25 October 2009 - Quiet Regathering of Powers

In the backlit room,
Finger touching finger,
Posture tilts.

Moving now from a place where I was lapsing, I am still lapsing. But lapsing with much more enthusiasm. Lapsing without any dread that I might not continue. Lapsing with clarity.

I have written once in the last few days. But it was very good. It was both solid and free. It was not spontaneous chatter. I wrote a bit about my days in Vienna, back in 2002. Self-indulgent, past-attached memoirs. The grammar was sub-par. Stylistically it was superficial and smacked of middle school writer's workshop. But I had fun, and I love what I wrote. And I feel the need to write more.

It expressed something. Note the comparison with spontaneous chatter: I felt free, not because I did not have to follow any linguistic rules, but because I was free to write about what I wanted to at that moment, in the way I wanted to. No attention to greatness or grandeur or enlightened consciousness. Just what was available to write about at that moment. Sustainable, local writing.

I still want to keep a place for spontaneous chatter, stream of consciousness, whatever you might call it. But I think for the time being I need to put it out in the pasture. Give it and myself some time to figure out how to ride before saddling up again.

I fell into the weekend trap, of course, so I have lapsed yesterday and today. I feel ready and willing to write more tomorrow.

Also: sometimes I am concerned that reading too much will secretly weigh my writing with the voices of other authors. I am not concerned about that at the moment. I feel that this new way to write free also ensures that I write me. I will still be observant.

Who am I reading right now? Willa Cather. Also Alan Moore, but I don't feel any potentially infectious quality in his style.

21 October 2009 - Reboot

Circles on the ground.
Circles right under me.
Straight line. Point. Stop.

I have burnt out. Writing has become a chore that I am now avoiding. Somewhat successfully.

This is okay. I will rest if I need to, or start again right away. But I will start again.

I think it's because I set up too much of a monolithic parameter. Too much of a rule. If I am not stopping my pen because it's a rule, not making the rule my own, then I wear myself out. It's that simple. I need to make the rules my own.

Let me remind myself.

Why am I writing?

I write because I want to create something for other people. I have a voice, I have visions and ideas and thoughts and diatribes, and I want others to know them. Writing can be a human excretion like all the others. Writing is a shared bodily fluid.

I write because I write. The meaning of writing is just writing.

Anything can be a gateway into the timeless, into the undifferentiated truth: I pick writing because it is familiar to me, a tool I grew up using.

It's simple and cheap. I do use up a lot of ink and paper, but it's not that much in the end.

Maybe what I need is to find peers? I have this bad habit of trying to develop skills in isolation. Human interaction is vital for any activity. Isolation is good in itself, but it needs to be balanced.

I avoid this step in a lot of my enterprises. I think it's time to start looking into a writing club or something. This blog is a good first step. On to the next one.

18 October 2009 - What Makes Writing Free?

The light on the wall
Either comes from the sun
Or from nothing at all.

I must report that I've lapsed a bit this week. On Thursday I did not manage to sit down and write at all. There was essentially a single thirty minute period in which I could have sat down, but I did not use it. I was aware that I might use that time for writing, but I chose to relax instead. I had a long day. I woke up a bit earlier than normal, and I ended up working for almost 10 hours. I'm not listing these circumstances in order to blame them. I only want to observe that I was probably setting myself up to being susceptible to a "tired" mindset, believing that I deserved a break. Though these thoughts didn't necessarily cross my mind in so many words.

I didn't write yesterday, either. Again, I could have written, but I didn't. In fact, after lounging around in the morning, I ended up rushing and skipping a lot of other things I needed to do, also, in order to make it to Albuquerque to go to a dance workshop I had promised Alexa I would go to. And this is also not an excuse: I don't think I've written a single line on Saturday since I've started this practice.

And to top it all off, I am writing this entry on Sunday instead of Friday. But I have been thinking that Friday is perhaps not the best time to schedule writing for my blog, as I will not always have the day off, which has been the case for the past few weeks, but not this past Friday.

So, back to the drawing board on that. Sunday makes much more sense. So Sunday it is. Will Tuesday work from now on? I would like to space my blogging times out a bit more. Wednesday or Thursday would seem to make sense. I will shoot for Wednesday, see how that works.

So why am I lapsing?

Suzuki Roshi, in Zen Mind Beginner's Mind, suggests to zazen practitioners that if zazen is becoming a struggle, is feeling like a chore, it means you are projecting too much onto it. It means you are looking for things that it cannot give you and feeling disappointed.

I believe I am doing this with my writing practice. I am relying too much on results. In my last post, I explained how much I had accomplished with it. Maybe this set up an expectation that was not really grounded in the effort, in the joy of writing in itself. Maybe I was then looking to my writing as a way to feel good. I can't say exactly, but it seems likely, and I had better observe myself carefully.

