I was followed by our cat Oscar into the vines to sit and so, as he played at being a vine, rubbing up against my legs, so did I. In the end, having noticed my desire to lurch towards him, stroke and take care of his need for affection, I came to experience him the same as the wind and the flies and the passing scooter as I sat facing the mountain. I felt the flow of energy move to and from the mountain through my breath. My sitting shadow, which I could just perceive in front of me, was so insubstantial feeling I felt like I was really observing myself. It was all a bit other wordly.
Sometimes I feel I sit in name only. But I give myself full credit nonetheless. Maybe because I'm such a beginner at this, I view it all, ALL, the whole idea, process, each experience, as learning... so it all counts. The doing counts, regardless of how it goes. Which doesn't mean I'm ignoring how it goes, but I always get credit for trying/doing.
The other aspect of learning is that I hope that this blog will not just be an accounting of successful sittings, but that we can learn from each other about what worked/didn't work and thereby progress, all of us together.
I appreciate the info about the alarm. Like Ruth, the sound of most alarms doesn't appeal at all. But I have a tendency once in a while to go Real Deep and lose time.
No cold nosing this morning, perhaps because of the love session that went on early with lots of belly rubs and brushing. Am I training him or is he training me?
Ay-ay-ay, I didn't mean to imply that Ruth does not appeal! She does very much. I meant only that I agree with her that the sound of most alarms wouldn't be welcomed.
Re what to do with one's eyes -- whatever seems to work best, I think. In the Tibetan tradition we encourage meditation with the eyes open, but that's because it (supposedly) makes the step to tantric visualizations easier -- if you're not planning to do those, then I'd think -- whatever works best. Some people have a hard time staying awake with their eyes closed, and some have a hard time keeping their balance. (I'm not actually sure these are two different problems :->) On the other hand, some people find the tricks their "eye-consciousness" plays on them when their eyes are closed more distracting than what it does when their eyes are open.
The traditional Tibetan instruction is to "soft-focus" the eyes on a point about two feet in front of you, at about navel-level. In practice that means crossing your eyes, vis a vis the stuff that's actually in your field of vision. My eyes tend to very slowly cross and uncross, in a cycle of maybe five minutes. I usually just leave them to it. (Unless I've taken a visual object as my object of meditation, in which case I try to keep it in focus. But I do that very rarely -- the breath, and ambient sound, are my favorite objects.)
As far as timing -- I just time myself with a clock, too. I don't think it matters a whole lot. There are distractions associated with it, any way you go. I'm careful always to make my decisions ahead of time -- about what my object of meditation is going to be, and how long I'm going to do it. Otherwise I tend to get all wrapped up in thinking about when I should stop and what I should focus on, and trying not to, and trying not to try not to, etc., etc. Of course that's all grist for meditation as well; but I already have plenty of distraction to work with :-)
Wondering: should I puncture some illusions here?... meditation isn't like playing an instrument, you know. You don't 'improve' with time and practice. It's more like walking a long distance footpath with no end: there are hills and valleys, good days and bad days. Trying, doing, is all there ever is.
Perhaps I should clarify, Jean: when I said "learning," I was thinking of the way I have learned to try to approach things with and "open curiousity," to watch how things unfold without placing preconceived notions thereon... and when I said "progress," I meant in cultivating the habit of sitting. That's all. Not like an instrument.
Moose, yes, sharing difficulties is important, I think. I'm glad people haven't been reticent about them.
I really like the mix in this group -- enough talking about what's difficult so I that I don't always feel like the class dunce, but enough talking about the wonderful times to be inspiring.
What works is highly individual, I think. Also you should be prepared for it to change. Sometimes a particular approach will just seem to go dry, and sometimes it helps in that case to do something different -- sit for a different length of time, at a different time of day, using a different object (or none). Experimentation is usually good, I think. It's possible to get stuck in just trying to be entertained -- I'd get a bit suspicious of that if I was trying something new every day -- but I tend more to the opposite extreme, of mulishly going on doing exactly the same thing that used to work, whether it's still working well or not.
Whee, every time I post there's more stuff appearing!
I dunno, Jean, I think Shamata's very like learning to play an instrument, and that one does get better with practice. That's my experience of it.
It depends on what you're talking about, of course. "The mind resting quietly in its own nature" -- there's no way to "improve" that -- it's perfect. And there's no way to induce it or make it happen. It happens of its own accord. But of course most of meditation isn't resting quietly, it's figuring out how best to stop fidgeting, it's training in recognizing distractions and dropping them as soon as they're recognized. That's a skill, in the very ordinary sense, very much like learning to play an instrument.
