alana – Page 21 – Alana's Dharma Blog

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

February 11, 2017 alana Comments 0 Comment

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

February 3, 2017 alana Comments 0 Comment

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

January 27, 2017 alana Comments 2 comments

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

January 20, 2017 alana Comments 0 Comment

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:

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.
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?
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?
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.
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

January 13, 2017 alana Comments 0 Comment

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…

January 6, 2017 alana Comments 0 Comment

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

December 30, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

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:

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?
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.
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

December 23, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

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

December 16, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

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.

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

December 9, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

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

December 2, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

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

November 25, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

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…

What Kind of A****** Throws a Sponge on the Ground in this Beautiful Unspoiled Forest

November 18, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

It was the 2013 KPY retreat and LP Nut was leading some students through the forest on a hike/contemplation exercise. Suddenly we came to a nice open patch, just in front of a Kulti (a small hut), and there on the ground was a sponge. The piece of trash was such a stark contrast to the beautiful pristine forest and immediately, in my mind, I hear my most judgy voice saying, “What kind of an A****** would throw a sponge on the ground in this beautiful unspoiled forest.” Then I looked-up at the little hut in front of me and thought, if I had hiked all the way out here to clean this hut, and found I had forgotten my sponge, I would have thought,”what kind of an angel left me a sponge and spared me the hike all the way back-up to the main building to get one.“

In that moment I finally understood one of the most critical truths of my life: I am the judge, I am the one that sets conditions and defines the terms under which I will be satisfied with any particular person, thing or situation. And my terms, my judgements, they change, largely based on me, on what I want. The idea that there is some universal truth, some great moral compass, that underlies and dictates my judgements is a lie. It’s just me, that voice in my head,calling out A******* or Angel based on my interpretations and needs.

LP Anan had once given such a great example of setting conditions, but I really hadn’t understood it fully till this moment in the woods. He said, it was like being outside on a hot day and wanting an ice cold glass of water, but not wanting any wet condensation on the outside of the glass. But this is impossible, condensation is a result of outside heat meeting with the ice water on the inside of the glass. Still we set these conditions, I only want X and Y is totally unacceptable, or I want X but only if Y, or I want X when its sunny and Y when it rains. We dictate the terms under which something is acceptable, desirable, and then we pretend they are real, fixed and that the world will simply abide by them.

I started seeing all the places in my life I set conditions: I want my husband to cook for me when I’m hungry, but when I’m not I wish he wouldn’t so I didn’t need to eat it to be polite (I also wish he could just read my mind and know what I want to eat–what kind of man did I marry that lacks even the simplest mind reading abilities?). I want to chat with my co-workers and waste a little time, except when I’m busy and I wish they would just leave me alone. I want to live in a big city with lots to do, if only there weren’t so many people. I’m happy when it’s warm outside, somewhere between 75 and 85 degrees….

It was a little later in my practice that I really began to see that in setting these conditions I create not only the terms of my satisfaction, but, by definition I also set the terms of my dissatisfaction. In so doing, I am the one who lays the groundwork for my own suffering. I also came to see that the conditions I set were based on 2 deeply wrong views: 1) that I could control circumstances/events in order to get the outcome that met my conditions or 2) that the world would operate as I expected it to (expectations built off of my prior experiences) so the conditions I set were likely to be met. But back in the early days after my forest sponge encounter the thing that I finally understood, the big pivot point for my practice, was that I play a starring role. Before, I kept thinking stuff is happening to me. I looked around the world and saw instances of impermanence, how my own views were misaligned with it, but I thought I was just getting really great seats for the show. There in the forest I started to see that my handwriting was all over the script.

Whooa Wait a Sec. It’s ME, You Mean it’s Really ME, it’s Been ME This Whole Time?!?!

November 11, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

This next section marks an important shift in my practice and my perspective as I began to zoom-in on the role I play in creating my own suffering. Sure, before this I had an intellectual understanding that I had wrong views, that I was the source of those views. That is, after all, the only rational explanation for all the problems I had managed to solve. Nonetheless, I sorta viewed myself as a victim in my own stories and struggles. Like suffering was something that happened to me and I was stuck cleaning-up the mess. After the first story in this next section it became increasingly clear that I am the one running around stirring my own pot, making my own messes, seeding my own suffering. Oh, and in the process, I am messing with everyone else too…poke poke goes the little ME monster.

