Crystal Clear

Spinner dolphins splashing around and playing in a beautiful Hawaiian bay. Awesome enough, but then...snorkeling in deep crystal clear water, I find myself suddenly swimming with a school of yellow fish. And then, when I thought it not possible to be more amazed, I look up and there glides before me a huge, graceful honu. It is flying, yes flying, just as I am in the water. I follow it until I cannot without going out to sea.

There is no saying mu to this. Better to say nothing.

What to Make of This

My efforts at abandoning stories in favor of the here and now are undone tonight as I sit with sixteen family members, all with rich and diverse life stories in progress.

I am on a new page, I see. The page on which one reaps the benefit of sixty-some years of family membership. I find myself in unanimously marvelous company and realize that these are all people I have either grown up with, raised, "auntied," "grandmothered," or who have been chosen by those same people as life partners.

This is entirely too much grace to either be minimized into a sensory experience, or romanticised into a self-observing scenario. What am I to make of this?

Everything Sucks, then Everything is Wonderful Again

Have reached sundown of most days on this trip tried/tired to the max. Drained, aching, an unable to function. My traveling days are over. There is no doubt about it. Thank God I got so many wonderful miles on my traveling shoes before now, or I would be filled with regret.

Thus it was yesterday when we pulled into our "au naturelle" tropical lodging. No room in the fridge for all the food we gathered for 16 family members, a roaring road 20 yards from our screened-in bedroom, a woo-woo vibration machine rattling our bones as others stood on it above us drawing the last quantum of energy away from us. Upon our arrival, our hosts informed us that they had planned a concert for the evening of our family's arrival after 24 hours of air travel. My distress became irrepressible, so the concert was rescheduled. Only slightly relieved, I hunkered down in the bed against the cacophony.

The enormous racket died down around 9 pm, and peaceful jungle sounds took over, eventually giving way to a lovely quiet interrupted only by the occasional car. I imagined happy families on their way home for the day and practiced Marsha Linehan's mantra, "Everything in the universe is as it should be. Eventually, I Ambienated off to sleep.

This morning, all is well once again. Woke at 6:30 (and let there be no mistake- you WILL wake at 6:30) to horses neighing, cattle lowing, VERY busy birds, large trucks on their way to work, hopefully driven by drivers drinking their chocolatey Kona coffee in their favorite cups, and busy kitchen sounds. This morning, our residence looks quaint, rustic, and delightful. And tonight, the racket will be US!!! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Immersed in Blogland

Am absolutely reveling in the miracle of blogland! Let me never take for granted how it is that I can share the daily adventures via the photos, or the words of those I love. From grand never-to-be-forgotten AHA! epiphanies, to adventures while traveling, to just stuff we might mutter to each other between pages of the paper, or driving down the road- it's all there in blogland.

Am now on three vacations via blogs- My kids', my nephew's, plus one in the here and now- mine.

Ain't it something?

Paradise Found

Hapuna Beach- Tame and touristy, but without a doubt one of the most beautiful beaches we have ever enjoyed in our well-traveled lives. And one of very few sand beaches here on the Big Island. A perfect place to play "Beached Whale." The Hapuna Beach Hotel- the perfect place to lick our wounds and recover from massive disappointment.

Impermanence Actualized

Yesterday was one of the saddest days of my life. After whole days and days of agonizing preparation for travel, changes in tickets, etc., etc., etc. I was all ready to make the big trek to Japan. Got to the airport, and found that I did not have the correct passport. Could not go. Dejection of immeasurable depths abounded. Drove home, cried, sunk into bed.

Today I awake, the sun is shining for the first time since we got here to the island. Beaches await, and soon, the family will arrive. We will spend the day exploring beaches. Japan will wait for another day.

Amidst the Turtles and Taro

This is what I see as I sit. Among the treetops aside the huge and undulant deep blue-green taro leaves, having nearly stepped on a magnificent sea turtle while wending my way along black lava effluent on the oceanside yesterday, I find myself spectactularly lacking a need to intellectually wank.

No "As if's"- I get it!!!!!

Now I get Roshi's comment: "There are no 'as if's' in this business." What is perceived must be the experience. "As if" is the result of a mental procedure- therefore an illusion. Can't wait to submit this. But must wait- almost a month. Darn.

Dog Chew for Intellectual Wankers

Now I know what koan practice is! It is a nice rawhide chew for intellectual wankers such as myself. This practice is going much better for me than breath meditation. My mind can sit for hours and hours, gnawing away at the koan, just like Foxy the chihuahua, who if not so occupied, would be idling all around the house, looking for trouble.

The aurora borealis of thoughts that occur around the koan are shimmering and ephemeral. And, an intrusive thought from my brutish daily life stands out like a stray among AKC's. So much the easier to abandon on sight.

I hardly dared to say this, knowing that not all sits ahead will be as glowing as the one I had last night.

Caution from Roshi: "There are no "as if's" in this business." I must remember this. I have no idea what he meant.

Train Practice in the Studio

Tried my train practice (no looking for the end of the train, only at the car in front of my face) in my ludicrously overstuffed studio. In it, I often bog down immediately because I don't know where to start, or I start something and get distracted by something else.

So...I sat down with eyes wide open, and forbid myself to look at anything but what I saw in front of me. I knew that ten or more very enticing projects were literally in arms reach, but I practiced calm attention despite their presence.

It worked very very well. Five or six times I resisted getting up on impulse (my worst problem with meditating alone), though I had to talk to myself about it. (Are you there? Yes, I am here. Let's clean up that. No, you may not get up, you are practicing.)

