I've moved

Packed up and left and I'm not coming back. Please change your direction, bookmark, list, blog reader, address book and Christmas card list to my new abode.

Value your child

Do you value your child enough? Read more at my new blog site, and subscribe to my new RSS feed and monthly newsletter while you're there.

A breadcrumb trail

A new path had appeared by morning. I was still wishing for what I wanted, but miraculously, finding what I needed, on a breadcrumb trail leading to a home I never knew I'd left.
– Hand Wash Cold


I can barely contain my excitement at what I have to show you: my new home on the web. You can go there right now and find everything I've left scattered around the house: my books, my blog, loose articles, information about retreats and events, lost socks, missing buttons.

Cheerio Road has taken a turn toward home.

Please go there and bookmark it. Change your subscription to my new rss. You can still subscribe by e-mail if that's your choice. Sign up for a retreat. Add yourself to my newsletter list. Plan to see me in San Francisco, Houston or Kansas City. Come find me, come find me, come home!

10 Tips for Mindful Work

I have an article in the March issue of Shambhala Sun that's been bubbling up everywhere, and with it, my list of 10 Tips for a Mindful Home. Last week I had a message from a magazine reader asking if I had a similar list of tips for mindful work. I admitted that it had been 15 years since I'd spent 60 or more hours each week in an office, and at no time during the long stretch of my career was I anything but profoundly inattentive. Still, those days brought the dawn of a penetrating realization that my work was not the problem. Work is never the problem.

In that spirit, I offer these 10 Tips for Mindful Work, or What I Would Do Differently if I Had It All to Do Over Again:

Be on time
Self-discipline is the foundation of all success and the essence of self-respect.

Care
Work is not a distraction from your life; it is not a detour, hindrance or necessary evil. If you think this way it is the wrong view. When you are working, work is your life. Care for it as you care for yourself. As Dogen Zenji says, "If you find one thing wearisome, you will find everything wearisome."

Make a list
Start each day with a list of things to do. Control is an illusion, so wise up and keep the list short.

Forget the list
Do not mistake a list for the thing. Adapt to the flow of real events as they occur. Adaptation is innovation and innovation is genius.

Attend to what appears
What appears in front of you is the only thing there is. Respond appropriately as things arise, and crises will not overtake you.

Avoid gossip
Viruses spread. Keep your hands clean and cover your mouth.

Smile
The workplace is a theater, and the drama is make-believe. Everyone appreciates a good laugh. When you can do anything as though you work at nothing, you have the best days of your life.

Give credit
No amount of money is enough. Be generous with your kindness, courtesy and thanks. They will always be repaid.

Take the rest of the day off
Do your work, then set it down. Let others praise or blame.

Do it all over again
Rise and shine. An ancient teacher said, "A day without work is a day without eating." Take every chance to do it differently.

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I say/I mean

A fake conversation about fake conversations makes me realize who I'm talking to:

What I say/What I mean
I'm taking my time/I haven't started
Take your time/Hurry up
I have too much to do/I have one thing to do that I'm avoiding
I'm too busy/I'm wasting too much time on the computer
I didn't hear you/I'm not listening
Because I said so/Because I said so
I'm going to change/I'm not going to change
I love you/tralalalala
You're terrific/You did what I wanted
No trouble/Trouble
No worries/Worries
Not a problem/Problem
It's not your fault/It's your fault
I'm doing this for you/I'm doing this for me
You/Me
[Insert word here]/Me

More flap about butterflies

The flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil sets off a tornado in Texas – Chaos theory

Kindness doesn't cure everything, but it cures unkindness – Me

I want to leave you this week with the encouragement to spread your bitty blue wings and set something marvelous in motion. You have until Monday, Feb. 8 at midnight EST to bid at the To Haiti With Love Auction. If the thought of trolling through the auction items has you paralyzed, here are some pointers in all directions.

Being Exquisite, a fine art photographic print of desert blooms by my flowering friend Jeanette LeBlanc

Shine, a set of fine art prints from the book of the same name, by young artists at the very St. Joseph Home for children in Haiti which was destroyed in the earthquake. Can you imagine what it means to these young artists to know that their work is appreciated on the other side of the world?

Motherhood Journals by the extraordinary Tracey Clark, founder of all things lustrous including Shutter Sisters

Soul, a fine art print by the Brooklyn writer/photographer/butterfly catcher Jen Lee

Something by Someone who is throwing in Something Else, already a bargain at a third of the price

Just don't dare outbid me on this or this.

Thank you for your gale force kindness. It cures everything unkind.

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Where I'm at

To be honest, my head is still spinning, but to find out why I'm going to make you friend me on Facebook. While you're here let me tell you about the spots I'll soon be seeing before my own eyes:

Until next Monday, I'll be selling my voodoo charms over at the To Haiti With Love auction. Bid on anything there and you will reward yourself with your own infinite kindness.

