tdc

inner light

May 232013

So much has been going on inside over the last month, it’s hard to articulate. I tried to start writing earlier tonight, and couldn’t find the words, so I did an unconscious thing, and watched one of my favorite Star Trek – The Next Generation episodes, “The Inner Light”. This one always brings me to tears, and now I understand a lot more about why. Yes, there is loss, and I can completely relate to it. But I’m also projecting my feelings on the story of incarnation.

In this episode, Picard gets to experience a whole different incarnation, an entire life. It’s like a microcosm of our existence, a deep reminder that our life is transient, and that some part of us is bigger than this lifetime. Picard goes on a twenty-minute journey where he loves a woman, has children, lets go of the past life that he knew, loses his wife, finds a fulfilling existence, then finally returns to the larger, outer life. He also learns to play the flute, and the skill carries with him as he returns to his place as the captain of a starship. Symbolically, this is the cycle of samsara, of incarnation over and over. Roger Ebert wrote about this very well.

This is still a very current topic in my awareness. I’m swimming in an ongoing pool of Nancy’s stuff, sorting and distributing, and she continues to unfold. It’s a strange process; she is becoming more intimate, and also less of a force. I feel less of the drama of our life and her death, instead of a wave of grief, I feel a burst of sadness and thoughtfulness, smiling at the memory and returning to what is here and now…it’s all settling in. I have a fresh truckload of her stuff from under her father’s house, some of it is still boxed and sealed, and it’s not difficult, any more, just time-consuming. But I do have a bunch of photos that I’ve never seen, and they’ve been touching my heart. Her high school prom, watching sunrise from a temple in Indonesia (from around the time we first met doing workshops together), more touching images from her twenties and thirties and her childhood.

I get to see the totality of her incarnation now, through pictures, journals, artwork, interior design plans for huge beautiful projects. It’s a lot, she was a prolific woman. And along with the intimacy of seeing and feeling so much of her, she is also settling into my heart in a different way. She’s just there, like a treasured experience, but no longer dominating my feelings.

Her altar has changed. I’ve removed her ashes from the great room of my home, and created a new place for her inside the altar cabinet in my practice room. Now when I go down there each morning, and light a candle, I can open the cabinet and see her new sacred area, the photos and some of her favorite things, an altar within an altar. It seems so appropriate, as my buddhist practice would never have grown like this if I hadn’t lost her. And it also seems perfect that she is held within the Buddha, just as she is held within my heart, and her spirit is held within something greater now.

My life with her is now so much like the journey of Picard in this program. It’s like a whole reality that brought me new experience and learning. And both the memory and the learning stay with me, like Picard and his ability to play the flute.

ejection and injection of consciousness

Buddhism, Reflection No Responses »

Apr 042013

Roger Ebert passed away this morning, a man who has illuminated my life for decades. I grew up with “Siskel and Ebert At The Movies”, and now they are both gone. Fine men, at least, what I know of them. Perhaps the most lovely part of this loss is how gracefully Roger did it. On Tuesday, he wrote a final post on his blog, where he spoke of “taking a leave of presence”. How prophetic, he must have known. Read it, the final line is such an adorable exit, if you ever saw his TV program.

But even more interesting, Ebert wrote about life and death quite eloquently in one of his books,

I know it is coming, and I do not fear it, because I believe there is nothing on the other side of death to fear. I hope to be spared as much pain as possible on the approach path. I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state. I am grateful for the gifts of intelligence, love, wonder and laughter. You can’t say it wasn’t interesting. My lifetime’s memories are what I have brought home from the trip. I will require them for eternity no more than that little souvenir of the Eiffel Tower I brought home from Paris.

How beautiful, to be in this place. I strive for it, and yet Roger was here well before his passing. Of course, I’m healthy and he was not – there’s nothing like impending death to bring our days into sharp focus – he must have felt his life ending, and he certainly had a pile of projects going! I’m learning how to acknowledge my impermanence, and also my permanence, many times every single day.

It just so happens that I’m learning “The Root Text of the Seven Points of Training of the Mind”, thanks to Lama Palden. This training is pretty much a life-long road map for becoming more conscious, compassionate and enlightened. I love this study, and am slowly adapting the many parts of it into my awareness. There are two little parts that I want to share, part of Point Four, “The Utilization of Practice In One’s Whole Life”.

In life, practice the five strengths.

The Mahayana instructions for the ejection of consciousness at Death is the five strengths: how you conduct yourself is important.