I wonder if it would be possible thusly for an A.D.D. person to gain some control over the skittery mind. This was not meditation per se, but I was very relaxed when done, and quite pleased with the result.

The Sun that Warms

Dark Visions

As I became more enveloped in fatigue last night, I lay in bed experiencing the feeling of sinking into a dark black and dangerous void. I felt like sharks were circling me; that very very real danger was surrounding my bed. What was that?

I thought that this must be how Barbara feels when she is overcome by weakness as her body reacts to its recent assault. Or even when she contemplates her attacker- the cancer. There was no getting rid of the feeling I was having, so I tried to just lean into, breathe into it, as I often do into pain. Peer into it. What is this? What is this?

Then I thought I had better not lean any farther. It seemed like Barbara had been holding on to us to keep from sinking in there, and I better keep one strong arm out of the death place, so we all did not fall in together. I pulled my head up and out of the water and swam for my life. For our lives.

Sleep came and I arose, rested. This morning I made a point to let Barbara know that even though the Pink Ribbon Party had been lots of play, I do truly see what a terrifying and exhausting place she is in right now. It wasn't a cheerful thought, but I felt that it was a necessary one.

As I write, I am not so afraid of either cancer or death , only suffering. I have had the time and inclination to ponder death and my body's demise, and am reconciled with the body's impermanence. But I have to say that I think it would be terrifying to be encountering a cancer battle without someone in my life who truly saw where I was. I hope it was a gift to Barbara. It was to me.

Exhaustion Arises

Today was a very tired day. Up late the night before. Lots of concern for cousin Barb as she heads back home for round two of chemo. Relief that her night visit to the ER revealed no major problems with chemo, only an infection causing fever and chills. Let down after so many wonderful glowing experiences during the week. The party's over. Back to work.

What can one do when exhaustion arises, but sit down and rest so one is ready for what the next day brings. That we did, that we did.

Do Not Hump

This is about train practice. On my way to an appointment today, and late for it, I get the train signal. It is a long one, and going very slow. Immediate adrenaline, as I look down the track and see no end in sight. Recrimination. Why did I leave late? Irritation. Why don't they put a bridge at this busy intersection? Then I realize- this is a chance for practice.

I vow not to look impatiently for the end of the train. Not only that, I forbid myself from even looking in that direction. Instead I will look only at the train car in front of me. And breathe. OK, well: pigs in a ventilated car, lots of pretty cool graffiti (how do they do that?), an open boxcar (were there hobos inside? at this speed it would be an easy hop), huge tankers, many different kinds of cars (what did they all carry?).

Had I not done this practice, I would have missed the best laugh of the day. It snuck right up on me. There are some cars with large square iron racks on them. Each one says in big letters, "DO NOT HUMP." I look at driver in the car next to me, and say to myself, "I'm sitting here in a van waiting for a train. OK, I will not hump."

Lucky Us

You have been asking how things are going at the Pink Ribbon Spa. Well, for two of us, we have been blessed beyond belief to be able to share this with our cousin. If you want to hear about it from her perspective, go to http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/barbaraz. or click on the title above.

Transportation FUBAR

"I'm not an animal, I'm just using one for transportation." Yah, well sometimes the ride sucks.

Cancer is what it is- a nasty accident of nature that thrusts its unwilling hosts into the HUGE project of learning about, undergoing, and then surviving surgery and chemotherapy. It is exhausting, disgusting, depleting, and discouraging- everything to a human psyche that it is to the cancer cells.

But how to move to a place where cancer is only what it is, and not the center of the universe? I had the experience of having my body's ill become the center of the universe this summer with my mesenteric lipoma and the dire admonitions of my gastroenterologist.

The thing hurts, and it scared the bejesis out of me at first, but somehow, I put it back in its place- another one of the obnoxious but inevitable impedements to my mission in life, and not the center of the universe. By getting the mission back into focus, the lipoma shrunk back to its actual size from the huge thing it had become.

So now, how to help cousin Barb shrink the cancer and the chemo to the size of what they are: just a very obnoxious but inevitable impedement to serving her mission while here on earth and inhabiting the flesh. Oh, and by the way, while living in the flesh, because it is so unreliable, I have decided that complaining IS allowed.

Why I'm Glad I am 60 (Click Here)

Embedded in the title is the link to an article that adds to my joy at living unencumbered by the biological imperatives of childrearing and wage-earning in 2007. Imagine buying in to any of these social networks! Talk about the Emperor's New Clothes!!!!

The article is both funny and terrifying. The youngblood writing it has a very entertaining style and a devilish command of the vernacular. Laugh or shudder as you will.

Oh, and the article goes a long way in explaining the growing attraction to Zen Buddhism in the U.S. In the ancient Orient, monks shaved their heads upon entering the monastery as a way of giving up external clues referencing the social networks of the day. Perhaps today's budding Buddhists are taking a similar stance. (Though in my case, the initial attraction was respite from incessant noise- verbal and otherwise).

This post does no service whatsoever to the beautiful and spiritually rich day I had with my cousin and sister at the Pink Ribbon Spa. The memories of the day are sparkling and untouched by the ludicrousness of popular culture ala consumerism.

Pink Ribbon Spa Grand Opening

The Pink Ribbon Spa had its opening today with first customer, cousin Barb. The art girls were in rare form, laughing, arting, and participating full measure in the opening. It was so good to see my cousin, spunky, though tired after a two-hop flight. No small achievement for one so recently off of chemo. Her day ended with a foot bath and massage. Tomorrow- the Labyrinth and Stations of the Cross at the Redemptorist Center. That and healing sunshine.

