My Experience at Zen Retreat

 This past weekend I had the opportunity to attend my first Zen retreat. I say, opportunity, because when you're a full-time mom going away for four days is a major production involving--but not limited to--overnight accommodations for children, transportation to child's various activities all over town, explanations and reassurances in three-year-old language that "Mommy still loves you" and "Mommy will be back soon", the packing of children's clothing, "blankies", snacks, summer workbooks, play scripts, computers/video games/portable gaming systems, and leaving the house in general order in the hope that it will retain some of this order upon returning. Anyway, you get the idea. (TheDarkLord wishes everyone to know that the house did maintain some semblance of order upon my return. This is his personal accomplishment.)

I had been to this particular retreat location before, in the Appalachian hills, at least 100 miles from the nearest Wal-mart. As I drive in, I am greeted by a resident (someone who lives at the location usually as a zen teacher) with a Korean name. And I'm assigned a room, a double, which I am to share with a stranger, in silence, for the four days. 

At zen retreat, silence is maintained beginning with the first sitting period and ending with the final sitting period on the last day. The exception to this of course is during work period when you can speak what is "necessary" for completing tasks--cooking, cleaning, yard work, etc.--with others. 

Initially, the idea of complete silence for four days was greatly intriguing. I mean, currently I live in a house with a preschooler and an ADHD elementary school student who compete with each other over how many times they can say "Mama!" in a single day. But after the first 24 hours, I was surprised to find it a little lonely. To meditate, and eat and sleep next to someone and have no dialogue with them. To know nothing about them, sometimes not even their name.

The general retreat schedule was as follows: 5:30 wake up (A shower was not an option for me at this hour, as I could not possibly be awake enough to be sure I wouldn't drown.); 6:00 thirty minutes of chanting, mostly in Korean, ten minuets of walking meditation, and thirty minutes of sitting, another ten minutes of walking, and another thirty minutes of sitting (all of this without coffee or a morsel of breakfast).

Finally, it's time for breakfast, and all 17 of us march from the temple to our nourishment in silence. Just the crunching of shoes on the path. The batting away of bugs (eeeeeeeeeenpt!) which have the propensity to kamikaze into my ear, mouth or eyes. Breakfast is another ritual. (There are several youtube videos on Oryoki, mindful eating, though none of them were quite like the one I experienced.) Essentially, you have four nesting bowls wrapped inside a napkin which serves as a sort of place mat, a spoon and chopsticks on top of this, and everything underneath your lap napkin. A small piece of paper on top, so you know which seat is yours, as no one can speak to tell you such a thing. 

I won't go into the entire ritual as the obsessive-compulsiveness of it might just bore you to death. I found the entire ritual both soothing and pointless. Yes, there is a certain dance to all of it, the sound of water poured from bowl to bowl, the clicking of the spoons, the silence as each participant finishes and falls still, the fact that you have washed your own bowl (with hot tea) by the completion of the ritual without ever having left your seat. But this, among some of the other rituals felt like something "extra" to me. More on that below.

After breakfast was a work period, followed by alternating sitting and walking periods, 30 and 10 minutes respectively, so that by lunch time I have logged 3 hours of cushion time just for the one day. Yes, my ass was hurting. Who ever said it was easy just sitting around all day?

Lunch was much the same as dinner. I should mention that the food was excellent! And you were permitted to take as much as you wanted "but not more than you can eat". At the first afternoon sitting, the zen master gave a talk, followed by interviews. Interviews are conducted during sitting meditation. Interviews, as I have been told, are a chance to ask questions and/or receive instruction about your practice. So, one by one, mediators left the temple and then returned. More on my interviews later. 

We had a rest period from 4:30 until dinner at 5:30, which consisted of leftovers from lunch and dinner. Nothing to sneeze at. The leftovers were better than any meal at my house! The meal was informal (though silent) and only a handful of individuals came. We ate in silence and washed the dishes in silence and turned the light off when we left.

The evening of course was another 90 minutes of chanting and sitting, followed by a hike back to our quarters in the pitch black. At 9:30, lights out. At which point, I'm not too proud to confess, I played Plants vs. Zombies until I fell asleep.

Overall Impressions

From my very first encounter with zen what I found attractive about it was it's simplicity. Zen teachs that you didn't need anything extra to attain enlightenment. That enlightenment can be attained now, today. (By enlightenment, I am thinking of satisfaction, and contentment with the self and the universe.) That rituals and ceremonies aren't necessary. The work of zen is done on the cushion. It is you and your thoughts, and nothing else. Or, as my favorite Kung Fu panda would say: there is no secret ingredient, it's just you. 


