The Inner Voice
Tuesday, 10/12/2004 I'm taking a speed reading class. It is not that I want to read faster or read more. I'm quite happy reading very little. In fact the only place I read is at Starbucks. I never read newspapers or magazines, only books. And I only read a few pages at a time. People have noticed that I bring the same book every day for weeks or months. Half the time I just set the book on the table and never open it. My attention goes to the people. So I usually read when there are few customers, when they are not busy.
So, considering the above, why am I taking a speed reading class? For the experience. When I read I have the habit of sub-vocalizing . It is as though I am reading aloud but only I can hear it. So that sets the speed with which I read. It is the same as if I were reading aloud. At times I have paid attention to that inner voice in terms of listening to the tone quality and altering it a bit, fooling around with it. In order to read fast you are supposed to stop sub-vocalizing. Well, at first I couldn't see how I could stop doing it. For years I have noticed that I can look about the world at one thing and another without responding with sub-vocalizing, but the second I see a written word I pronounce it to myself.
As I am writing this I'm aware of a difficulty in describing this sub-vocalizing business. I suppose it is clear to the reader. It is just not often talked about.
I devised a technique to defeat sub-vocalizing while reading by replacing the tendency to pronounce the words with continual nonsense, like saying, "Blah blah blah," to myself. You cannot pronounce two different words at the same time. So if I keep my inner voice occupied with something like counting, "One, two, three, four, one, two, ...," I cannot be pronouncing the words I am looking at as I read. I mentioned to the teacher and it turns out that this is one of the techniques used in speed-reading.
Now, an aspect of this that I find interesting is the distinction between intentional and non-intentional sub-vocalizing. I have been slowly developing several methods based on this distinction. This has been a spotty, hit-or-miss development over many years that is starting to come together now. Here's an example. I tend to get absorbed in thought while driving the car, especially on a highway. And the thought process is clearly unintentional. I don't mean to be thinking whatever it is, it just started happening. On occasion I would express the thoughts sub-vocally and intentionally just to clarify to myself what it was that I was thinking. This intentional process replaced, eliminated the unintentional process, and often ended it altogether.
I also had learned that I could dance better if I counted the beat to myself. I had much more contact with what I was doing. And playing the drums was the same way. If I counted I suddenly had much more control. It turns out to be true with the playing of any instrument as well. A further application has turned out to be applicable to handwriting, drawing, and painting. With writing I name the letters or words, with drawing I describe the movement in space or simply count the strokes. The results are consistently stronger and clearer because of the accompanying sub-vocalizing. In each of these cases the intentional sub-vocalizing has replaced an unintentional wandering of thoughts.
A similar approach is used in traditional Buddhist meditation where the initial focusing of the mind is done by counting the breath in a cycle from one to ten.
The African Spoon
Sunday 10/10/2004 About a year ago I bought a little wooden spoon with a carved bone handle from an African import shop in Seattle. Since then I have used it exclusively to measure out instant coffee and sugar. It is always sitting by the coffee container. A few days ago I couldn't find it. I was quite upset. This was one of my favorite possessions. I kept trying to imagine what could have happened to it. I thought the cat might have knocked it off onto the floor. He often clears stuff off a table top where he wants to stretch out. I was down on the floor with a flashlight looking under the stove and all over the kitchen. Nothing. I just couldn't imagine what had happened to it. I resolved to buy another one next time I was in the area. It just goes to show that it is not the things we pay the most for that we actually value most. I recalled how pissed I was when a roommate put my favorite green plastic plate in the microwave and melted it. When he first moved in I had specifically held up the plate and told him not to use it, that it was my favorite plate. I could never find that type of plate again. It was of the cheapest kind yet it was almost my most favorite object.
This evening I was getting ready to do a stir-fry dinner, opened the frig and grabbed a bundle of plastic bags with various vegetables in them. I set them on the cutting table and there in the tangle of bags was the African spoon! I was so glad to have found it. I held it up and admired it. It was so nice to feel it in my hand again. It felt cold, especially the bone part. It had been in the frig. I hadn't eaten dinner at home for a couple days and so had not handled the vegetable bags for a while. Well, there it was, safe and sound. It is back in it's place of honor on the counter next to the instant coffee jar.
Food
A couple weeks ago, while doing zazen, I experienced a vivid fantasy in which a woman to my left was offering me some food. I was irritated and kept refusing. I told her to go away, to stop bothering me. Ever since then I have fantasies involving food every time I practice zazen. This is so odd considering that I almost never think about food. I have noticed that many people talk about what they have eaten, where, and what kind of foods they like and dislike. Actually I am becoming nauseous as I write this. And I feel my jaw muscles aching. I'm stopping typing to concentrate my attention on these sensations. My nose is itching. I'm thinking about the corpse I found as a child. I wonder if it smelled bad. My stomach is aching. I recall trying to think about food as an experiment and having a hard time with it. I tried to imagine eating and tasting various foods. Found it unpleasant.
Part of a Day
Monday, October 5, 2004. At coffee this morning I told Rich that I was having trouble practicing speed reading with books that I was really interested in. I wanted to read them very slowly and carefully. We discussed using books that were of less importance to me. So, before I left for Seattle I picked my very old and as yet unread copy of Virgil's Aeneid off the shelf. The ferry was running late due to the thick fog and was further delayed for 'security' reasons. Once in Seattle I tried to find the Frye Museum and/or the new library. I found the library first, parked in a parking building a block away and checked it out. Pretty spectacular design. Just as Bill said, not an efficient use of space, but quite interesting. Most of the exterior walls are grids of I-beams at all kinds of weird angles. The ground floor level with 5th Ave. had lots of terminals, large tables where men,mostly black, were contemplating chess boards, and a large section of fiction books. I took the escalator up several floors and slowly worked my way down the series of gently sloping floors with the stacks of books. It was a shock to approach the outer wall in places on the upper floors because the walls were glass and you could see the street far below. Made me uneasy. My overall impression was that the building took up a huge amount of space for the number of books they had. The whole collection could have been contained in a building a tenth that size.
I asked a librarian where the Frye Museum was. She printed out a map for me. It was several blocks away and the parking facility I had left the car in was expensive so I hurried back to get the car. I picked up a pork teriyaki sandwich to go at a deli in the parking building. I found the museum, parked and ate half the sandwich in the car. Then I hopped out and went up to the door of the museum and was unable to open it. Then I noticed the hours listed there. Closed on Monday it said. Oh well, at least I know where it is now.