No More Zen Podcasts

Have decided to stop listening to zen podcasts and reading zen books. Have been listening and reading intensely for two years now. It was not lost time, not at all. New ideas always open new doors for me. But now I see that the real stuff of zen is the sitting.

Two things influence this: First, someone said recently that unless a practice (he was not referring to zen meditation, but to prayer) is ORGANIC to your life, as interwoven with your day as eating, sleeping, bathing, it can scarce transform you. I have experienced this to be true.

Second, I experienced a huge paradigm shift during recent koan practice. Now I see that the reading, though it fills my mind with neat ideas (a lot better than some of the crappy ones that lurk there), it does not result in organic transformation. To wit, ideas are so easily forgotten in the flow of action, due to busyness, tiredness, caffeine, feelings of the moment, etc. etc.

Will I stop blogging about zen? Not now, for this monk needs to call himself to awareness. For me, the diarying is discipline, and is very organic to my life after only a few short months. The ideas I write are transient and as empty as the ideas I read or hear, but the practice of reflection is not.

Roshi challenged me to experience mu during my daily life. I am saying mu to the podcasts and the books.

A Backyard Shard Party

We had the shard party to end all shard parties today. The entire back yard was full of shards and mosaic artists at work. Underway: A large sign for friend Jeannie's new studio, "Artifacts," several Virgin of Guadalupe murals, a great seashell mirror, and the floor of an outdoor shower.

The weather: Picture perfect. Thinking about tomorrow, when cousin Barbara will be joining the group for her place of honor at the Pink Ribbon Spa.

The Pink Ribbon Spa

My cousin will be coming to our house soon for a break between breast cancer chemotherapy rounds. My sister and I had a wonderful time dreaming up the Pink Ribbon Spa today- everything we could think of that might help someone trying to regenerate healthy cells after having them rudely destroyed by the drugs that kill cancer cells.

Here is the list: 1. Laugh Therapy- all of the funny (I mean low humor belly laugh funny) movies we could think of. Suggestions welcome. 2. Art Therapy- duh! 3. Music Therapy- duh, again! 4. Hands-on prayer 5. Meditation 6. Massage (friend Brenda donated use of her massage table) 7. Healthy food (though her appetite is not back yet). 8. Rude bodily function humor (though she is more refined than we are due to her amazingly graceful mother Sue (not a genetic Wickham) 9. ENP (every nap possible).

Other suggestions are welcome. Please stop what you are doing right now, and spend just a minute praying, intentioning, wishing, or creating whatever form of higher-self energy you know to send blessings toward her recovery.

Threads of this and that

A great Saturday. We had Tucson's version of a blizzard yesterday- that would be rain, rain, and more rain. One of the most painful arthritis days in recent memory while the barometer was falling. Roads closed everywhere due to running washes. Just the day for family business. My children all surprised me in one way or another. It is just a wonder to encounter them as emotionally competent adults, navigating and negotiating family decisions. Even if it was hard.

Today, sun up, barometer up, me up. Went to work in my friend's fiber art studio, where I worked on my son's quilt, made from his deceased father's T-shirts. So long after the traumatizing events of his death, peace has settled in, the fibers are softer, more relaxed, my hands more lovingly disposed. The quilt, surprisingly, looks much better than I remembered.

Then to my first "work" day at the Desert Renewal Center, where to my delight, I was checking folks in for the big 8-day Zen Buddhist Rohatsu. I was both envious and sympathetic. Eight days to practice samadhi is paid for by 8 days of sitting, a physical challenge for even the strongest sitters. Next week my job will be putting together and/or cleaning 60 or so Back-Jacks for the upcoming yoga retreat. I think I am going to like this job.

T-Shirt Fun

Had a very fun time today at the t-shirt silk screen store (OK, maybe my experience was a little enhanced by the pervasive smell of ink solvent, since they were cleaning the screens). I was there designing and ordering the t-shirts for our upcoming first-ever off-shore all-family playdate and talent show in Hawaii.

Submersed in family reunion culture for a few hours, I learned about all the stuff one can buy to celebrate family reunions. Why was I so willing to enjoy that submersion (aside from the volatiles in the air)? Just because this is exactly the band-aid we (I) need for the cultural wound of family fragmentation and isolation.

This (the reunions), and blogs, and cell phones, and i-chats, and text messages. They aren't quite hugs when you need them, but they will do in a pinch, and a t-shirt to remember them by is not a bad thing.

The Monk Wakes Up By Sleeping More

Am strugging to adhere to a disciplined sleep hygiene regimen. This is an attempt to create a better "sleep karma." In other words I am trying to condition my insomniac body out of its lifetime pattern of being a night owl, which results in not having enough of the awake day. Have created an extremely low stimulus zendo bedroom in which nothing but sleep occurs, changed the furnishings to remove old cues, gotten a new firm bed to support my cranky back, no clock visible, no pictures, nada.

Have also cleared my body of all but the three most essential medications in hopes of awakening my fogged mind. It is all working very well, except tonight when I have fallen off the wagon as I blog here in my bed-do.

What conditioned this? More energy to do more things during the day led to temptation to get too busy and then too wired up to drop into the bed. AND did not get my hour and a half of active work in the sun. OK, well that's how it works. It is what it is.

Not Mu But Ewe (Click Pic to See Baby)

I visited a small farm today to attend a felting workshop. The owner raises the animals, harvests the wool, spins the yarn, felts the wool, and creates many items. It was just great to be surrounded by all of the personable animals who had donated their wool for my felting work.

If you'd like to meet some of the animals, check out http://uniquedesignsbykathy.blogspot.com, and http://uniquedesignsbykathy.com. If I had a whole lifetime ahead of me (or some kids who were interested in taking it on), I would be seriously considering this as a lifestyle.

