Pathscrossing

Begining and End

For many past New Year’s Days, I’ve not made any lists or goals. It just never felt right. I remember just giving my attention to what I was feeling, what would be moving or inspiring to myself, or others.

One of my New Year’s rituals is to send a greeting to family and friends. I sit down and write them on New Year’s Eve. This year, I also decided to create the card, a Japanese calligraphy for “beginning and end.” I began practicing the calligraphy, then I created one for each person. About half way through, my brush strokes began to have this “disappearing” or “emerging” feeling to them. There in the words “beginning and end” emerged the essence, the disappearing and emerging nature of “beginning and end.”

Later that day, I wrote these words to accompany each calligraphy, and Jan printed an image from among his photography to compliment.

In the blink of an eye, a beginning ends, and an ending begins. Unable to separate -- relax, surrender, and connect to something indescribable and unknown, feel awe and wonder, a smile inside, a deep breath, the stillness, a moment of experiencing your true self.

This year was no different. No lists, no to’dos, no big goals or aspirations, just this feeling, this sense of something meaningful about the beginning and the end of things, of tasks, of projects, even of life. It isn’t so much about the “what” anymore, as it is about the “how.” Like how I realized my interest to provide end-of-life support by just sitting, by non-doing, rather than reading books, talking to mentors, and going to workshops. When I am not pre-occupied to do, do, do, I learn to take my queues from my life, from what is presently emerging, and trusting myself to respond, to follow-through with humility, and love, and gratitude.

In this way, celebrating the past and the new year occurs in each and every moment.

Being Supportive to Others and to Self

Through the experience of my volunteer training for Shanti, I began learning about how to be supportive. From my experience that meant learning to meet the other person where they are, to not have any preconceived ideas about what they need or should do, to be non-judgmental of their choices, and maybe more importantly, to learn how to just be comfortable and self-accepting with myself.

From that experience, I have many moments throughout the day when I reflect on and observe myself, in how I am being supportive to another, to my partner, my mother, my brother or sister, a friend, or an acquaintance. Am I defending my own beliefs and interests, or am I open and accepting to their beliefs and interests? Am I truly listening, or am I just being selective in order to rationalize what I think should happen? Do I feel that I’m supposed to have an answer for them, or am I willing to let the conversation unfold until they find the answer for themselves?

As I discern these questions, I become more mindful of my own motivations and intentions. Winding down that path, I find my own insecurities and the awkwardness of the silence just after their words. I’m trying to learn to just sit with that silence for a bit longer than usual. Then to nod, to paraphrase, to smile, to move my lips in acknowledgement, but no words, not even a thought, and wait to see what they say next. It’s harder with loved ones because of all of the years and years of reactions that have conditioned me. Yet, I know that this is an important learning for me, one that I will keep practicing for a very long time.

The harder part for me is having someone to support me in much the same way, without judgment, only acceptance, who gives me the spaciousness after I say something to see if I will answer myself, someone who doesn’t feel like they need to have the “answer,” who wants to “fix it” for me, who believes that their role is to make my life better. It’s probably difficult for loved ones because they care about me, they don’t like to see me suffer. And, I feel rather uncomfortable with the idea of dumping my garbage on a friend or an acquaintance.

Maybe I just need to sit practice what I recall from Buddhist teachers and masters, sit with the situation, feeling or issues, be present to it, let it transform itself in it’s own way, without force or control. I guess that even refers to this, to my feelings of lacking of non-judgmental support, to just sit with it, notice it, observe it, followed by the practice of loving kindness towards self. I’ll try that.

A Silent Thanksgiving

This year I decided to have a silent Thanksgiving, just me, by myself. It is kind of an experiment, of sorts. A few weeks ago, I revealed loneliness as a source of my joy – that through my loneliness, I found my deep, heart-felt appreciation of being with others, of being loved by others. So, I created a situation for myself, where I would spend Thanksgiving all by myself.

When friends asked, I tried to explain it. They understood the words, but probably not to the depth of exploration that I was undertaking. I politely excused myself from the traditional Shimada-Kross gathering, this year at my sister’s in Boise, Idaho. I explained that I was taking a personal retreat, a phrase they are getting more accustomed to as I devote more time to meditation. So, here I am, it’s 7:30 pm. How did it go? Two words: quietly and surprisingly.

