a lot of fear-looking backing away body language when strangers are in her "too much" zone. Instead of the loud aggressive-looking "GET AWAY FROM ME!" barking and lunging she does on walks, she is just very still, stiff, and tentative. And she's a yellow lab. So people don't expect it.

The behaviorist gave us a rather grim prognosis. This dog does not enjoy being around people (other than the two she now lives with). This dog does not enjoy being around other dogs; at least not on a leash, which is the primary mode of exercise we have to offer her. This dog does not enjoy encountering the things that being in the world would inevitably produce. The behaviorist suggested that a dog this fearful could exercise on an indoor treadmill. That and to take her swimming (but then there's the problem with her fear of the car).

We will soon have a detailed report, and pages of recommendations for the myriad of ways we would need to adjust our environment, and attempt to rewire her through training, which would take years, and even then, this dog will probably not ever be safe around children. Her care will require the use of muzzles at various points. Any one or even a few of her problems would be workable. But taken together, it is overwhelming.

Our lives would be about protecting this dog from the world, and protecting the world from this dog.

So we will be turning towards re-homing, but Hannah now comes with a detailed and honest report. The likelihood of finding someone willing to take this on is low, though there are people for whom this is their mission -- to maintain the lives of all dogs at all costs -- Lab rescue organizations, etc. We will try to find these people for her; not dump her on a shelter that might try to re-home her, sending her off to someone else with a paragraph description of who they wish she was, or hope she could be. We are looking at comfort measures in the meantime.

So sitting with the shame of this. Maybe it's more like sorrow. Because we didn't create this. But we have inherited it as a result of some naivete on my part, and a series of others' misguided deeds. We can only do our best to make sure this poor, suffering dog does not harm anyone, and is as comfortable as she can be, as we take the best information we could get, and try to see it with as much clarity as possible, through the lenses of the Precepts and our vows.

What is a mistake?

The Waters of Compassion

I've just returned from another week of Sesshin. During this Sesshin, the earthquake in Haiti happened. I guess it was on Day 2 of the Sesshin. Hogen Roshi would talk about it in each day's Teisho (a talk given by a Zen master during a Sesshin). As our hearts and minds opened through the week, he would take a little time to describe the tragic situation as the events unfolded.

We were not being bombarded by any images of it the way anyone who saw TV this week was. We therefore did not have to use any of the subsequent modern-life coping mechanisms of compartmentalization or numbing out. We just heard about the suffering, and with many hours to sit in silence, we absorbed it.

***

At Sesshin, we do oryoki at every meal. Oryoki is essentially ritualized, mindful eating. Each person has their own set of bowls and utensils which they individually clean after the meal, thereby preventing spread of germs. It is an ancient practice, pretty handy for use in those old monasteries of thousands, and still plenty useful today.

Oriyoki Bowls from Kanzeon Zen Center

Oryoki, once I stopped feeling like I was on the verge of a panic attack at every meal for fear of doing it wrong, has become a lovely experience. There is chanting before and after each meal, and built-in opportunities to cultivate generosity. For example, we place the spoon handle and chopstick handle ends facing away from us as a way to show that we are offering our food to others.

Oryoki requires slowing down. The process gives plenty of time to just observe the food prior to eating, and it requires some consciousness about those all around us. Oryoki also reveals thoughts and feelings of enough and not-enough, as well as an opportunity to experience and differentiate body hunger, mind hunger, mouth hunger, eye hunger, heart hunger, etc.

We use a small amount of hot water -- about a cup or less -- at the end of each meal to wash out our own three bowls and then we wrap the bowls and utensils back up. Great Vow uses three bowls, and usually there are two or three food items that leave a varying amount of residue, no matter how well you scrape your bowl with your little spatula utensil. So the hot water at the end is really needed to clean the bowls. It always ends up a little cloudy with whatever has been cleaned from the bowls. It is optional to take a couple sips of this water before it is then collected by the tall bamboo containers that get passed down the table. That water is then reverently offered to a tree outside the kitchen.

At this point, there is a chant:

We use this water to wash our bowls,

It tastes like heavenly nectar.

We offer it to the many spirits to satisfy them.

Om maha ku sha laya Svaha

I recall someone at a Mindful Eating retreat expressing her aversion to everything about oryoki (which I find quite understandable), including and especially the fact that we "drink dirty dishwater" at the end.

I had a powerful experience after lunch one of the days. As I was taking my sips of "dirty dishwater", I clearly, viscerally understood that this small amount of water, were it in Haiti this day, could have sustained the life of someones baby for perhaps another day. This realization was nearly overpowering.

I found myself beginning to cry. And by the time I was able to leave the Zendo, I ended up on my knees on the floor by my bed, just weeping. The tears were of sadness for the suffering and loss, as well as deep gratitude for being given this life for just a few more moments-- thanks to this bit of water and everything, everything else that I have been given, beyond that last cup of water, is so clearly just extra.