If you stop by the websites, take lots of time and enlarge the pictures of the animals! There are some small but very charming things there (and no myths).

The Life Cycle of Myths

My friend, an animal rescuer, sent me this picture in a forward that has probably made it to millions via the internet. A tiger nurtures a porcine brood, dressed up as little tigers. The initial impact of the picture is poignant and endearing. Ostensibly it is a tiger bereft of her own kits, and fostering the piglets. That was the story that accompanied the photo.

I tried to forward it but couldn't, so surfed for a downloadable version of the picture. In the process, I found any number of "Urban Myth Busters" setting the story straight (resulting in even more stories). I, too, could have asked myself why they would need to dress up the little piggers, since I know that felines identify their young mostly by smell. But I didn't.

Like the brooms of Fantasia, the myth busted, alright, and then turned into a whole bunch of other similar myths. This is the life cycle of myths.

There is instant welcome into our psyches for a story of an animal mothering what might have been its dinner; for an animal grieving and needing to nurture; for the story of little piglets (possibly motherless) who are happy for any warm belly in a storm. We all "get it."

So why did the story (myth) need busting? How is the illusion of a busted myth better than the illusion of cross-species mothering? This is not a rhetorical question, but a sincere one. I am asking it of myself, since I was irritated by the need of so many to debunk the picture AND by my own disappointment that the story was just that- a story.

PICK ONE (or add one)
c A lie is as good as the truth if you can get somebody to believe it.
c A myth expresses in concrete terms a radical truth which is discernible experientially, but not necessarily empirically.

Zazenkai, and Roshi's Birthday

Roshi's teaching today at Zazenkai recounted stories from earlier Buddhist masters. The teisho was hard to comprehend. The stories recounted in the teisho were hard to comprehend. They were stories of incomprehensible stories. Many layers of mystery.

Roshi spoke first of faith- faith that is, in the existence of meaning to be glimmered from the stories and practices of Zen. Faith, I conclude, that would carry one past the futility of understanding anything quickly or as the result of someone else's pronouncement. This is a faith that upholds one through doubt.

So that is two of the three- faith, doubt, and perseverance. Perseverance is what one provides by being there week after week. The monks in Roshi's story persevere year after year, generation after generation, trying to understand the mystery, trying to penetrate the silence. This, with very few clues.

I experienced tears of joy today when Roshi appeared in the zendo this morning. He is evidence of centuries of perseverance. He represents the perseverance of both the Zen masters who precede him in his lineage, and the Catholic priestly lineage which began at the resurrection of Christ. These lineages persist in the face of endless human doubt. Despite whatever doubts he himself carries, Roshi is still there after his many decades of practice.

In this, his silent presence alone, I find much inspiration. The words of the teisho, are as frosting on the cake.

Back to Sitting; Back to Blogging

Computer out of commission for a week or so. I did more work, less blogging. Which did I like better. Hmmm, each has its plusses, but I must admit to making great strides in decluttering my living and working spaces.

So glad to be back to sitting and regular dokusan, both lend clarity.

Responding to the Call

Am processing the call to silent meditation. Not the meditation itself, but the call to do it. Like the gardening monk in Merton's story, I keep finding my way to meditation. It finds me, is actually how it works. Realizing what a blessing the Redemptorist Center is in this regard, I have wanted to join in the work it does.

Now I will be able to do this, for I have asked to volunteer there and will be given the opportunity to do so this year. I will wash dishes on large retreats, and will staff the front desk on Saturdays when needed. There may even be a chance to contribute to the retreats by offering something in the art room. I am very, very pleased with this opportunity.

Gone to the Desert

Gone to the desert for retreat and renewal with spouse. Back in several days.

Discerning the Call

Am experiencing continuing unease with the use of the word Zen. This word, like the word "Christian," means everything and nothing. The point of most "religious" practice is to turn away from the things of the world, but as soon as the religion gets an identity, it becomes a thing of the world. Maybe I was called to write this blog in order to put that word to death in my mind.

I have great faith that my task is to discern the call, then act upon it. The perfect example: Mother Teresa. We now learn that she didn't believe the religious doctrines. She was tortured by that, but somehow she did discern her call, and act upon it. It does not always produce a peaceful state, however, despite soothsaying claims to the contrary.

Blessed Silence

Adjacent to the zendo at the Pathless Path, there are six or eight small single sleeping rooms where one could stay while having a personal silent meditation retreat. I have appreciated fully my four day retreats with a group. The idea of a true solitary silent retreat, however, is daunting. Yet, beckoning.

Thomas Merton writes so articulately about this kind of solitude. To me it seems like a big dark cave. There is both attraction and aversion in that image. The group retreats are a physical challenge (think tri-athalon for one like me who has such trouble sitting). That alone, plus the intensity of interviews with the spiritual director keep the experience lively.

In the solitary retreat, however, I imagine the demons to be restlessness and boredom, which feel to me like that almost irrepressible urge to flee that occurs when one enters and advances into an unknown dark place.

Yet, I am called to the blessed silence, and the solitude of a small sleeping room near the zendo.

Public Sitting

Grace abounds! Pathless Path at the Redemptorist Renewal Center now holds "public sittings," a meditation session at its zendo. It was wonderful to experience the rituals again, and sit in the zendo for an hour and a half at the end of the day. Better still to have it at the glorious setting of the Renewal Center. These are expressions of attachment- not very zen.

The Zendo of Art

I have been aware for some time that spiritual pursuits by their very nature move in the direction of the not, the naught, the shadow, the mystery- everything that isn't, at the moment.

