zenjones

Don’t feel much more coherent than I did last night but just did want to say how much I loved the picture of you floating quietly between rooms at work admiring the scenery.  Know your workplace probably as hermetically sealed as mine but envisioned you standing in front of an open window with long white curtains floating gently in a small breeze.

So nice to hear you explore the possibilities of a little less pressure.  Good grief.  Is this the pay off for being brave enough to risk losing our cramped grip on our lives?  Last Wednesday night Annie and I spoke about the joy of being present for a few moments in the morning when we clean up after our dogs.  On workdays it’s my only time outdoors.  The birds sing, my neighbor’s chickens natter on to each other, the damp grass wets my slippers, the air is cool on my cheek…in short, a glorious five minutes in nature.  Our days could be a long string of these small pleasures if we were truly present to them?  I run about looking for Satisfaction and Contentment and, yes, Enlightenment.  Maybe what all these teachers keep saying about being present to THIS moment is all it takes.  And, just possibly, maybe even the moments of disappointment and frustration and whatever other “negative” stuff could be just as luminous if viewed with full attention and compassion for ourselves and others?  My birthday yesterday was full of such small pleasures.  No big gifts, no huge party but basking in the warm and glowing love given freely by people who have allowed me into their hearts.

May we be present today as often as possible and remain here for as long as possible.

When the coyotes howled I noticed a pleasant tension in all the large muscles of my body. Not as if I had to do something right then, but just telling me to be ready. I realized that that tension is often there when I am in the wilderness—but I’d never noticed it before.

Observed how I began to salivate as we pulled out our eating bowls, just a little, but my body knew the food was coming. Enjoyed the waiting, the attempt to take just enough so we could all finish together. Amused by the way I judged those who did not do this.

As jisha, had many opportunities to notice how I judged myself—and justified, and blamed, and whined about my martyrdom—and others. Though actually less about others; they were my charges. It was my job. As a manager (in business), I think in terms of “What does this person need to succeed?” and so when people came to me with needs, I clicked into work mode.

I was smug with being awareness, thought to myself, “I have the time, the space, the reminders to be aware. Look how aware I am!” And kept being brought up to face my un-presentness: not noticing that a first-time sesshin attendee didn’t know where the kitchen was—even though she was my roommate, for example.

I had real remorse for not maintaining silence. In the past, I’ve been pretty strict with myself about this, probably from a desire to be a good zen student. But as jisha, there is some functional talk necessary, especially with a sort of complicated daisan system. But sometimes I went beyond that, and I realized the disservice I was doing to others by pulling them out of their silence. Wanting to make them more comfortable, I didn’t allow them to take the most advantage of sesshin by residing in their discomfort. Wanting to make them like me, I didn’t allow myself to take advantage of residing in my fear of being disliked.

And so much gratitude for all this, for the camera exercise, for the work of all those who came, for our teachers, for the luxury of that time. For the sound of the crow’s wings as they beat across the yard.

What were your impressions of sesshin? Please leave them in the comments.

Having a thought that I’m not a very good thought-labeler. Hey! I just did it! Okay, having a thought that I’m not that bad of a thought-labeler.

It is just so interesting to me the strength of my desire to be elsewhere. Anywhere else but where I am. In the morning I look-forward to sitting. And then I set down and say my practice intention and take a breath or two and suddenly I am looking-forward to waking my husband up! How does that happen?

We have a new-ish student in our zen group. During sharing he recounts how hard he is working to be present. He sounds amazed that he can’t do it—can’t be present all the time. During sharing, we don’t have cross-talk. It is a time to talk about your own experience of practice. But it is all I can do not to say, “I’ve been doing this every day for 15 years and I am still only present for a tiny part of any day!”

Struggle struggle struggle with that Being Kindness Meditation and my distaste for those imaginary feelings, for pretending, for what seems to me to be the mainstream religions’ reliance on “Do what I say. I know best. I talk to god.” Sit down on my cushion with an interior grumble. Realize that I’m happy to be on my cushion with Susan, Ellen, and Carol there on their cushions/chairs.

But when I started the CD of Ezra’s talk (from 2004) on forgiveness, and I heard his voice, my heart just melted. How could I be mad at this teacher? He was so smart and accepting. I smiled inside. Maybe on the outside I had one of those little Buddha statue smiles.

And then Ezra asked us all to picture a person we had resentment for. I started to go to my usual suspect (a man I knew 20 years ago–pretty safe!) when suddenly a woman’s face zoomed into view and I realized that I’d been struggling with my resentment for this person for weeks. It had just been in the background, hiding behind the main scenery, due to over-painfulness.

So I kept her in mind as I listened to Ezra. And I was aware of this sensation of something pushing against my face, my nose, my mouth, and my chest, every time I thought of her. And right then, Ezra said, “Be aware of the wall you have up.” That’s it! It was a wall.

He’s so smart.