Obey My Blog

Okay. I’m not exactly lost. But I was reading through Penelope Trunk’s latest blog post “When You’re Feeling Lost Don’t Hide” and it hit me. Holy crap, I’m lost!

Well, at least when it comes to one of my great passions, Tai Chi.

Where the heck is my Tai Chi practice going, I wonder?

I’m signing up for another Tai Chi class this fall, but what happens after that? Does there have to be anything after that? And why am I worrying so much about it anyway?

I’ve been reluctant to write anything here, because I think, what else can I say about Tai Chi that hasn’t already been said? I also don’t like giving advice about Tai Chi, because I truly feel that each individual person has to come to their own understanding and routine. What works for me, may not work for you.

On the other hand, I do find it helpful when I learn about other people’s experiences – even those not related to Tai Chi.

I’ve been reading Not Always So, by Shunryu Suzuki, in preparation for a class that starts next week at the Austin Zen Center. There was one particular passage that struck me and I’d like to share it with you here.

“Yesterday, I said, “However painful your legs are, you shouldn’t move,” and some people may have understood what I said literally. What I was really saying is that your determination should be like that. And “should be” is also a good example. It is not necessarily so.”

It occurred to me after reading this that perhaps I’ve been clinging to a lot of shoulds. I often feel my Tai Chi practice “should be” something that it is not. But that’s kind of silly and self-defeating. So why not work with what I’ve got and just keep going? Sometimes “should be” isn’t necessarily the right or appropriate answer. Especially when feeling lost or frustrated. What may be more important is the determination to keep going.

And also, perhaps, as Penelope says, feeling lost is often just a part of forging your own path.

My new class, Tai Chi 8 Energies and 5 Steps, will incorporate routines for eight energies and five movements of traditional long forms. I’m already familiar with the long form, but not these mysterious eight energies (which according to the AOMA website, includes Peng (ward off), Lu (roll back), Ji (press), An (push), Cai (strike downward), Lie (split), Zhou (elbow strike), and Kao (shoulder strike)). I’m looking forward to diving back into the practice and becoming humbled, once again, by all there is to know and learn.

It’s my last day at Tassajara and I’m washing 30 carrots. 30 big huge carrots! The scrub brush and the water have turned orange and all I can smell is their fresh, crunchy aroma. I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend the morning.

Okay, I can think of a few others, but this definitely ranks up there.

This trip to Tassajara was not a typical vacation. Yes, it was a break from my daily routine, but there was no escaping reality or life on this trip.

In fact, I was thrown right into it.

In a community like this you have very little privacy, there are rules for when you can talk and when you can’t talk and while you have some choice in the matter, the jobs you’re assigned are chosen for you.

There are good reasons for this (cultivating mindfulness being one of them), but when I first arrived, I didn’t understand and couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly take up this kind of life.

Be told when I can talk? Peesh! Be told what to do? Ha!

This is the exact opposite of how I’ve constructed my life so far. I’ve worked very hard to make sure I’m not dependent on anyone. I’ve made sure I know how to survive on my own without anyone’s help. When things got tough, I wanted to know that I could make it without having to trust anyone at all.

Put me in a community where this is completely turned upside down and…voila!

Major panic attack.

But I survived it. And by depending on other people, no less.

This is how I found myself delightfully washing carrots. My friend Vicki was kind enough to switch jobs with me on our last day, because she knew how much it meant to me to be in the kitchen for at least one shift.

How awesome is that?

Tassajara itself is a small place, tucked away in a valley in the Ventana wilderness. After the flight from Austin to San Jose, our group rented two vehicles and began the long trek in – about 3 to 3 1/2 hours. Or maybe it was longer, I can’t remember. Anyway, the mountains get increasingly taller and rockier the further you drive. Many of the trees that had been scorched by the fire here about 2 years ago were, sadly, still scarred black.

The mornings here begin early and I found myself waking up at 5:15, sometimes 5:00, in order to make it early to zazen in the meditation hall. Which is huge by the way. The clack of wood and the sound of bells and bowls became my early morning soundtrack from Monday to Friday. I listened to my ipod once the entire week – once!

