But there’s something else. These winds? They’ll eventually die down. And unfortunately, a lot of our resolve will, too.

So how do you keep the momentum of change going once the wind has quieted to a whisper?

I have no idea. Seriously, I don’t know. But I’ve been reading Turning the Mind Into an Ally by Sakyong Mipham, and I’m pretty sure he’s got it all figured out:

The problem for most of us is that we’re trying to grow a flower on a rock. The garden hasn’t been tilled properly…It doesn’t work to just throw some seeds on top of the hard ground and then hope for the flowers to grow.  We have to prepare the ground, which requires effort.  First we have to move the rocks and hoe the weeds. Then we have to soften up the earth and create nice topsoil…[we are] creating the space for our garden to grow. Then we can cultivate qualities that will allow us to live our lives in full bloom.  (7)

I think Sakyong Mipham really speaks to why New Year’s Resolutions notoriously fail; we try to make big changes without preparing ourselves for what’s coming. Most of us wouldn’t expect a long-time smoker to quit by saying “1…2…3…QUIT!” but that’s exactly what we’re doing by trying to effect change on January 1st.

What if we all decided to take January to prepare our soil and gather our seeds? Instead of commencing a starvation diet and over-zealous exercise plan, why not take extra time to plan meals, set goals for staying hydrated, and start to go for 20-minute walks 4 times a week? Or maybe instead of chaining yourself to a desk to bang out the Great American novel, why not start journaling this month to get into the swing of writing daily? And if you want to kick that nasty cigarette habit for good, why not dispense with the frigid poultry and start rationing your intake gradually, one day at a time?

If we just throw a handful of seeds at the frozen, winter-worn soil, these winds are gonna blow it all away. But if we find a way to thaw the ground and lovingly place each kernel in the earth…something beautiful just might grow.

Q: Is it possible for a professed Christian to also take a Buddhist vow? I am a very committed Christian, indeed an ordained person, and yet there seems a compatibility and congruence in my understanding of the teaching of Jesus and that of the Buddhist path of spirituality which would allow assent to both, and practice of both Buddhism and Christianity, as they are pointed toward light, the path of truth, love, and freedom. ne of the teachers in my life has been Thomas Merton, a Catholic priest and monk, and a practitioner of Buddhism.

A: Of course, there are many common elements among all major world religious traditions.  Therefore, I believe, at the intial stage one person can practice both Buddhism and Christianity simultaneously, and perhaps some other religions as well.  I think that is very good.

But the question is when one reaches further.  Then it is like in the field of education: when one becomes a specialist, then one has to choose one particular field.  In the further practice of Buddhism, when one reaches a certain stage, the realization of emptiness is one of the key aspects of the path.  The concept of emptiness and the concept of an absolute Creator, I think, are difficult to put together.  On the other hand, for the Christian practitioner, the Creator and the acceptance of the Creator as almighty, is a very important factor within that tradition in order to develop self-discipline, compassion, or forgiveness and to increase them in one’s intimate relationship with God.  That’s something very essential.  In addition, when God is seen as absolute and almighty, the concept that everything is relative becomes a little bit difficult.  However, if one’s understanding of God is in terms of an ultimate nature of reality or ultimate truth, then it is possible to have a kind of unified approach…

As to one’s personal religion, I think this must be based on one’s own mental disposition.  that is very important.  So I tell people that as a Buddhist monk I find Buddhism is most suitable to me.  This does not mean Buddhism is best for everyone.  That is clear.  For other people, the Christian, Muslim, or  Jewish tradition, a tradition which is based on Creator theory, is more effective, that’s certain.  So it is very, very important to follow religion according to one’s own mental disposition.

…Generally speaking, I think it is better to practice according to your own traidtional background, and certainly you can use some of the Buddhist techniques.  Without accepting rebirth theory or the complicated philosophy, simply use certain techniques to increase your power of patience and compassion, forgiveness, things like that.

