Jane is Hit by a Truck

Wednesday morning opened with the sort of news nobody likes to receive:

Hi Alison,

I wanted to let you and the Wed. group know that I won't be there tonight and update you on my latest drama - it's always something with me. Last week-end Casey and I went to Palm Springs. On Friday, I was riding my bike and was struck by a car making a left as I was crossing a street in a crosswalk...

Jane

Jane 

Who is Jane? She is a member of Long Beach Meditation and a loyal member of the Wednesday Night Dharma Study and Sit group since its inception over a year ago. She is feisty, forthright and funny, known for her sharp intelligence and quick wit. She is small, with a wiry, athletic build, bangs and an alert, cheerful face. Eyes that don't miss a thing. Broad smile. That someone so full of life came so close to losing it shocked me deeply. I wrote back right away and forwarded Jane's email to the others in the Wednesday night group.

Meanwhile, I was mulling over a topic for this week's blog. I had wanted to write about driving across country from California to the East Coast with Lois and her aged pets. I thought it would be great to have Lois take the pen the week after and share how it's been for her since the trip, settling down in New Jersey. But when I called Lois to suggest this, she pointed out that next week was Thanksgiving and she was having a full house and would have no time to write. What about putting it off a week? Fine! I said. But then wondered what the heck I would write about this week. I was looking through old essays to fiddle with when someone emailed from the group wanting Jane's address. I started to email Jane when I thought it better to phone: it would be quicker and we could have a bit of a chat. 

So I called. Serendipitously, Jane answered, in a garrulous mood. As she talked so succinctly about the accident and how the sangha had come through for her, I realized here was my blog falling in my lap. I scrambled for pen and paper and started to take notes. And here is what Jane had to tell me about her experience:

Jane: My husband, Casey, and I went to Palm Springs for a few days. The day after we arrived, I went for a bike ride. The weather was perfect and the mountains absolutely beautiful. As I was about to cross a street, I remember thinking how lucky I was to be out on an afternoon like this looking at the shadows and light on the blue colored mountains.

When the cars had cleared on the street, I noticed another car across the street from me stopped with a left turn signal blinking. I decided to cross in the crosswalk, and so got my feet placed on the pedals and started across the street. 

About the accident itself, I was clearly aware when it happened. I wasn't afraid. I saw the car coming. I saw the hood coming right at me. I saw that it would hit me. I felt the impact, I saw the blue sky, and then I remember hitting the ground. I sat up pretty quickly. The man who hit me was there, and was telling me how he never saw me and that the sun was right in his face and had blinded him. He was very apologetic. I told him that I understood, things happen, and that I seemed to be ok. I’m sure he was the one to call 911.

I never did have an angry or negative thought about him, and realized that he was certainly suffering, too. I have thought about him so much and truly hope he is ok. He must be very frightened about what might happen to him. I know he got a ticket because I had the right of way. I would probably be hurting more if I were in his shoes: many times I haven’t seen a pedestrian or bike rider in an intersection because I was looking for cars, not other things.

Palm Springs golf course and blue mountains

The cops were there right away, it seems, and I was by a golf course, so there were plenty of people around. I remember saying, "I think it would be good if I get out of the middle of the street." 

But they said, "No, no, you stay where you are." 

I asked, "Could you get my cell phone? It's in my back pocket. I need to call my husband." And I told Casey I was in an accident, where I was, and that they would probably take me to a hospital so come now before they take me somewhere else.

He said I sounded like nothing had happened. 

The police interviewed me asking for all kinds of information such as driver license number, etc. and I was able to remember everything perfectly. Throughout this, I never felt frightened, upset, or angry. I wasn't the least bit distressed, I was yammering, yammering... I just concentrated on what needed to be done, and felt immensely grateful that I was alive and not paralyzed. I mean I REALLY felt grateful.

The ambulance came and they put IV's in me and strapped me to a board. They put a collar on me to stabilize my neck (I thought it was a little late for that!), and took me to the Emergency Room. When they got me there, they said, "Hopefully you'll just have a few cracked ribs." And, "Thank God you had a helmet on!"  Clearly I would have had major head injuries without that helmet. They were expecting a lot of broken bones, and kept asking, "Are you really 65?!" 

