Taking Stock

I write this after 2 days with Penelope at her Placitas retreat. We spent Friday evening relaxing, being with each other, eating a nice meal, and somewhat lazily watching what turned out to be an almost thoroughly terrible movie, but not really caring. Yesterday was spent hiking to the San Antonio hot springs; we got there later than we should have, so our time in the bath was a little truncated, but it was lovely nonetheless. We decided to tell each other the entire story of our travels abroad during our 4 hours or so of hiking; she got through most of hers, and I got through part of mine. I hope to keep going like this, talking and telling each other our stories until there is nothing left to tell. It will take a long time. I found it so difficult just to get a simple sentence out. Part of it was my general fatigue from the hike, but a lot of it, of course, is my reluctance to talk. I felt like I was getting tired of hearing the sound of my own voice. Maybe part of that feeling is justified, since this was a kind of scheduled monologue rather than a spontaneous sharing, but ultimately I need to just relax and be comfortable hearing myself.

I want, right now, to feel much more comfortable in my own bones, comfortable being with myself. It's so hard, because when I turn the light inward, I feel like there is nothing to see. So I sit there, observing what I believe to be nothing, while something of myself sits there hidden, not being seen. Things could be better, definitely. I just need to find a path that fits me. When, say, Marina asks me to let out my anger, my direct problem, the problem I directly experience, is not having any anger to let out. Not some conscious judgment "this anger is bad; I must hold this anger back." Any thoughts along those lines are abstractions. The real experience is flustered confusion - the absence of any need to act in the way I'm being told to. Is that resistance? Probably. But it's useless to call it that unless I experience it that way.

This is one of those many things that brings me back to why zazen is so valuable. The act of sitting in a prescribed posture and observing something specific and unavoidable (my breath) is perfect practice in being able to draw my focus in on my experience in a way that cannot but make sense to me. I can't not experience sitting, and I can't not experience breathing. It's right there, physical, direct. As for all of the mental focus and absence of thoughts - more ideals and abstractions I could do without. I could do without Mu. Sure, my mind feels cluttered, and there are ways of uncluttering it, but is that what is really going to be valuable in the practice? I really don't think so.

I have about 2 minutes left, and I just want to take stock of what I need to do today. I'm going to Los Alamos to take my accordion in for repairs, getting me back in Santa Fe at probably 3 or 3:30. I think, at that point, the most valuable thing to do would be to clean up my room. I know I'll feel tired, but it will be good for me, and I can rest afterwards. It won't take long. I need to look at Peru stuff and look at career stuff and maybe clean a box or two. I'd like to fit running in there somewhere, but it might just not happen today. We'll see. I will cross that bridge once I get there.

Good afternoon, all.