“Our limited perspective, our hopes and fears become our measure of life, and when circumstances don’t fit our ideas, they become our difficulties” –Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), politician, printer, inventor, and diplomat
“Grant that I may be given appropriate difficulties and suffering on this journey so that my heart may be truly awakened …” –part of a Tibetan prayer
With teary eyes a co-worker described the deep affection she felt for her foster-grandchild, knowing full well that sooner or later she’ll have to let her go to an adopting family.
Last summer a hummingbird got trapped in our living room’s skylight. Unable to escape, it flapped and flapped, gradually became weaker. I finally mounted a table and caught it with my hands, then stepped on the deck and opened my hand. For a few moments–mere heartbeats really–I stood there, watching … concerned that she was unharmed and hoping that she’d stay a while longer.
The Buddha taught the Middle Way, that is, creating a container large enough to hold seeming ’opposites’ in a dynamic relationship. How, for instance, could my friend love her foster-grandchild unreservedly while also honouring her own sadness? And could I not observe the bird with awe, take pleasure in its nearness, and share its joy at being freed?
Ellen Birx is a profesor of nursing at Radford University in Virginia. She writes: “Life is lived right now in the present moment. In the past and in the future life is only a thought. It is not life itself. Likewise, healing takes place right now in the present moment. You can only experience wholeness and the fullness of life right here and now. This very moment is the only moment you have.” (In Healing Zen, 2002, Penguin, p. 152.)
Peter: ”You’ve probably heard this said before, one way or another. So what does it mean to YOU, right now, right here? Stop “doing” for just a moment. Sit quietly. Close your eyes. Notice your breath … entering … turning around … exiting. This is now. That was then. Another breath … now, here.
What’s important in your life … right now?”
Linda Siddall is chaplain at Mission Hospice in San Mateo, CA. In 2006 we were classmates in the year-long End-of-life Care Practitioner program at the Metta Institute of San Francisco. Linda writes:
At hospice, I frequently observe well-meaning relatives with an agenda to “comfort” or reassure people out of their feelings. This isolates the patient and gives him a sense of being lonely in the midst of his loving family. I find that the key is to be present without an agenda. We trust that this is the other person’s moment, his lesson, his experience. It is holy ground. Our only intent is not to keep him happy, as I told one desperately cheery wife of a grieving man, but to keep him company, to help him hear himself more clearly. Think of a friend, someone with whom you feel safe to say anything, knowing you will not be judged or rescued or even agreed with—just heard. What a sense of deep respect we receive, with space to explore our own interior landscape.
Once I was called to calm a patient who continued to yell obscenities after the nurses had tried their best to calm her down. She was yelling things like, “What a f—ing place! What about the f—ing dogs?” One nurse had assured her there were no dogs in the building, which only raised the volume level in the patient’s screams. In order to meet her level, I yelled quite loudly when I entered the room. “What’s going on here?” She paused and in a slightly lower voice repeated her concern about the dogs. “What about the dogs?” I yelled back. She calmed considerably and said, “Why don’t they feed them?” and burst into tears. I acknowledged her for her compassion and asked what we could do to help the dogs. She then made gestures as if handing out food and I did the same. She came and put her arms around me and said, “Thank you,” and climbed peacefully back into bed.
My dharma brother Ryushin writes: I wonder if you are feeling more relaxed after last week’s task of taking on less? I was reminded of being young with nothing to do and staring at the ceiling. It was actually quite soothing. Our next mindfulness task is to be aware of insects and spiders. This is a season when these creatures are trying to get indoors and store up food for the winter. Notice your reactions when you see these beings. See if there’s a difference when you see them outside as opposed to inside. What’s different? Notice if you don’t see them. Sometimes it’s hardest for us to be aware of what’s missing. If this is the case, perhaps you’ll need to actively seek them out.
