Being A Bigger Container

The mixed media piece to the left is something a little different for me as I explore the creative ether, exploring being present and combining with what the materials suggest and what comes to me.  Waiting and watching for what resonates.  There is Dharma in there.  But then there is Dharma in everything if we're willing to look, don't you think?  This piece combines images and words, something I am strongly drawn to.  I love words and how we can mix them together so I have tossed my little Dharma poem into the mix.

Do you see Pippi there soaring upwards?  This is the brave heart, the strong core of inner strength (RM Jiyu from the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives called it our Iron Being).  I see this in Pippi Longstockings who is a bit of a personal hero to me.  We all need heros to inspire us, don't you think, the vision to draw us onward?  And we all need to cultivate that inner confidence.  Chogyam Trungpa used to talk about "having a strong back and a tender heart."

And of course there is the inevitable cloud that comes to us in this human realm.  Dukkha anyone?  I've got some lovely latte coloured dukkha in the cloud.

And the Dharma in it is about how we relate to dukkha.  I was having a dukkha day yesterday.  Feeling like I was being revisited by a cold I had a few weeks ago.  A grey cloud followed me around colouring everything.  This is an old pattern of relating to unwellness for me: aversion.  I did the best I could, but there was a kind of skirmish going on between me and my dukkha.  And at the end of the day as I lay in bed, it came to me that it was all okay, that I could embrace everything,, even the darkness.  I could be tender toward my feeling unwell AND toward my aversion to feeling unwell.   Joko Beck calls it "being a bigger container."

And my painting is about this really, the experience of holding it all.  I don't know if you can read the words.  Upper left in the cloud, it says "Rain Wept Buckets On Her New Dress"  "A Mushroom Cloud of Tears"  There it is Dukkha, or unsatisfactoriness, the stuff we don't want.  And then there is our attachment  to what we want (or want to push away) that causes suffering, our wanting things to be a certain way, the second noble truth .  Next line of text is about this: "Played The Umbilical Chord of Desire".

And text in the lower right: "Still She noticed she could fly in the thin air of joy" which of course is about our letting go which we can't do by our own will, but happens if we lay the fertile ground and cultivate it through our spiritual practice: the fruits of practice.

I did a Metta Retreat last weekend at the divinely beautiful Stowel Lake Farm.  I will share that next time around.  Until then may the peace of holding both your strength and frailties be with you.  Is that the "force", Luke?

Getting Me to Move Over

Last night I was re-reading sections of Joko Beck's "Nothing Special" when something she said hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.  In fact I woke up this morning still spitting shards of  brick.

Talking about practice Beck says, " ... the centre of our life is shifting from a preoccupation with ourselves to life itself.  Life includes us of course;  we haven't been eliminated, ...  But we're no longer the centre."

As I read this it made me think about my mother and the little tantrums (internal, thank goodness!) of anger  I have about her.  I felt this little shadow of shame creep over me.  There it was an instant flashbulb fuelled snapshot of ME square in the middle of the view finder.  It is me putting myself first with my wanting things to be my way that fuels this anger that rises up in me inconveniently, uncomfortably.   It felt like " a penny dropping" as my friend the monk likes to call it.  It wasn't just the of reading Beck's chapter called "The Talk No One Wants To Hear"  (which is about our comfort seeking and self centred behaviour).

I think it was combined with the fact that on Sunday I listened to part of the recording I made recently of my mother talking about her life as a child.  My brother was visiting and as we sat over the crumbs of our breakfast knishes and bagels, I played him a bit of the recording.  I could hear it as sadder and more heart wrenching, than I had when I first recorded it, perhaps it was filtering through his ears, reflecting in his eyes.   

This morning I woke up feeling just a little more mindful of the little things I say and do and the "me" focus of them.  I woke up feeling like I wanted to make the effort to be a little more patient and generous of spirit.  I could see the tiny twist of words I might normally fire out that denote impatience or judgement.  I could pause and resist the inclination to speak out of habit and hurry.  It was interesting to watch.  The spirit of generosity extended even to myself.  Instead of  reciting the list of a gazillion things I needed to do, I could say to me, "enjoy today, enjoy wrapping these paintings up to mail, enjoy adding a couple of treats to the package.  No need to run off in a thousand directions at once.  If one thing gets done well today, that's all that matters.

In the afternoon I spoke with a woman who is training to be a monk.  When I asked her how that was going for her, the response was interesting.  "Well, I'm learning to listen more."  And as she clarified what that meant for her, I heard her saying that what it really meant was being less "me" centred, learning to be open and hear what other people need and follow through on that.  Not from a self sacrificing place, not from a place of aren't I wonderful and giving, but from that place that Beck talks about of "shifting our preoccupation from ourselves to life itself."  A wonderful and freeing position, don't you think?

