Friday, April 15, 2005. I filed for an extension on my income tax. Between the retreat and Tempera and Kimo's visit and my procrastinating I had only one day to get all the stock transaction stuff worked out. Last night I discovered that I had made a big mistake in all the calculations and just gave up.
While Tempera was here we bought some photo albums and she went through all of Rhoda's old photos that I recently discovered, organized them into categories and put them in the albums in temporal order. This turned out to be very inconvenient when some turned up that should have gone in the first few pages. (Kimo had been looking at some and set them aside.) That meant all the pictures had to be moved.
I gave them my old power mower. It is so much more fun to use the riding mower I bought from Floyd that I never use the walk-behind any more.
They left early yesterday morning in the big flatbed truck to pick up the trailer in Seattle. By 6pm they were still there trying to get the lights to work.
I was hoping to introduce Tempera to Pat at Starbucks but he took off without saying anything. I realized he had done the same thing the day before. Then yesterday Josy told me that Pat had tried to introduce an artist friend to me the other morning and I snubbed him. I immediately realized what had happened. He had approached me at a moment when I was absorbed in a book and had my earplugs in. I never heard him or say him. She said, "I can't imagine why you would snub him, not you." She won't be seeing him again until next Tuesday. I always take the risk of offending someone when I wear the earplugs.
Jessica came in Starbucks and showed me a ceramic coffee cup she had just made. It had the raised letters "CAFÉ" on it, modeled after one I had brought in.
As I was paying at the check stand at Albertson's I noticed a demented looking fellow picking up the plastic basket I had used and carrying it away. He looked like he had an IQ of about 50. I thought it was nice that the market hired people like that. As I finished he was picking up another basket at the next check stand. As I walked by him he farted.
Yesterday I got a call from Barnes and Noble saying that the book I ordered had arrived. I said, "Gee, I was just there." She said, "I know." I hung up and thought, "How would she know I had just been there?"
The painting is coming along slowly.
Well, I just got home from a concert at the Island Center Community Hall on Bainbridge Island. I got there early and sat in the center of the first row. The hall is all dark wood. The group was called Ancient Futures. There were four men playing electrified acoustic guitar, electric violin, electric keyboards, and dumbeks. The guitarist sort of led the group. He was a large fellow, bald on top with shoulder-length blond hair ans a loud print shirt, dark slacks and scuffed up sneakers. He stood in the front of the triangular stage. To the right of him was the violin player who also stood. He was average sized with black wavy hair, a swarthy complexion, dark eyes, maybe Arabic. The keyboard player was tall, looked as though he might be Dutch, had a mustache and goatee and word an Asian hat and shirt. I couldn't see the drummer well as the back of the stage is dark. He might have been from Afghanistan. Their thing was to unite various types of music from around the world. They were students from Ali Akbar Khan's School of Music in San Rafael. (I happened to have taken sarode lessons there myself, but only briefly.)
They played pieces from India, Turkey, Arabic culture, Balinese gamelan music, and I don't know what else. It was all very lively. None of it was based on chords but consisted of intricate melodies and complex rhythms. The melodies were full of meends, zamzamas, and various flourishes. They were all very accomplished musicians. The violinist was great. He sang in Arabic as well. When he sang he played the same melody on the violin at the same time. One song he announced and translated into English as "If I see you at least once a year I will be happy." He sang very well in the difficult Middle Eastern style.
Ten women from a belly-dancing class showed up and the band played a piece for them to dance to. There they were shaking and twisting right in front of me. They all wore black and gold or red sashes around their hips. One, the teacher, had a complete red outfit on. One rather tough looking girl about 13 or 14 wore black pants and a black top with a bare waist and the sash around her hips. I noticed how all of her moves were so disciplined and definite. I had the impression that she hadn't been dancing long but has very clear ideas of separate moves. It was fun. I was smiling away and clapping my hands and tapping my feet. The music was wailing away at a rapid pace. The dancers began getting tired and dropping out. The teacher was still cooking to the end of the piece. Boy, this was a strange event to be happening on Bainbridge Island.
During the break I went and looked at their CD's on table at the back of the room. On the table was a stack of manuals of rhythms from Africa, Bali, and India. I picked one up and thumbed through it. The written rhythms looked so impossibly complex. I'd never be able to learn them. While they were playing I kept thinking, "My God, how can they even remember such complex rhythms and melodies?"
Driving home along Miller road I realized how sparsely populated Bainbridge Island is. Houses are far and few between along most the roads. Miller road is heavily forested. It was difficult to drive in the dark with fog and rain. With cataracts I see auras around headlights. It was quite sight to see a couple emergency vehicles approaching with all the flashing colored lights.
Stranger in a Strange Land
Sunday, March 10, 2005. Just got home from the zen practice retreat. I left Sitka at a kennel Friday and drove down to Southworth to pick up the ferry to Vashon Island. The ferry schedule said 'via Fauntleroy'. They weren't kidding. You drive onto the ferry, drive around to the far end and come back along the other side and park facing the end you just got on. Then the ferry goes past Vashon Island to Fauntleroy in West Seattle and then back to the island. This was the first time on Vashon Island for me. It was quite a ways south before the 'downtown' area. They have a terrific Thriftway market there. Very modern. The layout was beautiful. Everything is in clearly labeled categories. I bought a few Cliff bars, a bag of spice drops, and a pint of chili. I found the zen center (not where the retreat is) just to see it and ate the chili outside at a table in front of the malt shop. Then it was on the Camp Sealth, which was at the far end of the island. At times the road runs right along the water's edge and there were many beautiful tall trees along the water, I don't know the name. Once in Camp Sealth (that's Chief Seattle's name) I found the road to Wrangler Lodge.
The lodge is I guess some 150 feet long, in a setting of large trees and overlooking the water of some kind of inlet. Going in I met Koshin and he introduced me as a former student of Joshu Sasaki Roshi. I was embarrassed and insisted that it was a long time ago and brief at that. A little later I had a chance to swap a few stories about the Roshi with him. Koshin was an important monk for years at the Mount Baldy Zen Center. Here's his story.
Koshin Christopher Cain is Abbot of the Puget Sound Zen Center. Koshin was born in 1965 and grew up in London, England, and Raleigh, North Carolina. He graduated from the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, with a BA in American Studies in 1987. In 1990 he moved to Mt. Baldy Zen Center in California, he ordained in 1991, and trained at Mt. Baldy as a monk from 1991 to 1999. In 1999 Joshu Roshi made him an Osho, or teacher. From 1999 to 2002 he served as Vice-abbot of Mt. Baldy Zen Center. Koshin is married to Soshin Lidunn Cain, and they have one beautiful son, Lars, born in 2001.
I was shown where to put my stuff, in a cabin with bunks. Then we got right to business with zazen and chanting. There were 16 people there, men and women, young and old. Typical practice was sitting meditation (zazen) for 20-25 minutes ( I don't know because he said to leave watches in the cabins) followed by walking meditation for 5 or more minutes. We went twice around a road that circled the area in single file, close together and in step. There was no unnecessary talking the whole time. So there was little oportunity to become acquainted with anyone there. But Gregg had told me that one of Marc's students named Paul would be there. Since our names were taped on the floor behind our cushions I soon found Paul and during one of the 15 minute breaks I talked with him out side and we exchanged information. In fact we met at Barnes and Noble on the way home and talked quite a while.
Each day began at 5am and every minute of the day was scheduled until 9pm, 16 hours on Saturday. This involved about 6 hours of sitting and walking meditation, quite a bit of chanting, a couple dharma talks by Koshin, meals in silence and just like at the sesshin at the One Drop Monastery on Whidbey Island. We each had a personal eating kit. Three medium sized bowls are stacked, A decorative cloth is folded over them, chop sticks and a spoon are in a cloth bag which is laid across the bowls, a wash cloth is folded and placed on top, and a colorful napkin is folded on top of this. We each had a small tea cup too. We all sat at a long table (4 tables) and bowls of food were passed down the table. Later they were passed back for a second helping. After eating we washed the bowls at the table. A kettle of warm water was passed down the table. You poured some into a bowl and rinsed the bowl, using your fingers to wipe the insides. Then you transfer the water to the next bowl. A pot is passed to collect the wash water. The wash cloth is used to wipe the bowls. Then we each put the kit back together and took it back to our cushions. All these things were done together at the same time.
I am a notoriously slow eater. I intentionally took small servings each meal. By the way, the food was very good. I thought I'd be able to finish such a small amount in time and I never took second helpings. There is no talking so you can just chew and chew with no interruption. I couldn't believe it but try as I may to eat as fast as I could I was always the last done even though I never took seconds. I felt so rushed and was holding up the system. Other people ate more than I did in half the time. About the third meal I watched others eating and discovered that a spoon full of rice was chewed from 5 to 10 times before another was placed in the mouth. I was surprised to discover that I would not swallow the same without having chewed it 25 to 30 times! After 7 or 8 chews it was still mostly big chunks. That is what people were swallowing. I think the reason I never drink liquids while I eat is because I chew so thoroughly. I pulverize and almost liquefy the food before I swallow. Well, I could only deal with this problem by eating very little and then eating my Clif bars and candy in the cabin.
Since there is little spoken most the actions are in response to a ding, a bong, or a clack. They have quite a few noise makers. I was particularly fond of the sound, a sort of bonk, made by a large hollowed out wooden nut-like form with a handle. It was a large wood block with a rich sound. This was used to carry the beat or tempo of the chanting with a steady bonk, bonk, bonk, bonk, ... It was exactly like the one in the movie "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, .......Spring."
At first I was exasperated by all the ritual. Not only did I never know what to do at a ding or clack, but when spoken directions were given I was never able to hear what he said. (They talk softly at every Buddhist thing I go to.) So I would have to just imitate what others did as they did it, never knowing what was next. At first I thought, "All this ritual is silly, It has nothing to do with my interest in Buddhism, with my reading on the subject and my experience with meditation." A frequent thing was putting the hands together in a basho and bowing. Once in a while we would go down on our knees and bow down so that your forehead touched the floor.
As time went on I gradually began to get the hang of the ritual. I was the only one there that was not familiar with the routines. As I got used to it I began to appreciate the value of the routine. It provides a consistency that frees your mind. You don't have to think about what to do next. You always know what to do. Your mind is free to attend to what you are doing in a mindful way. In this way, everything you do becomes a meditation. The sitting is a meditation. The walking is a meditation, The chanting is a meditation. The eating is a meditation. The working is a meditation.
Another aspect of the routine and the silence, and the fact that the people rarely look at each other, minimizing individuality. We all become similar and are united in our activities. No one is special. There is little room for comparing and judging. It is a little strange that in a way you are being totally ignored and have nothing to say about what is going on. No one pays any attention to you and when someone speaks to you it is usually to tell you what to do. Everyone cooperates. We each play our little role in the events.
