Stranger In A Strange Land

Today reading Peter's post over at Monkey mind I was reminded of what practice is really all about for me. It's about getting acquainted with my strange little self, seeing what I get up to. (egads I'm hanging out with that rusty moose again.) Peter was talking about his feelings of awkwardness when faced with the homeless folks in his neighbourhood.

And isn't that it, being brave and honest enough to see our own awkwardness, our stinginess, our acts of self protection? On one level, it's personal. Yes this is what I do, but on another level it is simply the human condition, because if I do it chances are you do too (I have seen you with the rusty moose). So this confession of awkwardness speaks to us.

And isn't the first act of doing something differently, to see with clarity what we do now, in this moment? Only then can we perhaps become a little kinder (even to ourselves) a little more patient, a little more forgiving. It's not like we're on some self improvement quest (10 steps to a nicer me! ) In fact that's not me with the moose. I am the prickly cactus in the background. Some days I am the one dimensional white headed woman, too tall to fit through the blue door?)

Self improvement accepts the fact that we want to strengthen that little self when in fact what we are aiming for is to loosen the grip of the little self, to not accept that modern day fairy tale that we are the centre of the universe. Can we imagine that the needs and wishes of that homeless person are as important as our own?

And why do we feel awkward when we meet homeless folks, anyway? (or any folks at all?) Are we faced with our own lack of control? Are we reminded that one day we will have to give up the comfort we cling to, our homes, our loved ones, our bodies? Do these folks remind us that we are not who we like to think we are? Are they the ghosts of groundlessness? Are they the opposite of order and perfection that our modern world is always selling us? Whiter teeth, trendier clothes, a better address, won't those settle that 'anxious quiver of being' (Ezra Bayda's term)? And perhaps they pose the question: where is our true home?

Waving Goodbye

By yesterday afternoon I was exhausted and over- whelmed. Packing and making decisions about what to do with "stuff" were taking their toll. I realized I was doing the classic add-on. I wasn't just tired, I was "I am so exhausted what if I can't finish all of this, what if I get sick. Why can't I just go with the flow? Why can't I just enjoy this? And yada, yada, yada." In my head I know better and yet the siren's song of habit beckons. It lures me on to do it the way I have always done it. And that was yesterday.

This morning brought fresh energy and the opportunity to start over. Less add-ons. More just doing. More things flung into the give-away bag and the pot-luck potlach boxes. Tomorrow some friends are having a little "leaving town" pot luck for us. I thought I would take along a couple of boxes of the more interesting treasures I am parting with and let people see if any of it calls to go home with them. I thought it might be a fun end to the evening. Not quite a potlach but a nod in that direction, perhaps that pottery cookie jar might find a new cookie baker to keep company or the Christmas tea pot might settle in to a new cupboard.

On other chapters that required closure.... Yesterday I drove by the place where my homeless friend had her camper parked. She was gone, without a trace. In the past several weeks I had run out of ideas and energy to offer. I had to turn my attention to my own moving. Last Tuesday when I'd stopped by her camper was still there but she wasn't home. And now I was left wondering, what had happened, where did she go? As is the human tendency I expected her to still be there doing the same thing. When I found her gone I worried she had been towed away against her will. The thought crossed my mind that I could have done more. I reminded myself I didn't need to feel like I'd let her down.

And then this evening the phone rang. She remembered that soon I would be gone too, from my home, from my phone number, that she might not have any way of contacting me. She called to let me know she had taken her insurance settlement and found a bed and breakfast room in a nearby town. She wasn't clear what her next step was, but all the avenues we pursued that lead nowhere showed her that it was time to leave Victoria. Her settlement allowed her to pay off a sizable debt that she owed and now she could move on. She said that if we never met again she wanted me to know that I had been helpful to her on her journey.