Luckily, I managed to sneak away for one afternoon to practice Tai Chi. I only got to practice once during my stay, but in my Tai Chi class Sunday night, I noticed I felt much more focused and relaxed. I guess a week of meditation will do that!

I had very few expectations when I first started this trip. I really didn’t know what to expect, to be honest. For some reason, it never occurred to me that a trip like this would change me or challenge me even.

Isn’t it odd that the thought wouldn’t even cross my mind?

But what a nice surprise, to find that I could do things I didn’t think possible before. Like completely trust the people I was with, work in a kitchen, slow down enough to appreciate and notice even the tiniest gestures of kindness (of which there were many), tolerate nature (mosquitos, anyone?), share a bathroom with five women (!) and survive with only the light of the sun and a kerosene lantern.

It kind of makes me wonder, what else can I do that I didn’t think possible before?

I took a break from practicing Tai Chi.

And then I took a break from writing.

Scandalous!

My Tai Chi class has started up again though and I’m (almost) back in my regular routine. After Master Chen’s workshop several weeks ago, I realized I was a wee bit worn out. I needed to stop and catch my breath. Plus, my body was all like, okay dood. Dooooooood. We like, really need a break in here, do you mind?

And so I decided to take a break.

Now that I’m back though, I have a calmer, more focused approach to my Tai Chi (sort of). I’m not anywhere near mastering the forms of course, but I take correction better than I did before. I don’t get as discouraged as I did before. And I don’t worry as much either.

Master Chen’s workshop pushed me to my absolute limits and challenged me much more than I realized. It was really tough, but it also put things in perspective. I’ve put so much energy into worrying and stressing over how I’m doing the forms, how awkward I feel – how awkward I must look. When really that doesn’t matter.

YES. You are going to look awkward. You are going to FEEL awkward. That’s just a given.

But who cares?

I also seem to have a lot more fun in class (I know – how could Tai Chi be any more fun than it already is??). Granted, my legs feel like they’re on fire and sweat drips down my forehead in class (ewwwww), but I love it.

I’m also relieved.

Less fear – fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of looking stupid or whatever fear you are faced with – is always a relief.

In this same spirit, I am planning, packing and prepping for a week long trip to the boondocks of California.

Next week I’ll be traveling over the mountains and through the Austin and San Jose airports and up a very long and steep dirt road to the Tassajara Zen Monastery where I’ll be staying with my Zen teacher and several other friends and members of the Austin Zen Center.

I’ll be meditatin’ y’all!

At 5:30 in the morning. Every morning.

Um…

But I’ll also be doing some other zen-like activities like slaving away in the kitchen (I hope, maybe?) and/or doing other Tassajara-y things like attending talks and taking hikes and of course just enjoying the change of pace (not a small thing for me I must tell you).

I’m starting to think that taking a break is a good thing sometimes…

In case you’re a regular reader o’ mine and you were wondering, hmmm, what did Robin learn at SXSWi about blogging?

The answer is – not much! I learned about how other bloggers write – or don’t write. One blogger hadn’t updated his personal blog in over a month. But that was because he was guest blogging.

Guest blogging. It was like a mantra spoken at every blogging panel I attended. And at the sound of it, I froze in my seat and looked back at the panelists like a deer in headlights.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but the thought of it terrifies me. Why? Because whenever I’m under pressure to express myself I become paralyzed. It’s like stage-fright, except I get word-fright.

This past weekend, the Austin Zen Center held a Jukai ceremony for four of its members. This is where a person receives the Precepts.

I have a very palpable uneasiness with formal ceremonies, but this time my curiosity out-won my fear. I wanted to see what is was like. I wanted to know what was involved. What does everyone say? What do they do?

The place was packed! And everyone seemed to be in good spirits and smiling, even if they were new and didn’t understand what was going on. Heck, I’ve been going to the Zen Center for almost a year and I wasn’t sure what was going on!

