This morning I am reading from Sharon Salzberg's "Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness". This is one of the most important books and enjoyable books I have ever read. I am re-reading Ch. 2 "Relearning Loveliness". At the beginning of this chapter, there is a beautiful poem by Galway Kinnell, whose lines struck me:
"The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of blessing;"
This touched me because it made me think of those things inside me that never bloomed, because I did not nurture them with "blessing", with my encouragement, intention, belief, and action. All the seeds of kindness, love, and wholesomeness are born and cultivated within us through our gentle, consistent tending.
Lately I have had trouble tending well to my own inner life: I have felt an incurable restlessness sweep through my veins, mind, and my heart. I am so restless and irritated, I can only sit and meditate for 10 minutes and the entire time I am wondering if it has been 15 minutes yet. I'm not exactly sure what this unsettledness is all about--stress from the barking dogs and the demands of working with people and animals, stress from knowing Meridian needs an operation I can't really afford, stress from not being able to spend as much time enjoying the pleasurable things life might offer.
I also think about the buds inside me that I could cultivate, but don't, and am unsure why. I think a lot about painting, but rarely paint. I think a lot about traveling, but rarely go anywhere beyond North County. I think about the books I should have written or the adventures I could or should have endeavored, but instead I have chosen the comfort and safety of the known: shutting off opportunities to cultivate those yearning buds within.
But of course, judging myself for that does little good. Instead gently drawing attention to these tendencies and asking myself "is this helpful, is this leading to who I want to be? Or is it working against who and what I'd like to be and do?" is a much better approach. And of course, it is impossible for anything to grow if we up root it only to check to see if it has roots.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Waking Up Slowly
This morning Oceanside is waking up slowly. The heavy shroud of sleep still blankets the beach; the ocean is sleep walking with the gentle push of the tide. Small, lazy, wandering.
I was more awake than the surf, so it made for a frustrating mis-match of expectations. This caesura in the steady stream of Summer Southern Swells is filled with anticipatory anxiety, filled with neurotic, addictive yearning for the bigger better waves. In these empty spaces, these endless moment of waiting, you have to sit with yourself. You can blame the waves for your anxiety, your doubts, your missed waves, your insecurity, your boredom, but ultimately, the waves have little to do with it.
In Buddhism, we pay attention to these moments and sit with them, noticing the restless clinging, the wanting wanting wanting, and born out of the wanting the illness of frustration, then morphing into contraction and anger. Spying another enjoying a wave, when you haven't had one in, GOD AT LEAST 30 MINUTES--how desire distorts time! Or another surfer casually paddling near the peak, YOUR peak, near the wave that YOU have been waiting FOREVER for. You see the look their eyes, the same one they see in yours, this creepy wanting of the smallest, slowest wave...
I guess that's the general mood I had out there this morning. The crowd was incredibly calm, despite this inner wanting that I could read in the collective body language. Or perhaps it is just me perceiving the projection of my own inner battles onto to others... I can't know. But I practiced letting go of this tension, this greed and frustration. I practiced and practiced. But still felt the emotional sulfuric hot-spring bubbling up over and over again.
Currently, I am riding Frankenstein, Liz's old, beloved beater board, while I am awaiting the call from JP Holeman announcing the arrival of my new board is ready. Frankenstein is a South Coast 9'0 that has been around the proverbial block, but literally underneath the wheels of Greg's car. OOPS! This morning's was the fourth or fifth session in a row with this board, so we have moved past the awkward introductions. We've moved passed the embarrassing first dances, tripping over each others toes, like the first slow dances in junior high school. Like two pre-teens investigating the mysteries of the opposite sex: at once excited and fearful. The cautious moving towards, then the sharp recoiling after an unexpected shift in movement. No, we've moved into a gentle friendship. We don't ask or expect much of each other; we just enjoy the time we have together before we part ways, as is the inevitable. In a few days we will hug and say our good-byes, and both move onto other adventures in other places, in other times.
I was more awake than the surf, so it made for a frustrating mis-match of expectations. This caesura in the steady stream of Summer Southern Swells is filled with anticipatory anxiety, filled with neurotic, addictive yearning for the bigger better waves. In these empty spaces, these endless moment of waiting, you have to sit with yourself. You can blame the waves for your anxiety, your doubts, your missed waves, your insecurity, your boredom, but ultimately, the waves have little to do with it.
In Buddhism, we pay attention to these moments and sit with them, noticing the restless clinging, the wanting wanting wanting, and born out of the wanting the illness of frustration, then morphing into contraction and anger. Spying another enjoying a wave, when you haven't had one in, GOD AT LEAST 30 MINUTES--how desire distorts time! Or another surfer casually paddling near the peak, YOUR peak, near the wave that YOU have been waiting FOREVER for. You see the look their eyes, the same one they see in yours, this creepy wanting of the smallest, slowest wave...
I guess that's the general mood I had out there this morning. The crowd was incredibly calm, despite this inner wanting that I could read in the collective body language. Or perhaps it is just me perceiving the projection of my own inner battles onto to others... I can't know. But I practiced letting go of this tension, this greed and frustration. I practiced and practiced. But still felt the emotional sulfuric hot-spring bubbling up over and over again.
Currently, I am riding Frankenstein, Liz's old, beloved beater board, while I am awaiting the call from JP Holeman announcing the arrival of my new board is ready. Frankenstein is a South Coast 9'0 that has been around the proverbial block, but literally underneath the wheels of Greg's car. OOPS! This morning's was the fourth or fifth session in a row with this board, so we have moved past the awkward introductions. We've moved passed the embarrassing first dances, tripping over each others toes, like the first slow dances in junior high school. Like two pre-teens investigating the mysteries of the opposite sex: at once excited and fearful. The cautious moving towards, then the sharp recoiling after an unexpected shift in movement. No, we've moved into a gentle friendship. We don't ask or expect much of each other; we just enjoy the time we have together before we part ways, as is the inevitable. In a few days we will hug and say our good-byes, and both move onto other adventures in other places, in other times.
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