February, 2008
MEDITATIONS ON A SPEEDING TICKET
The other day I got a speeding ticket. I was on my way to walk Bodhi the Dog in Washington Park. I hadn't noticed I was in a particular hurry. There was that slight exhilaration of batting along with the force of gravity to the bottom of a hill, then a gulp there in my stomach as I spotted the police car tucked away on a side street.
The officer took a look at my driver's license then said, "Are you really four feet nine?"
Oh no, another gulp. "Well, actually I'm only about four feet eight and a half," I admitted. I braced myself for, "Step out of the car and stand with your back to this measuring tape," but he let it slide.
"So you must be able to really pick 'em off on this road," I said, since it was one of those places where "everybody" speeds.
"Oh, yeah, like shooting fish in a barrel," he said, "but you're the fastest one yet."
I suppose I should have been flattered. Though I was going over 40 in a 25 mph zone, he wrote the ticket for 5 miles over.
Ever since the ticket, I'm more attentive to my speed and I'm realizing that I was often exceeding speed limits before. In an odd way, that citation was a sort of gift, reminding me to pay attention, be more in the moment. Now I notice that there is a different sense of being relaxed as I drive around town, actually going 25 and 30 mph. I even set my cruise control, so my lead foot doesn't get the better of me. What's my hurry, anyway? Where is there to be but here?
This whole subject of time and the moment comes up over and over for me, one of my fascinations. Here's one of the recent daily PEACE quotes I received by e-mail (if you want to receive them, here's the link: http://www.livingcompassion.org/dailypeacequotes.html)
"To realize the unimportance of time is the gate of wisdom."
- Bertrand Russell
At first there was a bit of a balk there for me. Unimportance?? And then I recognized a connecting strand to a Zen story about Joshu. He was a formidable Chinese Zen master of old, and my master, Harada Sekkei Roshi, was fond of his saying:
"Before I knew that the Way is myself, I was used by time. But after I realized the Way is myself, I was no longer used by time. Now I am able to live using time."
from The Essence of Zen: Dharma Talks Given in Europe and America by Sekkei Harada
When I'm really in the moment, fully involved or one with whatever I'm doing, the sense of time drops away. And even in the midst of this, I can be aware of the time on the clock, recognizing that that is how we operate in the world. Time is dance and tempo, seasons and turnings. Examining our relationship to time is a great way to get to know ourselves. In the past week I've heard these statements:
"I need more hours in a day."
"It's hard to find time to do inner work."
"There's just never enough time."
We all recognize the sense of what's being said, but what is the true meaning? How are we choosing to live our lives? Several of the people I'm working with in Focusing sessions have a strong sense of finite time in their lives, and recognize the value of whatever remains. How can we honor this precious life?
I also notice a thread running through several people's processes about feeling guilty about taking "time out" for themselves. Yet it's so clear to me that we are much more fully able to really BE with others if we are caring for and kind to ourselves. The time we take for whatever nurtures us, like meditation or Focusing sessions, massage, journaling or enjoying music, opens and frees more of us to be here now with whatever comes our way, experiencing this moment freshly. Or we might feel this as getting out of our own way, becoming JUST THIS.
"Spiritual powers and miraculous manifestations are not wonders produced
by ghosts or spirits from outer space; these terms refer to working freely and
independently whatever you do."
Yagyu Munenori, 16th century martial artist
Wow! Spiritual powers and miraculous manifestations--driving my car, taking a walk, writing a newsletter!Here's to this precious present moment! Jan
| Let there be light...and dark! |
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| December Greetings! | | There are still a few golden leaves clinging around here, and the wreaths and holiday lights are going up on our block. We've had our first magical dusting of snow, whitening the grayness that descends on the Pacific Northwest this time of year. I have a sense of our careening toward the winter solstice, with shortening days darkened by clouds and rain. I appreciate how many cultures have some form of ceremonial kindling of the light to ward off our innate discomfort with dark this time of year. Even Buddha's enlightenment happens in December. So twice in the last week I've been delighted to walk into offices illuminated with candlelight. In one case the power was off, and the lighting of flickering candles was so utterly cozy compared to the usual harshness of electric light. I remembered the Japanese author Tanizaki's piece, In Praise of Shadows, with this quote: "So benumbed are we nowadays by electric lights that we have become utterly insensitive to the evils of excessive illumination." Interesting to think of "excessive illumination!" And it's certainly true that the "felt sense" of a woodfire or lit candle is very different from that of an electric light. For me at this time of the year there's both the pull to hibernate, and the wanting to be among friends and family to affirm our connectedness. Finding the balance and equipoise of these two is a lively dynamic, like the dancing flames of a fire. I'm finding my meditation classes filled with people looking for a way to cope with the stress of this season and it's wonderful to see how attending to the moment can give us a respite from "clock time" even in the midst of activity. I'm reminded that Buddha said on his deathbed, "Be a lamp unto yourself." Here's another lovely crossing of meditation and Focusing for me: the belief that we are inherently whole, that we have innate wisdom, or ARE that wisdom when we can let the light shine through. Meditation helps me sit with and cultivate that wisdom; Focusing gives me a way to allow it to function in the world. We're able to shine a light on the bogeymen lurking in our corners, those parts of us that we usually try to push away or ignore. Here at last is a way to make room and be with these parts in a safe, productive way. We shine a light on them, and lo and behold, we can come to a new embodied understanding. Let there be light and dark! And the wisdom to appreciate both! Peace and generosity to you, Jan Hodgman Visit me at 
Looking up at Chihuly's Bridge of Glass at Tacoma's Museum of Glass (photo by Jan Hodgman) |
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September, 2007
With a hint of autumn colors already!
