A Moment's Peace

"What you need, what we all need, is silence. Stop the noise in your mind in order for the wondrous sounds of life to be heard. Then you can begin to live your life authentically and deeply.” 

-- Thich Nhat Hahn

 

 "The quieter you become the more you can hear."

-- Ram Dass

I remember my dad yelling, angrily, demanding that we kids shut up so he could get some "peace and quiet!"  
"Damn it!" he screamed, "Just give me a moment's peace!" 

The threatening tone of his voice and likelihood of imminent violence usually did shut us up--at least for a few moments.    

Of course, kids will be kids.  There were times, that I just couldn't keep my mouth shut -- and the threat became a reality.

I ache now with the memory of his anguish and his anger -- and my own fear and pain.  I wish I knew then what I know now.  Having practiced meditation for decades, if I could pilot a time machine back through the decades, I'd gladly give him that moment's peace.  This time it would be done out of compassion not fear.  I could have sat in silence with him for a long, long time.  Perhaps, I would have been able to give him the peace he yearned for.

Gone Fishing...

Dad loved to fish.  

I remember the day I looked out the front window of our apartment and saw him silhouetted against the sun sparkles of the small lake we lived on.  Surrounded by sun sparkles and blue sky, Dad sat there in his beloved rowboat, fishing pole in hand,  a couple of hundred feet offshore.  He could sit like that, motionless, surrounded by the stillness of that lake for a long time, just peering at the red and white bobber.  He seemed at peace in those moments.  He'd often return to shore afterwards, seemingly in a good mood.  He appeared to be calmer, quieter, more content.  

Now, fifty years after his death, it is one of my strongest visual memories of him.

Yet, unfortunately those moments were not all that common.  My dad worked hard at the factory all day, and then, a single parent, he would prepare dinner before we kids would take over to do the dishes.  Beyond that, he was often in motion, keeping himself busy with other activities as well.  As well as parenting the three (sometimes four) of us, he was a union officer, an avid ham radio operator,  an active member of the Loyal Order of Moose, and a boy scout council commissioner.

Unfortunately, Dad suffered from hypertension, atherosclerosis, and cardiac disease.  Longevity wasn't his genetic strong suit.  His mother, Vera, had died at age 42.  His father, Harold,  had died of heart disease at age 57.  To make matters worse, Dad was also a longtime smoker.  And, as we saw above, stress management wasn't his forte.  Driven by his own demons, he lived "with gusto." He worked hard, played hard, and  was often uptight.  All too often -- especially if he saw "defiance" in our actions -- his violent temper would erupt into his words and actions.  

Perhaps predictably, Dad's health began to degrade in his 50's.  Finally, after a heart attack, two strokes, and uncontrollable high blood pressure, our family doctor advised dad to finally retire and "just go fishing."  At age 59, he did just that. He bought himself a camper and a trailer, and for much of final year and a half of his life, he traveled and fished from coast to coast.   

My heart glows with images of the moments of peace he may have experienced as he approached journey's end.
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Just Thinking...

"One can appreciate and celebrate each moment -- there is nothing more sacred. There is nothing more vast and absolute.  

In fact, there is nothing more. "

-- Pema Chödron, 

Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living

“Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. 

Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.” 

-- Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace

A Friend's Window, Rowe, MA

Mother Nature teased us this week.  

 

First, She whispered "springtime" in our ears for a couple of days. After weeks of weather that oscillated between sub-zero windchills and blizzards, the world warmed under a brilliant sun and blue skies, and our spirits soared with the temperatures into the low 70's.  This winter's thick blanket of snow began to melt.

 

Then, today, she blew it all away on the wings of a stiff west wind.  Outside the window, thick gray clouds promise another round of wintry precipitation.  Looking at my phone, I see that plummeting temperatures are forecast to hold sway again.  

 
Sitting here at the keyboard, my thinking mind, conditioned as it is, spins on.  It judges. It compares. It exaggerates.  It speculates.  The cascading storylines mostly emerge as some form of grieving the loss, bemoaning my fate, and ruing the future.   