As the ceremony began, my initial uneasiness was replaced with surprise. In between bells and clacks, the words that were spoken from teacher to initiate were kind, warm and filled with unconditional love. I’ve never witnessed a ceremony quite like it. I was overcome by the rarity of such a thing. How often does a person experience unconditional love and kindness like that in our society? Not very often. At least in my experience.

Afterward, we all got together to enjoy the sunshine and feast on some delicious food. As I was munching down on a chard tart, my Zen teacher walked up and I offered him a chair. He sat down and while happily chewing away on some kind of rice dish, he asked with a sly grin if I was going to be next. I smiled and said maybe, maybe not. I wasn’t sure.

Though most likely I will some day.

But don’t tell him that. I want to keep him guessing.

Last weekend I drove by the IRS building that Mr. Joseph Stack flew his plane into on Thursday, February 18. I was driving to the grocery store Sunday afternoon before Tai Chi class like I always do. I happened to look over and there it was with all of its broken windows and mangled building materials dangling from each of the floors. It was eerie in its ordinariness.

The night of that incident, here in North Austin, I watched The Bridge.

If you haven’t seen The Bridge, it is a film that documents a handful of people who chose to end their lives by jumping off of the Golden Gate Bridge in 2004.

Needless to say, it was not easy to watch.

But over and over, as these individuals’ stories unfolded, I realized that all of them had particular expectations for who they thought they should be. And they were tortured by them. Some were suffering from mental illness, but the others almost obsessively compared themselves to ideals they had created in their minds about who they thought they were supposed to be.

And they simply couldn’t live with the fact that they didn’t meet those ideals and expectations.

Nearly six years ago, I almost couldn’t live with mine either.

Standing on the edge of the metro platform in Washington, DC, waiting for the next train, I looked down and marveled at how easy it would be to just jump in front of it. I was alone and completely lost in a soul-sucking temp job as an assistant at an investment bank. I could barely afford rent and food and though I wouldn’t admit it, I was still reeling from the bitter and painful divorce of my parents only a few years before. It was probably the lowest I’d ever been.

But I still couldn’t do it. I looked up and saw the headlights of the train beaming right at me and I became frightened. I didn’t want to die. Even in that much pain.

So when I learn about people who actually do go through with killing themselves I can only imagine their despair.

I see a very thin, but often times, very elusive, line between expectations and reality. On this line hangs a question – what if the people who ended their lives on the bridge just didn’t compare themselves to an ideal? What if they were just able to tell their expectations to piss off? What then? Could they have turned around and faced the road back into San Francisco, rather than face jumping into the water?

What are these expectations really and why do we let them dictate how we live? So what if we’re not rich by the time we’re 40. So what if we never sculpted the perfect career for ourselves (what is that anyway?). So what if we never got married or never had children. So what if we got divorced. So what if we went broke.

I challenge these expectations. They rob us of our humanity. They separate us from each other. How is that living?

In the most ordinary sense, on the most ordinary day, a man decided to fly his plane into a building in North Austin because the world didn’t meet his expectations.

His only solution?

Violence and death.

I challenge that.

I attended an informal talk a few months ago, where it was suggested that I encourage others to meditate. I raised my hand and immediately expressed my concern and unease with this.

I don’t talk about Zen stuff very often. Well, okay, in this blog I do, but that’s different. Much of the time though, in my daily life, I try to completely avoid talking about Zen Buddhism or Zen meditation altogether.

There are several reasons for this.

1. A lot of people think meditation is weird. I’m not really interested in trying to convince people otherwise. Even though it’s probably the simplest thing a person can do. In Soto Zen, it involves sitting and staring at a wall. But this still seems to weird some people out.

2. I get the impression that a lot of people already think I’m kind of weird.

3. Before last year, I thought Buddhism was really, really, really boring. Really. I absolutely had no interest in it whatsoever and could not relate to it at all. Knowing this, I do my best not to waste my time – or other people’s – jabbering on about Zen stuff. The people who are genuinely interested, ask. The people who aren’t, just get defensive anyway.

