When I'm 85: Week 50 in the Zen Center

When I’m 85, I want to be like Blanche (Senior Dharma Teacher). Humbly washing dishes in the kitchen after eating dinner with some of the sangha on a Sunday night. Stopping in the hallway to talk to newcomer to the Zen Center, always welcoming them, always making them feel like they’re the most important person in the room. Reading her mail every day in the office with full attention. Going to the Rainbow (health food store) on coupon day, asking people if they need anything for her to pick up. Admitting when she’s tired, especially when she doesn’t want to admit it…

When I’m 70, I want to be like Tova (Director). Attending the opera every chance she gets, despite her already full schedule. Reading poetry every Sunday morning, alone in her room, while drinking her tea. Painting with watercolors. Taking on anything new that interests her. The perennial peaceful activist, from a young 17 year-old who attended the Million Man March and stood there at the Reflection Pond, witnessing Martin Luther King’s famous “I Have a Dream Speech”, to marching in the Gay Pride parade in San Francisco this year with the Zen Center and other meditators, dressed in her okesa, a life-time of personal and social commitment coming together for her on that day…

When I’m 63, I want to be like Paul (Abbot). Hosting Zen and Neuroscience workshops with experts in the field. Sitting in the courtyard during lunch, striking up conversation with lay practitioners. Smiling with his heart always, yet focused like a Jedi. Quoting both poets and CEOs during his dharma talks. An Irish brogue and endless twinkle in his eye…

When I’m 63, I want to be like Michael (Teacher/Dharma Transmission). Artist. Insisting that we have compassion for ourselves…

When I’m 57, I want to be like Vicki (Teacher/Dharma Transmission). Fearless. To study the self, is to know the self…

When I'm 57, I want to be like Anna (Priest). Returning home; deepening her practice; ever focused...

When I’m 57, I want to be like Jordan (Tanto). Laughing with insistence, especially at himself, teaching us all the important lesson that humor is not an elective, but a required course to take in life. A lover of baseball, despite his bias towards the Giants. Fearless about walking away from his priest robes earlier in his career because he takes the role so seriously and holds it with deep respect. Never giving up on love, and encouraging the harshest cynic to take it on, because it’s always worth the risk. Who doesn’t love a charming rebel?

There’s an instinctive rebellion in all of them as they embrace an eastern philosophy in a western world - a lifestyle not met by mainstream society, yet a haven to the masses; doing so with grace, held up by the precepts, the vows that they took - the priest vows, the bodhisattva vows - including the simplest, yet most profound vow to “save all beings”.

When I wake up tomorrow at 5 a.m., exhausted and probably somewhat reluctant to roll out of bed to sit zazen with the sangha, I am going to try my best to remember these words. That should make the silent walk down to the zendo a little lighter, a little less tiring, a little less lonely for me.

A little more emptiness.

A little more completeness.

A Dharma Talk, a Spiritual Crush, and a Parent/Teacher Conference: Week 49 in the Zen Center

Wow, as I'm sitting down to write this, I am seeing how resistant I am to writing tonight. I had a meeting on Monday night and a migraine last night, so here I sit, in the student lounge, listening to my iPod, reluctantly hammering away on my iMac. It's an iEvening.

Just heard a great dharma talk by Tova Green, our new director. Tova plays a significant role in my life here as a resident. She hosted the Jizo workshop at Green Gulch last year, which naturally led me to talk to her about her experience living here, which naturally got her to encourage me to apply to be a guest student here, and the rest is history. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I confessed to her tonight that I have a mad spiritual crush on her. (A close second place to Tova is Blanche, our 85 year-old senior dharma teacher). Tova's vitality is contagious. It was just the talk I needed to hear, after the week I've had at work. Teaching can be so draining. This week, in particular, has been quite discouraging. Kids aren't meeting deadlines, the caterer for the prom fell through (Did I mention that I got roped into being this year's prom advisor? Did I mention that I will NEVER do this again?), and one of my student's behavior has been off the chart - and not in a good way.

