Browsed by
Category: Pandemic Ponderings

Something of A Sum-Up: A Note to Mae Neecha Part 2

Something of A Sum-Up: A Note to Mae Neecha Part 2

This blog post is a direct continuation of the last, Something of A Sum-Up: A Note to Mae Neecha Part 1, if you have not already done so, please go back and read the last post before continuing here.


Anyway, one more contemplation set from yesterday that considered the suffering that arises because of my chain’o’crazy.
I was online shopping for a new rug (to solve the problem BTW that the old one, did as rupa shit is wont to do, and shifted into a state of shrunkeness when heat from the dryer interacted with its 4e self). I was stressing about how it would look. I realized, much like my face, if the rug is going to be mine, it has to be beautiful. More than the rug, the space has to be beautiful. Why, bc beauty is a characteristic of what belongs to me. It is a fundamental aspect of my imagination of what rupa objects that are ‘mine’ look like. If it is mine it is beautiful– beautiful house, body, clothes.
Note: I don’t yet understand if beauty is a physical manifestation of a more abstract trait (like goodness, or in controlness) , or if it is, in and of itself simply a characteristic of form that belongs to me –like dollars are green. But either way, when something that is supposed to be mine hits a state of ugly there are 2 super suffering outcomes:
1) I feel deep distress at the dissonance that these belongings aren’t acting in accord with my imagination. That they are actually, on some level, proving that any item, even ones I call my own, won’t act according to my rules, but according to the rules of rupa. That the total paradigm I have set-up of being able to PWN the world through Rupa, to manifest my will and myself may in fact be bogus. That physical states are governed by physical processes not by my will or desire or imaginations. Faced with the truth my little mind breaks.
2) I feel deep shame. Why? Because if I believe these physical items are able to express something about me, if they can be used as proxies for my identity, for the traits I imagine I myself, and my ideal world, possess, if they are ugly — a state I literally ‘disown’, disavow, than it must reflect something broken or wrong with me. The world, I, can see my own shortcomings in the ugliness of my belongings. My failures to control, my failures to deserve beauty, my gimpy nature that would accept anything less.
Of course, a wise person might note the obvious — if my imagination conjures up beautiful rupa as a defining quality of what is mine, and the rupa I see in my body and my home is continually shifting states, achieving points of ugliness, then it must, by my own reasoning, mean these things are not mine. They are not me. They do not represent me. Afterall, physical things represent the physical interactions with other physical objects that bring about their changes. Their shifting states. Their aggregation and their disaggregation. That has literally nothing to do with my imagination. It is a totally separate process. If my imagination is the image of who I am in my mind, and no physical object ever can match that image shouldn’t I say no physical thing is going to do the job of representing me or embodying me or manifesting me. The sand literally can’t take and sustain the shape of imaginary Alana. You might as will quit trying GIrrrllll.
But delusional, and bound to continually suffer me (i.e. still me :() instead takes this feedback loop of ugliness in ‘my’ belongings and adjusts my imaginary image. I cry, I hurt, and then I am forced to adapt to the reality of rupa. So I need to say that this 41 year old face, that would have mortified my 20 year old self, is what I have to work with. It is my new ‘base-line’ of beautiful. It is the curve that my mind will always grade myself on thanks to hope and delusion.  And/or, I will try to do better, to be better, to improve, learn modify who I am, because if ugly is an indictment of me, I just need to be better and once again, the things I claim can be beautiful/and or I can claim new things that are beautiful. In other words, if I just fix me, I can fix the things that belong to me by some transitive property.
Again….I am avoiding the far more logical and straight forward message of this whole mess, which is “Alana, this rupa shit is not you, it doesn’t actually belong to you or reflect you. It is just 4es, doing 4e shit. You can’t and won’t ever control it. You can poke at it. You can cause shifts using other physical entities, but there is no way to guarantee you are going to like the shifts that ensue (ahh thank you green tea mask breakout for that helpful life lesson).” But, at the end of the day, the problem is that the only reason I would even bother with all my poking is the delusion that these things are me/mine/prove me in the first place.
Anyway that is sorta where I am at. I know I usually have a plan. And right now I am considering the burden of rupa in my everyday life and the relationship of its burdensomeness to its changeability. But pretty much, my real real plan is to just not stop. I was listening to that old retreat recording that you and Mae Yo talked about becoming a sotapana. I was also ever so slowly  (with the help of my Thai teacher) making it though a sermon from Phra Arjan Dang. Both had points that stressed the need to just push, be energetic, forge ahead. That seems like something that is doable, so I am doing. OK, again, sorry so long and so all over the place.

Mae Neecha’s Reply:
This sounds like good progress. I’d continue to do more of the same. Doesn’t need to be more complicated, just more… more frequent, more objects.

And what is beauty in terms of 4e? What do cultures consider beautiful? Sometimes it is symmetry, or freshness/youth/early stages of deterioration, hair, lips, fat, skin, nails that we call pretty. It isn’t just you that buys into this beauty concept, so there must be a general 4e take on it. Do you know what causes someone to be born with some particular feature as opposed to another?

But I think there isn’t really anything to comment on. It seems things continue to clear up more and more, so you’re already on the right track.

Something of A Sum-Up: A Note to Mae Neecha Part 1

Something of A Sum-Up: A Note to Mae Neecha Part 1

By Mid-November 2021 I had begun to feel like my rupa contemplations, spurred on by pandemic living, were gelling into a more comprehensive understanding. I reached-out to Mae Neecha to give her an update which I will share here. Given the length, I will divide my note to her, as well as her reply, into a few blogs for ease of reading.


Hey Mae Neecha– I sure do hope this email finds you and Mae Yo well.  I really just wanted to keep you both in the loop and, of course, welcome any thoughts or suggestions you may have.

I also want to do the apologies upfront. First off, I am sorry if this is super long. Also, I am sorry that this is not super buttoned-up, this is kind of the first gelling of months of contemplations and it is hardly ‘wrapped and bow ready’. Still, I thought I would send it along.
Its a bit arbitrary, but I will start with an article in the NY Times I read the other day that really hit me hard: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/09/science/what-makes-sand-soft.html  — it is about sand.
Per the article, there is apparently no formula that exists that will predict the behavior of sand even in a closed system, like an hourglass, where you know the shape and size of the particles encased; the variables of how exactly they will interact are too numerous. There is no way to know how long it will take sand to flow, or even if it will flow at all. All you can do is flip the glass and see.
Mind blown! One of my 2 main rupa wrong views I see come-up again and again in my practice is that rupa can predict /prepare me for/help me achieve the future outcome I desire. With enough insight, I can interpret rupa, learn its secrets and use it freely to stay on top of the world, to keep me in environments that are safe and comfy.
But how on earth do I hope to use rupa to shape a future when it is ultimately unpredictable? The truth is, continual shifting is the nature of rupa itself. This time is not ever ever ever going to be ‘just like last time’. Each rupa arrangement is a 4 e aggregation that arose based on its interaction with 4es in itself and in the environment and continually shifts –reaggregating, being consumed and disaggregating — all in response to 4es. Alana can’t ‘game the system’ with knowledge. Believing I can is a fundamental misunderstanding of what rupa actually is.
The other night, I decided to laydown, close my eyes and consider the sand issue more carefully. I got myself into another ‘state’, after I came out of it I wrote down what I could remember, but I wasn’t totally functioning with normal awake consciousness, so again, not so buttoned-up.
The truth is, I thought all this came out of nowhere, but when I went to review my notes over the last 2 months to figure out what I should write here I realized the state was really built on a bunch of recent contemplations. I also realize now that it addresses the 2nd major wrong view I have about rupa: that it reflects me/manifests me/embodies who I am/something about my identity.
Anyway, here is what I wrote post state. I should also note, I have been training to see how everything I do is really just an effort to solve problems that arise based on other past problems  (i.e chain of causality). So not so surprisingly, my contemplation is structured as a progression of the problem chain of how I try and use rupa to do stuff it really can’t do.
1) The starting point, the first problem that I can sense deep in my heart, is that I am hungry. I want to become, I want to feel fulfilled, to feel safe, to have a future, to manifest a vision of myself  and of a world that adheres to my standards. I want to prove me, to validate my sense of self.  Because I so desperately want to be, I have a desire-borne hole in my heart.
2) Crazyass self feels an intangible hole and envisions filling it with a physical shit. How on earth I can ever fill an imaginary hole with rupa should already be a tip-off that this is utterly delusional, but on I press. In this example, let us say I have a house shaped hole (which btw really means I have a body shaped hole, but I am still refining and digging on body, so lets use house as an easier proxy): Because I want safety and a stable future and an expression of this self, I mold my hole — my gaping sense of emptiness and unfulfillment — into the shape of a house. I assign the meaning. House = valuable, safe, a guaranteed future, an identity for me, a canvas upon which I can manifest my vision of me through architecture and design.
3) But the imaginary house shaped hole is fixed. It doesn’t even take into account the changing samutti that is ‘house’. The hole’s only shape is fixed-up house, not roof-leaking or crumbling house. Of course I am going to be unfulfilled with these objects! In addition to trying to fulfill intangible desires with tangables. I will only be satisfied with one state of the tangible, not the continually shifting state that occurs with all rupa. I will spend my life, my energy, trying to achieve a thing of that perfect, shiny and new shape and then I will fight like hell to preserve that shape. I will be constantly burdened by the need to exert effort, effort that often fails, to achieve that particular shape, to damage control or reset expectations when it loses that shape. I will be devastated when that shape passes beyond the threshold I maintain as ‘house’ in my heart.  This is clearly a major problem of relying on changeable things to fulfill desires that change at totally different rates, and based on totally different causes than 4eobjects. I foolishly believe these forms, that don’t regard me, are mindless of my holes, that I have to adjust to and can only sometimes temporarily ‘force’ to adjust to me (on rupa’s terms no less) are mine. Not so swift Alana…
4) What is more, is this house form really is just an ever shifting arrangement of rupa. It is like shifting sand, always moving. It is the stuff of all objects. I am trying to fill a hole in my heart, in a shape I have cut out all by myself, with sand. But I ignore that it is just elements. I ignore because to really believe that objects that are nothing more then 4es are going to manifest me, be the medium through which I satisfy my formless desires, it strains credulity. So I squint HARD at the world, trying to focus on difference, details, flourishes of shape — a bay window, a vaulted ceiling, a one of a kind carpet — instead of the uniformity that is their basic nature. Afterall, how could I ever get to becoming my special self with same same sand? I self dazzle and delude with my agenda to sell myself this lie.
I am the one who assigns the value to these objects, treasures them in the degree to which they satisfy the imaginary form that my nama has carved-out a shape of in my heart. In the real world, they have only utility that is defined by their shifting form in the shifting circumstances in which they are usable.
When I left my first house in Houston, I cried and cried. I thought I would never own a house again, I thought that I was leaving an object that proved I had ‘made it’, been successful, adulted, achieved, where would I be without this instrument of my future? This manifester of me? This object that was so obviously mine. But, if it were really mine, how come it so easily moved along to a new owner, still standing there, doing fine completely divorced from me? And more importantly, if that house proved me, portended my future, how come I am still here now cruising along without it?  I have simple moved on to new objects to fill my heart holes, house shaped and otherwise.
The other day (before the above contemplation), as I was primping in front of the mirror, trying for the umpteenth time to consider the burden I assume for a body just because I think it represents me. I was getting nowhere. Suddenly, I shifted my take just a bit — I was doing the primping because beauty is who/what I am. That was the ticket! I was able to  begin to consider whether or not this body and I are actually ‘intertwined’. Now, of course I see the chain of craziness, I imagine a me, assign it abstract characteristics, assign those characteristics a corresponding  physical characteristic (enter Alana and her shit are definitionally beautiful), take possession of an object that comes close enough to my imaginary form (for 1 hot sec anyway), and then spend the majority of my time miserable when that object doesn’t conform to my imagination of what that object is /should do because, duh –why the hell should it? I mean, sure I can use a physical object to poke at, and cause a shift in, another physical object. But to pretend that being able to cause (sometimes) perceivable change means those objects obey me or prove my mastery is insane. The sands are always shifting, in response to all manner of ‘pokes’ from 4es (including this body) in their environment. On occasion their shifts correspond to what I desire. But to assume that that means they conform to my desire…lets just say even a broken clock is right twice a day ;).
One of Those Big Aha Moments: Apparently, a Fit Body Doesn’t = Extreme Willpower

