BAD RAP Blog: Fav Info Links .. All in one spot

BAD RAP Blog: Fav Info Links .. All in one spot

Gratitude Comes From the Strangest Places

Occasionally, we hear stories about people cheating Tragedy. Like the woman who missed her flight… that later crashed over the Atlantic, or the man who went back for his wallet and was miraculously late to his job at the World Trade Center on 9/11. It seems eerie when we hear the stories after the fact, but how many times do we just miss being the victims of our own, more life-sized tragedies?

How would you know if that red light on Oak Street saved you from being in the path of a drunk driver? Chances are you wouldn’t. Or about the guy who almost robbed your house but kept going when the neighbor pulled up? The time your dog didn’t run into the busy street after that squirrel?

All of these things happen in an instant and we never see them coming.  Or they don’t happen, and we don’t have any idea how lucky we are.

And just why am I fulminating on such a metaphysical tangent, you ask? Well, says me, I feel like I just dodged a huge cosmic bullet.

Just yesterday Vitamin E and I were making our way out of the existential hell that is Wal-Mart (I know, I know. We’ll come back to that another day). It was pre-Valentine’s Day Sunday. It was packed. The parking lot was a madhouse.  I had NO earthly idea where I had parked.

Vitamin E rode in the cart, perched like a pasha on top of one of those great big balls that are only found in freestanding cages in big box stores.  He chattered happily and we wandered.  We wandered some more. Then suddenly, E fell silent.  He had seen him too.

The Creepy Guy.

The Creepy Guy had been following us, hither and yon, as we snaked through the rows trying to find our trusty Red ‘Ru. The Creepy Guy was blatantly staring at us. My Spidey Sense was tingling. The hair on my neck was at attention. I was already considering what I would do in any number of possible scenarios and wondering how much of my 13 years of martial arts training would come back to me in the middle of an adrenaline dump.

A tiny miracle, our Subaru appeared ahead. Vitamin E and I exchanged a few calm but serious words and he scrambled quickly into the car. Creepy Guy passed through our row, maybe two cars away, and began conspicuously looking for a vehicle.

I hastily tossed our stuff in the back of the Ru, closed and locked the car, and quickly shuttled the cart into the little corral, which was, tiny miracle number two, in the next space over.

Creepy Guy circled back.

He was like a tall, malevolent Wayne Newton infused with Unabomber DNA. I can’t explain it, but there was just something wrong wrong wrong about the dude. He was dressed all in black – with black sunglasses. His hair and mustache looked dyed black as well. He had flashy sunglasses. It wasn’t any of that, though. It was just that his overall presence - his energy - shocked my primitive fight-or-flight lizard brain out of a deep sleep and straight into threat level orange.  My mommy synapses were crackling. 

I ducked into the car and locked the doors instantaneously.  I could hear my heart beating. I felt like I was breathing water in a giant metal fish tank.

Creepy Guy turned abruptly and, eyes on us the entire time, walked straight to his car, which was parked right behind mine. Was he just lost and wandering too? If so, why the stare? And why wasn’t he carrying anything in his hands? No shopping bags, nothing.

I waited for several long moments. I wasn’t about to pull out and let him get behind us.

He finally pulled out, still looking in my direction, mouthing some clearly nasty but inaudible words as he did so. As we sat in cue behind him, I wrote down the make/model and plate number of his car.

Later, I called and reported the “incident” to the Wal-Mart manager (who had an incongruous Australian accent) and local police, both of whom were very polite and seemed reasonably concerned. The cop said he was going to run the plate number but that’s all I know.

What was Creepy Guy after? Me? My child? Something else?

Were we ever in real danger at all, or was it just me being paranoid? Did we cheat Tragedy? I don’t know and never will, but 36 hours later, I’m still creeped out by it and it’s taking my mind to some dank and horrible places whose names all start with “What If?”

So tonight, I watched with extra attention as Vitamin E completed his homework. I marveled in the subtle copper shine of his hair and the way it curls around his ears, enveloped myself in the happy familiarity of how he chews the inside of his lip ever so slightly when he’s concentrating. I am in awe of his skin and his laugh and his twinkly eyes and of his perfect imperfect seven-year-old-ness.

I am grateful, grateful, grateful.

Was the “incident” a real danger? I’ll never know. Was it a gift? Definitely. 

Workin' on it.

...So we’ll explore that itch and learn to stay, when it’s itching or not itching. Your mind will go crazy: “If I don’t scratch this I’m going to be seriously ill, I'll go stark-raving mad.”   ... “This is really stupid! I mean, what’s the problem with itching?”