All this was said with such humility and a sense of wisdom. Sometimes during the process she had just seemed confused and indecisive to me, but here she was at her best, speaking from a deep place of clarity and kindness. When she said she didn't know what was next and was simply waiting to see what came up, it reminded me of a true Dharma practitioner. And like a mindful practitioner she was taking care not to create a further wake of karma, by calling me and bringing closure to the little part of the journey we'd traveled together. She was, in essence, pausing at a fork in the road up a head and waving good bye. It was all spoken like a true Bodhisattva, with gratitude, humility, clarity and a recognition of our place in the cosmos, one where we do our part, but are not the conductor of this little travel plan. It felt good to know she was safe and dry and had taken the next step. She offered me her love and blessings on my journey and I to her, in return. A little sad, a little sweet, a little puzzling, like many of our encounters in this life.

Panhandling for Dharma

I am the little bear doing somersaults on the easel, or at least that's me goofing off.  I'm doing a little big city living in a downtown condo in Vancouver high above the city on the 11th floor of a very swanky condo.  We're doing another home exchange and it's always interesting to move into someone else's living space for a little while.  There is always this period of transition at first, the feeling of being unsettled and not knowing quite what to do, a strange restlessness, a discomfort, but not quite.

It's interesting to see that I felt much more at home in the 2 island exchanges.  There is a constant din of traffic and sirens and car alarms and horns and while I always think I love the light, these floor to ceiling windows make me feel like a goldfish in a bowl.  There is no respite from the visual and auditory stimulation.  And while up front I don't feel overtly bothered by it, I sense a background, subliminal feeling of overload, if that makes any sense.  I couldn't imagine passing all my days here.  And while I know that quiet comes from within, I have a sense that until you are a very advanced practitioner, you need that outer silence as well, to help you connect with the inner silence.

What I love about the big city is the people watching.  There is such diversity, so many different, interesting sorts.  Today I saw an older woman pushing a baby stroller and instead of having a baby in the seat, she had a tame white duck or goose sitting on the canopy of the stroller.  A live goose in downtown Vancouver, I swear.  Standing on the corner waiting for the light to change as if this was quite common place.  As if she might meet another person coming down the street with say a small fox perched on a wagon.  Who am I to say what is normal or odd or how reality should unfold?  And as we strolled down Commercial Street, we notice a rather cool looking guy dressed all in black sitting in front of a closed shop.  Placed about 6 feet in front of him was a small table with some flowers in a pop bottle and a little sign that said: "Last Chance Counseling Service"  If I had a little more nerve I might have gone and asked for some.  He looked a little wise, like he'd been around the block once or twice.  And what was he doing there?  Was he offering a service?  Was he trying to make some money?  

And then there are all the homeless folk, asking for money, trying to sell you a bookmark, or a poem or just lying on the sidewalk with a newspaper for a pillow.  My heart goes out to them.  And I wonder, "what is it good to do?"  I know some people very firmly believe that you shouldn't give them money.  They just spend it on their "habits".  I have such mixed feelings about it.  Sometimes I give.  Sometimes I don't.  But one thing I try and do is offer them something, a smile, a word, a look that says yes I see you.  You exist for me.    A couple of years ago I attended a talk by a young man who had done the street Dharma practice where you go out and live on the street for a couple of days.  He talked about his panhandling experience and how he felt invisible and less than human because people turn away.  We turn away because we're uncomfortable, embarrassed, not interested.  But we forget that there is another human being on the other end of the turning away.  For us, the entitled, it may seem hard to understand how someone can be diminished when we look away.  After that I realized that it is very small offering, but it is always available for me to give, a bit of dignity offered in the willingness to look  you in the eye.

So that's my big city Dharma.  The noise reminds me of how important silence is to me.   And I get to experience a huge range of human diversity here where the sites and sounds are multiplied and magnified.   I can watch us strange and miraculous human entities, each with our own karma playing itself out.  I can offer what small thing I have, a bit of myself.  And I can live for a short time up in the sky, behind glass,  with the city lights twinkling all around me like stars, remembering all the strange things I have seen, which include a small package in an apartment window that contained jasmine scented angel snot (I am not kidding, I saw it with my own eyes) and I'd only had a single glass of wine!