Pick a Winner Every Time!

During Sesshin, in our efforts to empty the mind, Chozen Roshi reassured that it is not really possible to stop the mind. She referred to the term mindstream. This is apparently a term used more commonly in Theravada and Vajrayana practices, and after looking it up, I am perhaps even a bit more confused than I was before, so forgive me if I am not communicating about it clearly. Basically the point is that the mindstream is continuous, and flows even through lifetimes. Purifying the mindstream, as I understand it, is about reducing and removing the pollutants of greed, anger and ignorance.

It's easy for me to visualize the "stream of consciousness" or the "stream of thought." This common metaphor encourages us to sit on the banks, watching a little stream, and observing the leaves of thought and sensation innocently floating by. I would add, perhaps a bit judgmentally, observing the random trash floating by, particularly my "greatest hits," which are my most repetitive thoughts. With practice, the stream might sometimes slow down to some degree, but really doesn't altogether stop. The trick is to stay on the banks, rather than reaching out and grabbing hold of any of the tempting items floating by.

While it may still be true that my mind is a 2-year-old black lab that eats poop, it would also seem that my mind is the duck pond at the fair.

Pick a Lucky Duck originally uploaded by dcjohn

Pick a winner every time! A game requiring no skill! A prize every time! I remember playing the duck pond carnival game as a child. I remember the ducks had numbers written on the bottoms, in permanent marker. If you picked a duck with the number one on the bottom, you won the big fluffy huge pink teddy bear dangling at the top of the kiosk. But as the numbers got higher, those were the less desirable, and much more common prizes.

I think I might have been about seven years old when I last played this game. I, of course, picked a high number. I "won" -- I am not kidding -- a Roy Rogers poster.

Now, nothing against Roy Rogers -- he was a sweet man. But what kid on earth wants a Roy Rogers poster in the late 70's? Where did they even get this "prize"? The funny thing was, I actually put it up in my room for a while. I won it, right?

I am always similarly tempted to reach out and grab items of thought in the mindstream. But they tend to be the same things over and over -- just like the duck pond and its circular stream -- the same little duck-thoughts over and over, despite how important the mind insists they are, the endless hope and the mind's insistence that this time, this thought is the enormous pink teddy bear, not the Roy Rogers poster.

But just like at the fair, each thought really is always the Roy Rogers poster. And there is nothing more satisfying than going to the fair, watching those cute little ducks just float on by, and leaving emptyhanded.

prize everytime originally uploaded by pulpmojo

"I Suck at Sitting!"

I enjoyed a recent guest post on The Reformed Buddhist. Kyle's fiancee Jody, who had not practiced meditation before, went to a sit at a Zen Center for the first time, and then wrote about it. It was a pleasure to hear her experience, and just so familiar as well: "I experienced that I suck at sitting" she said.

I felt such an instant affinity when I read her post. OMG me too! I had trouble finding the words to sufficiently normalize her experience. It inspired me to dig out an old journal of mine -- the one I happened to be writing in when I had my first meditation experience --a three-day weekend retreat.

It was at Breitenbush Hot Springs, a very well-run hippie resort here in Oregon. In the Fall, Julie Wester leads a women-only Vipassana-based retreat there every year (and once last Spring), which she has been doing for about thirty years. I had no idea who Julie Wester was. All I knew was that I decided I needed to learn to meditate. I was also really hitting the wall in a few areas in my personal life at the time. So me and all my baggage went on a meditation retreat.

This retreat is not your typical Buddhist meditation retreat. As Julie Wester said at the outset, (but I didn't apparently hear or believe), "There's a lot of permission here." You don't have to go to all the sessions. You don't have to go to any sessions. If you need to get up and move, you do. If you need to perform an interpretive dance in the middle of sitting meditation, go for it (nobody did, but there was explicit permission for that). There isn't even any work practice -- it's all taken care of, and all there is to do is sleep, eat gorgeous food, soak in the amazing natural hot springs, meditate, rinse, repeat.

Nevertheless, there is a schedule offered. It includes lots of sitting, walking, movement meditation, Dharma talks, small group discussion sessions with the teacher, and the option for 1:1 with a senior student if you like. It was more sitting than I had ever done in my life, which prior to that, was none. And the usual proscriptions against reading and writing were never brought up. So I was just journaling away the whole time, and even writing during the talks. It was all allowed. Now I read these words with such a deeply compassionate amusement for that nervous, pained woman, courageously riding the retreat roller-coaster for the first time, and coming off of the ride full of gratitude and so much more awake to life.

I share these excerpts in the spirit of normalizing and encouraging beginners on the Path. I especially want to point out the benefit I received from hearing the other women's stories during the retreat. How being able to share what our difficulties were, and what we brought to our meditation experience there really helped me know that the discomfort is normal, and there are teachers and spiritual friends along the way to help us through these difficulties. The sharing helped calm me, and keep me going.

I learned how to just sit with pain and difficulty. And joy and contentment. What a gift that is.

