We have returned from the mountains and the lake... in the end we had such a wonderful time. I did a lot of writing, Jimmy did a lot of resting, in between we swam and kayaked.
Back home life is continuing to weave a new strand for me, one I'll have to observe and nurture and give time to grow, before I want to publish any of it.
So, here is where my tale ends for now.
I still intend to collect and write down everything that feels relevant and see if in the very end it will be a book worth publishing. I will keep you posted.
In gratitude to life in all it's splendor!!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Escaping into Middle America
Thursday, August 13th
It's the first night of our writing retreat.
We are in the Adirondacks, in Piseco, at the Irondequoit Inn.
At first, the place is a bit of a disappointment. On the website the rooms looked more well cared for, the landscaping more spacious, the beach more secluded, and the parking lot and tennis court right next to the building had not been completely visible at all. Yes, the view is utterly beautiful, and yes, the inn has historic charm... BUT... there are a LOT of little buts... and I watched how each of us got tangled up in several of them.
On arrival we ran into a group of people sitting on the front porch celebrating happy hour with drinks, pretzel sticks and potato chips. Friendly as they were, something repelled me, was it that they talked a little too loudly with alcohol infused voices? Was it that they acted a bit too much like they owned the place? Was it that their way of communicating was long winded in an irritatingly impersonal way? While waiting for the Innkeeper to appear we soon learned that all of them have been coming here from their respective home towns around New York City for years, every summer...
Next Jimmy found the smell in the house objectionable... it reminded him of a gas odor... while I though it merely an old house smell. The room was quite too bare for his taste, and the colors too muted. The interior a bit too run down.
Then the seats in the sitting room downstairs looked pretty worn out... when I tested one of the cushions, I could feel the wooden structure underneath my butt, and I started wondering whether there would be be a comfortable enough seat anywhere in this inn where I could be sitting for long stretches of time in order to write...
Walking down the little trail downhill to visit the beach, we passed four cabins. They were built, even though mostly out of sight, right smack below the inn, each with view of the water... walking past them I felt all of a sudden like we were going through other peoples front yard, all of a sudden the remote beauty of the lake below the inn was inundated with various large groups of unexpected strangers, who had spilled out of their small windowed brown cabins, complete with barbeque smoke and beach towels spread out to dry... maybe worst of all too many car tires had violated the soft ground and had turned it into an unkempt dirt road which cut through the natural grass area in front of the beach. What I had imagined as an uninterrupted flow of lovingly tended nature from the steps of the inn all the way down to the beach didn't exist.
I had pictured myself walking down to the lake to go for a swim at night before going out for dinner, but now that somehow didn't feel inviting any longer.
Our boisterous new friends had informed us of the dining options and discouraged us from visiting the Ox Bow Inn, which Chad, the owner, had recommended as a place with good and inexpensive food, a place where one can get "all that good stuff". All of a sudden I remembered he had used the same phrase on the phone when I had asked him what they serve for breakfast, and he had said: Oh... eggs and omlets and waffles and pancakes and "all that good stuff". Curious little phrase. And what was it again he said when he showed us our room? Pointing at the small stack of white towels: These are your towels, we give you fresh ones every day and "all that good stuff". Hmm... Anyway, the good stuff he alluded to at the Ox Bow Inn didn't sound all that good from their experience and they directed us toward the Speculator Inn for better dining. There were other choices too, but how they distinguished themselves had been lost in the longish drawl of the advice. One place served tex mex... Jimmy liked that. We thought it was the Inn.
The first thing I noticed when we entered, was a worn out dark wall to wall green carpet which in the path of the entrance had been reduced to it's gray backing. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: don't ever eat in a restaurant with a dirty old carpet... but I ignored that warning. The walls above the paneling were dark green too. So were the blinds, half of which were drawn... and... below the ceiling... yes, there were last winters season decorations: plastic pine garlands entwined with christmas lights...
When we took a look at the menu it was clear this was NOT the tex mex restaurant. Jimmy made a feeble attempt to talk me into leaving, but didn't pull me out of my hesitation. My hesitation in turn didn't stem form wanting to be here, but from a purely strategic worry: if this was indeed the best place in town and we now left for the other restaurant and it was even worse, and we wanted to come back here, then it could be embarrassing, more embarrassing even than leaving now.
So we stayed, and we regretted it.
I realized something. I realized how spoiled we are. How much we take good eating for granted. I had forgotten how unsettling it is not to be able to eat at least good, nourishing, fresh, simple food. The outlook onto three days of malnourishment, of carelessly, uninspiredly prepared meals began to seriously depress us. It didn't help that the waitress was just as unengaging as the food she brought us. The one and only highlight was a truly wonderful homemade blueberry pie Jimmy needed to order to bring himself back to life after chewing through the awful meatloaf with ungracious amounts of mystery gravy, and the glob of watery mashed potatoes.
On the way home we checked out the other restaurants and concluded that we must have indeed ended up in the worst place of them all. Even the ominous Ox Bow Inn looked cheery with its red and white checkered curtains and its sun washed wood paneling. Looking forward to a peaceful night in our little old fashioned room, we found the sitting room of our Inn occupied by the same group of people, still with glasses in their hands... had they been drinking all night long? I was surprised by my own judgement when I noticed that they actually annoyed me, even ever so slightly. What was it about drinking I objected to?
We could still dimly hear their voices upstairs in our room. After the first five paragraphs of writing I ran out of battery juice for my computer, and discovered that the electrical outlets in our room had never been upgraded to the three prong plug. Wondering if that might be enough reason to leave the Inn the next day I laid down to sleep. Jimmy was already twitching in his dreams next to me. The bedframe is a bit screechy, but the mattress nice and soft, the pillows a bit too thick and puffy, but the sound of the summer crickets and the soft gurgle of a mountain stream made up for it with it's sweet lullaby.
We woke up to a white fog shrouding the trees outside our window and footsteps and vigorous voices coming up from the porch. The shared bathroom is cute enough and only steps down the hallway, but ran out of water as soon as I wanted to brush my teeth in the morning. The omlet I had ordered with a choice of tomatoes, scallions, mushrooms and cheddar cheese, featured the tomatoes and mushrooms in their canned version, the orange juice of course was not fresh either, not even make belief fresh with pulp, but at least they had some herb teas.
But right now... all woes are washed aside.
Now I am sitting with my labtop on one of the brightly painted green chairs on the front porch. The flowered pillows provide just enough cushioning beneath me, Chad has given us some very "good stuff": a plug adapter and an extension cord, feeding my computer with new energy, I have just enough shade to be able to see the screen clearly and I have this enchanted view in front of me: over the lawn to the right down to the silvery water, the sparkling treetops straight ahead just low enough to see the mountains at the horizon in their blue silhouettes... the sky is filled with a boundlessness of white fluffy clouds, the warm breeze plays a soft music with two little chimes, some human voices wafting up from the beach now and then, some teenage boys are playing tennis on the court all the way over to the right, and our friends from yesterday, who at times seem to gravitate annoyingly to all the same places we want to be in, have finally left this part of the porch.
Half an hour later, after reading some e-mails, the weather has changed, the breeze has turned into chilly gusts and rain is falling out of the sky.
Oh, how fragile, our little thin zones of comfort. How hard we work to match something around us that makes us feel GOOD. That makes us feel safe... and at home... and healthy. How many nuances there are that we think we need to reject in order to feel that we have been true to ourselves.
