What Kind of Dog are You?

Gus and Ralphie

Happiness is here and now, I have dropped my worries, Nowhere to go, Nothing to do, No longer in a hurry.  — Mindfulness song.

Dear Friends,

This morning I took two dogs on a walk in Rock Creek Park.  Gus is our 12-year-old standard poodle, a super chill guy, and Ralphie is my daughter’s 10-pound Havanese.

Gus can walk off leash very well.  He stops to smell things now and then, and jogs to catch up with us again.  He enjoys every moment of his walk.  Ralphie is a different story.  He strains on his leash, huffing and puffing, always trying to get somewhere.  Ralphie always needs to be in front of everyone else.  When he does stop to smell a tree or some dead leaves, he freaks out if anyone get ahead of him.   He will even cut short his peeing in order to race up to the front of the pack.

Today while we were walking, I realized that Ralphie doesn’t seem to enjoy his walk in the woods because he is so focused on getting ahead.  When we are preparing to leave the house on our walk, he bounces around excitedly.  But when we get to the park, there is something in him that drives him to push ahead, and doesn’t allow him to relax and enjoy himself.

It makes me sad to see Ralphie missing the joy possible in his walk, but it also reminds me of how I behave a lot of the time.  I often feel like I am driven to get somewhere, that I am panting and straining on my own leash.  This prevents me from really enjoying life.  Like Ralphie, I get distracted by some perceived end-point, thinking I need to hurry up and arrive.  And I forget that I am already arriving in each moment.  Raphie doesn’t realize that his rushing only gets him more quickly to the end of his long-anticipated walk.  And I don’t realize that rushing just gets me more quickly to the end of my day, year, and life.  Neither of us is really choosing to live like this, we just have strong habit energies propelling us into the future.

After today’s walk, I decided that I want to walk through my life the way Gus does.  He is excited to get out of the house, thrilled to smell anything that interests him, and never gets too far behind.  He lopes along at a leisurely pace without rushing or missing any valuable peeing opportunities.  When we get to the end of our walk, he is just as happy to get into the house for a treat as he was to leave it.  Gus lives the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, I have arrived, I am home, in every moment.   He is free.   And I aspire to that as well.

Perhaps even Ralphie will be able to follow in Gus’s footsteps one day.

with love,

annie.

with love, annie

Planning to Live

We walk through half our life as if it were a fever dream, barely touching the ground, our eyes half open, our heart half closed… until the fever breaks, and the heart can not abide a moment longer, as the rest of us awakens, summoned from the dream, not half caring for anything but love.  — Stephen Levine

Dear Friends,

This morning during my sitting meditation, I planned whether I would do walking meditation after sitting.  I decided to do it.  During my walking meditation, I thought about how, if I finished quickly, I would be able to do a long walk in Rock Creek with my dog, Gus.  Then I got to Rock Creek, and I was immediately planning my route through the park.  Once I decided which way to go, I started planning my day, what I needed to get done, and then started thinking about this e-news and what I might write.

On the path meandering near Beach Drive, I woke up.  I noticed that I had been in planning mode pretty much since I woke up.  I had been awake for hours and had missed most of my life so far that day.  And I heard the voice of my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, in my head saying:

We are very good at preparing to live, but not very good at living…. Only this moment is life.

So for the rest of my walk, I practiced letting go of my planning mind, and simply living.  And so many seemingly mundane things came beautifully alive for me.  The rocks massaging my arches as I walked, the sound of the rain on the trees and the gentle feeling of that rain on my head, gratitude for the trail work that had been done by volunteers to support us hikers, and my old dog lagging behind me, teaching me how to slow down.  With awareness of so many conditions for my happiness, how could I help but smile?

At our Monday Night Mindfulness sangha this week, a friend shared a Sports Illustrated article with us about a baseball pitcher who has a certain stillness when he is on the mound.  According to the article, “Once on the game mound, [Mariano] Rivera banishes all thoughts of mechanics. The reminder of waiting for his arm has no place here. Even something that simple is mental clutter. With the task at hand, Rivera is confident that he has prepared himself properly. Now there is the absence of thought. Now there is only doing.”  Read more.

