Sometimes I have experiences that teach me something about humanity, and myself, in the strangest places.
Dateline: The Rum Jungle Buffet, in the Casino Fandango, Carson City, NV. Saturday, the middle of November. After a long day on the ski slopes teaching little kids, I'm itching - for some reason - for the typical Las Vegas casino buffet experience, and Carson City is the closest place. Carson City is the intersection of suburbia and the gambling economy. Nestled on the border of Nevada and California east of Lake Tahoe, it is both somewhere and nowhere at the same time, and this is also an apt description of the Casino Fandango. I drive through a strip mall into a deceptively large garage, park, and walk through the cold dry Nevada air into what could be a conference center except for the overly large neon sign advertising a cover band for a band I'd never heard of. Fandango is busy inside; wheels are spinning, lights are flashing. There's less smoke than you would expect and it's actually quieter than you would think, especially in the back towards the restaurant.
The Rum Jungle is tacky, overdone and garish, but for all of that it has a homey feel. I'm there late, about 8:30 PM, and the place is not very busy. A Hispanic man vacuums the floor. He has to keep moving the cord to find a new plug. Fake fans rotate - purely for show - above the extremely well lit containers of food. The food, incidentally, is surprisingly good. I chat with the chef about one dish, a shrimp dish he appears to have invented with cheese and bell peppers. He seems proud, and eager to discuss it.
I sit in a booth next to a family - 3 of them, an older woman, a younger woman and a younger man. I quickly assign them roles - she's the mother, then a daughter and the daughter's boyfriend or husband. I could be wrong, of course. All 3 are overweight. The mother is particularly obese. They are cheery; they're having a good time, and I quickly understand why these sorts of casinos are so ubiquitous. This family - this very normal American lower middle class family - is having a great time, at a cost they can afford.
At one point the mother comes back from the buffet with a full plate, beaming broadly at the other two. I can overhear their whole conversation. "Look," she says, "they have six kinds of falafel! Can you believe that?" The others nod and smile. The mood brightens even more.
This woman - this 50-something woman - is excited because the buffet has six kinds of falafel. This is a person who - I am quite certain - would not go into a falafel restaurant, were there one in Carson City. I would not be shocked if she wasn't entirely clear on what falafel was; this is not a commentary on her intelligence, more to bring up the question: Why is she so excited? What's so positive about the falafel that it should make her so happy?
It's clearly not the falafel. It's not even about food; she has plenty. She is not excited about eastern cuisine. I think the first clue is how excited she is to get back to the table and show the others. The falafel is exciting because she gets to share it with her family. She's actually in a hurry to show them. And they play their parts perfectly; they're excited because she is. This woman would not have been nearly as excited if she was on her own; in fact she most likely wouldn't have come to the buffet at all. And I realize something: she is excited *because she feels important*. The falafel isn't there to be eaten; it's there as a symbol; an indication that, in return for her $22.95, this particular casino at this particular time cares that she is there; in fact, cares so much that they are willing to create six kinds of this exotic dish *just to impress her*. She is impressed *because someone tried to impress her*, and for no other reason. What this woman wanted, and wants, is what we all want: not things, not food nor money, but acknowledgment that we are important, that we matter, that someone cares that we're here and that our opinion is important. She had gathered her family together - and paid - for precisely that feeling.
This, of course, is not big news. We all know this. And yet, we often strive for the falafel of life, confused about what it is we really want and why we want it. What we want is love, and empathy, and affection. Falafel is, at best, the means to an end, but it is that end that I want to strive for. And so, sitting alone in that buffet, I realized that this woman had me beat. She had family.
I only had the falafel.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Story Time - Empathy
I wanted to share an anecdote with all of you (whoever might be reading this) because I thought it was interesting and illuminating, and I hope it might resonate with some of you.
Recently, I've been reading a fantastic series of books by Bruce Perry, a PhD/MD child psychologist who specializes in working with children who have been through traumatic experiences. For example he worked with the kids who escaped the Branch Davidian complex in Waco, TX. His first book is called "The Boy Who Was Raised As A Dog", and as the name suggests there is a story about a child who was raised - actually with some affection, if you can believe that - by a misguided and lonely old man who was a dog kennel breeder and had no support structure. The child was brought up with plenty of food and medical care, and even loved in a certain way, but didn't get the sort of daily socializing that generally toddlers get. As Dr. Perry shows in the book, this lack of basic human connection; being held, being smiled at, having our toes counted - results in some drastic impairments, the most obvious of which is a lack of empathy.
Essentially, we now have the hard science to show that empathy begets empathy, and that a lack of empathy - particularly as a child - breeds a lack of empathy. For those who work in the softer disciplines, like social work or meditation, this is hardly surprising. But for many of us with more scientific backgrounds, it's pretty breathtaking to see the connection so vividly.
Which brings me to my story. Last week, I went to a therapy session which was being held out in Oakland, at a healing center. I won't mention what the therapy was, or where the healing center was, because I don't want to discredit them. I'd agreed to travel out to that center because it was easier for my therapist. She was bringing along another therapist friend to help with the session. I was paying a good deal for this hour therapy session. Unfortunately, her friend didn't text her to tell her where to pick her up until it was too late. That made my therapist late to our appointment (by 20 minutes). I didn't know this, so I showed up on time. I rang the doorbell and the woman who answered seemed wary. I mentioned the name of my therapist and she said "Oh, she's not here yet. Can you wait outside?" and pointed at a bench. Her body language made clear that I was not welcome inside. I should mention that it was quite cold, and there was a combination lock on the door.
Now, let's just stop the story there and think about this. I was getting *therapy*, at a *center for healing*. In fact, a temple of sorts. And yet, I was being asked to wait outside in the cold!
The point of this story is not that the woman who answered the door is mean, or was wrong. Nor that my therapist is a bad person. They live in an environment where their actions made sense. Undoubtedly the woman at the center had been told not to let customers wait inside without a host. She did not know my therapist personally, and in fact may even have been a competitor of sorts. They may even have had problems with crime, or people taking advantage of them. And my therapist was late because she, and her friend, are extremely busy people, travelling across town.