4. I am not a Buddhist. I’m not sure I want to be a Buddhist. And yet it’s the closest I’ve come to feeling like I’m “home” in a very long time. I don’t know how to reconcile that, but that’s okay. But with this in mind, I do my best not to preach.

5. There are already enough people jabbering on about Zen and Buddhism. People much more qualified at it than me. But then there are those who like to jabber on and on and on…about nothing! I’m a writer – maybe not a great writer, but a writer nonetheless  – and I love words. But Jesus Mary Mother of God, I don’t want to sit around and argue with some jackass with something to prove about the intricacies of the Vinaya. Snore! I have a life to live. So do other people.

Zen is such a strange, strange thing. And yet it’s so boringly normal. I don’t know how to express this experience to other people. I just have to live it. Or try to.

It is also very, very personal.

In my Zen class this week, my teacher asked us all why we come to the Zen Center.

The people who responded had really wonderful and touching replies.

I was not one of them.

I couldn’t answer. I knew if I opened my mouth to speak it would be waterworks all over the place.

So I bit my lip and made a joke instead.

Because I mean, how do I even begin to answer that question?

It’s unfathomable to me. Extremely personal. Absurd. Ridiculous. Serious. And yet, not serious at all.

I can’t even imagine not going to the Zen Center now. I can’t even imagine not meditating. How’s that for an answer?

p.s. Yes, I made up the word “jabbery.”

You’ve met her. THAT girl. The one who is always smiling. Real sweet-like. The one who tries to keep everything together. To make everyone happy.

Then one day this sweet, smiling girl flips the fuck out when someone asks to simply borrow a pen.

Yep.

Been there. Done that.

I’ve been that girl.

To a certain extent I still am.

Being the good girl SUCKS. You don’t say what you really want to say. You say yes when you want to say no. You smile when you actually feel like punching someone in the face (well, I have actually punched someone in the face. Not that I’m advocating punching people!). And you end up exhausted, angry and confused.

During the Zen meditation (zazen) class I took last fall, my teacher asked everyone in the room if they wanted to be a good person. Most people, of course, raised their hand. Who doesn’t want to be a good person?

ME.

I most definitely DO NOT want to be a good person.

I know where that road goes. Every time I’ve attempted to be the good girl, I’ve gotten myself into trouble.

So then, what is the point of being a good person?

When I was in graduate school I took a conflict resolution class. Because, well, at the time I wanted to be a diplomat and I thought, rightly, that conflict resolution might come in handy.

I thought to myself – I’ll learn how to foster peace between warring nations, I’ll learn how to listen with thoughtfulness and care and then help enemies put aside their differences. Palms will meet. Hands will shake. Doves will be released…

What I learned instead was that conflict resolution is not about making peace just for the sake of making peace. Or because it is the “good” or “right” thing to do. It can be a hard and sometimes dirty business. Granted, it can be extremely rewarding and done in the right way it actually CAN foster peace between enemies. My former professor, Dr. Marc Gopin is an inspiring example of this.

But this does not happen by prancing into a war zone and gleefully dismissing all the hate, anger and violence that has occurred and almost assuredly still exists. It’s only by acknowledging it – and honoring the wounds created on both sides – that healing and peace can begin (That is if, as a peacemaker, you can avoid ending up bitter and jaded by the whole heart-wrenching process.).

But that’s the aftermath. Identifying (and identifying with) certain things as good or bad is what gets people into conflicts in the first place.

It is the same with individuals.

If you consider yourself a “good” person, then that means other people must be “bad.” Not you. Never.

In an effort to prop yourself up as “good,” you will attempt to call out and crucify others who you believe contain the very “bad” qualities you deny in yourself. You will create enemies, point fingers, blame others and get mad. If along the way, other people join you, you can all call yourselves good and others bad – solidified in self-righteousness and in your total denial of ever doing anything bad or wrong.

I’m exaggerating a little bit here, but this is how wars start. This is how conflict begins.

As a martial artist, it is prudent to recognize and learn to accept all aspects of yourself. By doing so, you learn how to defend yourself. You learn your weaknesses and your strengths. You learn when it is appropriate to act and when not to.

