Responsible Citizen of the World

I continue to ponder the role of the unenlightened non-monastic yogin in the West.  Well, there isn't one. So, we make our ways, putting one foot in front of the other.

One of my best friends lovingly and respectfully called me a fanatic and an eccentric the other day. Can't disagree. She pointed out that the path of a committed practitioner requires fanaticism.

I have a sense of humor about it, though. I see how ridiculous I look in the eyes of American society. But, a few days ago I was walking down Peidmont avenue and, on a whim, went into one of the Tibetan shops.  There are many such shops now, filled with merchandise from Nepal.  They are really Nepal shops, but I guess that is not as marketable.  You know, lots of clothes and masks, a few books.

But this time, the gentleman at the counter looked right at me and started talking about impermanence and suffering, and how Shantideva's Way of the Bodhisatttva is the greatest book ever written. I felt like he was giving me a blood transfusion. Or oxygen. In that environment, I was not a fanatic, I was just a responsible citizen of the world. Does that make sense?

A responsible citizen of the world does not harm sentient beings, tries to help sentient beings (seriously), devotes herself to cultivating compassion, and practices daily as much as she can so that she can become a Buddha. This is normal. The baseline for a healthy and happy life. 

What the old Vajrayana yogins do with their lives?

Were you ever curious where to all those people who do three-year retreat or beyond have disappeared to?  When I was younger I wondered where all the old yogins, men and women, are in the U.S.  What happens to them after they complete three-year retreat, or the equivalent?  As I have said before, I used to wonder this, and not being able to find a whole lot of them, I decided to undertake the yogini lifestyle myself—even though I have some pretty serious competency issues as a meditator.

One of the things one gains after meditating for a number of years is awareness of one’s shortcomings.  This translates into the universal quality of decades long meditators: humility.  Therefore, the main thing good practitioners do is fade into obscurity.  I guess that can be viewed as a sign of accomplishment!

They say realization can dawn at any time, inside long-term retreat or outside of it. I consider the typical three-year group retreat a great foundation for practice.  In addition, a good facility and lama can provide what Lama Sarah Harding calls, “three years of training for a job that doesn’t exist,” i.e. ritual and music training, and familiarity with the main practices of one’s lineage.  Some of my vajra sisters and brothers probably had some kind of awakening in their first or second three-year retreat.  For the rest of us who did not, we sure know how to practice properly with the right view, and can continue on from there, inside or outside of a retreat structure if we care to.

We can’t do every practice we ever learn.  There isn’t enough time in a day, it isn’t necessary.  We find there are some practices we excel at more than others.  Or, in my case, there are practices I am less terrible at.

Now, I am acquainted with dozens of people who have completed at least three years in retreat.  What happened to them?  They got a job and, in many cases, a spouse.  Some have kids.  They help their Dharma center, if they can. 

A married couple I met long ago continued to do a series of three year retreats (in another state where it’s cheaper to live.) They are the exception rather than the rule.  I think some of my friends will do a lot of practice after they retire, if they live long enough.

Sometimes these people aren’t visible to the larger Dharma community because they don’t attend a lot of teachings by the lamas that come through town. They have already received those teachings.  The ones who like to study dharma may turn up when in-depth teachings occur, such a well-regarded Khenpo teaching for a month on the highest level practices.  (I’m thinking Khenpo Namdrol here).  But, most can’t take off from work for that length of time.  Also, many yogins aren’t necessarily interested in the big theories.  They want to get to the main point and focus on practice when they have free time.

So, there isn’t any clubhouse where these people meet. 

Consequently, you could be living in the same city as an old yogin and never meet up with him or her.  I make prayers from time to time, that I will meet the real incarnate Bodhisattvas and “field-born” Dakas and Dakinis who no doubt are in my area.  The ones without big hats.

I was talking with the lama who guides my practice now the other day.  He said you can’t tell who has realization until they die.  Some great holy lamas, who everyone expects to pass in a sublime way, die without the slightest signs of accomplishment. Some practitioners who no one had faith in—who looked like out of control alcoholics or pugnacious ruffians—manifest profound signs of accomplishment at the end.  I asked my lama the obvious question.  “Do they know they have realization?”

“Of course!”

Fulfilling the Bodhisattva Vow by Staying Put

One view from my practice tent in my backyard.

You should take everything I say with a grain of salt, because I am not a teacher of any kind, and I lack realization.  I’m just rambling about what is on my mind.

In Mahayana Buddhism, including Vajrayana, we take a vow to attain liberation for the benefit of beings so that we can place all beings in that state. Technically, Awakened Ones can’t wave their magic wand and grant everyone enlightenment, like a fairy princess. If they could have, they would have. They lead and inspire, and are a source of blessings for those who have faith in them. I have faith in that, because I have been lead and inspired by awakened beings for many years — actual flesh and blood teachers. I have faith, too, than there are Sambogakaya emanations also helping me, but I can’t see them as an ordinary person.

Based on my faith in these things, which cannot be proven, I want to apply myself to awakening.  I don’t know if it will happen in this life or afterwards. 

I am a very inattentive person, with many interests. Left to my own impulses, I would start several hobbies every month, and travel a lot. So, I have to be mindful of these tendencies, and remind myself of that my primary goal is to awaken.  I remember the advice of my lamas, which has always been to focus on practice, and within that, to focus on the daily continuity of the core practices they recommended for me.

