Behind You With A Knife

What is the colour of half a Buddha painting? Why green, of course if he/she's gone into the forest (and if I get to choose the colours!) He will of course, be offering a small blessing in the right hand corner which translates as "May all beings everywhere be happy and free". The Om Mani Padme Hum mantra is tucked away in small letters on the Buddha's robes and bordering the blue panel on the right. It has been fun doing this special request as it's kind of a collaboration between the buyer and painter. I added elements that I might not have thought of myself but I got to contemplate and interpret. I actually like the panels separated rather than pushed against each other. Is that some strange subliminal comment on the self??

The koan of daily life has been interesting this past month. If I was living in a little Zen parable it might go something like this: Someone very hungry asks me for food. Something in me immediately responds to the request and begins to prepare a meal. I'm not thinking. I'm just cooking. It seems this is what needs to be done. I ask the hungry person what they need to eat and get an idea, not really clear, but I think I know. I bring them the food. It is not right and they explain why. It makes sense to me and I go off to prepare another meal. I work hard. They are really hungry. It seems urgent. I feel the need, the pressure. I prepare meal number two. When I bring it to them, they have changed their mind again about what they need to quench their hunger. We go through this scenario 2 more times.

As the protagonist in this Zen parable I am a bit dense. The diner keeps moving the plate and I keep spilling the meal on the ground. I start to wonder if the diner is really hungry. And by meal number 4 I feel the anger rise. The diner has showed me the limits of my tolerance (good or bad). I see my expectations and attachment to them. I prepared them a meal, why don't they just eat? And even if they don't want it or like it, couldn't they express some gratitude or appreciation. And finally I think somehow I will save them from their hunger, help them put some deep seated need to rest by feeding them. I want to solve this problem, scratch some culinary itch.

By the end of our little chef and diner dance it is becoming clear, that I cannot satiate another's hunger. Perhaps the need goes deeper? Perhaps the diner is not asking for what is really needed? Perhaps the diner is really thirsty but expresses their need as hunger? Perhaps their request is beyond my ability? I am not a skilled enough chef. Perhaps I should offer the ingredients and leave them to put them together in a way that really works for them? In many ways there are more questions than answers flying around the kitchen.

At the same time I have learned that I still care about their hunger, that it is important to keep my heart open to them. I have learned about my expectations, not that they (the diner or the expectations) are bad, but that I experience suffering because I have expectations. I have learned that I need to keep my heart open to other hungry folks too, and not close the door to similar requests in the future because this one did not go the way I expected. Each diner and meal deserves to be considered on its own merit.

And the world is a hungry place, full of ingredients and ways to put them together, different foods & tastes, diners and cooks. It is not always as simple as we initially imagine. Sometimes it takes a lot of patience and experimentation. Sometimes it will work out deliciously and other times I might get something hot spattered in my eye. And in some cases I just need to order them take out and have it delivered.

To make a long story different, but equally long, I can tell you that I have experimented with some recipes that didn't exactly work out. And I have discovered it is always good to be on the learning end of the cutting board. Now as my daughter would say as she deftly moves around the kitchen: "behind you with a knife."

Zenderella, a Story of Impermanence & Orthopedic Footwear

It's a good thing you're sitting down. There is indeed new art. Not entirely new. ... Started some time ago but just finished this past week. I finally found some studio time and have even started something brand new that with any luck might just appear this coming week. Eek there's a break neck pace for you! You've heard of slow food. This is slow art. I marvel at those folks who can just knock them off, hardly pausing for a breath. But it's not my process. I stare. I sit. I apply a little paint. Another colour, some shading, adjust a line or two. Hours pass without notice. You've heard of slow learners, well I'm a slow creator.

I have a funny Zen master story to tell. Last night we had dinner with friends, christened a new kitchen, welcomed a newcomer to our country with a little toast (no jam) and generally had some fun. It's a group where foolish stories are told and lots of laughing happens. Enough to scare the resident cat and dog (but only a little).

One of these friends helped us move some furniture from my mother's apt. We donated some things to a political party named after a colour which were taken away in a gardener's truck. At the time I gave my friend a bag which contained a few small things for our mutual friend, the Buddhist monk. One of the things was a pair of slippers that had belonged to my mother. The final unloading of furniture and bags happened in the autumn darkness.