During the chanting we all contribute to the big sound. Everyone is singing the same thing at the same time. It is almost all sung with one tone and at an even pace. The chanting is in Japanese which I prefer to chanting English translations. I mean, when I am chanting, "Kan ji zai bo sa gyo jin han ya ha ra mi ta ......." I can't get involved thinking about the meaning. I don't know what I'm saying. So it is just the sound. And it is great to listen to the sound produced as your own voice chimes in and is lost in the big sound in the air.
During the walking you stand close to the person in front of you and watch their feet. You have your hands folded in front of you. You keep in step so that all the bodies are swaying left to right together. You can hear the crunching sound on the gravel as we walked. Going around bends you get a glimpse of all the feet moving unison. I kept thinking that it was like being part of a choo-choo train rolling along. Although I enjoyed the walking as time went on my legs were giving out. It was a pretty brisk pace and I am out of shape, not doing much walking. So my legs were aching and on the uphill grade I was winded, so sometimes I dropped out. Between the hours of sitting on the cushions and the walking, my legs were getting pretty sore. Saturday night I woke up a few times with cramps in my legs. At the time I didn't know that many of the others were feeling a lot of pain the legs. I was the only one who had trouble with getting winded.
I had brought my new sitting stool and used that most the time. It works out pretty well though my ankles got pretty sore. An hour or an hour and a half a day is what I'm used to. Paul was using one of the bamboo stools that Gregg made part of the time. He said he liked it. He sat very straight in the lotus or half lotus for a while and turned to the stool on the last day. During the sitting, Koshin would sometimes come by and correct your posture with his hands. In my case he would raise my head a bit. My head tended to be leaning forward. The posture is very important in many ways. He also had me raise my hands to the hara and showed me that bringing the elbows forward a bit made that easier.
During one of his talks Koshin described all the pain he experienced when he first began at Mt. Baldy. And got a lot of laughs as he simulated the motions you go through trying to make various adjustments to your posture, hoping that will resolve all the tension and discomfort. He said he finally came to the conclusion that it was futile and he said his answer was to just (and here he quit squirming around and just sat still) sit and the body would work things out without your interference.
That makes sense to me. Sometimes when I am sitting I become concerned that various parts of my body feel unrelated spatially and I try to solve that by minute adjustments. It is like I can't just tolerate feeling that way and I want a quick fix. There are just a few rules to follow. You want to tilt your pelvis forward so that your weight is distributed across your base (your seat and knees), keep your spine upright, your sternum held upward, the back of the head and neck raised upward, your arms out slightly and hands together below the navel. The nose over the navel and the ears over the shoulders. And then breath down low at the bottom of the abdomen. Keep the eyes open slightly and the gaze downward in front. When doing this in a quiet place with no visual clutter your world is reduced to body sensations and the only movement being your breathing. Gradually you become much more aware of the arising of thoughts, and their going away. In the process you cannot help realizing that thoughts are just another phenomena and for the most part rather needless and useless. But these things constitute our 'thinking' which dominates our lives and actions. We live in an artificial mental world, a product of our rational mind. Ordinarily we have a powerful belief in these thoughts and are sure that that is real, the world, 'reality'. Meantime we are just not present, not here now. We are off in the past, or calculating, planning, scheming, imagining, getting all worked up over memories and fantasies, struggling to hang onto these things, even if they make us miserable. We believe 'we' are right, and even the 'we' or 'I' that we are so anxious to protect and improve and so forth is nothing more than a collection of thoughts and images and memories. This has become our identity. But it is just a dream actually. A collection of statements and beliefs. We have defined ourselves.
Much conversation consists of people defining themselves to others. We compare and judge these statements. One person says they like to sit in the sun. The response from another is that they do also or that they don't. One says he likes asparagus, the next says he can't stand it, on and on. Now often we really have no idea what we are talking about. Sometimes, on hearing someone say they hate sour cream or lima beans I'll ask them how long it has been since they tried tasting these things. I often hear that they were a child when they tasted it or they have never tasted it, they could just tell by looking at it that they wouldn't like it, or they had heard something terrible about it. So we develop all these attitudes. And we stick by them and believe that is us. In so far as we do that we have paralyzed ourselves, turned ourselves into things. We have become objects full of opinions and are running on automatic, not having any choice, unable to even make a tiny alteration in our behavior. We are asleep most of the time.
There was one practice we did that was new to me. I had never even heard of it. We got on our feet and took one step at a time as we chanted a single syllable from a sutra. As you waited before taking the next step you were silent. The sound and the silence were of equal duration. While doing that I become intensely aware of when I was distracted by the arising of a thought. It reminded me of my finger-counting method for following the breath.
There's more to say about the retreat but I have other things to do. It cost $100 by the way. Plus it cost me $42 to board Sitka at the kennel. Hey where else can you go sit with a group of people that won't talk to you or look at you for days but just sit there silently or chant in a foreign language or walk around in a circle for that kind of money. I'm sure it sounds pretty weird to outsiders. They would never understand. When Paul and I got together afterward at the coffee shop in B & N, I felt embarrassed because he was talking about the experience in a loud voice. I just thought it would sound very weird to other people. Of course I really don't know what other people there were thinking. That was what I was thinking. We are so often concerned about what we imagine other people think, about us especially. When in that state we imagine that all these other people are so interested in us when if you asked around you would find that most of them weren't even aware that you were there and never thought anything about you. Have you ever noticed yourself thinking something about someone, particularly something negative, and then you realized that the effect on them was zero, nothing at all. It is only if you take some action based on those thoughts, like make some remark to them or to others about them that there can be any effect. In a work situation, a person with nasty thoughts about you can talk to others, spread nasty gossip and maybe even get you fired by turning people against you. And how often do we try to turn others against someone we have it in for just to boost ourselves up and to try to convince ourselves that we are right? "If these other people have the same attitude then I must be right." There is strength in numbers. We like to get together with other people that also have bad opinions of someone and share those opinions. It gives us confidence in our dislikes. We are fond of having enemies, be they communists, Persians or mother-in-laws.
Anyway, I tried to change the subject when we were talking and we found many interesting things to talk about and had lots of laughs. Although I wanted to maintain the feeling of the retreat it was fun to joke and laugh and make noise. That's all for now. I'm in the process of rearranging things here so it doesn't seem so cluttered.
Don't judge a book by its cover
Thursday, April 7, 2005. Do you know about Somerset Maugham's book The Razor's Edge? It is about an enlightened man living unnoticed in the USA. Maugham met this fellow and told his story in the book as far as I know. I was reading about the book on a zen site on the internet. Well, I was organizing my books and needed some book ends because the shelf is so long. So I drove to Silverdale to buy some at Office Depot and stopped at Barnes and Noble. I looked on their shelves and no Razor's Edge. I went to the Customer Service desk to order it but there were so many people waiting I just went to the coffee shop there and got a coffee, planning to order the book later. I ended up looking at a book on Salvador Dali's work and then left, forgetting to order the book.
I got home and resumed organizing the books. I was sorting them into categories. I came across a small dark hard covered book that had no visible writing on the cover. It looked very old. I didn't have any idea what it was. I didn't remember ever having seen it. I opened up the front cover and there was my father's name and a date (1945) written on the inside of the cover. I turned to the title page and it said, "The Razor's Edge" by Somerset Maugham.
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I took a Jungian Type Test. Here are the results.
Extroverted (E) 59.46% Introverted (I) 40.54%
Sensing (S) 50% Intuitive (N) 50%
Thinking (T) 56.25% Feeling (F) 43.75%
Perceiving (P) 83.87% Judging (J) 16.13%
Your type is: ESTP
My, my, isn't that interesting. It's Tanner in a nut shell. Look how heavy I am on Perceiving (as opposed to Judging).
I'll be leaving Friday for a weekend of zen practice on Vashon Island with Koshin. Tempera and Kimo will be leaving Monday morning.
Wednesday, April 6, 2005. Here is the painting as it stands this morning. Who are all these lunkheads? Figments, that's what they are. Figments of my imagination.
Here is how it began.
Sitting lately I experience these dream-like sequences. They are dream-like in that they feature people saying and doing things and objects in color and they seem to have little or nothing to do with me or my life and, like dreams, they fade rapidly from my memory. I just sat for 20 minutes, I was following my breathing and concentrating on the fact that thoughts fade away. They only last for a moment and then they are gone. Even if we try to hang onto them, we have to repeat them because they pass away. Next thing I knew I came out of a dream. Just at the end of it I remember two women fighting about whose breasts were larger. Then I came out of another dream that had something to do with bank buildings. After that I had one that involved learning new construction techniques. Then another one that involved adapting rockets made for space to underwater propulsion.
Now none of these are the kind of things I normally think about. It seems so strange. Another phenomena I experience lately is very old memories pooping into my head; things I hadn't thought of in many years. Just a while ago I suddenly remembered a big very mellow guy that I used to work with in the city engineering department in Santa Ana. He always seemed very relaxed and he used to say, "That's the way the cookie crumbles."
"April fools!"
Friday, April 1, 2005. This morning at Starbucks I noticed two one dollar bills on the floor by a fellow's feet. I knew he had not dropped them as he had just walked up to that spot. A woman noticed the bills and and called the man's attention to them. He said they weren't his and picked them up and put them on a display table. I thought, "This is great. It will be great fun to see what happens."
There is a large old guy with craggy features and a Monster Garage cap who comes there every morning. He walks over, picks up the bills, takes them to the counter saying, "Monica, someone dropped these." He handed them to Monica. I was irritated. He had spoiled my fun. I wanted to see what people would do and he took the bills away. Damn it. Jerk.
A few moments later I realized, "That is what someone did! They took it to the counter and turned it in." I don't know what else I was expecting. Maybe someone putting it in their pocket. I began laughing at myself. Here I am, supposedly wanting to see what will happen and when it happens I get irritated and don't recognize it as what happened.
Here is the latest on the painting.
Oh, my big insight for the day: When I imagine a form I find it very difficult to express it in words, but, it is a breeze if I use my hand in the air.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005. Although I can stand straight now I still get stabbing pains in the lower back. So, I think I will cancel my plans to go to Seattle tomorrow. I had planned to go the the Three Treasures Sangha for the evening meditation and pick up some items at Seattle Pottery Supply.
Here is a picture of a painting I have been working on lately. Who are these folks, anyway?
