Free to Fail

Only when we are free to fail
Are we free to live fully.

Inspired by Tara Brach's "Radical Self-Acceptance"

Bits of Life

Ah, the holidays. And with them finals week, travels, shopping, short days, parties, and more. It's also a time for reflection and gratitude. The year is coming to a close and a new one, pregnant with possibilities, approaches.

One of the things I am very grateful for, living in Western Montana, is the abundance of nature. I find myself hoping to stay here one more year to get to take advantage of that. I'm looking forward to starting off the new year with a snow-shoeing trip or a hike in to one of the nearby natural hot springs.

Here is a great recent article about the moral importance of time spent in nature.

I'm also looking forward to a year of teaching and writing. I was very kindly invited by Ven. Yifa (who coordinated the Buddhism in China program I was on this summer) to teach in L.A. for a few days to a group of 50 Whittier College students. Next fall I hope to teach in either India or Thailand; perhaps just for a few months, or perhaps for a full year, depending on what opportunities arise. In the meantime, though, I'll be here in Montana, writing, writing, writing.

Work station #2, complete with a wonderful cat, Oliver, watching over my final-exam grading. I've had the privilege of assisting Dr. Clough here at U Montana for the last two years. Despite his class being an introductory course in Buddhism, I still found myself learning new things every day.
And the other side of the room, now with meditating cat and tid-bits from China. And while I sit in my comfortable apartment engaging in very enjoyable projects, I can't help but think of the many out there who are not so fortunate. It calls to mind one of my favorite lines from the Metta Sutta is from the third verse:

Sukhino vā khemino hontu
Sabbe sattā bhavantu sukhitattā:

Which is poetically rendered:

Wishing: in gladness and in safety,
May all beings be at ease.

All of the talk of economic and climate crisis can be a bit overwhelming at times. Following the Copenhagen talks and watching a PBS documentary about US debt has made me a bit pessimistic, revealing a bit too much of the lesser side of human nature. I like to stay abreast as much as possible, but I also see the benefit of tuning out at times. Simply siting, slowing down, letting the mind process. There is so much to do in the world, it's true. But it cannot all be done by any one of us.

The sheer magnitude of the world can in fact be paralyzing. So for the next couple weeks I will be tuning out and resting the mind. This will make me more present with the people I am with, face to face. It will allow extra time to sit with the cat on the meditation cushion. It will help me see and take up opportunities to help those around me.

If you'd like to give the same a try, even for just a day, I'd recommend hopping over to my friend Rev. Danny Fisher's blog to watch Lama Surya Das' message for the holidays.

Perfection purchase

This time of year there is a great deal of preasure get things just so. For countless families in America and around the world, the race is on for the perfect Christmas.

I remember when my family moved from the rural valley to a middle/upper middle class (for Montana) neighborhood closer to town. We had moved up to paved roads, where nobody had three or four or eleven broken down cars in the yard, and everyone watered and mowed their lawns. Personally, I didn't notice much difference (I was 11 at the time). Now I was playing in a grassy park or someone's drive-way basketball court instead of our wood pile or the dirt behind a neighbor's house. Big woop.

But for my mom, there must have been some sort of new pressure to measure up. This made itself abundantly clear each Christmas. Instead of the hokey, fun with random neighbors dressing up like Santa, we were to have a proper Christmas, complete with just the right lights, a properly positioned tree, proper holiday cheer, and all the trimmings. And every year we disappointed her, she would get overwhelmed, we (kids) would fight or get bored, tempers would flare, and for a bit at least, no one would have fun.

Bah humbug.

Luckily, after four or five years at the new place she mellowed out. Her husband (pictured a couple posts back with me at age 5) was still a hill-billy, even on paved roads, and her kids were still pretty wild in their own ways. But so long as she clung to a vision of Christmas perfection in her mind, the rest of us suffered.

~

Tonight, Julie and I hosted the Missoula Vipassana community at our new place. We've hosted the UM Campus Sangha for a while now, and I'm very glad to have the opportunity to host another Sangha. Tonight we listened to a portion of Tara Brach's "Radical Self-Acceptance." In it she said, "Shame or self-aversion is the most pervasive type of Contemporary suffering" and went on to describe the sources, symptoms, and strategies for dealing with our shame or self-aversion.