Imagine, for a moment, that this situation had taken place as little as 50 years ago. I wasn't born then, of course, but from my elders and books I get the sense that this wouldn't have happened. Likely, my therapist would not have been late, because she would have already been at her office (instead, my therapist, like many others, rents space at various places to make ends meet). Her friend would have arrived well in advance of the appointment (likely in her own car). The temple would most likely not have even been locked. If I had arrived early, the secretary (what a luxury!) would most likely have offered me coffee, and a comfortable chair to sit in while I waited. She might have even apologized for the inconvenience, even if it wasn't her fault.
The point is this: we live in an environment which has a serious empathy deficit. We are simply too busy, too self-focussed, and conditioned to respond to people without empathy, even in situations where empathy might be called for, such as a meditation center or a temple. We are trained to provide suspicion. We are rewarded for being so busy that we don't have time to help a friend or even say a kind word. People who are genuinely gentle and empathetic make us feel awkward, or even nervous. This is a self-perpetuating problem: being treated that way reinforces the cycle. Altruism is tenuous: once we no longer believe that others will selflessly help us, it becomes a self-fullfilling prophecy.
I'm not saying I know the answer, but I think it's important to engage the problem. What do you think?
Recently, I've been reading a fantastic series of books by Bruce Perry, a PhD/MD child psychologist who specializes in working with children who have been through traumatic experiences. For example he worked with the kids who escaped the Branch Davidian complex in Waco, TX. His first book is called "The Boy Who Was Raised As A Dog", and as the name suggests there is a story about a child who was raised - actually with some affection, if you can believe that - by a misguided and lonely old man who was a dog kennel breeder and had no support structure. The child was brought up with plenty of food and medical care, and even loved in a certain way, but didn't get the sort of daily socializing that generally toddlers get. As Dr. Perry shows in the book, this lack of basic human connection; being held, being smiled at, having our toes counted - results in some drastic impairments, the most obvious of which is a lack of empathy.
Essentially, we now have the hard science to show that empathy begets empathy, and that a lack of empathy - particularly as a child - breeds a lack of empathy. For those who work in the softer disciplines, like social work or meditation, this is hardly surprising. But for many of us with more scientific backgrounds, it's pretty breathtaking to see the connection so vividly.
Which brings me to my story. Last week, I went to a therapy session which was being held out in Oakland, at a healing center. I won't mention what the therapy was, or where the healing center was, because I don't want to discredit them. I'd agreed to travel out to that center because it was easier for my therapist. She was bringing along another therapist friend to help with the session. I was paying a good deal for this hour therapy session. Unfortunately, her friend didn't text her to tell her where to pick her up until it was too late. That made my therapist late to our appointment (by 20 minutes). I didn't know this, so I showed up on time. I rang the doorbell and the woman who answered seemed wary. I mentioned the name of my therapist and she said "Oh, she's not here yet. Can you wait outside?" and pointed at a bench. Her body language made clear that I was not welcome inside. I should mention that it was quite cold, and there was a combination lock on the door.
Now, let's just stop the story there and think about this. I was getting *therapy*, at a *center for healing*. In fact, a temple of sorts. And yet, I was being asked to wait outside in the cold!
The point of this story is not that the woman who answered the door is mean, or was wrong. Nor that my therapist is a bad person. They live in an environment where their actions made sense. Undoubtedly the woman at the center had been told not to let customers wait inside without a host. She did not know my therapist personally, and in fact may even have been a competitor of sorts. They may even have had problems with crime, or people taking advantage of them. And my therapist was late because she, and her friend, are extremely busy people, travelling across town.
Imagine, for a moment, that this situation had taken place as little as 50 years ago. I wasn't born then, of course, but from my elders and books I get the sense that this wouldn't have happened. Likely, my therapist would not have been late, because she would have already been at her office (instead, my therapist, like many others, rents space at various places to make ends meet). Her friend would have arrived well in advance of the appointment (likely in her own car). The temple would most likely not have even been locked. If I had arrived early, the secretary (what a luxury!) would most likely have offered me coffee, and a comfortable chair to sit in while I waited. She might have even apologized for the inconvenience, even if it wasn't her fault.
The point is this: we live in an environment which has a serious empathy deficit. We are simply too busy, too self-focussed, and conditioned to respond to people without empathy, even in situations where empathy might be called for, such as a meditation center or a temple. We are trained to provide suspicion. We are rewarded for being so busy that we don't have time to help a friend or even say a kind word. People who are genuinely gentle and empathetic make us feel awkward, or even nervous. This is a self-perpetuating problem: being treated that way reinforces the cycle. Altruism is tenuous: once we no longer believe that others will selflessly help us, it becomes a self-fullfilling prophecy.
I'm not saying I know the answer, but I think it's important to engage the problem. What do you think?
Dharma Leadership - Right Mindfulness
Dharma leadership - right mindfulness
Last week I taught a class on Right Mindfulness, or "Sati", to my youth class. Right Mindfulness is the seventh of the eightfold path to enlightenment. One translation of the concept into English is "bare attention", although that only captures one facet of mindfulness. In essence, the goal of one seeking mindfulness is to avoid letting the mind embellish the senses, in an effort to get at the "real" world of physical sensation. I will quote from The Noble Eightfold Path by Bhikku Bodhi: "All judgements and interpretations, if they occur, should be just registered and dropped."
One analogy that works well for me in understanding this concept is that of a "diagnostic" mode, like as for cars or computers. Understanding the raw sensations of the world is key to understanding our emotions, embellishments and ultimately our suffering, in the same way that knowledge of mechanical phenomena helps us fix our car, or knowing how to diagnose a computer virus can cure our desktop. Some of us, for example, may know nothing about cars; they are merely boxes which get us from Point a to b. And this works well, until something goes wrong. If we know nothing about cars, then we are at the mercy of a skilled mechanic (or worse). If he tells us that the problem with our turn signals is in the catalytic converter, we have no choice but to nod our heads and go along. But if we understand cars, then we have a chance of not only fixing the problem ourselves, but in understanding the advice of others. Similarly, if we know nothing about mindfulness, then when our mind tells us that we are upset or angry, we have no choice but to take its word for it. Of course in daily life we may not wish to constantly examine our emotions and thoughts any more than we wish to examine the inside of our car, but when it becomes critical, we must have already laid the foundation for mindfulness; "exercised" our mindfulness "muscle". Just as the wrong time to learn to change a tire is by the highway, so too the wrong time to understand our minds is when we are upset, or overly exuberant.