 

Yet, within a few moments, I pause.  I remember that all this fretting and complaining is just another snow job.  Like a good con man, these thoughts create their own reality -- and steal from me the richness of the present moment.

Here and Now

When I stop typing, sit up a bit straighter, breathe fully, and come to my senses in the present moment everything shifts.  More fully Present, the world expands beyond the tunnel vision of my thoughts.  My heart opens to a clearer, calmer, more expansive quality of consciousness.  I feel the Presence of something vast, mysterious, meaningful.

 

Life now feels just fine.

 

Outside the window, the joyful melody of a cardinal's morning song rides along the surface of the silence. The wind howls and tree limbs dance.  There is even a luminescence to the grayness in the skies that is mirrored in the puddles than yesterday's sun had created.  

As I sit here typing, this seems to happen whenever I pause.   I'm wondering what would happen if you (yes, you!) would pause, right here and now, and bring some of your attention to the sensations sparking through your body, take a few full, deep breaths , then turn your attention to the sights and sounds around you before moving on to click: (READ MORE.)

Mindfulness, Meditation, and Mission

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love

will have the final word in reality... Man must evolve for all conflict 

a method that rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation.  

The foundation of such a method is love.” 

-- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“When we are mindful, deeply in touch with the present moment,
our understanding of what is going on deepens, and we begin to be
filled with acceptance, joy, peace and love.”
― Thích Nhất Hạnh

(I began working on this post last week, and life being life, it took me until now to get back to it. )

 

I awoke this morning stiff and sore, a bit out of sorts.  Even though Springtime is whispering in our ears, Mother Nature continues to hold on tight.  Here in Western Massachusetts, the world emerged from single digit temperatures overnight to pummel us with sleet and snow this afternoon.

Although, I seem to have recovered from a respiratory bug that slammed me last week, my nearly 80 year old body, with its failing eyesight, bevy of inflammations, dental difficulties, and achy joints still needs a lot of rest, maintenance time, and careful attention.  

As I plodded slowly toward the bathroom,  the whole world -- inner and outer -- seemed shrouded in gray tones of doom and gloom. 

 

Images of my inevitable, if not imminent, demise floated through my mind as I limped along.  Through the wonders of modern medical science, I've already beat the genetic odds of my lineage. My dad was dead at 61.  His dad was gone at 57.  Although I no longer fear death, the thought of leaving this plane of existence still mostly sucks. 

 

There were times in my life that beginning the day in this frame of mind on a frigid late winter morning would have thrown me for a loop.  A dark mood and dark thoughts would have wrapped themselves around one another and held onto one another tightly -- sometimes for hours, sometimes for days.  Sometimes for weeks at a time.  

In fact, there were times in my life that I spiraled down into deep depression, seemingly unbearable anxiety, and total burn-out.

That was then.  This is now.

This morning, as I have done most mornings for decades,  I brushed my teeth, washed my face. took a deep breath, and felt my heart open and expand. Then, with compassion and curiosity, I looked my mirror image straight in the eye for a moment or two.  Then, I wobbled to the altar.  There, I spent a few moments in a sequence of ritual prayers and bows.  Then, as I've done for decades, I lowered myself to the zafu and Simply Sat Still. 

Within moments, it was different.

There in my little corner of the world, with my body comfortable and upright on the meditation cushion, with eyes open and unfocused, I floated on the breath of Practice.  In the expansive gaze of open awareness, I relaxed and watched as ripples of thought, images, feelings, and bodily sensations emerged and dissipated along the surface of a clear, calm, vast pool of bright spacious awareness.  Simply Sitting Still, no longer grasping or pushing away what I was experiencing, I breathed, relaxed, softened, and opened.  

Soon, I was aware that a lot of old coots were feeling the aches and pains and sadness of aging, as well.  I knew that these types of bodily pain, these emotional clouds of doom and gloom are being experienced by countless other human beings -- at that very moment.  Breathing in,  I relaxed and opened to the pain. 

