Why Limit Love?

Today, I visited a very old woman.
I thought she was a man at first.
Age does that, obliterates all traces
of vanity and feminine glory.
A big, oozing wart on her cheek
kept drawing my gaze, hypnotic,
and in my heart, disgust surged.
She reached out for my hand.
Right next to my not liking, love arose,
awakened by hers. She smiled.
"Have you had lunch?"
In her mind, I was her daughter.
I flashed back on my own mother
who died two months ago.
And decided right there, why limit love?
I could become a daughter again,
if only for that moment.

Peeling the Onion

Not self has been my favorite entry door into mindfulness practice. I know it is different for everyone. Others connect more with the characteristic of suffering. And yet others use impermanence as their primary source of insight. 

Today, sitting in the midst of turbulences, I could see clearly the importance of bringing the mind back over and over again on the immediate experience of breath, and unpleasantness, and aversion. Not adding more suffering with  extra thoughts about 'I'. Eventually, mind grew more calm.

Ayya Khema has this to say about not self, or rather corelessness as she calls it:

"Why are we practicing? To find freedom within. Our lack of freedom arises because there is pressure, stress, dissatisfaction, wishes, hopes, plans. There is the idea of becoming different from what one is. All these ideas put pressure on ourselves and we often (mistakenly) think that pressure comes from outside. We can never come to the end of our desires. They keep on arising. But we can come to an end of desires by first reducing, and then eliminating them. The self as we ordinarily see it is like an onion. Try to peel off the identifications. See who I think I am. See what's left after peeling off. See that there is someone that knows what's left after peeling off 15, 16 identifications. Who is this knower? Usually the last bastion that we hang on to, that is totally unreliable. That knower most often knows nothing, or knows the wrong thing, or is very unreliable. Where is this knower? Certainly not in the big toe . . . Most likely in the mind. Does it have a definite seat there? Does it have a solid entity or is it a mental formation? We cannot say who knows, but what knows. We make up an image that we call me. How did we get the idea that this thing that's sitting on the pillow that's the body is called me. That's a mental formation. Why would we want to change that mental formation? Because we notice 'me' is the source of all our problems. No 'I', no problem." 

An ongoing process of dis-identification. Letting go of the compulsion of mind to form self-thoughts. 

Dementia, Grief, Mindfulness, and Not-Self

Contacts with my mother have been sparse lately. It's been hard catching her on the phone during the rare times when she is awake. And the nine hour time difference does not help either. Yesterday, I was able to hear her breathe once as I whispered words of love to her. The aide confirmed that she had seen a response in her face.

Friends, coworkers have been asking about my mom. Each time, I have felt a twinge of annoyance. Grief shows itself in sometimes subtle ways . . .The truth is I have been a bit too adamant to claim closure with my mom. "I have said goodbye. I am at peace."  This last chapter is taking longer than I thought, and I feel as if lost in a twilight zone, with hardly anything to hang on to. No physical contact, no voice, just one breath in several weeks, that's all that's left. 

I have been haunted by the image of her lying in bed, pulling away from my touch, and holding on tight to her sheet instead. Breath coming and going, light as a feather. And no hindrance in the body, anymore. This struck me as remarkable, coming from my mother, who had been such a chronic worrier. She had let go finally, and I had to let go also. Carrying this last image of my mom has been most helpful now that I am thousands of miles away from her. It has also enabled me to understand more deeply the reason for practice. Mindfulness, particularly when focused on the breath, is the surest method for experiencing the relief from ordinary mind-made suffering.

From my mother, I have learned most during those last ten years when dementia stripped her brain bit by bit, of its ability to fabricate thoughts about past, future, and self. Being with her  forced upon me the direct experience of not-self, and for that I am incredibly grateful. 

A Lesson in Living, From the Dying

Back from visiting my mother, I have been met by a flurry of good news on the work front. Many seeds planted a while ago, are now sprouting all at once. Success is sweet, on the surface . . . Not far below, the pain of clinging has been tugging at my throat. For the overachiever that I am, it is hard not getting attached to accomplishments. 

Most effective antidote has been the remembrance of my last moments with my mom. Ever since I left her last week, I have been holding the image of her lying in her bed, almost floating, with only a touch of breath, here and there. A picture of complete letting go, and the opposite of what happens when the mind lets self-habits take over. 

Going about my day, I carry my mom in my heart. And I am grateful for the gift of her unwitting teaching. 

Dementia Care and Not Self

Why dementia care is such a noble practice:


Not self in action . . .

And a great example of service as practice, and practice as service.

Why Do I Grieve?