I have built in interruptions in my daily practice few times a year, because I need to help out our Dharma centers, to the best of my limited ability.  I don’t enjoy group practices much at this stage in my life, but I’ve been asked to help, so I do them for the benefit of sentient beings and the Dharma. This takes me away from my house, usually, and reduces or eliminates my personal practice time. I’m relieved to get home afterwards, honestly, and resume the continuity. No one is ever going to affirm that we have continuous practice, unless we are in formal retreat.  Right?  Even lamas need help with their projects. I have more than enough teachers.  Honestly, I stay away from new teachers, because projects ensue as soon as you affiliate closely.  And rightly so, there is a lot that needs doing.

As much as I would like to do pilgrimage to Asia, I have never been. I’d also like to go on trips to beautiful, tropical locales. I come close to signing up, and then I think about my need to practice in solitude each day, with the right kind of physical set up.  How is that going to happen on a group trip? In other words, I remember my Bodhisattva vow. Someday I’ll probably go, but it will have to be imperative.

One Continuous White Water Thrill

A photo of a Missouri Whitewater Competition

Twenty years ago or so, I saw a wonderful movie by a canoe-ist from Minnesota.  He was an older man who had cleaved the waterways of Northern Minnesota for decades, in a wooden canoe.  For these guys, the peak experiences are paddling whitewater.

At one point in the movie, he showed himself canoeing through extreme rapids for a very long time.  In the narration he explained that, in reality, these were many whitewater experiences spliced together so it looks like a long uninterrupted thrill ride.  Each rapid shoot was actually a brief experience, and most of his canoe trips were uneventful.  He pointed out that seeing wildlife by the streams and rivers was actually quite rare, as well — but, of course, he featured the wildlife he was able to film in the movie.

That’s the way in-depth meditation is for me.  My last blissful experience was a positive dream I have a few years ago. I notice that the spiritual autobiographies of the great meditators of the Nyingma tradition, the peak experiences are reported, but there are gaps of years that are simply omitted.  Of course, there are exceptions, most notably, Dudjom Lingpa or Mingyer Dorje, who were constantly awash with visionary experiences.  My hunch, though, is that the majority of practitioners who devote themselves primarily to meditation have a work-a-day practice, like I do.  Put in the hours as best we can, like others go to a job.

When I think about dating non-practitioners, this issue comes up. 

“Honey, what did you do today?”

“Well, I noticed the long tendrils of the vines near my retreat tent and thought I should cut them back.  Then, I thought, ‘nah,’ and went back to meditating.”

Or, on another day, “I contemplated the real meaning of the Tibetan term ‘drakpo’ and wondered whether all drakpo activity is liberation, or whether other forceful or subjugating enlightened activity is drakpo.  When people call lamas ‘wrathful’, is that doctrinally accurate?  Then, I went and got a peach from the kitchen, and ate it over the sink.  I noted that it has rose flavored overtones.”

“How was your day, honey?”

Oh my goodness, how could I put anyone through that level of non-activity and obscure contemplation on traditional Tibetan literature?

The Teacher, the Text and the Inner Teacher

A great old Tibetan lama used to repeat an old Tibetan saying, that went something like, “first you rely on the lama, then you rely on the texts, and you rely on your inner lama.” This is one of the many things he would say that would baffle me.

Now, on the face of it, that does not seem like a weird thing to say. Why did it baffled me?  Because this lama was the epitome of someone who relied on his teacher throughout his entire life. Devotion to his teachers was his middle name. At the same time, he was also the epitome of someone who relied on texts. He read Dzogchen texts continuously. He relied on the Lonchenpa’s Cho Ying Dzod (Precious Treasury of the Basic Space of Phenomena) so heavily, that I believe one could “read” him, and it wasn’t any different than reading that book. I’m sure he would have said the same about his teachers. I certainly would.

Scenes from the movie Fahrenheit 451 pop in to my mind’s eye when I write that. People strolling slowly about, alone, talking out loud—continually refreshing their remembrance of banned books they have memorized. It wasn’t like that! 

On the other hand, in some way, perhaps it was. The guys from his home center in southern Tibet, who trained directly under tutelage of one of the greatest lamas of the 20th century, are gone now. It is as though the scent of that rich tradition permeated him, and was still exuding from him when he came here to the U.S., and was commanded to teach.

So, we could read him as a “book” of the tradition, embodying it’s powerful methods for training students in various ways according to their individual capacity, and the essential meaning of Dzogchen.

So, there you have it, the third element. He came to rely on his “inner lama,” that wisdom that embued him, and was so palpable.

He moved from directly serving his lama for decades, to living at some distance, to then being asked to teach himself and moving to another country.  When he visit his lama he would bring focused questions, clarifying difficulty points in a text, or key points of his to train others.

So, it seems to be a matter of subtle shifting degrees of reliance, from teacher, to texts, to inner wisdom.

Here’s a recommendation. I highly recommend the movie Amongst White Clouds. It’s from a Chinese tradition of Buddhist hermits, but it reflects my experience as an in-depth (ha!) practitioner better than any movie about Tibetan Buddhism. In it, you can see practitioners at these various stages—a group retreat in which students received close guidance from an old teacher, a few hermits who relied on the great texts of Chan, and a great old practitioner who had internalized all that.

Where’s my Radish Soup?