Monday, March 28, 2005. I began getting sharp pains in my lower back while walking Sitka behind Barnes and Noble yesterday afternoon. They continued since then. Went to Starbucks this morning. Can't stand up straight and have to walk slowly. I asked Doc if he could recommend a chiropractor and he recommended with enthusiasm an Angel Wunder across the street from Christ Memorial. He said, "She'll fix you up."
This fellow who wears a kilt once in a while asked about the book I had on the table. It is a library book on figure sculpture. He asked me if I had been to the Phimister Proctor Museum in the Liberty Bay Auto building. He said it was a sculpture museum. I had always thought it had to do with antique cars. He said there were cast bronzes, plaster molds, drawings; it sounded terrific. Rich had also assumed it was a car museum. Access to the museum is by appointment only. I looked up their website, http://www.proctormuseum.com/. Here's a quote:
"The A. Phimister Proctor Museum, located near Seattle, Washington, was established in 1997 by the artist’s grandson, Phimister Proctor Church. The bronzes, plaster models, engravings, sketches, and historical documents that reside here illuminate the genius of one of America’s most revered sculptors and reveal the spirit of a man who strived to obtain his deepest desires."
There is a slide show on the site. He did Indians, frontiersmen, animals. They are very detailed.
I found the office of Angel Wunder and have an appointment for 12:30.
Brett sent an e-mail saying that EDS is closing their Poulsbo office this year. He figures to be able to work from home. He also wanted to learn a few "catch phrases" in Russian, so I sent him a list. Now he too can be intimidated by this language.
While sitting in Starbucks this morning I was practicing looking at things and imagining touching them with my fingers, something I often do, when I suddenly realized that I don't need to do that any more. I can now look at things in such a manner that I focus right on the surface of solid objects as though 'touching' the surfaces with my eyes. It helps to keep aware of my hands in the peripheral area but I can now 'touch' with my vision. And, as you might expect, the drawing and painting that I do now reflects this. I am slowly unlearning my useless habits and learning to see and draw properly. How do I know that? Isn't that an arrogant statement? Well, not really. It has become obvious to me that I am on the right track when I look at pictures of paintings and drawings by Velasquez, Rembrandt, Picasso, Bruegel, etc. and I can see so much more of what they did. There it is. No doubt about it. It is like when you are learning a foreign language and you begin to understand it. You just know it. You cannot see this way when you look at photographs or at TV pictures.
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Rather than put my earplugs in I thought I would listen to what was going on. This was at Starbucks (my home away from home) in the late afternoon. Just then two women sat down at the next table. They were talking loud enough that I could understand quite a bit of their conversation. Beside the drinks they bought, Monica gave them each a little sample cup with a chocolate drink they have been trying to promote. I had tried a sample once and found it disgustingly rich. But these two were raving about the flavor. They were savoring it, taking a sip and exclaiming how wonderful it was. One said it was "to die for". They would take a tiny sip and after few minutes take a sip of coffee, back and forth, dragging the experience out as long as possible.
The beverage drinking was punctuated by gossip. First it was 'Fat' Mary. One was complaining that Fat Mary wouldn't listen to her criticism of her. "She said, 'Shut up, I don't want to hear it!' Well, my God, I have a right to vent. I'd just get started and she wouldn't let me finish. She can't tell me not to talk. I have a right to say what I want, after all." Oh, boy, this is just great. Then they went back to raving about the chocolate drink. Then back to Fat Mary. "She just can't plan things. She waits until the last minute and expects everything to turn out fine," said one of them. Then the other started a detailed description of the gifts she had given Fat Mary in an Easter basket. It was chocolate-covered this and chocolate covered that, all things to eat. Then there was the bubble-gum bunny, which was "wonderful". She showed how big it was with her hands. She actually gave a detailed description of about a dozen types of sweets she had bought for Fat Mary. By the way, Fat Mary didn't like hearing them tell her she was fat. Can you beat that? Of all the nerve. They have a right to talk. Then back to how delicious the free sample was. I thought, "That is their world. I've had enough of it," and I put my earplugs in.
Sunday. March 27, 2005. The people at Starbucks differed this morning, I assume because it is Easter, a big day for Christians. Ken and his wife showed up, all dressed up. People were wishing each other Happy Easter and glowing with religious fervor. That big black guy with the dreadlocks, that drives the black Hummer, was there, saying "God bless you," to people. Rich sat down for a while. I think he is concerned about being a character in my blog.
Suddenly I heard a loud voice behind me say, "Tanner". It was Jack! Jeez, I haven't seen him in ages. He came to Starbucks because Checkers was closed for Easter. He stayed for a long time. It was sure good to see him. There are a few people from the old Checkers crowd that I enjoy seeing and Jack is one of them. Floyd, Ken, Paul, Billy are others. I should make an effort to contact them once in a while. Jack has been taking a wood carving class at the Sons of Norway Hall. It meets from 6 to 9pm on Thursdays. I think I will go. Jack has finally started making bowls with his lathe. He's going to let me know next time he's doing it so I can come over and watch. He also told me about how he was shown a way to increase the drying rate of wood by treating it with denatured alcohol. Of course. It forms a negative azeotrope with a higher vapor pressure.
It was a dark morning, overcast, and I didn't have the kitchen lights on. I had put some food in Sitka's dish and opened the back door so she could come in. It was dark in the kitchen. Kitty and I were in the back room. As I started toward the kitchen I saw Bugeyes standing in the kitchen just unside the doorway. She was looking hesitant and sort cautious, like she thought she shouldn't be there. I don't often let her in because she and Sitka together are so rambunctious. Anyway, the dim lighting was so strange that it made a fascinating sight. I stood still and she never noticed me. Then Kitty moved forward and made a rrrraarrrr sound in her throat. She is not real fond of Bugeyes. Bugeyes turned and looked at the cat but didn't move. Then she cautiously began eating Sitka's food. It was a strange event.
Saturday, March 26, 2005. The weather has been lousy the last couple days. And I wasn't feeling very good anyway. I hate it when I'm feeling weird and the air is cold as well. And windy. So I haven't done much lately. I haven't been able to stand up straight. That really makes me feel like and old man. I hope it is not due to the new sitting stool or bench, which I like quite a bit. Maybe it just requires a little getting used to.
Tempera and Kimo spent the last couple days in San Francisco. Tempera got her hair cut by Medina. When I lived in Sonoma county I made a point of getting Medina and Tempera together. They played together a lot when they were 2 and 3. Medina lived next door. I think they are only a week or so apart in age. My gosh, that means Medina is 36 years old now! I knew her before she could talk.
Medina told them about a Farmer's Market in the Embarcadero on the weekends, so they went there. And from the Embarcadero they walked to Telegraph Hill and up to Coit Tower along a footpath that led through a tropical-like forest where they saw lots of wild parrots. Then they walked down through North Beach and to China Town. They also discovered a great Italian restaurant in the Mission District.
Whereas for a long time I was the comedian at Starbucks, that mode seems to have faded from my behavior. Nowadays I arrive around 7am with a ceramic cup and a zen book and, before they rearranged things for the big sale, sit at the table nearest the people waiting for their drinks. If there are few people there I read only a little, close the book and think about what I had read. As soon as people began to accumulate there I stop reading and look at the people. Funny, I used to think that that would annoy people, but, as far as I can tell, what I am doing doesn't bother anyone. In fact most people don't seem to notice and those that do often respond with a smile or a greeting. My guess is that it doesn't bother people that I look at them because I don't stare. In staring, the eyes don't move and it is apparent that the person is 'thinking' more than seeing. For the most part I am simply noticing the shapes and colors that I am seeing and pretty much look at everyone in the same way. Also I must have a pleasant expression on my face, considering how many people speak to me. Strangers tend to nod, smile, say, "Interesting cup. Did you make that?" or, "Nice day today isn't it," or, "How are you?"
If Rich sits down for a while we usually have a rather serious but fun conversation about Buddhism or consciousness/awareness. He's pretty smart and very well read and interesting. But I am all smiles when Bill, Linda, and Josey sit with me. I think I laugh a lot when talking with Bill. That is the most fun time in the mornings. Several people have brief conversations with me while waiting for their coffees. That includes, Doc Barret, Roger (the United pilot), a few women whose names I just don't know. One works at Windemere, another manages the docks at the yacht club. Then once in a while Paul stops by. It works out pretty well because I get my private time to look and sort of meditate and then I get the social interaction. You know, I really don't pay any attention to the taste of the coffee. It is just an excuse to be there. I'm there for the people.
In the past week or so I have experienced a lot of sensation in the neck and shoulders. I feel the tension. Of course it is always there, a chronic condition, but I rarely feel it. Now I feel it most the day. At times I feel kind of strange as a result, but I realize my body is just making adjustments. My attitude is generally pretty good and my mind is getting calmer. I'm able to think more clearly lately. Actually I don't recall every having had such a clear mind before.
It bothered me that I couldn't even begin to repeat some Russian words, the sounds were so unfamiliar to me. And I was seriously intimidated by the alphabet in the book I got from the library. So the other day while in Barnes & Noble I bought a set of 6 CD's that purport to teach you Russian. I thought it would be just fine to skip the written language. I got home and started listening to the first lesson. You are supposed to repeat after the guy on the recording. Again I couldn't even understand what kind of sound the guy was making! Jeez. The guy on the CD says, "Now this word ends with a sound we don't have in English." Of course. It began with a sound we don't make as well. I have run the first lesson through a few times and am beginning to be able to hear it better. It is quite a challenge.
Sienna called the other day. She invited me to come visit and I declined. Both Jan and Tempera seem to think I should have gone down there. Wow! For me that would be a really big deal to go to California for a few days. I really have no interest in doing that. And after all these years of her hostile attitude I'm not at all inclined to want to plunge into relating with her. Tempera asked, "Well aren't you planning to call her?" I said, "No, I hadn't thought of it." There was a long silence. I said, "I don't think I have her number." Tempera said, "That can be taken care of." I know Tempera thinks it is very important for family members to relate, even if they don't get along. I guess I just don't feel that way. My peace of mind has become so important to me that I don't want to get involved in situations where people get upset. What is the use of that? To me it is of the utmost importance lately to clear my mind and I don't want to deal with troubled minds. All this sitting (meditating) I have been doing is directed toward focusing the mind and not getting caught up in the silly dramas the out-of-control mind can cook up.
Here is a clipping from the Rosemount Analytical company newpaper. The subject was my friend Bill who was in charge of the main-frame there and who died of a heart attack about a year after the drawing was done.
Thursday, March 24, 2005. While I'm tending the glaze firing I started watching the video that Rich lent me, "What the Bleep Do We Know". Although it is dealing with quantum physics almost everything I have heard so far sounds so much like some of the 'wierd' ideas I have had recently and ideas from Buddhist literature. The last thing I was listening to was about there not being any 'external' world out there aside from our own experience, the 'blending' of subjective/objective. That's something I contemplate almost every day.
