05/20 2013 Posted In Mindful

Thoughts while Eating Applesauce

applesauce-4Dear Friends,

On a recent retreat, the chefs made fresh, hot applesauce, which was just what we needed on a cool morning in the woods. I took only a small portion of applesauce, and I saved it for last because I knew it would be really tasty. My first bite confirmed the sweet and tart deliciousness of the applesauce, and because I had only a few bites worth on my plate, I savored every bite.

On this retreat, we had been discussing the insight of impermanence. The idea is that when we really know that everything around us, including ourselves, is impermanent we will cling less and savor more.  And that will bring more joy and less suffering to ourselves and others. During our discussions on impermanence, someone asked whether it was possible that we would grasp more if we really know that this person or thing has a limited existence. Interesting question.

So while I was eating my applesauce, I felt myself really basking in the taste and texture, and yet not clinging to it, not thinking about how and when I would get more on my plate.  It was how I felt when I was a girl and would get a small treat– a couple of smarties or a bowl of ice cream. I savored the applesauce in the same way; I wasn’t thinking about how to get more. Why not?

Most of the time, as an adult, when I really like something I think about getting more of it. And by doing that I actually lose the enjoyment of the thing itself. I spend potentially happy time strategizing my next move rather than savoring the person, the treat, or the moment. Watching a beautiful sunset in Florida, I might wonder when I will next get back to the beach. Or when my children are home for a short visit, I might spend time worrying about when I can organize a family vacation. I can lose the pleasure of the moment by being caught in my own craving for more, more, more.

So why are kids better at savoring the moments of joy than adults? I contemplated this between bites of applesauce.  And I realized that as kids, we know we aren’t getting any more. For the most part we are powerless over what we get.  We aren’t going to get more candy, more ice cream, or another dog. There is no hope in planning to get more because we know in our hearts we won’t get it. But as adults we have the belief that it might be possible to get more of what we want. Maybe I can get back to Florida again, maybe I can finally coordinate a family vacation. Our illusion of control actually contributes to our grasping for more.

“Until we accept and deeply understand in our very being that things change from moment to moment, and never stop even for one instant, only then can we let go. And when we really let go inside, the relief is enormous. Ironically this gives release to a whole new dimension of love.” –Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo, from Into the Heart of Life

And in some cases, it is true that we might be able to get more of what we want, but we can’t ever know for sure. Just like we knew as kids, we truly are powerless over most things in life. I may never get back to Florida, and even if I do, there may not be another sunset like this one.  And if I persist on getting our family together for a vacation, it might be a disaster. The reason I didn’t crave more applesauce was because, in that moment, I recognized that if I did go back for seconds it wouldn’t make me any happier than I already was.

One of my favorite memories is of my son, about eight years old, eating pie at a silent retreat. The cafeteria was filled with a few hundred people, and completely silent, except for the sound of my son, who with each bite was loud saying, “mmmmmmm.” I am sure he wasn’t thinking about the next piece of pie, because he knew I would not have let him get one.  And because he knew he was powerless, he could really delight in that pie.

So what if we tried to live with this attitude that we all had as kids? When we are enjoying a pleasant moment, we can remember our powerlessness over life, the fact that everyone and everything around us is subject to change no matter what we do. This moment will never recur in this same way, like everything else it is impermanent. Trying to hold on to it or recreate it in the future is futile.  The only option is to enjoy it to the fullest.  Mmmmmm.

with love, annie
04/28 2013 Posted In Contentment/Happiness, Mindful, Non-attachment/Letting go

Lean Out

Dear Friends,

Last month I read the book Lean In by Facebook and Google executive, Sheryl Sandberg. Just after I finished the book, I happened to have dinner with my college age daughter, quite a feminist herself, and I shared the basic premise of the book.

One of Sandberg’s key stories is about a time when she hosted a meeting at Facebook for a Treasury secretary. The secretary brought a team of four women with him, and many of the other invited guests were men. The men all took seats at the main table, and the women sat in chairs off to the back. Even when Sandberg invited them up, the women stayed in their seats behind the main table.

Sandberg sees this as an analogy for women in the workplace, and she invites women reading her book to lean in to the business world, rather than take the seats off to the back. When I read this, I thought, “Yeah, that’s right! Why do we women so often sit in the back? We should take the seats at the front just like the men.”

