Obey My Blog

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?

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.”

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.

Another day, another Best of 2009 Blog Challenge article. Yippee!

Today’s topic: Word or phrase. A word that encapsulates your year... For me this would be feeling. Yeah, that’s right. I said it – FEELING. I’m talking about feelings, man.

…

“Congratulations.”

“On what?” I reply, with astonishment.

“On feeling!”

I’ve just explained to my Zen teacher (who is not officially my Zen teacher since I haven’t taken any Precepts, but for all intents and purposes, is my Zen teacher) that I feel more emotional than ever since starting Zazen and I don’t know how to deal with that.

He doesn’t see this as a problem.

But I do.

I also confess my irrational fear of the bell at the end of meditation and how embarrassed I am by this.

I wait in anticipation for his reply. I’m not really sure what to expect from him, but I do not expect this:

“So?”

So?! But I’m not supposed to be scared of a stupid little bell! It’s not Zen to be scared.

Or is it?

I find it amusing that I got into Tai Chi and Zazen thinking they would help me deal with emotions that I saw as problematic. And that I believed these emotions were something to be dealt with. When I had dealt with these emotions properly, I thought, things would be peachy.

Umm, no.

Not exactly.

While Tai Chi and Zazen have helped carry me through the ups and downs of my emotions, they have not eliminated them. In fact, I am faced with more emotions than ever.

But why in the world did I ever think this was a bad thing?

When I first began reading about and practicing Zen, I’ll admit that I kind of had this ridiculous notion that being Zen meant being emotionless or at the very least, completely in control of one’s emotions at all times. This was initially appealing to me because I consider myself a rather emotional person (although a friend of mine recently referred to me as “laid back and cheeky-smiled” and nothing remotely resembling the “spastic stresspile” I sometimes claim to be… huh!).

But to practice Tai Chi and Zazen is not to become some emotionless zombie, impervious to pain and pleasure. Very few people can do that. And honestly, who would want to?  As Grace Schireson points out in Zen Women (I should probably not recommend books I haven’t finished yet, but I am so excited to have this in my hot little hands that I am going to tell you to go get it right now!),

“Zen practice means finding the mind of meditation in times of fear, anger, and desire, rather than trying to banish fear, anger, and desire from our consciousness.”

This is not easy. But something about returning to that cushion every day and going through my Tai Chi routine every morning brings me back around and returns me to my center.

I still kind of  fear the bell at the end of meditation and every once in a while, it still makes me jump. But now I almost welcome it. Now it is not a problem. I feel (almost) everything. And in a strange sense, it is a relief.

I woke up this morning and the thought crossed my mind that all this Zen stuff I’m learning is really stupid. What am I doing? This is really absurd. Am I just attempting to take on a new identity? And if so, how long is it going to last before I get tired of it and look (in complete futility) for something else?

What am I really doing? I don’t know how to really grasp that. If anything, it just feels right, so I’m doing it. Going to the Zen Center feels right, so I do it and so I go, even though I doubt my motivations and the idea of ever really learning anything or being challenged. Is that weird? I kind of don’t even care about being challenged anymore (okay, this is sort of not true…). I don’t even care about being enlightened (this is definitely true). In fact, I could really care less if I ever have a so-called enlightenment experience. So what? Big deal!

You know what really motivates me? Helping the Ino (the head of the meditation hall and leader of the services) clean and set everything up for the Bodhisattva Ceremony. It seems to help him and it makes me feel good to help and contribute. Maybe this isn’t the standard way to learn about Zen Buddhism, but nonetheless, I find it more real and tangible than joining a book club and discussing Buddhism for hours on end. Blah. Boring (sorry, no offense. okay…I lied…I was tempted recently to join a book club – for the very purpose of discussing Zen Buddhism. What can I say? They’re reading Not Always So, which I’ve been wanting to read…).

