zenjones

I practice with anger in all of its guises. I have the habit of thinking that anger looks like rage most of the time, but it is also manifests in annoyance, impatience, irritation, and a hundred other ways.

One of my habits is to be irritated, especially with my husband. He does not exhibit this particular habit, and, after experiencing it from another person at work, I can’t tell you how glad I am he doesn’t. And how determined I am to stop this behavior in myself.

I have a new job, and part of any new job is asking questions. It’s a slightly uncomfortable place to be—everyone has their deadlines, and stopping to answer a question is probably a pain in the neck. But it’s in their best interest that I get the right answer. This is especially true in Jason’s case. He’s the bookkeeper at the agency, and a lot of the things I will be doing—hiring, ordering, managing vendors and freelancers—will intersect with his work. If I do them incorrectly, it will make extra work for Jason as well as for me and add to confusion. And nowhere is any of this information written down—it’s all in Jason’s head.

I’ve already had some problems with Jason. He acts put out when I ask him a question, and then he gets furious when I try to do it without asking a question and make a mistake. He’s condescending, judgemental, and he complains without stop. Yesterday when I asked if now was a convenient time to ask a question about creating a purchase order, he first melodramatically flinched as if I’d hit him, and then cut me off mid-sentence, “Just ask the damn question!” I nearly laughed out loud.

Oh yes, one more thing: I sit next to Jason.

This is a wonderful place to work. Everyone—except Jason—is friendly, good at their jobs, and gets along well. Jason is the loneliest person, and not because of lack of trying on other people’s parts. Most of the time people ignore him, and maybe that’s what he wants. Because there is certainly nothing in his body language—or his verbal language—that welcomes anyone. He successfully keeps the world away, and finds ample evidence that the world is a dangerous, ugly place. Just look at the way people treat him!

And, of course, I recognize myself in him. I wonder if I, too, use my impatience and irritation to avoid intimacy, to keep my husband away. Not all the time, but when I’m afraid of something.

We are moving to a larger office space, and I think I will be able to decide where my desk will be situated. I was looking forward to the move with relief, thinking I could move away from Jason and be free of his unhealthy miasma. But maybe Jason is my Bengali tea boy. Maybe I will learn more if I stay near him, practice observation and opening my heart. Perhaps I will gain compassion for him. And for me?

That’s what my husband calls the place where his mother lives, and where we have come to visit. He calls it that because it is a cinder block building, so it’s difficult to get cell phone reception, and also because for a long time there was no way to get an internet connection here. He solved the latter problem by seeting up a computer room for the folks here at Friendship Manor, and now I am working in that room, on one of nine computer stations, complete with flat screen monitors. Very snazzy.

It is the black hole for me because it is the place where so many of my hidden fears are lodged.

Earlier yesterday we stopped at a nursing care home, where my husband’s aunt has gone. It is probably her last stop on this earth. She is a sweet woman, and she was fully cognizant when we were there. But she was also angry in ways I hadn’t seen in her before–she was angry about her nightgown, and angry that her best friend had had a stroke, and angry for not being able to get dressed and feel like herself again. That anger seemed so obviously related to fear.

Sitting and talking with her, it was as if I was on the pillow. I kept bringing myself back to the present, to sitting in this room with the fear of loss of control and loss of life just coming at me. My brain was begging me to think about something else, and I did, but I kept coming back.

Here at Friendship Manor, it is not the last stop for many of these people. They must be ambulatory to stay here, so these people are doing pretty well, in comparison. They have activities, they have gossip, they can make a lot of choices about their lives. But they are no less angry. Many times they will be angry about things that happened sixty years ago.

At Friendship Manor my fear of not being loved surrounds me like a miasma. I tense my body to deny it entrance, and so I often leave here sore, as if I’d worked out lifting weights. I talk to some of these old folks as they go on and on about the tiny things in their lives, their dissatisfaction, regrets, judgements; their fears leaking out of ever phrase. And I have a hard time feeling compassion for them because I am so afraid. So afraid of the same things they are afraid of.

I decided I must get rich, and get all those lifts and things so I can look like Gloria Vanderbilt at 85. That’s the true route to a good life. Forget all this zen stuff!

People in my way!
I feel like shoving them – but
is it worth the view?

Yes, I’m having one of those days full of lovely practice gifts.

Perfect day to notice how I blame others. It was pretty comical, really. Something unexpected would happen, there’d be a miscommunication, I’d make a mistake, and zhoop! I’d be blaming the nearest warm body.

But today, having it be my practice period intensification, I was aware of it most of the times I did it. So I noticed that even after I noticed it, and said, Look what you are doing, I kept coming back and trying to blame someone else for the same event, the same thing I’d just caught myself doing minutes ago.

I also noticed that I want to be angry; I think I crave that juicy self-righteous sensation. It distracts me from feelings of unworthiness (as does blame). I think I’m going to make my concentration tomorrow be to notice those feelings of unworthiness. I don’t hold out a lot of hope that I will; I’m too fast on the draw of my gun of distraction.

My expectation was that I’d be all zen-like, present, and with a little Buddha smile on. My overall practice concentration is thought-labeling, to help me be aware of my gap, which I consider to be my unwillingness to sit with fear. I revert to anger, and that has never done me any good.

I haven’t been zen-like today. I’ve been cranky and defensive and suspicious and many other un-zen behaviors. I try to be aware, but you know? Self-righteousness is a lot more fun.

Last night I explained our practice’s thoughts about fear, starting with Ezra’s great article in Tricycle, to my husband. He is not a  Zen practitioner, but he is a good listener. Certainly when I was done I felt like I had it all goin’ on. I understood how my conditioned fears transformed into thoughts and sensations which made me uncomfortable, so I got mad, and blamed him. It seemed so obvious, so easy to be aware of.

But by this morning I was all wound up again. He said some innocuous thing which I could somehow interpret as dangerous or insulting, and I reacted with anger, and sheesh.

So now I am practice with guilt and self-judgement. There’s always something useful for practice. Period.

In my meditation group we are studying the being kindness meditation in Ezra Bayda’s book, Zen Heart. Ezra is my teacher, has been my teacher for eight years. He is a very good teacher.

Before Ezra was my teacher, I lived in Boston and read daily in Joko Beck’s two books, Nothing Special and Everyday Zen. These books, especially Nothing Special, spoke to me in ways that no other had. Every statement rang true, and I felt that for the first time in my life I had found a practice that overlaid perfectly my own spiritual thoughts and beliefs. (more…)