Breathing Through a Want

I am practicing a new skill- breathing through a want. It goes like this: 1. I want something- say to turn on the "drug" at the end of the day (the TV). 2. I feel the desire. I have practiced becoming aware of these idle desires for some time now. 3. I just breathe through the inertia that tries to form which would lead me to seek the goal. 4. I wait a while, thinking about the fact that I am waiting. That is what I do with the energy of the want.

I am frankly amazed at how much energy I am recovering with this simple practice. For example, letting go of the want takes far less energy than getting up, getting the clicker, and figuring out what I might watch. (Since we no longer have cable, some level of intention and preparation is necessary for us to watch the tube- a planned strategy).

A little more difficult is staying with whatever discomfort it was that gave rise to the want. Easy: the discomfort is tiredness, boredom, the want is to turn on the TV for escape. Hard: the discomfort is low energy, hunger, the want is to eat something not very nutritious.  

Life in 140 Characters or Less

Have bailed out of regular blogging to Facebook, enjoying the novelty of it, and truly savoring the memories generated by finding folks from the past. Loving to hear the stories of where their lives have taken them, once the connection has been made. 

It's entertaining, indeed, but does not replace the spiritual exercise of diary-writing as I have been using my blog. In general, I do not believe that sharing in 140 character blurbs is a good habit to build. It feels like rock skimming. 

Just as it is easy to let junk food suffice for real nourishment (in the short run), so it is easy to let shallow contact suffice for intimate human connection. Sure, it can be said that Facebook is not meant to be anything deep. OK, but McDonald's isn't meant to be particularly nourishing, either. Yet, we accommodate to the low level of nourishment, acquiescing to its ease of use, and are not conscious of its connection to our lessened well-being. 

Well, I'll let the Facebook fun go on, wary of it nonetheless.

Wallowing Meditation

Cheetah still sits at my monk's table in my stead while I trudge through doubt and vanity about my last experience in the zendo. He is there to remind me that it can be done, and that I have done it. Sit, that is.

I tried to sit with some Christian meditators, and found that Roshi was right, it would only confuse me. The sit is preceded by a talk about how and why to do it. Talk. Ick.

Now that I am swimming every day to regain my lost fitness, I am finding a wonderful practice opportunity. In that warm pool, with rythmic movement and breathing, it is possible to replicate that "in the present moment" experience of the zendo, with the added bonus that it is very good for my body. There is no pain to content with, only boredom. A much easier pull, really. Wallowing meditation. I can do this.

Dallas to Tucson

1. Traveling with a pet relegates you to very second rate motels. (Or ludicrous, gouging pet fees at better hotels). We chose the fleabags. This is a sacrifice we have made to have Junebug.

2. Junie's road trip behavior: Meow as loud as possible without ceasing for the first two hours, visit the catbox in the back of the van, then collapse in exhaustion for the rest of the drive. Repeat each day of travel.

3. Three days at home, three swims in a warm pool, three baths in the outdoor clawfoot. Sun on our bones. A golf game. Things are getting back to normal. 

Acedia

"...standard dictionary definitions of acedia [such] as 'apathy,' 'boredom,' or 'torpor' do not begin to cover it, and while we may find it convenient to regard [acedia] as a more primitive word for what we now term depression, the truth is much more complex. Having experienced both conditions, I think it likely that much of the restless boredom, frantic escapism, commitment phobia, and enervating despair that plagues us today is the ancient demon of acedia in modern dress." Kathleen Norris

I think the reason I struggle with the Dallas ambience is that from the first post-war years (during which I was born) I lived with the demon of acedia. It stalked suburban life with a vengeance. My mother suffered terribly from it, as did I during those times I spent among the bored housewives.

Here I am in the belly of that beast. Seeing the seas of rooves spreading like water out over open prairie is such a deja vu. As a child I could ride my tricycle to where our subdivision met a dusty forever. My mother's angst permeated our lives. In that edgy place she was stranded from her former life among a large and boisterous Irish Catholic family. Not suffocated so much as dissipated.

I meet the demon of acedia again.  I am, of course, trying to remedy my mother's ill. Trying to recreate that extended family which I know to be a better way from my many years on Guam. I am deep in doubt. Deep in doubt.

Papa Makes a Bucket Bed

Papa makes a bucket bed. He applies an important life skill: the ability to make a bed anywhere out of inexpensive, storable materials.

We wonder just how long we will be able to apply this life skill to the goals of our lives. This innovation was necessary when we could not sleep on the floor as in the past.

We stop ourselves from worrying about the future. Such worry, along with larger questions about the validity of our lifestyle, or the viability of life in a big city are eclipsed by the requirement of the day: a comfortable bed.

What Would You Do for a Football Game?

Since Papa and I swore off Comcast, we have had some pretty funny experiences being "intentional" about the shows we watch. These shows include exactly two: Sunday Morning, and the Denver Broncos football.

We have gone to hick bars, country club bars, sports bars, rented hotel rooms, begged friends, all to experience the holy grail. We've met fun and funny people, had some great food, learned about the "fantasy" culture, and had a laugh at the youngbloods and their laptops during the games. We've learned who the Bronco fans are in Seattle, Tucson, and Dallas, and figured out where the quietest corners are to tune in our game. 

This Sunday the game is in the evening, so fearing that the game would impinge on tired children's sleep, we had to develop a Plan B other than our kids' home. Papa figured it out- there is a TV on the console of the treadmills in our apartment complex exercise room. We just have to walk to keep it on. The visual: Two Geezers, like a couple of dried up old hamsters, running the treadmill so they can watch the Broncos (one of them yelling). Am I really here doing this?