The World in a Cookie

This has been a week of intense cookie-baking, which equates to infinite opportunities to see the dharma in action.

As the poet Thich Nhat Hahn sees the sky in a piece of paper, the baker sees the world in a cookie -- here are the people who grew the things that went into the Earth Balance vegan butter and those who came up with the perfect blend of gluten-free flour in Pamela's Artisanal flour mix. Here is the extraordinary interdependence of science and ancient grains and my grandmother's cookie cutters, all in one extraordinary bite.

It's a story of ritual and lineage, of  causes and conditions, of interdependence and impermanence, fame and ill repute.

Cookies.

You can practice mindfulness while brushing your teeth, Thich Nhat Hahn says. You can experience the truth of the whole of the buddhadharma while baking cookies: the suffering that rises when you are attached to the idea that things will happen a certain way and that the cookies will look like the picture in the cookbook; the attachment to a self that earns praise or blame for the results; impermanence -- the whole point of all the effort that goes into making cookies is that they will disappear. The paramitas are there: Generosity, proper conduct (I choose to use vegan ingredients), patience, exertion, concentration.

Buddhism isn't about how long you sit on a cushion or how many mantras you say, it's about how you walk in the world -- or do the dishes or make cookies or answer the phone. And that, to me, is the beauty of it. Don't believe anything just because a teacher -- even the Buddha -- said it. Test it.

There are lots of books that show how cooking illuminates the dharma -- Edward Espe Brown's cookbooks (they come with commentary) or Roshi Bernie Glassman's Instructions to the Cook are some of my favorites. This is from The Chocolate Cake Sutra by Geri Larkin.

A melt-in-your-mouth chocolate cake is the perfect metaphor for where we can land if we introduce the correct ingredients into our lives. When the ingredients merge and melt together, we become spiritual warriors, able to take the slings and arrows of planet life in stride, with grace and a grin.

Enlightenment takes effort

When I lead meditation, I start by asking people to feel the floor under them, to notice where their

hard places come into contact with the building's hardness -- to feel the strength and stability of that solidness, and to think about how the building connects to the earth. It's easiest to notice where hard places come in contact -- it's one of the first places we notice discomfort.

And feeling the evidence of that connection to the building and its connection to the earth, I ask them to trust that, to relax into it, to let it hold them. There's a relaxation that comes with being held by something or someone you trust.

I thought of that recently when I heard a teacher use the phrase "being held by the dharma." It struck me and stuck with me, so I contemplated it.

Being held by the dharma is like relaxing into the ground -- you can let go completely, trusting that it will be big enough and strong enough to hold whatever weight you carry. You are not too heavy

for the earth and nothing is too big for the dharma, which is limitless.


I think this is the quality -- this trust, this safety -- that Stacey D'Ersamo is referencing in  her New York Times essay, Is God Just Not That into Me? The essay is about her relationship with the man she lives with, who is a Zen Buddhist priest.

She's jealous of his trust in buddhanature, in the ultimate OK-ness of reality, which she compares to falling in love with God. "How come he got access to all that divine unconditional love? What am I to the universe? What do I have to do to get the good stuff?" she writes. Her monk, as she calls him, reads this. “You already have it,” he said. “You are it.” He paused. “By the way, we need coffee.”

How come he got access to all that divine unconditional love? What am I to the universe? What do I have to do to get the good stuff?

You have to work at it. Maybe some people are born with that. Most question, test, examine. And when they find the thing that can hold them, they relax into it.

The Buddha lists Wise Effort as a step on the Eightfold Path, and exertion as one of the paramitas, or perfections of the heart (ie practices we can do to cultivate perfect heart). There's no switch that turns on enlightenment. You move toward it with your effort. It's an effort that might be unrecognizable to those who think "effort" mean trying hard. You have to try soft -- to be curious and open to whatever it is that results. Effort doesn't mean gritting your teeth and pushing through to the other side; it means sitting where you're stuck and not running away.

It means being present and lifting the mucky veils to see clearly -- which means, Ms. D'Erasmo, understanding and using appropriate words, not ones that amuse you. Your Zen priest, who is not a monk, gets access to "unconditional stuff" because he's worked at seeing causes and conditions that cloud the mind and block access to buddhanature.