The quiet aspect of it was through the time that I took for zazen, for practicing my Japanese calligraphy, and for reading. The surprising aspects were that I received a bouquet of flowers from my loving partner, Jan who is in the Czech Republic. It was on my porch, this little pumpkin filled with orange roses, fiery like a southwestern sunset. A moment of gratefulness for his love, his thoughtfulness, and his presence in my life.

The second surprise was a young woman named Summer who was standing in my doorway with a pie from her parents, Cynthia and Jeffrey.  Summer brought it from her parents who wanted to thank me for helping them push their car out of the road in front of our house a few days ago. I saw they needed help. It was the morning rush hour, and it was more important than making my smoothie. I was moved by their gratitude, and maybe more importantly, I also felt grateful for who I am, that I took the time to go out in the rain, in my pajamas.

Earlier in the morning, as I was meditating, a thought occurred to me. (Sidebar: even though in meditation we try to be empty, when a thought arises, we should just return to our breath. But, sometimes, one thought leads to another, then I return to my breath.) Building on what Koshin Cain, the Abbott of the Puget Sound Zen Center, said last night in meditation, about how we gather around the table, holding hands to stop and give thanks, here’s the thought: what if that gratitude that we formally acknowledge on one of the day would flow throughout the rest of our days, weeks and months? In fact, one of my most favorite youtube videos is by Brother David Stendl-Rast, called A Good Day.

On this silent Thanksgiving day, even though I was alone, I really wasn’t. You see, in my reflections and contemplations of loneliness, I realized that I’m never really alone. I am always surrounded by trees, birds, the wind, the moon, people walking by the house, and the countless thoughts of loved ones far away. By taking a silent Thanksgiving, I gave myself an opportunity to try and get in touch and be grateful for all of my relationships. I only needed to be still, to be quiet, to listen, and to feel it all around me, especially to to Jan and my neighbors, it was a really good day.

What I Found When My Heart Cracked Open

 “Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.”

For years, I’ve always thought this clip from American Beauty was one of the most beautiful scenes in a movie. It captured me, because it was something I wished that I could feel, to be able to see life, to experience life with my heart overflowing. It’s not something that you can pursue, like deciding to see the Grand Canyon, or waiting for a sunset.

This last weekend, I had the good fortune of attending a retreat on Radical Joy at the Upaya Zen Center located in the beautiful mountains of Santa Fe. My interest in attending this retreat was to meet Joan Halifax Roshi, founder, abbott, teacher, and priest of Upaya and to experience the Center as part of my application process to their Buddhist Chaplaincy program.

The experience of the weekend was shaped by Roshi and Sharon Salzberg, providing a blend of Zen and Theravada Buddhism, respectively. Roshi commented about the common emphasis of Buddhism on suffering, and joy not as common. While I did not come away with a prescriptive notion of “radical joy,” I did feel that something happened, that my eyes, my mind, and my heart were opened.

Maybe it was the presence of Roshi and Suan. Maybe it was the beauty of the zendo. Maybe it was the presence of the other 100 or so individuals who were gathered. Maybe it was the combination of zazen and vipassana meditations.

All I know is that when I heard a movie clip by Brother David Stendl Rast’s, I felt my heart cracked open. All I know is that when Roshi was expressing her appreciation to a handful of residents and participants who were concluding their three week meditation sesshin, I felt my well of gratitude crack open.

All I know is that when the retreat ended, I sat with a woman to share with her my gratitude for the benefactors in my life, and I felt my heart break in to pieces as I felt that there has been so much love around me. I was experiencing that scene from American Beauty. I found the moment, or the moment found me. I felt it.

In that moment, when I felt so much love, I also in almost the same breadth felt it’s source in the final sentence I voiced to the woman I was sitting with. “It’s so overwhelming sometimes because I feel alone, I feel lonely.” I had realized what Roshi, I think, was speaking about, that the extent of our joy to some extent depends on our suffering.  My feelings of loneliness heightened my appreciation and gratitude for the moments that I have been loved. It was a beautiful moment, to experience joy in the retreat, and an equally powerful moment to recognize my own loneliness.