The beginning is, as my teacher and friend Bodhipaksa says in his teaching on metta-bhavana, is to start where you are. To look within. Not judging. Just seeing. Accepting this as your starting point. The practice is in making all of what comes up, all of our junk and shit and messiness, part of our practice. Not turning away from any of it.

So as I meditated I just let whatever needed to come up to come up. There was my frustrated mother at Christmas, my worries over thesis and jobs, and my big one, my almost-marriage. I think getting married was for me what moving out of "the boonies" and into suburbia was to my mom. It was perhaps my way into the club of respectable grown-ups which, at the time, I wanted so much.

And Tara discusses our shame or self-aversion (I like that she uses the terms together and as synonyms) as based in our sense of not-belonging or isolation. Society tells us we need to do this or that, look this or that way, buy this and that, and so on, in order to fit in - in order to not be isolated and separate. We are raised with a constant sense of not-okay-ness, from our parents' urges this way or that, to religions for most of us in the West, and then on into society.

But in meditation we help reverse this process. By allowing the feelings of lack, of want, of insufficiency to arise, be noticed, and fall away, we see that these too are impermanent. These too are not-self, they are not us. Only when we cling to them do we become limited by ideas or demands. Watching this in action in meditation is an amazing experience. It's a bit crazy, because who knows what's gonna come up next. But it's amazingly liberating, because you gain the confidence that whatever does come up, it's just going to dissolve away like the last thing.

The Buddha, worrying about what Christmas presents to get for his dad and step-mom, scary stuff.

But the Buddha at this time was pretty good at the whole "letting things dissolve" practice. So he got through it, and so can we.

I like this image of the Buddha, here with Mara (death) attacking him just prior to his awakening. I also like the emaciated Buddha, and the fat Buddha (actually Pu-Tai, or Ho-Tei, a Chinese monk) because they shatter our narrow images of what the Buddha should look like. Life isn't pretty. Even for the Buddha. I like studying lives of Christian Saints for the same reason. We often get the dumbed-down Sunday-school version of these people, but in reality they were crazy, angry, lustful, stupid folks - just like you and me.

The same goes for Buddhist Saints, of course. And likewise for contemporary teachers. These are people who have endured great craziness and great suffering, one way or another, and who have gained amazing wisdom simply from learning to learn from that suffering. Meanwhile, the rest of us ordinary, foolish, lowly persons, simply run away from life: in a thousand different ways.

So I propose that we of a Buddhist or contemplative ilk come to truly celebrate Christmas. Not as devotion to Christ. Not as devotion to Consumerism ("Consumistmas"?). But as devotion to awareness and acceptance of our own sense of lack. Let's not turn away from it (within ourselves or our neighbors) in disgust. Let us face it - but not give in to it!

(disclaimer: I did buy a $13 set of wireless headphones and a $6 CD to learn French today. I, too, am far from perfect. Big Smile.)

But Then Again...

Just as I finished my last post, Julie suggested I check this out:

Americans can be dumb and work too much, but we also come up with stuff like this. Almost enough to forgive us for our last President, right?

Always Learning

Sometimes I just don't think I belong in America in the 21st Century. For one thing, I'm way too lazy for our "protestant" work ethic. 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year is insane. At my peak, about 3 years ago, I was both a University Instructor and a philosophy graduate student. At that time I think I was putting in anywhere from 65-80 hours per week. Eek.

These days my priorities are all over the place (something I'll have to get in check in the new year), but I probably work 10 hours a week as a grader, spend about 15 hours per week studying Pali, and put about 15 hours a week reading/writing my Ph.D. thesis. Eh, perhaps not so lazy after all.

On the other hand, I think I'm too smart to be an American. That's not an ego trip. I think most people reading this are too smart to be Americans too. But Sarah Palin's book is the #1 Bestseller right now in this country. While our congress debates another many-hundred-billion dollar war funding bill, schools are closing, tuitions are rising, and young men and women that should be home with families and gaining an education are thousands of miles away fighting a war of revenge.