When we are mindful, we choose to see the world as it truly is. We experience sense phenomenon without embellishment. This is very hard. The mind wishes dearly to jump to interpretations and conclusions. I will quote again: "the mind perceives its object free from conceptualization only briefly. Immediately after grasping, it launches on a course of ideation...[it] posits concepts, joins the concepts into constructs...in the end the original direct experience has been overrun.".
It does not ring true to me that these concepts and constructs are not real, as some would say. Instead, I find that they are real, but they obey different laws than direct experience, and they cannot be confused with direct experience. To lump our thoughts together with our experience is profoundly misleading. It leads us to act as if they were solid and physical, when they are not. They are a guide, like the filing system at the library. They make sense, but we must be able to discard them. Becoming obsessed with them is like being obsessed with the call numbers on a book and never cracking the cover. I now quote from His Holiness the Dalai Lama:
For all anxiety and fear,
And pain in boundless quantity,
Their source and wellspring is the mind itself,
As He who spoke the truth declared.
He continues: "one may, of course, have some vague wish to attain enlightenment, or feel it is something one ought to attain. But without having the certainty that enlightenment exists and is accessible, one will never accomplish it. It is therefore very important to know what enlightenment means...all phenomena are by nature empty, devoid of true existence...but what is our perception? What we experience is just the opposite...we see everything as existent and real...we have been ignorantly clinging to our mistaken way of seeing things. Moreover, this ignorance has been the root of desire and hatred. Ignorance, the belief that things are real, is extremely powerful. But we should remember that it is nothing more than a mistake...it's opposite is based on a consistent truth that stands up to all argument."
And so, I encourage you to add mindfulness to your bag of tricks, just like carrying a spare tire in your car. You may not need it right now, but when you do you'll be very glad you have it!!
Last week I taught a class on Right Mindfulness, or "Sati", to my youth class. Right Mindfulness is the seventh of the eightfold path to enlightenment. One translation of the concept into English is "bare attention", although that only captures one facet of mindfulness. In essence, the goal of one seeking mindfulness is to avoid letting the mind embellish the senses, in an effort to get at the "real" world of physical sensation. I will quote from The Noble Eightfold Path by Bhikku Bodhi: "All judgements and interpretations, if they occur, should be just registered and dropped."
One analogy that works well for me in understanding this concept is that of a "diagnostic" mode, like as for cars or computers. Understanding the raw sensations of the world is key to understanding our emotions, embellishments and ultimately our suffering, in the same way that knowledge of mechanical phenomena helps us fix our car, or knowing how to diagnose a computer virus can cure our desktop. Some of us, for example, may know nothing about cars; they are merely boxes which get us from Point a to b. And this works well, until something goes wrong. If we know nothing about cars, then we are at the mercy of a skilled mechanic (or worse). If he tells us that the problem with our turn signals is in the catalytic converter, we have no choice but to nod our heads and go along. But if we understand cars, then we have a chance of not only fixing the problem ourselves, but in understanding the advice of others. Similarly, if we know nothing about mindfulness, then when our mind tells us that we are upset or angry, we have no choice but to take its word for it. Of course in daily life we may not wish to constantly examine our emotions and thoughts any more than we wish to examine the inside of our car, but when it becomes critical, we must have already laid the foundation for mindfulness; "exercised" our mindfulness "muscle". Just as the wrong time to learn to change a tire is by the highway, so too the wrong time to understand our minds is when we are upset, or overly exuberant.
When we are mindful, we choose to see the world as it truly is. We experience sense phenomenon without embellishment. This is very hard. The mind wishes dearly to jump to interpretations and conclusions. I will quote again: "the mind perceives its object free from conceptualization only briefly. Immediately after grasping, it launches on a course of ideation...[it] posits concepts, joins the concepts into constructs...in the end the original direct experience has been overrun.".
It does not ring true to me that these concepts and constructs are not real, as some would say. Instead, I find that they are real, but they obey different laws than direct experience, and they cannot be confused with direct experience. To lump our thoughts together with our experience is profoundly misleading. It leads us to act as if they were solid and physical, when they are not. They are a guide, like the filing system at the library. They make sense, but we must be able to discard them. Becoming obsessed with them is like being obsessed with the call numbers on a book and never cracking the cover. I now quote from His Holiness the Dalai Lama:
For all anxiety and fear,
And pain in boundless quantity,
Their source and wellspring is the mind itself,
As He who spoke the truth declared.
He continues: "one may, of course, have some vague wish to attain enlightenment, or feel it is something one ought to attain. But without having the certainty that enlightenment exists and is accessible, one will never accomplish it. It is therefore very important to know what enlightenment means...all phenomena are by nature empty, devoid of true existence...but what is our perception? What we experience is just the opposite...we see everything as existent and real...we have been ignorantly clinging to our mistaken way of seeing things. Moreover, this ignorance has been the root of desire and hatred. Ignorance, the belief that things are real, is extremely powerful. But we should remember that it is nothing more than a mistake...it's opposite is based on a consistent truth that stands up to all argument."
And so, I encourage you to add mindfulness to your bag of tricks, just like carrying a spare tire in your car. You may not need it right now, but when you do you'll be very glad you have it!!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Dharma Leadership - Letting Go
“Some people think it’s holding that makes one strong—sometimes it’s letting go.” ~Unknown
Today, I sell my car. This might not seem like a big deal, but I've had my car for over 10 years. There are very few things in my life - outside my family - which have been constants in my life for more than 10 years. And so, I find myself having difficulty letting go. In every rational way, making this decision makes sense. I don't drive to work, the car is getting older and expensive to maintain, I have to pay to park. It's a manual car in a hilly city, and ZipCar is much more efficient. Plus, I'm doing a good deed by selling it; I'm selling it to a friend who really needs a car and I'm giving him a good deal. The net happiness of the universe will increase.
