Constant Parade of Attachments

Taste It

2009-10-11T21:44:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd revive this dead blog with some quotes and paraphrases from my meditation classes that for some reason or another resonated with me. I call it: "things i underlined in class tonight"

We're like dogs, we wolf down the Dharma and look for more, but we never tasted it, we never savored it.

What else is going to solve the problems of our life other than training our mind?

It is impossible to fix our mental pain without training our mind.

Instead of feeling we're a victim of life, we transform the garbage of our life, like recycling.

Unfortunate

2009-03-09T19:03:00.000-07:00

Generalities.

Generally, I don't end a relationship, the other person does.
Generally, I'm disappointed that the relationship ends, even in the exceptions that I ended the relationship.
Generally, I make friends with the women I've dated.
Generally, there's an awkward phase in the friendship, where I'm overly flirtatious and familiar.
Generally, the other person will meet someone new before I do.
Generally, we drift apart, but stay in sporadic touch.

I'm on the fourth generality right now with a friend of mine. This year, I started to make an effort to ask my friends to do things with me, instead of doing them on my own or not doing them at all, as a result we started hanging out a bit more often than we had been before, more often even then when we dated.

Often enough that my mind would wander and wonder what it would be like if we were together.

I never really dropped my flirtatiousness when we became friends. But the inside jokes and innuendoes started to flow more freely from my lips of late. Enough so that I apologized for it. I explained she was in the unfortunate position of being the last girl I was in a relationship with. I joked that I needed to start dating someone new soon before I cross a line and ruin our friendship.

Part of me wonders if I'm closer to that line than I think sometimes.

I realized later, that my solution to being inappropriately horny towards one friend, shouldn't be to make a new friend, it should be to control the attachment that's leading me to make an ass of myself.

I'm sure it's no coincidence that these lapses in willpower synchronize with my lack of a structured meditation practice.

It's refuge practice, am I seeking refuge in other people? or refuge in my meditation practice? Right now it's obvious, I'm seeking refuge in people.

When my meditation practice was strong, I didn't find myself daydreaming of rekindling a failed relationship, I wasn't searching for a new person to fill a void, sex was not my go to topic in any given conversation. Well, those parts of me weren't entirely gone necessarily, but they were under control at least.

So far I haven't ruined the friendship by being a doofus, but I'm pretty sure I was a better friend when I had more control over my mind. I need to gain control over my mind. I don't want the last generality to come to pass yet.

Slow Down

2009-02-21T23:21:00.000-08:00

Tonight I went to see Medicine for Melancholy by myself, kind of fitting.

As I got out of my car I noticed a girl in a beige station wagon pull into the spot across from mine, she was holding her parking garage ticket in her mouth.

I pushed the button for the elevator, she was a few steps behind me, but the elevator closer to her *ding*ed first, so I was a few steps behind her into the lift.

She was cute, she had a medium long light brown coat on over a blue skirt, and patterned Keds. For some reason her calves and ankles grabbed my attention. She was tiny, but her legs were soft, curvy.

I awkwardly pulled my hand from my jacket pocket and put it in my pants pocket, but I'd forgotten I was wearing pants with shallow pockets, so it just felt weird. I was too self conscious of my fidgeting next to her in an elevator to move again.

Out of the elevator she stopped at the ATM, so I walked passed and up the steps to the theater.

As I bought my ticket she stepped up behind me, I heard her say "one for Medicine for Melancholy," I thought about the two of us going to see the movie alone, about how cute it would be to meet a girl at a movie about two strangers meeting.

Inside the theater I stopped for a sip a the water fountain, she stopped at the concession stand. The ticket taker said the filmmaker and actors would be in the theater for a Q&A after the show, a lucky night to see the flick I thought.

My chair was squeaky, I took off my coat when the cute girl from the parking lot sat across the isle from me, I was suddenly very self conscious in how I was tangling my arms in my coat.

I tried to casually glance, fleeting eye contact, she had a bright green vest on, her head was leaning on her hand, effectively putting a wall between us, so I stared intently at my yellow scarf. I thought about saying hi across the isle. Then I thought it would be better to talk after the film, maybe on the elevator down, ask what she thought. If I got down to my car before her, I wondered if I could leave her a note under her windshield wiper, signed "the boy across the isle."

She could be the first girl outside the internet I ask out on a date.

The movie was charming, it was refreshing to see a lot of themes and characters I'd never seen on screen before. I found myself wanting more dialogue cause the chemistry between the two leads was so strong, I felt like they leaned on "music montage" as a device too often, but at the same time, the soundtrack was great and the montages were exquisitely shot and edited.

Wyatt Cenac joined the growing group of actors I adore because I think they look like Buster Keaton.

Afterwards the filmmaker and cast had a nice Q&A after, there was only one "what camera did you use" question, the rest actually brought some insight into the writing, the politics, the acting. I spent most of the Q&A building up the courage to ask something, at one point I notice my heartbeat had gotten very loud just at the thought of speaking. I did raise my hand in the end, and asked about the sporadic dialogue and use of nonverbal interaction.

The filmmaker Barry Jenkins said since he was trying to show the life of a relationship compressed into twenty-four hours and how he wanted to reflect how we don't spend our whole life talking. The answer made me feel a little better about wanting more dialogue.

And then we left. I got up first, from the corner of my eye I saw the girl across the isle gather her coat.

Up the isle, into the foyer, the exit doors were locked, so I went to leave through the entrance. At the stairs I thought "you're walking too fast, slow down, you'll be driving off before she's even got her coat on."

I didn't slow down.

"What's your hurry? It's not like you can wait for her, you have to cross paths naturally."

Maybe if I stopped to pay my parking ticket at the machine she would appear behind me.