… offered by Ven. Amaro Bhikkhu of Abhayagiri Monastery in Redwood Valley, California:
“Begin by sitting quietly and focusing the attention as clearly as possible on the present moment, using a simple tranquil object to establish equilibrium–the natural rhythm of the breath is good for this purpose for most people, moving in the empty space of the heart. Once centeredness has been established, deliberately bring to mind something that will arouse a fear reaction. Any memory, imagined possibility,or image that triggers the compulsive effect. Once the seed has been dropped into the mental pool and the consequent flow of thoughts and images has begun, make a definite and concerted effort to withdraw the attention from the stories the thoughts are telling. Bring it instead into the sensation of the physical body. Where do I feel the fear? What is its texture? Is it hot or cold? Is it painful? Rigid? Elastic? We are not necessarily looking for verbal answers to all these questions; rather, we are trying to find the feeling, accept it completely, and not add anything to it. “Fear feels like this.”
Many find that fear locates itself primarily in the solar plexus, sitting like a tightened knot in the belly. Just feel it, know it, open the heart to it as much as possible. We are not trying to pretend or force ourselves to like it, but it is here — right now it is the way things are.Let this process run for at least ten minutes, then consciously let it wind down, not suppressing it, but, as when it is time for guests to leave, make the hints, and let the event wind down naturally; reestablish the breath as a focal point, and use the exhalation to support the fading of the fear-wave. Once it has come to an end, focus the attention on the feeling of the breath, moving as before in the empty space of the heart.
Let the heart be clearly conscious that the fear cycle has come to cessation: it arose out of emptiness, returned to emptiness. It was florid and impactful in its appearance, but the overarching quality, now having been seen directly, is its transiency. Now we know.”
Today Hogen Bays commented on my recent learning-from-grieving experience as described in three short essays. To read them, kindly type GRIEVING in the search box and begin with the oldest.
“Zazen [meditation] is not a mental activity. It is done with the body. The first foundation of mindfulness is to feel the body with the body. In my experience everyone finds it very hard to be able to feel, feel, feel (in the sense of experience sensation) the body without bouncing up into ideas, interpretation and judgment, all of which keep pulling us away from our direct experience.
“Craving for love, or rejection, clinging, hate, aversion are all ways that we keep ourselves from being willing to stay right where we are and feel. “I don’t want to feel this” or “I have to feel that” is part of how we trap ourselves, making ‘this’ person not be ok, but ‘that’ person (whom I might become) ok. So I am happy to hear that you have creatively found many ways of staying with direct experience. We cannot do future art, only present art. There is no ideal way to do this. We all bumble along gradually learning as we go - one second at a time.
“Peeling the onion is not about getting rid of any layers, more like eating them, making them a part of us. Unfortunately or fortunately, as humans there is no better motivation for us to do the deep work than suffering. It is the fuel for transformation. I am happy that you have unrelentingly investigated with your whole being, just like the Buddha did, suffering and the end of suffering.”
Each week one of the novices at my great vow zen monastery sends us a “mindfulness activity” to help us became aware of our surrounding and to focus the mind on what’s right in front of us. This gives everyone the opportunity to bring mindfulness into the ordinary everyday and to practice alongside the monastics … dedicating our efforts to the well-being of all beings.
My friend Ryushin writes: The last two weeks we’ve been observing painful sensations and investigating what makes a sensation “painful.” Here at the monastery we were in a ten day silent meditation retreat, meditating ten hours a day. So, we had opportunities to practice with this at times during the day. I would add that, as the retreat progressed my body became more sore, yet the stillness of my mind frequently left me with little to no pain.
This week our mindfulness task is to not do so much. You heard me. It is quite common in our society to fill up our days and nights and (most of all) minds and bodies with activity. For this week, try to do a little less. Take some time to just lie in bed, sit on a bench, or stand and listen to the world going by. See what comes up in the mind, but don’t engage it. That means, don’t use that time to plan your day, your week, or your life. That’s doing, which is fine … but not the task. Try it for five minutes, ten minutes, thirty, etc. At what point does the mind start chaffing for some stimulation?
Investigate. Explore. See what you learn. I love to hear people’s insights or suggestions for upcoming tasks. Until next time, relax.