And...yet. When I look at the car, I see a friend, as absurd as that may sound to some of my fellow San Franciscans without cars. I see the car that drove me to my honeymoon flight. The car I drove from Austin to San Francisco in with my parents. That car is one of my last connections back to a life and memories which are quickly fading.
So, what's the point? The point is this: we are not logical decision makers. And that's a good thing! Life wouldn't be worth living if we were all Spock. But, at the same time, these memories and feelings can often cloud our judgment and keep us from making forward progress. It makes sense to sell my car! I will be happier. If I cling to the car, it will merely drain me of resources better spent on other topics, like my massage training. The memories are still there, they're not going anywhere. Hanging onto the car won't bring those experiences back; the past is past. Selling the car is an investment in my present and in my future.
(It helps that, since it's a friend buying the car, I can go visit it :] )
So...what's holding you back?
Today, I sell my car. This might not seem like a big deal, but I've had my car for over 10 years. There are very few things in my life - outside my family - which have been constants in my life for more than 10 years. And so, I find myself having difficulty letting go. In every rational way, making this decision makes sense. I don't drive to work, the car is getting older and expensive to maintain, I have to pay to park. It's a manual car in a hilly city, and ZipCar is much more efficient. Plus, I'm doing a good deed by selling it; I'm selling it to a friend who really needs a car and I'm giving him a good deal. The net happiness of the universe will increase.
And...yet. When I look at the car, I see a friend, as absurd as that may sound to some of my fellow San Franciscans without cars. I see the car that drove me to my honeymoon flight. The car I drove from Austin to San Francisco in with my parents. That car is one of my last connections back to a life and memories which are quickly fading.
So, what's the point? The point is this: we are not logical decision makers. And that's a good thing! Life wouldn't be worth living if we were all Spock. But, at the same time, these memories and feelings can often cloud our judgment and keep us from making forward progress. It makes sense to sell my car! I will be happier. If I cling to the car, it will merely drain me of resources better spent on other topics, like my massage training. The memories are still there, they're not going anywhere. Hanging onto the car won't bring those experiences back; the past is past. Selling the car is an investment in my present and in my future.
(It helps that, since it's a friend buying the car, I can go visit it :] )
So...what's holding you back?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Story Time - There Is No End To The Mill Valley Bike Path
I haven't written in this space for a good while. The reason is simple; I haven't had anything I felt was worth listening to. A wise man once said "tis better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a fool than open it and remove all doubt." But, the other night I had something happen to me which felt profound. Whether it was profound depends, I suppose, on your point of view. It's a story that's been told many times by writers better than I. But this is my version.
The Bay area is a bit of a paradise for cyclists. There are trails criss-crossing the entire state, but particularly in and around San Francisco and Marin county. I like to ride, but I haven't been riding as much lately for a variety of reasons. A few weeks ago, though, I did the Buddhist Bicycle Pilgrimage, which was 130 miles through Marin. I think it rekindled a desire in me to go riding, and that desire caught a bit of wind on Tuesday. I was at work, and feeling cooped up. Without no particular plan in mind, I looked on the web for something to do. There was a movie coming up - a film I'd wanted to see, a biopic of Jane Goodall - in Larkspur. Larkspur was about 20 miles from where I was, and I'd ridden my bike to work. I checked the clock - I had just enough time. It was foolish, stupid even. I didn't have a working head lamp. I really needed to get some things done. If I just wanted to see the movie, I could drive. There was no reason to ride my bicycle over 20 miles of hills.
But that wasn't, actually, the scariest part.
There is a particular bike path in Mill Valley, a city about 15 miles north, called, appropriately, the Mill Valley Bike Path. It's a beautiful stretch of bike trail that goes along a marsh. At the southern end, it connects up to a great road through Sausalito, that then connects to roads leading to the Golden Gate bridge, and on into San Francisco. Riding that stretch and back happens to be about 20-25 miles from my first apartment I shared with my brother in the Marina. When I first moved to the city, it represented just about the right amount of time and energy. My first few trips were to Sausalito only, but I pushed myself to get to the end of that trail. My brother and I rode it many times.
At the end of the trail, there is a busy intersection. Don't ask me the names of the roads, I don't know, but both of them are at least 4 lanes. It's not immediately obvious where to go on a bicycle; it sort of seems to come to a logical stop in the middle of nowhere. So, when I got to that point, I would turn back. The first few times I did it, I thought that someday I might go past that point. But, as time went on, time constraints, luck, and maybe a bit of fear of the unknown meant that I never did. Time passed, months went by. I often thought of that stretch. Once, I even had a guide - my brother - take me past that spot and up into Larkspur. But we ended up on a road that I couldn't remember, and I couldn't recreate what he'd done. Another time, I pushed myself to take one of the scary busy roads. It was getting dark, and I was scared of getting lost, and I turned back almost right away.
3 years passed. Tuesday, I set out for Larkspur. I bought a headlamp in Mill Valley. Darkness started to approach and I got to the end of the trail. I looked around. I checked Google. Across the road I saw a sidewalk. I walked my bike across. I saw it turned into a bit of a path. I started down it.
45 minutes later, I was in Larkspur.
There is no end to the Mill Valley Bike Path! It was all in my head! The path is almost completely continuous! All you have to do is cross the street and poke your head behind a few trees, and there it is! More path! It's right there! Thousands, maybe millions, of people have undoubtedly ridden right past it without even a thought! But, to me, for 3 years it was an insurmountable obstacle, a huge barrier, a wall keeping me inside. Oh, I was happy, certainly: I love the ride up to Mill Valley. It is a nice, doable length and just the right amount of time on a bike. But - and this is a huge but - now I can stop because I choose to, knowing that there is more path right there if I ever want it.
What's the lesson? That's up to you. You could be depressed thinking about the walls people build for themselves. Elated that you can do anything you choose. You could pity me for my weakness, or commiserate with me on my humanity. Maybe the ultimate point is that the Mill Valley Bike Path, like any path we ride along, is entirely a thing of our own making, and we create our own reality merely by thinking that it's so.
