Author: Saskatoon Insight Meditation Community

These past days of practice have been equal measures of frustration, confusion, and intention.

I think (hope, wish) that my intention is correct – to be open to the opportunity / experience that may arise – whatever that may be. Maybe it’s just not-knowing-what-I-don’t-know. But, I’m told perseverance is a virtue… and so, as Stuart Davis once tweeted, I try to “Stray the course” and maybe “Fall Awake“.

And while trying, I very much rely on received wisdom. Dian Reid, in her writings on how “To Live Vicariously Through Yourself”, relates a great story about encouraging action: “I asked … what “taking inspired action” means … and one of the responses shared with me went like this:

“one deep breath. mix 1 part wisdom + 1 part intuition + 1 part emotion + 1 part courage + 1 part faith + 1 part balance. stir gently. allow to simmer. another deep breath. watch. wait patiently. listen intently. see what options bubble to the surface. use your gift of CHOICE. pick up one foot high in the air with both hands. l-e-a-p. and trust that the net will appear.”

~ The Little Yogini That Could

<http://authenticrealities.com/2010/07/live-vicariously-through-yourself/>

The confusion and frustration that are mine, are (I assume), because I don’t think I am making much progress. At least, sitting has become my daily routine – and is hopefully not just a routine. Seth Godin says it as well as anyone:

“There’s a fundamental difference between the things you do every day, every single day, and the things you do only when the spirit moves you.
One difference is that once you’ve committed to doing something daily, you find that the spirit moves you, daily.”

~ <http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2014/12/daily.html>

And as an apt a description as I’ve read on what I may come to experience is, that

“Such meditative understanding is experiential rather than intellectual, therapeutic rather than dogmatic, liberating rather than merely convincing.”

~Stephen Batchelor, Meditation (Tricycle)

It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Here in Saskatchewan, we had a brief spell of unseasonably warm weather towards the end of January, resulting in the melting of some snow. February arrived with the more typical, well below freezing temperatures, and the puddles and slush froze back into ice, making some sidewalks more like skating rinks.

Living close to downtown, I am fortunate to be able to walk to and from work. Quite often my walks to work are not that mindful. I’m in a rush to get to work, and I’m already trying to solve some issue that was left from the day before, or just grimacing from the cold wind sneaking through the seams of my jacket. I get to work, take off my jacket, log in to the computer and just keep going.

And you may ask yourself – Well… How did I get here?”
— Talking Heads, Once in a Lifetime

With the ice, the walks over past week and a half have required much more focus on the basic mechanics of walking – lift foot, swing weight, place foot – paying close attention to the stability of this step – and repeat. My walk to work takes a little longer. But it’s still not very mindful.

I’ve tried to do mindful walking before. As a person who tends to over-think things, my walking style on such occasions is more akin to a Monty Python sketch.

Last night, I tried doing 20 minutes of mindful walking instead of my usual sit. First challenge – finding a space to walk twenty steps. It’s cold outside, so I wanted to stay in, but my house is small. I eventually found a route that snaked through the basement.

Feeling the sensations in my feet – I was wearing socks and slippers, so I could feel the fabric against my feet. As I moved, I was also very aware of the bumps and cracks in the basement floor. It was hard for me to be non-judgmental about this. (“Darn this old house!”)

“Try to feel your feet as if you’re not looking down at them, but as if they’re looking up at you”. I spent the first few minutes of the walking meditation trying to wrap my mind around that concept. “But I don’t have eyes in my feet,” my head said. I didn’t get it. 🙂

“Remain relaxed but alert and receptive.” Staying relaxed was a challenge. As the walking continued, I became quite aware that in focusing on each step, my jaw had clenched and my shoulders had tightened. I used the turnaround point at either end of my path as an opportunity to reset, but before I knew it, I was tense again…

“[Be] aware of the sights and sounds around you without getting lost in them.” Walking the same path through the basement meant I repeatedly passed by the boxes that I should sort through, and the stain on the floor that I should clean. I noticed my mind would tend to fixate on those objects rather than pay attention to the movement.

“After some minutes, slow your walking down further and divide the step into three parts: lift, move, place” – I found that slowing down the walking and breaking into parts really helped me focus. This was more like the concentration practice that we were doing last week.

“Newcomers to walking meditation may feel a bit wobbly”. Yep. 🙂 On the other hand – er foot – I would rather be a bit wobbly and be able to concentrate than less wobbly and more distracted. Wobbly wins this time.