My heart was cracked open. I found joy. Radical? Not sure. But, inside my heart, I found loneliness, too. And, yes, everything else contributed as well, the presence of Roshi and Susan, the beauty of the zendo, the presence of 100 participants, and my experience of both zazen and vipassana meditation practices.

Roshi announced that she and Susan would be offering this retreat again in 2010. While I can’t make any promises about what you will experience, if you feel it pull you, then trust that.

The Practice of Being Enough

I just finished my volunteer training this last weekend for Shanti, a Multi-faith program.The program provides “free emotional support for people affected by HIV/AIDS, cancer, and other life-threatening illnesses.”

I originally submitted my application as a volunteer to deepen my spiritual practice, to someday be formally in a position of providing end-of-life care. Before attending the training, I knew from my orientation interview that being a volunteer meant learning how to be present to the individual’s grief, loss, and helplessness without trying to fix or solve anything for them. When I began the training, I carried that expectation with me, to learn how to not feel that I needed to have an answer. When I finished the training, I had opportunities to learn and practice those skills, but more importantly, I came face-to-face with my underlying beliefs.

Here’s the bottom line, for me: every time I say to myself, “I’m insecure” as a rationale for not doing something, what I’m really saying is that “I’m giving myself a reason, an excuse for being that way.” In my case, it expands to mean that it’s okay for me to not like myself, to feel less than adequate, to not be good enough, to not, to not, to not. Even though it’s what I honestly feel, here’s what happens: my judgment of myself means that it’s something I need to fix, and that means that I need to do something to fix it. If it gets fixed, then it reinforce the idea that I need to be fixed, but if it doesn’t then, it’s a failed effort, and I end up right back where I started.

As a volunteer, this has it’s downside. The more I try to find fixes for myself, the easier it has gotten to also provide fixes to everyone else, too. And, as I learned in volunteer training, that’s not what the individual is seeking, they only want support, no fixes. If you get on the fix-it side of the conversation, then in between the words what you end up saying is, “you’re not okay, you need to be fixed.” That’s not compassion, at least not the kind of compassion I want to demonstrate.

So, what’s the fix to the not fixing? For now, I’m going to try to just say “I am enough.” I’m hoping that it’ll short-circuit the thinking that something needs to be fixed. I’m hoping that it’ll be enough so that I can just accept what is, without any rationalization, without any notion of what should have happened or what could have happened. All that goes out the window! All of it!

As a result, here’s what I hope happens. I am enough gives me acceptance of myself and the situation. It derails the fix-it thought train. Instead, I am left with being understanding and I cripple the excuse for rationalizing and justifying my negative biases about why I act the way I do. Instead, I accept the situation, accept myself, and just move on.

I didn’t expect to realize this type of insight for myself in volunteer training. Now that I have, I realize that the opportunity that I have to spend with whomever I am matched will be a tremendous gift for me to practice being enough, and hopefully from that place, I will be able to have a supportive presence for the individual, and maybe, just maybe, they, too . . . (I almost wrote something that suggested that they needed to be fixed.) Ha! Got me! To practice being enough. That’s enough.

Being Non-Judgmental Begins with Self

Today was my first day of hospice volunteer training with Shanti, Multifaith Works. I found Multifaith through an internet search of local hospice volunteer programs in the Seattle area.

After submitting my application, I was invited to an orientation interview with Robert, Program Director, and Molly, Volunteer Coordinator on September 6. This is my journal entry on September 7:

Yesterday, I had an interview with Multifaith to be a Shanti volunteer, providing end of life care, to deepen my practice as I move towards becoming a Buddhist Chaplain. They spoke of how most situations it is more about individuals who are experiencing loss and grief, about being present to them, without judgment, without asserting my own expectations and needs, without trying to solve or fix anything, but just being emotionally present. I sense that this will teach me, will give me the opportunity to learn to just be present, with love.

