the searcher

If the heart wasn't such a searcher
Where would red poppies grow.

unresolved

      

Unresolved trauma stands at the gate
of everyday life.
     

Pick up Sticks.....

When I was a child one of my favorite games was "pick up sticks".

It was a game of surprises.
It was a game that engaged all of me.
It was my platform to practice with openness and intimacy.

What I learned intuitively about myself and the forces of the universe playing this game was humbling. It may have informed my interaction with nature in everyday life.
Now more than ever, do I really understand how many life skills I learned from this game.  

If you were not born in the 50's, this game may not be familiar to you.

 The game was played with a handful of plastic sticks about eight inches long. These sticks are very sharp at both ends and were made in bright, attractive colours. Like most games we played as children, very little equipment was needed. These coloured plastic sticks were all that was required; plastic sticks, gravity and balance.

Our parents provided the plastic sticks. The universe provided everything else we needed.

One gathered the sticks in one's hand, holding them firmly around the center, straightened the ends by gently tapping one end on the floor, stood them up as straight as one could , and released your grip. The sticks fell in a tangle of colour. It looked random. Was it random or clearly the result of causes and conditions?

The goal of the game was to drop the sticks and pick each one up individually, without disturbing any of the other sticks in the pile.

Once you removed the first stick, you had help. You had a tool to help you remove the rest.

Sometimes if you had a friend, you would take turns working on the pile. In this case, your friend's decisions affected what the pile would look like when it was your turn.  It could be a competition. All this comparative thought brought a special level of arousal. But sometimes I played by myself. It was me against the tangle of sticks that fell in front of me.
I practiced with the forces of nature. How much control did I really have.

One was always hoping for a gentle spread, with all the sticks displaying generous bits of themselves that could be easily removed. This was never the case. One or two of the sticks would come free from the pack and could be easily moved away, but mostly it was a tangle.

What lay unrehearsed in front of you was a tangle of colour and shape. The sticks had fallen on top of each other and there was a complexity of levels to be considered. At first glance, it always looked like an impossible situation. How would it be possible to remove these sticks without disturbing any other sticks. They were interconnected. Each meeting of colour and angle was unique and would require special consideration.

This job would require silence and a firm intention. In fact, in serious games of competition, it was required that you stated your intention before you started. If your movement to enact your true intention changed the conditions of the pile such that another stick dislodged, you could not take credit. The universe had removed it, not you. You had only triggered  the balance and gravity of the piece. Your turn was over.

Again, left with what was. Patience was essential.  There would have to be some acceptance, and an intuitive understanding of the forces of the universe. Any idea that you had full control of the outcome would develop into frustration. Frustration would never win this game for you.  


First, we would need to carefully observe the whole pile, intimately and intuitively understanding the reasons that the pile had arrived at equilibrium. How is it maintaining its balance and what intrusion would unbalance it. What are the causes and conditions of each piece. How deep is this piece lodged in the meeting of another piece. What conditions contributes to its unique balance.   


The child with his beginner's mind and his "I don't know" attitude inspecting every piece and its unique conditions.Then slowly, in silence and with a steady intentional mind, the move is made: a pinch on the pointy end with just enough force to raise the other end off a meeting place.....a careful slide under a small space beneath a tangle and a mindful flick; all accompanied by a constriction in the throat, a buzzing in the lower stomach....and then a  step back to see how the universe responded.
A child of the universe learning to be intimate with the energies of the universe.

The courageous attempt to disengage the tangle without creating more difficulties.The faith that you could manage the surprises that may present themselves. That moment when your faith in the next moment over rode your doubt about your limitations.

A gap and then the surprise.

The stories of the success or failure of the removal began immediately.

There were stories of disappointment.
There were stories of self reproach.
There were stories of blaming.
There were stories of pride.
There were stories of injustice.
There were stories relief.
There were stories of impatience.

Stories of the surprises.


to Ann
love Norma

THE SECRET....

That sweet night: a secret.
Nobody saw me;
I did not see a thing.
No other light, no other guide
Than the one burning in my heart.

John of the Cross

I don't know mind

An expression in Zen for a fertile, empty, listening mind is "I don't know mind".