When my friend took the bag of goodies to our monk, a cinderella thing happened. There was only one slipper in the bag. And as in the cinderella story, the slipper fit perfectly. She definitely wanted the other one. Slight variation on the cinderella story but as he spun the story we appreciated it heartily. "What is the sound of one slipper, slapping?" I asked We groaned and hooted. My friend continued the slipper saga. The morning following the missing slipper incident he checked with the gardener whose truck he had borrowed to see if a slipper had been spotted. Much scurrying of gardeners followed as they searched for the Zen master's new slipper. No effort was spared to make the final retrieval which apparently involved a little dumpster diving. In the end the slipper found it's way to it's rightful new owner who liked the slippers not just because they fit and were comfy but because they had belonged to my mother and she had helped me negotiate the many slippery steps that my mother and I had travelled together. End of Zenderella, a story of impermanence, attachment and orthopedic foot wear. Sorry no pumpkin coaches or mice even though it is fall and Halloween is heading in our direction.

So that's it for the Zen bedtime story. Grab that little Buddha bear and tuck yourself in. If you still have a self that is.

Too busy To Sit?

A Bird In the Bush

Original Mixed Media collage on matte board

8" x 8" matte, image size 3.75" x 4.5"

$25 including shipping in North America

I am feeling rather speedy tonight as the result of all the things I have done today and have to do for two upcoming art shows.  So many little things and then life always intervenes with its own little agendas that interrupt.  An early morning Etsy order, a call from a realtor checking back.  It's interesting how some days just have that kind of energy.  And for me it's always about keeping my eye on the proverbial ball.  It's so easy to create and go over lists in your mind.  But they just make me tired.  I love lists (in their place), but sometimes  they can take on a life of their own and chase you around the house and wear you out before you're even out of bed.  (Who let that list out of it's cage this morning??)

But if I just do the next thing that needs to be done, instead of going "Eeek I have so much to do,"  I am much better off.  For one, I have more energy and my head doesn't feel like it's about to spin off into orbit and become space trash.  All those tasks will all get done -- or not.   And it will all be okay.  No houses will burn down.  No lives will be lost.  In the grand scheme of things, what I have to do is like a speck of dust in the universe.  No big deal.  Now if I can just remember this....

I feel like I'd like to do another sit today and that had been my intention in the morning but here I am late at night.  I think a sit at this time of day could be a head bobbing event (you've seen those little bobble headed hockey players & such).  But the idea of being so busy that I feel the need to sit again reminds me of a Zen story.   A new student asks how long to sit.  The master says start with half an hour.  The student replies that he is far to busy for that and then Zen master tells him to sit for an hour then.  And that's it, isn't it, the busier we are, the more stressed we are, the more time we need to spend slowing down.  It's the antidote, it's the solution to the problem, not another aspect of the problem, it's not just one more thing to do.  It's a whole shift, an opportunity to see things differently.  And "the busies", they're  like a warning signal we can read, but mostly we think we are too busy to bother.

Empty Vessel

Empty Vessel in Green

Mono-print on hand stamped acrylic background

8" x  8" black matte, image dimension 3.75 " x 4.5"

$25 includes shipping in North America

Yesterday when we went to the Tibetan Retreat Centre on Mt. Tuam there was a "Transmission Ceremony".  There was some confusion over whether those of us who were only there for the opening were allowed to receive the transmission.  As our group was the last of the afternoon stragglers eating and chatting we were herded into the Shrine Room and assured it was fine.  I went along with the crowd in that way that your mother used to say to you when you were a teenager  "Now if everyone jumped off a bridge would you do that too?"

I recently bought a little used book by Chogyam Trungpa called "Journey Without A Goal".  Great title, yes?  I was curious to read about "transmission" in it as I couldn't fully wrap my pea brain around it.  Hmmm, transmission, sounds like something that happens around large metal towers involving copious quantities of electricity.  

Here's what Trungpa had to say about transmission:  "Transmission is like receiving a spiritual inheritance.  In order to inherit our spiritual discipline, in order to have a good inheritance, we should become worthy vessels."   Those words seemed a good match for this little mono-print of a bowl which of course is a vessel for the purpose of receiving things.  It's a great picture he's created,  students as empty vessels.  There is the Zen story about the professor that is asking so many questions to the master but not really listening to the answers.  When the master pours tea for his guest he keeps pouring until the professor shouts "the cup is full."  The Zen Master in his Zennish way simply nods.  So we can be empty or full vessels but most likely something in between. 

