living dharma

“We can slow down and ask ourselves, ‘who is this monolithic me that has been so offended? And who is this other person who can trigger me like this? What is this praise and blame that hooks me like a fish, that catches me like a mouse in a trap? How is it that these circumstances have the power to propel me like a shot from hope to fear, from happiness to misery?’ This big-deal struggle, this big-deal self, and this big-deal other could all be lightened up considerably.” So says Tibetan teacher Pema Chodron.

I read this passage yesterday. Very timely. I’m much more solid and stable than I ever used to be. But I’m still powerfully moved by the vagaries of how other people treat me. What they say, either to me or to others about me. My emotions impacted by the treats that someone may lay down in front of me. Or the rolled up newspaper whacking me on the snout.

It is good to, as P. Chodron suggests, slow down and ask these questions. Particularly for those of us who have received and taken to heart teachings on non-self and emptiness.

I had a couple of experiences yesterday that were just such excellent practice opportunities. First Liam interrupted me when I was doing sitting meditation in the morning. Then Sisko the dog was not entirely with the program when I was doing walking meditation on the beach. Then I waited 3 hours for a meeting that never happened. Then I looked at a depressing space that may have been my next house sit (as things turn out, it won’t be).

All of this was just perfect! Perfect to shake me from my attachment to the form of my practice. Pushing me into difficult moments and expectations gone awry. The best material for practice. I’d give myself a B or maybe a B- for how I did on these modest little challenges. Just noticing that they were rich practice opportunities rather than some great big bummer was, in itself, a good practice. So too was picking up the book by Pema Chodron rather than geeking out on the computer or something. So too was going for a long run on the beach instead of caving in to my hunger and fatigue as the sun began to set spectacularly (full on Godlight).

Step by step. Slowly learning. Grateful for the fruits of the practice when they appear. Grateful for the very limited wisdom to pass on the long-ingrained pull to have a glass of wine or chat up the pretty girls. Grateful for the learning around happiness being the absence of desire and wanting (or the mindful recognition and then letting go thereof). And the ability to smile to that teaching, even as I am beckoned in the other direction.

Yes, it could all be lightened up considerably.

The picture: a g.b. heron on my favourite beach for walking meditation when I am in Kitsilano, in Vancouver. The heron is an amazing and seemingly ubiquitous being: I think I have seen them everywhere I have ever been in the world, from Belize to the North Sea, from Vancouver to the Grenadines….

I’ve only received a couple of truly snarly comments in response to things I’ve written here. But those snarls have had an effect, like a libel chill letter. They instill fear.

Rather than hushing up, I’ll just try and do a better, more respectful job when I’m dealing with difficult subjects.

As the genetic creation of Russian Jewish and Irish Catholic immigrant stock I at least feel I have some ancestral entry point into a discussion about tribalism. I felt these roots very strongly, beyond an intellectual association viz where I know I come from, when I was in Plum Village in the winter. Some very difficult things arose in the community and I found myself speaking out about them, as I tend to do on what I perceive to be matters of injustice. I’ve always understood my radicalism and activism in reference to different strands of political influence and social consciousness. But I’d never had the felt experience of my ancestors before; that their suffering and persecution may have watered seeds of militant, though non-violent, activism in me. But this past winter I really did feel that.

Now, here in Vancouver, I see various aspects of tribalism playing out in communities I know well. I see that tribalism doing what it has always done throughout our sad, magnificent human history. While the tribalism I see here – at least amongst those I know personally – does not result in violent mayhem, it does spawn hatred and intolerance. It does destroy friendships. It does dishonour deep, complex connections only to replace them with judgment and misunderstanding. A complete unwillingness to even try and understand.

As a student of politics and power at various levels over the years, I’ve had the activist’s and political insider’s perspective on how tribalism plays out, both here in Canada and, at an abstract level, in other parts of the world. But this is the first time I have seen tribalism up close in personal relationships from my new vantage point, the practitioner’s view.

And, from this seat of intended compassion and understanding (with full owning up to living these things – compassion and understanding that is – poorly often), I am freshly shocked by the ugliness and inherent violence, writ large – not just physical violence, of tribalism. Its destructive force. Its excellence in creating opposition. Its perfection in leading to a complete lack of respect or compassion.