Evening of arrival:

I am hurting still. I am nervous about this meditation retreat, as I may just get to confront / lean into all this pain. The daily schedule looks a bit daunting. What should I bring? What should I wear? It seems like many of the women here are not first-timers to this workshop. I am.

After evening session:

Well it just wasn't too bad. "Breathe with whatever you bring here."

7am Full Day 1:

I'm nervous about my first full day, but I think I can do it. This is not the retreat for the ADHD. The silence is a relief. No more chit-chat. I can use the meditation time to let go of this struggle over and over and over.

Noon Day 1:

I want to jump out of my skin much of the time in the silent sittings. I am tolerating more discomfort: An ache, an emptiness, a hole in my heart. So much chatter: Songs, words, pictures, past, future, planning, figuring out. And then the Boredom! The discomfort of being with my bored, uncomfortable self! I think I am settling down a bit, but so uncomfortable with myself. Obsessed with thoughts...I'm fighting myself and my thoughts, surrendering, and then they return. There's not much I've ever done with my eyes closed besides sleep or try to figure everything out. So much thinking. It's a stadium in there. Can this room, this area hold all that I've brought? Mostly uncomfortable. This is hard.

1:30pm Day 1

Serenity NOW! I keep fighting the chatter in my head rather than compassionately inviting it to do something else -- focus on breathing, etc. I think I am officially having a hard time. My relationship situation does not help. I wonder what I would be obsessing about if not for that? I just can't help but feel PAIN. Surely there is comfort and joy here too? This is the thing about letting whatever comes up come up.

How do people keep returning to meditation practice? It must feel good at some point. I hope I'm not missing a taste of peace. I guess I am feeling disappointed that I find it so uncomfortable.

4pm Day 1

I LOVED the small group. We got to talk about our pain and experience here and our concerns. (The Teacher) said it was hard to come here and BE with that pain and the boredom was a way to rest from the pain -- the pain is not boring, but to go through the pain is the path to freedom. She talked about how we are not really beginners -- we bring whatever our experience with other things is. I compare this to dragonboating -- it WAS painful at first, and I had not as much stamina.

It was good to hear the other women's stories. It opened up so much compassion, and if I could apply half as much of that compassion to myself, I'd be treating myself much more gently. Many of the other women sharing had to do with accepting pain as the nature of life. Impermanence. Change. Discomfort.

5pm Day 1

That (meditation session) was easier. Calmer. Do-able. Not so panicky. Glad I got to talk before.

7pm Day 1

I'm tired. Really tired. I've been leaning into pain and discomfort all day. So much focus. I'm sleepy. Relaxed. Calmer. Noting moments of contentment. Enjoyed pre-dinner soak and shower. So beautiful here.

Dharma Talk Day 1

(small excerpts from copious notetaking)

Liberated Feminine

No Tibetan creation story - Primordial womb / space is Boundless. That our of which Everything comes. Great Mother. Inherent Luminosity. Split into duality. Suffering = sense of separation.

5 poisons & Daikini families = reactive emotions. attachment, anger, confusion, pride, jealousy can be transformed into wisdom.

Stay present in our bodies

1) willingness - to allow it and stay present

2) drop the struggle - what is holding us back from who we really are.

Let go of 'I can't do this'. Obstacles -- we can't go around; just into and through.

Stay with what happens in your body. Transformation.

7:45am Day 2

I got up at 6:40a to get to the baths in time by 7. Which I did. I accidentally got out at 7:30, thinking the wake-up bell was the breakfast bell. But that gave me some time to make coffee (thank God) and journal.

Still thinking - getting songs in my head. Struggling to give up the struggle. I'm worrying about doing it wrong: Was I supposed to be at the sitting meditation today? But it SAID on the schedule silent bathing. I thought it looked like an option. She kept us up LATE last night and I got irritated because I was so tired exhausted and overwhelmed.

There's a sweet family of deer here, and it's nice to observe them being themselves. They're not thinking, they're being. I'm noticing love and gratitude emerging for the deer. Allowing that to be, just like the pain from before.

I see myself in the red Daikini family. Craving and desiring. So what if I allow that craving and desiring? She says that the other side of that is what?Clarity about what is needed in relationships? What have I been seeking all this time?

After Breakfast Day 2

I felt such happiness and gratitude and connectedness @ breakfast. I felt like the deer eating THEIR breakfast.

Later Day 2

Calmer, more accepting. Breathing with the songs. Breathing with the chatter and figuring out and stories. Breathing with the desire and craving.

Later Day 2

So much intensity. My anger and overwhelm acknowledged and validated. Intensity emerging I can't even name. Fears come up and subside. So much intensity - I am not used to it. I felt a ball of fear come up and pushed it away. The chatter and the songs -- what is it all about?

Still Later Day 2

I'm glad I signed up for 1:1 time. I feel confused and muddled. I sort of dread the silent sitting meditations. I wonder if I'll be uncomfortable, feel like I'm not doing it very well. I have a tremendous fear of doing this (+everything) wrong. I find the sitting meditations quite difficult. It's helped to add the "breathe with" all the chatter instruction. I'm tired. Sleepy and tired of confronting myself. That's why it's hard. I'm not just gently meeting myself as in 'Hey what's goin' on?' but 'What else is wrong with you?' I could be gentler with myself.