There is no end to any path except the one we make for ourselves.
And now I know how to bike to Larkspur. I wonder what's on the other side?
The Bay area is a bit of a paradise for cyclists. There are trails criss-crossing the entire state, but particularly in and around San Francisco and Marin county. I like to ride, but I haven't been riding as much lately for a variety of reasons. A few weeks ago, though, I did the Buddhist Bicycle Pilgrimage, which was 130 miles through Marin. I think it rekindled a desire in me to go riding, and that desire caught a bit of wind on Tuesday. I was at work, and feeling cooped up. Without no particular plan in mind, I looked on the web for something to do. There was a movie coming up - a film I'd wanted to see, a biopic of Jane Goodall - in Larkspur. Larkspur was about 20 miles from where I was, and I'd ridden my bike to work. I checked the clock - I had just enough time. It was foolish, stupid even. I didn't have a working head lamp. I really needed to get some things done. If I just wanted to see the movie, I could drive. There was no reason to ride my bicycle over 20 miles of hills.
But that wasn't, actually, the scariest part.
There is a particular bike path in Mill Valley, a city about 15 miles north, called, appropriately, the Mill Valley Bike Path. It's a beautiful stretch of bike trail that goes along a marsh. At the southern end, it connects up to a great road through Sausalito, that then connects to roads leading to the Golden Gate bridge, and on into San Francisco. Riding that stretch and back happens to be about 20-25 miles from my first apartment I shared with my brother in the Marina. When I first moved to the city, it represented just about the right amount of time and energy. My first few trips were to Sausalito only, but I pushed myself to get to the end of that trail. My brother and I rode it many times.
At the end of the trail, there is a busy intersection. Don't ask me the names of the roads, I don't know, but both of them are at least 4 lanes. It's not immediately obvious where to go on a bicycle; it sort of seems to come to a logical stop in the middle of nowhere. So, when I got to that point, I would turn back. The first few times I did it, I thought that someday I might go past that point. But, as time went on, time constraints, luck, and maybe a bit of fear of the unknown meant that I never did. Time passed, months went by. I often thought of that stretch. Once, I even had a guide - my brother - take me past that spot and up into Larkspur. But we ended up on a road that I couldn't remember, and I couldn't recreate what he'd done. Another time, I pushed myself to take one of the scary busy roads. It was getting dark, and I was scared of getting lost, and I turned back almost right away.
3 years passed. Tuesday, I set out for Larkspur. I bought a headlamp in Mill Valley. Darkness started to approach and I got to the end of the trail. I looked around. I checked Google. Across the road I saw a sidewalk. I walked my bike across. I saw it turned into a bit of a path. I started down it.
45 minutes later, I was in Larkspur.
There is no end to the Mill Valley Bike Path! It was all in my head! The path is almost completely continuous! All you have to do is cross the street and poke your head behind a few trees, and there it is! More path! It's right there! Thousands, maybe millions, of people have undoubtedly ridden right past it without even a thought! But, to me, for 3 years it was an insurmountable obstacle, a huge barrier, a wall keeping me inside. Oh, I was happy, certainly: I love the ride up to Mill Valley. It is a nice, doable length and just the right amount of time on a bike. But - and this is a huge but - now I can stop because I choose to, knowing that there is more path right there if I ever want it.
What's the lesson? That's up to you. You could be depressed thinking about the walls people build for themselves. Elated that you can do anything you choose. You could pity me for my weakness, or commiserate with me on my humanity. Maybe the ultimate point is that the Mill Valley Bike Path, like any path we ride along, is entirely a thing of our own making, and we create our own reality merely by thinking that it's so.
There is no end to any path except the one we make for ourselves.
And now I know how to bike to Larkspur. I wonder what's on the other side?
Friday, August 19, 2011
Dharma Leadership - Quieting the Inner Critic
Confession times: I didn't make up the heading on this post. A few weeks ago there was a daylong retreat up at Spirit Rock with that name. I couldn't make it to the retreat, and then of course the next day I felt bad about it and told myself I should have gone. I told that story to my dharma group and they all laughed. So if it's good enough for them, it's a good enough story for you, gentle reader.
Another quick story, courtesy of Vinny at Dharma Punx: many years ago, the Dalai Lama was visiting the United States for the first time in a while. One of the local (American) teachers had a question for him about the metta bhavana practice. For those who don't know, metta bhavana is a meditation exercise centered around extending loving kindness to the whole world. (If you don't like the phrase "loving kindness", just think about "wishing people well"). Because it's kind of hard to just wish everybody well all at once, the practice happens in stages. In the East (like Tibet), the practice goes as follows: first, you wish yourself well, then someone you care about, then a stranger, then, finally, someone you don't like. Easy to hard. Well, the American teacher asked the Dalai Lama about this. The teacher had been trying this practice with his students and found that they were stuck at the beginning - wishing themselves well. He asked the Lama why they had chosen to start with the most difficult part. His Holiness was confused at first. His translators struggled. Then he struggled. Finally, he came to understand, and a bewildered look crossed his face. "Are you saying," he said, "that your students are having more difficulty wishing themselves well, than wishing well to someone they barely know?"
"Well, yes," the teacher replied somewhat sheepishly.
"Then that," said the Lama, "is where you must begin."
Last week, my dharma circle discussed the topic of enlightenment. The leader that night, Tom, asked us all to briefly describe what we felt was holding us back from enlightenment. Out of 15-20 young adults, I would estimate only 2 or 3 did *not* explicitly mention self-criticism or dislike of the self as the main impediment to enlightenment or peace. That's astounding, really. There are so many things that can stop us from being at peace: desire, for one. Hunger. Hatred. Envy, Jealousy, Apathy, Greed. And out of all of these powerful forces, almost all of us chose self-criticism.
As I write this, I am on a diet. A "nutrition plan", if you will. I am also currently at a Japanese seafood buffet. The buffet is most emphatically not on my diet. This simple set of events would be enough, at times, to set me off on a series of self-hating angst. But this time, I did it on purpose. To celebrate a successful week on the diet.
It turns out, the food tastes better when you don't hate yourself as you eat it.
