And, then there’s my response to the word “mindful.” I guess “mindless” isn’t any better, although it’s more precise. We truly are training ourselves to use “less mind” (at least in the traditional way we define how the mind works). Then, there’s the zombie stroll. Walking meditation is slow motion fitness, but when you get 100 people all doing this at the same time, you wonder if these people have all collectively lost their minds and are just aimlessly sauntering around trying to find them. Night of the Loving Dead.
The hundreds of acres of hills around Spirit Rock beckoned. Run, Chip, run. Skeptical of what progress I’d make with my mind, I figured I could leave Spirit Rock a few pounds lighter and with a sexy runner’s tan. (Thank goodness no one was judging me!) Not surprising, I did find an early distraction – an affinity for one fellow who seemed friendly enough (one of the few who didn’t stare at the ground in the early days as we passed each other). He was about my age and we’d lock eyes as I’d come back from a run. I got the sense he wanted to talk as he looked a little stir-crazy. I could relate. But, of course, talking was forbidden with silence and stillness our new map to a new place.
And, yet in the stillness, we enjoy listening to the crickets, don’t we? Not sure I feel the same way about our cold-blooded mental crickets. I was soon reminded that when I become audibly silent, it’s remarkable how the mental chatter becomes more noticeable. I guess those crickets are always there, hidden in our cerebral forest, but they become more predominant when there is no distraction…almost emboldened by the stillness. That’s when I often felt like taking my second run or hike of the day. Time to outrun the crickets.
Amidst the crickets in the first couple of days, I still made some progress. I’d felt guilty that I was going to be out of reach for my good friend Jon who had a serious stroke one week earlier. I soon came to realize there are other ways one can stay in touch without using our modern means of communication. And I was struck by how my “loving kindness” meditation sent to Jon in his hospital room felt received, as I kept getting mental images of his big, smiling face for the next 24 hours.
Then, there was the teaching about forgiveness that broke me free from an emotional logjam that had been stifling a close, long-time friendship. I came to see that forgiveness isn’t about forgiving the action but instead it’s about forgiving the confusion behind the action. It is said that “Forgiveness is giving up the hope of a better past in substitute for a better future.” After months of fretting about my inability to forgive this friend, I had an awakening. We can learn from our regrets but that only happens when we let go of our justifiable resentments. What a relief it was to stop finger pointing, as I penned an inspired and gracious letter to this person in the meditation hall. Giving up being right, I was able to see what was left of this relationship. And, having some stillness helped me to see that forgiveness – including of myself – allowed me to help create a better future.
The Dalai Lama suggests it’s helpful to understand that when someone upsets us, generally, they are not trying to do something to hurt us. More often, it’s simply that their internal reality is intersecting with our internal reality in a way that doesn’t match our hopes or expectations. One of the meditation teachers gave a comical image of us each walking around with fishbowls surrounding our heads and our reality being biased by the obscured or cloudy view from within the bowl.
Speaking of teachers, a whole posse led our week together: four Dharma teachers and one yoga teacher. We had small group and one-on-one sessions with them (one of the blessed moments when we exercised our vocal cords). The nightly Dharma talks were a highlight, as if you took Martin Luther King Jr., Socrates, and the Buddha and shook them up in a sack, this would be the wise and engaging result.
-Chip