On Sat., April 17 I'll be at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco for a 9 a.m.-noon workshop on "Parenting as a Spiritual Path," an incredibly intimate, practical and inspiring program on the spiritual vocation of parenthood. This occasion has been a year in the planning, and at $5 per person in advance, it will fill up fast, so call Carren Shelden at 415.749.6369 to save spots for you, your spouse or partner and all your friends. Space is limited. It is the first event at which my new book, Hand Wash Cold, will be available, and I won't let you forget it.

On Sun., May 2 I'll be launching the Kitchen Table Tour, my homemade brand of book readings for groups of friends in private homes, with a kick-off event in my own home and garden. And everyone is invited! (Note to self: Tell husband.) If you want me to come to your house, to meet your friends and hog your table, reading from Hand Wash Cold and making a big scene, just leave me a comment and tell me where you're at.

There will be more.

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On the block: my book of spells

I'm typing this with nine fingers, which is painstaking, but for the reason why you'll just have to friend me on Facebook. This temporary trouble of mine makes me yearn for the days of pen and paper, the days before you were born. There's magic spun between a pen and a piece of paper, the kind of magic that engineering just can't touch. There's divine intelligence in a fingertip, a single digit, far more than the artificial digital intelligence that enthralls us now.

That brings me to my offering in this week's To Haiti With Love auction. All the proceeds directly benefit the St. Joseph's Family of homes for children in Haiti. So give already! Who cares what you get in return?

I've put up a signed copy of Momma Zen. Big deal. You can get one of those any day of the week. But the real prize, the clincher, is what I'm tossing into the package. Hint: it's the magic between a pen and paper.

Years ago when no one was looking or asking, I wrote to myself in a blank book I kept by my bedside. When it came time to put the pieces together for Momma Zen, I was surprised to see that I had a good bit of it sitting on my nightstand waiting for me to wake up.

In the same way, when it came time to put the parts together for the new book, Hand Wash Cold, I found nearly eighty pages I'd written ten years ago and stashed away.

So this is what I'm giving the lucky winner of the ho-hum signed softcover book. A keepsake journal, the first few pages of which have in my own handwriting an excerpt of Hand Wash Cold, chosen especially for its wizardly power to inspire you to fill the rest of the book with . . . what, exactly? That's for you to conjure up out of thin air.

Unleash your powers! Go to the auction site and give yourself over to magical thinking. The dollars are insignificant. The magic is what we send To Haiti With Love.

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It isn't over until you quit

This entire post is up today at Shambhala SunSpace. I won't make you go over there to read it. I want you to stay right here and keep going. It isn't over until you quit.

A few years ago my daughter piped up from the backseat, which is where children of her age are prone to do their piping.

"Mommy, if you ever write another book please make it not about Zen."

I asked why.

"Because the whole idea of Zen is bogus."

I don't put this little story in the category of Kids Say the Darnedest Things, although they do. I put it in the category of Ear-Splitting Truth.

It's true: the whole idea of Zen is bogus. The whole idea of anything is bogus. Ideas are bogus. Occasionally useful, but not real. I promised her I wouldn't ever write a book about Zen. There's plenty of that without me piping up from the front seat. And when I get carried away I miss my exit.

These days there is legitimate concern about the future of Buddhism because of all the things we seem to be doing wrong. We're not raising up the next generation of Buddhists, for example. We're not appealing enough, modern enough, accessible enough, diverse enough, or Western enough. There's quite a bit of finger pointing about our systemic failures.

I, too, doubt the future of our institutions and systems. We are living in a degenerate age. Social, religious, economic and political systems are collapsing left and right. The conceptual frameworks and ideologies that we thought would live forever are kaput. Then I remember that it is always the degenerate age, because that's what all –isms do: rise up and settle back down in an endless cycle of birth and death called samsara.

How can we keep Dharma alive? I like to remember that oft-quoted Zen instruction, "Do not mistake the moon for the finger pointing at the moon." Anyone can jab his or her finger in the air, but who can walk on the moon? Anyone can talk, but talking is not doing.

Practice and you'll find out that there's no two ways about it. Buildings can crumble and institutions collapse, but Dharma never dies. Take heart and keep going.

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The monastery of Mom and Dad

A cozy set of practical guidelines for mindful parents:

Practice in plain sight. Place your zafu, or meditation cushion, in a conspicuous place in your home, such as on your bedroom floor. As you pass by, let it invite you to practice meditation daily. Even five minutes morning or night can turn your life around.

Live by routine. Take the needless guesswork out of meals and bedtimes. Let everyone relax into the predictable flow of a healthy and secure life.

Elevate the small. And overlook the large. Want to change the world? Forget the philosophical lessons. Instruct your child in how to brush his teeth, and then do it, together, twice a day.