As I have learned to do in Tonglen Practice, I allowed the painful bodily sensations and emotional energies to emerge and breathed them directly into my heart chakra.  There, in my heart of hearts, the gracious spaciousness of Open Awareness welcomed this sea of sensations.  There, the One Love that exists within and beyond all that is embraced, and was embraced, merging with my sincere aspiration for our collective healing.  Breath by breath, the dark ripples of painful energy began to dissipate and dissolve.  I stayed with it, simply breathing through the sensations.  

Soon, with each out breath, I was able to radiate my heartfelt aspirations for peace, liberation, and healing.  At times, images of individuals would arise in my mind's eye and variations of the traditional metta meditations emerged as thoughts (May we (he, she, they, etc.) be free from suffering, May we be at peace, etc.)  At times, I visualized this energy as light radiating in all directions.  

After awhile, I returned to Simply Sitting Still.  Present to each moment's experience, an open, loving Presence emerged.

If At First You Don't Succeed

Tonglen Practice has been part of my meditation toolkit since 2006.  After two decades it continues to evolve.  Since the thrust of individual and collective conditioning in this hyper capitalist age propels most of us to reflexively reject painful experiences, the habit to do so is strong.  Creating new neural pathways through Tonglen has taken, commitment, effort, time -- and patience.  Lots of patience.    

Sometimes tears will emerge as I practice Tonglen.  This, I've found, is actually a good thing.  I've come to trust those tears.  They are the body's natural response to the grief that is inherent in the human condition.  Released, the tears wash away the hardness of heart that I'd been taught to wear as a shield against the painful aspects of life.  As tears flow, the armoring around the heart melts.  

As this happens, there are times that a deep sense of gratitude and wonder emerges within the tears. There, a boundless and mysterious One Love emerges to embrace both grief and gratitude.  In those moments, there is nothing left to do.  Simply being present is enough.

Yet, the impact of our conditioning, individual and collective, is formidable.  Over the years, I've found that, at times, life will serve up situations that produce emotional energies that are quite overwhelming.   Having been deeply touched by the teachings of Pema Chodron (through her writings and on-line presence), I've come to see that being gentle with myself is crucial. There are times that the most skillful approach is to drop Tonglen and focus my attention elsewhere.  

Sometimes, I will zero in on the sights and sounds of the space around me. Sometimes, I will tighten my focus by returning to counting my breaths, a mantra, or metta recitations.  Sometimes, I need to get off my tail and go outside for a good walk.

And yes, there are those times. Sometimes it is best to just drop the whole project and cue up a movie or a sitcom and sit down with a bowl of popcorn!    

Yet, this morning, I persisted.  Strong emotions, emerged.  Then, without a clear decision, Tonglen Practice emerged.  Then, after a time, it receded.  I Simply Sat Still in the heart of open awareness again.  There, the sights and sounds of traffic outside the window moved within a still pool of silence so deep that the bottom disappeared from view.  

Breathing in.  Breathing out.  I floated on effortlessly. The hour flew by.  The closing bells on my iPhone rang.  I recited the Four Bodhisattva Vows as I have done for decades -- and rose to face the day.

But, that was then, this is now.  

In Real Time 

Here I am, sitting at this old Mac Laptop watching letters and words tap dance across the screen.  Remembering, I take a couple of deep conscious breaths. I sit up a bit straighter, relax my shoulders, feel my feel on the floor.  The center of my attention returns to my heart.  I come to my senses.  Settling into a fuller awareness of the sights and sounds and sensations and gracious spaciousness of Life as it emerges moment to moment, I relax and open.  

At this point, words seem to just appear and find their way through my fingers into the screen.  It's quite mysterious really. Being present, I feel a Presence. It glows with crystalline clarity.  Here, the Sacred and the Ordinary dance hand in hand. 

So, now what?

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Tonglen Practice: Taking It to Heart

 

“You take it all in. You let the pain of the world touch your heart 

and you turn it into compassion. It is said that 

in difficult times, it is only bodhichitta that heals.” 