And that has been, is, a powerful teaching. One that I hope to always bear in mind and, perhaps more importantly, in my heart wherever the path takes me.

The picture is of some flowers that seem to get along just fine, sharing a bit of space – being blue and yellow, surrounded by green and everything else that ever was, ever will be.

I’m amazed again afresh anew at how a slight shift in perspective alters our experience so enormously.

There have been a number of challenging things afoot lately and I’ve been getting through pretty well, better than I ever used to, thanks to the practice.

Today it feels like all that challenging stuff (all of which is still quite present on a “fact base” level, as the lawyers would say) is just gone. It was a fine soft sunny morning. Sisko the dog and I had a nice little walk in the quiet early hours. I got some work done. I reflected on things small and large that I am grateful for, one of which is certainly my health. It had been about a year since I had been to the doctor so I thought I should have a check-up before moving to England and trying to find my way through that notorious health care system.

I’m lucky to have a doctor in whom I have tremendous confidence for his medical abilities and judgment. But I’m also lucky because we’ve developed a good relationship over the years. He is an interesting person and he has taken a kind and genuine interest in my life, its various twists and turns. Unlike most GPs in mainstream medicine, I think he is inclined to look at the whole person rather than just the bag of skin and bones on the table. As we talked about my life choices and how I’m doing these days, we talked a bit about the black depressions I used to suffer before I began to practice. They were life threatening in all kinds of ways. Those days are over.

For so many reasons, again rooted pretty much exclusively in the practice (and things like no longer drinking, which is part of the practice too), I do not sink as far as I commonly did in the past. And when I do encounter difficulties, I have a range of completely healthy tools to choose from to apply in real time to those difficulties, which always have the effect of transforming them, at least a bit. Out of 44 years, I’ve only been doing this healthy stuff for a couple. So its’ novelty factor has not worn off; the “look at me dealing with difficult things without wanting to jump off a bridge” effect.

My doctor’s conclusion after a pretty thorough poke, prod, measure and inspect is that I am “amazingly healthy.” Which was nice to hear. Seems I’m on the right track.

He was also very kind and thoughtful in congratulating me for my courage (as he sees it) in making the choices I’m making, for walking away from things that always made me unhappy in spite of all the societal pressure to do more and more and more of those things. It was nice to have his validation; someone who has known me in a variety of intimate ways for 10 years….looking at who and what I am now, knowing who and what I’ve been.

It was a nice round circle somehow….I’m not sure why?

Today’s picture is of my excellent friend Sisko. I’m taking care of him for a few days. And he is taking care of me too in his loving, Buddha nature way. I took Sisko to the beach for walking meditation this morning. I think he liked the energy, though he was surely snuffling about for any and all possible food or food-like tidbits on the beach; he has some practice to do on the craving, desire and attachment front….we all do…

Well that was a delight. I spent part of the afternoon with J. We met in Plum Village in October. When it was still warm and summery in SW France. J is from Vancouver, close to a circle of people I know well. And when she walked up and introduced herself as I was getting a cup of tea one day, I was so surprised to have a Vancouver connection appear out of the blue.

Even though she was only in Plum Village for a week, she sensed some of its’ magic and we all felt her energy – a great contribution to the waxing and waning international community that washes in and out of the place. We wrote episodically over the following months; J sent me the most exotic letter I think I’ve ever received – written in Morocco, post-marked Egypt and foreshadowing journeys to Israel, India and Ireland (if I remember correctly?).

J is a great writer and a wise soul. In one of our brief conversations way back in the fall, as we described where we were in our lives and where we were headed, she said she was determined to live a meaningful life. Which of course resonated deeply with me. She also said, in a later email, that she does not want to live a life in fear – for that is her greatest fear….elegant turn of phrase and so much that is so important embedded in these few words.