6pm Day 2

Sheesh. I hit the wall. I hit the self-critical, internal judgmental, mean-to-myself, slave-driving wall. I skipped moving meditation. Not before GOING to the 2:30 sitting one, and I was, I REALLY WAS too tired. I was nodding off and finally lay down + went to sleep. I thought everybody else was judging me. It was ME. How curious that this is what's coming up. Me not being gentle with myself.

Anyway, I took a nap. I wanted more, but I got up to talk to Nan (senior student). She reassured me that I don't HAVE to go to every single thing on the schedule. She encouraged me to do a loving kindness meditation + she suggested labeling the thoughts of anger / disgust / frustration at the songs in my head "aversion" + to just notice my judging and gently label "judging".

Morning Last Day

It's a chilly morning.

Y'know what's funny? I'm sorta looking FORWARD to the silent sitting meditations!! I was dreading them before. No wonder. And my back / upper back where the critical judge lives is more relaxed. She's gotten off my back. The deer were my teachers this weekend. The trees too. They don't think. They just ARE.

Afternoon, After Closing Last Day

So much gratitude. So much compassion. Kwan Yin has stepped in. In myself, outside myself, and through the women here. I got a loving, compassionate, and motherly hug from the woman to my left. She said, "They'll go away", meaning the voices -- the harsh judging voices. And I believe she is right.

Why protect myself from love and pain. Fire. It is a part of life.

Julie quoted her teacher with her German accent (Ruth Denison)

"Self-knowledge is not all good news, dahling."

She also said that going into our bodies sometimes means going into pain. Can be a reason for avoiding meditation practice. You can't force it. You can only invite / allow it. This is a gradual awakening.

What is the Foundation of This Life?

Chronic tailbone pain has been my companion for about a year now. It began creeping up gradually, which is apparently very unusual for coccyx pain. Most people join this club by:

1. Falling on it or


2. Having a baby.

I do not specifically recall either one happening to me, though I may have fallen while on a skiing adventure January 2008 with my dear friend Stacey, who is an excellent skier, and sees only her friends' potential greatness.

I am not an excellent skier. I am a midwesterner. Stacey and I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up on a blue-double-diamond run: Steep and impossible to go back. I went down on my bum for a lot of the way. I also cried for a good portion of it. It never helps when there are six-year-olds passing you in these moments.

Anyway, I recall needing to sit on my inflatable air zafu, on a long plane ride a year ago. The pain became more and more noticeable. Last summer I was carrying around a U-shaped neck pillow everywhere to sit on. By fall, I could not even sit on an air zafu for any length of time. Whatever I sat on had to allow my tailbone to hang with no weight on it whatsoever.

Dealing with sitting pain became a bit of a way of life, as chronic pain just does.*See bottom of post for lots of stuff I did to accommodate it.

I hoped it would just go away for months. ** See bottom of post for adventures with chiropractor and osteopath.

I wondered if there was some psycho-spiritual meaning? The first chakra is located exactly at the tailbone. It is all about survival. Feeling enough. Feeling grounded. And here I am, about to abandon my job to go on a voluntary and unpaid Sabbatical at the dawn of an economic crisis. Scared much? Now on some level, I know I am fortunate to have a partner who can be as much of a safety net as a person can have in a situation like this. I am as safe as a person can be. Indeed.

Tell it to my First Chakra.

First Chakra Muladhara originally uploaded by virtualworld360

I'm wary of those folks who believe that all illness is just a manifestation of some psychological thing. If you hold that stance too rigidly, then there's just too short a distance between that and people being responsible for "creating" cancer, MS, schizophrenia, etc. And it, well, pathologizes old age, sickness and death. What could be more normal than these?

That said, the mind-body connection is also undeniable. My friend Rebecca helped me come to some insight -- that sure felt accurate -- about what this tailbone pain might mean in reference to my taking a Sabbatical. It's been stressful just to make the decision to take off, mainly because of the beliefs I have inherited about the importance of work: Working hard. Working all the time. My identity wrapped up in work. My worth as a person because of my work. And the very idea of not working?!

Of sitting on my ass?

Unacceptable. Not okay.

~ ~ ~

Recently I attended a workshop on Compassion Fatigue. I have been to these professional workshops throughout my career, and about 2/3 of them have found me leaving some hotel conference room, blinking in the 4:00 sunlight thinking, "I have just wasted 8 hours of my one wild and precious life."

But at this workshop, by 11am, I felt I got my money's worth. I won't go into all the details, but basically, the fella who put this together has devoted his life to being a helper's helper. A Bodhisattva's Bodhisattva.

He has applied the light of his consciousness, and the energy of his life towards caregivers; how we go haywire, and how we can remain healthy amidst the suffering we willingly dive into every day.

I was surprised to learn that most of it is about living in a relaxed body. I was even more surprised to learn that how to go about living in a relaxed body means a focus on relaxing the various muscles between the sit bones and the top of the pelvis.