The international district was not far so I drove over to Jackson St. and cruised the area looking for the Wing Luke Museum. Finally gave up. It would help to have the address. By now it was 2 o'clock so I decided to get up to Ballard before the rush hour. The traffic was light on 5. I missed the turn off after the bridge and ended up near Green Lake. That sounded good. I did need to kill some time so I went to the lake and to the Seattle's Best coffee house. I sat at a table for a while reading the book I brought to practice speed reading. I read the introduction wherein the translator praised the skills of the author and explained the story. I got a refill and took it across the street where I could sit on the grass in the shade of a tree and read. I found a nice spot and sat down. I heard something hit the ground with a plop. I turned toward the sound and saw a crow pick up some kind of small fruit under a tree. I assumed that that was what had just fallen. He flew over near some bleachers with it and was followed by another crow. No sooner had he landed than the other crow jumped him and took the object. The first crow just took a few steps, shook his feathers and seemed to forget about it. There were several crows hanging out on the little bleachers. I kept watching, curious to see what would happen next. Then this young guy appeared from the right, walking slowly and purposefully toward the bleachers. There had been a dark-haired couple sitting at a table over there. This was the guy. He just kept walking and scared all the birds away. I felt annoyed. He had paid no attention at all to the birds.
My attention turned to some gulls standing around closer to me. There were three that were very white with some gray parts, like the wings. One was walking slowly toward me. I watched the tiny stick-like legs, devoid of muscle, lifting and stepping with a simple grace. This guy drifted by, checking me out. There was a larger gray gull further away that was keeping his eye on a crow. The crow would approach, peck at something in the grass, and the gull would jump toward him beak open. The crow would jump back a bit. I looked back at the bleachers and saw that the young fellow was laying on his back on one of the bleacher benches. His girl friend kept saying something but I couldn't hear it well enough to understand.
Further out on the grass playing field there were two guys throwing a football back and forth and even further away were two guys throwing a Frisbee back and forth. The Frisbee was traveling much further on a throw than the football. And the Frisbee followed very different patterns from one throw to the next. The football just followed the same sort of trajectory every time. Each of the guys with the football appeared to be living out a sport fantasy. The accent was on their own antics rather than on the flight of the football. One would pretend he was warding off attackers with his left arm as he prepared to throw the ball. The other guy had his shirt off and struck poses with the ball. Like he would reach up high to catch the ball over his head and after he caught it he would just stand there displaying the position, and even rotate slowly so it could be seen from all sides. I had the impression that he was posing for photos. Both the football guys sort of strutted around. The Frisbee players had a graceful rhythm to their back-hand throws and did interesting maneuvers getting in position to catch it. I enjoyed watching them throw that thing.
I finally turned my attention to the book. The Aeneid. A classic. An epic poem about the founding of Rome. I couldn't stand it. I practiced speed reading for about twenty pages and closed it. As I left the park I tossed it in a trash can.
I had a few hours to kill so I drove to Ballard and to the water, where the locks are. From there I drove up the coast eventually stopping at Golden Gardens, a public park with a large sandy beach. It felt great to take my shoes off and walk in the sand. Approaching the water, the sand dropped off sharply and there was a band of little rocks and shell fragments that marked the high tide. The water was crystal clear and there were little tiny wavelets a few inches high lapping at the beach and sorting out the little rocks and shell pieces under the water. Each tiny surge of water made a soft sound and created tiny groups of bubbles that floated on the surface. The water looked so clear. Each little pebble being tumbled around was so clear and there were little pieces of bright green seaweed suspended in the water. the sun was low to the west and it's bright and broken images reflected off the surface of the water.
I rolled up my pant legs and stepped into the water. It was cold at first but soon became easy to take. It has been a long time since I've waded in salt water. I strolled along the beach for about a quarter mile, watching the ground in front of me. Rocks and shells and seaweed, on and on. The air felt good. People were few and far apart. I could hear a seal or sea lion barking. A container ship was moving slowly along in the distance. Then I heard the mournful horn of a train coming from the north. I watched the hillside and there appeared a couple diesel engines pulling freight cars. Many of the boxcars had colorful graffiti on the lower parts of their sides. It was mostly fancy lettering. Much of it was nicely done. Most looked solid and three dimensional. I assumed it was all on the lower parts of the cars because that is all the higher the artists could reach.
I approached some little dunes with plants growing on them. I walked up there and then started back toward where I had seen the restrooms. There were trees growing there and the dried leaves began bothering my tender bare feet. I kept walking, passing a couple sitting on the sand, until I got on the cement pavement leading to the restrooms. The men's room was at the far end. A couple separated at the entrance to the men's room. The guy started to enter. I heard the deep barking of a big dog and the guy stepped back out with some kind of exclamation. His lady friend turned to look. Out of the men's room came a big blond dog leading a blind man. They came out and proceeded toward me. The man seemed to be completely blind. They passed me and went on. After taking a leak I came out and started across the grass. There were few people to be seen. There was a swing set and I sat down on the grass near it. A man holding hands with a tiny girl about three years old came slowly toward the swings. She was not even a yard tall but was fairly steady on her legs, walking carefully and purposefully. She walked up to a swing and holding it with both hands walked forward, pushing it in front of her. Then she stopped and backed up awkwardly. The man picked her up, sat on the swing seat, and setting her on his lap began swinging a little. She got a big kick out of that. When he set her down on the ground she began pushing on the swing again. Then she got the idea she wanted to walk somewhere else. They talked a bit and although I couldn't understand what was said it was clear from her tone that she knew where she wanted to go, and off they went hand in hand with her leading the way.
I got on the swing and went back and forth for a while. The chains were rather short so it was not as much fun as I had expected. It was made for children. From the swing I could see a pedestrian tunnel that passed under the railroad tracks. It was decorated with colorful designs. Suddenly there was lots of loud barking of big dogs echoing in the tunnel. I got off the swing and was putting my shoes on. I looked up and saw a couple men with big dogs on leashes emerging from the tunnel. I walked over to the tunnel. As I approached it I could see that there were mosaics decorating the walls on either side of the entrance. They were scenes of the shore with sailboats in the distance. The pieces were so large that the image was lost when you got close. But the cement walls and ceiling inside were painted with some sort of curving design that was very flat and the walls were covered with crude graffiti. I was disappointed.
After driving back to town I cruised around the area to get familiar and discovered a bridge. I looked on the road map and was surprised to see that I could go over that bridge and drive straight to the coast and along the coast to the ferry without going through the main part of Seattle. I had coffee and sat for a while at a Tullys and then showed up at the zendo at about 6:30.
Catnap
Here's how Kitty and I take a nap. I lay on the floor and he lays on me.
Zendo
Monday 9/27/2004. Drove to Ballard this afternoon so I could sit with some of the One-Drop Zendo people. Got on the 2:55 Bainbridge-Seattle ferry. I went up to the passenger deck and was standing looking at an example of Tlingit art and was somewhat obstructing access to a doorway. I stepped aside to let a woman by. She walked through the doorway. Then I heard her say, "Oh, the men's!" and she came back out hurriedly. The doorway was to the men's restroom.
