The latest entry in the "I crack myself up" files

http://twitter.com/BuddhistHulk

Everything is funnier in all caps.

Bhante Mixalot

This manuscript was recently discovered in the jungles of Burma. The author (given the unusual name Bhante Mixalot) was clearly a devoted student of Buddhism, judging by his references to "vedana" (feeling tone), atimana (superiority-conceit), sakkayaditthi (belief in an independently existing permanent self), bhikkhus (mendicant monks), devas (celestial beings), yakkhas (demons), and kilesas (suffering states of mind). The song seems to be his complaint about the persistent seduction of mental proliferation, indicating that despite his ardent practice he had not yet made much progress along the road to liberation. There are several lacunae in the manuscript. Perhaps other scholar-practitioners will be able to form conjectures about the missing content of this verse

---------------

I like big thoughts and I cannot lie
You meditators can’t deny
That when a thought walks in with a pleasant vedana
and some sweet atimana
I get caught: I can’t help myself
Proliferating future selves--
Although I know I’m raving
I’m hooked and I can’t stop craving
Identity—I wanna become ya
I’m takin’ on ya
My teacher tries to warn me
But a thought comes up—sakkayaditthi!
Ooh--these sankharas,
sometimes they seem to have no end
but I'm workin', workin',
coz I ain't no uninstructed worldling.
I see thoughts dancin'
but I'm still advancin'
I just note it when my mind is racin' like a turbo jet.
I’m tired of magazines
Sayin’ self-improvement is the thing
Take the average bhikkhu and ask him that
He’ll say the self ain’t that.
So Bhikkhus! (Yeah!) Bhikkhus! (Yeah!)
Do you know your self ain’t that? (Hell yeah!)
Just shake it! (Shake it!) Shake it! (Shake it!)
Shake that sense of self
Self ain’t that!
(Got no use for sakkayaditthi)
…
A word to my kilesas: I'm gonna erase ya--
no time to waste here
But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna [OMMM]
Till the break of dawn
Got my sati goin' on
A lot of simps won't like this song
'Cause them punks like to sit and then quit it
And I'd rather stay all day
'Cause samadhi is strong
And I'm down to get my insight on
So devas! (Yeah!) Devas! (Yeah!)
You wanna cool your kilesas? (Yeah!)
Give it up! Throw it out!
Even yakkshas got to shout
Self ain’t that
Yeah bhikkhus—when it comes to rebirths,
this cosmos ain’t got nothin’ to do with my selection.
Identify with form, mind, consciousness? --Only if you want to suffer!
So your practice is really movin’
Your Chopra tapes are groovin’
But you’ve still got a self that you’ve improving.
My aspiration don’t want none
But libera-tion, hun.
You can do yoga and pujas
But don’t think your self is that.
Some bhikkhus wanna play that hard role
and say there ain't no self at all
so they get all nihilistic
but I keep an eye on my sila!
So greed says I need that
but I ain't down with that
Though the fires of greed may be overrulin’
I’m thinkin’ ‘bout coolin’
So I got some samadhi and pitti,
but I'm not stopping there
I'm on a mission to the unconditioned,
startin' with some bodhicitta
…
So bhikkhus if you're feeling caught
and you wanna really know what's what
dial 1-900-anatta: I'll tell you what it's all about:
Self ain’t that!
(No matter what you’re looking at your self ain’t that)

(This is the version performed on April 28 at DPP3 Dharma Follies)

Buddhist Personality Types

At the 3-month retreat at IMS in 2005, Myoshin Kelly gave a very funny talk on the traditional Buddhist personality types. (It was Hallowe'en, which seemed like a good time for talking about the masks we wear.) I was inspired by that talk to write the following quiz. Being me, I emphasized the funny side of the types; I also followed Myoshin's lead in breaking the aversion type down into anger and fear, which is not part of the traditional teachings. The text of the quiz is copied below; follow the link for a version with scoring.

http://www.helloquizzy.com/tests/the-buddhist-personality-type-test

This is my highly un-scholarly presentation of the traditional Buddhist method of classifying personalities. The categories (Greed, Deluded or Confused, Aversive-Angry, and Aversive-Fearful) correspond to the Three Unwholesome Roots. Everyone is greedy (angry/fearful/confused) sometimes, and everyone has the potential to be free from these causes of suffering. But when you start out on the journey of liberation, you need to know where you're starting from. If your natural tendency is to anger, different practices will be useful to you than if your natural tendency were to confusion. Ready to find out your faults? Let's go be spiritual warriors!