Of course, this is why we have lamas, so that we can understand what these brief instructions mean. One of the strengths is ‘repudiation’. My notes say this about repudiation in life:

Let go of ego-clinging. We are not the most important thing in the universe. Samsara (suffering) is a state of mind. Feel how tired we are of suffering, and our desire for awakening.

And in death:

Repudiation of our body and body sensations, release the relative ground of the body to find the ultimate ground. We let go of identifying with the body, and the body sensations. We step back a bit from the ground that our body has provided, so that we can find the ultimate ground, the awareness and peace and love our practices have prepared us for. Recognize that no one has died, no one was born. Let go that anyone is dying.

It sounds so simple, but of course, none of this is easy, or familiar. That’s why we call it ‘practice’. In vajrayana, reincarnation isn’t just an idea or concept, it is the basis for all of our actions and thought, what we say, what we do, how we think. To fully believe in reincarnation, I have to start to look at my life the way that Roger did. This life is ultimately like a trip to France, a set of memories and experiences that I will carry forward after my body is gone.

So I’m contemplating the ejection of consciousness at death, in order to inject more consciousness into my life. Thank you, Roger, for the gift of all you shared with us. You inspire me.

mz. parker

Geek 1 Response »

Mar 132013

I’m embarking on a new adventure, acquiring a vehicle that I’ve fantasized about for decades. A VW Westfalia camper. This has deep psychological implications, and I am indeed smiling away as I write about this. I have always loved the idea of having one, being able to take off on short notice to camp somewhere, anywhere really, without reservations or arrangements or permits. Something appeals deeply about being self-contained in a tidy mobile package.

In typical fashion, this has been a research project, which started a month ago. It all began when Jen and I got tickets to Burning Man this year, tickets which I may not be able to use because of a schedule conflict. However, we immediately started talking about how we could go there, how we would camp, and I mentioned my long-term love of Westfalias. It turns out to be a shared love, and we were off. I, being the geek that I am, immediately turned to the internet, and quickly flushed the two major sites for afficionados of the breed. There is a subculture of “westy” fans (born in the ’60’s), and just a few shops and websites that specialize in them. In case you don’t know, Westy’s have built in storage, sink, stove and refrigerator, with propane and water tanks, external power connectors, and a rear seat that folds down into a respectable bed. The top has a skylight, and pops up to create an upper sleeping area for two more people.

(If you want to share the geekyness, check out theSamba.com, GoWesty.com, and the BusLab in Berkeley, CA)

There are good years and not-so-good years for the Vanagon, upgrades available for engines, headlights, instruments, wheels, storage, electrical power, solar power, air conditioning…the list is endless, born of the passion that these people have embodied ever since the first 36-horsepower anemic air-cooled VW bus brought flower children across the country. We settled on a 1985-1991 Vanagon Westy, because it has good ground clearance, some personality (the newer Eurovans look like delivery vehicles) and functioning heating, refrigerator, and air conditioning. We both want one with a manual transmission, AC, a recent engine rebuild, and preferably white in color.

I found nice vans in Albuquerque, NM, Ketchem, ID, British Colombia, Dallas, TX, Half Moon Bay, CA, northern Washington, Georgia, right next door in Novato, and finally, the girl you see in the photo, who lives in Vancouver, WA. “Mz. Parker” has had a heart transplant, what is called a “Tiico conversion”, which installs a VW Jetta 4-cylinder motor instead of the somewhat flakey water-cooled boxer motor. Tiico is now defunct, but their work lives on, boosting power, reliability, durability and the mileage significantly. Her motor has 24K miles, her transmission was rebuilt 12K miles ago, there are upgrades to instruments, lighting, air conditioning and wheels. Plus she was repainted about 8 years ago, and is white with tinted windows. Plus a Yakima rack on top.

The CarFax report on her is interesting. She was titled in Indiana in 1988, then apparently ran into a train in Florida (!) a few months later. Obviously there wasn’t significant damage, as she has a clean title, but you’ve got to wonder what the story is behind that event. She came to Washington in 2003 with 150K miles on the odometer, changed owners in 2008, and is now about to land in our laps with 192K on the clock.

So we are off on an adventure, flying to Portland Saturday morning with sleeping bags, some tools, and a change of clothes. The plan is to visit my stepmom in Vancouver, and make it home by Sunday evening. I am excited and happy, both about the van and the adventure itself.