One of Those Big Aha Moments: Apparently, a Fit Body Doesn’t = Extreme Willpower

OK, so a little background first…over the years of my practice I had repetitively returned to one of those crazy pervasive wrong views that I just couldn’t shake: A fit body = extreme willpower.
Of course, I knew it was a wrong view, that it was permanent; I had done countless exercises gathering evidence of all the times a fit body doesn’t equal extreme willpower (how easy was it to be fit without trying in my teens, how much more did I will it and work for it only to be less fitter in my 40s; many slaves working in fields had fit bodies, did their fitness really reflect extreme willpower or just being forced to do what it took to survive; what about folks who get all sorts of skinny when they have cancer, its not willpower over their diet that got them there; etc.). Still though, on some level it seemed ‘obvious’ to me that when I was at my fittest, from strict diet and 4 hours a day of exercise, my crazy ripped body was a physical reflection of the willpower it took, to do the shit it took, to achieve that state. Like boiling water reflects a temperature over 212 degrees, my fittest self reflected my extreme willpower. No matter how much evidence my brain gathered to the contrary, my little heart just couldn’t believe it, the ‘truth’ ripped body=extreme willpower was so damn ‘obvious’ to me.
So, fast forward to a day in late 2020…a friend of mine had been messaging me for advice on some issues she was having at work. She was stressed by the consequences of some difficulty she was having managing her subordinates, and then doubly stressed by the self hate she felt for being “bad boss”. I had known this friend for a while and as I listened to her story I realized that the details of her struggles change by the instance –today it is a work problem, a few weeks ago a friend issue, before that a fight with her mom — but this friend has a single wrong view, a way she sees herself and her place in the world, that underlies every story. To me, the view was so friggin’ clear, but she was blind to the pattern in her own life despite her efforts to see it.
After we ended our talk, I was left with the deep reminder of just how pervasive our views are, how totally blind to them we could be. I also understood that though my friend may hate herself, feel herself to be an innately bad, bad, bad person (this was part of her more pervasive  wrong view), her actions were born of her view; as long as she holds that view she can’t really be expected to act any differently. Once the view is rectified though the behaviors can change, she is not as innately bad, bad, bad as she believes.
OK, I know, we are on a bit of  a journey here, but fast forward again to a few days after my conversation with my friend…I read in the newspaper that the Black Panther actor, Chadwick Boseman, had died, at just 43, of colon cancer. The news hit me really hard. Its not just that Boseman had been so young, or that his death seemed so sudden, its that the dude was supremely fit. I had just finished a Marvel movie marathon and in Black Panther, filmed just a few years before, he was super ripped. And super ripped is supposed to = extreme willpower right? Only dying, decaying, having cancer consume your body (at the height of your fame no less) seems like the total failure of willpower, an ultimate loss of control. This time, the evidence didn’t just register in my head, it hit my heart.
On the tail of my conversation with my friend — when I saw just how oblivious we can be to our own wrong views and when, seeing her, it was so damn clear how all our actions inevitably arise from those views, I decided to rethink my long-held-stubborn-stuck notions about fitness and willpower.  That is when it dawned on me: All that my own peak fit body reflected was my BELIEF that a fit body equals extreme willpower, and the extreme value I place on identifying with  that willpower, which I literally tried to  embody. I value extreme willpower so highly, and I was so blindly convinced I could demonstrate it though the rigorous discipline of my body, that I spent tons of time and energy, and endured crazy deprivation and labor, on my fitness regimen. The reality though was all that my fit body really reflected/demonstrated was the depths of my delusional beliefs. A form I took such pride in, because of what I believed it reflected, really just laid my own ignorance plain and bare for all to see.
I was so convinced that my own fit body represented the willpower it took to do the extreme shit that I did to be so fit, I had come to think of it as causative the way a certain temperature causes water to boil. If you see water boiling you know heat happened, just so if you see ripped alana, you know willpower happened. But in truth, if you see ripped alana, all you know are that the causes and conditions for a particular physical form to take shape must have occurred. The delusion that there was more/different meaning in a particular physical shape may have  motivated my behaviors (behaviors btw that were painful and stressful), but it didn’t make it true.
Here is perhaps a simpler example: A guy has found a treasure map, he wants the treasure so bad he spends his life, his time and resources, hunting for the treasure. But if you watch him scramble to try and find the treasure, it should be clear that all his efforts are not evidence that there really is a buried treasure out there, its just evidence that he believes it enough, and wants the treasure enough, to jump through all the hoops to uncover it. Of course, the longer this guy tries to find the treasure, the more work he puts in, the more ‘clues’ he interprets to mean he is on the right track, the more convinced he becomes the treasure is really there. We all allow our actions, born of ignorance, to further our own wild beliefs.
I too had used circular logic to further feed my delusions: I believed fitness proved willpower, and I willed myself to do the work it took to be fit, so in my mind I used the state of fitness I had achieved to reinforce my belief that fit=willpower. Example again to show my craziness: Pretend I believed that if a tree grows there must be a tree spirit feeding it, I see a grown tree, so I take it as evidence of a tree spirit.
When I plug in treasure hunting and tree nymphs, the absurdity of my belief is so clear. When I watch my friend struggle with the same views, causing the same behaviors and the sameish conflicts over and over, it is so clear. But my own belief is so tight, I am so blind, I don’t see the circularity at all.
And now Dear Reader, we fast forward again, to Dec 2022, when I am writing this blog, admitting to you that I am guilty here of conflating my understanding back in 2020 — which was really just a rather rudimentary seeing that my own peak fit body reflected was my BELIEF that a fit body equals extreme willpower, and the extreme value I place on that characteristic of willpower — and the much deeper/richer/clearer understanding that you see here in this blog, refined by more years of practice. I didn’t realize at the time, but this particular insight ended-up being a real aha moment; it has become a cornerstone I return to  when I need a concrete reminder –something I really understood — to use as a parallel when my contemplations move on to shakier ground. With this particular insight, I came to see more clearly the ways I trick myself, the pervasiveness of my delusions and the need to question and re-question the beliefs I have, the tautologies I create in my mind, that exist no where else in the world.
Tickin’ On Without Me

Tickin’ On Without Me

I was in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, doing my usual morning beauty routine — lotions, positions, facercize, hair removal —  and going through my usual mental exercise as well. Regularly, as I attend to my body, I try and remind myself that the reason I labor, I suffer, so meticulously beautifying and grooming is because of my delusion that this face, this body represents me, it is who I am.  This morning though, my mind wandered a little and I decided to change up the contemplation a bit; a crazy through jumped into my head, maybe there is another wrong view here, that beauty is who/ what I am.  Suddenly my mind became sharp and I realized that was the ticket…
Beauty is what I am and this body lets me be that identity. It proves me. Who I am and this body are intertwined, I can’t separate the two because –naturally — I need the body to demonstrate the characteristic. It is essential to who I am.  And then the questions and contemplation flowed freely:
How can I be intertwined with, proven, or identified by, things that tick on without me? Back in the day, I thought San Francisco was who I was. Being an SFer was so integral to my identity, it was simply so me,  that to say out loud, “SF is who I am”,  just felt ‘right’ in my heart. But the is truth that I left San Francisco and on it ticked. Businesses still ran, folks continued to live our their lives, the sun rose and fell on the city, even when I was no longer there. I will leave this body, and though the aggregates will change form, they will tick on. This body will tick on without me after I am gone.
And does SF even miss me?  This body too is impervious to whether or not I stay or go.  A long time ago, Phra Ajran Dang warned me that these belongings I love so dearly, they don’t even love me back.
Moreover, while I was in SF its not like I controlled the city, that I got it to do my bidding –just look at the drugs and homelessness and high taxes as evidence that the city was never mine to command. Just so, I don’t control this body even while it is where I abide, if I did I wouldn’t be standing in front of the mirror, doing  the same rituals over and over, to slow the sag and reverse the wrinkle.
How can I be intertwined with, proven, or identified by things when after we part ways, I tick on? Now that I have left SF, I live somewhere else, I am something, somebody, else. The city doesn’t define me anymore, just as I never did define it.  When I leave this body, it will no longer define me. SF went its way and I went mine.  One day, this body will go its way and I will go mine.
When I moved to NY, the pain, the despair was born out of the fact that I believed I lost not just my home, but who I was. By loosing SF, I lost my identity. All the time I lived in SF the  proof  that it wasn’t really “who I am” was clear –after all, I didn’t control the place — but I was able to ignore this proof and pretend that SF defined me. But when I moved, claiming the identity of an SFer strained credulity  too much. The claim of mineness, me-ness, while always a stretch was finally beyond believable, even to my fibbing mind.
SF was, of course, always just a place I lived. Just like my body is a place I live. Still, I let things like where I live, the job I do, the family and friend roles I have, define me. These passing things, that eventually tick on without me, that I eventually tick on without, I pretend to be an essential  aspect of my identity. But the truth is, its not who I am, or  I wouldn’t now be something else. Eventually, I got over the loss of countless  old cities, old jobs, old lovers, long dead family and friends, retired hobbies. I have grown different and my heart has separated from what I once held dear . The pain and loss of  all those old instances fades and I  find myself inventing new ‘who I ams’ to replace the old, queuing up the shit that will cause me pain down the road.
I don’t see if something were really  ‘who I am’, essential to being ‘me’, I wouldn’t be able to go on without it. If beauty were who I was, I wouldn’t be able to tick on as I grow old, fat, have bad hair and skin days. I don’t see that there is no way to get the characteristics of things that aren’t who I am to reflect me. Afterall, how can I hope for success  BEING BEAUTIFUL, assuming that identity, when I  use an uglifying object –this body– to achieve being the pretty me I want to be.
I suffer with each sag, with each pound, through each pyrrhic morning beauty ritual, as my body reminds me, on the daily, that it can’t prove me. It can’t represent me. It can’t be me and I can’t be it. I suffer because each wrinkle, stray hair, extra pound, is a further stain of the credulity of my hollow body claims. “I am SF” an old voice used to whisper in my head. But then I left and SF went tickin on without me. I went tickin on without it. “I am this body, and I am beautiful” whispers a voice in my head as I stare in the mirror. But one of these days, this body will tick on without me and, quite possibly before it does so there will be no beauty in it left to claim. And I, with a new future birth, a new form, a new name, all the new things I claim in service of the new ‘who I am’,  will tick on without this body, queuing up the new shit that will cause me pain down the road.
Sand to Make A Fool of Me

Sand to Make A Fool of Me

I had been reading the NY Times  and I came across an article that completely blew my mind: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/09/science/what-makes-sand-soft.html  — it was about sand.  Apparently, this seemingly simple, everyday substance poses one of the deepest challenges to physics, so much so that despite the efforts of some of science’s greatest minds, there exists no ‘general theory of sand’.

Even in a closed system, like an hourglass, where you know the shape and size of the particles encased, the variables of how exactly they will interact are too numerous. There is no way to know how long it will take sand to flow, or even if it will flow at all. All you can do is flip the glass and see.

 I honestly couldn’t believe it, I found it viscerally unsettling. I  just kept wondering at how something so obvious, so simple, so friggin ancient and low-tech as sand in a jar, could be unpredictable. And then, like any good mindblown Buddhist, I turned inward and asked myself why learning a basic fact about the universe was so shocking/shaking to me. What was it about the unpredictability of lowly sand that was sending me on a mind trip?
I felt like a fool: You see, on some level, I really believe I can game the system. With more knowledge, with study, with resources, I will be able to ‘interpret rupa’ and by learning its secrets I can use it freely. I can predict the future and have the right rupa to prepare me for it. I can be on top and stay on top. I can be surrounded by an environment that is comfy and safe. This is the premise, the silent assumptions, that underlie my desire — my willingness — to be born into an otherwise terrifying, Dukka laden world.
The problem is, if the great minds of our time can’t really predict rupa as simple as sand, what hope do I have of predicting complex systems like bodies, my body, and belongings, my belongings? With sand, there are too many factors, variables, to calculate in even a basic, contained, hourglass situation — the size of each grain, their texture, the way they fall and interact together– all you can do is flip the glass and see what happens. So how do I expect to have a leg-up in this world with ‘knowledge’ that guarantees me a particular outcome? How do I expect to have control of rupa — use it as a tool to prepare me, guard me, comfort me in this life — when I can’t even predict it. How can you control something you that can’t even be predicted?
When I strip away the illusion of control, of knowing, of being able to marshal resources to plot the direction of my life, I am left with the reality that I just need to  flip the glass and see what happens. In a Dukka laden world that really is a terrifying prospect that only a fool would agree to.
Lessons of the Leaves 2

Lessons of the Leaves 2

 

In  the fall of 2020, with Covid still raging, and Eric and I still ‘sheltering in place’, we decided it was time to rent a country home — at least if we were going to be isolated, we could do it with plenty of space to spread out in.
We found a nice sized home in Northern CT and signed a lease. Suddenly, all of my thoughts were consumed with the stresses of moving (in a pandemic no less); stress over hiring a  moving company, stress over decorating, stress over buying new furniture online since we still weren’t visiting stores, stress over if we got a good deal on the place, stress over maintenance…in the midst of a near panic attack,  I realized just how much I suffer for my stuff, just how much stress I endure in the hopes of creating, and then abiding in, an environment I like. I seek pleasure/satisfaction in rupa, but I endure mental and physical anguish trying to arrange/force rupa into a state I find pleasurable. 
A few weeks ago, the earliest reds and yellows and oranges of fall had begun to brighten the leaves of some of the trees outside my window. I was so excited, especially in the long and boring Covid year, for the season’s change; impatiently I cursed the slow to change green trees, the ‘boring evergreens’, that were holding-up fall’s full glory. Now though, fall was past peak and the trees were mostly bare and brown.  As I looked out, I was so thankful for those evergreens, that I had cursed just a few weeks ago, because they were the only splash of color in an otherwise bleak view.
Looking out the window, trying to calm my moving qualms, I reflected further on the trees, and I realized my deep misunderstanding of rupa: Rupa forms –homes, trees — really don’t bow to me, they do not exist to give me satisfaction or to create an environment  I like. Anything that takes a form I like, such as a perfectly fall colored tree, does so only because its nature allows it to do so, because the causes and conditions for that state have been met, not because I desire/hope for/control it/force it. And it will eventually change to a different form according to its nature. All while my own preferences are shifting as well, pushing the hope of satisfaction in these objects even further out of reach.
I stress over renting and arranging a house because I imagine that eventually it will bring me satisfaction, that it will be the perfectly curated environment I desire. The problem is that rupa does not exist to satisfy my desires. Those occasions in which I am pleased with a particular state of form, a particular color of leaf, are just sometimeses, I don’t have a full picture of how they will change in the future. I try to use sometimes states to bring me satisfaction, but the truth is that they bring me stress –the stress of trying to bring them about, the stress of trying to keep them, and the stress over their loss. Stress that never really buys satisfaction because what is temporary and changeable only ever leads to thirst.
A Hotel Room and Its Accompaniments

A Hotel Room and Its Accompaniments

I started thinking that this Alana life — the body and the samutti that is Alana — is like a hotel room. While I am a guest, I get all the accompaniments to the rooms: I can use the pillows, robes, slippers, objects that ‘belong to the room’ (i.e self belongings) and I receive the status of being a guest at the property with the accompanying treatment (the way I get treated as Alana the degreed professional, or Alana the accomplished yogi). But as soon as I check-out, all the accompaniments go as well.

I contemplated in this way because, for some time,  I have been stuck: I keep telling myself I can’t ‘give up’ this body/ I must cling to it as mine, because I ‘need it’ — it is the vessel necessary to receive the accompaniments of my life, the accompaniments that I love. It is essential to keep my wealth, my status, to be recognized and adored by my loved ones.  I took this form, got myself born into this body, and then I proceeded to I imbue it with meaning. I embraced the samiti and the identity, I attached myself to the accompaniements, I clung to the fantasiese that I think it will allow me to manifest. But the thing is, the body dies. Like a hotel room,  whether I am happy with my stay, or miserable, eventually, I need to checkout.
I pretend I am in control; like by clinging to this body I can actually hold onto the life I adore, like it is up to me whether or not I ‘give-up’ either on body or acompaniments. But this is rediculous, becasue, cling or not, when my time is up at a hotel I need to check out; when my time is up in this body, I need to check out.

Getting stuck on ‘needing’ an Alana body is crazy.  Afterall, after I die, I clearly don’t need it for what is next, based on the fact that when the next thing comes, I don’t have it. The truth is, I don’t need this body. I want this body and I want the accompaniement of my life which require this body. That is something  different than needing it. When I consider it in terms of want, I can apply all my past contemplations on whether or not this world bends to my desire, follows my will or rules. Or whether or not this body bends to my desire, follows my will or rules. Can I really use what doesn’t bend to my desire, or follow my rules to ‘manifest’ me, Alana, WHO I AM? Of course I can’t.  I cling in futility; this is not freedom, this is not Alana Pwning, deciding the fate of the accompaniemnts, of my life, via the fate of the body. This is just delusion and the suffering of my efforts and inevitable failure.