Even though it was only the first day, I was quickly awakened to what I had written. You see, through a variety of exercises, I was able to consider what my response would be to a Shanti-partner, an individual who had requested support from Shanti. As I sat through those exercises, I heard myself on a few occasions jump to solution-oriented responses, rather than just simply paraphrase or reflect feelings. I feel like I’m trying to unlearn and relearn new ways of communicating.

After having so many years and years of learning how to fix problems, of having the next idea, or figuring out what to do, I’m now faced with a situation where that is my handicap. It makes me wonder about how much of “that type” of thinking has affected how I look at myself. If I see myself as someone that has something that needs attention, that needs to be fixed, and more importantly, how that has affected how I see others, that they, too, have something to be fixed.

I’ve had moments where I haven’t been so judgmental of myself, being a little kinder, a little gentler, more compassionate. When I’ve felt those moments, it’s also helped me to know what it feels like, making me realize how good it would be for others to feel that way, too. And so now, more often, I feel myself being less judgmental, less critical of others, just accepting things as they are, where there is no good or no bad.

I don’t know why it feels like it’s going to be so difficult in my training, or even anticipating the challenges of it with a Shanti-partner. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake, that I’ll upset someone unknowingly. Funny thing though, it’s that fear of failure that makes me so judgmental of myself, of needing to “do it right.” But, that puts me right back on the treadmill again of needing to make sure that I have the right answers.

I guess the hard part of being non-judgmental is more about how I judge myself, first. For that, I don’t need to rely on hospice volunteer training, I can work on that from right where I’m at. Maybe that’s why I enjoy my zazen “sitting” meditation, because it’s just me, nobody else, just me. Just sitting with myself, when a thought appears, I let it go, without judgment. Now all I need to do is bring that in to my volunteer training, in to my practice exercises to be non-judgmental of my Shanti-parter, and maybe more importantly, myself.

More Spaciousness on the Outside, More on the Inside

Just returned last night from a 12 day trip in Pocatello, Idaho where I was helping to clear generations of stuff in my Uncle’s house so that he could move in to a smaller house or apartment. It’s a house that my Grandfather built. It’s where he and my grandmother, and my Uncle lived for many years. It was time for him to move, a time for letting go of his parent’s belongings, a time for deciding what was most important to keep, and what could be donated.

For me, it was a time to try to be understanding, a time to be of service, and as I learned, a time to learn how to breathe and relax with the time pressure of trying to finish nine large rooms in 12 days, besides working full-time during the week days.

I arrived on a Friday evening and even though I would be staying with a friend during the entire time, I went over to visit with my Uncle to get a sense of how to approach the entire effort. When I walked in, I was immediately overcome with the enormity of the task, of how much stuff there was and of how little space there was to easily move around. After my early morning meditation that Saturday morning, we began. It was a long day, maybe 12 hours, followed by another meditation the next morning, and another ten hours. By the end of the weekend, we had finished off two rooms and had some areas clear enough to organize items coming from the other rooms.

As the next few days followed, I began to feel a anxiousness in my morning meditations, wanting to cut them short, my mind at times distracted by what I needed to get done, with more thoughts and questions about how to finish the entire house, and what to do with everything that he wanted donated. I felt a noticeable difference in my mind-state. And so it continued for the next ten days. On several occasions, my tiredness convinced me to enjoy the bed, rather than my zafu, to sleep rather than to sit awake, to forget my breathing rather than to feel the beat of my heart.

By the end of the 12 days one thing was very obvious to me. When there are time pressures and demands to complete something within a specific time period, our mind takes over, becoming pre-occupied, calculating, adjusting and thinking about everything that needs to get done. All that thinking didn’t really change anything for me. There weren’t any thoughts or breakthrough ideas that helped me to do it better or faster. All they did was pre-occupy me, distract me from embracing and breathing in to the stillness that I was so accustomed to enjoying. Still, it was good to practice letting go of all those need-tos and wantas. It was good to learn to practice returning to my breath, to releasing myself, and to hearing the voice that says “not now, later.”