On a deeper level, this means a major change is happening in my vehicle collection. I will be selling Roy, my trusty Ford F150 work truck, for which I have been very grateful as he helped us build our house, then helped me move Nancy’s stuff out into the world. I also expect to sell Britt, my British Racing Green Mini Cooper. This will leave me with a BMW car, two BMW motorcycles, and Mz. Parker, all nice German technology, right where my heart is. I am, after all, an Engineer.

the back 40

Reflection 1 Response »

Feb 232013

With a burst of nice weather, after rain earlier in the week, I have a responsibility. It’s even a savage pleasure. I get to rip thousands of scotch broom plants out of my back yard. You can see the results. Piles of dead broom in the foreground, a clear view of the forest to the right, and an ocean of the pernicious weeds to the left. I’ve cleared about half of the yard this winter.

There is data, and then there is feeling. The data is…this is a big fire hazard, and as you can see, it’s hard to see the forest for the, uh, weeds. The right side is lovely, the left side annoying. When Nancy and I bought this property, this weed field was 8 feet high, and we couldn’t see the trees at all until we fought our way through. We pulled them, thousands of them. And then, I neglected to come back and pull them again. My mistake. The good news is, they are not hard to yank after a rain, and we got a good bit earlier this week. So it’s prime time to strike. The problem will be less and less each year, if I am diligent.

The feeling is edgy. Grrr, I cheerfully kill hundreds and thousands of these, pulling them with gloves and sometimes with tools. When I’m in the flow, it’s a meditative experience, totally focused and present, feeling my body work and feeling the resistance of these plants as they grip the earth so firmly. I now sit in my kitchen, feeling a deep satisfaction after pushing the edge back another ten feet. So much of the learning in my life happens when I can hold several things in my awareness at the same time. Today, it’s “savage satisfaction”, “meditative destruction”, my vow to not kill, and the beautiful esthetic and health of an open forest.

Here is the view from above, the upper roof deck of my home, with covered outdoor furniture, and the wild oak forest above. All of the scotch broom on the right side will be gone by May, that is my solemn commitment.

There are precious discoveries as I meditatively destruct the weeds. I found baby oaks and bays, precious trees coming up with only a few leaves. With the scotch broom gone, they will get sun, and with a little assistance from me — perhaps a strategic watering if we have no rain for a month — they will help the forest continue. And the forest needs help: I’ve lost two oaks to Sudden Oak Death since buying this property, and my neighbor’s beautiful heritage oak tree on the south side of my house also succumbed. I’m the steward of a bit of Marin, a half-acre of hillside, with foxes and turkeys and all the usual varmints. I want to keep it healthy.

pleasantville

Reflection 1 Response »

Jan 222013

I had the pleasure of watching the movie “Pleasantville” tonight, and enjoyed the delightful irony and illumination that the movie offers for our times. As the characters step into their own shadow, color fills the space. At first, it’s the light: knowledge, affection, love. Then it’s lust, violence, anger, and finally love again. Such beautiful symmetry…it all ends up in love. Just like our ephemeral lives, at the end all that matters is love.

At the same time, I had the pleasure of trading comments on Facebook with my stepmom about Roe vs. Wade, the landmark abortion decision by the Supreme Court forty years ago today. I fully support abortion, and have had the painful experience of sharing the procedure on two occasions. Abortion is violent, and as such, I wonder if it is contrary to my Buddhist vow against taking life. But the question is really about “what is it to take a life”? A reading of “The Tibetan Book of the Dead” provides some information, as there is a whole section in the book about choosing your incarnation, seeing the birth canal, and deciding that this life is not the one to choose, to resist the incarnation and not emerge. Clearly, the Tibetans feel that life begins when we pop out of our mother.

This week, we saw the inauguration of President Obama, and heard his speech, bringing a vision of our country with equality for women and different races, marriage for same-sex couples, support for the poor and impoverished. In a very real sense, the battle of the forces in “Pleasantville” reflects the split in our own society and political system. May we all find our way back to the place where our love of each other is more important than our differences of opinion.

And I fervently hope we find our way to live together in a full-color world, with lots of immigrants, women running things, gay couples, abortion, etc. We will. It’s inevitable, like the march of color through the movie.

first loop around the sun

Nancy, Reflection No Responses »

Dec 212012

I’ve been continuing to reflect on the last year, re-reading my blog postings from a year ago as Nancy and I navigated her hospitalization. Early last December, we realized that she would not survive, and a year ago this afternoon, she decided to stop medical treatment. She passed away early the following morning, so tomorrow will be one year. I’ve also gone back and read my private journal entries, where I wrote about my feelings through this period, the events of her final day, the long vigil that Tina Benson, her brother Jim, her sister-in-law Kathy and I shared through the night. Someday perhaps I will get this into a book, but for now, there is no need to share details. It’s enough for me to simply remember her, and feel the still-healing place in my heart.