Lama Tharchin Rinpoche jokingly referred to my house as Yudron Ling

Today, I brought my period of being a hermit to a close, rather unexpectedly. “My” Dharma center, Pema Osel Ling, contacted me, and needs my help with the annual summer retreat. It’s not that I have any great skill set, far from it. But, I can color dry white rice yellow, red and black with the best of them, and this is the kind of thing I'll be used for. So, in keeping with Lama Tharchin Rinpoche’s wishes that we all look after the center after he is gone, I did the procedure to dissolve the intense protective energy around my urban enclave. Then I had a party, all by my lonesome.

In the process, many vivid memories popped up of advice I’ve been given by my fellow practitioners and lamas. I felt sad, and didn’t know if I could bring myself to end my peaceful existence here (way earlier than I had planned). I recalled advice my friend Rinchen gave me when I went in to three year retreat. He recommended I say out loud to myself when times were rough: “Yudron, you can do this.” And so I did. It’s an amazingly powerful statement.

Lama Tharchin Rinpoche used to counsel me like that when I was having a hard time, and my mind turned negative. “Say to yourself, ‘Yudron…” What followed was a list of all the aspects of the good fortune I had. Have you ever read The Power of Positive Thinking, by Norman Vincent Peale? It was an early progenitor of the self-help book genre. I read some of it in a doctor’s waiting room long ago. Rinpoche was kinda like that. Of course, Buddhists are constantly aware of the reality of sickness, old age and death, so it has a slightly different flavor. For me, one of the main trainings in long group retreat was vey basic—how to work with your mind without going negative, when all sorts of difficult things are going on around you. Going negative usually entails coming down on someone. That person is bad, bad, bad.
 
Today, I was aware that my mind could go negative.  Since there is only one person here, I didn’t have anyone to project my disappointment on to and make into an enemy. Instead, thoughts of my own past fuck ups came up. Specifically, the many times I blew it in my relationship with Lama Tharchin Rinpoche, who I honestly loved more than anyone in the world. My friend Gail Sher wrote a book called One Continuous Mistake. The more I strove to be a good student, the more continuous my mistakes were. There is an old adage—did it come from Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche?—that the lama mirrors your neuroses. Well, ain’t that the damn truth! 

When I started to sink, I brought to mind what Dungse Thinley Norbu Rinpoche said to me in a kata line once.  He told me that when I dwell on my obscurations or defilements, I should think about Vajrasattva and Guru Rinpoche inseparable, instead.  [For those who aren’t in our tradition, these are the symbolic representations of complete purity, and the guiding principle, as deities.]  So, I did think about them for a moment, and felt better. 

Today, I also remembered many instructions on the technicalities of ritual from my two retreat masters.  There were some things I couldn’t remember, as well, but I did my best.  By the time I finished, I felt my reservations about ending my solitude were resolved, and blessings were present—as they are for anyone who practices with good heart.

The lessons go on, in the absence of the physical presence of wisdom lamas, or  the physical presence of my fellow practitioners.

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I don’t post on my blog while I am in retreat. So, there are gaps.  Nowadays, I have hesitations about blogging at all. One is, frankly, more of our lineage lamas are using the internet these days, and they may stumble on this obscure blog. I love them, and don’t want to displease their wisdom minds. 

In Tibetan culture, half-baked people like me did not traditionally write anything about Dharma—even as tangentially as I am doing now. For starters, there was no public school system, so most people were illiterate. But, also, in a Buddhist society the written word of the Dharma is holy. People respect the depth of knowledge and realization that is necessary to write about it in a way that is both accurate and helpful. From that perspective, folks like me, who are not teachers, do not have realization, and are generally ignorant, should remain silent. 

On the other hand, my life is dedicated to the Buddhadharma, and I am a writer by nature. So blogging is natural to me.  My sojourn as a practitioner—and soon-to-be inspirational writer for teens—has it’s interesting dimensions, thrills and spills. So, I’ll press forward, and try to write responsibly. 

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The wife of the mahasiddha Saraha, one of the greats from ancient India, cooked some radish stew. She did not have time to serve it to Saraha before he went into a meditative state from which he didn’t emerge for twelve years.

When he regained normal consciousness:
“…he asked his wife for the plate of stew… She was upset by the request and questioned him, asking why after twelve years of meditation was he still full of desire for the stew. He was embarrassed and said they should move to the mountains so as to be even more isolated in his meditation and she retorted that it was not necessary for them to move. She explained to him that the greatest solitude comes when one is free from conceptual thought as well as the preconceptions and prejudices of an inflexible and narrow mind. Saraha was inspired by his wife's words and continued his meditation with the sole intention of freeing his mind from conceptual thinking. He began to experience all things as space, seeing the world in its natural state.” 
[The quote comes from the Himalayan Art website, but sounds like the translator Keith Dowman.]

This is a famous story. When I first heard it twenty years ago, I had no clue about what it meant. Now, I know that practitioners of Mahamudra don’t strive for semi-comatose meditative states. I’m not saying I am a practitioner of Mahamudra, or anything so exalted. I’m not. But, I do take his consort’s advice seriously and aspire to do as she advised. 

Nothing Better than Long Term Retreat

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Today I would like to start talking about the benefits of a retreat centered lifestyle for serious Buddhist practitioners.  First, I will address the ways that people have attained realization in recent history.