There is Nothing Special About Being a Cause

There is Nothing Special About Being a Cause

Following my retreat, I sent a few updates to Mae Neecha about my contemplations, progress and ongoing work; this is the second blog  recapping  those messages

Part 2 – Second Email

I wanted to follow-up on my email yesterday with just a little more deep dive on 1 issue that has been weighing on me –the idea that because I can be a cause I am somehow special, or my objects (especially body) represent me, or something I cause in the rupa world otherwise proves something innate about me. Here are just a few of my thoughts on this and how I have/am going about attacking this particularly stubborn issue:

1) Beaver Dam and my Finger on the Scale Deciding What Causes Mean Someone is ‘Valuable‘ and What Causes are Insignificant  — a while back I came across a beaver dam hiking. It was a good looking dam as dams go, and that is when it dawned on me: The beaver causes the dam, but I am never super impressed with the beaver. I think nothing of it. Which was my first glimmer into the problem that my nama is a choosy narrator. I select which causes to ‘pay attention to’ and interpret as somehow meaningful/indicating some deep or great quality that exists in the  causer. I don’t care about sports, so I am not super impressed with a basketball player causing a score, but I love art, so the painting an artist creates makes that painter a great artist. The truth is, the world is full of beings who are causes, that isn’t something so special. But I choose which beings, which causes to assign value to. This was really my awakening that my finger is on the scale.
2)  Rosacea Flare-up and the Difference Between Being a Cause and Guaranteeing a Result:  My rosacea  was flaring (a  4 e process) and I wanted to ‘fix’ my skin, so I exerted my control — I called my doc and got her to prescribe a cream that ended up helping. As I was standing in front of the mirror I started to feel proud, of my skin and of the results I got in my fixit attempt. I realized though, that this time around, I put in place a cause and got a result I wanted. But there have been other times I called the doc and got a script that did, seemingly, nothing at all, times I have called the doc and got a script that made the rosacea worse, and 1 time that I got a script that made the rosacea better, but it had horrible side effects and I had constant headaches. It made me see that I can absolutely be a cause — I can change the course of my 4-e body’s march through shifting aggregated elemental states — but I can’t guarantee that I am going to get the results I want. At the end of the day, it is really the results I care about. Continuing to build identity around being a cause, or believing that because I can be a cause for my objects they will represent me, doesn’t make a whole lot of sense given that I can’t control the effects that my causes help to put in place.
3) Fit or Flabby, Alana has to Die — I know that rupa may only contain 4es, but its particular state does reflect the causes that brought it to that state –so boiling water does reflect the process of heating that brought it to the boiling state.
This got me very stuck on how a particular state of my body does in fact reflect something about the Alana nama that brought it to be in that state. I was thinking about a time when I was super fit. In my mind, that level of physical fitness reflected my extreme will power –to manage my diet, to manage my exercise –it made me proud. Though that level of fitness is long gone (showing its impermanence already), in my mind, I can’t help feel like, even if just for a moment, my body represented something important about me, a trait that I so deeply associate with myself. That with enough effort (which is always what I think I can bring to the table), I can at least momentarily get this body to represent me.
Honestly, I got so stuck on this I almost reached-out for help, but I gave myself another week to figure it out before I bugged you. Then Chadwich Boseman died (Black Panther actor). That dude was beyond fit (not to mention hot, talented and successful), but he died anyway. I imagine that his body, his career, all reflected his discipline, but it didn’t keep him for death, and death at a young age to boot. Somehow, this made me see that these brief moments of arrangement I fight so hard to obtain, so I can reflect something about myself, are sort of dwarfed by the end state we all come to. Its not exactly a perfect fix for this issue of body representing me, but it is the reason I have started thinking more ardently about death — the end, the fact that no matter what, I part ways with this body, is sort of the most persuasive argument I can come-up with that it is not really mine, it can’t be depended on, and if it isn’t mine or dependable, it is hard to make it  reflection of myself. Anyway, this is still a work in progress, but at least I think it is moving.
4) Wrong View as The Cause — A friend was talking to me about her many issues at work, and she didn’t even know where to start fixing them. But when I looked at her list of stuff — not speaking up, asking the same questions repeatedly, not leading — I realized that while I didn’t know her exact underlying wrong view, it sure looked like her issues were arising from one wrong view, or a wrong view and its kissing cousins. It made me remember something I somehow had lost sight of — all of our behaviors arise from our views (ahh the ole 8 Fold Path).
It got me to consider my own fit body represents ‘extreme willpower’ view.  I have already spent so much time contemplating how I don’t control my body (nothing like pissing myself to really drive that point home) and it is pretty clear that extreme willpower is a kissing cousin of control. When I think about it this way, it seems hard to ignore the causality chain — if fit body represents what I perceive to be its cause, my extreme willpower, doesn’t it also need to represent the cause of that cause — Alana’s wrong views about control and my body?
 If my behavior represents who I am, and my behavior is driven by my views –many of which practice has helped me understand are wrong — than am I not saying that who I am is a bundle of views, many being wrong? Is that really the me I want to be/claim? And if I am my views then how do I reconcile being a fixed me with clear evidence those views are continually changing?
I know this one maybe a little past the rupa basics — proving rupa can’t reflect the nama not just because rupa changes, but because nama is so changeable too, both sorta changing at their own rates, marching off in their own directions.
But, all together it gives me a real check at the door, for the belief that some physical trait, that my own choosy narrator has decided to elevate, that can be a cause but can’t guarantee a result (I mean seriously I have so many fitness injuries), that is temporary and can’t defeat death, and that has a shadow cause I may not really want to claim as  the ‘me I want to be’, is going to represent a good/special Alana.
Anyway, all a work in progress, but I wanted to send a deeper drill-down on this particular topic because it has been a bit of a hang-up for me.
20,000 Leagues to Sotapanahood

20,000 Leagues to Sotapanahood

Following my retreat, I sent a few updates to Mae Neecha about my contemplations, progress and ongoing work; here is a recap of those messages.

Part 1 — First Email
Last night I was thinking back to a very strong childhood memory: as a young kid, my parents would take me to Disneyworld and I would rush to my very favorite ride –20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. It was a Jules Verne themed ride where you got into a ‘submarine’ and got to see some of the best adventure scenes from the book play out. I so loved that ride!
I went back to Disney in high school, it had been many years since my last visit, and I again rushed toward my favorite ride. Only this time, I saw something different as I waited in the interminably long line: I saw a pond of polluted water, with trash floating in it. A ‘submarine’ that was just a toy on a track visible from the surface. Once I got in I noticed the ride was filthy and the great adventure scenes I remembered so vividly from my childhood were just plastic panoramas. Honestly, I was crushed with disappointment.
After that trip, my little teenage mind derived a ‘lesson’ from the experience — don’t look back, don’t revisit things you enjoyed in childhood because you are setting yourself up for disappointment when it is not what you remember. Obviously, this was an idiot’s lesson, that I should nourish my delusion just because I don’t like what I see when I face it head on.
Later in my life, during a dhamma contemplation, I looked back at this and realized it was proof of the problem with #3 (memory), even if that very selective curator remembers the truth, it does nothing to guarantee that it remains the same now or in the future. Which is a fine lesson, but it misses the extremely important and extremely obvious…
My change in perspective was literally nothing more than seeing the rupa for what it really is. As a kid, the rupa of the ride was so tied up with my memory and imagination, my fantasies. As a teen, going back, I couldn’t help notice the rupa for what it was and I became disillusioned; there was no way to unsee what I saw.
 I now understand that this 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea experience has to be a parallel for the process of becoming a sotapanna.  It is so clear what my path is now. I need to see rupa for exactly what it is and understand that it is not some medium/manifestation for my fantasies. It’s not mine. Even when it takes the form I want, such that it seems to confirm something I believe about me or mine or this world, that form is so so so friggen temporary – it is a sometimes. But like a fool, I pay attention only to the sometimeses I like , and ignore all the sometimeses I don’t like.
I have started thinking about each and every rupa object as a bundle of elements that come together and then start their march through shifting states/elemental arrangements. Rupa objects interact with each other, with the environments, and they can alter course (though never go backwards) — Alana can use her rupa body and rupa objects to poke and cause course alterations (though I have had 1 too many Korean beauty product breakouts to think that I can ensure that my causing/poking guarantees the result that I desire) —  but the final destination is always the same, disaggregation or consumed (or some combination of the two).
That is sorta all there is to it, arising, marching, ceasing. There are reasons why I believe there is more to it. Reasons I believe some shit is mine or not mine. But all my reasons in the world don’t actually change the basic truth of what shit is — I will never find ‘meaning’ or ‘value’ hidden somewhere in the ingredient list of earth, wind, fire and water. It is just not there.
I have long mistaken utility for value. I have fooled myself into thinking I can buy something with this money, I can drive somewhere with this car,  so these things have an innate quality –a value. But if I look again, I realize the truth is, in some circumstances I can use the money to buy things, use the car to go somewhere; all it takes is a currency collapse, or a dead battery, or countless other changes in circumstances for these things to be useless. Value is like pregnancy — you are or you aren’t — if changing circumstance can change the value of a car or money, than it pretty much proves that all I can assign to these items is utility (Alana, or any other rupa being, can use in some cases for some of the time).
The one that really gets me, isn’t my body per se, it is the samutti my body supports. I have gotten so stuck on this idea that I need my body to build the life/trappings of an Alana — an education, credit rating, professional experiences, friends and family who recognize me, the kit-n-kiboodle of ‘recognizable identity’ upon which I build this Alana life.  Then I realized, just as I use this samutti, so do others: Eric to recognize me, the bank to check my credit record, etc. The fact that others people use it makes it so clear, the body and the sammutti it supports, are both just usable things (utility = temporary versus value which = innate/permanent).
Like a credit card, I can use this body and this samutti for all sorts of stuff, but if I loose it, it is gone, no matter what use I have put it to in the past and no matter what I imagine I will be able to use it for in the future. This idea that the body is mine because it supports a ‘life’ I want and ‘need’ is as crazy as saying a credit card is mine because I want and need it. It doesn’t make it less losable, or stealable, or cancelable.  My mind just likes to but, but but… excuses to confuse me in the face of such a glaringly bald truth.
Anway now my singular mission is driving this home. I am contemplating death often: mine, others, past, future, human, animal and object,  not simply as a fact, but in intricate detail vis-a-vie the dissolution of an elemental aggregate. I think about how we all part ways with each other. How I play a role and when that role is done, it is over and done.
None of this is new. But what is new is exactly how sure I am about all this: what the path is, what the endpoint is and how to traverse it. I refuse to keep waiting in interminably long lines, to get on crappy rides that ultimately disappoint me,  just because I turn a blind eye to the difference between what the ride is and what I want it to be. It is enough already.
Part 2 – Second Email
I wanted to follow-up on my email yesterday with just a little more deep dive on 1 issue that has been weighing on me –the idea that because I can be a cause I am somehow special, or my objects (especially body) represent me, or something I cause in the rupa world otherwise proves something innate about me. Here are just a few of my thoughts on this and how I have/am going about attacking this particularly stubborn issue:

1) Beaver Dam and my Finger on the Scale Deciding What Causes Mean Someone is ‘Valuable‘ and What Causes are Insignificant  — a while back I came across a beaver dam hiking. It was a good looking dam as dams go, and that is when it dawned on me: The beaver causes the dam, but I am never super impressed with the beaver. I think nothing of it. Which was my first glimmer into the problem that my nama is a choosy narrator. I select which causes to ‘pay attention to’ and interpret as somehow meaningful/indicating some deep or great quality that exists in the  causer. I don’t care about sports, so I am not super impressed with a basketball player causing a score, but I love art, so the painting an artist creates makes that painter a great artist. The truth is, the world is full of beings who are causes, that isn’t something so special. But I choose which beings, which causes to assign value to. This was really my awakening that my finger is on the scale.
2)  Rosacea Flare-up and the Difference Between Being a Cause and Guaranteeing a Result:  My rosacea  was flaring (a  4 e process) and I wanted to ‘fix’ my skin, so I exerted my control — I called my doc and got her to prescribe a cream that ended up helping. As I was standing in front of the mirror I started to feel proud, of my skin and of the results I got in my fixit attempt. I realized though, that this time around, I put in place a cause and got a result I wanted. But there have been other times I called the doc and got a script that did, seemingly, nothing at all, times I have called the doc and got a script that made the rosacea worse, and 1 time that I got a script that made the rosacea better, but it had horrible side effects and I had constant headaches. It made me see that I can absolutely be a cause — I can change the course of my 4-e body’s march through shifting aggregated elemental states — but I can’t guarantee that I am going to get the results I want. At the end of the day, it is really the results I care about. Continuing to build identity around being a cause, or believing that because I can be a cause for my objects they will represent me, doesn’t make a whole lot of sense given that I can’t control the effects that my causes help to put in place.
3) Fit or Flabby, Alana has to Die — I know that rupa may only contain 4es, but its particular state does reflect the causes that brought it to that state –so boiling water does reflect the process of heating that brought it to the boiling state.
This got me very stuck on how a particular state of my body does in fact reflect something about the Alana nama that brought it to be in that state. I was thinking about a time when I was super fit. In my mind, that level of physical fitness reflected my extreme will power –to manage my diet, to manage my exercise –it made me proud. Though that level of fitness is long gone (showing its impermanence already), in my mind, I can’t help feel like, even if just for a moment, my body represented something important about me, a trait that I so deeply associate with myself. That with enough effort (which is always what I think I can bring to the table), I can at least momentarily get this body to represent me.
Honestly, I got so stuck on this I almost reached-out for help, but I gave myself another week to figure it out before I bugged you. Then Chadwich Boseman died (Black Panther actor). That dude was beyond fit (not to mention hot, talented and successful), but he died anyway. I imagine that his body, his career, all reflected his discipline, but it didn’t keep him for death, and death at a young age to boot. Somehow, this made me see that these brief moments of arrangement I fight so hard to obtain, so I can reflect something about myself, are sort of dwarfed by the end state we all come to. Its not exactly a perfect fix for this issue of body representing me, but it is the reason I have started thinking more ardently about death — the end, the fact that no matter what, I part ways with this body, is sort of the most persuasive argument I can come-up with that it is not really mine, it can’t be depended on, and if it isn’t mine or dependable, it is hard to make it  reflection of myself. Anyway, this is still a work in progress, but at least I think it is moving.
4) Wrong View as The Cause — A friend was talking to me about her many issues at work, and she didn’t even know where to start fixing them. But when I looked at her list of stuff — not speaking up, asking the same questions repeatedly, not leading — I realized that while I didn’t know her exact underlying wrong view, it sure looked like her issues were arising from one wrong view, or a wrong view and its kissing cousins. It made me remember something I somehow had lost sight of — all of our behaviors arise from our views (ahh the ole 8 Fold Path).
It got me to consider my own fit body represents ‘extreme willpower’ view.  I have already spent so much time contemplating how I don’t control my body (nothing like pissing myself to really drive that point home) and it is pretty clear that extreme willpower is a kissing cousin of control. When I think about it this way, it seems hard to ignore the causality chain — if fit body represents what I perceive to be its cause, my extreme willpower, doesn’t it also need to represent the cause of that cause — Alana’s wrong views about control and my body?
 If my behavior represents who I am, and my behavior is driven by my views –many of which practice has helped me understand are wrong — than am I not saying that who I am is a bundle of views, many being wrong? Is that really the me I want to be/claim? And if I am my views then how do I reconcile being a fixed me with clear evidence those views are continually changing?
I know this one maybe a little past the rupa basics — proving rupa can’t reflect the nama not just because rupa changes, but because nama is so changeable too, both sorta changing at their own rates, marching off in their own directions.
But, all together it gives me a real check at the door, for the belief that some physical trait, that my own choosy narrator has decided to elevate, that can be a cause but can’t guarantee a result (I mean seriously I have so many fitness injuries), that is temporary and can’t defeat death, and that has a shadow cause I may not really want to claim as  the ‘me I want to be’, is going to represent a good/special Alana.
Anyway, all a work in progress, but I wanted to send a deeper drill-down on this particular topic because it has been a bit of a hang-up for me.
Bite Me

Bite Me

I had an adorable pair of socks, they had a little cartoon apple on them and below the smiling apple face, they said  ‘bite me’. When I saw those socks in the store, they made me chuckle aloud; I bought them imagining all the platies and yoga classes I would attend, where everyone could see my socks and laugh along with me, basking in my cleverness and my rye sense of humor.  Now, the socks were starting to become threadbare, in the months since the pandemic had begun, no one but Eric and I had seen those socks, there was no one else to laugh at them, to affirm me in relation to them.