I shared an elevator with a janitor and well dressed man.

"Maybe you can leave a cute note."

"Why did you walk so fast?"

As I walked to my car I looked to where her car was parked, but I didn't see it. She hadn't beaten me down, but I could have sworn she'd driven an old beige station wagon, there was no such car. Which car was hers? Not the Mini, the Jetta?

I started to wonder about perception and memory and how things aren't always what they seem. Why did I remember an old beige station wagon? As I pulled out of my parking spot I saw her step out of the elevator, I felt my foot tap the breaks.

I circled around to the exit and saw her get in the white Jetta. I felt my foot on the breaks again, like I would stop my car and knock on her window, like that wouldn't be the most terrifying thing a person could do.

Maybe she would be behind me driving up to the gate, maybe I could talk to her from car window to car window.

She wasn't behind me at the gate, she wasn't behind me at the exit ramp, she wasn't behind me when I finally turned back onto Sunset Blvd. That didn't stop my eyes from noticing every white car in my rear view mirror all the way home.

The scene played in my head, "what did you think of the movie?"

"I was going to go to Mashti Malone's for ice cream, care to join me?"

Earlier today, my teacher said it was interesting that I was experiencing attachment while teaching on attachment to my students, like it was obviously a lesson I needed to hear myself. Funny that she reminded me of that today, before I found myself following another float down the parade route.

As I drove home I remembered something I wanted to say to my students on Tuesday, that we get attached to people because we focus on their good qualities until we exaggerate them and create a person who doesn't exist, then we forget that they're a person, a person trying to find their own happiness, a person trying to get through their own life and their own problems.

So I said that to myself. At the same time I imagined writing a medicinal melancholic missed connection on craigslist. Then I remembered how I misremembered her car, and started to wonder if I could even describe the girl, was it a blue skirt or a blue dress? A green vest or a green scarf? Her coat was yellow, no brown. Was she brunette or ginger? She was wearing a knit cap wasn't she? I thought she was.

As I tried to create an image in my head she began to disappear. A teaching on emptiness, the woman I saw didn't exist to begin with because I was grasping at my perception of her, and my perception was mistaken. A few brief glances and I'd already created an imaginary person, had an imaginary conversation and gone out for imaginary ice cream.

Empty.

Teachers

2009-02-07T21:26:00.000-08:00

One of these stories has been on my mind lately, the other I just found randomly while searching for something entirely unrelated.

Pilot Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger who landed the plane in the Hudson was thoughtful enough to contact his local library to explain the book he'd borrowed was in the hull of the sunken plane.

Such a simple thing, but it showed such an awareness. Also: ironic book topics, how I adore you. [thanks to Kate for finding this]

Julio Diaz, when a mugger pulled a knife on him on the subway platform, gladly gave his wallet, offered the kid his coat and treated him to a meal.

When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you."

The teen "didn't even think about it" and returned the wallet, Diaz says. "I gave him $20 ... I figure maybe it'll help him. I don't know."

Diaz says he asked for something in return — the teen's knife — "and he gave it to me."

Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, "You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch."

"I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world."

Once in class we were told about a monk in England, who was held at knife point at a train stop after a soccer game, the attacker said "give me a reason not to kill you," and the monk replied "because you have a kind heart." The guy let him go.

Ever since I heard that story I always wondered what I would do when faced with that kind of situation. I imagine I'd be able to hand over my wallet and keys, but perhaps not as calmly as in my fantasies. To take it a step further like Julio, to not just give freely, but offer more, offer real help, that's a Bodhisattva action.

Thai Try

2009-02-07T20:11:00.000-08:00

One afternoon last fall I was at my favorite Saturday night comfort food place, waiting for my carry out.

There were two other people at two other tables, a boy with a book and a girl with a dog. Both were my age, both were cute, him in a flannel and a bit'o'fluff'scruff do and her in casual t'n'jeans and long dark curls. I was getting my weekly fix of the Onion in print. Between the three of us we encapsulated most twenties-ish dorks. I can't remember if I rode my Vespa that day.

The waitress brought long dark curls her meal, the girl hesitated with her fork, "you wanna try it?" she asked fluff'n'scruff.

The boy only took his eyes off the book for a moment, "no thanks you go on."

Her shoulders dropped slightly, and she pushed her food around once before eating.

I imagined awkward small talk between them before I arrived, something about his book, something about her dog. When the waitress took their orders I gather he must have said something, "I always wanted to try that," something that would have gave her the courage to try and start a new conversation by offering him a bite.

Courageous was the first thing that came to my mind. The bravery she demonstrated to try to break the deafening silence and connect to a person beside her, whether flirting or friendly.

Heartbroken was the second thing that came to mind. I could count the number of times I've initiated talking to strangers in my life without taking off my shoes. They all ended in a similar limp rejection. It takes all my energy and courage to start one conversation, if that doesn't take then I'm done for.

I don't know if she was actually disappointed or depressed by the abbreviation of their meet cute. I'm nothing if not a projector of the world around me. I know if it were me, the scene would have played in a loop in my mind, not always to kick myself, sometimes to fantasize an alternate ending.

Part of me wanted to give her a hug, but that's coddling. What I really wanted to do is shake her hand and say how impressed and inspired I was by her effort.

She tried.

Which is more than I do most days. These days I avoid any situation where I might even come into contact with strangers. Last night was the first time I'd been in my favorite comic book shop in months. Even in the safety of the meditation center, I only talk to the people I know comfortably.

But months later I still remember this girl's small effort, and I want to be like that. Ultimately, I want to be like my dad, who can talk to anyone, about anything, in any situation, but lets not get ahead of ourselves.

Date

2008-10-11T01:41:00.000-07:00

Of course, coming back from a wedding, depressed and lonely, I find myself on a dating website again.

