Underneath All Victories and Defeats

This particular Wednesday we - me single mom from the San Francisco bay area,  Kaz visiting professor from Japan, and Eva student on break from school in New Mexico - carpool to the midweek gathering of our community.   The drive is host to a  pleasant exchange that curiously, though not by design, is related to the reading for the week.  We speak about academic writing, about job interviews, about public speaking, about meditative dance, about confidence and self esteem and ironically the underlying thread ties back to the idea of being present in the moment and allowing for a quiet reflection and acceptance of self and clarity of choice. 

 

The three of us share our struggles and our growing in the recent weeks with self acceptance and love.  Just as the author writes about  being, “free of the should’s and must have’s” as part of achieving “natural fulfillment“.  I don’t know that any of us is “there” in terms of fulfillment, though we are on our way by being aware of and practicing the acceptance of self as we are and where we are at this moment in our individual lives and taking time for quiet nonjudgmental reflection.

 

Following meditation and during our group sharing this evening, I thought about the drive and the conversation we shared.  Simple conversation that it was and then here in communion with 40 other people is the evidence of  the beautiful ripple affect of this Wednesday meditation in the Mehta home.  All of us coming together in loving acceptance, in an environment that allows for plain and simple sharing of thought and feeling, just as the three of us had done in the four door sedan driving down highway 101!

 

Gangaji writes, “When we see how much is wrong or harmful in our thinking and our and others' actions, we can be overwhelmed by the tasks revealed. This overwhelm can result in giving up and reverting to cynicism or in strengthening our resolve to work even harder. To think and do more. “ The conversation on the drive and around the circle, revealed that the power of pausing or stopping, taking time to allow for quiet reflection, and taking time to listen to each other can and does provide for clarity of thought enabling better choice making.  Also for me, this weekly communion of family and friends provides an avenue for practicing this valuable action of meditative quiet that creates a peaceful heart,  brings peace of mind and clarity to our individual and collective thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 

Day Four
I was exhausted from three days of Anapaana (focused concentration technique), dealing with a regimen that is quite the opposite of a highly unbalanced lifestyle. The fourth day is special as this is the day when Vipassana instructions will be given. And it was indeed special, as the unfolding events will show. 

At breakfast, with the usual wholesome and healthy food options, I noticed peanuts with a strange smell. My mind ought to have immediately gone on alert, but my greed got the better of me, and I lifted a handful. As a I started munching, I realized the strong smell was that of garlic, and I knew immediately that I'd be sick. Sure enough, my stomach kept making strange sounds for some time, and during the hour long sitting from 8-9 AM, I had to walk out to relieve myself. I felt embarrassed. As I walked back to the hall, Chris, our Dhamma manager was there to see if I was ok. I said I was and asked if I could go back to the hall and he said yes, of course. This had happened once before in the previous Vipassana seminar last year on the last day. Memories came flooding back. We were told we had to spend two hours in the hall when the Vipassana teaching would be introduced later in the afternoon. I was groggy (two meals a day meant I was hungry for 18 hours, and I'd just relieved myself of one), and not sure how I'd survive. In the break, I relieved myself further and realized with despondency that I was getting stomach flu. Maybe I wasn't going to survive this course and would have to drop out. I need to get help for my stomach. As I was thinking of spending the afternoon break in bed, I looked up at the bathroom service list and was aghast to find my name on it. Of course, I had entered it myself on the previous day. Ok - so the challenge had just stepped up. 

Taking one thing at a time, I ate a lighter-than-usual lunch. Then, I decided that I would postpone getting medical help and would first clean the toilet. If I was going to be a quitter, I'd at least gift a clean toilet to my co-meditators. The building I was staying in had a large toilet, and I didn't realize how much work it was. The last thing I'd want to do with an upset stomach was heavy lifting, and of course, the mop had to weight a ton when wet, with its wooden handle hitting the ceiling if I so much as lifted the mop all the way from the bucket. Learning how to clean this large toilet with an oversized mop and doing it with equanimity was a great challenge, but with each stroke of the mop, I felt satisfaction creep in. By the time the toilet was cleaned, I was exhausted, ready to drop dead, but had a lot of satisfaction. 

