Becoming the Healing Presence

Ungrateful Pre-Teens?

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 21:26:00 +0000

So I've been using this "Gratitude Log" on line (yes, I know I could use a "real" journal - but then, would I?) for about a 4-5 weeks now. Well, frankly, not every day - but often, more than once a week.

I saw this article about how researchers at UC Davis did a study where they had people write journals recording a variety of things. Some of them wrote down things they were grateful for and those people were measurably happier, nicer and more considerate of others, more likely to complete long term goals, and a bunch of other good stuff.

I have been giving it a try, and I have to say, I think it might have some good long term benefits for me. It remains to be seen.

The thing that interested me was that I heard an interview on public radio this morning (I believe the larger topic involved parenting research) and they talked about how someone followed up with using gratitude journals with middle school kids - perhaps those most in need of it. As someone who has been using a gratitude journal and the parent of a middle schooler, I listened intently. It turns out, they got statistically NO benefit from the exercise. They really are a completely different species for a few years, as it turns out.

The Black Hole of the Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 20:48:00 +0000

The brain is an odd thing. It can take visual information in, recognize it as a certain type of data, interpret it, and then stop.

I went to the Northwestern Health Sciences University website's Continuing Ed page to check out my class listing, and found it on the calendar page. After I noted that it was listed and that the dates were correct, I moved on. A couple of days later, late in the evening, something clicked in my head. Did I really see what I thought I saw? I went back to the website and there it was, the tuition for my class listed at twice the actual rate. It had taken that long for the information to register.

I've done it, we've all done it; read several paragraphs of a book and had no idea what I've read. Drive somewhere and have no recollection of how you got there.

Being present is a many layered phenomenon. There's being physically in the room. There's directing your sensory organs toward the environment. There's turning them on. There is even the act of performing the motions of engaging with the environment. All these things can happen and still, we are not there. We are not present.

Presence is like.....a distillation. A star, collapsing down to a point of infinite density. It is the moment where an alchemical melding takes place, and all things come together to make gold.

Emerging From the Hole to Reach For a Pillow in the Night

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 14:54:00 +0000

You know that scene in the movie "Raising Arizona" where John Goodman emerges, pulling himself from the sucking mud after tunneling out of prison? I sort of feel like that.

One of the things I found useful in pulling myself out into the air and the rain was a talk at the MN Zen Center by Tonen O'Connor on Compassion (thanks Steve and Drew). Sometimes you go to a class or a lecture and it's good because you get lots of new information, and sometimes it's good because it lets you know you're on the right track. This was very much the latter.

Opening with a request for definitions of compassion, I jumped right in with mine ("Yes; Miss Granger?"). I don't know that I've shared it in this venue before: Compassion is a dispassionate state in which one can be completely present with another's suffering.

Tonen jumped right on the word "dispassionate" and referenced it several times, but it seemed to sit badly with some members of the group. With others, I think it went right over their heads.

The use of the term dispassionate in this context is an attempt to dispel the notion that empathy is either necessary or a virtue in expressing compassion. Empathy is he beginnings of making compassion about the practicer. It becomes about feeding the needs of the giver.

Dogen said that compassion should be like a hand reaching back to fix a pillow in the night. In other words, it should be without thought, or doubt. There is a need, and it is filled.

Brad Warner speaks about compassion the way I wish I could (and would, if I was an ex-punk rocker Zen Priest who was free to pepper his writing with salty language) in his blog. But suffice it to say, if you're trying, you're trying too hard.

Quantum Mechanics: The Dreams Stuff is Made Of

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 27 May 2009 20:34:00 +0000

YOIKS! It's almost June and I haven't posted since March.

I've been a bit overwhelmed; I've taken on another job that starts at 6:00 am. Yes. 6:00 am. I'm thinking I'm going to cut back a bit on the number of hours I'm working; 20 hours along with everything else is TOO MUCH. Especially at 6:00 am.

So, I've been feeling a bit hip-deep while I integrate my new schedule. On top of this, I have a pattern that I've been following for years. Like most things though, it's hard to get perspective on it when you're in the middle of it.

What happens is that I start to get a little bored, a little frustrated. I begin to feel like I've reached a dead-end in my work, like maybe I've maxed out my potential, or maybe the potential of my work. I start to wonder if it's time for a career change.

To some extent, I am able to recognize that it's happening and that it's part of a pattern, but I also wonder if this time, it's for real, not just a transitional state. That's where I was this time, feeling like I'm spinning my wheels and wondering if I should just throw in the towel.

But then what happens is that something happens. I read something, I have an experience at the table or away from it. There's no way of knowing what will trigger the shift, but it happens, and it seems to be happening now.