In a vengeful culture, religion of love arises. In a glutted culture, religion of ....

News flash! There is a family of baby rabbits drinking heartily from the irrigation leak in our back yard (it is true, as I write). That is wonderful religion for today. I am headed off to the zendo of art to make tiny horses and cow skulls (mu) out of clay. I have no purpose in mind for these, but one will arise, it always does.

What is the google Zen?

When I google "Zen," I get a lot of links to some kind of commercial internet or software sites. What is this? What is the connection between the idea of Zen and the software?

I do get the connection in popular culture to Zen as referencing Asian style in decorating, another popular result, even though Zen is not a furniture style.

The internet puts out so much information overload that maybe it is painful to have physical clutter to manage on top of that, so lean and spare (and maybe not technological) seems attractive (as discussed earlier in this blog). "Zen" references both Asian style, and lean and spare. But what does it cue that relates to software or the internet? I plead ignorance.

Push Button Here to Change Someone Else

The best art image of the day: "Push button here to change someone else." A humorous piece that captured a huge thought.

The thought: What if I stopped pushing any buttons that were designed to change someone else? (spouse, kids, siblings, friends). What if instead, I just took a whole week (maybe even month) in which to consciously refrain from pushing the "change someone else" buttons. You know, just see what happens.

Now there is an "Aha!" It came in the same package as the art experience I relate in the next post. Very great weekend!!!!

Empty Mind

In Lana's workshop, we are working on boxes, selecting themes or images that are meaningful to us. I used to love to do this kind of work. There was so much pent up in me- everything internal that was being plowed under by the daily imperatives of child rearing, landholding, breadwinning.

Being asked to do this for the first time in a long time, I find no such imagery to work out any more. It has all been gotten out for now. Instead, it was fully engaging to make works of art for my children, employing images that reflect some aspect of their lives that they have shared with me, or that I perceive.

I have not done this before, make intentional art for my children. Have been hesitant, worried perhaps that either they would find it invasive, or worse, simply not care. I have decided to become more fearless in this regard. It was quite a freeing experience in the studio, very engaging. Glorious.

Pause Now

"Pause Now," was the best phrase I heard today to put on a piece of clay art. Lana's workshop is everything I expected and much more. It is the kind of workshop where you feel like you got your money's worth by 10:30 a.m. of the first day.

I was ecstatic today to be able to make a series of small tiles with her signature hand imprints. Now I can go on and try some complex boxes, complete with doors and drawers. A good night of sleep is in order- I'm fried. We'll be back at it tomorrow. Pause now.

Enough wanking about art

OK, well I end this day done with all the wanking about illusions. My days' journey took me to many answers, as always, and I am up to my elbows in clay from preparing work to take to the workshop, so my mind is very clear.

Had the best laugh of the week with my ex-hippie art buddy (also zen@60). We were drooling over some inspirational art books, and I had forgotten my glasses, so we had to pass her glasses back and forth so we could both enjoy the pictures. The laugh had to do with what we used to pass back and forth when looking at art pictures. Now it is our glasses!!!!

Deconstructing the artists experience

I didn't quite get the whole thought together about art and illusion in yesterday's diary. The problem is this: While I am in the experience of doing the art (handling the materials) it is a very zen experience. One of complete absorption in the moment: the sensual. But before, and especially after that, it all devolves into illusion.

I had made a series of watery blue and green pottery that was pure inspiration from the Puget Sound shoreline. In studio, it was an altogether no-mind activity. But then these items were juried into a higher-end art show on a picturesque marina, to be part of a booth shared by members of my co-op.

Half way through the show, I found myself wandering along the facades of the trendy shops adjacent, feeling almost nauseated by the airy illusion I was in. I felt very peculiar selling those pieces, knowing that for the most part, they were being purchased as a memory of the illusion (the theater) created by that show in its picturesque setting.

That's the dilemma. The no-mind creativity does not cause suffering; the world of trading in art is fraught with the suffering created by seeking illusions.

"Don't be fooled by anything!" "OK, I won't be fooled"

Besides calling himself ("Are you there?" "Yes, I am here!"), Master Reon also calls out to himself, "Don't be fooled by anything!" and then replies, "OK, I won't be fooled." This is Master Reon's reminder to himself not to succumb to illusions, says Norm Fischer in his Zencast teisho.

Illusions are a troublesome entity for an artist wishing not to be fooled by anything. Illusions (or allusions) are mostly what we deal in. I struggle with this when I am carried away by some image or object that I might want to render in clay or fiber. But the deliciousness of some creativity is almost irresistible. I will be attending a world famous potter's (Lana Wilson) workshop this weekend. Lana makes some of the most evocative clay art around. I will have much to contemplate, and I am not entirely sure I will want to remind myself not to be fooled by anything. I may just go against Master Reon's admonition and allow myself to be seduced.

The cows made it back to the barn

Pulled in at 7:30 p.m. after a leisurely departure from Vegas at 10 a.m.. Long day for old farts. Glad to be home, though I felt a twinge of loneliness knowing that our family will not be at arms length. The house is fine, the orange tree laden and sweet already though quite green, the flowering trees I thought I killed by over-pruning are lush and overhanging the front entryway.

Drove right on by the cow farm. We could see what they eat- the same stuff that the cows at Snake Mountain eat (minus the building materials, hopefully). Today we were the cows, and just couldn't wait to get home to the barn.

Change of Blog Title

Have been dissatisfied for a while at calling these entries "Is it Really Zen." I am always inspired to irreverence in the face of orthodoxy, laughing at myself when I buy in. At the same time, I am very moved and influenced by revelations, enlightenments, and epiphanies, considering them as blessed gifts. I have great faith in the validity of these, so long as the door remains open and ready for the next.