I still haven't reconciled Buddhism and dating. The ability to create happiness from within, versus the deluded desires to find happiness and wholeness in another person. If I accept that there is no external happiness, why am I dating? But Buddhism doesn't mean you live alone the rest of your life. Even Buddha had a wife and child. And I know Buddhism is an internal path, which means the external path doesn't matter, whether I'm single or with someone, it's my mind that matters. There's nothing inherent about being single or in a relationship, nothing inherently good or bad about either.

When I brought his question up during a Valentine's day class, the teacher said that even though we need to train on fighting our attachments and equalizing our love for others, that the act of dating doesn't have to mean judgment and rejection if we're training our mind in love and compassion. Equalizing our love for others doesn't mean that our choice of partner is meaningless either. Our Karmic connections to people can create all kinds of opportunities for our practice.

I sent two messages to two women. one responded, so I sent a second message, no response to that yet. My mind is quick to write it off as another silent rejection, I can hear my delusions pounding at the gate. I don't' know what I'm doing. I don't know what I expect from all this. I don't know what the point is.

Cycle

2008-10-11T00:59:00.001-07:00

I rode my bike to work today, as I do most Fridays now.

I had overtime. Leaving work after dark I decided, instead of riding through the neighborhood side streets, I would just take the straight shot home down Santa Monica. It's better lit and at 8:30pm, not so heavily trafficked as during rush hour.

Turning the corner from my work, the light was red. I pulled up to the light in the middle of the right lane. I don't know why I took the middle of the lane. Maybe I was emboldened by my Vespa driving, maybe it's because the right lane side of Santa Monica is a mess, maybe it's because there were cars parked on the street ahead and I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to get pushed into them while riding along side a car.

An SUV pulled up in the lane beside me and a woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and proceeded to scold me for sitting in the middle of the lane.

I was caught completely off guard by such animosity from a stranger.

I fumbled in response, apologizing and saying the my lane ended up ahead. What I meant was that there were parked cars on the right up ahead and I was going to have to own the lane for a bit until I passed them. She made sure to point out that there is no bicycle lane, I confirmed as much and then the light turned green and they were gone.

Physically gone at least. Because I couldn't shake her from my mind the rest of the ride home. Why was she so angry with me? What happened to her that she sees a cyclist trying to ride safely at night, and just fills with rage?

During the half hour ride, I went from shock, to upset, to depressed, to wanting to cry, to needing to pee, to feeling sorry for her and her anger, to saying mantras to try to calm my mind. I tried to feel love and compassion, but fear, embarrassment and anger were stronger.

I must have cycled through a hundred witty retorts, articulate responses, and angry retaliations. Playing the scenario back over and over, like a crazy person.

I tried to remember that we have no way of knowing if a person we meet is actually a person, or an emanation of a Buddha. I tried to figure out what a Buddha would be teaching me through this angry woman. The faults of anger? My own awareness as a selfish bike rider taking a whole lane? Testing to see if I could hold love for someone being mean to me? A lesson in privilege, showing me what it's like for less fortunate people, who are faced with random irrational anger every day?

I wondered what causes I'd created in the past. I wondered about my depression ripening negative seeds. I thought about how chilling her expression was, how our delusions manipulate us until we don't see the living being in front of us as anything relatable. I found myself wanting to sit down with her and tell her about my day, just so she would see me as human.

She didn't see me as human, she saw me as a mara, a demon blocking a lane with its bicycle.

If I had more wisdom, I would have known what to say, if I had more patient acceptance, I wouldn't have been shocked or upset, if I had more love and compassion I wouldn't have gotten angry.

Depression Kills

2008-10-11T00:44:00.000-07:00

As someone who's been depressed for the majority of his adult life, I know the warning signs.

In college it was facial hair, the random desire to grow my beard even though my facial hair is ridiculous. I stopped that symptom after I left school. Now a days it's mostly the cleanliness of my apartment.

The amount of grime in my bathtub, the pile of papers on my desk, the number of dishes in my sink.

In two weeks I let the dishes get out of hand. A few days ago I realized things went too far when I found fruit flies.

I immediately pulled the dishes out of the sink and washed them one by one, trying to keep water from splashing on the circling flies. Some washed down the drain. I said mantras.

I had the thought, "this is how my depression effects others." Sometimes my delusions convince me that it's ok, cause the only one I'm hurting is me, but that's not true.

I'm passive aggressive to my friends. I snap at my workmates. I allow the causes and conditions of my sink to breed fruit flies that I then kill. The state of my mind effects the world around me in very direct, tangible ways. I need to remember that.

Daily

2008-10-11T00:20:00.000-07:00

Since I got back from Florida I've had trouble going to sleep at a reasonable hour. Every night I find myself awake at one or two in the morning. And every morning when I get up for work I find myself sleeping an extra half hour and moving so slowly that I have no time to do my daily practice.

We're often reminded in class, that we follow our desires. If my desire to meditate was stronger than my desire to stay up late, it would be easier to have a restful night and wake up eager to practice.

In class Tuesday I was talking about this with my discussion partner. My wish to meditate starts the night before, when I prepare my body and mind by allowing myself enough time to rest. Staying up late, following attachments, is like driving through a bad neighborhood in my mind. Fighting my delusions is hard enough when I'm rested and meditating daily. The difficulty multiplies when I'm sleepy and not practicing.

The classes I go to act as mountains of virtuous thought in my week. Two on Sunday and another on Tuesday or Wednesday. The valleys between classes is my mind forgetting the Dharma, my delusions trying to drag me back to ordinary thought.

When I'm practicing daily, the valleys aren't so deep, but without my practice they can become an abyss.

