Coming Full CIrcle

"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." -Shunryu Suzuki

I took advantage of my break from nursing school and headed to Joshua Tree National Park.  I had not been there in seven years, since my first ever "climbing trip."  Seven years ago I had done my first lead climb while in the park.  Lead climbing involves placing metal chockstones as you climb with the possibility that one will fall from above onto this protection.  Although I had been scrambling on rocks since childhood and had placed protection in cracks to set up top-ropes I had never taken "the sharp end."  I remember my first lead vividly.

As we set up to climb a group of three climbers on the opposite wall headed up a wandering route with a slight overhanging section at the end.  The leader looked so poised and confident.  The route looked very difficult and I couldn't tell what he would hold on to.

I focused my attention on the rock in front of me and headed up with a carabiner full of nuts, some large hexes, four tri-cams, and a single #3 Camalot.  The route was classified as very easy (5.2) by the guidebook, but I kept questioning my security, my placements.  My confidence was being challenged, but the rock looked within my ability.  I couldn't tell why it was so hard.

The route wandered over a rock slab for twenty feet and then followed a chute for another thirty before topping out over a bulge of unprotected friction climbing.  I wedged myself in the chute and fiddled with gear.  I tried to get the gear securely in the thinnest part of the crack.  The crack was the same size the whole way and I only had one of every size so I had to look ahead and plan out my protection three moves in advance.

As I neared the top I put in the cam on a long sling, I put two nuts in opposition and headed out on ten feet of rock which looked intimidating.  As I neared the top I got to a crack that would take a tri-cam and I slotted it securely.  I knew I was safe and continued on to a good stance where I built an anchor and brought up my friend.

A rush came over me.  I had done it.  I had pushed my limits and opened up a new world of opportunity and challenge.  I looked out at the other party working their way up the much more difficult wall opposite the one I stood on and thought, "That is so cool.  I hope one day I can climb that."  I was euphoric and hooked on the sport and leading. 

Seven years later I found myself back in Joshua Tree and taking the morning off from climbing to avoid the rain that seemed to be rolling in.  I wanted to go for a hike and to do some Yin Yoga, so I did.  After two hours of Yin I scrambled up a pile of roks and looked out over the desert.  It was gorgeous as only the desert can be.  Still, quiet, with everything visible.  It is like being an eagle soaring high above looking for prey.  You can see everything in the desert and everything is in stark contrast.

I picked a pile of rocks in the distance as my target and headed out cross country towards my destination.  I didn't know it, but this pile of rocks that was chosen was the same pile that contained the first lead climb I ever did.  For those of you who have not been to Joshua Tree this may seem unremarkable, however there are literally hundreds of rock piles spread out over many miles, with thousands of climbing routes.

I neared the rocks and crossed a dirt road which paralleled the rocks.  I headed down the road and came to a split between the rocks as wide as a four lane highway.  On each side a thick fin of rock arched up from the desert before dipping back into the sand.  It was like two giant rock whales breaching simultaneously and frozen in space.  I had never known the name of my first lead climb, nor the name of the rock formation it was a part of, but I never forgot how it looked.  There it was staring me in the face.  I looked across the valley for the route that I had seen the other climbers on for confirmation.  Sure enough it was there and as I remembered it.  I laughed, I smiled, I was blown away by the series of events that had brought me to this spot a second time. 

I sat at the base of each climb.  I felt the rock.  I thanked the rock for being there and for playing a role in what has been a rewarding seven years full of personal growth, challenge and change.  I just sat there and felt connected, grounded literally to that spot.

My partner and I returned that afternoon and I respectfully repeated my first climb, crossed the valley and headed up the climb that had inspired me to grow as a climber many years before.  This time I headed up with a light rack of cams and long draws.  I could tell what gear I would need from the ground.  The initial ramp was easy and I waited until I was twenty feet up to place gear at the first very secure placement.  I attached a long sling to reduce rope drag and headed up a very featured face to a ledge below the overhang.  I placed two cams in a flared crack and another cam in a beautiful constriction.  Before heading up the last twenty feet of overhanging crack I organized the three cams I had so they would be ready in order for the upcoming section.

Right finger lock, left layback, reach high with right hand.  The hold was so big that I could have hung like Stalone in Cliffhanger.  Plug in a cam.  Reach high with left hand, match with right, press feet high and reach for a finger lock, cam again, reset feet, finger locks to slopers and press myself up on top.  I felt like a kid again, like I had seven years before, like I do whenever I climb something challenging.