No clenching.

Seriously. It really was this simple. But like anything simple: Not easy. Since that workshop, it seems I can now perceive the constant anxiety and stress and clenching and holding that goes on in this body all the time. No wonder I get so tired! I took my new found anatomical knowledge, and recalled how doing one hip-opening yoga move some months ago released a flood of pissed-off for about 48 hours, and I wondered what else was stored in this area.

Breathe Root originally uploaded by plastictaxi

So, living with pain, and accommodating with my assortment of pillows, I went to a hip-opening yoga workshop a few weeks before the Lovingkindness (Metta) Sesshin. And I incorporated the pigeon pose into my morning routine. I have since learned what is obvious to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy -- those hip flexors and all those pelvic muscles are intimately related to the coccyx and its situation.

I felt really spacey after the yoga workshop, and was confused about that response. One suggestion was that things might be getting re-organized deeply inside... maybe there's a big process of change happening.

~ ~ ~

At Sesshin, we began with primary focus on filling our reservoir of lovingkindness by giving lovingkindness only to ourselves for a few days. We did a lying down meditation for a period, in which we combined a body-scan meditation with Metta, offering lovingkindness to each and every part of our bodies.

I lay down with the front of the zabuton supporting my sacrum, and my coccyx hanging off, and a nice rolled up blanket supporting my neck. "May these feet be free from illness. May these feet be at ease. May these feet be happy & healthy...May these ankles be free from illness..." all the way up the whole body. For 25 minutes. I've done body scan meditation, and I've done Metta, but not together before. It was lovely.

I remember standing up from this to start walking mediation, and feeling a distinct ache radiating from the spot around my lower back where osteopathic adjustments had been, and also in the hip area as I stepped forward -- with kind of like a catching or snagging feeling. Something was up. Something was moving. Nothing changed in terms of the pain and limitation, but something was up.

I kept relaxing, and then the second to last day, I did another lying down body scan. After the period was over, I stood up, took a couple steps with that catching and ache, and then, felt:

*click *click *click*

at my tailbone. Did it pop itself back into place? I didn't dare sit on it. I was so scared it was just my imagination. It took me half the day to even dare to sit flat on my bed without the U-pillow. And when I did, it didn't hurt. Much. I must've looked pretty funny kind of tentatively bouncing up and down on the side of the bed with a scared-hopeful-shocked face. There was some residual inflammation, but I then tested myself on an air zafu. I could sit without pain. It had just about resolved.

I wanted to start singing about it, but I didn't want to treat the Metta Sesshin like some kind of a healing tent revival. My initial thought was that on retreat, I finally relaxed sufficiently for my muscles and ligaments to just let go.

I think the combination of everything had everything to do with the improvement. I have since learned a few other things that may have contributed:

Whale 'Tailbone' Sculpture originally uploaded by jmv

There's a website called coccyx.org which is a clearinghouse for all things coccydynia (coccyx pain). There is a section for personal experiences where people can share information, their attempts at solutions, and report on successes or failures. A woman reported that after 30 years of sacral, pelvic bone, and coccyx pain, that she found a little $30 product called... (the name is wonderful)... the Sacrowedgy.

I looked it up. The Sacrowedgy was developed by an osteopathic physician, and now marketed by his daughter. It is a hand-sized piece of plastic that mimics the kind of adjustment her dad used to do for people with tailbone pain. The patients would lie on their backs on the table, where he'd support their sacrum with this hand, allowing the tailbone to hang, and the body to relax -- for 20 minutes. Here's a video demonstration.

I was struck in watching the video that her dad would say that within that 20 minutes, he could feel "a war zone" under his hand with all the muscles and ligaments moving and resisting and releasing.

This is essentially what I did during the lying down meditations! Miracle cure or not, this experience has caused me to reflect on First Chakra issues.

What is the foundation of this life?

During Sesshin, after the Sacred Fool got in on my formal tea service, I observed my mind doing its reacting thing: Replaying the incident over and over, and rehearsing what I would be saying about it after Sesshin was over.

I observed this while taking a shower. Rehearse, replay, rehearse, replay. Past, future, past, future. I watched this boring ping pong game, and realized... maybe for the millionth time, maybe for the first time, maybe with my body, but really realized that None of it, NONE of it was real. I was completely missing the shower. In that moment, only my experience was what was real.

And now THIS moment of typing on a keyboard is real. This moment is the foundation of my life. Which is an ever-changing foundation that cannot be grasped. Not rooted in my job. Not rooted in my husband. Not rooted in money. Groundless.

Can I allow myself to rest here?