1 In school, I was always
chatting with my friends.
correcting the teacher.
sitting at the back hoping the teacher wouldn't call on me.
doodling.

2 When I get to the beach the first thing I say is
"Check out that hot lifeguard!"
"There's garbage lying everywhere!"
"Do you think there's an undertow?"
"I forgot my swimsuit...again..."

3 My morning routine is
extensive. I don't want to leave the house until I look my best.
hurried. There's nothing wrong with going out with wet hair.
never routine. My car keys are never where I thought I left them, so I'm always running late.

4 My wardrobe is
carefully chosen. I love to wear flattering clothes by prestigious designers.
functional. I mostly dress to be under the radar.
crammed with everything I've ever worn. It's so confusing getting dressed in the morning. Sometimes a friend will point out that I've combined stripes and plaid again.
basic. I don't waste time following fashions.

5 When a friend suggests an activity, my automatic response is,
"That's the best idea I've ever heard! Let's do it RIGHT NOW!"
"That is completely lame."
"It sounds dangerous," or "I'm not in the mood."
"I guess...if you want to..."

6 School. Extracurricular activities.
I was a cheerleader, duh!
I organized the Amnesty International club and hassled everyone to join.
I mostly stayed at home and listened to my Morrisey albums.
I did whatever my friends were doing.

7 School. Social life.
My social life suffered because I tended to steal people's boy/girlfriends.
My social life suffered because I alienated people by correcting their pronunciation.
I was pretty much a loner.
I hung out with the same group of people all the time.

8 People would be happier if
they took time to enjoy life. People don't focus on the positive side of things enough.
they lived better lives. How can you be happy if you're not doing what's right?
they just mellowed out. What's the point in making such a big deal out of everything?
they slowed down. I don't understand why most people feel like they have to take on so many responsibilities.

9 Shopping
is a sport, and I'm in the major leagues.
is a necessary evil. I go in, get what I need, get out again.
is a nightmare. With twenty brands of jam on the shelves, how am I supposed to pick one? And let's not even talk about clothes shopping. I daydream about having a personal shoopper who will tell me what I need.
is a necessary evil. I go in, get what I need, get out again, before someone pisses me off and I have to kill them.

10 At dinner time, I think
"Wow, this looks great! I wonder if there's more?"
about the calories and cholesterol per serving.
"It's dinner time already? Where did the day go?"
"The lettuce is wilted."

11 At the movies, I'm most likely to say
"That actor is totally hot."
"The script is totally derivative."
"Why are they shooting at that one guy?"
I prefer to go to the movies by myself, thanks.

12 My friends' affectionate nickname for me is
Sparky.
Eeyore.
Silent but deadly.
The Space Cadet.

13 My motto is
"Nothing succeeds like excess."
"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."
"Look before you leap."
"When the going gets tough, the tough take a nap."

14 Okay. I admit it. Sometimes I can be
deceitful, if it will help me get what I want.
bitchy, when people aren't doing things right.
anxious and paranoid.
clueless--but my fantasy world is just so much more interesting than the real world.

15 What people appreciate most about me is
my fun-loving nature.
my penetrating intellect.
my easy-going, accepting nature.

16 When things aren't going my way, I figure
they'll improve as soon as I get that one thing I want (a raise/a new partner/a fancy dinner/new clothes)
it's someone else's fault, and I should help them see the error of their ways.
things are probably just going to get worse, and I should lay low for a while.
...could you repeat the question?...What are you talking about? Everything's fine. Really.