About two-thirds through the walking meditation, one of my dogs came downstairs to see what I was doing. He walked with me for a while, following me into the furthest corner, then back to the stairs. Each time we got close to the stairs, he’d start to ascend, hoping that we’d get to go for a “real” walk now. But then I’d turn around and go back, so he came back down and followed me again. I enjoyed his presence. His kindness and curiosity helped me to feel kinder with myself.

When the bell rang to indicate my 20 minutes were up, I noted that the time seemed to go more quickly than when I sit, but I didn’t feel as connected or peaceful when I was done.

After taking the dogs for a “real” walk, I closed the day with a mindful “drinking tea meditation”, which helped me settle.

While I probably won’t do walking meditation as part of my regular routine, I know I will come back to it again, as it’s a good way to get “a fresh, immediate experience” of my body.

After all, as Sharon says in the takeaway for week 2:

Mindfulness isn’t difficult; we just need to remember to do it.

If you have tips or tricks that work for your walking meditation, let me know in the comments!
— Andrea G

My mindfulness practice has included paying more attention to how mental preoccupations and physical tension are intimately linked. Sitting this morning, I noticed that my shoulders were incredibly tight and painful, which is not unusual for me as my shoulders are where I carry tension. Pain and tension in my shoulders has been somewhat more common the past few weeks due to many preoccupations with work.

The question is, during my formal sitting practice, do I continue to keep my attention concentrated on my breath and ensure my body is still relaxed overall, or do I take my attention away from my breath to focus more intensely on the muscle tension in my shoulders? I don’t think there is a yes or no answer to this all the time, but certainly I recognize the usefulness of paying more attention to places of tension in my body.

Of course, usually I’d rather not pay attention to tension in my body, I’d rather stay with the breath and try to reach for that lofty goal of “stillness” and silence. This physical pain is usually seen as a distraction, a nuisance, an annoyance, when my goal is to focus on something else.

When I do decide to focus specifically on the muscle tension, I find that mindfulness does have a healing effect. Mindfulness of pain is a fascinating practice, and I encourage anyone to try it out! For me, the practice is about pinpointing where exactly the pain is in the body and whether it moves, whether it changes or shifts or continues to stay the same, what type of pain it is (throbbing, shooting, aching, tightness, discomfort). I keep asking the question, “What is this?” to really uncover what this experience is all about. Intially, the pain might initially get worse, but eventually it is able to subside all on its own.

Off the cushion, applying mindfulness to how this muscle pain accumulates throughout the day is definitely worthwhile as well. This can be an continuous effort because my habit energy is to ignore the pain and tension, and wish or pretend it isn’t there. When I am able to notice it during my daily activities, I do find that the physical tension is an outward manifestation of mental and emotional tension. The physical tension appears when I am trying to mentally push myself to accomplish a task in a hurry, or I am trying to compensate for a certain quality that I feel that I am lacking (diligence, dedication, outgoingness, etc.). I am being forceful and aggressive in my mind, and that forcefulness comes along with physical tension.

With time I hope that this forcefulness and self-aggression can subside the more I can hold it in mindfulness and remember that I really want to be relaxed and at ease. When I am able to remember to practice mindfulness, and apply this awareness to my body and its levels of relaxation and tension, I find it provides many useful results and I learn so much about my mind and body in the process.

I recently wrote a short story with the above title. This is an excerpt from that story which I hope illustrates mindfulness, concentration, and the insights that can arise.

“She watches him eat, about three pieces at a time, carefully, beginning with a little pause to look at the popcorn. How could anyone be so meticulous with popcorn? He chews slowly, thoughtfully. This infuriates her. Does he have to eat so slowly? So carefully? Does he have to think about everything, endlessly, before he speaks? Does he have to be so slow? But the more she watches him, the more curious she becomes.
She decides to follow his example, closes her eyes and puts three pieces into her mouth. She doesn’t chew them. She notices what happens as they’re sandwiched between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, how the butter and salt explode first, followed quickly by the corn taste, and all the while the popcorn is shrinking down to nothing. It disappears! Where did it go? She hasn’t swallowed. All that’s left are the crusty husks. She bites down on them. She notices her chewing, which side of the mouth she’s using and how her tongue is involved. She has this urge to swallow. What makes her want to swallow? Then she observes the feel of the crusty husks going to the back of her mouth, the action of swallowing and she even takes note of them moving down her esophagus, until they disappear from her awareness. So like the thoughts and sensations she’d observed in meditation! They too, come, form, dissolve and disappear. Like life, she thinks. Things arise, form, dissolve and disappear. Everything! Everything does this. Everything is constantly changing. She’s never eaten popcorn or any other food in this way before. She opens her eyes, slowly.
He’s looking at her, kindly, maybe, or with an amused or perhaps even loving expression.”

