Monday, 9/24
The re-usable Reynolds wrap skillet—my great bodhisattva: I’ve been eating only raw food until now—cereal, crackers, nuts, fruits—because I forgot to bring a pan, and I’m too noble to snatch one of the temple’s two small pans. But today I realized that I can sculpt a little skillet from several layers of aluminum foil, and it works like a charm. My first warm meal (reheated potato omelet from the temple kitchen) is indescribably wonderful—better than enlightenment. It even surpasses the Buddhas and patriarchs.
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I thought chipmunks were nature’s ultimate cute shy little creatures. But today I discovered that they’re the ones making that continuous ear-splitting territorial chirping. They actually stand nose to nose about six inches apart and chirp rhythmically at each other for hours on end, leaning forward to deliver a chirp attack, and backward when receiving . . . until one of them finally gives in. But it never comes to violence.
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Today my body finally went bad on me. Back, shoulders, and that ever reliable left knee are painful, throbbing, and raw. After my knees buckle during walking, I give in and use a chair for a few periods. This activates my inner Zen critic and my ideas about what a sucky practitioner I am (“Can’t even sit cross-legged for more than three days, you wimp?”). I try my “don’t judge your practice” lecture on myself, but am not impressed.
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As usual, I am not happy or satisfied with my experience, especially during sitting meditation. I feel like I’m wasting time, or I’m not intense enough, or I try to generate states of mind like “being present”, “before words and speech,” “just being,” etc. I always feel some level of dissatisfaction during a retreat, and only afterwards do I fully realize the value of what has happened and feel gratitude.
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Our Temple Rules for retreats say “Do not think you are a great and free person . . .” There were a few times during this retreat when I almost believed I was one. But when gardening time rolls around and I try to set up that lawn sprinkler from hell, I invariably end up in a water-soaked wrestling match with that infernal piece of plastic that reduces me to a cursing, drooling idiot in mere seconds. So thank you for your teaching . . . you $1.29 WalMart piece of shit!
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