The film is so full of rather deep questions and ideas, I can see why Rich has run it through several times. It is like learning a new language.
That makes two very interesting videos he has turned me on to. The other was the Korean Buddhist movie, "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter,.... Spring."
I made a stool to sit on. The leg position is very different than in the half lotus. So far I find it quite a bit easier to sit without pain or legs falling asleep.
Rich, here are some more drawings from the life class. The model wasn't the greatest. And of course they had signed her up for two sessions. The guy we had before that was terrific.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005. Jack's teacher was Robert Aiken Roshi. His teacher was Yasutani Roshi who was a student of Harada Roshi. An illustrious lineage.
Over the years I have worked with people who speech various languages and have learned to say simple greetings. One of the girls that works at Starbucks speaks Russian and this is the first time that I have heard words that I cannot even begin to repeat. So I got a book on Russian at the library to try to get a handle on the pronunciation. Oh Brother, just the alphabet is mind-boggling. But they do give pronunciation guides. I don't think I'll ever learn to read it. I was sitting looking at printed sentences in Russian and just laughed out loud, they look so ridiculous to me.
I unloaded the kiln today. Again a face has cracks in it, although they are fewer and smaller this time.
Driving home from the figure drawing class I was enjoying seeing. I noticed that I was moving my eyes a lot also. This eye movement thing comes up over and over. It seems to be some fundamental thing with me. At the times that I experience free eye movement I feel sensations in my neck and throat. And often there is a lot of feeling in my hands at the time also. At the class today I said, "It's all in the hands, you draw with the hands." People said, "Well of course. So what?" I said, "I'm mean you pay attention to your hands as you draw." Of course everyone 'knows' that you draw with your hands, but here is a very big difference between 'knowing' and experiencing. Knowing is a static, fixed sort of thing. Sensing is not.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005. The yard is still a mess from the wind storm. I've repaired a few things. Did another bisque firing today.
Sitting was good tonight. I had a good sense of the counting as something to occupy the mind with so as to minimize the random chatter that goes on, like you can't think of two things at once in words. If you are thinking, "One, two, three, ...," you can't be thinking, "Now did I give that guy my phone number or not?" But meantime there is the sensation of the breath at the nostrils. You can feel the air passing in and out of the nostrils. And, a major point, each time is different. Maybe the difference is slight but it is important not notice. Then it is not so much repetition as an awareness, as though each time is the first time. Even with the counting, the sound quality of your internal voice is slightly different each time you pronounce the number. Then you are being attentive, alert. And then you are capable of noticing the thoughts, not believing in them or identifying with them but just noticing what you are thinking and how the thoughts come and go, one after another.
To me, a very important feature of this process is that it is independent of what you have learned and how you think things are or should be. It is unlike having learned something in school or ideas you have heard or read. It is simply you making your own observations. Not theories or conclusions but experiences, as an ongoing process. No conclusions, just experiencing.
Monday, March 21, 2005. I finally met Hans, Bill's 10 year old grandson. He is an expert on excavators. He knows all the makes and models. Beautiful little kid.
The last book on Buddhist meditation that I bought, by Paramananda, is so good, and easy reading for an American, and it was on sale for $5.95 at B&N. I thought I'd get one for Linda and drove down to B&N just in time to get the last one. I saw her this morning and she said she finds it easy to read.
Last week, Gregg, the guy leading the figure drawing class, had me over to his house in Eagledale. He's very good at designing and building. Years ago he built a house on a barge, a house boat. It cost him $20,000 in materials and he sold it for $60,000 and then bought the house he has now. He built a huge deck that runs around the entire building and is on the second story in the back. It is all made of 2x6 lumber. He has remodeled the interior and it looks great. He also has a beautiful native style seal hunting boat he built and is working on a large sailboat.
He is a zen student and has been sitting with Marc on Sunday mornings for a couple years. He said Marc is disappointed that there are only four or five people that come there regularly. We are planning a trip to the zendo on Vashon Island soon. We shared our views on things for quite a while and found we both have very similar experiences.
I bring all these weird coffee cups into Starbucks now and the double-barreled one is the biggest hit. Everyone who sees it laughs.
When I sit lately I have been unable to keep track of counting my breaths and my mind creates these dream-like events in which I see and hear people interacting in such irrational manners that I can't remember them. They fade rapidly just like dreams. I'll return to the breathing and within seconds I'm experiencing another dream-like sequence. What strikes me as so peculiar is that they rarely seem to have anything to do with me or anything from my life, yet they are my creation, I guess. I take them to be products of my mind. When I mentioned this to Rich he suggested that I might be tapping into the Jungian collective unconscious. I doubt it. The events hardly seem archetypal. They are like dreams. Are dreams from the collective unconscious? Beats me. I don't know much about Jung. Marc is really into Jungian types. Through a written test a person is assigned four letters that are supposed to assign his personality to type. There is the introvert vs. extravert thing, thinking vs. feeling, intuition vs. sensation, and judgmental vs. nonjudgemental. Marc was eager to know the results of the test I took years ago. I think it is pretty silly. All these things represent a continuous gradient of variables and yet a line is drawn and the person is either black or white. Baloney. The results I got were that I was supposed to be a thinking, intuitive, nonjudgemental introvert. So what is that supposed to mean? I remember at the time thinking that Gary must be a feeling, sensation type.
I talked to Gregg this evening. He said a woman that comes about once a month to Marc's session has been to that Tibetan monk's place. He was going to ask her more about it. I think we are both hesitant to just show up there alone. I told him to let me know when he was going to go to the place on Vashon Island. I'd like to go.
A hard rain's a-fallin'
Sunday, March 20, 2005. Well, this has been an unusual day. I fell asleep about 7pm last night. I was suddenly awakened by a big commotion going on in the house. I could tell it involved Sitka and I thought I heard some other animal hissing. Kitty was on the bed with me looking at the door. I suddenly realized that the power had gone out. The noise stopped. I got out of bed and felt my way into the meditation room and found the big candle and lit it. Then I went into the kitchen to get the lantern. Sitka was standing there. There was quite a racket on the roof. I went to the front door and could see all the trees were bent over. There was a fierce wind blowing. Sitka went out and wouldn't come back in.
I went back to the meditation room to return the candle and discovered a big pile of soft runny shit on the cushion and mat and on the rug. I guess Sitka had the shit scared out of her. I never did understand what had been going on when I awoke. It was around 4am. I just couldn't deal with cleaning up all the shit in the dark. So I drove down to Silverdale hoping that they had power there. As I approached Silverdale I could see lights. I went to Shari's which is open 24 hours.
Shari's was a mess. There was litter all over the floor. The waitress said she was too busy to help me right then. The power had been going out there. I finally got to order a breakfast. By the time I got home it was 6:30. I called Starbucks. There was no answer. So I got back in bed and fell asleep. I woke up at 7:30 and called again. They had just opened so I went down there. Bill was driving away as I was approaching. There was a huge line. Rich was there and we talked for a while. When I got home began cleaning up the dog shit. I took the mat and cushion outside and hosed them off. Then the water pressure went. Of course, the pump on the well was electric.
The phone rang and it was Sienna! We talked about half an hour. She was particularly interested in Andrea's eating disorder and Sean's drinking. She invited me to come visit. I declined, saying I don't like to leave home any more. She said she doesn't talk to her mother anymore.
With no electricity or water there wasn't much reason to stay home so I went to Barnes and Noble and then to the mall for lunch. I put my ATM in the machine in the mall and it notified me that it had expired and it kept the card. This was the day for inconveniences.
While I was at Barnes and Noble I was seated at the first of the row on small tables near the books and had a good view of the coffee shop area. There was a pretty big line to get coffee. A guy walked by me and plopped a copy of Barron's on one of the little tables. I thought, "How selfish. He wants to secure a table for himself even though many people were here before him. I guess that's the typical attitude in our society." He got back in line with his wife. Then this big guy came walking along the row of tables and sat down at the table the guy had 'saved', picked up the Barron's and started reading it. Then the first guy hurried by me and said, "Hey, that's my table!" The guy apologized and got up. As the first fellow walked back by me he looked at me with an expression that said, "Can you believe that guy?" Out of my mouth popped the words, "That's not your table!" He looked shocked. Then I noticed that the guy had gotten up from the table with the Barron's in his hand and sat down at the next table and started reading it. The guy in line saw that and rushed back over there and said, "That's my Barron's you have there," and took it and laid it on a different table. These tables only seat two people. Then the people at a table for four, next to the little table, got up and left. The guy's wife went over, picked up the paper and put it on the bigger table. She looked at me. I was shaking my head. Then the husband went over to the table, took off his leather jacket and put in on a chair at that table. Now they had secured one of the largest tables in the place. Then the group at the next large table left and right away a new couple that just came in started dropping magazines on it and then jackets, the same routine. Both these couples had an air of wealth and success about them. Real go-getters they were.
By the time the first couple sat down there were several empty tables so there was really nothing gained by all this anxiety. Then I noticed that the second couple, seated right next to me, were collecting magazines and books and piling them on the table. She was reading about houses, big fancy houses, and he was reading about horses. They both looked at every page of each book and magazine. When they left they left all this stuff on the table for some one else to put back. This is the big-shot mentality I guess.
An old friend sent some pictures that show how a woman can improve herself with exercise.
To see a real healthy looking woman, click here
If you like veins, click here
Monday, March 14, 2005. On the way home this morning I stopped at Mike's place down at the corner of Pioneer Hill and SR3. I had noticed that he had been cleaning the place up quite a bit lately. I was interested in getting some pieces of maple to try making some meditation stools. He was just about to drive away as I pulled up. He wanted to know how the big pieces of redwood were drying out. I told him they had lost a lot of weight and I was going to start working with them soon. I asked what got into him, the place looks more like a business lately. He said he got in trouble with the county. Someone had complained and they were threatening to shut him down. Some folks were helping him with the problem, both in fixing up the display area and dealing with the officials.
A huge, calm, blond colored dog with a red bandanna around his neck appeared and was greeting us. I asked if it was his dog. He said no, that it belonged to the people that had just moved in across the street. I said I hoped he didn't wander out on the highway. He said he kept away from the road. It was nice standing there with Mike and the big dog. The air was cool, the grass was green, there was a slight breeze and the sun was shining on us. Mike was showing me some nice pieces of figured maple that would be good for meditation stools. He was describing some different types of stools he had seen. I picked out four pieces and he said, "Take them. Let me know how they work out." He gave me one of his new business cards. He's an old San Francisco Hippie and has a hard time getting serious about business.