The statement "I don't know" doesn't signify ignorance or stupidity or even humility; rather, it points to this kind of ready, fertile, receptive mind that has no preconceptions and no identities that need to be held as barriers against what wants to come in.
When an old Zen master was asked about this "I don't know mind", he said, "Not knowing is the most intimate". Since knowing gives us a definition and control, it enables us to keep the world at arm's length. Having established our ideas and preferences about what is, we no longer have to bother to pay attention. Not knowing, on the other hand, leaves us vulnerable and free. It brings us very close to experience, unprotected and fully engaged. Not knowing, we merge with what confronts us. We let go of identity and evaluation and allow ourselves to surrender to amazement.

so much more intimate not to know....this is from Norman Fischer's book...."Taking Our Places"....it is about growing up....maturing in the world of everything....not just what we choose or design.

gassho

The Snake in the Bamboo Tube

On my way to Tassajara, I spent a morning at the San Francisco Zen center and was honored to attend a dharma talk with the roshi of the center. She talked about the challenging places that humans find themselves when confronted with difficult emotions.  Her metaphor for this human suffering was a snake in a bamboo tube. 

Being no different from this snake, I could feel the  helplessness, confusion and desperation of the snake in this container. No air to breath, no way to move forward or to move back. Ensnared by suffering.

When humans struggle to be rid of uncomfortable emotions, they struggle like the snake in the bamboo tube. One cannot run from one self.

No space to breathe, just thrashing about harming themselves in their effort to be free of the truth of what has arrived on their path.

At the time I was experiencing deep grief. It had become a solid mass of pain in my body.

When discomfort or intense sensations come my way, my deep strong habit is to fix. “I will just fix this thing "out here", and then I will feel more comfortable "in here.” And after years of being an excellent fixer, I put this habit of fixing with all its obsessive energy to work on my grief. 

The loss I was experiencing was profound and so painful. It could not stay in my body. I could not breath. There was no space. I had lost the future. I was trapped in the past. Like that snake. 

All my attempts to fix increased my  confusion.  When faced with the acceptance of loss, I reflexibly choose confusion. It was my default. Maybe I could say....confusion arrived uninvited. 

 The snake was still thrashing in the tube. I would try my old habit of "trying harder." This manifested as my  mind generating obsessive stories: day and night. All the air was sucked out of the tube.

 My strongest reaction was to ask “why”.....like this question would deliver some control over loss.  I thought the question “why” would contain the information I needed to escape the truth of this reality in my life. As I tried harder , the space became smaller. 

 My ignorance lay in the belief that I felt that I could make this grief go away by using my thoughts and I could get away with not having to have a deep loving relationship with loss.

None of my habits of fixing, none of my habits of distraction, none of my habits of analyzing, none of my habis of trying harder, none of my habits of distracting myself from my discomfort worked.
I was wiggling desperately.  I could not escape. And believe me......I was banging at the problem..... shoving it away, harming myself every day with obsessive thoughts on how to make sense of it. I just wanted my body to rest and my mind to find peace.

In time, I started to understand that the conditions of loss were not all created by me.

My friends and family had all but abandoned me....no one could manage the level of my suffering....they were desperate for me to heal, so they would not have to suffer anymore. No one could just sit with me and witness this pain in my life.

I was alone. I felt broken and unlovable.

In despair of ever being understood, I started to isolate....deeper in the bamboo tube.

It took me a while to realize that my usual strategies were escalating the suffering. A friend of mine said to me, “if you haven’t solved this problem with all the time and energy you have put into it; then you must be working on the wrong problem”. As irritating as I found this to be....I do not like “not knowing” or “not being right”; I was grateful to have this friend that had sat and witnessed my pain and I respected her insight. 

It was a journey. I learned along the way that to heal, I would need to figure out exactly “what it is?’ ....not why it is?....not “how it is”...but “what is it? I needed to have a very private and intimate relationship with my grief or I would be “stuck in this tube ” forever. It was about engaging in an intimate relationship with my direct experience of "it". Leave the thoughts and enter the body.

I lived in a big arbutus forest at the time, and one day I just walked into the forest and sat down on the ground. I was just the snake laying limp in the tube...with no more fight in me. I was now ready to surrender. I decided to sit there forever.