For me, then, the practice of zen is: when it's time to sit, I sit. When it's time to walk, I walk. When it's time to eat, drink or lay down, I do that. That is all. There is nothing more that is needed. Nothing extra.

Most of what I have learned about zen has come from books. One of the most insightful reads has been, and continues to be, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind by Shunryu Suzuki. A classic by many counts. He writes, 

"If you do something in the  spirit of non-achievement, there is a good quality in it. So just to do something without any particular effort is enough. When you make some special effort to achieve something, some excessive quality, some extra element is involved in it ... you should get rid of that something which is extra ... When you practice zazen, just practice zazen ... if something extra comes, you should try to stop it ... try not to achieve anything special. You already have everything."

It was all the extras, then, which I found incredibly distracting during retreat. To just sit, and just walk, and just eat, it seemed, wasn't enough.

Interviews With the Zen Master

I had two interviews with the zen master during my four days. And these short one-on-one sessions left me with a similar feeling as the retreat rituals. Unessential, useless, extra. It was not a bad experience by any means, and being my first time speaking with the man, I'm sure it would be difficult to give personalized instruction.

The impression I have is that interviews are a chance to ask "the master" or the teacher deep and profound questions about one's practice or the nature of reality or other zen paradoxes. But, again, for me, zen is quite simple. It's usefulness and beauty are based solely on that simplicity. And complicated discussions about how many bodhisattvas can stand on the head of a needle, seem more like mental gymnastics, a hierarchy of fools, than actual practical advice.

So, upon entering my interviews, I am always asked the same question: do I have any questions. And you've probably figured out by now that the answer has always been "no". There's a paradox for you, boys and girls. Now what is the zen master to do with me (who presumes to know everything) for the rest of the ten minute interview? After all, this is the main event, no? This is what we all came here for. 

I bear the zen master no ill will. He is an intelligent and kind soul, and I'm sure he has brought insight and comfort to many. But, truth be told, I walked away from my interviews thinking, What was the point of that? Did I miss something? 

To sum up ... while zen meditation may very well be a solid tool for focusing one's mind, gaining a clarity of oneself and situation, like everything else, it has carelessly bogged itself down with religion. It almost seems like there is some human compulsion to take a small grain of truth, a sincere moment of clarity and build up myths and ritual structures around it. As if without them, the truth might disappear! All conjecture of course. 

Bottom line: a total lack of simplicity at retreat was disrupting my zen!

Packing Up My History: How Personal Narratives Can Hold You Back

For the first week since February, I have failed to make a post. Circumstances have made it suddenly obligatory that TheLordofDarkness and I clean out the basement of our former house, which we had been using for storage. And said project monopolized all of my physical and mental energy for the week. Sadly, I have a few more weeks yet to go. 

So I descend to the cellar of my personal history and sort through all of the stuff I have accumulated in my adulthood, but don't actually use. Why do I keep this stuff? I suspect it has something to do with using physical objects to anchor my non-physical identity.

I am thinking of  "identity" as my personal narrative, the collection of my individual experiences, what makes me me and not you. These solid objects -- books, Strawberry Shortcake dolls I played with as a kid, my daughter's baby clothes, a picture that is too ugly to hang on the wall -- all of these are what make me special, unique. They point to an individual who is most definitely here.

And if I lose these "things" that make me me ... what will happen to me? Will I cease to exist? Of course not. But I feel this pulling (mine is in my stomach) when I hand over my "treasures" because there just isn't any room for them any more.

Things I Have Held On To

1. Dance clothes. These are the leotard, tights and shoes I danced in during undergrad. I took a ballet class partly for exercise and partly for nostalgia, remembering my long hours of dance class at the performing arts school I attended.
2. Grandfather's shirts. My grandfather had a particular style of dress from which he never varied: jeans, a long-sleeved flannel, cowboy boots and a large shinny belt buckle, donning the seal of the state of North Dakota. Nothing quite like sinking into his lap, his chuckle and the aroma of Lucky Strikes. 
3. Gymnastics uniform. Ah, yes. This is probably where the greatest pride of my youth lies. Tumbling, swinging, flying, chin high, sticking your flat chest out, proud as a peacock. This is my proudest me at my proudest moment.
4. Childhood Winnie-the-Pooh lamp. Somehow, hanging on to this feels like being that child again. Reading bedtime stories with my dad. Dreaming that I could be anything I wanted to be. When I look at this lamp, I think I would like to be that child again.
5. Religious artwork handmade by my aunt. This is a tough one. I feel bad giving it away as my aunt is a professional artist, and a particularly good one. But I will never hang it up in my house. I can't give it to another family member as they all have one exactly like it. Giving it away feels like betraying my family. So, it collects dust.
6. Textbooks. Containing a good portion of the knowledge I have accumulated, some of which I have rejected but am grateful to have learned nonetheless. I have fooled myself into thinking I will look at them again someday. 
   