In essence, you learn how to become a whole person – not a “good” person.

Because being good and bad are never separate. They are just two sides of the same coin. Trying to deny your “bad” side is like trying to chop yourself in half. I should know. I’ve tried (well, not literally of course).

Which is why there really is no point in being a “good” person.

In reality, there really isn’t such a thing. And in reality, when you accept and embrace what you think is bad in yourself – all those things you criticize yourself for on a daily basis – a surprising and unthinkable thing happens.

You begin to accept these things in others. You stop trying to project your crap onto others. You stop seeing people as others and you start seeing them as human beings.

Suddenly, being a “good” person is no longer important. Just being a person is.

My Qigong teacher liked to emphasize paying attention to subtle queues. For example, if you find yourself just a little bit thirsty, go get a drink of water. Don’t wait until you are parched. If you are feeling just a little bit stressed, take a break. Don’t wait until you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Waiting until the last minute can cause harm to the body.

I understand this completely. It makes perfect sense. But I personally tend to push myself and go to extremes. When I work, I WORK and then some (okay, aside from my occasional bouts of laziness). When I relax – or try to – I relax in relatively small, extremely focused amounts of time. If I feel something – happiness, sadness, insecurity – I have a tendency to take it to the absolute extreme until I’m utterly exhausted.

I don’t know how I developed these habits, but it is why I am now practicing Tai Chi and Zen meditation (zazen).

These extremes scare me a little. So much so that in the past I’ve preferred to retreat into numbness rather than endure another erratic train ride on the emotional choochoo.

But over the past couple of years, I’ve started to wonder if it’s really necessary for me to take things so far.

And for God’s sake, why?

One of my theories is that extremes make me feel more alive. They make most people feel alive, obviously. Who hasn’t experienced the tingly thrill of a new infatuation? Or the absolute high of accomplishing something you once thought impossible?

There’s nothing wrong with that.

It’s when you find yourself constantly running from one extreme to the other in order to feel alive. That’s when things seem to get messy (and destructive).

And as it turns out, I have never been more disconnected and out of touch with my own sense of aliveness than when I have chased extremes.

Perhaps that sounds bizarre. But in reality, when I am chasing an extreme, I am running away from something else. From discomfort, pain, fear, boredom, etc.

What I’ve learned through the martial arts and zazen is how to stop running and to stay with whatever it is I am experiencing.

Which is probably one of the hardest frickin’ things I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m not kidding.

Because I kinda thought when I got into these practices – no matter how much I may hate to admit it – that they too would offer me some sort of escape. I thought, yes! I am going to face all of my fears, my stress, my pain and my suffering head on! And then of course, I will move on!

To what I’m not entirely sure…I don’t think I got that far.

But saying you’re going to face your fear and suffering is one thing. Actually facing your fear and suffering is a whole other ballgame. One that isn’t, uh, always that fun.

So why do I do it?

Because there is no escape. There never was! So if that is the case, and this is the only game in town, I might as well figure out how to play it and play it well. Without causing further suffering for myself and other people.

I’m sitting. Half-lotus. Staring at the edge of my shadow in front of me on the wall. Millions of thoughts come at me and I can barely keep my bearings, let alone remember to follow my breath. I know the bell that marks the end of meditation is coming soon. I can sense it. I wait. And wait. Okay maybe not. Hmmmm… Now? Nope. Not coming. Okay…thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Oh yeah – my breath! Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts – and ohmygod breath! Pay attention! Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts…

DING!

AH! What the @#%?!

This is a typical evening sitting for me at the Zen Center. It’s just me and a wall (quick – staring contest!). It can’t get much simpler than that. And that’s kind of how I like it.

But in the past few months I’ve been trying to attend some of the Saturday morning sittings and events.

The larger ceremonies still elude me, however.

