Reflections: All that Jazz

There was a time during high school when I discovered Billy Holiday and the edginess of jazz music. Musicians, the good ones anyway, understand the rules of music so well that they are able to venture beyond the rules of their form and create something even more true and beautiful and reflective of the true condition of human life. I learned this when learning about jazz, though I actually hardly listen to jazz anymore. And, of course, jazz, now that I know it, is just another form like rock, country, punk, ethnic, and electronic music. But if there's a common factor in the music I enjoy deeply these days its that the musician's soul is shining through and that, typically, the music isn't so overproduced that the raw, improvisational edges are missing.

Anyhow, I was remembering how when I first heard Billy Holiday I wanted to be just like her. What a romanticized notion of life that was! Her life was really tough, and, if only for the fact that I'm not stuck in a tour bus all day and singing in smoke-filled bars at night, I'm glad that dream didn't come true. But there was more suffering to her life than that and, no doubt, it contributed to her creative legacy in music.

We all have our disappointments, but on the whole, as an only child and a daughter to boot, I've led a pretty sheltered life. On the other hand, there is tragedy all around me, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, the world’s economic crisis, Aids, particularly in Africa, and the recent earthquake in Haiti. Cancer, other illnesses, deaths of friends and family. Many of my relatives were in Europe during World War II. Just to toss these examples out there really does their suffering a disservice. I'm sure the suffering was or is on a grander scale than anything I can imagine. On the other hand, the suffering is played out in individual lives, lives just like mine.

I think a normal response many of us have when not directly confronted by events like these is to push them into the backs of our minds, either out of avoidance or fear or some weird notion that we’ve worked hard enough or been ‘good’ enough in our lives so these things won't happen to us. Life isn’t fair though. Just because these things haven’t happened yet, doesn’t mean they won’t. Most of us go on with our lives and avoid thinking about the possibility. I am not saying that we should live our lives in fear and paranoia of the worst possible scenarios. I’m also not saying that we should purposefully put ourselves in harm’s way.

If there’s a point to what I’m saying, its that by avoiding the possibility that life may not be as good (or even there) tomorrow, we deprive ourselves of the ability to see the real beauty that is present all around us. And that’s a tragedy too. The ability to see and be compassionate towards the suffering around us hopefully allows us to not get quite so caught up in our own individual day-to-day dramas, but also allows us to be more appreciative of life.

On a personal level, what I’m feeling is that I can be there for or at least be with these tragedies and suffering a bit more than before, because just like in the music that I enjoy, recognition of this part of life makes me see and appreciate the overall beauty and textures of life all the more. The suffering and pain are a part of life’s song and it’s creation.

What does this have to do with Zen, Buddhism, or any religion for that matter? Maybe its in the realization that being too dogmatic, ritual, or ruled-based, can result in a sense of entitlement due to ‘following the rules’ that really isn’t something we can earn, if life is, at least in part, due to our luck of the draw. I think its best to put judgment aside and focus on the hearts and souls of the people we encounter, because those hearts and souls are just like ours, regardless of the particular circumstances. We need to learn the rules and rituals, and understand them well enough to go beyond them to the meaning behind them, a meaning that is central to all religions, namely that love and compassion should be our main operating principle. Acting out of love and compassion requires a certain amount of flexibility, an ability to improvise, which you can’t get by just memorizing the rules. The rules and rituals are just the beginning, they guide us to the right starting place.

Has somebody said this before? Sure. This is just one of my riffs. 

Reflections: Sesshin report and some basics

A few people, including family, have asked about my recent sesshin (retreat) experience. The experience is difficult to describe, but here’s a quick attempt.

Zazen: This sesshin was a zazen (sitting meditation) intensive experience. Beginning at 4 in the morning, we sat for 14 50 min stretches per day separated by 10 min stretches of kinhin (walking meditation). There also were short breaks for meals. Compared to other participants, I was a novice to this intensive type of practice. I was relieved to hear before coming that, in contrast to the Center where I meditate regularly, mindful changes in posture were allowed during the 50 min rounds. Still, sitting for this length of time was a physically trying experience. I made the mistake of stubbornly (pridefully?) not changing my posture at all during the first 15 or so periods, and I probably paid for that during later days of the sesshin. There was some discomfort. But there were positive aspects as well. First, I was surprised that my right leg never once fell asleep, because I’ve had trouble with that in the past. Second, much of my past meditation experience has been with Sanghas (groups) where the practice is to keep your eyes closed during meditation. The Sangha I practice with now stresses keeping your eyes open. Even after almost a year, keeping the eyes open seems to be less rewarding for me. As consequence of the physical discomfort I felt, I finally learned to appreciate keeping my eyes open and “making friends” with the white wall I was facing. (We sit facing the wall, not the interior of the room.) That extra sensory stimulus helped mute the discomfort I was feeling. Third, there were stretches of time when the discomfort went away. It either disappeared (for example, when your nose itches, if you don’t scratch it, the itch eventually disappears) or was distanced by a sense of equanimity. Note: equanimity* can be defined as “the ability to see without being caught by what we see” and “the ease that comes from seeing a bigger picture” adapted from a talk by Gil Fronsdal, May 29th, 2004: http://www.insightmeditationcenter.org/books-articles/articles/equanimity/