We - and by we I mean people our age, people in San Francisco, people in our income bracket, people in our country - have a lot of difficulty being at peace. And an inordinate amount of it seems to come from not being at peace with who we are. Im not going to talk about why - brighter minds that I have filled the internet with answers to that question: culture, the media, nutrition, ethics, history. I'm more concerned with practical matters - how do we stop? Maybe even more important: what do we do in the meantime? I don't know about you, but I'm not going to stop beating myself up overnight, so how do I enjoy things while still staying on the path towards self-acceptance? After all, any dieter will tell you that shooting for the moon all at once is a sure way to get disappointed and quit. So, okay, I just have to love myself *a little bit*. Maybe eat one less dumpling. Ruminate just a minute less about a meaningless decision. Reward myself a bit more for who I am.
It's a start.
--Adam
Another quick story, courtesy of Vinny at Dharma Punx: many years ago, the Dalai Lama was visiting the United States for the first time in a while. One of the local (American) teachers had a question for him about the metta bhavana practice. For those who don't know, metta bhavana is a meditation exercise centered around extending loving kindness to the whole world. (If you don't like the phrase "loving kindness", just think about "wishing people well"). Because it's kind of hard to just wish everybody well all at once, the practice happens in stages. In the East (like Tibet), the practice goes as follows: first, you wish yourself well, then someone you care about, then a stranger, then, finally, someone you don't like. Easy to hard. Well, the American teacher asked the Dalai Lama about this. The teacher had been trying this practice with his students and found that they were stuck at the beginning - wishing themselves well. He asked the Lama why they had chosen to start with the most difficult part. His Holiness was confused at first. His translators struggled. Then he struggled. Finally, he came to understand, and a bewildered look crossed his face. "Are you saying," he said, "that your students are having more difficulty wishing themselves well, than wishing well to someone they barely know?"
"Well, yes," the teacher replied somewhat sheepishly.
"Then that," said the Lama, "is where you must begin."
Last week, my dharma circle discussed the topic of enlightenment. The leader that night, Tom, asked us all to briefly describe what we felt was holding us back from enlightenment. Out of 15-20 young adults, I would estimate only 2 or 3 did *not* explicitly mention self-criticism or dislike of the self as the main impediment to enlightenment or peace. That's astounding, really. There are so many things that can stop us from being at peace: desire, for one. Hunger. Hatred. Envy, Jealousy, Apathy, Greed. And out of all of these powerful forces, almost all of us chose self-criticism.
As I write this, I am on a diet. A "nutrition plan", if you will. I am also currently at a Japanese seafood buffet. The buffet is most emphatically not on my diet. This simple set of events would be enough, at times, to set me off on a series of self-hating angst. But this time, I did it on purpose. To celebrate a successful week on the diet.
It turns out, the food tastes better when you don't hate yourself as you eat it.
We - and by we I mean people our age, people in San Francisco, people in our income bracket, people in our country - have a lot of difficulty being at peace. And an inordinate amount of it seems to come from not being at peace with who we are. Im not going to talk about why - brighter minds that I have filled the internet with answers to that question: culture, the media, nutrition, ethics, history. I'm more concerned with practical matters - how do we stop? Maybe even more important: what do we do in the meantime? I don't know about you, but I'm not going to stop beating myself up overnight, so how do I enjoy things while still staying on the path towards self-acceptance? After all, any dieter will tell you that shooting for the moon all at once is a sure way to get disappointed and quit. So, okay, I just have to love myself *a little bit*. Maybe eat one less dumpling. Ruminate just a minute less about a meaningless decision. Reward myself a bit more for who I am.
It's a start.
--Adam
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Story Time - Avoiding Expectations
Experiences - Finishing the Marathon
One of the teachings of Buddhism and the Dharma that I have been particularly trying to take to heart lately is to do things because they are the right thing to do, not because you are expecting specific results. Avoiding attachment to results is a key element in staying centered. Recently I had an experience which provided a teaching moment for this principle that I wanted to share. I ran the SF Marathon last weekend, a full marathon known as being the "marathon that marathoners are afraid of." It was tough! My knee still hurts as a reminder. It was also extremely rewarding, in more ways than one, and one of those ways was as a reminder of the importance of avoiding expectation of outcome. Truly, a marathon reminds us of the importance of the journey over the destination. This course, in particular, is a circle, which is a great metaphor for life as well as a concrete depiction of avoiding results. All I accomplished with my stress and effort was to end up back where I started! It would have been easier to just stay put!
I remember specifically mile 23. I was in pretty intense pain. My feet hurt, my knees hurt. I wanted to finish so badly. I was attached to the finish line. I envisioned it as this beatific paradise where finally I would get to stop running. I begrudgingly put one foot in front of the other as fast as my body would bear.
And then, something clicked, some teaching or experience of dharma, the little voice in my head said "Wait". And I suddenly realized, in that moment, the power of the *now*, and the power of the journey. For the rest of my life, I will be a person who finished the SF Marathon, but only in that moment was I someone about to finish the SF Marathon. And that is a powerful moment, bursting with promise. I ran 23 miles to experience what it was like to be about to finish a marathon, and I may not have that moment again for quite a while; the savoring of the finish, the joy of completion, the pain of my physical body. I was alive, and I chose in that moment to take a snapshot of my experience. The world slowed down around me, and I remember looking up and seeing the HiDive, a dive bar on the Embarcadero which I've jogged past many times, but never like this. It looked like the halls of Olympus. And we were jogging on the road, which was uniquely closed for the event. I remember stepping off the curb near At&T Park onto the Embarcadero itself, symbolic of breaking the normal barriers between runners and traffic. I remember the shoes I was wearing, the shirt, the smells, the sounds. I did not run past the moment, instead I chose to be in the moment, and because I did, I will have those memories for the rest of my life!
And that is a powerful lesson indeed.