Now it's beginning to pour, and people are coming back from everywhere to find shelter under the roof of the Inn. We had considered taking the double kayak out onto the lake to paddle to the little island... now I am glad writing took up more time and we stayed in.
Somehow it seems we needed to leave the comfort of our home in Old Chatham, the almost prefect way in which it fits our lives, and surrounds us with comfort, in order to encounter the different needs and habits of middle Americans escaping from their daily life, enmeshing themselves into this timeless idyllic land, this eternally beautiful spot of nature. If that is so, we are in the right place after all.
It's the first night of our writing retreat.
We are in the Adirondacks, in Piseco, at the Irondequoit Inn.
At first, the place is a bit of a disappointment. On the website the rooms looked more well cared for, the landscaping more spacious, the beach more secluded, and the parking lot and tennis court right next to the building had not been completely visible at all. Yes, the view is utterly beautiful, and yes, the inn has historic charm... BUT... there are a LOT of little buts... and I watched how each of us got tangled up in several of them.
On arrival we ran into a group of people sitting on the front porch celebrating happy hour with drinks, pretzel sticks and potato chips. Friendly as they were, something repelled me, was it that they talked a little too loudly with alcohol infused voices? Was it that they acted a bit too much like they owned the place? Was it that their way of communicating was long winded in an irritatingly impersonal way? While waiting for the Innkeeper to appear we soon learned that all of them have been coming here from their respective home towns around New York City for years, every summer...
Next Jimmy found the smell in the house objectionable... it reminded him of a gas odor... while I though it merely an old house smell. The room was quite too bare for his taste, and the colors too muted. The interior a bit too run down.
Then the seats in the sitting room downstairs looked pretty worn out... when I tested one of the cushions, I could feel the wooden structure underneath my butt, and I started wondering whether there would be be a comfortable enough seat anywhere in this inn where I could be sitting for long stretches of time in order to write...
Walking down the little trail downhill to visit the beach, we passed four cabins. They were built, even though mostly out of sight, right smack below the inn, each with view of the water... walking past them I felt all of a sudden like we were going through other peoples front yard, all of a sudden the remote beauty of the lake below the inn was inundated with various large groups of unexpected strangers, who had spilled out of their small windowed brown cabins, complete with barbeque smoke and beach towels spread out to dry... maybe worst of all too many car tires had violated the soft ground and had turned it into an unkempt dirt road which cut through the natural grass area in front of the beach. What I had imagined as an uninterrupted flow of lovingly tended nature from the steps of the inn all the way down to the beach didn't exist.
I had pictured myself walking down to the lake to go for a swim at night before going out for dinner, but now that somehow didn't feel inviting any longer.
Our boisterous new friends had informed us of the dining options and discouraged us from visiting the Ox Bow Inn, which Chad, the owner, had recommended as a place with good and inexpensive food, a place where one can get "all that good stuff". All of a sudden I remembered he had used the same phrase on the phone when I had asked him what they serve for breakfast, and he had said: Oh... eggs and omlets and waffles and pancakes and "all that good stuff". Curious little phrase. And what was it again he said when he showed us our room? Pointing at the small stack of white towels: These are your towels, we give you fresh ones every day and "all that good stuff". Hmm... Anyway, the good stuff he alluded to at the Ox Bow Inn didn't sound all that good from their experience and they directed us toward the Speculator Inn for better dining. There were other choices too, but how they distinguished themselves had been lost in the longish drawl of the advice. One place served tex mex... Jimmy liked that. We thought it was the Inn.
The first thing I noticed when we entered, was a worn out dark wall to wall green carpet which in the path of the entrance had been reduced to it's gray backing. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: don't ever eat in a restaurant with a dirty old carpet... but I ignored that warning. The walls above the paneling were dark green too. So were the blinds, half of which were drawn... and... below the ceiling... yes, there were last winters season decorations: plastic pine garlands entwined with christmas lights...
When we took a look at the menu it was clear this was NOT the tex mex restaurant. Jimmy made a feeble attempt to talk me into leaving, but didn't pull me out of my hesitation. My hesitation in turn didn't stem form wanting to be here, but from a purely strategic worry: if this was indeed the best place in town and we now left for the other restaurant and it was even worse, and we wanted to come back here, then it could be embarrassing, more embarrassing even than leaving now.
So we stayed, and we regretted it.
I realized something. I realized how spoiled we are. How much we take good eating for granted. I had forgotten how unsettling it is not to be able to eat at least good, nourishing, fresh, simple food. The outlook onto three days of malnourishment, of carelessly, uninspiredly prepared meals began to seriously depress us. It didn't help that the waitress was just as unengaging as the food she brought us. The one and only highlight was a truly wonderful homemade blueberry pie Jimmy needed to order to bring himself back to life after chewing through the awful meatloaf with ungracious amounts of mystery gravy, and the glob of watery mashed potatoes.
On the way home we checked out the other restaurants and concluded that we must have indeed ended up in the worst place of them all. Even the ominous Ox Bow Inn looked cheery with its red and white checkered curtains and its sun washed wood paneling. Looking forward to a peaceful night in our little old fashioned room, we found the sitting room of our Inn occupied by the same group of people, still with glasses in their hands... had they been drinking all night long? I was surprised by my own judgement when I noticed that they actually annoyed me, even ever so slightly. What was it about drinking I objected to?
We could still dimly hear their voices upstairs in our room. After the first five paragraphs of writing I ran out of battery juice for my computer, and discovered that the electrical outlets in our room had never been upgraded to the three prong plug. Wondering if that might be enough reason to leave the Inn the next day I laid down to sleep. Jimmy was already twitching in his dreams next to me. The bedframe is a bit screechy, but the mattress nice and soft, the pillows a bit too thick and puffy, but the sound of the summer crickets and the soft gurgle of a mountain stream made up for it with it's sweet lullaby.
We woke up to a white fog shrouding the trees outside our window and footsteps and vigorous voices coming up from the porch. The shared bathroom is cute enough and only steps down the hallway, but ran out of water as soon as I wanted to brush my teeth in the morning. The omlet I had ordered with a choice of tomatoes, scallions, mushrooms and cheddar cheese, featured the tomatoes and mushrooms in their canned version, the orange juice of course was not fresh either, not even make belief fresh with pulp, but at least they had some herb teas.
But right now... all woes are washed aside.
Now I am sitting with my labtop on one of the brightly painted green chairs on the front porch. The flowered pillows provide just enough cushioning beneath me, Chad has given us some very "good stuff": a plug adapter and an extension cord, feeding my computer with new energy, I have just enough shade to be able to see the screen clearly and I have this enchanted view in front of me: over the lawn to the right down to the silvery water, the sparkling treetops straight ahead just low enough to see the mountains at the horizon in their blue silhouettes... the sky is filled with a boundlessness of white fluffy clouds, the warm breeze plays a soft music with two little chimes, some human voices wafting up from the beach now and then, some teenage boys are playing tennis on the court all the way over to the right, and our friends from yesterday, who at times seem to gravitate annoyingly to all the same places we want to be in, have finally left this part of the porch.
Half an hour later, after reading some e-mails, the weather has changed, the breeze has turned into chilly gusts and rain is falling out of the sky.
Oh, how fragile, our little thin zones of comfort. How hard we work to match something around us that makes us feel GOOD. That makes us feel safe... and at home... and healthy. How many nuances there are that we think we need to reject in order to feel that we have been true to ourselves.