17 I think I'm probably
the greedy type--or, as I like to call it, the sensual type.
the aversive type--but it's not my fault I'm so fearful or angry: it's the fault of my upbringing. Or maybe I am just a bad person. *sigh*
the confused type. The situations I get into would be funny if they were happening to someone else.
...um...I see myself in all the types. I'm not sure. What do you think?

nonself portraits

This is a picture of me.



Or maybe it's a picture of my brother. My parents say it's me, but it was in with a bunch of pictures from the winter after my brother was born; and in any case one baby looks pretty much like another.

This is a picture of me.



Now the likeness is clear: the hopeful expression, the lopsided smile, the vast enthusiasm about food. But they say that every cell in our bodies changes at least every seven years, so in what sense is this eager little being me?

This is a picture of me.



It's from my days in a medical imaging lab. I liked to volunteer for scanning sessions in the MRI units; I found the confined spaces restful. This is from my very first session. The guy who was using me to test imaging protocols gave me some snapshots as souvenirs. I'm sure it's me in this picture; I remember the jokes I was cracking as I was strapped into the helmet. And yet, where is there any me-ness in this photograph? Looking at this image, do you say, "That anterior cingulate cortex is sooooo Rachel"? You have now gotten inside my head in the most literal way--and what is it that is there? Some mushy material of varying densities and textures.

This is a picture of me.



Well, not exactly. It's a picture taken from a fortuitously flattering angle at a party where I'd made a special effort to get all dolled up. It's also been edited to take out red-eye and to even out my complexion.

This is a picture of me.



Actually it's a photo of me fed into the aging simulator at http://morph.cs.st-andrews.ac.uk//
This isn't how I look--yet.

The first day of autumn
returning from alms round
I set down my bowl by the temple
to go play with the children.
Last year: a foolish monk.
This year: no change.

--Ryokan

EEG experiment and aftermath

I've changed my mind again, and now I think I will actually post some of my experiences from the autumn retreat at IMS. Let's start at the beginning...
Before the retreat I got an e-mail asking if I'd participate in an experiment designed to measure the physical and mental effects of intensive meditation practice. I do like being a guinea pig--so much more relaxing than analysing the experiments oneself--so of course I said yes.
The experiment is actually a bunch of parts: saliva tests to measure stress levels before, during, and after the retreat--see the physical effect of the practice, and how long it persists in "everyday life"; blood tests before and at 3 and 9 months after, to measure telomere shortening, a measure of aging: since stress hormones increase the rate of telomere shortening, thereby hastening cell death, meditation might decrease the rate and extend the body's lifespan (might--there's no evidence yet, as far as I know, but it does seem reasonable); and EEG experiments to measure the brain's ability to concentrate for long periods of time on boring, repetitive, and even annoying tasks. The EEG part was done at the beginning and end of the retreat; the picture is from the first session, with me looking pale and stressed-out. (I think it's really neat that EEG equipment is compact enough now that it's possible to pack it up in a briefcase and set up an experiment wherever.)
The blood tests ended up being quite entertaining: apparently my veins are small and floppy or easily torn (or something like that) and it's hard to get a needle in securely to get blood out; and when they were taking the needles out the blood level in them would actually go down: my veins were sucking the blood back into my body. "No! My blood! You can't have it!" Greedy veins. They clearly haven't listened to the teachings on generosity, or on non-self for that matter.
The EEG tests were fascinating. One of the tasks involved listening to tones (mostly 500 and 1000 Hz, with the occasional "different" one: 475 or 1050 Hz) and pressing a button whenever one of the "different" ones came along. At the beginning of the retreat, this task was extremely frustrating for me, because 475 and 1050 Hz are almost but not quite semitones away from 500 and 1000 Hz, and also the tones came at almost but not quite rhythmic intervals. By the end of an hour and a half of this my brain was having a temper tantrum. "Don't these people know that's NOT RIGHT?" I came out of the experiment madder than a wet hen. Doing the exact same thing at the end of the retreat was downright enjoyable. I'd just spent 3 months listening to sounds as sounds, and getting into intensely pleasurable altered states of consciousness listening to the rattle of the radiator, so I was able to hear the tones as tones, instead of as musical sounds that weren't correctly musical. Plus, the mind likes to concentrate, and here was a concentration exercise, oh joy! So instead of the test being a boring, taxing, ordeal, it was quite a pleasant interlude.
The experiments are overseen by Dr. Richard "Richie" Davidson, from the University of Wisconsin. He has been meditating himself since the 70s, and when he was just starting out in psychology research wanted to find a way to measure the effects of meditation on the brain; but at that point the tools available were just too primitive. Since the advent of fMRI, however, a lot more has become possible. Several years ago, he received a personal invitation from His Holiness the Dalai Lama to come to Dharamsala to start doing research on Tibetan monks who were experienced meditators. The first trip was only partially successful. They brought over all their equipment, but although all the monks were very gracious about talking about their practice, none of them would consent to participate in experiments. It became clear that this refusal was just because the monks didn't know anything about science. When His Holiness heard about this, his response was to start a program called Science for Monks-- a yearly seminar for Tibetan monks, taught by Western scientists. Richie told us about this program during the talk he gave on one of the last nights of the retreat. When I first heard about it, I started hyperventilating. I had just that day been wondering how to combine my training in physics with something that is of actual benefit to humanity, and presto! here it is. I've sent out some e-mails asking for more information and am still waiting to hear back, but who knows? Maybe in December I'll be in India teaching monks how to do physics.