This diary is really about calling myself to be more present and aware. Sometimes my thoughts at the end of the day are mundane, other times spiritual. The teisho that inspired the creation of this blog was given by Norm Fischer on Zencast 9.23.07.

Don't know how to change the URL, so won't for now.

Could you leave this bed?

Today it is all about the bed. We awoke in our immaculately clean room with the pillow top mattress, feather bed, 800 thread count sheets, and down comforter, and decided there might be another day in Las Vegas as long as we stay out of the casino. Sloth will out.

Las Vegas-Always a Lesson

The casino win made a night's stay in Las Vegas irresistible. We really needed it to get the fleas off from last night's sorry motel. Found a new off-strip casino- natural minimalist decor, great beds, fabulous bathtub, the best pool ever, the best buffet ever.

I really thought this would be the time we would find Vegas fun for more than one day. We ran around like teenagers doing all the cool stuff.

But it wasn't to be. No manner of decadence will stay fun in Las Vegas for more than one day. When you have done it all, it's over. We will go to sleep in our feather beds with 800 thread-count sheets and be out of here tomorrow morning.

Two Days, Four Biomes

To drive across the U.S. is to experience firsthand the great diversity of environments in our country. Friday, we awoke in the dark, and on our perch above Agate beach, we watched the last of the fullish moon over the ocean, reflecting brightly on the water- a perfectly clear night sky above. We drove down the Oregon coast until we just could not assimilate any more wild rugged beauty: the waves in high wind smashing against the many rock outcrops was humbling and breathtaking. We turned eastword just north of Coos Bay for biome number two: the most incredible drive up a river valley toward just south of Eugene. Along this drive, despite the beach winds, we encountered mirror-like river waters reflecting the autumn leaves along the edge, and at one place, a lone fisherman barely making ripples with his line.

Biome number three began after we crossed Interstate 5 in northern California. Here, we drove many hours through evergreen mountains, and saw the most unusual (and sad, to us) dry lake beds. We could not tell if they had been that way for years, or if this was the result of a recent drought. We lasted until Susanville, just west of Reno, then dropped about ten minutes after we checked in to our motel.

Biome four was the stark desert landscapes we encountered in Nevada as we trudged along southward toward Las Vegas, passing through some towns with a wild character way exceeding Bisbee.

Smoke hung over the mountains to the west of us, reminding us of the California wildfires, still ablaze, and we wondered as we grew more tired, if we would find lodging in Las Vegas, or if everyone who could, would- get out of town. It seems they did, because there was not one single room in all of Las Vegas, save a $700 suite at the Bellagio. We were close to panic due to exhaustion, but managed to find a modest room just beyond Vegas. I won my obligatory several hundred dollars at a nearby local casino ($700 to be precise- in the usual way- with less than 20 minutes of wheel of fortune).

That's it for day number three. Of our trip; of the world series, of THE OMNIVORE'S DILEMMA (essay to come on that- oh my gosh!!!)

Join us on our trip south

We hope you'll join us on our trip south with our blog diary and pix on the way.
Departure: 5:30 a.m. First stop to collect rocks on the beautiful Oregon coastline: 9:30 a.m. The Tillamock Cheese Factory: 11:30 (a little less wonderful after listening to the first three chapters of THE OMNIVORE'S DILEMMA. We read every label in the company store. Everything has corn syrup in it except the cheese). 2:30 Uncle! A motel perched on a cliff overlooking beautiful Agate Beach in Newport.

The family that plays together, stays together

Discussion with fellow elders about our childrens' "birthright:"

In our consumerist, and familially fragmented culture, we do not bestow birthright financially as in days past when the children gave the work of their lives to the family estate. Today, their birthright has more to do with identity.

Identity is a very necessary commodity in a culture where staying sane is a full-time, fully demanding job in and of itself. The survival benefit of family membership today is not acreage, but identity: belonging.

In our family, much intention and financial resource is invested in providing emotional "home," in the form of rest, play, and wherever possible, community industry. The hope is that family identity will give the younger ones shelter against existential angst, which is as much a threat to survival as starvation was in a time of less material plenty.

Is this really zen? Hmmmm. The identity of which I speak is ego-based. However, it is my observation that enlightenment arises late in the journey of a well-traveled ego. The Buddha's for example.

There is pain, but there does not have to be suffering.

Today was filled with a lot of physical pain. The usual. The pain days are pretty much the same, but my reaction differs, which makes it a different experience each time. I needed to be very busy, so the pain was in the way. I did not devote the time or mindfulness to lean into it, to accept it. Unlike my cousin, I was not willing to be present to it.

Because of this it has utterly exhausted me. It is like working hard and trying to move fluently while carrying a heavy chain wrapped all around my body. This was a day where not only was there pain, but also suffering. Upon reflection, I could have suffered less.

Illusions of Separateness

In an earlier post, I mentioned my cousin who is undergoing chemotherapy, and is sharing her experience with friends and family through the internet.

Her hair is falling out on schedule. She is outside in her wooded yard, brushing her hair, and the clumps which fall are shared with the birds (and squirrels) who are busy building warm nests for winter. Separateness (created by a thin pane of glass) is revealed as an illusion. The oneness of all beings is thus exposed.

The beauty of my cousin is that vanity has not prevented her (and therefore us) from being present to the experience of losing her hair. She is a bald monk, and doesn't even know it!!!!

Lack of Wanderlust

I am having a familiar experience today. Have surfed the web many hours trying to find a place to stay while exploring the Big Island on a family trip. With cost as no object, I cannot find any place I would rather be than where I am right now, or where I will be next week.