So today we walked from Jericho to Spanish Banks and sat and talked for a good long while. The sun came out and the day brightened as our conversation wandered over things so vital to both of us. I have the strong feeling I severely out-talked J! Her thoughtful questions triggered 23-part answers with all manner of subordinate clauses. I am also aware that my long stretch in Plum Village was just so precious. And that it is a rare treat to sit with someone who was there with me, even for a short spell.

So – here’s an enormous inhale and exhale of gratitude for the gift of J’s energy and intention today. For her determination and grace as she walks her path. And here’s hoping we get to see one another a time or two before I head out on the dusty trail.

The picture: a field of wee daisy-like flowers, by one of my favourite little wetland idylls just off Jericho Beach.

I moved house this morning. Again. As I was packing up my story was that I am officially tired of all this high-end vagabonding (I’ve been staying in one lovely place after another). I had been at Michiko’s for a month – longer than I’ve been anywhere for a while.

Now I’m at Alex’s mum’s place; house and dog-sitting the inimitable Sisko.

When I got here and was greeted with a great deal of love and a very thorough earlicking, I felt better immediately. I’ve known Sisko since he was a brand new puppy (8 years ago?). He is a sweet soul, a black lab who is really all about the love and the present moment. And any food anywhere within reach.

So a few hours into my latest digs I have let go of the story that started the day. I’m grateful to be here. Grateful to have another beautiful place to be. Very grateful for Sisko’s company.

A couple of years ago, I was very, very close to bringing a puppy into my life. Had even talked to breeders and was getting things lined up, as I had fallen in love with flatcoat retrievers. At that time I really missed the kind of friend a dog can be; the kind of friend Luke was and, in a different way the kind of friend Sofie was, though S. was always really Jane’s dog.

People who aren’t dog people don’t get it at all. But for those of us who are there is a genuine’ness and a depth of love that is possible in our friendships with dogs that enrich our lives enormously. So I think anyway.

I’m sure I’ll enjoy my few days with Sisko. And I am pretty sure he is glad to have me here, our bond is a strong one and goes way back to his ridiculously cute days.

Again today I am reminded of the importance of not having a story, or letting go of them as they arise in our minds. If I had allowed myself to get stuck in this morning’s narrative, I would not have been able to open up and be present for my friendship with Sisko or to the gratitude I feel to Deborah for letting me stay in her beautiful home while she is away….she left copious kind notes of instruction and welcome, which are both amusing and lovely.

Present moment, only moment.

The picture: a crow sculpture with whom I became familiar in my stint at Michiko’s….in a couple of weeks I’ll go back to her beautiful house on the river for my final two weeks in Vancouver; maybe my last time in the city?

Ok – I’ll admit it. In a way that could not be less present moment/only moment, I am poignantly aware of how many days there are until I leave Vancouver. And I am aware as each one of them rolls by, making one less to go before this weird chapter is over.

Not to say there aren’t lots of beautiful moments every day. There really are. And I am fully present for most of them. But that does not mean there isn’t a narrative somewhere that knows the calendar – all that foolish wanting mind chattering away steadily in the background, jockeying for the foreground.

On June 22 I’ll go to Ottawa to visit my mom and maybe see my father too if he is there. My mom and I have a highly advanced tracking system in place so that we know each other’s movements across the globe almost before the plane reservations are made. Not so much the case with my dad, particularly now that my folks are no longer living together. He used to get pretty regular briefings from my mom; not any more.

And, in an eerily familiar way to last year’s big adventure (leaving Vancouver, long visit in Ottawa, heading for Plum Village, not knowing if I would ever be back), Ottawa will be the staging ground for my move to England. With any luck by the 22nd I’ll have my work permit and can apply for my entry visa to Britain….and wait hopefully just a few days once the visa application and fingerprints and other “biometrics” are all in the hands of the outsourced, faceless, British visa crowd…..from there it will be a heavily luggaged flight to London, a train ride to Totnes and then home for hopefully a couple of years…..sounds so easy, eh?

Quick aside: even though I am fairly officially post-political (or will be in a few weeks), I am aware of moving to Britain just as a Tory wave is about to inundate the country. Here’s to hoping it is not like the Bush insanity that gripped the U.S. shortly after I moved to Oregon in 2001….as far as I know the British Tories have the most comprehensive and ambitious and borderline reality-based climate change plan of any mainstream party in the hopper; maybe they will even implement it, though colour me doubtful.