Weirdly enough too, I feel like a kid again when I am there. The smells, the sounds, the feel of the air rushing through the fans and down onto my head while I do zazen (seated meditation). It all brings up memories of my childhood and memories of staying at my grandparents’ house in East Texas. Strange that such a correlation exists, but it does. And a part of me thinks that perhaps this is because I long for the feeling of family and of belonging to something bigger than myself. Maybe. Helping the Ino with the meditation hall kind of makes me feel like a curious child setting out fresh candlesticks and exploring dusty supply closets.

I trust that feeling more than I trust any deep, philosophical ranting. So you can have deep thoughts and penetrate the meaning of existence – then what? You still have to get up and go to work the next day (unless you’re lucky(?) enough to win the lottery), you still have to take care of yourself and live your every day life.

Perhaps my true motivation should just be zazen. And it really is, if I want to get down to it. What I experience in zazen is very similar to what I experience in Tai Chi and Qigong. But zazen is torture. Torture I tell you! Sitting there is sometimes really boring and sometimes just plain ‘ol excruciating.

Sometimes it’s funny.

Last week, at the beginning of zazen, someone started breathing heavily. In and out, in and out. It was almost sexual and I wanted to laugh so badly. Before I could even let out a chuckle though, the Head Teacher sternly said,

“Please. Breathe quietly.”

The breathing got quieter and I smiled to myself, thinking about the poor fellow who was probably just lost in his thoughts like all the rest of us.

Lately, I’ve started taking meditation more seriously. Meditation has been a part of my martial arts experience since I started, but it has never really been discussed in much depth. In my first Tai Chi class it was a small part of our warm up. In Qigong it was what we did in the last ten minutes of class. In Baguazhang…well, you’re supposed to reach a meditative state while doing lots and lots of drills. But even though it has never been seriously discussed, we are all, as martial arts students, expected to slough off our everyday minds so that we can be at one with the movements. So that we can become the movements. But what does that mean exactly? And what does it really mean to meditate? How do you know if you’re even doing it “right”?

There seems to be a lot of mystery surrounding meditation. At least, that was my initial impression. There is a prevailing belief floating around that meditation is supposed to take you somewhere, but where exactly would that be? For the purpose of martial arts, this isn’t really helpful. Meditation for me means remaining in the present moment. I don’t want to be anywhere else. Where would I go? I want to be here, practicing Tai Chi or Qigong or whatever else I’m doing. To become the movements, it is necessary to be in the moment completely, so that you no longer even think about yourself and completely forget you even have a self.

In Tai Chi I learned Standing Meditation. In Qigong we did short guided meditations where we visualized moving our qi up and down through the central meridian (or whatever meridian that is…). In Zen meditation – Zazen – which I am learning now, we sit facing a wall (this is Soto Zen, to be more precise).

I have stuck with both Standing Meditation and Zen meditation, or Zazen, because they have one thing in common – no one is telling me what to do. Also, while I enjoyed the guided meditations in my Qigong class, I cannot do them on my own at home, like I can Standing Meditation and Zazen (okay, technically I can, but it feels silly). And so I have developed my own routine – Standing Meditation and Tai Chi in the morning, Zazen at night before going to sleep.

But how do you know if you are doing it “right”? That’s the thing – there is no right way, really. Which I was kind of surprised to discover. There’s also nothing mysterious or magical about it. It’s simply a way of being in the present moment, being aware of your breath, the room around you and the thoughts that go in and out of your head every day and almost every moment.

It sounds so simple, yet can be so incredibly difficult sometimes…Still, meditation  is an integral part of the internal martial arts and is actually one of the things I enjoy most about my practice.

…

While I don’t follow him, Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche has an excellent video on the Shambhala International website that sums up the basics of meditation very nicely. Also, Patrick Reynolds, of Zen is Stupid, has a really great (and funny) video about how to do Zazen and what to expect – see below.

Happy meditating.

Now that my Tai Chi class has ended for the summer, I feel a bit lost. My Baguazhang class leaves me completely overexcited and hyper. It’s a boost, yes, but I need a little yang for all this yin. I decided I would start doing zazen (meditation) at the Austin Zen Center once a week to help balance me out. That day happened to be today.