I began to consider the socks more closely, I asked myself: “Do these socks prove who I am?” I bought them because I thought they expressed my sense of humor, they affirmed this important aspect of my personality. I bought them because, according to me, at that time, in that fresh-new-sock-state, I believed they reflected something about myself.  Now though, they just look like sad, worn out socks. Now, unseen by anyone else, they don’t even have the opportunity to affirm me at all. So can these socks, that wear out, that depend on circumstances in which they are seen, really prove anything about me? Do they prove my value?

I thought more about what it is those socks are able to prove and suddenly I realized: These socks, sitting in my laundry pile, prove  that, at least at the moment I bought them, I believed they proved something about me. Having these socks today prove that once upon a time, when I pulled my credit card out in the store, I believed these socks could represent me, affirm me, prove my humor and cleverness.  These socks prove nothing but the fact that I held a delusion about them, at least long enough, to buy them, to claim them, to make them ‘mine’.

Its true, that in the store, all those years ago, as I gazed at the socks, imagining our future together, I claimed them as mine, as representatives of my humor. They were my statement to this world — a cute, clever, ‘bite me’. Now though, as I see them all ratty and tattered, I had to ask myself: “Does claiming an object actually change the reality of the object I claim?” I mean, if it did, would these cute, once beloved socks be so beaten-up, would they be on lock-down in my house along with me, rather than out there –virus be damned– broadcasting my awesomeness to the world? No, claiming an object doesn’t seem to change the object at all, the only thing claiming an object seems to change is me.

Claiming an object changes my expectations of how an object will act; my socks will act in my service, bring me satisfaction, go out into the world, lookin good, and represent me. Claiming an object changes my behavior. I need to figure out how to clean the socks, stitch the holes; I use rupa thread and rupa detergent to manipulate rupa socks, trying to bring them to, and help them sustain, a state that I like, a state I imagine will bring me satisfaction and will affirm my sense of who I am to the world.  But, independent of my expectations, independent of my efforts, I have a worn-out pair of tattered socks, cowering in my laundry basket, avoiding the world. I have socks that prove what they are –4e objects subject to rips and tears and degradation — not who I am. I have socks that prove my beliefs — the ignorance with which I bought them hoping they would somehow be more.

The Poison Pill of Sometimes

The Poison Pill of Sometimes

After days using the exercise from the Anatta-Lakkhana sutra to contemplate my belongings and my body it started to become increasing clear to me that each object I contemplated on –every object in the world — is just marching through the shifting states of rupa. Clearly it isn’t you, you cant say that any of the 4 elements in any given combination, that will definitely disaggregate, is you. It isn’t representative of you either — it represents its march – its process of entropy, its process of shifting, the object represents the nature of rupa itself to move toward, and ultimately arrive at, the cessation of any given form. I can use rupa objects to interact with other rupa objects, possibly causing them to change, within the scope of rupa rules; but that doesn’t make something mine, it doesn’t mean it reflects me, these objects are simply acting in accord with their nature, not affirming me. And yet, sometimes, the states they achieve seem to align so closely with my desires it almost seems they affirm me…
Previously, I had spent many months caught up on the idea that by being a cause, by being able to use one rupa object to change another rupa object, I was special, or unique or that I could get what I wanted. But now I see, what I want is a result, I couldn’t care less about being the cause. But even when I am the cause, no particular result is guaranteed. Its just that sometimes the result I want does in fact happen, and when it does I assign meaning, presume power, to myself as the cause.

Recently my rosacea was flaring, my skin was red, burning, I had pimples and pustules galore. This is a 4e process.  My nama wants to ‘fix’ the skin, bring it back to a less inflamed state that I prefer, that better ‘represents’ beautiful me. Immediately I get to imagining ways to fix. My memory of my Dr. helping in the past prompts me to give her a call. She prescribes a cream and ‘voila’, it helps. Why? Because in this instance, the 4es of the cream interact with the 4es of my skin and calm the redness and pain.

The thing is, there have been sometimes I called the doc and got a script and it made the rosacea worse. There have been sometimes I called the doc and got a script and the rosacea got better, but I had horrible side effects from the drugs and had to stop using them. So sure, I can be a cause, sometimes that cause achieves a desired result, but there is no way I can guarantee a result. Without guaranteeing a result –without ALWAYS — I can’t possibly claim control of this world, or ‘my objects’: I can’t rely on them to take shapes I believe reflect me, I can’t depend on them being there for me, they can’t affirm I am some special-exceptional-master-of-the-universe because they don’t act in accord with my wishes or rules, they simply act in accord with their nature –shifting when the causes for a shift have been met, with total disregard for my desired result.

Even when I am able to cause an object to change into a state I desire, it remains in that state only temporarily. This was not my first rosacea flare, in the past I had flares that I had tempered with  meds. The problem was, the meds had stopped working. Nor was this the first time a med had stopped working; countless times I had a flare, cleared it with a drug, and then had the drug stop working. Flare, new drug, remission, flare, new drug, remission, flare, new drug, remission, flare. Each time I  manage a remission, I feel victorious, in control, I have forced my skin back to the state it is ‘supposed’ to be in, the state I imagine my skin looks. But the truth is it is a momentary state, it is only a SOMETIMES STATE. And as much as I only want the sometimeses that I like to represent me — the young, the pretty the less red and bumpy and itchy — I can’t just isolate those states and claim them; my face is the whole path, the whole march, all the states that particular 4e object shift into before its cessation.

As much as I love the sometimes states when they mean a clear skinned remission, I am starting to see that the SOMETIMES STATE is actually a poison pill in a candy’s wrapping because sometimes is  the root of my dissatisfaction/why there is no satisfaction to be had in this word:  I want always (things I love) and never (things I hate). But the alignment of circumstances, factors and causes are always changing — rupa objects are always marching along their shifting states till they reach disaggregation —  so there is never a way I can convert sometimes to always, and disappointment will rush in as soon as the balance of 4es in my skin change and the drug stops working.

Still, those moments when my skin looks great, those sometimeses, are what feed my hope. The sometimes remission is what motivates me to keep calling the doc and trying new drugs whenever a flare comes. Sometimes  is what motivates each new effort, new birth, new becoming to get it ‘right’, to finally force all the arrangements into states that I want, that confirm me, and hold them there forever. This view, this hope, can never happen, and it will always lead to rebirth and more suffering.

 

2020 Retreat Part 8– A Ring/A Body That I Am Forced to Part Ways With Against My Will Can’t be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 8– A Ring/A Body That I Am Forced to Part Ways With Against My Will Can’t be Mine

Day 8: Part 1: Wedding Ring
My wedding ring is not under my control (it was not mine, I had to part ways with it ‘against my will’).
If my wedding ring were under my control, it would have never gotten scratched, or dull or dirty and dead skin never would have caked-up on the inside making it feel sticky.
If my wedding ring were under my control, I would never have had to worry about it sliding down the drain when I did dishes. I would have never had to worry about it getting stolen when I walked through rough neighborhoods. Most of all, if that ring were really mine, I would still have it today, it would have never gotten lost, we would have never had to part ways.
But the very fact that my ring defied my deepest desires — for it to stay shiny and stay clean and stay pristine and, most importantly to stay with me — absolutely proves that ring is not, and never was, under my control.
When the ring rubbed against other solid objects — tables and weights and steering wheels — it scratched. When the ring was exposed to minerals in water, dust in the house, and liquids in food it became dirty and dull. When the skin on my hand got wet and rubbed against the inside of the ring, dead skin would build up and get sticky. When the elements in  the ring’s environment interacted with the ring in such a way that the causes of scratching, dirtying, dulling and skin build-up were met,  scratching, dirtying, dulling and skin build-up ensued.
Moreover, because that ring was never under my control, when the reasons for our separation arose, the result was our separation.  When cold weather caused my fingers to shrink, my fingers shrank. When the friction of my gloves against the ring caused the ring to slip over my shrunken fingers, the ring slipped off.  No matter how dear it was to me, no matter how much I wished it were otherwise, the ring went its way and I went mine.
“Alana, howz about we do the questions?” “You got it Great Dharma Lord.”
1) Is that ring of yours permanent or impermanent?  Clearly Lord, the ring is impermanent. The ring itself is impermanent, with changes in shine and cleanliness and shape. My relationship with the ring is also impermanent, with us having come together, stayed together for a few years, and then the ring getting lost and parting ways with me.
2) Is the impermanence of the ring something that causes you stress or ease? Lord, it was something that was so deeply stressful. As soon as I got the ring, I worried about it constantly, I wanted it to always stay looking clean and shiny and new. Even more, I worried about losing the ring, about it falling off or getting stolen. When it finally did get lost, it broke my heart. I cried and cried. In my mind I  had lost not just a ring, but a symbol of my specialness, my value and my lovableness.
 Now I understand that my pain and stress in relation to the ring was also impermanent: Before I got the ring, I never stressed about it. Now, years after it was lost I am also completely ‘over it’. My stress had a fixed duration  — it lasted only as long as my imagination was wrapped-up with how that ring defined me, and the future that we would have together.
3) So Alana, do you think it is fitting to regard what is impermanent, stressful and which you need to part ways with as: “This is me.” “This is my self.” “This is what I am.”?
Honestly Great Lord, the fact that I lost this ring, that I was forced to part ways with it against my will, is a very persuasive point for the ‘no column’. While I had that ring, I definitely believed it to be mine. Now that the ring and I have been separated for a time, it is so obviously not mine. If it were really mine, shouldn’t it’s mineness continue even after we had parted ways? But the truth is, it didn’t. The ring, undoubtedly continued on being a ring; its elements continued their ever-shifting-arrangement march towards their ultimate consumption or disaggregation. Yet, after a time, I stopped considering it mine. This proves to me that ‘mine’ is in me and not in the ring.
But we have already seen that rings and shoes and plants and retainers and even my body are all going to act in accord with their nature, shifting into various arrangements of elements before ultimately disaggregating and/or being consumed. I will be forced to part with all objects. If I don’t regard them as mine after we part ways, and I don’t regard them as mine before we come together, why should I regard them as mine for the finite period we are together? What is so special about that time — especially when, as we have established, during that together-time I don’t actually control the object?
I chose  to call that ring mine because I believed it would ‘prove’ a set of qualities about myself — that I was valuable and lovable. But how do I really expect a changeable, losable ring to reflect  a set of qualities in myself that I believe are permanent (I know they are not, but that is a contemplation for another day)? Perhaps that is why I am on the endless, exhausting, soul crushing, anxiety provoking, sorrow inducing, treadmill of acquisition; I need more objects to replace ever changing/losing/dying objects to prove ‘who I am’.
When I claimed that ring as mine, I didn’t just try to possess an object, I tried to possess a particular future that I believed the ring could help guarantee — a long marriage, a continued state of being valuable and lovable.  The future I imagined definitely had the wedding ring in it. Real future did not. So doesn’t that prove that the ring was incapable of bringing about the future I envisioned? Without that power, to bring about the future I want, do I really consider it mine? Lets face it, as soon as I stopped imagining a happy future in NY, the house I owned there, which I had bought feeling so sure would be the home-base for a fabulous NY adventure, stopped being ‘mine’ in my headheart even if it was still mine on the deed.
So if an object can’t stay with me, if it can’t eternally reflect a set of characteristics that I believe are eternal and it can’t guarantee my future, what is the point of regarding the object as mine at all? What is the point of being overly concerned with these objects?  How do I justify the particular pain and stress, that arises only in relation to objects I think I own (ie. I don’t feel particularly crushed when someone else’s wedding gets lost), when the objects don’t even do what I think they do and then disappoint me every time?
Day 8: Part 2: My Body is Like My Wedding Ring
My body is not under my control (it is not me, it is not mine, I will have to part ways with it, even if it is against my will).
If my body were under my control it would never get blemishes or lesions, it would never look dull or get dirty and it would never feel sticky or pained.
If my body were under my control, I would never have to worry about catching Covid when I am around others. I would never have to worry about it being taken, raped, when I walk through rough neighborhoods. Most of all, if this body were mine I could guarantee I will have it for as long as I want it,  it would never die, we would never have to part ways.
But the very fact that this body, on a regular basis, defies my deepest desires — for it to stay unscraped and unscathed, clean and pristine, never sick and never pained — absolutely prove that this body is not and never was under my control.
When this body’s elements are caused to rearrange in ways that result in it being scraped or dirtied or aged or sick or pained, scraped or dirtied or aged or sick or pained will ensue. Because this body is not under my control, it can catch Covid if the conditions for catching Covid are met. Because this body is a physical object, it can be taken and used by others when who are  physically capable of taking it and using it. Because this body is not under my control, no matter how desperately I cling to it, no matter how hard I try to take care of it, my will and my actions are incapable of keeping it with me forever.
“Alright Alana its qq time.” “Lets do this Great Dharma Lord.”
1) Is that body of yours permanent or impermanent? Clearly Lord, it is impermanent — I have seen sores arise and heal, I have had joints get torn, teeth get pulled, skin sag and wrinkle, cholesterol go up, blood sugar go down, breathing become labored muscles strengthen and atrophy. I go through states of dirty and clean, hungry and full, tired and alert, healthy and ill. The body’s external form changes, just as its internal organs and other components change. It gets older and it gets sick and eventually it will die.
2) Is the impermanence of the body something that causes you stress or ease? Oh Lord, on a stress scale of 1 to 10 this body is like a friggen 11. I worry about it constantly, I worry about how it looks, how it feels, how it sounds and how it smells. I worry about ageing, I worry about disease and I worry most of all about death.
3) So Alana, do you think it is fitting to regard what is impermanent, stressful, and which you will ultimately need to part ways with as: “This is me.” “This is my self.” “This is what I am.”?
Alright Great Lord, on this one I really hear you. The fact of the matter is that this body is exactly like my ring, I will be forced to part ways with it one of these days , whether I like it or not. How do I know that with such surety you may ask? I know it because this body is made of the exact same stuff – fire/water/wind/earth –  as my ring and as each and every object in this world. The only difference between this body and everything else is simply the proportion of these elements. Because all rupa arises from an aggregation of elements, marches along shifting and changing the arrangement of elements, and then disaggregates or become consumed, it is absolutely certain that this body — a particular aggregation of elements — which has already arisen, will keep shifting its arrangement of elements and will ultimately become disaggregated or consumed.
At the end of my body’s march, its form’s heat, movement, liquids and solids will have to separate and return to the earth; as such they will separate from me for sure. So is something of this world, that follows the rules of this world, and that ultimately separates from me and returns to this world really me or mine?
The truth is I have bound my sense of self up with this body; I depend on it to ‘hold’ together this Alana life — the family, the friends, the belongings, the ideals and values — but this body is not a dependable thing; its continual shifting makes for fragile grounds upon which to build a life, and whether I like it or not, its dissolution is imminent.
When I rent a car, I sign a contract and I know from the get go that I will part ways with it. Sure, while I have it I care for it, but I am not overly concerned about the thing. While I have it I can use it in my travels, I get to drive it from point A to point B. But when the contract is up, and I have to return it, there is no wailing and gnashing of teeth. One time, I rented a particularly fancy car and as I jumped out at the service station someone waved me down to compliment me on my bad ass car. I thanked them, but the comment didn’t stick, it didn’t puff me up,  I knew in my heart the car was a rental — it wasn’t me, it wasn’t mine, it was just something I was driving for 5 days between Orlando and Miami. So how about this body, isn’t it a loaner too? Something I drive between point A and point B, only to return when the contract comes due?
2020 Retreat Part 7 — Fancy Shoes/A Body That Inevitably Decay and Break, As Part of Normal Use, Can’t be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 7 — Fancy Shoes/A Body That Inevitably Decay and Break, As Part of Normal Use, Can’t be Mine