They gave me a set of very expensive x-rays. I probably got enough radiation to do me in if nothing else - CT scans etc. I was in a good mood, I continued to be calm and focused, and let everyone know how much I appreciated what they were doing. I was thanking everybody. 

After the scans, I was returned to my cubicle for over an hour with nothing else to be done until the results came back, and it was then, after the immediate crisis was over, that I begin to experience negative thoughts. Why weren’t they checking on me once in awhile? Why was this taking so long?  I wanted to walk out. I was tired and hungry and I'd had enough. Then the doctor came in to tell me I was all clear, and that I was one lucky lady. What a relief. After another hour, they still hadn’t written up my discharge papers, so I told Casey I was going to walk out if they didn’t get my stuff ready NOW! (They did.)

I went home, took a shower, we went to the Art Museum, had dinner with friends. I took myself off my medications. 

Next day I was immobilized. I had such dizziness, it took me an hour to get out of bed. I called the doctor who said, "Get back on the meds!" Monday was rough. Tuesday, I had spasms. The bruises and the scraped skin are nothing. The pain is internal, these muscle spasms. 


Alison: Has meditation helped you deal with this at all?

Jane: Yes! Here are some insights I had about what I’ve learned over the past two years with Long Beach Meditation and how it's helped.  


I was able to maintain complete clarity during the crisis. I didn’t start thinking about implications, what might happen, how pathetic I was, etc. And during this time, I wouldn’t say that I was suffering. 

Later when I had more time to reflect, when the monkey mind kicked in, and I thought about what the pain meant, how I would be affected, then I suffered. The doctor said I might get dizzy when I sit down or get up. That's a small price to pay for your life, but oh God! I ran with it. The mind started, "Do I have a brain bleed? Will it have lasting effects?" That's where the fear comes in: the dizziness wasn't nearly as bad as the implications. When I started thinking about things like brain damage and long term consequences, 90% of my suffering was from thinking unskillful thoughts and maybe 10% was from the pain in my back. Being able to label what was I was doing put the scary thoughts in the background. They were still there at times, but they weren’t running the show anymore. 

I received numerous emails from members of the sangha. I can’t tell you how touched I was by this outpouring of caring and kindness. I realized what a safe container this group of people provides. Just like Wendy said last week. It was an amazing feeling. I heard from Victor, people I’m close to in the sangha, and from people who don’t even know me. I was struck by how each and every sender said just the right thing to me. People offered to visit, bring food, take me places, let me know they missed me, share similar experiences, and tell me about books that had helped them in tough times. 

You saw what Gerald wrote: 

"If Jane's experience is not one of "waking up", then I don't know what it is!  Of course, it would not be my method of choice to reach Nirvana!!

Sigh of relief!"

That really made it flower for me. The people became catalysts for me to stop and think: there's always more to see. What an amazing group of people who truly walk their talk (or meditation in this case). I'd like to assure Victor, this is not just a bunch of sitters.

Alison: Could you talk about your meditation practice? 

Jane: I’ve been meditating about four years now - two of those using Vipassana meditation since I came to LBM. I meditate for 30-45 minutes when I first wake up in the mornings. I haven’t meditated since the accident but feel that I can get back to it in a day or so.

I became interested in meditation when I was taking a course of study in Positive

Psychology by Martin Seligman, the President of the APA. Positive Psychology deals with how people can flourish rather than just fix what’s wrong. The six month course was three hours a week plus I met with a small group in a 'pod'. (Howard Cutler, the author of 'The Art of Happiness' with the Dalai Lama was in my pod, so besides people like me, there were some real heavy hitters.) And the thing was that many of the people who were taking this course from all over the world were dedicated meditators. The research is clear that meditation and cognitive behavioral therapy have possibilities for reducing anxiety and increasing calmness.. That's how I got the idea to do this.  I thought I would give it a try because I felt like my negative thinking ran my show too much of the time. I know danger. I can tell you exactly what awful thing might happen. I thought, "This is just nutty and if there's some way to become calmer and more serene..." 

I found my way to LBM two years ago, and this place felt like home, so I’ve stayed around. I have participated in the Wednesday night study group since it started. It was there that I really got to know people, and felt like I belonged. I wasn't looking for a religious path. I was raised a Southern Baptist, and I thought if that's the best we could do, I didn't want any part of it. I remember as a little girl saying to God, "Let's make a deal. Make the moon wiggle a little bit and then I'll believe in you." The moon never wiggled and we sort of went our separate ways. I was pretty irreverent most of my life.