With metta,
Carol Kavanagh

What follows is based on actual occurrences. Although much has been changed for rhetorical purposes, it must be regarded in its essence as fact. However, it should in no way be associated with that great body of factual information relating to orthodox Zen Buddhist practice. It’s not very factual on motorcycles either.*

Learning a new physical activity for me is usually a theoretical exercise long before I actually try putting it into practice. I don’t suppose this is much different for most people – adults at least – and especially as compared to children who can very often jump into a new activity or sport and learn simply by doing. Beginners-mind has it’s place, but not at 100 km/hr. Or on two wheels.

Seven years ago I decided it was now-or-never if I was ever going to learn to ride a motorcycle. So I bought as many books as I could to learn how to be as competent and safe as possible. Having made it somehow to my mid-fifties, I wasn’t about to simply jump on.

I tried to learn as much as I could from the experts, took two learn-to-ride classes, watched DVDs, and learned the theory of how to be proficient – and, ideally, not kill myself. (In comparison, though, meditation must either be much more complicated and/or dangerous because I’m currently taking my fourth learn-to course for that…)

I’ve been asked a number of times why I ride. One reason I often give is because it forces me to be aware every second – not only of what I’m doing but also what the other traffic is or isn’t doing, and of the conditions around me. In other words, concentration is pretty important – and losing it even briefly is discouraged by everyone that I’ve studied.

So where am I going with this?

It sometime takes me a while to put the theory into practice – to work up the gumption. After several years, once I’d progressed from parking lots and streets in new commercial developments with no traffic, it was time to head out on the highway.

The thing with learning it by the book is it still takes practice to develop into second nature. What I was doing was okay but I was over-thinking every move. It wasn’t natural or very smooth. When I finally navigated a long, sweeping, right-hand curve in the road simply by doing it and not thinking about it, I had a breakthrough in understanding not only what the process is, but a direct indication of how it works.

As Sharon describes it in Real Happiness, “Our habitual tendency is either to grab on to a thought and perhaps build a complicated scenario around it, or to push it away and struggle against it.” Making that curve in the highway wasn’t hard once I didn’t complicate more than it really was, or struggle.

I can still see that moment in my mind’s eye because of the awareness it brought. The road behind me didn’t matter anymore and the view off in the distance wasn’t yet here.

That is still one of the best experiences I’ve ever had of “being in the moment”. Hardly a “peak experience”, but one that allowed me to find the next moment, and the next. And not crash.

Robert Pirsig, in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, describes “gumption” as when someone connects with Quality. He equates gumption with enthusiasm, from the Greek enthousiasmos and which “means literally “filled with theos,” or God, or Quality.”

…The gumption-filling process occurs when one is quiet long enough to see and hear and feel the universe, not just one’s own stale opinions of it.

…If you’re going to repair a motorcycle, an adequate supply of gumption is the first and most important tool.

…Gumption is the psychic gasoline that keeps the whole thing going.*

Coming back to my reliance on reading manuals, something else Pirsig said closes the circle for me in terms of translating theory into practice:

… it occurred to me that there is no manual that deals with the real business of motorcycle maintenance, the most important aspect of all.*

In other words, going past the theory into the understanding that only concentration and practice brings.

“See? . . . See?” and I think she does. I hope later she will see and feel a thing about these prairies I have given up talking to others about; a thing that exists here because everything else does not and can be noticed because other things are absent.*

*Robert Pirsig: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

With mettā,
Rod.

As I closed yesterday with a 20 minute sit, I was keenly aware that my mind was everywhere. And I tried so hard to concentrate on the breath, but seemingly to no avail. Planning a trip, stuff to do for work, achy knee, itchy leg, what to write? Anything but the breath. It was a struggle.

I was reminded of Sandra Bullock’s character in Miss Congeniality, when she’s being coached how to glide. “Hey, I’m gliding here!”

It was like I was shouting to my mind: “Hey, I’m breathing here!”

This morning, as I kicked off the day with a 10 minute sit, I remembered Sharon’s words from the breath meditation:

There’s my friend! There’s the breath!