Now it's beginning to pour, and people are coming back from everywhere to find shelter under the roof of the Inn. We had considered taking the double kayak out onto the lake to paddle to the little island... now I am glad writing took up more time and we stayed in.
Somehow it seems we needed to leave the comfort of our home in Old Chatham, the almost prefect way in which it fits our lives, and surrounds us with comfort, in order to encounter the different needs and habits of middle Americans escaping from their daily life, enmeshing themselves into this timeless idyllic land, this eternally beautiful spot of nature. If that is so, we are in the right place after all.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Passing the Test
Thursday, July 30th
My father keeps struggling after his return from the hospital. It's now been five weeks and he is weaker than a couple of days after the surgery. Ted has worked on him twice without any lasting results, I have tried to help him via other channels, through Byron Katie's work, and just talking and being there and holding him in nothing but love and trust and knowing that this too shall pass... as his condition remains the same... week after week.
Mami, interestingly, has tapped into an unexpected source of strength feeding her. Throughout this period of non-recovery she has been remarkably strong, without doubt or despair. She, who felt so weak in April, who was sure she wouldn't survive the summer herself... now is able to take care of Papi and the house and the garden and the shopping and the cooking and the cleaning without ever running on empty. She is resting in the knowledge that he will get better. She also firmly believes that for some undiscovered reason this is something he has to go through. He wants to believe this too, but it is so damn hard for him... all this weakness, all this numbness, all this pain in his skin, and his back, the ringing in his ears, the intestines so sluggish, the appetite for food so small... the body's troubles keep him from sleeping well... and this lack of good sleep has now accumulated since they first put a tube into the old kidney when I was there in May... that's over two(!) months ago... a long time to be losing sleep. He tries to catch a glimpse of: why, oh WHY is this happening to him... again...??? and receives no answer... he envies Mami's and my ability to communicate and receive guidance and resolution and an understanding of purpose for what is there in front of us... but no matter how hard he tries, he can't receive such messages, can't create such lasting peace of mind.
Oh, I feel with him. There is a peculiar added layer to his suffering, a part within me that feels I should be able to find something that helps him. If I can't reach him through the Journey, why isn't there something else showing up that works? And... is it for me to find that for him? As it is I can do nothing but reassure him that what IS, must be right. That has become my conviction through my experiences.
Last night Mami received one of her messages through her Christ energy. She heard: he has passed the test, now he can recover and he will. She heard: I too have passed the test. Papi is relieved to some degree, much of him trusts these messages that come through to Mami, mysterious as this source that communicates to her is to him, it is so close to him, it speaks out of her mouth, and in her loving voice. But... He doesn't know what the test was.
I myself wonder if for my part this was another exercise to let go too, to come anew face to face with my desire to relieve suffering, and to have to just... let it be. To imagine that this indeed is what is best for him right now, even when he can't feel that.
Tuesday, July 25th
Daily Practices
Much to catch up on.
In the meantime I have been to one very, very different kind of workshop at Kripalu... the divine feminine weekend, and then back to another three days of teaching Mahamudra practice with Mingyur Rinpoche at the Monastery in Woodstock.
When Jimmy and I got back from Garrison we started a new daily rhythm. We wake up and sit right up in bed and meditate for 20 min. The getting up part is usually the hardest, even more so when I don't have a schedule forcing me to jump out of bed. Without school, without any regular work, the temptation to just linger and stay curled up daydreaming under the soft flannel sheets is almost irresistible. Meditating in bed tricks us both into doing it pretty soon after the alarm goes off at 7:30.
Ideally we are done and out of bed by 8:00 and on our way downstairs to then do Yoga. If we use the yoga CD we began using last year, we are busy twisting our limbs for another 45 min, even after editing and cutting some of the very slow bits out of the sound track. If we are in a hurry, we either skip one or two exercises or we do a spontaneous variation which I talk us both through... a combination of Uwe's favorite Yoga postures and our CD. That's the new part of the morning.
Next I take Jacky for her eagerly awaited morning walk, while Jimmy starts making breakfast, faithfully after over 3 years that still consists of buckwheat, or more precisely: cooked kasha over copped up celery, cucumber, tomatoes and avocado. All of it gets a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice, Braggs aminos, and tahini. We love that stuff. It's from our alkaline diet. Zippy breakfast. That's what they call it in the book. Mmmm.
If we are not under too much time pressure, we read after breakfast, which really means Jimmy reads out loud to me, whatever book we are currently savoring.
And that completes the morning portion of our daily program.
At 6:00 pm we intend to stop whatever we are doing and meet in the living room for another 20 min of meditation. I say: we INTEND because we don't always manage to keep this in our schedule, but hey, those days are the exception right now. On top of that Jimmy had intended to stop work at 4:00 and put in some physical exercise, but that has not happened yet. Not once. Shows you how much work he's had.
I am really proud of us. Adding meditation and yoga in every day feels like a huge accomplishment. I have been wanting, and trying, and attempting to meditate daily for years and years, and never managed to keep it up. Now it's all of a sudden soooo easy. Thanks to Mingyur Rinpoche.
What I have learned from him about meditation has turned my world almost upside down. It seems as if what I am doing now is almost the opposite of what I was aiming for in the past. Then I thought meditation was there to give the brain more examples about living in a more right brain state of being, going for the totally expansive and source like state of mind... somehow I think I imagined that at some point your brain experience reaches a critical mass and it simply switches over for good and at that point judgements and striving and pressures are all left behind for ever and then you'd be... almost enlightened.
Now I have a new understanding of meditating. "Resting in awareness". I wont attempt to explain this in more detail here, Mingyur Rinpoches does a much better job at this than I ever can... suffice it to say that his way of teaching meditation has not only made it easy to do twice a day, but has also created the possibility to transform any other activities into meditation. So, I do a walking meditation when I walk Jacky, a driving meditation when I drive around, a watching or listening meditation when I am around other people, a thinking meditation when my brain idles without a job... whenever I think of it, I do whatever I do with awareness.
It's amazing to me how much useless stuff constantly washes through the brain with my unfocused thoughts. I am noticing the categories that return over and over again: Improving some situation or helping someone... things I could do to create success for my work... things I could have said in a better way to explain myself... or things I could say or do that would make me more seen or respected... hmmm... yes, those come back over and over again. Interesting.
I wonder if this expansion of awareness, this surrendering into the simplicity of self in action in the moment, has a similar effect as surrendering into an emotion when we do a Journey. The emotion disappears... successively all layers of emotion disappear until there is nothing but the vastness of source. I imagine that in a similar way the continued surrender into the self might cause all the layers of the self to disappear. Woooosh... gone.
Well, much slower of course. We'll see.
My father keeps struggling after his return from the hospital. It's now been five weeks and he is weaker than a couple of days after the surgery. Ted has worked on him twice without any lasting results, I have tried to help him via other channels, through Byron Katie's work, and just talking and being there and holding him in nothing but love and trust and knowing that this too shall pass... as his condition remains the same... week after week.