And yet I know there is no Shangri-La out there; no pristine socialist democratic meritocracy where diversity is cherished and discussion is a national pass-time. I've studied Tibet; it was a mess before the Chinese invaded. The 13th Dalai Lama fought for and accomplished some gains in modernization, but it was against some powerful conservative forces within his government. Serfdom and rural poverty, while not as pervasive as Chinese propagandists would like you to think, were rather commonplace in the first half of the 20th century. Just how bad this really was, and how corrupt certain ruling elites were is open to debate. All I know is that I'm glad to have been born in 1980 USA and not 1890 Tibet.

Bhutan is what I often describe as "what Tibet would be today if the Chinese hadn't invaded." It's a peaceful Buddhist Himalayan kingdom. And for the most part it seems to be doing great. The king opened governance to an elected parliament, abdicated the throne to his son, instituted a policy of Gross National Happiness, and so on. But, like any other medieval civilization coming to terms with modernism, it has its problems. Alcohol, which had been banned as an import until the 1990s, has been a growing problem in recent years.

And, having lived in England, with many friends from Canada and Spain, I can't say any of these nations have it all figured out either. Right now I'd honestly prefer to live in any of them, but that might have as much to do with my wanderlust than affinity with national values. But then again, these days it is hard to know just what our national values are.

But... On to the subject at hand: learning.

On Monday, one of the coldest days we've had yet this year, a (young?) Downy Woodpecker was knocking away at a tree just outside my living-room window. At first I was a bit worried. Shouldn't this guy be hibernating? Or living far south of here right now? Or just anything to avoid being outside in 10°F?

Well, Tuesday night at meditation, one of our meditators happens to be a wilderness teacher and he informed me that no, these guys and gals are out and about, year-round. It is odd though, he added, to see them in town. Usually they are working on trees in the woods, far overhead. So I'll count myself as lucky that this fella (guy or gal) decided to spend some time outside my place, just 4 or so feet off the ground.

The night before the woodpecker spotting, we made an Ethiopian dinner. It has been Julie's idea for a while now that once a month we each pick a country for the other to cook a dinner from. She went first and picked Ethiopia, so here I am cooking (with much of her help). Check out this webpage for some great recipes (we made the Injera, Iab, Vegetable Alecha, and Dabo Kolo, all of which were very delicious - although I would recommend adding more Cayenne and salt to the Dabo Kolo recipe).

Next week Julie is in charge of a Chilean dinner. Thanks to Dani (below), I've fallen in love with Empanadas and can't wait to learn to make my own.

A bottle of Ravenswood Zin, Dani and Marga (from Spain and suffering oh so much from the cold in MT right now), and Julie's rings at Iza, a new Asian restaurant in Missoula. The four of us checked out Iza after enjoying last week's "First Friday" art walk activities. It turns out that I used to be a radio DJ with one of the owners, Tobin, way back in the day. Food, service, and ambiance were all amazing.

So much so that we were all back again tonight; this time for a tea tasting, where we learned about Oolong Tea. I'm not sure, but I think I still have a pound of Oolong from my trip to China. Hmm. After dining, Tobin invited me to come back with tea and my fancy (I think) tea set from China.
And then there is the true measure of one's nerdiness. Just how big is your Pali declination/conjugation/participial/obscure word chart? This one isn't mine. I swear. It's actually my friend Matt's. And one of these days, when I'm not feeling so lazy, I intend to replicate it on a manila folder of my own. Wow, so beautiful.

And lastly, I've learned that cat's noses can glow bright red if, and only if, you say "Rudolf" three times fast at them at just the right moment. Ok, it might not work with your cat, but Oliver seems to have it down, along with his GQ front-leg cross.

Facebook interlude

The littlest things. I'm a language-geek, so this might not be so humorous to the rest of you, but I found it worthy of a post.