I saw a quote from J. Robert Oppenheimer that says that matter is no more than a state of information. Oppenheimer was the theoretical physicist most commonly known for his involvement in the Manhattan Project. He was an important force in quantum mechanics, but was considered to never have lived entirely up to his potential in terms of developments and discoveries because he had such diverse interests. This endears him to me very much as I've been characterized similarly (not so much in the brilliant theoretical physicist way).

So what's been happening is that when I tune into a pattern, I allow myself to become completely present with it, and then recognize it as a thought form or idea, information becoming matter. Then I let it go. I don't do anything "to" it, I just recognize it for what it is, and, metaphorically, walk away.

The other thing I've been bringing to the table (literally) is a deeper awareness of my relationship with the client. (I wonder, how much further can this go?) What I have found myself doing is asking myself, "If the world came to an end right now, is this the space you would want to be in? Is this how you'd like to be with this person?"

These two pieces are going to come together somehow. I'm curious to see how.

My Big Brain

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 22:12:00 +0000

I am in the middle of a study group of sorts (Spring Practice Period) and the theme is "Silence and Expression". Our homework was to find our barrier, get in the middle of it, and then express something about it in some creative fashion. I wrote this:

"You’re in charge. Take care of her.
She needs you. You know how she is, she is so easily distractable – she might get lost, or start the house on fire.
I don’t know what she’d do without you. She is so lucky to have you."

"She’s too blonde. Defend her virtue.
You know how flaky she can be. Make sure she’s taken seriously.
She’s so sensitive; she feels things so keenly. It’s a good thing she has you to protect her."

And now my Big Brain thinks far too much of itself.
Swollen with a sense of its own importance, it has no sense of boundaries.
It stomps around, crushing the garden.
It falls asleep in the middle of the hallway and no one can get past.
My big brain chokes me. It leaves my mouth too full to chew, too full to speak.

So. There I am. All flayed and exposed. Or a good part of me anyway. I speak of the power of vulnerability, so I'm walking my talk. I hope you find something worthwhile in this.

Mindful Self-Indulgence

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 17:37:00 +0000

I am in a bad mood. The kind of bad mood I'm in is not grumpy or mean; it's bad because it has equal parts self-recrimination, self-loathing, and self-pity. Are you seeing a theme here? For convenience sake, I am saying that I am blaming my homeopath.

About 5 or 6 weeks ago I took a homeopathic remedy. We're talking classical homeopathy here. The kind of deal where my intake was over two hours long, and ended up with my being sent one very tiny pill. I popped it down on a Sunday morning and went on with my life. The most immediate result was that I became ADD girl. For that whole day (and probably then some) I was interrupting people, failing to provide my attention appropriately to those who were sharing their important feelings and experiences with me, and, most disturbingly, spilling confidences.

The interesting part of this was that I could see myself doing these things and yet felt helpless to stop it. I don't know which part I am suffering from the most, knowing that I did them or bearing helpless witness to it. It has been a fascinating exercise in mindfulness as I have also been watching myself go through the suffering I've felt as a result of my actions. This level of observance has somewhat mitigated my suffering as the attending personal drama is being fed less and I have a different perspective - less blindly immersive in the experience.

I still feel bad. Nausea inducing, hide under the covers bad sometimes, but being able to step outside of the experience a little bit has kept it from becoming overwhelming and allowed me to see that there is some part of me that is outside of this experience. It does not define who I am.

The Sky is Falling

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 13:21:00 +0000

Last Friday was a weird day. It began with a phone call at 7:15 am from my mother saying, "I don't know if you have the national news on..." The last time she did that it was about the same time of day on 9/11/01, so I was a little weirded out. This time she went on to say, "A plane crashed in Clarence Center and I wanted to let you know that we're okay." It was a mile from their house.

Along with watching a fair amount of CNN that morning, I watched myself. I noticed what I was and wasn't thinking and feeling, and my reactions to the fact that I was thinking and feeling what I was or wasn't.

It was: shocking, exciting, cool, interesting, sad - kind of in that order. I couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with me for putting sad at the bottom and exciting near the top. I was also aware of my emotional distance from the circumstances. Although I was all of these things, I was never very much of any of them.