Mami, interestingly, has tapped into an unexpected source of strength feeding her. Throughout this period of non-recovery she has been remarkably strong, without doubt or despair. She, who felt so weak in April, who was sure she wouldn't survive the summer herself... now is able to take care of Papi and the house and the garden and the shopping and the cooking and the cleaning without ever running on empty. She is resting in the knowledge that he will get better. She also firmly believes that for some undiscovered reason this is something he has to go through. He wants to believe this too, but it is so damn hard for him... all this weakness, all this numbness, all this pain in his skin, and his back, the ringing in his ears, the intestines so sluggish, the appetite for food so small... the body's troubles keep him from sleeping well... and this lack of good sleep has now accumulated since they first put a tube into the old kidney when I was there in May... that's over two(!) months ago... a long time to be losing sleep. He tries to catch a glimpse of: why, oh WHY is this happening to him... again...??? and receives no answer... he envies Mami's and my ability to communicate and receive guidance and resolution and an understanding of purpose for what is there in front of us... but no matter how hard he tries, he can't receive such messages, can't create such lasting peace of mind.
Oh, I feel with him. There is a peculiar added layer to his suffering, a part within me that feels I should be able to find something that helps him. If I can't reach him through the Journey, why isn't there something else showing up that works? And... is it for me to find that for him? As it is I can do nothing but reassure him that what IS, must be right. That has become my conviction through my experiences.
Last night Mami received one of her messages through her Christ energy. She heard: he has passed the test, now he can recover and he will. She heard: I too have passed the test. Papi is relieved to some degree, much of him trusts these messages that come through to Mami, mysterious as this source that communicates to her is to him, it is so close to him, it speaks out of her mouth, and in her loving voice. But... He doesn't know what the test was.
I myself wonder if for my part this was another exercise to let go too, to come anew face to face with my desire to relieve suffering, and to have to just... let it be. To imagine that this indeed is what is best for him right now, even when he can't feel that.
Tuesday, July 25th
Daily Practices
Much to catch up on.
In the meantime I have been to one very, very different kind of workshop at Kripalu... the divine feminine weekend, and then back to another three days of teaching Mahamudra practice with Mingyur Rinpoche at the Monastery in Woodstock.
When Jimmy and I got back from Garrison we started a new daily rhythm. We wake up and sit right up in bed and meditate for 20 min. The getting up part is usually the hardest, even more so when I don't have a schedule forcing me to jump out of bed. Without school, without any regular work, the temptation to just linger and stay curled up daydreaming under the soft flannel sheets is almost irresistible. Meditating in bed tricks us both into doing it pretty soon after the alarm goes off at 7:30.
Ideally we are done and out of bed by 8:00 and on our way downstairs to then do Yoga. If we use the yoga CD we began using last year, we are busy twisting our limbs for another 45 min, even after editing and cutting some of the very slow bits out of the sound track. If we are in a hurry, we either skip one or two exercises or we do a spontaneous variation which I talk us both through... a combination of Uwe's favorite Yoga postures and our CD. That's the new part of the morning.
Next I take Jacky for her eagerly awaited morning walk, while Jimmy starts making breakfast, faithfully after over 3 years that still consists of buckwheat, or more precisely: cooked kasha over copped up celery, cucumber, tomatoes and avocado. All of it gets a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice, Braggs aminos, and tahini. We love that stuff. It's from our alkaline diet. Zippy breakfast. That's what they call it in the book. Mmmm.
If we are not under too much time pressure, we read after breakfast, which really means Jimmy reads out loud to me, whatever book we are currently savoring.
And that completes the morning portion of our daily program.
At 6:00 pm we intend to stop whatever we are doing and meet in the living room for another 20 min of meditation. I say: we INTEND because we don't always manage to keep this in our schedule, but hey, those days are the exception right now. On top of that Jimmy had intended to stop work at 4:00 and put in some physical exercise, but that has not happened yet. Not once. Shows you how much work he's had.
I am really proud of us. Adding meditation and yoga in every day feels like a huge accomplishment. I have been wanting, and trying, and attempting to meditate daily for years and years, and never managed to keep it up. Now it's all of a sudden soooo easy. Thanks to Mingyur Rinpoche.
What I have learned from him about meditation has turned my world almost upside down. It seems as if what I am doing now is almost the opposite of what I was aiming for in the past. Then I thought meditation was there to give the brain more examples about living in a more right brain state of being, going for the totally expansive and source like state of mind... somehow I think I imagined that at some point your brain experience reaches a critical mass and it simply switches over for good and at that point judgements and striving and pressures are all left behind for ever and then you'd be... almost enlightened.
Now I have a new understanding of meditating. "Resting in awareness". I wont attempt to explain this in more detail here, Mingyur Rinpoches does a much better job at this than I ever can... suffice it to say that his way of teaching meditation has not only made it easy to do twice a day, but has also created the possibility to transform any other activities into meditation. So, I do a walking meditation when I walk Jacky, a driving meditation when I drive around, a watching or listening meditation when I am around other people, a thinking meditation when my brain idles without a job... whenever I think of it, I do whatever I do with awareness.
It's amazing to me how much useless stuff constantly washes through the brain with my unfocused thoughts. I am noticing the categories that return over and over again: Improving some situation or helping someone... things I could do to create success for my work... things I could have said in a better way to explain myself... or things I could say or do that would make me more seen or respected... hmmm... yes, those come back over and over again. Interesting.
I wonder if this expansion of awareness, this surrendering into the simplicity of self in action in the moment, has a similar effect as surrendering into an emotion when we do a Journey. The emotion disappears... successively all layers of emotion disappear until there is nothing but the vastness of source. I imagine that in a similar way the continued surrender into the self might cause all the layers of the self to disappear. Woooosh... gone.
Well, much slower of course. We'll see.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Attachment
During our retreat in Garrison, I understood something about attachment. For the first time.
Before each meditation segment we recited a dedication prayer. The fourth line was : May they (all sentient beings) dwell in great equanimity, free from attachment and aversion to those near and far. (You repeat the four lines of the prayer three times whenever you sit down on a cushion.)
Free from attachment.
At some point it dawned on me that included myself.
Attachment? This is something I had never paid attention to.
Wanting something, hoping for something, that's attachment, isn't it? All the dedication and work and effort I have put into building my Journey practice, hoping it would grow, hoping it would serve a lot of people, hoping it would support me, hoping it would confirm to me that I am on the right path, that I made the right choices... that's an attachment I think. And a big one.
Over the last weeks I had already been in the process of shedding more and more of this particular attachment, and I have been feeling the breath of letting go, a gentle, loving liberation.
On the last day Mingyur Rinpoche said something very casually, that hit me with a burst of incredulity: When your meditation becomes an amazing experience, that's when you stop.
What? That's when I stop???
I thought this was the whole purpose of meditating, to reach those wonderful transcendent states of being, to go into those states of oneness, beingness, free from ordinary thought, resting in just pure awareness... wasn't that the goal? Practicing that?
No, apparently it was not. Not at first. Because at first you get attached to the result.
All of a sudden that makes sense. Of course! You get attached... to a goal. You start to rate yourself. Without noticing you are drawn into your personal version of the inner drama of your own judgement... swinging forever back and forth between good and bad.
So yes, I think I understand.
Attachment is as much part of our illusion as aversion, as any form of our story that makes us get upset, depressed, angry, or afraid. Either one tells us we need something in order to... xxx ... and in each habit of thinking we believe we'd be really happy, IF we only had... xxx. All along we miss the truth that we are chasing something... very temporary... impossible to reach because it forever keeps changing names.