So the next 24 hours of my life are ritual space, and I invite you to join me in whatever way you wish. As we celebrate the winter solstice, and the death and rebirth it symbolizes, remember who she was to you, what she brought to you, cherish her. And perhaps ask yourself what was born in you at the time she passed away?

For me, everything inside seems to be different. The boot-camp of nearly two months in the ICU developed some essential durability inside; I know that I can sit with anyone through just about anything now. I also know just how fiercely loyal I am…I never even thought about leaving her side through all of this (although we were working hard on our marriage before her final illness came in).

The daily contact I had with her, for weeks after she passed away, was loving and communicative and startlingly real for me. It was like having her sitting next to me, invisible and a little hard to hear clearly. It got to be pretty amusing, I would be driving to work, and she would land in the passenger seat and surprise me, stick around a chat for a while, then take off. I had additional contact with her last April, for several weeks. I now know that some part of us continues after we pass away, and that unshakeable knowing has stripped away most of my fear of my own death. With that, many of my other habitual fears have fallen away. If I have a feeling, I don’t hesitate to express it. If I have an observation to share with someone dear to me, I don’t hesitate to express that either…as long as what I say is in service to them and to our relationship. I had so many little stopping points, ways of filtering myself, before Nancy died, too afraid to speak the plain truth, afraid of my impact or of the judgement or criticism that might come back. Now I hardly ever filter myself. Life is too short for superficialities.

I also have a sharp and deep appreciation for all that I sense and experience. I’m loving food, wine, weather, hugs, everything sensory in huge ways, and I’m greedy for it all. Life is precious and fleeting, and we won’t get to have these experiences when we’re gone, it will be different.

Which begs the question, what do we get to take with us when we die? I can testify that Nancy had all her memories and feelings, in fact, her ability to express love and feel loved was liberated when she left her body. So we get to take our love with us. Perhaps that is the durable remains of incarnation, the part we get to keep always. The ngöndrö practice text says

The passage of the four seasons is but a momentary flicker.
Everything is impermanent, bound to four inevitable ends.
There is no one who, having been born, has not died.
Our lifespan and life force are like a flash of lightening or a drop of dew.

I would have never taken on the preliminary practices before losing Nancy, and now there is a spiritual anchor in my life through them. They are changing my body, strengthening me physically and changing me in subtle ways I can feel, but not yet comprehend. Some of my meditations are bringing intense insight, delightful awareness, deeper feelings, more receptivity. This is all wonderful.

And lastly, I adore the woman I’m dating, I revel in the direct and affectionate and uncommitted relationship we have, and we are about to go on vacation in Hawaii through the holidays, my real first vacation since the summer of 2009. I’m looking forward to what the new year will bring.

I sincerely hope that you, my friends, are finding love and connection, meaning and warmth this holiday season. I love you.

remembering the mozart wait

Nancy, Reflection No Responses »

Dec 042012

Since late October, I’ve been re-living the same time last year, the final fifty-six days of Nancy’s life, in the ICU at UCSF. When I went through the experience, I just had to show up each day, fully present, in the parts of me that could function while seeing my beloved on full life support, completely self-aware. Now I’m remembering the horror of it, how I had to negotiate with all my internal scared and young parts that could not deal with the challenge, tucking them away safely before walking into the hospital. It was the most difficult period in my life.

December 4th was the day that we found out that Nancy’s spinal abscess had returned, and that it could not be operated on. It was a decisive day, we all knew somewhere in our hearts that she would not recover without some kind of miracle. I wrote:

We are now facing the biggest mountain of all. Her two-month infection has turned into an abscess that seems to span most of her cervical and thoracic vertebrae, half of her back. It’s inoperable, it’s too big. Medical treatment is limited. The team of doctors switched antibiotics Friday, to meropenem and vancomycin, the big guns. The immunosuppressive drugs that prevent graft/host disease are dialed down to minimums, tachrolimus is below the therapeutic level, and prednisone is down to 10mg today. They will reduce the prednisone again in a day or two, but 5mg is pretty much the minimum to avoid an adrenal system crash that would also cripple her immune system. It’s a tightrope. Her immune system must rally to beat this.