Being held by the dharma isn't a passive stance. Relaxing and trusting isn't easy. It takes effort not to tighten up, to expect certain results, to demand that an outcome be as anticipated. You can't grab the dharma and shake it until you get what you want.

You can't hold onto the dharma and be held by it. You have to let go. And then it will be there.

"Give up the mind that wants to meditate and calm down. Focus on nothing at all. Disturbing thoughts and lazy indifference are not liberation. Remain unstained by thoughts and circumstances. Rest relaxed in the uncontrived nature of mind, free of elaboration or alteration. For the benefit of one and all, simply preserve peerless awareness."
~ Wisdom Dakini Sukhasiddhi

The Four Noble Truths according to Louis C.K.

There's a six-minute video of Louis C.K. on the Conan O'Brien Show explaining where he won't buy his daughter a smartphone that's making the rounds among Buddhist types, people who usually share quotes from the Dalai Lama and pictures of nature. Why? It expresses the essence of the Buddha's teaching that life is suffering (and we try to get away from the truth of that by distracting ourselves with Angry Birds and other apps) but that it doesn't have to be:

 You need to build an ability to just be yourself and not be doing something. That's what the phones are taking away, is the ability to just sit there. That's being a person. Because underneath everything in your life there is that thing, that empty — forever empty. That knowledge that it's all for nothing and that you're alone. It's down there.

And sometimes when things clear away, you're not watching anything, you're in your car, and you start going, 'oh no, here it comes. That I'm alone.' It's starts to visit on you. Just this sadness. Life is tremendously sad, just by being in it...
That's why we text and drive. I look around, pretty much 100 percent of the people driving are texting. And they're killing, everybody's murdering each other with their cars. But people are willing to risk taking a life and ruining their own because they don't want to be alone for a second because it's so hard.

Or, as the Buddha succinctly said: Everybody suffers. Not every minute. Not always in big dramatic ways. But, yeah, everybody suffers. (The First Noble Truth)

Why do we suffer? We want the newest smartphones to take distract us from our feelings, which may be unpleasant. But that only works for a while, so then we need something new. (The Second Noble Truth: The cause of suffering is craving or desire or the belief that getting that new smartphone will give us lasting happiness.)

But the good news is: You can stop suffering (Third Noble Truth). There is a way. (Fourth Noble Truth.)

To a great extent, that way involves being able to stay with the emotion we were trying to get away from by escaping into stuff and realizing that it's not all that bad. Suffering is the fear and anxiety about what will happen if we feel the bad thing -- which itself isn't as bad as the suffering.

Louis C.K. talks about hearing the Bruce Springsteen song "Jungleland" as he's driving:

And I go, 'oh, I'm getting sad, gotta get the phone and write "hi" to like 50 people'...then I said, 'you know what, don't. Just be sad. Just let the sadness, stand in the way of it, and let it hit you like a truck.'
And I let it come, and I just started to feel 'oh my God,'and I pulled over and I just cried like a bitch. I cried so much. And it was beautiful. Sadness is poetic. You're lucky to live sad moments.
And then I had happy feelings. Because when you let yourself feel sad, your body has antibodies, it has happiness that comes rushing in to meet the sadness. So I was grateful to feel sad, and then I met it with true, profound happiness. It was such a trip.
The thing is, because we don't want that first bit of sad, we push it away with a little phone or a jack-off or the food. You never feel completely sad or completely happy, you just feel kinda satisfied with your product, and then you die. So that's why I don't want to get a phone for my kids.

That pretty much sums up every book Pema Chodron's ever written. But we also get bored with teachings and think we need to make it more complex. Really, though, it comes down to: Notice what you're feeling. Notice how you want to escape from it. Don't. Stay with it and see what's on the other side.

And do that for the rest of your life.

So much dharma in the drama

I was telling a Buddhist teacher about the latest drama in my life, and the farther I got into my twisted tale of miscommunication and projection, the bigger his smile got. "This is great!" he enthused. "You've got so much to work with!"

One of the great gifts of Buddhist practice is that you can stop seeing life as a series of unfortunate events that make your path more difficult and start seeing it as territory to explore. Maybe you don't welcome it with the great good cheer with which the teacher greeted my situation, but you get curious. Here's a roadblock -- what is its shape, color, texture? Does it remind you of another roadblock? What is the feeling in your body, and what is its shape, color, and texture? Is it really a road block -- do you have to change direction? -- or can it be surmounted or passed through? How do you relate to that roadblock -- and who are you when relating to it? Can you see it clearly? Can you meet it with compassion?

