Alana's Dharma Blog

As a recap: This blog is a continuation of the last in which I discovered gratitude for my mom after re-considering my memories of her. It was an exercise in which I made an effort to recall Mom’s good qualities as an antidote to my previous perspective which was to focus on negatives only.

With my heart all mushysoft with gratitude for my mom, a troubling question came to mind — How do I pay her back? I mean really, this is a woman, who despite any flaws and failures, birthed me, raised me, cared for me, went above and beyond the basics to give me the best life possible. How exactly do I pay that debt? Can I?

In a perfect straight forward, one sided world, it should be easy; maybe I could just do everything I possibly can to make Mom happy from now on. But this is the real world, it is not perfect, it is nuanced and, it always has two sides (another way to look at this is the same response is not always appropriate in every situation, that’s one characteristic of impermanence)…The truth of this world is sometimes my mom wants things that are impossible, that are more than I can give, that change so fast I can’t keep-up. She wants me to visit more than time, money or my marriage might allow. She wants me to  follow her religious path when I have my own. You guys get the point here, it’s not so easy to figure out the right balance, the right give versus hold, the middle way.

This issue had been weighing my mind for a few weeks when I got a call.  It was my brother, “Mom is in the hospital, routine procedure went awry, hop the next flight because the docs aren’t sure she will make it through the night.”

I walked into the hospital and it was clear, at least for that moment, Mom’s role and mine had changed. Now it was my turn to help care for her, comfort her, to talk to the doctors, to help get her water and food, to take her to the bathroom when she needed to go. I was happy to help, happy for the chance to give back (though not for the circumstances), but suddenly a deeper, much more subtle thought was taking shape: In just one lifetime the roles can switch so quickly. The boons, the slights, we deal each other keep shifting. Can I really track the score, over countless lifetimes, so that I can volley back every tit and tat?

In the end, what I can do, what I need to do, is my best. I need to honestly evaluate my heart and determine my duty for the situation at hand. I need to do it not for anyone else, but for me, so that I can rest at night with my own heart (ie I don’t build karma I need to repay). And no, this is not an easy answer. It is not a clear prescriptive action plan to pay back all debt. It’s also a work in progress, a moving target, something I am learning to do as I go. But…I am aware.

Present Day Alana says:  Mom eventually made a full recovery (this story was back in Aug. 2014) and she was just out visiting me to celebrate our birthdays (Aug. 2017). I went to meet her one morning and, stressed about a work email I had just received, I snapped at her. I spoke harshly, I forgot that she flew out to see me, was choosing to spend her birthday with me. But quickly I caught my mistake.  I realized I had failed in my duty, I had done wrong in the situation. I apologized and tried harder, to do better. Maybe one of these days I’ll get so fast I can catch these mistakes before I make them…

A recap: In the last blog I described how I used a simple tool ( A is better than B, B is Better than A, etc.) to begin considering some of  the wrong views I held about my mom, particularly in comparison to my dad. I came to see that I had built an ‘image/memory’  of my mom that was based on my biases (of what characteristics are most valuable), in service of my agenda (to hero-ize my dad and I). I had selectively remembered certain stories and traits and used them to paint a very one dimensional (one-sided, i.e. wrong view) mom.

Today’s episode: So how do I start imagining/remembering a 2-sided mom? How do I get to the middle way? By gathering evidence of course! Since I had stored-up so much negative evidence, I decided it would be helpful for me to try and really consider some stories from my life in which mom played the hero. I began an exercise (1 day) in which, after each bite of food, I would recall something positive about my mom.  Note, the choice to think while chewing was totally arbitrary, this is not some kind of sacred ritual or anything; I just wanted to use a physical que that would help me remember to do my homework.

Here are just a few of my memories:

• When I was sick with the chicken pox my mom took care of me. I remember her watching tv with me, drawing me oatmeal baths and giving me ice cream
• When I broke-up with my first boyfriend my mom was there for me. I remember sitting and  sobbing in my bed as my mom gently rocked me and assured me that there would be other boys
• My mom stayed-up all night with me helping me to my science fair project the night before it was due. She ran all over town getting me the materials I needed and helped me set everything up
• When I failed 4th grade math, my mom managed to get the Miami school board to agree to letting me have a private tutor at my camp in South Carolina instead of having to stay home and go to summer school. She made the arrangements with the school, tutor and the camp, all so I wouldn’t have to miss out on summer fun
• I wanted to be in girl scouts as a kid, but there was no troop leader, so my mom signed-up to become a leader so we could have scouts at my school
• When I started having sex with my first boyfriend I told my Mom. Without any judgement, nagging or comment, she took my to the Dr. to get on birth control and get advice on how to stay safe
• There was a super popular toy I wanted for Hanukkah one year, my mom must have driven everywhere because it was all sold out.
• When I went broke backpacking in Europe, my mom wired me money
• I was really picked-on a lot in middle school. My mom knew how painful it was for me to get-up and go in the morning. She would often take me to get hot chocolate before school to try and cheer me up and give me encouragement for my day.
• As a child I never missed a doctor or dentist appointment. My mom made sure I had every vaccine on time, I got any medicine I needed. Now, as an adult I see how hard it is to stay on top of all these life details and realize what an effort it must have been for my mom to keep my brother and I healthy
• My mom was always finding enrichment activities for my brother and I. She took us to museums, theatre and classes. I so fondly remember that she would take us down to the Miami River and we would feed the manatees there.
• My mom, a science teacher, would volunteer to come to my school every year and, for free, give a hands-on science class to all the kids

These are really just a few examples, the list, obviously went on and on ( otherwise I would have had a very hungry day). But as I was listing, I saw my mom through fresh, teary, eyes. Seriously, if the list were about someone else’s mom,  I would say this is a hero of a parent, certainly not a villain.  Really,  there are so many kids in the world whose parents don’t even give them the basics — food, shelter, healthcare, education — my mom really went above and beyond. So where was my gratitude?  

Wrong views are such a tricky thing…my bias made me ignore so much of the mom good stuff, and the more I ignored/forgot, the stronger my bias became. But as I started gathering the evidence, coming to middle, my heart began to soften. I felt myself grow less defensive, more open and so so grateful. I found a 2 dimensional mom I lost so long ago. And my mom, as one more of her gifts, gave me the chance to understand the value of gratitude. Gratitude that can make me softer, more yielding. Gratitude that can make me  less ME ME ME.

Thanks Mom, for everything!

 

Click here for My Mom and I part One:

It was the 2014 retreat and we were reviewing one of my favorite Dharma tools*, the one where you take 2 objects and compares them as follows:

• A is Better than B
• B is Better than A
• A and B are essentially the same, are they even worth comparing?
• A and B are so different from each other, are they worth comparing?

L.P. Anan decided to turn study into a game, a way to learn, speed-up thinking and have fun all at once. He was giving us topics to compare, As and Bs, and then giving us about a minute to come-up with as many comparison points as fast as possible. Over and over we got topics, keys are A water bottle is B, humans are A and dogs are B, Dad is A and Mom is B…and here is where my game got dead serious. My contemplation was as follows:

Dad is Better than Mom:

My dad and I were always close.  While, of course, we had our rough patches (what parent and child doesn’t) for the most part, in my eyes, my Dad could say and do almost no wrong. I loved him absolutely and I craved that love in return. To have my father’s approval was synonymous to being a Good Alana and his disappointment cast me to the depths of  Bad Alana hell.  Basically, from my earliest memories of him to my last, my dad was my hero.

Obviously, when LP called start, my hand could barely keep up with my mind listing all the ways my dad was better than my mom:

• Dad provided for the family
• Dad was more successful
• Dad was funnier
• Dad was easier going
• Dad was more interesting
• Dad was easier to talk to
• Dad was more fun to be around
• Dad took me to the arcade and to get smoothies
• Dad made me feel loved and safe
• Dad gave me more freedom
• Dad was more business-ey
• Dad trusted me more

Mom is Better than Dad

As I have mentioned in this blog before, my Mom and I didn’t always have the best relationship. I spent most of my childhood (and adult life) thinking she was the hard parent. My personal challenge. I spent so much time dwelling on her negative qualities that I didn’t give her any credit for the amazing qualities she has as well (2 sides).  When LP Anan called time, I was off to a slow start. But, as I started writing, my eyes started opening. These ‘better’ qualities of my Mom aren’t just things I admire, they are core reasons I was able to survive and grow and thrive and become the Alana I am today.  