Alison: What else would you like to tell us about yourself?

Jane: I am a clinical psychologist, and I worked for Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health for nearly 23 years. Since the early 90’s, I have worked as a Program Director for children’s mental health programs. I retired two years ago. 

I am married, I have one son who, with his wife and three children, three redheads, ages thirteen, nine and two, live in Irvine. I babysit the youngest every Tuesday and Friday and we all usually have dinner together every Saturday evening. I am so lucky to have them close by. They’re lucky to have me too, because the price of childcare by me is just right. I like to garden, hike, the kids and family. I used to like biking... Yoga!  I do yoga four or five times a week. I'm really limber, and I'm sure the yoga helped me stretch and such. I think yoga was a really important benefit in surviving this thing so well, although I don't know for sure.

I come from Texas. I came to California when I was twenty-nine years old on a job transfer. I was so happy, so glad to get out of Texas! Being a liberal in Texas isn't a long-term survival tactic. I lived in Laguna Beach, best place I ever lived in my life. I like the freedom and the people. I could be who I was in a better way than I could ever be in Texas. 

Alison: Any last thoughts for us?


Jane: For me, it's been a fight between the old worry way, the way I want things to be and acceptance of what is. 

What is it about us (or at least me) that I keep getting into these things? It's like last summer, when I encountered that grizzly bear...

Grizzly and her yearlings

Alison: WHAT?!!                                               

Jane: Oh, everybody's heard this story.

Alison: Not me.

Jane: Okay then.

It was this past August, Casey and I were hiking in Glacier National Park. I wanted to go further, he didn't. But it's unsafe to hike by yourself, so he took me to meet up with a ranger and hike with her. Well, it was getting very cold, and she was very slow, so I asked if it would be okay if I went on alone. She said okay. So now it's Jane on the trail all alone, making noises. And I go around a corner and come face to face with a grizzly. I can see its head and shoulders. It's about eight feet above me. "Well, this isn't good," I say to myself. I turn around and go back and come across what I thought was the same bear... I walked briskly, I didn't look back, I thought, "All I can do is do nothing to provoke the situation." It took me ten minutes to get down. I never looked back. I met two men on the trail and told them, "I just passed a grizzly." One of them looked up and said, "Oh, s**t. It's a mother and her two grown cubs - and they're coming down the trail!" One of them started running. I thought, "Oh, that's not a good idea." They had cameras and took photos. The bears went on down the hill without bothering us. 

I tell you, my karma is gunning for me! I better stop being such a smart-ass because at this rate... You'd think if there's an inner Buddha, he must be saying, "I'm going to knock some sense into her. I've got a hard study here!"

I'm forever crawling through some wreckage - it's the story of my life. One day it'll get me and give me a good send-off when it happens. But I keep coming back for more, so there you go. If you even survive these things, they make a wonderful tale to tell, but the sangha has helped me see there's more to it than just a good story. 

You know, Victor's always saying, "Time's a ticking, it's time to get serious!" I was smirking, thinking Victor's right, you just never know when the Grim Reaper is lurking around the corner. We know we could get hit by a truck, but when it actually happens, it's a whole new ball-game. (It's funny, I see it as a black pick-up truck in my memory, but Casey says it was a car, a dark brown Toyota Avalon.)

So, to each and every one of you: Thanks for being there for me. And don’t wait till you’re hit by a truck to take this practice seriously.

Wendy Wakes Up The Heart: learning to come to what's already there

For the past several months, six of us have met faithfully every Sunday morning at a private house for an early morning sit. We have grown to be great friends. When I first conceived of this blog, it was these Sangha Sisters who encouraged me and agreed to share their stories with me. This week I would like to introduce you to Wendy, who has this to say about our little group: "For me, the most important thing is that we energize each other, that we have real friends to practice that 24/7 awareness so it sinks into the heart bypassing the head, and we share the absolute joy of it all."

Wendy has been meditating formally ever since her parents gave her a course in Transcendental Meditation for her 18th birthday, over thirty years ago. She claims her spiritual awakening actually began when she was five years old.