Many times you discover those roadblocks as you walk the path with companions. That's why sangha -- the community -- is up there with the Buddha (the example of a person achieving enlightenment) and the dharma, or teachings. You practice meditation; you live Buddhism as you walk in the world. You find your rough edges when you rub up against others.

I used to say a refuge vow from Thich Nhat Hanh that included: "I take refuge in the sangha, the community that lives in harmony and awareness ... Dwelling in the refuge of the sangha, I am supported by its shining light that keeps my pathway free from obstacles."

That has not been my experience of sangha; I have not spent time With Thich Nhat Hanh and his followers. For me, being in a sangha is like being a rock in a tumbler, where the barrel spins and the rocks knock

together to get the dirt off.

Josh Korda, the teacher at Dharma Punx NYC, writes about the importance of other people to our practice here:

Until we develop the courage to open up in partnership with others, we bury many of natural and authentic vulnerabilities beneath all of our reactive coping strategies: suspicion, doubt, micromanaging, suspicion, defensiveness, knowing-it-all, seeking attention at all cost. As a result we wall ourselves off from deep emotional connection, believing we are safer when our thoughts take charge but our hearts are not engaged.

Emotional connection is necessary to enlightenment. Sounds odd, does it? We think of enlightened beings as above it all, free from the roller-coaster ride our emotions take us on. And it's true that enlightenment is about equanimity -- nonattachment -- with those emotions. But it's not possible to really know interconnectedness, to see the basic goodness in everything and every one without feeling it in your emotional center.

Believing rationally and intellectually that all beings have buddhanature is just the start; you have to know it. And that starts with knowing it in yourself.

"Whoever steps beyond individual self and connects with eternity is naturally drawn back to community. This is how we express the heart's realization, by bringing it to maturity with others," Jack Kornfield says in "After Ecstacy, The Laundry."

Korda again:

When we take the risk to step out from behind the wall of our social mask, we grant ourselves and others a safe space to be authentic. In being vulnerable we may experience, at times, the feeling of not being met, understood, or wounded. Yet we must continue. For the real misery and emotional pain lies in staying remote and hiding behind our views and opinions, rather than our empathy and compassion. The reward of taking risks and daring to be emotionally exposed is that, with persistence, it will lead to real deep connection and growth in unison with others.

We're all just walking each other home.

Dharma in the driver's seat

Dharma and driving

Last weekend I had a perfect New York weekend, the stuff travel articles are spun from: Broadway matinee, drinner with friends, drinks at a dark and crowded bar, followed the next day by a long walk in the park, more food and drinks and a fabulous chocolate dessert. We had good transportation karma all weekend long, never waiting more than. few minutes for a train.

Then came the drive home. About half- way up Interstate 91 to my central Connecticut home, traffic stopped. Then crept. I sat for the first few minutes with equanimity. Things have stowpped; may it be a reminder to wake up and be in the moment. Then I started to feel frustrated. Why are we not moving? What is the problem here?

My frustration built up a head of steam until my internal voice said,"I can't stand this," and my wisdom laughed. Really? You can't stand sitting still in the car? You can't STAND the uncertainty of not knowing when you'll get to move? Really? Not even after all those hours of sitting on retreat or in classes, wondering when the umdze will ring the gong?

My consciousness got the joke. Frustration lifted.

I noticed cars around me. I giggled at the "Extended Stay" motel sign, which seemed to be an omen. I sent out loving kindness to the other drivers, and noted that everyone was behaving very nicely. I mumbled, "Careful,dude," to drivers who cut between lanes. (I consciously started calling other drivers "dude" instead of my usual "dickhead" a while back in an effort to create a kinder attitude.)

I contemplated doing tonglen for whoever caused the backup, but I'd heard rumors of off-hours construction and wn't sure that anyone was in danger. My Smartphone showed a hazard without further explanation.

It took about an hour to travel the distance between two exits. At some point traffic just started speeding up, with no wreckage, no nothing to blame for the congestion and frustration.

Life's like that sometimes. We encounter obstacles -- or create obstacles in our minds -- and the frustration we feel becomes the obstacle. But if you can relax into it, look at what's happening in the moment, sometimes it just eases.