Well, I did sit for a long time. Every time my mind started stories of anger, sadness, and fixing....I just watched and listened to the stories I told myself. I just watched and listened.....my witness to myself .....”there is that angry story again....let it go, it does not help....there is that story of sadness...let it go, it does not help". I witnessed  the confusion and recognized the stories that I wanted to believe...the stories that I thought would remove me from my internal pain. Finally, I was able to turn myself toward the pain.....I opened my arms and heart, took a deep, deep breath, and said “come to me, I am ready to just sit still with you”....I was frightened but there were no other options. The most amazing thing happened. On the in breath, I invited it forward.... I turned towards it and leaned in to it, as one would do with a strong wind.....I braced...but felt no resistance. I felt heat. My body felt like it was on fire.....deep heat everywhere in my body. The healing had begun.

That is when I started to build a bigger container for the snake. I started to breath space into the tube. Every time my foot hit the ground, I would breath into the wound in my heart.

This was my meditation. I started to stay like a log with my suffering. This was my quiet, private opening to the pain in my life......the embracing and releasing of the pain that has been entrusted to me.

I would learn to be patient with myself. Patience being, nothing to do, other than not fear what is ultimately true. As I grew more accepting of what had been laid on my path and less involved with the plans to get rid of it, my container became bigger....my heart became bigger, my grief stayed the same. I could breath now. The snake remained in the tube but now was quiet and restful.....accepting of its container.

When I feel the constriction arise, I can sometimes find the wound in my heart and breath cool air into it. I expand the bamboo tube so the snake can move freely. This takes mindfulness and I always must pause and find my breath.

I aspire to stay open, receptive and soft bellied towards my life. This pain I now carry through my life is just part of who I am....it has made me more compassionate towards others...it was a gift... not one I would have asked for....but one I was given anyway.

Once inside the bamboo tube the snake learns a new way.

gassho

All the way through.......

Just back from the Stowell Lake Farm sesshin on Salt Spring Island.

I wanted to share one of the things that I have taken home with me.

You may find it useful to do Everything that you do...all the way through..right to the bottom...wholly with all your awareness.

Know this thing that you do intimately.

And this includes Love.

Love and receive love all the way through....watching carefully for that little bit that you hold on to.....that little bit of love you are not able to receive.

This is the same piece that you hold back and are unable to give out. You hold it back out of fear, out of doubt, out of anger. Just the little bit that you hold as separate.

The piece that you might feel keeps you safe.

The ego piece that says "what about me?"

That piece that you may not get to know intimately if you do not do everything the whole way...whole heartedly....that little part that believes the voice that says, "I'm separate". This is delusion.

I am learning to bow all the way through....right to the bottom and I am learning about why I can't bow all the way through...right to the bottom..and seeing this piece of me that I did not know and now have met is such a blessing.

gassho
Norma

Dharma from Joko Beck

"We are rather like whirlpools in the river of life.

In flowing forward, a river or stream may hit rocks, branches, or irregularities in the ground, causing whirlpools to spring up spontaneously here and there. Water entering one whirlpool quickly passes through and re-joins the river, eventually joining another whirlpool and moving on. Though for short periods it seems to be distinguishable as a separate event, the water in the whirlpools is just the river itself. 

The stability of a whirlpool is only temporary. The energy of the river of life forms living things---a human being, a cat or dog, trees and plants—then what held the whirlpool in place is itself altered, and the whirlpool is swept away, re-entering the larger flow. The energy that was a particular whirlpool fades out and the water passes on, perhaps to be caught again and turned for a moment into another whirlpool. 

We’d rather not think for our lives in this way, however. We don’t want to see ourselves as simply a temporary formation, a whirlpool in the river of life. The fact is, we take form for a while; then when conditions are appropriate, we fade out. 

There’s nothing wrong with the fading out; it’s a natural part of the process. However, we want to think that this little whirlpool that we are isn’t part of the stream. We want to see ourselves as permanent and stable. 

Our whole energy goes into trying to protect our supposed separateness. 

To protect the separateness, we set up artificial, fixed boundaries; as a consequence, we accumulate excess, baggage, stuff that slips into our whirlpool and can’t flow out again. So things clog up our whirlpool and the process gets messy. The stream needs to flow naturally and freely. 

If our particular whirlpool is all bogged down, we also impair the energy of the stream itself. It can’t go anywhere. Neighboring whirlpools may get less water because of our frantic holding on. What we can best do for ourselves and for life is to keep the water in our whirlpool rushing and clear so that it is just flowing in and flowing out.