My discussion partner asked if I was teaching, then said I should be a teacher. It's an amazing compliment, one I'm trying not to be so scared of when I hear it. I know teaching is a way to help others, but I don't feel ready. Ready for the additional commitments I guess, because the actual act of speaking Dharma to others I enjoy. When I'm talking about Dharma I actually feel confident, not in myself necessarily, but in what I'm saying.

I guess that's faith.

Sometimes I feel bad though, speaking Dharma that I'm not actively practicing sometimes. I guess all teachers teach while they're still battling their delusions. But the act of teaching it helps me remember to practice it. And even if I'm a screw up, the teachings are still helpful.

I need to reintegrate formal meditation into my morning routine. This weekend I need to change my nightly habits. It's almost 1am as I write this, I'm off to a poor start.

Rejoicing / Jealousy

2008-10-10T23:27:00.000-07:00

I've been wrestling a bout of loneliness and depression lately. A stronger wave than I've had to fight lately.

The waves have been getting stronger all summer as I allowed my daily practice to collapse. They washed over me two weeks ago at a wedding.

It was at a resort in Florida. There were so many couples, some there for the wedding, some there for other weddings, some just there.

I tried to remember rejoicing but my sincerity wasn't very firm. I wasn't the only single person there, but I found it hard to hold onto my compassion for them.

There was a cute girl on the bride's side, she was there alone. I debated dancing with her most of the reception. Anxiety kept me away. She left early, probably because she had no one to talk to or dance with. Then I felt guilty for letting my delusions hold me back from helping someone have a more enjoyable evening.

On the way home from Florida I had a layover in Texas and an opportunity to see a friend who's having her first child with her boyfriend.

My delusions in Florida, poking at me as every couple walked by, robbed me of some of my strength, strength I was depending on to allow myself to see my pregnant friend and not feel lonely. Luckily, the kindness and love of my friend energized me some.

But by the time I was back on the plane for the second leg of my flight, I was pretty emotionally tired. The passenger next to me sat in his seat with his arms in a very wide stance. To avoid his elbow in my side I had to lean against the window. It forced me to face my delusions a bit, holding love for someone instead of seeing them as a source of discomfort. My mind cycled through the list, anger, sadness, jealousy, depression. I tried to remember the meditation to become like wood or stone, an inanimate object that cannot engage delusions.

My refuge was weak. I turned to my iPod and a game of Tetris to stop my mind from spiraling. A make shift band aid.

Kindness

2008-09-18T23:07:00.001-07:00

A workmate left the job this week. As she was giving her hugs goodbye she took a moment to thank me for my kindness, that she wouldn't forget it. I'd forgotten.

I'd forgotten the importance of kindness. Work minutia had taken over my mind in the last month, making meaningless things seem of the utmost importance. I'd forgotten that that's not the point. The point is to be kind and help others while you're there. The job will change, the job will be whatever it is, what doesn't change is helping others.

What she said gave me an enormous boost of energy. That was her kindness in return. A huge lesson that stuck with me the rest of the day. That's how changing your mind effects the world around you. Simple acts of kindness can carry such immense power and we forget that. We forget that it's our real job.

Blind

2008-09-14T22:54:00.000-07:00

Two days after the worst train crash in fifteen years, I was walking back to my scooter after lunch. There was a man who asked for change, I obliged, but before I could be on my way he engaged me in conversation. Not really conversation, he was talking at me more than to me, telling me about his mother, his cousin, his childhood, his skin color, his heritage, his language.

I nodded as the conversation wasn't one to respond to otherwise. He had things he wanted to say, things on his mind, and I was there.

At one point he mentioned the train crash, and I realized I hadn't thought about it at all that day. Here was a man, possibly homeless, with a less than firm grip on the world around him, but he was thinking about the train wreck, and I wasn't.

I didn't fully grasp this point at first. Eventually he let go of my hand and wrapped up his conversation and we parted ways. I went to class, mentioned the man to the nun and she reminded me to say compassion mantras for those in need. She then went on to give a class on compassion. In that class she mentioned our desire to ignore other's suffering, block it out because we can't bear to look. She mentioned the train crash.

That's when it hit me. It was an enormous reminder that when you're training your mind, everyone and everything becomes a teacher, if you're listening with Dharma. Talking to the man, I wasn't listening with Dharma, so when he mentioned the train crash, I didn't hear him in the sense of suffering and compassion, I heard him in the sense of a current event, "oh yeah, the train crash."

It didn't move my mind when he said it, because I wasn't actively engaging my mind. I was passively going through my day, not looking for teaching because I wasn't in a class room, forgetting that my mind is the class room.

Expectation

2008-09-13T01:22:00.001-07:00

Tonight, I went to the movies alone. I rode my scooter to the theater. After the movie, I expected to hop back on my scooter and ride home. But as I left the theater, I bumped into someone I knew. She actually recognized me first, it took me a second. We talked, but I was in a daze, some from the post-movie buzz, but mostly due to my expectation.

It's interesting how much expectation guides us through our lives. I don't know how coherent I was in the conversation, I was kind of flustered, then I got shy and I don't know. I wasn't expecting to talk to anyone tonight besides the box office attendant and the ticket taker, so I didn't know what to say.

While awkwardly talking to my friend she asked if the scooter on the street was mine. There were actually two scooters on the street, so I pointed out mine. At the same time the owner of the other scooter walked up, "are you the Allstate owner?" Now I had two conversations I hadn't expected. I awkwardly said goodbye to my friend and went to my scooter. The fellow scooterer and I exchanged small talk about our Vespas. I was familiar with this kind of shop talk cause I experienced it quite a bit when I had my classic convertible. But again, I wasn't expecting to talk to anyone so it wasn't a very smooth conversation.

We parted ways, he scooted right and I scooted left.