-- The Sixteenth Gyalwa Karmapa quoted by Pema Chodron, 

When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times 

 

"So, when we are willing, intentionally, with this kind of attitude, 

this vision, to breathe in the suffering, we are able to transform it 

easily and naturally; it doesn't take a major effort on our part, 

other than allow it."

-- Norman Fischer, Training in Compassion: 

Zen Teachings on the Practice of Lojong

A grin comes to my face as I remember her voice on the telephone.

"That's backwards isn't it? You meant breathe in the good and send out the bad, right?" she said, not unkindly. Being gracious, she was making a space for me to realize that my aging brain cells had gone dyslexic.

I had been chatting with an old friend for first time in quite awhile, talking about my continued wonder at the Lojong Teachings of Tibetan Buddhism in general, and Tonglen Practice in particular.  

After a moment's pause, to relax and reconnect with the basic openness of mind -- and to make sure that I really hadn't verbally zigged when I had intended to zag -- I continued.

"No, I actually did mean that I shift my attention from the thoughts running through my head to the feelings coursing through my body.  Then I breathe into my heart the difficult and challenging darker emotions that had emerged.  There in my heart of hearts I get in touch with the reality that countless people are feeling this same form of energy.  My heart naturally responds with the heartfelt aspiration that we all be free of such suffering.  Then I send out a sense of relief and healing with each exhalation.  It's in with the "bad." Out with "good.".

She paused for awhile (perhaps, to relax and reconnect with a basic openness herself? LOL)  Then she simply replied, "Oh?" 

She didn't sound convinced.

Hers was not an uncommon response.  Raised in a highly individualistic and materialistic society, the basic premise of this ancient Tibetan Buddhist system of mind training seems counterintuitive.  Instead of always grasping at the "good" and pushing away the "bad," with Tonglen Practice we choose to open our hearts to the entire gamut of human emotions.   Seems a bit crazy, right? It most certainly is. 

Crazy like a fox.

Transforming ALL Experience into the Path of Awakening

Lojong is an intricate system of training the heart and mind that emerged in Tibetan Buddhism in the 11th and 12 centuries. Grounded in the Mahayana doctrine of Two Truths, it's goal is to cultivate the wisdom and compassion needed to embrace both the conventional truth of appearances and absolute truth of Reality in our own lives.  In Lojong, all experiences in our lives are seen as an opportunity to Practice.

Lojong's framework of 59 training aphorisms are supported by two meditation practices: basic sitting meditation (Shamatha-Vippasyana) and Tonglen.  I've seen that, over time, these three tools have changed my day to day life dramatically. With Practice, I've been able to navigate the inevitable ups and downs of life with increasing ease, kindness, clarity and compassion.  With time, energy, effort and patience, I've been able to be Present more wholeheartedly, moment by moment, to Life.

To wit:

As I sit here and pay attention, I become aware of a clear, bright, vast, and open sense of spaciousness beyond the tunnel vision of my thoughts.  

As I pause and expand my attention to become aware of my body, my breath, and the sights and sounds of the room that I am sitting in, and to the world outside the window, there a palpable shift in my consciousness.  As I come into the present moment more fully,  I can feel an expansiveness throughout my body. I can relax and rest in its embrace. 

Sitting here, breathing in, breathing out,  I'm aware of the dance of my fingers along the surface of this keyboard.  I see that milliseconds before the fingers move, thoughts emerge instantaneously, seemingly from nowhere in particular.  Although, these thoughts are most certainly prompted by my intention to write this blog post, they appear to be emerging by themselves, quite mysteriously.  

Western science claims that these thoughts are epiphenoma, merely brain secretions of some sort, Yet, at this moment.  I experience a connection to something much grander than that.  My heart feels that connection.  I have come to trust that feeling.  A sense of wonder and joy emerges from a vast, luminous Presence that embraces me as I embrace it.   Aware of my feet on the floor, the clicking contact of my fingers on the keyboard, the soft humming of the computer, the wind outside the window, the vast, open spaciousness of a clear and boundless awareness, I feel the Presence of the Sacred.

But, I digress -- sort of.
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