*Another description of equanimity I enjoyed reading: http://www.serve.com/cmtan/buddhism/equanimity.html

The purpose of all this zazen?: One is just to sit. To empty one’s mind of thought and experience what still there: emptiness and a sense of pervading peacefulness. The other is to be able to take the lessons learned during this practice, if we’ve learned them well enough, into our day-to-day living. During the sesshin, I had times when I experienced emptiness and times when I was swamped with thoughts, even more than usual. I guess that might be expected from such an intense experience.

Kinhin: Kinhin is walking meditation, which can be described as mindfulness of each step and the changes in the body and environment that occur with each step. At the Zen Center where I practice regularly, kinhin occurs at a regular walking pace. The Soto style kinhin is much slower. As anticipated, it did not provide the same relief between sitting periods, but proved much more rewarding as a meditation practice, for me at least. I have to admit, though, that I had to fight to suppress the occasional giggle, at least until I was more used to the experience.

Meals: Wow. The food was amazing. And my thanks to the cooks that prepared it for us. But the main event for me (and perhaps the other steady participants) was that this was my first experience using oryoki bowls. I arrived later than expected for sesshin and because of a promised training session on using the bowls, I had not taken it upon myself to inform myself about their use. A bit of a lack of responsible behavior on my part I realized already a night before I left. My mother called and knew more about their use than I did! (That in itself was a lesson in awareness and responsibility.) Training was brief, I was tired from the drive, and so, during sesshin, the other participants (all ordained) had to patiently and/or with humor watch my face turn shades of red and deeper red as I acquired this skill. Then they had to suffer through my delight when a few meals in (3?) I mastered it. (A couple of the other participants mentioned they found the scenario humorous and actually so did I, so I guess its okay. Thank you again!)

Work Assignments: As is typical during a sesshin, other than the head teacher, every participant had an assigned bit of work to perform during sesshin to keep things running smoothly. I was happy to find that I had been assigned breakfast dishes and kitchen cleanup. Unfortunately, there really was hardly anything to wash other than the serving dishes because of the use of the oryoki bowls. So other than my own shortcomings in preparation and physical endurance, this was my only real disappointment during this sesshin. (I think I can get used to not doing so many dishes, so don’t change anything on my account!)

Sangha: It might amaze some people, since there is no speaking

during sesshin and we spend most of the time facing a wall that a feeling of closeness develops. It does! I am really grateful to have met new friends in the Dharma and to have had the opportunity to participate in this sesshin. It was a memorable experience, not only because it was my first sesshin of this nature, but also because of events surrounding it.

Would I do it again?: Definitely yes! The sesshin was what it was, but I learned a lot from it. No doubt these lessons will be helpful as I say yes to life in all its aspects. And especially helpful for those occasions when life says no, because our greatest learning often comes from when life says no, as painful as those experiences might be. Without doubt, I am extremely grateful to have the practice to guide me and, hopefully, help me live a life that is of benefit to myself and those around me.

Reflections: What if 'Self' isn't Real?

We all have many teachers. I was asked the title question by one of mine recently. I am very grateful. And again, I must humbly acknowledge that my understanding is likely, as yet, still incomplete.

What if 'Self' isn't Real?:

Although I don't believe in the classical Christian God (to some folks dismay), what I do believe in these days is an all-pervading consciousness. 'Self' may very well be an artifact or epiphenomenon of the fact that our sensory processing and response mechanisms are housed in individual bodies. (This could explain why neuroscientists, while they can map perception of distinct features of the external world on to different areas of the brain, have failed to map comprehension/conscioousness.) What if this all-pervading consciousness is the sum or some mathematical factor of our individual consciousnesses?