…An important thing to remember is that once you change your personal religion, there is a natural tendency, in order to justify your newly adopted religion, to take a critical view toward your previous religion.  This is very dangerous.  Although your previous religion may be unsuitable or ineffective for you, at the same time, millions of people may still get benefit from that tradition.  So we must respect each other’s individual rights.  If it is their belief, and millions of people get their inspiration from it, we must respect that.  And there are many reasons to do so.

~ The Dalai Lama, Healing Anger

Snow Lion: Ithaca, 1997. pp 69-71.

So…egg nog, anyone??

Zazen sitting is rather different from the samatha-vipassana style I usually practice at OM, and at first this was enough to keep me away from the group entirely (umm yeah, new things are bad — didn’t you know?). But the truth is, sitting in a group for a half-hour once a week just isn’t doing it for me anymore. I’m hungry for sangha, a community of meditators who share the underpinning sameness of dharma. So I plunked myself down on a makeshift zafu (cushion) and sat.

Unlike samatha-vipassana, there’s no wiggle in zazen. People sit like pebbles at the bottom of a river, breath flowing in and around them, each inhale filling the rough pores of stone, each exhale smoothing edges to an undefinable finish. At first, I was less like a pebble and more like a leaf surfing the rapids; I relied on samatha‘s flexibility to relieve excruciating sleepiness in my left foot or replenish my posture when it inevitably slumped. But over time (and a good deal of experimentation with blanket-folding & pillow placement) I found a seat that keeps both feet awake, my back straight, and my body still. Like all the best cookie recipes, my seat’s success is in the tweaks and details: a four-part accordion-folded blanket and a thin square cushion, a slightly more prominent tilt of my pelvis, the opposite crossing of my ankles.

Even though the first rule of samatha is to find a good seat, I never really bothered until I sat zazen.  If a practice has wiggle room built in, I thought, who am I to scoff at tradition? But I’m starting to see the truth of it, which is that I abused the wiggle. I’m not saying I sat with it at lunch and played with it at recess just so it would let me copy its science homework, but there was a certain questionable genuineness to our friendship. And of course, because I’m me and this blog is this blog, I started to wonder: where else am I abusing the wiggle?

In yoga, we talk about satya, “truthfulness.” It’s an honesty that goes deeper than speaking the truth or dealing fairly in business, though naturally it includes both of those things. Rather, it’s a kind of authenticity and integrity that permeates every thought and action, every moment. Like a laugh or a scream, satya originates from some interior, invisible place and radiates outward; it simultaneously encompasses and eradicates all other things. And for the first time in almost four years of sitting, I feel like my posture is imbued with that unspeakable, wonderful quality.

What would it mean to start incorporating more satya in our lives? What if we took the time to examine our everyday habits — how we sit, how we take coffee or tea, what we eat or even how we walk — and chose one to douse in a healthy wash of truthfulness? I wonder what we’d find…or what we wouldn’t.

Harrumph.

On my way back from visiting my most excellent, newly-engaged best friend (Hi, beautiful! Yes it’s really real and yes, we’ll figure it all out and yes, you can still write your dissertation and plan a wedding!) in Hoboken, I walked right into the storm of bridge-and-tunnelers making their way to the parade.

Cue wildly overcrowded train.

When we arrived at 14th St., people were pushing and shoving to get to the turnstiles and I got swept up in the crowd, unable to get to my connecting subway through the station. Instead, I ended up at street-level, smack in the middle of the festivities.

Cue sheeting, blinding, torrential downpour.

I grumbled all the way to Union Square,  cursing New York with every cold, wet step.  After what felt like a veritable battle to reach the platform, I finally got on the Q and finally finally reached DeKalb, just 4 stops from home.

