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Tag: not knowing

April 11, 2012

an unknowable purpose

There is this chaotic moment in renovations where the content of rooms begin to infiltrate each others space.  That’s what happens when we instigate change: barriers drop and boundaries blur.  As a masked introvert (that’s someone who is an introvert but can play the role of an extrovert), I shy away from large gatherings, especially ones that can trigger my insecurities as a professional.  Yes, I still hold a membership in the Group for Impostors and Miscellaneous Posers (GIMPs).  So this mindfulness conference was a challenge at many levels and my only recourse was to find a sofa somewhere out of the scrum and curl up with sufficient determination to drive away all the other introverts.

The problem however is that deciding to go to a conference (after avoiding it successfully for 8 years) AND agreeing to present at it effectively precludes all the introvert’s strategies I’ve cultivated over the years.  More than that, having cultivated a practice of being aware of the never-ceasing flow of sensations meant I couldn’t even lie to myself.  Saying yes to engaging in the marketplace is by definition opting for change, being open to change, and being vulnerable to what havoc that change can wreak on the fragile self-system.

At the same time and thankfully, it opens us to confirming what is important and necessary to continue to be who we are.  Who we truly are, not the clinging fearful self who emerges when threatened with loss.

This was the space I eventually entered as the myths and misperceptions of who I am as this or that flowed around me.  These projections were the real impostors and posers yet it was disconcerting to see the constructed imaginings that had grown in the minds of others during my absence from the gatherings.  And of course, despite recognizing them as delusions, I caught myself hopping into the minds of others trying to find that rewind and erase button.  I know you’re not surprised that I was an abject failure at re-directing even one misaligned neuron.

This is the uncomfortable and crucial truth about engaging in the marketplace.  Only you will know who you are.  All else is constructed to serve an unknowable purpose.

2 comments
December 30, 2010

walking the wards

This porcelain lady has played the silent koto for at least three decades.  I had bought it for my mother as a birthday present; she collected “curios.”  At the last minute, I decided the potential of her rejecting the gift over some imperceptible flaw was too much for me to handle so I kept it.  An act of emotional cowardice perhaps but I’ve never really regretted it.  There is something about her intense and eternally focused dedication to her art that steadies me every time I see her on my shelf.  This morning, her hand fell off.  And I’ve been sitting here wondering how she’s going to manage.

Yesterday, I gathered up my jelly-like resolve and headed down to the hospital for a solo trip on the wards.  The Reverend Bosses are away although the newest Chaplain was hanging out.  We chatted for a while and I discovered how hard it is to convey Buddhism in bite-sized bytes to a non-Buddhist.  It highlighted the fact that in my professional circles, I don’t tend to share or have the opportunity to share about my spiritual practice.  Ironically, we talk tomes about mindfulness.  Mindfulness-this, mindfulness-that, and isn’t it all interesting about MB-everything.  But the topic of Buddhism and personal paths seem a conversational no-fly zone.

Armed with my trusty identity badge (I finally have a badge with a picture that doesn’t look like I’m in sore need of a bath!), I headed off into three floors of mental health units that made me regret not bringing bread crumbs so I could find my way back out.  I must have been quite the sight: ten steps forward, stop, look back, remember where I came from, don’t trust the directional arrows on the wall, proceed another ten steps.  Being directionally-challenged, I seriously dislike this form of not knowing.  Next time, I’m taking my Garmin wrist GPS.

In the last post, I mentioned that my goals for Chaplaincy have been trashed – more or less.  It’s one of those things where serendipity and desire met leading to a new path that landed me in a mental health hospital rather than the comfortably known environment of police and military service.  This is all new for me.  I had no illusions that my professional role as psychologist would allow any soft landings and I was/am determined to not reach for that set of robes.  But I didn’t count on the long-trained reflex that would have me dragging them into view.  In a conversation with a nurse, it didn’t take long for the ego to feel a need to establish credentials and haul out the sequined moon-and-stars, empire-waistline, sateen gown.  I think awareness kicked in quickly enough that only the hem and petticoat flashed.