vignette

Prisoner #1: Isn't it awful being stuck here in this dank, dark prison?
Prisoner #2: Yeah. I wish there were some way to escape.
Prisoner #1: Well, that's a stupid thing to wish for. We're chained to the wall hand and foot, there are bars on the window--there's no escape.
Prisoner #2: Yeah, there are bars on the window, alright--but hey, check it out: there's sunshine coming through the window...and a breeze too! There must be another opening somewhere. (looks around) Would you look at that! Not only is the door not locked--there IS no door. There just HAS to be a way out of here.
Prisoner #1: You're living in a fool's paradise. Look at these chains!
Prisoner #2: Yeah, they're pretty heavy...I wish I could be rid of them. (looks down) Wow! The shackles on our ankles--those chains don't lead anywhere: the other ends are just hanging loose.
Prisoner #1: Fat lot of good that does us if our hands are still chained to the wall.
Prisoner #2: ...but they're not, really. The chains wrapped around our wrists? We're holding them there. We can just let them go, see? (drops his chains, stretches his stiff fingers)
Prisoner #1: You're never going to get anywhere with this kind of thinking.
Prisoner #2: (isn't listening, but instead is walking towards the doorway, trailing the chains of his supposed captivity behind him)
Prisoner #1: ESCAPIST!

Story time

There was a great story (apparently true) told at my retreat, about a Zen teacher from China who moved to Tennessee. He bought a little old house with a big old oak tree on the front lawn. His neighbours told him, "That tree's gonna blow down. You gotta chop it down."

He nodded, in his inscrutable Chinese way, and said, "Good. I chop."

The next morning he went to the local hardware store and bought a hatchet. One of his neighbours came by and saw him chopping away at the biiiiig tree with the little weeny hatchet, and said, "Don't do it that way. It'll take ages. I'll go get my chainsaw and have the tree down in half an hour."

But the old man shook his head and said, "I chop."

His neighbour rolled his eyes, but left him alone, figuring that after a few hours of this futile chopping, the old man would have had enough and would come asking to borrow his chainsaw.

Instead, every morning at 9 am, for exactly an hour, the whole neighbourhood would hear a steady chop chop chop from the old man's front yard. It got so that if he missed a morning they'd come over to see if he was okay. He went from being "that crazy Chinaman" to being part of the community.

Eventually he explained to some of his new friends that this is how he taught meditation: every day you chop away just a little more, and sooner or later a great tree falls.