A.R., a friend of mine from Asia was recently in Boston. He took a picture of himself with the skyline behind him and gave it the following caption on facebook:

"Beautiful Boston city on my behind"

A Western friend corrected him, "behind me ;)"

A.R. responds, "Thanks for correction X. Fortunately it is a minor mistake. It could have been a bigger mistake if I wrote 'Beautiful Boston city taking me from behind'...: )"

Western friend replies, "that would be newsworthy ;0"

What Unites Us

"What unites us is much greater than what separates us.... It is necessary ... to rid ourselves of stereotypes, of old habits. And above all, it is necessary to recognize the unity that already exists." - Pope John Paul II

What unites us in samsara is our basic nature as beings, caught in ignorance, causing suffering both to ourselves and others.

Sabbe tasanti da.ndassa - sabbe bhaayanti maccuno;
Attaana.m upama.m katvaa - na haneyya na ghaataye.

All [beings] fear the stick/rod, and all fear death.
Having made an example of yourself, do not kill nor cause to be killed.

Sabbe tasanti da.ndassa - sabbesa.m jiivita.m piya.m;
Attaana.m upama.m katvaa - na haneyya na ghaataye.

All [beings] fear the stick/rod, to all life is dear.
Having made an example of yourself, do not kill nor cause to be killed.

(Dhp. 10:129-130 - translations thanks to Bhikkhu Bodhi and students with some amendments by yours truly)

Watching this brief slideshow, I see many faces, many styles of clothing, hair, etc, that are unlike mine. There are:

• men in Tibetan monks' robes playing softball,
  
• men in business suits in seated meditation,
  
• corporate VPs sleeping in the streets to develop empathy,
  
• Thai monks tying robes on trees,
• NYC urbanites and Santa Fe criminals doing Tai Chi,
• Zen practitioners in Auschwitz,
• Basketball coaches teaching their players meditation techniques,
• A row of (Western) monastics sporting potato chips in their alms-bowls
• And more...

What I love about it is the diversity in the images with the underlying story of unity. Even the diners at the restaurant with the giant Buddha statue are seeking some form of relief from samsara. Perhaps some are even Zen masters. And yet it is all too easy for us to pick on them; are they exploiting the Buddha, the Dharma, or the Sangha? Are those other people in the wrong posture? Are the monks ordaining trees out of tune with reality? Are the Zen folks at Auschwitz just there to make themselves look good? Is the meditation-basketball thing just another ploy to exploit (an easily expoited word) young men for money?

We could go on.

The truth is, we all have flaws. We all stumble, even those who try hard to stumble toward awakening. Perhaps simply accepting that is a great big stumbling-step in the right direction.

A week ago at the Vipassana group I sit with, we listened to Pema Chödrön talk about the things that give rise to shen pa (clinging, or being hooked). What arose for me while listening to that talk and perhaps during the meditation afterward was the "superior attitude of criticism" that I experience here and there in life. Sometimes I've had it directed at me, sometimes I've caught myself directing it at others (sorry, Scott at Buddha is my DJ, and others), and sometimes I see it amongst friends -online and off- aimed at parties I am sometimes sympathetic to and sometimes not.

On the other hand there is so much good criticism out there! Constructive, caring criticism! Criticism with a smile or odd humor! I get plenty of that (Tom, et al.) and I do truly appreciate it.

On the other hand I, and I think I'm like most people on this, recoil and draw up defenses when the criticism comes in harshly, with a "superior attitude" (especially when it's from someone I know is really, really inferior - j/k). I, too, fear the stick (verbal or otherwise).

Meditating on this, I hope/vow to be kinder in my own criticism of idiots like... oh, wait... of the other samsaric beings out there just trying, in their own ways, to make life a little better for themselves and the rest of us.

Turning the Wheel

I'm grading student papers (Buddhist academic purgatory) now and one of the topics they could choose to write on was the Buddha's first teaching, the Dhammacakkappavattana-sutta, the "Turning the Wheel of Dhamma Discourse."

It's a wonderful sutta to know, if not by heart, then at least conceptually. And there's a handy trick for setting it to memory, using (Tom will love this) numbers. (numbers are in fact somewhat ubiquitous in early Buddhist teachings, as ways of setting the teachings to memory.)

Just remember: 1, 2, 4, 8. Easy enough, right?