"We had just moved to an old Orthodox Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn. My mother had a new baby. One morning, I let myself out of the house without supervision and walked down the block. There I saw, in the basement of an old tenement, men wrapped in their prayer shawls, gathered in a circle, rocking and chanting. I longed to join them, but I knew I wasn't allowed, because I was a little girl. So I stood at the top of the steps, watching. Their ecstasy, peace and fellowship, the sound of their prayers... watching them imprinted in my brain forever. My heart woke up."

Given that early experience, it is not surprising that Wendy loves to chant and sit in meditation. She has spent time in India, in the same ashram, Ganesheuri Siddhapeeth, as did Elizabeth Gilbert in "Eat, Pray, Love", and many a weekend in New York at her guru's New York State ashram, Muktananda Ashram in South Fallsberg. She moved to California in 1988. She is an active member of Long Beach Meditation, the driving force behind early morning Saturday sits on the beach, and much more besides.

On Wednesday evenings, several of us meet to sit and study Buddhist teachings. Earlier this year, our teacher, Victor Byrd, was on a two month retreat in Nepal, and we were reading his excellent online book, The Bare Bones of the Buddha, in his absence.

At one such meeting, Wendy shared an extraordinary experience. These are the notes I sent out the following day:

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... We were talking about Chapter 4, the Third Noble Truth, and trying to wrap our heads around the idea that, as Victor says, "...this ego self, this palpable sense of "me" can literally die years before the body dies? I wonder how many of us even desire that kind of faith!" And we were wondering what that would look like, feel like, to be without a "me" - and then Wendy spoke up about an experience that had happened a year ago last November.

It seems the catalyst was a hurtful remark that wounded her literally to the core. It happened on a Sunday and she took herself to the sit and a voice in her head commanded her to stay: "You will not get up! You will see this through!" And so she forced herself to stay, sobbing the while. Her false beliefs in tatters: she neither defended herself, nor ran away, nor "built a better story". She described it eloquently as "sitting in a mudslide and seeing the house crash and not calling 911". She said she sat watching a self story "crumbling".

"Thoughts came up, exploded, and dissolved, as I continued to sob. I was looking at these self concepts I've clung to, and seeing the foolishness of it all."

She went home, listened to an Eckhardt Tolle tape entitled 'The sun will also die' (taped on the day of 9/11 and very powerful) and finally fell asleep, exhausted from her tears. And awoke the next morning without a sense of self. This state lasted six or seven hours and slowly dissolved back into the usual self-referencing we all do. That is all I am going to say about it, because it is Wendy's story and very difficult to put into words. The point is that someone we know - not some mystic in a cave somewhere - has actually touched this 'vast' space and was willing to share the experience. I gave you the detail on the "before" part because we all thought that that must have had something to do with it, the complete lowering of defenses.

And that is something the rest of us can do too, staying with the painful stuff, not distracting ourselves or escaping or, in Wendy's words, "building a better story" - and then I loved this bit, "not just building a better story (my usual self) but calling three or four girlfriends who will agree with my new story!"

Wendy says it has not come back, that feeling. She found it frightening at the time, but only because she had no idea what was happening or how long it would last. It seemed 'impersonal' but Sensei Ryoto told her it only seemed that way from her perspective. Victor assured her that all of us wake up every morning in that state - and then immediately put on our identities and the vastness of it all is telescoped small by identifying with our thinking mind. She also said there is no way to take any onwership of any kind, this experience was totally out of her control.

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Wendy is married; her husband is currently having ongoing serious medical issues. She is a psychotherapist with a busy (read stressful) inner-city practice. She has twin boys, sixteen years old. To give you a flavor of what that's like, here's an excerpt from a recent email:

"So, another wild week here at our house, with one boy in emergency room, (face hit a pole), then run in with police, (riding his bike at night without a light on it), and social meltdown( my friends hate me), on top of the D in Spanish. One week with an adolescent!!!!"

When Wendy saw this retreat advertised at Spirit Rock at the end of May, she immediately signed up, long before her husband's medical problems presented themselves.

October 12-19 (Tuesday to Tuesday), Spirit Rock: Cultivating Clear Seeing, Opening the Heart (limited to about 20 persons), 7-day retreat, with yoga and chanting with Sean Feit. In this retreat we will emphasize the development of wisdom and compassion through practices that help us to quiet our minds, strengthen mindfulness and lead to insight, as well open our hearts and ground us in our bodies. There will be a special emphasis on the Four Foundations of Mindfulness and the Divine Abodes--lovingkindness, compassion, joy and equanimity. There will be complete meditation instructions, sitting and walking meditation, evening talks and personal interviews, all in the context of a small, supportive practice community.