By 3:45 I was in the thick of the traffic on highway 5 going north over the bridge at 15 miles per hour. I got off at 45th and stopped at Rockler Woodworking on the way and picked up a few things. It was difficult finding the way to Ballard, trying to read the map while in the traffic. I was quite early and had planned to hang out at the beach a while. But I was feeling so stressed out by all the traffic and not knowing what I was doing that I stopped at a Denny's, took a leak and ordered fish and chips. The waitress was particularly unpleasant. I would not have been surprised had she said, "What do you want?" or, "Here's, here's your food." She appeared to be Jewish and she obviously didn't like working there.
I noticed a well-groomed elderly lady sitting across the aisle from me. She never seemed to move. I also became aware that the waitress attending the folks in the booth behind me was very pleasant and made everyone feel good and relaxed and cared for. She was a large black woman with a big smile. I wish I had sat at one of her booths. My waitress appeared with a salad and the other waitress told her that the elderly lady had gotten tired of waiting and left. I looked and sure enough, she was gone. I then realized that she had been seated there quite a while and apparently had never even had her order taken.
The Zen group meets on Monday nights in a place called "Moving Space". Tai chi is taught there as well which accounts for the name. Once I got to the address I parked on the street almost in front of the place. Then I recognized that I had been right there before, with Tempera and Kimo. Directly across the street was a guitar shop where Kimo was playing around with the standup base. The street was very quiet. It is an old and picturesque part of town, with stone-front buildings and elaborate bay windows. The air was cool and refreshing. I just stood outside for the next hour as I was early. The street was lined with trees. Something caught my eye. A bushy tailed squirrel was working its way down a nearby tree. He reached the ground and crossed the street. There was no traffic at all. A car came by every few minutes, driving slowly. The squirrel went up a tree on the other side of the street and leapt onto the roof of a building and disappeared over the peak of the roof.
People began to arrive and at 6:30. Myosho arrived and we went inside. There was a small lobby, a large room with hardwood floor to the left and a hallway that ran toward the rear of the building. Other people were there. They had come in through a back door. At the end of the hall there was a small kitchen area to the right and a ramp led up to a bent hallway to the left. There were benches and a doorway into the large room. I sat down and took off my shoes, putting them under the bench. One of the first people that arrived was a short woman with dark hair and she smiled at me and said, "Hello, how are you?" I said, "Fine. Aren't you the one who told me to leave at the sesshin?" She said that she had thought I was someone else at the time. Myosho took me to a very small room around the corner where we sat on cushions and she explained the routine to me. It involved a lot of bowing and other gestures and positions signaled by the ringing of a gong, a little bell, and the sharp report of hardwood sticks smacked together. Everything was formalized ritual, just like at the sesshin. Once the session started there would be no talking. Then it was time to begin. Myosho had suggested that I remove my little bag on the shoulder strap, which I did. I put it under the bench.
I opened the door to the meditation room and saw that it was dimly lit, and there were 15 people in three rows seated on cushions. They were all in black or at least very dark clothing and sitting up straight with eyes lowered. No one wore socks. All had bare feet. The row nearest me was facing the other way. The next two rows were facing me. There was one empty spot with cushions in the back row across the room. I stepped in, put my hands together and bowed, walked to the cushions, turned around toward the room, bowed again and sat down. The chanting of sutras began. They had little booklets to read if you didn't know the material. Unfortunately my glasses were in the bag that I left outside so I could not follow the chanting, being unable to read the booklet. The chanting was very rapid and to the loud beat of a large woodblock.
After the chanting we sat zazen in silence for 25 minutes. I had been instructed to follow my breathing during the sitting. I did this by counting from 1 to 10 on the exhale, drawing the subvocalizing out for the full breath, like, "Oooooooooooonnnnnne, twooooooooooooooo." Because the stretched out word tended to lose its character as a particular number I kept count with subtle finger movements as well. I kept my eyes on the floor about a yard in front of me and focussed my attention on the area below the navel. I was able to maintain the count through most of the session and found that I could often keep count even though my thoughts wandered now and then. Clacking sounds and bells signified the start of a brief stretching break. I had been told not to put my legs straight out in front of me as this is considered rude in Japan (and here as well apparently) Then we began another 25 minutes of zazen, the sitting. I had slowed my breathing to about 10 breaths a minute. I wondered if the fellows on either side of me could here the air coming through my nose. I had been told to breathe silently so as not bother the others. After the second period of zazen we all walked at a good clip with hands folded for several minutes and resumed sitting again. After the third zazen period we were served a cookie and a cup of tea at our seats. This too was very formalized. No talking, only specific gestures.
I forgot to mention, during the second and third zazen periods a woman carrying a long flat stick moved about silently. If you requested it by bowing as she passed by she would plant a couple blows on one shoulder and then the other as you offered them. This was done to wake you up, stimulate you. It was not meant to hurt.
The third period was shorter than usual due to a meeting. Before we broke up some new people including myself were introduced. A person in some important position was leaving and he was being replaced by a new fellow who I gathered came from Japan. I could not hear what was being said. Then we broke up and everyone was talking and we moved the cushions in to a circle for the meeting. Some left. Various responsibilities were assigned to volunteers. After the meeting all the cushions were picked up and placed into a small storage room. I conversed with a few people for a while and left so as to be able to get on the ferry that left Seattle a little after 10PM.
The streets were practically empty in downtown Seattle. Not much happening on a Monday night. On the way to the ferry I came to the corner at Safeco Field where the traffic sign had been covered by a tree for years. I had informed the city about it. There it was. I could see the sign. The tree limb had been cut back to expose it. On the way back on the ferry the water was very smooth. The air was clear and the moon was full. The reflection of the moon in the water was broken up by the wake of the ferry. As we neared Bainbridge Island we passed a couple buoys with blue-green lights that flashed on and off at a slow pace. The lights were also reflected in the water. I watched this from the side of the lower deck where my car was parked. It was a beautiful night.
Monastery
Sunday Sept. 5, 2004 Planned to go to zazenkai at the One Drop Zen Monastery on Whidbey Island. Filled a couple dishes with dry dog food on the back porch and heaped dry food in the cat's dish. Left the house a little after 5 AM, crossed over the floating bridge and arrived at Port Townsend a bit before the 6:30 ferry. A woman was just opening an espresso stand in front of Swain's, I had time for a coffee. The Port Townsend-Keystone ferries are rather small. It was nowhere near capacity.
I sat at a table on the passenger's deck. There were a couple little boys banging on a food dispensing machine. They had put in the money for a little bag of potato chips and it was hung up. It wouldn't quite fall. A ferry employee walked by and I called his attention to their plight. He said he couldn't do anything. He told these little kids that they could write down the phone number on the machine and they will reimburse them. That wasn't the answer the kids were looking for. They didn't say anything and just stood there looking at the dangling bag. I thought, "They probably don't have any more money. I'll just get up there and give them some more money." Just then a young woman appeared and said, "Sure now, you remember that phone number and call them up," as she put a dollar in the machine. Then she looked closely at the potato chip price. "A dollar and a quarter! I don't blame you for being upset," as she put in a quarter. She entered the number for the potato chips and walked away. The kids watched as the steel spiral supporting the potato chip bags began rotating and their bag fell and so did the next one. They grabbed them both and ran off exclaiming,"We got TWO bags!"