   

   Damn those cute baby girl clothes!

7. Children's clothing. I have not yet given up on the idea of blessing humanity with yet another of my gorgeous offspring. However, truth be told, there are some baby clothes, like that pink baby dress with the lacy ruffles, that I will probably still hold onto long after the rest have been hauled off to Goodwill. I have dreams of my Dementia-ed self spending my nursing home days clinging to such relics, and gazing longingly over pictures of my angels. And, repeating it again the next day, as I will have forgotten the entire previous day.

So, I pack each of these pieces of myself away in boxes, and rent a storage unit to hold them until I can afford a residence capable of housing "all" of me.

I wonder if these bits of myself are holding me back from being the me that I right now. Am I fully able to let go of these narratives of myself? Some individuals are so attached to their material possessions, extensions of themselves, they could not possibly live without them. Am I like this? Am I enough right now, without all these trinkets?

A popular Zen teaching is that you have everything you need to be happy at this very moment, you only have to realize it. This teaching is sometimes illustrated using Magic Eye artwork. At first glance, the page is merely covered in seemingly random patches of color, shapes and lines, but once your eyes adjust, you see a 3D image of a whale, or a beach house, or a space ship. The 3D image was there even when you couldn't see it. It just took an adjustment of perspective. 

An adjustment of perspective, not a change of circumstances, is what I needed to see that I can be happy in this moment without anything extra. Without all my stuff. Just me is enough.

The Varieties of Spiritual Experience

Even from when I was very young, I always felt I had a sort of instinctual spirituality. My zealously religious mother drilled into me the existence of The One God. At night she read chapters of the Mosaic Law to put me to sleep. (There's an insomnia cure if I've ever heard one!)

It was easy to merge this indoctrination with my own natural spirituality as a child. I considered the two to be one in the same. It wasn't until my teen years, when my own sense of right and wrong started to rub against Biblical teaching, that I noticed anything was amiss. Still, I clung to my childhood teachings. At first, I separated "the church" from my sense of "god". But even that fell away, and more recently I have felt my own individual spirit soar, no longer tied to the doctrine of well-meaning, but hopelessly misunderstanding ancestors.

It is hard to explain what I mean by natural spirituality. It is a feeling of being connected to more than just your biological self. Some, I think, have a greater capacity for this experience than others, in the same way that some of us are better chefs or runners or drawers. Trying to fit this natural sense of spirit into Christianity only stifled it.

Any time I tried to express my ideas to someone "experienced" in the church, I received the sympathetic nod of "How cute" and "You have no idea what you're talking about". Of course I already knew that I knew what I was talking about. What I learned from them was that they had very little to teach me. They did very little thinking and spiritual feeling/experiencing themselves. Even the most "experienced" of church folk could do little more than point to chapter and verse to answer my quest-tions.

So, I left: spiritually, mentally and physically. It was scary at first to think that there was no spiritual light for me to look towards if I got lost. But there was yet another spiritual truth for me to discover, a golden nugget of truth:

The man who is ceaselessly questioning, who has no authority  who does not follow any tradition, any book or teacher, becomes a light unto himself. -J. Krishnamurti

And so I did. I became a light to myself. Not that I put myself up as some kind of authority. Not that I think I don't need anyone or that I'm better than anyone else. I greatly value the experience of others willing to share their experience (not their "knowledge" of the "truth", specifically "god's" truth from the Bible). I can decide for myself what is true or not about each experience.

The thing is, when I was seeped in religion, I was always seeking, but never really finding. Always repenting for sin, but never really feeling like I had arrived. Now, that I have let go of religion, I realize that I had everything I needed all along. Ironic. The search was over. There was never a need to search for what I already had.

[This] is all that matters -- your life, yourself, your pettiness, your shallowness, your brutality, your violence, your greed, your ambition, your daily agony and endless sorrow -- that is what you have to understand and nobody on earth or in heaven is going to save you from it but yourself. -J. Krishnamurti

(I realize this is only one spiritual experience and the title implies a "variety". This was more for the literary reference than to capture the effective content of the article. And thanks to William James for the borrowed title and spiritual insights.)

Evolution to Enilghtenment

I do not pretend to be a zen master or teacher. I use the term "enlightnment" here as general movement toward a more natural experience of living/existing. It occurs to me that so many individuals live miserably in the dark. There isn't one person who wouldn't grab paradise if it was offered to them. And, yet, there it is, everyday, going on right in front of them. Free for the experiencing.