This was not an experience of guilt, but one of deep, profound gratitude. I experienced gratitude for everything I looked at and touched, but mostly, experienced gratitude on top of gratitude for this practice, which is what enables me to even see the truth of that water, the truth of how precious everything is. How is it that I am not falling to my knees every moment?

May the people of Haiti be free from suffering.

Please click here to donate to Mercy Corps, a Portland-based international relief organization currently assisting the people of Haiti, and relieving suffering all over the world.

Manual Labor of the Mind

It's a Scary World out There by BGLewandowski

I wasn't sure whether to add a post before I depart for Sesshin -- this time it's Koans Sesshin! Big, bad, scary, super-Zen-y, Rinzai-style Koans Sesshin! Stirring up the hungry ghosts and scary thoughts in my mind just in time for Halloween.

How did I even end up on the path of Zen, anyway? I think in some alternate reality, I am really a Vipassana practitioner. I love colorful scarves and shawls, and would love to wear them while meditating with the community. Or maybe I'm a Shambhala practitioner at heart. There's a common stereotype about Zen that it's the most hard-core, and the Vipassana and the Shambhala practitioners are so much gentler. I have a very high tolerance for fidgeting in the Zendo, and can sometimes feel out of place with what seem to me like a bunch of stone Buddhas. But now I have more black shirts and pants than anyone I know. And I pack nearly every one of them in a big suitcase to stay one week at the monastery where nobody is looking at me.

It's all just pre-Sesshin jitters. Pre-Sesshin jitters are very interesting to watch. The small mind just knows the jig is up, and that it will not get to live in the manner to which it has become accustomed. It can get very energetic and create some mighty delectable and hard-to-resist trains of thought.

I am also noticing that the more I go, the less I understand why I do.

Anyway, I was inspired, as I usually am, by the Dalai Grandma. Today, she writes about that tender feeling of compassion for those who leave Sangha, or leave the practice of meditation because they think they can't meditate, or it has become too hard. Which it is. Hard. Which is why we need to be so compassionate to ourselves in practice. And yet disciplined. Sheesh. She explains it a lot better than I do! Give a bow to the Dalai Grandma.

I have kept the July issue of the Shambhala Sun right by my computer, because I have been meaning to turn a few sentences of an article from it into a blog entry. Again, this koan of Right Effort.

Here are a few snippets from "It's Not Us and Them" by Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche:

Because as practitioners we are doing something that is good and wholesome, we too have difficulties. It’s important for us not to give up. We should not be foolishly seduced into fantasy, thinking that somehow something miraculous is going to happen. When it comes right down to it, the practice path is manual labor of the mind, and it’s hard work. But that doesn’t mean that there is no magic. When we pay attention to the details of our life, we do find magic. This particular magic is all-pervasive; it is something that is part of us all the time. Seeing it, we appreciate the honesty of this spiritual tradition that says we have to work to uncover it.

With gentleness and mindfulness, we can appreciate what we have....

...we all need to practice responsibility and discipline ourselves. We must look at our own habits and begin to alter them. We can’t hire out our practice and have somebody else do the work, but we can do the manual labor with delight and decency. True relief lies in finding what lies under the chaos and negativity—our inherent awakened nature. The notion of fearlessness is finding it now.

Manual labor of the mind.

I believe it was last year on Sesshin when I was assigned to groundskeeping, and was a crew leader for a team of us assigned to dig out blackberry crowns. Not cut them to the ground -- that had already been done. But digging them out, digging down to the root ball and removing the whole plant once and for all. That is the stated goal.

The reality is not even close. More often, the roots travel sideways in many directions, and wrap around and under big rocks the shovel clanks on. Then it's digging up a big rock. The roots also wrap around and hide under tree roots, so it is hard to know what to dig out and what continued digging might be harming a tree. More often than not the blackberry roots get cut by the shovel, and end up escaping and not found again, and then there's a huge series of holes that need to be filled back in. Factor in rain, or mud, or cold.

Workhorses, SoulCollage card by Laura

At one point, checking in with one of my workmates, who was not feeling well, we broke Noble Silence. She said, "It's no use. These are all just going to grow back."

I realized then one of the reasons for Noble Silence. Her words echoed in my head for days.

But sometimes, I could find the crown-- some people called it the heart, one person called it the brain -- the tangly ball that is the source of the lanky, leggy, stickery, pervasive blackberries. I started calling it the shin -- the heart /mind. Sometimes I would find it, and successfully dig it out. Only then could I know that at least this one blackberry plant would not return.

At the monastery, they say everyone who is assigned to the blackberries for work practice always returns saying "It was just like my mind!"