The monastery was about 20 miles south from the ferry. I found it and drove onto the property. There were quite a few cars parked around in unpaved areas. No people that I could see. I parked and walked up a dirt road and soon saw several unpainted wooden buildings. Most had decks or verandas. I walked downhill toward the largest building. There was a large yurt. All the smaller buildings had shelves with shoes in them. I took that to mean that there were people in the buildings. Then I noticed many little camp tents behind the buildings. I stopped and stared at some of the smaller ones, looking for signs of movement. I thought people must be asleep in them. It was about 7:30, a little chilly and overcast. I got to the zendo, walked up onto the porch and peered into the dark interior. I could see mats and cushions on the floor. There was a port-a-potty nearby and I took a leak. I started back uphill. Behind the kitchen was a standup tent with flaps tied back and an electric light on inside. I approached the tent expecting to see a person inside. Just then a woman's voice from behind me asked if she could help me, if I remember correctly. I told her I had come for zazenkai. She told me that there was a seven day sesshin under way, that Harada Roshi was here from Japan. She asked how far I had come. When I told her I was from Poulsbo she felt sorry for me, that I had come all this way. She said that the people participating in the sesshin were in the dining hall. Just then the door opened and people began filing out. They headed down the hill toward the zendo. Meantime she introduced herself and told me I would be welcome to attend the teisho at 1:00. My memory is not clear at this point. I believe the woman I was talking with went and got someone in a more important position. I was sitting on the edge of the deck and a woman came and sat next to me. She introduced herself as Myosho. We talked a bit. Someone asked if I would be interested in sitting zazen in the morning session. I said, "Sure." I was told that they would put a mat and cushion outside on the deck for me. Then they suggested that I stay for lunch. I thought that would be good. They said I would have to eat in the kitchen since I didn't know the ritual with the bowls. Soon after that one of them came to me and said, "You must have good karma. You have permission to eat lunch in the dining hall." I thanked her.
The zazen would not begin until 9:20. One of the women showed me a map of the area and suggested I take a walk around the large pond down below the buildings. She said it would take about 20 minutes. I did that. The trail was very narrow and ran through a forested area such that although it followed the contours of the pond I could rarely see the pond. I kept my eyes on the trail for the most part as it was full of little ups and downs. I unwittingly crashed through many spider webs along the trail. There was a clearing with a bench at one place. I sat there a while though the bench was not comfortable. It consisted of a board across a couple logs and the seat tilted forward. As I approached the complex it was still not time for the zazen session so I went to my car and sat there reading a while.
Shortly after 9 I walked down to the zendo and stood around out in front. I noticed a mat and cushion on the deck and wondered if that would be where I would sit. A young fellow with bright eyes approached and introduced himself. It seemed that everyone there went by Japanese names. He explained that I had to remove my shoes even to walk on the deck, that I would indeed be sitting on the cushions on the deck. he explained that there would be zazen for 25 minutes, then a short break to move and stretch, sitting (zazen) for another 25 minutes followed by kinhin. Then a final zazen period until 11. He said that when it was time for the walking meditation (kinhin) I might be able to enter the zendo and get in line behind the last person. He explained the sounds I would hear indicating the different events. These were made with hardwood sticks and bells. I thanked him and removed my shoes. The shoe rack had labels for each student. I placed mine where there was no label. People began arriving at the zendo. A woman with thick, dark hair approached and introduced herself and went over everything with me in great detail. She was very helpful. She wasn't sure about the walking part and left to inquire. She returned and said that I could walk with the others and that she would come to the back of the line and I should follow her. I think she was the same one who had told me it was arranged that I could eat lunch with the others. There were so many new people I had met in so short a time that I can't remember very clearly who said what nor what their names were other than Myosho.
I got in position on my cushion and waited until the zazen period began. It was a bit chilly out on the deck, especially sitting still for a while. I had not brought a jacket, assuming I would be indoors. I heard the sharp report of the wooden sticks or a bell or something and got into the half-lotus sitting position. I focused my eyes on a nail head in the decking and began counting my exhalations from 1 to 10 and back to 1. My thoughts would wander at times and when I had lost count I would start over at 1 again. Now and then I heard a loud noise coming from the zendo and understood that it was the monitor whacking the sitters on the shoulders with a big stick to keep you alert. The young fellow with the bright eyes had prepared me for that. An hour later it was time for the walking meditation (kinhin) to begin. I entered the door and the dark-haired woman appeared and gestured for me to get in behind her. I noticed that everyone was now in dark robes. They must have put them on after entering the zendo. We started to walk and I was surprised at the brisk pace. I held my hands folded over my hara, just below the navel, and hurried along to keep a couple feet behind the woman in front of me. I was surprise at how long the walking continued. The line ran out a door and out on the deck, past where I had been sitting, and into another door. There were two rooms inside, one small the other large. I kept my eyes on the figure in front of me and on the floor but I was aware of a few people in dark robes standing in the small room where we entered the zendo from the deck. I figured one must be the zen master and tried to walk 'well' when passing through that room. When the walking stopped I resumed my position on the mat on the deck. The sky was beginning to clear and there were glimpses of sunlight on the building. The warmth felt good. During the last sitting period there was a large winged ant walking back and forth right where I was looking. I'm glad he knew what he was doing because I couldn't figure it out. Back and forth, back and forth.
After the sitting came lunch. In the dinning hall were two long tables, each accommodating a couple dozen people. I had a seat at the end of one of the tables. Each person picked up a little bundle as they came in. And there were three dark bowls that fit inside one another at each place. Since I didn't know the ropes they had little different arrangement at my place. I had two bowls, one large, one small, a large spoon, chopsticks and a cloth napkin. Before eating they chanted the Heart Sutra in English. I was given a printed sheet to read from. All the others had it memorized. A young fellow next to me was helping me along with the processes. Each table had a board down the middle along which the large pots from the kitchen were passed. Each person put their hands together and bowed their heads before helping themselves to the food.There was rice, lentil soup, mashed sweet potato, spinach, a few other things including some little yellow pickles. The food was good. No one looked around. They tended to keep there gaze directed in front of themselves. I looked around a bit to see what was going on. I noticed that everyone had a pickle or two but were saving them. I had eaten mine.
The fellow across from me looked a little younger than me, with a short beard, and he had a troubled look on his face. There was a gaunt fellow with a long face and shaved head at the end of the table who seemed to be taking charge of the procedures at our table. The fellow to my left would speak softly to me, trying to help me, but my hearing is so poor I could rarely make out what he was saying. We didn't want to speak loudly because no one else made a sound. Everyone sat in silence and looking right in front at their bowls as they ate. I realized that this was a highly disciplined event. There were both men and women, large and small, young and old. Mostly whites, some Asians.
