Action Monday #1 - Commitment to Action

It has been a long time since I last posted. Nearly a full two years (my husband had to point out my initial math error - I originally calculated it as one... it doesn't feel that long, which is nice and also strange). There are many reasons for the long absence, none of which benefit from time or focus in this post.

But I have made a decision! Lately I'm keenly aware of the self-induced nature of my suffering. And I mean that in the karmic/Buddha sort of sense. Suffering. My doing. My creating. My responsibility.

The antithesis, I've decided, is action. At least for today. At least for me.

Not only have I committed to renewing my yoga practice (slowly at home on my bright pink mat with the flower pattern that captures and delights my daughter), but I've also committed to walking every day at lunch when the weather is welcoming. (The honeysuckle in the photo was a lunchtime reminder of happy childhood moments in Midwestern fields and woods.)

This commitment to action has inspired yet another commitment: to begin blogging regularly again.

I miss it. I miss you reading it. I miss my writing it. I miss having to take what is so often a non-verbal, fleeting, vague sense of something flirting with truth... and shape it into a narrative ready to share with others. One that hopefully resonates productively - positively - like a gentle nudge... bordering on a polite shove.

Today I shove myself: Get going, you. Stop being stuck. Commit to action.

May you feel called to purpose. May you feel empowered to act.

Silence

There is an odd and inherent contradiction to blogging. It creates a public and infinitely open forum from which to communicate, and yet the words shared are limited via the medium used and must always be funneled down to an individual perspective. It's hard to walk the fine line sometimes between personal and purposeful. Ultimately, one's intention as a writer remains helpless in meeting the perspective of the reader... and so the process ends up feeling a bit like writing a love letter to someone you know from afar - without expectation of response.

In looking back on yesterday's post, I have been thinking a lot about silence (specifically, the Buddhist take on silence), and also about suffering and compassion... and how that all blends together in the context of blogging through the process of my spiritual exploration.

One of my favorite Buddhist proverbs is:

Do not speak, unless it improves on silence.

I love the recognition of silence as something valuable, as well as the importance of thinking before speaking. Sometimes our words are like our thoughts: random, ego-driven, tangential, and disconnected from mindful awareness. Silence may afford further reflection; it may allow someone else an opportunity to provide wisdom, guidance, or strength; and it may lead to a more silent internal state... one truly centered in the now and from which we may speak and act with authenticity and humility.

How, then, does silence come to bear upon blogging? It's a rather talky activity - potentially self-important and typically one-sided in its execution. My guess: Most bloggers negotiate and utilize large periods of silence before setting out to communicate their thoughts. Posts are purposeful, the structure and tone of the blog decided in advance and carefully maintained by the author. I would also hazard a guess most bloggers are doing so because they value interpersonal connection and believe there is merit to sharing their thoughts and personal experiences while reading those of others in an effort to remember and expand upon the universality and interconnection of the human experience.

One of the things I struggle with lately, in seeking to better understand Buddhism, is in knowing how to balance an awareness of the suffering of others with an openness and honesty to my suffering - in whatever form it may take. This can be difficult because we are relativistic thinkers... and so our tendency is to compare self with other - be it for good or ill.

Halfway through my post yesterday, I started to worry my focus on boredom might seem callous in the context of the earthquake in Haiti, the health struggles of friends and their families, the financial struggle of thousands striving to make basic necessities (food, shelter, clothing) a consistent and stable reality, the disenfranchisement and discrimination faced by individuals whose rights are unjustly and consistently denied...

It is a luxury to be able to focus on an emotion such as boredom. I see it as an opportunity to practice gratitude and consider my blessings to be able to label my suffering with such a small and trivial word. And I chose to blog about it - and to keep it even when worry struck halfway through - because I hoped my words might bring a sense of connection or comfort to someone else standing under the same raincloud.

There is another proverb I found today that seems fitting:

Every path has its puddle.