I enjoy this kind of manual labor. I know nature can and often will just grow right back without some regular maintenance. It's so obvious. So unarguable.

This practice keeps saying that the result is not what's important. Matching reality to a picture I have in my mind is not what this is about. It's the process, including the compassion I might bring to a wholesome day of work, whether that is shoveling around in the mud at the monastery, or just pinching the spent geranium blossoms, or lying down because I'm bone tired.

It's our intention --- to just be open to the experience of this life. Simple. Not easy.

Maybe there are ways to meditate lightly, to do what you can, still maintaining the essentials. What are those? The intention, I think. It has to move from being the hope to feel peaceful or to rest to being something more, like the hope to be fully human, to be entirely with it for this moment.
~The Dalai Grandma

Life Among the Brambles by bibliona

The sweetness of women never ceases to delight me.

This story begins with The Festival Hankie:
I think this hankie came from an antique store on "Antiques Row" in Sellwood, once a suburb of Portland. I think I bought it when I first moved to Portland and was still doing fun, touristy things, like visiting Sellwood.

"The Festival" is the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival, to which I have been making the pilgrimage for 16 consecutive years (until just this past August). There, in womyn-only space, I get to spend a whole week with my sisters from all over the country, and all over the world. We all converge on this place, to create this place, for one week out of the year which is like no other.

In a place without men, the threat of stranger-perpetrated violence is just about absent*. That's just the truth of the matter. And to have the opportunity to let go of the 24-hour vigilance that is reality for women everywhere causes something amazing to happen: Joy erupts. It takes a lot of energy to be vigilant. And when all that energy is available for something else, and I happen to be in a place with 4,000 other women who are also channeling that energy into fun... well, it's about as sweet as can be.

My best girlfriends and I camp together and meet every morning and evening in a camping-gazebo we have to haul in from Portland, or Cleveland, or wherever we are coming from. And in this safe little container within a safe big container, reconnecting with each other, we usually end up processing some sensitive, deep, painful material. And also laughing a lot.

One way or another, inevitably, there are tears.

It wasn't with this in mind that I happened to have it on me one night in the gazebo-- the hankie, that is. But I did, and it was a tearful moment for my dear girlfriend Amy P. When suddenly presented with this sweet, soft floral hankie, she enjoyed it so much that she started laughing, and to this day, we don't remember why she was crying.

So that year, or maybe it was the next year, there was a craftswomon who was using these old floral hankies and stamping words on them. Amy bought me a hankie with some flowers and ferns embroidered on it and the word "feminist," which I used as a little nightstand decoration then, too.

And then she sent me this one:
This hankie, you may recall, was featured in its very own blog post in June called "Sesshin Sweetness." I place all my nightstand and toiletry items on it at every Sesshin I attend. It includes the reminder in the corner that every day is a good day.

~~~

We recently had our Jukai ceremony. Jukai is a ceremony in which people are essentially committing to the path of Buddhism. They ask to be given the Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts. Beforehand, they take classes in the precepts, attend at least two Sesshin, make a chart of the lineage all the way back to Shakyamuni Buddha, and sew a rakusu, a small version of a Zen robe. So in this ceremony, the teachers give them the precepts, their "robe" and a Dharma name. It is incredibly meaningful.

Four people took Jukai, and two took the Five Precepts. There were a lot of family and friends in the audience, many of whom had never and maybe would have never stepped foot into a Zendo! Whenever there is a Jukai ceremony, it is an opportunity for the rest of the community to take the precepts in our hearts right along with those in front of the teachers. It is a very active, meaningful ceremony for everyone involved.

So it was not surprising that there were tears. From someone in the ceremony.

Where I was seated, I couldn't see their faces, but Shinju, who was seated right up close to the ceremony in the audience looked to me and indicated need for kleenex.

The zendo was absolutely packed, and I was all the way in the back. Getting kleenex from downstairs would have been disruptive, but it was really early in the ceremony. Ah! I recalled the hankie, neatly folded in my pocket, and unobtrusively handed it to her.
After the ceremony, I enjoyed letting the newly-named Yushin know that this hankie had its own lineage. Now that it had now been employed in dabbing Jukai-induced tears, well that added another layer of preciousness onto it for me!

Yushin asked if she could please return it to me washed.

I got it back yesterday, in a cute little bag, and when I took it out to put it in my samue pocket, I found this:
Another beautiful, soft, floral hankie. Thank you, Yushin! May such sweetness continue to extend out into the four corners and in the ten directions.



*Yes, there are other places where this threat is practically absent: A house with many deadbolts, the monastery grounds, etc. Yes, women can and do perpetrate violence. But not as much as men do, and not usually towards strangers. Yes, there are non-violent males. I'm married to one.