Cue elderly woman questioning me about how to get to Methodist Hospital, then telling me her entire life story up-to-and-including her granddaughter’s derelict baby mama who used to beat her with a cell phone, her determination not to be a burden to anyone, and her mysterious gas pains that — brace yourself — turned into bloody explosions of nasty in the middle of Canal Street earlier in the day. The conversation had a few false starts as I tried to disengage, but every time I had one side of my headphones in place, she would start up again. Eventually I felt bad about trying to evade her, and I silently reprimanded myself for not being more compassionate to someone so obviously lonely, so clearly suffering. I put away the headphones, stood a little closer, and stopped checking the track for oncoming headlights.

Cue elderly woman suddenly doubling over, muttering in Spanglish about how she can’t make it any further. “Do you need an ambulance?” I asked. And this absolute stranger looked me in the eye and said “I’ll do whatever you think is best.” I told her I couldn’t make a decision for her, but that I could help her get an ambulance at the station if she wanted. She did.

Cue frantic sprinting up the stairs, brief conversation with the station agent, and arrival of friendly NYPD officer. The latter two decided I should accompany Gloria to the bathroom, “to make sure she doesn’t fall and stuff.” I have a history of squeamishness activated by things far less extreme than bloody, explosive diarrhea, but I chastised myself again for my would-be heart-closing and walked into a bathroom that — sorry, MTA — already smelled like dead bodies. Gloria was struggling to get in a stall. Phrases like “It’s coming out!!” were being tossed around.

Cue Becca Faith almost almost almost losing her shit. So to speak.

Cue arrival of paramedics. Gloria reached up to hug me and I bent down to fit into her hunched frame and wrapped my arms around her and tried to pour love and compassion and healing into my embrace. She kissed me on the cheek and told me I was a nice lady.

As I made my way back to the platform to wait for the local, I couldn’t help but think about how much I heart the city that literally throws bloody shit at my pretentious irritation and attempts to separate myself from the rest of the world.  This city refuses to let me close my eyes to suffering, insists that I learn compassion, and demands my humanness.  This city is hard-core heart-core.  And this city? It’s home.

Holy crap. It’s happening. It’s happening right now. Right. Now. Of course it’s now, two days before our three-year anniversary, while we’re sitting close in a booth at a cute New York bar the way we love to do, the way we would on any other Sunday. It’s not in my drink — win.  We’re not at a national sporting event — win win. This is the man I love — win win win.

“I have something nicer for you,” he says.  And he did:

Anniversary Bling

Boyfriend looked on as I slipped the ring onto my right ring finger, all the way down to…my second knuckle. It’s a half-size too small (or my finger is a half-size too big). I told him how much I adore it. He told me it can be sized. I stared at it a little more, taking in how unique and beautiful and essentially me it is. That’s my birthstone — amethyst — at the center. I love its weight, and that I won’t have to take it off to practice yoga, and that I can wear it every day. I love that it’s from the man I love. I love that it’s for my right hand.

Because the truth is, I’m absolutely content with where my relationship is right now.  We talk about getting married and sometimes I jokingly give him a hard time about getting engaged, but really, I don’t feel — I’ve never felt — like I’m waiting for that to happen. Even during that fleetingly disappointing, anticlimactic moment when the band didn’t slip effortlessly to its place, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for that to happen, either.  I just felt a sense of receiving, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

In the last few weeks I’ve been noticing how offensive the act of waiting is to some people.  Just last week I was at the bank, and everyone on line seemed to resent having to be there.  Not there at the bank — just there in line.  There was a lot of harrumphing and sighing and superfluous watch-checking.

What if we all chose to stop waiting for things to happen, and woke up to the fact that something is always happening, right now? In line at the bank, we could just be in line. Yes, there is a front to the line and yes, there is a teller up there and yes, you will complete a transaction and leave and no longer be at the bank. But what then? At the crest of every step, are you waiting for a footfall? In the moments before you open the door at your next destination, are you waiting to complete that action? And when you happen to get wherever you’re going, are you just waiting to get somewhere else?