Among the favorite reading materials of yogis and yoginis of the Nyingma tradition are the biographies of the great, realized, lamas of Tibet.   We read them in order to model ourselves after them.  I have a particular interest in the 20^th century adepts, because they are closer in time to my life, and a few are still alive.  Many of their students are alive.

There is one catch.  These are often reincarnate masters who have a lot of past life accomplishment to draw on.  It is sometimes hard for me to know, as an ordinary person, how to model myself after someone who had tremendous accomplishment in childhood, or even infancy.  I believe the stories, because I have personally met lamas like that.  I don’t understand Buddhists who are super skeptical, but that is a whole ‘nother topic.

As I was starting to write this, I looked back through a bunch short bios on these 20^th century people in the same tradition as me who had the experience of realization .  There were a few things I noticed.  Some reincarnate lamas gained realization while merely receiving teachings on the great Dzogchen texts, such as the Yeshe Lama, or during a one-on-one experience with their lama of being introduced to the nature of their mind via a variety of formal and informal means.  As an example of informal means, one 20^th century lama gained realization exactly how Naropa did; he was beat up by his lama with a shoe!   This was one of the early Pema Norbus, the one who lived from 1887 to 1932.

I also noticed that most of these great lamas spent seven or more years studying, and also serving, their lamas.  Some gained realization in that kind of intensive work-study-practice environment.  Something must have rubbed off!  This is one way to gain realization.

I also noticed that those 20th century teachers who did not 'wake up' in this kind of lifestyle (and some who did) went on to do intensive retreat practice.  The biographies were sometimes short on specifics about how long and under what conditions they undertook retreat, but generally they spent between 3 and 22 years in secluded retreat.

These great figures did a lot of deity approach and accomplishment practices (nyen drups) “of the three roots.”  In our Nyingma tradition, that means they did practices of the Lama category (Guru Rinpoche, Vajrasattva, or Longchenpa usually), the yidam category  (such as Vajrakilaya, Manjushri, or Yamantaka), and the dakini category (Yeshe Tsogyal, Tara, etc.)   Some lamas really did a lot of these retreats, which take a specific period of time (such as one, three, or six months) or the repetition of a certain number of mantras.  Lamas like Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche, Jamyang Khyentse Chokyi Lodro, and my own less-famous lama, Tharchin Rinpoche, did complete nyendrups on dozens of deities. 

For practitioners of that caliber, there are many wonderful things that happen in those retreats, such as phurbas levitating, beams of light emanating from ritual objects, or a tea offering catching fire.  For people of my caliber, we are lucky to have a good dream. Sometimes nothing positive seems to happen.

Quite a few of these lamas also did retreat on the core practices of the Great Perfection itself for several years.  Not too many of these Nyingma biographies mention a lot of tsalung practice, but there were certainly famous lamas, such as Shakya Shri, who were greatly accomplished in that arena.

It is assumed that every serious practitioner, had miserable experiences in retreat as well.  Jamgon Kongtrul, for example, very franly discusses his illnesses and difficult experiences in retreat in his autobiography.  The point of having supervision by an experienced lama when one is doing long term retreat is to avoid getting carried away by positive experiences, or freaked out by negative experiences.  Also, one needs instruction about how to potentially turn experiences into realization.

For me, while I am not a very good meditator (or perhaps because of it) there is delight at the thought of undertaking a new practice, or a new approach to practice in the next retreat.  Some people want to travel to new places, and they have their adventure that way.  I have always been enchanted by the cave dwelling yogini really applying herself sincerely to the practices, and just seeing what happens.  I have endless curiosity about that.  Where will this take me? 

It may sound cheesy, but I do take the Bodhisattva intention very seriously.  There is belief there inside me in the power of enlightened yogis and yoginis to benefit the world.  Something opens, and one’s wisdom and compassion completely blossom, and one becomes a beacon for the world, and one’s prayers have real power.  I’ve seen that this has happened others, and I am committed (as many, many, other simple people who have taken the Bodhisattva vow are) to follow my practice through to that point.  It may not happen for me in this life, but there is always an opportunity in the bardo, or beyond.

Shortly after Lama Tharchin Rinpoche’s passing, Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche spoke to us twice.  He talked about the unlikelihood of having the opportunity to do long term retreat in the present era, and suggested we just simply generate aspirational Bodhichitta as our main practice.  Khyentse Rinpoche is so brilliant.  There, at Pema Osel Ling, in a sangha where 40 people have completed three year retreat over the years, a handful have finished two or more retreats (not me!), and others are in still retreat, he gives a long talk about how it is probably impossible to do so.  Interesting.

Then, he uttered just a few words, a sentence fragment; “If you can, of course, there is nothing better.” 

Well, there is the upshot.  If you can, of course, there is nothing better.  Honestly, a lot of us really can.  We have the mental stability, the faith, a trusting relationship with our lamas, a stable practice, and what?  A divorce?  There are certainly plenty of those.  Retirement?  Plenty of those.  There is even a charity or two that does fund people in a well run, traditional, three-year retreat.

If you can, there is nothing better.


edited for grammar and typos 8-10-13 10:30 PDT

The Old British Colonialist Within

At the 2013 Buddhist Geeks conference in Boulder, Colorado, Zen teacher David Loy said, and I hope I have the quote exactly right, “we must tear down the myth of traditional Buddhist cosmology.” 

My initial response was a defensive one, my mind responding to this—and other similar statements—with an immediate “Who you calling ‘we,’ white boy?” 