I stayed for the Bodhisattva Ceremony once. I’d been helping set up the meditation hall a few times, but never could bring myself to stay for the actual ceremony. It’s about renewing the Precepts – the Vows. I haven’t taken the Precepts. I’m not even officially Buddhist (which, by the way, you don’t have to be to practice). I don’t take ceremonies like this lightly though. At least I try not to. I am highly intimidated by formal ceremonies. And quite frankly, formal situations like this tend to make me laugh inappropriately.

In the Czech Republic one wintry evening many years ago, my friend Dan and I decided to stop in and take a peek at one of the local cathedrals. It was dark, silent and empty but for a handful of people. We sat towards the back so as not to disturb anyone and started looking around. All of a sudden I noticed a digital device up near the front that displayed numbers in bright red, like some weird alarm clock. I asked Dan what it was.

Me: Hey, what is that?

Dan: I don’t know.

Me: Maybe you take a number…

Dan: For confessions??

Me: Maybe it’s like the Returns department at Target.

Dan: *giggle*

Me: *teehee*

Dan: *muffled laugh*

Me: *muffled laugh*

Me: People are looking at us.

Dan: I know, but it’s so funny…

Me: I know!!!

Me and Dan: Bwaahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawww!

This is sort of why I tend to shy away from highly formalized ceremonies. Other people have no problem at all with this kind of stuff. And in a sense, my behavior could probably be viewed as rather immature. But, let me tell you, I am keenly aware of my social anxieties and do my best not to inflict them on others.

I also don’t want the focus of my practice to get lost in ceremonies. To an outsider, the meditation part can look quite dull (What? You mean, I just have to sit there?). The ceremonies, on the other hand, can look exotic and shiny. Chants, incense and prostrations…oh my!

But they’re meant to pay respect and acknowledge important and sacred events. They are not the meat of practice (Although, I’m sure someone out there could argue with me.).

Oh yeah, and when you see people bowing to the Buddha? They don’t really think that the Buddha is alive in that statue, saying, yes, yes, my children bow to me.

No.

Bowing to the Buddha is bowing to you and to me and to the Buddha. And to every other being, living or dead. It is a sign of respect. Not subservience.

If it were a sign of subservience, you can bet I would have excused myself from the world of Zen Buddhism months ago.

But anyway…

All of this was to say that one of the members of the Austin Zen Center was recently ordained as a priest after 18 years of study and practice. I didn’t attend his ordination ceremony (see above) but was impressed and humbled by his commitment. Even though he barely knows me and probably doesn’t even remember the fact that he taught one of the introductory zazen sessions I attended, (and the story he told about how when his Zen teacher asked his children how they’re father was different, they both said he was less angry. WOW.) I wish him all the best.

Alrightie. This is my last attempt to write for the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge. Heck yeah!

Today’s topic: Resolution you wish you’d stuck with.

Hmmm… I don’t really want to write about 2009. I don’t want to write about 2010 either. Because today, outside, it is absolutely gorgeous. I should be out there. Absorbing the beautiful Texas sunshine. Not in here, attempting to reflect and be all deep-like.

But okay, I’m gonna do it. I’m going to write you an article you can’t refuse. Or reuse.

I kept all of the resolutions I made way back when in January. Jealous? Eh, you shouldn’t be – they were very broad resolutions anyway. I wanted to be healthier physically, so I started slowly changing my diet. I stumbled my way through Qigong, found myself delightfully and unexpectedly in a Baguazhang class and then returned to my first true love, Chen Style Tai Chi.

I wanted to be healthier mentally, so I started doing Standing Meditation along with my martial arts practice. And then found my world completely turned upside down by one little book, Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate (Damn you Brad Warner! Just kidding.).

Zen Buddhism. Holy crap.

I don’t think I’ll be making any resolutions for 2010. I was pleasantly surprised and humbled by 2009. Despite all the mistakes I made, the stupid things I said, the heartache and my sometimes awkward social moments (please don’t ever ask me about my master’s degree. I will get all kinds of awkward on you), I held steady with my desire to be a healthier person. Not the healthiest person, mind you – just healthier. Which, I think is much healthier. Heh.

Here’s to a healthy 2010.