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Alana’s (Seemingly) Impossible Homework Assignment– Go and Figure Out How Memory (3) and Imagination (4) Work. What is Their Process?

Alana’s (Seemingly) Impossible Homework Assignment– Go and Figure Out How Memory (3) and Imagination (4) Work. What is Their Process?

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Another technical entry warning, do your best and feel free to scan and skip ahead to next week if this is all a bit much…

Gurrr, ughhrr, ugggh … those were basically my first thoughts when I sat down to do my homework. Fortunately, as I’m sure all you Dear Readers have noted already, the methods taught by LP Thoon are chalk-full of tools, the most important being to start from experiences in our everyday lives to understand the dharma. So I began to comb through my own stories for one that would help me understand the aggregates of memory (3) and imagination (4) …

When we first moved to SF I discovered we had a mouse in our house. I had never had mice before so it didn’t bother me at all. In fact, after I didn’t see it for a few days I began to worry something bad had happened. I thought maybe the mouse was hungry, so I started leaving out food for it. I went online, to check-out what mice might like to eat (FYI — everything) and started seeing articles about the dangers of vermin in your house. Apparently my cute little mouse wasn’t so harmless at all, it could spread death and disease and plague oh my! This was back in the days of ‘paranoid and afraid of death all the time Alana’ so, it was — Freak-out time!!!!!

Suddenly my house mouse was a pest not a guest.

But the change from needing to be fed to something I dread was all in my head

————————-OK, with the rhyming out of my system — ————————————-

As I began to consider the aggregates of memory (3) and imagination (4) this particular story jumped into my head because well, it was all in my head. The mouse went from furry friend to freaky fiend in my head alone, based on changes to my knowledge and imagination of the future — this was a story I could work with.

What were my original #3s, memory, for this story? What were the ‘facts’, data points, things I already firmly believed to be true based on past experiences, that I drew-on to formulate my beliefs about needing to feed mice in my house?

  • The mouse is missing
  • My mother and stepmother always took special care with animals and strays. It was normal in my household and it was something my father (who I loved and respected very much) appreciated
  • What happens in my house is my responsibility
  • My hamsters as a child died because I didn’t take good enough care of them
  • The folks in my old dharma community and my teachers were always going around and saving animals
  • Caring for animals makes me a compassionate Alana, and compassionate people are loved (see Compassionate Alana Story )

What were my original #4s, imagination, for this story? What conclusions did I draw based on my memories, what did I imagine would or wouldn’t happen, that had me going around and feeding mice?

  • A missing mouse is hungry and in danger (thank the mouse gods compassionate Alana is here to save the day)
  • Eric, my friends, my family would learn about me caring for this poor mouse I would score some serious Brownie Points.
  • But if I didn’t take care of the mouse it would die and I would be to blame since it happened in my house, on my watch. I would be a bed person unworthy of love

( It is worth noting that none of my imaginations really had anything to do with the actual mouse, they were me and mine, my mouse, my house, my compassionate Alana PR)

Enter the internet and a little research on diseases spread by rodents….

What were my post-Googling #3s, memories, for this story? Suddenly internet ‘facts’ filled my brain and I now have a data bank full of cautionary tales about the dangers of mice in my house.

What were my post-Googling #4s, imaginations, for this story? I’m going to die –aahhh. Death by mouse disease, plague, yikes. That mouse needs to get the hell out now.

My mouse story, what I believed, what I imagined, how I acted, changed super fast as soon as my old 3’s and 4’s were replaced with new ones. Clearly, I am choosing which memories to recall, which ones to preference (in this story the new ones not the originals), I am the judge and a biased one at that. Afterall, its not like I had never before seen folks killing mice, or ignoring them, or being harmed by wildlife, or not actually realizing that disease is sometimes spread by animals.  All those things existed in my memory banks right along side what I listed above. But, the rupa (form, 1st aggregate) of that cute little mouse, all alone, in my house, it triggered me to a selection of certain memories, certain facts that I used to imagine myself as a mouse saving hero. And then, in very ‘Alana repeats the same patterns’ form (after all, this is the Homeless Alana theme all over again), even a small glimmer of danger (new 3’s) gets total preference of all other facts and sends me into panic imagining my impending death.

So to return to the homework questions, what are memory and imagination and how exactly does this all work?

What exactly is #3, memory? Its a recall of a memory/object/situation as something familiar, something I already have experiences of, a pattern recognition (animal in apparent distress/human capable of intervening). It can be something taught or told (Dr. Google says mice cause disease) or something learned (not feeding hamsters makes them dead). Most interestingly, our old imaginations, like vegetarians are good people (see the blog the Buddhist who loves Bacon) or Dad will love me if I save animals, can become so fixed that we take them to be facts. In essence our old #4s become new 3s. 3s then are basically our ‘facts’ things we believe to be true (whether they are or not) and use as the building blocks for what we imagine, our #4s.

What exactly is #4, imagination? # 4 is where we interpret the ‘evidence’ in #3 (memory), it’s where we go from mouse is missing (memory) to mouse is hungry and needs me to feed it and if I don’t it will die (crazy ass imagination). 4 is how we fantasize about the future/past, assign meaning and value to things and actions. 4 is the narrator of our life, and in an interesting circular way, it is 4 that selects which pieces of ‘evidence’ from our memory to choose and which to ignore. 4 is extra naughty naughty because it is where the idea of self and self belonging arise from. We have a memory (3) of buying a certain cup, using the cup, washing the cup, and our imagination (4) tells us that cup is ours, that we can own it and control it and have it forever. 4 makes it ‘my cup’.

How exactly does all this work, what is the process of memory and imagination?

For this grand finale, I think we will need one more story/example…

———————————————————————————-

Back in the day (i.e. some indeterminate period of time before this current story/homework) Mae Yo had given me another assignment I never quite did/understood. — Tell me how/why refrigerators were invented (which, now that I understood the assignment, is really a question about the  aggregates, how they function, relate to each other and what they create/result in  in this world).  During the current contemplation on the aggregates the answer finally came to mind clearly:

It all starts with food (#1, rupa, form). We humans know from experience  food spoils (#3 memory ) and we also notice that it spoils more quickly when warm and slowly when cold (still #3). Since unspoiled food is yay and spoiled food is yuk (#2 Vedanā/Feeling), we humans start scheming, we start imagining, we start inventing (#4 Imagination) ways to make the food last longer, ways to get more yays than yuks. Through trial and error, a ton of hard work, we come-up with refrigeration.

This is all well and good, but refrigeration is just one instance where we succeeded in curtailing impermanence, naturally it sits amongst many failures. But we imagine (4 again) we can do it again and again, that we are ultimately the ones in control of food and its decaying process. We commit this one success to memory and we create a new #3s, a data point we use to sell the lie, to feed the hope (again imagination) that we can beat impermanence in the end. And we suffer. We suffer the effort of manifesting our imaginations, of ignoring the consequences (I’m sure refrigeration has had plenty of negative impact to the environment, farming economy, family structure, etc), of our ultimate disappointment when impermanence has the final word.

And after all that, I answered a bonus question; how do I  use this information in my  practice?

Naughty naughty #4 (imagination) has been ruling my life forever. It is after all the creative process and it creates my sense of self (my wrong view of self).  I have been letting it go unwatched, unchecked. But I have another option. I can gather evidence. I can create new #3s (memories) that show me the truth of this world (impermanence/suffering) and use that to drive my imagination. I can use it to imagine risks and perils, to see the other side, to internalize, I can use it to help get myself free.

Tick, tock, goes the clock —  it’s time to start looking at that those watch gears a little more closely.

Alana’s 3s and 4s or, More Technically, the 5 Aggregates and the Buddhist Concept of Self

Alana’s 3s and 4s or, More Technically, the 5 Aggregates and the Buddhist Concept of Self

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So, I am going to warn in advance that this is sure to be a mighty technical entry. This is about to get REALZ so, if you are having trouble, assume you’re in good company (even with this blogger) and do your best to follow along. Also note,  the stuff in this post is not a starting place for practice, this is not meant to fuel anyone else’s contemplations, though none of this is a great secret (there are no secrets thanks to Wikipedia), it can be a bit confusing. This was however information and a Homework assignment (in the next blog) that Mae Yo gave me to act as a scaffolding for my contemplations. With this blog, I am trying to tell a linear(ish) story of how my practice progressed and if I don’t explain this we will have a big gaping hole in the plot line. This blog then starts a period of more technical analysis of myself and myself belongings (from around Sept. 2013). So without further ado..

