A Spirit of Silence

Reading this excerpt from Thich Nhat Hahn's The Miracle of Mindfulness, I found myself calmed by it.  So I thought I would post a link to it for you.  The words below came forward to me.

For those who are just beginning to practice, it is best to maintain a spirit of silence throughout the day. That doesn't mean that on the day of mindfulness, you shouldn't speak at all. You can talk, you can even go ahead and sing, but if you talk or sing, do it in complete mindfulness of what you are saying or singing, and keep talking and singing to a minimum. Naturally, it is possible to sing and practice mindfulness at the same time, just as long as one is conscious of the fact that one is singing and aware of what one is singing. 

On my first retreats I realized forcefully that keeping silence was a great relief to me.  That was connected to my sense of responsibility to others rather than myself, and to my anxiety.  Those insights were important, but the teaching was in the sense of laying down a heavy burden.

You can call it awareness or "a day of mindfulness" or "keeping the Sabbath holy."  What it is, is a gift to yourself.

Getting Over Their Self

I have been enjoying Jeni's ice cream and thinking about writing a post.  I was touched to find three comments on old posts sitting there, waiting for moderation, going back to July 11. I think notifications are going to my old email, and haven't figured out how to change that.  A couple of people have also told me they tried to comment and couldn't, so I want to get on the forums and see if other bloggers are having that problem.



One of the comments asked me to write on deprogramming from an alcoholic family, which is such an interesting term. Makes you think of what some people did to young people who were sucked into weird cults, I'm thinking back in the seventies.  A reversal of brainwashing. Then again, it's interesting to think of your conditioning as brainwashing. Here is the insight that has helped me recently:  the past does not exist.

Meanwhile, I've been watching the above video of a talk by Thich Nhat Hahn about The Art of Happiness.  Tom liked it a lot when his Zen group watched it, and I like it.  Thay (as he is often called by students, meaning Master) says we can learn how to "make good use of our suffering." Joko Beck called this "Suffer intelligently."  This is where Buddhist teachings are about human psychology, but older and better, and might lead me on in this topic of getting out of the sucky quicksand of the past.  Okay, enough for now.
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Miracules of healing

It is with great relief and gratitude that I can report today that Sheba is clearly much better.  My gratitude is general, to the universe, that brings forth marvelous forms capable of healing, and particular, for the friends at home and online who understood and made helpful suggestions.

Today Sheba is eating again a select variety of expensive canned catfood, even her dry kidney diet if it is soaked in chicken broth to soften it.  Her digestive system is operating as it should. She has resumed her usual schedule, lying up against my hip while I read in bed. (I knew she was really sick when she stopped doing her rituals.)  It does seem reasonable now to hope that what caused her weight loss was not kidney failure, but pain in her mouth that made it hard to eat. The antibiotic has helped.  Next week she will go to the Vet to be sedated and have her mouth examined. 

She did not entirely heal herself, but was helped along by those two daily doses of liquid amoxicillin.  We have become more skillful in administering that to a cat who does not like to be held in any way, let alone having her pretty little head immobilized for a few seconds.  Maybe she has realized something, for she seems to swallow quicker.  Thanks to my daughter, Cassie, who recommended I look in Sheba's eyes and talk to her, explain why we are doing this.  Cassie said animals may not change their behavior, but they understand. I had a sense that this was true when I did it.

It is thundering.  I just went to the screened porch expecting Sheba would want to come in.  Our last cat, Sherlock, did not like thunder, and went to a special place under the guest bed, way back against the wall.  But Sheba was watching the dimming light and blowing leaves through the screens with interest.  We are all  unique.

Her gains in health caused me to look at her as a remarkable collection of organs and patterns, including immune response.  She is so small, 7.3 pounds, so delicate, so complicated, and able to heal, as all life is.  If I stop for a moment I can see my own body the same way, how my pancreas has been healing by merely following a different diet for a while (and discontinuing the drug responsible for the illness).  No major medical treatments involved, just let the pancreas rest.  It fosters a sort of awe.

I feel that awe often now that I am back on my feet - when I walk across a room barefoot in the morning, or take the short sidewalk to my acupuncturist's office.  It feels miraculous to be up on my feet (with custom insoles in my Asics), after last year's long difficulties.  I am even able now to grocery shop without using an electric cart.  I love a little verse by Thich Nhat Han that goes like this:

Walking on the earth is a miracle!
Each mindful step reveals the wondrous Dharmakaya.

[image:  a portrait of Sheba in morning sun]

I am of the nature to grow old

It’s a new world today, very beautiful. But for me, same old flu. After two days of rising wellness, I have returned to the fever and lassitude, which took me to bed last night before NBC had predicted results. Now, that’s pathetic.

Flu is a different story when you’re old. It can lead to stubborn pneumonia and other infections. Even so, I had thought that since the Mayo Clinic website said the flu lasted a minimum of five days, then I should get better after five days. Not to be. This is day eight, and I’ve had to cancel tonight’s meeting of my course on healing. (So this is not really the post-ironic age.)

I asked myself what I know about how to be happy with this kind of thing going on, keeping me from walking in the Whetstone Prairie during these last days of Indian Summer. What came to mind was the chant called “The Five Remembrances,” which some Buddhists say every day. The facts it presents are central realities. This is the translation Thich Nhat Hanh uses:

I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.

I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

Today I thought about the first of these. There is no way to escape growing old. That’s certainly been my experience.

Recently I came across a web ad for PerriconeMD cosmeceuticals that said the opposite: Aging is Optional. Not-aging costs $195 for the “package,” which the ad described as “A prescription for looking your best and living a healthy and independent life.” Ah, you get the whole thing with your face creams: beauty, health, independence. Everything you want.

Many readers have been through what Tom and I have, trying to care for elderly parents who do not want to admit to old age. Sometimes they are puzzled, bemused: an 85-year-old man telling how he couldn’t lift the extension ladder up to the house. How strange, he insists. I always used to be able to. Sometimes it is defiant, an 80-year-old woman insisting “I’m not going to go live with old people.” These are people of a generation that believed fiercely in the power of individual will.

Buddhists call this kind of thinking “ignorance” or “delusion,” by which we mean not understanding reality, and we consider it an innate human tendency. But aging is the universal reality we share with other carbon-based lifeforms: we are born, mature, age, and die—and that’s the optimal scenario. That’s what I used to say I wanted, to be active, vital, and healthy, and die all at once, say with a not-too-painful heart attack, after my ninetieth birthday party. I seem to have forgotten to sign up.

What if I really accept growing old? The whole thing, not just the parts I like, grandchild, birthday dinner, more self-confidence; hah, being retired, no alarm clock. If I accept who I am, I can discard my ideas of youth and age, put aside my desires—parasailing, Paris, being a young mother again—and just live within today’s reality.

This is the deeper side of “living in the moment.” It doesn’t just involve paying attention to what we’re doing. It goes beyond to seeing the present moment, the reality we’re in, living fully in that reality, not fighting, denying, hating it. There is lots to be experienced here, some of it enjoyable, some of it interesting, and much of it inevitable.