The Pride of Insecurity

I am thinking about insecurity this morning.  I have been thinking about it for a few days, remembering a teaching by one of the Zen monks from the OBC on how that feeling of "not good enough", a lack of self confidence is really a form of pride.  At first that seemed odd and confusing to me but then I got it.  We hold back, protect ourselves, lack confidence in our "little", ego bound selves because somehow we think we are better, should be better than we fear we are.  This whole little dance is really us wrapped up in the straightjacket of ego.  If we hold back and hide from life we can live in our little fantasy of who we are.  We don't have to face the uncomfortable fact that we are not superman or superwoman.

Something inside of me has decided I am tired of living in the straightjacket.  I think perhaps I am ready to walk up to the desk and check myself out of this padded cell joint I've been hanging out in.  Something inside of me is finally bored with my fantasy of who I should be, who I want to be.  There is a famous and wonderful quote about this (but I forget who said it), something to the effect that when it becomes to painful to be bound up, we break out of our chrysalis and become free.  And we become a butterfly in our willingness, our courage to really live this life, to strike out, to fall flat, to experience our shortcomings and carry on.  And in a strange way, we savour the taste of failure, simply because it is a taste, a bold taste that activates our tastebuds.  We forsake blandness. We are alive, fully alive.  Jon Kabbat-Zin uses the phrase full-catastrophe living.   Zorba the Greek showed us the truth of this way of living long before there was a name for it.

And thinking about insecurity, my western mind twirls over the balance bar and wonders about self-confidence.  Not that ego based, puffed up, I'm so great kind of self-confidence.  I'm thinking of a different type of self-confidence, that unshakable, centered confidence. It's like mushrooms, there are the delicious edible ones and then there are their dangerously poisonous look-a-likes.  Real self confidence grows on a whole different terrain than the ego based one.  The forest floor of our being is host to many weird and wonderful life-forms.

Here's what Tibetan teacher, Tarthang Tulku has to say about real self-confidence: "Once we go through a true process of self-discovery, no one can take away our self-confidence; the inspiration comes from within and we know without needing to be told."

So here's the invitation to join me, in an exploration of the inner and outer forest of our beings.  Fasten on your boots, sharpen up your tastebuds and prepare to pick me up off the forest floor a gazillion times.  I will do the same for you.

What Makes You Crazy?

The Dharma is everywhere. But you knew that. And I have been a careful observer of the Dharma of me over the last few days. And it hasn't been a pretty sight. It all started with the frivolous wish to transform the house we bought into something a little more beautiful (man I'm a sucker for the visually pleasing). I decided it needed some new kitchen cabinets, a wall out here, a bathroom redo. I have been possessed by guilt on several occasions, thinking why this perfectly fine and serviceable house needed to be different. Is this a version of "eat your dinner, children in India are starving?" But here it is, my little self wants things a certain way. Hmmm.

All has gone quite smoothly and I can say I have been supporting the local economy, right? That is until a couple of days ago when my equanimity and cover were completely blown away by an encounter with a major retailing bureaucracy. I won't go into the he said, she said of it all or mention blue and yellow. But it was interesting to take stock of the shrapnel after it was all over.

I can say that mostly I keep my cool and negotiate consumer issues in a way that doesn't leave a bad taste in my mouth. I am often a little surprised that I do this, but somehow I get some help from somewhere and negotiations go smoothly. But this time the whole consumer thing left me feeling rather unhinged. After too many phone calls to goodness knows where I knew that my voice betrayed my irritation. I never yelled or said anything rude.... but still. I can do better. This left a bad taste in my mouth (no flavour of Swedish gingerbread cookies here). This is the karma of my own making. My friend the Buddhist nun always pointed out that this lingering bad taste when we know we could have behaved better is the karmic residue. Behave well and you walk away without anything churning in your mind (or stomach).

I also noticed that I spent several days on the phone due to my personal stubbornness to give in to what I felt were unreasonable rules on the part of those holding my kitchen hostage in their warehouse. I did not want to drive the 40 minute round trip to town and pay to send them a fax so I could change from pick-up to delivery. I wanted to simply return their authorization form by email. I clung to my expectations and belief in what was reasonable. I stood my ground. "I just want to give you some money to deliver my kitchen. Simple, let's do this." I was banging my head on a call centre cube and I wasn't going to win this one but I'm a slow learner. Call a Vancouver phone number and end up in Montreal. For some reason this made me crazy.