Maybe more importantly, as day ten arrived, my Uncle said he could feel himself returning to being more whole, and that he was happy. Maybe all those years of accumulated stuff congested his walking around the house, and now, all that space that was opened up in his house also gave him a glimpse into the inner sense of spaciousness and freedom. If we could all just get a taste of that, maybe it would be easier to give things up, to be less attached. Until we wrestle ourselves into letting go, we can never know what is on the other side, of what it feels to be uncumbered, of how spaciousness on the outside expands our feeling of spaciousness on the inside, and how that expansive emptiness within gives us the capacity to be available to so much more in our lives.

Mindfulness Costs $124

Every month, my Mom gets a B12 shot. This month, she also got a flu shot, both in the same arm. Whoa! Not me, thank you. The doctor’s office is located in downtown Seattle, right on the corner of 4^th and Madison, across from the relatively new city library. Like any high rise office building, there is parking. In fact, on most occasions, we are always fortunate to get a handicapped parking stall.

As we returned to the car, we began talking about family matters. I paid the $11 parking fee, pulled out on to Madison, heading west, still talking. I took a right turn on to 3^rd Avenue, knowing that I was going to another shopping destination. While driving on 3^rd, Mom and I continued to talk about our family concerns and issues. I got to the end of the block, and traffic was backed up turning right on to Seneca heading east. I patiently waited, and we continued to vent about family matters that we couldn’t change. Traffic eased up, and I was able to continue on 3^rd Avenue. Then, suddenly there were police lights blinking behind me.

I pulled over without any idea of why. The car was registered this summer, so it can’t be my registration. I was stuck behind some cars, so it wasn’t speeding. I drove through a green light, that wasn’t turning yellow.

I rolled down the window with people waiting for the bus looking at me. I rolled down my window, glanced in my rear view window to see if the officer was coming. He approached my open window and proceeded to tell me that the street was closed at 3:00 pm for bus traffic only.

Of course! I knew that. Every other time that I had taken Mom to the doctor’s office for a visit or just her shots, I always turned turn on Seneca, I never kept going straight on 3^rd. But, on every other occasion, I wasn’t pre-occupied in a conversation about very emotionally sensitive matters. I was mindlessly driving, not really paying attention. Oh sure, I didn’t get in an accident, but if I was being mindful of just driving, I would have noticed the sign, again, like I had every other time. But, this time, I was caught up in something else.

Since I’ve practicing zen meditation, I recognize these mindless moments much more often. When just for a second, your mind drafts, unintended actions happen. The hot water that I’m pouring in to a decanter misses because I’m thinking about what I need to do later that morning, instead of just pouring, pouring, pouring.  The garbage bag that I’m trying to place in a bin misses and most of the garbage spills on to the floor as I think about whether today is yard waste recycling or paper recycling, instead of just placing, placing, placing. And, on this day, my driving is distracted by my emotions and my conversation, instead of just driving, driving, driving.

Today, I finally read the back of the ticket about what I should do. Since I knew I was guilty, I looked on the front of the ticket for the amount of the check I was going to write. $124. One hundred and twenty four dollars. Today, that’s how much it cost me to be mindful. $124. Next time, it may not cost me anything, or next time it could be much, much worse. One thing at a time. I’ve been trying. I quit driving and listening to music. I just drive, driving, driving, driving. I quit reading and eating lunch or dinner. I just eat, eating, eating, eating. I quit reading and drinking tea at the same time. I just read, reading, reading, reading.

For me, sometimes my mindlessness motivates my mindfulness.

Escaping Busyness

The other day I was at Barnes and Noble. A friend was visiting for the weekend, and there was a book that he was curious to find. Bookstores are dangerous for me. It’s like a candy story. I wander around, see a title, pull it out, read the back cover, and then somehow it becomes part of me as I slip it under my arm, knowing that I will take it home. This day was no exception.

I wandered over to the Eastern Religion section where I hoped to find books on Buddhism. I didn’t have anything in mind. I was just curious to see what was there. Scanning the titles, I found one. Again, no surprise. I mean can anyone really walk in to a bookstore and not find anything? The title this time? “Contemplative Science.”  On and off over the last year, I’ve been reading about the brain and zen meditation. It’s a curiosity, underlying a sense that there is something important that I could understand so that when others inquire about zen, I have some scientific substance to offer. After all, my experience is that most people require more than just one person’s experience, data helps. It’s not as emotionally convincing, but it makes it more plausible, somehow more reliable and believable.