Unloaded the kiln. Again I had a crack in a life-sized face. The crack was where the clay was thickest. I should probably have let it dry longer. I applied glazes to all the pieces and am now doing the glaze firing. It is a beautiful day out. I went down to Stabucks about 11:30 with Sitka so we could sit in the sun.
Late afternoon nap
You've heard of a tree-hugger, right? How about a knee-hugger?
While tending the kiln today I broke up the day into one hour intervals. There is low/off w/ propped up lid, low/off w/ closed lid but open peep-hole, low/off all closed, low/low, med/low, med/med, high/med, and high/high. That is 8 hours. Then it continues heating on high/high for a few hours before shutting off. I stay awake until it shuts off. But the last two times I have started early enough so that it is done early in the evening.
Somehow the one hour units allowed me to get a little house work done, something I have been putting off. There is still much to do. I had an interesting experience while working on the new painting. It is difficult to put it into words. It was as though for a moment all the 'world as I know it' was gone from my mind. There was only an awareness of the brush moving slowly, applying color to an imagined chair leg. What had been loosely sketched in now was becoming very clear and well defined. And there was no concern at all about what other people might think, or the 'art' world, that sort of thing. It was very clear what the point was of my actions. My purpose was clear.
That reminds me, when I recovered from my first 'mystical' sort of experience while listening to Shostokivtch's Symphony number five at Roy's house in Tucson, I stood up and, standing in the doorway, said, "Now I have a purpose," and left. I drove up into the mountains, parked and took out a blanket I had in the car, and walked to a stream, sat down with the blanket around me. I had never been to this spot before. I sat there all night. As the sun came up I could see bubbles drifting in the current, very slowly along the edges. I followed single bubbles with my eye and observed how they were carried along at times and then would fall motionless for a while in a protected pool, and then drift on again or disappear suddenly. It was as though I were watching the lives of various individuals. Anyway, I have never understood what it was I meant by having a 'purpose'. Not until today, that is. I think I got it for a moment.
Actually that experience years ago had something to do with drawing and painting. I was a very successful student at the time, at the top of all my classes, as a Geological Engineering major. The day after I had that experience I dropped all my classes and decided to move to California, to Oakland and take art courses at the California College of Arts and Crafts. I did that. And also married Kitty. That was quite a time. That was in 1959.
I hung around Tucson a while, spending a lot of time in the coffee house. Lots of people came to talk to me. One night I took Vidiya with me and we drove into the desert on an unpaved road, a place I had never been to before. I parked the car and got out and began walking up the hill. Vidiya followed me. There was the remains of an unfinished stone house there on top of the hill. It had a stone fireplace and a large pile of firewood and kindling. I started a fire and we sat there a long time. Vidiya was a Buddhist from Thailand. Every night before he went to bed he sat and remembered everything he could of the day.
When I ate lunch I turned on the TV. I tried to watch a program on the History channel about British and American prisoners in a Nazi prison camp. I fell asleep and as was waking up the cat climbed on me and lay down on my shoulder with his little dark face right near mine. It is something he does often but there was something unusual about my experience this time. He seemed so 'alive', so 'there'. So real I guess you might say.
After I set the heaters to high/high on the kiln I went to Starbucks. That was about 6:30. There were no customers at the tables and few to go orders so I got some reading done. After a while I closed the book and sat there following my breathing in the nostrils and feeling the weight of my body on the chair and my feet on the floor. And I followed the walls and floor tiles and chairs with my eyes, focusing on very small areas at a time. Very soon I had that feeling that all there is, all there ever is, is what I am aware of at the moment. I know it sounds kind of screwy, but at times it is so clear that all this stuff we think we 'know' and all the things we worry about or remember or make plans over is simply nonexistent other than in our imagination. If it is not here it is simply something you are thinking about.
I was saying something like that to Rich one time and he said, "Suppose I decide to punch you in the nose. What will you say then?" Of course I can think, "I will go to the post office and buy some stamps and mail these letters," and a while later I actually do that, I go to the post office. But that doesn't mean that the planning of the trip to the post office was anything other than an activity of my mind when it was going on.
I may decide to take a trip to China. I've never been to China. But I 'know' that it exists. As long as I am here, in Poulsbo, China is a fantasy in my mind. So is Poulsbo. What I 'know' about Poulsbo is simply a construct of my mind. And as long as I give it only the minimum attention it is nothing more than a fantasy. I am now looking at the blinking cursor on the monitor. It is black against a glowing white background. This is happening now, in Poulsbo. That cursor, for the moment, is the content of my mind. For that moment that is all there is for me.
Sunday, March 13, 2005. Saw Rich at Starbucks this morning. I happened to ask him if he was familiar with the work of Franz Kafka. He started reciting the beginning lines of "Metamorphosis". The only other person I've known who could do things like that was Greg O'Brien (who I haven't talked with for a year or so).
Doing a bisque firing today.
For a good beginning description of Zen meditation, click here
Myself against the world
Saturday, March 12, 2005. Went to the Soto group meeting form 9:30 to 12:30 this morning. Rev. Master Teigan was there. After sitting for an hour we put all the chairs in a circle and we had tea and cookies and he gave a talk. He spoke very softly and unfortunately I was seated at the opposite side of the circle and could only make out about half of what he was saying. It was very annoying.
Tonight I took my hot bath and put on my pajamas and was sitting in bed when I had an urge to go to Starbucks. It was about 6:30. So I got dressed and drove down there with Sitka. I'm glad I did. It was a beautiful night, as it was a beautiful day. I enjoyed seeing the girls there and talking about the new menu artists. The drawing of the coffee cup is great. I can't remember the girl's name. Some young folks came in and we commenting on how they liked my ceramic coffee cup. The cups are real conversation pieces.
In walks Rich, and for once he wasn't rushed so he sat and talked a while. He has gotten over his cold and sounded much better. As usual we talked about Buddhism and awareness and all that sort of stuff. I had my Tibetan book on the table. Very interesting stuff I had just read. In a chapter called "Busy Being Lost" it said, "What seems to be clarity in samsara -- knowledge of things, their details and differences -- is in fact a further clouding over of the one doorway to awakening." And in the next chapter, "Most of the time we are fused with our mental arising, but we don't recognize it. Caught up in states of distraction we rely on the automatic pilot functions of our brain to keep us safe. While walking, driving and so on while we are miles away, caught up an ego day dream. Only when we try to meditate do we recognize just how little control we have over what we call 'myself'. I am clearly not the one doing me. 'I' am swept along by thoughts, feelings, sensations which I only, and then but partially, recognize after the fact, after they have led me where they were going."
It turns out Rich has some familiarity with Tibetan Buddhism. A usual we had an interesting exchange about things that I can't talk about with anyone else. I told him how something that was on my mind a lot lately was this idea expressed by many Zen teachers that the way we experience ourselves as an 'I' surrounded by the world of things that are not 'I' is mistaken and an illusion. He recounted times when he had experienced other people in such a way that he was them.
He recommended a recent movie to me, a Korean movie about a Zen monk living on a lake. Actually he remembered telling me about it a couple months ago, but I had forgotten. He had rented it from the Hollywood place. I asked him if he had ever seen the Kurisawa film "Dursu Osala". He had! I said, You are the only person I've ever met that saw that movie. I asked him if he had seen "Yojimbo". He said he had seen all of Kurisawa's films. He took a class at U of W on Kurisawa.
On the way home I bought some groceries and then stopped at Hollywood Video. I asked the guy if they had the movie. They did. I noticed all these signs reading "DVD" and said, "I can't play DVD's. Do you have it in ... uh." I didn't even know what to call the type of player I have. "VHS?," the guy says. I think that was the first time I have ever rented a movie to watch myself. I'll watch it tomorrow.
Kitty and I, we see things eye to eye.
Tick tock
Thursday, March 10, 2005. This morning I was at Starbucks until after 10AM talking with Bill and Linda. At one point I noticed that Faith was sitting under the clock I assembled and there was a young, dapper Mexican guy, sturdy and athletic looking, sitting at the table with her. He had a laptop open on the table and a briefcase on the floor. It occurred to me that it might be the district manager and he was sitting facing the clock. I forgot about him and when we got up to leave I heard Faith calling my name. She and the Mexican guy were up on their feet and Faith introduced him. He shook my hand vigorously and seemed pleased to meet me. I asked, "Are you the district manager?" He said he was. He said that Faith had gone over his head to get permission to hang the clock up. He said that he liked it now that he saw it and thought it was a good idea. He suggested that I propose marketing the idea to the company. I didn't have much to say. Jeez, what a fuss over a cute little clock. But it turned out well. But there really isn't a good place to hang it in that shop.
I've been fascinated with my recent notion of there being what I can see and hear, feel in my body, and my thoughts. Those are the main things. This has been working for me especially in public or even out doors here. When I sit zazen early in the morning or late at night in the dim lit plain little room here the seeing and hearing components are minimized. There is mostly feeling my body and noticing my thoughts. Lately I've felt annoyed that my mind seems so busy, just one thought after another. This morning at Starbucks I opened Breath Sweeps Mind to the next article and it was by a Tibetan teacher who said that beginners are often discouraged by this very thing but what it means is not that your mind is getting more busy but that you are becoming more calm and more aware of the thoughts. He said the main thing was to know that the thoughts are not yourself, and are transient phenomena, short lived. They arise and fade away. Don't take them seriously and chase after them.
Another article then was talking about the various hindrances to mindfulness or awareness. These included a big one, i.e., irritation, anger, hostility, ill-will, etc. I realized that this is a problem for people in our culture because we tend to actually value, respect and even treasure anger. People struggle to maintain anger, grudges, ill-will toward others. It is considered a good thing to be angry, righteously angry. People refuse to give up resentment. To forgive is a weakness, a failing. It is odd. Of course when you cling to resentment you are hurting yourself. When you act on resentment you hurt others. Sometimes people want to hurt others.
A couple days ago I had lunch at Pegasus, as I often do these days. It is a hip sort of place. They use what looks like Best Foods mayonnaise jars for water glasses, things are hung so that they extend beyond corners, you are given large wooden numbers with writing all over them, the restroom consists of a closet with a toilet and the wash basin is in the hall behind the kitchen. The place is manned by hip looking young folks with tatoos and nose rings and baggy pants.
So I'm sitting there eating my Turkese sandwich with pesto and watching a female employee removing the glass from the front door, so that all that was left of the door was a wooden frame. She set the glass down and was going to replace it with a screen in a metal frame. A couple were just leaving so she stepped back from the door to let them pass. The woman opens the door and walks out, letting the door close behind her. Her husband simply steps through the opening in the door. The bottom section of the door was only about 9 inches high.