The good news is I am seeing progress in my Advisory class. This is the group of 10th graders that started out hating me. Now, they tolerate me. But, like an Australian shepard to her herd, I am not invested in how they feel about me. It's all about nipping at their heels so they can keep moving forward, finding fresher grass to graze, fresher water to drink, safer grounds from predators, safe from their own self-destructive complacency. I started with ten kids in December, but it has grown to twelve, so my new quiet nickname for them is "my dirty dozen".  I met with one and her guardian today for a bi-annual  parent/student conference, but because I was not there last semester, this is the first meeting I've had with them.  I am finding that these meetings have been tremendously helpful and effective. Once the kids see me alone, with their guardian, they don't just feel my incisors nipping at their heels; rather they see all of me - furry, fuzzy, and dare I saw? caring and human. They see me take an interest in their academics and in their future. And, lo and behold, they start to change, albeit subtly, from that point on.

Needless to say, today's meeting went well. This young woman who admitted that she "hated" me when she first met me, also admitted today that I have "grown" on her. Now that's progress!

Tomorrow, my advisory class will have a guest come in to teach them how to meditate. My boss is open to this.  As my assistant principal said to me last December when I proposed the idea to him, "Caren, I will do whatever it takes to get these kids back on track." So, we'll see how it goes. When I told the kids about it last week, I told them that the school is interested in teaching the kids how to meditate, and that I wanted my Advisory class to be the first to try it out. This, of course, made them feel like a million dollars. (Of course, they didn't show it, but I can see right through them these days, the little buggers!). So, there we go. We shall see. I am very curious to see if I can teach mindfulness and meditation to my students, but moreso, if they will be able to apply it to their daily lives. For some of my kids, their lives are insanely stressful, and they don't even know it. Just in the past two months, two of my students (out of only 85) have had family members murdered. One, in Oakland by gunshot, another in El Salvador (his 21 year-old stepsister and her mother refused to pay "tax money" to gang members, and they shot them in broad daylight on the street). How am I suppose to respond to that when I hear this news? I mean, I said all of the appropriate stuff, but then what? I mean, talk about causes and conditions? The stress that these kids have in their lives is almost ungraspable to my life, and many of my peers' lives.

Yet, Tova talked about interdependence tonight. There is an interdependence that takes place between my students and I. On a practical note, I need them, right? The teacher needs her students, the students need their teacher. But on a humane level, we rely on each other as well. They keep me humble. They teach me more than they'll ever realize. They're great little dharma gates for me. I find myself feeling very grateful for that.

Looks like I found some energy to write tonight after all.

Back from Spring Break: Week 48 in the Zen Center

I had a nice spring break. Got to see my dog, Sadie. Took her to the beach and threw a tennis ball for an hour. Watched her run into the ocean, breaking the waves like they weren’t even there, all just to retrieve the tennis ball, bring it back to me, drop it at my feet, and wait for me to pick it up so we could do it all over again. The canine cycle of bliss.

I particularly enjoyed spending some one-on-one time with my friend S’s, 10 year-old daughter, A, who is helping S take care of Sadie, in San Diego. It’s quite endearing to see she and Sadie playing together. A is an only child, and her parents are divorced, and although she lives in a house with another mother-daughter pair, I think she enjoys that unspoken connection with Sadie. When the three of us went out for a walk (me, A, and Sadie), A was very enthusiastic about taking me to a creek that Sadie likes to play in. A struggles with communicating. She actually has a learning disability. So to see her so relaxed as we walked across an open field, down a country road, up a beaten path to the creek – and to hear her talk non-stop along the way, telling me about what was around the corner – was a delight. I really think that she relaxes around Sadie. Sadie has a way with kids. She naturally submits to them, but also would protect them if needed.

In addition to going to San Diego, I stopped by the mountain community I used to live in, which is about 80 miles north of L.A. I brought Sadie with me. She was in heaven as we hiked up the meadow, which is our old stomping grounds. I also got reconnect with an old friend who I hadn’t seen in over a year, and meet her new one-year old son, as well as re-acquaint myself with her three year-old son, T. We all used to take hikes together. T loved Sadie. He remembered her. We joke about how T thinks he’s a dog because when we would go for walks, we would always be running into people with their dogs, and T just loved to play with them. It was adorable to see T and Sadie playing together again, like two old cronies, not missing a beat.

What is it about this dog of mine? I mean, I really feel rejuvenated after seeing her. I’m all the more motivated to find a place this summer so that I can move on with my life, and have her back in my life. This past weekend, I was at Greenfest. I saw a book that has a picture of a dog that looks like Sadie. It’s called “Your Dog is Your Mirror”, by Kevin Behan. This writer has worked with dogs his entire life. The premise of the book is that dogs respond to the owner’s emotions, not thoughts. Rather than training the dog based on the dominance hierarchy structure, Behan insists that the dog works better as a cooperative member in the hunt, which involves an emotional capacity that perfectly complements human emotion. He refers to Heart throughout his book. Considering that my heart has been the one area in my life that I have had to focus on healing this past year, I was open to buying this book, and learning more about the topic.