The young fellow next to me finally was able to get me to understand that the pickle was to be used to wipe the bowls clean, then eaten. Okay. I finally got that straight. The large pots were sent around again in case anyone wanted seconds. I declined with a bow of the head. Finally pitchers of water were passed along and each poured some in one of his bowls. The fellow next to me explained that you were to pour the water from bowl to bowl, wiping the sides with the pickle to wash the bowls. Then a large bamboo tube was passed along. Each of us poured the water into the tube as the person opposite tilted it toward you. Then we wiped the bowls with the cloth napkins. After some more chanting we left the dinning hall. I lingered around the kitchen as the rest of them walked down to the zendo. There was a long line, about fifty people, all with hands together, eyes front and down and all silent and intent on walking.
Myosho was working in the kitchen and told me to help myself to some coffee in the open tent. Each cup in the tent belonged to an individual so I walked to my car thinking I had a paper cup there. There was none. I had thrown it away on the ferry. So decided to sit in the car and read a while. It would be about an hour before the teisho by the zen master. A teisho is a talk.
After about 15 minutes I thought I'd go back to the kitchen and ask for a cup for the coffee. A small woman with dark, wavy hair and wearing a black robe was leaving her car a ways in front of me. I had noticed her before. She did not seem friendly. Suddenly she stopped, turned around and walked toward me. She looked upset, angry. She told me they couldn't have people 'wandering around looking at everything', that there was a sesshin going on and that I should leave. I said that I was doing what people had told me to do. She told me to leave. I said I was waiting for the teisho. She looked very angry but then said that that was open to the public but that I was to leave right after the teisho. I said I understand. She was very angry with me. The way she was telling me what to do, I assumed she was a person of some authority there. So, rather than go back to the kitchen I decided to leave and come back for the teisho. I drove to a gas station in Freeland and had coffee there. I felt upset by her anger. That certainly put a sour note on the events. Everyone else had been so warm and friendly and went out of their way to include me. Now this. Well, she had formed a very different opinion of me, aimlessly wandering around and disrupting the program. Oh well. I imagined trying to talk to her but soon realized that she had formed an attitude and nothing I could say would sound right to her. She was misunderstanding everything I said. After she told me to go I told her I had been invited to get coffee. I told her that simply to explain where I had been going at the moment. She took it to mean that I was insisting on going ahead with the plan to go to the kitchen for coffee, and her eyes flashed real anger. She said, "Go ahead then, get your coffee, but after the teisho you leave!"
I came back for the teisho. It took place in the dinning hall. Several new people had arrived. They were in normal street clothes. We sat on cushions along the walls. The sesshin folks sat at the long tables. Harada Roshi walked in and sat at a table at the end of the room. This was the first time I had seen his face. He had very typically Japanese features and a shaved head. The shaved head is universal with Buddhist monks as keeping long hair is a source of vanity. My view was blocked when one fellow sat down at the table. The woman seated on a mat next to me handed me a piece of paper with witting on it. It suggested that if I would move a bit to the side I could see the Roshi between the shoulders of those at the table. This I did.
He spoke in Japanese. He spoke with the abrupt and guttural sounds such as you hear in samurai films. He was reading from a decorated notebook on an reading stand. He spoke for several minutes while a large woman in robes seated next to him was taking shorthand notes. When he paused she read back from her notes in English. Then he would proceed to read some more. Then she would read her notes again. (When we had entered she passed out English versions she had made of the talk from the previous day.) They continued in this manner for the next two hours. My legs kept falling asleep and I did quite a bit of adjustment of sitting position. It was difficult to pay attention for so long to the Japanese. I gathered he was in the process of reading to the students from a story about the sixth patriarch in China. I won't attempt to describe what I heard. After some chanting we left the hall. I went to the kitchen to thank Myosho for her kindness. Thinking of the woman who wanted to kick me out I said, "I hope you didn't get into any trouble on my behalf." She was surprised and asked, "Why?" I described the incident by the cars. She asked who this was. She couldn't figure out who from my brief description. She said, "I'm not in any trouble. There are only a couple people here that I have to answer to and they had accepted your presence." She told me how to get in touch with their group in Seattle and I assured her I would. With that I left.
It was quite a day. Too bad I had to have the run-in with the angry woman. It happens. Even the sixth patriarch had enemies that were trying to kill him. One thing I learned is that although I had never sat in zazen for as long as we did there, it was no problem. It was very easy in fact. It helps to sit with others.
The "Self"
Yesterday I told Andrea and Brett that books on Buddhism were antithetical to those in the Self-Improvement section at the bookstore. I will attempt to explain, mostly by quoting, in this case from Eckhart Tolle. Although he is not a Buddhist he expresses the point that I was thinking of.
In response to the question, "Why should we be addicted to thinking?" he said (wrote), "Because you are identified with it, which means that you derive your sense of self from the content and activity of your mind. Because you believe you would cease to be if you stopped thinking. As you grow up, you form a mental image of who you are, based on your personal cultural conditioning. We may call this phantom self the ego. It consists of mind activity and can only be kept going through constant thinking. The term ego means different things to different people, but when I use it here it means a false self, created by unconscious identification with the mind."
"To the ego, the present moment hardly exists. Only past and future are considered important. This total reversal of the truth accounts for the fact that in the ego mode the mind is so dysfunctional. It is always concerned with keeping the past alive, because without it - who are you? It constantly projects itself into the future to ensure its continued survival and to seek some kind of release or fulfillment there. It says: "One day, when this, that, or the other happens, I am going to be okay, happy, at peace." Even when the ego seems to be concerned with the present, it is not the present that it sees. It misperceives it completely because it looks at it through the eyes of the past. Or it reduces the present to a means to an end, an end that always lies in the mind-projected future. Observe your mind and you'll see that this is how it works."
And here is a quote from Zen Master Seung Sahn.: "Insight into nonself means that originally we have no self. When you are thinking, you make I. But the Buddha showed that this I does not exist: you cannot find it anywhere. This I appears only through thinking. .......... What we believe is I is just the coming together various habit energies. There is no concrete, unmoving I behind it all. Thoughts are always appearing and disappearing ....What we think is our self is just a collection of thoughts, feelings, perceptions, impulses, and consciousnesses that are constantly revolving around and around and around."
If you just browse the book titles in the Self Improvement section you will see the word self a lot. "How to Build a Stronger Self". "Increase Your Sense of Self." You want to build up, strengthen, improve this self. But you can see that it is just a lot of ideas rather than experience. They take a preconceived concept, an image of what you could be, and try to make you into that. It is all make-believe, like a fiction story. All because of the underlying conviction that what is, here and now, is not okay, not sufficient.