Day 7: Part 1: Louboutin shoes
My louboutins are not under my control (they are not mine, their fading, decaying, breaking and eroding are inevitable — a normal part of their use).
If my louboutins were under my control they would not scuff, the leather would not sag, they would never smell or get sticky and wet inside.
If my louboutins were under my control their shiny red bottoms — the feature that makes them so special and unique — would never fade or scuff or scratch or erode. At the very least, the bottoms wouldn’t rub off so quickly, their razzle dazzle would last for at least a dozen wears, they would carry me through all the galas and parties and work events I imagined wearing them to when I bought the things.
If my louboutins were under my control I could just say, “sweet bottom shoes, stay sexy and non smelly and sleek and new looking, keep flashing a little red to the world.” They would listen to my pleas when I say “please, at least, just hold on a little longer before you lose your red-bottom shine, wait until after my next work event before you breakdown and look so worn.”
But the reality is that those sweet little shoes are not under my control. Although I watch where I walk in them, polish them regularly and wipe them down whenever I finish wearing them , after just a few wears, I see the scuff marks, scratches and chips, wrinkles at the toe, and a faint odeur de’foot is wafting up from their storage box.  This is because the shoes travel through an environment where solid objects — the street and other shoes and rocks and dirt — rub against them causing scuffs and scratches and chips. The shoes spend time on my feet where pressure causes them to stretch and wrinkle, and bacteria and sweat from my body create smell.
This is all normal. When the causes for scuffs and scratches, sags and wrinkles, smells and worn bottoms have been met, these shoes will have scuffs and scratches, sags and wrinkles, smells and worn bottoms. My desire for them to be different, my expectation that they will last a certain amount of time, my imagination of their presence at future events, is all irrelevant.
“Alright then Alana, lets do the questions.” “Alrighty-O Great Dharma Lord.”
1) Are your shoes permanent or impermanent? Clearly Lord, they are impermanent. The way they look now is totally different then how they looked when I pulled them from their box the first time, in fact, I can see new marks and shape changes after each and every wear. It doesn’t matter that these shoes have a feature that makes them special — cool bottoms — they seem to wear and break down like every other shoe. It doesn’t matter that I take extra special care of them, they break down nonetheless. It doesn’t matter that when I bought them, I had a vision for these shoes, special outfits and special occasions where I was sure they would join me, they still breakdown, on their own timing and not on mine.
2) Is a pair of shoes that is impermanent, that you so hoped would last and didn’t, something easeful or stressful? Lord, it is so stressful to watch something I care about, I enjoy, I worked hard to buy, and hard to preserve, just breakdown and change. It is disappointing when my fantasies about where I will wear them to, and how I will look in them, are dashed.
3) So is it at all sensible to say that a pair of shoes you don’t control, that change and that cause you stress yours? Can you count on those sweet-bottomed shoes to actually represent you?
Getting to ‘no’ is a work in progress Lord, but here are my observations about those shoes: The nature of all objects is to break down and decay — when their elements have met the causes of their disaggregation or consumption, they will disaggregate or be consumed (or some combination of both). The function of shoes is that they are worn on my foot, out in the world, that they are eroded by, and changed by, both foot and world is a product of their function. When I bought those shoes, I knew all of this already.
But when I saw those sweet shoes, with their o-so-special red bottom, I was wooed. My mind got to fantasizing our future together –at least a dozen wears — and when a little corner of my brain reminded me, ” Alana, just remember those shoes, red-bottomed or not, are going to go the way of all shoes, they will erode and decay as part of their ‘daily life.’ Buy them if you want to buy them, use them if you want to use them, but don’t count on them to be there for you just because you want them, even if you have built your whole outfit on the basis of those shoes, even if you RSVed to an event thinking both you and the shoes will make it, even if you take super good care of them, know those shoes will break down and get busted”.  And then I said to that little corner of my brain, “yah, yah, yah” and pulled out my credit card to buy them anyway.
When I pulled out my credit card, I was fixating on the the newness and shininess and red-bottomedness of those shoes. I wasn’t thinking about their future-worn-out-selves.  When I pulled out the credit card I knew damn well any shoes ( better yet ones that I perceived of as valuable precisely because the area that touches the street most was painted red) would get ‘sick’, but I figured that was a tomorrow problem, I was focused only on enjoying the shoes today.
When I thought about how those red bottomed shoes would represent me, prove my stylishness, I was thinking about the shoes only in their newness and shininess and red-bottomedness state. Never in their worn out and scuffed and smelly state. But both states are native to the shoe. The broken state was already inevitable in the arrangement of the shoe.
When I bought those shoes, I had in mind a certain number of wears, a minimum number of events, and I determined their ‘worth-it-ness’ accordingly. But their final wear came long before my mind’s minimum and I suffered disappointment accordingly.
A part of me now wonders if I would have actually been satisfied if those shoes made it their dozen wears, or if I always want more? Either way,  I know that I made my own, allowed to represent me, something that in the end proved totally dissatisfying. So maybe a different framing of this question is: If I only claim things as mine that I hope will give me satisfaction, and it is questionable if any object at all can ultimately give me satisfaction, should I in fact be claiming anything at all as my own?”
Day 7: Part : 2My Body is Like  My Louboutin shoes
My body is not under my control (it is not mine, its fading, decaying, breaking down and eroding are inevitable — a normal part of its use).
If my body were under my control then my lungs would not scar, my skin would not sag, my moles would not change, my joints would not erode, I would never get sweaty or stinky or feverish.
If my body were under my control the face and the figure — the features I think make me so special and unique — would never fade or fatten or wrinkle or stretch. At the very least, this body would carry me through all the workouts and events and travel and gatherings – the sheer number of years — I imagine it will.
If my body were under my control I could say, ” sweet body, stay sexy and sleek and not smelly. Please, at the very least stay strong and healthy and pain-free” and my body of today would oblige, forever.
But the reality is, this body is not under my control. Although I wash it, work it out, feed it, medicine it and take generally good care, in just 40 years it has scars and torn joints and sagging skin and dark marks and diseases and regular hip pain.  This is because this body travels though the world — encountering other objects and environmental features that heat it and cool it, abrade it and saturate it, push and pull and stop it in this way and that, consume it and alter its balance of elements.
This is all normal. When the causes for scars and torn joints and sagging skin and dark marks and diseases and regular hip pain have been met,  scars and torn joints and sagging skin and dark marks and diseases and regular hip pain will ensue. My desire for a body that is different –unchanging and unimpacted, my expectation that it will last a certain amount of time, my imagination of its presence at future events, is all irrelevant.
“Alright then Alana, here we go with the questions” “Ask and I will do my best to answer Great Lord”
1) Is that body of yours permanent or impermanent? Oh so clearly Lord it is impermanent. The way it looks, feels, smells, sounds, and behaves is totally different now than it was when I was a kid. In fact I can see new marks, feel new sensations, watch how it moves differently each and every day. It doesn’t matter that this body has a face, a shape, that make it different from other bodies, that make it seem special and unique, it seems to wear down and break like every other body.
It doesn’t matter that I have a vision for this body — how it will look, how it will feel, how fit it is, how smooth the skin, how easily it breaths, how healthy it is — it still goes right on breaking down, according to its timing and not my own. I may have imagined a clear faced body at the last gala, but zits still popped up. I might have imagined a perfectly back bending spine, but I never was able to fall into a backbend from standing even after years of doing yoga hours a day, I may have envisioned getting through this pandemic without a hospital visit, but a rabies shot seeking Alana had to go to the ER a few weeks back.
2) Is a body that is so important to you, that you hoped would last but is already wearing, that shows signs of further aging and decaying with each day, something that is easeful or stressful? Nothing causes me greater stress than this body Great Lord. It is utterly depressing, soul crushing, to watch something I care about so much, something I love and depend on, something I work so hard to preserve just break down and change.
I feel disappointed when my fantasies about what this body will do and how it will look and feel are dashed. I feel extreme fear every time there are signs this body is decaying further, sickening and eroding, I live in anxiety of its illness, pain and death.
3) So is it at all sensible to say that a body that you don’t control, that changes and causes you stress is yours? Can you really count on it to represent you?
Getting to ‘no’ is a work in progress Lord, but here are my observations about this body: The nature of bodies is to break down and decay, when the causes for breaking down and decaying (shifting of elements) have been met. The function of a body is to carry me through this world, that it changes and erodes in relation to objects/environments in this world is natural, expected, it is a product of its function. The world makes no secrets about these facts, it is clear and plain to see.
At some point, I must have surveyed these facts and said, ‘yah, yah, yah, to the part of my brain that so obviously observed the ‘full package’ I was signing-up for when I entered a physical form a form that, through its very function, is exposed to the causes that result in its decay.
When I claimed this body, started calling it my own, I must have thought I could count on it, at least for some minimum amount of time, that whatever percentage of the time it satisfied me would be enduring, that it would make the whole body trip worthwhile.
When I am enamored with this body, fantasizing ways I will use it to build a life, feed an Alana identity, move through and enjoy this world, and represent me, I think only about a ‘snapshot Alana’.  A snapshot that is healthy and beautiful and pain free; I don’t think of the ageing, sickening, dying body that inevitably comes about, lying in the frames before and after that snapshot state.
Last night, when a headache and some sniffles had me worried illness might be on the way, I said to myself, “despite your yah, yah, yahing, you must have known this body came with illness, that that was contract you signed. Now when there is illness, how can you be surprised? Why do you feel afraid, disappointed, by something that you knew was coming all along? If this body decays against your wishes and your imagination, in its own time and according to its causes, why would you count on it to represent you? If this body’s sickness and cessation, is not satisfying to can you really claim it as your own? Do you ever really claim things you know won’t be to your liking?
2020 Retreat Part 6 — A Freezer/Lungs That Shift According to Their Elements Instead of My Wishes Can’t be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 6 — A Freezer/Lungs That Shift According to Their Elements Instead of My Wishes Can’t be Mine

Day 6: Part 1 My Freezer

My freezer is not under my control (its elemental composition shifts in accord with its nature, and not necessarily in accord with my actions nor my desires).
If my freezer were under my control food particles would not clog the drain line, water would not pool and harden at the bottom, gashes and marks would not be left by accumulated ice, and the door would always be easy to pull open.
If my freezer were under my control, it wouldn’t shut off just because the power went out in the house or the landlord unplugged it. It would be something I could always rely on, mine to use whenever I needed it.
At the very least, if my freezer were under my control, it would wait for a convenient time to clog, or be unopenable, or power off — a time when no pandemics or hurricanes threatened my food supply.
If my freezer were really under my control, my panicked cries of, “please don’t clog, please please open, whatever you do don’t go out,’ would have moved my freezer to leap into action, and its thermostat to stay at a safe zero degrees, if not forever, than at least in the times I felt like I needed it the most.
But the reality is, my freezer is not under my control. Multiple times in the last few months, my freezer has broken or shut off, independent of my action, independent of my ‘need’ for it to work.
The state of the freezer changes in accord with its elements, and in the process of interacting with elements in its environment. A crumb of food (4 e) can move into the drain line and, at a certain temperature, cause the water that flows through the line to freeze/harden and block further movement though the pipe. Water can  move onto the freezer floor, solidifying at a certain temperature and blocking the door from moving/opening.
A storm, or an individual, can remove the freezers’ requisite — electricity — and it will cease to function all together.
“So Alana, is that freezer of your constant or inconstant?” “Oh great Dharma Lord, I have a trash bag full of melted food that proves it is inconstant — temperature changes, tubes clog, door opens only sometime and when the conditions for complete shut-off are met, it shuts off entirely.”
“And is a freezer that is inconstant the cause of suffering or ease?” “Lord, it causes stress and suffering by the boatload as I worry about the food inside, and how I will get it fixed and if it is even fixable at all.”
“Alana, if you don’t control the freezer, it is inconstant and it causes you suffering, does it make a ton of sense to call the thing ‘yours’?”
“This contemplation is a work in progress Great Lord, but I can say this: my freezer has proven to me that it acts in accordance with its nature — when elements in the environment, like food particles in drain lines, cause it to shift, its composition shifts and, in the case of my freezer it shifted enough  that its function was altered.” When the freezer was deprived of its requisite — power (heat) — it ceased functioning all together. Though I want to rely on this freezer, it is unreliable. Do I really want to call something I can not rely on my own?”
Day 6: Part 2: My Lungs are Like My Freezer