The odds of Nancy beating this are not good. Nancy doesn’t want to die, she’s scared, I’m scared, and we’re digging deep. Her brother, sister and I all had extensive talks with her ICU attending and oncology attending today, and we’re putting together a meeting in a couple of days with the whole team.

That being said, some other parts of the journey are going well, and I believe in the power of all of our intention and prayer. There are a lot of us petitioning for her recovery, I’m giving her reiki each day, and lighting our altars each night. Her kidneys are working well, putting out something over four liters of urine each day. I didn’t even know they could do that. She’s been breathing on her own all day today, although she’ll get some breathing assistance tonight to help her rest. Her lungs have cleared of fluid, and she hasn’t been coughing up anything at all today. Her secondary inflection has cleared, and she has no more indication of any stomach problems. All her vital signs look good, though her pulse has been consistently high, around 100-105. She has almost no fever. She’s resting comfortably, and sleeping more than half the time since 3am this morning.

She’s sleeping now, in a quiet darkened room, as the chaos of the daily nursing shift change swirls outside. Mozart has been on the iPod player all day, as Janet, Jim and I take turns being with her. Her nephew Andrew and sister-in-law Kathy were here this morning also. As a side note, her dad came home from his week in the Novato hospital today, which helps ease the collective stress in the Jones clan.

Settle in, this is going to take days or weeks to resolve. I’ve learned that love is not a transient sensation of the body, love is a state of being, as durable as a galaxy.

As I approach the anniversary of her death, I’m contemplating all of what I have learned and developed because of her, and thinking about what I want to do on the anniversary to memorialize her, celebrate her, and release her. I’m also remembering all my love, encouragement, devotion, fear and pain.

not eighteen any more

Buddhism, Reflection No Responses »

Nov 152012

Welcome to my world, the practice room where I am (mostly) spending an hour each morning. Here is the view from my zafu (meditation cushion), as I begin. From foreground to the back, you are looking at: knee pads, a small rolled towel for my forehead as I prostrate, a small glass of almonds for keeping count (I move one when I complete each prayer, which is four prostrations for me), a Chenrezig thangka on the right (waiting for hanging) then the altar itself, with the prayer taped to the front. i have the prayer memorized, but I sometimes forget where I am, and need a reminder.

Ma nam kha dang nyam pei sem chen tam chae kyap kün dü kyi ngo wo la ma rin po che la kyap su chio

Yi dam khil khor gyi lha tsok nam la kyap su chio

Sang gyae chom den dae nam la kyap su chio

Dam pei chö nam la kyap su chio

Pak pei gen dün nam la kyap su chio

Pa wo khan dro chö kyong sung mai tsok ye she kyi chen dang den pa nam la kyap su chio

As I’ve entered into this first preliminary practice, I find that I have to learn it in stages. This first stage is learning how to fully prostrate, going from standing to outstretched on the floor, and back to standing without hurting myself. There are lots of little tips to make it easier…using a padded surface, knee pads, gloves to let your hands slide out, creating a smooth surface for your hands while padding supports your knees, hips, chest and forehead. Then there is memorizing the prayer, six stanzas of Tibetan. I’ve been listening to it and repeating it for weeks as I drive to work each morning, and now I have it well ingrained. A flow is happening as I chant and prostrate, it’s like a mild cardio workout. I break a sweat after five minutes. The third stage is to hold a complex visualization, involving buddhas, a host of enlightened beings, and my family and enemies. I’m working on that, and it’s happening in bursts.

The mechanics of chanting, prostrating and holding a visualization are getting easier, but I’ve hit the limit of what my body can do right now. In Bhutan or Tibet, these preliminary practices are taken on by young monks and nuns in their late teens, with strong, flexible bodies, and they complete hundreds or even a thousand each day. I’m in my fifties, and have found that my knees ache all day after eighty prostrations…so much so, that I’ve had to regroup, and do a different practice while my muscles and tendons recover. It’s fine, I’m patient, but I do feel a bit wistful that I’m not as young as I once was.

So I’m refining the first stage, getting coaching from friends with experience and yoga backgrounds, how to take the stress off my knees even more, how to rise gracefully using my core muscles. I have the second part mastered, the chant. The third part is coming together.

