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?
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?"
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!