As my one-year mark living here at the Zen Center approaches, I can’t help but feel a bit anxious. As much as it has been a positive and rewarding experience, it is clear to me now that I am working that I cannot maintain this schedule for much longer. Someone told me that RBTs who keep up with the Zen Center schedule, have a 60-hour week. Add the ten hours of travel time, plus another 5-10 hours of additional work that I bring home, and I’m looking at a 75-80 hour week. That’s crazy!

With that being said, it was great to come back home after my road trip, and to step back into the rhythm of the Zen Center. And it is a rhythm -  a beautiful rhythm of silence, of emptiness, of daily chores, of chanting, of everydayness, and of daily profundities.

And as I write these words, I can hear doors closing as people are settling into their rooms for the night. The dharma talk has ended, our guests have left, and the residents are getting ready for bed. Soon, I will hear the jingling din of the night watch bell as tonight’s night watch walks down the hallway, confirming the day’s completion, just as the night watch did in the Japanese monasteries seven hundred years ago, just as a night watch will ring the bell seven hundred years from now in a future monastery.

Time, no time. Dog, no dog.

Dog, yes dog.

Weeds, Red Sox, and an F'N Hummingbird: Week 47 in the Zen Center

I'm feeling a bit more energized this week, after spending the weekend at my hot springs.


But will someone please tell me what is going on with my Red Sox? Oi! Texas slammed them this weekend. Horrifying. This is bringing back painful childhood memories of the Red Sox in the '80s.


Anyhow, this weekend, while I was firekeeping at the sweatlodge, I kept getting swarmed by a hummingbird. I was leaning over the fire, trying to light the first match, then the second match, and a few more after that, while this hummingbird wouldn't leave me alone. I was feeling kind of bitter earlier, discussing romance with G, one of the other firekeepers, when S, the other firekeeper, piped in about how the hummingbird is reminding me to celebrate "all of the beauty in your life." I literally rolled my eyes at this suggestion. Did it occur to her that maybe the hummingbird was just circling my parameters because...just because? Must everything be so symbolic? To answer my own question, the answer is, yes, just about everything must be symbolic. Where would we be if we viewed things literally? If we didn't explore more deeply?


I'm just feeling some emotional pain these days, it's that friggin' simple. Romance came, romance went. And no matter how I try to dress it, how I try to intellectualize my experience around this recent loss, it still friggin' SUCKS!!!!!!! How's that for zen? That f'n impermanence thing. It friggin' SUCKS!!!!!!


But, really, I'm doing okay...


Okay, even I'm laughing right now. Sort of...


The hummingbird allegedly "opens the heart". So, is that the message? I'm suppose to open my heart? 


What would Dogen do? Not Buddha, but Dogen? Because Shakyamuni Buddha, as we all know, left his wife, to seek enlightenment. Great role modeling there, Buddha, for the rest of us. Oh, sure, you want enlightenment? No problem.  Just leave your wife - who just gave birth to your first son - find a robe and bowl, starve yourself for a few years, find a Bodhi tree, sit under it for a few days, and - bam - nirvana at last! 


Okay, so I googled the words, "Dogen on love" and here's the only thing that popped up:


"A flower falls, even though we love it; and a weed grows, even though we do not love it." (Dogen)


So, a flower falls. Even though we love it. And a weed grows. Even though we do not love it. Wait a second. What if I love the weed? But not the flower? Who's to say we all love the flower? What about the poor weed? After all, weeds are part of life, right? We need weeds. They serve a purpose, right? They're just misplaced plants. They are seeking the right soil in which to thrive. And in fact, they are indicators of possible soil problems. We should be grateful for weeds. You know what, Dogen? I love weeds! So when a weed grows, I love it! And I love flowers too! Guess that makes me a bi-botany lover.


This is all making me feel much better. Ah, zen...


But seriously...


The human heart. The hummingbird. Ugh. It hurts sometimes.  And that's just the way the human heart works, right? Joy and angst. Neither will last. 


Weeds or flowers. 


Both.


Thanks, Dogen. I knew you'd understand. 


Seriously. I feel - a little - better.


There are 159 games left in the baseball season. Plenty of time for the Red Sox.