It has been another day of river and sun, beauty and solitiude. Solitiude and aloneness. Not quite loneliness but sometimes not so very far afield.

It will be great to spend some time with my mom when I get to Ottawa – I have felt badly not being there, knowing what a tough slog she has been going through on a number of fronts. She is so very pleased with her new home….I’m looking forward to enjoying it with her.

The picture: a bit of today’s river.

It’s been a weird stretch. From fleece tights and sweaters to shorts and nothing else and back again in the space of a few hours. Today is a blessed shorts and nothing else day. Sunshine and roaring snowmelt river.

I’ve been walking and clambering over rocks out into the river for part of the day. Long walk this morning where I deked off onto a trail I’ve seen but never followed all the way. It brought me out onto a rocky crag connected to cousin crags stretching halfway across the river. Without risking life and limb overly much I was able to get out into the middle of the river at a particularly boiling rapids spot. The sun had rounded the corner of the canyon and I was in full sun, surrounded by rushing, crashing water water water.

It was just so beautiful.

A while ago I was writing about how easy it is to get used to exceptional beauty if we see it every day. How much mindfulness it takes to greet each day and each miraculous blast of sun and rapids and miliionbillion shades of green with don’t know mind. Today’s beauty has been just so stunning that it has whacked me ever so gently between the eyes; waking me up from my standard, “this is so beautiful” to a more basic state of pre-verbal amazement.

On my second ramble out on the river, I slipped and slid down the riverbank and through the river, up and over rocks and stumps and salmonberry with my banjo on my back. There’s a huge rock that is just made for afternoon sunning if you can get to it – much easier when the river is lower; a bit of a wilderness thrash when the river is high. But I made it and just did the shorts and nothing else sun beating down on body thing, which always makes me so very happy. Played some banjo to the river and the kingfishers.

When I was doing a more official slow walking meditation this morning, I was reflecting on how deeply personal is all spiritual experience; how impossible it is to describe. I know that sometimes I fumble my way toward doing just that here. It seems good to share and also diminishes or changes that which I want to share.

Will ponder some more. Or not!

Joyful joyful sun…..Tonight I think I will go to the symphony and get a cheap rush ticket. The extraordinary Scottish solo percussionist Evelyn Glennie is in town; she is very cool. So I’ll try and get myself to the Orpheum to listen and marvel at her creativity. She is deaf. A deaf percussionist.

…The picture is from yesterday, when it was not summer.

It was a long time ago but I vaguely remember some of the exercises we did when Liam’s mum was getting ready to deliver him to the world outside her belly. There was all that breathing and letting go. Preparing the body and the mind for the pain and anxiety and fear that would almost certainly come with the beautiful and terrifying birthing process.

I was reflecting on all that breathing through stuff this morning. Taking a 30,000 view look at my life right now. Seeing the period of gestation, the getting ready for an entirely new chapter, the painful departures from old friendships.

It’s so easy to get caught in the drama of the moment. For me anyway.

I’ve been struggling quite a bit. And then coming back to a place of stability. Counting the days until I leave Vancouver. And then coming back to gratitude for the wonderful friends that I do have here, mostly in my Buddhist community. Gratitude for time with Liam. Gratitude for time in the forest and on the beach.

For most of my life I had no idea where I was going. It was all kind of improv. Looking at my C.V. it sort of adds up professionally. But it was really provisional more than strategic or guided by any kind of plan.

It’s different now. For the first time, for the last two years, I have a clear sense of where I’m going. And it gets more and more clear all the time in some ways. No, it doesn’t take the convenient form of a professional vocation, like, “I know – what I want more than anything is to be a plumber.” No – it’s not like that. But it is clear in other ways. In terms of a moral compass. In terms of a spiritual focus. In terms of a strong determination to live from a place of honesty…..to live a meaningful life, as friend Jess says.

As the swirl of daily life, well, swirls – I have sometimes overlooked this new thing, this sense of purpose.