It was the first time I'd ridden my scooter at night. Everything felt different and weird, partly due to the novelty of seeing the world from a perspective I'd never known (on a scooter at night), and partly due to engaging in two very short conversations that threw me for a loop simply because I wasn't expecting them.

It got me thinking about the imaginary tracks we lay out in our mind for our lives to follow. Not just routines, paths we follow over and over, but even in less routine moments we expect things to follow more or less what we imagine: I'm going to get up from my seat, walk out of the theater, get on my scooter, drive home. The simple act of two people talking to me for a brief period served as proof that my mind is not prepared, it's not fluid and flexible, it's very rigidly following my expectations and when forced to leave the expected path, it doesn't know what to do.

Buddhism is about giving up expectations, happily and wholeheartedly accepting things with no desire for them to be other than what they are. It's freeing, by not expecting anything, you're ready for anything. Riding home I imagined how my teachers would have handled such an interaction. Not only would they not have gotten flustered when surprised by conversation, they probably would have been able to make both conversations meaningful in some way, no matter how short. Their minds are loose enough to allow them room for improvisation. I aspire to be like that, to not have fear when faced with the unexpected.

Film

2008-09-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

Going to Paris soon, I've been thinking about a camera to take. I have my digital camera, but I was thinking about film cameras as well. One of my workmates is a film person and the bug sort of bit me.

I can feel the old collector in me, trying to convince me to buy silly things that don't work. Everyone who knows me knows I'm form over function.

If I want to take a few film cameras to Paris I can go to Urban Outfitters and buy a few plastic ones for less than $50. Instead I'm on eBay, looking at vintage Russian cameras and old Pentax and Polaroid collections, potentially spending hundreds, as if I have hundreds to spend.

Don't know why my digital camera won't do. It's lost it's novelty? Desire for the spontaneity of film? I already made up an excuse for my workmates, saying "what if I fill up my memory card," as if they don't sell those in Paris, as if I've ever filled my memory card up ever, as if an extra one wouldn't be three times as cheap as new cameras.

Something romantic about film in Paris. Attachment to romance, I'll meet that one a lot during this trip.

Work

2008-09-11T19:01:00.000-07:00

Lots going on at work lately. New managers, new organizational structures, new work flows, new employees. It's easy to get swept up in the insecurity that comes when things get juggled around. I try not to feed it but sometimes I find myself talking about the new elements in my company.

Something Gen-la said this week about divisive speech, I keep remembering it cause I know I'm guilty of it. Talking to one person about another in a negative way, creating a wedge between the other two people with my speech. It's an easy trap to fall into at work cause it's so pervasive, most of what we talk about is each other and our fellow workmates.

I try not to let other people's divisive speech effect my opinion of someone, but I still need to stop saying negative things myself.

I might have to take on some responsibility for my department. I don't mind, I'm just nervous about doing the right thing, afraid my opinion for our department might just be mine and not everyone's. I was attached to my old boss' vision, that our department was this nice well oiled machine, self sufficient from the other departments. But I can see that not having a department head leaves us out of the loop and makes it harder for us to get things we need, whether it's equipment or raises.

Holding positions of authority also make me uncomfortable sometimes as I much prefer to just be a quiet, invisible helping hand.

I'm trying not to leap into anything too quickly, the new elements at my job have only been in place a week, I don't want to be too hasty in my critique, though as a workmate pointed out, when things are changing is the perfect time to speak up because you can fix things as their happening, instead of letting flaws slip into the foundation.

The other divisive speech I've heard a lot of is political, another trap I avoid but fall into occasionally. Listening to other people debate things, it's easy to see how politics make us blind to the person in front of us, relating to their opinions as if they were the person. Grouping people into inhuman stereotypes. It makes me frustrated to hear millions of people dismissed for their political/spiritual ideologies.

I didn't realize one coworker had a wish to go to one of Gen-la's public talks. She asked me to sum it up, it took me a moment to formulate thoughts and dig up some helpful tidbits. I want to get to the point where Dharma advice just flows out of my heart. At the same time my laziness has destroyed my daily practice and some aversion is creeping towards the start of classes on Sunday. Gen-la made another point about the joyful path and joyous effort. My practice shouldn't be a chore, I need to find that happy motivation again. I lost it this summer.

Loneliness

2008-09-05T19:25:00.000-07:00

My attachment to companionship is probably my strongest. I guess it's always been. I cry as much when I watch Snoopy Come Home now as when I was a kid. I mentioned it in a previous post on schedules that the hardest setbacks to overcome are the ones that leave me alone, even if it's just for a few minutes longer.

When I wrote that out, I began to notice it more in my mind. Before I would say I was attached to the plan, but the truth is, I don't really care much about changing plans if there's still another person around. The delusions that try to spiral me into depression always use loneliness as their main method of attack.

I know, because at the end of a bad day, if I'm stressed, upset, angry, the thing that always tips me over is the thought "and I'm alone." Which is often the silliest and most melodramatic thought, cause it doesn't really have anything to do with what was wrong at the moment and I'm not really alone. I have friends I see a few times a week, sometimes more, I have workmates I see five days a week, I have family members I talk to every weekend, I have internet friends I can chat with whenever I want. Add those minutes up in the day and I spend a lot more time with people than not, which is a pretty good ratio compared to others who suffer from loneliness.

Yet I read about people on Facebook or LiveJournal and I'm jealous of their community or their companionship. I can still get attached to someone enough to contemplate abandoning my life and buying a plane ticket.

I still connect the dots between happiness and other people. I've had pretty good Karma for understanding that things are not a source of happiness, but people is a much higher hurdle for me.

The irony is, when you understand people aren't a source of happiness and you let go of your attachment and fear of loneliness, it tends to make you more personable and likable and people tend to gravitate towards you.