1. This is the first teaching of the Buddha. It helps to know the basic bio of the Buddha, but this is a good start.

2. We are first presented with the 2 extremes that ought not be practiced: indulgence in sense-pleasures and self-mortification. And the Middle Way between these is what the Buddha has realized.

4. We're taught the 4 Noble Truths and the 4th noble truth is,

8. the Noble 8-fold Path.

Everything else, we could say, is commentary and elaboration.

One of the great points of the sutta is the stress of moderation. The Buddha, both here and in his teachings as a whole, sought to be pragmatic or useful. He did not lay down a serious of absolutes with regard to truth or practice. Yet I find some Buddhists taking this practicality to an extreme of its own, it seems, toward relativism.

In the Buddha's stress of practical, first-hand knowledge, the Buddha did not deny certain underlying truths about the way the world is. In fact he affirmed certain definite truths about existence and our experience. Among these, obviously, are the 4 Noble Truths mentioned above. Other truths discovered by the Buddha include the ti-lakhana, the 3-marks of existence, impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, and not-self.

"Whether the Perfect Ones appear, or if the Perfect Ones do not appear, it still remains a firm condition, an immutable fact and fixed law: that all formations are impermanent, all formations are subject to suffering, that everything is without a self." (A. III. 134, according to Nyanatiloka's "Buddhist Dictionary" 2004, p.210)

Or (for you Pāli readers):

‘‘Uppādā vā, bhikkhave, tathāgatānaṃ anuppādā vā tathāgatānaṃ, ṭhitāva sā dhātu dhammaṭṭhitatā dhammaniyāmatā. Sabbe saṅkhārā aniccā. Taṃ tathāgato abhisambujjhati abhisameti. Abhisambujjhitvā abhisametvā ācikkhati deseti paññāpeti paṭṭhapeti vivarati vibhajati uttānīkaroti – ‘sabbe saṅkhārā aniccā’ti. Uppādā vā, bhikkhave, tathāgatānaṃ anuppādā vā tathāgatānaṃ ṭhitāva sā dhātu dhammaṭṭhitatā dhammaniyāmatā. Sabbe saṅkhārā dukkhā. Taṃ tathāgato abhisambujjhati abhisameti. Abhisambujjhitvā abhisametvā ācikkhati deseti paññāpeti paṭṭhapeti vivarati vibhajati uttānīkaroti – ‘sabbe saṅkhārā dukkhā’ti. Uppādā vā, bhikkhave, tathāgatānaṃ anuppādā vā tathāgatānaṃ ṭhitāva sā dhātu dhammaṭṭhitatā dhammaniyāmatā. Sabbe dhammā anattā. Taṃ tathāgato abhisambujjhati abhisameti. Abhisambujjhitvā abhisametvā ācikkhati deseti paññāpeti paṭṭhapeti vivarati vibhajati uttānīkaroti – ‘sabbe dhammā anattā’’’ti. Catutthaṃ. (which I found at A.III. 137 here)

Edited down to match the above, it looks like this:

‘‘Uppādā vā, bhikkhave, tathāgatānaṃ anuppādā vā tathāgatānaṃ, ṭhitāva sā dhātu dhammaṭṭhitatā dhammaniyāmatā: sabbe saṅkhārā aniccā, sabbe saṅkhārā dukkhā, sabbe dhammā anattā. (A.III. 137 here)

Getting back to the English, the superior language of Christianity, Democracy and the Übermensch... What the Buddha is saying here is that there are some real facts about reality. These are, dare I say, absolute facts. These are facts we can cling to, can hold onto for dear life in our stormy days and nights. Kind of like a raft we could cling to... until...

Well, in one sense it's foolish for us (me and other very far from enlightened beings) to quibble so much about the very end of the path. The problem I see is that people want to jump to the end before doing the hard work in the middle.

For those at the end of the path, it might be fruitful to discuss how perhaps all things are actually permanent. This is what a group known as the Sarvāstivādins (Sanskrit for "All Exist-believers" or those who believe that things exist in all 3 times... long story). Or, one at the end of the path might debate whether the final view is a view at all, or is in fact no view at all. This is a distinction made in Mahāyāna between the Prāsangikas and Svātantrikas.