More importantly, if we accept that the ‘self’ is not real how does this affect our view of the world and the rest of humanity? If 'self' is not real, I am not separate from the other 'selves' in the world. Past, present, and future merge with this unified 'being' into one shimmering pearl. Seen as the 'whole' we are no longer subject to the suffering of individual moments nor are we subject to suffering due to a perspective of isolation. The result is a sense of equanimity or, in other words, an inner monastery we can tap into during our daily living.

If we accept that the ‘self’ is not real how might that impact our daily lifestyle as well as any long term goals we might have? Does it matter if our bodies survive? Why should my individual contribution to consciousness matter in view of a greater consciousness?:
-- To add strength and positivity. To help aid and heal the whole.
-- In the effort to "liberate all beings" from the view of individualized 'self'.

A Poem: On the Perpetual Motion of the Mind

In writing a form, lush in its recognized transience,

We try to sense the clarity forever falling past us

On a screen of life, love, and wanting. The act itself defies,

Is at once a holding and a release, born of all that is humanity,

Spinning itself out into the dust of the imagined Universe.

We were there once, now we were there again, we will be there,

But it slips into non-existence, a specter that haunts if we pause

To recognize the process of creation. We cup our lost stars briefly

And spill them out on tables, like a rolling of dice.

This is the reality where one of the dice rocks briefly

before it dips into its resting place:

Which is where the painter's hand forgets its motion

And becomes the painting and something previously unimagined is realized.

Which is where bodies rock together, for a moment outside of the realm

Of possibilities, disappearing the mind in shared sensation.

Which is the strangers that are us pausing outside a shop window,

Christmas lights sparkling and reflected back at every possible angle,

But they look past the reflection at emptiness. On either side there is form.

Which is that future where we have been and no longer are.

Which is that moment of dawn when the sky is still yellow around the edges

And the trees are thick black strokes propped on their elbows, blinking

In amazement at the beginning of another decade

in the middle of the clamor bringing in a New Year as it moved us

Into the past, circling the globe, which circles the sun, which circles

Something, like the mind circles, but never returns to quite the same place.

This is letting go of form, a place where words run out of any power

They ever had to describe, and the mind finally rests in the arms of what,

For lack of better words, is everything home has ever meant.

Reflections: Self – The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Someone not too long ago asked me the question “What is self?” It’s an important question, because ‘self’, either directly or indirectly, is behind our motivation for just about everything. So after mulling it over, here are a few pieces that may frame part of an answer.

1) ‘Self’ is a set of physical, mental, and emotional reflexes we acquire at birth and these reflexes evolve as we grow older.

2) ‘Self’ is what perceives, interprets, judges, and reacts to the external world.

3) Our sense of ‘self’ is the cause of our suffering, in the Buddhist sense of suffering. But ‘self’ is also what will experience 'enlightenment' (whatever that is) if we’re lucky enough.

4) We should try to be true, honest, and compassionate with our ‘selves’, because if we aren’t, it’s a big drain on our resources – physical, psychological, and emotional. Our ‘selves’ can become our own worst critic. It’s from a healthy or free self that we can most compassionately answer to our responsibilities and cope with the external circumstances and changes that arise in our lives. I should add that, right now, I really don’t know what a healthy or free self is, except that in my personal dictionary it may be equated with enlightenment, and that while I’ve always said I’ve never been in the practice for the end-gaining of enlightenment, I do, very much, want to be psychologically healthy and free.

Several years ago now, I moved beyond occasionally meditating primarily for stress relief and ‘energy clearing', began a personal daily meditation practice and joined a local Sangha. That transition was accompanied by a belief in the concept of ‘no self’, because allowing my inner critic and bag of reactive mental and emotional reflexes to continue unchecked was no longer an option. In contrast, now that some years have passed, an indirect effect of zazen (sitting meditation) has been an expanding sense of ‘self’ that more and more seems to include other people and the world. Is this one possible interpretation of ‘not self', as opposed to ‘no self’?

A concept likely involved in this transition, for me, was: “Don’t take things personally.” I began to see that most people were acting and responding from a bag of mental and emotional reflexes, much like, though obviously separate, from my own. I began to see through their actions and responses to where they might be coming from, and that became more important or, at least interesting, than responding reactively. There was ‘self’ in others, and I could feel their suffering and wanted to help. But how? In most cases, there’s very little that actually falls into the ‘help’ category that people want from me. I don’t know where this gets me, other than feeling helpless. What I do know, at this particular moment, is that I find myself drawn to helping people in dire indisputable need; hoping to be alert enough, and not so lost in my routine and my 'self'-centered thinking, to be helpful in daily encounters (yeah, the 'self'-centered thinking is still there to some extent); and, most of all, drawn back to the cushion for zazen. Right now? No, right now it's time for dinner.

