Alana's Dharma Blog

Body is like my computer. This body is not mine:

This body is not my own. If it were mine it wouldn’t be showing such intense signs of aging and wear after just 41 years. My skin wouldn’t be covered in brown and red spots. My hip joint and toe joint and knees wouldn’t be worn and hard to use. If this body were actually my own it would reflect my idea of who I am –pretty and fit and buttoned up and in control ( if not of everything in the world than at least of my corner of it, of what is mine, of what is me.) But alas, a spotted, busted-up body doesn’t exactly reflect those things.

If this body were truly mine my immune system would not be overtaxed — it would not be showing markers of inflammation and  aggravation, with positive ANA labs, new metal allergies and sensitivity to fiber and dairy — there would be less strain and more capacity so my body could stay fit to fight when I need it, but not so sensitive to cause damage when I don’t want it to.

If this body were mine it would show no signs of slowing down: I wouldn’t need so much sleep, I wouldn’t need more rest time than I used to between vigorous workouts and I wouldn’t have, so recently, been finding myself more easily tired out on my walks. If this body were really mine it would keep going the way I believe it should, it would have the same energy level in flesh as I want/consider in mind.

If my body were under my control I wouldn’t need to be petrified by recent changes and labs, I wouldn’t need to worry about each biopsy, each new mole or ache, because if my body were under my control I would –duhhh, control it — and could simply demand it keep a form I consider acceptable, healthy, in all ways and at all times.

So is the body constant or inconstant? Clearly the body is changing, inconstant, my immune system is being overtaxed, my iron levels have grown past capacity, I have a new growth on my cervix, a change in my mole. All this change has already occurred and my doctors are watching and waiting for more. New labs, new appointments and checks, seeing if there is new pain and new symptoms that indicate even further change and decay.

And is that which is inconstant easeful or stressful? Quite clearly I am hella stressed out by these changes to my body. I look in the mirror and feel embarrassed by the sun spots and rosacea. I workout and I feel self loathing that I can’t push harder, that fatigue or joint damage get in the way. I keep tinkering, making changes to diet, supplements, exercise, trying so hard to decrease inflammation, to lighten the immunity load. I worry with each test for a result I don’t want. I worry continually that I will lose this body. I will lose everything I love –my life, my husband –because they are mere accompaniments of this body that is decaying before my eyes.

And is it fitting to regard what is inconstant and stressful and subject to change as: “This is mine”, “This is  my self”, “This is what I am”? Well Lord, this is certainly a question worth considering. This body is not acting in accord with my wishes and desires, but rather in accord with its 4e nature. If something marches through forms I dislike, I prefer to disassociate with, that I am helpless to change, it is hard to defend the position that “it is mine”.

What is more is that, as it marches through these various forms, it seems to invariably hit forms that I consider, in my imagination, to be decisively not me. Why else would I be embarrassed by my age spots? The embarrassment arises precisely because I think these are not me, these ugly splotches do not represent the beautiful Alana of my mind’s eye.  Why else would I be disappointed with myself when my achy hip prevents me from getting into a yoga pose or I need extra time between weight sets to recover? It is because an Alana with an undisciplined body disappoints my self view as a fit Alana.

The fact is this body has already broken. There are already things it can no longer do: I can no longer digest certain foods. I can no longer do certain yoga poses. The reason for this is simple: The lining of my intestines has been worn away by chronic infection, bacteria have consumed a part of my body and it is no longer able to function to digest. Friction has worn away a part of my hip joint and it is no longer able to rotate in certain ways.

Now there are signs of further potential damage. An immune system that may be over taxed because it has fought occult gut infection so long. A cervix that is friable and damaged because part of it was burned away in a past surgery. This body, as a whole, and in individual parts is changing, decaying and aging in accord with its nature. In response to the other 4es in its environment.