Some conclusions I have drawn:

Despite our best intentions, we are all nascent gawkers at heart. Curiosity is an important human trait and crucial to our survival as individuals and as a species, we just have to remember to have manners.
It is easy to be conditioned to believe that you must feel sad/bad/glad on behalf others, or you are cold, unfeeling or indifferent to the well-being of others. Tragedy can be acknowledged without enmeshment.
Tragic circumstances are generally an excuse for us to indulge ourselves in drama. Drama is an addiction that feeds on itself and off the indulgences of others, and tragedies are great justifications for throwing ourselves into it head first.
Disasters have a coolness to them that it is okay for us to acknowledge. Pyroclastic flow from a volcano is nightmarish (currents of hot gas and rock which travel at speeds as great as 450 mi/h, at temperatures of about 1,000˚C), but as any 8 year old boy will admit, incredibly cool. Acknowledging the coolness does not detract from the tragedy. It is, among other things, a way of being comfortable our lack of control over circumstances.

I will admit that it took me a couple of days to understand that my distance, and my ability to observe and question my actions and reactions, was something I should see as an accomplishment of sorts. It is a measure of "skillfullness" in relationship to my goals of experiencing greater equanimity. I strive not to be Chicken Little.

Notice the Itch, But Don't Scratch It

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 22:44:00 +0000

The phrase above was a "pull out" quote for an article about meditation. I don't know or remember the content of the article - I likely didn't actually read it - but the phrase entered my brain and began to bounce around like a pinball, setting off all kinds of lights and bells.

DING! The first light goes on and I am confronted by my own actual tendency to actually scratch my actual itches when I'm sitting in meditation. I can be notoriously twitchy, much to the "delight" of my fellow meditators and my own dismay.

This set in play the question of, "What is it that causes me to regularly indulge myself this way? Do I not understand this principle or is it something else?" I had to admit that I do it without bothering to think about it first. I just do it. It's a subtle kind of laziness.

This shed an insight into how this translates into our interactions with our environment in general. My day is full of little pings of input, itches of irritation, distraction and annoyance. We scratch them (react) without any thought to whether they require a response or not. What would happen if we just sat with them? Just let it be, without the necessity to counteract?

Being present with our interactive "itches" creates a space for us to develop a relationship with them, providing an opportunity for insight. When we don't indulge in automatically dismissing them with a reactive "scratch", an awareness forms around them. This awareness is the first step to clarity, and the breaking of bad interpersonal habits.

Just once today, fail to scratch that itch, and see what happens.

Hand Cream, Electric Shocks and Self-Determination

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 22:44:00 +0000

A quote from Jonah Lehrer's book, How We Decide:

"A few years ago, Tor Wager, a neuroscientist at Columbia University, wanted to figure out why placebos were so effective. His experiment was brutally straightforward: he gave college students electrical shocks while they were stuck in an fMRI machine. Half of the people were then supplied with a fake pain-relieving cream. Even though the cream had no analgesic properties⎯it was just a hand moisturizer⎯people given the pretend cream said the shocks were significantly less painful. The placebo effect eased their suffering. Wager then imaged the specific parts of the brain that controlled this psychological process. He discovered that the placebo effect depended largely on activity in the prefrontal cortex. When people were told that they'd just received a pain-relieving cream, their frontal lobes responded by inhibiting the activity of emotional brain areas (like the insula) that normally respond to bodily pain. Because people expected to experience less pain, they ended up experiencing less pain. Their predictions became self-fulfilling prophecies."

I began to wonder how often we provide our own placebos, create our own self-fulfulling prophecy. The power of anticipation to color our experiences is something that I believe we all instinctively have a sense of. It is not, perhaps, given as much weight and consideration as it should. It is, apparently, a neurological phenomenon. If we anticipate pain, we experience it; if we anticipate a lack or diminishment of pain then we experience that as well.

The corollary to anticipation or self-placebo being a determinant in whether our experience is painful or not, is that our experiences of pleasant versus unpleasant color our reactions to our experience, which then influence the outcome.

So, those "creating our reality" people are right, at least on this point. Fearing the worst can contribute to creating the worst and vice versa. The crucial piece of this construct is that you can't think or suppose that things will be painless; you must know it. This difference is importance in the brain's response where the "reality" is created and is where it becomes more difficult. It is not a matter of pasting on a smile (although your mother was right; a smile does have some part in changing how you feel); it is deep seated trust in the character of the experience.

Love Letter to a Sangha

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 11:27:00 +0000

Dear Sangha,

Couldn't sleep this morning. I woke at something like 3:40 am. Sometimes I can read myself back to sleep, so I grabbed a copy of the Shambala Sun that was sitting near my bed.

I can't tell you the mental path that got me to this place, but I decided that chanting the three refuges would be a nice way to finish lulling myself to sleep. This chant (which is the only chant I know in Pali because it's ridiculously easy) essentially says that I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha. What this means for me is that I can rest myself in the recognition of the existence of the Buddha, the wisdom he enumerates, and the community of others.

