destroy it

break down foundations;

trust the process; walls crumble

erosion creates

 

 

my friend cyndi

a force of nature

wise beyond wisdom, bright with

dharma light – gratitude

 

Check out her youtube.   https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqLfjg0a0Bu2UKm_EkOocaA

crazy wisdom

Trungpa said it is

utterly hopeless.  He calls

it transcending hope

Basic Negativity

sharp and accurate.

leave it alone and

you will see the nature

of its intelligence.

unconceptualized,

it breeds energy,

strength for our everyday lives.

trust it.

 

instruction

“This very moment

is the perfect teacher and

it’s always with us.”

 

fragile

a little lonely

I sit by the window

I opened the blinds to let

the sun flood my office

it is the peach side of pink

as it filters through the bamboo

punctuation is problematic

when to use it

where to put it

I like leaving it out completely

then you, the reader, emphasize

the words that touch you

I am touched by fragments

of pictures thoughts sentences

I like to get lost in the chaos

of what lies unfinished unknown

following the question

not looking for an answer

thus phrases seem right

 

 

February 20, One Year, One Day at a Time – thoughts

Close the gap between who you think you are and who you are.   Go deeper.  Fall deep into yourself.

Meet things right where they are.  Do not try to make something out of nothing.

Experience a little space in each moment.

“Search to find other than what is searched for.”

Your character is a combination of emotional temperament and mental focus.  Character is not contrived.

Vast is the road to liberation.  Do not squander your life.

There is no way out of being broken.  Embrace it.

What captures you is who you may be.  What sticks is who you are.

Peeling Away Layers of False Identity

UP.  Still in New Mexico.  I am so looking forward to being back in my bed next to my wonderful husband.  I slept fitfully yet again.  Seems I am processing all kinds of unconscious material that floated to the surface during the 4 hours we mediated over the past 3 says.  Not a lot of time to sit, but at least 30 minutes more a day than what I have done.  I was so tired when we left Upaya yesterday.  Hit me like a ton of bricks.  Cyndi and I checked our bags at Hotel La Fonda and went to Starbucks to write until it was time to catch the shuttle at 3:45pm.  As soon as I sat down I let out a big sigh and said, “Wow, I am suddenly exhausted.”  Cyndi replied, “Of course you are.  Going on retreat is so intense. It requires so much focus.”  I’ll say.  The programs were very engaging and provocative.  I did not have any trouble staying present, being alert, focusing and listening intently to the content.  In retrospect, I realize that the talks were peeling away layers of conventionality, of habitual patterns set in place to protect me from all the boogie men out there in the world…disappointment, loss, rejections, loneliness, failure, sadness, anything that hurts or resembles major discomfort.  Roshi Joan’s words now ring in my ears.  “Do not squander your life.  Sadness is the way to uncommon wisdom.”  I vow to live with these two things at the forefront of my mind.

Roshi Joan Halifax with the Dalai Lama.

We are all in this together.

As I prepare to leave, New Mexico I am grateful for two things in particular.  One, I love Memphis, the humidity, the green grass and trees, the lush landscapes, the Mississippi River, my pool, our garden, everything verdant that captures my eye.  I am also deeply grateful for friends and family.  Roshi Joan said the work of Zen is relational.  The forms, the mediations, the study, the chants, all deepen our connection to the world, to ourselves and to one another.  She said to understand and learn from Ryokan, we must be one with him. I want to be one with everyone and everything.  No gap between who I am in the world and who I am inside.  An so I go to sit.

The “Secret Of Life”

Everything in my life has lead me to this moment.  For the first time in my life I think I may have a modicum of compassion.  A writer must have compassion, empathy, a willingness to give up all censorship, internal and external.  This morning I was paralyzed by self-doubt.

I opened to a page in Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary.  I can do this.  I can write a novel.  One Year, One Day at a Time.  I can only write when I sit down.  I place my body in front of the empty page.  Then I wait.  I wait for the voice from within.  I do not write until I know it is not my mind, but something else, something deep inside me coming forth.   A word, a phrase, a name, an answer to a question.  I am me.  I am her, Susan, as she tells me her story and I tell her mine.  I empathize with her.  She is real.  I am her.  There is no other way to explain this phenomenon.  For months I have written in my Morning Pages,  I trust in the love and guidance of the Divine Mother to create through me for the greatest good of all.  I must trust.  I must show up and trust without question what I hear.  I am her, Susan.  I am me.  I am telling our story.

Dani Shapiro writes, “I didn’t question whether I could get inside the heart and soul of a man more than thirty years my senior, who had suffered in ways I hadn’t suffered, taken pleasure in ways I hadn’t.  In the first pages, Solomon wakes up in the morning and masturbates.  How did I give myself creative license to write such a scene?  Because I knew, I knew what he would do, and how it would make him feel before, during and after.  We are only limited by our capacity to empathize.”