So I shared all of this with my daughter, and to my great surprise, she said, “Why should we follow the men by leaning in? Why don’t men practicing leaning out?”

It took me a moment to understand what she was saying, but when I did I realized that she had an interesting point. What would it be like if everyone leaned out? What if all the men and women in Sandberg’s meeting humbly took the back row? Would the Dalai Lama take the front row or the back row? What about Thich Nhat Hanh? Or Mother Theresa? And I am sure you can think of other strong, courageous people who would sit in the back row because they don’t think they are the only ones with the answers.

What would the world look like if we all took the back row? If we leaned out, rather than leaning in? It wouldn’t mean not promoting agendas for positive change in the world. It may mean we offer our own insights and at the same time recognize that other people, and even other species, might have something to offer us.

“Giving up always being right doesn’t mean you forsake your opinions or your right to seek social justice, but you are not defensive, judgmental, or self-righteous in your approach to life. You mindfully live with the fact that even when you’re wrong it’s okay because you are coming from your deepest intention. Also, you learn from being wrong (or right), therefore you become a more effective person.” — Phillip Moffitt

Phillip Moffitt teaches the profound and, for me, very challenging practice of letting go of our need to be right. When we look mindfully at our behavior, we see all the places where we literally or figuratively take the front seat because we are sure we are right. We think we know best. Taking the seat in the back simply means that we aren’t convinced that our way is the right or only way. And in so doing we offer others the gift of being heard, and ourselves the gift of hearing others. The view from the back is definitely more inclusive.

Science and the Buddha both teach that it is wise not to accept anything without trying it out for ourselves. So why not try taking the back seat? Try leaning out, listening more, and saying less. Try letting go of your attachment to being right. And observe– does it lead to less suffering for yourself and those in your life? Sheryl Sandberg may not agree, but I will take a lesson from my feminist daughter and many wise spiritual teachers, and try leaning out for a while.

with love, annie
04/22 2013 Posted In Contentment/Happiness, Meditation, Mindful, Non-attachment/Letting go, Thoughts From Annie

The Elixir in the Box

Dear Friends,

I have been on a lot of different spiritual paths over these last 50 years. I was baptized Methodist, and raised going to a politically progressive Presbyterian church. I discovered meditation as a teenager, sometimes considered myself an atheist, dabbled in wicca, and became a yogi. I attended Divinity school at Howard University, founded a yoga and mindfulness studio, and was ordained in a Buddhist tradition.

Wandering through each of these traditions, I discovered a lot of differences in the practices and yet all were leading to the same ineffable state known as enlightenment, nirvana, rapture, oneness, or simply contentment. Listening to the Buddhist nun Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo, I heard a useful metaphor for my experience: she said that we are all seeking the same spiritual elixir, but it resides in a multitude of boxes, each decorated with specific rituals and cultural practices.

Each box is both fascinating and familiar to us. We are most comfortable with the boxes we were raised with, but we can also be intrigued by exploring boxes from other cultures. Yoga, Buddhism and the African-American church may have been less familiar boxes, but I was always looking for the same elixir.

As Palmo also mentions, the elixir itself doesn’t appear to be very interesting, especially compared to the box itself. Contentment isn’t very exciting, so we often forget that it’s the real prize. But because we aren’t able to access the elixir any other way, we must go through one of the boxes. The Buddha described this same concept with a different metaphor.  He said that the only way to get from the shore of suffering to the shore of non-suffering is to build a raft and sail across.

What sometimes happens is that we get so caught up in the box’s beauty and ornamentation that we forget what we are really after — the elixir, the contentment, the joy. We can get caught up in meditating, doing yoga, going to services, or studying religious texts and miss the enlightenment in front of us in this moment. Or to use the Buddha’s metaphor: when we reach the shore of non-suffering instead of letting go of the raft, we mistakenly pick it up and carry it with us.

The practices, rituals, and cultural aspects of a spiritual path are the raft or the beautiful box from which we can arrive at the shore of non-suffering and find the contentment that we have been longing for. We need the box to get to the elixir and we need the raft to get to the other shore. And at the same time we need to remember that the box is not the elixir, and the raft is not the shore.