I applied the key points of my practice to my subsequent emotional upheaval, which was admittedly already brewing from two speakers who had already that day mis-characterized the core practice of my own tradition.  Up front, I have to admit that my attempt to transform my own reactions to this kind of approach to the Buddhadharma into non-dual open awareness were completely unsuccessful.   I made several tweets during the talk that were snarky, albeit nowhere near as snarky as I felt at the time… and I am going to continue on in that vein.

I have three objections to Mr. Loy’s statement:

We

The first is the “we.”  The Buddhist Geeks conference is noted for being frequented by practitioners in their 20’s and 30’s.  This is one of the most cool things about it.  I am a white woman in my 50’s who wants to see younger people benefit from genuine Dharma.  The conference attendees are largely white, and the speakers intentionally included some people of color and women (bravo!), but no Asians, as far as I could tell.

The conference speakers who made the most claims about being wise and knowledgeable enough to determine what was valuable and what was not valuable in all forms of traditional Buddhadharma the world over, and – overtly or implicitly – what should be discarded, were mostly white male baby boomers.  I feel this mindset has unconscious white colonialist underpinnings. Quoting Osterhammel on Colonialism, via Wiki, “the colonizers are convinced of their own superiority and their ordained mandate to rule.”

Must Tear Down

A call to arms for Westerners to tear down traditional Buddhist beliefs has in it the implicit assumptions that we Westerners have a mandate to rule Buddhism.  The overt rationale is that science trumps tradition.  In this vein, Loy labeled the parts of the Dharma that he did not believe in as myths, such as “the myth of the Bodhisattva.”

Buddhist Cosmology

Western science’s study of the nature of reality and the nature of consciousness is in its infancy.  The idea that anything in Buddhist cosmology can be ruled out based on science is absurd.  These kinds of thoughts, that the Dharma consists of only what can be measured, come out of our own discomfort with the inherently illusory nature of the phenomena that appear in our sense fields.  It is soothing to our western habit to materialize the Dharma and reject the idea that there is anything beyond what we can measure and see.  The idea that “others,” i.e. Asian yogis and scholars, have a greater realization or understanding of reality is unacceptable.  We must eliminate any such thought immediately!

Retreats Aren't for Everyone

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The approach to long-term retreat in the last century or so, has emphasized a three year, three month supervised group retreat.  This is a format that the highly respected 19^th century teacher Jamgon Kongtrul promoted, because it fits with ancient tantric teachings about time, human physiology, and the effect of practice on our energy and nervous system.   Retreats can, however, be of any length.

The danger of isolated long term personal retreats, are that one can make mistakes in practice that lead to mental and emotional health issues, or one can become puffed up by personal pride.  The group three year treat format protects one against this because one is supervised, hopefully, by an experienced yogi, and also one’s interactions with one’s peers in retreat may undermine the development of arrogance and wear off one’s rough edges.

I recently heard about someone who had done many years in retreat.  A friend met this person, and found this practitioner had developed an attitude of superiority towards other practitioners who were engaged in another path.  This is an example of pride and dualistic thinking not being eliminated by practice, but increased instead.  What a waste!  Or maybe that is just my pride talking, saying “what a waste!”

Personal retreat, for some, tends to cultivate more in-depth meditation.

Retreat is suitable for some people, and not for others.  Super extroverts may not be comfortable with the lack of social interaction.  People with schizophrenia are, unfortunately, not suitable for long term retreat, and folks with some other mental health issues may not be.  Really, the advice of a senior wisdom teacher should be sought before doing a three-month or longer retreat… and I have seen some people not do well even in one month of solitude.

So, it is not a panacea.  Obviously, there are economic issues for folks as well.  There is sponsorship available for participants in respected three-year retreat facilities in the west www.tsadra.org, but getting one is not guaranteed.  One may need to do personal fundraising.   There are visa, language, and health issues involved in doing retreat in Asia where it is cheaper.

So, I have expressed a lot of downsides in this post.  If you are thinking about retreat, I am not trying to discourage you.  Next, I’ll write about some upsides.

Picnic on a Hill

This is a small replica of a large oil painting that I grew up with in our family home.  Art really does have an impact on one.  This evocative painting raises a number of questions for a child observing it.  Why is this woman up on a hill alone?  Is that a picnic basket?  Is she sad?

Then, the questions turn on oneself. Could I enjoy a picnic alone in nature?  What would I do there with no books, phone, TV or internet?  Suppose all my basic needs were taken care of, and I had a little cabin, heat and plenty of food.  What then?

Just the word "hermit" does sound sad to me, as does "solitude."  Flipping those feelings upside down, the Tibetan Buddhist tradition (among others) has the idea that living and meditating in solitude for long periods of time can be a break-through experience. 

I think lots of people, who are--like me--introverts by nature, pass a mesa in Arizona or a mountain in the Sierras, and picture themselves there in a cabin.  In our mind's eye we open into the vast sky, uniting with the spacious loving heart of the universe.

I've done enough retreat at this point to know that we carry our own baggage, the need to create problems, to invent unmet needs, and so on, to the mountaintop.  Unfolding is a process of applying the teachings of our powerful lineage of realized adepts to ourselves.  Starting at the beginning, the hallmark of Buddhism, the penetrating acceptance of impermanence itself.  Then, slowly coming to a conclusion about each critical point.