Screw, This Dharma Thing

November 4, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

Screw, This Dharma Thing

It was the 2013 KPY retreat and Mae Yo gave each of her students an everyday object and told us to go out and contemplate it. I eagerly waited in line to receive my object and when I got to the front and opened my hand, Mae Yo gave me a screw. Honestly I was none too pleased with that screw from the get go. Other folks were getting much cooler objects. The person in front of me got a clock, that’s super Dharmay, contemplating time and all, that I could have worked with, but a screw…what the heck was I going to do with a screw?

I went outside and stared at the thing..my first thoughts, screw this, I totally got screwed. It wasn’t really just my object that was upsetting me, it was the whole exercise, it was the fact that I was feeling super stuck in my practice and had been for months. The screw reminded me who was in charge (hint, not me). As much as I wanted to control my object, now I had a burden, a screw I had to safeguard, keep close, not lose. I had an obligation I didn’t want. Worse than my obligation to the screw though was my obligation to the exercise, to my teacher, to my Dharma practice. The longer I stared at the screw the more I freaked-out…the screw became a symbol for my practice, for enlightenment itself, and I was sitting there thinking, “I hate this screw, I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but it feels like such a burden.”

First off, I did not want to be forced to give up my identity, which I had worked so hard to create. I didn’t want to lose control over my time, didn’t want to give-up the people and activities I loved. I mean really, can serious dharma practitioners/enlightened people travel, do pilates, go shopping, have relationships with husbands and family and friends? I also didn’t want the responsibility, to the temple, to any kind of religious leadership role (I had had a lot of responsibilities with my Vajrayana community and overtime, especially as I struggled with meaning in my practice, it had become a hardship for me). As I sat there my brain was running wild with all the loss I imagined would come with the ‘burden’ of enlightenment, this sketch from my notebook pretty much summed it up:

Serious Dharma Practice ≠ (does not equal) Fun, Carefree, Enjoyable Life

Now that I look at this I laugh…because it assumes my current life is all rainbows and unicorns (which if true would make for a very short and boring blog and no reason for a Dharma practice). But back then, my thought was that it was getting dark, I could grab my car keys from my tent, slip out of the retreat tonight and no one would notice till morning. By that time I would have a solid head start (since the Dharma was after me). My follow-up thought however was a bit more rational, clearly I am suffering (i.e. freaking the hell out) perhaps I should use the method that has worked out pretty well so far and try to identify the wrong views…

I began by asking myself if all this stuff I am worried about losing was really all that awesome? Can I really keep it and where is the suffering of having it? I started with identity and looked at its components, my body, my family/friends, my hobbies, my stuff.I felt like I had worked so hard building this life, collecting these things, nurturing these relationships — how could I just walk away and leave it behind. But really, that’s the fallacy of a sunk cost, yes I have put in a ton of work, but does that really mean I should put in more?

And man did I work… For my body to stay strong, to be beautiful, I worked-out 3 X a day. I managed my diet vigilantly. With every pound I lost I was happy but with every pound I gained I was 10X sadder. Then there was my stuff, my clothes, my furniture, all the things that let me control my image. But to afford it all my husband worked a crazy stressful and hard job. I had to watch someone I love suffer, and endure being in a relationship where I often felt like less of a priority than my husband’s job. Still these things we bought broke and faded and needed replacing. And that relationship, that was so important to me, suffered strain and decay as well. And what about all the activities I enjoyed — this blog is already full of stories about the struggles of my travels, time with friends and family, with my hobbies and my job. I knew I struggled, I knew I couldn’t exert control and keep the people and things I loved..still somehow I felt like practicing was going to ‘take’ from me things I wasn’t ready to lose.

I already knew I had lost lots of stuff unwillingly, my next question was had I ever given up anything willingly, rather than having it ‘taken’, and what did that look like. I started by thinking about quitting smoking. Yes, it had been a little hard, but in the end I did it because I was afraid of the risk, tired of the damage it was doing to my body. I had quit yoga for a similar reason, I kept injuring my lower back and I was tired of going back and forth between the yoga studio and my physical therapist. I quit my Vajrayana practice when I got tired of the emotional pain it caused me, my feeling of being lost and angry. I started seeing that there were lots of things I had given up on my own terms, when I was tired of the consequences of them, was it possible enlightenment was like this too?