*Pillows all over everything I sit on throughout my house, in the car, etc. I would use the U-shaped neck pillow to sleep on, because just lying down on my back would cause the coccyx to ache. I have become masterful at sitting on one cheek. ( It made me wonder if William F. Buckley Jr. had this ailment, as he always sat way sideways in his chair, which I always thought was an effort to appear erudite. I found myself in this posture at times, completely inadvertently, and feeling anything but erudite). I acquired an orthopedic wedge cushion with a little hole in the back for my coccyx to hang out at work, and I am sure my clients think I have hemorrhoids. No zafus to meditate on anymore -- just a bench, and the narrower the better. I even had to stop wearing jeans. The thick fabric just put too much pressure on my coccyx. Unfortunately another way my body has compensated for this pain is to lean forward several extra degrees when I am sitting. While this takes weight off the tailbone, it has wreaked havoc on my neck.

**Maybe I could just be snapped in line. He's a good guy, very into kinesthesiology and I have lots of colleages who love him. He took X-rays to rule out the really scary stuff. He admitted after some months that he was completely flummoxed. He had all manner of theories for my woes. Dural torque (twisting of the membranes covering the central nervous system) was one of them that I recall. He could really crack my spine and neck. But it really did nothing for the pain. Plan B for chiropractic would be a referral for an internal adjustment of the coccyx. Think latex gloves. No, thank you.

Then I realized in a routine yearly exam that my primary care doc is a D.O. (Doctor of Osteopathy). She offered to do some osteopathic adjustments. My parents and grandparents have always sworn by osteopaths. I had never had an adjustment before.

It was very much gentler than a chiropractic adjustment. While I lay on my stomach, she kept one hand the exact zingy-est spot of the coccyx, then with her other hand and much of her weight placed on my sacrum, she would find the spot that made that pain subside. Once found, she would then apply quite a bit of pressure for 90 seconds. The theory being, that the ligaments in the sacrum area were pulling the coccyx to the side. The left side, in my case. The applied pressure was giving it slack again, allowing the coccyx to move back towards its normal position, and lo and behold, providing some temporary relief. The hope would be that with repeated adjustment, the body would remember where the coccyx was supposed to be.

Tangent:
I learned in the course of this journey into healthcare that chiropractors and osteopaths have a hillbilly grudge against each other. This ever since the osteopaths went along with the American Medical Association in the mid-1800's. The chiropractors didn't, so the AMA started calling chiropractors "quacks" until the Supreme Court made them stop in the 1970's.

Nothing against the chiropractors, but the relief was accumulating just a little bit after a few weeks of osteopathic manipulation. My D.O. taught me how to teach my husband how to do this adjustment, and insisted it was not magic. Though I still needed all my pillows everywhere, I at least felt a bit empowered to do something. Plan B for the osteopath was a series of saline solution injections called prolotherapy. No, thank you.

Going Deeper

This is one of my newest SoulCollage Cards.

Going Deeper

• I am the One who explores the depths inside.
• I am the One who feels apprehensive, but continues anyway.
• I am the One who is nervous and excited about inner discovery.
• I am the One who is courageous.

The main image, the man whose features are visible, was collected maybe a year ago at a SoulCollage workshop (Thanks, Suzie Wolfer). I felt a strong affinity with it, and it reminded me of inner psychological exploration. It still does.

While I was creating it, I thought about adding water images -- a diver or deep sea level fish -- but they didn't quite make it. The stalagtites are created with water, but I kind of wanted a more overt representation. And then I found these incredible images of a shipwreck. How perfect a representation for those shipwrecks of life that find their way to the bottom and continue to haunt our subconscious. So I cut out the ship wheel, and it went over his heart / hara.

It felt "done."

I realized that it was time for this image to come out now because I am about to go on a 10-day silent meditation retreat in September. So begins my commitment to frequent retreat practice in the fall / winter of 2008. September's retreat schedule includes even more meditation than usual every day, and I don't really see in the schedule where I will have the after-meal naps I rely on so strongly at the other retreats I have been to. I am apprehensive and excited about deepening my practice, and looking into the nature of my mind during this time. Did I mention apprehensive?

Having realized that, I nodded and worked on another card, had dinner, hung out with friends, came home, and showed Patrick my newest cards.

Now, Patrick is usually very conservative with his comments. He has a certain reverence for the cards, and tends to state what he sees, with little interpretation. Even if interpretation is encouraged, he is reluctant to do so.

So when he said, "Going deeper into Dharma practice," I was impressed that he would verbalize that intuition he had gathered from this image, and his knowledge of my process. I said as much, and then he pointed to the shipwheel, and said, "Well it was the Dharma Wheel right there. That was the first thing I noticed."

Okay, guess who was the last to know about that.

I am serious. I did not place that there consciously at all, though it certainly is perfect. The Dharma Wheel is often depicted like a ship's wheel, the eight spokes representing the Noble Eightfold Path:

1. Right Understanding
2. Right Thought
3. Right Speech
4. Right Action
5. Right Livelihood
6. Right Effort
7. Right Mindfulness
8. Right Concentration

My subconscious, when I let it work on SoulCollage cards, creates magic.

A similar thing happened with this card:

Kwan Yin

Kwan Yin is the Bodhisattva of Compassion who "hears the cries of the world." Her element is water, and she is often depicted with a bottle, holding her tears, or pouring out the waters of compassion.