What you see is what you think
Wednesday, March 9, 2005. Sometimes life seems so simple. There is what I can see and hear around me, what I can feel in my body, and thoughts.
There is something unusual about language. What you see or hear is immediately transformed into thoughts. Unlike most things, words have meaning. They are not just what you see (or hear) but they refer to something else. They are symbols. As such they confuse the issue, kind of smear together thinking with seeing and hearing.
It is an interesting experience to watch TV with the sound off. You suddenly realize the extent to which you were leaning on the sound for meaning. That includes dialog, music and noises. And you realize how your concentration on the meaning caused you to limit your eye movement. With the sound off you tend to look around more at the images on the screen.
Here are my latest efforts from the life drawing class.
On my Mind
Monday, March 7, 2005. The trips my mind went on after discovering that my mailbox was gone are pretty funny. I was pretty tired and glad to get home when I saw the post there with no mailbox. It was beginning to get dark. I looked in the ditch alongside the road but there was nothing. It sunk in that it was probably stolen, gone. I knew there was no mail in it because I had picked up the Saturday mail and there was no delivery on Sunday.
I went in the house, started running the water in the tub and taking my clothes off. And of course my mind was working away imagining various scenarios to account for the missing mailbox, all of them disturbing. I figured it was either vandals, young guys just being destructive, or it was one of these redneck diesel pickup driving beer drinking patriotic sports fans who had taken a dislike to me because he saw I had long hair. Or it was one of those folks that lived in the little tract up the road who kept their lawns mowed and cars washed who didn't like looking at my overgrown yard with all my unpainted cedar constructions that were turning gray from exposure. These self-righteous monkeys felt they had a right to demolish my property because I didn't share their values. Then I thought it might be Gus, the guy with the lawnmower repair service who was pissed at me for driving that riding mower around. I imagined going down his driveway and confronting him, and using his hostile response as evidence that he was the one who had stolen my mailbox. I imagined looking around his yard and spotting the mailbox, and the stolen plasma cutter as well. I imagined calling the county to find out if it was illegal for him to be operating that business in this zone. I have wondered why he has no sign up. You would never know there was a business there. I was going to turn him in. Then I imagined putting various signs up on the post, or writing things on the post. I was going to put a sign on the post that said, "Some stupid asshole stole my mailbox." Then I thought that might make the culprit angry and he'd do some more damage. So then I imagined writing, "Okay, I give," on the post.
Meantime I had untied my hair and gotten into the hot bath and was laying there with my knees up and the back of my head against the edge of the tub. The water was real hot and felt good. I thought about what a shame it was that someone had taken such a dislike to me, someone who had never even met me, who had an attitude based on appearances. Maybe they didn't like my big fence. Maybe they had been offended that I wanted more privacy. I got depressed and thought I'd never find out who did it and it was just go on and on and get worse. I thought that it was a big mistake to move into such a conservative area. I'd never have picked Poulsbo as a place to live. It was just due to Andrea living here. I would never fit in with the people who live here. They are all Christians and Republicans and flag-waving rednecks. They have no use for a weirdo like me with all these weird ideas and weird looking getups. I might as well sell the house and move somewhere where people accept me. I'll move near a Zen monastery where they have a terrific Roshi. I'll sell most of my stuff and not do anything to fix up the new place so I won't get attached to it and want to stay. It is so stupid to get attached to a stupid house. What's the big deal about a silly house? There are all these TV programs now about people working on houses, decorating. But that is the American dream, own a house and make it look nice, according to the pictures in magazines. So look at what one of these wonderful Americans did to me, stole my mailbox.
Then I figured the best thing to do would be to keep my yard manicured and maybe paint some of the wood stuff so that it will not irritate the conservative people. Then they might leave me alone. Maybe I'll just get a P.O. box. I'll look into that. Might get pretty expensive though. I know, I won't go out to check the mail while anyone is driving by. Then no one will know that I have long hair.
So, on and on went my mind. In spite of the fact that when this had happened before it was always due to general vandalism along the whole road, my mind was ignoring this and looking at it as a personal attack. Of course when I went back out there and met the neighbor and saw the county sign down I realized it was nothing personal, just vandalism. My mailbox was an easy target on a quiet road. So here I was creating this Hell on earth in my imagination and reacting emotionally to it. Who knows how long that might have gone on had I not gone out there and got some more information from outside my mind. Of course I calmed down then. When I went to Starbucks this morning I told them about the incident. Julie said, "You sure are calm about it." I said, "What can you do?" I did check out the cost of P.O. boxes and ended up buying a new mailbox. I put it up so it is not easy to remove from the post but they might just pull it out of the ground and throw the whole thing in the ditch as happened the first time.
All in all it was a good lesson in not taking your reactive thoughts too seriously when you are upset. Otherwise it is easy to make a fool of yourself.
Nice neighborhood
Sunday, March 6, 2005. Left here at 4:40AM, caught the 5:20 ferry to Seattle and spent from 6:30AM to 1:00PM at the Three Treasures Sangha meditation center. I just got home about 4:30 and found my mailbox gone, stolen. Later I was taking a bath and I heard a vehicle spinning it's tires like mad on gravel. I went out with a flashlight in my pajamas and robe to look around. There was no sign of my mailbox anywhere but then I noticed a large county sign on a 4x4 post thrown into the ditch alongside my property. It is a warning sign that there is a stop sign ahead. So it should have been on the other side of the road. Just then a white pickup drives up. It is the guy who lives up the hill and has his mailbox and driveway across the street here. He was checking his mail. I called to him and he came over. I introduced myself and he said he just noticed the sign was down. He said he had left half an hour ago and it was up so it just happened. He said that the mailbox further down the road was gone also. Great. He asked if I remembered several months ago when all the mailboxes got smashed. I did. I had to buy a new one. He said he had put a cement block in his after that.
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The Roshi said that my intuitions about perception and the mind were very good. That was fine but after the first zazen sitting session my legs fell asleep (lost all feeling) during the second, third and forth sessions. I couldn't stand up quick enough for the beginning of kinhin (walking meditation) and had to wait till my place in the queue came around again. With the fifth sitting session my right leg hurt in the knee, but I was able to get right up. The same with the sixth and seventh. Well, feeling pain is feeling, isn't it? They were going to start the eighth session at 1:00PM. I bailed out. I'd had enough for one day. I can see I wouldn't fare well yet at a 7 day sesshin. I'd be hurting. I'm impressed at how well these people could sit. There was about 15 people sitting there today.
Last night I had dinner at the Clearwater Casino with Bill and Linda. Linda has become curious about meditation and we were talking about it. She asked, "But don't you feel like you are wasting time when you are meditating?" That was an interesting question. I said, "Actually I feel like I'm wasting time when I'm not meditating." That's true. It seems like the most important thing I can do.
There was a funny exchange between myself and the Roshi when I joined him for the private talk. He said, "So what's going on with you?" I said, "I thought I would wait and see what you had to say this time, if that's okay." He said, "That's fine with me. So what's going on with you?" I had to laugh. I said, "That is what you have to say."
Am I imagining my life?
Friday, March 4, 2005. Lately I find that so many of my personal insights are written in Buddhist literature. There they are in the book, fundamental to Buddhism. Sometimes I react to that by feeling irritated at all the people who got irritated with me or called me a nut for expressing such thoughts. But of course many of these ideas run counter to popular belief and thus are threatening to people. A very long time ago someone said to me, "You often say things that amount to things not being the way we think they are supposed to be. And the maddening thing is that you are usually right. But I just don't want to hear it."
Sometimes I realize how we expend a lot of effort to support or maintain some concept of ourselves. It requires so much effort and gets so complicated because it is not us at all, just a notion, a belief. Suppose you want to believe that you are that you are a kind and loving person as an example. And you find yourself sitting there thinking all these mean, angry, critical thoughts about someone who offended you. You can't accept fully that you are at that moment not a kind and loving person but vengeful and mean, so you blame the person you are angry with. "It has nothing to do with me, it is all their fault. It is normal to get upset under these circumstances, anyone would be, it has nothing to do with me. I'm a nice, loving person and don't normally have these kinds of feelings. It is not the real me."
The other day I sent a email message to Jan. It read, "Does the yoga you are doing consist of slow movements?" Her reply was, "Yes." I then asked, "Could you be more brief?" She replied with, "No."
I've been experimenting with re-glazing. It is even more unpredictable than the first glaze. I began to appreciate how much the result depends on the color of the clay. Green glazes look green on a white clay body but brown on a red clay body. I tried lightening the face so that the features were easier to see. Now I am going to make some kind of mold of it and press clay into the mold for another one. The original has several cracks in it. I hope to be able to prevent that in the future. It depends on how the thing is built, how it is dried and how quickly it is fired. Here are a couple shots of the face.
What time is it?
Thursday, March 3, 2005. I went to Starbucks this afternoon. Faith, the new manager, was interviewing a skinny young woman who had such a shrill, loud, penetrating voice I was cringing even with my earplugs in. Ken arrived and sat with me so I took the plugs out. We actually had to stop talking at times when this babe got going. I was sitting there thinking, if she hires this girl I'm going to start going somewhere else. The girl left and I said, "That girl's voice is terrible. How could you sit there and listen to it?" "She said, "I don't listen to the voice, I just listen to what people are saying." Oh boy, she's probably going to hire her. How could you not listen to the sound of a voice? Then she says, "Look," and points to the wall behind me. The Starbucks clock I made, it's up there! I said, "Well I'll be darned. How did you manage that?" She said, "I told you I was working on it." I checked my watch and the clock had the right time. Well, cool. It actually looks better on the little plain wall than it did on the busy looking wall-papered wall (Faith calls it the mural).
I left Starbucks and went to Albertson's for groceries. I see a guy bending over a shopping cart that looks familiar and said, "Is that Greg?" It was! We stood there and talked quite a while. He was shopping for his aged parents-in-law who are in the mobile home park just this side of Agate Passage. It turns out he is a Zen student. I asked if he sat with a group and he said, "Yes. I sit on Sundays with a small group of people at Marc Joslyn's." Gosh. I said, "I have known Marc for forty years. We don't get along these days." We ended up talking for quite a while. He said, "When you were modeling and you sat so still for so long I began to suspect that you practiced meditation." When we parted ways he said, "I'll tell Marc that I know you. I'll let you know what he says." Small world.