Okay, so maybe, at the very pinnacle of awakening, one experiences perfect viewlessness. Even if that is the case, it DOESNT mean that we're to try to act viewless when we do in fact have views (most of them probably in the big category of micchā, or wrong.) A large part of Buddhist practice is about getting our views right. This doesn't mean walking lockstep in some Buddhist marching line, but rather examining our own perceptions and understanding, which is both a meditative and conceptual process, to determine which of our views (of ourselves and the world) are skillful and which of them are not.

There is a certain developmental process of views that I think we go through (and I think Buddhism fits well within this).

1. First, we are a mess of views, all this way and that, contradicting and confusing. This is like a ball of yarn after a cat has had its way with it.
2. Next, we begin the hard work of ordering our views, determining what's important and letting go of unimportant things. This is like pulling that mess of yarn back into a coherent ball.
3. Finally, we do the work of life, serving others, hopefully extinguishing clinging and craving in ourselves. This is like knitting a lovely sweater for the homeless guy or gal nearest you; in the end there is only your work or activity (the sweater), and no you, or view of you (ball of yarn).
   

The Art of Not Knowing

As I did my umpteenth crunch at the gym tonight, watching the students go by, it dawned on me that I'm getting old. Now, not in any earth-shattering, dread-inspiring way, but in a gentle, "oh" sort of way. Part of this is that I'm 29 now and most people at the University gym are about a decade younger than me.

I became somewhat fascinated by this, by the odd fact that each of them has a whole ten years ahead of them before they get "here" - wherever "here" is. I wondered what each one dreamed of being, of doing out there in the "real world" one day. I thought of where I am now, and where many of my friends are. And it dawned on me that there was no way in hell I could have seen "this" ten years ago.

My best friend Dave and me, about 10 years ago (his tequila).

Ten years ago my plan was to go to business school, become an accountant, and make lots of money.

Thank goodness some things don't work out.

Even as I let go of that path, I began developing another, that of the wise man, paņḍit, or pundit. While my analytical skills led me astray with my success in High School accounting classes, they seemed right at home in philosophy and even, dare I say, politics.

Dave and me again, on our political talk show (tequila under the counter, probably)

Me, hoping some of the philosopher-genius in front of me rubs off (he seems to be doing well with the girls too...)

And for the most part, for many years my life was going quite well. And I had absolutely no idea where it was going. It just was. Challenges arose and I met them, or tried and moved on.

It wasn't until I was drawn into the deep illusion of having it all figured out that I received one of the toughest blows of my life. I was engaged to a woman who, on paper (big name degrees, fancy job) was perfect. The future suddenly opened before me like never before. The pieces were all in place. Then the engagement dissolved. Real life is often not as pretty as the paper it's printed on. A future that I'd come to cling to, to fear losing, with which I had deeply identified, was gone. A future, gone.

And... A new future created.

But not simply in the shallow sense of, "I'll get over it, I'll be fine." But rather a realization of more than the fact that this person wasn't right, the realization that life and the future are always in flux.

So beware of ever thinking you've got it all figured out. Ever. In any way.

As a philosopher, my career depends a great deal on getting concepts right. Yet another attempt at knowing. However, in recent conversations, online and off, my "knowledge" of anattā (not-self) has grown in such a way as to undercut some of my views on the term. (insert favorite "beginners-mind" quote here.)

So, returning to my crunches at the gym and the Art of Not Knowing...

Do we ever know? (uh oh, the philosopher in me is screaming to come out.) I'm a currently devout contextualist - or coherentist - and not too concerned with the differences or problems therein. (there, enough.)

More importantly is what we do with knowledge. Number one, don't cling. Number two, share with others (but I'm getting ahead of myself). Number three, keep working and trust that things will be okay. Number four, be humble. For Chrissake, you might be wrong about a thing or two! Number five, be forgiving. Those idiots who were sooooo wrong yesterday might actually be right today (if you need help with this, see number four).

Enough of that.