Grief is a part of the human experience, some times more so than others. Grief can take many forms. It can be long, drawn out, sudden, anticipatory, shared, lifelong . . . Grief is painful, and we don't like it. It is also one of the most powerful ways I know to have one's heart opening wide. Past the anger, the path is clear for healing tears to melt into love. 

These past few weeks have presented me with an opportunity to experience grief in its many forms. And I got to reflect on the nature of grief, and  'why do I grieve? why do we grieve?'

Often, I think of the Buddha's admonition to Ananda to not grieve. I take it as an invitation, not to not feel the grief, but to uproot it with mindfulness, investigation, and wisdom. Grief is an ultimate protest from the heart about the inevitability of impermanence, and death, and separation. Our mind cannot reconcile with the truth of the fourth remembrance, uttered by the Buddha during his last moments of life, that 'All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.' 

Grief is also an attempt to work through the necessary letting go of what can no longer be had. The finality of death is our most profound teacher. It is there around us at all times. Not a day goes by without the news of some kind of death touching us in some ways. If we listen, we can become more reconciled with the nature of life that can be taken away at any moment. 

Last, grief is also linked with our conventional way of experiencing the self as a thought out, linear construct. If we are truly present and not identified with solid 'I' or 'mine' thoughts, grief disappears:

Wrong view of self is the root of all pain, grief, and lamentation. 

~ Ayya Khema, in Be an Island ~

The Body Can't Abide, Not Yet

I have been walking
on the edge of possibility.
To continue to grab,
as I have
Or to let go
of the painful grip?
The mind sees,
but the body can't abide,
or at least not yet.
Right now, it is just breath
and the evidence
of the power of mind's habits.
Nothing to do,
but watch with loving patience
and trust in mindfulness.

A Slap In the Face

I am of the nature to grow old.
I cannot escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health.
I cannot escape having ill health.

I am of the nature to die.
There is no way of escaping death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love
are of the nature to change. There is no way 
to escape being separated from them.

I contemplate the first four of the five remembrances often. Yesterday went deeper . . . 

I spent most of Thanksgiving at the memory care community where I work part of the time. I had expected a joyful day.  I came out instead with heart filled with deep sadness. It helped that I had gotten slapped in the face, literally, by a still relatively young man, a resident with a case of early onset dementia, and lots of rage bottled up inside. Too much going on, too much noise, too many strangers visiting, a complicated family situation . . . he could not take it, and delivered me an unexpected blow, just after I had introduced myself to him. I did not flinch, and walked him to the table where a few relatives were to join him for a short lunch. He obviously needed space. I left him waiting alone. 

Right side of the head still burning, I went on and pretended nothing happened. The truth was, mind had been jarred, and questioned. The angry man had hit me hard with his suffering, and I had to face the truth of the four remembrances delivered right into my flesh, not just as thoughts to be pondered. Habitual, reactive mind revolted, and heart flinched at the very real possibility. Everywhere I turned, lonely souls reminded me, and even the ones with families visiting soon would be left also, back to living the end chapter of their lives in this place. I stopped being the one working there, and felt like almost one of 'them', with only years, and the randomness of fate separating us. 

Life, with its conventional narrative of past, present, and future, is rotten at its core. The story never ends well, and the only way out is through the dropping of the story itself. Each instant, a new moment, a new call to living.

My Couch, Where Does It Come From?

Amazing, how quickly a sense of ownership develops . . .

During the retreat, I became fond of the blue couch, way in the back by the fireplace. I became used to turning on the side lamp right after breakfast. A cup of tea right at hand, armed with pen and notebook, I savored those times of mini-retreat within the retreat.

And I started to notice the angst rising each time I readied to move toward the blue couch. I had reasons, I had been disappointed a few times before. Someone had gone ahead of me and planted themselves right in my spot, or close enough that it did not feel so private anymore.

'I' had become very attached to 'my' space . . .

How does 'mine' develop? Going back to Leigh's talk on dependent origination:

Starting with the senses, in this case touch, sight, hearing.

Then contact with the whole couch experience, the softness of the couch, the dim light, the quietness.

Bringing up pleasant vedana.

Leading to craving for more of the same.

Then clinging to the pleasurable sense object, the couch.

Giving rise to sense of ownership, becoming the owner of the couch.

Then manifesting into declaration of this is 'my' couch, and the birth of identity as couch owner, 'I' own this couch.

This in turn paving the way for the inevitable death of that identity, once other person comes along to dispel assumed reality of 'mine'.

Leading to dukkha, suffering from not getting what I want and not being able to sustain assumed identity of 'I', the owner of this spot, on the blue couch. 

Craving, not self, dukkha, it's all connected, and we can do something about it. The trick is to be mindful, and know what to see when it happens. 