Different times have yielded different reactions to the recognition of these refuges. As with any nugget of wisdom, where I am and what I am in process with informs the insights that result from its examination.

I want you to know that you, sangha, were the thing that drew my attention. I was thinking about what a basket case I've been with you for the last few months and I've been feeling kind of bad about it. When I needed to work out some serious crap, I spread it all over your Rohatsu sesshin, making you all look for the "benefits" and "gifts" in my fidgety, emotionally volatile disruptiveness. When I started my constitutional homeopathic remedy, you got the day where my ability to govern my focus and communication abilities went so far off base that I felt like I had ADD, interrupting and acting distracted when you tried to tell me of your pain or your personal journey.

I want you to know that it's a compliment to you. It is, as it turns out, your own fault. You created a good, strong container that I was able to use as the crucible to burn away my most recent layers of pain. You made a place where I felt safe, allowing me to blow through some less than attractive processes.

I'm afraid that you may be stuck with me for a while. The best way I can think of to thank you is by helping to maintain that container for others, giving back as good as I got. Thanks for the refuge.

Never did get back to sleep.

Who is Number 1?

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 00:54:00 +0000

I was listening to a program today about memory. One of the topics was a woman who has unusual memory skills in that she can remember in deep detail any event that was of interest to her. This could be her 13th birthday, or the day a foreign leader was assassinated. Everything from exact date and times, to conversations, feelings and incidental details was completely accessible to her. She still needs to take notes at meetings, write out grocery lists, and keep a calendar. It is only the times surrounding these incidents (and they apparently are legion) of which she has perfect recall.

One of the researchers discussing her said that she is "both the warden and the prisoner of her memories". By this, he means that she has the gift of being able to recall in rich detail her fondest moments, but she is unable to forget any incident that might have marred them. Unlike most of us, she cannot leave out the unpleasant parts and forget any associated slights.

This made me think that we all can be seen to be both the keeper and the captive of our memory. Memory is (evolutionarily) designed to be about the future, not the past. We have memory so that we can remember where the berry bushes are, and which water hole has bad water. It reminds us that fire is hot and that there is often a speed trap at that stretch of road a few blocks up. Memories exist to provide the benefit of learning to provide a pool of knowledge regarding outside forces and, as importantly, the consequences of our own behavior.

The bonus feature is that we can reminisce - think back on past pleasant experiences in order to relive the positive feelings that they invoked. The curse of memory is that along with the ability to reminisce, it can trap us in our past. I have seen people use "memory" as a handy catch-all for their personal issues. Unlike the woman in the memory study, most of us have imperfect memories that allow us to edit them in ways that support our present assumptions or behaviors.

Even if our memory of an event is relatively unsullied, how much do we look to them for excuses for our own behavior. Felt insulted or ignored by someone? Still holding on to that? I deeply hope and pray that the many times I have spoken thoughtlessly or behaved in a scattered or disrespectful manner are not being carefully catalogued and recalled.

The questions to ask are, "Is it a lesson to learn from or a grudge to carry? Is this genuinely serving me now and in my future? " If not, it's your keeper not your ward.

Roast Beef, Bruce Lee and More

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 14:51:00 +0000

Yeah. I know. I've been gone; really, really gone for a long time. It's something that when I started this blog I SWORE I wouldn't do.

Well I'm back now.

Cautionary tales:

#1
A guru at an ashram had a cat who was a welcome member of the community except that during meditation periods, the cat would pester and rub against everyone. So before each meditation session, the guru would tie the cat to a pole outside. Pretty soon, people began to believe that tying the cat to the pole was a ritual of import and significance and when the cat died, they were bereft since they could no longer continue the ritual. (Gratitude to Elizabeth Gilbert.)

#2
There is a particular martial arts style which uses distinct elbow techniques, kicks, and footwork. This technique has been passed down from teacher to student in toto as a masterful and complete system. It turns out that the original teacher of this technique had one arm that ended at the elbow and a club foot. Here were a whole group of students who were learning to fight with a missing arm and a club foot.

#2A
Universally venerated martial artist Bruce Lee was known for his high jumps and kicks. This led his admirers to perceive a qualitative difference between moving high and moving low. Lee's style was dictated by the inflexibility that resulted from a broken ankle.

#3
(Probably apocryphal, but often told) A woman always cut the ends off of her roast before putting it in the roasting pan. One day someone asked her why she did it. "Why, don't you?" she answered. Finding out she was singular in her roasting technique, she declared, "My mother always did it." So, she called her mother asked why she always cut the ends off her roasts. Mom told her that it was simply because her pan was always too small.