One of my greatest fortunes in life has been knowing some truly amazing old people (you know, over 30). My friend Larry, for instance, is a 60-something retired oil-company manager Catholic-convert, former minister, former new-age con-man of a sort, former accountant (why he ever gave up the accounting I still don't know). He's also one of the kindest, most generous and thoughtful people I've ever known. My Pali-friend (co-learner), Matt, has likewise led a succession of "lives" from minister with a mastery of Greek and Hebrew to "tracker" to dude-ranch cowboy and now wants to know Pali and teach mindfulness. Go figure.

I also had a bit of an encounter with spiritual counseling recently when a meditation student of mine asked for some spiritual/Buddhist/religious perspective on some recent tough times in her life. Looking back, I think I talked too much. By that I mean that she pretty well had things figured out - she knew that things were gonna be rough, and her attitude showed that she was accepting, and even beginning to forgive.

It was humbling, trying to be something of a guide or teacher or something, when watching this young woman thinking and feeling through emotions in a much more mature way than I than I would have. What do I know? At that time, pretty much nothing. Because at that time knowledge only would have gotten in the way.

So to have things "figured out" at 29 is perhaps about as ridiculous as having them figured out at 19 or 50 or 65. The key, instead, may be simply to not know. And learning to not know can take some work. But I'd encourage everyone to give it a try.

Me and my father, about 25 years ago, when I really did have it all figured out.

The Best Marathon in America

.... just happens to be in Missoula. I think I might just have to run it.

~

And that gets me thinking about all the effort that will require - training again for months ahead of time, taking care of injuries and being mindful to avoid them to begin with.

Among the many great articles posted yesterday in our first ever Buddho-Blogging Article Swap was a great one by Adam, suggesting that while Buddhism and "enlightenment" are being packaged and sold like mad these days, the real stuff requires work. I couldn't agree more.

While I'm usually my harshest critic and see myself as relatively lazy, I do find it helpful sometimes to reflect a bit on the work I've managed to put into these last few years.

• I ran a marathon this year, as well as two half-marathons in the past, even winning an award in the second of those. For a guy who was diagnosed as flat-footed (actually I just have very low arches) at age 17, that ain't bad.
• I've inched my way to within sight of a Ph.D. I love school, but at times it's very hard; and at times very lonely. There aren't a lot of people to talk about Buddhist Ethics with in Missoula, Montana (which makes me all the more grateful for the web and the many great people I've met through it).
• I've stretched myself across four and a half sanghas in this little city: the local Vipassana group on Mondays and the Campus Sangha on Tuesdays at my and Julie's place. Then there's the FWBO on Wednesdays, which is where I began my meditation 9 years ago but I don't get to much these days. And the Zen group which meets on Mondays and Tuesdays so I never get to sit with them except on retreats. And lastly the Nyingma Tibetans up at Ewam and Lama David Curtis, who I see every now and then.
  

I think that's enough for now. And while I do want to give the caveat that I've had help at every stage from countless hands, seen and unseen, it all required steady effort on my part. I didn't give up on the marathon when my knee hurt; I haven't given up on Ph.D. studies when overwhelmed with "life" or enticed by other, more immediate pursuits, and I don't plan on giving up my web of sangha-connections here in Missoula even if we disagree about practice, philosophical understandings, or anything else.

I am deeply grateful for all who have supported me and pushed and pulled along the way. I don't want this to come off as an ego-trip. But, as Adam says, "It is only through diligent practice and experience that any transformation can occur." In a society so full of instant gratification, this is a point that cannot be made too often (the other point needed is "acceptance," as many people will see the need for effort and feel overwhelmed or beat themselves up - these two, while seemingly contradictory are actually complimentary; a subject for future musing).

So, as I sit in my warm, sunny office, looking out upon a cold Missoula day, I think about Adam's words: diligent practice, experience, and transformation. I've found that with running, studies, or meditation, there is no end to the practice, experience, or transformation. So now, as much as ever, I need to summon up my energy to get up off my lazy butt and get back to work.

(many thanks to my good friend Jen for forwarding me the Missoula Marathon story)