Turn off the engines. Discipline TV and computer usage and reduce artificial distraction, escapism, and stimulation. This begins with you.

Give more attention. And less of everything else. Devote one hour a day to giving undistracted attention to your children. Not in activities driven by your agenda, but according to their terms. Use a timer to keep yourself honest. Undivided attention is the most concrete expression of love you can give.

Take a break. Before you break in two. Designate a chair in your home as a "quiet chair," where you can retreat to decelerate conflicts. Or walk around the block and see how quickly your own two feet can stamp out the fire on your head. Suggestion: change out of bathrobe before leaving house.

Be the first to apologize. Practice the miracle of atonement and instantly restore household harmony. By your doing, your children will learn how.

Be the last to know. Refrain from making judgments and foregone conclusions about your children. Watch their lives unfold, and be surprised. The show is splendid, and yours is the best seat in the house.

***
This originally appeared as part of the article "Parents, Leave Your Home" in the March 2009 issue of the Shambhala Sun. Well-worn robes are the best kind.

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How to raise a Buddhist child

1. Honestly, have no idea.
2. Diligently, make no effort.
3. Faithfully, accept what is.
4. Sincerely, pay attention.
5. Be kind.
6. Otherwise, apologize.
7. Raise a Buddhist parent instead.


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A rose-colored carpet

Flowers fall with our longing, and weeds spring up with our aversion – Dogen

I read a book this week that was really a good book, a memoir about how much a daughter loves her father, warts and all, and about how that love transcends age, sickness and time. In the story, the author recalls meeting up with a Buddhist family in Nepal during a bit of youthful wandering, and although she can't reconcile herself to faith, she dismisses Buddhism in a single gust over that one prickly word we hold so dear: attachment.

"I liked Sabine," she writes of the Buddhist mother she encountered, "but she was lying if she thought she wasn't attached to that boy of hers, who made her eyes flicker every time he leaned into her."

Although I'm bothered to do so, I thought I would revisit the briar patch of attachment. We are so attached to what we think attachment means. We are always attached to what we think things mean, to what we think things are, and that is the cause of all suffering. Suffering always comes about when we try to rationalize the way life is, fashion concepts to convey our understanding, our needs, our feelings, our likes and beliefs, and then attach to those ideas as though they were life itself. The truth is never the phony thing we attach to.

This is how Buddha saw the truth. He saw it as it is. This is the way we all see it, and although we may not want to accept it, we will experience it just the same.

1. Life means suffering. Things change.
2. The origin of suffering is attachment. It hurts when things change.
3. The cessation of suffering is attainable. Accept that things change.
4. There is a way out of suffering. You can change yourself.

When we try to conceive of what it means to overcome our attachments, we imagine cold indifference, dispassionate stoicism, and cruel and unfeeling isolation. That is never the outcome of overcoming attachments. That is never the outcome of accepting how things go. That is never the outcome of accepting people as they are. The outcome of acceptance, non-attachment, is pure and undefiled love. The love that is compassion: eternal and selfless.

This life of ours is strewn with faded blooms. We walk on a rose-colored carpet. That's just the way it is. Now, how will you walk?

I don't have to preach this. You experience it yourself the moment you appreciate life as it is. That your children grow up, and your eyes still flicker at the sight of them. That your parents grow old, and you love them forever. That sickness comes, disaster strikes, and seasons change. This enduring truth is what makes every story a love story. How a daughter loves her father, warts and all, with a love that transcends age, sickness and time is a story of non-attachment.

***

This post was also inspired by the foolish, high-minded thinkers who suggest that it is pointless to send money as fast as we can to Haiti, and by the corresponding wisdom of Nicholas Kristof, who is surely the most compassionate journalist in the world today.

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A spot of spring

Don't you just love this picture? It sums up everything inside and outside during this week of lacy rain and rumble. It's a capture by Tracey Clark, and it's my way of announcing that three new Mother's Plunge retreats have rolled in like a spot of spring on the calendar. San Francisco May 22, Seattle June 12, and Los Angeles June 26.

Registration is open.

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Your mind on Tide

My mother taught me many things, but she didn't teach me much about homemaking. To learn how to keep house, I had to study under the tutelage of an eighth century Chinese enlightened master.

I'm so pleased to see my new article "Do Dishes, Rake Leaves" in the March issue of Shambhala Sun magazine, and I'm especially pleased to see it under my full name. If you haven't yet read it, put it on your list of things to do this weekend. If heaven forbid you don't subscribe to the magazine, put that on your list, too.

And if you don't have a list, here's a handy one to start with.

Love itself

Can't think of anything worth leaving but this.

The light came through the window,
Straight from the sun above,
And so inside my little room
There plunged the rays of Love.

In streams of light I clearly saw
The dust you seldom see,
Out of which the Nameless makes
A Name for one like me.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.