But what we're learning to play, of course, is not our Buddha-nature. What we're learning to play is our ordinary discursive distracted mind.
Different traditions view this very differently, of course.
hmm interesting. I have to beg to differ with jean - 'meditation isn't like playing an instrument' may be, but playing an instrument is a meditation. The instrument is only our breath. the music is endless. For me the physical and spiritual practice of that discipline is absolutely a meditation. There is no end in sight and grasping or fixing or thinking you've arrived only kills what should always be alive and in the moment. Every time I think I've mastered something on my instrument I try and hold on to it and of course the nature of it is that it is alive and will die if it is grasped. Having a great time by the way with all you guys!
I sat this morning, really heard the early morning bird song. I have for a few mornings now, but their song came alive and into focus for me today. Time seemed to stand still for a second or two.
Ruth: a beautiful description of your meditation amongst the vines. Thank you.
And I concur re the sharing. I find it very helpful.
Hello all- I am here for a quick check in--I sat the last 3 days, 20-30 min. yes, renewed commitment--or rather continuing commitment post hiccup. I've been attending to moving so I'll have to make it brief and catch up later on what look like interesting comments.
Very best to you all and thank you for being here!
i want to tell a little story in the light of this - to me- fascinating discussion. hope it's ok and maybe even relevant...it just came to me.
several probably decades ago i was studying in germany with a wonderful teacher. i was playing a beethoven sonata and i had practiced and perfected every phrase for hours. i found myself in cornwall having a masterclass with the wonderful pianist andras schiff. i played the first half and had a sense of him being rather taken with 'my interpretation'. then i did the 'repeat'. it was, of course, identical to the first time around as i had fixed and perfected everything. at the end he shrieked : "once i believe you. twice you are a liar!"
in that moment my world fell apart and, thank ******, has never been the same again.
"grasping or fixing or thinking you've arrived only kills what should always be alive and in the moment."
I think that says it. At least for me. Thanks, Ruth. There is so much truth in those words applicable to sitting, to music, to writing -- to being in the world.
I also appreciate Dale's comments about refining the surrounding technique. That seems right to me. I can relate to it and what Ruth said both in terms of my experience performing, where I have to "make it new" every time, yet rehearsal helps to solidify the framework from which I am making the leap. If that makes any sense. My words aren't working well today!
Today I sat for about 10 minutes in my office at school. I share an office with several other instructors, so it's rare that I get time there alone...I'm wishing that Keene State had an on-campus chapel like other places where I've taught, but there really isn't any "good" place to find reliably uninterrupted quiet.
In terms of whether one gets "better" at meditation...my mind is as scattered as it ever was, but I think I'm better now at not letting that bother me. I guess it's like living with a nagging relative: you get used it it. :-)
And I do think my *body* has gotten better at meditation. Now my body naturally settles into a comfortable place when I sit cross-legged, unlike when I first started meditating & I always *fought* to find a good posture.
Maybe training one's body is like training a cold-nosed dog. You learn when to coddle it & when to ignore it, and eventually it settles down.
Lorianne, what's the Zen schtick about what to do with your eyes?
I wonder. It really seems to me like my mind has changed a fair amount in how scattered it is, and in how hard it is to let go of distractions, but I wonder if that's true? I have no control group -- and I badly want it to be true -- so I don't know how reliable an observer I am.
The biggest change I've noticed is that I don't appall myself anymore. I used to just *hate* watching all those self-absorbed thoughts bubble up. I was horrified. I hadn't thought the inside of my mind looked like that at all -- it was a shock. I don't know how much of my comfort now comes from it having changed, and how much from just getting used to it :-)
Dale, I agree with your last paragraph...after a while, nothing shocks you any more. If you've seen one load of Karmic Crap, you've seen it all. ;-)
Zennies keep their eyes gently open, lids lowered & gaze lightly resting on the floor. So it's not much different from what you describe except there's not a component of visual focus. A Zennie isn't "focusing" on anything; she just keeps her eyes slightly open, gaze directed downward, to keep from falling asleep. I also find that keeping my eyes slightly open helps prevent daydreaming: although my mind still wanders, at least there's a visual stimulus to remind me that I'm HERE, NOW.