• Mom took care of me when I was sick
• Mom was around more
• Mom tended to my education
• Mom is more tenacious
• Mom has more endurance
• Mom is more science-ey
• Mom helped create rules and structure at home
• Mom helped with my school projects
• Mom managed my daily life, school, activities, health, ect.
• Mom was more beautiful
• Mom fulfills her commitments

Dad and Mom are Essentially the Same:

• Dad and Mom are both my parents
• Dad and Mom were both there for me when I needed them — sometimes
• Dad and Mom both failed me when I needed them — sometimes
• Dad and Mom were each necessary to give me life
• Dad and Mom both loved me
• I love(ed) both Dad and Mom sometimes and hated both Dad and Mom sometimes
• Dad and Mom both protected me
• Dad and Mom both helped make me the person I am today
• Dad and Mom both worked hard
• Dad and Mom are both subject to impermanence

Dad and Mom are Totally Different:

• Dad is a man and Mom a woman
• Dad and Mom had totally different tasks, different responsibilities, they each gave me different things in life
• Dad and Mom were around at different times
• Dad and Mom had different upbringings
• Dad and Mom had different values
• Dad and Mom were good at diffrent things and bad at diffrent things
• Dad and Mom are each subject to their own karma ( their own causes)
• Dad and Mom will (have) each leave me at different times and in different ways

I sat back and read what I wrote and it dawned on me, I am always comparing my dad and mom, always pitting one against the other, always using what I see as my mom’s shortcomings to prop-up my perfect image of my dad, even now, as an adult, nearly a decade after his death. But seriously, can I really compare Dad and Mom? They are so similar and yet totally different from each other.  Logically they are incomparable, so why exactly am I comparing?

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks, every hero needs an anti-hero, a person whose contrasting villainy allows the hero’s awesomeness to shine. I wrote my dad as a  hero to my life’s story, his love proved my own worthiness, my own awesomeness was an extension of his. Naturally, I needed an anti hero to really sell the tale, so I cast my mom, my dad’s natural opposite, in the part.

The truth is, there are no heroes or  ant-heroes in this world. Each of us, my dad, my mom, me, we have 2 sides. We have good qualities and bad qualities, moments of awesomeness and moments of being total dicks. And this my friends was a moment I realized I had been a total dick, to my own mother, for over 30 years…

In service of myself, my agenda, my story, I gathered evidence of my Mom’s villainy and ignored her heroism. I ignored all she had done for me, all she had helped me become.  Even though both my parents played their roles, I chose the things my dad did and called them more valuable, simply based on my own biases and predisposition. My story of my parents was a twisted warped funhouse version of reality. And, my actions, of course, followed my views. But, the Dharma has the power to bring us to the middle (path) and here, as I saw my funhousy story for what it was, I knew it was time to review the evidence and rewrite a more honest, balanced story about my Mom. Stay tuned for how that story unfolds…

*For a more indepth explanation of this tool and how I have used it in my practice, you can see my blog titled, To-may-toe To-ma-toe, Po-tay-toe Po-ta-toe, Alana, Sandy

 

After sharing my contemplations about value with Neecha, she offered me another homework assignment she thought might help me push my thinking a bit further. She told me to go and think about the 8 worldly conditions, how do they work, and what do they mean for all of us suckers who have already been born in this world? Before we get to the HW, a little Buddhisty Background might help:

Lokka-Dtamm Pbat AKA the 8 Worldly Conditions

In the Lokavipatti Sutta, the Buddha outlines 4 pairs of conditions that are built into the fabric of this world, that are inescapable. The pairs are:

• gain/loss
• status/disgrace
• censure/praise
• pleasure/pain

As factors in the world are always changing, each of us, at some point in our lives, experience both sides of the pairs. We gain and then we lose, experience pain then pleasure. In fact, with careful examination, it becomes clear that these factors are also always changing, they are like tall/ short, defined in relativity to their partner.

Because these conditions come as an ever-changing pair, a wise person can see that having just the good side is impossible. There is no need to cling to the desirable and resist the undesirable they arise together, based on each other, in their due turn. And so…that wise one, “knowing the dustless, sorrowless state, he discerns rightly, has gone, beyond becoming, to the Further Shore”. Which, in the Buddhist world, is as close to happily ever after as any of us are going to get ;). Without further ado …

The Homework*

The Wrong View — Tony’s Pizza and the lie that the thing I want (at any given time) is absolute instead of relative (changing).

There was a pizza place I used to love called Tony’s. I went once and I thought it was the best pizza ever. I went back again and it sort of sucked, but I gave it a pass, I figured it was a one-off suck. So, my imagination had me return over and over thinking Tony’s was a thing I could have, I could claim, I could control and repeat. Each time I went searching for the perfect pizza, each time judging if the pizza was better or worse than last time, each time suffering disappointment because I had a goal, a reference point the new pizza didn’t live up to.

The problem was I took my first visit to be the perfect snapshot and imagined that was the true Tony’s  and then compared every other visit to it. My imagination (number 4) smoothed over the fact that my first visit was a composite of many factors (my hunger, my past pizza experiences, the ingredients, the table, the cook, my mood, etc); I didn’t understand that Tony’s was not a monolith, an unchanging experience that could be repeated, exactly at my whim,  so I kept putting in the effort of going and suffering the disappointment of pizza less excellent then the pizza I had before (and had come to expect).

The Concept — More food and the realization that sensation, value and meaning are relative; they come about in relationship/contrast.

Last week I was having a problem with my teeth (an endless source of enlightenment) and it caused food to taste different –sweet and metallic. I was eating this chicken meal I usually like and it tasted horrible.  All of a sudden it hit me-taste is not in the food. Taste arises based on conditions, those that effect me (like dental problems) and those that effect the chicken (like freshness). My sense of taste is not freestanding. I had misunderstood the Tony’s of my mind to be a real and permanent form rather then one subject to conditions.  

Last time I was at the hot springs I contemplated something similar —  water that felt hot when I got in got “cooler” as I was used to it or maybe it got “hotter” if I stayed in too long. But the water was basically the same numeric temperature across my visit.  Cool water felt freezing when I jumped in after the hot water and hot water that had been comfortable burnt when I jumped in after cold water.  

The 8 Worldly Conditions and The Suffering of the Situation—  

I began thinking about the 8 worldly conditions by considering wealth and poverty i.e. gain/loss (actually I tried poking at all of them and wealth and poverty was the clearest to me). I saw pretty quickly that wealth is not an absolute figure, it floats somewhere between 0 and infinity relative to my past experiences and to cultural norms.  Eric and I started out from school pretty broke and each year since have earned more and more. Each time we earn more we think, “we are rich”, then a little later when we make even more we think, “man back then we were poor”. Last year we saved a ton of money (lets call it $10k), this year we haven’t even come close (lets call it $5k) so now we are so stressed. In the past we would have celebrated $5K but because of the $10k, which we were so happy about last year, we suffer with the sense of decline this year.

Comparison is actually the source of suffering and of joy in our lives. It is why $5K is rich/ poor, chicken tastes yum/ “off”, and Tony’s Pizza is such a joy/disappointment. The 8 worldly conditions are part of the fabric of our world so comparison, and its suffering and joys are built-in (actually–I am starting to think that it is comparison that enables us to even experience the world. Without it, a thing is unnoticeable– when I was in Miami I was watching a rain storm and I realized I could only see the rain against the skyline, or on the ground. Without a comparison, all I could see was grey) .The big lie (thanks imagination, #4) is that we can keep improving and having only joy while avoiding pain. But this world is impermanent, things will arise, but then they will also cease — nothing stays peachy forever. Even more fundamentally however is there is no peachy without crappy. Tony’s could only be the best pizza because I had tried worse and it could only fall from grace because once it was the best. I remember how ecstatic I was when my kidney stone passed –I can barely describe he sense of relief, but if I hadn’t had extreme pain from the stone I wouldn’t have had relief. The joy, the yummy, the relief, the sorrow, the gross, the pain — its can’t even arise on is own, it is conditional.