A common zen comparision is the Magic Eye art. At first glance, the magice eye appears to be nothing more than an organization of random patches of color. But once your eyes focus in the right way, a 3D picture appears that you didn't see before. Paradise is the same way. Once you see reality with the correct perspective, you relaize you have been surrounded by paradise all along.

Meditation brought this progression of perspectives to me:

Everything is horrible

This worldview is hardlined focused on everything that is wrong with the world. You've seen these people, I'm sure. These are the individuals who are freaking out in public because they didn't get "extra pickle" or they're slamming their breaks in front of you because they perceived a personal slight when you cut them off. What a sad way to live, trying to make others miserable because they're miserable. Anger fuels more anger. This is their punishment, living in anger.

Everything is going to be okay

This belief settles for the understanding that while the state of the world may not be up to par, it will be someday. Typically, this is the view held by religious (or newly religious) people. While this is a definite improvement over the previous worldview. It still falls shorts. These individuals live in fear and anticipation of a better life. They are missing what is right in front of them.

Everything is okay

These individuals are often of the slightly more evolved religious persuasion. They have moved from understanding that "god" will take care of "his" creation, to "god" is taking care of things right now. The anticipation of a better life is removed. It is slightly less fearful and allows reality to exist as it is, without additional improvements.

Everything is

This worldview moves away from the perception that circumstances are "good" or "bad". Instead, things just are. They exist. Reality doesn't require labels: good, bad or okay. Take a deep breath. This is reality. It is. The removal of labels is the cessation of fear. Fear is the cognitive separation of what should be from what shouldn't. Not only can these individuals allow reality to exist as it is, but they don't even allow for the possibility for it to be anything other than what it is. 

Is

The removal of "everything" is the acknowledgement that the individual is not separate from the rest of reality. It is the understanding of non-duality. I am everything, and everything is me. Separateness between me and my lover, brother, stranger, inanimate objects is the illusion. The removal of illusion is the ultimate release from fear and anxiety. There is no separation between me and you because we are one. There is no jealousy. There is no suffering. 

Begging for Validation

I recently read a post on reddit's polyamory board about a woman who was upset that her long time boyfriend couldn't or wouldn't say "I love you". This bothered me though I couldn't pin down the reason right away. There's quite a bit to play with here, though I think the main rub is the way relationships are often used as self-validation.

Validation means to authenticate or prove. And self-validation is anything that authenticates the self or personal identity. There are any number of routes to self-validation. The usual line-up consisting of money, power, status, relationships, material possessions.

The dangerous side of using some "thing" for self-validation is the risk of losing the "thing" equates to losing the "self". This is how the ending of a job or a relationship can lead some individuals to total mental breakdown. It explains why others will remain in a crumbling or even abusive relationship long past the expiration date.

Since opening my life and relationships to polyamory, I have notice a drastic change in the way I relate to everyone, but especially my intimate partners. In the past, including when I got married ten years ago, I used my relationships as a means of proving to the world and to myself that I was worthwhile. Maybe even something special. (Fighting off the middle school demons who told me I was too weird, tomboyish, and ugly to have a boyfriend.)

I don't credit polyamory entirely for my change in perspective. Zen meditation and the practice of non-attachment were a big part of it as well. Attachment is the Buddhist principle of binding oneself to objects or concepts. Non-attachment is the release of that binding, including the attachment to one's own identity or ego.

Without the need for validation, I approach my intimate relationships without actually needing anything from them. I can appreciate my partners and what they offer without wanting more (or less). Each partner's unique form of love is beautiful in it's own way. And it's more than I could ask for. It makes no difference at all if our relationship or their method of loving matches some outside measuring stick of relationships, including when to say those three little words. 

Religion too is a form of validation. (I do not think of Zen as a religion, but a philosophy.) Being raised (and entrenched) in Christianity, it felt as though I was always looking outward at events and people for confirmation, or "signs". God was the source of my identity. This is why it can be so impossible for religious people to break away even when faced with solid evidence. The loss of religion is a loss of self. 

Religion, relationships and everything else will always prove inadequate as self-validators. It is my own "self" that I must confront and accept ... and validate. Not in a superior way, but in a compassionate way that doesn't hide or ignore what others might shun. 