My lungs are not under my control (their elemental composition shifts in accord with their nature, and not necessarily in accord with my actions nor my desires).
If my lungs were under my control particles of pollen or dust would not cause my airways to begin to close, mucous would not pool and harden in them, scars would not be left by the process, and the lungs would always be able to inhale and exhale smoothly.
If my lungs were under my control, they wouldn’t just stop oxygenating my body because they weren’t getting sufficient air. Obviously, if my lungs were under my control, I could always rely on them, they would be mine to use anytime I needed them.
If my lungs were really under my control, the sound of gasping, the feeling of panic and weakness and lightheadedness, would act as their command — I wouldn’t even need to say, “breath damn it, breath”, before air was smoothly flowing again.
But the reality is, my lungs are not under my control, during countless asthma attacks my lungs have broken or shut off, independent of my action and independent of my desperate ‘need’ for them to work.
The state of my lungs change in accord with their elements, and in the process of interacting with other elements in their environment. A bit of dust or mold or pollen (a 4 e object) can move into my airways and, even at normal body temperature, cause mucus to flow and harden/thicken to block further movement of air to my lungs. In the absence of my lungs’ requisite –air– they can cease to function all together and are unable to oxygenate my body.
“So Alana, are those lungs of your constant or inconstant?” “Great Lord, every single asthma attack proves they are inconstant — I can be rolling along, minding my business, lungs breathing perfectly well and then suddenly they are struggling to function.”
“And is a set of lungs that is inconstant the cause of suffering or ease?” “Great Lord, the throws of an asthma attack are extraordinarily stressful, panic sets in at being unable to breath. Even when I am not suffering the stress of an actual attack, I have to worry about attacks, worry about carrying medicine, worry about going to the doctor and making sure I am prepared for any attack that may occur.”
So Alana, if you don’t control your lungs — an organ lodged at the center of our body, and organ utterly essential to your body’s continued function, those lungs are inconstant and cause you stress, does it make sense to call the things ‘yours’?
“I can’t say with certainty they are mine, unfortunately I still can’t pinky promise, with absolute certainty, they aren’t mine either, my mind requires more convincing. What I can say though is that these lungs, over and over, have proven they act in accordance with their nature — dust, pollen, mold, or smoke have all caused the composition of my lungs to shift and their functioning was altered. When the lungs are deprived of their requisite –air (as well as food and water and correct temperature) — they can cease functioning all together. No matter how much I want to rely on these lungs, no matter how much that I value and hold dear (my very life) rides on them, I know that I  can not count on them to be reliable. So the real question is whether something that I can only use some of the time, when it’s own nature and conditions permit it, is something I can rightfully claim belongs to me? Perhaps it makes more sense to say I can use it for a little while…
2020 Retreat Part 5 — A Peace Lily/Body That Are Reliant on Their Requisites Can’t be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 5 — A Peace Lily/Body That Are Reliant on Their Requisites Can’t be Mine

Day 5: Part 1: My Peace Lily (Plant)

My peace lily is not under my control (it is not mine, it is reliant upon its requisites).
If my peace lily were under my control its leaves would never yellow and get brown spots, its stems would never become flaccid and sag. If my lily were under my control it would always be perky and erect and bright green and smooth, the way it looks when it is well watered and getting a good amount of sun, when the soil is packed with nutrients and at the right level in the pot.
If my plant were under my control, I wouldn’t need to find it a plant-sitter when I travel, it would just patiently wait for me to return, still healthy and perky and bright. And at the least, if my plant does need a plant sitter, it wouldn’t look even better, with new buds and new leaves, after leaving it in someone else’s care than it looks when it is in my own care.
If my lily were under my control when I talk to it (and yes, I do talk to it) and gently say,”Hey there little peace lily, you are looking sad and saggy and brown today, how about you perk up for me and look all green and fresh blooming today?” And, silently (because duh, plants can’t talk back) my little lily would go full, thick, foliaged bloom.
But the reality is that my little lily is not under my control. The lily is dependent on its requisites — water and sunlight and soil nutrients — in correct proportions to live and thrive and grow. Any imbalance of these has an effect, sagging stems and un-greening leaves and thinning foliage, too much imbalance and the plant will die.
The lily is affected by other 4e objects in its environment, bugs can attack it and consume the leaves, fungus can attack it and consume the stems. A plant-sitter can change its environment or proportion of requisites and it can bloom and grow in response, even if I think, “its not fair my plant thrives so fully when someone else cares for it.”
The lily’s own, internal composition of 4es — its nature — drive it to form flowers at a certain stage of its life, to bloom, to wither and eventually to die, independent of how much I (or my so slightly-too-skilled plant sitter) provide it with its necessary requisites.
“OK Alana — lets do the questions then”. “I’m ready to go Great Lord”
1) Is your little lily changeable or unchanging? “Lord, the way may little lily changes –not just every day, but even over the course of a day — are plain for anyone to see. I can watch it droop when it needs water and perk up again within a few hours after receiving it. I see leaves grow through phases of green and yellow and even brown, I see soil levels decrease and the plant grow taller and wider. I see new leaves form and fall off, new bugs grow and wither.
2) Is a plant that changes stressful or easeful? ” Here is the thing Lord, I love that little plant, it makes me so happy when it looks full and fresh and healthy. When it begins to sag though, as it changes, it makes me depressed to see a limp brown thing sitting on the corner of my desk. But, as it freshens and perks again, I am happy (though a little less happy if it perks under my plant sitter’s care instead of my own) — my emotions are dragged around, pulled-up and down, by this little plant, that is the most stressful part of all.
3) Is a plant that is not under your control, that is changeable and causes stress something you ought to, something that you logically are able to, call your own?
“I hear you Lord, it’s a great qq that I still can’t give a flat-no to yet, but I can say this much:  That lily ticks along, growing, blooming, sagging, perking, yellowing, greening all according to its nature rather than my wishes. It is dependent not on me, but on its requisites. It lives and thrives dependent on these requisites and it ultimately dies independent of  how perfectly or thoroughly it has acquired them.

 Day 5: Part 2: My Body is Like My Peace Lily (Plant)

My body is not under my control it is not mine, it is reliant upon its requisites.
If my body were under my control my hair would never gray, my skin would never get red and brown spots, my muscles wouldn’t go flaccid and my skin wouldn’t sag. If my body were under my control it would be perky, bright and smooth, the way it looked back when I was fit and firm and radiant at 25.
If my body were under my control, I wouldn’t need doctors to prescribe meds, stylists to cut my hair, facialists to clear my acne, parents to care for me when I am young, or Eric to care for me when I am sick. This body would not rely on no one but myself.
If my body were under my control, my will would be its command. The word — the mere thought — to be perky, bright, fit, healthy, alert, strong, raring to go, would result in perkiness, brightness, fitness, health, alertness, strength and ability to go go go till the cows came home.
But the reality, that I so hate to face, is that my body is not under my control. My body is dependent on consuming requisites — food, water — in correct proportions to live, thrive and grow.
My body is affected by other 4e objects in the environment, bugs can attack it and consume its blood, fungus can can attack it and consume its skin. Animals can eat it, cars can crush it,  bacteria and viruses can enter it and shift its state and composition creating illness.  Excess cold can freeze tissue causing frostbite and excess heat can raise body temperature causing brain damage.
The body’s own, internal composition of 4es — its nature — drive it to grow, to go through puberty and menopause, to deplete collagen and sag, to age and wither and eventually die, independent of how much I offer it requisites or protect it from other 4e objects in the environment. When the conditions for gray hairs, skin spots, flaccid muscles, fractured bones, brittle nails, wounds, reflux, worn joints, thickened arteries and altered hormones have been met, gray hairs, skin spots, flaccid muscles, fractured bones, brittle nails, wounds, reflux, worn joints, thickened arteries and altered hormones will ensue no matter how much I don’t want them to.
Are there things I can do to alter the arrangement of 4es in my body? Sure, I can pluck gray hairs, bleach skin spots and moisturize dry skin. But these alterations do not prove my control — if I were in control my hair would not gray, my skin would not spot or dry in the first place. And at least, if it did, my fixes would be permanent, not temporary, and I could ultimately decide and dictate the fate of this body.
“OK Alana — lets do the questions then”. “Copy that Great Lord”
1) Is your body changeable or unchanging? Clearly this body changes Lord. Not just every day, but even over the course of the day, I can watch skin get dry and flaky and then plump and moisturize after I apply cream. I can feel alert in the morning and unable to fight sleep that same night. I have watched it change from child to teen to twenties, 30s, and now 40s: weight has changed, body shape has changed, face sagged, joints have stiffened, sun spots have darkened and esophagus has eroded. Change has been unceasing.
2) Is a body that changes stressful or easeful? My body is my number one cause of stress My Lord. I love it so much, I depend on it, it brings me such joy when it is pretty and fit and healthy — when the skin is spotless and the hair all brown, when the muscles are taunt and the fat at a minimum, when the joints don’t catch and the brain feels alert and awake. When it sags and fatigue and grows blotchy or feverish though it makes me so depressed and afraid. I feel loss. I feel anxiety about future loss. But after I lose weight from a diet, after my rosacea meds heal skin spots, after biopsies return normal, my sense of elation and ease soar. I live  a painful  emotional rollercoaster because of how I react to this body.
3) Is a body that you clearly don’t control, that changes and stresses you the hell out something that you  ought to, something that you logically are able to, call you or your own or representative of you?
I desperately wish I could just say no and be done already, but I know I can’t deceive either you Great Lord nor to myself. Here however is what I can say:
This body ticks along, growing, blooming, sagging, perking, coloring, thickening, thinning, fatiguing, waking, pained and sickening and healing all according to its nature rather than my wishes. It lives and thrives dependent on requisites, its form depends on elements. Nothing about this body exists ‘outside the system of the world’, there is no way to exempt it from being impacted by the process of shifting and changing configurations. Even if I could guarantee optimal nutrients and environment for this body it will die. Its journey ends in the same exact termination point as plants and cars and clothes and homes and every other body.
2020 Retreat Part 4 — A Cabin/Body That Doesn’t Keep Me Safe Can’t be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 4 — A Cabin/Body That Doesn’t Keep Me Safe Can’t be Mine

Day 4 Part 1: My Vacation Cabin is Not Mine 

My Vacation Cabin is not under my control (it is not mine, it cannot guarantee safety or protection).
If the cabin were under my control, I would feel comfortable there all the time — there wouldn’t be dust everywhere, the hot water wouldn’t take forever to heat, the pipes wouldn’t creak and there wouldn’t be mold that aggravated my asthma.
If my cabin were under my control the power wouldn’t just spontaneously go out, especially not when I am busy and need it to work and get stuff done.
Most importantly, if the cabin were under my control it would do the ‘job I hired it for’ and keep me safe, away from people, socially distanced and guaranteed covid free.   There would be no incidents or accidents — like rabies exposure from bats in my bedroom one night — that forced me out into the scariest of places in a scary covid world: The ER for rabies shots.
If that cabin were under my control I would be able to say: “Damn it cabin, be the cabin I thought you were from the listing photos — all clean and modern and convenient. Have easy hot water and no dust and shouldn’t there at least be power? Cabin, oh cabin, even if you can’t keep me comfortable do your most critical job and keep me safe!” And of course, if the cabin were mine it would brightly, cleanly, comfortable and safely reply, “Your wish is my command.”
The fact that the cabin is not mine to control is plainly evidenced by the dirt and the creaking and the mold induced coughing and, above all else, by the 6 hours I spent in the emergency room last week for rabies shots post bat exposure.
“So Alana, is that cabin of yours constant or changing.” Well clearly it is changing My Lord — the dust seems to get thicker, the power flickers and the bats just  appeared out of no where.”
“And Alana, is something that keeps changing stressful or un-stressful” “Lord, the lights and the dirt and the cabin noises, those are a little bit stressful, they are not the peaceful vacation ‘add-ons’ I would have chosen. But going to the ER during Covid was one of the most stressful experiences of my entire life: I have been so careful, so disciplined about Covid, I hadn’t seen a soul up-close, besides Eric, in months and there I was in an ER where ever patient could have been the vector of the covid infection I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, just to avoid.”
Before I signed the lease, I looked at the pictures, I visited the cabin, I read reviews online. By all the evidence I could uncover this looked like a comfortable and safe place to ride out a covid summer. After all, I did all my home work, I was prepared, I KNEW exactly what to expect once we arrived. The problem, the root of  my suffering, is in the vast difference between my cabin expectations and my cabin reality.
 “Alright then Alana, do you think it is sane or rational to call a cabin that you don’t control, that is changeable and stressful and precipitated a trip to the ER during a pandemic ‘yours’?
Lord, I do admit that I am still TBD on this question, but ere is what I do know and can say so far:
Rupa is constantly changing. If there had been a bat in the house on the day of my viewing I would have never rented the place. I became attached to the idea of a bat free house, but the situation changed, the arrangement changed and voila, enter bat.
What is more is that over and over I have proven myself to be piss poor at ‘interpreting the rupa’ . I look at an arrangement of rupa and I start reading tea leaves — well decorated means clean and comfortable, remote means safe. But the truth is, time and again my ‘rupa predictions’ fail and I am left with the disappointment, dangers and consequences of living in a rupa world that reflects the nature of rupa itself  (impermanent, stressful, not self) not the meaning I assign it.
I know cabins can be dirty, and not comfortable, and not safe. That is a normal part of the world. But once that cabin became ‘mine’, at least for a little while, I thought it would be a super cabin, special and different and, at least, free from danger. The fact that my cabin is just like every other cabin in its inability to keep me either safe or comfortable does make me question the grounds on which I go about claiming it as mine.
  Day 4 Part 2: My Body is Like My Vacation Cabin.

