Previous: muddy waters

Autopilot

Losing sight of who we are is an easy skill to develop.  In fact, we tend to practice clouding our vision as a daily way of being.  In order to get things done, we live much of our lives on autopilot.  We walk into a room and forget why we went there.  We go to the grocery store for milk, buy a bunch of stuff, and forget to buy the milk.  We set out on our daily drive to work and can’t remember much of the trip there.  We feel frustrated with our aging or preoccupation.

Bring to mind your day.  When you woke up, were you aware of that moment of growing awareness of what it feels like to be in bed or were you already caught in the activities of the day to come?  As you were showering, were you feeling the water on your body or were you already wondering how to get breakfast ready for yourself, your partner and/or your children?  At breakfast, were you already in the car?  When driving, were you already at that meeting with the boss or colleague that you were dreading?  At any given time in the day, we are likely living a time zone or two away.  Yet, if asked, we would probably say that we’re very aware of what we’re doing and where we’re going.  We have maps, lists, plans, and beeping reminders on our computers or phones to tell us where we are in time and space.  In fact, we get indignant if we’re told we’re not paying attention.

Just as the eye cannot see itself and the hand cannot grasp itself, it is hard for us to be aware of who we are in each moment.  The busy mind carries us away at the speed of thought and we live in a world where that busy-ness is valued as something positive.  At the same time, multitasking and rapid information processing is a necessity in our fast-paced world.

The problem is not that so much is going on in this moment.  That’s the nature of mind; it’s a busy place that’s been described as being like a monkey that’s drunk and been stung by a bee.  It swings rather wildly at times and there’s no predicting where it will end up.  Problems arise when the peripheral issues trip up the primary intention.

Next: trains

I’m not sure if I’ll have internet connections over the next two weeks.  Then again, diving into the Upaya Chaplaincy Program may not leave me with much time to submit missives from the front!  So, anticipating the latter, I’ve set up the first chapter of the guidebook for our mindfulness program as a series of posts.  I hope you find it useful.

How mysterious!
The lotus remains unstained
By its muddy roots,
Delivering shimmering
Bright jewels from common dew.

Sojo Henjo

Muddy Waters

Our mental life is like a glass filled with water and mud.  Sometimes the contents are still and settled.  We can live adequately with the fact that parts of our life are clear and other parts are mucky with slime and ooze.  In fact, many Buddhist teachers say that slime and ooze is crucial to our personal growth.  Lotuses begin their life in the mud, cradled and nourished there until the blooms rise above the water clean and untainted by the messiness under water.  It’s an inspiring image because most of us aspire to rise above all the inner turmoil and “ickiness” to be beautiful.  We want to be able to roll with the punches, share in the joys of others, and take in a beautiful sunset.

Sometimes, the contents of the glass are stirred up.  When we experience anger, anxiety, depression, frustration, grief, loss, or some challenge to our perception of ourselves or others, mud and water mix to form a system that is murky.  In these moments, we lose sight of the clarity of water and all we see is a mess of mud.  Whatever we have encountered seems to be the entirety of our being.

In the poem, The Guesthouse, Rumi asks us to invite in as guests depression, meanness, dark thoughts, shame, and malice as a way of learning from these experiences.  However, when we are overcome with such muddiness, it feels like these visitors have taken up every nook and cranny of our mind with no room left for love, compassion, joy or kindness.  In fact, we can become quite convinced that the clarity of the water that we saw over the mud was an illusion and the muddy mixture is the absolute reality.  We come to believe the worst of whoever has hurt us.  The roadblock in our career path takes on monumental proportions.  The consequence of a lost contract or upset client becomes a catastrophe that will threaten our lifestyle.  The end of a relationship or of good health seems like the end of our life.  In that mental state, we take our unskillful actions as evidence of our unworthiness.

Next: Autopilot