Think of these examples and pay attention to that which you believe to be true. What are you taking at face value? Does this set of circumstances, expectations and rules fit you?

Does it call to question how much you should trust? That everything should be questioned? That's not the lesson I'm asking you to see. I firmly believe that sometimes it's okay just to trust. Only through sacrificing yourself to trust can you delve deeply enough into an experience to see what the inherent value is. It's also where you can often find enough information to ask the hard questions, to find out where you might find some reward in moving toward adopting and where you'd be taking on someone else's concept of the ideal.

The Cauldron of Transformation

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 16:07:00 +0000

Thought I knew what that was. Turned out I didn't have any idea until now. Five days of sitting, walking (barely - about a foot a minute), sitting, bowing, sitting, oryoki (ritual eating), bowing, sitting, walking, (drink tea, go to the bathroom, sit in a real chair) sitting, bowing, sitting walking.....you get the idea. Physically, emotionally, mentally rigorous.

It burns away everything until you can begin to touch the space between the notes, and then contemplate the possibility that there are no notes.

Drove my car home at about 18 mph. Granted, it was slippery, but that just made me not look like an idiot for driving home at 18 mph. Seemed fast to me.

Rohastu Sesshin Day 3 Haiku:
A figure of stone
Scoured and worn by wind and sand
Each breath sets me free

Rohastus Sesshin Day 4:
At 5:30 am I watched the snow skitter across the lake ice.

I wanted to write a poem.
Something about how the wind blew snow ghosts across the thin, hard ice,
while underneath, the water lay still;
dark, deep and liquid.

Then the dawn broke
and I could see that the waves had shattered the night's ice,
and what I had seen was the surface of the lake
rippled by the wind.

Good thing I didn't write that poem.

Rohastu Sesshin Day 5 Haiku:
We sit in Zazen
Never knowing we are there
The snow buries us.

Gassho.

The Cosmic Downloads

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 18:18:00 +0000

A couple of years ago I took some advice from my clients and went out a limb. For years during my sessions with clients, I got "cosmic downloads" (or so I dubbed them). I would suddenly find myself in possession of knowledge that I had not had moments before, and this information presented itself somewhat insistently. Finally, some clients convinced me that people wanted this knowledge and I should let it fly. So far, they've been right about that 99.9% of the time.

I have to say that there are times that I struggle with this, but I've gotten better at trusting my instincts and knowing what is information to share or not. Then it usually becomes a matter of proper timing and framing of the information that is the source of my quandary. These "downloads" come in a kind of mental short-hand. This short hand generally comes in one of two categories: Metaphor and Catch-phrase.

When information shows up as metaphors, it is some sort of image or abstraction that encompasses a larger concept. I am always aware that this image is one that I've created as a way of conveying a large idea to myself, so I have to analyze what it means to me and then translate. This sounds like a long and distracting process, but it happens pretty naturally and readily. Not every metaphor is universal and so if I'm going to share the metaphor, I'd better have either a couple of back-up images that round it out, a more universal metaphor, or an explanation of the existing one.

In the case of the "catch-phrase" downloads, if I just blurted them out in the way that they arrive, they would come across as, at best, flip. At worst, they would come out as blunt or even harsh. The concepts behind them are much more nuanced than they initially seem (as they are, as stated, a kind of short-hand), so I must flesh them out into what they really mean, not what they sound or feel like.

This all is laying ground for the next topic, which I'll save that for tomorrow since it's introducing a whole new concept.

Obligatory Election Day Posting

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 21:25:00 +0000

Did you vote today? Here in Minnesota we are usually the state with the highest voter turn-out; generally close to 80%. We may have close to 90% today.

Minnesotans celebrate their ability to vote in a way that tickles me. When we had caucuses in the cold this year, the line in my district (at least for the DFL caucus) went down the hall, out the building, through the parking lot and around the corner. People would come and stop and ask, "Is this the line for the caucus?" When we'd say yes they'd say, "Cooool," and trip merrily to the end of the line.

That's another weird/cool thing about Minnesota. We don't have a Democratic Party, we have the Democratic/Farm/Labor Party. Lotta Socialists settled here. We may have elected a professional wrestler to the governor's office, but we never voted for Reagan.

Go Vote.

A Clay Jug Full of Canyons

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 17:16:00 +0000

Today was prop up your good friends day, which I am always more than happy to do. One of the people who needed propping was really at the end of her rope already when she had some old, icky business rear it's head.