There is also the matter of how I am writing. I am learning that there is no such thing as spontaneous, free writing. Stream of consciousness writing, the spontaneous chatter I wrote about earlier, can only result from a deliberate effort. I am a complicated being with a potential to act in many different ways. Not shaping my phrases or adhering to grammar is one out of many possibilities. By selecting that particular writing mode, I am shutting out others. Of course, to shut out the many by choosing one thing is unavoidable. Freedom is not somehow delving into every method at once; that would be impossible. Freedom in writing is using whatever method is most appropriate in the present moment of writing. How is that achieved? By not maintaining a division between my self and the act of writing.

So by choosing spontaneous chatter, or at least by maintaining the belief that I should always try to use spontaneous chatter, I am trying to control my writing. This is fine. It's not a waste of time. But it's not free.

I think my bias towards chatter comes from my old practice of "Morning Pages," an exercise recommended by Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way. It is similar to my Natalie Goldberg-inspired present practice, but not identical. The intentions are different, and I need to keep that in mind. Cameron's practice was more about releasing unconscious material, giving yourself a break from judgment and censorship and allowing creative material to emerge.

Again, this is similar to my present practice. But if I think about it, my goal is a little different. In Cameron's practice, writing is a means to an end. I am trying now to understand writing for the sake of writing. Of course I could benefit from the practice of not judging, of not censoring, but that is not my current goal.

I think, ultimately, the two practices could merge, and there does not need to be much of a distinction between them, but for the time being I am going to say that it is not necessarily my goal to break down barriers and suspend judgment.

I want to write for the sake of writing, and that alone.

Before I sign off, I also want to note that incorporating my writing practice into the rest of my life is another thing to pay attention to. But I don't have time for that. I need to go write.

13 October 2009 - Wholeness & Enthusiasm

Facing the wind
Losing its leaves
A tree drinks a few drops.

Note: writing on the computer is going to be a little awkward from now on. I have lost the use of my "R" key. I have handed over all the "R" producing responsibilities to my Caps lock. Most awkward aspect: hitting "A" when I mean to hit "R," and vice versa.

Writing continues. Of course it still does not have the same weight in my mind as the Zazen. I find myself putting my writing time off every now and then, waiting until the last moment. Of course, there's nothing really wrong with that. Ideally I like to get things done in the morning, but I tend to be a little more open, a little freer in the evenings. So I'm not going to enforce any schedules at this point. If I do force myself to sit down, it's because I've decided I won't have any other time to reliably get it done.

Wholeness. I mentioned it in the last posting. It's always there, but so elusive. My mind wants so much to fragment itself. It especially loves to find faults and problems. As if it would be the most terrifying thing to discover that I have everything I need, and everything is in working order. But so it discriminates. I think to fight that with more judgment would be missing the point.

And as a matter of fact I do feel like I reached a place of wholeness yesterday. What was it like? Rather than trying to fill up space, or to tackle a problem, I allowed a certain rhythm to take over. It's most striking characteristic was that I found it infinitely fascinating. I almost couldn't stop. I went considerably over my 30 minute limit, in fact. What was this "rhythm"?

It goes on for pages, and I'd like to leave most of it to itself.

But it started with this: Did you ever catch a weasel when he's hallowed in the lane?

I followed that with a rhyming line, in the same meter, and then another one, and another one, for about 2 pages and 15 minutes. It was a poetic frenzy. I repeated myself a lot, but it didn't feel very "stuck," because there was a good sense of flow. I don't feel like I exhausted it, either. I feel like the theme could be taken up again and again, and I would come up with something new every time. Of course, it helps that there are a boatload of words that rhyme with lane.

However I might frame this experience, it was one of the first times I've felt so much energy come out of my writing exercises. I've been given a taste, and I feel eager to continue. It finally seems like there's something down there. I feel like there's something I can actually create. And it is abundantly clear that the reason I got this glimpse is through observing the difference between demanding and ordering content for myself and noticing what demands and what orders arise naturally. This is a practice of acting with my whole self, rather than the segments as mentioned above, and it's why I want to continue with this practice.

9 October 2009 - The Kinds of Chatter

I began writing this entry following the plan I had come up with for this blog: I write a paragraph or two about my meditation practice and my writing practice, and then add any extra thoughts afterward. After beginning a discussion of zazen positions, I realized that I was talking too much about something it would be best not to talk all that much about. I'm not saying I'm deciding I can't write anything about zazen, but I feel strongly that I should take extra care in deciding what to write about. I don't want to get in the habit of associating zazen with chatty narratives. I feel that would be more of an obstruction to my practice than a boost.