A little Buddhism 101: 5 Aggregates and the Buddhist Concept of Self:

So, spoiler alert — Buddhism believes there is no self. This is probably one of the single most important tidbits of the Buddha’s teachings; our concept of self is an illusion, our biggest, dirtiest, most troublesome wrong view!  Now that we got that out there, let’s back-up a bit and try to understand what all this actually means, what exactly is ’no self’ or Anatta . I really Like Phra Anan’s explanation of this so, I’m going to borrow it here…

If I asked you to go find for me baby Alana could you do it? The answer of course, is no. If I asked you to go find middle school alana or prom night alana or day dad died alana could you find those alanas either? Though each of those alanas really did exist at one point, now they are gone. Things, their form, are constantly changing. This is the principle of No Self in Buddhism — there is no enduring, inherent, unchanging thingness, no self in anything…there is just a continual flow of arising and ceasing. This is actually happening in every instant, but we have developed tools in our minds to ignore it.  If we look over a long period it gets easier to detect that our little snapshots of moments aren’t enduring at all. In other words, baby alana and middle school alana and today alana aren’t really the same alana at all. Alana has no permanent enduring self.  

So now the million dollar question — if we are just a continual sequence of arising and ceasing (little momentary self particles for simplicity), how did we come to the delusion that we are actually some kind of solid, enduring, permanent self? What are the tools we use to ignore reality?

Enter the 5 aggregates, which are essentially the mechanism that creates and sustains the illusion of self. I like to think of them like a watch — we call the watch a watch, a single solid thing. But in reality, if you open the back you can see it’s a bunch of gears, ‘aggregate’ parts, each performing their functions, contributing to the whole, making it seem like the watch is some constant singular entity even though its parts are always moving and changing. So here we are going to have the briefest review of what those parts are, with a special focus on the two Mae Yo explained are super key to my practice… #3 and #4 (memory and imagination).

The Aggregates: I will use the Pali once for the sake of precision and after that English for the sake of practicality…

  1. Rupa/Form — This is just the physical, tangible, forms in the world. We talked about it a bit in the blog Stop Being Such a Mooch. For ‘self’ this is our body and our sense organs like eyes and ears, etc.
  2. Vedanā/Feeling — this is just our response to something as yah yuk or neutral. In general we like yahs, but it is actually the next 2 aggregates that really control what we view as a yah/yuk/neutral and what scheme we are going to employ to get more yahs and less yuks.
  3. Saññā/ Memory — I like to think of this as a memory bank. It is a place we we have stored memories of past experiences, things we have learned, been taught and which we remember.It’s the fuel we use for #4 to start moving.
  4. Saṅkhāra/Imagination — I like to think of this as my own personal storyteller. This is the  ‘gear’ that takes what we sense, and whatever memories that it triggers and starts imagining. Imagining how you can use this object, avoid this pain, it fantasizes about the future, it innovates, it retaliates, it selects, it interprets, frankly it causes a commotion
  5. Viññāṇa/ Consciousness — This sort of goes on in the background and is not something I have contemplated.  The  best explanation I have heard for this .. if you had a room full of corpses and cranked-up the party tunes, they wouldn’t hear a thing. Even though they have ears, they don’t seem to have the ear consciousness to register sound. This is the job of Viññāṇa.

Why are Memory and Imagination so critical to consider? Its because they sell the lie. Memory selectively stores moments from the past, pictures of infant alana, details of prom night alana or dad’s death alana.  Imagination colors in the lines, tells stories that take these separate moments, which are merely connected, and makes them seem solid, like an identity. Though our ignorance has been in charge of the storage and imagination up till now, with some wisdom, we can take back control of the story telling and begin to write new memories to the bank –ones that are in alignment with the truths of this world, namely impermanence, our propensity to suffer and no self.  This part gets a little ahead of the game though. With way less info than I have given ya’ll…my homework assignment from Mae Yo was — Go and figure out how Memory and Imagination work. What is their process?

You can see how I fared in the next blog….

Buckle-up and Prepare for a Buddhisty Ride

Buckle-up and Prepare for a Buddhisty Ride

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I began this blog with the idea of Buddhism, of Bhuddistiness — what I said from the get-go remains entirely true: This blog, all my contemplations, my path, is firmly rooted in the path the Buddha himself laid-out, beginning with correcting our wrong views, to guide us to freedom from suffering. Simple as it sounds, this is the heart of my dharma practice — seeing the reality that everything is impermanent, subject to change, to cease, to die and that woven into the fabric of my life is suffering, discontent, peril  and consequence, brought about by a failure to align my view of the world with its true nature.  

Nonetheless, at around this time (late 2013) my contemplations began to incorporate some additional Buddhist concepts (like the aggregates, karma, the worldly conditions, self and self belonging). These evolved naturally, some arose as topics from my own contemplations, others were given to me as homework by my teachers. All the topics and their contemplation had a purpose —  they act as a scaffolding to grow my contemplations, concepts to help me structure my thinking more clearly.

So, in the eyes of some folks, the next period of practice will start looking a little more “Buddhist-y”.  At least it will introduce some fun new Pali/Sanskrit vocab, and if that’s not the sign of deep religious understanding, I don’t know what is ;). I ask that you guys, my readers, try not to get too distracted/overwhelmed, after all the heart of the practice remains as simple as it was in all the earlier stories. Just take what you can and leave the rest for someone else.
For my part, I will do my very best to keep it simple and to add explanations (to the best of my understanding) of those Bhuddist-y topics that come-up.  My goal is not to be all fancy or make things difficult, my goal is to show the direction my practice took/is taking. To do that fairly, I need to include some of these topics…so hold on, buckle-up and prepare for a Buddhisty ride..

Candy, Sounds so Sweet But Boy Can She Be Trouble

Candy, Sounds so Sweet But Boy Can She Be Trouble

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A dear friend from college, we’ll call her Candy, came for a few days to visit. Candy and I are extremely close, I love her like a sister, but sometimes we can fight like sisters too…when I look back at the visit I realize, I had prepared myself for a knockout prize fight from the moment she stepped out of the Uber and onto my front curb. You see Candy, despite having many redeeming qualities as a friend, can be pretty demanding and difficult. I felt like I was always trying to accommodate her and meet her needs but nothing I did was good enough… ultimately feelings would get hurt, harsh words exchanged and we would each return home frustrated and angry…

Candy was hungry after her flight, so I took her to my favorite neighborhood restaurant for a bite. The waiter came over to take our order, this was the scene:

Candy, “So I see you have a salad bar, but I’m not really that hungry and $14 seems expensive, can I pay you $7 and then eat only half of what I would normally eat?”

Waiter,” Um..that’s not really how it works, the salad bar is a fixed price no matter how much, or how little you eat. “

Candy: “Well then, I’ll just take an order of french fries, can I get those not fried?”

Waiter: “You mean plain potatoes?”

Candy: “No no, I like the crispness and the shape of french fries, I just don’t want all that oil and grease. Can you just cut up potatoes into strips and like bake them or something?”

At this point the waiter was looking at me with the most sad and pleading eyes, but all I could do was shrug my shoulders. In that moment I saw the truth…for years whenever Candy was difficult with me, I thought it was my fault, I thought it was an attack on me that required some rebuttal or defense, or that it was a reflection of how much she loved and valued me. When I saw her with the waiter I finally understood — this is just the type of person Candy is. Whether I am there or not, whether I am involved or not, whether I talk back or fight back or cower like a wounded animal,  this is how she acts. No way can I change Candy, and the truth is, none of this is about me, none of it has anything to do with me.  