I had never noticed how much of my thoughts evolved around making something happen, or rather: yes, I was aware of that, but in my mind I was working with the law of attraction, I was matching my vibration to something I desired. Now I am seeing this use of my thoughts a little differently. Very possibly I was setting myself up for the ongoing duality of failure or success. If something didn't happen, it was because I had not done a well enough job in attracting it. That never feels good. On the other hand, once success is there, it is not a stable state of being either. Maybe that's why life had felt like so much effort at times, maybe that's why I have those regular experiences at night when my energy just deflates from my body like a punctured balloon... there used to be lots of days when I was so tired I could hardly get myself into the bathroom to brush my teeth... and all I had done was sit at my desk all day.
Maybe life doesn't have to feel like that.
Struggle. No, that doesn't need to be here any more.
Something of that may have drained from me. In a mysterious way. On the last full day of the teaching we practiced a "watching meditation" by watching a video of a performance Mingyur Rinpoche had given in Taiwan earlier this year. A combination of teachings and sound through music. We were given the assignment to watch this: with awareness. That was all.
Big stage. Mingyur Rinpoche sits on a little pedestal on the right side of the stage, a Chinese translator sits on the left.
He speaks briefly, very simply, in short, chopped up segments about meditating and using music to help the mind from running all over the place, he makes a few jokes, and instructs the audience what to do when the music begins... in a moment of silence we see the word of the first theme: EXISTENCE... and then a blueish light goes on behind him in the center of the back stage, an orchestra becomes visible through a veil on the raised platform, and the music begins: a beautiful, yearning melody, sung by a flute, wrapped in the sound of all the many voices of the full orchestra, magically washing us with a sound... so complicated, so touching, so precise, so skillfully, so passionately drawn from each of all these different instruments... oh, all these people all joined together in the service of this sound. This moment, this achingly beautiful music contained all of the dedication, all the years of learning... the hours and hours of daily practice on their instruments... these intricately crafted objects that had each been created with such knowledge, a knowledge grown into a mastery that had evolved out of centuries and centuries of perfecting the art of instrument making, fueled by an eternal love for sound and music... born out of the striving for a creative expression of beauty and truth and joy and exaltation, all of that which had forever provided a counterbalance, a healing nectar for the lives outside... the daily life in the world... the human life that has throughout the eons, jolted us through fear and anger and pain and frustration, and greed and hardship and suffering... Suffering... so much suffering.
All of this washed over me in one fell swoop within the first few moments of this sound entering my body, and tears began rolling down my face. I gave in.
I wasn't able to put what was happening in those exact words I just gave a wooden handed attempt to describe it with. I just looked at my teacher... There was Mingyur sitting in a soft, warm spotlight on his little pedestal in his deep red monks gown, his face still, his eyes closed, his hands resting in his lap... so small. His head hardly as high as half of the big cello bathed in blue behind him. He so still, so peaceful.
And behind him all of human existence, with all it's fragile moments of utter love and beauty and all it's striving and all it's millennia of suffering, present in this sound of this orchestra, recorded months ago on the far side of the globe for me to witness in this moment.
Something unraveled inside of me. I don't know what it was. I just kept weeping.
Maybe my soul understood the different between attachment and freedom in that moment. I don't know.
I know it came to an end when the piece was over. I know it didn't return when the next piece started. Beethoven's fifth, the first movement. This was called EMOTION. But no emotions flowed. Maybe I knew it too well. I know there were a few more tears with the next piece: FREE, a Mozart piano concert... and that was all.
The next morning at about the same time I entered the small private sitting room Mingyur Rinpoche was using during his stay with four other people and took refuge.
Now I am giving my being the space to learn there is no goal. Not in meditating, not in life. I do this every day. Twice. For 20 minutes. That's a lot of learning.
I imagine ... the ease... the of being present... breathing with unhurried gentleness... moving from one simple task into the next... collecting each little completion like a pearl that slips up on the string of memory, collecting like a precious necklace in the soul.
Before each meditation segment we recited a dedication prayer. The fourth line was : May they (all sentient beings) dwell in great equanimity, free from attachment and aversion to those near and far. (You repeat the four lines of the prayer three times whenever you sit down on a cushion.)
Free from attachment.
At some point it dawned on me that included myself.
Attachment? This is something I had never paid attention to.
Wanting something, hoping for something, that's attachment, isn't it? All the dedication and work and effort I have put into building my Journey practice, hoping it would grow, hoping it would serve a lot of people, hoping it would support me, hoping it would confirm to me that I am on the right path, that I made the right choices... that's an attachment I think. And a big one.
Over the last weeks I had already been in the process of shedding more and more of this particular attachment, and I have been feeling the breath of letting go, a gentle, loving liberation.
On the last day Mingyur Rinpoche said something very casually, that hit me with a burst of incredulity: When your meditation becomes an amazing experience, that's when you stop.
What? That's when I stop???
I thought this was the whole purpose of meditating, to reach those wonderful transcendent states of being, to go into those states of oneness, beingness, free from ordinary thought, resting in just pure awareness... wasn't that the goal? Practicing that?
No, apparently it was not. Not at first. Because at first you get attached to the result.
All of a sudden that makes sense. Of course! You get attached... to a goal. You start to rate yourself. Without noticing you are drawn into your personal version of the inner drama of your own judgement... swinging forever back and forth between good and bad.
So yes, I think I understand.
Attachment is as much part of our illusion as aversion, as any form of our story that makes us get upset, depressed, angry, or afraid. Either one tells us we need something in order to... xxx ... and in each habit of thinking we believe we'd be really happy, IF we only had... xxx. All along we miss the truth that we are chasing something... very temporary... impossible to reach because it forever keeps changing names.
I had never noticed how much of my thoughts evolved around making something happen, or rather: yes, I was aware of that, but in my mind I was working with the law of attraction, I was matching my vibration to something I desired. Now I am seeing this use of my thoughts a little differently. Very possibly I was setting myself up for the ongoing duality of failure or success. If something didn't happen, it was because I had not done a well enough job in attracting it. That never feels good. On the other hand, once success is there, it is not a stable state of being either. Maybe that's why life had felt like so much effort at times, maybe that's why I have those regular experiences at night when my energy just deflates from my body like a punctured balloon... there used to be lots of days when I was so tired I could hardly get myself into the bathroom to brush my teeth... and all I had done was sit at my desk all day.
Maybe life doesn't have to feel like that.
Struggle. No, that doesn't need to be here any more.
Something of that may have drained from me. In a mysterious way. On the last full day of the teaching we practiced a "watching meditation" by watching a video of a performance Mingyur Rinpoche had given in Taiwan earlier this year. A combination of teachings and sound through music. We were given the assignment to watch this: with awareness. That was all.
Big stage. Mingyur Rinpoche sits on a little pedestal on the right side of the stage, a Chinese translator sits on the left.