At this point I had calmed down just enough to go and ask for help…Frankly I was still feeling stuck in my practice and like a real wreck until Neecha helped me see the next 2 wrong views:

Just because something is unknown does it necessarily mean it’s bad? Scary?

Part of my fear of continuing to practice, of eventual enlightenment, was that whatever it is, it’s not something I know, it’s some big scary place ‘over there’. My life may be a bit of a mixed-bag, but I prefer the known to the unknown. I prefer what I believe I can control to what seems uncontrollable to me. But can I really control this life? And will all limited control disappear as I move along the path? This brought me to the deepest problem…

Even though I was (and am) unenlightened, I assumed I knew exactly what that state would look like if I did ever get there. I assumed that it was a proscriptive state, it had various rules and restraint, that were exactly what I (from my unenlightened state) imagined they would be. I thought it was like hitting the security checkpoint at the airport, I would have to leave behind unticketed companions (like my family and friends), water bottles, and other stuff I still loved and wanted but, which broke the TSA/enlightenment rules.

Finally Neecha said something to me that really resonated, she said, “do you wear glasses? Contacts?” “Yes, I do” I said. Neecha said, “enlightenment is like putting on glasses, it’s not like everything changes, it’s like seeing the world much more clearly than you did before”. Honestly, I was not fully convinced, I still had my anxiety, my reservations, about my practice and the direction I was going. But, I had cleared it up enough, gotten enough clarity to get unstuck. In my head I told myself, I’ll keep going, I’ll see where this leads, I can always freak out later afterall…

Now that I look back at this story, at the period that preceded it, I suspect that this fear of moving forward was keeping me stuck. In fact, the next big ‘aha moment’, the one that begins the next “phase’ of my path actually happened just a few days after this story. Guess I wasn’t quite so screwed afterall…

Is a Warm, Spot in the Shade so Much to Ask For?

October 28, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

I was doing a walking meditation, contemplating the inevitability of aging. I thought a little about my body, my life, my family…thought about old pictures and how different everyone looks. Thought about clothes and sizes … Still nothing was really penetrating, I was just going through the motions. I kept pacing, pacing, pacing, and suddenly I became aware of my path.

Originally, I had been walking a circle that had a little bit of sun and a little bit of shade; it was just right. But as I walked, the day aged and I lost the sun. I couldn’t control the sun moving in the sky –gravity, planetary forces, physics are what set those conditions. I can alter my circle a little, I can change to a shadier path: I can wear make-up, get botox, use spanx, choose flattering clothes, use all sorts of lotions and potions, I have limited control. But as the day ages, as I age, it gets harder and harder, I have to walk further and further and still I lose the shade, I lose my beauty and youth. If I keep walking long enough, all the shade will go away. I will be one of those little old ladies, no amount of strawberry hair dye or hot pink lipstick can hide that I have grown old and my beauty, like the shade, has gone away. I exert a little control, but for how long?

Tired of pacing, I decided to have a seat on a nearby bench. It was again, a nice balance between shade and sun. But the sun didn’t stop shifting just because I had stopped pacing and before long my perfect shade to sun ratio was lost. It was beginning to get too hot so I moved the bench under a big tree and again I was comfortable. It was only a little while though till I was too hot again –the shade was just disappearing! I fiddle with the bench a bit more and then I realized. For a brief moment, out of all the moments in the day, I was happy, comfortable. For a brief time I was the right age, young (but not too young), beautiful. But In that comfort, in that perfect moment, the seeds of my discomfort were planted –it couldn’t stay the perfect temperature for me, I couldn’t stay the perfect age.

In that moment, I realized there were so many things in this world I never worried about, never missed, never tried to have, to keep, to preserve. For example, I never fantasized about sprouting wings and flying. Flying like a bird just isn’t something I hope for or that I want to achieve. My mind knows this is impossible. But a few moments at the right age, at the right temperature, these are traps for my mind. They are the foundation of further wanting, further efforts to control. They plant the seeds of hope…
The truth is, if I sat on that bench all day long maybe 1 -2 hrs out of 24 would be perfect, most would be too hot, then too cold. I had some limited control, for a little, I could move the bench, put on a sweater, but ultimately, over the course of the day there would be places my control ceased –I would be too hot or too cold. If I never got used to the comfort, if I really thought about how limited my abilities to recreate it were –how much I was at the mercy of the elements — would I keep wanting to sit? Seeing the work that goes into preserving my perfect moment, my perfect age, seeing the inevitability of my failure. Why do I keep trying? Why do I keep coming out and sitting on benches again and again (being born again and again) expecting one of these days will be different? One of these days I’ll win — after all, is it really too much to ask for a warm, shady spot all the time?