Over in the long-term facility, I searched out a patient I had met on previous visits and wanted to check on.  “Hi, I’m Lynette.  I’m the Chaplaincy Intern?”  (Oh dear God, do you have to sound like a telemarketer!)  OK, so this is new too.  I am politely told where to go (next floor up) and as I head to the elevators, the young person sitting by window calls out.  “Hey!  Who are you?  What are you doing here!”  I suddenly realize I’m doing that “on a mission don’t make eye contact in case someone needs you outside your office” walk I learned in my previous internships.  Look up.  Make eye contact.  Be grateful someone woke you up.  She smiles; I smile and introduce myself, sounding less like a telemarketer and more like I’m a happily lost soul.  We talk at length about Monkey’s Journey to the West and she asks me bring back some books because “Buddha is awesome.”

In our conversation that wound from her holiday gifts through tears about life as it is in this moment and laughter about the antics of Monkey, I noticed a need to ask about her diagnosis, her treatment, her labels.  None of that mattered a damn in that moment and would only have served to separate us.  But my monkey wanted to know because the usual things I can reach for to create protection and an illusion of wisdom are not within range.

So today, when my Lady of the Koto lost her hand, I understood what I’m up against.

Thank you for practising,

Genju

3 comments
April 30, 2010

what remains?

Sunday, May 2, 2010
I’d like to leave this up for a few days in support of the spirit of a dharma sister who passed away this morning.

Dear Heart, you asked me once, a long time ago, as we debated hotly over David Loy and Vietnamese noodles: “Is that ‘lack’ as in mu or not enough?”

You beat me to the answer! Travel well.

Thank you for practicing,
Genju

2 comments
January 25, 2010

hotei’s finger

A long time ago, I wrote a paper on how psychology mismeasures being human.  I proposed that in its development of tests and assessments, it had taken the finger pointing to moon, amputated it from the body, placed it on a grid and took its measure.  From those data, we have come to believe that the feel, sound, smell, taste, sight, and concept of the disembodied finger is the totality of who we are.  And we ask endless questions about the validity and reliability of our ways of knowing what we are.

I got a C, I think.  The prof went on to teach at Harvard.  I have gone on to learn how to re-attach the finger to the Dharma Body.

There is much that is valuable in how we understand the world from what philosophy, psychology, sociology and all the ologies have contributed.  Still, sometimes, I try to remember that what we know is, of necessity, disembodied from the core of who we are.

So, when I see a finger pointing, I remember it is not about finger or moon; it is about orienting myself in a direction.  I follow the finger back, not up and outward into nothingness – back into the hand, arm, shoulder, heart, gut, legs and feet.  Then in reverse to the fingertip.  And, like the needle of a compass, I point in the direction of my path grounded in what I am.

A (modified) story from The Moon Appears When the Water is Still by Ian McCrorie:

Two teachers argued long about the true path, authentic texts, pure Dhamma.  A servant boy served them tea.

“And what do you do here?” asked one of the learned monks.

“I serve tea,” answered the boy.

“Where are you from?”

“Here.”

“When did you start work?”

“Now.”   The boy bowed and left.

“Perhaps,” said the monk,

“It is we guides who need to observe one such as this

whom we hope to guide for he understands more clearly than us that

the truth is not seeking more answers

but asking fewer questions.”

Thank you practicing,

Genju

3 comments
November 26, 2009

reflections

Sometimes I wonder what I look like to myself.

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately talking about how people present themselves and how they perceive themselves.  There was a long and intense discussion one night about coming to that edge of knowing and falling off into un-knowing, into a fabricated reality without any ground.  The technical term is delusion – one constructed reality reflecting back as another.

Standing in the middle of my experience, how can I know which end of the reflection I’m setting upright?


Thank you for practising,

Genju

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