I was really nervous. I don’t know why though. It’s not like they’re going to bite me or publicly humiliate me if I do something wrong. Zen peeps are probably the most accepting people I’ve met! Nonetheless, I couldn’t calm my nerves and my body refused to cooperate. I sat down and immediately felt all wrong. Then my stomach started making Sci-Fi noises. Embarrassed as I was there was little I could do about it. Later on I heard someone else’s stomach growl and my heart jumped for joy – yay! Someone else was also experiencing bodily noises! I no longer felt so alone…

During zazen I tried to count my breaths. 1, 2, 3… But got derailed by my thoughts every time. I kind of expected that though. I had all kinds of ridiculous thoughts go through my head, much of them not really worth repeating.  After sitting for a while these thoughts eventually subsided a bit and memories started floating up. The man sitting next to me reminded me of my father, only in that he faintly smelled like him and like his art studio when I was growing up. Like a mustache and erasers. I had a brief memory of the bright green grass outside the home where I grew up and of Dad raking leaves. I wondered why I was having all these thoughts about my Dad, but then I remembered, that of course, it is his birthday today. He is 59 years old.

After zazen there was a short service. Lots of bowing and incense (“smells and bells” as some people say) commenced. Everyone started chanting out of the books that were passed around. My neighbor leaned over and kindly pointed out the page number to me. I scrambled to page number 4 and tried to determine what line we were on. My eyes searched frantically but I could not find my place. I searched and searched, up and down and tried to listen. I listened and I listened. It was mesmerizing. What is this, I thought? I like this. I found the place where we were and followed along with my eyes. My brain slowly processed the words and it finally dawned on me to look at the title, Great Wisdom Beyond Wisdom Heart Sutra. Wait… this was the Heart Sutra. I couldn’t believe it.  Something about the words and the chanting were stilling. Everything stopped. Any ridiculous thoughts that had gone through my head were carried off and given a place to rest elsewhere. No need to be silly. No need to crack jokes. No need to worry or be deep or anything. Just a room full of people, some incense and chanting in an old house on a hot Wednesday afternoon.

Being new at something is scary. Maybe not mind-boggling scary, but nonetheless, most people (myself included) would prefer to move through the “newbie” stage as quickly as possible. Why is that?

I visited the Austin Zen Center for a second round of the Beginner’s Instruction (hey, I’m a slow learner) and our instructor this time around brought up an interesting point. How do you relate to the form? Meaning, what is your relationship to just sitting there? How do you react and what comes up for you? I never thought about it in that way and it got me thinking about being new at something and how I relate to the forms in Tai Chi (and in Qigong and now Bagua).

My usual reaction? To crack jokes. While waiting for my friend to join me at the Zen Center, the room was full of serious quietude and anticipation. I was so excited to be there though that I didn’t feel like being serious, so when my friend walked in I said in a loud, booming voice, “Shhhh – we’re sitting zazen!”

It is the same for me when I practice Tai Chi and when I’ve practiced Qigong. For the most part, I’m really happy to be there, despite being nervous about making mistakes or whatever other fear crops up when I’m learning something new in class. So the way I get myself through the fear is by using humor, or playing the fool or indulging in silliness.

But why the need for any coping mechanism? What’s so wrong about being new at something anyway and why do so many people try to rush through it (as if it ever ends!)?

I’ve noticed this in my Baguazhang class as well. Half the class already knows Baguazhang and the other half are completely new to it. Us newbies learn by following the more knowledgable students. This is fine by me and it actually helps, but there is little time spent in class for reflecting on what we’re doing. We walk into class and immediately go into drills. For an hour and a half non-stop. I poke fun at the masculine energy in the air, which in reality I don’t have a problem with, but there seems to be this rush to get through the beginning stages as quickly as possible. And you know, maybe that’s just my perspective, but it does make me wonder – where are we rushing to and why so quickly?