Another day
Monday, August 9, 2004. When I am writing these things for this personal website I often think of someone in particular that I am writing to. It is most often one of my daughters. It turns out that she almost never looks at the site. Now that it has sunk in that my main targeted reader is not a reader I will think of someone else when I write.
Here's a common experience I have. Particularly when I am sitting at a coffeehouse and not talking with someone, I get into paying attention to where I'm looking. Usually it becomes clear to me that as soon as i start thinking I stop seeing. Actually it would be more accurate to say that I suddenly am aware of seeing again and realize that I had been lost in thought. And often those thoughts wander far astray from having anything to do with what I was seeing. But a further point is that when I am simply seeing without thinking, there is an evenness to the perception, a non-selective quality. I see everything with the same clarity. And, at those moments it is clear to me that it doesn't matter who I am, what I know or don't know, what I have done in the past, what type of person I am, what kind of childhood I had, what kind of personality I have. But these things come into play the second I start thinking. Often my eye will stop on an object and a thought sequence appears in my mind as a response to what I fixed on. And I stop seeing. When I am seeing my eyes keep moving. I recognize that when I see a fixed stare in someone's eyes that they are 'thinking', not seeing, although they maybe thinking about something related to where they are looking. Notice how most the time, people listening to you talk are staring at your eyes. Yet if you close them they can rarely tell you what color they are.
Rain
Saturday, August 7, 2004. Yesterday morning it was raining. On the way to catch the ferry I stopped by Burger King to get something to go. While waiting inside I noticed people coming in, opening the door and getting soaked from above. Their clothes were all wet. They would stand there and talk about how they just got so wet. I got my to go order, picked up a couple napkins and pushed open the door to leave. It was like someone had just dumped about a half-gallon of water right on top of my head. I just stood there uttering explicative remarks, like everyone else. Before I drove away I sat in the car looking at the Burger King door, wondering how and where so much water could be stored up there, and how it could be released by opening the door.
Last night, for the second time since putting in the cat door, I woke up to find a dead mouse on my pillow. Jeez. But, I don't have the heart to lock the cat door.
This morning I sat outside Starbucks, in the damp air, with the dog, reading the Eckhart Tolle book again. Here's a quote.
"The philosopher Descartes believed that he had found the most fundamental truth when he made his famous statement, I think, therefore I am. He had, in fact, given expression to the most basic error: to equate thinking with Being and identity with thinking. The compulsive thinker, which means almost everyone, lives in a state of apparent separateness, in an insanely complex world of continuous problems and conflict, ..."
Blue Angels
Friday, August 6, 2004. This morning it was raining while we had coffee. When I got home I decided to try going to Seattle to see the Blue Angels, taking a chance that the rain might stop. So, off to The Bainbridge ferry, giving myself about 30 minutes to get there. Well, too late. By the time I got there they had already stopped selling tickets. I had to wait for almost an hour for the next ferry. That was the 12:30 ferry, which meant there would not be time to get to Lake Washington before they stopped flying. Oh well. I drove down to Crosscut Hardwoods and picked up another piece of beech. Wednesday I had found out that they would cut a length from a board for you as long as you left them with a 6 foot length. So, this time I bought a 2 foot length of a 8/4 piece about 10 inches. I plan to cut this in half, glue the two pieces together and fashion the bowl-like base to the body of the instrument. I also stopped by Daniel Smith Art Supplies while in Seattle, considering that the Silverdale store closed.
Then I went to Pike's Place Market for lunch. I had a chicken curry dish at a Malaysian shop. It was good. I also found another good source for Asian foods. Then I got a cup of coffee and sat with a homeless guy and watched people walking by. He was very tanned from being outdoors so much. He had a large umbrella that he said he found in a dumpster. It had a tear in it. He said he would fix it with duct tape. While we sat there an interesting fellow stopped to read the menu at this place that sold gazpacho, etc. He looked to be in his sixties with grey hair, bald on top and a full beard. He was stocky and appeared very robust. He had a large pack on his back and a cowboy hat on the pack. He had very strong facial features. His arms seemed very strong. He ordered some soup and sat down at the counter. I found him a fascinating character.
When I headed back to the parking lot I waited for the signal at 2nd Ave. A group of street people started across the street against the light. They could see that there was no traffic coming. Myself and others waited until the light changed. A few minutes later I pulled out of the garage onto 2nd Ave. very near the corner. Well, these guys had started crossing the street against the light before I pulled out. The result was I got stuck in the middle of the intersection, unable to continue because of all the pedestrians. The light changed and I was blocking the traffic from crossing 2nd Ave. It was very awkward. People were mad at me and honking and yelling.
I tried to get to the 4:40 ferry. I was approaching the tollbooths about 4:00. The traffic was backed up about a half mile before the toll booths, on Alaskan Way. That was a real mess. There were several beefs started when people were butting into the line at cross streets. Guys were getting out of their cars and having words, getting all upset. We were stopped on the street for a long time. I didn't get on a ferry until 5:30. So, I got home about 7, tired and hungry.
Linux
Wednesday, August 4, 2004. Made a trip to Seattle today. My plan was to go to CompUSA first to get a recent edition of SuSE Linux so I took the Kingston/Edmonds ferry. There was little traffic on the ferry and I was parked on the right side toward the rear of the vessel. I got out and was watching some people walking toward the front of the ferry. That seemed peculiar since we were much closer to the rear stairs to the passenger deck. I turned and started to walk toward the rear stairs. But I couldn't get by the people getting out of the car behind me, so I waited. They too headed toward the front of the vessel. I finally made it to the rear and went up to the passenger deck. When I walked out onto the wide part of the deck I was surprized at what I saw. It looked like the rear part of the passenger deck. It was, of course. I had become completely turned around. I was sure that we were headed west although I knew we must be headed east. I looked out the windows in what I was sure was the southerly direction and noticed that it looked just like the mouth of the sound to the north. I went through a series of logical conclusions, all contrary to my conviction, yet it didn't help at all. My internal compass was reversed in spite of what I knew. The sensation was so strong. Ordinarily I'm not really aware of having such a strong sense of direction. I kept walking around the passenger deck and began thinking of other things. As we were approaching Seattle I noticed that everything was back to normal, I knew we were headed east to Seattle.
As I drove toward CompUSA I suddenly remembered that the last time I had been there they had all but extinguished their Linux section. All they had then was a Mandrake release. A couple years before that they had an extensive operating system section. I thought, "Oh boy, I'm going to walk in and find they don't have any Linux stuff at all." By gosh, they had SuSE v9.1! I had gone straight to the men's room to take leak and when I came out I stopped to look around. An employee asked if he could help me. I said I was looking for a Linux operating system. He says, "Right there," and pointed to the rack right behind me. There it was, exactly what I had wanted. So, that was good.