Well, after months of this it became clear that the great tree was due to fall. On the last morning the neighbours all gathered around to witness the last few hatchet chops. (I visualize a neighbourhood jamboree, with the womenfolk bringing sandwiches and jello molds, and the menfolk leaning on the fences and offering advice, but that's pure invention.) At last, with a mighty creak and splintering noise, the tree crashed to the ground.

After the cheering died down, someone asked the teacher what he would do now.

"Make firewood" was his reply.

Pārami

(a collection of quotations illustrating the traditional list of the Pāramis, assembled by Steve Armstrong and other teachers)

Dāna (Generosity)

If beings knew, as I know, the benefit of generosity, they would not let an opportunity go by without sharing.

-Buddha

Sīla (Morality)

Virtue has non-remorse as its benefit and reward.
Non-remorse has gladness as its benefit and reward.
Gladness has joy as its benefit and reward.
Joy has serenity as its benefit and reward.
Serenity has happiness as its benefit and reward.
Happiness has concentration as its benefit and reward.
Concentration has insightful understanding as its benefit and reward.
Insightful understanding has non-attachment as its benefit and reward.
Non-attachment has liberation as its benefit and reward.
In this way, virtue leads step by step to the highest.

-Buddha

Nekkhamma (Renunciation)

True renunciation is not giving up the things of this world, but in knowing they go away.

-Suzuki Roshi

Paňňā (Wisdom)

All conditioned things arise and pass away. Understanding this deeply brings the greatest happiness, which is peace.

-Buddha

Viriya (Energy)

No-one succeeds without effort. Mind at peace is not your birthright. Those who succeed owe their liberation to perseverance.

-Ramana Maharshi.

Khanti (Patience)

Patience is the supreme virtue.

-Buddha

Sacca (Truthfulness)

Better than a thousand useless words is one simple word that brings peace.

-Buddha

Aditthāna (Resolution)

Let only my skin, sinews, and bones remain and let the flesh and blood in my body dry up; but not until I attain Supreme Enlightenment will I give up this meditation seat.”

-Buddha

Metta (Lovingkindness)

Hatred never ceases by hatred, but by love alone. This is the eternal law.

-Buddha

Upekkhā (Equanimity)

The mind is like space. There is room in it for everything or nothing. We always have a perspective once we know that space of the mind, its emptiness. Armies can come into the mind and leave, butterflies, rain-clouds—or nothing. All things can come and go through without us being caught in reaction or resistance.

-Ajahn Sumedho

darn it

Last night I was antsy and not wanting to settle down to anything, so I started clearing out my bookshelves. First I picked out all the books I wanted to get rid of...all three of them. I realized a change of strategy was necessary, so I picked out all the books I want to either have with me this summer or store for a year or two. The ones I don't want to bother storing went into two big-ass canvas bags (there's probably another bagful or two that can still be weeded out) which I took to the used book store downtown this afternoon. Getting them there, on my bike, was a royal pain. They weighed me down and made biking precarious, and the straps were always threatening to slip off my shoulders. I distracted myself with thoughts of the quasi-philosophical blog entry I'd compose about the experience: I was anticipating the lightness of biking home emptyhanded, and making the obvious extensions to the the lightness of not owning much stuff, or at least of being able to walk away from it without regret...which would possibly lead to retelling the following anecdote:

A certain dervish was travelling through the desert, and stayed the night in the camp of another dervish. He was shocked to see the luxury of his host's tent--soft beds, colourful hangings--and most shocking of all were the solid-gold tent pegs. He upbraided his host:
"You call yourself a holy man? We must make a pilgrimage to Mecca, so you can purify yourself."
His host said, "Very well, let's leave at once," and began to walk. The traveller said, "--but aren't you going to pack up your belongings? What about those tent pegs?"
"They are driven into the ground, not into my heart."

So I was feeling quite excited and pleased with myself as I arrived at the book shop...and saw a sign on the door about how they're not buying any books for the next week because their manager is away.

Bother.

It just goes to show, I suppose, that it's possible to attach to anything, even the idea of getting rid of stuff.