While I was creating this card, I placed her by a river, with ocean in the background, and the nautilus shell all as symbols of water, of the sea. This card looked exactly as it does now, and I clearly remember thinking, "Hmmmm, now what can I include to illustrate her listening capacity?"

A few beats later, it dawned that the nautilus shell is a beautiful reflection of the inner ear's cochlea, and also a representation of the childhood ritual of listening to the ocean inside shells... I laughed at myself and thanked this higher wisdom so graciously participating with me in the creativity of cardmaking.

Non-Doing and John Tarrant

I want John Tarrant, Roshi to be my cool Uncle that I can call up and have lunch with from time to time. John Tarrant currently teaches at the Pacific Zen Institute in the San Francisco Bay area. He's had lots of incarnations -- Jungian analyst, accomplished poet, lobbyist for Aboriginal rights in Australia (he's from Tasmania), factory worker, industrial fisherman, and on and on. He has written a couple books, one of which is called Bring Me the Rhinoceros & Other Zen Koans to Bring You Joy.
I went to see a talk he gave, and a workshop at the Unitarian Church, who sponsored him to come to Portland. It was a wonderful introduction to koan practice, which had been totally mysterious to me -- well, it still is. But now it's just slightly less scary, because I can now hear the koans in his warm Tasmanian accent.

He has an earlier book called The Light Inside the Dark: Zen, Soul, and the Spiritual Life. This book brings a lot of his Jungian influence, and is easy to open at any page to just enjoy a painting with words, really, that blends archetype and Zen, human experience and light.

Here is one of my favorite parts of his book. That rumbling underground you hear is my Puritan ancestors spinning in their graves.

Doing Nothing

We often forget the value of allowing the night and the day to flow in and out of the house while, on the hillside, the grass grows by itself. In general we are not lazy enough, and struggle too hard. Anyone can achieve things but to do nothing requires resolve. To become one with sitting is to become one with walking, with working, with jumping about, with being sad, with falling in love. The world goes its way, spring, summer, autumn, winter, and we are at home. What our integrity leads us to do then is what the old Chinese teachers called "the things of Buddha" -- eating, drinking, laughing, feeding the children, weeping, burying the dead.

The man whose aorta split open at sea said that when he was recovering after surgery, he noticed something: "The habit body, the opinions and thoughts that I normally carry around was quiet. Usually they make a kind of veil, or a buffer over things. But they were silent. And that was very nice."
When we let drop the veils of our usual preconceptions, we are closer to our lives, sustained without knowing why. When we cannot see how healing or the next step in our lives will appear, and no longer know what we can expect, the step we must take just emerges out of nothingness, like the grass. What rises to meet our need comes from a domain deeper than the realm of custom, more ancient, beneath our feet and our awareness, thousand armed, beyond our control. To live without veils, in modesty and unknowing, is to trust the abyss, as a swimmer trusts to the ocean, and gently moves both hands and feet; it is to flow through the day like boys on a raft down the Mississippi. The old Chinese teachers called such activity "doing nothing," or "not-doing." This doing nothing is an inner event that can take place in strenuous action or utter stillness. To do nothing is always harder than we imagine.
Not-doing, in which we lounge around and loaf at our ease, is a kind of falling out of our lives, the way when his aorta split the man fell through and beyond his habits. Visible and invisible hands reach out and we find that we have always been supported by much that is unknown ans beyond our plans. Just as Alice, in the surprising, uncontrollable moment of dropping down the rabbit hole, found a marmalade jar on a shelf, we meet common things in a field of wonder. The orderly progress of breakfast, lunch, and dinner catches us and there is the beauty of work, tea, jam on toast, the body's cabinet of pains, the quick feet of rain scratching toward us over dry leaves.
Unlike ordinary laziness, in which we merely avoid something we think we ought to be doing, the laziness of not-doing has a refined and charged quality. By comparison, ordinary laziness is hard work, and requires distraction. When we truly do nothing, a fertile, widening silence appears. Close to the mystery, we drift along. There is no resistance to delusion, yet delusion can find no ground to cling to. In the midst of action we rely on the stillness that is everywhere present. If the world is imagining itself without our existence, why then, we let it do so. When we truly do nothing, we allow that falling can be good, that arms might catch us when we do fall, that the world may sustain and surprise us at the same time. We respond naturally, witnessing the web of life of which we are a part, just as water runs downhill and the white clouds run before a breeze.
After a certain point, knowing and effort don't bring us into closer harmony with eternity; our love for fragile creatures provides a route. Francis of Assisi spoke with the birds. The Japanese poet Issa was concerned for the little forms of life:

Don't worry spiders,
I keep house
casually.
Not-doing, having no urgent plans, we dawdle in the intimate while, like a child jumping puddles on the way home from school. The world comes to us then, and we belong in it, in the morning light at equinox, with the hawks swinging on the updrafts over the headlands and, in the afternoon, with the fog rising out of the ocean to fling itself, kraken-like, onto the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. At last we are at home in this fleeting life.

Where have I been?