On Schedule

2008-09-01T16:52:00.000-07:00

I still have strong attachment to time. Years in Santa Fe did a good job mellowing me out in some respects. I don't really expect mail to be on time anymore. Years in LA traffic means I don't really expect to drive anywhere swiftly. But when it comes to plans with friends. I still have trouble with time. I tend to arrive on time, or early. Despite being raised by a family that was rarely on time, having friends that were rarely on time, dates that were rarely on time. The majority of people I know in my life do not arrive early, they arrive late, but for some reason I've never adjusted for that. I still arrive at meeting places, wondering where people are, surprised that they're not there.

There's a quote attributed to Albert Einstein that says "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

This is the face of attachment. The expectation of different results. Arriving somewhere early and finding no one there, having plans changed, delayed cancelled. I shouldn't be surprised by things like this, I've had more than enough experience in this life to know things don't work out as they should.

I've also discovered the other attachments use my attachment to time to get their foot in the door. If I'm with someone, and something doesn't go according to plan, I keep a calm mind and go with the flow. If I'm alone, and the change of plan results in my being alone a little longer, that's when attachment kicks in. Loneliness pounces on that moment.

Loneliness, and my lack of faith. If I'm with someone, my practice is energized, if something goes wrong I know I can help by not contributing to the problem with delusions. But when I'm alone and things don't turn out right, I fail to see how being calm and peaceful is still helpful. Besides being a great deal of help for my sanity, I forget that the presence of another person is not necessary in my helping them. A lot of the mediations include people that aren't physically present. And if plans change, and I spend a night or a day or a week by myself, that doesn't mean I can't be benefitting others. It's hard to remember that sometimes. I get attached to physical interactions, sight sensation, sound sensation, I get attached to the reward, witnessing the benefit of my action, receiving thanks. That shouldn't be why I help, and my ability to help will be much stronger when I can let that attachment go.

Friendship

2008-09-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

A friend and I have a enjoyable disagreement on whether men and women can be friends without it leading to something else. She directs the question at me sometimes because almost all my friends are women and some of my friends are women I've dated or met through online dating services.

I had an opportunity to test it recently, helping a friend who I'd dated a few years ago, facing the attraction and flirtation that still lingers in some of our interactions. As a person who is rarely in a relationship, I'm pretty good at ignoring or putting aside feelings of attraction because I know attraction can be manipulated by loneliness and that can lead to poor judgement.

I also know friendship is important. Helping your friends is important. And generally, you're more helpful when you're not being a horny idiot.

That said, sometimes it's still hard.

(that's what she said)

(sorry)

Hope

2008-09-01T14:54:00.000-07:00

I guess there's a lot of it going around lately. At least it seems that way, listening to my friends and coworkers. Everyone is swept up in the possibilities of potential President Obama.

Four years ago I was pretty politically minded, I ate up everything Bush/Kerry all the way to the day. But after three years of meditation classes, I've stepped back from politics. I still vote, because I consider voting to be a responsibility of living where I live, but I no longer feel connected to the political process.

The messages in my classes are pretty simple, happiness comes from within, outside sources have no ability to give happiness or suffering beyond what we attribute to them. Politics are external, to think that happiness can come from politics is the same as thinking happiness can come from a cookie or a kiss.

Worse than a cookie or a kiss though, politics cause immense pain and suffering to the losing side. Even if the losing side benefits from the actions of the winning side, it's benefit tainted with bitter embarrassment.

A friend asked what I thought about McCain's VP announcement and I joked that I was afraid the Presidential race would be boring compared to primaries, since the primaries had both racism and sexism, but thanks to McCain, he brought sexism back into the game. (Not that sexism was gone when Hillary bowed out, there's plenty directed at first ladies.)

It didn't take long for my joke to come true, not even a day before sexist remarks and gender attacks on Palin began.

There are no right and wrong sides, no side better than the other. I listened to the DNC speeches this weekend, to understand what my friends and coworkers were getting excited over and to make sure I wasn't being flippant in my dismissal of their politics. There were some beautiful, passionate speeches, some sent chills down my spine. I even found Dharma in a few lines. Obama had a wonderful passage dismissing the "patriotic" tactics of both sides, admitting that John McCain loves this country as much as he does, a momentary glimpse of equanimity.

But even as I got swept up in the "hope" of it all, I knew all of it was external. Obama could end the war, give universal health care to everyone, lift the nation out of dept, wipe out poverty and homelessness, do everything that people say he could do, but that's not happiness. Those are beautiful things, Buddhism doesn't say we shouldn't have those things, it doesn't say we shouldn't try to make the world a better place, but it reminds us, that our happiness does not exist in the world, it exists in us. Whether Obama wins or loses doesn't matter, whether he can do any of the things people hope he can do doesn't matter. Even if he accomplishes everything people want him to, his accomplishments aren't permanent. Nothing is permanent. Society ebbs and flows, a shift towards one end of the political spectrum will eventually swing back to the other end of the political spectrum and so on and so forth.

Chances are, I'll vote for Nader. Not for any passionate reasons, though in my still politically active mind I agree with him more than other candidates, I simply think he could use my vote more than Obama or McCain, in the same way I thought Dennis Kucinich could use my vote more than Obama or Clinton during the primaries. California will go Democrat, so it doesn't really matter in that respect. I will be happy if Obama wins, I will be happy if McCain wins. My happiness is not in politics.

At the same time, I have to acknowledge that people are excited by what's happening in the political world right now. Groups of people who have never been represented like this in our history are being represented in this election. People who were cynical and bitter are hopeful. People are enjoying themselves. Just because I don't associate my happiness in the way they do doesn't mean I can dismiss their enjoyment. I should be actively engaging in their enjoyment.