We head from dinner to the bowling alley/ arcade where we were going to shoot a few rounds of pool.  While we were waiting for a table to open up, Candy walked over to the bowling section, picked-up a ball and was about to start bowling on an open lane when a staff member came over and explained she couldn’t just start to bowl, the lane had been reserved by a group that hadn’t yet arrived.

Candy: “its totally cool, I just want to bowl like 1 or 2 rounds…I’ll finish-up before the group arrives”

Staff Person: “That’s not how it works, we charge by the game. If you would like to go and put your name on the lane waiting list I can show you where to do that”

Candy: No no, don’t stress, it’ll just be a minute. Plus, how will I know if I want to bowl a whole game if I can’t try-out a few rounds. And the lane is open anyway”

Back and forth, back and forth, Candy and the staff member go … and I feel my blood starting to boil. Why can’t Candy just follow the rules? Why does she always act like this? Then, it hit me — how terrible were Candy’s actions really? Did they deserve the response of epic anger on my part? What if someone besides Candy was doing this, would I be so upset? If I saw it on TV, I might think it was funny. If it was a different friend, I might think it was bold. If it were a kid, I might think it was cute. If a random stranger did it I might be moderately annoyed, I might look at them all judgey, but I wouldn’t be filled with this kind of rage. But again, I still think this is about me, that it reflects on me (that the whole room is looking on and knows she is my friend, I brought her here, I ruined the fun and games), that it speaks to who I am as a person, what friends I choose to keep.

As I contemplated this my anger began to fade. I realized that it was my interpretation of my friend’s actions that were generating my negative emotions — my anger was entirely self created. Moreover, I saw that I already have so much narrative around who Candy is and how I should respond to her that I almost default to anger and annoyance whenever I see her, no matter what her actions are (seriously, she could be bottle feeding rescue kittens and I would  find some way to feel offended — just forcing those helpless kittens to eat her food). I saw how my pattern of  conditioned responses to Candy was keeping us in a cycle of fighting. So while Candy’s actions and personality weren’t on me, this anger, this cycle were, they were entirely my fault. After this incident, I began catching myself whenever I went into default anger mode. I began seeing the causes of my anger instead of just lashing-out.

This ended up being a critical story in my Dharma practice and my personal growth –I owe Candy a great deal of thanks. Here is where I started to learn to discern what stuff was on me to address and fix (i.e. my personality traits, my wrong views) and what was not about me at all, what was beyond my control (other people’s personality and views). Moreover, I saw it was all my imagination, my wrong perceptions that fueled my confusion, before this story,  I pretty much had it entirely backwards: I believed, Candy’s personality/actions were about me (and something I could fix), but my anger and my response, that was her fault –after all who wouldn’t get frustrated with Candy?

Warning: another blogger’s late addition prerogative is coming here —  When I think about my practice, what it has given me, I think about it a lot in terms of freedom. I want to be free, I think most of us do, but wrong views are actually a trap, a shackle.  Before with Candy, I was stuck in a cycle, she would do something, I would get angry, we would fight. Or I would do something, she would get angry and I would need to fight back. Either way..it was like a movie on a loop with no end..it was the complete opposite of freedom.  

Now, I have choices. Candy (or anyone else) can do something and I can respond, or not respond, as is appropriate to the situation –not just based on the same old script (which was fueled by my anger and hurt and wrong views). Moreover, by not making everything other people say and do about me, I can observe patterns in their actions and behaviors with greater clarity. I can actually fulfill my roles and responsibilities better,  prepare for when I interact with them more. I can make smarter real-life decisions, about what to say and do that are actually a response to others, not just to my beliefs about them, that are really my beliefs about me, projected outwardly onto them (you can look at hugs for the homeless in the first blog entry  for an example of this).  With these new options, finally come greater degrees of freedom.

The Green-Not-So-Green Purse

The Green-Not-So-Green Purse

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Eric and I were in Hawaii and, me being a sucker for all things touristy and kitschy, got sold on tickets to a submarine ride. We took our seats on board and the boat began to descend. Down and down we went into a world that looks so different than what I’m used to. I peeled my eyes away from the window for just a sec and I noticed that my very bright neon green bag was changing colors.

This bag was green, I mean really green. Bright enough to make your eyes sore green. Flashy enough to announce to the whole world that I was coming from a mile away green. But here, on the submarine it was turning yellowish-puke-brown. Fortunately for this fashionista, light wave refraction did not fail, and as we surfaced an hour later,  I watched my bag change back from brown to puke to lime to that neon green I had paid so much to enjoy.

Clearly, colors appear differently at deeper depths of water, this is not a magical mystery, there is a perfectly good scientific explination. But later, when I was reflecting on my bag going hyper color on me, I realized I really believed the bag was green, that was its color, it had a natural and true (permanent) green state. But by changing colors under water my bag gave me the very first glimpse I had of an important reality — greeness, or any quality for that matter, is dependent on the circumstances. Both the circumstances of the object and, even more importantly from a Dharma perspective, the circumstances of the viewer (a certain me-monster in this case).

At the time, this was a quick contemplation, and ah that’s nice moment. Later, when we hit the Big Buddhisty Topic of the 8 Worldly Conditions,  this idea will return again in a much more impactful way. For now let’s leave it with the eerie feeling I got on that submarine, that I haven’t really been able to shake since, that the  world may not be exactly as it seems/ as I believe it to be.   

 

It’s Thai Time (A Year and a Half Late)

It’s Thai Time (A Year and a Half Late)

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It was at the end of the 2012 (I think) retreat and the teachers were taking suggestions/ feedback on the retreat from the participants. I raised my hand, “I think it would be good if LP Nut (one of the teachers) led some of the English discussion groups/activities. I always get so much out of his teachings” LP Nut takes the microphone, thanks me, and then calls me out, “just remember Alana you can learn Thai too.”

OK, I hear you, I hear you LP Nut: So I enroll in a once a week Thai class at the temple. But honestly, I half assed it, minimal study, last minute homework. I heard you L.P. Nut, but not really…

Over time though, LP.’s words really started to echo in my head. I heard not just, “you, Alana, have the capability to learn Thai”. But, “you Alana are not the immutable force in the world to which all things and people must bend, adjust.” The language you speak is not a universal norm (duh, you belong to a Thai community), your terms are not those of the world, they are in fact quite irrelevant.”

A year and a half late (it was Thai time after all ;)), I enrolled in a 3 hour a week intensive Thai class and began to study an additional 10 hours on top. I put the petal to the metal and I pushed, I learned.

I pushed because I really do want to understand LP Nut and all of my teachers. I don’t want to miss the important details during late night discussions when everyone is too tired to translate. I don’t want language to limit my choice of dharma friends. I don’t want to feel like an outsider in my own community. So I study, for me.

I want to be clear, I’m not saying every non-Thai speaker must go out and learn Thai. Or that the Temple is inaccessable to folks who don’t speak Thai. Or that the community is closed and unaccepting. Not at all! But, for me, in my life, I came to see language as a barrier. A barrier I had no way of surmounting as long as I waited around and expected people to adjust to me, to my terms. If I wanted to feel included and get all the info, something had to give. Finally, a year and a half late, I realized that something could be me.

 

I’m Better Than This Bus

I’m Better Than This Bus

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The buses in SF suck! They are dirty, overcrowded, slow and filled with all kinds of ‘colorful’ and delicious smelling characters. So  when, I could finally afford to drive to work everyday (and pay for parking) instead of having to take the bus, I felt like I had ‘made-it’. Sweet!

Then one day, my husband needed the car and it was back to the bus for me. I got on and it was worse than I remembered — all pushing and shoving, stinky too.  I felt so put-out, angry at Eric for needing the car, annoyed with the folks around me for their coughing and sneezing, their pushing and invasion of “my space”. I was  disgusted at needing to be on the bus. I searched my heart for the feeling and I realized — I was indignant.  I looked around at my fellow passengers and I thought, “I’m better than this, I am better than having to take the bus.”

Then I thought, whoo wait a sec. How can I be better than taking the bus when I am sitting on it? Can I possibly be better than something I am actually doing right now? Am I better than the other folks on the bus? Better than the situation? What does better than this even mean?