Do You Need A Teacher?

One of the questions that comes up in spiritual practice of any type is what about a teacher?  Do we need one?  Can we progress along the path without one?  And what is the role of the teacher?   I can only speak from the personal experience I have had with and without a teacher.  Maybe some will find my comments helpful.  That is the spirit in which this piece is intended.  It's a topic that comes up with friends on the path.   Some have teachers, some don't, some have had teachers, some are looking for teachers.

Joko Beck in her book, "Nothing Special", says, "A lot of my students try to turn me into a substitute parent.  That is not my role.  Students in difficulty often come running to me; as much as possible, I set them to dealing with the problem themselves.  Once students have some idea of how they might deal with the problem, the best thing to do is to let them struggle.  Then there is some possibility of transformation."

To clarify my situation (a wonderful professor of mine, Fred Marcuse, said when you hear some information, always consider the source)  I have a relationship with a Zen teacher, although I am no longer a formal part of the Sangha.  And when Beck says "once students have some idea of how they might deal with the problem," this I believe is the invaluable role of the teacher.  A teacher can help you see how to use the Dharma in your own life.  This is particularly helpful when we are confused or angry or experiencing greed, (ah the 3 poisons) because they cloud our vision and make it difficult to see.  Before I met my teacher (with whom my relationship is quite loose at this point in my training) I used to refer to myself as a 'bookstore Buddhist'.  I read and read and read, but found it difficult to put into practice what I read.

A good teacher can help us see where our work is and offer us a starting point but always we must do the work.  Sometimes we know where we need to do the work but are baffled about where to start.  We may know we are filled with anger at someone and keep falling in the burning pit, but what to do?  And when we are fooling ourselves, or making excuses or looking for an easy way out, or for some sympathy, a good teacher will let us in on the little secret that everyone can see but us.  Sometimes that might make us angry or we might disagree initially, but if we are willing to be honest with ourselves and look hard enough we will see the truth.

Always it is up to us to decide what is the truth.  It is abdicating responsibility to follow blindly (and I know some might regard this as shaky ground.)  Some people may say that the teacher is wiser than us and we need to take their advice unquestioningly.  Certainly in monastic settings, this is the monk/teacher relationship.  I think you must know the teacher very well and have a high level of trust to do this.  From my observation, every teacher is human and susceptible to human foibles, so to follow unquestioningly seems unwise to me.  Maybe I lack trust or faith, but at this point in my life that is how I see it.  I believe I need to be as honest with myself as possible (and sometimes that is not a pretty picture!) and then I need to digest any advice offered.

One of the wonderful advantages of having a teacher is that you get to observe how someone with experience and wisdom "lives" the Dharma.  If you are fortunate enough to have teacher that is willing to be transparent, they will share vignettes of their daily training with students.  Then we are really fortunate if we can be led by example, if we can hear about where they fall in a hole and watch them train with their own greed, hate and delusion.  Are they humble, are they kind and compassionate?  Can they show you what right effort looks like?  Can they apologize when they make a mistake?  Do they have a sense of humour and joy?

A teacher is an invaluable resource but I have watched students grow dependent on the opinions and advice of the teacher which seems counter intuitive to the way of practice.   They put the teacher on a pedestal and need to check out every detail with them.  Practice is supposed to make us grow up and help us learn to find our own answers, the ones that only we can know, the ones we are here to learn.  

I do believe that anyone on the Spiritual path at some point benefits from the wisdom of the right teacher.  That teacher may look very different for different students.  I think you are drawn to the teacher that suits you (that being said, you need to be aware that there are charlatans and less wise teachers out there).  Perhaps if your practice is very loose or your personal style is very loose, you might benefit from someone who offers a tighter, more strict practice.  If you are very sensitive, then perhaps someone with a harsh personal style would not be a good fit, or maybe it might provide just the opportunity you need.  Only you can know.

In the movie "Words of My Perfect Teacher", Dsongzar Khyentse Norbu offers his students some interesting teachings.  Students comment how they may spend periods of time where they are very close to him and then he disappears for a year, not contacting them at all.  Push a few buttons?  You bet. In the movie he tells them to meet him at the airport, where they spend hours waiting for him, only to find he had gone on to Germany on his own.  Then they are left wondering did they misunderstand or did he set them up for a little teaching.  It is a pithy, first hand, push your buttons, teaching style.  Some may love this, others may not find it to their taste.

And in the end if we are really observant and willing and patient, isn't life our greatest teacher?  Isn't the teaching everywhere if we look?  If we are quiet and attentive and know how to listen, isn't what we need to know being constantly brought to us, to lie at our feet, awaiting our discovery or the print of our rather heavy boot?