One of the teachings of Buddhism and the Dharma that I have been particularly trying to take to heart lately is to do things because they are the right thing to do, not because you are expecting specific results. Avoiding attachment to results is a key element in staying centered. Recently I had an experience which provided a teaching moment for this principle that I wanted to share. I ran the SF Marathon last weekend, a full marathon known as being the "marathon that marathoners are afraid of." It was tough! My knee still hurts as a reminder. It was also extremely rewarding, in more ways than one, and one of those ways was as a reminder of the importance of avoiding expectation of outcome. Truly, a marathon reminds us of the importance of the journey over the destination. This course, in particular, is a circle, which is a great metaphor for life as well as a concrete depiction of avoiding results. All I accomplished with my stress and effort was to end up back where I started! It would have been easier to just stay put!
I remember specifically mile 23. I was in pretty intense pain. My feet hurt, my knees hurt. I wanted to finish so badly. I was attached to the finish line. I envisioned it as this beatific paradise where finally I would get to stop running. I begrudgingly put one foot in front of the other as fast as my body would bear.
And then, something clicked, some teaching or experience of dharma, the little voice in my head said "Wait". And I suddenly realized, in that moment, the power of the *now*, and the power of the journey. For the rest of my life, I will be a person who finished the SF Marathon, but only in that moment was I someone about to finish the SF Marathon. And that is a powerful moment, bursting with promise. I ran 23 miles to experience what it was like to be about to finish a marathon, and I may not have that moment again for quite a while; the savoring of the finish, the joy of completion, the pain of my physical body. I was alive, and I chose in that moment to take a snapshot of my experience. The world slowed down around me, and I remember looking up and seeing the HiDive, a dive bar on the Embarcadero which I've jogged past many times, but never like this. It looked like the halls of Olympus. And we were jogging on the road, which was uniquely closed for the event. I remember stepping off the curb near At&T Park onto the Embarcadero itself, symbolic of breaking the normal barriers between runners and traffic. I remember the shoes I was wearing, the shirt, the smells, the sounds. I did not run past the moment, instead I chose to be in the moment, and because I did, I will have those memories for the rest of my life!
And that is a powerful lesson indeed.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Dharma Leadership - Helping Others
A few weeks ago, I ran a sangha session for a small group of young adults that I participate in, called Young Dharma SF. The topic was "Helping Others", and I'd like to share some of what we discussed in the helps that it might help you, either alone or in running your own sangha.
Most of us are good people. Real psychopaths are few and far between. Although all of us come from different situations and different cultures, different religious backgrounds, most of us have the idea that we want to help. Inherent in this idea is two hidden assumptions: first, that we have some measure of control over the happiness of others. Second, that it's incumbent on us to help others when we see that they need it. There's other assumptions hiding here even deeper: that there is a good and a bad, that other people know what they need to be happy, etc., etc. - but let's just start with those two. They get drummed into our head from an early age. They take different forms; christians have the "good samaritan". In many Middle Eastern cultures there is the "guest first" mentality. Jewish culture revolves around giving to the community (to overgeneralize).
This is fine, as far as it goes. It seems unassailable to suggest that others deserve our help, and that we can and should help them. A world without charity seems terrible, and a world where we can't touch those around us seems sterile and hardly worth living in. Connections between people are what build color and make the world go 'round.
But these principles, of charity and connection, are like a power saw without a guard on the blade - incredibly useful and powerful in motion but deadly in the wrong hands. For, like a saw, they will cut whatever they are held against, without regard for integrity or measure. They will eat whatever is in front of them, turning it to mulch. At the right place and time, they help us build a house for our soul. Left to run out of control they can ruin us. And the problem is, most people are only given the saw, not the guards. If we are supposed to help those in need, well, which ones? There are something like 6 billion people on this planet, and I think it's fair to say they *all* have needs, and they all could be happier. Are we supposed to help them all? And what about this notion that we can make other people happy? Is it true? All the time? How do we tell the difference? What are we supposed to do if and when we can't make them happy? Give up? Hate ourselves? Hate them?
So let's go back to the group exercise and see how running a sangha on this topic might work. To set the stage, in the group there were approximately 10 adults ranging in age from about 25-35. The session lasted 2 hours. We began, as we begin every session, by socializing for about 15 minutes. Then, I introduced the topic but didn't go into much detail. I believe I said something along the lines of "tonight we're going to talk about how to help others in our lives while still staying centered ourselves." The group had been prepped for that topic over email as well, so it was on everyone's minds (hopefully!) but in a non-specific way. We then meditated, for about 20 minutes, doing standard but unguided Vipassana (insight/breathing) meditation. I noticed as I looked around the room that there were some pretty contented and peaceful faces.
Then I reminded everyone of the topic. I asked each person to come up with one person in their lives that they were, at that moment, feeling guilty about because they either couldn't help them, weren't helping them, or were trying to help them but felt like they weren't doing enough or it wasn't working. This was pretty easy for most people to do, and we got a range of response ranging from the coworker who was too gossipy for her own good, to the daughter with a mother with a very bad psychological disorder who needed constant care. This last one was an excellent case for group discussion later on; there's nothing more debilitating than someone we care about deeply or who is so needy that they can be a bottomless well, soaking up all our ability to care and help. We allowed each person to just describe their feelings about this person without interruption. Before this exercise, I specifically asked each person to make a point to remember the story of the person who was sitting across from them (luckily, there was an even number; if there weren't, I would have remembered two). I also asked them to remember at least one or two specific details from the story.
I then brought up a few helpful teaching examples. First I talked about the Baghavad Gita, which tells us that it is "Much better to do one's own work even if you have to do it imperfectly than it is to do somebody else's work perfectly". I read and reviewed a handout on equanimity by Tom Moon, a great Sangha teacher here in the Bay. We talked about equanimity as one of the four brahma vihara, or immeasurables. The near enemy of equanimity is apathy, and so we discussed how it was important to care about those around us and not retreat, but to do so in a sustainable way. I focused on that word - sustainable - because it's hot right now in discussions about the environment and natural resources, but I think it also applies to our own mental resources in a parallel way. After all, it we exhaust ourselves, not only are we then of no help to anyone, but we might end up needing help ourselves. We repeated a number of prayers from the Moon handout, such "I love you, but I cannot stop you from suffering," and "each being chooses their own path." Repeating these phrases helps to remind us that while we can touch others, we can't really change them. And the repetition itself helps to calm the mind.