And in the end I allowed something of small consequence (in the grand scheme of things) to disturb my equilibrium for days. After several days of ridiculous phone calls, in the end I just drove into town and sent them their fax. I could see how my clinging to my position of what I believed was right caused my own suffering. It's a tough and touchy one, to know when to give it up and I totally missed the cue on this one. Ego, ego and ego, is all I can say about this. Was that Daffy Duck, who said exit, stage left. I missed the call despite how daffy the whole thing was.

But maybe I learned a little more about how to weigh and measure what's worth it. What is the value of my equilibrium? How do I want to spend my time? Maybe I got to have a good look at how stubborn I can be. And maybe I will make a better choice next time. No promises, I am a bit of a slow learner. So if you want to try me out, make me think I'm talking to you in Vancouver when you are really in Montreal. Then repeat the same rules over and over to me. Then forget to send me the email you promised and then let's get into a little situation of non returned phone calls. Let's see how I behave when you do this. It will be my Dharma test. And if you win I will give you the direct line to Ikea Coquitlam; a well kept secret. When you call there they will tell you to hang up if you are a customer and phone the call centre. See, I'm still at it! Happy shopping. Just remember to take it with you.

Art As Spiritual Experience

I have spent the last two days at an art/collage workshop with Nick Bantock, a lovely, sensitive soul who plumbs the depth of his experience in an effort to offer serious practice and direction to artists. He has spent years developing his process, pacing his studio, conducting dialogues with himself and approaching his personal truth with pastel, paint and bits of paper. It would appear that it has been a richly textured journey and he has emerged as a wise and generous guide who shares his gifts with compassion and a twinkle in his eye.

Bantock spent the weekend encouraging us to go deeper, sounding a lot like a Zen monk at many of the twists and turns along the way, playing "Born to Be Wild" and The Clash to try and stupify our inner control freaks and coax out our Johnny Rotten. He reminded us that art doesn't come from the head, it comes from somewhere deep inside. It's about a gut feeling. Our authentic, intuitive self will lead the way, if we let it. It's the old "the mind makes a good servant but not a very good master" idea. Ultimately we are not in control. Sound like the Dharma? You bet.

And he reminded us that the art that truly engages and hooks the viewer speaks from a deep inner core that is at once personal and universal. If we can be deeply authentic in our creations it will speak to others. Look at the art you love, the art that speaks across the chasms of time and culture, what is the binding thread? Someone has reached deep into their gut and scooped out a little bit of their insides for us? How could we not be touched by such offerings?

Bantock skillfully led us through a progression of exercises that showed us how to disengage the mind. Create your own country. What's the population, the weather, the landscape? When we went round the circle we could see how we were skimming the surface; boring, nice,predictable, yawn. He suggested we go for detail, quirky ones. He suggested perhaps we needed some shadows to flesh out the landscape, a trickster or two. He showed us what we were up to, surfing the flat, slick, surface of our little kingdoms. We were awakening to the invitation to go deeper, to find the poignant, touching places in our countries, the ones that speak to the vulnerabilities and joys of being human.

He pulled the final trick from his shock of grey hair when he cunningly cut us loose to create our own works from scratch. I got caught on the "making pretty art" hook. Too much conscious design going on here, too polite, Bantock observed. It doesn't reflect the person I see in front of me. I got it. I understood it in my head. My poor little ego was writhing and smarting but that was fine. I didn't come here for the good housekeeping seal of approval. If I wanted an easy-bake oven I would have ordered one on ebay. Bantock moved in with his scalpel and chalk dust. It was just what the surgeon ordered. If he told me my work was lovely and fine, would I be motivated to stretch? I would go home and keep on doing what I'm doing.

So I have a delicious invitation with my name on it, that I will open tomorrow and the day after, and the day after that. It is an invitation to go deeper; an invitation to open the cage that holds the golden bird of a deeper, more authentic self. Sit a while, have a cup of tea. Breath deeply from the hara. Have patience and faith. Oh, and don't forget the paint and the brush, and perhaps a few bits of paper.