Sure I didn’t really like taking the bus when I had to before, but I had never felt like this about it. But, now, I looked around and thought, the bus is for those poor masses, lowly folks. That is the identity of the bus — that is its nature, its character, its permanent state.   I however had become a driver. I was someone that didn’t have to take the bus anymore. I had established that as a fact,  a permanent identity, a permanent state (wrong views of permanence).

Suddenly, I flashed to an image of my father when he was dying. He was so ill he couldn’t leave the bed to go to the bathroom. He had to pee in a cup as I was watching. I had to help. The memory is seared in my mind. I felt it was indignant, a loss of dignity, that my father who had once been so strong was now so weak, that he couldn’t even control his own body. That I had to lose my vision of my father as the healthy, independent person he had been as long as I had known him.

Here it was, the source of my indignity on the bus — losing something I once had, wanted to keep,  had believed was  mine for good.  Losing my status as a driver. In just one day, I lost the illusion that I had ‘made-it’, after all, one early meeting in my husband’s office was enough to send me right back to the bus.

And I felt resentful of the other passengers for making me feel this way, for making me afraid I would catch their colds, for feeling claustrophobic, and jostled and having my space invaded. But really, did these other folks cause their illnesses, or create the rush  hour crush, did they make bumpy road conditions and narrow buses? Can I really resent them?

Can I really resent other people when I am the sole cause of my discomfort? A bus is a mode of transport that goes from point A to point B. Everyone on it is the same, passengers, trying to get from point A to point B. But I created a nonsense story, a special meaning, an identity for the bus and the riders and myself as a driver. I pretended it was real, that it existed permanently. But things change, circumstances change, people lose all the time, my dad did and so do I. Who else can I blame for spinning a fiction, getting excited about it, and then being disappointed when it’s revealed as the fiction I always, on some level, knew it was?   

I’ll make one final, later addition comment on this story, because it offers a very clear example of how we create identity with Rupa, physical objects. The bus, it meant something to me because of its physical trappings — it was crowded, dirty, filled with folks of different stripes. It’s a form, an environment, that made me feel out of control, exposed to disease, ordinary  (as opposed to wealthy). Where as my own car, that made me feel in control, clean, safe and rich. It was mine afterall.  I used these forms like facts that supported my idea about what buses are and what my car was and what I was when I started driving.

The truth is, I get on the bus and in my own car dirty and sick all the time. I am no safer, less prone to accident in my own car or on a bus, accidents can happen anywhere. In some ways I am in more control in my car; I don’t have to share, make random stops, stay on a “line”. But in others I am in less control; I have to drive, I can’t use the bus lane so there is more traffic, I have to worry about finding parking. Nowadays, I rarely drive anymore. I like to walk. I keep a bus pass in my purse too. When I have walked for miles, and my feet hurt, I see an approaching  bus as a comfort, a respite, a way home without needing to take another step.  

The stories I tell, using the ‘facts’ of rupa, they aren’t even true. The meaning, the identity, it’s not in the bus or the car (or even in me), it’s in my heart as the storyteller.  And even that changes, with my own needs, my priorities, my beliefs and my aching feet.

 

That Thing Ringing in Your Hand, Its a Phone — PICK IT UP!!

That Thing Ringing in Your Hand, Its a Phone — PICK IT UP!!

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My brother Seth called, again, I finally pick-up the phone and I get an earful, “(something like) Why can’t you just pick-up the phone. Or if you can’t pick-up the phone why can’t you just call me back. It’s been days I have been trying to get a hold of you. I always return my calls, is it so so much to ask for that you do the same?…”.

In my head I’m thinking, “ he is blowing this out of proportion. I know his news was important, this time, but usually he just calls to chat.  4-5 days to return a social call seems fine to me. He is such a complainer.” Huff, puff, whatever, I forget about it.

Fast forward some amount of time, I am trying to reach my husband Eric and he just won’t return my call. I’m thinking, “I’m his wife! Why won’t he pick-up? Get back to me quickly? It’s important. Why doesn’t he think I’m important? Whats wrong with him?”

Freeze: There it is, my moment of internalizing: I do the same thing to Seth as Eric does to me. I have my reasons to not call back Seth, busy, other responsibilities, my husband has his reasons to not call me too. But me, I think my reasons with Seth are reasonable, my standards, 3-4 days to return a call are fair. But I think Eric’s reasons are weak, his standards to call back (even though it’s more like 3-4 hours not  3-4 days) are neglectful. So which is it? Whose standards are fair? Why do I default to mine? What are mine anyway since they seem to be changing depending on the circumstance, the issue, the caller? Basically it seems my standard is ‘ I want what I want when I want it’ — put that way, not terribly reasonable is it?  So really, is that who I want to be? And, how frustrating is my life going to be since, clearly, I can’t always have what I want when I want it.

More importantly, when I don’t get a call back from my husband, it hurts.  It makes me feel unimportant. Neglected, an afterthought. But here I am doing the same thing to my brother. I have someone in this world who wants to speak with me, who cares enough to be affected by whether or not I return a call. And what do I give him in return? Well if it’s anything like how I feel when Eric doesn’t call me,  I give him  hurt, disappointment, frustration.

The thing is, I do love my brother. I love Eric too. If you asked, “hey Alana, do you want to make your brother feel like crap and be super angry/critical of your husband today?”  I’d say of course not, really, who does?   But  I am so accustomed to seeing my side only. So when Seth calls, my side is  I’m busy –he’ll understand. When Eric calls, my side is I’m his wife, I’m entitled. But there is another side.

Seth is my brother, he is important to me, I want him to feel that way. Eric lives in this world, has many responsibilities, works hard to support not just himself, but me too. Why do I lose patience and forget  my gratitude to these people so easily? Whats wrong with me?  
With a little glimpse into what’s happening on the other side of the line … an adjustment to  my own telephone habits came pretty naturally.  

Maybe Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother Wasn’t All Evil After All

Maybe Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother Wasn’t All Evil After All

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Once upon a time, long long ago… LP Anan gave some homework: “Tell an old story again. Tell a story in which you usually speak as the victim , as the person in the right, again. This time, tell the story as the villain, as the person who was wrong.” Here is that home work:

Back when I was in undergrad I had a pretty serious boyfriend, we’ll call him Chris. Chris was super-smart, academically ambitious and always up for a new adventure–these were qualities I really liked in him, some of the reasons I started dating him in the first place. Now that I look back at it, I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that when he got accepted to Oxford as a transfer student he jumped at the opportunity to go — and to leave me behind.

It wasn’t just the distance that caused the end of our relationship, it was my anger and pain that Chris chose his schooling and career over staying with me. I told him ahead of time that he had to choose — me or Oxford — I was so hurt and surprised that he chose school

For years I felt like I was the slighted ex-girlfriend, the victim. Now however I see a different side of the story– I see how I was wrong:

1) I set the conditions — I wanted a partner who was ambitious, smart, well traveled and open to new experiences. It was those very qualities that helped enable Chris to get into Oxford and make him want to go.  I liked all of these aspects of his personality when they were ‘for me’ (i.e. defined me as that awesome persons’ girlfriend  or when I could enjoy his wit, or help with homework) but as soon as they were ‘against me’ I was upset. I see now that if I wanted to enjoy what I saw as the good aspects of Chris’ personality/ability I had to be able, willing, even expect the bad side too. Not to mention the good-side/ bad side is totally subjective. Chris’ new wife may consider him and I breaking-up as a good side after all. Now, years later..so do I.

2)I had crazy double standards (another aspect of setting conditions) — I was so hurt that Chris did not put me ahead of his education, that I wasn’t the priority in his life. It’s worth noting that I had a choice, I could have quit school and moved to Oxford to be near Chris. So, by the same standard I held him to, he wasn’t a priority in my life either. When I really internalize, I see that I did the exact same thing as Chris, but I wanted him to treat me differently than I treated him.  