My Body is not under my control (it is not mine, it cannot guarantee safety or protect me).
If my body were under my control I would feel at ease, pain free and comfortable in it all the time. There wouldn’t be dirt and filth that accumulate on my skin, my  joints would never feel stuck and would always feel ready to move, my body wouldn’t make annoying sounds like farting and burping and I wouldn’t have microscopic bugs that live in my skin and cause rosacea.
If my body were under my control, it wouldn’t just stop from exhaustion, it wouldn’t need rests and sleep and breaks, especially not when I am busy and need it to get stuff done.
Above all, if this body were under my control it would keep me safe, it would shield me from stabs or gun shots or car accidents or falls, bacteria and viruses and parasites and animals that seek to consume me,  and it would absolutely not begin attacking itself with cancer cells and autoimmune diseases and allergies.
If this body were under my control I would simply be able to say, body, body, please don’t get hurt, please don’t get sick, be comfortable and clean, be quiet and stop embarrassing me with your sounds or worrying me with your growing moles or forcing me to sleep when I feel so desperately that I need to stay awake.  And my body, clean and firm, silent and alert, pain and disease free would say, ” Your wish is my command!”
But I know for a fact my body is not  under my control because it couldn’t repel bats in my sleep. I needed emergency care and shots because the body’s elements on their own are unable to repel rabies, they require the consumption of a 4e rabies vaccine in order to shift into a form that will prevent the rabies virus from consuming me. A body I control would be absolutely self protecting, always able and prepared to fight off disease.
I know this body is not mine to control because sounds and scents and stiffness and pain that I do not want plague me constantly. I know this body isn’t under my control because I can’t count on it to protect me and to keep me safe, not just from outside forces, but even from itself — I know my own skin cells may have turned cancerous and be trying to consume me. I know my body is not under my control because it follows its nature, shifting and decaying, dirtying, expelling waste and getting sick instead of following my rules and desires about what my body should be.
“So Alana, is that body of yours changing or unchanging?” “Clearly Lord it is changing all the time. It goes through cycles of dirty and clean, of pain and no pain, of sleep and waking.” With age my joints have stiffened and my movement restricted in ways unimaginable in my youth and with passing years new illnesses arise, or threaten to arise, that reduce my sleep even further.”
“Alana, would you say a body that keeps changing is stressful or un-stresful?” ” Great Lord, this shifting, changing, body is a world of stress. There are small annoyances like increased flatulence and filth and there are panic-attack or pain inducing changes like asthma attacks and mole growth. I have spent my life working so hard to take care of my body, to keep it healthy and safe from harm, but for all of that effort, decay and disease keep stepping in, trumping all my will and intention and sovereignty over this body. It makes me so sad and scared. I feel helpless.”
‘Alrighty then Alana, do you really think it is sane or logical to say that a body you don’t control, that is stressful and changeable, that gets dirty and tired and worst of all sick, is something that belongs to you?
Well Great Lord, I still can’t issue that super solid no that the text books tell me is correct. But this much I can say –On some level I realize that I must just expect that if my body was healthy yesterday, it will be healthy today and tomorrow, because each new illness or new pain is a shock and surprise. I think, no not me, it simply couldn’t be… But the truth is that  rupa is constantly changing. Skin that was healthy before can become irritated or cancerous when the conditions for irritation or cancer have arisen in its arrangement of the 4es. This is normal.
What is more is that over and over I have proven myself to be terrible at  ‘interpreting the rupa’ . A lifetime of hypochondria tells me that just because I think new lumps mean cancer and chest pain means heart attack these things can be, and have been in the past, fungus and acid reflux. Just because I thought the new spot on my foot was a wart it doesn’t mean it is not skin cancer.  Knowing I am so terrible at ‘reading the rupa’, makes me suspicious that my reading of the rupa of this body as ‘me’ or ‘mine’ may in fact be incorrect.
I know other human bodies get dirty, flatulent, tired, pained and diseased. I read the news, I see the lives of folks around me, this is normal, common, everyday  stuff.  But  when it comes to my body, I seriously think things will be different, it will stay young, it will stay fresh and it will stay healthy. My body, at least in my mind, is special and different, it is safe and comfortable. The problem is that all the evidence in my real life refutes this idea of specialness that exists in my mind — my body acts like every body, aging, changing, causing stress and pain. If my body is exactly the same – in substance and behavior — of absolutely every body, then what is the logic, or the use, of claiming this particular one as mine?
2020 Retreat Part 3 — That Pair of Jeans/Face That Change in Accord with Their Nature, and Can’t Be Stopped From Disaggregating, Can’t Be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 3 — That Pair of Jeans/Face That Change in Accord with Their Nature, and Can’t Be Stopped From Disaggregating, Can’t Be Mine

This contemplation is part of a series of exercises, derived from the Anatta-Lakkhana Sutra, that I did during my 2020 personal retreat. For more details please see the blog  titled Introduction to Contemplations From 2020 Personal Retreat.


Day 3: Part 1: My Jeans 
My jeans are not under my control (they are not mine, they change in accordance with their nature and not my rules, no alteration I make to them will  avoid their final state of disaggregation).
If my jeans were under my control they would never get thinning spots or areas that become piled and bumpy. If my jeans were under my control they would stay that same smooth, tough, easy to care for fabric that they were when they were new.
If my jeans were under my control they wouldn’t have started sagging, stretching and loosening, especially not when when I use them according to their purpose, without being particularly rough or abusive to them.
At the very least, if my jeans were under my control they would accept the repair patches I apply without complaint. They would stay repaired, at least a little while, before starting to abrade and errode again, or tear in some new spot.
If my jeans were under my control, I could curse them, or coax them, or implore them or berate them, some word or action of mine would convince them to stop wearing and tearing. And, if they insisted on wearing and tearing, at least honoring my repairs and giving me a little while before I needed to worry about patching again.
But the reality is that my jeans are not under my control. The texture and shape change because the nature of the fabric makes them susceptible to texture and shape changes. Dirt and particles and surfaces in the environment or my body that come in contact with my jeans can shift the composition (the balance of 4es) of the jeans — they can become abraided, piled or stretched. Spills, or wash water, or detergent that come in contact with the jeans can also change their texture making them feel stiffened and thickened rather than the smooth they were when I bought them. Heat from my body or the dryer or the air can weaken the fabric of these jeans (again, shifting the balance of the 4es of the threads) making them even more susceptible to texture change or stretching/saging.  This is normal.
Now, to be clear, I can definitely apply a patch to these eroding jeans.  I have done it before, used my 4e hands to apply a 4e patch, altering the 4e balance of the  jeans (by adding new 4e material) and achieving a repair. But soon after, my patch began to fray and peel up, so I know the repair is temporary.
So long as it is within the nature of the object to be repaired, it can be repaired. But because the nature of these jeans is ultimately to disaggregate, no effort on my part will ever, ever ever ever ever, ever prevent their ultimate demise because that demise is in their nature. So much for control Alana!
When the causes and conditions for this abrading/sagging/stretching/ stiffening/ patching/ patch peeling have been met,  the jeans will shift and change no matter what my preferences, no matter how embarrassed I may be that my butt is hanging out..
“OK Alana, are your jeans constant or inconstant?” “Lord, they are clearly inconstant, they have a totally different fit/look/feel now then they did when I got them.”
“Alana, is something that is inconstant, as you described, satisfying or dissatisfying?” “Lord, I gotta go with dissatisfying on this one. I really would like for my jeans to stay in the like new state — that was the state I bought because that was the state I believed would be satisfying. To have it change like it has, is super disappointing, it makes me feel a little angry, a little bait-and-switched, I am not at all satisfied.”
“So Alana, if you don’t control your jeans, you can alter them temporarily but sure as heck can’t alter their march toward their final destination of demise, they are inconstant and unsatisfying, does it make logical sense to call these jeans ‘yours’? Are these jeans who you are? Are these jeans something you can count on to represent you? I mean really Alana, does your butt hanging out really represent you?”
“OK Lord, I swear I am working on getting to firm no. In the meantime, I will say this: These jeans are just a collection of elements, they aggregate into the shape of jeans, they change and shift their arrangement in accordance with their nature and then they ultimately shift into the state of jean demise. I can use these jeans for some period of time, I can alter them within the limits of their nature, but I have no hope at all of forcing them to alter beyond the bounds of their nature. I have no hope of keeping them. I will admit, to call something I can’t hold on to, I can’t control and I can’t ultimately rely on ‘mine’ is growing a bit challenging.
Day 3: Part 2: My Jeans are Like My Facial Skin
My facial skin is not under my control (it is not mine, it does not represent me, it changes in accordance with its nature and not my rules, no alteration I make to it will avoid its final state of disaggregation).
If my face skin were under my control I would not have rosacea. My skin wouldn’t get thin and crepey in some areas and thick and bumpy in others. It wouldn’t turn red or itch or burn. My skin would be smooth and pretty and perfect like it was when I was younger.
If my face skin were under my control, it wouldn’t sag or wrinkle, it wouldn’t stretch or loosen, especially not when I am diligent about facial exercises and sunscreen and moisturizer and facials.
At the very least, if my skin were under my control, my ‘fixes’ would actually ‘fix’ not temporarily patch, or do nothing visible, or make things worse. One botox shot would last forever, that pricey new moisturizer would have gotten rid of that under eye bag that is driving me nuts, and that first med my doc prescribed for rosacea wouldn’t have made the peeling and burning worse.
But, alas alack, I cannot prevent my skin from assuming arrangements I despise, and I cannot ultimately keep those arrangements, and far worse, at bay. At best, maybe, sometimes, possibly (with the risk of making stuff worse),  I can temporarily alter the state of my skin — within the bounds of its nature — to sometimes/temporarily achieve a look/feel that runs closer rather than further from my imagination/desire. To call such temporary-maybe-sometimes-better-sometimes-worse alterations ‘control’ would idiotic: At the end of the day, no matter my will, my action, my speach or my desire, my facial skin’s elements will shift and adjust in accord with it’s nature and not according to my rules.
Therefore, it is totally normal when my rosacea flares up and my skin looks like a bumpy beat and burns. Afterall, microscopic insects that live on my skin (4e objects) can absolutely consume my skin and alter its balance of elements such that the resulting state is dry, burning, bumpy and red. Gravity and sun and the natural tendencies of aging and shifting in my own body can cause and contribute to my skin shifting shape and becoming saggy and laggy and droopy.
When the causes and conditions for this burning/red/bumpy/thinning/sagging/stretching/wrinkling/peeling and at last, total decay or consumption have been met, Alana can bet her booty (that is hanging out of her patch peeling jeans) that burning/red/bumpy/thinning/sagging/stretching/wrinkling/peeling and at last, total decay or consumption will ensue.
“OK Lady, lets do the questions then”. “You betcha Great Dharma Lord”
1) Is your face skin constant or inconstant? Oh its so obviously inconstant. I had the best skin as a kid, even a teen, no acne, smooth and pretty. Trouble didn’t start till 20, when the acne began, and then the rosacase, and then the eczema, and then the aging. And even each of these things are sometimes a little better and sometimes a little worse. My skin reflects its changing and changeable nature.
2) And is changing and inconstant skin satisfying or unsatisfying?  I am so so so so deeply dissatisfied with my skin. I loved it when I was younger, but each change — in the direction I consider ‘wrong’ is a deep disappointment. It is an embarrassment. I look in the mirror and I cry sometimes at the loss of youth, at the unwillingness of my skin to cooperate. I itch at it and I ice it in the hope to reduce the pain.
Any, momentary satisfaction I had in it when I was younger is now long gone. Any satisfaction I feel when something ‘works’, the rosacea calms or the lotions and potions smooth, is just the grounds for future dissatisfaction when the skin again shifts out of an arrangement I prefer. More sorrow, more drama, more disappointment when what worked for 1 moment fails to work for 2.
3) If you don’t control your skin, it is inconstant and totally unsatisfying, can you really say that it is ‘you’ or ‘yours’ or ‘represents you’? This is a work in progress My Lord, but here is where I am at:
My Jeans, my skin, and every object in this world is just a bundle of elements marching through shifting states of rupa. Rupa objects interact with each other, with the environment, they can shift course (though never go back), but the final destination is always the same, disaggregation or consumed (or some combination of the two).  When the arrangement of skin necessary to manifest rosacea arises, rosacea will arise. I (my nama) can scheme a plan to call the doc, get a script, and my hands can apply the meds (another 4e object). In this regard I can be a cause for a change in my skin, but I can not guarantee a result.
I have used rosacea drugs that didn’t visibly do crap . I have used rosacea drugs that helped and I have used rosacea drugs that made my skin worse. Because any cause I put in place does not ensure the result I want, I am not in control.
The problem is, when I sometimes get a result that is more, rather than less, in line with my imagination/desires, I convince myself I am lord and master of my skin. It is those moment, when the med actually works (at least temporarily) and my skin looks clear and smooth, that I preen in front of the bathroom mirror thinking that there is me, it is mine, it represents me, its current state is in line (ore or less, with one eye closed if I squint kinda hard since 41 is clearly not 21) with who I think I am (ohh the me I wanna be). Unfortunately, it is also those moments that feed both the delusion and the hope and set me up for a world of hurt later on.
Later on will come. A few days after I achieved ‘clear skin’ from my latest meds, I was greeted in the morning mirror with a big new bump. Suddenly my skin wasn’t me, it didn’t represent me, it was aberration — an alteration away from what my mind, in just a few days’ time, had convinced me was normal. But the real normal is 4e skin shifting according to its nature, changing form when stimulus for change has been reached.  Sometimes that is bumpy form. Sometimes it is smooth form. Always its end form is disintegration.
So I guess the real questions for me to consider are these: Can I really find anything of substance in a shifting mass of elements that inevitably, ultimately, c
ease that I can call ‘me’? Especially when I actually only want to call certain states along that shifting set of elements me/represent me/mine? At the very least, I should claim the whole thing in all its states.
And if an object, or my skin, or my body, is just a shifting mass of aggregated elements does it really represent anything other than itself — either its momentary trail marker or perhaps its entire march along the entropy parade path?  I know, I know, my mind likes to imagine that I can superimpose myself, my reflection, onto that shifting mass, but  the efforts seem a bit hollow when I can’t, not even temporarily, guarantee it’ll assume or hold that shape I am seeking (out damned spot).  I mean I would never send my crazy, loud mouthed, unpredictable, totally disobedient, employee to represent me at a conference…
As for something being mine, I’ll admit this is the hardest for me to see right now. Afterall, objects have utility, I can in fact sometimes use them…until I can’t. Which brings me to the question of whether or not I can claim an object that, by its very nature, is a ‘loaner’? Each and every item, even my body, has a rental period when it is up, it is up, whether I want it to be or not.
 A part of me just wants to admit that I can call something mine, or I can call it “Bessie the Cow” , but at the end of the day each object and I will part ways, march away from each other on separate courses. Now, or sooner, or later my time with my skin will come up. Now, sooner or later, my time with my body will come up. Despite all I imagine this body to be, despite the future I have fantasized for it, despite how desperately I feel/think I need it, we will part ways.
2020 Retreat Part 2 — A Fish Tank/Body That Doesn’t Conform to My Expectations Can’t Be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 2 — A Fish Tank/Body That Doesn’t Conform to My Expectations Can’t Be Mine

This contemplation is part of a series of exercises, derived from the Anatta-Lakkhana Sutra, that I did during my 2020 personal retreat. For more details please see the blog  titled Introduction to Contemplations From 2020 Personal Retreat.