We then went into the subject of Childhood Omnipotence, which is a phrase from western psychology that describes the tendency of children to attribute themselves as the cause of everything that happens around them. "Mommy and Daddy got a divorce because I'm a bad kid." "My sister has cancer because I didn't love her enough." "We're poor because I'm stupid." Etc., etc. In many people, this tendency lessens as we get older, but in those who were unfortunate enough to experience abuse, it may not, and we may grow up thinking that we're still the cause of the suffering of those around us. In fact all of us retain some portion of this childhood philosophy, and at times it can be quite debilitating. In the cold light of day (or the sangha circle), though, it is exposed for what it is: egotism, and silliness besides.
(Note: this is where I made a big mistake and misspoke; I said that those who endured abuse often had a surplus of this feeling, while "normal people" had less. One of the members got quite upset at this, thinking that I meant that people who had undergone "abuse" weren't normal. That's not what I meant, but it is what I said, and I apologized profusely. So don't make my mistake!)
Then, we went around the circle again, but this time, each person was asked to make direct eye contact with the person across from them and say "It's not your fault." Then, they described a potential scenario involving that person's story of help where the situation or individual improved or resolved itself without any help from us at all! For example, one person was trying to get their coworker to stop gossiping. So, their circle partner told them "Maybe one day, that person will have an experience on their own that makes them realize it's better to use wise speech, and you'll find they've stopped gossiping without any help from you at all!" Giving these concrete examples helps remind us that we're not in charge of the universe.
We closed with a few more minutes of meditation, and the giving of merit. All in all, I felt it was a very productive night and several members thanked me for making them think about how they were spending their energy. I recommend it for your Sangha as a topic of interest to everyone, but especially young adults, who often feel that we need to "save the world".
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Why a new blog?
Not only do I have my own personal blog, but the world is literally overrun with new blogs. Everyone, it seems, has something to say! So why create yet another one?
Simple: to share my experiences with "growing exercises", and to help others along the path. Specifically, this blog will contain reflections, stories and tips from my new but growing experience with activities such as Meditation, Massage Therapy, Yoga and general Dharma-based mindfulness.
Some of the posts here will be drawn from experience working with, and leading, a small Sangha in San Francisco for young adults. Those posts will be identified by the tag "Dharma Leadership". In those posts, you will find tips and suggestions for how to lead your own small meditation circles, topics I've used in those circles, and maybe a story or two.
A note about the name: in foundational, or Swedish, massage therapy, one of the core strokes used is called the "Soft Fist". This stroke uses a loosely fisted hand to provide some slight point pressure and brings circulation to larger muscles such as the hamstrings. To me, it represents the essence of the Tao: using what could be a violent movement (the making of a fist) to bring loving contact (massage) by increasing the flow of positive energy (Qi, or circulation). In a similar way, I hope to use the medium of the internet, which can often be a forbidding place, to bring loving contact to those I can reach through that medium.
Some posts will be observations drawn from my experiences learning Massage Therapy through the San Francisco School of Massage and Bodywork. Those will be tagged as "Hands On". In those I'll share tips from my school, nuggets of wisdom about motion and body mechanics that I picked up "on the job", so to speak.
Some posts will derive from my readings. Those I will tag as "Ancient Wisdom". Generally, these will be interesting passages or notes I've found in my path through the classics, such as the Analects, the Bhagavad Gita, the Tao Te Ching, or other classics. If I find myself reading more modern works, I may also do "Book Reviews". I also am a member of Good Reads, so you can find me that way if you wish.
Some posts will just be stories. Those I will tag as "Story Time". They will most generally be Dharma-related in some form of another, and drawn from my experiences attending the Sanghas at SF Insight and Mission Dharma.
I encourage you to post and leave comments about my work. As the Baghvad Gita teaches us, I am doing this blog because I feel in my heart it's the right path for me to take, and not in an effort to reap the fruits of my actions. That said, a little encouragement, or just knowing that others are using my work, never hurt anybody!
Thanks for dropping by!
--Adam
Simple: to share my experiences with "growing exercises", and to help others along the path. Specifically, this blog will contain reflections, stories and tips from my new but growing experience with activities such as Meditation, Massage Therapy, Yoga and general Dharma-based mindfulness.
Some of the posts here will be drawn from experience working with, and leading, a small Sangha in San Francisco for young adults. Those posts will be identified by the tag "Dharma Leadership". In those posts, you will find tips and suggestions for how to lead your own small meditation circles, topics I've used in those circles, and maybe a story or two.
A note about the name: in foundational, or Swedish, massage therapy, one of the core strokes used is called the "Soft Fist". This stroke uses a loosely fisted hand to provide some slight point pressure and brings circulation to larger muscles such as the hamstrings. To me, it represents the essence of the Tao: using what could be a violent movement (the making of a fist) to bring loving contact (massage) by increasing the flow of positive energy (Qi, or circulation). In a similar way, I hope to use the medium of the internet, which can often be a forbidding place, to bring loving contact to those I can reach through that medium.
Some posts will be observations drawn from my experiences learning Massage Therapy through the San Francisco School of Massage and Bodywork. Those will be tagged as "Hands On". In those I'll share tips from my school, nuggets of wisdom about motion and body mechanics that I picked up "on the job", so to speak.
Some posts will derive from my readings. Those I will tag as "Ancient Wisdom". Generally, these will be interesting passages or notes I've found in my path through the classics, such as the Analects, the Bhagavad Gita, the Tao Te Ching, or other classics. If I find myself reading more modern works, I may also do "Book Reviews". I also am a member of Good Reads, so you can find me that way if you wish.
Some posts will just be stories. Those I will tag as "Story Time". They will most generally be Dharma-related in some form of another, and drawn from my experiences attending the Sanghas at SF Insight and Mission Dharma.
I encourage you to post and leave comments about my work. As the Baghvad Gita teaches us, I am doing this blog because I feel in my heart it's the right path for me to take, and not in an effort to reap the fruits of my actions. That said, a little encouragement, or just knowing that others are using my work, never hurt anybody!
Thanks for dropping by!
--Adam
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