3) I missed the impermanence in the situation — I created all sorts of very permanent situations in my head at the time that simple were not true. I believed that if Chris’ priority was Oxford it would always be Oxford. In reality, priorities change constantly. I felt that by going to Oxford it definitely meant that it was his priority over me, in reality there could be reasons that he chose to go to Oxford because he thought it would be best for me and our relationship (like getting a better paying job). I also felt that a ‘good relationship’ is one where partners prioritize each other (see irony from number 2), I failed to realize that there are many types of relationships that can work for different couples across different times.

4) I should have been softer/yielded more (or I should have looked more carefully at the suffering of the situation)–  Ok, this one is a bit less precise, but let me try. During the whole break-up I was so harsh. I need to be ‘right’ and I need to be important. I swung around ultimatums and harsh words. I guess now, as I look back, I just feel like the harshness wasn’t worth it (See my earlier blog on yielding and the bee). Even if it was time for the relationship to end, it didn’t have to end in such a forceful way. Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended at all if I had been softer and allowed for the idea that I could be number 2 priority; either way a crazy fit of pain and range and bad speak and actions did not need to ensure.  I just feel like I created more suffering (for myself and him and our friends) than less all because of this sense of needing to be something or someway.

 

My Fortune is Your Disaster

My Fortune is Your Disaster

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There was a little market down the block from my house that had struggled for years. It was such an eyesore, attracted unsavory characters, the whole neighborhood was waiting, hoping, it would shut down. That something fun and chic would open in its place and increase all of our property values. I walked by the market, looked-in and saw the owner arranging his empty shelves, trying his best to make the store look fuller, nicer, stocked. That’s when I realized — If I got my wish and the store closed down, the owner would lose his livelihood, the income he uses to support himself and his family.

I was worse than being someone who doesn’t care about the struggles of the shop owner,  I was someone who didn’t even notice them. How could I? All I saw was my perspective, I was blind to  anything outside of it. The truth is that everything in this world has two sides. We however are used to only seeing one side –our own, the one we believe, the one which benefits us. This is not to say every situation is an us versus them, an I’m happy and you’re sad. But in this period of my practice I did start seeing that my perspective, my beliefs, they weren’t universal, they weren’t the end-all-be-all. There are other angles, other perspectives.
Over time this understanding has become second nature. I find myself constantly looking at situations from other people’s perspectives;  almost as quickly as I begin to formulate my own case in an argument, I start balancing that, hedging it, trying to see the other side. This has been one of the insights that has softened me the most, begun to chip away at the greatness of ME. Ironically, I am someone that put such a premium on being ‘compassionate’… what hope did I have of getting there when all I could see was myself?

And Now for A Moment to Reflect

And Now for A Moment to Reflect

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The Prelude: In general, my practice is to sorta put one foot in front of the other and trudge along my path. But, I have found that sometimes it helps to look-up and look around. To reflect on the distance I have come and to make sure I’m still headed along the right path.  The look back — the wohhh something has actually changed in my heart (and much later in my practice  I started noticing change in my relationships, behaviors, etc.) moment — is so awesomely motivating (albeit sometimes kinda humbling). After all, why bother with a practice that doesn’t help change me, that doesn’t move me along to where I want to be?

As far as looking to make sure I  haven’t wandered from the trail, well that was actually one of my greatest fears in the early years of my practice (I have since come to notice my own internal compass and come to trust it).  I have asked Mae Yo the same question about it like 1,000 times — how will I know if my practice goes off the rails? Goes totally south? Gets sooo off track I’m screwed forever? (My favorite version of this question, “is it like a videogame where you need to hit certain save points, like the flag in Mario 1, or all your progress is lost?” Answer FYI –no Alana, you keep your progress even if you don’t get the flag. Wisdom apparently has more staying power than Mr. Mario).

Of the many answers she has given me, two have really stuck. 1) You will know, just like you knew that your viewpoints in the past were wrong and caused you suffering, and how you know now that your viewpoints are right and balanced. 2) Lessing ego is a sign of correct practice (years latter and many blogs from now, was an aha moment of just why this one is true…but for a while I just took Mae Yo’s word for it).

To some degree, this sort of reflection is a bit automatic. Fast thoughts that check-in or note differences with how I saw things in the past to now, or to see if the same wrong-views re-arise in similar situations. Once in awhile however I do a full halt to really consider. The entry that follows, is one such ‘halt’ and occurred shortly after the story from the last blog, Judge this you Crazy Witch (July 2013). In my notebook it was titled “Something’s Changed: How I Feel Now”  and I will just go ahead and rewrite it here. Do note, that though I feel a bit discouraged by my past behaviors in the entry, the clarity and change was something I found heartening. Also note, the natural (tiny little) decrease in ego that this entry implies. Without further ado….

The Entry:

I have been suspecting something changed after I started seeing the way that I set conditions (the sponge, the kale), the way I seed this life and then suffer because of it.   

How I feel now:

  1. Disillusioned: I feel a little more disillusioned with life.I see more clearly the suffering built into the fabric of life. I want out with greater resolve. I see even the things I want or like are tinged with suffering or its potential. My stuffed closet makes it hard to find something to wear in the morning. Travel plans bring stress, or $ concern, or friction between Eric and I to make decisions.
  2. Less Picky: I’m starting to feel a little less diehard about particular decision/preferences. If Eric wants a particular trip, restaurant, thing, fine. It’s not like I have no preferences, but I feel a little less rigid. These conditions, they make things so hard. Why have I been so darn picky?
  3. Less annoyed:  Noises, family, panhandlers feel a little less irritating to me. When I do get annoyed, like when someone cuts me off in traffic, I can catch it more quickly. I have learned to actively seek out the wrong views. To instinctively ask if this thing is about me? Needs to involve me? Needs to draw me in?
  4. Sheepish:  I have been so judgemental…I am embarrassed. It’s ridiculous the way I have applied my own, arbitrary, and often not even doable by myself, standards to others. I don’t even tell them about these standards, I don’t give them a chance to live up to them or fail. I just snap judge. I am so harsh.
  5. Clarity: I feel like I have peaked inside the watch casing a bit. Like I am starting to see how gears move. I used to aspire for the wisdom to see right view from wrong and the forbearance to choose right action (later note: I always wanted to be a good Alana, act like a good Alana). Now though, I’m starting to suspect it’s not about forbearance, or will. With a right view as the base, right action can come. With a wrong view, what hope do I have for my actions…I have been foolish.  All the conditions we create, all the identities, relationships, judgements, it’s all so fragile…
Judge this You Crazy Witch

Judge this You Crazy Witch

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New Technique Alert: Internalization (Opanayiko)

We humans are super used to seeing everything from one side, our own, and that makes us blind (well at least it makes us half blind, which may be more dangerous than fully blind where at least we know we can’t see…). This semi blindness reinforces the idea that our beliefs, our actions, the great ‘I’ is exceptional…it traps us. Fortunately, the Buddha did us all a solid and gave us the crazy ninja tool of internalizing; in so doing he  made the path and the ultimate achievement of that path doable for us normal folk. In essence internalizing is taking a thing, a situation, a story, the behaviors or circumstances of someone else, and turning it inwards to ourselves. To use it, we just need to ask the deceptively simple question,  “how am I like whatever I am seeing? Have I ever done this thing? Have I ever been in this spot?.”

The power of internalizing is that we can start seeing the other side (as in, not the usual me me me side). Internalization is like a mirror that shows us our ordinariness, our frailty, that we aren’t immune from the characteristics of this world (impermanence) and we aren’t always the heroes of the story. Internalization can cue us into the possible feelings/suffering of others, and to the times we may be contributing to that suffering   It can help us iterate through possible roles, identities, outcomes and more quickly free us from our desires to play them out in real life.  Basically, internalization is like kryptonite to our egos… You have actually seen it already in a number of these blogs: When have I ever “overeaten” like Sue (smoking)?, when have I mooched like Sandy? When has my body been subject to decay like the phone? So without further ado.. A tale of internalization versus being judgemental and how this crazy witch started seeing the witchy side of my crazy 😉

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I’m up at the hotsprings resort and there are a bunch of hippies sitting on the grass out front having a drum circle. I catch myself thinking, “damn dirty hippies, being all hippyish”. Immediately I think, “damn judgy Alana, being so judgemental” (I begin the process of internalizing..instead of looking at the hippies I start pointing the spotlight on me).

