A Stormy Night at the Beach

Surrounded by my family in my cozy beach house, I swing from enormous gratitude for them all, and a feeling of overwhelm:  eight beings swirling about me, each with his or her own urgent need (s).  So many feelings here, so many pieces of history getting re-threaded together....  We know each other so well on one plain, and yet the mystery of our individual selves remains.  That desire we all have to maintain our sense of self, of our uniqueness.  Why do we need to stay separate and "unique?    There are times when I can melt into the whole, amidst my grandchildren and children, and there is no discomfort.  And then, the voice of attachment to patterns arises, and I feel the need to take charge, create order, and generally prevail.  

We have been confined in this little house overlooking the ocean and Salmon Creek with the wind blowing and the rain coming down, and there is a sense of being compressed, pushed closer together, and it's hard for each one of us, I suspect, to be thoroughly comfortable with that.  Of course, if we all were to let go of our individual "needs," then peacefulness would prevail.   

Loving people comes with its huge challenges.  Can we foster this love and sense of connection, and still let go of the need to be uniquely in control?

I am grateful for the swirling winds outside which will blow through here, and leave us with a turbulent grey sea, grateful for the playful love of grandchildren, and cautious love of children.  We are all fortunate to be inhabiting this life, just now, in this moment...

And What Would Christ say?

How different the rhythm of life between now and when I started on this adventure ... coming from slow, quiet, reflective, to a low level frenzy, where you are forever moving forward.  Along with this moving forward is the grasping for some happy and beautiful state or condition:  the perfect Christmas dinner for the family (and pray tell, will 4 Pekin ducks be enough, along with the 2 crabs??), the most loving gathering of family members, just the right present for each person (because we mistakenly think that giving presents makes us better and makes everyone immediately happier) ... The list goes on, I'm afraid, but those issues above are plenty.  We are forever pitched forward, reaching for goodness, for freedom from pain which ultimately eludes us.  I made a choice to sit down here in the midst of all this movement, and write what was on my mind.  Ground myself in the workings of heart and mind just now.  I am feeling that old and unwelcome feeling of being in the middle of my two children, trying to make sense out of discord, trying to make peace, so we can have a wonderful Christmas day, damnit!!  I may be the 65 year old matriarch who fancies herself pretty wise in the ways of relatedness, but that certainly doesn't mean that I can heal the wounds of those I love.  We all have that onerous task.  To each his own wounds and "stories" about suffering.  I wonder what Christ would have done when offered such disharmony between those who are close.  What would he say?  What would the Buddha say?  And would they be on the same track?  My guess is:  yes.
These questions point the way to letting go of what is not ours, and offering love and compassion for those who are in distress.  Be the bodhissatva of compassion who can hold "the 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows" of the world.....
And I wonder, too, what Christ would say about all this frenzy of grasping at perfection, of things, events, states of mind.  How would he respond to all this grasping which has turned our world in to circus of consumerism?  When I find myself in crowded stores or grocery markets, the only way I can abide it is to breathe deeply and wish all of us well, continuing to move slowly, mindfully, and kindly through space.  I go inside and find some steadiness.  Then I gratefully return to my little house with my loot, and happily continue to prepare the scene.
Tomorrow two daughters with their families, an ex-husband and sister-in-law, will all arrive to be together around the tree, around the dining room table, and if we can all stay in the moment, we will treat each other with loving care and gratitude.  We will dine on duck a l'orange, cracked crab, macaroni and cheese, beautiful roasted winter veggies, and elegant green beans, because you absolutely must have green in your grand dinner.  It just adds that little zing of color! Homemade desserts will be forthcoming, and the choices of wine(s) will be ample -- a little champagne, or rose, or white, or dark purplish red, because red is always perfect in the winter time.  And what would Christ or the Buddha say about this voluptuous feast?  I'm pretty sure I know just how they would partake, but what would they think of this  excess of tastes?  I think I will try to remember this question tomorrow when we all sit down to contemplate my culinary offerings...
I think I will try to return inside tomorrow as much as possible, and remember the inherent goodness of myself, and of all who gather around and fill my little house with family.

Food and Love and Lust?