Amazon oh Amazon Bring me My Box, I Hit the Button So I Must Be the Cause

October 21, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

I’m preparing for the 2013 retreat and I get a brilliant idea — solar powered shower. See, back in 2012 I had to take a few cold showers and I was none too pleased. So, I decided this year I would be prepared; I would bring one of those camping showers that had solar panels to heat the water. No more cold showers for me!!

I did all my research, read reviews, picked-out the best product. Then, with weeks of time left before the retreat, I placed my order with Amazon. When it arrived, I checked it out, tested for holes or leaks, made sure the panel worked. When it came time to drive-up to the retreat, I packed it safely in my car. I was ready.

Freakish, unseasonal thunderstorms. That’s what we got at the 2013 retreat. Days and days and days of no sunshine at all. So much for a solar powered shower…

I did all the “right” things, I researched a good product, I ordered it in time, I remembered to pack it, I packed it well so it didn’t break. Plus I was being a good Alana, a super-tree-huggy-power-saving-eco-lover that all the gods should bless ;). But then it rained. I took the experience to heart, used it as evidence to see the limitations of my control. That control, it got me a product, got me up the mountain with it, gave me the illusion I was managing the situation, but the weather showed me that my control is clearly not the last word. The lesson: my control is partial. But still my control is real, right? I’m in control of some things, that must be true right? Ok, my control as limited… I can work with that.

And now for a later day addition to this story: Fast forward 3 years to several weeks ago (Aug 2016). I order a box on Amazon, I selected the product, choose the 3 day shipping window, clicked buy. 3 days later, no package. It said it was coming, there was no warning anything had gone wrong, but on that 3rd day, the sun rose and the sun set and I still had no package. WTF???

Seriously, I know I can’t control the weather … but Amazon it’s so dependable, it always sends packages, I did all the right things, WTF???

As I stare at the screen of my computer trying to figure out what exactly to do about the package now…I realize, my control is not limited. It doesn’t exist at all. If I were really in control, I would be in control all the time — that is the nature of control (it means I am the one that causes, that I can override any other causes, that something is totally part of my volition, my will). If I control my car there will never be that one accident, if I control my body there will never be that weight gain, if I control my packages there will never be one that goes missing. It’s like being pregnant, you are or your not, its binary, that’s the nature of pregnancy. It’s not like there can be a little pregnant, limited pregnancy…that’s not how it works.

So what’s really happening here? Where is my mistaken view of control arising from? I observe patterns, I remember that an Amazon 3 day has come countless times before and I assume I’m somehow the cause, or at least a partial cause (ie if I order 3 days, pay my prime membership, click the right button, I’ll get the box). I click the button I get a box, I click the button I get a box, I click the button I get a box, I click the button I get a box –it must be my clicking the button that causes the box!

I have a permanent thought (wrong view) that what has happened before/what I imagine is how things really are/will be. Or that if it’s not, I can intervene, I can call the post office, get a new package sent, do something to MAKE IT HAPPEN. I insert my big fat self into the mix and think I’m the ‘cause’. I want to think that, need to think it, to lend credibility to my specialness. To believe the world is a safe place all buttoned-up, in which I have some measure of control.

The truth however is that the box’s arrival depends on its own set of rules. Sure, my desire for the package may plant the seed. But a seed, after being planted, grows based on soil, water, light, so many factors independent of the the farmer. The Amazon box also has countless factors that go into getting it to my door, the seller, the shipper, the product, the mail, the road system, and many more…all of these beyond me, beyond my control. How then can I say one input, clicking the button (desiring something), that sometimes does and sometimes doesn’t work, is control? And how do I fail to notice that by ordering the box, thinking full well it would come, wanting it, needing it to come, I planted a second seed, a shadow seed — the seed of my disappointment when it doesn’t come. The seed of my effort to intervene, to call the post office, to try and get a new item, to hope again for the box and subject myself to potential disappointment all over again if it still does not come.