And I started to think about how we might live like that.  To practice or plan when it is time to practice or plan, and then to let go of planning when we are doing what we planned.  For me, that means I need to set aside time to plan for the things I want to accomplish, and when I am planning, just plan.  And then stop planning, and just do it.

Many years ago, I heard one of the Buddhist monks living at Plum Village talk about how the monastics plan mindfulness retreats for thousands of people.  He said that they have a planning session, and, during that time, they plan for hours.  And then they go outside and play soccer.

So I am going to try to give myself time every day to plan.  And let myself plan to my heart’s content.  Take notes, make lists, diagrams, whatever.  And enjoy the process of planning as something to be savored for its own sake.  And then when I step onto the mound, I will try to play like Rivera: 100% present, breathing, smiling, and enjoying the game.

If you are a compulsive planner too, I would love for you to join me in this experiment to create more joy and ease in our lives.  Let me know how it goes.

with much love,

annie lake.

with love, annie

Showing up for Turkey or Tofurky

Dear Friends,

Can you believe that it is already November?  The fall seems to be going so quickly, and Thanksgiving is only a couple of weeks away.  Thanksgiving has been one of my favorite holidays for many years, especially when we traveled to Michigan to enjoy Thanksgiving with family.  I think that one of the reasons I liked it so much was that all we did was arrive and enjoy.  We lived too far away to contribute any part of the meal, and we usually arrived on Wednesday evening, just in time for the Thursday festivities.  It felt like we had no responsibilities.  We didn’t have to worry if the turkey was purchased early enough, whether there would be enough food or enough places at the table, whether all the relatives would arrive on time, and so on.  We just showed up.

This year we are staying at home, mostly because our college age kids want to come back to DC.  So now my worrying mind starts to arise.  What if we make turkey and the vegans are upset?  What if we have Tofurky and the meat eaters are unhappy?  Should we invite other people?  What if the kids are disappointed because it’s not a “real” Thanksgiving? … and on and on.  Instead of “just showing up,” now I have started constructing a Thanksgiving identity.  It’s as if my mind starts to think that I can control the outcome by setting the situation up just right, and that if I succeed in controlling the outcome, then no one has to suffer, especially me.  If I do things just right, my future happiness is guaranteed.  Have you ever felt this way?
The Buddha taught that the root cause of all of our suffering was clinging to what we like, and pushing away what we don’t like.  Essentially trying to control life.  Trying to make it fit some imagined idea of how it is “supposed” to be.  And all this effort to control something uncontrollable, like our lives, is exhausting and futile.  The Buddha also taught that no matter what we do, we will all experience suffering, old age, and death.  Unfortunately, we will also be separated from all that we love, regardless of how delicious our Thanksgiving meal is, or whether we invited the right people.  It doesn’t mean that our actions aren’t important. On the contrary, because we aren’t in control of anything else, our actions are of utmost importance.  What we do really does matter to the well being of ourselves, others, and the entire universe, we just can’t predict how.  The last of the Buddha’s five remembrances states: “My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.”

So the paradox is that our actions are the ground on which we stand, but at the same time we can’t expect our actions to save us from suffering. So how do we know what actions to choose, and why bother?

As Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg says:  Doing metta [loving kindness], we plant the seeds of love, knowing that nature will take its course and in time those seeds will bear fruit. Some seeds will come to fruition quickly, some slowly, but our work is simply to plant the seeds. Every time we form the intention in the mind for our own happiness or for the happiness of others, we are doing our work; we are channeling the powerful energies of our own minds. Beyond that, we can trust the laws of nature to continually support the flowering of our love.
So I wonder if we can approach this year the same way that we approached Thanksgiving in Michigan.  Instead of focusing attention on the outcome – a memorable and perfect holiday dinner, or week, or visit  – what if we just show up?  What if we simply keep showing up, moment by moment, planting the seeds of our loving kindness. Cooking turkey or Tofurky with loving kindness, or buying a pumpkin pie with loving kindness.  Just showing up, without trying to control the situation.  We don’t really have any responsibilities other than this simple act of showing up, relaxed and present to ourselves and our loved ones.  And I wonder whether that might just be enough.

With much love and Tofurky,

annie.

with love, annie