Day 2: Part 1: My Fish Tank 

My fish tank is not under my control (it is not mine, it does not conform to my view of it, it doesn’t act in accordance with my imagination or fantasies).
If my fish tank were under my control the glass would not be so fragile — it wouldn’t so easily scratch or chip and I wouldn’t have to worry about it shattering.
If my fish tank were under my control then I could just set it up and it would be easy to maintain–  a little cleaning, a little feeding, and it would keep a steady state equilibrium where the PH and the lighting and the plant load and fish load existed in perfect balance.
If my fish tank were under my control one fish would never attack another, the plants would never grow unchecked, and an algae bloom wouldn’t starve the fish and plants of oxygen. At a minimum, that fish tank would accept and appreciate all my ‘fixes’ and ‘maintenance’ without creating further problems in return.
If that fish tank were actually under my control, I could say, ” Oh fish tank, when I bought you I imagined you would be just an easy, pretty thing. Please be the tank of my imagination and stop being so fragile. Stop with the algae blooms that kill the plants and the PH adjustments that harm the shrimp, and the aggressive fighting catfish and please, please, please just stay in a balanced state so that I can sit back, relax and enjoy you.”
Alas, my fish tank was never the fish tank of my imagination. Dozens of scratches and huge chip in the corner prove it was never under my control. Glass by its nature is fragile, easy to scratch or chip or shatter when a solid of sufficient force encounters it.
Keeping my tank maintained and in balance was a fight of epic proportions. When I went too long without changing the water, ammonia levels rose and my test strips condemned me with dire warning akin to:  ‘Red alert you fish murderer.’ When I changed the waster too frequently chlorine levels rose and my test strips condemned me with dire warning akin to:  ‘Red alert you fish murderer’.
Just a slight excess of food, the same amount that had worked fine for weeks, led to decay that led to bacteria that deprived the tank of oxygen that started killing my plants.  When algae became a problem I bought a ‘cleaner catfish’ to eat the algae, only the catfish was super aggressive and started attacking my other fish. When I put rocks in the tank so my other fish could hide from the bully cat fish the rocks changed the tank PH and my test strips condemned me with dire warning akin to:  ‘Red alert you fish murderer.’
I thought that tank would be a fun toy, but in reality tanks are a complex, interdependent system where components continually shift and impact one another. This is natural — four element objects continually shift and change, they interact with each other and the environment precipitating further change. They act in accordance with the rules of rupa, not the fishtank fantasies of Alana.
“So Alana, is your fish tank constant or inconstant?” “Great Lord, that darn tank was constantly inconstant: chemical balances changing, fish dying, shrimp breeding, plants spreading…what worked perfectly to care for it one day lead to massive disaster and die off the next.”
“And Alana, is something that is inconstant stress full or easeful?” “Stressful!  The irony Great Lord, is that I was so sure that my tank was going to ease my stress, that it would be the relaxing ‘moving picture’, that all the tanks in the mall and the fish store looked to be. But those mall/ fish store moments were just that — brief moments — where tanks appeared to be balanced and harmonious. Once I got the tank home the full picture became clear, constant work to upkeep, continual fear that any given shift –totally out of my control– would destroy the thing I loved.
“Alright Alana, here is the biggie question — do you really think it is fitting to be calling something you don’t control, that is inconstant and stressful ‘you’ or ‘your’ or representative of you’?
Well Great Lord, I still can’t give you a firm, exuberant ‘hellz no’, but I will say this…When I desire something, and therefore seek to claim it as ‘mine.’ I am only really seeing one side of it. I want the pretty, flashy, relaxing, fun bits. I either ignore the ugly, stressful, difficult, decaying parts or I ignore the pain and suffering that getting those ‘dark-side’ parts will bring me. But with glass I get breaking. With fish I get death and loss. With a mini ecosystem I get a ton of upkeep and work. If something is ‘mine’ it has to be mine in all its states, not just the ones I want.
Day 2: Part 2: My Fish Tank to My Body

My body is not under my control (it is not mine, it does not conform to my view of it, it doesn’t act in accordance with my imagination or my fantasies)
If my body were under my control it wouldn’t be so fragile — my skin wouldn’t scratch, my joints wouldn’t chip and bones wouldn’t break.
If my body were under my control then I could just do the basic care and feeding, add in a little working out and sleeping, and I would be good to go. This body would just hit a stride of steady state equilibrium — my blood sugar, cholesterol, vitamins and hormones all in perfect balance.
If my body were under my control I would never worry about cancer cells attacking healthy cells, about a mole growing unchecked or that a fungal infection that would kill off my ‘good bacteria.’ At a minimum, my body would let me ‘fix’ it without spiraling into further diseases and decay.
If my body were under my control, I would damn well know it by now because I have spent many nights pleading with it. I say, “body, please just be the thing I imagine you to be, be healthy and dependable, be beautiful and ageless, be mobile and fit and pain free. At least, be a little more like the body I had in my 20s, or I’d even settle for 30s…”But alas, my body doesn’t respond, it is not the body of my imagination.
Instead I live with constant fragility — nails that chip and hair that breaks. Joints that are already wearing down and a fractured toe that will attest to the fact that with sufficient force, a hard jagged pavement can break a bone.
Keeping this body maintained and in balance is literally a struggle for my life. I started taking green coffee supplement to manage my blood sugar but it irritated my bladder, causing incontinence. I started eating meat to manage low blood sugar, but the saturated fats have made my cholesterol too high. I apply sunscreen to protect my skin but as a result my vitamin D levels are too low. I use a steroid inhaler to keep my airways from constricting, but the very same chemical that opens my airways leads to fungal overgrowth in my mouth. I took up running to increase my cardiovascular health, but stripped my hip joint in the process. I await lab results from every check-up with bated breath — always afraid I will find some new, lurking, imbalance that endangers my life.
From my perspective, it feels like my body is constantly faltering and breaking, but in truth its behavior is completely natural, not broken. This body is a complex, interdependent system where components continually shift and impact each other. In this body, the 4 elements are constantly shifting, interacting with each other internally and with other 4 element objects externally: Aggregating, re-aggregating/shifting/changing proportions, disaggregating, consuming and being consumed. This is the cycle of Rupa. No matter how much I fantasize it were otherwise, this is the cycle to which ‘my’ rupa body is enslaved.
“Allrighty Alana, you know the questions by now.” “Yes, Great Dharma Lord, shoot”
1) Is that bod of yours constant or inconstant? — this body is constantly inconstant. Every year, every day, hell every minute is something new. Last year my cholesterol was alright, now it is through the roof. A few months ago my rosacea was fine and then suddenly I had a horrible flare. I go through cycles of hot/cold, hungry/satiated, tired/alert. It changes so frequently, and sometimes so subtly, I can’t keep up, I’m not even fully aware, even if it is something like a growing cancer or blood clot that imperils my very life. Above everything, I wish I could go back to a time when I was healthier and prettier. At least I would feel at ease if I could ‘keep what I have now’, but my body keeps changing.
2) Is something that is inconstant stressful or easeful? I could literally write volumes about my fear, stress, sorrow and loss — just focused on my body — and still it wouldn’t cover the half of it. Right this moment I await results of a skin biopsy, nervous that my long standing ‘spot’ morphed before my eyes, unbeknownst to me creeping from benign to malignant. The thing is, My Lord, in those moments I get a clean bill of health, in those moments I feel fit-as-a-fiddle and oh-so-pretty, I relish in this body: I primp it, preen it, travel in it and peacock around, and all the stress and anxiety of its sick/aging/loss side are nearly forgotten…
3) Drum roll please….Is something that is clearly not in your control, mega inconstant and epicly stressful fitting to be called ‘you’ or ‘yours’ or ‘your representative’? I don’t know Great Lord, it’s my body, it is so so so damn hard to see it as anything but ‘self’ or ‘mine’ or ‘me’. But I will share this…
The other night I was in the shower, looking down at a body that, let’s face it, has seen fitter and perkier days. It made me depressed to think about the loss of that old body and even more depressed to know that this new one –assuming I live long enough– would likely give way to something even more atrophied.  Sure I had a few good years of being at a physical prime, but relative to sub/post prime years how many were truly prime? How did I agree to sign-up for this sometimes-satisfactory-form, but more-time-unsatisfactory-form? And even if I signed-up for a ‘body rental’ for utility sake, why did I grasp at this body, and claim it ,and mine-ify the thing? Why did I get so bound-up, make it the foundation of a ‘fit/hot’  identity that couldn’t possibly last? If I am going to claim this body as mine, I should at least be claiming it in all its shifting, decaying, disaggregating states. If I am healthy Alana I am sick Alana. If I am pretty Alana I am ugly Alana. If I am baby Alana and teenage Alana and 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, …..Alana, don’t I also have to be corpse Alana? Maggot eaten Alana? totally disaggregated Alana?
2020 Retreat Part 1B — A Body that Disregards my Rules, like My Night Guard and Like My Teeth, Can’t be Mine

2020 Retreat Part 1B — A Body that Disregards my Rules, like My Night Guard and Like My Teeth, Can’t be Mine

 

This contemplation is part of a series of exercises, derived from the Anatta-Lakkhana Sutra, that I did during my 2020 personal retreat. For more details please see the blog, Introduction to Contemplations From 2020 Personal Retreat.


To ‘celebrate ‘ my first day of retreat and to really make sure I had a through grasp on my homework assignment, I decided to do a little bonus work: In addition to comparing my bite guard to my teeth — 1 part of my body — which we saw in the last blog, I decided to also compare my bite guard to my whole body. So below is my HW from Day 1 Part B: My Body is Like My Bite Guard 

My Body is not under my control (it is not mine, it doesn’t act according to my rules and desires).
If my body were mine it would not become filthy and grimy or begin to smell. I wouldn’t need to spend a ton of time showering or brushing my teeth or washing my hair, I would simply always be clean.
If my body were under my control it wouldn’t soften and loose its shape, my skin would be firm, my body would be taunt my muscles wouldn’t atrophy and my boobs wouldn’t sag. Especially not from regular daily life, when I watch my diet and keep active and wear sunscreen.
If my body were under my control, my esophagus wouldn’t erode from reflux, I wouldn’t attract insects and viruses and bacteria that lead to my decay, the cartilage around my joints wouldn’t tear and crack. At the very least, my body would ‘hold-on and hold-out’ as long as I think I need it, so long as I want it, so long as I hope and expect to have it live.
If this body were under my control I could simply say, “body, please stop with the sagging, the smelling, the dirtying, the fattening, the atrophy — you are embarrassing me and taking up so much of my time with care and maintenance.”And upon saying that –upon ordering that– every part would be perfectly perky and clean and the right kinda plump. If this body were mine, it would listen when I implored it, “please, at the very least, live — don’t break, don’t die, don’t leave me high and dry. The least you can do is survive, if not thrive, given all the fitness and feeding and care and medications and vitamins…”
Body however is all, “Honey Badger Don’t Care…”, body makes it abundantly clear it is not under my control. My body requires regular washing because it lives in an environment filled with dust and dirt. My skin and body have begun to sag because the tissues of the body, can shift in composition (they can become more rigid/ softer, they can become more bloated and wet/drier, they can become hot and inflamed/they can cool, they can become more flexible and fluid/ fixed and immobile), change form, in this case becoming less solid and taunt.  This body is subject to being consumed by viruses, insects and bacteria because all four element objects are subject to being consumed. My esophagus can erode and my joints can tear all because the  the force of the liquids in stomach acid, a solids in bone can act on, and break, body parts. This is all totally normal.
“So Alana, is your body there a ‘forever-fixed-steady-state-kinda-thing’ or does it change and dis-aggregate and degrade?” Obviously Great Dharma Lord, it changes and dis-aggregates and degrades, if I just open up a photo album, or my medical chart, it has all the evidence I need.”
“And Alana, is something that changes and dis-aggregates and degrades stressful or easeful?” “So, so, so stressful My Lord. The care and feeding is time consuming and unpleasant. The sagging and the aging and the de-conditioning is an embarrassment. I stand in front of the mirror and lament the loss of my plump skin and thin/fit bod. I work to cover it up with clothes and make-up; I try to regain what I lost with workouts and botox and facials. Whatever small gains I can make give me momentary pleasure– hope– that is dashed when, inevitably my body shifts again. “
“The worst though is the fear, and the pain, and the fear of pain. I live in fear of the day that, just like my night guard, my body will break beyond repair. That a the force of a car bumper will crack open my body as the force of my jaw has the guard. Or that a bullet will pierce my body, as bone already has done to my joint.  I worry that a day may come that the tissues in my body shift into a cancer. Or that the plaques in my arteries block blood from flowing to my heart and cause a heart attack. I worry and worry, all while I hurt from the injuries already there. Hurt from the investigative colonoscopy and the mole biopsy. Fearing more hurt is to come.
 ” OK Alana, the qq I know you have been waiting for, ” If something is so clearly not in your control, if it is a changing, dis-aggregating, degrading, dying thing, if it is the source of your greatest suffering, can you actually regard that thing as ‘you’, or ‘yours’ or representative of you’? Seriously, can you say that body is what you are?”
 I’m sorry Great Lord, I’m still not totally at the ‘no’ yet, but I will say this much…This body doesn’t dirty or sag or break or die when I desire it to. It dirties or sags or breaks or dies when the conditions for dirtying/sagging/breaking/ dying are met. The result is that I suffer the pain of losing something I desire or the pain of getting something I don’t desire. The more I desire the harder I cling. The more I cling the harder I suffer. So perhaps it sin’t super smart to continue to cling so hard to something I clearly cannot keep. And in truth, I am clinging to a four element object, a composite of shifting components that, like all four element things with die and decay and return to the earth. How can I regard something empty of all but elements as me, as who I am, of representative of me, or anything else at all?
RSS
Follow by Email
Facebook
Facebook
Google+
http://alana.kpyusa.org/category/pandemic-ponderings/
Twitter