In the act of enjoying something, like pizza, we sow the seeds of our suffering, of our later disappointment when the restaurant declines or the striving and work to repeat the experience. Tony’s at its best, my $10k, my jury summons avoidance*( blog story) they all have a shadow self. Its almost like built into each thing we like, there is already what we don’t like, but we’re not paying attention to that part while we are still filled with enjoyment.

My best example is when I get a potted plant I get the pretty green leaves and the dirt –its 50/50. Just because I only look at the leaves it doesn’t mean the dirt is not there. When the dirt spills on the floor suddenly I notice it, but it was a danger all along. It was the cost of bring the plant home.

Ever since I was a kid, I wanted a fish tank. I’m not talking about the small bowl you throw a goldfish into, I am taking the mega fancy big tanks with the super colorful fish. My Mom used to take me to the fish store so I could stare in awe as a kid.  Each tank its own little world, pretty, and orderly and perfectly balanced. When I moved to Texas, now as an adult, the dream was fueled further because every doctor’s office, shopping mall, and lobby in Houston seems to have an amazing tank. Well hell, I was an adult, working my first job, I was going to buy that tank I had always wanted.

That first tank was a passion project. I constructed the environment with such care, piling rocks and choosing substrate. I studies-up about the fish I wanted, picked out the right number and combo for the tank. A rainbow of colors and an army of fish each doing their own jobs, the cleaners, bottom feeders, fancy fish, etc. Finally –I was in control of my own, beautiful, perfectly balanced little universe. For about 4 months…

The cute cleaner catfish I had picked out were getting picked-on by their aggressive tank mates. I began to worry they would be killed and, I did love them so much. The solution…another tank to put the catfish in. And so it began, the 3 year run-up of fishtanks each one to solve some problem, to uplevel, to make me a bigger and better master of my fish universes. I put the catfish in a tank and wanted to put plants in, but the catfish swam around the bottom too fast for plants to grow. So..I got a planted tank. The planted tank was so successful I wanted to try a marine tank. So…I got a marine tank. All the fish in the marine tank, except for one little clownfish, kept dying to I moved over to a coral only tank…

The fishtanks of my memory, in malls and stores were so pretty, soothing and calm. I imagined that is just what I would get in my home. But, what I actually got with my own fishtanks was fish drama — work, problem solving, cleaning, dead fish, new ‘needs’ for new tanks constantly arising. I thought I was going to get little universes I could control, but I got universes that controlled me. That made me problem solve for bullied fish and delicate plants.

It turns out those little fishtank universes are not at all like I thought.  I saw a snapshot, a frozen moment in time, of pretty manicured fishtanks in fish stores. I never saw the care that takes place after hours. All the dead fish were scooped out and flushed long before customers could see them.

The tanks, like this world, are not what I thought they were. I thought they were the one sec. snapshot. They were frozen. I didn’t see the work that went into them. I thought I could have that pretty snapshot, one side. I could control my sense of calm. I could control the experience. But instead I got fish fucked…. When I finally gave away my last tank, found a good home for all the fish, I swore — no more tanks ever again. I still like to go into fish stores, see all the pretty, picture perfect tanks. And then I turn around and walk away , never tempted to bring any of those fish home.  Now I just need to learn the same lesson for everything else…ugh.

So…we again have a mighty important, but mighty technical blog before us here. I will issue my standard caveat  that I share some of these wonkier contemplations not to mess with your mind, nor as a model for anyone else’s practice to follow. They are here because they played a formative part in my own path, my evolution of thought, so I feel like I can’t really leave them out of a blog about my path…though seriously, I wish I could, I have no idea how I’m going to write this one. Yikes!.

Do Note: This blog will draw heavily off my earlier contemplations on the 5 Aggregates of the Self. In case I haven’t lost you yet, and you need a little refresher on those aggregates, you can head back to these 2 blogs here for a review: Alana’s 3s and 4s and Alana’s Seemingly Impossible HW.

Alright, having overcome a warning and a homework assignment, you, my truly hard core Dear Readers have but one more obstacle to surmount. Ya gotta watch the following two youtube videos before you read any further:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uYne5ezkfw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heMgid4rkzU

So my select few remaining Dear Reader(s?). Here is the story:

Back at the 2014 retreat Neecha showed me those sand painting videos and they really stuck with me. They shook me, hard. I kept going back and watching them over and over till one day it was crystal clear — the sand paintings are a model of how we interact with the world, for how everything ticks (an Ubai). All that  we see and hear (i.e. our experiences) gets filtered through our aggregates. Our aggregates interpret our experiences and give them meaning. In the words of the Buddha, because seriously, who could put it better, the aggregates “Construct conditioned form as form”( SN22.79). And what the hell does that mean…well, let’s consider the sand paintings.

The scene opens and there is sound, phone, music, already I have an idea. A sense of what is going on and how I should feel. From seemingly nothing comes a form, a woman, then a belly, I assume a conditioned form — baby. I assume her baby. Now another form, I assume conditioned form –father. I assume conditioned form — family. Conditioned forms are supposed forms, things we believe are really real based on our experience and imagination. It is like the way we assign value to money that is just paper. The way we assign an identity and a set of roles and responsibilities based on relationship in family.

 And we are, my own memory of what a family is has kicked in, imagination #4 has already begun to run. I  am dragged along. As the story unfolds, I  imagine being in it. Sometime I’m the  parents. The child. I am determined to do better with my family, my relationships.

But if I stop running, following, getting swept-up… something else is happening. It’s just sand, Rupa (form). It is just shapes in contrast against the backdrop. Its just a sequence of sand shapes moving.  My own memory of certain elements, taking different forms, is what tells me to think woman, man, baby. Seriously, seriously, it’s just sand.  My imagination gives meaning to shifting sands. Because really, the story is only a story because I fill-in the gaps, allow each scene to have a meaning that drives the meaning for the next scene. It is conditioned, supposed form being misinterpreted as real form by my distracted running mind. It is a sequence of isolated moments that feel like they create a  real story, have real solid forms, real solid identities as mom, dad, child, in relations to each other, only because they happen serially, so quick, one after the next. That my mind can take sand particles and get to forms and then get to identities and then make-up a story and then think it has something to do with me and my family, it’s kinda fucked-up no?

And here it is folks…that Ubai I promised. Isn’t everything just bits of form. Elements that take shapes like people, houses, cars. Just like the sands they shift and change. Just like watching the story, I get engrossed. I buy that house or car, marry that person and now they are mine. And I imagine responsibilities that go with those things that are mine, tethers that keep me tied, promises they will stay with me, help me, do my bidding. I am caught-up. Each scene of my life gives shape to the next, gives it meaning, makes me and that car and house and husband seem solid and unchanging  just because they have been around for a series of clips.. Isolate instances, momentary placements of different forms against different backdrops  are now a story, I have interpreted them, made them my story. I am swept-up, trapped, so engrossed I can’t step back and see the particles, the shifting, the process.

This is the trap. So hard to see in my life. But the sand paintings gave me a glimpse. A look behind the curtain of just how my mind works, convinces me that little shifting specs of matter that compose me make me immortal, invincible, a real solid self. Just because one scene blends to the next. Because my imagination fills the gaps.  

This contemplation gave me an ubai –a real solid image for the aggregates and self. In the next Chapter of this blog we will get more deeply into self and these sand drawings lay a foundation.

From as early as I could remember, my parents, my teachers, my community, were all training me, grooming me for a job. The particular job didn’t really matter so much, but it had to be something white collar, managerial/officey. In the upper middle class Jewish community I grew-up in, doctors, lawyers, accountants were first choices, but, being the do-gooder I was, my gig as a nonprofit fundraiser was perfectly acceptable. The main point is, in my community, in my mind, productive members of society had jobs. Certain jobs were more valuable than others, no job at all was just lazy and useless.