It is crazy to expect that going forward this body will do anything different than it what it has already done, i.e. change. Then is what is in its nature to do.  As it continues its march of ever changing aggregations, it will continue to break. There will be more and more it can not do. Ultimately it will no longer be able to sustain life and I will die. At that point, I will definitely part ways from this body. It will go its way — decayed back to the ground — and I will go my way.  How can something I will inevitably part with really be myself or who I am?

What is more is that this body will continue its march of shifting aggregations, and ultimate disaggregation, independent of my desire that it be otherwise, irrespective of my hopes and expectations. My beliefs of what it should do, what it should be, what it is,  or what it makes me are irrelevant.

Notwithstanding any momentary impacts I am able to have, any minor deviations of course I can affect (by using Rupa to manipulate rupa), the end point of this body is always the same. I can remove a mole, or change my diet or take prophylactic drugs in the hopes of mitigating an autoimmune disease, but my best case impact is lengthened duration. Other possibilities are no change, or shortened duration, all are possible. This is because the nature of this body is not an entity that shifts in accord with my desires, but rather an entity that shifts in response to 4es in its environment and within itself. If I poke 4e body with 4e medication it will cause a change to its aggregation. This does not prove anything special about me, it confirms the body is acting in accordance with its 4e nature. If changes to this body are not about me — Alana the great causer — but about the nature of this body to change, and to change in accord to stimulus (whoever/whatever the stimulus causer), how would I claim this body confirms me?

I will part ways with this body and when I do I will lose all the accompaniments that it comes with –I will lose my wealth, my alana identity, my status and Eric. That I am so desperate to cling to these things has no bearing. How can a body be myself when its very decaying nature is the thing that guarantees I will lose my sense of self and everything I hold dear?

Oh and then there is the suffering…because it is what I consider mine, me, a necessity to realize my self and my dreams, I have become consumed with this body. Not a day passes that I do not have to worry about it. I fed myself a lie, that this body is special, exempt from the decay and change common in this world, and based on that lie have I let myself grow reliant on a body that a simple blood test has called into question the reliability of. It could break, fail, grow inflamed and start attacking itself at any moment. Seriously, a body that attacks itself, how on earth do I call that mine or me?

Because I call this body “mine”, my imagination envisions a future with it (or because my imagination envisions a future with it, I call it “mine”. Its a bit of a chicken and egg as far as I can tell), and I suffer as I try to force that future into reality. I suffer by any piece of evidence– a growing mole, a cervical polyp, a flagged blood test —  that forces my imagination to consider another possibility: A future without this body. A world that goes on spinning devoid of ‘Alana me’.

I wanted to come into this world. I wanted pleasure. I wanted to become, to prove who I am. I wanted to have a story, a future as I imagined it would be. And because I wanted birth in a rupa world, I required a rupa body. But with this rupa body comes pain not just pleasure. With this rupa body comes states that are incongruous with who I see myself to be –states of ugliness, of weakness, of illness, of sharp words and harsh behavior. With this rupa body comes not just a story but a very definite ending, a future that is not as I imagine it, because whose ‘happily ever after’ has sickness and aging and death? With this rupa body comes loss, unbecoming, unalanafication (i.e. death).

I have convinced myself that an object which brings about the end of what I see myself to be is actually me. I have claimed an object that will fail me and leave me. I have claimed an object that the very act of claiming induces extreme stress. I have claimed an object that doesn’t give a damn about my claims, that will march along, shifting, decaying and disaggregating anyways.

And why? . And so, I lie, I claim this body, to support that lie because, alas, hope, against all reason, still reigns supreme.

The next few blogs — written as in the days I awaited my cervical biopsy results — are a return to an exercise, from the Anatta-lakkhana Sutra, that I had been doing during my 2020 personal retreat. As a little reminder, the exercise was a series of questions, framed as a conversation between the Buddha and the practitioner, to guide contemplation on the nature of self in regard to our bodies and our physical belongings. The contemplation begins by taking an object that we own and considering whether or not that object is really under our control. It then imagines the Buddha asking the following questions to which one must formulate a reply:

“Alana, is your ____ (object chosen for contemplation) constant or inconstant?”