May I continue to have the gift of empathy.  May I willingly experience “sorrow, grief, loss, joy, euphoria, thirst, lust, injustice, envy and a broken heart” so that I can truly be the person about whom I am writing.

The “secret” of life that we are all looking for is just this:  to develop through sitting and daily life practice the power and courage to return to that which we have spent a lifetime hiding from, to rest in the bodily experience of the present moment – even if it is a feeling of being humiliated, of failing, of abandonment, of unfairness.

–Charlotte Joko Beck

As  Pema Chodron so aptly puts it, “All those smiling enlightened people you see in pictures or in person had to go through the process of encountering their full-blown neurosis, their methods of looking for ground.

When we start to interrupt our ordinary ways of calling ourselves names and patting ourselves on the back, we are doing something extremely brave.  Slowly we edge toward the open state, but let’s face it, we are moving toward a place of no handholds, no footholds, no mindholds.  This may be called liberation, but for a long time it feels like insecurity.”  Okay, bring it on.  If, in order to write from a place that haunts me, “from the locus of my obsession and fear and desire,” I must, for a time, flail about, be out of control, confused, scared and lonely, so be it.

Out of Control

“Are you enjoying your retirement?”  I hate that question.  Someone asked me yesterday, “How has it been since you sold your yoga studio?  What are you doing?”  What does that question imply?  I want to say, “Oh, I sit home all day and watch old movies.”  What do you mean, “what am I doing?”  I am living my life, every minute of it, but if I say that, I sound grumpy and rude, two qualities I have worked hard to eradicate.  So I tell them the truth.  “I am writing.”

“Oh, what are you working on now?”  I don’t like this question either, because I really do not know what I am doing.  99% of the time, when I sit down to write, I have no plan, no outline, and no idea what will spill out unto the page.  I just do it.  I may or may not respond, “I am working on a book.”  It all depends on how brave I feel, because as soon as I tell my inquisitor that I am writing a book, I feel like Daniel in the lion’s den.  “What kind of book.  What is it about?  Fiction or non-fiction?”

All I can say is, “I am not quite sure.”  That pretty much ends the conversation.  At this point, the conversation usually ends with, “Okay.  Well good luck.”

Good Luck.  I guess that’s about all you can say to someone who has just informed you that they have absolutely no idea what they are doing.  Good luck with that, whatever “that” is.

This morning I am going to a yoga class and then to breakfast with a group of women, many of whom I have not seen in months.  Writing does that to people.  I have become pretty much a recluse, at least during the day.  My husband I still go out with friends, go to basketball games, have dinner parties,and keep our grand baby one day a week.  I go to spin class twice a week

Next month, I am adding a yoga boot camp.   When I am not teaching yoga, seeing private clients, I am cooking, exercising, doing yoga, meditating, or entertaining. I also keep my grand baby, Amelia one day a week.  I love doing all these things but what I really want to do is to write until I cannot write anymore.  I want to sit down and not have to stop because something else demands my attention.  Since that is not possible, I write when I can and as often as I can.

“Tell my story.”  The Voice persists.  I cannot help but ask, “Who’s story?”  There is always a reply. “That will be revealed.  Listen.  It is okay to not know.  Just show up.  Trust the process.  Let your character show herself.  Be inquisitive.  Don’t try to figure it out. Surrender.  Be the channel.  This is your path.  We will lead you.”

I put my bike in the shed, grateful to have spent time exercising on this cold winters morning.  I hear the Voice. “Susan. Her name is Susan.  Get to know her.  She will tell your story.”  My stomach flips.   I am a control freak.  You might not know it just by looking at me, but those who are closest to me can testify to my need to know.  I constantly ask questions like, “What time is it?  What are you doing?  Where are we going?  What time should we leave?”  When I meditate, I set a timer.  I have to know how long I will be sitting.  For years, I controlled my weight by not eating or taking laxatives when I did.  People tell me I have a beautiful smile.  I cultivated this happy face to hide my depression, fear of rejection and my anxiety.  Up until I was 60, I dyed my hair, because it made me feel and look younger.  Now I have gray hair and I hate it.  Seriously, I am thinking about coloring it again.  I do not want to be old.

If I tell my story, much of which you already know, if I put it all together in one book for others to read, I will no longer be in charge of the myth have worked so hard to create.  Maybe that is  why Susan must tell the story.  So I can be an innocent bystander , an observer.  I will give up being in charge and let her tell it all.  Go, Susan, go.  I’m ready.  Let it fly.