It’s a great gift. And it comes with quite a lot in the way of birthing pains. Lots of breathing through required. Lots of dying into moments passing and being born into moments arriving. Lots of patience. Lots of things I’m not very good at. But I’m learning.

….The picture: my friend the skunk cabbage, one of my favourite plants in this part of the world.

(Son) Liam and I had the afternoon and evening together. And while I carry a kind of happiness with me everywhere I go these days, even when it is layered with some sadness or doubt or whatever (sounds perhaps contradictory but I do think there is a way to be spacious enough to hold it all), there is nothing like being with Liam.

I can just sit beside him and be quietly delighted.

It is the best of being in love, but without the craving. Without the panic. Without needing anything to happen. Simply joy in being together.

Tonight we did things normal people do. Which is odd for me since I do so little in this category. It was nice to watch a bit of the Lakers game. It was nice to have Liam play me the acoustic tunes on his Led Zep DVD.

Dabbling in normal stuff like this reminds me to be watchful for the not so lovely fragrance of piety (a.k.a. the stench of piety). Having devoted myself to trying to live a spiritual life there is a dance of sorts, a balance to be found. An ability to be light and connect with people on their turf. Not to be ooked out by virtually every aspect of our society. To be in that place is to be pretty exclusive; not so much expansive, spacious and free.

So – a bit of mindful basketball watching, or a bit of amazement at Jimmy Page’s rockin’ guitar playing. That’s good stuff to share with Liam, a way to be with him that I truly enjoy and that I don’t have to feel some kind of weird post-Catholic/Jewish (yup, I’ve got them both happening genetically) guilt about for not being utterly and officially spiritual all the time – reading sutras and following my breathing, you know?

I don’t mean to be overly wry about the practice, which is so precious to me. I’m just feeling my way toward a kind of lightness that may have eluded me as I’ve taken one slow, determined step after another on the path.

The picture is, yes, Liam – we were walking on a path, maybe THE path.

I spent a fair amount of time with some truly stressed out people today.

I suppose it has been a while since I have been immersed in that kind of intense unhappiness and dysfunction. I’d sort of (not really, due to lots and lots of experience) forgotten how easy it is to absorb all that energy, how it gets stuck in your heart, in your tensed up facial muscles, in your shoulders, in your fried neural pathways…..

There is a Tibetan practice, called tonglen, which is focused on breathing in suffering and breathing out compassion; the idea being to try and remove the burden of whatever the suffering is – be it physical, emotional or spiritual – and offer compassion, light….the best of what our best is to the suffering being. In tonglen practice, one conjures the image of thick, tar-like black smoke (or whatever is most resonant and authentic for us). Then we see that smoke and toxic sludge entering our lungs and our hearts. Then breathing out all that is most beautiful and joyous and healing in us.

It’s an intense practice. And I think it is easy to get it “wrong”, if that isn’t a silly word to use in this context. Because the idea isn’t to take all the suffering into our own individual, separate self heart….but rather to root ourselves in awareness of, for lack of a better term, the great heart….that which connects us in what Buddhism calls the ultimate dimension…..the point being not to get the toxic sludge stuck so that we are felled by it.

When I did a bit of volunteering at a centre for people with AIDS and a variety of mental illnesses and a host of drug addictions I did this practice there: Sometimes I was totally overwhelmed. Not surprising I guess.

Anyway – today I completely forgot about tonglen and just got caught up in the anxiety, stress, pressure and unhappiness of the moment. I didn’t even really cotton on to what was happening (in my mind, body and heart) until I intuitively just started walking up into the forest after the stress session was over. Then I felt it all in every part of me. And I was able to walk it through (pretty much), to move some of what I had absorbed down through the soles of my feet into the earth, out through my nostrils into the surrounding trees.

Another reminder (example 4,265, 892) that the practice is all about, well, practice, so that when we are in difficult circumstances, our first response is a healthy one that allows us to be stable and compassionate rather than spinning out in a reactive cycle that just adds to the general morass.

Always with the teaching. And slowly with the learning.

The picture is of a little waterfall on Mystery Creek; I walk or run by most days.