So I have a new plan. I'll stick with the chatty narratives about writing, as you'll see below. But for zazen I'm just going to write three short lines. I can't say I've invented this entirely on my own: this is essentially how Haiku are translated into English. Article format does not seem to be the proper format for talking about the time I spend attempting to transcend conceptual thought.

In the unlikely occassion that there are questions, or requests to write about a specific topic, I'd be happy to respond.

Here I go. I'm no bassho.

My knee rests on a pillow.
Counting the exhalations.
White plaster, thoughts mixed together.

Writing

I'm timing myself for 30 minutes every day. Most days. I've been missing some weekend days. I write in a college-ruled notebook, following the lines but ignoring all the margins. I want the pages full. I am not allowed to stop the motion of my pen. It's been over a month now, and the notebook is almost full. I'm running low on ink, too. It's a physically demanding exercise, on my body and my resources. Supposedly the muscles of my right hand will be fierce if I keep this up.

I mainly write in what is now the sewing room and guest room. It's the only suitable table in the whole house, actually - the only surface at a decent height that I can sit next to in a chair as at a desk. If it's before dusk I roll the curtain open and write in natural light. If it's too dark, I switch on the light. It's a fluorescent bulb, so it takes a couple minutes to reach its full brightness.

I've tried a couple pens. I think a fountain pen would be best, but I don't have one at the moment. I use Pilot G-2s, my favorite cheap pen, anyway. I have a nice Cross, but the ink is too expensive, and I feel that it bleeds too much for this type of writing. It's got a nice and fluid feel to it, but my letters end up a little pudgy and clumsy. I need trim, crisp lines or my writing is completely illegible. G-2 fits that bill.

When I first began, I wrote a frantic stream of consciousness. It was tiring and dizzying. Sometimes I would get agitated, and often the agitation would turn my letters into monsters, gigantic, fitting on maybe 5 or 6 lines, rolling up and down the page like in a Japanese horror movie. Usually the mutant energy would run itself out and fit inside the lines again. Eventually I began writing more coherent thoughts, here and there. It comes in waves. I will write at least some non-grammatical free association every day.

In fact, I feel a definite push-pull between my spontaneous chatter and my ordered chatter. The spontanous chatter is writing without thinking, whatever happens to either pop into my head, or what flows out of my pen when my head happens to be empty of verbal ideas. A lot of it ends up as word association. I end up rhyming a lot, apparently. Occasionally there is a lot of repitition. I'll write a word or a phrase over and over again for a few seconds. Sometimes I write complete nonsense, often beginning with a real word and then tacking on endings, like cancerous Latin conjugations, until it has lost all meaning. Taxationilizificatorumorianononionus. Why? It's actually kind of fun. Try it. And remember: I can't stop writing during this exercise.

I will sometimes write in other languages scripts, but I draw the line at actually drawing symbols or doodles that are neither verbal or numerical.

By ordered chatter I mean writing down the chain of thoughts I have. This type of writing is more about my thinking self, my personality. Where the spontaneous chatter is whatever pops into my head in an immediate, right-brain way, ordered chatter is what my left brain comes up. It's whatever thougth pops into my head: things I need to do, memories, complaints, issues. Eventually it almost always ends up being an attempt to tackle a problem, somewhat like a discussion with a therapist, but not always so. Sometimes I just plan what I'm going to do when I'm done writing. Sometimes I think about what I had for lunch that day.

At first I looked at the ordered chatter as an evolution out of the spontaneous chatter. I look at it more as a counterpart. Of course the ordered sentences and complete thoughts of the ordered chatter are more understandable to others, and to my future selves who might reread the notebooks. But they are just as aimless, just as much an indication of a disconnect between left and right brain. My goal is to touch the whole.

But more on that next posting.

6 October 2009 - Introduction

I am writing this blog in order to keep a record of anything I commit to as a daily practice.

I have decided to live my life centered around such unending, daily practices. I find that this is the only way for me to do anything consistently and wholeheartedly. To give myself shelter from an activity creates a space in which I can insert my momentary whims and attachments, indifference, disgust and a whole host of other things between myself and the task at hand. Endless practice does not eliminate feelings; instead it simply reflects a conscious and final decision not to accept them passively. It is the decision to follow and watch all decisions, efforts, feelings, thoughts, inclinations, fantasies, passions and everything else; and like a parent, not to allow them to be at odds with one another, not to quarrel and feud and exclude one another. It is to keep one's self whole at all costs.