Spinning With the Four Elements

During the retreat, I got to practice mindfulness of the four elements, as explained in the Four Foundations of Mindfulness Sutta:

[One] contemplates this very body — however it stands, however it is disposed — in terms of properties: 'In this body there is the earth [solid] property, the liquid property, the fire [hot and cold] property, and the wind property.'

Walking the Covered Bridge trail near Cloud Mountain, I noticed the earth against my feet, and I saw the tall trees, and the big rocks, standing still, weighed down with seemingly complete solidity. There was also the gently cool breeze taking turn with the hot sun against my cheeks, and the sight of leaves dancing with the wind. And in the morning, the dew from the blades of grass on the path, that made my feet wet, just a little. 

The four elements. One can decide on just one, and keep one's awareness on that one only. Or, one can  simply notice whichever is most prominent at any moment. 

This morning, back to my daily exercise routine at the Y, I played again with the four elements. Sensing the solidity of the bike handles under my hands, and the pedals supporting my feet. Feeling the rising heat from body working hard, and once in a while the cool air from the nearby fan. Breath getting increasingly labored, forcing more and more air in and out. And, after a while, droplets of sweat, to remind me of the liquid nature of this body. 

However your body stands, however it is disposed, it is always possible to practice the four elements. According to Leigh, this practice can help us break down the appearance of solidity in one's body, other bodies and other things. It is a tool for experiencing not-self. I also found it a very grounding practice. 

Letting Go of the Broken Mirror

Small, broken mirror,

denies the possibility 

of wholeness.

How to rid oneself

of the faulty mirror,

that is the question?

In the frustration

of stuck-ness,

the possibility arises.

This poem, inspired by a dream I had during the retreat, and also Ayya Khema's talk on Metta:

Our surroundings, our environment, is like a mirror. We wouldn't know what the other person has unless we know it ourselves already. [...] As long as those traits in another person are very bothersome to us, we can be quite sure we've got them ourselves. We can be very grateful that we are given this learning opportunity to see ourselves as others see us. It's terribly difficult to see ourselves clearly, because the mirror image is only in other people. But it's very useful to see that, and then use that understanding about the other person, or the things we don't like about the other person, to check out ourselves. "Do I do that too? Do I talk like that? Do I act like that?" We should try to find these same things within. There's no blame involved. If we start blaming ourselves or others for all the things we do wrong, we'll never stop blaming. It's a totally useless activity, because for any negativity that we have an heap blame on top of it, it means we've then got two negativities. What we would like is to get rid of negativity. So intstead of blaming, we look at it, accept it, and change it. [...] Our work of the purification of our heart lies in our daily encounters with anyone, particularly human beings. 

Thanking the difficult people in our life for holding up the mirror that shows us our whole self.

All for the sake of pure love.

Practicing Not Self

Presented with many social opportunities, I have taken the habit of using those times of togetherness to practice, in another way. I call it 'not self' practice.

At the day program where I now go a few days a week, the entire time can become a meditation if  I choose to. Every elder, an unknowing teacher. Sitting quietly next to a person, or making small talk with another, I get to watch my own thoughts. I get to 'see' and feel the effect of the many 'I' centered ideas that cross my mind. Boredom, 'I' would like a better form of entertainment. Or 'I' bring a view of how things should go for the person in my care. Or 'I' doubt the value of such work, surely 'I' have important projects waiting at home. So many thoughts that have nothing to do with the reality of the moment . . . And each time, a subtle form of self-induced suffering, from letting the thoughting mill run amok and bringing in tensions in the body, and unnecessary stirrings in the heart. 

At a party, talking to a stranger with a lengthy story, same thing. I catch myself, being tempted to think about 'me'. 'I' am wasting my time with this person, whispers the small voice. 'I' want to go with my friend instead. Or, 'I' wonder what's in it for 'me'? It's all about 'me', and after a few such iterations, mindfulness stops the mind right in its tracks, and allows for redirecting.  Keeping mind on a leash has its sweet rewards. The pressure is off. Now, I can be fully present for whatever arises. I spend the rest of the night secretly observing mind at work, and saying thanks, but no thanks to all the other nascent 'I' thoughts. Such a lovely evening, it was . . . 

How are you with 'I' thoughts?  

In the Middle of the Desert

Out of nowhere,
a stallion came charging
that threw itself
on top of my back.

Woman body
no match for the beast,
it was clear
resisting was not the way.

A voice whispered
relax, relax,
relax and breathe
oh, so softly.

Let go of all,
including even
the wish for existence.
This is your only chance.