One petal at a time, the flower opens.  That hill is a good place to practice.  Why?  Well, for one, the ability to blame others for our problems is undermined.  They aren't even there.  I am  forced to take responsibility for my own mind.  Then, I am forced to love and accept the thinker of those ridiculous thoughts.

The Most Radical Humans

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Even before I became a Buddhist, I was intrigued by the stories of cave-dwelling hermits in the Tibetan tradition.  High mountain caves were used in Tibet for their isolation because they were relatively cheap, insulated, and easy to remodel into a long-term meditation place.  Also, I think the vastness of the sky had its appeal.  Saying someone was doing “mountain retreat” was synonymous with saying one was doing long-term serious retreat.

In long-term solo retreat, the distinguishing features of a monk or nun and a non-monastic yogi or yogini become largely irrelevant.  In the case of a non-monastic woman, the things she may do to make herself beautiful in ordinary life are set aside and she is just natural.  Internally, the thoughts of finding a sexual partner become just thoughts like any other, of no special importance.  A nun, on the other hand, stops shaving her head and lets her hair grows out long in retreat.  The relationships and hierarchy at her nunnery are set aside, and she, too, is just nakedly there.

Like the title of the famous book by Aya Khema (in the Theravadin tradition), one becomes “nobody, going nowhere.”  This is true for any retreatant, but especially in Western culture where long-term retreat is not valued, one gives up all ambition and looses whether status one had from one’s career or family role. 

While aiming for realization, there is no guarantee that such a thing will happen.  The only thing guaranteed to happen is that one’s body will continue to age.

Why on earth would one do such a thing?  The answer is renunciation… a not very sexy word.  On the Buddhist path, the speedy loud ways of humans running around seeking this and that on the worldly level eventually becomes completely unsatisfying.  Even while seeking pleasure, one can see the inevitable end of that pleasure.  Even while avoiding pain, one sees the end of that relief from pain. 

Instead, one yearns to connect with enlightenment, to dive in to realization, or simply to place oneself in a state of open heartedness, loving all living beings equally, limitlessly.

Eventually one may find the blue sky outside and inside, the completely awakened state.

The Emergence of Wisdom 2.0

I just returned from spending 3 ½ days at the Wisdom 2.0 conference.  In case you haven’t heard about this astounding successful conference series, it is a get together to discuss wisdom and compassion in the Digital age.  Who would know how this idea would catch on?  This year’s attendance was about 1700 people, which I believe more that doubled from the previous year. 

The event took place in San Francisco’s large barn-like Concourse Exhibition Hall, appropriately located in the south of Market area, next door to the imposing Zynga building. 

I have been absorbed in my own world of dedicated traditional practice in my specific Buddhist tradition for years.  I have certainly been aware that mindfulness meditation practices, in various forms, and--of course--yoga, have become increasingly popular.   I was surprised to see, however, how many business leaders, such as Bill Ford from Ford Motors, and many (apparently famous) tech entrepreneurs such as Bill Evans—formerly of Twitter—and top executives from Facebook, Google, and Linked-in are willing to be “out” not only about their meditation practices, but the role that compassion and wisdom play in their world view.  This was complemented by many researchers and grass-roots activists who are working to bring these practices and compassionate values to their communities and the world. 

Two members of Congress spoke about the intersection between their political work and their personal practice… Tulsi Gabbard and Tim Ryan, and I was impressed with their humility and good heart.

Marianne Williamson, a prolific and popular writer and lecturer on spiritual topics, was perhaps the biggest surprise.  She speaks in a style that obviously draws from Christian preachers, even through she is not that, and initially I had the impulse to leave the room, because the studied style of professional speaker on the circuit usually sends a signal to me that I am about to be hustled.  But, what a pleasant surprise when the message she sent was to throw down the gauntlet to the all of there, especially the business leaders, to use all that brain and financial power to do real good in the world… and specifically to get together and do what needs to be done to eliminate extreme poverty in the world.

But more important than the big talks were discussions I had with individuals about their current work and projects that I am working in.  I have a project I am in the formative stages of, and it was very good for me to see the big picture of what will certainly be an eventual revolution in the U.S. – balancing inner life and outer work and new values that inevitably come out of that.  As San Francisco goes, so goes the nation.  Eventually.

These people were mostly coming from the doing side and trying to bring in the contemplative side, and I come from the contemplative side and am moving into doing.  I just listened and watched, like a beginner all over again, asking myself again and again “what can I take from this into my work?”  “What do I bring to the table as a strength.” 

Inside I watched my various reactions to the environment, from my snarky anti-authoritarian side, to my pride rearing its head, and also (not unrelated) what would push my buttons.  I found that my own capacity to actively engage with others – almost everyone there was a total stranger – needed to be balanced with unengaged times, some lunches alone, and a few chair naps.  There were a lot of sub-spaces, including a meditation room and a yoga room, which I admired from afar.

I recommend this gathering—if you or your organization can afford it—to folks who are engaged in wisdom and compassion work, in any setting, as a way to expand and connect in the larger world of people who will get the significance of what you are doing.

Focus on Teens and the Dharma

This blog is quiet because I’m putting my time into meditation and writing a book.  The book is a novel for young adults, intended to share my joy and endless curiosity about the lived through experience of a practitioner of Tibetan Buddhism in modern American life.  I’m about a third of the way through my rough draft.  That is really near the beginning because there are many rewrites necessary in writing a good book.  Or so they say… I wouldn’t really know because this is my first work of fiction.