This past Sunday, Victor took a rare day off to recuperate from the Long Beach Meditation Benefit held the night before. Wendy led the afternoon sit and shared her experiences at Spirit Rock.

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Before I went on my seven day retreat to Spirit Rock, I was lucky enough to attend a three day retreat with Long Beach Meditation in Palos Verdes. [The same retreat I wrote about. In fact, Wendy and I were roommates.] It started with this group. It was a really moving experience. After that I took a plane and a bus and went up to Spirit Rock. Let me tell you, there is nothing they have in San Francisco that we don't have here. I found it's great to go away and it's great to practice right here. We have a wonderful Vipassana teacher in Victor. I have learned so much right here.

Mary and Joseph Retreat Center

I started the retreat not in a "retreat" frame of mind. I was frenzied, harried. I had had a very stressful week: a medical crisis in the family, job stress, it was a rough week. Difficult medical meetings and decisions had to be made. It's life. I get to the retreat late from work. I walk into the Mary and Joseph Retreat Center and think, "What if I fall apart? What if I have to sob? What if I'm a wreck?" The thought arose that there wouldn't be anyone in that retreat who would judge me, who wouldn't embrace me with total compassion, and that thought brought me right back to the meaning of sangha. Walking through those doors in that fragile state, with pain and suffering, would be met with total compassion by the group. The teachings of Buddhism tell us that suffering is everywhere, it's the human condition. We must turn towards our suffering, lean into it. Don't run - embrace it. Suffering can be a key, turning the lock of the door to something deeper.

At Spirit Rock, we sang a chant about it every morning - the Three Refuges. We can't cling to who we are or how we look. We can't even cling to our practice or our meditation state, whether restless or concentrated. Everything changes, like the weather. But we can take refuge, we can embrace it and find shelter.
We take refuge in the Buddha, which can mean the Buddha, or our teacher, or even the Buddha nature within.
We take refuge in the Dharma, or the teachings.
We take refuge in the Sangha, the community. The community has been so important to me, I have very wise friends here. My goodness! The wisdom in this group! In vulnerable times, it's great to have refuge. It strengthens how we serve in the world.

Yesterday Monica and Robin did a fabulous job organizing the Benefit. I bid on this photograph of the three lotus blossoms that Victor took when he was in Lumbini, Nepal. Monica mentioned she chose this photo. To me it represents the three jewels of the practice. I do say yes to spiritual materialism sometimes! I put it by my bed last night so I could see it when I woke up. I didn't have a talk prepared this morning, I've learned trying to "think" out a talk just makes me nervous. But as I stared at the photograph, a poem came to me

The Three Refuges by Victor Byrd, photographed in Lumbini, Nepal

Lean into Your Practice (The Three Refuges) 

Remember the joyful "hello"

As the Sangha greets you 

At the door when you arrive here.

After all, you deserve it.

You brought this weary body,

And dragged this restless mind

Screaming and kicking.

Even when your mind shouted, "later", "too busy", "too tired", "no."

Take in the kind appreciation offered here.

After all, how many miles have you walked

Alone on a cold winter day

To meet your heart.

Take off your coat,

Let the warmth 

Of the Sangha embrace you.

They hold the mirror of Self-love

Until you can hold it for yourself.

Make room for the Dharma.

Sweep out the dustbin of your past.

Brush off even the smallest speck of doubt

Hiding at the bottom of your shoe.

Make room for the Dharma.

Take down the trophies and clutter from your mantle.

Empty all objects,

Send them off to Goodwill.

If you can, sit like you are diving into deep water

On a hot summer day.

If you cannot, rest in appreciation anyway.

Your wave will come to meet you.

Carry the Dharma in your wallet, your handbag, your pocket.

Place it inside your instruction manual.

Let the Dharma guide you,

Although there is no destination,

The time spent lost will lessen.

Practice the teachings

Wise thought, wise speech, wise action will

Follow 

Like a faithful friend.

Let the teacher teach you.

Especially when you have had enough instruction for a lifetime.

Take the gift of your own Buddha nature.