Something To Sink My Teeth Into

Here's the latest addition to my sporadic painting efforts. Done in watery blues. I can never resist adding in a little green and then blue goes so well with yellow, why not a little "Indian yellow" which I love. And of course drips. It's hard to know if I love drips (the watery, runny painty kind) or the addition of some form or text more. Things seem so naked without one or the other. I had even been thinking of adding in a little bit of Buddhist scripture somewhere and maybe I still will but for now the painting is at rest.

I noticed, as I read one of my favourite blogs (Marcus' Journal), that where my name appeared in the blogroll it showed I hadn't posted for 5 days. Has it been that long, I thought? Doesn't seem like it. I do notice in myself, less of a draw to post. In a way it seems like right speech. If I don't have anything to say it's good to not say anything at all. (I believe it was Thumper in Bambi, who used a version of this, as in "if you don't have anything nice to say....) Marcus was also commenting on finding the balance in our lives between writing and reading about the Dharma and actually sitting. It was a good reminder that we can mistake "talking" about something for actually "doing" it, whatever that "it" may be. The words occupy us, fills some hole in us, use up our energy and then we forget we haven't actually done "it".

Another blog I love is Meg Hitchcock's and she's been doing some serious ego wrestling lately, down in the ego wrestling pit. I love her art and identify deeply with her darkly humourous relationship to life. Hey, it's all grist for the humour mill in my book (as long as it's not at anyone else's expense.) And her ego wrestling reminded me of my last couple of days. I've been having a serious non transcendant dental experience (there's a joke about that somewhere isn't there?). A tooth has been brewing up a little storm which produced a lot of pain and subsequently an abscess. Where does my mind want to go? It wants to crawl all over, "what's it all about? In the middle of some house sale happenings. Why now? What does this mean? What should I do with it?" Oh and I forgot to mention the "I don't want this, why me, why now" part of the muddy stream of consciousness (looks alot like Rudyard Kiplings "great, grey, green, greasy Limpopo River").

What I learned was, that all I could do was carry on as best I could amid the pain. The ego got a rest. That ego is an energy sucker, man. Yes, go see the monks, yes go to tai chi, yes go home and lie down. And the rest just falls away. And I could see how the rejecting of the whole experience just intensified the suffering; the asking of the questions that can't be answered. Things just are. "The universe is not answerable to our wishes," my Zen teacher used to say. I could see how much of what I've been labouring over lately doesn't really matter, doesn't really require the energy and attention of that busy, yappy, little self. It's just that I am used to "stewing" over the juicy or tough little bits of life and wondering how things will turn out and trying to anticipate what will happen and what to do.

And so here is my message wrapped up in abscessed little package. Things happen, you're not in charge and oh yeah, don't forget your practice. If you're old like me you will remember all those old British "Carry On" movies. Tons of different topics (Carry on Doctor, Carry on Spying) but they all started with "Carry On". What else is there to do really?

The Ego As Swiss Cheese, Full of holes and a bit stinky

It seems life is so full and busy right now that all I have time for is "to do what needs to be done", if that makes any sense. It seems akin to the experience Zen masters confer upon us when they have us sit a retreat with such intense schedule that somehow the ego doesn't have time for it's usual tricks. At some point in the process the ego begins to look like a bit of swiss cheese, full of holes and a bit stinky. Gruyere ego, that's what I am dining on these days.

It is all good, an opportunity for transformation. For the most part the experience of my mother's death has been a good one, one of deep peace and gratitude. Gratitude for her presence in my life, for all I have learned from her and with her and for her peaceful passing. I have encountered such loving and kind and comforting souls along these final steps of her journey, including the delightful, young funeral director who seemed to have such a direct understanding of the simple nature of our needs and dignified caring presence, a true kindred spirit. Of course there is sadness and a sense of an empty spot at moments when I might have called my mother or as I start on the project of cleaning out her apartment.

Thrown in with all this our house goes on the market this week so there is the busyness of last minute painting and prep which seems endless at this point. Throw in some phone calls and emails re: my mother and a little of this and that and all you can do really is attend to the details which is really what the Buddha suggested we do. Rumination and worry and anger are so clearly too much of energy suckers at this point. It seems so obvious from where I stand. And yet I got to look at what I habitually do and have a bit of a power struggle with the swiss cheese part of myself.