Dissolving the Disruptive Self

It has now become clear, what gets in the way of peace. Sitting quietly on the usual chair, taking a walk amidst the hills behind Stanford campus, savoring a meal . . . the familiar knot makes itself felt, sooner or later. THE knot usually comes with a various of emotions, always in the unpleasant category. Anger, fear, doubt, desire, well up in the heart and obliterate the possibility of ease. Some times, out of sheer habit and long time conditioning. On other occasions, in reaction to outer circumstances, not wished for. THE knot hits me right in the stomach. 

When I sit long enough, the root cause of such unease, inevitably shows itself in the form of  thought clusters, around various facets of 'I'. I know myself well enough to have the list down by now: the competent one, the savior, the victim, the scared little girl, the worried one, the ambitious amazon, the depressed young woman, the lonely soul, the greedy one, the aversive personality . . . They show up at inopportune times. They disturb the possibility of inner happiness. The disruptive self is no more than a collection of sticky, dirty mind habits looking to attach themselves to the pure moment-to-moment experience. It takes time to disengage. 

When faced with manifestations from the disruptive self, I like to ask myself the following questions:

What facet of the self is being triggered?

Does that aspect of the self belong to this moment?

What does the resulting suffering feel like? 

Where is it being felt? in the mind, in the body?

How old is that self habit?

The older the habit, the harder to let go of. Years of stickiness cannot be undone that quickly. One needs to be patient, and kind, same one one would be with a stubborn child. One also needs to trust that persistent 'seeing', and relaxing of the bothersome thoughts and emotions will pay off in the end. 

Karma, Not Self, and Loving Kindness

Waking up in a dark mood, I did what I knew to be best for this kind of condition. 

I sat still and let myself be with all the unpleasantness. The grief, the sadness, the regrets, the guilt, and the many torturing thoughts to go with such emotions. I felt the full blown impact of negative karma from actions performed years ago, the effects of which continue to linger. And I decided to drop the guilt part, and to make the best of the situation. Negative karma is a great teacher, a constant reminder of the potency of every one of our thoughts, and actions. I cannot take back the past. I can choose however to live this moment, the best way I know how, guarding the mind from unskillful thoughts, and thinking twice before acting. Reflecting upon the fifth remembrance: I inherit the nature of my actions in body, speech and mind. My actions are the ground on which I stand. 

Karma set aside, I also pondered the fourth remembrance: All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. It helped knowing that what I was going through, was not personal. Family ties, even those I had thought so solid, are subject to the law impermanence, just like anything else. Nothing to be taken for granted, even the love of dearest ones.

Sitting some more, I noticed something else. I saw that each thought centered around 'me', 'I', and 'my' feelings, and with each such thought, a progressive tightening of mind, heart, and body, leading to even more suffering. There was no point continuing. Mind was becoming convinced of 'No 'I', no problem', and. the heart was yearning for loving kindness. Time for 'thou' and 'we'.

'May she be well, may she be at peace, and at ease.' I imagined estranged loved one, and I saw her suffering, and I wished for her heart to soften and her mind to let go. Heart welled up with much love and its own release. I was on a roll. Next came loving intention for another, one whose unconsciousness  has caused me much pain. That he too may be well, and free from reactivity. 'May he be well, may he be at peace, and at ease.' A few more faces surged in my mind, and heart continued its work, ending with giving myself some loving kindness also. 

The clouds lifted, almost completely. Only left, were a bit more wisdom, a bit more compassion for myself, and others. 

We are all trying.

A Glimpse of Emptiness

I did not want to miss the viewing of Our Life is Like Our Breath, yesterday at IMC. And I was not disappointed. We were treated to a peak into the life of the monks at the  international forest monastery, Wat Pah Nanachat in Thailand, and also the presence of Ajahn Gunavuddho, a theravadan monk. 

I asked myself, could I live in the monastery depicted in the movie, and the answer was, probably not. They don't welcome women anyway . . . 

I also came away with a temporary calmness, a joy, as is always the case after being in the presence of those whose quasi-emptiness come through. It gave me hope, particularly during this phase of my journey, when the pain from the hindrances is making itself felt so strongly. I have this image of a house needing to be cleaned. Sweeping, vacuuming don't take too much effort at first, but then, very quickly the grime underneath the surface dust gets exposed, and one has no choice but working at it patiently to finish the job. Un travail de longue haleine, as we say in French . . . Requiring patience, self-compassion, determination, and faith. This is why the monks play such an important role, as holders of the possibility within. Yes, the big chunks of caked up dirt can fall off eventually, making it possible for the natural calmness to be felt. Yes, there is no need getting too caught up in one's thoughts. Yes, practice is worth all the effort. Yes, it is possible to free the mind from its own trappings. Yes, unconditioned happiness is attainable. 