Here is the weird part —  I used to be a hippy, well I dressed the part, and did the free love thing, even if I did prefer to shower everyday.  But now, that I have changed I criticize those hippies, “with their fake peace, harmony, mumbo-jumbo commune crap”. It’s just like with Sandy, I have to say that, I have to make them bad so I am good. I have to validate my identity, my way of living. I need to justify my life, my choices, the changes I have made to myself, by making those other folks (who I used to be just like) the villains.  After all, I have to be the hero of my own story and how do I define a hero in the absence of some villains.

It’s not just that I was judgmental, or that my judgment had an agenda; I had already started seeing that with Sandy. But here, I started to see the mechanics of my judgements more clearly. I came to notice that in many cases, my harshest judgement was reserved for folks who I used to be like in the past (the hippies). Or people with traits I see some of in myself, traits which cause me self-doubt and shame. For example, with Sandy one of the things that annoyed me the most was her not having a real job and mooching. But I have a pretty easy job next to my husband who basically supports me financially. And I feel super self-conscious about it. I constantly make-up stories about why I “deserve” his support, why I’m unlike Sandy who should pick-up her own tab once in awhile.

More examples popped into my head; just that morning I had judged the day-use people (versus the sleepover people) for being too rowdy, for not really relaxing like us long termers…of course, on my last hot springs visit I had been a day use person. I was so annoyed with the folks talking loudly in the pools, but the night before I had called-out to my husband near the pools because I couldn’t find him in the dark. I am critical of people who dress poorly even though there are plenty of days that I can’t seem to get out of yoga pants. I am critical of people who are know-it-alls, even though I am often the first one with my hand up in a class, I think women that respond to men’s catcalls are either idiots or whores or both, even though I used to give-out my number to anyone who asked just to make myself feel sexy, special….

The more examples that came to me, i.e., the more I internalized, the more I saw that I am so not the good guy here…or at least, I am equally as bad guy as the villains, at least some of the time. Plus I am so arbitrary; I create values that constantly change, based on circumstances, need, based on the identities I want to create . Then I go and apply them to other people. I judge. Here is the truth though — I can’t even fulfill my own expectations all the time, even I can’t live-up to my values, my rules, so how can I go judging other people when they can’t live-up to them either? I judge the hippies for being too loose, too sexually free, but I was like that just a few years ago. I judge Sandy for mooching, but I do it all the time. I judge the day use folks, even though I was a day user in the past and may well be again in the future; after all many circumstances, like if there are cabins free to book, are totally out of my control. Being loud by the pool is ok if I have a good reason, searching for my husband, but a deep offense when other folks do it for their own reasons. Everyone should dress well, look buttoned-up, as long as it’s not so well it puts me to shame…

I wish I could say that this put an end to my judginess (which seriously is such a pain, a constant monolog of criticism and dissatisfaction in my head) but that would be a lie. Still it was an important starting place, a foundation for later contemplations. By asking, “have I ever done this? Been this way?” I went a little way towards dulling my criticism, diminishing my sense of self, of absolute rightness and I  empathized a bit with the folks I was so eager to villainize.  Moreover, seeing the why of my judgment, seeing my sad and desperate need to preserve my sense of identity, seeing the origin of my criteria (myself, not some great being on high) and my own inability meet them, it gave me a glimpse of the fictional story I told myself about who I am and about who other people are. It softened me, a little anyway…after all who’s really being the crazy witch with all these criteria and judgments?

 

Sandy is Back on The Scene, Only Not Really…

Sandy is Back on The Scene, Only Not Really…

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One day I drive by my friend Sandy’s favorite shop and I get to thinking about her. Specifically how much she annoys me. Often. Alot. Then I realize I’m in the car alone, Sandy is no where near by, we haven’t even talked in a few weeks…In other words, there is only one place all this venom can be coming from and it’s not from Sandy, it’s from me.

So why, why , why is it that Sandy gets on my nerves so much? It hits me like a ton of bricks –Sandy is completely ‘out of control’. She doesn’t take birth control, even though she doesn’t want kids, leaving pregnancy to chance. She says she will do well in school but starts doing poorly one semester in. She has never had a ‘real’ job.She can’t even control staying awake when she comes to hang-out at our house. She mooches, not taking responsibility for being financially in control. Worst of all, despite being totally out of control, she always lands on her feet.

For me, self control isn’t just a critical part of my identity, it’s a moral virtue. I was someone who worked-out 3X a day to control my body, I kept meticulous spreadsheets and budgets to control our finances, I maxed-out my retirement account at my first job even though I could barely afford my rent, I was thinking about padding university applications before I even wore a bra (padded or otherwise)… I lived and breathed a constant, painful, fight for control. Clearly, I could not just give Sandy a pass.  I had to see ‘out of control’ Sandy as a failure, as a terrible person in order to be a contrast to my own buttoned-up awesomeness; to do otherwise would undermine my sense of value, my sense of self.  

The even bigger problem is, Sandy challenges my sense of order in the universe, undermines my sense of safety and justness. It’s not like I worked so hard to control because it was fun, easy, rewarding. I did it because somewhere in my brain I believed that control was an antidote to impermanence. That if I just managed my body, managed my money, managed my education, I would be safe, I would have certainty, I would be prepared. But Sandy keeps being OK. Everytime she doesn’t get pregnant, everytime she ‘finds’ money, passes a class without studying, I feel a stabbing sense of injustice,  because my version of cause and effect (control=safe and happy outcomes) is fair and Sandy, well that whole thing just isn’t right!!!

When I look back at this story, I see how many wrong views there were about Karma, cause and effect, but those contemplations did not come until a bit later. Here though, what I saw is its me, my definition of virtue that drives my annoyance at Sandy. It’s my need to reinforce my own sense of self and sense of order, my own wrong views, that force me to be so critical of Sandy. So Sandy is back on the scene, only not really, since I was alone, in my car, creating all that pain by myself. The most ironic part of the story though is this, if control is such a virtue and I had already begun to see the limitations of my own control, what kind of terrible failure was I? Forget Sandy, by my own definition, I’m the real villain in this story.

More Kale, More Peeing, More Desire and More Suffering

More Kale, More Peeing, More Desire and More Suffering

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I was walking around the farmer’s market and saw a bundle of kale that looked delicious; crispy and green, my mouth was watering as I imagined a crunchy salad for dinner. The problem, I had no cash.  

I went back inside and got in the painfully long line for the ATM.  5 minutes goes by and I have barely moved an inch, 10 minutes, 15 minutes and now, I have to pee so bad, but I can’t lose my spot in line. I’m shifting my weight, trying to avoid doing the all-out pee dance in public and I realized — If I want the kale I need to accept the ATM line that goes with it. A few inches forward…if I want to live in San Fran, I have to stomach  the crowds that come with it. Nearing the machine…if I want to keep my job I have to tolerate the late night concerts that come with it. One more person ahead of me…if I like the money that comes with my husband’s high paying job, I have to bear his crazy hours.  It’s finally my turn… because I’m enamored with this world, with this life, with being born, I have to endure all the aging, sickness, disappointment, loss and death that come along with it.

The things I like, I want, so often come with parts I don’t want (always actually, but it took longer to realize that) –its beyond my control that the two sides are woven together. Its like a red and blue carpet, only I don’t like the blue part. The problem is, if I start pulling out the blue threads the whole thing comes undone, its just not a carpet anymore. I never liked looking at the downsides of my desires, but whether or not I acknowledge them, they are there. Its part of the contract I sign to get something, the consequences are built into the terms.

