The Way of It

The highest level is to be level with everyone.

You don’t know what they mean

when they say what they say

The Wall Street Journal, April 18th, 2008

The trust that has been placed on me by my teachers

I shall not defraud

From doing The Work on my most shameful and embarrassing thoughts I have been able to see how innocent the whole enterprise of believing my thoughts has been, how there has been no substantive reality to thoughts such as “I’m a terrible person,” “he wronged me” or “I’m ugly.” Making friends with the thoughts that would tear me down has been an incredible journey and as a result I am so much happier and relaxed.

Now, it only dawned on me recently that there was an entire class of thoughts that I was still not comfortable with and that I still secretly wished would go away: the thoughts that would tell me that “I’m better/smarter/more compassionate/more enlightened than others.” Having these thoughts, I felt, was not only wrong but actually proof that I had not learned anything in all these years of dutifully practicing self inquiry of this or that type. My resistance to those thoughts was such that I did not even want to look at them, let alone question them. To push them away, that’s what I’d do with them.

One day, however, I began to notice this very fact and that felt really humbling. I can see them now and humor them, accept that they are there, when they are there. “What have they got to do with me/with what’s real?,” I tell me. It’s such a good feeling, to befriend what is, and what is sometimes looks like thoughts I would label as those only an arrogant person would have.

And is that true?

…

My answer to this question brings me closer to the realization that it is OK to have the thoughts that I have. It really is OK. It’s only a problem if and when I believe them, and I have The Work for that.

It’s a good thing, the workings of it all.

Sometimes I tell my story to stay identified.

Sometimes I tell my story to free myself from it.

Can I tell the difference?

I want to tell you about a new retreat Mollie Shea and myself are putting together in the San Francisco Bay area on March 21-23rd. It is called The Work and Silence and it combines periods of sitting meditation with doing The Work with a partner. Silence will be observed between sessions throughout the entire retreat. It will be a weekend of silence, stillness, deep listening and open ended inquiry.

The retreat will take place at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center, 40 minutes north of the San Francisco Airport, in a valley that opens out onto the Pacific Ocean. It is a beautiful venue with hiking trails that lead to the shores of Muir Beach in only a few minutes. Green Gulch hosts a community of Buddhist practitioners that year round devote themselves to the study and practice of Zen as they care for an organic farm and garden, a guest house and a conference center.

I am truly looking forward to this new inner adventure!

From the February 4th edition of the Wall Street Journal.

I just do my Work

The best news is when something you’ve read for years and years in your favorite books suddenly makes sense to you, you discover it in your own words. You may not even connect, at the moment, that this is what the wisdom in those books was really about. Eventually, it becomes clear.

This happened to me the other day when I was walking by the beach at Montaña de Oro State Park on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I had been having a wonderful week so far, doing my favorite things: reading, kayaking, talking to friends, working on my research, eating good food, and now walking on the beach. All of a sudden, it hit me: “I miss her.”

That was the thought. And as I could see mind showing itself images of why that was so, I stood there, astonished, being completely unable even to make sense of what “I miss her” could possibly mean. It’s like, there was the beach, the mountains, the open skies, the soothing sound of the water, and my own benevolent intelligence, which had taken me to this place. “I miss her” could only be true if there was something out of order, and I could not find it. There was no room for her in that picture, and no room for missing her in that picture. It was impossible to miss her, not because I was in some sort of a good mood, but because it was literally-not-possible.

It then became clear to me that I don’t suffer as much as I think I do. I noticed that when I believe “I miss her” I color my past, I describe that entire week as terrible, when in reality there were only a couple of moments of sudden disappointments that vanished as soon as they arose in me. So I unwittingly rewrote, in my own words, Katie’s famous dictum: Reality is much kinder than the thoughts we have about it. In my own words it is: We don’t suffer as much as we think we do.

And so I am grateful to my knees for having my own language for what is languageless. That way I can express myself freely, speaking from my own experience and kind intelligence, and have a great life.