Dharma talks

Here is an essay by Thanissaro Bhikkhu: it's an insightful piece of cultural criticism, on how the Western post-Romantic worldview tends to distort Westerners' perception of Buddhist teachings. Audio versions of this and his other talks are here.

Leigh Brasington works as a software engineer, and also teaches and leads retreats. He's one of the few people around who really teaches the Jhanas. The Jhanas are states of absorptive concentration that the Buddha described as being necessary precursors to mindfulness. Interestingly, the Pali word Jhana (from some Sanskrit root that I don't remember offhand) became Chan in chinese and Zen in Japanese.

His talks are fun to listen to because he sounds exactly like a software engineer. He'll say, "Now, many people underestimate the importance of practicing attaining absorptive states of concentration" and you'll do a double take because you were expecting him to complete the sentence with "defragmenting your hard drive."

Anyway, his talks on the Jhanas are here, and an essay summarizing his thoughts on the Jhanas and the Brahmaviharas are on his geocities homepage. (I find it rather touching that he's still loyal to geocities.)

I've found myself recently fantasizing about the fall retreat at the IMS. It's a particularly ludicrous--sorry, ludricious--type of fantasy, because it can be distilled to, "Wow, won't it be great when I'm spending all my time being present in the moment? Yeah, that'll be great, when I'm just focussing on the task at hand...."

Somewhere recently I came across someone's account of being advised by his meditation teacher to "sit as if you were about to die." The speaker puzzled over that advice for a while before realizing that it's just a variation on "be present." A dramatic variation, sure. If you're about to die, there's no need to worry about taking the garbage out, or to plan your next career move, or to wonder if your butt is too big. There's a lot less room for ego and a lot more room for noticing what's really happening. As Dr. Johnson says, "Depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully."

I've been working with that idea the past couple of days. If today is my last day on earth, I don't need to worry about my committee laughing at me at my thesis defence. I don't need to worry about anybody laughing at me, in fact, because at the present moment nobody is laughing at me. (Ususally. That I'm aware of.)

I feel a little self-conscious at having re-derived the cliche "Live every day as if it were your last"--but then again, we've all heard it said, but how many times have you thought in detail about what that means to you?

If I knew today were my last day on earth, I would have taken a nap. I would have told a whole list of people that I love them. (If you're wondering if you're on the list, you are. I love you, man.) I would have listened to some good music. I would have picked some violets. I would have winked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I would have put aside worries and fantasies and regrets as much as I could and concentrated on the task at hand.

--so I would have done pretty much what I did today.

...Well, I probably wouldn't have had quite that much ice cream at the departmental lunch. Like Anne Lamott, I want to have eaten dessert on the day I die, but I don't want to have a sugar rush when I go.

Better it is to live one day seeing the rise and fall of things than to live a hundred years without ever seeing the rise and fall of things.

--The Dhammapada

Joy isn't dependent on getting things, or on the world going the way you want, or on people behaving the way they should, or on their giving you all the things you like and want. Joyfulness isn't dependent upon anything but your own willingness to be generous, kind, and loving. It's that mature experience of giving, sharing, and developing the science of goodness. Virtue is the joy we can experience in this human realm. So, although what society is doing or what everyone else is doing is beyond my control--I can't go around making everything how I want it--still, I can be kind, generous, and patient, and do good, and develop virtue. That I can do, and that's worth doing, and not something anyone can stop me from doing. However rotten or corrupted society is doesn't make any difference to our ability to be virtuous and to do good.

--Ajahn Sumedho

If you let go a little you will have a little peace; if you let go a lot you will have a lot of peace; if you let go completely you will have complete peace.

--Ajahn Chah

life koans

I've been finding myself thinking of my last experience at the IMS recently--mostly just because I'm dying to go back. (I'm trying to figure out whether I can take a week or two in May or June.) During group meetings with the teachers, we go around the circle and talk about what we've experienced in the past couple of days. Since this is only real talking that the retreatants do there, these sessions can make a big impression. One meeting in particular stuck with me. The teacher was talking about questions that come up during meditation, and how they're not always easy to answer, and not necessarily supposed to even have answers. Instead, they're questions that we carry with us, taking them out to look at and turn over in our minds, using our responses to them to inform our actions in the present moment. Life koans, she called them.