I am entirely inspired here by the Soto school of Zen Buddhism. I think the tipping point was when I read Dainin Katagiri Roshi's collection of essays, You Have to Say Something. In the appendix where he describes how to practice zazen, sitting meditation, he begins by saying: "First of all, you have to practice zazen everyday." This was a powerful sentence to me, and I guess it soaked me pretty thoroughly.

He's not suggesting that zazen is good for you, and therefore it would be good to do a little bit everyday, the way that a doctor might tell you to exercize everyday to get the best benefits for your health, or the way you're told to practice the piano everyday, or Spanish, in order to become proficient. Katagiri Roshi is saying that in order to practice zazen at all, you have to practice it everyday for the rest of your life. No joking. It is a commitment of now and forever.

I was kind of caught, actually. I was maybe a week deep in my 32 day wade into Zen at Chokaisan Kokusai Zendo, up on a hill in Akita, Japan, and I had decided I would give it as good a shot as I could. And now Katagiri was saying, to take on zazen means to take it on forever. I could not help but notice there was no way out of it. If I was to take Zen seriously at all, it would be for the long haul. Otherwise I was not giving it a fair shot.

What's so strange about this is how easily I took up that idea. I always look for the way out, the safezone; I relish coffee breaks, lunch breaks, tea breaks; I extend vacations; avoid seeking employment, even. I'm terribly attached to free time. But this makes perfect sense, and I have no serious resistance to offer it at all. I sincerely feel like I can see this through.

And so my practice has been unbroken since then. I will not break it. One minute is even enough. Being sensible about it, and practical, means making a little bit of a big deal out of it: finding a good spot, a good cushion, a good time of day, making sure I'm not drunk and not too full, and sticking to a set amount of time. It's simply good sense to try to establish a workable routine to give the practice momentum and a support structure. But the thing about zazen is that you can do it for one minute, and it's still zazen. No matter how busy you are, you can find one minute a day to sit down and not do anything. That's practice, still. Even if I'm drunk and nearly vomiting from junk food. It's still attention and care and concern, the roots of consistency. Zazen is always the same, and by sticking with zazen, I can see what sticks around in myself.

I hope I'm not turning people off by appearing as a zealous convert to a new religion. I sort of am, but I don't identify as a Buddhist, at least not yet. I hope it is clear, or at least that it will be clear, that this new practice serves as a sincere response to a lot of questions I have about life, and especially how to live life. Of course I have not put those questions down yet. But they will come, I guarantee.

And also, what is zazen, and what do I think about it? I'll leave that for later discussion. My plan here is that the details will unravel themselves as I talk about the details of my practices. I want to make a point of writing one paragraph containing my thoughts and observation about my practices twice a week, as long as I am wired and able.

My first practice is, of course, zazen. What's the other?

Writing. This one I find goes less to the core than zazen, for me. That could change. My inspiration here, too, came from a book: Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg. There's a lot of technique and advice crammed into that little volume, but basically what I gleaned from it was that writing could be used as a practice on top of zazen, as a way of opening up, of commiting to something outside one's self, and a way to develop expression. It all seems appropriate to me.

But as much as writing seems valuable for so many reasons, part of the nature of an endless practice is that you don't care about how useful something is. It's valuable in itself. To the endless practitioner, the task is its own meaning, its own pleasure, its own value. Writing works for me, because I have a background in it and an interest in it. Words and books are a huge part of my world. Writing practice puts me in an aware relationship with the ABC part of my existence.

But I don't want to get too swept up in rationalizations. I find myself in the middle of writing practice; I do it as best I can. This is how I eventually would like to approach everything in my life: it's not about what I do or why I do it, it's about how I do it.

Setting aside two special practices every day is of course still buying into the idea of a compartmentalized life, where I am more focused, more present in some moments rather than others. But this is the skeleton of a conscious life. As I go along, I hope to find a better vision of wholeness for myself. For the moment, my vision remains on what seems separate and what seems divided.


Note on the Name:

I named the blog Plum Beads after the Jizu or Buddhist rosary I was given at Chokaisan Kokusai Zendo. The centerpiece is a little plastic "viewfinder." If you point the bead to a lightsource, you can look through a tiny magnifying lense at a photo of the Manjushri Boddhisattva statue in the center of the Zendo's Sodo, or monk's hall, where I both meditated and slept during my time there. Surrounding the centerpiece are beads made from plumwood. I don't use the jizu for prayer or anything. I simply wear it because I like it, and as a reminder of my commitment.

I took the phrase "of Now and Forever" from the Star Control series of computer games. I'm not going to go into details here, particularly because if I were to explain the reference, it would seem not to make much sense in this context. Which it doesn't. I just liked the phrasing and thought it fit nicely here. Go ahead and look it up if you're interested, but I have to assert: I have no intention of enslaving this or any other galaxy.