I have returned from a fairly arduous journey to the Omega Institute in New York State, and then Worcester, Mass. All this to train in Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, or MBSR. This, as you may recall, has been a piece that is falling into place since I've been working on the puzzle of burnout and professional drifting.
It took three airplanes, a hotel for one night, and then a $90 taxi ride (which I thankfully got to share with someone) just to get to Omega. Some moments in the trip were quite stressful, as there were many transitions, and often, arrangements were to be made at the last minute, it was not clear how we might get from one place to another, etc. I decided that this was all part of the weeding-out process -- how badly do you want this training? I found myself thinking about Huike, the Second Chinese Ancestor of Zen, who stood in the snow outside Bodhidharma's cave for years waiting for instruction, then finally cut off his right arm. Bodhidharma only then agreed to give him the teachings. Okay, so it wasn't that bad! I was going to make a note of the difficulty on my comment card, when I realized that getting there was difficult for everybody. Oh. Nevermind. We got to participate in a 5-Day scrunching of a usual 8-week MBSR course. Then we moved to Worcester, and the UMass Medical Center the epicenter of MBSR, and home of the Center for Mindfulness, to discuss what we learned, and continue to incorporate the fundamental attitudes and philosophies into our bones.

There were people there from all over the country, and all over the world: Sweden, Norway, Germany, Switzerland, UK, France, Italy. It was a lot of fun to get to know these colleagues, and to spend such intimate time together. I think I will never forget serious Mattias from Norway, who, in a difficult-to-detect moment of levity, mentioned that in the CFM offices, he had found and sat in Jon Kabat-Zinn's chair, reporting in near-deadpan delivery and Norwegian accent, "And I think I am still high from it."
There were many lovely moments as well as plenty of irritations. Much like any retreat, much like any life. I enjoyed connecting with another Zennie and admitting that we had had it with all the talking and processing (a major component of MBSR and a very helpful way for beginners to begin to get a sense of practice) and just wanted to sit! We also decided that we would write our own book, called Mindful Bitchiness, and go on the retreat circuit, making millions. I still blame the hip-openers in the yoga portions of the retreat for releasing the bitchiness I apparently store in that part of my body. >:( grrrr

I have a lot of respect for Jon Kabat-Zinn, the originator of MBSR. He can easily be credited with bringing meditation into the medical mainstream. I'm glad somebody wants to actually do research. A portion of our training was about learning how the mind-body split happened (see Descartes), and the impact it has on us as individuals, patients, medical providers, etc.
The making of an MBSR teacher is a lengthy process, and that is as it should be. I have come out knowing a little better what I have and what I need to be a beginner MBSR instructor. I am so far doing all right with not imposing some time frame on myself, or having some particular idea of how this needs to happen, but rather letting it unfold, and choosing to take the steps I need in this gradual process -- to participate in a daily yoga and meditation practice, choosing to obtain support from going to yoga classes and meditation retreats, and now I have a mountain of supporting materials -- articles, meditation and yoga CDs to transcribe... and to gather a group of 6 or more friends / family / colleagues / hapless victims who will continue to show up for 2 1/2 hours a week and love me anyway as I practice my first 8-week course on them. eeek!
In moments of clarity, which tend to come from long silent retreats, I know deeply, physically that there is nothing more important than becoming aware of this life. It is something we all share, but that is so easy to forget. MBSR brings meditation and mindfulness to everyone. There is no spiritual language, no esoteric chanting, no shroud of the metaphysical, no intimidating rituals, no matching clothing, not even a charismatic leader! It's just moving through a few basic body practices, noticing our bodies and minds --without trying to change anything -- just noticing, accepting, or maybe not accepting, but noticing the not-accepting, and then noticing some more.

And from one my favorite (and only slightly esoteric) chants: "Moment after moment there is nothing but this."

Orienteering

It has been a long period of discernment. It felt very uncomfortable. Like drifting for two years.
I had a sense that traveling to China might possibly help put the last piece into place, but I didn't know how. Since I have returned, I am sensing that it has fallen into place. The part in my blog description about being a social worker "on the verge of a change" is what I am talking about. I moved from drifting to gestating at some point, and now I think I am meeting my new intention.
Backstory:
In October 2006 I attended the Caregivers' Retreat at Great Vow Zen Monastery; a weekend of meditation, education, and support for folks who work, paid or unpaid, helping others. Chozen Bays, the Abbess, is also a pediatric physician, and a specialist in the field of child abuse. She knows a little something about burnout, or work the difficulty level I liken to staring at the sun.
Hey, if a Zen Master can burn out, maybe I'm not immune. In a place of safety, we caregivers were able to speak from our hearts about the impact of our work. On ourselves. And so it was there that I was able to look at the list of burnout symptoms, and start to admit, quietly to myself, that I might actually have a touch of this. This was, as we say in the mental health biz, "ego-dystonic," i.e thoughts & feelings that are not consistent with my self-perception.I've been a degreed social worker for 15 years. I've been volunteering in the field since age 15, starting with facilitating peer support groups in high school. There I go again, justifying myself...