Hungry for adventure in my youth, I went everywhere and did everything. I was the very antithesis of satisfied-definitely NOT zen. I've turned over all the rocks! The blessing of that is lack of desire now. Herein lies a big conundrum: Can we get to enlightenment/revelation without the desire/suffering that led us to seek it? The Buddha did not. So where in the practice/process is the doctrine of knocking your head against the wall? Is religion always an antidote? Can faith arise without trial?

I am grateful for not wanting to be somewhere else. I am, however, not free of wanting to pursue the spiritual conundrums. This is my life- faith, doubt, perseverance.

No-mind fun!

We are traveling south in a tropical storm for a weekend of no-mind fun! A gathering of family in which we come together to play- four generations of us- talent show, music, swimming, ice cream, naps, adventuring city streets.

".....the monk was playing hide and seek with some children. He crouched under a bush waiting, but the children wandered off to another game. The next day the tenso found the monk crouched under the bush and said, 'Brother, what are you doing?' 'Shhhh,' the crouching monk said, 'The children will find me!' " (Source unknown).

Embracing Doubt as a Pathway

Thomas Merton writes, "...[I am] bound to search the existential depths of faith in its silence, its ambiguities, and in those certainties which lie deeper than the bottom of anxiety. In these depths there are no easy answers, no pat solutions to anything. It is a kind of submarine life in which faith sometimes mysteriously takes on the aspect of doubt when, in fact, one has to doubt and reject conventional and superstitious surrogates that have taken the place of faith. " (For the rest of this reflection and its citation, see the link under "Amazing Contemplations.")

These realizations allow me to move fearlessly through exposing my ignorance in a blog about faith and doubt, through accepting the inevitability of my body's decline, and into the always beckoning mystery of my Creator.

Blog Action Day

Just this day did I do one single act differently in a way that would positively impact the environment? - a physical act, not a thought, not words. Did my awareness cause one change of action?

Thich Nhat Hanh said, "The enemy comes with a big basket of words." Hardly a day goes by in which I do not remember this.

I turned the lights off behind me a dozen times. I put on my socks. I turned off one heater before I turned on another. Practice.

Water Practice

Moving through the water while swimming this morning became a physical prayer.

Early in learning zazen, I was ready to be cynical about the "theater" of the zendo and its rituals. Of course it is theater! Roshi said. I became aware of how the body, in balanced repose inside a visually sparse room, speaks to the mind.

In my Christian practice, prayer through dance (movement) is a preferred way. So there I am this morning, slowly gliding through the water. My arms reach out together and pull the water toward me. At the same time, I am looking, really looking, at the blue tiles moving by below me. I am moving through time, pulling grace toward me. Grace flows over me. Grace buoys me up. A beautiful wordless prayer.

This, of course, is not really zen, but on the other hand, it was a meditation. Water practice.

Ferry Operations Practice

Tired of endless speculations, I have retreated to a favorite getaway-a spot above a busy ferry terminal with a full view of the ferry operations. It's a great spot to practice attention.

Things to attend to: Cars coming off the ferry, then more getting back on again. Did the captain turn off the rear radar when he landed? The crabbers and fisherman are on the pier. Are there jellyfish in the water, and are they in schools or traveling alone? The divers practicing. Where are they, as witnessed by the bubbles? Are the tugboats pulling or pushing the barges? Is my favorite young seagull with the lame foot here today?

Numberless beings engaging in ceaseless industry- easily as good a thing to observe as endless stories about events inside my body which I do not understand, cannot see, and fortunately today, cannot feel.

What is the center of the universe?

Yesterday, my lipoma was the center of the universe. Everything revolved around it starting at 9:30 in the morning, and ending at 10:30 when I went to bed. Today, it has resumed its proper place in the universe, revolving around the sun. And to think I did all that with my head.

I am the same me that existed before I learned about it, a me which loves a good party with talent shows and lots of laughs. Since we have the party of the century planned for my entire family in two months, I think I will take my lipoma with me to Hawaii and points beyond, and then when I return, we will talk about how to part ways peacefully. Is that really zen?

The body intuits itself

Just returned from visit to Dr. in which I got the results of a recent CAT scan. Got some interesting news, which on an intuitive level did not surprise me at all. I have been a little obsessed (attached) about clutter, too much stuff, gluttony, etc.

I learned I have a tumor (lipoma, most likely benign) the size of a grapefruit in the middle of my abdomen, which, because of its location, will require major surgery to remove.

OK, well that is some housecleaning, I will have to say! Will now have to spend a few more hours being bariumized, x-rayed, and consulting with surgeons about whether this can wait until after the wonderful whirlwind of world family visits, or whether it must be handled now, and if so, can it be recovered from by then. Many chances ahead for practice.

No room in the RAM for enlightenment.

I read everywhere that we are the most depressed culture in the world, as witnessed by the amount of anti-depressants we take. Spiritually, I suppose it is possible that we are the most bummed out culture in the world, but rather, I think we are the most neuronally exhausted.

In a podcast on insomnia, I heard that insomnia is not a state of lack, but a state of glut- too many vigilance-producing hormones over-activating the body so that it cannot shut down for sleep. A rapacious consumer economy and an overstimulating material culture is frying our neurons. This is the "full catastrophe (Jon Kabat-Zinn), alright. And insomnia is the monkey body doing exactly what it was created to do.

I just spent a weekend away because my attempt to manage this in my own home had become overwhelming. It would have been the perfect chance to meditate, which for me slows those neurons down so they can perceive the subtle (the spiritual). Anyway, now I am back at the task of thinning out the over-stimulation. I know I need to in order to have enough room in the RAM of my brain for the spiritual rewards of enlightening experiences and revelations.