But as I considered a move to Chicago, I also considered getting a new job and it dawned-on me, I wanted a break. My husband and I didn’t really need the money from my salary, and I wanted time to pursue other interests. But, what kind of bum doesn’t have a job? What kind of woman lets her husband support her? Oy the feminists were going to come after me with pitchforks…

I was so embarrassed to even thinking about a break, afraid that saying it out loud would cause everyone to stop, stare and judge. I even though…hum, if I could not have a job, but lie about it somehow so no one knew would that work? Yup in my mind that evoked concern over  being a liar, but not being seen as a useless bum. So here was the issue –1)  I was afraid of what everyone would think of me if I didn’t have a job. 2) More deeply, I was afraid that everyone shared my judgement (wrong view) that people with jobs are more valuable and that if I didn’t have one then I am less valuable. 3) If everyone thought that, then it must be true..a jobless alana was less valuable, had less status, than a gainfully employed alana. Maybe if I was a secret bum I could live with my diminished value, but no way could I live with everyone seeing me as a failure.

LP Nut sent me off with a little homework on this topic: How does what people say/think of me affect my value?

1. Does what folks think about me determine my value? What about when one person’s opinion changes? Or they have conflicting opinions?  When I was a kid I had a love hate/relationship with my nextdoor neighbor. Sometimes we were friends and other times enemies…did my value, or his, change by the fight? Now that we are adults and friends, does it erase all the times I thought him a menace? I have done work that my boss thinks is extremely valuable to the company, but also made mistakes that cost us money so which is it–am I a valuable employee or someone who destroys company value? One time, a friend, high on drugs, thought I had betrayed her. When she sobered-up she realized she had hallucinated the whole thing –was I a bad friend while she was hallucinating and a good one when she sobered? Does it matter I wasn’t even there for the whole thing (it really was entirely in her imagination)? Could my friend’s beliefs alone make me a particular thing, a good friend/bad friend?
2. What is people’s perception of my value even based-on? Back when I was a kid there was a bully in my class who picked-on me so much. He wanted to be one of the popular kids and what better way then picking on an unpopular kid like me? Fast forward to high school, after I had “blossomed” and become a very pretty, very popular, girl. I ran into this same kid at the mall and suddenly he wanted my number, wanted to go on a date. Now he didn’t want someone to bully he wanted a girlfriend. My value to him changed based on his needs. My family and friends may look down on me when I quit my job, but what if someone gets sick and I am available to care for them, then my value to them would go up. I ultimately can’t control other people’s wants and needs, so there is in fact no way for me to control my value to them.
3. If the opinion of someone I deeply value changes/ends what happens to me and my value? Specifically, when my father was alive, he was my world. Almost everything I did, I did with his opinion of me in mind. Most of all, I cherished his love and valuing of me and I pained at the times I disappointed him.  When he died, did my value as a person end? Did it stop at the moment of his death? Or, as long as I stay within the framework of what I thought he valued, am I safe? Still valuable? And to whom?

Does everyone even agree with what is and isn’t valuable? Is it the same as what I think? Do I even think the same things are valuable across time and space?

I actually got started on this job contemplation when I mentioned to LP Nut I was considering a break from work. He nodded at me sagely and said, “you have had enough”, like it was a fine accomplishment.  LP Anan, who was sitting nearby chimed-in, he thinks a break is a great idea, more time for Dharma practice. My husband, sitting next to me also thought a break was good, more time for him. These people who I respect tremendously, clearly did not agree with me that a jobless alana was a worthless alana.  So why was it a belief I was clinging to?

The truth is that  job=value (or anything else=value) is just my standards, my judgements, shaped by my experiences and my imaginations of what having a particular job would actually look like. My Dad, who I already mentioned, was a huge force in shaping my worldviews, thought that work was valuable. It’s not surprising I ended-up with the same conclusion.  

But, I couldn’t even follow my own “rules” all the time. Did I veiw my father as less valuable when he retired (no of course not)? Would I stop loving my husband if he lost his job (again no)? One of the people in my life I feel great gratitude and love for was the housekeeper who helped take care of me when I was growing up — is she less valuable to me because her job is as a housekeeper not a Dr. lawyer or  accountant?  When I was in school I had no job, where was my value then?

On another topic, I used to think being a vegetarian was valuable, made me a good person. When I was a vegetarian, some folks agreed, some folks made fun of me or sighed at having to chose a restaurant that suited my needs. Now, I see the wrong views that imbued vegetarianism with a particular positive value and I see the negative consequences that came with it, to my health, to my relationships, to my ability to be flexible and have fewer conditions in my life (see blog The Buddhist who Loves Bacon).So did not eating meat/eating meat change my value?

If my own standards are variable, how can I live in fear that I won’t meet someone elses’, which may or may not be the same as mine, which may or may not be the same across time? I like to control how people perceive me in order to sway them, persuade them, get their love. But can I control their perception of me with a job? At all? If their value of me is based on their needs, their beliefs, how can I control my value to them without controlling their needs? Their hopes? Their imaginations? Thats impossible. So that brings us to the big question: Where exactly is my value? What exactly is it? Is it like gold stars and black frowny faces that sick on my heart? Do I just count how many of each I have to know if I’m good or bad?

While I was walking around, contemplating my value, I noticed dandelions on the road. I thought, they are beautiful, a splash of color, they made me smile. But, in a garden they are weeds, choking out the intended plants. So which are they beautiful flowers or pesky weeds? It depends on the situation, on who you ask, on if you are walking on a path or tilling your garden. I like to blow them when they dry and make a wish, but when I’m done, the stem is just trash, and I do hate when those little spores stick in my clothes. Even in a single moment then, those flowers have an upside and a downside,a wish and trash, a positive and negative value.

My own beliefs, my needs, my circumstances,  they determine the things I think are valuable. But these things are always changing, and my sense of valuable adjusts with them. My value can’t be pinned down, its not in a particular time or place. But my desire to name it, know it, control it causes me suffering. I think I have some value now, as an employee, as a contributing member of society, and with that comes the pressure to preserve and grow that value. How can I just throw it all way to become a lazy no good bum?

This contemplation served as the foundation for my considering the 8 Worldly Conditions. Stay tuned, that story is coming-up soon…

 

Flashlight: I lost my friggin flashlight. Again. Sooo annoyed. I put it outside in the sun to charge at the retreat center. Someone must have moved it. Or maybe I just forgot it somewhere. I go questing, find it on a table, ‘sweet my flashlight found!’ Darkness comes and I am prepared, I turn on my flashlight, but no light. Its broken, or it didn’t charge. Now I need to borrow a light…Ugh, fucking flashlight!

But wait…when l put that flashlight in the sun to charge, when I wanted it but couldn’t find it, when I counted on it, trusted it to get me through darkness, then it was MY flashlight. But when it failed me, when it was just a useless tool, then it was FUCKING flashlight. Hint hint Alana, there is a wrong view lurking here..

Had it ever really been my flashlight if it could become un-mine so fast? Un-mine in my head when I got annoyed. Un-mine if it were really lost.  Un-mine if I threw it away because it broke. Un-mine because it made me worry and look for it and blame others for its disappearance. Un-mine because do  really own things I don’t control.

And what else is un-mine? What else do I need to look more closely at, investigate, re-think, unclaim:

Wedding Ring: I lost it. I blamed a friend. I was so sad and hurt when it was gone. Worried it was a bad omen for my marriage. After it was gone I didn’t even want a new one, the loss of one un-mine ring made me worry about losing a second ring I hadn’t even gotten yet. And what if I saw it on someone else’s finger, now, years later —  would I take it back? Could it be mine? Would it even legally or socially be mine? Is it mine if it is someone else’s now?

Second Hand Clothes: I buy most of my clothes second hand, ebay, consignment shops, etc. So when exactly does it become mine? When I pick it up off the rack, when I pay, when I hang it in my closet? What if the old owner saw me wearing ‘their’ dress, wanted it back? I have found keys and wallets before and returned them, so were they mine when I found them but someone else’s when I gave them back? Is it mine if it was someone else’s before?