This very short contemplation turned out to be pivotal for several reasons:

  1. It was the beginning of being able to see the costs of my desires. Without seeing the costs it’s impossible to ask the question —  is it worth it?   
  2. I saw clearly that ultimately the downsides,  disappointments and sufferings of my life are not caused by other people, they are part of the contract I signed, they arise based on my wants,  decisions, and  beliefs (wrong views). Sure, I could blame the kale seller for charging too much, the other folks in the ATM line for being too slow, the coffee shop for making my coffee so strong I needed to pee…but in the end, who wants the kale (me)? In other terms, I  bought the carpet, I have to accept the red and blue, the colors come together after all and it’s the mix of threads that make-up a carpet.
  3. Looking at the suffering, the things I don’t want which attach themselves to the things I do, (costly kale, long atm lines, crowds and late nights at work) proves my lack of control. If I had control, I would have been given free kale, or at least had no atm line, or a speedy line, or not needed to pee while in line, but I was powerless in each of these regards.

Control is the thing I keep hoping will keep me safe from suffering, but my own suffering proves my lack of control. In other words: Before I had believed that because I don’t control I suffer. My persistent belief is that this will somehow get better, that with some effort I can tweak-it and “win”. But this  belies my actual experiences in everyday life.

In the end, I did get my Kale and ate a yummy salad. Its so easy after that to forget the long line, the frustrated waiting, the painfully full bladder. But they were all real and after this contemplation, ignoring, forgetting, blaming others for the costs became much much harder.

A Final Installment of the Break From Our Regularly Scheduled Program

A Final Installment of the Break From Our Regularly Scheduled Program

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Well Dear Reader, the boxes have begun to dwindle, my stuff has mostly found a home (even if I don’t feel I have), so soon we will be getting back to the regular schedule of blog posts. But, I didn’t want to end this interlude without some final thoughts:

For those of you who are just tuning-in, my new home, New York, is not all I had hoped it would be. Its not what I had imagined. See before the move, I thought my life here would be fun and exciting. I thought my house would be mine, be beautiful, and make life easy. I had a fantasy of Eric and my loving charmed life together, of us embracing the challenges that arose, like a fun new adventure. I was happy, optimistic. I was hopeful.

But then, once I was on the ground, my imagination shifted. Suddenly I started having nightmares of buildings going up to block my windows, of construction disasters, of going broke trying to make it here in NY. I envision the city as a dark, loud and ugly hole that I can only escape on short vacations. I worry it will change me, that the struggle of living here will ruin my relationship.  I feel miserable, trapped. I feel hopeless.

The truth however is New York is what it is — a place with 2 sides, good and bad, a place that is constantly moving and shifting and changing — it abided by this truth before I moved here and it abides by it now that I am here. It abides by it totally independent of me. What has changed is my imagination. When I saw all rainbows and unicorns I was happy. When I saw all tar-pits and booby traps I became sad. My imagination flings me about, takes my heart on an emotional roller coaster and, here is the kicker, what I imagine isn’t even real. Clearly its not real or the imagination wouldn’t have shifted so easily. It wouldn’t have been so one sided and then the other sided. What I imagined to be true would have been true, and that would be the end of the story.

I cause my roller coaster. I cause the suffering of the continual ups and downs. The excitement and disappointment. The hope and the fear. I cause it all with my imagination even though, in reality, all these imaginings, they don’t impact the outcome. They don’t tell how things really are, or predict how they will be (see Killing the Crazy entry for a more detailed analysis of how I divorced my emotion of fear with a necessary outcome. A similar matrix can be applied for how I imagine things will be and how they turn out) .  Basically, I am suffering for free.

And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming Part IV — My House Thats Not Quite Mine

And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming Part IV — My House Thats Not Quite Mine

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As part of our move to New York, Eric and I bought a new home in Lower Manhattan. We had seen it once, while he was here interviewing with his new company, and we fell in love at first sight. As soon as we stepped into the sunny loft space we began to imagine our life there  — Eric cooking in the chef’s kitchen, me lounging by the fireplace, all the rooms open to each other so we could feel together even when were doing different things. Even the decor of the former couple was so ‘our style’, funky and artsy and eclectic. It felt like we could just slip in and take it all over, that we could have the charmed life it looked like they had from their photos and stuff. I used the rupa to paint a picture and I believed it with all my heart.

When Eric got the job offer we put an offer in on the home. We didn’t shop around, didn’t bother to try to understand New York neighborhoods or real estate. We were told the house had lot line windows (windows which could need to be boarded anytime if the building next to us is ever sold and developed higher than 5 stories), we knew it needed some work, clearly it was a bit quaint, but we “knew” it was just perfect for us. There was simply no convincing us that the future would be anything other than we imagined it, that the house (which we owned after all) wouldn’t mold to our expectations and be exactly what we wanted it to be. In other words, we were fools with a permanent view of the future and an irrational belief the world, or at least our home, would revolve around us and be in our control..but I get ahead of my story here.

Even before we signed the final papers we started to get jitters. When move-in day came, it became clear that the house size wasn’t just quaint, it was small, too small. The open floor plan had only one small closest and no cabinets, no place to put our stuff. The couple before had ordered their life to fit the house, they made it look easy and sweet. But with their stuff gone, surrounded by my boxes, it suddenly felt impossible.

It also became clear quite quickly that the place needed work, a lot of work, to make it workable for us. We sort of knew we would need some, we thought it would be a fun project to do together, a design to make the place really ours. But after interviewing a few contractors, the extent of the project, and the cost became clear. Suddenly we are looking at all new appliances, a wall getting moved, a flooring riddle I won’t even get into, lighting, electric, and building-wide projects of patching leaks, and updating a lobby, and fixing a creaky old elevator.

With each ‘discovery’ my optimism faded more and more; a place, a project, a home that had so recently been, was supposed to be, a joy was morphing into a burden. Still, in my heart, I kept feeling like the house, its mine, there is something I can do to fix it, to organize it, to make it work, to force it to be what I want it to be.

I was taking a break from unpacking, lazing in a spot of sun one of my lot line windows let in and it dawned on me. My house, my enjoyment of it (or at least of its sunniness), its totally out of my control. Even if I can renovate the place, elfa out every nook and cranny to organize and make space, I am one building sale, one ambitious development project away from literally losing my sunshine. I was crushed. Suddenly I hated the place, hated myself for buying it, the picture I painted was shattered. I saw so clearly that its not really mine. When I thought it would fit my image, play by my rules, exist on my terms I could pretend it was mine. I wanted it. But when I see that something about it I value so much can be ‘taken’ any minute, I don’t even want it any more. This dark-at-any-moment house doesn’t serve me anymore (even though its still light right now, even though its a perfectly fine place to live), it doesn’t bolster me or  sell the deeper more critical picture– ALANA master of her universe, goddess of her relationship, home and life, buttoned up and in control, all I want to be, and all others want me to be, and ME ME ME I I I AM.

But here is the crazy part: None of the information was new. I knew the size of the place, square footage was clearly placed in the listing. I knew of at least some of the upgrades, it doesn’t take an architect to spot appliances older than me. I knew about the windows, it was disclosed.  The house, it never lied to me. It told me the same truth that every object in this world screams loud and clear for anyone to hear — “I will change, fade, decay, cease to be what you want at some moment in time. I abide by my own rules, am subject to my own causes that won’t just adhere to your terms (subtext:  who are you anyway, crazy lady, to think your so special that you can control my fate).” But I had let my own picture, that I had painted all by myself, lie to me. Actually,  I used my picture to lie to myself. When, seriously when, am I going to learn that I am the liar and the sucker who believes my own lies? I believe even though my lies hurt me.