He speaks briefly, very simply, in short, chopped up segments about meditating and using music to help the mind from running all over the place, he makes a few jokes, and instructs the audience what to do when the music begins... in a moment of silence we see the word of the first theme: EXISTENCE... and then a blueish light goes on behind him in the center of the back stage, an orchestra becomes visible through a veil on the raised platform, and the music begins: a beautiful, yearning melody, sung by a flute, wrapped in the sound of all the many voices of the full orchestra, magically washing us with a sound... so complicated, so touching, so precise, so skillfully, so passionately drawn from each of all these different instruments... oh, all these people all joined together in the service of this sound. This moment, this achingly beautiful music contained all of the dedication, all the years of learning... the hours and hours of daily practice on their instruments... these intricately crafted objects that had each been created with such knowledge, a knowledge grown into a mastery that had evolved out of centuries and centuries of perfecting the art of instrument making, fueled by an eternal love for sound and music... born out of the striving for a creative expression of beauty and truth and joy and exaltation, all of that which had forever provided a counterbalance, a healing nectar for the lives outside... the daily life in the world... the human life that has throughout the eons, jolted us through fear and anger and pain and frustration, and greed and hardship and suffering... Suffering... so much suffering.
All of this washed over me in one fell swoop within the first few moments of this sound entering my body, and tears began rolling down my face. I gave in.
I wasn't able to put what was happening in those exact words I just gave a wooden handed attempt to describe it with. I just looked at my teacher... There was Mingyur sitting in a soft, warm spotlight on his little pedestal in his deep red monks gown, his face still, his eyes closed, his hands resting in his lap... so small. His head hardly as high as half of the big cello bathed in blue behind him. He so still, so peaceful.
And behind him all of human existence, with all it's fragile moments of utter love and beauty and all it's striving and all it's millennia of suffering, present in this sound of this orchestra, recorded months ago on the far side of the globe for me to witness in this moment.
Something unraveled inside of me. I don't know what it was. I just kept weeping.
Maybe my soul understood the different between attachment and freedom in that moment. I don't know.
I know it came to an end when the piece was over. I know it didn't return when the next piece started. Beethoven's fifth, the first movement. This was called EMOTION. But no emotions flowed. Maybe I knew it too well. I know there were a few more tears with the next piece: FREE, a Mozart piano concert... and that was all.
The next morning at about the same time I entered the small private sitting room Mingyur Rinpoche was using during his stay with four other people and took refuge.
Now I am giving my being the space to learn there is no goal. Not in meditating, not in life. I do this every day. Twice. For 20 minutes. That's a lot of learning.
I imagine ... the ease... the of being present... breathing with unhurried gentleness... moving from one simple task into the next... collecting each little completion like a pearl that slips up on the string of memory, collecting like a precious necklace in the soul.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
New Update from Hamburg
This is the next chapter in my fathers journey through his current health challenge.
While still at the retreat with Mingyur Rinpoche I spoke with Ted, who I had learned, works over the phone and is able to shift many things long distance. Ron in Ottawa had been impressed that his back pain, which had kept him from bending down and doing the unavoidable spring yard work, found this pain had completely disappeared. Natalie, his sister in law, who had joined us for the weekend, had apparently worked with Ted more than once, and referring to the speed he works with, she described she has a whole list ready to go through with all the little aches and pains she wants to address.
Enough recommendation for me to try him out, especially since he had a very low hourly rate at the time.
Ted talks very fast, almost in a hurry, and it takes me a few minutes to realize he is not just summarizing for me what he sees, but he is also adjusting and releasing things at the same time. I take notes and try to be present with all he is detecting and unraveling simultaneously. Within the hour he had swept through several past lives, death by poison, karma with the surgeon, acidity levels in the body a clogged lymph system, habits and beliefs of needing to do things alone, old stories trapped in the bowls, disempowering beliefs in connection with the second kidney, emotions within the family in response to these events, my mother's source of strength, and even a little bit on my own story with the cysts... Phewwwhhhh...
Papi got better, although slowly and with setbacks. His bowls again were the main stumbling stone.
On Wednesday they sent him back home, where he arrived happy but still very weak.
By Friday his bowls had come to a halt yet again and his family physician, a wonderful woman, who Mami describes as someone with a rare willingness to take her time to listen and be present with her patients, strongly recommended to him to go back to the hospital. She felt staying home over the weekend he might risk another locking up of the colon. Not a good thing. He experienced that four years ago. Nothing you want to repeat.
So, on the third day home from the hospital, he went back into the emergency room one more time. Anyone who has ever been through surgery knows how much of an effort it is to be up on your feet for more than 30 minutes during the first 10 days of recovering, but to go back into the emergency room, with all the waiting, the in and out of examination rooms for blood and urine tests, and new examinations. ... It was another four hour ordeal, but at the end of it all he was sent home ... after the bowls did come back to life through some simple magic.
It was only then that he felt he is finally on a steady way to recovery.
Knock on wood...tok, tok, tok... the old bowls have been doing fine since.
While still at the retreat with Mingyur Rinpoche I spoke with Ted, who I had learned, works over the phone and is able to shift many things long distance. Ron in Ottawa had been impressed that his back pain, which had kept him from bending down and doing the unavoidable spring yard work, found this pain had completely disappeared. Natalie, his sister in law, who had joined us for the weekend, had apparently worked with Ted more than once, and referring to the speed he works with, she described she has a whole list ready to go through with all the little aches and pains she wants to address.
Enough recommendation for me to try him out, especially since he had a very low hourly rate at the time.
Ted talks very fast, almost in a hurry, and it takes me a few minutes to realize he is not just summarizing for me what he sees, but he is also adjusting and releasing things at the same time. I take notes and try to be present with all he is detecting and unraveling simultaneously. Within the hour he had swept through several past lives, death by poison, karma with the surgeon, acidity levels in the body a clogged lymph system, habits and beliefs of needing to do things alone, old stories trapped in the bowls, disempowering beliefs in connection with the second kidney, emotions within the family in response to these events, my mother's source of strength, and even a little bit on my own story with the cysts... Phewwwhhhh...
Papi got better, although slowly and with setbacks. His bowls again were the main stumbling stone.
On Wednesday they sent him back home, where he arrived happy but still very weak.
By Friday his bowls had come to a halt yet again and his family physician, a wonderful woman, who Mami describes as someone with a rare willingness to take her time to listen and be present with her patients, strongly recommended to him to go back to the hospital. She felt staying home over the weekend he might risk another locking up of the colon. Not a good thing. He experienced that four years ago. Nothing you want to repeat.
So, on the third day home from the hospital, he went back into the emergency room one more time. Anyone who has ever been through surgery knows how much of an effort it is to be up on your feet for more than 30 minutes during the first 10 days of recovering, but to go back into the emergency room, with all the waiting, the in and out of examination rooms for blood and urine tests, and new examinations. ... It was another four hour ordeal, but at the end of it all he was sent home ... after the bowls did come back to life through some simple magic.
It was only then that he felt he is finally on a steady way to recovery.
Knock on wood...tok, tok, tok... the old bowls have been doing fine since.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The Question of Refuge - Update on Papi
Sunday, June 28th
I have the unanswered question hanging over my head whether or not to ask to take refuge with Minguyr Rinpoche.
I have talked with a few people about this during the last couple of days.
And today I have gained some clarity about my hesitation.
Yes, here it is with some surprise: This hesitation has its roots in fear.
I am afraid of some things!
I am afraid that once I make this official commitment, that I might fail to meet someones expectation, that I wont be considered a good enough Buddhist, that I could disappoint or fail in some way, because I am aware that I don't think of myself as a Buddhist and maybe never will, but I am thinking of myself as someone who is on a path toward enlightenment.
I am afraid that I will loose my freedom to explore other spiritual parts of life, of locking myself in.
I am afraid some people around me might have some kind of a judgement about me choosing the Buddhist path.
Yikes! Good to know what's been hiding in there.