Man on Wire

2008-08-30T14:36:00.001-07:00

Saw it yesterday afternoon, it made me cry for a few different reasons. The first was the kind of magical elegance of Philippe Petit on the wire, the footage of him at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine gives the appearance of a person flying, levitating, displaying miracle powers. It just seemed so unreal, but at the same time natural. The footage made me feel like I could fly.

The heavier tears came from Philippe's best friend at the time Jean-Louis and his girlfriend Annie. The stress of planning and executing the stunt ended Jean-Louis' friendship with Philippe and Annie knew that after the stunt he was entering a different time in his life and their relationship was over.

Jean-Louis can't even finish his interview without crying, crying for the old fear for his friend's safety, crying for a friendship lost, it's heartbreaking. Annie seems to have come to terms with what happened but it still doesn't make it any less sad.

It brought up all these feelings of attachment. Attachment to dreams and accomplishments, at the expense of friends and loved ones. Attachments to friends and loved ones, helping them down a path that will ultimately lead to their separation. I felt such a strong mix of love and attachment in Jean-Louis' tears, it brought to mind loss and how deep attachment goes.

Activism

2008-08-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

My obsession with Jezebel last year opened up a whole new world of social activism blogs and now sex, race and fat acceptance have become a part of my daily reading. There used to be some green/sustainability, politics and technology watchdog blogs in my regular rotation, but those just sort of got nudged off my plate when I found Jezebel.

A common thing I found in all of them though, and what makes me feel bad sometimes when I read them, is anger.

Lots of anger.

And very little acceptance.

I can get pretty engrossed in essays on social injustice and the sufferings of oppressed, abused people, but when it's over I often find more delusions than virtue in the author's words and especially the comments that follow.

It's hard to read, as I learn in meditation to have as much or more compassion for the aggressor as the victim. It points out a level of hypocrisy I never realized existed in the world. Responding to an angry world, with anger. I guess it's the longest existing hypocrisy.

Often the articles are written to inspire compassion for those being oppressed or discriminated against, but I try to remember compassion for the angry authors, compassion for the angry commentators. Bringing to light the sufferings of oppressed peoples brings me so much benefit, it opens my mind to the thorn bush that is Samsara, the ocean we're all drowning in, but then I find myself fighting with compassion and renunciation, my anger tries to grab hold of the anger of the author, the anger of the commentators, and uses the anger on the screen to pull me deeper into the thorn bush.

Sometimes I want to shout out, "don't you see! if you respond to suffering and aggression with love, compassion and patience you can defeat it! by responding with anger you're perpetuating that suffering forever!" Then I end up feeling sad and defeated.

I've kind of stepped away from comment sections because the shear amount of delusions on display makes it hard to keep my own delusions at bay. But sometimes, I find myself reading all day through 500+ comments on an article, in the hope of finding a handful of compassionate, kind, loving words. On my stronger days, I can rejoice in the fact that I always find at least one.

Concert

2008-08-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

Went to a few concerts this past weekend, visibility was poor at both. The first was Broken Social Scene at Sunset Junction, a stage that's not very tall, a street that's slanted and concert goers that averaged 5'10"+. The glitchy sound and technical disruptions made the poor visibility moot.

I got a plate of funnel cake as I do every year at the Junction. It was a good example of the suffering of change (what most people accept as external sources of happiness). I desired funnel cake, I ate funnel cake, a plate full was more than I could eat, but since I didn't want to throw it away I finished it. So my object of desire became a source of suffering via tummy ache.

As a lover of desserts and snacks I experience this lesson on worldly-happiness-as-the-suffering-of-change more often than I should. At least once a week at work I overindulge in snacks, or have a lunch that's too large. I'm much better with portion control than I used to be. I used to order way more than I could eat and then end up both overstuffed and wasteful of what I couldn't finish. Part of that came with the speed in which I eat. For a while I was able to slow down my pace of eating, but I've noticed in the last year I've sped back up again.

If I could remember to offer what I'm eating to Buddha, it would probably help me be more mindful of my eating habits, what I'm putting into my mouth and why.

[I should say I'm not referring to what I eat in any relation to "dieting" or "weight," but more observing my habits and realizing that I was experiencing a pattern of stomach aches (the suffering of change) because I wasn't paying attention to the process of eating or I was foolishly following desirous attachment.]

The second concert this weekend was Sondre Lerche at the Troubadour. We sat on the balcony, which I'd never done before, unless I was in the front row I'd probably never sit there again. For some reason, sitting above a stage, similar to sitting above a movie screen, causes me to disengage from the show, as opposed to sitting below the stage or screen, which seems to invite me in. Being in the second row made visibility pretty bad as well, constantly popping my head over one shoulder or the other of the persons in front of me.

After the opener my friend asked if I wanted to go downstairs or not, but she preferred the balcony. Her being shorter meant that, unless she could get to the front of the crowd, she probably wouldn't see. I decided to challenge the delusion that was causing me to get antsy and agitated by the view and the hard wooden seat and stay in the balcony.

I've gotten quite skilled in the last few years of blocking out the common annoyances of concerts and films, cell phones, talking, etc. I noticed though, that being able to see was part of my ability to focus and block out any unwanted distractions. Sondre put on an enjoyable show, which helped me get past my self centered mind. We stepped down from the balcony for the encore and Sondre played an unamplified version of Louis Armstrong's We Have All The Time In The World which is one of all time favorite songs from my favorite Bond film. Of course, since he decided to go without the speakers, it was incredibly hard to hear, especially since we were to the side and not in his projection. I kind of laughed to myself, thinking "this is how Samsara works," either our desires are not fulfilled, or when they are, we find fault in their execution and are left unsatisfied.