- Pema Chodron, Getting Unstuck

So tonight as I was getting ready to sit, I wondered to myself about the appropriateness of wearing a baseball hat while meditating. On the one hand, it seems as if it could be disrespectful, but on the other hand, what is it, precisely, that I would be disrespecting? Buddhism isn't a religion and, in many ways, nothing is sacred.

From a practical standpoint, however, I can now tell you that when it comes time to bow and touch your forehead to the floor, the hat is most decidedly a problem.

Valuable life lessons. Yes indeed.

I spent some time today contemplating the practice of Tonglen. A grossly oversimplified explanation is that Tonglen meditation is the practice extending of your circle of compassion to others. You start by extending your compassion to people with whom you feel a kinship - people who are facing the same pain that you are. Some hospices encourage AIDS patients to do Tonglen for others who have AIDS. This connects them in a very real way with everyone in their situation and helps to relieve their shame, fear, and isolation. It works that way for just about everyone.

The idea is to keep expanding your circle of compassion to include more and more people. Where it gets interesting is when, in the course of your practice, you run up against people that you really, really, REALLY want to poke in the eye with a flaming stick.  In my case, Michael Vick would be an excellent example.  Can I put my judgment and my ego aside and sincerely wish that Michael Vick will find real and lasting peace and happiness?

Um... no. No I can't. Not even close. But I honestly believe that it would be better for my heart and mind if I could.

Baby steps. Maybe I'll practice on Ben Rothlissberger...

Day two... er... Three

DAY TWO. [Poof! Gone!] Amazing how that happens.

DAY THREE.

Thinking about how Day Two got lost in the Great Blender of Life, I was inspired today to be mindful about where I was and what I was doing. We don't realize it, but we let our life slip by with our constant preoccupation with things that take us out of This Moment.

I remember reading something by Thich Nhat Hanh, in which he was talking about being mindful in everyday life. About putting away your groceries and feeling the frozen crunchy pea-ness of the frozen peas as you put them in the freezer. Feeling the warm soapy soap as you wash the dishes. In my case, I like to contemplate the impossible thickness of my dogs' fur while I pet them, or listen to my child breathe.

It's hard to stay in the moment [Damn you, Mind Monkeys! Damn you all to Hellllll!]. It's hard enough when you're sitting on your cushion and focusing really, really hard. In regular life, when that [expletive deleted] guy cuts you off in traffic, you come right out of your Zen place, dontcha? I know I do.

So I'm grateful for this 28 day challenge. It's going to remind me on a daily basis to breathe into that proverbial paper bag and remember that that jackass in the Volvo is actually just like me.

Namaste', y'all.

Day One: Sitting With the Monkey

"Get Comfortable." That is the first impossible instruction. [laughs]
- Pema Chodron

Today is the first day of a 28 Day Meditation Challenge issued by renowned meditation teacher and author Sharon Salzburg. I'm going to try to jump right in by meditating 20 minutes a day, every day. The challenge as Sharon has it laid out, however, has a goal of getting to that daily sit by the end of the 28 days. Week one suggests a goal of three sessions. 

Thanks to Feministing for this link to a free download of the introduction to Sharon's book, "Real Happiness", the full version of which explains meditation practice and offers a helpful week-by-week outline for the challenge.

DAY ONE

So, with that preamble out of the way, let me share my first day's meditation experience.

My little home altar has been sitting neglected for a good while so it needed a bit of tidying. In a house with three dogs and two cats, a zabuton can collect a shocking - SHOCKING - amount of fur. I'm not showing you a "before" picture. Oh, no no no!

Dust and fur banished, I set up the altar, lit my incense, bowed, and settled in with my nifty new Android timer app. Digital Buddhism - why not?

The sitting part wasn't so bad. Apart from a couple of sudden-onset itches - the kind that only happen when you're not in a position to scratch - I was surprisingly comfortable.

The staying present part, however, not so much. I tried ever so hard to stay with the breath and count to ten. I got as far as twelve more than once. A lot more than once. I had the idea to write a blog and got off on a fun little tangent about that. I watched the changing direction of the smoke as it curled up and away from the stick of incense (pretty!) and thought about weather stripping. STAY! I commanded myself.

I counted to twelve again.


I was in the grip of what meditators call "Monkey Mind". It is characterized by a metaphorical monkey running away with your thoughts and flinging intellectual poo around the room. It's quite distracting, as you can imagine.

In theory, you can banish this monkey - if only temporarily - by noticing it. "Screech! Screech!" [fling] says the monkey. "Thinking" say you. POOF! goes the monkey, vanishing in a Nag Champa scented cloud of concentration. You start counting your breaths again.

By the time you get to, say, five, the monkey is peeking around the corner and planning his next attack.

Meditation is like this. Whoever tells you meditation is about being blissed out is a lying liar with their pants on fire.