Alana's Dharma Blog

A long time ago, my old Vajrayana teacher was visiting San Fran. We were walking in Golden Gate Park, on a beautiful day and she smiled and said, “the Bay Area is the peak of samsara”. It is a comment that has really stuck with me over the years and it came back to me again recently.

When my teacher made her comment, my mind focused immediately on the ‘peak’ part — SF was tops of this world for pleasure/ comfort — and I was inclined to agree. Now, with the lengthening fire season, and increasing homelessness, with my weakening ties and lessening emotional attachments to the place, I think SF has passed its peak.

A troubled SF however proves more than just that peak states pass their peak; by their passing that peak they also prove that even peakiest moments of this world are still peaks in this world. After all they are acting in accord with the  NATURE of this world, which is to shift/cease.

If you are on the top of a mountain or in the bottom of a valley, you are still on earth. If you are in the front of the bus or the back of the bus you are still on the bus. If you have a peak life, or a peak moment in life, you are still trapped in samsara–in this world of rebirths. And what is this world? I am starting to see with increasing clarity that this world is dukkha.

As my winter in Miami was winding down to an end, I started to think ahead about my return to Greenwich. In my mind, homecomings should be happy occasions, but in this case, I feared disappointment: For my last 5 months in Greenwich, I would wake-up every morning, save Sunday, to a cacophony of construction so close it sounded like there were bulldozers in my bedroom. When I left for Miami, the work was not even halfway done, I considered the fact that I would  likely be going home, to continued construction.  Going home, my home, my space,  but a place I could find no refuge or peace.

Of course, it wasn’t always this way, when we got the Greenwich place it was cute and quiet; I signed the lease because it seemed like  the perfect refuge from Manhattan.  But then, zoning laws changed, and the row of charming historic homes across the street were demolished to make room for a mega condo. Now, the Greenwich place is far louder and more uncomfortable than the NY loft ever was.

Beyond the sheer physical suffering, the problem here is that circumstances are always changing (again with the impermanence) and the changes occur in accord with the causes and conditions for change, like new zoning laws, and CLEARLY not in accord with my personal wishes. Now, there are times when the world happens to be in states that align closely enough with my wishes that I feel comfortable, after all, my Greenwich flat was, more or less, a fine home for years. But my own comfort at certain circumstances can’t possibly confirm that the world bows to my wishes, or that changes that occur do so in accord with those wishes, otherwise those zoning laws never would have changed.

Frankly,  if even my own home, my own ears, won’t bow to me, my rules or my control, I am not sure what hope I can have that anything at all in this world will yield to my wishes/rules/control. Disappointment (anger as well) arises because shit isn’t the way we want it to be, it  doesn’t follow our hope, our standards, our expectations. In other words, it doesn’t follow our rules. But by its fundamental nature this world doesn’t follow my rules, so doesn’t that make it definitionally disappointing? How can I not count disappointment as one of the many faces of dukka?

I had been contemplating for a long time on how everything is suffering, so I decide to flip the issue a bit and ask a new question — what do I think happiness is?

At some point it dawned on me that sukkah arises from a wrong perception of what things actually are. Happiness is just a misunderstanding.

Back when I had my Porsche, it frequently made me happy. Cruising along, top down, wind blowing in my hair, I felt so alive, so on-top-and-in-control of my life.  Because I was so sure that car confirmed me, my power, my worthiness, it brought me joy. I can still recall those moments of electrifying pride. Happiness.

But, when I went to sell the car, the dealership found a mechanical problem. I ended up having to sell it for so much less than I had paid, so much less than I thought it was worth, so much less than I thought it proved I was worth. Standing in the dealership that day, I felt deceived by the car; all those years I thought it had proven my awesomeness, my control, but now it made me feel a fool. Someone so ignorant, I didn’t even know my own car was sick. Someone so not-on-top, that I let something precious go to shit.

On the way home from the dealership, I mourned. I also contemplated. I likened the situation to a woman who felt so affirmed, so loved, by their lover only to realize that he was cheating. That she was one of many of his women. And, I put myself in her shoes, feeling that, in that moment of realization, all the sense of special that lover had imbued me with was drained away, leaving me feeling crushed, used.

The point here is that I read ‘special’ as the message of my objects — cars, lovers — and it makes me happy. But what if I later learn that those things never made me special at all? Doesn’t it follow that my happiness was based only off a misunderstanding of what I think things are/mean.

When I was moving from SF to NY, Eric and I took a 3 week vacation between departing California and arriving in NY. For those few weeks, as I lay on the beach soaking up the Mediterranean sunshine, I fantasized about the exciting new life waiting for me in NY. I was happy, for a brief moment, till I landed at JFK and the rude, filthy, loud reality of New York intruded on my happy imaginings.

Happiness is born when my imagination interprets some ‘signs’ I see right now as proof that I am the Alana I want to be, and the future will be the future I want it to be. But this is like reading tea leaves; I fantasize some meaning into something that can’t really hold or fulfill that meaning at all. It’s just a tea leaf. It’s just a car, it’s just a lover, it’s just a place that I live. The future will be whatever it will be without regard to either what I want it to be, or what I imagine it will be. Sukkha is just a side effect of my misreading reality.

I was in the midst of planning a little getaway for Eric and me. As I picked activities, restaurants, fantasized about future fun, I stopped to consider my homework: Prove everything is dukkha. That is when it hit me — times of enjoyment are just times I ignore the suffering that is always there. Vacation is just a short while when I don’t let the reality of suffering intrude upon my fantasies.

When I go on vacation, I simply ignore my to-do list of burdens;  I put stress aside and try to relax. But the reality is that none of my responsibilities, none of the things that weigh and stress me really disappear. In fact, when I return from a trip, that same to-do list is there to greet me, as well as a pile of new worries and responsibilities that stacked-up in my inbox while my out of office message was on.

I obsess about my body, my fitness, my weight. But on vacation, I tell myself to worry about it later so that I can indulge and enjoy. All while engaging in the very eating that will cause me shame and stress later. That will require vigor and effort and sacrifice to take off.

Since the tasks required to tend to a breakable, decaying, body are endless and routine, there always seems to be a mammogram, or broken crown, or some other painful, anxiety producing procedure/ appointment to tend to just after I get home. All through the trip I put it out of mind, tell myself to worry later about the worrisome things that are just around the corner.

Looming over every trip from the get go is it’s end. No matter the fun, the enjoyment, the lessening of stress and suffering, the short reprieve a vacation brings, each day of it brings me closer to it’s end. The suffering of loss is built in and pressing closer each day.

Of course a trip has its own dissatisfactions and discomforts. But usually I can put my routine- daily-big-hairy-stresses aside for a little while, look away towards the distraction that a trip brings. There are periods I ignore suffering, even as it lives, thrives and compounds. But whether I look at it or not, dukka is always there. Everything must be suffering because the highlights of my life are periods I try to distract myself and turn a blind eye to the suffering that is still so clearly there.