As usual, I returned home with the book, put it among the other books that I was reading, “In the Buddha’s Words,” “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying,” and “The Tibetan Book of the Dead.” I like to travel from one book’s chapter to another. It’s like weaving, where ideas from one book somehow become interrelated to another, connecting ideas like the author’s are talking to each other.

As I began reading Contemplative Science, suddenly I got this idea that I could pursue a Ph.D. in Contemplative Science, and I could teach this. I had read about colleges and universities that were offering courses in contemplative studies. No sooner had I thought that when another thought came charging in. “Wait! Here you go again, off on another tangent. Curious? Sure. But, do you have to get a degree? And, wasn’t I already planning to pursue a program as a Buddhist chaplain? So, why do this? Isn’t that what you wanted to do? Why do you need to do one more thing?”

Yes, yes, I replied. It was one more thing. It really wasn’t something that I felt in my heart. It was just another excursion of busyness, to occupy my mind, to have me feel like I accomplished yet another thing. But, providing end of life care is what I really feel in my heart. Being with individuals at the end of their life was where I could be more intentional about my spiritual practice, more deeply, than teaching in a classroom. Those who are interested in the contemplative sciences will find their own path to satisfy their curiosity, just as I. And likewise, even those who are transitioning from this life to the next will also find their own path, it’s just that I am choosing to be there with them, for them, for their family, and most importantly, for me. Whew! I escaped busyness.

A Stronger Commitment

Last Wednesday I returned to the Puget Sound Zen Center on Vashon Island for meditation. I hadn’t been since I attended last fall before my first weekend meditation retreat with them, going to Prague for three months earlier this year, returning back to work, taking care of Mom who is living with us again, and giving attention to what arose day-to-day. It was wonderful to be there again. The familiarity, yet also some newness.

When the meditation had completed, I noticed the time on the thermostat. Immediately, I thought, if I leave right away, maybe I could make the 9 p.m. ferry to return to Seattle. Slipping on my jacket and in to my sandals, I disappeared in to the night using my remote key to help me locate my car. As I approached the ferry terminal entrance for cars, I realized that I wasn’t going to make the 9 pm ferry. Not knowing for sure if the next one was at 9:30 or 10, I continued, got in line and waited. 9:20. Another ferry arrived and left without any of us in line boarding. 9:35. Again a ferry arrived and a flashing light in front of me indicated that we would be boarding.

It was about 10:30 when I arrived home. Immediately I went to check on Mom to see if everything was okay, and if there was anything she needed. I was greeted by, “I couldn’t eat the pasta. It wasn’t soft enough. No one seems to understand that I have a hard time swallowing.” I reacted very strongly. Before I left for meditation, I had gone to the special effort of making her home-made macaroni and cheese. She was used to eating the macaroni and cheese frozen dinner and I thought this would be more enjoyable. Again, I was met with dislike, no appreciation whatsoever. I was disappointed. I was upset. I felt useless. I felt unappreciated. Why did I go to so much effort? Why doesn’t she just cook for herself? On and on, I went. I walked out to the kitchen, grabbed the container that looked completely untouched, put it back in the refrigerator, walked in to her room and firmly said that I was going to bed. That was that.

I walked away from her room and was immediately struck by another thought. “Wait! Didn’t I just get back from a meditation? Why was I reacting suddenly with such strong emotions? Was there a more compassionate response?” Probably. But, at the moment, my emotions were running so high that I couldn’t find a new perspective. “Was she hungry?” I don’t know. I just wanted this feeling to go away. I brushed my teeth, set my alarm, turned off the lights and went to bed.

Going to meditation doesn’t give me a silver bullet to handle and cope with life’s situations. That’s why meditation is called a practice. It doesn’t fix things for me. It doesn’t make them not happen. It asks me to keep returning again and again, until I am able to respond without ego, without judgment, without defensiveness, and with understanding and compassion. Moments like these strengthen my commitment to my practice, because I know there is another way of being that is more peaceful and loving.