Anyway, my feelings towards my job kept returning to the realm of... tired. I could sum it up by saying: "I love my work -- there's just so darn much of it," in a high-volume, high-need county mental health agency with high-intensity clients. And there's the long arc of my career. Where was it headed? Towards more of the same.

So I took Step One, and stepped down to 32 hours. A fabulous quote I once heard in a conversation about the benefits of letting go: "Everything I ever let go of had claw marks all over it." Curious that doing something so pleasant would be so difficult. Why? I began to explore fear; financial of course, but also this sense of identity I have cultivated from being a social worker for15 years. Also see previous blog entries on my recovery from workaholism and the Protestant Work Ethic. Sheesh! My friend Becca eased the transition though, when she christened my Mondays off as "Camp Laura Day." Nice.

A lot of my trepidation came / comes from the worry that if I let myself consider leaving the field of social work, then I might leave the field of social work! Then who would I even be? What would I do? This was not helped by a story told to me by a friend and colleague about his psychologist friend who, in a similar period of discernment, took 6 months off to wander. After 6 months, and no further clarity, he wandered for another 6 months. And discovered that he wanted to... open a pet store. He is now apparently deliriously happy selling reptiles. Okay, so that freaks me out. Not the reptile part; the QUITTING part.

So a year plus of Camp Laura Day, and I'm not cured. Even though I knew / know that this is "Divine Discomfort," the kind of persistent itch that is trying to lead to some spiritual growth, my doubting and frightened mind began to turn to a favorite piece of dialogue from the Drew Carey Show:

Drew's friend: "I'm just not fulfilled by my job."
Drew: "Oh yeah? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY. They meet at the bar."

We all have an Inner Critic. And mine started saying crap like this:

"There you go, being totally lazy. Who do you think you are to even dare considering taking all this time off, making a big change? You have a couple of degrees, a nice indoor job, seniority at your workplace. You just started getting good at this. Lots of people don't get to do meaningful work. And now you are thinking you want to what? See, you don't even know. That just proves you are totally misguided. Misguided and spoiled. 32 hours. Next it'll be 20 hours, then none. What about your retirement? You're going to take time off, and fall apart-- have some kind of existential crisis -- meanwhile the rest of the world is going to work every day. Must be nice."

So I attended the week-long sesshin (meditation retreat) at Great Vow Zen Monastery on Life Vows in January of 2008. Please click here and here to listen to two Dharma talks from this retreat by Abbot, Hogen Bays. They are about the importance of creating / finding space through meditation to make room for waiting, discernment, clarity, confidence, courage, action. (Feast your mind and heart on a complete menu of MP3 Dharma Talks from GVZM.)

The retreat helped clarify for me that I don't need to relinquish my healer archetype. It is a part of me. It's just that some of the other archetypes in my soul would like to have a little room to breathe and a little light shining on them, thank you very much.

Here is a poem that came from this retreat:

"I Am Not a Thing, But a Process"

Bowing three times to Kwan Yin
Steeping in the waters of compassion
and the heat of practice.
Brewing the body and essence of Jomon
Accepting all THAT is.

Aspects of Life Vow emerge
One by one, like stars in the night.
As I emerge to look, listen, and love.
I have only to name them and connect the
constellations:  North Star, Practice, Truth,
Gratitude, Service, Healing, Receptivity, Creativity,
Liberation.
My guides.
Orienting to Openness.

Returning to sit,
Gestating under the golden gaze
of Jizo Bodhisattva,
A warm, undefended heart,
I vow to relieve suffering. 

Okay, but still drifting. Not sure what sort of action this translates into. So I waited. And waited. And then I went to China. And traveled with a spectrum of people from Zen Masters to non-practitioners. And I met lots of Buddhists who didn't speak any English -- from religious rockstar Abbots of huge world-renowned temples, to lay practitioners, to citizen temple-visitors.
What I noticed was the impact of practice. The fruit of practice. The light of practice that emanates from people's eyes, is palpable in their body energy, and flows through their actions. This is available to all of us. It just has to be uncovered. And there is a path, a way to uncover ourselves. It's meditation.

Action:
So I've duct-taped my Inner Critic's mouth, and made some decisions. Well, that's not entirely true. I've taken my IC's opinions and views into consideration, and put them in perspective. It's hard to write my decisions down, even with my little blog's limited distribution list. Making a vow public is one way to strengthen and support a vow. I have talked with my boss at work. And I am doing the footwork to make this happen.

I will attend a sesshin once every other month to start, and my goal is to go every month (except August and / or when Patrick gets to go) in 2009.

• This starts in July, when I attend a 10-day training in Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction.
• Then a 10-day sesshin in September.
• Then a 7-day training in Voice Dialogue at the monastery in October.
• Then a sesshin in December.

It's like going back to school -- without having to go back to school (Thank God).

Whenever I return from a retreat, I know: Nothing is more important than this. This. Uncovering this moment. This life. This is all we have. This is all there is. And to cultivate the clarity, to settle the mind enough to even see what's important requires meditation -- in real time. Then the sky is clear, the North Star is visible, and I can begin to navigate this life.