And that is all that matters- your life, yourself, your pettiness, your shallowness, your brutality, your violence, your greed, your ambition, your daily agony and endless sorrow- that is what you have to understand and nobody on earth or in heaven is going to save you from it but yourself. -J. Krishnamurti

The Source of Unhappiness

‘I am unhappy and I must be happy.’ In that very demand that I must be happy is unhappiness … When you demand an experience of truth or reality, that very demand is born out of your discontent with what is and therefore the demand creates the opposite. -J. Krishnamurti

Today as I felt incredibly unhappy, but instead of distracting myself with television or games, I sat quietly. My children ran around the place screaming, beating each other with weapons born out of miscellaneous household items, a pillow, a cardboard tube, Nerf guns.

What I notice is my incessant uneasiness at being unhappy. I do nothing about this. Why must I be happy?

My mind wants me to solve this problem. My natural inclination is to (1) identify the source of my unhappiness, and then (2) change my circumstances. I have finally reached a place in my self-journey where I can recognize these inclinations leading me down a dangerous road.

The source of my unhappiness

The truth is, unhappiness does not always have a source. Emotions float through our consciousness as they please. Sometimes they are triggered by a situation, but even these “terrible” events are often not as bad as they seem. Other times unhappiness comes to us like an unexpected guest.

Happiness comes to us the same way, but we don’t consciously notice it. We think we have a right to always feel this good. It’s not true. When happiness comes, we let it in. When it goes, we should let it go.

In the past, I had a tendency to blame my unhappiness on my partner. “I’m feeling bad because I’m lonely; you don’t pay enough attention to me.” “The messy house is putting me in a bad mood. Why don’t you clean up after yourself?” (If I had no partner at the time, I would blame my lack of a partner. “If I only had Prince Charming to make me feel better.”)

Changing my circumstances

Nagging my partner to change, shockingly, never made me feel better. At least not long term. Ultimately, the false change only caused discord in the relationship as my partner felt he needed to act counter intuitively.

When loving actions are given the space to flow on their own, I feel them deeper. I know they come from a place motivated by my partner’s feelings and reflective of my partner’s individuality. (Their unique brand love is why I want to be with my partners in the first place. No one can love me the way they do.) Every person must feel free to act in the loving matter most natural to them. Expectations outside of what feels right, only creates rifts between partners.

Recognizing that my bad mood has no source makes it illogical to change my circumstances in order to feel better. I have what I need. Even better, I have people who love me, and opportunities to expand and grow.

As Krishnamurti said, my unhappiness is born out of the false idea that I should or need to feel happy all the time. And I don’t. Truth is, I can just be. And appreciate the wonderful people around me.

Opting Out of Opinion

Sitting Upright No Matter What

Whatever appears
Sit upright in it,
Neither hoping
You can endure,

Nor fearing you can't.

Just sit upright with
Poise and grace.

And have no opinion
About your circumstances.

A student asked,
"How does one have no opinions about one's circumstances?"

Have no opinion there either.

-Zen Master Dae Gak from Upright with Poise and Grace 

I've recently been thinking about opinions, and how you don't always have to have one. Someone presents an argument or an issue, and everyone assumes you have to come down on one side or the other. But you don't. It's nice to just let your mind stay in that openness.

When I was a teenager I thought entirely in black and white. Mostly this originated from my Christian upbringing. Everything was either awesome (a blessing from God) or horrible (the devil is after me). Nothing could ever just be. 

Having no opinion isn't the same as not caring, though. Caring about the outcome and those affected by it is crucial. At times, I've felt obligated to have an opinion or takes sides on an issue. Not having the option of no opinion has pushed me, on occasion, to not care at all. Politics would be a good example of this. You can get that apathetic mindset and completely opt out.

If you allow your mind to just stay open but still care, without getting attached to one side or the outcome, it helps you stay engaged.

I've been feeling a little guilty lately about not taking sides on the recent gay marriage issue. It's all people are talking about on Facebook. And I have lots of gay friends whom I love dearly. Not that I don't think everyone should have equal rights. I'm just not sure legalized marriage is the answer -- for anyone, not just gays. (A blog post for another day ...) And ultimately, I really have no opinion either way.

I certainly empathize with those who have had their rights denied to them because of sexual orientation, lifestyle choices, gender, race, age, the list goes on endlessly. However, the real problem here isn't the laws, it's the culture. It's the mindset and the paradigm of those making and enforcing the laws. All of my blessings and kudos to those solid souls who take this on as their role in this world.

I've decided that not having an opinion allows me as an individual to care for those who need it in the best way I know how, without getting caught up in sides and politics. I can relax into my life without having to "fight" for one cause or another. I've decided to display my platform, my beliefs, though my my life, my words, my actions, how I raise my children, how I treat others.

This is my subtle way of changing hearts and minds to a way of existing that doesn't need laws to tell people the right way to treat each other. Sitting upright with poise and grace, as the Zen master says.