Obviously we don’t think about walking as waiting. We think about it as walking.  For some reason, we criminalize moments of seeming stillness as unproductive or useless. But the truth is, nothing is ever really still.  If Buddhists and yogis (and other smart people) say that everything arises, abides, and dissolves, then we have to acknowledge the incredible expansiveness of “abiding.” We can choose to inhabit our abiding, choose to fill it with breath and intention and contentment. We can choose abiding, instead of waiting.

The jeweler that made my ring only operates on the weekends, so I can’t have it sized until Friday.  I’m excited to wear it, to have it remind me of the man who gave it to me, to let its heaviness carry the weight of three years of abiding, and the promise of many more.

I love you, my darling. Happy Anniversary.

I walked into the Jamba Juice on University between 13th and 14th and took my place in line.  Just as I was putting the final touches on my decision between Mega Mango and Pomegranate Paradise (Mega Mango, natch), the man in front of me in line starts frantically knocking on the window.  He was trying to get the attention of the man who had casually walked up to the storefront and was in the process of stealing a bicycle leaned against it; the man in line muttered something and scrambled to get outside, initiating a chase that took him far out of sight.  I was left staring in shock.  So was the bicycle owner’s son.

In his focus and haste, this guy had run out of the store without a word to anyone, especially not his boy, who couldn’t have been more than 10 years old.  The kid wandered out the door to lay claim to his own bike, still leaned against the building, and wheeled it inside.

By the time my delicious mango-strawberry-citrus concoction was blended and in hand, no one had returned to lay claim to this little boy, who by now was looking rather shocked and disoriented.

“Hi. I’m Becca. What’s your name?”

“Nathan.”

“Well, Nathan, it looks like your dad is a little busy chasing a bicycle thief.  Want a smoothie?”

And naturally, he did.  So we got back in line and it turns out, Nathan is a mango fan just like myself. It didn’t seem like the right time to tell him about the perils of dairy additives in sherbet, so I acquiesced: “One Mango-a-go-go for Nathan, please.”  I handed Nathan a dollar for the tip jar and after he got his smoothie we hunkered down at the front of the store to call his mom, avoid brain freezes, and wait.

Eventually Nathan’s dad came back, though his bike didn’t, and we shook hands and parted ways.  Not an exemplary ending, I know, but it did bring up an issue that’s been on my mind for awhile.

Down the street from Jamba, in one of my favorite over-priced cafes, there’s a sign on the tip jar: Karma is a boomerang.  But karma isn’t a boomerang.  In fact, karma isn’t any kind of athletic equipment.  Karma means “action.”  Buddha said:

Just as the shadows of birds in the sky

Move along with them,

Beings are followed by

The right and wrong they have done.

(Becoming Enlightened, 100)

If we think of karma as a boomerang, we’re actually saying that our actions hover somewhere in the universe like giant be-fanged dust bunnies waiting to pounce.  We fail to see that what happens to us might be the fruition of karma from many lives ago, or that getting away with something in this birth may cause us immense suffering in the next.  It’s easy to forget that our interdependence isn’t only about our connections to other people — it’s also about our connectivity to future selves in future births, the “other people” that are “us people.”

I try to remember to appreciate when something bad happens, because I know it’s the end of a thread of karma that may have been unraveling for eons.  And when I see something terrible happening to someone else, I try to ease the burden of hefty karmic outcomes by offering something — anything — that will keep the fruition of karma from ricocheting into even more reactionary, negative karma.  Part of the trouble is that we get caught up in our feelings about not deserving the bad things that happen to us.  We get so uppity about it, we actually engender more non-virtuous karma by acting out or lashing out or flipping out.

The important thing to remember is that all actions — virtuous or non-virtuous — plant a seed of karma that may ripen at any time.  So the real question is: what kind of garden are you planting?

Mine’s got mangos.

I’ve been trying — really, really trying — to change my ultra-squeamishness.  Being grossed out by all the sloppy, dirty, unsavory stuff in the world is time-consuming and ego-centric; it’s just another excuse to put up barriers between me and the rest of mankind, another chance to solidify my feelings of me vs. them instead of acknowledging my underlying connectivity to everyone else.  In Light on Yoga, Iyengar writes that ahimsa isn’t just non-harming or non-aggression — the word also connotes a deliberate “love embracing all creation.”  Softening and opening to the things that make me squeamish instead of bristling and shuddering away seems like a really good, challenging way to start letting the principle of ahimsa permeate my life (since being a vegetarian is taking some work).

