Zen moment

Sonoma Mountain Zen Center has been on my list of places to visit for a long time – years – but somehow I’ve just never managed to get up early enough to make it up there in time for the 5:15 (that’s a.m.) meditation. Last Saturday I finally did it – not at 5 a.m., but at the completely reasonable, even civilized, hour of nine o’clock in the morning.

I had learned from a closer reading of the daily schedule that on Saturdays, you can join the group for a half-hour of sitting followed by a dharma talk and lunch. That sounded very doable, and I decided on Friday that I wanted to go, even called the center to make sure I was clear on how to get up there. Then Friday turned into Friday night, which then became Saturday ... and by the time I got to bed I was so tired I fell asleep thinking, “Well, there’s always next week ...”

But for some weird reason I was wide awake again by about 7:30 on Saturday morning. I considered going back to sleep again, but I was so awake that I decided, what the heck – I’ll get up and go after all.

The drive up was gorgeous. We finally got a little rain, so everything had been freshened up and re-greened. The sun was out but heavy clouds were still moving across the sky, and the narrow road up the mountain was walled with mossy tree trunks and little baby ferns, all sparkling with raindrops. At the place where the road washed out last year I parked the truck and walked the last half-mile or so up to the center. I passed some beautiful houses, including an old wooden farm house with a wrap-around verandah that made me want to cry, it was so exactly the image of the kind of place I’ve always imagined myself living in.

Cutting to the chase: I arrived at the center, which consists of another farm house, several residents’ huts, outbuildings, paths, gardens, trees, flowers, a big giant bell under a canopy, and the zendo where I met with one of the resident teachers for instructions before the 10:30 meditation. After that I wandered around the grounds a bit, drank a little cup of water, and went into the hall to sit.

It was hard. Even just a half-hour of sitting is hard if you’re not used to it. What I wanted to write about was just how amazing it felt to really watch my own mind, which I like to think of (despite all evidence to the contrary) as being so calm and serene, writhing and squirming and jumping and wandering like a caterpillar speared on a pin, or a horse being broken, or a mesmerized person reaching for a glowing ball of flames ... It was bizarre! I mean, I kind of sit on my own, at home, but I’m so undisciplined I really don’t get much out of it most of the time. This was different.

And it was exciting. I felt really aware of everything – the wet-hair shampoo smell of the person sitting one one side of me (who I could not see, since we were all facing the wall), the huffing and puffing of the person on my other side who came in late, the contented sigh he let out when he finally caught his breath and relaxed, birds, squirrels, raindrops, the wind, the wet cedar smell under the window I was facing, the patterns in the grain of the wooden wall – two knotholes that looked like flowers in a vase, a place where the wood had split and left a sharp blade-shaped piece sticking up, candles being lit behind me (seen reflected in the window) ...

The most alarming sensations were in my own body. This little itch that just wouldn’t go away ... first it was next to my nose, then on my lip, then my forehead, then my ankle started to hurt a little, then the itch was back on my face again. Excruciating! What I noticed even more than the discomfort was how utterly desperate I felt when I reminded myself that the whole point of sitting there was to pay attention to my mind as I experienced the discomfort without trying to change it.

And yet, sure enough, just when I thought I was going to have to scratch or die, I would suddenly find myself thinking about what I might like to have for lunch, or wondering if the person next to me thought I was a good meditator, or designing and redesigning a certain pattern I want to paint or embroider onto this beautiful brown linen fabric I’ve been saving ...

There were a few wonderful moments when I did have what I consider a “successful” or at least enjoyable experience of meditation – moments when I really was just in the moment, noticing myself being there and feeling very open. “Spaciousness” is one of the words people use to describe this feeling, and it does seem like the right word – I just felt myself being there, aware of myself in that space without really thinking or worrying or wanting to change anything. You don’t really have to sit facing a wall to have that feeling, but cutting out all the distractions for twenty minutes or an hour or whatever every day does help me to recognize it when it comes, and hopefully becoming more familiar with it will help me to find it more often in my walking-working-eating-creating-everyday-living life.

Something else I noticed when I was enjoying feeling so open and calm and clear was that even though I was finding it really pleasant to be in that mindspace, my mind still didn’t want to stay there. In the absence of an itch or an aching hamstring or the need to cough or sneeze, I would enjoy that quiet openness for only a few moments before I would notice my mind scanning for something to grab onto. Does my scalp still itch? No. My shoulderblade? No. Well, then, are my feet getting cold? Are my legs uncomfortable? Hmm, maybe a little. Once I had identified a new “problem,” I proceeded to hunker down with it and then gradually escalate the freakout about it – until the next thing caught my attention.

It might not be all that interesting for other people to read about, but to me it’s fascinating to see my own mind at work, and to see how really restless and impatient it is while at the same time frequently wanting to seize upon some feeling or idea and hold onto it forever ... You can’t do both – hold onto something and also move on to the next thing – it creates a lot of tension, and I think practicing mindfulness is helping me learn how to recognize when I’m doing that, which helps me to calm down and come back to the present, at least for awhile.

New topic: Mr. A is away again for a few days, and I am taking advantage of the time alone to organize my room and work on some design projects.

Hmm. Don’t really want to write about that. Right now I’m listening to some music that I first got when I was in college, and it’s reminding me of a way I used to feel, that I miss feeling. I don’t listen to music very much these days, or the radio, either, and when I do I notice it has a really profound effect on my mood and memory. Mr. A likes to have the tv on almost all the time – he says he feels lonely in the house without some noise in the background – so for me it’s always a relief, in a way, even though I miss him, to be alone again and be able to relax into some silence. Gray and white quiet, with bare brown trees and winter birds and coyotes across the road at night, howling into the fog. And sometimes, a little music.

I am enjoying this winter.

Listening to:
Alex de Grassi – Turning, Turning Back