Monkey Mind Management

I realize that I am focusing a lot of my spiritual energy on monkeymind management these days. I am naming mindfulness killers in my life, and trying to environmentally manage them. It feels to me that there is more to mindfulness than just the meditation. I seem to have to micromanage my monkeymindedness, too (I love that funny word) in order to have the time, energy, and consciousness (e.g. brain cells available) for mindful moments.

Is THAT really Zen? Hmmmm. I guess I'll have to say yes, in light of monastic practice, where the material vicissitudes of life ARE micromanaged, down to the last detail in some traditions. I experienced that on my first four day retreat.

I am a world class cockamamie schemer, as a result of which I have the materials I would need to accomplish another lifetime's worth of projects. In fact I go through my day tripping over them! I know I am not unique in this in our gluttonous material culture.

So how do I start getting out of the time debt this stuff has created? With a match? With a plan book? With a list of what I need? With a satisfactory option for where the stuff should go (of which the dump is not one). My practice for today: accepting feeling overwhelmed.

Is blogging zen?

Is it really zen? Hmmm. This kind of ruminating is just part of a process that is for me as unavoidable as digestion. So I think it is neither zen or not-zen.

But, as Pat Hawk Roshi said in the very first Teisho I ever heard, "You do not work for your brain, your brain works for you." In that spirit, I have accepted the time debt of diarying (now on the computer) and have found a good time to do it (trading it for some less useful time spending).

This is zen: When you meditate, meditate; when you blog, blog.
This is not zen: Multitasking while blogging.
Why on earth would you spend time talking to yourself, and then not even listen!

Can I reduce my time debt?

On the four hour zen flight, I had the epiphany of "Time Debt." One of those unexpected land mine epiphanies/awakenings. An example of time debt: I am very harrassed by the pile of recorded TV shows sitting on the bedroom TV stand. It represents a "should," (Must watch these shows) even though I wanted the shows at the time I recorded them. Once I have them is it hard to let them go.

I unwittingly (unmindfully) assumed a time debt. I was on the buy-now-pay-later plan with entertainment, but I forgot to think about just when I was going to service that debt. Result: the feeling of too much to do- harrassment- subtle irritation. All mindfulness killers. The solution- do not record any TV shows that I have not set a specific date to watch.

Other time debts for me (there are many):

1. Buying books without knowing when I will read them (does not apply to library books. I have a place for library books, can enjoy the casual peruse, and easily return ones I did not finish or even open- my idiosyncrasy)

2. Putting finished pottery pieces where they don't belong without setting a time to redistribue them to their permanent locations. This is a biggie! Vexes me greatly. Must set a definite hour during the week to put away my clutter OR not clutter (I'm INFP- option 2 is out of the question).

What are your time debts?

Does no-mind practice prepare us for things to come?

Monday as I was being wheeled out of my colonoscopy and upper endoscopy, the nurse said, "Your CAT scan results (from Friday) were not normal, you need to make an appointment to talk to the Dr. about it."

Four years ago in the Tucson Museum of Art studio, a young man and I spent a very no-mind season of clay art childishly practicing destruction with our work. He built deteriorating cities. I made a large series of pieces in which I systematically added more and more kinds of things to the clay that would burn out in the kiln, leaving holes, porousity, and eventually a lacy skeleton of clay with paper-thin edges. I was exploring how much you could take away from a thing and have it still be the thing. As time went on in this exploration, I began paying more attention to the inclusions, which would leave a shape or identity behind in their space. I even began to color the burnables so that they would leave color behind. At the time, I was responding to the landscape of the desert, which of course, like any natural topography, is the landscape of everything. It was the most satisfying series of clay pieces I have ever done.

I am grateful for that season on a day like Monday.

Are we really all one thing?

I have invited my cousin Barbara (my age) to call me so that she and I can set up a "Barbara's Blog." She has had a recurrence of her breast cancer and must undergo chemotherapy starting this Friday in order to fight the disease.

Are we really all one thing, as Buddhists and, yes, even Christians say? ("Whatsoever you do to to the least of these, I tell you, you have also done to me."- Jesus). The internet makes it possible for us to actualize our oneness. I hope that Barbara and I (or someone close to her) can create a "Barbara's Blog" so that she can do what I am doing now- writing in an out-loud diary. It will be a blessing for all if we can share her journey- the best and the worst of it.

What would we call Gameboy practice?

Several days ago: Four hours on the airplane- a lovely chance to catch up on zencasts. After hearing all I could absorb, I switched to the games on my new iPod. Haven't played electronic games in many many years. Discovered that the gameboy is a fine tool for training attention. Cannot multitask anymore, and operating the wheel took all my concentration. As soon as I started to think- anything at all- could not coordinate the wheel. Wonderful! A biofeedback technique for knowing when I have jumped the trolley back into thought. Not for the longrun, though. No awareness of what derailed me.

Studies in Impermanence

Spiritual sojourning, artistic exploration, unremittant yearning. I am always surprised, the epiphanies never quite answer the question I was pursuing, but they always expose a piece of the puzzle. This is the nature of revelation/enlightenment, I think. I live among a family of right-brainers, and today I have added links to my nephew Jay's amazing time lapse video art. The mind intuits impermanence and wants to objectify it. Look!

The monk calls himself

I am inspired to blog after hearing the first few sentences of a current zencast. The monk calls himself: Are you there? Yes, I am here.

You older zensters and spiritual sojourners- are you there? I will post to myself as time allows, and should there be others out there, I will encounter you with joy.