The Porsche: I didn’t even want the car, Eric chose it. How much suffering it causes when I need to take it to the shop, when I worry about dents and theft. I imagine the car gives me an identity, sleek, sexy, rich. But sometimes I worry it gives me the wrong identity, show off, inappropriate, impractical, driving husband’s fancy car. Is it mine if I share it? Is it mine if I am ambivalent about what it makes me?

My Dad: Dad has been dead for years. What does his being mine mean when he is not even here? What part of him is mine? Is something still mine after it is dead, gone?

The Goodwill Pile:  The bag of stuff in the garage just waiting for me to donate it, is that all mine? I don’t care if it is stolen, I don’t worry about it, I don’t fixate on any of those things.  Is something still mine when I don’t want it anymore?

My Stuffed Animals: Were my most precious belongings as a kid, I literally had hundreds of them. Each one I cared for, named, took turns playing with them and cuddling them. Now, as an adult, they are gone, or still at my Mom’s I don’t even know. I don’t care. They are worthless to me. But won’t this happen to everything? Shit I care about now, will be worthless to me later. So why the intermediate attachment, fixation, obsession? Is it mine when I don’t care about it anymore? When my love and desire for it is so momentary?

My Body: Is fat Alana mine when I value thin Alana? Is sick Alana mine when I want healthy Alana. Right now, when I am sick, fat, a part of me thinks that other thin, healthy Alana is more me. I’m just temporarily fat and sick Alana, on my way back to becoming real (thin and healthy) Alana. If I become terminally ill and my body doesn’t revert back to healthy Alana then will sick Alana be mine?  How can I even be more mine some of the time? Is mine based only on what I value, what I identify as?

So where is this mine? Is it like identity, value, is it in my head? Maybe in the minds of others? Is it constant and, if not, what does that mean?

I expect my objects to serve me. To make my life easier. To define my identity for myself and others. But what about all those times they make life more difficult? When they need fixing or finding or cleaning and care? What about when they don’t define me, as I want to be, when someone sees the clothes and thinks whore, the car and thinks excessive, the body and thinks fat?

Present Day Alana  looks around at her car, house, clothes, body, and not one of these things seems worth being enslaved. And yet, still, somehow, the whole kit-n-kaboodle of me and mine keeps driving me forward, ensnaring me in the trap of this world. I hope, I aspire, I dedicate the merit of this post, this blog, of my entire practice, of anything good I have ever done in my life to being free of me and mine.

In my life, I have moved around a lot. In the last 15 years I have lived in New Orleans, New York, Nashville, Atlanta, Houston and San Francisco. Six cities, 8 houses, you would think I would be a pro by now, that moving would be easy for someone like me. But the truth is, each move is torture. So much anxiety, such a deep sense of loss. When my husband started considering a job in Chicago, I started the old, familiar, pre-move panic. But this time around I had a tool I had not had in the past –the Dharma. So between all the wailing and gnashing of teeth, I began to consider what it was about an impending move that was so upsetting and to hunt down the wrong views that were causing me so much distress.

I started by considering past moves that had been particularly stressful. I tried to see if there was a common element — a house, a person, money, something that I worried about —  but, it was nothing so simple. Instead it boiled down to two main concepts:

1. Sense of belonging and identity in a place —
   1. When I went to college, I worked so hard to make friends, build an image, a reputation, for such a short time I was happy with what I had built, only to have to graduate and to let it go. I found myself severely depressed for the next 8 months.
   2.  I had actually never wanted to move to Texas, hated it when I arrived, but over my years there I built a connection with my Vajrayana religious community, when I left I was crushed and, in fact, almost returned after being in SF for less than 6 months.
   3. Here in SF I am enamoured with the idea of being an SF person, I have my job, my community, my day-to-day life all sorted-out. I don’t want to leave, this is my life, it is who I am…

Each place I have moved, I have felt like I belonged, like I was finally accepted, found a community, like I had become an Alana I always wanted to be. But, even with this thought, the lie begins to show through. Since being in SF my friends have changed, my neighborhood has changed, my religious community has changed, I have changed. If a city is about belonging, about being a certain Alana, how can these things have changed so radically while I have been here? Moreover, with each move, I retain many of the traits, relationships, sense of identity I built in the last place. If these things were so place dependent how can any of them survive a move?

       2)  Sense of stability, safety and predictability —

Which each move, I have been so devastated. Then, I proceed to fall in love with my new home as it become familiar to me. I  adjust, I adapt, my life takes on a certain pattern and in that pattern I see safety and  stability. The more I am able to settle into a routine, the more I feel I am in control, I can hedge against the scary, unexpected world that lies outside the structure I create –right up till my pattern is destroyed and its time to move again. The thing is, if New Orleans, or Texas or Atlanta or Tennessee had provided me with stability,  I would have never left.

My own experiences, my many moves, are evidence that a place, a routine, a community where I belong, simply can’t guarantee stability and predictability. Somehow though (despite 8 moves in 15 years) I think moving, loss of structure and control,  is an anomaly…

But, moving, changing, destabilizing are actually the nature of this world, they are woven into the fabric of my life. In fact, in many cases, these moves and changes are a consequence of my own choices, parts of tradeoffs I have made so I could get an education or stay married to an ambitious husband with a high powered job.

Moreover, when I really look back on all the things I didn’t want to lose, my friends in college, my Vajrayana community in Texas, my Dad in Atlanta — they aren’t even issues anymore. I wouldn’t want to hang out with most of my college friends now that I’m an adult, I don’t practice Vajrayana anymore and my Dad is long dead. So much suffering for stability that can’t be found, to preserve so many things that can’t be, that I wouldn’t really want to have, preserved….

I had an old friend, we’ll call her Ebony, come to visit. Ebony and I were dear friends in college and beyond, but we had drifted apart for 2-3 years before, out of the blue, she called to arrange a visit. I was so happy to see my friend when she arrived and even happier to see that she was happy and thriving in a way I had never seen before.

Ebony, though an amazing person and great friend, had her struggles. She struggled with anxiety and depression, drug use, health issues, school, relationships and jobs. But suddenly (from my perspective) the woman that appeared at my door was healthy, confident, productive and stable. I waited for a perfect moment to ask .. what the hell happened to the Ebony I knew?

Ebony recounted how, for years she was a ball of stress because she never graduated from college. You see, after 2 years as my classmate she had to drop out from stress related health problems. A few years later she returned to school, only to have to drop out again, this time from drug use. Over and over, for more than 15 years, my friend repeated the same cycle — stress at being a failure for not graduating forced her to re-enroll, stress from school made her sick, sickness destroyed her life in so many other ways. Still, in this time, she had managed to begin at a low level job and forge ahead until she had a really good, enjoyable, well paying career.

One day, before another re-enroll, she realized her problem — she defined her success as being a person who graduated from college, she, by her own definition was a failure. But, evidence in her own life forced her to challenge this view, after all, college made her a wreck every time, but  she had found professional success in another way. Suddenly, she was done, done with defining her success in one fixed way. Done trying to go back to school and sending herself through more cycles of suffering. Done calling herself a failure based on one thing while ignoring all the other success she had. Done being the Ebony I had always known.

As I sat attentively listening to my friend’s story, my mind was doing jumps for joy — the Dharma works! It friggin works! If it can work for Ebony, for a whole adult life of brokenness, there is hope for me too. Of course, my friend, who is not a Buddhist practitioner, wouldn’t put it in these terms, but her story was basically:

Deep wrong view (permanent thought about graduating =  success) propelled her into years of actions (re-enrolling) that hurt her. Collecting evidence (failure in school and success in other ways)allowed her to change her view. With her wrong view eliminated she was free of her cycle, free to do other things.