Let it seep into your pores,

Synapses, cracks between your toes,

Until the wall surrounding your heart crumbles.

Hold this gift close.

Lean back into your practice.

Let it carry you.

Rest deeply into this place

And know

You are held by all beings and all things,

You hold all beings and all things

Holding and being held

Are one and the same.

Like a shiny penny with two sides,

Place it in your pocket

And know

This good fortune

Is yours.

The poem tells you a bit about this journey I get to take. Such good fortune.

On the three day retreat mostly what I learned about suffering is that it can lead to surrender, a deep letting go, to the practice: sitting, walking, sitting, walking, until you feel you're being held by everything and by nothing. We talk about "holding the crying baby", allowing all of it in. Something I felt was holding me and that allowed me in the meditation practice to go deeper. Let go some more. When the mind gets quiet, the heart really opens.

The path at Spirit Rock

At Spirit Rock by lunchtime on the fourth day, after a long morning of meditation, I was becoming agitated. I had made a vow - no matter what happens, just surrender to the practice. Follow the schedule, no matter what. At that point, I thought, "I'm done! I'm going to walk disconnected from my body. I need a break! I want a fast walk up in the hills, I want to forget being mindful." But the minute my foot hit the dirt, the thought came to me: "How many people have walked this path? Have sent metta to all beings? How many before, how many after... this whole ground is filled with metta. This loving kindness is holding you, every agitated cell in your body, holding it with love." By seeing everything as a gift, including the dirt path and the people who maintain the path and everyone who keeps the center going with their kindness and devotion, I could turn around and continue the practice.

You know how it is when we sit sometimes at the all day retreats. You want a quiet mind, but you get the Beatles' songs, Three Dog Night, the shopping list, something your mother-in-law said fifteen years ago running through the mind. But when we say "yes" to the practice of awareness, to observing this restless mind, no matter how painful, we are also saying "yes" to everyone in the room, to everyone who practices. We energize and support each other and that is why we have sangha.

Metta is about receiving too. Awareness can hold everything like a warm embrace. It can hold even the hardest thing and the most loving thing with kindness. When we see this clearly, the heart opens. Seeing how much we are given, of the good wishes of others, we can naturally give it back.

Divine Abidings - clear seeing Brahma Vijaras or "the eyes wide open" practice -
is the fourfold practice of lovingkindness - metta - cultivating the intention of benevolence as the orientation of the heart and mind;
compassion - karuna - the desire to remove harm and suffering;
joy - mudita - celebrating others' happiness
equanimity - upekkha - learning to accept praise and blame, success and failure

With equanimity practice and metta together, we don't distinguish between a best friend, an enemy or a stranger.
With social contact, the first thing that arises is a "me" in there who wants you to validate me, tell me, am I okay?
Using these divine abidings as a teaching is a way to be in the social world. Can I respond to the moment, leading with the heart? They tell us to cultivate this so it becomes the mind's constant dwelling place.

Donald Rothberg, our teacher on the retreat, advised us that metta needs a strong equanimity practice. We can give metta but sometimes we're attached to the outcome. Sometimes when we give metta to others, we want them to be better now, we want suffering to be relieved now - on our terms. We feel anxiety, nervousness, contraction when we cling to the idea of how it should be. Equanimity allows things to be as they are, allowing that there may be a reason for things to be just as they are.

So many days, honestly, I'd like things to be different from the moment I wake up in the morning to the moment I close my eyes at night! This mind can be filled with evaluating and judging.
I have shoulder pain. My physical therapist pointed out that I walk with my head jutting forward. I am lurching forward out of my body, energetically grasping at things, wanting, wanting, wanting. Wanting - that's the mind. We've forgotten to inhabit our body. Our mind is constantly lurching ahead of the body. So the practice for me is about coming back to the body, letting go of wanting, letting go of future, surrendering to this moment, now. I like the term "embodied presence."

At the end of the last sit of the afternoon, Wendy led us in exploring and meditating upon one of the following phrases:

Possible Phrases for Formal Equanimity Practice: 

You are the heir to (owner of) your karma. Your happiness and unhappiness depend on your actions, not so much on my wishes for you.

Whether I understand it or not, things are unfolding according to a lawful nature.

All beings meet their joys and sorrows according to a lawful nature.

Things are just as they are.