“It is often said that the Buddha’s teaching is only a raft to help you cross the river, a finger pointing to the moon. Don’t mistake the finger for the moon. The raft is not the shore. If we cling to the raft, if we cling to the finger, we miss everything.” — Thich Nhat Hanh (Being Peace)

When I find myself caught up in the activity or ritual of practice, such as practicing yoga just to be able to say I did, or trying to look perfect while sitting in meditation, I remind myself of what I really want — the core of all spiritual paths, the shore of non-suffering. And now and then, when I am able to let go of my attachment to the practice without letting go of the practice itself, I get a taste of that sweet elixir.  Ahhh.

with love, annie
03/13 2013 Posted In Difficulties & Loss, Family, Friends & Community, Mindful, Non-attachment/Letting go, Thoughts From Annie

Where do we go when we die?

Dear Friends,

I spent a full day this week at the hospital with a dear 82-year-old friend and her family.  What I thought was going to be a one hour conference with the doctor, her family and myself, turned into eight hours of meditation and discussion about whether to resuscitate our friend should she stop breathing again.  She had been resuscitated two times earlier in the week, and was being kept alive by the combination of breathing apparatus and feeding tube connected directly into her intestines.

In the end her sons made the final call.  They decided to have her resuscitated if her breathing or heart failed again, and to keep her on the life support even while three different “super bugs” chewed through her body. For them they had to make a decision that would allow them to sleep at night. And not resuscitating her would have been tantamount to “giving up” in their minds. They weren’t ready to let go of their beloved mother.

This is a decision process that many of us will have to go through at some point with a loved one.  We want to keep them with us as long as possible.  And we also don’t want them to suffer.  My friend’s son put it this way, “I am sure that ma doesn’t want to die, that I know. And I know that she doesn’t want to keep suffering like this.” Wouldn’t we all say that about ourselves and our loved ones.  It’s human nature that we don’t want to die and we don’t want to suffer. So it’s hard to make decisions about when someone has had enough suffering and is ready to go.

The Buddha never commented on whether there was another life after this one.  When asked, he kept silent.  What he did say was, “I teach only suffering and the end of suffering.”  And for the Buddha it was clear that clinging to anything in the realm of form, including our body or our loved one’s body, was a source suffering. And at the same time he taught that we don’t have a completely separate self or soul that continues intact.  Form is Emptiness and Emptiness is Form.  We are not this body and we are also not something other than this body.

So where does that leave us in making end of life decisions?   I can see that my friend is not this deteriorating body full of bedsores, MRSA, and failing digestive system. That is clear.  So if she’s not in that body, then where can I find my friend?

Because she spent so much time with us and my kids while they were young, I find my friend in the twinkle in my kids’ eyes when then talk about how silly and feisty she was.  I find her in my own resilience to difficulties as I watched her facing the psychiatric breakdown of one daughter and the homelessness of another.  One of my go-to stories that makes me laugh and cry at the same time is this one:  She was walking down the street one evening and heard a crack and felt wetness flowing down her neck.  Realizing that she had been hit over the head by a would-be assailant and was bleeding, she kept her head up and continued to walk briskly to her destination.  The attacker, who must have been shocked by the strength and stamina of this petite woman, fled.  Even though it happened to her, it has given me courage through the years.

“You are like a candle. Imagine you are sending light out all around you. All your words, thoughts and actions are going in many directions. If you say something kind, your kind words go in many directions, and you yourself go with them. We are …transforming and continuing in a different form at every moment.”  – Thich Nhat Hanh, from No Death, No Fear

I also find my friend in the eyes and manners of her sons and her nieces.  Sitting with them in the hospital for so many hours, there was no doubt in my mind that she was right there with us.  The stories we told and the ways that we were changed by our interactions with her are permanent and will continue on through our own lives and through the energies and memories that we pass along to future generations. Even though we are empty we exist and we inter-are with and influence everything around us.

“If our boats are empty, though there is still a vessel carried by the prevailing winds and currents there is not ‘someone’ in it to be misunderstood…Everything is in perfect harmony.  Nothing is pulling against the natural flow.  No one in the boat: no one to suffer”  – Stephen Levine, from Who Dies?

Seeing all of this, I know that I never have to let go of my friend.  The outcome for all of us is the same.  We will leave this fathom-long body at some point in the not so distant future. But because there is no “me” or “her” to let go of, there is no letting go.  We are transforming and sending ourselves out in every moment of our lives. And the last moment, when we lose this body, is just another moment of transformation.

with love, annie
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