"I thought I was done with this! I thought it was out of my life and I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore!" When she was done with her well-deserved freak out, I told her that now I was going to "go all Buddhist on her ass." And proceeded to do so. The reason I did was that what she said clearly resonated for me with what was on my mind with yesterday's post.

Kabir wrote about the clay jug which can contain mountains and canyons and the tools we need to test our mettle (or metal), because we contain everything. All our experiences, every lake we've gazed at, every leaf we've raked, every eclipse we've watched, they exist inside and outside us. We contain them entirely. No matter how many things we make part of our experience, part of us, there is infinite space left.

The upshot of this is that we cannot leave behind our experiences as we contain them, but that bad relationship, tragically embarrassing experience, or profoundly moving moment mean no more, or more less than that moon, that canyon, that raked leaf. They all just are.

Fingers Pointing to the Moon

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 02:39:00 +0000

Inside this clay jug there are canyons and pine mountains,
and the makers of canyons and pine mountains!
All seven oceans are inside, and hundreds of millions of stars.
The acid that tests gold is there, and the one that judges jewels.
And the music from the strings that no one touches, and the source of all water.

- Kabir (translation by Robert Bly)

I met Erik Storlie Sunday at the MZMC; he was the guest speaker for the Dharma talk and, I learned, one of the founders of MZMC. He shared the Kabir poem above as an example of how we are infinite in scope. Usually, Zen poetry is used to illustrate Zen principles, but although Kabir is many things, a Zen Buddhist is not one of them.

In addition to this poem, he made a reference to the concept of enough (Dayenu) from the Pesach seder. It did my heart so much good to hear him draw from a multiple outside sources. Immersing myself in comparative religion has been an avocation of mine for many years. When I am concentrating on getting clarity on spiritual and philosophical issues, I draw from my exposure to a wide variety of world religions, but Buddhism, most especially Zen Buddhism tends to draw somewhat exclusively from their own (admittedly large) pool of texts and poetry. It was comforting to see someone else feeling free to look outside the proverbial temple for inspiration.

There is a famous teaching that the teachings of the Buddha are like a finger pointing at the moon. Having Judaism, Hinduism, earth spirituality, Sufism, etc. from which to draw from feels like I have many friends with me, all pointing. It seems to me that the more fingers that are pointing, the more easily I can find the moon.

The Place Where You Live

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 21:07:00 +0000

I was cooking some wild rice today and it took me into a place of considering food and place. (If you live in Minnesota, you know that there is no food stuff more associated with this place than wild rice.)

A couple of Septembers ago, my friend Richard was visiting from Hawaii and I said something about, "Oo - it's getting to be risotto season!" To which he responded, "Risotto has a season?" I had to explain to him that when you live in a place where you have seasons, and the temperature can vary as much as 135 deg.F (this is not an exaggeration) over the course of a year, you don't cook things like risotto in the summer (or chili for that matter). He had a real "Aha" moment about place and food; I could see the gears clicking together in his head.

This, then brings me to examining my relationship to place. I've always lived somewhere with seasons; distinct, extreme, defined seasons. I wonder how my life would be different if I lived at a different geography. Somewhere where seasons manifest differently - or, as in Hawaii, there is only one. I cook so seasonally that I wonder how my meals would be different. Would I never make chicken soup again? Would I cook like it was summer all the time or would I adjust to the sameness and begin to vary my menu? As it is, I absolutely cannot eat asparagus out of season; it's just too weird for me, so I must contemplate my relationship to locality and seasonality would be.

Richard was dying for fresh apples when he was here (for which it was, unfortunately, too early). Funny to think of apples as exotic.

My birthday is at the beginning of September, so I am curious as to whether my relationship with my birthday would be different. By the end of August, I am a bit tired of summer, so I wonder if I would tire of the sameness of the seasons or if I would miss the anticipation of the change.

"Stand in the place where you live. Now face north. Think about direction and wonder why you haven't. Stand in the place where you work. Now face West. Think about the place where you live and wonder why you haven't before." – "Stand" by REM.

A Rest Stop in the State of the Sublime

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 13:05:00 +0000

An Adobe Abode
Translation is such a tricky thing. Pali is the original language of the buddhist liturgy and is, essentially, a dead language. Combine this with the cultural gap between modern Westerners and ancient South Asians and translation becomes a tricky thing.

I have a particular interest in the Brahma Viharas which is frequently translated as the "Divine" or "Sublime" Abodes or Abidings, and they are Compassion, Equanimity, Loving Kindness, and Sympathetic Joy (again, there are some translation considerations here).