We all latched onto the concept immediately. As we went around the circle, people started phrasing their experiences in terms of questions--the woman who'd been dealing with the fear of aging associated with physical pain asked, "Can I be happy without a healthy body?", the woman who realized that she was a retreat junkie, hopping from one to the next with no sense of commitment or stability, asked, "Can I grow by picking something and sticking with it?", the man who realized how actively he'd been seeking out distractions in his daily life asked, "Can I survive this sense of emptiness?"

It was like Buddhist Jeopardy.

My own questions were "Can I be happy without following the precepts?"--to which the teacher responded by quite involuntarily laughing out loud and saying "No!"--and "Is it possible to be in a romantic relationship without deceit and without the attachment that leads to suffering?"

(She didn't try to answer the second one for me.)

Bodhisattva vow

The passions of delusion are inexhaustible. I vow to extinguish them.

The number of beings is endless. I vow to save them.

The Truth cannot be told. I vow to tell it.

The Way which cannot be followed is unattainable. I vow to attain it.

This is me walking down the street

May all beings be happy and peaceful
May all beings be healthy and well
May all beings live in safety
May all beings live with ease...

Get out of the way, ya fat cow! Stop cluttering up the sidewalk with your stroller and your two big dogs! This isn't your living room, for heaven's sake! Some of us have places to go!

Where was I?

May all beings be free from suffering
May all beings be free from the causes of suffering...

Present and Unaccountable

I spent the last week of August at a retreat at the IMS. It was...well, here are some different levels of summary:

Casual conversation:
The retreat was fabulous! Very intense. I didn't want to leave. I'm going to have to go back as soon as I can.

Somewhat more in-depth:
The setting is idyllic. The retreat centre is in rural Massachussetts, a few miles outside of Barre. The centre itself is a big old house that was first built as someone's weekend home, then taken over by a monastery (if I remember correctly) and eventually bought by IMS in the seventies. Around the centre are farms--there's one place that seems to train horses and give horse riding lessons, there's another place that has a roadside stand where you can buy tomatoes, and there's another place that sells maple syrup. The only thing all the farm houses have in common is that they without exception have animal statues in their front yards. Seems a bit redundant, given that there are real live deer and rabbits and turkeys that are very likely to be in someone's yard on any given day.

The schedule was intense. Up at 5:15 (the bell actually started ringing at 5:05; the first morning I heard the bell, saw that it was dark outside, looked at my bedside clock, and said out loud "You have GOT to be kidding me"), sit for half an hour, breakfast, chores (or "washing-dishes meditation", as I came to think of it), then alternating periods of sitting and walking meditation for the rest of the day, with breaks for lunch and tea, and some instruction by the teachers, and the occasional chance to speak directly to the teachers.

The teachers were brilliant. As compassionate and insightful as you'd expect of meditation teachers, with all kinds of personal anecdotes that were useful and insightful (sitting with fear and aversion when her meditation hut in Thailand was invaded by a large lizard; a teacher's experience sending metta to a tiger that wanted to share his walking-meditation path with him). The only funny thing about them was their Boston accents. They weren't noticible at first, besides a slightly mush-mouthed approach to consonants, but eventually I realized that they were telling us to pay attention to our "tho-wats." I had a hard time not grinning every time that word came up.

The walking meditation often made me grin too. To stay mindful of what our bodies were doing, it was often helpful to walk very slowly. The result was that there were a hundred people walking baaaaack....aaaand.....foorrrthhhh....looking like nothing so much as the Ministry of Silly Walks, Slow Division. (I nominated myself the Undersecretary in Charge of Falling Over for No Reason.)