At both concerts I had moments of remembering taking and giving. I tried to imagine emanating light into the hearts of everyone around me. Sometimes at concerts I use the adrenaline of a well played song to inspire the meditation, but I know relying on the external is a crutch when I need to be able to generate the feeling myself.

Recently, in my nightly prayers, I try to feel a light in my heart that ignites in the hearts of everyone I'm praying for. I visualize a birds eye view of the city with lights popping up with every person I'm trying to bless. It feels deeper than my usual verbal blessings, but I know I shouldn't get caught up in visuals as they lack inherent existence.

It just occurred to me as I write this that sometimes what I call "taking and giving" is really just giving, cause sometimes I lose the visualization of taking on others sufferings in the form of black smoke. Maybe it's my attachment to the idea that "giving" is the fun part and "taking" is the hard part.

Inspiration and Rejection

2008-08-23T12:37:00.001-07:00

Last night Gen-la gave brief teachings from the summer festival. It was amazing how quickly and effortlessly my mind lightened after a summer of lazy bad habits trying to take hold. It was also amazing how quickly my mind tensed up when references were made to the Dorje controversy.

Whenever it comes up now it feels like a lasso that wraps around me and tries to pull me away, pull me away from my teacher, away from my center, away from my practice. My way of dealing with it this summer has been to step away. I haven't been doing the Dorje portion of Heart Jewel even though, despite my aversion to chanted prayers, I enjoy it, especially the inspiring portion where you get to shout out "now is the time." Actually I don't think you're actually supposed to shout, but I always get a rush of adrenaline during that part, it feels like I'm yelling "Shazam" and turning into Captain Marvel.

But something in the controversy has always felt wrong. I can't see any side I agree with and I don't see the Dharma in anyone's approach to the subject.

I guess I should focus on the non-Dorje portion of Gen-la's talk last night. Acceptance as the path to happiness, the definition of our lineage as the Three Dharmas (Kadam Lam-rim, Kadam Lojong training the mind and Mahamundra Tantra) and our wish-fulfilling jewel and our job, not to convert others, but to give them the option, offer the hand.

That led into a publicity meeting that I wanted to skip out on. It's another thing I have aversion for, even though I know it can bring great benefit and I've done it before, it's not that big a deal. I got put on the spot to go on a publicity run. I accepted, I'll do it, I'll probably even enjoy it, or at least not be bothered by it, but I still can't shake this underlying aversion.

Write

2008-08-22T02:02:00.000-07:00

Starting a few blogs this week brought up my attachment for creative and critical outlets. It's 2am right now and I've effectively sabotaged tomorrow by staying up too late writing.

For what purpose? At the moment I'm trying to resist telling anyone I even started these blogs because then it becomes a "thing" instead of just getting my ideas out through my fingertips. Why is it even important for me to get these ideas out? The hope that it will open a dialogue? Invite community? Or just attachment to the process of writing since my drawing attachment seems to be creatively blocked at the moment?

Downshift

2008-08-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

My Vespa is giving me lessons in impermanence. I tried to shift from second gear to third gear today and the gear shift cable broke, leaving me stranded in first gear.

Slowly and shirley I got to work going 4 miles per hour (maybe 8 downhill). I guess gear shift cables are a common repair in old Vespas. The repair man said I should pick up a manual and learn how to do it since it'll come up a few times a year.

It didn't bother me so much. As enjoyable as this experiment is, the finicky mechanicals and near death experiences have kept my attachment in check.

Going that slow reminded me that I could be riding my bicycle to work.

Break

2008-08-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

On my way home on my Vespa, a car crossed an intersection (no light, he had a stop sign) without seeing me. My back wheel squealed as I stopped which caused him to look up and give an "oh shit woops!" expression.

It was a nice reminder that I may die today.

And a nice reminder to use both my breaks to stop and my horn for people who don't see me.

Sometimes I worry that I'm unnecessarily putting my life in danger by owning a Vespa. While I shouldn't cherish my life or my body, I should remember it's value as a vessel for benefitting others. Is riding a scooter compromising the vow to not be reckless with my vessel?

Overtime

2008-08-20T17:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had plans after work to help my friend pack and go see the new Woody Allen movie.

After I got home from work, I sat down to dilly dally at the computer until she called. A few minutes later I was called back into work. A shot I had worked on was missing a piece of footage, frustrated at the prospect of returning to work, I couldn't articulate how they could find the missing footage without me.

Back at work less than an hour after I left, I found the missing footage, but realized the project my coworker was tackling was a cluster fuck and he could use some help problem solving.

So I stayed, and missed packing, dinner and the movie with my friend.

This upset me more than I expected. If my job is to help others, and my friend didn't mind that plans were canceled, why did it matter so much? Why did I get frustrated nearly to the point of crying?

I directed my anger at the fact that I had no work that day, I spent my time training, with no real, paid work to do, for 8 hours, only to be called back in to do 3 hours of overtime I could have done during the day.

The next day it was explained that the project didn't even get started until the end of the day, so my frustration and anger had no basis. I wouldn't have been able to work on the project during the day.

Attachment to the idea that my job is supposed to run smoothly, that plans are permanent, that things I enjoy doing (packing, eating, filmgoing, spending time with my friend) are inherently pleasant and that work and overtime are inherently unpleasant. A lack of compassion for my coworker, who stayed even later than I did, and actually had to deal with the cluster fuck project as opposed to me, who just popped in for a few hours to help.

I've been thinking about work a lot lately in relation to my practice. The majority of time I spend in my life is at work, so it should be the focus of my practice, loving others, helping others, patiently accepting suffering. My job isn't even that hard, and I enjoy it and the people I work with, so how come I rarely think about Dharma at work?