This morning I drove out toward the beach to deliver a lunch meal to the small monastery/nunnery of Aloka Vihara, a tiny community of nuns that resides and practices and teaches there.  There is something so expansive about just plain offering.  This practice of "dana" is of course a core teaching within the Buddha's repertoire, and one that I have taken to very easily.  I prepared macaroni and cheese, and the rich smells of the warmed dish as I drove out there instantly made me happy, and once again I reflect on the effect that food, lovingly prepared, has on the heart and mind.  One day I will stay and eat the meal with them, and partake of the experience to the fullest.  I keep thinking I don't have the time, which is probably not true.  It's just one of those fleeting thoughts that travels through the mind...  I love their little house on 48th avenue, the perfume of incense, the softness of the entire environment, even the elephant photograph on the wall near the kitchen.  Yes, one day I will remain there with them and enjoy just eating.
Speaking of eating, I had a soup the other night (Sunday) at Zuni that blew me away.  I need to immortalize it here, or the experience will fade out from my memory.  I was cold when I walked in the door, and I had the good sense to order soup.  It was late and I was hungry.  Cold and hungry -- what better remedy for that than a Zuni Cafe soup?  It was called Kale and Garbanzo soup, made with a heavenly chicken stock (recipe for this in the Zuni book on p. 58 - not an easy or quick chore).  When that soup reached my stomach I was instantly happy.  I felt its warmth and richness immediately, and was thankful.  Then I experienced that grasping kind of energy which looked like this:  I want more of this soup - this one bowl won't be enough - how do I learn to make this soup? - maybe I should get some to go - will I ever be able to repeat this sublime eating experience?  Yes, the grasping mind intoxicates itself.  I got the basic information from the sweet young waiter, and went away happy, knowing that I would probably never make it, but that I just might teach myself to make the best chicken stock in the world.  And of that I'd be most proud.  This dinner was stupendous from start to finish, but the soup was what continued to linger in my consciousness.  I have to wonder about the depth of my emotional response to food.  Is this a helpful thing?  I bet the nuns eating my macaroni and cheese weren't going into small ecstasies over it as I was Sunday with my soup!
Yesterday I stayed quiet again, doing small things to prepare for my epic family Christmas.  Wrapping presents mindfully, and thinking about all of those who were coming.  I love the way my house feels as it exudes the scent and character of Christmas.  My lovely bushy fir tree keeps emitting this beautiful, comforting essence into the house, and the lights wink at me, classical music is playing, and the cat sits on my computer desk as though to say:  don't forget about me!  It's all very intimate and peaceful.  That this peacefulness won't last is a given, but for right now I can relish it the way I slowly and methodically consumed my kale soup the other night.
Feeling just a tad nostalgic, I think I will journey over to my old neighborhood of North Beach to find some beautiful Italian ceramic mugs -- a present for my house and myself.  And just maybe I'll stop in and have a little bite to eat at Rose Pistola.  On a grey, brisk day, all of this makes sense.  I'm going for more comfort, I can't deny it!  AND, I know how fleeing it is too.  Does it matter to keep going for it even when it fades faster than you want it to?  I think this is today's question.
I feel very fortunate to be in this life right now, temporarily freed of fear and loathing.

There are teachers all around us

Another rainy day in San Francisco, and I take refuge in my house.  Colored lights in the front windows, the tree sparkling, and it is hard to talk myself into doing anything other than just being ... here ....
My oldest friend in the world gave me a painting of my cat Jackson done on a cigar box, and as I look at this whimsical sweet piece I am reminded of what it takes to produce beauty.  It takes work (with heart, of course).  She works doggedly at her painting, producing countless small jewels that she offers the world -- in her studio, on her website, and now her blog.  She just does the work day after day.  But that is in her nature, really... So earnest, steadfast, purposeful is she.  It inspires me no end.  Do I have that work ethic?  (And is this Sunday's question?)  The answer is :  sometimes yes, sometimes no.  I work when I feel a passionate drive or yearning, but not when I am just moving from moment to moment, in my head, sometimes in my body..... It seems as though I am just traveling through, and Sue is literally rooted in her vision.  Turns out she dislikes travel about as much as I LOVE it.  It's a marvel how different we are, and yet our 62 year history has stitched us together and made our connection rich, seamless.
My children teach me that letting go is the key.  In the midst of confusion and apparent chaos, you let go and breathe, and all is eventually revealed.  There is so little to control, really.  "We live in illusion and the appearance of things,"  some Buddhist or Hindu sage wrote.  When I was young I felt bound to create and orchestrate my family's life, and now they all have their own, and there is no need.  I can simply rest in the middle and feel the feelings and thoughts as they stream past.  My brain tells me I must plan, make things orderly, make things beautiful, make everyone happy, and my heart tells me life is already all these things, and there is nothing to do about it.  Christmas will come and go, with its amped up energy and high expectations, and I will feed the family "duck a l'orange," with a great rich red wine and bountiful array of food around it, and hopefully each of us will know during some part of this ritual what it feels like to love, and to be deeply connected as we travel our very own paths.  And that is all that matters, really.  It's not about the structure, it's about the heart beating underneath it all...

My family

My Kenyan cat friend

Listening to the rain on a Saturday

It is that time of year again, and I am working daily at counting my blessings and feeling gratitude not only for those whom I love but also my fellow beings in general.  The older I get the more I realize we are not separate as beings -- we are part of the same family, and as such, should consciously care about, attend to, one another.  I try to muster this energy in me as I walk the streets, go in and out of the grocery store, narrowly avoid a collision at a city intersection, stand in line at the post office, sit alone in a dark movie theater ....  We are all carrying suffering, after all, and it is just recently that I am able to articulate that and NOT be sad or depressed about it.  It is a grey rainy day in San Francisco, and I am considering driving to the beach where I have a most remarkable refuge facing the Pacific Ocean.  I am also entertaining the idea of hunkering down at home, listening to some beautiful choral music on the stereo, wrapping a present or two, inhaling the comforting perfume of my Christmas tree, and just plain resting in the moment, the moment before the whirlwind of next week arrives at my doorstep...  The amazing thing about living alone is this ongoing spontaneity of living:  deciding and un-deciding in any given moment of changing circumstance, because you don't really have anyone to make you accountable!  It's often fun to be that way, and sometimes, I get mired in directionless-ness, and spend my time puttering about my little house.  But, then, what is wrong with puttering?  Shall that be the question for this Saturday?
I guess the correct Buddhist answer (if there is such a thing) is:  as long as you putter mindfully, moment by moment, it is just fine.  Awareness is all!

Books I am reading:  Dead Lagoon, Watermark (both unfolding in Venice, where I shall soon be visiting), Confession of a Buddhist Atheist (Stephen Batchelor).
People I am thinking about:  my dear friend Winnie, in Boston with her youngest daughter, my therapist Anita, who will soon be having major hip surgery, my piano teacher Sean, whose lovely spaciousness has opened a beautiful new chapter in my piano playing, my friends Sharon & Craig at the beach whom I miss a lot, and my pal Lorraine in Taos, NM, who always tells me about great books, has a great blog, and got me hooked on knitting!

To the above, and to all, very loving wishes for peace, happiness, and wellbeing...