The other retreatants gave me a lot of stuff to think about...or rather, led to a lot of thoughts arising. There were a lot more young people there than the last time I went--even one kid who'd just begun college, but over a dozen in their (our) late twenties. There wasn't all that much variety in backgrounds (Rick the pipe-fitter seemed to be the only one with a blue-collar job) and the few people of colour were very few (but present!) and the bumper stickers on the cars were reasonably uniform (three occurrences of "Let's not elect Bush in 2004 either", three "Free Tibet", several meditation in-jokes). But it was interesting to notice my reactions to all these people. How do I react to people I find attractive? how is it different from my reaction to unattractive people? Who do I tend to be impatient with? whom do I smile indulgently towards? My favourite was probably the kooky old guy with the haystack of white hair, multiple piercings (including an alarming septum ring), a tattoo that said "VEGAN", and a "Veterans for Peace" hat festooned with buttons advocating various progressive causes. He must have some interesting stories to tell.

My roommate was neat. I was hoping to get to talk to her at the end of the retreat, but unfortunately she left partway through. We hadn't been doing a good job of keeping silence: we always seemed to be having conversations at 3 am, whether on account of one of us waking the other with a nightmare or by tripping over her (!) or on account of the truly impressive thunderstorm. Pity that we didn't get to talk in an officially-sanctioned way. I felt like we had a lot in common: she's a massage therapist, and I introduce myself as a massage therapist at parties.

I didn't want to leave at the end of the retreat, and I'm thinking of making a week or two-week retreat a yearly thing. I felt like it was too long between my first retreat and this one, and I think I can make a lot of progress with more time for concentrated effort. I'm even fantasizing about doing a three-month retreat. I was talking to some people about their experiences with it, and it makes me want to put all my other plans on hold so I can do this.

More detail than you need to know:
I was terrified going into the retreat. I was carrying a heavy load of remorse and fear, after having carelessly hurt (possibly quite badly) three or four people who are very dear to me. (Sordid story which I have no intention of going into here.) I was expecting to have storms of emotion break over my head as soon as I sat down to meditate. I was bracing myself for tears, rage, despair--all these big cathartic emotions. What I got instead was endless repetitions of the Sesame Street theme song: I spent the first six days of the retreat coping with the wandering of my mind. It wasn't what I was expecting, but it was probably exactly what I needed. I got to see exactly how undisciplined my mind is usually, and how much time I spend lost in fantasies or memories or planning. It was also a chance to encourage my mind to settle down, in a gentle compassionate manner. My natural tendency is, when I see my mind wandering during (say) metta meditation, to start chewing it out: "Look, motherfucker, do you want to be free of suffering or don't you? Settle down already!" The teachers emphasized over and over that the thing to do is just to notice the wandering and gently bring your attention back to whatever it is that you're attending to, rather than getting upset about the wandering itself. Hmm. Tricky, that.

One of the most healing interactions I had was with one of the resident chipmunks. Since everyone at the IMS moves slowly and deliberately and has taken it upon themselves to not harm any living being, the wild critters around there are not shy. The chipmunks in particular will climb on you at any opportunity--no doubt in hopes of your having brought them food. I did get in the habit of sharing my teatime sunflower seeds with them. (Someone pointed out later that we'd been instructed to not feed the animals. oops.) Quite apart from how adorkable they looked as they stuffed their little cheeks, it was good to realize that they were willing to trust me. If a chipmunk climbs up onto you, all you have to do to prove yourself worthy of that trust is to stay still. Since I was feeling spectacularly, deeply untrustworthy, it was reassuring to be reminded that being trustworthy, like all "character traits", is simply a set of actions, and that I can earn people's or critters' trust if I give my attention to it. The Earth is crammed with meditation teachers.

One thing that got mentioned in the Dharma talks was the preliminaries to meditation: Before you even start to meditate, the Buddha's instruction is to practice generosity (by supporting the communities of meditators) and to live a moral life so that your mind won't be preoccupied with remorse. Huh. Clever lad, that Buddha fellow.

The catharsis came, eventually. Once the tears started it seemed like they would never stop. At the end of the retreat I was still in full-blown Repentence mode, and in no way ready to go back to quotidian responsibilities.