As we prepare we look at the house next door which has exploded into a rental property of vast busyness, 8 cars or more. I can no longer keep track of the number of people who actually live there. I had to spend a little grumble time to see the futility of my anger over this. I got to see the feature movie on clinging and fear as I worry over the impact of the this house on our property. And then I looked at my mother's death and how it had been so peaceful, why would I want to get all stirred up over the house next door? In the grand scheme of things how did this make any sense? Mother's death fine, house next door makes me crazy? I ask myself what's this all about. Why has it come to me? And the answer that seems most apparent is that there will always be people around us doing things that we (our little selves) don't like. At some point we need to make peace with that, find a way to hold it, that doesn't generate anger and torment for us. If I don't do it now, when will I do it, I ask myself? And so I work at being less egocentric. I work at letting go. It doesn't mean some appropriate action isn't taken. Maybe I will ask the woman upstairs if I can help her put some of her things in the storage room so the yard doesn't look so full of stuff. Or maybe I won't. I will wait and see what seems appropriate. And I feel thankful that my mother has provided me with this lovely parting gift of peace.

We attended my mother's cremation on Wednesday. It's not that usual for families to do but something in me wanted to do it. We helped the body in and started the cremation process, said a few prayers and a final good-bye. It seemed good to do, an act of respect and completion, a final act of keeping her company through the difficult. I have been saying a prayer for her each night before I fall into my work induced sleep.

And as always there is much to learn. It seems these days life is bringing me the simple reminder to do what needs to be done and let the rest go. To do my part, that's all I am asked really, and the universe handles the rest. No energy to waste on the fruitless trappings of worry and anger and speculation. No time for art, little time for blogging. But that is life right now, why argue with it? So I need to hurry off to buy more paint, paint the living room. I am truly thankful for all of this and the lovely souls I meet along the way each day. May your day bring you what you need.

The Biodiversity of Being

Where The Wild Things Live

Acrylic on Matte Board

8"x 8" matted in black  image size 3.75" x 4.5"

$25 - free shipping in North America

This little textured acrylic makes me think of an outing I had last week to a place called "Quick's Bottom".  Don't you love that name?  Sounds very British and boggy, don't you think?  (Sorry, no cheap bum jokes here.) It was a fabulous sunny day and the marsh was giddy with life; hummingbirds, wrens, swallows, ducks, geese.  And the grass so tall we hardly recognized the place from our last visit in the winter.  A hawthorn was growing up to slightly obscure the view from the bird blind that we climbed.

As I stood and greedily soaked in the sun and the breeze and the wildness of it all, it dawned on me that what was hospitable terrain for me was at odds with what was hospitable to the wild things.  Their space was wet and goopy and probably filled with bugs, teeming with things unknown and unseen, squirmy, wiggly, slimy things.  The grasses and reeds were too thick and tall to make passage easy and the ground shoe sucking wet.  And it struck me how this opposition of needs between the tame and the wild is true on a wider basis in this world.  We humans go around paving, and mowing and  gentrifying the landscape in ways that we find necessary and pleasing.  And all the while we push the wild into a slimmer corridor, narrowing and eliminating the places where they can survive. 

We do this, not because we are cruel or malicious, but mostly because we are ignorant and don't pay much attention to the needs of wild things.  It is the ultimate act of collective ego, don't you think?  We humans, we are the centre of our world.  We are kind of like big dumb giants, trodding on everything in our path, unaware of the possible implications.   Our collective awareness barely registers on the richter scale and our willingness to share this planet with other life forms squares up about the same.

 And the people that make the decisions that drain wetlands and turn grasslands into malls probably don't have the time to come and stand out in the  marsh and get up close and personal with the wild things.  What a pity.  I suspect if they could slow down enough to hear the breeze sifting through the grasses or see a humming bird hold a drop of nectar on the tip of it's beak they just might make some different choices.

And does the act of simply witnessing the wild things make a difference?  I think so; in many and varied ways, just as surely as the marsh is teeming with unseen life, so the simple act of witnessing radiates out into to the world in ways we can not possibly know and understand.  It is just another form of biodiversity; the biodiversity of just being.  It doesn't stand against "doing".  We can still write our letters and go to meetings and chain ourselves to fences if we choose. And as with all aspects of the Dharma we do what seems good to do and don't measure it's "rightness" by the results we get.  And if you choose to chain yourself to some structure, remember the final line from the movie "I heart Huckabees" where one character, referring to a protest meeting, reminds the other to bring his own chains.  And the final retort is, "We always do."