Sometimes the puddle exists in the wake of a tsunami and threatens to overwhelm us, and sometimes it is merely the mirage of water we seem to be standing in - a self-propelled hallucination because we are determined to see water where there is none.

I like to think there is merit in exploring both.

May you listen, pause, and breathe today. May you answer all forms of suffering (even the imagined ones) with compassion and courage.

Right Action

It has been a difficult week. Mild panicky feelings, nearly daily headaches, the kind of flashing in my eyes that is supposed to be normal now but never fails to make me feel nervous, strange tightness in my chest cropping up randomly, and a wonderfully painful cold sore that has erupted on my top lip.

A lot of this, I think, has been connected to an internal struggle I've been embroiled in relating to two separate and distinct parts of my life. It has been difficult to untie the tangled health issues, emotions, and stress-induced flotsam from my decision-making process and a continual and concerted effort to choose right action and make good choices.

This process of reflection and untangling has echoed back to some earlier thoughts regarding spiritual paths and the presence of responsibility within one's living.

Over the holidays, I had a very interested and unexpected conversation about religion with two old friends. The end result led me to thinking about the faiths I am most drawn to, and why. It also got me thinking about the purpose of faith and whether its presence in human life is a positive and/or necessary thing.

I miss Unitarian Universalism sometimes. I miss the humanist aspect and the opening, accepting viewpoint. I miss the plurality of spiritual exploration and the active and socially-minded nature of its core principles. Being a covenantal faith, rather than creedal, the basis of collective practice of said faith rests in the promises each person makes to themselves and others as to how they choose to behave in the world. So... one's beliefs are not as important as one's actions.

The other faith or spiritual pursuit I feel most strongly drawn toward at present is Buddhism. This is neither convenantal nor creedal, and practitioners would most likely tell you it is more a philosophy than a religion; yet, much like UUism and similarly covenantal faiths, one of the core foundations of Buddhism lies in the choices you make about your behavior and actions in the world. Buddhism teaches the responsibility for improvement, evolution, spiritual enlightenment, etc. rests with you. There is no outside force that will bring salvation or comfort or wisdom... there is no other to relieve suffering. Rather, you are responsible for your own suffering and you are the sole source of power enabled to end it.

My daughter has begun asking questions about death, what comes after death, and the stuff that souls are made of. It's new territory, and I want to honestly convey my beliefs about such matters while leaving things open enough she feels empowered to make her own decisions and choose her own path of belief.

As with so many other aspects of motherhood, her questions elicit a new kind of learning and relearning for me. I cannot make assumptions about who I am, what I believe, or what I know if I am to respond honestly and in the moment. She requires a level of authenticity and self-knowing within which I cannot hide or be lazy or claim ignorance. Which is quite a gift, in the end.

Within all this rumination, I have sought to make several important decisions that affect not only myself, but others as well. Sometimes it is difficult to balance selfless and selfish aspects of oneself, while remaining as truthful as possible, as present at possible. Human interaction so often includes emotions we cannot control, and so we are left to ponder the rightness of our actions, the genuineness of our words, and the effect our choices make upon others - all balanced together delicately like a very precious paper house.

Whether from within our without, I do believe life is communicating with us all the time. Our bodies are telling us something. Our feelings are telling us something. The words and actions of others are telling us something. Life sends us little missives with which we may redirect our fates continually.

In my case, it's the chest pains and eye strain and cold sore and pinched heart. Your language - your message - may come in different forms. The tricky part (the important part) is to figure out what it means and act accordingly... to apply your faith, your compass, your way of knowing the world and courageously setting forth on the best course you can manage for today.

May you catch the messages your life is offering. May you choose the direction best suited to your happy and healthy growth.

Perspective

So... my car was towed this weekend. I was doing the first week of anniversary shows for Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind and when I tried to start my car to head home, it wouldn't start. I caught up with some ensemble members and Tim offered to help jump the car.