Trungpa  goes on to clarify  the qualities of a vessel that is ready to receive transmission: we should be humble, have the ability to question, be spiritually mature and open to the teachings.  Some hefty requirements there, but no one was checking at the door.  "No sorry you don't look quite ripe.  Or do I catch a whiff of pride here?"  There seemed to be a fairly casual approach to things, unlike my experience of ceremony in the Zen tradition I am familiar with.  I guess in my mind "transmission" is one of those esoteric things we can't really understand with our heads.  It has to do with unseen energies that abound whether we know about them or not.  And in many traditions this "transmission" happens between student and master.

Trungpa also makes the following, very clear comments about the process: "Transmission means the extension of spiritual wakefulness from one person to someone else.  Wakefulness is extended rather than transferred.  The teacher,  or the transmitter extends his own inspiration, rather than giving his own experience away to somebody else and becoming an empty balloon.  The teacher is generating wakefulness and inspiration constantly, without ever being depleted.  So for the student, receiving transmission is like being charged with electricity."  So there I was like a little battery, not quite sure if I was an interloper, guilty of pinching a charge or whether I was just a fortunate recipient of a lovely gift.

Knowing Too Much, Too Soon

A couple of days ago over at the Humble Yogini's blog she said "The lecture made me realize that I know nothing.  Not in a bad way!  This is a good thing.  And it's an even better thing to be able to admit this because it means there is room for more learning."  It reminded me of the story where the Zen master is pouring tea for a visiting professor who talks continuously.  The master continues to fill the cup to overflowing.  "Stop, the cup is full," shouts the professor.  The master simply nods in agreement.

This got me thinking about "knowing too much, too soon." a comment that comes from some teaching but I'm not sure where.  But  this idea has popped up a couple of times this week, so it's probably time to sit up and pay a little more attention to it.

In his book on creativity, John Daido Loori says, "Once you have located a subject that reflects your feeling, it's important not to rush into the process of expression.  Wait in the presence of the subject until your presence has been acknowledged and you feel that a bond has been created.  Whether its a visual object or a sound, subjects change with time.  They reveal different aspects of themselves if you're able to be patient and allow this revelation to unfold.  On occasion I have sat for hours with a subject, waiting to release the shutter."

When I go into my studio to work I often want to get started, get the paint out and work.  Sometimes I am late and concerned over the fading light or have an alloted time to spend.  Sometimes I am just impatient me. I am not always comfortable with the waiting and trusting that Daido Loori talks about.  Wait an hour, wow, I can't really imagine it. My approach makes me think of  the "knowing too soon", the painting too soon, instead of waiting for the well to fill up or  trusting that the muse will appear.  It reminds me that I am imposing my will and  I see  that I quickly become frustrated with what happens.   The work produced from this place often turns out to be either  tentative or muddy, ready for the bin or in need of serious reworking.  If I can wait, without expectation or need, in that state of not knowing and faith, then I am more likely to find strong brush strokes and confident gestures.  It happens sometimes!  

I remember my teacher saying we are usually not aware of when we're enlightened but it's easy to know when we're not!  I can learn from the paint, from paying attention to the what the bits of paper have to say.  But this requires more restraint on my part, more presence of mind and the willingness to not know, to be able to learn.  I am becoming more and more aware of how important it is to come from this place.  Intention is everything.  "If our first step is false we will immediately stumble"  That's Dogen, and if my memory serves me right it's from the "Rules for Meditation" recited daily in many Soto Zen temples.

I had another example of "knowing too much, too soon" as I chatted with a friend over what she might do to improve her small business that she was worried about.  I threw out a few ideas but they were all met with, "I've done that, I know that."  My first feeling was "how will she ever find a solution if she doesn't want to play with any ideas?"  I could see how I've been in this place myself, one of fear and need and thinking I know.  It closes off so much opportunity, the opportunity to sometimes learn from the wacky, crazy idea, that makes you laugh in it's first incarnation.  It reminds me that the inventor of velcro came up with this idea while looking at "burrs" stuck on his pants after a walk outdoors.  We can learn from everything if we are not too full, if we are empty like the tea cup.

So it's anywhere and everywhere, our impulse to know too much too soon, to be full of knowledge and answers.  And it's becoming my little red light when I see or hear myself doing this, to simply pour out that stale tea and sit with an empty cup.