I felt compelled to get clear about what, exactly, "Abode" or "Abidings" mean. Since translations are the purview of academics, I wanted to see what the linguistics of this phrase are, sending me into Dorky Fascination No. 28: Etymology.

My understanding of the word "abode" was pretty limited, as it (embarrassingly) turns out. I thought that it meant "residence" and "abide" meant "tolerate". I'm not sure how I reconciled the two; basically, I guess I just didn't bother. Although my translations were not incorrect, they were incomplete. "Abode" also means: "stay or continuance in a place; sojourn". Not entirely different from my definition, but different enough in important ways. Abode implies an impermanent resting place. The connotations of this are initially disconcerting. After all, if these are sublime ways of being, aren't they the state we must be in all the time? But if we look at "abide", which in verb form is the present tense of "abode", it can be defined, "To remain stable or fixed in some state or condition; to continue; to remain."

I am taking to a place where I see a place of rest, stability. This is a state where we can find respite. It is an opportunity for repose. When the frustration or dismay over striving to make the Divine Abodes a permanent state of being becomes disconcerting, we can remind ourselves that we can go to them as an interlude or breathing space. Then, be with, enjoy, and appreciate the moments we find ourselves there.

Get a "Life"

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 23:05:00 +0000

It's been a while since I had a must-see TV show. I have several I enjoy, but if I miss them, it's of no large concern. I think the last time I had a show where I refused to answer the phone and on nights I had to miss it, just in case, I double recorded it, was "West Wing". I've been feeling good about the fact that I have not developed any other TV obsession, until now. Fortunately, we now have Fancast so I can watch old episodes and get caught up.

What is this new addiction? "Life". Here's the premise: A cop is falsely convicted of murder. Since he's a cop, the other prisoners regularly beat the crap out of him, his wife divorces him, and he discovers Zen. After 12 years it is discovered that he was falsely accused, is set free with a substantial (at least seven figures) settlement, and goes back on the job. He is now quirky, awkward, and has little to no relationship with, or understanding of, camera phones, instant messaging, and car GPS systems. His Zen education is obviously self-taught and thus he is stumbling toward enlightenment the best he can figure out how.

One of my favorite lines so far is when he is driving his extremely hot new car and he keeps repeating, "I am NOT attached to this car. I am NOT attached to this car. I'm just attached to this car."

Think about it.

Plus it has Robin Weigert in it. I love her. And Adam Arkin. I love him too. I met him once - very handsome.

The Buddha Machine vs. Lawn Signs

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 20:25:00 +0000

Many of my friendships are defined by particular characteristics. These characteristics may not be unique to this particular relationship (say, "shoe shopping buddy"), nor are they the sum-total of the relationship, but they are somehow an important part of the identity of that relationship. My friend and, until recently, co-worker, Mats and I have one of those relationships. It is defined by our fondness for weird Asian kitsch. We have been buying each other stuff for years. All of it somewhat inexpensive, all of it amusing.

This year for my birthday I received from him the Buddha Machine. Cool, weird, funky (don't know how much he paid for it, so I can't tell you if it was cheap), and wonderful. It is a small, blue, plastic mechanical device from China that plays twelve different Buddhist chants. It comes on a lanyard - need I say more. Not being entirely sure what to do with it, I have hung it in my car where I could be serenaded at will.

Today I was driving to a far suburb, and about half-way there I flipped on the Machine, chose a chant and chilled. I was curious what letting this thing run would be like. It took me a minute or two with several of the chants to really settle into one, but once I did - whoa.

What I Learned:

First of all, chants are something that allow your mind to focus on one, simple thing. Playing chants is a weird thing to do when you're driving. You are both more present, but less alert; or the opposite; or something. At first, it did not permeate my reality that much. Then, suddenly, I understood that the chants were beginning to draw my attention and I wondered if driving and chants were as good a combo as I had initially thought. (I learned a while ago that I couldn't listen to Eckhardt Tolle and drive at the same time.)

Again suddenly, I realized that I was experiencing a synthesis between the driving and the chanting. It was about this time that I hit the edge of the 'burb's residential area. Spread before me about every block or so, was a house with political campaign signs. The majority of these signs were for candidates I have little interest in supporting - some I might even have a tendency to respond to somewhat viscerally. The thing is, by the time I hit the string of lawn signs, I was in a place where I was able to observe them with a breathtaking amount of equanimity (not to mention an ease with simultaneously observing my equanimity!). They were signs. With names on them. Huh.

The Buddha Machine - who knew? As cool as it is, I think I'll be careful/responsible about using this in a moving vehicle. Late nights, for example, would be right out. Nine hour car trips; also probably a bad idea. Respect the Machine.