And then we realized I had locked my keys in. So... 30 minutes up to Evanston to get my husband's keys... but he was fast asleep (which was totally fair since it was about 2:30am at this point). So... I knocked on the front windows while Tim banged on the bedroom windows and we finally got Andy up. Poor guy. Bleary-eyed, totally confused, and still sleepy he handed over his keys, gave me lots of kisses... and I went back to the theatre to get the car.

The jump did not work, and since it was 3am at this point, Tim offered to call 311 to see if the car was in a tow zone. We told them where it was. They said it would only be towed if there was 2 or more inches of snow (which there was not). So... I decided to leave it there and deal with it in the morning.

Tim drove all the way back to Evanston one more time, and I got in bed next to my still-awake husband around 3:30am. Our daughter woke up at 4am, and came in each half hour. Andy got up at 6am, and I slept until 8am. We headed out for breakfast and then took the train down to Andersonville to get the car.

Which was gone. Gone gone gone. I tracked it down, went to the impound lot, and paid the $160 to get it out. Then called AAA to have it towed. Then waited for 4 hours; yes... 4 hours. Ari missed her nap. Then she missed lunch. Then it was closing in on dinner time. Finally, someone from AAA showed up and said they couldn't come in to get the car. We had to have someone else tow it to the gate.

We found someone who would tow it out, but the AAA guy left and said he would come back in half an hour... maybe. Thankfully, the private towing guy agreed to drive us all the way to the service station we had found in Evanston for $100 (it's $60 just to get it to the gate of the lot, so this seemed like a good deal).

We got home around 6pm, I ate, slept a bit, and then went back to the theatre, this time catching a ride with Greg from the el. Meanwhile, I looked at the ticket we also were given on top of the towing expense and saw it was another $60. Lovely.

So... the car was ready Sunday afternoon. We picked it up. $147. And all three of us spent the day in a sort of daze. Andy and I shellshocked by the expense of my decision not to call AAA in those wee hours of Sunday morning BEFORE the car was towed... Ari still talking about the "mean" people who took our car away and the "stinky place" we spent our whole Saturday.

My husband asked this morning if I was going to blog about this today. And I really hadn't intended to. He was right in suggesting it was an incredible test of spiritual reserve and opportunity for growth (kind of a practice in action thing). And it really did shake all three of us up. Ari is still talking about it and acting it out in play. I keep getting hit by random waves of panic and have a pretty strong twinge of anxiety every time I start the car.

But mostly, I felt okay about it. I mean... I have been very mad at myself for not calling that night instead of leaving the car behind. Very mad at the woman who said I would not be towed. And very, very mad at the city for not posting adequate signage and for creating a system wherein you cannot contest what has happened without endangering yourself financially—which means anyone who gets towed ultimately has to end up paying. Because no one can afford to take the risk of keeping the car in the lot while they wait for the hearing to happen and find out if the charges will be dropped.

So. The unfairness is upsetting. The inherent possibility and almost-definite existence of corruption within the system angers and saddens me. But I was mostly able to let go of even that. I pretty much forgave myself all my crying during our ordeal on Saturday. Was grateful I kept my cool the whole time and did not lose my temper. Was extremely grateful to Tim and Greg for their help.

It is what it is. It is done.

And then I heard a story on NPR this morning about a woman who crossed from Egypt into Israel with her children, seeking asylum. That's when I decided I would blog about this. Because her story, and of other refugees like her, put all the little emotional loose ends I might have been feeling to rest as soon as I heard it.

I encourage you to listen to it when you have time.

My car being towed was such a small thing. As my husband noted on the day we waited so long to get our car: the only thing it was costing us in the end was money and time. Both of which, at this time in our lives, we were able to spare—a significant thing to note.

We were all safe. We all stayed warm. My friends helped me out, they made me smile and laugh, and we are with vehicle again. Something that, in this economy especially, is a blessing all by itself.