How many more times will I make this same mistake? For how much longer will I tell myself fairy tales about Alana the center and master of the universe who has warm showers and packages revolve around me? I don’t know. But I do know there is a third seed that has been planted, the seed of truth. Understanding is starting to take root. The world is clearly telling me its nature, my nature. I just need to gather the evidence,to listen, to learn to believe.

Bag Lady Alana

October 14, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

Panhandlers have always annoyed me. I feel so uncomfortable when I’m asked for money on the street…I feel so torn, put on the spot, so UGHHH. On one hand, I don’t want to be a ‘bad’ Alana and say no. On the other hand, my Inside Voice is screaming… “what did you do to deserve my money?” (give or take a few vulgarities…that voice in my head has a potty mouth).

One day, I’m on the street carrying a bag full of bags that I was selling as part of the temple’s Sappan Boon fundraiser. Someone asks me for money and before I could reach for my wallet, before my inside voice started screaming, I realized “oh snap — this is just like me and my bag sales.”

At first, with the bag sales, I only wanted to ask folks close to me. Only those I thought owed me something. See I’m the kind of person that likes a ‘balanced book’ on my debts. I give if I think you are ‘worthy’ or are valuable to me and I try not to ask too much in return. I rather have someone owe me one than the other way around. Naturally (because I’m a predictable creature if nothing else) a lot of this has to do with control, or the illusion of it anyway. If books are balanced, relationships are tit for tat, or, at least if I’m on top, things are predictable, they are on my terms. I am in control. If I owe someone else, if I need to rely on others, to depend on their help, well then I’m not in control and I’m burdened by a debt (and believe me debts weigh very heavy on my heart… my biggest ones I fear I will never be able to repay). Double no bueno.

When it came time to helping support the Wat though, I wanted to do more (I’m in mega debt to my teachers and the 3X gems after all). I am such a recluse, have so few friends/family, that if all of them bought bags I would have sold like 10 bags (and that’s only if some folks bought two). When I really thought about asking strangers and random folks, I realized “I don’t know other people’s karma. I don’t know their reasons for wanting or not wanting to buy a bag. I don’t know what benefits it will have for them. Really, I am just the seller, the conduit to transfer a bag. Its not all about me or my debt ledger.” And, as much as I hated to admit it, that meant I wasn’t really in control.

The Panhandlers are the same thing. My reservations about both asking and giving are rooted in my wrong view that things will happen on my terms. That as long as I have those terms, stick to them, they make me in control, safe. That those terms are some kind of universal truth, that I am all knowing enough to know what that truth is, what that balance sheet really looks like. I want to ask the owers and give to the worthy. But again, like with the bag buyers, I don’t know the panhandlers karma, their story, I don’t know my connection with them or their connection with the other folks they ask for money. In truth I look at them, the circumstance, the rupa and I snap a judgment. I really don’t even know if they meet my own criteria of ‘worthy or valuable’ (whatever that means or is). If I knew they were some kind of hero, some great compassionate soul, a scholar,or an animal rights advocate, or a Bhuddisty Buddhist, anyone I am biased towards then wouldn’t I actually want to give to them instead of doing it because I feel guilty?

In the end, I swallowed my discomfort and started asking everyone — literally, everyone –to buy a bag. I asked co-workers, folks at my local restaurants, made announcements at every class I went to at the gym, asked my hairstylist, the parking attendants at my garage, neighbors, basically anyone who didn’t run away before I could get a sentence out. And while that was still probably not a ton of folks (I live a pretty small life), I did it with freedom from being bogged down by the all about me-ness.

As for the panhandling, my ughhh feeling was eased a lot after this contemplation, but still a bit of a thorn in my side. That wasn’t quite resolved till years later when this topic came-up again. When this contemplation rose to the surface and I used it, fed on it, transformed it into a mega twisting tale of criteria and judgment, deserving and desire, suffering, being an A****** to others, frying squids alive, being a player in my youth, IBS, desperately needing the bathroom and, of course, panhandling. Hopefully, I have left you wondering just how that tale unfolds. I’m afraid you will need to wade through quite a few more blogs before we get there. So read on Dear Readers, read on…