Later...
After our second teaching of the day, the Rinpoche sat for a while with the discussion group I am in (about a third of the participants), to answer questions ... . The first two groups had their meetings with him earlier today. I had been chewing on my question for a long while and when the time came and I had the microphone, I said:
"I have been carrying the question of taking refuge with me. How do I know it is time to take this step, and how do I know I am not making a mistake?"
I was wondering if he might ask me what I was afraid of doing wrong, but he didn't.
He simply said: "When you are ready to accept the Buddha and the Darma and the Sangha as your path, then you do it."
and I thought: "Shit, I don't even remember exactly what the Dharma and the Sangha is." but I was too embarrassed to say that, and my next thought was: "Well, clearly... until I don't really know what it is I am committing to, I guess I am not ready to do it." and I was a little at a loss what to do with his answer. He said a few more words to expand the explanation... I don't remember right now. I noticed I felt a little... disappointed.
After dinner Jimmy and I walked to the edge of the little park that overlooks the river. Upstream, perched on the cliffs of the opposite bank we could see Westpoint Military Academy. What a curious placing of contrast! Then we saw a little trail leading into the forest that we took, that became a bigger trail, that joined a bigger path, that led over a bridge across the railway tracks and past a tiny beach onto a group of rocks with a bench on it. Crossing the railway we had seen a family of foxes play on the tracks! Was this a good omen?
Returned to our Institute there were 30 Min left of the evening meditation practice. As I sat on the double cushion, I practiced what we had learned today: a gentle surrender into whatever catches the meditative awareness away from simple, non thinking spaciousness... let that be sound, sight, thoughts, physical sensations, or emotions. Whatever shows up, you simply watch passing through by bringing it into your awareness. Toward the end I drifted into the emotions surrounding my decision about refuge, or lack thereof. I felt the fear, became aware of it and something started unraveling.
I sat there tears rolling down my face as I felt what it would be like to say YES. To say yes, in spite of all that I don't know, in spite of all that I have doubts about, in spite of all worries about what this might ask of me that I might find hard to meet... I felt this YES in my body and I sensed that the time of saying MAYBE was over, that life, yet again had put something in front of me... and that living fully meant, yet again, saying yes. In the same way I had said yes to becoming a Journey practitioner, I had said yes to the surgery, and I had said yes to going to Ottawa. Did it matter that I saw my mentors lining up and bowing to me? I don't know. Maybe I wanted to see them that way. What mattered was the intensity of the emotion and the sense that something old, timid and limiting was leaving with this decision.
I will have to wait until silence ends tomorrow to speak to someone, and to find out if this little ceremony can actually take place before I leave on Tuesday.
Saturday, June 27th
Dearest friends, just a little update on my father...
Not all continued they way he had wished. In spite of many offerings of pain medication, both orally as well as by IV, his pain did not subside during the first night. It was in fact quite unbearable. The pain pump could not be repaired as the clog was located in the surgically inserted portion. Not sure what the heck they were giving him... I had raved about Delauded, but their stuff has different names... so I don't know. Only know the pain stayed with him during the next day and into the next night. Yet again hardly any sleep.
I heard about it after we came out of morning silence here at the retreat. Gave him a call via skype and heard his tired and exhausted voice, he didn't even want me to lead him in some guided meditation, he was too worn out to give energy to anything. I contacted an energy healer my hosts in Ottawa had raved about, and also checked in myself... saw something like a crab. an entity, in his belly and removed that. There were some disempowering beliefs that had been lodged into this area and a new awareness that opened up when it was gone... not sure how much that actually affected him, but today he is overall feeling a little better. Later tonight I will work with Ted from Canada via phone on Papi and we'll see how that goes.
Now back down again into my discussion group.
Otherwise we are having a great time here!
Love you all
Tomma
I have the unanswered question hanging over my head whether or not to ask to take refuge with Minguyr Rinpoche.
I have talked with a few people about this during the last couple of days.
And today I have gained some clarity about my hesitation.
Yes, here it is with some surprise: This hesitation has its roots in fear.
I am afraid of some things!
I am afraid that once I make this official commitment, that I might fail to meet someones expectation, that I wont be considered a good enough Buddhist, that I could disappoint or fail in some way, because I am aware that I don't think of myself as a Buddhist and maybe never will, but I am thinking of myself as someone who is on a path toward enlightenment.
I am afraid that I will loose my freedom to explore other spiritual parts of life, of locking myself in.
I am afraid some people around me might have some kind of a judgement about me choosing the Buddhist path.
Yikes! Good to know what's been hiding in there.
Later...
After our second teaching of the day, the Rinpoche sat for a while with the discussion group I am in (about a third of the participants), to answer questions ... . The first two groups had their meetings with him earlier today. I had been chewing on my question for a long while and when the time came and I had the microphone, I said:
"I have been carrying the question of taking refuge with me. How do I know it is time to take this step, and how do I know I am not making a mistake?"
I was wondering if he might ask me what I was afraid of doing wrong, but he didn't.
He simply said: "When you are ready to accept the Buddha and the Darma and the Sangha as your path, then you do it."
and I thought: "Shit, I don't even remember exactly what the Dharma and the Sangha is." but I was too embarrassed to say that, and my next thought was: "Well, clearly... until I don't really know what it is I am committing to, I guess I am not ready to do it." and I was a little at a loss what to do with his answer. He said a few more words to expand the explanation... I don't remember right now. I noticed I felt a little... disappointed.
After dinner Jimmy and I walked to the edge of the little park that overlooks the river. Upstream, perched on the cliffs of the opposite bank we could see Westpoint Military Academy. What a curious placing of contrast! Then we saw a little trail leading into the forest that we took, that became a bigger trail, that joined a bigger path, that led over a bridge across the railway tracks and past a tiny beach onto a group of rocks with a bench on it. Crossing the railway we had seen a family of foxes play on the tracks! Was this a good omen?
Returned to our Institute there were 30 Min left of the evening meditation practice. As I sat on the double cushion, I practiced what we had learned today: a gentle surrender into whatever catches the meditative awareness away from simple, non thinking spaciousness... let that be sound, sight, thoughts, physical sensations, or emotions. Whatever shows up, you simply watch passing through by bringing it into your awareness. Toward the end I drifted into the emotions surrounding my decision about refuge, or lack thereof. I felt the fear, became aware of it and something started unraveling.
I sat there tears rolling down my face as I felt what it would be like to say YES. To say yes, in spite of all that I don't know, in spite of all that I have doubts about, in spite of all worries about what this might ask of me that I might find hard to meet... I felt this YES in my body and I sensed that the time of saying MAYBE was over, that life, yet again had put something in front of me... and that living fully meant, yet again, saying yes. In the same way I had said yes to becoming a Journey practitioner, I had said yes to the surgery, and I had said yes to going to Ottawa. Did it matter that I saw my mentors lining up and bowing to me? I don't know. Maybe I wanted to see them that way. What mattered was the intensity of the emotion and the sense that something old, timid and limiting was leaving with this decision.
I will have to wait until silence ends tomorrow to speak to someone, and to find out if this little ceremony can actually take place before I leave on Tuesday.
Saturday, June 27th
Dearest friends, just a little update on my father...