I went to sit with the Soto group tonight. During the second sitting something became very clear to me. At one point rather than following my breathing I was recalling a conversation I had earlier. Then I began to add to it as though the guy was there to talk to. Then I was deciding to try to remember things I thought of so I could say them to the guy the next time I saw him. When I finally got back to following my breathing I realized that the thinking or rational mind operates entirely in times other than now and places other than here. It was all memories, plans and imaginary conversations with someone not here. The thinking mind is never present. It is always working with material from the past and making plans and is someplace else. You know how some 'spiritual' people talk about 'another plane'? Well there is an example of another plane for you. Thinking. It is often about all there is to some people's lives. They are almost entirely oblivious to their surroundings and just can't stop thinking, thinking, thinking, on and on. And there is just no room or energy left for perceiving anything real.
I have noticed that it is easier for me to pay attention to things, to be present, when I am sitting or walking someplace other than at home or in the car. It is very hard for me to simply see and hear in my house. And while driving the car the mind is off and away. I'm only barely aware of the road and traffic. I'm too busy thinking. Do I want to be thinking this stuff? No, not usually. But I cannot stop it.
Occasionally when I am sitting (zazen) I experience dream-like states. Although I don't feel drowsy the images are much like dreams. Tonight I was into one of these and was seeing and hearing people talking and doing things as though they were other people, as in a dream. There was some kind of violence involved and it began fading from my consciousness as a dream does. All I could remember was the end where I was standing alongside the passenger's window of a car and there was a young black man sitting in the car. He had his head down and was holding his head and crying. He was saying, "I'm a better fighter. I could have beat that guy up." He was comparing his fighting ability with his buddy who had just gotten whipped. These experiences are strange in that I always have the feeling of amazement that this is going on in my mind. I think, "This is in my mind?"
Lately I sometimes experience myself as a process, simply a continuous series of events one after another. And when I think, "Just who is it that is aware of these events?" I am stumped. "What am I, really. I really don't know. I rarely even think about it." Oh I know my name, my birthday, my social security number, my history, etc. But as an experiencer in the present moment, all that means nothing, is completely empty. I am a mystery to myself.
(Un)do the Twist
Wednesday, March 2, 2005. Yesterday I stopped at MacDonald's on High School Rd. to get something to eat before the ceramics class. A fellow walks up and ties a large animal to the flagpole and comes inside to order. This thing looks like a large dog with very long legs, narrow body, big ears and a big mouth. Just as I am getting up to leave the owner sits down at the next table. I asked, "Is that a wolf?" He says, "Yes."
There is a small traffic circle at the intersection of High School and Madison. At an ordinary intersection a driver will either go straight, turn left or turn right. When entering as circle everyone turns right and on exiting the circle they turn right again. So no matter where you are going it is turn right, turn right.
I was informed that there was only one more meeting of the ceramics class. I spent the entire five hours throwing on a kick wheel. I made three bowls, two coffee cups, and a tea cup. Throwing on a wheel is interesting in that at the beginning you have to use a lot of force centering and lifting the clay and near the end you have to be very careful and use a very light touch.
This morning at Starbucks I got hungry and got up to order a pastry. The rather new girl, tall and slim with a hooked nose and blond hair in a pony tail was at the till. I said, "I'll have a cinnamon twist. And could you untwist it for me?" She didn't laugh. Oh well. A moment later I noticed that she had set the roll on the counter, opened a cabinet and got out some disposable gloves, put them on and started untwisting the roll! I said, "She's untwisting the roll." Julie looked and laughed and said to her, "He was kidding. He didn't really want it unwound." She brought it to me in a bag. It was completely unwound. I said, "Thank you."
Roger got back from flying a 747 to Sydney, Australia. I asked, "How was Australia?" He said, "Beautiful. It was in the 80's. It is summer there." I hadn't ever thought about that. You fly to the southern hemisphere and you enter a different season. He said, "It's difficult to know what to take with you on some flights. When I go to Australia I dress light for here and pack something lighter for down there."
As I drove along SR305 this morning I noticed at one time that I was completely into the seeing mode, observing the whole scene as I drove. I looked at my watch. Six minutes later I snapped out of it and was back in the seeing mode. I had been lost in thought and had been giving the road minimal attention. That's how it is. I'm here, then I'm not, back and forth. It is only when I can stop thinking that I can see, hear, feel. Only then am I even slightly present. A nice quality about the seeing mode is a feeling of equanimity, a sort of pleasant indifference, not reacting to things. Everything seems to be of equal importance.
I was a little late getting to the life drawing class because they always start with short poses which I don't care for. As I approached the building I noticed some of the cars were leaving. I walked in and everyone was standing around talking. The model never showed up. I said, "Well we can model ourselves." Greg, the instructor, said, "Sure we can do that." I set my pad on a table and went to the model's stand and sat down. I sat there a while and no one seemed to notice. I got up and picked up my pad and coffee cup to leave. Greg said, "Are you leaving?" I said, "Yes. I was modeling and no one was drawing." He asked me to do it again and added that he didn't feel like drawing. So I sat down again. Greg and another guy kept talking rather than drawing which was annoying. I sat still for a half hour. The longest they ever have a model sit is 20 minutes. It was easy. I was just meditating. One woman said, "I hope you aren't setting a precedent for the rest of us." Everyone took a break around the coffee pot. During the break I said, "something I noticed while modeling was that no one was looking at me most the time. Everyone spent most their time looking at their drawing and just took quick glances at me now and then." Greg did a few 10 minute poses. No one else offered so we all left early."
What do you do when you have nothing to do? Turn on TV? Watch a rented movie? Read a book? Do you feel bored at times? Does that mean you don't know what to do? You could play cards. You could do crossword puzzles, play solitaire, or practice a musical instrument. But aren't these things mostly just to kill time? When there is nothing you have to do, you can do anything you want. It is a time you can be imaginative, creative, expand your awareness. You could decide to study the shape of your face in a mirror, follow every path across every feature with your eye. Don't evaluate or judge but just see what is there. Or you could stand still for a while and notice the fine adjustments your body is making, feel your weight shifting, the relationships of the various parts of your body to each other and to gravity, to the floor, to your feet. Or close your eyes and visualize simple geometric solids and rotate them, line them up, stack them, color them, all in your mind. Or imagine you are writing a letter to someone you had a beef with years ago, picture yourself writing the words, saying them to yourself. Listen to the tone of your internal voice as you say things. Imagine you are driving the car. What are you doing with your hands, your feet. How are you sitting? Where are you looking? Do you always get into bed on the same side? Try the other side. Take your cloths off in a different order. You can have quite a good time being creative and thinking of unusual things to do that will developer your mindfulness.
Look before you Leap
Monday, February 28, 2005. You know how people so often ask, "What are you going to do today?" or, "What do you have planned for the day?" A plan is something like washing the car, do the bills, mow the lawn, go to a birthday party, go to work, do the laundry, shop for a new car. Yet as these events take place they actually consist of a series of actions like turning on the hose, walking toward the car, spraying water on the car, putting the sponge into the bucket, etc. Or, set the checkbook on the table, open it up to a new check, look at the utilites bill, pick up a pen, write the date on the check, write the company name on the check, copy the amount onto the check, etc. The plan in the usual sense involves a rather ample portion of time. Now how about thinking of plans on a finer time scale? How about planning to reach for the coffee cup, lift it to my lips, tilt it back so that the coffee runs into my mouth, swallow, set the cup down, look up, etc. And wait until each plan is accomplished before making the next plan. That would be, you plan to reach for the cup. Now you have your hand on the the cup. Then you plan to pick it up. Once you have picked it up, then you decide to put it to your lips. Plans such as that would intensify your awareness rather than disipate it over time. Rather than sitting at a table in the coffee house while your mind is occupied with going to the post office you would be carrying out plans from moment to moment that would be appropriate for the coffee house.
I once came home and asked my roommate what he had been doing. He replied, "Oh, thinking of things and doing them."
I just got in from the shop. I was working on a cup and a face and carried out my idea of planning each little move. Of course most of the time I got lost in thinking about people and things that weren't there as we are prone to do. Then I would remember and come back to it. But it was quite an experience of clarity to plan and act in a short time frame. Refreshing.
I tried calling Tempera's cell phone number to see if it would work where she is. She is at Esalen Institute in Big Sur for a week-long course in craniosacral therapy. Janice sprang for it, which was nice of her. I got the answering service and left a message. Their hot springs used to be open to the public after midnight. I used to park up on the highway and walk down there and sit in the baths overlooking the Pacific. It was nice.
Last night I was having trouble keeping my mind on breathing and counting my breaths so I returned to my earlier practice of placing my hands on my knees and counting with my fingers as well as my inner voice. On the One inhale I would press my left little finger against my knee. On One exhale I would slowly relax the pressure. On Two inhale I would press my left ring finger against my knee, and so on. Left little, ring, middle, index, thumb, right little, ring, middle , index, thumb, left little, .... Much better concentration. I feel like I'm cheating in a way. I guess I expect a lot of my self. Like the finger counting is a crutch. "You should be able to maintain concentration without using your fingers." "Well, how about when I can't?" "Oh, well, it's okay then I guess. Go ahead." "Thanks." "Don't mention it." "I won't." "But you already did." "I know. I lied."
Here's some interior and animal pictures
Abandon Ship
Sunday, February 27, 2005. This morning at Starbucks I was looking at a drawing that Skye was doing of Rahb. It looked like the work of a four year old. All firm outlines, contained all the relevant information, not visual but conceptual, just like children draw. He had two eyes, nose, mouth, hair, beard, etc. The kilt and boots were there of course. On his right hand was some writing. Skye explained that Rahb had written on his hand, "This is not my hand." So I asked, "Is Rahb left-handed?" She said yes. I figured if he had written on his right hand he is probably left handed. I assumed that Skye's drawing had the writing on the proper hand, which was true.
The girls asked me if I could draw and would I like to try drawing a picture of Rahb. I was speechless for a moment. I realized that I can draw in a much more realistic manner than Skye but I had not observed Rahb carefully enough to draw him. I said as much. That was a lesson for me. I get so concerned about getting the drawing accurate or right that I even become afraid to draw a Rahb. People who don't think of themselves as draftsmen can just go to work and draw their ideas without any concern for visual details. When Tempera and Kimo were last here Kimo said about a friend of his who does paintings, "He doesn't torture himself by trying to do realistic pictures."
I the process of talking about the picture of Rahb they mentioned that he was leaving in a week for India. India! Jeez! And they said that this was Nadja's last day. She was transferring to the Bremerton drive-thru store where Tammy was. I asked if she had requested that and just got funny expressions. My guess is that she doesn't care for the new manager and would prefer working with Tammy again. They explained that Rahb was going to work with homeless children, orphans or something in India, not as a missionary but for something like the Peace Corps. I'll ask him about it. Sara left, now Rahb and Nadja. Rats. Oh well, no point hanging on to relations. Everything changes and everything ends.
