On Perfection

"There is within each of us the capacity to remember our goodness."  Tara Brach

"Awakening Now" by Dana Folds

Why wait for your awakening?

Do you value your reasons for staying small 

more than the light shining through the open door? 

Forgive yourself,

Forgive yourself.

Now is the only time you have to be whole.

Now. 

Now is the sole moment that exists to live in the light of your true nature. 

Perfection is not a prerequisite for anything but pain. 

Perfection is not a prerequisite for anything but pain. 

Please, oh please, don't continue to believe 

in your stories of deficiency and failure. 

This is the day of your awakening.

Hmmm.  It's rather paradoxical that I like this quote and this poem so much.  I very strongly believe now that we all (or perhaps we all) are too hard on ourselves (and each other).  I think that everyone I know is wonderful just the way they are. Perfect? Maybe not. But who cares? I used to think I had to be perfect and feeling so kept me locked in a box where I couldn't open to even the people closest to me and also kept me from trying anything I didn't think I could do well immediately. Eventually, this thinking really stunted my life. Now, I'm more willing to fail and either shrug my shoulders and move on or even laugh at myself. It's a relief.

So, where's the paradox? Here: I also believe that we hold ourselves to pretty low standards. We believe that humans are intrinsically flawed. We limit what we even expect of ourselves. I don't think we're even close to harnessing our powers. 

Our bodies produce 100,000 chemical reactions in every cell of the body every second we're alive.  We have approximately 70 to 100 trillion cells in our body. You can do the math, I can't. These are the processes that control everything we do: respiration, digestion, etc., etc. Everything. The pancreas regenerates almost all of its cells every single day. The liver has 66 functions (facts taken from "Evolve Your Brain: the Science of Changing Your Mind" by Joe Dispenza, D.C.). These facts are amazing. They show the miraculous powers that each of us has. We don't have to think to do these things, yet they are done by the body's intelligence. Neuroscientists now know that the brain is continually reorganizing itself throughout life (this is a very different view of the brain that we baby boomers grew up with - when we went through school it was believed that the brain was mostly hardwired). All of our thoughts create chemical reactions.  All of those chemical reactions affect the body in some way. The brain does not even know the difference between an event happening in real time and event that is remembered or imagined. For example, if you remember a bad experience, your brain will create the same chemicals it did when the event actually occurred.

If we really harness our thoughts, I think we can affect how we think and live. Check out the yogis - some have been buried in boxes for days and have been able to survive by slowing down their bodily functions.  Joe Dispenza has studied many people who have had spontaneous healings. He's found certain similarities in what they did after being diagnosed: in a nutshell, they spent countless hours envisioning themselves healthy. Which is not to blame those who don't do this - it's hard, hard work and as yet scientifically unproven so it takes a great belief in oneself that goes against society to follow this path. However, Joe feels that since some people do, in fact, have healings that befuddle their doctors, something is going on with those people and it's worth studying the effect to figure it out so that more of us can do it.  And, if the mind can heal the body, the mind is also more amazing in other ways than we've given it credit for.

To sum up, we're fine the way we are.  And I think that we could be more if we choose to be so. But, on any path we choose, we should give ourselves a break, love ourselves, love each other, relax and enjoy. Remember your goodness. Don't wait.

With love.

Golfing with Monkeys

Before I get to monkey golf, here's a story for V. who liked my comment about home in the previous post (thanks, V!):  An older woman goes to her travel agent and asks him to book her a trip to India".  "Oy," he says, "such a long trip, why don't you just go to Florida like you usually do?" "No," the woman replies, "I want to see the guru."  The travel agent complies and plans her trip. Along the way, which is long and arduous (long plane ride, followed by a long dusty train ride, a bus trip through the mountains, and more) she meets many people.  All those she meets question her trip: it's such a long voyage and this particular guru only allows his visitors to say three words to him.  "It's okay," she tells all who pass along this information.  Finally, she's at the guru's cave, she's about to go in and meet with him. The guru's helper reminds her, "Just three words. You're only allowed to say three words to him."  "It's okay," the woman says and into the cave she goes.  When she gets inside, she looks at the guru and says, "Sheldon, come home."