The route had been easy, easier than I had expected.  I had spent years making this route more difficult in my mind because of what I had seen seven years before through a different pair of eyes.  I felt like I had come full circle and was ready for new challenges.  What had looked impossible a few years before was now possible because of the work that I had put into growing in this aspect of my life.  What else is possible?  How high can I shoot?  Getting into nursing school was a process and at times I felt like my attempts were the biggest failure of my life.  Now I am in school and every semester I feel more prepared, more competent, and more confident that I have chosen a fitting path for my career.

"There is something uncomplicatedly true in the sensation of laying hands upon sun-warmed rock."  - Robert Macfarlane

Projections & Illusions: Part 2

While planning my previous entry (Projections & Illusions: Part 1) it was apparent that at first glance it seems profoundly “unbuddhist” in the sense that it is all about self.  Impermanence, nonself, and nirvana are omnipresent themes in Buddhism known as the Three Dharma Seals.  Although nonself is important, one must be aware of a sense of self before it can be given up as impermanent and illusion.  Impermanence and nonself are intimately linked and there is no understanding one without understanding the other

“When we look deeply into impermanence, we see that things change because causes and conditions change.  When we look deeply into nonself, we see that the existence of every single thing is possible only because of the existence of everything else.  We see that everything is the cause and condition for its existence.  We see that everything else is in it.” -Thich Nhat Hanh

Impermanence is the teaching that things come and go and that nothing lasts forever.  Impermanence is often taught with the analogy of a river.  One can never step in the same river twice.  Our conception that there is a real and permanent river is just a perception, an illusion, a projection.  Buddhism doesn’t teach us to reject the illusion of a river, but to recognize it as an illusion and live our life accordingly.

Nonself is the teaching that our idea of a whole and independent self is a false concept because we are all interdependent.  Nonself can be explored through the following process.  Pick something and ask “What is that?”  A chair is a chair.  Simple enough, now ask again.  A chair, after all is only a chair because that is the name we give to things we sit on.  Is it made of wood?  If so it is also a tree.  A tree is nutrients from the soil, rain from the clouds and energy from the sun.  It is all these things and our conception of it as a chair.  Every chair is also unique in the wood from a particular tree which stood in a particular spot, was cut, moved and milled by particular people and particular machines that are themselves all products of countless other interactions.  The chair is said to be interdependently co-arising because it is interdependent on all these factors for its existence.  A short story by Ram Dass also illustrates nonself:

“There are two waves drifting along in the ocean, one a bit bigger than the other.  The bigger wave suddenly becomes very sad and upset.  The smaller wave asks what's wrong.  ‘You don't want to know,’ the bigger wave says.  ‘What is it?’ the small wave asks.  ‘No - really - it's too terrible.  If you knew what I knew, you'd never be happy.’  The small wave persists.  Finally the big wave explains: ‘You can't see it, but I can see that, not too far from here, all of the waves are crashing on the shore.  We are going to disappear.’  The small wave says, ‘I can make you happy with just six words, but you have to listen very carefully to them.’  The big wave doesn't believe it -- what does the small wave know that he doesn't -- but he's desperate.  After a while of doubting and mocking the small wave, the big wave finally gives in, and asks the small wave to tell him.  And so the small wave says: ‘You're not a wave, you're water.’”

So how does impermanence and nonself relate to “Projections & Illusions: Part 1?”  I used the analogy of a private movie screening to present my insight that we are all projecting and being projected upon.  These projections are interdependently co-arisen.  My own growing sense of self is also an illusion.  Buddhism teaches me not to reject my personal truth, to recognize its impermanence and illusory nature, and to take appropriate action based on my understanding.

Here is a helpful link to more information.

Life is Hard...even for the Dalai Lama

I recently read that the Dalai Lama reminds himself every morning as he wakes that he has a precious human life and mindfully vows to use all his energies: to develop himself, to expand his heart for others, to think kind thoughts and avoid anger and unkind actions.  He vows to benefit all beings as much as he can, every day.

This passage was followed with the commentary: "If he needs to continue to cultivate his Bodhisattva Vows after fourteen lifetimes as the Dalai Lama, you and I should not be surprised that selfish thoughts arise in us from time to time."