We serve other whirlpools best if the water that enters ours is free to rush through and move on easily and quickly to whatever else needs to be stirred. 

The energy of life seeks rapid transformation. If we can see life this way and not cling to anything, life simply comes and goes. When debris flows into our little whirlpool, if the flow is even and strong, the debris rushes around for while and then goes on its way. 

Yet that’s not how we live our lives. Not seeing that we are simply a whirlpool in the river of the universe, we view ourselves as separate entities, needing to protect our boundaries. The very judgement, “I feel hurt” establishes a boundary, by naming an “I” that demands to be protected. Whenever trash floats into our whirlpool, we make great efforts to avoid it, to expel it, or to somehow to control it.

Ninety percent of a typical human life is spent trying to put boundaries around the whirlpool. We’re constantly on guard; “He might hurt me”. “This may go wrong”. “I don’t like him anyway”. This is a complete misuse of our life function; yet we all do it to some degree. 

Financial worries reflect our struggle to maintain fixed boundaries. We don’t want anything to threaten our money supply. We all think it would be a terrible thing. By being protective and anxious, clinging to our assets, we clog up our lives. Water that should be rushing in and out, so it can serve, becomes stagnant. A whirlpool that puts up a dam around itself and shuts itself off from the river becomes stagnant and loses its vitality. 

Practice is about no longer being caught in the particular, and instead seeing it for what it is—a part of the whole. Yet we spend most of our energies creating stagnant water. That’s what living in fear will do. 

The fear exists because the whirlpool doesn’t understand what it is—none other than the stream itself. Until we get an inkling of that truth, all of our energies go in the wrong direction. We create many stagnant pools, which breed contamination and disease. Pools seeking to dam themselves for protection begin to contend with one another. “Your smelly, I don’t like you”. Stagnant pools cause a lot of trouble. The freshness of life is gone.

Zen practice helps us to see how we have created stagnation in our lives. “Have I always been so angry, and just never noticed it?”. So our first discovery in practice is to recognize our own stagnation, created by our self-centered thoughts. 

The biggest problems are created by attitudes we cannot see in ourselves. Unacknowledged depression, fear and anger create rigidity. When we recognize the rigidity and the stagnation, the water begins to flow again, bit by bit. So the most vital part of practice is to be willing to be life itself----which is simply the incoming sensations---that which creates our whirlpool."

Joko Beck

Roshi of the San Diego Zen Centre

the mercy of the sea

"Maybe we don't realize we are at the mercy of the sea.
 Maybe we think our own wiles and skills ensure that we will arrive safely at the port of our choosing.

 Of course we can, to some extent, master the sea. We can study it and come to know the patterns of its waves and currents. We can learn how to handle a boat, how to read the instruments. We can become expert sailors. But if we think that we are in charge, that we can dictate the way the rolling waves of our life stories will go, we are sadly mistaken. In fact, as any sailor knows, you cannot control the elements.

 If your want to sail, you must cooperate with the sea, yield to its motion, and give it all due respect. To get where you want to go, you must be attentive, fluid, and obedient, like water. Most of what makes a life satisfying and resonant lies outside the sphere of our personal skills and powers. We have been conditioned to think that we shape our lives far more than we actually do and this is why, our plan, outside the linear narrative flow of our life-tale, arises.

To respect the sea is to trust that we can welcome life's immense and unknowable currents rather than resist them, even when they seem to be drawing us to shores we don't want to visit. We live our lives too much on small islands of conscious awareness and control.

 Homecoming requires that we set out to sea, as Odysseus does, and give ourselves over to its powers and its gods. The journey home cannot be predetermined. We may not always enjoy the sea's course-altering storms and paralyzing calms. But we must sail forth."

Norman Fischer

dana

Posted on June 28, 2011 by norma

I am reading the Autobiography of Bhante G. and came upon this lovely metaphor. I wanted to share it.


Anyone who gives gifts is practicing generosity.

The givers receive as much, if not more, than the recipients because they are practicing dana, or generosity. It is the antidote to greed and attachment.


Practice dana whenever and where ever possible;
Just as a pot is filled with water,
If overturned by anyone,
Pours out all its water,
And does not hold back.
Even so, when you see those in need,
Whether low, middle or high,
Then give like the overturned pot,
Holding nothing back.


How clear is that? Giving does not need to be complicated.