I heard that story today on a Tara Brach (www.imcw.org) podcast although I've heard it before.

Here's a bit of history, also from a Tara's podcast ("Golfing with Monkeys"): after the British had taken over India, they longed for some recreation in their new colony.  So they built some golf courses.  However, the course in Calcutta was near a wildlife reserve.  While the Brits were golfing, monkeys would come onto the course, pick up and move the balls that were in play. Of course, this annoyed the players mightily and they sought solutions to this problem.  First, they erected fences around the course, but they found that no matter how high the fence, the monkeys could get over it.  Then, they tried relocating the monkeys, but for every monkey they relocated, another appeared.  Lastly, they tried distracting the monkeys, but there was nothing the monkeys enjoyed more than watching the humans go crazy when their little balls were disturbed.  Finally, the British decided to issue new rules for the game of golf when played in Calcutta: you were obliged to play the ball wherever a monkey put it.  

That's the game for me!  And, frankly, that's the game for all of us, because that's the game of life. The monkeys are constantly picking up our balls and moving them around.  We try to control the monkeys, but it's impossible.  The only sane thing to do, the only thing, sane or not, that makes any sense at all, is to accept that the monkeys are going to move the balls and to play the balls wherever they put them. 

Sometimes the monkeys throw the balls gently and sometimes they throw with force.  Getting caught in a traffic jam is a gentle throw.  Getting into a car accident is a harder throw.  I'm sure you get the picture.

In any event, and not to ruin a good story, as I'm sure you've gotten it by now, I think that to live well one must play the ball wherever it's thrown.  Jumping up and down and screaming at the monkeys won't stop them, nor will putting up fences, or the rest of it.  

Enjoy the game.

Silent Retreat

I first remember hearing of someone going on a silent retreat a few years ago.  I was in Brown's , an upscale country gentleman/gentlewoman's clothing store in Chatham, NY. I was browsing, when a man, around sixty-five years old, with an armload of expensive flannel shirts and wool socks, asked the shopkeeper if she thought he had enough clothes for a week in the Adirondacks. As many words came rushing out of his mouth, he explained that a friend had talked him into doing a week-long silent retreat and that he was scared stiff of it and was gearing up.  Now, I don't know why he needed new clothes to sit in silence for a week, but I suppose that shopping was a way for him to deal with his nervous energy.  Which he had much of.  I remember saying that a week of silence sounded heavenly. He didn't agree. I think we each thought the other fortunate - I thought him so for having the time for the retreat, he thought me so for not. After he left, the shop-keeper and I looked at each other and laughed.  What chance did I think he'd have of being quiet for the week?, she asked.  At the time, none (although now I think I'd be more open-minded).  She agreed.

The next time I stumbled upon someone doing this practice was a couple of years later.  I was visiting my brother and noticed an in-depth note for him, written by his wife.  I inquired if she'd was away.  "No," he replied, "She's upstairs doing a silent retreat."  At the time, I found this odd: she's doing a retreat at home?  She's silent, but can write? How's that really different than speaking?

The idea of silence appeals to me.  It always has.  I was a pretty quiet child.  So quiet that my parents will say that at Open School night, even my elementary school teachers didn't know who I was (that's hard to believe, but I get their point).  I've never been totally comfortable with the give and take of conversation.  It happens too fast for me.  It's often fine - I'm comfortable speaking with friends, family, and have even learned to have my say in groups, both large and small.  But there's something so reactive about talk. The mindfulness I've developed over the past year flies right out the window when I'm speaking with other people.  The cartoon "Zits" had a panel this week that illustrated what happens to my mindfulness in conversation.  In the panel, Jeremy, a sixteen year old high school student sits down to take a final exam and his brain jumps out of his skull.  That's me in conversation.