19 Comments:
I was followed by our cat Oscar into the vines to sit and so, as he played at being a vine, rubbing up against my legs, so did I. In the end, having noticed my desire to lurch towards him, stroke and take care of his need for affection, I came to experience him the same as the wind and the flies and the passing scooter as I sat facing the mountain. I felt the flow of energy move to and from the mountain through my breath. My sitting shadow, which I could just perceive in front of me, was so insubstantial feeling I felt like I was really observing myself. It was all a bit other wordly.
Sometimes I feel I sit in name only. But I give myself full credit nonetheless. Maybe because I'm such a beginner at this, I view it all, ALL, the whole idea, process, each experience, as learning... so it all counts. The doing counts, regardless of how it goes. Which doesn't mean I'm ignoring how it goes, but I always get credit for trying/doing.
The other aspect of learning is that I hope that this blog will not just be an accounting of successful sittings, but that we can learn from each other about what worked/didn't work and thereby progress, all of us together.
I appreciate the info about the alarm. Like Ruth, the sound of most alarms doesn't appeal at all. But I have a tendency once in a while to go Real Deep and lose time.
No cold nosing this morning, perhaps because of the love session that went on early with lots of belly rubs and brushing. Am I training him or is he training me?
15 minutes, undisturbed. Ahhh.
Ay-ay-ay, I didn't mean to imply that Ruth does not appeal! She does very much. I meant only that I agree with her that the sound of most alarms wouldn't be welcomed.
Sat ten minutes last night, just before bed.
Re what to do with one's eyes -- whatever seems to work best, I think. In the Tibetan tradition we encourage meditation with the eyes open, but that's because it (supposedly) makes the step to tantric visualizations easier -- if you're not planning to do those, then I'd think -- whatever works best. Some people have a hard time staying awake with their eyes closed, and some have a hard time keeping their balance. (I'm not actually sure these are two different problems :->) On the other hand, some people find the tricks their "eye-consciousness" plays on them when their eyes are closed more distracting than what it does when their eyes are open.
The traditional Tibetan instruction is to "soft-focus" the eyes on a point about two feet in front of you, at about navel-level. In practice that means crossing your eyes, vis a vis the stuff that's actually in your field of vision. My eyes tend to very slowly cross and uncross, in a cycle of maybe five minutes. I usually just leave them to it. (Unless I've taken a visual object as my object of meditation, in which case I try to keep it in focus. But I do that very rarely -- the breath, and ambient sound, are my favorite objects.)
As far as timing -- I just time myself with a clock, too. I don't think it matters a whole lot. There are distractions associated with it, any way you go. I'm careful always to make my decisions ahead of time -- about what my object of meditation is going to be, and how long I'm going to do it. Otherwise I tend to get all wrapped up in thinking about when I should stop and what I should focus on, and trying not to, and trying not to try not to, etc., etc. Of course that's all grist for meditation as well; but I already have plenty of distraction to work with :-)
Wondering: should I puncture some illusions here?... meditation isn't like playing an instrument, you know. You don't 'improve' with time and practice. It's more like walking a long distance footpath with no end: there are hills and valleys, good days and bad days. Trying, doing, is all there ever is.
Perhaps I should clarify, Jean: when I said "learning," I was thinking of the way I have learned to try to approach things with and "open curiousity," to watch how things unfold without placing preconceived notions thereon... and when I said "progress," I meant in cultivating the habit of sitting. That's all. Not like an instrument.
Moose, yes, sharing difficulties is important, I think. I'm glad people haven't been reticent about them.
I really like the mix in this group -- enough talking about what's difficult so I that I don't always feel like the class dunce, but enough talking about the wonderful times to be inspiring.
What works is highly individual, I think. Also you should be prepared for it to change. Sometimes a particular approach will just seem to go dry, and sometimes it helps in that case to do something different -- sit for a different length of time, at a different time of day, using a different object (or none). Experimentation is usually good, I think. It's possible to get stuck in just trying to be entertained -- I'd get a bit suspicious of that if I was trying something new every day -- but I tend more to the opposite extreme, of mulishly going on doing exactly the same thing that used to work, whether it's still working well or not.
Whee, every time I post there's more stuff appearing!
I dunno, Jean, I think Shamata's very like learning to play an instrument, and that one does get better with practice. That's my experience of it.
It depends on what you're talking about, of course. "The mind resting quietly in its own nature" -- there's no way to "improve" that -- it's perfect. And there's no way to induce it or make it happen. It happens of its own accord. But of course most of meditation isn't resting quietly, it's figuring out how best to stop fidgeting, it's training in recognizing distractions and dropping them as soon as they're recognized. That's a skill, in the very ordinary sense, very much like learning to play an instrument.