May I accept things just as they are.

May I be undisturbed by the comings and goings of events.

I will care for you but cannot keep you from suffering.

I wish you happiness but cannot make your choices for you.

No matter how I might wish things to be otherwise, things are as they are.

No matter what I wish for, things are as they are.

Self as I am, things as they are.

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I met with Wendy this week for a quick cup of tea at Bristol Farms. I wanted to quiz her on how she applies all she has learned to a life currently filled with challenges.

"What does your daily practice look like?"

Wendy: "I sit every morning, between six and eight a.m., for forty to fifty minutes every day. Some days, with more time, an hour. Then if I'm aware, I carry my Vipassana practice into the office.

I set an intention when I enter the building to be mindful. I don't always do it, sometimes I get lost in the content, but if I'm aware, I say, "Today I intend to practice mindfulness through walking, maintaining awareness of the breath and the energy in the body, observing likes and dislikes, pleasant, unpleasant, neutral, grasping and clinging, Right Speech." I choose one or two to remain mindful. Part of the discipline as a therapist is to retain mindfulness during the clinical hours, so the majority of time, I'm able to do this in a therapy session. It's more difficult to grasp Right Speech when I engage staff or co-workers in between sessions. That's where I go very much unconscious, the "me" is looking for validation. That's where I struggle the most.

At home, I practice a lot of mindfulness in my dialogue with my family. I don't want to fall into my old beliefs and patterns. They have caused me pain in the past, and the pain has awakened me to dysfunctional patterns in my own self. I try to be very mindful of speech. Teenagers, though! My worry for them overshadows my mindfulness a lot of the time. And teenagers can press your buttons better than anybody. They're right up there with the tax collector, the dentist, root canal, your mother! That's why I find my sons are the best teachers anyone can have. They hold up a mirror every day."

"Now that you've been back a few weeks, is the memory of the retreats carrying over?"

Wendy: "It's definitely carrying over. I am very grateful to have gone through both retreats. It's one of the best things I've done lately. When I was on retreat, the environment was so uncluttered. There was so much quiet to practice and observe the thought process and not get caught in the story. To be able to observe the thought process as a thought process, and see it for what it is. It gave me space in my own mind that's still working. Every time I have the thought, say when I'm at work, "I'm too tired to see another patient" or, at home, "I'm too tired to listen to my son with his writing assignment", there's space around the thought.

I'd been thinking, "I'm exhausted and overwhelmed. I've had several intense days in a row." I was getting caught in that. The retreats gave me the ability to kind of step back, letting go of thought. There's a more expansive feeling in everyday life. The retreats gave me a gateway to see thought arising: the imagery and stories are sandcastles in the air, not quite real. I observe the stress in the body as a result of buying into these stories. I see how my neck contracts, my shoulder stiffens, my body contracts, all because I've bought some concoction of a belief.

The experience of being able to be away in absolute quiet without the stimulation of email, TV, ads. No to-do list. Just empty space. It's not a "doing", it's allowing the quiet which is already there. It is learning to come to what's already there. When I spoke on Sunday I was in two minds. On the one hand, I was happy and delighted to share the love of the experience. On the other hand, I felt some concern, some hesitation to concretize the experience. Part of me didn't want to do that. So I read my poem. I wanted to fill up the time so as not to have to identify something that doesn't have a "doing" or ownership to it. Trying to explain it almost seems absurd. It is more an undoing than a doing."

On that note, Wendy had to run. She left me with the sense that that devout little girl who once stood at the top of the stairs looking down upon the praying men, yearning to be a part of their world, has come into her own, however hard her current circumstances may be. Sure enough, just last night she emailed me:

"My lovely dog Bentley and I went for a walk this morning and this Jack Russell dog broke away from his owner and tried to attack Bentley. Anyway bad shoulder and me finally lifted Bently up after some struggle. Shoulder survived struggle, not bank account. Bentley has a sprained leg according to expensive vet, and is hobbling all over the house shaking, and my inner "Jewish mother" is worrying over this 8 lb dog.
I feel so sad for the little thing."

Her heart "woke up" when she was just five years old. It has done nothing but expand ever since. Of course there is room to fold in a little eight pound dog on top of everyone else in her life: Wendy has enough love to care for the whole world. And a practice that gives her the strength and awareness to do just that.