When I was in my early twenties, I worked at the Grand Canyon.  I vividly remember a spot, along the Bright Angel trail, where I could sit on a ledge, far enough off the trail to be alone.  I remember it being a mile or so down the trail and that was a mile both away from my life and into the earth. I'd only go there alone.  It was my haven.  It was quiet.  It was cozy. I'd sit for an hour or two (or more?) and recharge.  I always felt badly that I'd have to eventually leave and return to the rest of my life.  I've always remembered that place as a perfect spot and my time spent in it as perfect time.  The funny thing is, I went back to the Grand Canyon a few years ago.  I walked the first couple of miles of the Bright Angel trail looking for that spot and couldn't find it.  The Grand Canyon changes so slowly, that if that spot was there thirty years ago, it would have to be there now. In my mind's eye, I can even see the bend of the trail where it was. Maybe I missed it. Maybe I imagined it.  It doesn't really matter: only the feeling of finding peace matters.  The lesson for me for now, is that I was able to find peace through finding quiet time for myself.

This weekend I attempted a very brief silent retreat (at home!).  My family went away for the day, I stayed home and decided that since I was home with only the dog, he probably wouldn't miss my chatter and this was the perfect chance to do this.  I now understand doing a silent retreat without going to a retreat center: it's cheap, it's easy, there's no gas used, it's where I really am. I figured I'd have 13 hours of silence.  Rule 1: I would break my silence if I ran into any neighbors when walking the dog.  Rule 2: rule 1 was the only rule.  

Other than not speaking, I went about my business.  I tried to be mindful.  I found that my mind spent a lot of time on really trivial stuff. Really, really trivial stuff. Embarrassingly so. This was not unlike when I first started meditation, and the rest of my class seemed to be dealing with "deep" and "heavy" insights about themselves.  I learned that my thoughts are really pretty shallow.  Is this good? Does it mean I'm not neurotic? Is it bad? Does it mean I'm not smart? I dunno. It just is what it is. I decided to go with the flow and just observe all my banal thoughts. On the one hand, it was pretty funny to turn down the noise and see that what came through the static was....useless! From time to time I tried to listen to my mantra instead of this drivel, but I was mostly looking for the experience however it came to me, accepting each moment as it was, mundane as it was.

So, the more thoughtful (I hope) observations from the day: I now understand why people go on longer silent retreats.  I think that if the mind has a long enough time to listen to itself and empty all the goofy thoughts, it has a better chance of becoming still. I think the teachers that say that 95% or so of our thoughts are useless are totally correct (and in my case, that's a very conservative estimate - I'd say a good 99.99% of my thoughts that day were useless). 

It was a nice day. I forgot and spoke to the dog a couple of times. He was forgiving and relieved (I think). I think he thought my quiet was a bit strange. Aside from that, I made it through eleven hours until I ran into my neighbors. I enjoyed the experience even though I didn't get any nice new flannel shirts out of the deal. Next time though, I'd like to do it for longer and that may take a trip to a retreat center. 

From Mother Teresa

People are often unreasonable,

illogical and self-centered;

forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you

of selfish, ulterior motives;

be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some

false friends and some true enemies;

succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank

people may cheat you;

be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building,

someone could destroy overnight;

build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,

they may be jealous;

be happy anyway.

The good you do today,

people will often forget tomorrow;

do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it

may never be enough;

give the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis,

it is between you and God;

it was never between you and them

anyway.

Written by Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

I love this so much, it's on my refrigerator so I can see it every day.  Every day there's some challenge that this helps with.

Here's my attempt of a verse for a special friend:

If you try to open your students' minds,

Some will be afraid of what their children will do with 

new knowledge.

Open their minds anyway.

Support the teachers you know.  Especially the great ones. It takes a village to raise a child and we all know that villages are made of individuals of many different beliefs. I try to not be afraid, but I am afraid, very afraid of people who want to limit what children are taught to their own limited world views. No knowledge, no love, no acceptance, no peace. Know knowledge, know love, know acceptance, know peace.

If you can think of more verses for the Mother Theresa poem, please add them to comments.