After sitting on my bed, pondering over the next course of action, I realized I had about 40 minutes before the start of the next meditation session. I decided to postpone my quitting decision till then and take a slow walk up the hill. With each step, I became aware of an inner calmness, as I practiced accepting my situation of an upset stomach. Then, suddenly, it hit me. The tree in front of me had a lesson for me. It stood tall, giving so much shade from hot sun, cowering not a bit. Inspite of discomfort, this tree was going to do its dhamma, and continue giving shade to the best of its ability with the changing seasons, until it died. It did not have a mind to question its dhamma, it just did it. And here I was, trying to awaken in dhamma. Therefore, if I had to have a teacher, this tree would be my teacher. I immediately asked the tree to bless me so I could receive dhamma. With every step after this, the same request went out to each tree, and the heart kept getting lighter. By the time I reached the meditation hall, I realized that every plant, flower and tree that I had encountered, even the grass, was a teacher of dhamma, and since I had come as a sincere student, they had opened dhamma up to me by helping me recognized their teacherhood. I knew now that I was going to make it.

The next meditation sessions passed by, and as the Vipassana teaching was given, I was able to survive, and go deep. With each passing session, the focus improved, the practice of the technique improved, and the equanimity improved. In the evening sitting, I had a great insight. There was great pain in my butt and hip, and as I watched in slow motion, I could see the painful sensation arise and my muscle tense up in response. There was a moment when I told my mind not to react that way. And like a silly thief, who thinks the master is not watching, it did so, right in front of me. I couldn't help laughing. With the help of a sharpened mind, I had caught the thief who was stealing my peace. And it was my own mind. I saw why the mind did this - it was because of fear (or aversion). The moment I laughed, the fear disappeared, and the muscle collapsed. Of course, it tensed up again alongwith other muscles, but they all collapsed with greater rapidity, and soon the painful sensation was replaced with a finer sensation, first of burning and then of a tingling, which was nowhere near that discomfort which made me desperately want to get up.

By the end of the day, as I sat on my last sitting, the trees came to my mind, and I felt that there was a great blessing. I could tune in to the natural vibrations in the body, and opened up in a deeper way. As I walked down the hill, I felt successful and excited. And then it struck me - when I was about to fail, I had no faith in myself, and had to get the blessings of the trees, plants and flowers. But when I managed to get through the day, my ego came up to claim the credit, destroying my equanimity. I had caught myself in the act! Laughing to myself, I accepted the truth of my ego, and went to bed with great gratitude.

Day Five
Vipassana has started, and so has Athithana (sittings of strong determination). We were told that we couldn't change our posture, open our eyes or move our hands. As I sat through the first one, fresh from the success of the previous day, a big sensation from my stomach punctured my confidence. I had not relieved myself earlier, and the reality of an upset stomach was still with me. My stomach, of course, chose the Athithana to collapse again. This time, I decided that death would be preferable to getting up and I was going to break the mystery of my stomach. As I watched each shooting pain with full concentration, a big realization dawned. These were not actual motions where something undesirable would happen. They were instead signals of alarm, to which I normally respond without delay, and due to the quick-response conditioning, I wouldn't notice the decision opportunity. I thanked my stomach for these signals, recognized their practical utility, and told it that I would respond when I could. The stomach may choose to (or not to) keep sending these signals. Suddenly, I felt like an outsider watching with patience and compassion how my mind did its monkey business, as the signals wouldn't stop, although they decreased in frequency and stopped bothering me altogether. The sitting passed comfortably.  Just before it ended, I knew that when I got up, I would discover that the situation was not so bad. The actual experience confirmed this. It was my fear and aversion that had multiplied the impact of the sensation and caused such great distress in the past. 

What a great relief to have broken the mystery of the stomach (with such practical benefits), or really, one of the mysteries of the mind, not through intellectual jumps but through actual experience. I realized also that my stomach was a great teacher of Dhamma. It would accept anything I gave it, and try to extract the most energy it could. If I kept giving it garbage, it would collapse by the law of nature, but it would try its best to get back on its feet so it could serve me again. It would do so until the day I die, without questioning me ever. What a great embodiment of Dhamma - to live and die in service! By extension, my entire body (not just mine, but everyone's body) is a great embodiment of dhamma, and for that reason alone, I find compassion in my heart toward my body.