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And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming Part III — Boxes of Rupa

And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming Part III — Boxes of Rupa

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In my time of transition I continue to ‘broadcast live’ some of my thoughts on my recent move to NY. Sitting shadowed by a tower of boxes, stuffed with the things I ‘own’, its a bit hard not to have some thoughts on that favorite old topic:

Rupa

 I am surrounded by, swimming in, a sea of my stuff. I can look at each item and remember  how badly I wanted it back when I bought it. My heart believed that that table/rug/lamp would solve my problems, fit perfectly in my space, make my home beautiful. That by extension, these items would make me a sort of person — the sort of person that values beauty, surrounds myself with it, cares enough to have a lovely home filled with lovely things. An adult, a non-slob, someone tasteful but unique.  I wanted these things and I bought them. But the story isn’t over…

Now I have all this stuff, tables/rugs/lamps/clothes, in a new space where it doesn’t fit anymore. Where it is non-beauty, just clutter, part of the endless piles I need to sort through. In a town where even donating items involves work (I either need to get an Uber XL and carry it down, or I have to order a Salvation Army pick-up and wait all day for them to come). I saw all the benefit when I bought these things, but I ignored the  burden. But (and we will cover this topic much more in a later log) the burden was always there, just waiting for its moment to come to the fore, to rear its ugly head.
Most of the time, I think these items serve me —  after all, who buys something thinking,”I wanna pay good money to be this table/rug/lamp/dress/etc.’s bitch?” But here, amidst the stress and fall-out of a cross country move, it is very very clear, I am subject to these items (actually, to my desire for them)–finding ways to salvage some stuff for the new space, finding storage or haul-away for others. The stubbed toes, the aching back, the stress of inadequate closet space. And then there is the dependency; how can I live without all 4 feather pillow that I’m used to, even though my new “bedroom” is barely big enough to fit a bed.
And did these items even do what I believed they would do? Did they fulfill the ‘promise’ I imagined they made to me? Sure, for a bit there was convenience, beauty to my eye. But did it make me that tasteful, non-slob, adult? Did it make me fashionable, and pulled together, and worthy of love, and adoration, and even a bit of envy? How can I say these objects succeed in making me all that awesome stuff, when now they make me look like a hoarder with a cramped space, when the effort to just dispose of them is making me haggard and stressed. I promise my  situation is utterly unenviable.
At the end of the day, my desires changed. When I wanted that table/lamp/rug my desire felt so solid, so fixed, so permanent, so real. But now, I want it gone.  I always believed, I want, I get, I am satisfied, game over. But in truth, this is a game I can never ever win. Lasting fulfillment will always  evade me. How can I win when my wants are so capricious, when the desirable can become undesirable with even the most minor changes? When my once beloved furniture oppresses me.
And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming Part II — No Going Back to SF

And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming Part II — No Going Back to SF

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For those of you just tuning in, we are taking a little break from our regularly scheduled program ( a chronology of highlights in my Dharma practice) as I move and settle into a new home. So for a few weeks, you will be getting real-time reflections. A blow-by-blow of my life and my practice as I adjust to my new home. Last week I talked about my disappointment in my new home in New York. This week, I want to talk about the flip-side…

I wish I could just go back to my old home, to San Francisco

I keep catching myself whispering the secret-not-so-secret mantra, “I wish I could just go home to San Francisco.”  I miss my friends, my house, my routines, I miss my old life and I want it back.  But spoiler alert, its not possible, there is no going back. After-all, what would going back really look like? My husband’s job is here now, am I going to go back without him? Or go back with both of us unemployed? In either case, is it really going back to the life I had before? My house is sold, my car sold, my position at my old job filled, none of those are there for me to go back to. And even my friends, after these few weeks, do they still have our weekly yoga time held on their calendar, that Thursday lunch spot free? All I remember San Francisco to be, its moment had come and gone, arisen and ceased, no mantra can wish away the impermanence.

But me, I am in constant denial. I am always trying to repeat the past, recreate those ‘perfect’ moments, make my memories manifest again. I once ate the best pizza in the world and kept going back to the same restaurant again and again hoping to recreate it, but each time it was worse than the first. Burberry had the perfect coat one season, each season after I kept going back, hoping to find one like it, but the cuts, they changed.  I wore that outfit one time and it was adorable, but I put it on again and I was too fat/too pale/ it was too cold/inappropriate for the occasion/ out of season/out of style.

And when I am in the moment, enjoying something, a little part of my mind is scheming, saying, “how can I get this again?” If I  come back to this hotel, can I get the same room? If I come back to this restaurant, can I get the same dessert? Can I buy extra cans of this tomato so I have more later? Can I buy extra ‘back-up’ versions of the same purse, so when the original is beaten-up I still have another one left?

I try so hard, put in so much effort, and then suffer so much disappointment because its always a fail. I can never quite seem to get back the past. Still I try. Still I hope. And that trying, hoping, grasping,  it moves me, drives me, pushes me forward. But it can’t ever return me to where I have been.

And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming — My New York Rebirth

And Now an Interruption in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming — My New York Rebirth

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My Dear Readers, I am going to beg your pardon today and take a break from our regularly scheduled program (a loose chronology of highlights of my dharma practice) in order to write something from the present day. I am in the process of moving, SF to NY, and to be honest, the faithful adherence to an ordered blog is a bit challenging when my stuff, dharma notebook, life and thoughts are all disorderly, strewn about, buried in boxes and so forth. So, at least till the dust settles a bit, you are going to get a preview of whats to come in this blog, i.e. thoughts from the blog’s distant future, my present life.

I have been thinking that moving is a lot like starting a new life, a rebirth. There was a cause to the move, my desire for a better life, to escape things I don’t like and seek out ones I do (in particular, my husband’s old job, which was a huge burden for us both). There was imagination of what it would be like, better, not worse, of course. There is effort, and money, spent to bring the move to fruition. There is the need to rebuild, re-establish my life, my stuff, my sense of self in these new circumstance.

And let me tell you something my friends, this move has been hard. Horribly, terribly hard. Perhaps the details will come in another blog, but suffice it to say, the stress, the effort, the planning, the disappointments have been enormous (ok, one detail, I messed-up a tooth from jaw clenching in my sleep because the noise of honking and sirens and yelling through the night  is so stressful). Before, when I imagined all the glitz of a NY life, I didn’t see the dirt, the noise, the crowding, cold, nature-free city I have found myself in. I couldn’t have imagined the work it would take just to move, the struggle to live here, the sense of loss I feel from my old life, and the people in it.

The problem though is I’ll forget. I know I’ll forget, because when I first moved to SF I hated it too. It took time, but I “fell in love” and the horror show it took to build my life there became a distant memory. Sure I know I felt bad at the time, I remember, sort of, but it was worth it right? For the life I eventually built and loved (and then had to leave so quickly…), worth it I’m sure, well sort of, right? For the place that gave me the standards, the ‘norms’ to which I compare my new city and find it so very disappointing (and grey and cold and ungreen and unclean and uneco and unfoodie and unorganic and un friggin NorCal). Worth it…in hind-site, in the haze of amnesia and getting used to things and adjusting and re-imagining that keeps me tied in Samsara (cycle of rebirth). Pain when its raw is so motivational, we all want escape, but as it dulls, as the scar forms, we find a way to move on.

Here in NY the forgetting has already begun. I already find myself adjusting. Finding the noise fades to the background, the dirt becoming less noticeable. Its all better then it was before (my jaw has un-clenched) so it must be all good, right?  My expectations, my imagination, adjusting. I get used to it. Familiarity I have come to realize is my nemesis. It makes me forget the pain, it numbs me to the discomfort in the world. It also, as a double F-you, makes the pleasurable less delightful. My first ice cream after being a vegan was the most delicious thing ever, but over time I got used to ice cream again and its just not  the heaven-in-my-mouth it was when it was new, unfamiliar.

I however, I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to gloss over my suffering. Its real and it sucks. What it takes to prepare for a new life, to set it all-up just so, to adjust myself, my hopes and dreams its so so hard. And then to tell a story later on that it was all my idea, all under my control, all good in the end, that it was actually fun, built my character, its not true.  I don’t want to keep being pushed into a new circumstance by my imagination of what it will be only to be shocked, disappointed and then lulled into complacency as I adjust. I don’t want endless rebirths, thinking each one will be different than the last, that it will be easier, that the trade offs are in my control, that its worth it.

And for all of this, as far from my fantasy as the city has proven to be, did I get what I wanted, a better life? In some ways — my husband’s job, for now at least, seems better and less stressful. But better capital B? How could it be? There are always 2 sides. There are always trade-offs. I imagined only one side (wrong view), knew there would be trade-offs but thought I could hedge, I could control which they were, that things would be on my terms. I was wrong and I feel the sting of it, and the dull ache of an angry tooth…

 

 

 

 

 

 

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