It took me a very long time - very long - to stop comparing my suffering to that of other people. And sometimes, I still find I get wrapped up in my private, inner emotional tailspins and have to remind myself to stop. Mindfully cease the litany of sorrow and shift instead to seeing with eyes aware of the many good things I call my own... to look around and notice so many other people much more in need of compassion and empathy than I.

I actually feel very lucky today. And so much more aware of how small this event was in the grand scheme of things. My energies are much better spent focusing on the suffering of others, the injustices of the world, and opportunities for action and compassion and giving back.

Listen to that story.
Consider your blessings.
And don't leave your car overnight on the corner of Ashland and Foster - no matter how much snow is on the ground.

May you see the positives in your life today. May you reach out to help someone in whatever way you can.

Suffering

Suffering is a word laden with personal meanings, semantic preferences, and emotional connection. Everyone has their own idea - their own understanding - of the term. And everyone could tell you a personal story or share an event in their lives they might label as suffering.

The Buddhist discussion of suffering often emphasizes that all beings suffer. Suffering is an inherent and undeniable aspect of living and being human. Not because we are meant to suffer, or deserve to suffer, or even because it's impossible not to suffer. Rather, because the source of suffering is something with which we all must grapple - because we are human.

What is the source? Attachment.

Many Buddhists from many traditions define suffering as attachment. Attachment to form. Attachment to word. Attachment to what we thought would be, should be, will be - but isn't.

I've seen it defined as desire, craving, expectation. And all those things are accurate and yet somehow not quite accurate and capturing all that may be felt/known/understood. I suppose it's unavoidable, because language is an imperfect form of communication for many things. But in the process of seeking to better know suffering, I still yearn to have a greater grasp on the concept of attachment.

Lately, I see it most strongly in myself as an attempt to live life along an imagined, anticipated, or deeply wanted path - rather than the one that actually exists. This leads to pessimistic emotional states and often-lengthy patterns of negative thoughts when what I wish to be and what is do not align.

Sleep, food, work, play, down time, motherhood, housework, relationships, my body... all offer an opportunity to notice how, where, and why I cling to certain things - and the ways that leads to suffering.

I experience suffering in many forms. Loneliness. Despair. Restlessness. Anger. Impatience. Guilt. Negativity. Oddly enough, this type of suffering so often springs from the silliest and most trivial of things. Seeing no one has responded to something I've posted on Facebook. Noticing all the boxes and jetsom still sitting in our apartment while continuing to leave them untouched. Watching TV instead of reading a book, writing, or working. A night of interrupted sleep after deciding I need 8 hours to feel rested. Music that is too loud in the restaurant. Imagined conversations played out in cyclical detail in my head.

This type of suffering - the self-inflicted, ego-driven, little "i" suffering - is well within my control and directly related to my emotional and cognitive attachments. I so often define myself and my experience though the minute details of my life... particularly the ones that are emotionally charged or involve much thinking. And yet, those aspects of self are but tiny sections of the whole me.

I sometimes wonder, if I allowed myself to experience more of the whole me - unfiltered through attachment and even attachment to suffering - would I enjoy myself more?

Suffering is real. There is real suffering in the world. Plenty of it. One need only read the news or watch and listen to others to know there is great pain in the world. Legitimate and, at times, overwhelming.

What I have begun to glimpse just this week is how to start discerning my true suffering (true sadness, legitimate and authentic pain) from the suffering I have chosen for myself. It's the suffering to which I am attached - perhaps because it is familiar, or because it's been a part of my identity for so long I can no longer distinguish the boundaries. Maybe because it is easier to hurt sometimes than to let go. Strange, but honest.

Sometimes I find it easier to slip into hurting than to truly put in the effort and commitment required to release my attachments and allow myself to become empty. I find emptiness a bit scary. But it might also mean that what fills me next is a genuine response to life - and as life continually changes and moves... so does my knowing of me.

May you separate your true suffering from that which is chosen. May you remove unnecessary burdens from your heart.