And all Alana really wants is to be free. Seeing Ebony, someone I knew so well, changed in such a dramatic way really impacted me. It was so simple, so clear, better than any outline or roadmap to practice I could have come-up with. This example, of how the dharma works, logically, naturally, as a basic feature of this world, really hit home. It gave me hope that Dharma is  not some impenetrable mystery outside the grasp of ordinary folks (after all my friend is ordinary like me, she isn’t even a Buddhist). The tools and techniques we all use to problem solve our way through our daily lives (turned towards the path) are all we really need. That, and once in awhile, a little inspiration from a friend.

 

After sharing the prior two contemplations with Mae Yo, I asked the following 3 questions for clarification. Mae Yo’s answers are in green below:

Question Part 1) From my contemplation it seems that sometimes karmic debt is something we create through feelings and interpretations of our own actions. Sometimes however it seems to be initiated by others. Is this correct and if so then whats the balance–how do I reconcile these two ideas? consequences?

Yes, karma works in both ways. Sometimes we do wrong, but don’t feel wrong and so we don’t take on that karma. Other times, we take on karma that isn’t ours to begin with (like feeling guilty about Eric’s move from NY, when you weren’t to blame). Other times, others hold us to certain debts…. it works just like the judicial system in this world.

Question Part 2) In so far as we have limited control of the karma we have already created and which we continue to create what do we do? I guess I feel a little like–how am I ever going to stop getting reborn if others can keep pulling me back. I am scared I’m trapped not just by my own failings of view (of which there are plenty) but also by others. The double whammy seems overwhelming.

There are two parts: 1. others pulling you to be born, and 2. you pulling others to be born

The way not to be reborn is to change your key viewpoints that have caused all those bad karmic acts that you are paying for now. It’s like trying to get a tree to stop producing leaves. You can pluck each leaf, each stem, each branch, or cut the trunk. Choosing each of those acts will result in different results. Once you cut the key viewpoint, the big branches or the trunk, the leaves won’t grow back in time to overwhelm you again.

Question Part 3) Is there anything else on this topic of Karma that is important for me to know/understand/contemplate?

When focusing on karma, you can hone in on the consequences…the revenge aspect. This is what makes the world go round.

Mae Yo’s thoughts about the Eric and NY story i.e. karma as something created by myself:  This is a very clear example of how you took on that karmic debt even though you may not have been responsible for it. It affected your thoughts, your actions, your speech. But once your view changed, this karmic debt can go away. This is how you can stop being reborn….it’s like outrunning the karmic cycle. It can’t keep up with you if you are cutting out wrong views and not just actions or speech.

Mae Yo’s thoughts about my examples of  where karma is created by someone else: There’s really no way to avoid these, and you may not want to avoid them either. They are the examples that teach us and move us forward in our practice. Without problems, we don’t challenge ourselves to find solutions. While we can’t avoid them, we can be better prepared…by doing what we’ve been doing, digging up our past actions and figuring out the whys and hows.

Alana’s Further Thoughts: About a month after these contemplations, Mae Yo told a story that really helped sharpen my understanding of karma. The story was that she once bought a truck from a guy and because there was a small problem with the truck she felt cheated. She felt she was owed something, like the scales of the transaction were not balanced. She said that because of this, he could have brought her back to this world, he could have been a karmic debtor. But, when she came to understand vengeance, to eliminate it through her practice, the truck salesman no longer had control over her. The connection was severed.

The story made it clear to me that, in the end, if the causes of our rebirth, our wrong views (in Ma Yo’s case, this was vengence), are eliminated, there is simply no force great enough to pull us back. I can’t think of a better reason to start uprooting my own wrong views…

 

I was starting to feel like, “oh, I totally get this karma thing”, It’s something I create through my thoughts (you can read the last blog post). Then, Mae Yo comes out with a Youtube Q and A — Karmic Creditor — and I feel like “oh shit, I am totally karma screwed”. The video was about the power our karmic creditors can have over us and it made me realize I better contemplate a bit more on how karma can be created by others…

My thoughts on karma as something generated by the intention and interpretation of others: In some ways it seems obvious — something I do, or the perception of something I do, colors another’s response to me and their response creates an impact on me. I see at least 3 subgroups:

1) Actions I knew were going to be a problem when I did them —  example: when I was in high school I tried to steal my bestfriends’ boyfriend. I knew it was a bad idea, that it was going to be hurtful, that there would be fallout, but desire outweighed my concern for consequence. For stuff like this, I feel I at least have a chance to put the brakes-on. I can consider the potential risks and determine if its worth it ahead of time.

2) Stuff I do which, at the time I didn’t foresee to be a problem but which I  later realize can be. This category, which I am grappling a lot with lately, is stuff I used to think was no problem but which now I’m starting to realize is dangerous. Example: I used to have the feeling that relationships with friends and family were relatively disposable. They could be nurturing mutually for a time, but when circumstances changed, they could be gently let go of and everyone would agree that its for the best when the calls or visits just stop. Only recently have I started to see that not everybody would just agree with my view and that there are old friends/family that I have hurt by ‘letting-go’. For some of these, where its appropriate, I have tried to be in contact a bit more and not be so neglectful . For other cases, I think action on my part would make things worse so I have refrained. But contemplation on the topic of my old friendships has shifted the way I create friendships now; it has made me wary. For a while I was pressuring Eric for us to make new couple friends, then I realized all the upkeep and time it would take and I just let go of the idea. This weekend an old friend invited me to go to a party and I thought — ugh, its going to put me in a place where I engage with folks who may want more engagement from me after the party ends, another dinner, a trip, etc. — I rather just avoid planting the seeds so I am getting together with my friend alone, but not going to a party.

Not that I’m avoiding all new friendships..just I am thinking very carefully about who I choose and why, not just to make connections that validate me or make me feel loved for a time (the way I think I used to see friendships). With this example I can see how as my understanding grows I have the opportunity to change my behaviors, or rather my behaviors shift on their own, and can be less dangerous. Still–its a process and I feel like I have already left a battlefield of destruction in my wake.

3) This is the group that scares me the most — stuff that I didn’t think could be a problem at the time and I am still unsure how to avoid. Into this category fall accidents as well as stuff where I did the best with the info I had at the time, but it still turned out badly. Example: at my first job my boss went away on vacation and left me in charge of the gala for a few weeks. Even after he returned the vendors and donors still continued contacting me and my boss was upset because he thought I was trying to take his job. For a while he made stuff very hard for me, micromanaged, etc.  I was doing my best with what I knew and what I believed was my job, but my boss’ perception played into creating a circumstance that had a real negative fallout. I don’t even know how to avoid stuff like this in the future.

So, which is it? Karma is initiated by us, our thoughts and interpretations. Or karma is something initiated by others. Is it both? Neither? What does this mean for me? For my ability to control the karma I create? Time for a little help from my teacher… stay tuned for the next blog where I ask Mae Y specific questions from my karma contemplations and share the answers I got.

I was reading a short story that got me thinking about Karma. The extra short version goes something like this…

A woman was sitting on a train trying to read, when a man came, sat down next to her and started talking. She was busy, not interested in a conversation, and politely found a way to excuse herself. The story ends with this man committing suicide by jumping off the train and the woman ravished by guilt that she may have been able to stop him, if only she had taken the time and talked to him.

As the reader, I certainly didn’t think the woman did anything wrong or that she was at fault for the man’s suicide. But the character in the story imagines it is her fault, she takes on the guilt, she creates the karma, the little black mark on her heart that one way or another she will pay for.

Naturally, my thoughts turned inward, to me, my life, and a parallel situation… Back when Eric and I first started dating he lived in New York and he liked it . He had a job as a programmer that he enjoyed and took pride in, it gave him lots of time for self improvement and hobbies as well. When I left for Grad School in Nashville I invited him to join me and he did. He went on to get a business degree and work in HR but he has never really liked his work as much as back when he was programming. He has been so busy and not had as much time for outside activities. For years and years I blamed myself for taking Eric away from his “goodlife” in NY. I felt like I had ruined his life and I owed him a special debt for it that I didn’t even know how to repay, even after we were married. I tried though…especially when it came to the topic of deciding when and where to move, I had a bias for yielding to Eric’s wishes so I didn’t again hurt him through a move.