I just saw a bit of the pre-Academy Awards thing while I ate. All the celebrities parading around. How weird. It is like a high-school girl's concern about being popular. All the women are showing their cleavages. The dress designers names are given. And the amount of money spent for one silly looking dress is staggering. What a world. I guess these awards are a huge concern to lots of people. It is kind of strange the way so many people are so concerned about things that are so remote from their lives as movies and TV programs. They are so concerned about who wins, or how the story turns out. How is it that they got so concerned? It is all fictitious.
I asked Rahb. He is going to Calcutta to volunteer at a 'school', or really it is a building, where they have homeless kids come. He said, "If I'm going to volunteer it might as go right to the pit, Calcutta. It is like eating the vegetables first." I wanted to ask him about volunteering but they got too busy. I had asked him if Nadja was moving to the Bremerton store because she preferred working for Tammy than for the new manager. He said, "Partly, but Tammy had requested someone from this store to come there so she volunteered."
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A couple days ago I discovered a method of working on any form in any medium (drawing, painting, sculpting) that works very well for me, is relaxing and effective. All it requires is the ability to sustain attention. The secret is to keep your focal point moving just ahead of where you are working and picture what you want there, particularly, in drawing and painting, how far back it should be.
The analogous thing applies to playing music. In that case you hear in your mind what you are going to play next. I suppose it could be applied to anything we do.
Here's a couple close-ups of the old guy.
Flying High
Saturday, February 26, 2005. In the book by the Tibetan Buddhist that I just bought it describes the focus of practice as "...to really come to the point where you believe in experience and stop taking refuge in concept." I'm so encouraged when I read things like that. That is how I see things more and more. What to me has been my most important discovery is the difference between thinking about things and experiencing things. I found that I shifted from perception to thinking and that the world of perception, sensing, experiencing, is so much more rich and full of newness and takes place in the present moment, where you are at the moment. Experience can only happen in the here and now. The world of thinking is all imaginary as it gives the illusion of being spread out over time with plans and memories, and it is based on conclusions and holding onto opinions and beliefs.
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I decided that I could improve the glaze-fired pieces by adding more glazes, so I'm doing another firing of the same pieces. And I am trying to get a picture of the way the shop looks when the kiln is hot. It is so cold out tonight that I just run up to the shop once in a while to look. I was just up there and there was a flash of light and a pop sound and the kiln shut off. I thought, "But it didn't look bright enough for a glaze firing," and I suddenly realized that it wasn't the Kiln Sitter but the timer that had just shut it off. I looked and sure enough, the trigger was still set. It is fortunate that I happened to be right there. I reset the timer and turned the thing back on right away so no heat was lost.
I happened to watch 'The Apprentices' last night. I hear this is one of the most popular programs on TV now. The two teams competed over a large billboard advertising some kind of video game. They only had a day or two to paint these huge designs. Executives from the game company picked the winner and the team leader of the losing team was fired. The judgment was based largely on how effective the pictures were at promoting the product. The losing team leader really didn't appreciate that. Her idea didn't include product promotion.
To me it was hardly an interesting program. For one thing, every aspect of it had to do with our culture's intense focus on man-made activities and contraptions. When I was a kid there was no such thing as TV. Now it plays a huge role in the typical American's life. And through this medium (TV) he now follows these contrived situations with great interest. The program consists of a contrived situation. The advertisements are for an entertainment device which, for my taste, based on what I learned about it on the program, is a horrible waste of time, worse than a waste of time. Like all electronic entertainment devices it is way of avoiding experiencing your real life. But in the context of the program it is a major player because the business makes a lot of money, several billions a year. This completely artificial world did not even exist fifty years ago and now it is 'what's happening'. At the heart of it all is greed, competition, comparison, criticism, fame, things like that.
This morning I was talking with Rich and I said, "China and Japan are really nothing but a bunch of words and pictures to me. There is guy who comes in here that flies planes for United. Just yesterday he told me he just got back from flying to Japan and back." Shortly after Rich left, in walks Roger, the pilot. He explained to me about how the flight paths are designed to save fuel. The shortest time usually uses the least fuel. On going to Japan they usually fly just north of the Aleutians. On the way back he followed 42 north. the prevailing winds at high altitiude at that lattitude are easterly and from 180 to 200 knots. So their landspeed was about 700mph. He said he was taking a flight today to Sidney, Australia. It will take about 14 hours. That is an interesting job. Roger says he doesn't identify with it, it is just a job he does.
Just before he left, Rich said, "Well, you're a Buddhist." I wasn't sure I heard what he said, then I realized what he had said, then I felt shocked at the idea that that was a part of my identity. A Buddhist. Wow. I had just thought of myself as a man and had been reading about Buddhism and experimenting with the practices. Rich said something like, "You look like you were just stuck with a pen or something." Ha. Just that comment and I was lost in thought. "Am I a Buddhist? What does that mean? That's an identity." Think, think, think.
What's cookin'
Friday, February 25, 2005. Opened the kiln this morning. Had a couple bowls in there. The outsides looked pretty good. There are several coffee cups and a head (or face). One cup has a little face on it.
The head suffered some cracks.
Do chairs move?
Thursday, February 24, 2005. Took the stuff out of the kiln this morning. The life-sized woman's head had a few cracks in it. I tried to fill the cracks with glaze. We'll see how that comes out. I glazed everything and put it all back in the kiln for a cone 5 firing, which is going on now. I may not go to sit with the Soto people tonight.
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Chair. I have some considerations about the relation between myself and the chairs at Starbucks. They have several chairs there, all the same design. Although the wood is different in each one, the separate parts all seem to have exactly the same shape, as though from a mold. I have no idea how you make such complex forms so exactly. Every part has curved surfaces and tapering volumes. The angles with which the parts connect are complex. One day while sitting there alone I spent some time studying a single chair. I did it largely by letting my focal point drift along edges all over the chair and went back over the same edges. I made what I would call 'mental notes' now and then which were based on collecting a series of observations and coming to some kind of conclusion. And the conclusions were something I could remember. I suppose you could call these 'conclusions' concepts.
Now these concepts are purely mental. And they are rather static. By that I mean that every time I call them up they are pretty much the same. Over time I gradually built up a mental picture, a representation, of the chairs.
I told Bill that I knew all about the chairs after the first session studying them. He asked me a few questions about them and I answered rapidly. But right after that I looked at a chair again and realized there were many things I couldn't have told him. I noticed things that I had not 'recorded' and were missing from my mental construct.
Now there is a big difference between the concepts I form, the mental image or representation I have built up about the chairs and the experience of looking at one of the chairs. Whereas the thinking about the chair is based on memory and is the same, static, the experience of actually looking at a chair is always dynamic, changing from moment to moment, and always seems fresh and new. And involves an awareness that is much richer and full than the concepts that arise in my mind.
Another thing, the concepts are general, that is they apply to all the chairs. The experience of looking at a chair always involves specific chairs. In the experiential world there are only specific chairs. You cannot see a generalized chair.
Right now I am at home, sitting at the computer monitor and keyboard. The chairs are a few miles away. I can not see them now. I can remember them. I can remember the experience of looking at a specific part of a specific chair at a specific time. Also I can think of relevant generalizations I formed, like the taper of the legs. Those have a different flavor, are less visual and can even be put into words. I want to make something of this. I want a conclusion, a judgment, a statement. Right now I can sense my tendency to treasure or grasp at concepts. I have the feeling that to 'learn' something I have to form concepts. And I have the idea that it is important to learn. I hope the reader understands me here. I am not saying that I firmly believe that it is important to learn things. I mean that just a moment ago I noticed that tendency, that impulse in my mind. It was just a passing thought, an urge. It is gone now. Right now I would say I don't see any need at all to learn very many more things.
Thoughts are actions, movements of the mind, experiences. They are not fixed things, like opinions. Yet I think we have the desire to fix things, nail them down once and for all. Make a law or principle, something we can repeat. This is fundamental to science. You collect some data, form a theory, and test it. If it seems to hold up you write it down, pass it around, talk it up, publish it here and there. The accent is on the conclusion, the law, the theory. You attach your ego, your identity as a scientist to your theory. If it is proved wrong, or even not appreciated or not accepted, you feel bad. If it as accepted and admired you feel admired. It is as though you are your conclusions, your work, your standing in the estimation of others. Well, this is a horrible illusion. You are not what other people think of you. Actually you are not even your experiences. Maybe, while you are aware of looking at something, maybe you are whatever is aware that you are looking at something. As such, this observer has no accomplishments, has no standing in the eyes of others, is totally unknown to others.
I just went out to check on the kiln. It is dramatic to stand in the shop with the lights off and see the orange lines of light on objects and on the walls of the shop as the kiln heats up. At first the heating elements glow. After a while the inner walls of the kiln are giving off light. Through a peep hole you can see the pieces being fired are glowing as well. Everything is giving off visible radiation. It depends on the temperature. The color and intensity of the light depends on the temperature. It is quite an experience to stand in the dark and look at the light that escapes through the joints in the kiln and lights up the surfaces in the shop.
As I was walking back from the shop in the dim dusk light the cat appeared in front of me. He stopped and stood there, facing the house. I stopped. He kept turning his head, as though to check on me. I realized I don t understand him at all. I don't know hat he is like. Oh I can tell stories about him and imagine I know him. But right then I didn't know him. But I was experiencing him. I felt every little movement he made.
Suddenly the dog appeared and stood beside me, looking at the cat. It was getting pretty dark. None of us moved for a while. Then I moved and the cat moved and the dog moved, all of us moving toward the house. I watched the dog's tail wagging. I noticed that I thought,"That means she is happy. That is good." Then I noticed that as I thought that I broke contact with the dog and the wagging tail. Judgment had appeared and interfered with the experience. I returned to experiencing the animals in a mode where it didn't matter whether she was happy or not, what happened, happened. I'm tempted to say that that was better or good.
Is it more important to know all about a chair or to have the ability to see a chair?
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When you feel dissatisfied with the way things are you are comparing with your image of how things could be. The image is just a dream, and one that makes you dissatisfied. I saw a TV commercial about some kind of exercise program or equipment. It had pictures of very fit women with small bellys doing exercises while a woman's voice was saying, "You can imagine the kind of body you would like to have and then get it." Oh sure. How to make yourself sick over nothing. How to be chronically dissatisfied. All over some ridiculous fiction. "Boy, if I got one of those machines I could make myself look like a Greek statue."
I can watch movies and think, "Gee, that guy is great. I could be like him. I could at least act like him, say things like he says." The guy you are watching on the film isn't that guy. It is a role he is playing. It is based on an imaginary person, a concept, a fiction. There is no such person.