I Was Run Down by a Rhino and I Lived to Tell the Tale

October 7, 2016 alana Comments 0 Comment

So yes, seriously, I did in fact get run down by a black rhinoceros when I was on safari in Kenya. Lets just say that some big learnings followed that encounter. Here I will share the entry from my notebook just after the incident (because, of course, I brought notebook on safari just in case I had a dharma moment). Note, this is another example that closely follows the 5 Question Method outlined in Method to Undo the Madness :

The Story: I am on a walking safari vacation in Kenya and we come across a mamma rhino and her baby standing a small distance away. Our guide advises us to get closer and hide behind a small bush. He then proceeds to start making sounds that he hopes will get the rhinos to come out of the shrubs where they are eating. I watch the mamma rhino begin to shift, looking kind of agitated. I thought to ask the guide to stop, but the guide, who was armed with a gun, explained, “we are totally safe, rhinos ‘mock’ charge all the time but rarely actually attack.” The next thing I know the rhino is real charging and I am directly in her path. I think, “crap, I’m going to get hit.” Then I think, “how is this possible, I’m going to die on vacation”. Then I think, “well it clearly can happen, some folks do in fact die on vacation”. Between all these thoughts…I curl into a ball on the ground, the rhino kicks me, but I’m below her horn so I avoid being gored. And then, I’m alright. Sore, achy, but alright. We walk back to camp and I head straight for my notebook.

The Wrong View/Concept:

1) That the guide or the gun or the shrub would protect us. That someone or something can guarantee safety all the time. In truth, I don’t control the guide, the gun, the rhino or the shrub so how can I assume a guarantee of safety when it is completely beyond my control?

2) That the rhino’s behaviors are predictable. That it will mock charge but not really charge. That any situation has a predictable outcome. That what usually happens, or what happened before, is by definition what will happen again. In truth, even if a rhino mock charges 1000 times that does not mean that 1001 will also be a mock charge.

3) That I would surely get run down, and if I was run down I would die. This is the same logic I used in Homeless Alana (if I hug then I will get swine flue, then die) and the story with my friend Barb (if she doesn’t invite me out then she doesn’t want to be my friend) and 1000 other places. It’s the belief that for sure A gets me to for sure Z without considering all the other possibilities in between.

The X Factor: As a reminder, the X number, is where I tie in other stories, where I identify deeper issues or tendencies going on that are part of a pattern of my beliefs/personality (sandan). In this story there is a biggie — animals and I have a special relationship together and we are, on a whole, A OK with each other. You can actually see hints of it in some of the other stories I have shared; Compassionate Alana who is kind to animals to be loved, Vegetarian Alana who defines her special goodness through not eating animals. Going all the way back to my childhood infact, there are endless occasions where I protect animals, or turn to them for love and support when I can’t get humans to fulfill those needs, or in general make myself special in relation to the animals. I asked myself, if that rhino had been a car driving dangerously with a driver that looked agitated, would I have gotten so close? Would I have so easily believed someone who said it was going to be OK? The truth is, despite my many many fears, the fact that I thought death lurked around every corner, I never worried about harm coming from an animal. In my crazy mind, which saw the world only from my view, I thought I love my furry/feathered friends so they must love me back. Which brings me to a final wrong view:

4) That its not my karma to be killed by an animal, that they are no danger to me. That I can know my karma, that it is based on my limited understandings and one sided wrong views. That this world is a simple tit for tat –I love you so you must love me too. That anything, any class of beings is uniform, the same, that I can label them all ‘safe’ and move on.

The Risks: I could be injured or killed. The rhino could be injured or killed. The baby rhino could be left without a mom. The guide could lose his livelihood. Our vacay could be ruined. Eric could no longer want to travel. Folks could be less inclined to visit Kenya and tourism could be hurt.
The Dharma: Clearly, rupa plays a starring role in this story. The form of the gun, the guide, the rhino… I try and reify (to make real and solid) form, assign it a certain meaning or function so that in my mind I can make it something predictable. I ignore that form changes, that the meaning I assign to it also changes, that those meanings are not for real or for sure. I do this for my own agenda — to feel safe, to feel a sense of well-being and security, to explain the world and my place in it. So for me, animal = friend. Or gun=safety. Or guide = all knowing. Ironically though, this fixed belief in the meaning of rupa does the opposite of keep me safe. It obscures risk, hides the dangers. This story clearly illustrates the falsehood of my beliefs and the perils in holding them.