Many thanks to my Twitter Sangha, those who prompted the question, and those who were around while I was mulling this over.

Fine tendrils of sun

eased through the gray fog, lighting

beauty this morning.

Shobogenzo Haiku (Chapters 1-7)

I am only beginning my journey through the Shobogenzo, but it has already ascended to a high place in my list of 'favorites'. I originally intended to write these haiku to side-step my tendency to over-analyze things. I have found that Dōgen's Shobogenzo is poetry already. Many of the phases in the haiku below are taken directly from the text. As a result the credit for these haiku goes to Dōgen, and Nishijima and Cross who worked to preserve the original phrasing and share it with us. I have merely assembled the phrases into a haiku, much like a jigsaw puzzle, and I hope correctly. These haiku are by no means a complete representation of each Chapter and are works in progress. My humble understanding could change at any moment!

Chapter 1- Bendōwa (A Talk about Pursuing the Truth)

Zazen Samadhi -

The Dharma blooms forth, anchored

By this floating stem

Breath ringing the bell,

The worlds in ten directions

Resonate Dharma

Chapter 2 – Maka-hannya-haramitsu (Mahāprajnāpāramitā)

Holding all the threads

Of wisdom, having to do

With a tender heart

Cloaking the body

With prajnā-pāramitā –

Radiant mantra

Chapter 3 – Genjō-kōan (The Realized Universe)

The whole moon and sky

Reflected in just one drop

Not knowing it's dew

In dust, out of frame,

Innumerable dharmas

Past my single shape

Chapter 4 – Ikka-no-myōju (One Bright Pearl)

Floating downriver,

Not fishing for gold-scaled fish --

Gensha, the layman

A ceaseless stirring,

Ten directions held within

One shimmering pearl

Chapter 5 – Ju-undō-shiki (Rules for Accumulated Cloud Hall)

The hall of clouds -- home

To Buddha's truth and harmony

Like milk in water

Chapter 6 – Soku-shin-ze-butsu (Mind Here and Now is Buddha)

Clear, no mist or mud,

Mind's original essence --

Shared and eternal

Coming home to truth --

Relaxing into the arms

Of the infinite

Chapter 7 – Senjō (Washing)

Essence purified --

Not a goal, but the doing --

Washing is Buddha

Wash body like mind

Til water runs clear, so all

Retain the Dharma

Luke House

Sandbar at the junction of the Magdelina & Bogota Rivers, Colombia (2005)

The drink offered is Chicha, in this case yucca, chewed by the local women, fermented, & brewed.

(Note: I did not partake. Today, I would and probably laugh.

I sense a post about Colombia in the near future.)

Menzan's Kinhin

What are words, but a broken structure

that we try to build into something

that remotely resembles

what we feel?

The words are not enough,

there is so much more to sound.

So take the words apart,

their syllables in pieces then,

laid out on the floor

to be mixed

and matched

by some sixth sense towards

a meaning.

And still the meanings escape us.

So we go and break it down

some more,

into the individual

vowels and consonants.

The 'O' of glory, or the smaller 'o',

a sound of pain.

The 'i' of infinity

breaking into the 'I' of individuals.

Each separate sound

distinctly held

against the harsh sounds of consonants

that snap,

like the trunk of a tree.

These sounds we can comprehend

remotely

and in slow motion,

though it may take days or years

to sink in.

To re-assemble

the sounds, syllables and words,

so that sentences

once again flow smoothly

from our mouths.

Last Tuesday I took the opportunity to volunteer at a soup kitchen in Madison, where I live. The Madison Zen Center, along with 30-40 other local organizations contribute food and their services, one day a month each, to provide meals for the homeless in our area. We all encounter homeless people on a daily basis as we go about our lives. My reactions differ depending on the person and circumstance, but I am usually confused as to what to do. Should I look them in the eye and smile? Should I give them money? Do they want the money for food, transportation, or drink? Should I just walk by pretending I don't see them when I really do?, etc. One thing that is pretty consistent though, is that I get a "There but by the grace of God go I" feeling (~ John Bradford quote). While I was living in New Haven in the 90's, there were a lot of homeless around. In the downtown area, they acted as guardians for those of us at the University who walked by them on a regular basis. They were guardians, or maybe just witnesses, against a more dangerous criminal element. Some of them became friends of a sort, to exchange a smile or a few words with now and then.