My personality is such that I approach everything from the big picture first.  Perhaps this is from the combination of being an Aquarian and the daughter of a lawyer—who wrote legislation for the U.S. congress no less.  So, I usually approach things – even human interaction – based on principle first, then narrow it down to the personal… much to the bafflement of the people in my life. 

So, I have a pretty complete outline of the book and the cast of characters, and I’m writing the book based on that.  This is not a fantasy work, it is a girl’s experience of meeting with the Dharma for the first time—enlivened by all the kind of natural magic and synchronicity that regularly enlivens the lives of Vajrayana practitioners.

Yesterday, I went to Facebook headquarters—the real place in Menlo Park, California where Facebook is based.  It was Compassion Research Day that they kindly hosted, presenting what they are learning about how to gently foster better communication between Facebook users based on their research with their billion user strong database.  They are specifically focusing on 13-14 year olds right now.  What causes them to report what they feel is an inappropriate post or picture to Facebook?  The most common thing that is reported by this age group is girl reporting being tagged by a friend in a photo.  Guess why?  Because they are embarrassed that they look bad in the picture!   Hundreds of thousands of instances like this are reported to Facebook by teens.  So they have a crew of psychologists working on refining how to redirect the kid back to communicating with their friend about it, rather than having Facebook intervene.  They have developed little template messages that kids can send to their friends that are customized to communicate what they are feeling about the post, and how strongly they feel about it.

Of course, there are instances of real bullying and other issues that come up between people on Facebook, and these vary a lot from country to country.  In India, one of the worse things you can do is to deface images of someone’s favorite sports figure or celebrity and post it on a friend’s wall!  It was fascinating, and I learned a lot from the adult presenters and a panel of teens they had come in at the end of the day.  Next week I am going to a training for writing tutors at my neighborhood (tough!) high school, something I hope to do, partially because I always have wanted to volunteer in the schools, and partially to improve my skills in working with youth.

When my book is done, hopefully by the summer/fall, and on the way to be published somehow, I am going to be starting a youth group here in the Bay Area based on the Dudjom Chö tradition.   I’m hoping the book will spark kids’ interest.  We are very rich with wonderful lamas in the Bay Area, and I’m lucky enough to have been acquainted with a bunch of them for a long time.  I’m starting to go around and invite the lama’s to come do short pithy teachings for the kids once we get going.   I will be the organizer and head coach, and will be assisted by other yogis and yoginis of our tradition.  More later, of course.

Flower Offering

I potted up 16 pots of sun-friendly perennials for the front of the house today.

Quick, I said to myself, take a picture before any of them die!

Pot-ential

I’m beginning to perk up physically after my surgery seven weeks, and now I can see how much remains to be done around my house to re-establish my home after three years in retreat.  What I should do is assemble furniture, unpack boxes and put away things, and dreary things like that.  But, instead I am starting with flowers.  I found dozens of my own dead or half dead potted plants everywhere in plastic pots.  Plus empty plastic pots.  The plastic pots were faded and trashy looking. 

Funny, how when you pose a question in your mind the answers just appear.  I went to Berkeley Horticultural Nursery—an urban paradise—just for the pleasure of looking around.  As I drove around back I saw that a place had been established to drop off unwanted pots for recycling.  Woo hoo!  I don’t have to put the old black nursery pots in the landfill.  So, yesterday I loaded up the back of the car with the ones I would never use again.

Now, what to do with the trashy faded adobe colored plastic pots?   I just can’t lift full pottery pots anymore.  These plastic ones are theoretically useful—but what an eyesore!

Then I stumbled upon some edition of “Ask This Old House” on PBS in the last week and—sure enough—they addressed this issue!  They painted them with spray paints.

So, yesterday I:

1.  Emptied all the usable pottery soil from the bottom of the old pots in a pile on a tarp, and mixed it with fresh pottery soil from a bag.

1.  Put the old dead or unwanted plants in the compost.

2.  Filled a big bucket of water up, and added a little earth friendly dishwashing liquid.

3.  Using a car-washing mitt to wash all the pots.

4.  Did my best to deal with the thousand of ants that quickly swarmed me, my pots, and my hose, with minimal casualties.

5.  Let them dry.  The show recommended wiping the surfaces down with denatured alcohol to get any grease off.  I read the label of Klean-strip Green Denatured Alcohol and decided it looks pretty harmless unless I drink it – which would kill me.  I wiped the pots down with it and it helped take off the remaining price tags and adhesive.

6.  Since the background for these pots will eventually be my pastel colored house, I thought Easter egg colors would be cool and unusual, so I bought the spray paints ahead of time and had them at-the-ready.

7.  While everything was drying I went back to the nursery, dropped off the pots, and bought some plants I thought might be appropriate for a hot October, and might possibly over winter.

8.  Came back and spray-painted those pots until my finger went numb! (Not recommended, I read now that it may be some weeks before sensation comes back.]

Boy they look just too cute, don’t you think?

Surgery in a Buddhist Context

I woke up from surgery surrounded by love.  It was August 15, 2012 and my Tibetan lama -- an elder in his late 70’s -- had gone way out his way to be there throughout my surgery and when I awoke.  Other friends surrounded my bed, some like hallucinations, because I had no idea they would be present that day.