Remembering that my breath is my friend made such a difference. My mind was still crowded with the same thoughts and feelings, but returning to my breath wasn’t the same struggle. The thoughts were all trying to elbow in, but I knew my friend is near. I felt the warmth for a dear friend, and all those pushy thoughts got treated kindly. What a difference.

I have heard message about meditation and letting go of distractions for years. After all, mediation has been around for centuries, in every type of tradition. But I ignored it. For me, it fell into the category of miracle diets and celebrity gossip – something I read about when I was in line at the checkout, but then promptly dismissed as I carried on with daily busyness.

The stress of a life full of chasing distractions caught up with me. That’s what led me to MBSR last year. That what “kicked open the door” for me. “[We] meet someone who has a big vision of life, someone we admire who embodies values we cherish. Life seems to hold more possibilities.”

What I loved about MBSR, and the message that’s in Real Happiness, is this: There is no need to hate ourselves for the things that make us human – that we get distracted and busy and impatient.

Instead, all we are asked is “to be willing to experiment with our time and attention, connecting more fully with our life as it happens.”

There is a gentleness in this practice that we don’t often hear in our day-to-day life. We’re regularly bombarded with messages to be thinner, richer, faster, smarter, and so on. If we’re not, we’re berated – mostly by our own inner critic.

But here… we concentrate on the breath. Just this breath. And if we get distracted, that’s okay. “We gently acknowledge and release distractions, and gently forgive ourselves for having wandered. With great kindness to ourselves, we once more return our attention to the breath.”

For me, this past year has been a time of experimenting and exploring meditation and mindfulness. A time of reconnecting with myself and those around me. Discovering that it’s not just me who feels fragmented. I have found a community that is supportive in this exploration.

On day 6 of this challenge, I’m grateful for this opportunity to be with my friend, the breath, and to share this exploration with you.
— Andrea G

Concentration is the theme for this week, and I want to share what I’ve learned about concentration (after I realized my last post didn’t focus explicitly on the topic). I have been practicing concentration formally during my morning sitting periods for some time now, and have had the chance to pick up a few general lessons.

The main lesson I’ve learned about concentration is that it requires A LOT of patience and letting go. My concentration practice is more successful when I let go of ideas about how I am doing, and when I let go of judging whether I am succeeding at my goal of getting concentrated or not. It is better to just begin again, start fresh in each moment, without the storyline about how I will ‘never’ succeed or make progress.

I’ve learned that I can’t take it personally if I don’t think I experienced much concentration during a sitting period. Instead, I know that much of the qualities for concentration to appear are beyond my control. I heard that the Buddha taught that there are over 30 different mental factors or qualities that all have to be present simultaneously in order for concentration to appear!

I’ve learned that successful concentration practice is a delicate balancing act. I have to balance between letting go of distracting thoughts with keeping my attention on my breath. I have to balance resting the mind and being relaxed and at ease, with diligent effort and actively engaging in the object of concentration. I have to balance a sense of lightheartedness and amusement, with a sense of the importance of this practice and a wise intention and desire to get concentrated.

I continue to practice because I’ve seen that concentration is a source of important feelings of happiness and well-being that don’t depend on any external conditions, but rather arise from inside my own being. And experiencing this happiness can allow us to let go of clinging to external attachments that cause suffering.

I also believe that no moment of intentionally practicing concentration is wasted, because of what the practice reveals about my mind and where the mind wants to go. When I see what gets in the way of concentration, I see where my mind is attached and what it resists.

So when I sit down to practice tomorrow, I put my trust in the process that it is beneficial and worthwhile, and I trust that something is happening, even if this something happens below the surface and is hidden for the time being.

Andrea D

Quite a while ago I forgot my combination lock numbers on my lock. I stood there in the locker room in front of the locker dripping wet, shivering and panicking. After I calmed down, I did finally remember the combination, but this event really scared me, and I went out and bought a lock that required a key and then I just pinned the key to my bathing suit. Certainly a cop out, but that was before I was a meditator.

Just recently I have returned to swimming because I’m nursing a sore foot and can’t walk the way I need to, to exercise. The lock with the key got used for something else, but there was a combination lock laying around that used to be my husband’s when he was swimming. I decided to give this another try. In the meantime, I had become a meditator. When I first started meditating, it was clear to me that my mind was turbulent, filled with thoughts, plans, rehearsals and stories. As time went on, I developed concentration. My mind became still and focused. I had spent hours focusing on my breath and sometimes focusing on whatever thought, sound or sensation arose.