Projections & Illusions

Imagine that you are sitting down in a private movie theater to watch the screening of a new Ken Burns documentary.  The subject of the film is... you.  This silver screen hangs limply at the front of the room waiting for the lights to dim, and the projector is being tinkered with like a classroom A/V cart. 

The film opens at your birth and moves quickly through times before your own memories.  It tugs at the heart strings in ways that only old photographs of family can.  Your first memories hit the screen and you are overcome with how cool it is that a great documentarian has put your life on film.  You see things that you barely remember which sparks images in your mind long hidden or covered in dust. 

It feels odd to see your life through the camera lens, through a different perspective.  The angle is not the way you remember things.  Maybe you think, “I thought the chair was over there,” and “wow our dog was so small, I thought he was bigger.”  Perhaps this is discomfiting, or playful and neat.

For me the movie becomes more confusing as it progresses.  There are a lot of good times presented and I can’t help but smile and cry a little, but the lighting is always different than I remember, the colors are off, and the dialogue is so unclear.  The hard times are shown as well.  Again things are not the way that I remember.  The arguments have no point, my arguments have no point, and I look sadder than I remember.  I am starting to get mad a Ken Burns.  I remember that day vividly and he messed up the shot.  He made me look bad and now it is on film and no one will believe me.

Recent insight sparked this analogy.  It occurs to me that I got the message that my subjective self (my experience through my own eyes) was not seen or understood by those around me.  The truth (my truth) is that I spent a lot of my childhood feeling really alone and misunderstood.  I felt objectified (like an object for others projections).  I felt like the screen at the front of the room.

When I would get into conflicts I often just wanted to be told that I was okay for feeling the way that I was feeling.  That could have been followed with “however we are not allowing you to...”  Maybe I was told this, but I remember being told that I “just wanted to argue,” which was just another projection that felt incongruous to my experience and was therefore more isolating. 

In discussing this insight it was pointed out to me that some people take on the projections of other more easily than others.  I think that I learned to avoid conflict by taking on the projections of others at times.  However, doing so has always induced an uneasy feeling in my gut and I have often isolated myself at times to avoid this feeling. 

As I sit and write our dog is standing at my side.  I am projecting that she is hungry but she cannot communicate clearly just as I couldn’t clearly communicate how lonely I felt.  I project my experience onto others just as often as others' experience is projected onto me.

With this insight I am starting to feel a real shape taking form.  A form which can hold its own in the face of projections.  I think this shape will sit back, relax and laugh with family, friends, and strangers as the film of my life plays out regardless of whose lens is projecting.  It is the present moment in a movie theater with wonderful people that is most important to me now.

Inviting Mara to the Table

Buddhism is rich with storytelling and art.  One prominent figure in Buddhist art and lore is Mara.  Mara is a demon who challenges the Buddha both before and after achieving enlightenment.  He tries by various means to tempt the Buddha to stray from his path.  Mara is often depicted surrounding the continuous cycle of samsara represented in this wheel of life:

All of the stories of Mara that I have heard involve a temptation presented by Mara and a reply by the Buddha indicating that he has recognized Mara's presence.  They often end with, "sad and disappointed Mara vanishes."

Two such stories together encompass some thoughts that I have been playing with for a few weeks now.  In the first story the Buddha is sitting in meditation and Mara comes to tempt the Buddha.  The Buddha recognizes Mara and greets him saying, "I know who you are and you cannot hurt me."  Mara is indignant but the Buddha continues, "You are me!"  Sad and disappointed Mara vanishes.

The second story I heard recently.  Mara comes to the Buddha and accepting defeat kneels at the Buddha's feet and says, "I accept you as the Buddha the one true master and I ask to be your servant.  Tell me what it is that you would like me to do and I will do it.  Tell me how to act and I will be it."  The Buddha replies, "No, no, no, I need you to be exactly as you are."  At the Mara vanishes.

These stories resonate strongly with where I find myself lately.  I believe they reflect the practice of Loving-Kindness towards all beings (self-included) and recognition of the perfection of all things exactly as they are in the present moment.  They remind me of a poem by the Sufi poet Rumi:

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
    translation by Coleman Barks

I believe that the Buddhist ideal would be to invite Mara into your home (he is you after all), and to do so without the expectation that the darkness has a higher purpose.  To just sit with your self, with your suffering, with the suffering of others, and to see the deep nature that it is exactly what it is supposed to be in that moment.  Paradoxically that seems to put the suffering in context.  It is present, but not overwhelming.