Not all continued they way he had wished. In spite of many offerings of pain medication, both orally as well as by IV, his pain did not subside during the first night. It was in fact quite unbearable. The pain pump could not be repaired as the clog was located in the surgically inserted portion. Not sure what the heck they were giving him... I had raved about Delauded, but their stuff has different names... so I don't know. Only know the pain stayed with him during the next day and into the next night. Yet again hardly any sleep.
I heard about it after we came out of morning silence here at the retreat. Gave him a call via skype and heard his tired and exhausted voice, he didn't even want me to lead him in some guided meditation, he was too worn out to give energy to anything. I contacted an energy healer my hosts in Ottawa had raved about, and also checked in myself... saw something like a crab. an entity, in his belly and removed that. There were some disempowering beliefs that had been lodged into this area and a new awareness that opened up when it was gone... not sure how much that actually affected him, but today he is overall feeling a little better. Later tonight I will work with Ted from Canada via phone on Papi and we'll see how that goes.
Now back down again into my discussion group.
Otherwise we are having a great time here!
Love you all
Tomma
Friday, July 3, 2009
Realizations
Friday, June 16th
During the meditation practice after breakfast I had a whole series of realizations.
When Jimmy and I arrived last night and sat down in the old dining hall for dinner, I was aware how I observe people I don't know. The two women across the table were talking and talking and didn't look at us at all. Now, I am almost embarrassed to write this down, but this is what I paid attention to: I noticed the jewelery they wore, both more than me: rings with many sparkling stones, a watch, and yes, that could have been an expensive watch, the hair: well combed and cared for with fashionable sunglasses pulled up over the forehead on one while the other hair was rather fluffy and out of bounds, the gestures and body language of the first: relaxed and selfassured.
I wasn't naming those observations to myself, I just took them in and a little later I noticed that I was reminded of watching the really cool girls one grade above me during the break at school - from a distance. And I thought: This is really an old habit that creeps in here.
So, this morning during meditation I thought back to this experience at dinner and all of a sudden it became very clear and I saw what I have been doing for most of my life. I am evaluating people. In this old way of looking at a fellow human being, I try to read whether this person is wealthy, powerful or influential, valued by others, educated maybe, creative or interesting looking, and... here comes the conclusion: I am doing this, because I want to find out whether this person ranks above or below me... if this is someone who has something I don't have, something to GIVE to me... or if it is someone who has nothing much to offer.
And the following confession is embarrassing too. Next I realized that I have played a game over and over again, a game in which I will pick a person somewhere above me and make it my goal to be recognized by this person, in fact I don't rest until I have worked my way up so that in the end I am able to give something to this person, all the while I dream of being someone important to them. And I don't always succeed. Wow. THAT'S what I have done?? Yep. I think so. More than once.
What if I could meet another human being without all this old crap? Just free. Just in complete welcome. Seeing the perfection of this meeting. No matter who. NO MATTER WHO.
That was # one.
Next I thought that it would be really nice to speak with Jimmy about our intention for this retreat. To massage some juice into a really good experience. What am I hoping for is not only to learn something about meditation, but also... to meet people, people we might both have some synchronicities with, some interesting and inspiring conversations with, maybe even people who will end up leading me further in my life. And then I stopped myself and thought: Ho, wait a minute! WHAT am I doing here? Am I not setting myself up with a whole set of best, ok and disappointing results from this retreat? Am I giving myself a goal here? Isn't that what I did with my cysts? And wasn't I totally turned upside down? Yes. So why don't I absolutely let go of that? Why don't I just leave it up to life to give me what I need. And I wont care if I don't meet a single new person.
That was # two.
And finally, just before Mingyur Rinpoche came in for the first teaching of the day, I had another realization. About my work, my private practice. All of a sudden I understood something about why the first years have felt like such a struggle. It goes back to the question of giving. While it looks like I showed up with something to give to my clients, I really started from a place to needing them to need me. It actually feels like my need to be needed was bigger than my ability to give... of course that creates a mixed up energy! How would it have been if I had been able to give my work with pure generosity from the very beginning... with pure compassion? Doesn't really matter now, does it. What matters is that I now see the difference. It's not that I had a hard time interacting from that place once someone sat down with me in my living room. That was easy. I am talking about the process of attracting clients. Generosity and compassion, It feels like those could be a true anchor for my work and I will not forget that.
And that was # three.
During the meditation practice after breakfast I had a whole series of realizations.
When Jimmy and I arrived last night and sat down in the old dining hall for dinner, I was aware how I observe people I don't know. The two women across the table were talking and talking and didn't look at us at all. Now, I am almost embarrassed to write this down, but this is what I paid attention to: I noticed the jewelery they wore, both more than me: rings with many sparkling stones, a watch, and yes, that could have been an expensive watch, the hair: well combed and cared for with fashionable sunglasses pulled up over the forehead on one while the other hair was rather fluffy and out of bounds, the gestures and body language of the first: relaxed and selfassured.
I wasn't naming those observations to myself, I just took them in and a little later I noticed that I was reminded of watching the really cool girls one grade above me during the break at school - from a distance. And I thought: This is really an old habit that creeps in here.
So, this morning during meditation I thought back to this experience at dinner and all of a sudden it became very clear and I saw what I have been doing for most of my life. I am evaluating people. In this old way of looking at a fellow human being, I try to read whether this person is wealthy, powerful or influential, valued by others, educated maybe, creative or interesting looking, and... here comes the conclusion: I am doing this, because I want to find out whether this person ranks above or below me... if this is someone who has something I don't have, something to GIVE to me... or if it is someone who has nothing much to offer.
And the following confession is embarrassing too. Next I realized that I have played a game over and over again, a game in which I will pick a person somewhere above me and make it my goal to be recognized by this person, in fact I don't rest until I have worked my way up so that in the end I am able to give something to this person, all the while I dream of being someone important to them. And I don't always succeed. Wow. THAT'S what I have done?? Yep. I think so. More than once.
What if I could meet another human being without all this old crap? Just free. Just in complete welcome. Seeing the perfection of this meeting. No matter who. NO MATTER WHO.
That was # one.
Next I thought that it would be really nice to speak with Jimmy about our intention for this retreat. To massage some juice into a really good experience. What am I hoping for is not only to learn something about meditation, but also... to meet people, people we might both have some synchronicities with, some interesting and inspiring conversations with, maybe even people who will end up leading me further in my life. And then I stopped myself and thought: Ho, wait a minute! WHAT am I doing here? Am I not setting myself up with a whole set of best, ok and disappointing results from this retreat? Am I giving myself a goal here? Isn't that what I did with my cysts? And wasn't I totally turned upside down? Yes. So why don't I absolutely let go of that? Why don't I just leave it up to life to give me what I need. And I wont care if I don't meet a single new person.
That was # two.
And finally, just before Mingyur Rinpoche came in for the first teaching of the day, I had another realization. About my work, my private practice. All of a sudden I understood something about why the first years have felt like such a struggle. It goes back to the question of giving. While it looks like I showed up with something to give to my clients, I really started from a place to needing them to need me. It actually feels like my need to be needed was bigger than my ability to give... of course that creates a mixed up energy! How would it have been if I had been able to give my work with pure generosity from the very beginning... with pure compassion? Doesn't really matter now, does it. What matters is that I now see the difference. It's not that I had a hard time interacting from that place once someone sat down with me in my living room. That was easy. I am talking about the process of attracting clients. Generosity and compassion, It feels like those could be a true anchor for my work and I will not forget that.
And that was # three.
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