It wasn’t until I started really thinking about control that my perception shifted— First off, I started seeing that there were some details about Eric’s “goodlife” in NY that my rosey memory had excluded. Eric was lonely and had been looking for a partner for a long time. He had tried numerous efforts to find a partner and still he had no real luck –coming with me and being my partner fulfilled a need of his own and wasn’t just a sacrifice for me. 9/11 happened and he lost his programming job and was actually between jobs when we went to Nashville. Eric had considered business school before we dated, but didn’t pursue it.. Thinking it through, I realized both that NY wasn’t all sunshine and there were lots of factors, other than myself, that influenced his decision to move. I realized that I had painted myself as the center of the story of Eric’s decision, his life, and blamed myself for my own perception of what went wrong. It was giving myself a bit too much credit ;).

As I began to see that I may have been a factor in Eric’s life change, but certainly wasn’t in control of it (not the cause) I really did feel my sense of indebtedness to him lessen. It hasn’t changed my day-to-day behaviors toward him so much, but in my heart I feel freer. It made me see how the way I interpret a situation  can color the sense of responsibility I have and the connections that that fosters.

Just like with the woman on the train, my belief that I caused Eric’s actions and the results that proceeded, burdened me, and created a sense of debt that played-out in my behaviors toward him. If I hadn’t investigated the wrong views underlying this guilt, it would likely still be playing-out and I would be saddled with a sense of debt I didn’t know how to repay.

So that’s it right? (drumroll for my very first karma though) We are the ones that interpret a behavior / situation, assign it emotional weight  and then create our karma. There is no one else out there assigning points for our actions, keeping score, no great being in the sky dictating that for action X you will receive result Y.. .all this stuff is happening in our hearts.

Clarity, karma is something I create. It’s all on me, in my head, in my heart, I got this. But not so fast….what happens when someone else karma zaps me??? Stay tuned for next week’s 2nd kamic contemplation, Karma as Something Generated by the Intention and Interpretation of Others…

Karma is one of those Bhuddisty topics that’s big, huge. Understanding it fully is equivalent to understanding the whole kit-n-kaboodle of how this world works, how we came to be born, the cycle we are stuck in and how to bring about its cessation. In other words, my details are pretty sketchy ;). Arguably it was way too big a topic for me at the time in my practice I began to consider it (the next entry dates back to 4/14 ) . Frankly it is still too big for me now… But I came across that dragon laying in my path and I poked at it…so, to be fair to my program of recording my path, I will share those contemplations, or rather the synopsis which took the form of an email with questions to Mae Yo and Neecha, in the next few posts.

First though, I feel like I want to give a little intro about Karma in broad terms

 

A Little Intro to Karma (to The Best of My Limited Ability)

So then, what is karma? Karma is quite simply the universal law of cause and effect that governs this world. Everything and everyone is subject to it, period. Period. The problem is, after that statement of fact, it gets a little fuzzy. That’s because no one, but the Buddha, can actually fully see someone’s karma —  i.e. the intersecting web of causes that leads to effects that in turn becomes more causes that have certain effects..and the snowballing continues. Add in countless lifetimes, and countless beings whose lifetimes are intersecting, and karma starts making quantum theory look simple.

So, rather than give myself massive migraines contemplating the unknowables of Karma, I like to use a parallel and think of karma like dark matter in the universe. Scientist can’t see dark matter, they don’t know exactly what it is, but they know it’s real because they can see its (gravitational) effects on the things around it.  With karma, we will never see the full picture, are never be able to point to that ‘one thing’ that was the definitive cause of that one effect, but we sure as heck can start seeing patterns and understanding likely consequences. Our experiences of its effects in our everyday life can prove to us karma is real.

So an example:  You can’t say I went and shot-up my neighbor’s house yesterday and that’s the reason my house was shot-up today. Afterall, plenty of folks who shot-up other people’s houses never have their houses shot-up, and many folks who have had their houses shot-up never did it to someone else. Nonetheless, you can begin to see that folks who are in gangs, who run around doing gangy things, like shooting-up houses, are way more likely than other folks to suffer some kind of gang violence themselves.  Or folks who bully and abuse are more likely to have been abused themselves (after all, we learn the behaviors from somewhere). Or folks who are generous and kind often receive favor and affection from others (because we do tend to favor the folks who have been kind to us). Again, none of these are fixed relationships, because no action takes place in a vacuum there are many circumstances and factors that feed a result, and yet…

And yet, karma is not magic and it is not fully unfathomable/unknowable. And that is probably the critical point for my contemplating on it and, for my sharing those contemplations with you in the posts to come. Because I have real examples of how when I was being a bitch (like to my friend Candy) I escalated fights and got bitchiness back, and when I stopped being a bitch fighting de-escalated and I got sweetness back.  So, I have learned that I can alter myself, my beliefs and (as a result) behaviors in order to change the effects I get.  I have also, as you will see in the next post, developed a healthy dose of concern, of cautiousness about the seeds I sow ( the karma I create) because frankly, I don’t want to get bitten by the bad stuff later on.

The next few posts will be about my initial karma contemplations.

We’ll begin this entry with a little civics lesson about the San Francisco jury selection process. Basically, everyone eligible to serve on a jury can be called on once a year. If summoned, you don’t necessarily need to go to court, you get place on stand-by. Each day you call in and see if you were selected to serve on the jury pool, if not, you simply need to call in the next day. If you make it a whole week without getting called in (woo hoo), you are free from jury service for another 12 months. Unless….

Back in late 2013, I got a jury summons. Each day I called-in praying my name would not get selected. Each day I was delighted by the news that I had been passed over for some other poor person who was wasting away their day sitting in court instead of me. By the end of the week I had avoided getting called and I was free for another year. Yipee!!!  Fast forward to Feb. 2014, I get a letter in the mail calling me to serve on  federal jury duty in Oakland. Apparently, folks who had served at a local court in the last 12 months were exempt; since I however had only been on stand-by, there was no way out of the federal jury summons. And, federal court is much worse than local, I had to go all the way to Oakland and cases tend to be much much longer…..

Suddenly, I was really wishing I had been called in back in 2013, if I had just done my service locally I  could have avoided the whole federal summons mess. That’s when it hit me, the very thing that brought me so much joy back in 2013 (not getting called for jury duty) was causing me so much regret just a few months later. I was so sure of what I wanted and then it changed so quickly. How much energy do I put into getting what I want? How much hope and worry, joy and sorrow, pierces my life based on these things? And then my desires can change so fast, they are so fickle, so mutable — is it worth it?

I thought about examples of this from my life:

• My husband got a job transfer and we were so so worried it would be the end of his career, something terrible. So much scheming and planning to avoid it and in the end it happened anyway. Turned-out to be a great move, better position, better work environment, more money, more career potential.
• I wanted to stay in Houston, my old town, so so much. I cried and screamed and pulled my hair when I found out we were leaving. Now I love San Francisco.
• I was so happy my neighborhood finally went to permit parking. I spent $250 on a sticker and then sold my car. I felt like I had wasted the money.  
• I was so excited to go on a trip to Kenya and then I got run down by a rhino–ouch.

Over and over again I throw my heart at a desire, I let desire be the line that connects the dots of my life, drags me from one point to another. Because I want some things and want to avoid others, my life is a constant roller coaster of highs and lows, joys and disappointments, sweet success of achievement and deep despair over loss.  But, how long does the desire, the thing I invested so much energy and hope in even last? Even if I get my desire, look how fragile it is —  a federal jury summons can transform a past victory (avoiding local jury duty) to a regret in the time it takes to open an envelope…

It is worth noting that before this contemplation I was already aware that I was the one who made the rules, decided what was desirable or undesirable in every circumstance/occasion (see http://alana.kpyusa.org/what-kind-of-a-throws-a-sponge-on-the-ground-in-this-beautiful-unspoiled-forest/). But I really thought that I knew what I wanted, that once I decided it stuck. Now I began to see the very things I want can change over time. It thew a new element of uncertainty, of impermanence into the mix. It further built the case that I am playing a game, that in the end I really can’t win…after all even a victory can turn into a defeat so fast.