Having tasted sa degree of peace early on, which came from the simple practice of present-moment awareness, I took up intensive Zen training. But I soon found that this peace was elusive, as I encountered deep guilt, insecurity and suffering. I was shocked at how self-centered I was and how painful that self-centeredness could be. Because the only practice I knew was to be mindfully present, I spent a lot of time, both in formal practice and in my daily life, trying to have a settled presence with my suffering. Years later, I realized that in doing this I was slowly being "compassioned". My resistances and defenses gradually relaxed, and in their place grew tenderness and kindness. It was a process that seemed to soften a crust around my heart. 

~Gil Fronsdal, The Bodhisattva & the Arhat, Fall 2011, Inquiring Mind~ 

It has taken years for the crust to form. And it will take time, mindfulness, and loving kindness to release it. 

Meanwhile, I shall rejoice in the company of the monks and nuns whenever the opportunity arises. Getting a glimpse . . . 

In the Way

Walking up in the hills behind the Stanford campus, sitting still in the quietness of my office, running fast on the treadmill, inevitably, the same obstacle rises over and over again.

What is it that stands in the way of peace, right there, right now?

Certainly nothing to be found on the outside, but rather certain thoughts, all to do with 'I'. Mind-made constructs with the potency of obscuring the happiness of just being. Ideas that find fault with just walking or just sitting. Mind's compulsion to constantly build up the ego with plans about the future and roles to play. In all cases, shrinkage felt in the heart, and with it, suffering.

For now, nothing to do but be aware. At some point, maybe the mind will get tired?

From Conceptual to Experiential Self

From Philippe Goldin's presentation this weekend at El Camino Hospital (an event benefitting Bob Stahl's MBSR scholarship program), I found the following slide on 'Self-Focused Processing' particularly useful:

Conceptual or narrative self:

• past-future
• fixed self-concept
• rumination

Experiential or embodied self:

• present-moment focused
• continuously changing experience of self
• reduced problems with depression, anxiety, etc . . . 

A 21st century version of the teachings on anatta . . . with a focus on the health benefits of an experiential view of the self. 

Persistent Guests in My House

It's become clear now who are the guests that linger in my inner dwelling. 

First is the workaholic who obsesses over what's next at the office. I encounter 'her' while I sit, while I walk, and in my dreams. She populates my mind with many thoughts, and preoccupies herself with planning and multiple projects. She acts as a barrier between myself and the present moment. She is not really a person, but rather a constellation of habits, emotions, and thoughts. She is driven by another, much older character, to do with my early years as a child. That one is a scared little girl, still living in what felt like an unpredictable home with a father given to unpredictable rages. Fear is her modus operandi and her first line of response. Those two guests take turn in dominating my day to day life. 

'Take turn' is no longer so accurate, though. I should say 'have taken turn' instead. Things are changing.

Another figure, much more powerful than those two is establishing itself. She is wise, and knows how to put the other two guests to rest, using the qualities of insight, patience, mindfulness, equanimity, concentration, investigation, and loving kindness. In this moment, there is only breath coming and going, and hands typing words on the computer, and body sitting a bit slouched in the office chair. The rest, the scared 'I' that makes itself felt in the pit of the stomach, is to be put in its place. A persistent guest, a product of automatic responses from body and mind in need of being calmed, using the breath, and concentration on the task at hand. 

How humbling to realize that this mind, this body do not really belong to me . . . Otherwise, right now, there would be only be the peace of breath, moving freely in and out of boundless body. 

Who are the guests in your house? How do you put them to rest?

What's Up With the 'I'?

Nothing like having a few narcissists amongst one circle, to heighten one's awareness of the pathetic nature of an 'I' run amok. This week, I had the opportunity to spend time with two such persons. As to be expected, there was much self-referential speech to be endured. With great interest, I watched myself go from annoyance, to boredom, to pity, to curiosity. 

And came up with a question.

Why this need to continuously feed the mind with thoughts about an inflated self? 

To the extent that we are all narcissists to various degrees, the mirror presented by the narcissistic person can be very useful. Looking inside, during times when thoughts arise about speech or actions in support of 'me', I usually find an emptiness yearning to be filled. Lots of clinging there . . . The challenge of practice lies in not indulging the thoughts and choosing instead to sit with the anxiety.

This morning I found a young one yearning for connection. 

The heart, once convinced of the futility of this 'I' business, becomes free to explore its full blown delusion, and the heavy price it exacts on one's (and others') happiness.

What is your experience of the 'I'? How much do you need to feed it?