"You must look into people as well as at them," -Philip Chesterfield

"But I know that I love thee, whatever thou art." -Thomas Moore

Luke House: 3 'rules' of operation:
#1) The harder everyone works, the poorer people become.

#2) Service reinforces privilege,
#3) Never do a job alone.
There was a fourth in retrospect, #4) only do the job you are given.

When I arrived at the Luke House, full of enthusiasm, a member of my Sangha gave me bags of salad fixings to mix together. That job quickly finished, I was at a loss. I was searching for things to do and getting frustrated, until I was introduced to the Director who explained the rules of operation. The 'don't work too hard', suggested by #1 is contrary to everything I have been taught. It doesn't make sense to me even now, except in the context of #2 and a Buddhist concept 'doing less, is sometimes more' or 'let the doing do itself.' To keep myself from helping out with other things (#4) while I was standing around was also tough having done my share of waitressing in my teen years. The third rule, 'Never do a job alone", may have its exceptions, but the joy of sharing work with others is something I learned early in my childhood and resonates strongly for me.

The most humbling experience of the evening entailed sitting down to eat. Volunteers take turns sitting down to eat as people get served, one or two volunteers per table. Before folks sit down, a concierge asks them about portion sizes for the main dish, signals the servers and food is brought out. Then everyone is seated. Two designated servers walk around serving milk, bread, and later, desert. I got to serve the desert, which was fun, and gave me a chance to interact a bit with those willing. Then all of a sudden it was my turn to sit down and eat. I was asked my perferred portion size and directed to a table just like everyone else. At the table, I didn't know what to say or ask. The fellow sitting on my right offered me milk, bread, salad dressing, etc. and I accepted and thanked him. But immediately after, he got up out of his seat and asked to be moved to another table -- the only instance of this I saw all night. I have no idea what I did wrong. After this, I did not try to speak anymore -- decided to think of this more like a meal during sesshin or other type of meditation retreat.

As simple as the evening was all-in-all, I was contented when I left Luke House that evening. I think it had to do with the minimal, but pleasant exchanges between people while eating and the occasional smiles on many of faces at various points through the night. There were families there, parents, babies and toddlers, and I have never seen them so well behaved. I include the parents in that statement. And yes, the homeless include babies and toddlers, especially in this economy. I don't know where these families keep themselves, I normally don't encounter them here in Madison, so I have to admit this was a big wake-up call for me.

*Luke House 310 S Ingersoll St Madison, WI 53703-3739 is run on donations and is a real community builder. After reading this review, I cried: http://www.yelp.com/biz/luke-house-madison.

"No duty is more urgent than that of returning thanks." -Saint Ambrose

The Girl Wind Burning Acquired

photo by Becci Erickson, 2009

 

 

Weather Vein

All I remember is the girl

blown clean off the prairie,

and just that wind

going for days now

like it wants to tear

you loose, wipe you fresh

clean out of commodity.

The bulging air releases

into this. A tension spins

and slips, plunging

earthward. Someone

(the girl the ghost the shape

that passes through us?)

reminds us there is someone

else (and a wind to tack into

a lofted direction).

Something

(the blood rushing our ears?)

rattles up our insides

right along the spine,

to remind us we can be captured

yet, mid-sentence, can be swayed,

and my small grammar lifts

and folds,

hardly heard

in the vein of It. 

 

 

- originally published in Poetry Northwest

 

Tonight I initiated the first step of what is likely to be a big change in my life. As my practice has intensified over the last few months, I have come to realize that the contentment I was hoping for in my life just wasn't there, even though I have worked awfully hard to reach it. Intriguingly, I don't know where the winds are taking me yet, but know that my roots are in my practice and that the practice is my guide. To be honest, there is some fear, but not as much as you might think. This is a bit of a surprise to me, given that I've always had a clear sense of where I was heading since I was 17. The posting of this blog is my way of recognizing and honoring this first step on a new journey. At this particular moment, I am enjoying the not knowing, a sense of hope, the smell of a fresh breeze. Well, maybe "breeze" isn't quite the term for it, but it's close enough. 

 

For fun, while visiting another website a few days ago, I decided to click on the link below to find out what my buddhist name is. I'm not actually qualified to have a Buddhist name, but this site generates them randomly. My Buddhist name is The Girl Wind Burning Acquired. What's yours? If you try it and get the same thing let me know. Maybe the site was rigged. 

 

Note: I'll be polishing up the site in the next couple of weeks. Adding widgets, improving. For now, I just wanted to post.