Note from the present day: This story was one of my early contemplations on the slights and discomforts I face in my everyday life. The slights and discomforts I invite on in, in exchange for those sweet, snowy, moments I desire. As suffering goes, these little blips are barely perceptible and so easily forgotten. But it is actually their normality,  their pervasiveness, that make them such compelling evidence of the trade offs, the sufferings for enjoyments, I chose. Because the ‘sufferings’ are so ‘small’ I will bold the ones I caught in my story. Perhaps you, Dear Reader, can catch a few more…

_____________________________________________________________

Needless to say, us Miami girls don’t get too many snow days growing up. So, when a friend invited me to use his cabin in Tahoe on the weekend a big blizzard was set to strike, I was excited like a kid in a candy store (on a snow day).  

Eric and I drove up on Friday and I set the alarm for frightfully early on Sat. when the snow was supposed to start — I didn’t want to miss out on even a moment of snow. 6 AM, no snow. 7 AM no snow, 8 AM no snow. For hours I paced, between the window and the weather report on TV, just waiting for my winter wonderland to begin.

Before the first flakes hit the ground at 8:30, I was pestering my husband to get up and get ready to go play in the snow. Annoyed, he complied, dressing and grumbling, driving and rolling his eyes, till we got up to one of the ski lodges where we could spend the day and watch the snowy show.

Except, since we weren’t actually guests in the lodge, I had to earn my keep, ordering mediocre food, too many drinks, the massages, all stuff I didn’t really want to have or to have to pay for. But all worth it in my mind for the dazzling winter display on the mountain.

As the snow got harder however Eric and I started to worry about getting back down the mountain again. Slowly, anxiously, we drove down the icy roads back to our cabin below. We made it so far, got so close, only a mile left to the cabin and off the road we drift into a huge pile of snow.

The car was stuck.  As I assessed the reality of being stuck, in the freezing cold, getting dark, side of the road in Tahoe, my inside voice is just screaming, “fuck fuck fuck”. I used my outside voice to call AAA, “What do you mean there is a 7 hour wait for roadside assistance …  fuck fuck fuck.”

We walked the last mile back to the cabin and we waited. Of course, we eventually go the car towed out. By morning, the roads had been cleared, the sun was shining, and we drove back to SF where we lived happily ever after. The End.

Waaaaiiiittt a  sec, not soooo fast on that fairytale ending.  

On the way home, I caught myself planning for the next time; what I would do different, the tire chains I would bring, the more central lodge I would stay at, the tweaks I could make (control) to have the pretty snow, but without the slights, the inconveniences. Hell, maybe I could even figure out how to get the snow without it being so darn cold…

The snow, it was pretty, for sure (at least until I ended in a ditch filled with it), but was it worth it? Once the sun had come out,  and I had hindsight on the prior day, it all started feeling like an adventure, a fun story to tell friends, a trial, for sure, but one I had come-out on the top of. But, I couldn’t help wonder, when will it be enough? What if I got hurt? If Eric was hurt? If the car had required pricey repairs?

Even without it getting too serious, when do all those slights and pin pricks add up to pain? What do they show me about this world? About what my life is made of? About what shadow side comes lurking with my desires and the pleasure of fulfilling them?

Present day Alana can’t help wonder if the little pains I incurred chasing my small snowy dreams might have been a warning to me. If I had really understood, would I be suffering so hugely today with the disappointment and aggravation of a NY life incurred by chasing my big NY dream? I dedicate this blog to learning my own lessons, absorbing them deep in my heart, so that one day, I am free of making the same mistakes over and over again.

 

On the tail of so much travel —  India, Hawaii —  it’s wasn’t terribly surprising that my To Do list was insanely long. Doctors visits and  taxes to pay and calls to make, oh my. What did strike me as odd though was the feeling in my heart as I looked at the list, it might as well have said “lions and tigers and bears oh my.”

I sat at my desk, carefully writing out each to do, creating sublists of my list on sticky notes that I would obsessively arrange and then re-arrange. With each bullet, each sticky note overhaul, my heart craved calm, soothing, a sense of order and control. But soothing never came, I just looked at my list and panicked. In my mind, that list, was an indictment of my own limitations of control. It was a series of tasks each of which I could fail, any of which could prove me to be a failure. And in that moment, I realized, what was happening in mind might actually be crazy…let’s have a look at the wrong views:

 

• Wrong view 1: That control is even possible.   But really, if I were in control, would I have a huge todo list in the first place? Would I be overwhelmed by it? I don’t want these tasks, I don’t want to feel burdened by them, if my control was real, I could just eliminate them altogether, or at least eliminate the overwhelmed feeling that comes with them. The problem is already evidence that I don’t control.

 

• Wrong view 2: That  if I could just number and order all the tasks of my life, they would be in my power to control. Crazy list making Alana ignored the possibility that even a perfect list did not ensure I controlled each item and its outcome. Or that I can never really be master of a  list that doesn’t really end, there are always more items to add on (impermanence). Or that sometimes things get done on their own, or don’t end up needing to be done at all, list or not.

 

• Wrong view 3: Deeper still was what control over the items on my list meant to me. If I control I am a successful adult, someone who is mature and responsible and all adulty and stuff. Because, thinks crazy Alana,  folks who don’t make lists, who don’t control, are always failures right? List making, controlling, is what it means to be an adult (permanent). If I fail, if I drop the ball, if even one call falls through the cracks, what kind of person am I?

 

• Wrong view 4: The deepest fear, the heart of the matter, if I fail, if I am someone who is not in control, people will judge me and find me lacking. More than anything else, I wanted this list to protect me from looking like a lazy fool, from being someone others see as immature, undependable, irresponsible. Of being someone who is unlovable. But, I started to gather the evidence and question… is it true?

Does everyone even value control the way I do? If my friend Sue valued control would she have been so over weight? And do I even value control absolutely in other people? Mae Yo, my super ninja teacher, often says folks don’t listen to her. If even Mae Yo can’t control her students is control the ultimate measure of success? Do I judge my teacher harshly for her lack of control? When I was a vegetarian I controlled my diet, but did others love me more? In truth most of my family thought I was a pain in the ass to have dinner with.

The truth is, as long as I live in this world, there will be a todo list. A series of obligations, duties, I ought to try my best to fulfill. But the list, it says nothing about me beyond that I am a part of this world.

As a great lover of all things lovely, I couldn’t resist going to my local museum for a special butterfly exhibit when it came to town. Part of the exhibit featured glass cases where cocoons were carefully pinned at the tip so that the butterflies inside could hatch and then fly away.

One butterfly however wasn’t so lucky, its cocoon had been pinned too far down and its wing had been caught. I watched the butterfly struggle to free itself, but it was hopeless, that beautiful creature was dead before it was even fully born.

Something at first seemed unnatural about the situation. But then I realized I had seen this before, things dead before being born. My new cellphone that broke was dead before I had really gotten to use it. I had started a relationship once with a guy I knew was moving in 2 weeks, the relationship was dead before it was born. I had  bought a house in Texas and we moved to San Fran a few months later, it was gone before I had settled in and made it mine. In the end, duration is uncertain.

But still, even as I compiled the evidence in my head that this was just one more case of impermanence, of limited duration, I was getting more deeply upset. It just didn’t seem right that the the butterfly was so beautiful, had earned its beauty by struggling out of its cocoon, and was dying nonetheless.

Squiggly line flash back ———————-I had been at an event for donors at Zen Hospice several years before  and a story from one of the caregivers had really shaken me up. She had been caring for a young women, funny, beautiful, a porn star by occupation, and dead of a brain disease before she hit 30. It stuck with me all these years, because, like the butterfly, it didn’t seem right. Young and beautiful shouldn’t die.

In fact, in my mind, beauty is control and death is out of control. The two should be opposites. But the porn star, the butterfly, they were telling me a very uncomfortable truth. All my primping, exercising, lotions and potions, all my efforts to be and stay beautiful, can’t keep me safe. Like that butterfly, my duration is uncertain, my efforts don’t earn me a pass on death, my beauty, already fading anyway, is not an antidote to immpermacne.