Fig Finale

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 17:11:00 +0000

I ate the rest of the figs. I bought more figs. Lots of them. I am not going to pine over the perfect fig, nor am I going to live my fig-eating life in search of the next perfect fig. I am going to enjoy each and every fig as the fig that it is.

FYI: I did get one very bad fig. You couldn't tell from the outside, but it was FUN-KY on the inside. So, as I have not let the perfect fig ruin my fig eating, neither will I let the evil fig.

No attachment. No aversion. Just eating fruit.

The Perfect Fig

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 17:54:00 +0000

Yesterday I was doing a quick "drive by" shop of the Trader Joe's across from my office. I was working a long shift and wanted to have some fruit and nuts for quick snacks I could grab between appointments, when I saw a large container of fresh figs. I love figs. Love them. Heart them. After quickly assessing their mold situation (fresh figs seem to mold before they leave the store), I snagged them with glee.

I didn't end up eating them until I got into the car to head home. I broke open the seal, reached in, and bit deeply into a fig. It was good; good enough for another one. This one was better. One by one I worked my way into the box, relishing each one, until I bit into a fig that exposed me to a depth and richness of flavor I had never met before. It was a fresh fit with all the dark, sweet funkiness of a dried fig. I was transported.

This transcendent experience put me in a quandry. My choice:

Stop eating figs (For now? Forever?) as no fig can compare to this perfect, ripe jewel.
Eat more figs hoping for more of the same or, be still my heart, one even better.
Eat more figs acknowledging with a sweet anguish that no fig will ever live up to this one.

What do you think I did? What would you do? What does this say about attachment and equanimity? If you try to log in and it gets hinky, email me here.

New Haiku For You

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 21:22:00 +0000

Birds chirp and chatter
About the pain in my back
I should listen

This is the haiku that wrote itself during my day-long retreat this weekend. The point of sitting is NOT to be creative - or even to think. Sometimes they happen anyway.

Things that Bug the Crap Out of Me - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 03:39:00 +0000

I've gotten some responses to the Bug Me Item file and the first one I'm going to address is Public Expectoration. I chose this one because it is straight-forward and, interestingly, high on the list of my own personal Pet Peeves. Good one, Nancy! This makes a great challenge for me!

First I want to be clear that no matter how I tweak it, rudeness is unacceptable. We cannot be inconsiderate of others with the expectation that others need to get over it. I consider public spitting rude. Unfortunately we live in a world with it; how can we do so with our respective heads in a better place? Let's look at what it does to us – why does it bug us and how? I wasn't told why it bugs our correspondent, so I'll have go with my own issues.

It is dirty. Nothing is dirtier than the human mouth - and what comes out of it.
The sound of someone coughing up phlegm makes me gag (I'm gagging right now just writing about it).
It is unnecessary. There is no reason to spit. If there is, use a handkerchief.
I might step in it; which can result in the reaction described in #2.
Per the objections stated above, it is inconsiderate.
There is an aura of machismo that seems to be associated with spitting, making it as much a statement as a biological urge or necessity.

This is tough. The first place I am tempted to go is to causality, why one would spit. I'm not sure why individuals spit so it's hard for me to go there for understanding and compassion. The fact that I have such a visceral reaction makes it that much more challenging as well.

Spitting can be culturally specific. Spitting anywhere in China has, until recently, been considered completely appropriate. (Between the arrival of foreigners for the Olympics and SARS, the government has been launching anti-spitting campaigns.) Is the spitter native to this country? How embarrassed he will be when he finds out it is not appropriate.
The gag reflex is my own reaction. Own it.
Men don't carry tissues. Men are spitters. Men have nothing into which they may spit.
I am reminded of the story of my then co-worker, Mary Margaret McMahon, who returned from her lunch break telling me about this poor woman she had seen who must have grown up without a mother because she was wearing white pants in October. Her concern and sympathy for the woman were genuine; she really had jumped to the decision that the woman had no mother, and thus her fashion gaff. Can we consider that the spitter has or had no adult to correct his ill behavior?
The macho 16 year old is, whether spitting or displaying some other ridiculous chest-beating behavior, flirting with adulthood and scared sh**less. Poor kid.

This case, in particular is about adjusting our overall attitude. Of course rude behavior bothers us, particularly when it has an impact that feels personal. It is a matter of how much you are willing to be worked up about it. The key is in adjusting your own relationship to the event. I really hate spitting, but am I going to let it put a serious damper on my day? So, I guess another discussion that needs to happen soon is Techniques for Shifting Your Relationship to Events.

Love to hear your responses to this one.