So anyway, today I was on the N, which was even more overcrowded than usual because of a “previous incident” on the D (commence communal eyebrow-raise). So I’m squished in with a lot of other people, and just as I was thinking to myself “Gee, it’s nice that everyone is showered and in their clean work clothes,” the man standing next to me took his iPod headphone ear-bud out of his ear and PUT IT IN HIS MOUTH TO CLEAN IT and then put it back in his ear.

There I was, having come so far in my pursuit of a less aggressive attitude that just yesterday I found myself trying to cultivate friendly feelings for a rat I saw crawling around at the Canal St. stop, and this guy on the subway does maybe the grossest thing I can think of and I can’t get away from him and holy crap did he really just DO that?!

Deep breath. Internal shudder. Open your heart.

After a few seconds I got my shit under control and actually started to feel bad that iPhone-guy might have seen me make my “I’m-so-grossed-out-I-might-vomit” face.  I didn’t want him to feel judged, you know?  Because we all do nasty stuff, or smell bad sometimes, or look pimply and sweaty and frizzy…but it’s really easy to forget how gross YOU are when everyone else is so much easier to see.

I caught myself thinking I’d have been better off if I had never taken my eyes of the book I was reading.  If I had just stayed focused and kept my head down, I never would have encountered iPhone-guy and I wouldn’t have the extremely skeeve-worthy image of someone sucking on their own ear wax stuck in my head.  But then I realized that with that thinking, I might as well just never leave the house.

So my challenge to myself this week is to keep my eyes wide open and take in all there is to see.  And instead of judging it or shunning it or letting it gross me out, I’ll just try to let it all in with some semblance of equanimity.  Who knows?  Maybe all that time spent underground will finally help me see the light…

So like I said, it’s been rough. I employed lots of tricks to keep myself from breaking my vow, and I got particularly good at imagining horribly disgusting things, like teeth & spines, hiding in meat products, or my puppy ground up in whatever I wanted.  It was pretty effective.  On my best days, I felt lots of pride that I wasn’t contributing to an industry notorious for its contribution to suffering – from the animals slaughtered to the meat industry’s detrimental effect on the environment to the heart disease epidemic sweeping the country.  On my worst days, I would eat lots of cheese and watch Food Network and get the meat sweats and cry.

So we’re sitting in the park on Saturday and suddenly I say to myself “You know what, self?  I want a burger. And I’m gonna have one.”  And I did.

I tried to eat extra-mindfully, tasting the salty-charred-spiced-juiciness of each bite, feeling the way the texture changed between my teeth, noticing the beautiful colors inside.  I tried to really appreciate each moment of the experience, a practice I should employ more often. It was a pretty good burger.  Not the best I’ve ever had (have you tried the one at L’Express?!), but it was good.

Happily, my Independence Day burger didn’t result in a meat binge or me getting sick or me hating myself.  But it has made me reevaluate my feelings about vegetarianism and ahimsa (non-harming).

There are a handful of annoying gnats that have gotten past the riddled-with-holes window screens in my apartment.  My instinct is to swat them away, naturally, but lately I’ve been taking the time to blow gently in their direction to get them out of my face and, as much as I want to, I don’t clap them between my hands or smack them against the wall.  The experience encourages the same feelings I have every time I choose not to eat meat: satisfaction in my self-control & resistance to violence, a rising sense of fuzzy live-and-let-live-ness…

What does it all mean? I’m not sure I’ll be eating meat again anytime soon, though I feel my reasons for refraining changing the more I try to nail them down. Sometimes I feel like I’m just poking the practice with a stick until I figure out where its edges are (nowhere), if there are holes in it (no), when it will give in to my prodding (never).  But somewhere between not eating meat, having a burger, and not killing bugs, I’m engaging directly with ahimsa, and that…well, that makes me feel one step closer to figuring it all out.