But what we're learning to play, of course, is not our Buddha-nature. What we're learning to play is our ordinary discursive distracted mind.
Different traditions view this very differently, of course.
hmm interesting. I have to beg to differ with jean - 'meditation isn't like playing an instrument' may be, but playing an instrument is a meditation. The instrument is only our breath. the music is endless. For me the physical and spiritual practice of that discipline is absolutely a meditation. There is no end in sight and grasping or fixing or thinking you've arrived only kills what should always be alive and in the moment. Every time I think I've mastered something on my instrument I try and hold on to it and of course the nature of it is that it is alive and will die if it is grasped.
Having a great time by the way with all you guys!
I sat this morning, really heard the early morning bird song. I have for a few mornings now, but their song came alive and into focus for me today. Time seemed to stand still for a second or two.
Ruth: a beautiful description of your meditation amongst the vines. Thank you.
And I concur re the sharing. I find it very helpful.
jinx again dale...
Hello all-
I am here for a quick check in--I sat the last 3 days, 20-30 min. yes, renewed commitment--or rather continuing commitment post hiccup. I've been attending to moving so I'll have to make it brief and catch up later on what look like interesting comments.
Very best to you all and thank you for being here!
i want to tell a little story in the light of this - to me- fascinating discussion. hope it's ok and maybe even relevant...it just came to me.
several probably decades ago i was studying in germany with a wonderful teacher. i was playing a beethoven sonata and i had practiced and perfected every phrase for hours. i found myself in cornwall having a masterclass with the wonderful pianist andras schiff. i played the first half and had a sense of him being rather taken with 'my interpretation'. then i did the 'repeat'. it was, of course, identical to the first time around as i had fixed and perfected everything. at the end he shrieked : "once i believe you. twice you are a liar!"
in that moment my world fell apart and, thank ******, has never been the same again.
"grasping or fixing or thinking you've arrived only kills what should always be alive and in the moment."
I think that says it. At least for me. Thanks, Ruth. There is so much truth in those words applicable to sitting, to music, to writing -- to being in the world.
I also appreciate Dale's comments about refining the surrounding technique. That seems right to me. I can relate to it and what Ruth said both in terms of my experience performing, where I have to "make it new" every time, yet rehearsal helps to solidify the framework from which I am making the leap. If that makes any sense. My words aren't working well today!
...and having related to that in terms of performing, I can imagine it in terms of sitting.
Yeah, that's what I meant. Phew.
Today I sat for about 10 minutes in my office at school. I share an office with several other instructors, so it's rare that I get time there alone...I'm wishing that Keene State had an on-campus chapel like other places where I've taught, but there really isn't any "good" place to find reliably uninterrupted quiet.
In terms of whether one gets "better" at meditation...my mind is as scattered as it ever was, but I think I'm better now at not letting that bother me. I guess it's like living with a nagging relative: you get used it it. :-)
And I do think my *body* has gotten better at meditation. Now my body naturally settles into a comfortable place when I sit cross-legged, unlike when I first started meditating & I always *fought* to find a good posture.
Maybe training one's body is like training a cold-nosed dog. You learn when to coddle it & when to ignore it, and eventually it settles down.
Lorianne, what's the Zen schtick about what to do with your eyes?
I wonder. It really seems to me like my mind has changed a fair amount in how scattered it is, and in how hard it is to let go of distractions, but I wonder if that's true? I have no control group -- and I badly want it to be true -- so I don't know how reliable an observer I am.
The biggest change I've noticed is that I don't appall myself anymore. I used to just *hate* watching all those self-absorbed thoughts bubble up. I was horrified. I hadn't thought the inside of my mind looked like that at all -- it was a shock. I don't know how much of my comfort now comes from it having changed, and how much from just getting used to it :-)
Does it matter? In the end, I mean... I wonder.
Dale, I agree with your last paragraph...after a while, nothing shocks you any more. If you've seen one load of Karmic Crap, you've seen it all. ;-)
Zennies keep their eyes gently open, lids lowered & gaze lightly resting on the floor. So it's not much different from what you describe except there's not a component of visual focus. A Zennie isn't "focusing" on anything; she just keeps her eyes slightly open, gaze directed downward, to keep from falling asleep. I also find that keeping my eyes slightly open helps prevent daydreaming: although my mind still wanders, at least there's a visual stimulus to remind me that I'm HERE, NOW.
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