Day of Feeling 24

This must be the earliest I have ever written an entry for this project. Attribute that to the fact that I am getting up at 5 tomorrow to get a good start on a camping trip.

What a weird day. In some respects, like the fact that I had linner with Abby, it was great. In others, not so.

Crappiness = 1. Annoying Friday afternoon traffic in Santa Fe. Does nobody work on Friday afternoons?

2. Annoying experience at Upaya Zen Center. Only my second time there since deciding I needed to go spend time at a zen center instead of only meditating by myself. Last time my right foot fell asleep, so I thought I should compensate by raising my right knee a little bit with one of their little cushions. This was apparently a bad decision, because after not too long I began to experience excruciating pain in my right knee. It's hard to tell time when you're meditating, but probably about 30 minutes into it, I gently removed the cushion. This helped a little bit, but after what was apparently 9 minutes, the pain became so unbearable that I actually began to feel nauseated and dizzy. Taking this as a clear sign from my body, I decided to switch my legs. I was careful to do this both quickly and quietly, but apparently not enough. This process took less than 10 seconds, but before I was finished, I heard a voice from behind me say, "Please sit silently" or something like that. It was "Please sit ..." and something like silently or quietly or still. I don't remember exactly. Being a dutiful zen student (or am I?), I quickly settled down and continued meditating. I felt a flash of shame, a tinge of pain at what was said. The 40-minute session ended less than a minute later. Awkward! I exited as usual, doing the proper bowing and donation.

I put my sandals on and walked out, not really noticing it, but definitely feeling a bit of anxiety. I had planned to visit the office to talk to someone about instruction in posture. There was no one in the office. I snooped around futilely, looking for a pamphlet or something with community events, but I did not find any right away, and I was not really focusing very well. Two residents stopped by and smiled at me meekly. I wanted to talk to them, but it looked like lunch was starting up quickly (what with a percussive flourish and everything), so I decided not to bother them. I scurried away and drove off to do the rest of my errands for the day.

This was a painful experience. I had time to think about it after making a stupid driving decision and ending up in a long line of traffic (the embarrassing decision was: to drive on Alameda from Gonzales to Galisteo on a Friday afternoon. I know: dumb).

I feel that the admonishment I received was completely uncalled for. It made me feel unwelcome there.

My first, snarky response is: no shit, I'm supposed to sit still during zazen?

With that over: I know what I'm doing. I made this decision knowing fully that one is not supposed to move during zazen. But I was not uncomfortable, I was in pain. And I do know that zazen is not supposed to be a form of torture.

Of course, you did not know this. Which is why it was disrespectful to say something. We do not have an established relationship, and you do not know where I am in my practice. You are a disembodied voice who heard disembodied shuffling sounds, and these annoyed you, so you tried to control the situation.

I was not making exceptional noise for an extended period of time. I was shifting my legs. People shift their legs during zazen, because zazen hurts sometimes. Yes, it's better not to, but people understand that. There are some who are naturally lithe enough, but for some, such as myself, I have to get to a point where I can sit still comfortably. Most people cannot sit in half-lotus for half an hour like I can. I am practicing; I am working at it bit by bit, and I am getting better every day.

I don't know why things were different today. It could be your cushions; it could have been the knee support. I was trying something new, and that was a risk. And with risk comes consequences. I understand this. The consequence I experienced was pain, which was a disruption to my own practice.

You took a risk when you decided to let guests into your zendo. Not everybody practices exactly like you do. I make a point of trying to act like you, do what you do, to fit in, to be respectful to your practices. But I am a human being, not just a set of manners, and sometimes things don't work out perfectly. That is the risk you take.

I just want to add: I did not entirely know I was breaking a rule. It's my understanding that it is acceptable to shift your legs if you are experiencing intense pain, since the pain is more disruptive to your practice than a brief, mindful change of position. It is up to the practitioner to make this decision; and the other practitioners around him trust him to have a sincere reason for doing so.

I guess this is a key issue: the few little words you spoke expressed a lack of trust I had assumed was given to fellow practitioners. This burns a bit.

Was it my fault for assuming it to be there? It could very well be. After all, I have not really spoken with anyone over there. I am entering, practicing and leaving anonymously, speaking nothing, barely even looking at anyone. I have done nothing to garner any relationships with anyone there. I am an outsider.

Ultimately, being chastised in zen practice is nothing horrible, not the end of the world, not an occasion for gnashing of teeth and feeling put-out. Really, you accept all criticism with gratitude and a bow. But you need to establish trust first before it's appropriate. And it is especially unwelcome when it comes from a disembodied voice. Who are you? Look me in the eyes. Give me a face to respond to.

I'm not sure if I'm going back to Upaya, at least with the same intentions that I brought with me today. I need to find a sangha, a group, a community to practice with, ask questions to and be responsible for. Going to anonymous zazen once a week is not that. Perhaps this was just the jolt I needed to realize that I had not really accomplished what I wanted to set out; to find a zen community. There was not a community there, but it was clear that I was not part of it. Perhaps that is the real pain I was feeling today.

Criticism is a very tricky thing with me (probably with everyone). There are just those times when criticism is unwelcome. I think we are taught, especially in zen circles, that all criticism is to be lapped up and taken like a man. But I don't agree. Most of it, perhaps; but at least a small percentage is uncalled for, is out of context, is inappropriate and is destructive. I feel that's what I got today. It is important, however, to keep in mind that being resentful about misplaced criticism is just as pointless. Really the pain experienced should be an occasion to rethink the situation, get a better perspective and hopefully make appropriate changes.

Like in this situation: I need to find a full zen group with a real sense of community.

I say to you: although you can't get me to change my mind that it's gratuitous, thank you for the gratuitous slap on the wrist, o disembodied voice behind me.