For my birthday this summer I received Jane Dunnewold's Complex Cloth: The Workshops, a 3-disc set of processes and techniques for fabric dyeing and decorating.
It's full of eye-opening ideas and advice, and I was particularly struck by an example she gave in her section on Overdyeing.
(So you're asking yourself, "What does this have to do with Focusing, Zen, or inner wisdom?" Hold on, have faith!)
I've enjoyed dyeing fabric for a number of years, and done a fair amount of experimenting with color, but Jane pushed me right off the edge of my comfort zone into that sparkling place of discovery. The "conventional wisdom" about color is that when you mix two colors opposite each other on a color wheel (called complementary colors, like orange and blue or purple and yellow), you end up with, well, usually mud. But Jane showed several examples of pieces she had dyed, first folding and putting in one color, then refolding and putting into an opposite color. Instead of getting mud, she got all sorts of fabulous unlikely combinations of colors, and places where the two original colors remained distinct.
My experiment was to fold a piece of fabric, dye it first in Desert Green, a blue-green , then refolding it and dyeing it in fuschia, close to magenta. Here's what I got:
"Not Mud at All!" (and it's much more vivid in person)
This experience keeps expanding for me as I sense into why it feels so significant. First, it was great to have someone nudge me out of my comfort zone, or rather into an area I thought I knew and wouldn't like (I wasn't after mud here). It reminded me of the many times my Zen Master Harada Sekkei Roshi played the same role for me, being present for me as I explored unfamiliar and maybe scary territory. (There's a Zen koan called "Stepping Off the 100-foot Pole" that comes to mind.)
It was really helpful for Jane Dunnewold to encourage experimentation, and I was reminded of my Focusing Coordinator Reva Bernstein's advice to not be attached to the outcome. Being attentive to the process, aware in the moment of creativity, the "flow" of becoming the project itself, is familiar to me through my Zen training.
Then there are the many times in the process of Focusing that I am startled, tickled, expanded by staying with and exploring the Edge, that place of uncertainty and uneasiness, and at the same time fraught with possibility and discovery. Perhaps the most dramatic instances of this are when I am able to open up to places that I usually label as unwanted, unlikeable or even seemingly harmful. It's so fresh when I can come to a space where I can say, "Wow! So THAT's what that is about!" or "No WONDER that's there," or "Thank you for trying to protect me and maybe it's not necessary anymore."
It takes trust to open up to those unwanted parts of ourselves, and it certainly helps to have a guide or mentor along for encouragement. Buddha is quoted as saying on his deathbed, "Be a lamp unto yourselves," but it sure is a help to have someone hold the lamp for us or at least to hold our hand. And still we find the truth within ourselves. It's not something that can be given to us.
After a Focusing session with someone this last week where she was able to experience "the eye of the storm," I came across this quote in some of Eugene Gendlin's work*:
"One client describes it in terms of a hurricane: 'If you only go so far into something, its like going into a hurricane and getting terribly blown around. You have to go into it and then keep going further and further in till you get to the eye of the hurricane. There it's quiet and you can see where you are.' This beautifully expresses the fact that the direction of focusing is definitely into the emotions, not away from them, yet also that focusing involves something qualitatively very different than merely 'being blown around' by the emotions. The illustration also captures something of the centrality, depth, and quiet which one finds-- the quality which others have called 'being in touch with myself.'"
Here's to all of us being in touch with ourselves!
Joy and peace,
Jan
Heart Lake bench, September 2007
* from "A Theory of Personality Change" by Eugene T. Gendlin, Ph.D., Chapter four in: Personality Change, Philip Worchel & Donn Byrne (Eds.), New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1964