What a different experience it would have been if I were a private person in a long-term relationship with one person, quietly coming to in my hospital bed!  No hurried last minute “likes” on Facebook to the many supportive messages the night before surgery.  No Tibetan holy men rolling their malas (rosaries) with mantras and prayers on my behalf. 

At this specific juncture of my life, I’m accustomed to being married to a community.  For the past three and a half years, ending about June, I was in a cloistered group meditation retreat with a group of people.  We came to know all each other’s strengths and weaknesses, our sensitive areas and hidden heroic qualities.

So, it was not so strange to be waking, drowsy from Morphine, in a group… my snoring (and who knows what all) exposed to the community that held and supported me.

Since then, three people from my retreat have lived with me (at various times) in my half-unpacked house while I recuperate.  They move this heavy MacBook Pro from my bed to the couch and back again at my whim.  They feed the feral cat, wash y dishes, and take out the trash.  Yesterday, two of A.dz.om Rinpoche’s students came by in the morning and walked with me a few blocks, and listened to me rattle on.  Then, later, two of Lama Tharchin Rinpoche’s students came by and did tsog – in important group practice for us – while I mumbled along the best I could in between some pangs of pain.

Normally, I like a lot of alone time to practice.  But in this time of recovery I don’t have the attention span for formal practice, and I appreciate the opposite—distraction.  In the middle of the night, my “attendant” friend asleep, it’s just me and my snarling abdomen in boring dialogue.

Contemplating Rudders and Spiritual Life

The rudder of a sailboat is the part of the craft is a movable part that descends from the rear… the way the captain steers.

I have been contemplating how important my own personal “rudder” is in directing my life.

Several conversations with Buddhist lamas come to mind:

In the early 2000s I made a temporary Tibetan shrine room in the (leaky, as it turns out) garage below my rental apartment in Oakland.  I started inviting lamas there and also leading practice groups for the foundational practices at the instruction of one of my lamas.  While discussing a future teaching there with Lama Yeshe Wango, she encouraged me to wrote a mission statement for the little space—something that non-profit organizations do—which had never occurred to me.  In the process of doing that I greatly clarified my own purpose, focused it and refined it.  This prevented me from going of in many directions at once.  The whole experience of “Dakini Cave” was a very positive one, and I felt completely satisfied when I closed up the space at the end of 2006.

At other times, my three main Tibetan lamas have gently encouraged me to focus on the main point of our lineage teachings, and – in so many words – there is no need to keep researching every practice and every lama. They know I tend to be interested in everything, and also have endless projects put into my mind.

I do have a background in nursing, where we need to be able to clearly articulate our nursing diagnosis, our specific goal, and plan to get there.  I also have been through “strategic planning” meetings with non-profit organizations where they do similarly frame things in terms of an over-all mission statement and a few clear specific objectives about how accomplish them.

That all sounds kind of dorky and dry, but I have an opinion:  it is really useful to sit down and make a mission statement for our life for a specified period of time, such as three or five years.  Then, it is probably good to communicate this to the people in our lives.  I feel this is especially true for us people who are spiritually focused – if not, all the forces of this materialistic society will push us in the direction of trying to create a comfortable and pleasant situation in this life (a never-ending struggle) instead of our own transcendent purposes that go beyond this life.

Take, for example, John: he is a relatively new, but serious, student of Tibetan Buddhism who has a good connection to a wisdom lama of the Great Perfection Teachings.  He might have the mission statement

“The Mission of John Smith is to attain enlightenment in this life, in the bardo, or in the next life. ” So, John might make the following specific objectives:

·      I will follow the practice instructions of my Vajrayana teacher to the best of my ability.

·      I will finish my foundational practices in four years by practicing a minimum of 1.25 hours at least five days a week.

·      Within five years I will start a six month to three year retreat under the direct guidance of a qualified teacher.

·      I will get myself out of debt so I can increase my freedom to practice.

·      I will learn the Tibetan alphabet and some basic Dharma vocabulary.

Contrast this with Emily, who at 23 has taken refuge as a Buddhist, and attends group practices at her local meditation center.  She is married to a Buddhist, loves children and delights in thinking of raising kids with Buddhist values.

She might write:

“The mission of Emily Fairchild is to create a family with her husband Bob and strongly incorporate Buddhist values such as love, compassion, joy and equanimity into our children’s rearing.”

·      I will connect with other Buddhist parents who want make a support group for Buddhist Childrearing.

·      I will put energy into sustaining a positive relationship with Bob, and co-envision how we can incorporate the Dharma in the first few years of life.

·      I will gradually start talking with my parents and sister about what my values are.

·      I will continue to attend my one-hour group practice at the center, at least once a week.

·       I will work extra shifts now to support my family, because I know it will not be possible later.

So, we can see that John and Emily’s goals – while outside of the mainstream -- are very different, and will result in vastly different behaviors.  John, for example, cannot realistically initiate a long-term committed relationship during this five-year period, and also cannot take on responsibility for long-lived animals.  He needs to choose a career, such as tradesman or nurse, which will not be harmed by taking time off to do retreat in the future.  Emily needs close ties to the community of like-minded parents, and to spend her free time either with her husband, to build the young relationship and nest environment, or at work, to save money.

This is the kind of rudder I am talking about.  Without it, all kinds of obstacles to our own goals will sneak in, and before we know it we find ourselves in old age having done little of lasting value.

Do you think this is true?