Now the hardest part is making this a daily practice. It’s hard to show up every morning, and I’ve never been good at integrating something physical into my daily schedule. I’m having to push myself to do this each day, and I still miss some. I’m up against the wall of my own desire and self-discipline, as well as my knees.

just you and me, hubble

Reflection No Responses »

Nov 032012

I’ve been living for many years in a multi-cat household, and it’s been a delightful part of my life. My first wife and I had several cats through our many years together, then Nancy and I got a pair of black kittens early in our relationship. Edwin P. Hubble and Subramanian Chandrasekhar, named for two famous astronomers (you can tell who chose the names!) When Chandra passed away last year, we got two more black kittens, creating a complex, three-cat dynamic. Kittens rolling and purring and clawing furniture, playful romping at 2am, sitting on the pillow staring us awake at 6am. It was fun and easy…as long as Nancy was home.

Then she wasn’t, and neither was I, visiting the hospital each day. The feline dynamic got messy, really it became a love triangle gone bad, with Hubble attacking the younger male daily. The short story is, the young one started marking territory, I had to clean up cat urine in odd places every day, and endure cat-fights in the middle of every night. Pheromone therapy didn’t fix it, three cat boxes didn’t fix it, enforced separation didn’t fix it, and I’ve had my bedroom door closed for months to keep the young one from peeing on the bed while I’ve tried to resolve this feline psychology mess. I’ve hit my limits.

So I surrendered the two young cats (now 17 months old) to the Marin Humane Society yesterday. They are bonded together, they are affectionate and entertaining, and if the evaluation of them is positive, they can find a new home together. I will be tracking their fate, they are dear to me, even as I had to let them go. The above photo shows them when they were four months old, a little over a year ago, just as Nancy and I were starting to make our relationship work really well, just before she went back into the hospital. It was a golden hopeful time, with everything going well for her and for us, just before it all fell apart.

Now the house is quiet, it’s just Hubble and me, as I’m cleaning up the last remnants of months of warfare and upset. There are some stained corners, claw damage on the couch, a little blood on the stair landing from the last grand cat fight. Enzyme cleaner is removing the last of the smell. Now there is only one cat box, now I can leave all the doors open, now the daily clean-up tasks are ended. Hubble seems happy to hang out in the closet like he used to, while coming out and interfering with me as I fold the laundry. Our bond is reaffirmed, and the peace is a huge relief.

How odd, that my life has whittled down to this. Eighteen months ago, there were five beings in this house, Nancy and I, two cats and my mom’s German Shepherd, Sheba. Now all are gone, except Hubble. The house now has an innate stillness that did not exist before. Except when Hubble plaintively whines for attention. He’s spending a lot of time alone now, as am I.

preliminary steps

Buddhism No Responses »

Oct 252012

A hundred thousand repetitions of anything is daunting, when we look at the whole thing like a goal. There are a series of ‘things’ like this that I’ll be doing in the next few years, the preliminary practices, and I can really freak myself out by imagining the entirety of them, nearly a half million somethings. The first one is prostrations, while chanting a prayer and holding a visualization. As a scientist and engineer, it would be good to know what 100,000 feels like. But how the hell can my body bend down and flatten so many times?

It is even worse as I’m preparing to begin. Memorizing the prayer in Tibetan is hard. The syllables dance around in the back of my brain, out of order, like a stuck song. It’s like committing to hike over the Himalayas, standing at the base of the first 24,000-foot peak, wondering how I can make it over this, then endure the forty other peaks, the series of challenges to reach the goal.

(Hey, perhaps I will lose the 20 extra pounds I carry around my midriff! There’s a motivation!)

But the truth is, I’m not taking on a project as much as a change in lifestyle. From this point of view, I simply need to create a space where I can do my practice, and find some way to engage in it each day. It’s now more than three weeks since the opening weekend for the Sukhasiddhi Bodhi program, and I’m progressing steadily. Some of my fellow students have made major progress, some have done many thousands of prostrations already, some have done these preliminary practices before. But this is not a competition, this is a basic change in the way I look at the world, what is important to me. I simply need to set aside time each morning, and creating a beautiful place for practice is just one way of caring for myself, finding my own preferences, building what I desire.

So I’ve been moving forward, I have the prayer almost memorized, and I’m turning a bedroom into a practice room. The bedroom conversion is more of a project, as I’ve had to clear out many more bags of Nancy’s clothes, move in some furniture from her father’s house, install closet doors. This weekend, I should have my practice room, and it will be the first room I’ve designed and filled according to my own preferences in many years. It feels like a major step.

The photo is the empty bedroom, with my Buddha thangka, the new shoji closet doors, a Tibetan rug. By the end of this weekend, it will be my practice room, with an alter, statues, candles, incense, more thangkas, pillows and my zafu for sitting in meditation. And then the real work starts.

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