“And Alana, is something that is inconstant stress full or easeful?”

“Is it fitting to regard what is inconstant, stressful, subject to change as: ‘This is mine’. ‘This is my self’. ‘This is what I am’?”

The same considerations and questions are then internalized and applied to one’s body. Rinse and repeat. So hi ho, hi ho, its back to rupa we go…

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This Computer is Not Mine

This computer is not my own. If it were mine it would not be showing signs of aging in just 3 years. The screen would not be covered in crust and dirt, the keys wouldn’t be sticky and crumb filled. The period key wouldn’t be sunken and weak, hard to press and use. If this computer were actually mine it would glisten and shine and be a reflection of my “clean, crisp, in control self, whose belongings prove to the world just how clean and crisp and buttoned up I am.”

If the computer were truly mine, the storage space would not be filling-up, it would be more ample — there would always be capacity to hold onto and save everything I need. The computer wouldn’t be slowing and stalling, hanging on sites when I want to move faster. If this computer were actually mine it would bend to my desires, it would function as I believe a computer should –as I “know” for a fact this very computer should, because that is how it acted in the past.

If this computer were truly mine, I wouldn’t be looking at its worn down shell, I wouldn’t be registering its symptoms of declining battery life, and slow processing and worry to myself, “I may not be able to count on this computer much longer, I may be left high and dry when I need it most for work, or when we don’t have as much money that I can easily replace it”.

If my computer were truly under my control, I could shut my eyes, click my heels three times and say be back to new, be back to shiny and speedy and new and when I opened them the computer would have its just out of the box luster back again. Honestly, if it were truly mine to control, it would never have lost that luster to begin with.

So is the computer constant or inconstant — Clearly Great Lord, the computer is inconstant: It started sleek and shiny and clean. Now it is dull, dinged, dingey and dirty. It started speedy, with long battery life and full of space. Now it is slower, needs more frequent charging and is running out of room.

And is that which is inconstant easeful or stressful?  It is quite clearly stressful My Lord. I look at the accumulation of dirt and I feel disgust. I try and use the period key and I feel inconvenienced when it doesn’t work. When the computer freezes and slows, I feel annoyed it is not going at the speed I want, it is slowing me down. And I am continually taking the time, tinkering with the memory, trying to preserve it, to get a little more space out of it so I can hold onto more of the files I want to keep. Most of all, there is the low level stress of worry that eventually, I will lose this computer. I will need to find a new one to replace this one. I worry that when it finally does break Eric won’t have a job and buying such an expensive item will make me stress about money.

Is it fitting to regard what is inconstant and stressful as “this is mine”? Probably not My Lord because the changes I see in this computer, the things that stress me out, are the necessary consequences of this computer’s nature and use. The computer was not/could never have been designed to go unchanged and to meet my expectations all of the time. It follows its own rules, takes its own path from newness to worness to breaking.  It does not follow my rules, it does not progress on its path according to my desires, my timeline or my needs. Ultimately its path and mine will diverge and we will part ways from each other. Only the question of duration remains open.

When I think about it, I see I use this computer every single day. I bring it to the kitchen and bathroom, I use it while I eat. Of course it is going to get crusty and dirty: physical objects exposed to dirt get dirty. I use it all day long, day after day, it makes sense, the battery, which has a finite number of charge cycles, is going to become depleted with heavy use. I store files for work, files for play, and files for life in general on this computer, continually downloading and saving. Because it has finite space, of course it will fill up. I surf the web, I download many files and click into spam pages, of course this computer when exposed to viruses and adware –designed specifically to infect computers –will catch some of these bugs and exhibit symptoms of infection like slowing down.

What is more surprising than all this wear is that I expect anything different. That as I type along with sticky fingers I wonder at how the computer gets sticky. Why would this object be any different than any other in this world? It is only because I title this mine that I suddenly have special hopes/demands/ expectations for it.