I headed south on interstate 5 toward Seattle. I was going to go shopping in Chinatown. It took me a while to find the district. No place to park. Round and round I drove. There were a couple lots where there was no attendant and you had to stuff folded bills into the little slots in a box. I only had $20 bills. And there were parking meters on all the streets. I finally drove up this ridiculously steep hill and parked at a meter on a deadend street. I staggered down the hill and right away found all the little cooking gadgets I had hoped to find. Most of it was in a long, narrow shop that had kitchen utensils on the right, women's clothing on the left and a beauty parlor in the back. There were a few Chinese women getting their hair done. Recordings of Chinese music were being played. The hike back up the hill was too much for me. Near the top I sat down on a cement wall, quite out of breath. As I sat there I watched a little Chinese man about 80 years old just cruise up the hill like it was level ground.
Next I headed south on First Avenue toward Crosscut Hardwoods. Looking at the ferry schedule I knew I could just barely make it back to the ferry if I hurried. I bought a piece of beech for the veena-like instrument I'm making and just made it on to the ferry. I climbed up to the passenger deck and decided to go up front so I could get something to eat from a vending machine. As I'm approaching the wide area toward the front of the deck I notice that, as usual, there were more people sitting up front than in the rear section. Then I noticed Ema sitting in a row of seats, reading. After I got a candy bar from the machine I walked over and plopped down in the seat next to her and said, "So, how's it going, Lady?" and turned to look at her. I see this smiling face looking at me, inches away, saying she was fine and suddenly realize something. I said, "My God, you're not Ema!" She said, "No, I'm not Ema,"and kept smiling. I said, "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone I know." She said, "No problem," and kept looking at me and smiling. I was so embarrassed. I didn't know what to do. I looked at her and said, "Even now, this close, you still look a lot like my friend." Not knowing what to do in this awkward situation I said, "I'm sorry," and got up and walked away. I felt that that was a bit rude of me.
Waiting
Sunday 7/25/2004 I'm usually very patient and don't mind waiting. Yesterday Andrea and I went to the Arts and Crafts Fair at Port Gamble. I was worn out from exposure to the sunlight in the record heat. When we got back I slept all afternoon. I woke up about 5 and felt hungry and a bit groggy. I wanted to go to Silverdale to Home Depot and decided I'd get a hot dog at the espresso stand there. I had to hurry because they quit doing hotdogs at 6.
I parked and got hold of a lumber cart in the parking lot and pushed it over to the espresso stand. There were two women in camouflaged fatigues at the window. And there is a railing behind them so the line has to form to the side. This meant that to get in line at the stand I had to leave the cart outside the railing. Since the cart had nothing on it I was sure that anyone passing would figure it was not being used so I would have to keep an eye on it.
Well, these two women were gabbing away with the girl in the stand. They had both ordered some kind of labor-intensive espresso concoction and I gathered it had become a topic of discussion and ongoing experimental modification. I had forgotten my wristwatch and was concerned that it might be after 6 but then I heard them order two hotdogs and the girl took the order. At least I wasn't too late.
After having stood there listening to the endless discussion of espresso drinks I began to get irritated. Then I turned around and noticed that the cart was gone. Someone had taken it when I had taken my eye off it. Darn it!. At that point I felt very irritated. It must have been 15 minutes after I arrived that the girl asked me what I wanted. I said, "A cup of coffee," and noticed that she looked a little disturbed. Then I realized what I had just said and that I had what felt like a mean expression on my face. I said, "What am I saying? I want a hotdog." She says, "We don't serve hotdogs after 6." I said, "What time is it?" She says, "Five after 6." I said, "Oh for God's sake, don't you realize how long I've been standing here?" I was really exasperated. She said she had a couple that were hot and began making the hotdog. Meantime I noticed that the two women were now sitting on the only bench there. I had nowhere to sit. When I got the dog I noticed my hands were shaking as I squeezed mustard on to it. I walked back out in the parking lot and retrieved another cart. i pulled the cart up near the espresso stand and sat inside it while I ate the hotdog. I didn't enjoy the sandwich.
So I finally got inside the store with the cart and went to the tool section first. The cart was so big that I couldn't get it through the narrow aisles in the tool section. But if I left the still empty cart out in the main aisle someone might accommodate it. A female employee came up and asked if she could help me. I told her I was looking for a stapler. Well it turns out that all the air-powered tools were across the main aisle in a separate section. So I examined the display tools with the cables on them and decided which model I wanted. But there are no tools under the display, just staples and brads. I looked all around the area and couldn't find any air tools in boxes. So I stood there watching for an employee. Time passed and no employees. Finally a young guy with a Home Depot apron on came walking by. I asked him where the staplers are. He didn't know. He said he would get someone to help me. After a while he came back and says that someone would be right with me. More waiting. Finally, here comes a big, heavyset fellow with the store apron and badges on. Just as he gets to me his cell phone beeps. So starts a long discussion helping someone on the cell phone. I start leaning on the cart wondering what kind of world it is I'm living in. The phone conversation goes on and on. Apparently there is something he can't make clear over the phone and he says to me, "Hang on, I'll be right back," and takes off for some distant part of the store. When he returns he is still on the cell phone. I'm just staring blankly at the floor, resigned to my fate.
Finally he asks if he can help me. I pointed to the display model and said, "I want one of these. Where are they?" He says that they are way up top in the tool section. "I'll need the ladder to get to them." He takes a look at the tag on the thing and takes off. After a while he comes back. "I can't find it. We are right in the middle of inventory and I can't see the part numbers on the boxes." I looked at their racks. Sure enough, every box had a big yellow piece of paper hanging over the front of the box. He looked at the label some more and said he had another way of locating it. Off he goes.
The guy comes back with a box in hand and says, "I found it." I said, "Great, thanks," and reached for the box. He pulled it away. Now what! He says he can't give it to me. He says, "Because of the inventory I have to take it to the check stand for you. What check stand are you going to use?" I said, "I don't know, I have other things I want to buy." He said I had to pick one so i did and he deposited the box with the checker.
Tragedy
Monday, July 19, 2004. Little Kitty was killed today, hit by a car on Pioneer Hill Rd. This is a tough one for me. She was such a big part of my life. I buried her (with Brett's help) near the shop. Her absence is very noticeable. I never knew her to leave the yard. It is so hard to accept that never again will the three of us, Sitka, myself and Little Kitty, sit out on the deck together. We will never see Little Kitty again. Her passing has left a huge hole in my life.
Gentle Rodent
Friday, July 16, 2004. For the second time I saw a rather large, dark colored (dark blackish brown) rodent walking around in my house. It's possible that it is the same one that was under the covers on the mattress on the floor in the living room. He moves very slowly. His tail is short. I have never seen him run. He just walks. The night I found him under the covers he walked to the front door and waited there. I opened the door and he went out.