Click to buy on Amazon.com

I originally bought this book after reading about it on Cyndi Lee’s blog awhile back, but I’ve only just gotten around to it.  I think the title is hilarious — it smacks of “instruction manual,” and of course in some ways it is.  But beyond that, HHDL interrogates the true meaning of enlightenment from the Buddhist perspective.  I’ve only just begun this text (I’m 50 pages in), but this is one of my favorite quotes so far:

It is not that the self is totally nonexistent; it is obvious that a self that desires happiness and does not want suffering does indeed exist.  But Buddha taught that the self is set up in dependence upon the mind and body.  In this way Buddha established the view known as dependent-arising, which emphasizes the interrelatedness of all things.  Despite appearances to the contrary, nothing exists autonomously, or truly in isolation.  All things have interconnections.  The view of dependent-arising is Buddha’s focal teaching. (3-4)

So often the idea of “no self” is wholly inconceivable because of the obviousness of our physical bodies.  If there is no self, who types or reads or breathes or does yoga or loves? I believe this is one of the most profound misconceptions about Buddhist philosophy and may even keep people from mining the wealthy shores of Buddhist thought.  Happily, His Holiness saves the day with this unbelievably concise and beautiful explanation of “no self” as “no self in isolation,” which is really the basis for all our thinking about compassion.

Are you reading Becoming Enlightened? What other books by HHDL should be on my list?

Leo, contemplating the Dharma

When I moved to North Jersey last summer, I was initially intimidated by the two major highway arteries that swirl & eddy around Hackensack: RT-4 and RT-17. Each is speckled with on- and off-ramps every other mile, and busy shopping complexes line the roads. It makes for a really terrible traffic situation to be sure, and I spent a good 3 weeks hugging the slow lane, trying to stay alive & un-fender-bent.

Things quickly evolved. I realized that in order to get anywhere, I would have to adopt the same practices as everyone else on the road, with the primary practice being aggression.  After a short time I could dodge & weave with the best, and other than feeling a marked spike in blood pressure whenever I turned the key in the ignition, I thought everything was fine.

The irony of getting in the car after a yoga class and driving like a maniac didn’t escape me, and I started to feel a creeping sense of guilt whenever I got in the car.  Aggressive driving is wreckless, self-absorbed, inconsiderate, unsafe…it comprises a whole suite of unskillful means. As someone trying to live a life guided by the Dharma, how could I justify road rage?  How could I let myself feel so much frustration and anger toward complete strangers? And why was I reacting to traffic like it was a personal offense?

As with so many other noble ideas, it’s far easier to identify a problem and conceptualize a solution than to ever make any real change. So I decided to start small: I tucked a picture of the Green Tara in the sun visor on the driver’s side, and vowed to recite a short metta (lovingkindness) meditation whenever I saw a car with a Pennsylvania license plate (if I was getting angry at neutral parties for no reason, I figured I should pick an equally neutral party as the impetus for metta).

So May you be happy, may you be healthy, may you be free, may you be at ease has been directed at the driver of every PA-plated car I’ve seen for the past three months. And you know what? It works.

I’m not saying I don’t get frustrated when someone drives 25mph in a 40mph zone or makes a dangerous dart across three lanes of traffic to exit at the last second, but still, I’m making progress.  Bringing a bit of metta to the road helps me remember that people get stuck in the rat race, trapped in the idea that they can get to the front of the line or somehow win at life because they passed a pokey driver in the fast lane. So when I can remember to do it, I try to recite my little prayer for particularly aggressive drivers, too. At the very least, I try not to react with equally aggressive maneuvers on my part — in my mind or my car. It makes  me feel like I can contribute in some small way to the cessation of the cycle of suffering — even if it is just on RT-4 and RT-17. And who knows where that road might lead?