This was just the practice I needed to bring to my combination lock problem. I spent some time working with the combination numbers, really focusing on, and memorizing them. I reviewed the numbers in my mind. But what was different this time is that I wasn’t scattered or in a rush or not really paying attention. it wasn’t just about the activation of memory, but the fixed and pointed concentration I put into really attending to the numbers. I had learned how to do this because of my meditation practice.

Now, I have a confession. I actually kept the lock numbers in my swim bag just in case. Perhaps that shows a lack of faith in my ability to concentrate, but the fact that I’ve never had to look at them is a testament to the reverse. Being able to concentrate is a wonderful gift.

Carol

Sharon’s book, “Real Happiness”, says concentration “steadies and focuses our attention so that we can let go of distractions”. Further on, she describes it succinctly as “moderation and conscious deployment”, while saying that distraction is “a disconcerting sense of fragmentation”.

Logically, her instructions to gain concentration are simple: “a continual letting go of what is nonessential or distracting” … simply noting distractions as “not breath”.

And then, her measure of successful meditation is “not in terms of what is happening to us but how we relate to what is happening.”

Sounds simple enough… so why is it so hard?

Knowing that I have chosen to blog my experiences during this 28-Day Challenge, there are added complications – distractions, really.

Equanimity has always been my main intention in sitting. So concentration and the balance it brings should be top-of-mind. Except, rather than concentrating since Day 1, I find myself wondering about how I can relate my experiences in a blog – disconcertingly fragmented.

I suspect that ego is the driver here. Not that I’ve anywhere near the experience to be able to offer anything approaching, for lack of a better word, wisdom. But neither do I want to screw this up.

Today, three days into the Challenge and it being my turn in our team blog, I was questioning my intentions – not in sitting the Challenge, but in blogging.

What I think I arrived at is an answer I give every time we have a joy practice in our weekly sangha sit. To the question “What brings you joy?”, I answer that I very much enjoy the shared experiences that are related in our discussion – and that these experiences show I’m not alone in my challenges.

So, going forward, I will attempt to follow more closely Sharon’s advice of letting go what is nonessential, relate to what is happening, and then trying to describe that.

Or, in the words of Lennon and McCartney, to

Shine until tomorrow

…There will be an answer

Let It Be .

< http://www.thebeatles.com/song/let-it-be>

With mettā,

Rod.

In many parts of North America, February 2 is known as Groundhog Day, a day when a furry little critter is pulled out of its hole to somehow determine whether spring is coming sooner or later.

The 1993 movie of the same name stars Bill Murray as an obnoxious weatherman, Phil Connors, who gets caught in some kind of time-loop and re-lives that one day over and over. As the cycle continues, Phil starts to re-examine his life, and starts to make changes that day, again and again. Eventually, he gets to a point where the cycle is broken.

In our lives of busyness, it’s easy to feel like we are also in some type of time-loop. We wake up, check email, shower, go to work, go home, walk the dogs, catch up on Facebook, watch TV, go to bed. Repeat, ad nauseum.

That’s where this practice can be so liberating. We can concentrate on one thing – this breath, in this moment. Sharon says, “Concentration lets us put on the brakes and spend time just being with what is, rather than numbing out or spinning away into excess stimulation.”

And later, she says, “If you have to let go of distractions and begin again thousands of times, fine. That’s not a roadblock to the practice – that is the practice. That’s life: starting over, one breath at a time.”

An interview with the director of Groundhog Day, Harold Ramis, had this insight:

Ramis said that, for him, the key to Groundhog Day is learning to have the insight, courage and energy to make changes when you come to those moments when “you are about to make that same-old, same-old mistake again. We face those changes every day, large and small, every single day. If you change one little thing, one little behavior, then everything might change.”

And that’s the opportunity we have in this practice. As Sharon so aptly explains:

The moment you realize you’ve been distracted is the magic moment. It’s a chance to be really different, to try a new response – rather than tell yourself you’re weak or undisciplined, or give up in frustration, simply let go and begin again. … This act of beginning again is the essential art of the meditation practice.

So as I’m about to sit down to practice to start this second day of the meditation challenge, I’ll welcome the many opportunities I’ll have to begin again, and return to my breath. Starting over, one breath at a time.

— Andrea G