Tonight I was sitting on the floor at the little table I made recently, eating the wonderful tasting stir-fry dinner I had just prepared and I see this guy walking along, going into the kitchen. I got up and went into the kitchen and looked around. Finding nothing I returned to the table and resumed eating. Then, out he comes from under the TV stand. This time I got up fast and went after him with the broom. I stopped him from getting under anything and managed to get him into a paper bag. I dumped him outside where he could get under the deck right away. I was afraid the cats would get him. No sooner had I dumped him when both the cats show up and walk through the living room into the kitchen.
I sure don't know what to call it. I mean, it isn't a mouse or rat, as far as I know. It is so relaxed and slow, I don't see how he can survive.
All in My Mind
Tuesday, July 13, 2004. Had lunch at the food court in the mall. I sat at a table facing the Taco Time, Charley's, and Mongolian Grill shops. It was noontime so there were lots of people. Walking, standing to order, sitting at tables. A thought crossed my mind (whatever that means) . "Where is what I am seeing?" Now the obvious answer is, "Out there, stupid." But I kept saying to myself, "I know, but it is only there when I open my eyes and face that direction." I was opening and closing my eyes.
Then I thought about how light waves were traveling from the objects, into my eyes, and are then worked on by my nervous system. I know that all the colors we see, that are such an important aspect of our world, are not distinguishable as properties in the electromagnetic radiation approaching our eyes. To a spectrophotometer they are merely ranges of frequencies. The differences are quantitative rather than qualitative. But the qualitative aspect of colors is so important in our lives, in an esthetic sense. When people are shopping for a car, for example, the color is often one of the most important features. So, clearly, our own senses and nervous system have generated a large part of what we experience. The world of color doesn't exist to a being without this type of equipment.
An afterthought. People working with animals realize that they can often perceive things that we cannot. Nor can we make an electronic device that can discern certain things. They just do not understand how some creatures know some things. I wonder if there are not similar phenomena, analogous to our color perception, where something we think of as merely quantitative has, unknown to us, a range of dramatic qualitative distinctions in the perceptions of some bird, insect, fish, etc.
Back to the Mall. After pursuing that train of thought it occurs to me that what that means is that all this stuff I am "seeing" is in my "mind". That was the crucial experience. What I am seeing is all in my mind. It was true!
Now you might say, "Well it is in my mind as well." Well, sort of. But you would be seeing it from out of your eyes, not mine. You can never see exactly what I am seeing.
I persisted in thinking, "This is in my mind." Here it is very hard to put into words, but things looked different to me as I looked in that mode. For one thing, there was an evenness to everything. That is, nothing "stood out". And there was a sort of gentle quality to this world. And my eyes moved around a lot in a relaxed way. Then I began to notice that there were moments when that mode of perception was gone. At those times I was always thinking about something or someone. For example as I turned my head, there was a big, fat lady sitting at a nearby table. As soon as I thought "fat lady" all kinds of thoughts entered my mind. Like I thought of clever things to say to someone about this lady. Then I would notice this and return to the, "This is in my mind," mode. Again and again I would drift off into thoughts. For example, while looking at the Taco Time shop there were simply a group of people standing there, all seeming rather equally important. Then some part of my mind would generate the distinction between the customers and the employees behind the counter. All of a sudden Im thinking all these relevant things like realizing that to the employees, the exchanges with the customers are routine and repetitive, while, to the customers, this was a one-time sort of experience. I realized the quality of these sort of thoughts. They were knowledge". And I noticed that I seemed to honor or respect this process, like it is important, intelligent, more important than merely seeing people. Then I began to question that assumption. In fact, at moments I realized that just the reverse was really true. That dwelling on all that knowledge was being out of it.
Although I have been saying that what I see is in my mind it is distinct from my thinking mind . They are related but seem quite different. The mind that contains all that I see is rather impersonal, as though it has nothing to do with who I am, my background, experiences, etc. Things just are what they are. The thinking mind is immediately full of attitudes, theories, desires, preferences. It gets caught up in responding to the images people are trying to project (foxy chick, tough guy, distinguished fellow, athletic).
I sat there about 10 minutes doing that sort of thing. But the experience has stayed with me and has colored much of my experience since.
Deck
The deck above the vegetable garden is not quite done but it is a big success. We all like it, all being Sitka, Little Kitty, myself, and Big Kitty. It feels very natural to sit on it. I never do that on the big deck in the front of the house. I suppose the differences are that the new one is small, and it is up higher than the surroundings. So we are all taking time to enjoy sitting there.
I will sit down, cross-legged, then Sitka comes and flops down in front of me (and on me). Then Little Kitty appears and sits down beside us. Pretty soon Little Kitty is chewing on one if Sitka's big old feet or jumping on the end of his tail. Or she will roll over on her back and look at us upside-down. Then Sitka will start munching Little Kitty's fur with her front teeth. The kitty closes her eyes and purrs. They are a real delight to be with. It is just one thing after another.
Even though there are no creatures to attack at the moment, that doesn't deter Little Kitty. She will spring into action and sneak up and pounce on a round pebble or a wood chip. She has become an accomplished hunter. Last night she woke me up to show me the bird she had caught. Needless to say, my feelings were ambivalent about that. That's just being good at being a cat isn't it?
Seeing
Sunday, 7/11/2004 9:30AM Just got back from Starbucks. This morning I have been noticing something I've noticed before. It is an experience. I'll try to explain. As a specific example, I was looking out the window at the coffeehouse at the lawn in front of the bank. Although it is mowed it still has features that vary from place to place. And it has a shape, overall, between the sidewalk and the trees. The color varies a bit throughout. As I am observing this I think of words that would apply, like lawn, grass, green, landscaping. And I'm impressed by how empty the words are. How they have nothing to do with what I am seeing. The words are so static, and few, so simple. You just state the word and that's that. Meantime everywhere you look on the lawn you are greeted with rather fresh experiences, one after another. The experience is way beyond words. And it has nothing to do with thinking about the lawn, like wondering how often it is mowed, watered, what kind of grass seed was used, realizing that it has only been there in recent times. What are those sorts of things, thoughts? So much of our conversation is about such things. You cannot talk about what you are seeing very well, that experience is beyond words.
Clouds
Yesterday evening, while it was still light, I was standing out in the parking lot at Barnes and Noble talking with Omar. He was using the term 'ordered system'. You can see a lot of sky from there and I was looking at the clouds at the time. I said, "Are those clouds an ordered system?" I forget what he said. He is fascinated with theory. As I looked I thought about what I know about water and air, etc. It is all very interesting but what does it have to do with what I am seeing? The cloud forms are so complex and ever changing, similar but different everywhere you look. Perhaps a meteorologist could 'explain' what causes some of the patterns, but there you go, not looking any more, just talking and thinking and explaining.
Another thing that we do is we observe something and immediately start making comparisons to other things not there, or even just ideals, and judge, evaluate, criticize. What is that all about? Some people look at a car and think, "That didn't cost much. My car is better than that." Meantime they stop observing. So what is so important about who has the most expensive car? Life as a pissing contest. "I'm more important than you." Why do we get involved in such useless concerns?