I Got So Irritated

I needed that time to sit and recollect. I needed to feel the company of my fellow dharma friends. I needed the quiet stillness to be with myself. A nice, firm pillow behind my back, feet firmly planted on the floor, off I was practicing mindfulness. 

'til, someone came and interrupted. I fancied the person to be a man. Huffing and puffing, he made his way past the whole front row where I was sitting, around the back, and planted himself on the chair right behind me. He would settle down. All that breathing, and the screeching sound of his down jacket rubbing against itself with his every move, all that would stop soon. It usually does. I started to notice my growing irritation. Thoughts of getting up and leaving, just like that. He let me see what was really stored inside this heart of mine. Not very kind, was I? I remembered similar times before, and how I had felt almost foolish afterwards, for having gotten so worked up for some candy wrappers un-twirled a bit too slowly, or other rudeness from a near fellow meditator. He was breathing hard, after all. Maybe he was ill, I wondered? Enough thinking, back to the breath, my own. No, not possible. This was an opportunity to reflect, and not so much meditate. So many attachments I have, as tonight with my insistence that the place be quiet . . . I did not get what I wanted, but I certainly got what I needed. 

The bell rang, and my neighbors and I all turned back to see. In the back of us, an old man was sitting with a hearing device. His eyes and mine met, and we exchanged a smile. 

Two Out of Five Stars

I tend to visit more plush communities. Yesterday was my first time visiting a nursing home for the poor with dementia. I had been forewarned. "It's a horrible place." There was also the ominous rating in the elevator. 2 out of 5, in huge white bold type. And in case one did not quite get it,  below, an explanation in small print: 'This facility has received two stars out of a maximum of five.'  

Four floors of desolation, and a string of open doors revealing rows of beds, with people in various states of undress. A fat woman waves and says hello from her bed. In the hallways, more older folks, sitting in wheelchairs, waiting, silent. A man with a helmet stares at me. I read the menu posted on the wall and can only imagine what canned fruit at every meal must taste like. Many of the residents are Asian. I wonder when was the last time they had fried rice? I am shown into the activity room and see elders parked around a rectangular table with a well-meaning young aide to watch over them. Markers, crayons, and colored papers strewn across the table. According to my proud host, two people got featured in the city's "Art for Elders" show. Lucky the few ones who can still access their gift of creativity in such dismal surroundings! 

The institution has a color code for each resident. A red dot means "that person is really advanced in their dementia . . ." Yellow, not so bad. Green and blue, in between. I can feel my mood darken by the minute. The bleak lighting is of no help. I wonder how long do folks usually stay. "This is a long-term care facility. Usually years." I don't even bother asking the usual questions. How many caregivers per residents? How about medications? I already know the answers. I am done. I just want to leave. 

This is what awaits those who have no money, no family, and a mind that's slipping, and a body to go down with it. 

There's got to be a better way. I am filled with outrage, and the desire to do something. I also turn inwards to look at the depth of my attachments, and the fragility of my happiness, so conditioned by unpredictable outer circumstances. 

100 Plus Attachments . . . In Just One Day

Inspired by my latest post on clinging, I was curious to find how many attachments would arise in just one day. Here is the list, one hundred and more of them, so far, from the trivial, to the monumental:

1. 85% dark chocolate
2. achievements
3. beauty
4. bed
5. bicycle
6. birds
7. bliss
8. blogging
9. body
10. books
11. brother
12. car
13. cell phone
14. challenges
15. children
16. clean air
17. cleanliness
18. comb
19. comfort
20. computer
21. convenience
22. coolness
23. creativity
24. Dharma
25. doing
26. dreams
27. dried mangoes
28. dryer
29. eating
30. electricity
31. fashion
32. feeling good
33. fitness
34. Free People clothes
35. free time
36. freedom
37. friends
38. health
39. healthy food
40. home
41. Huffington Post
42. husband
43. identity
44. incense
45. independence
46. intellect
47. intelligence
48. joy
49. 'just right'
50. life
51. Loehman's
52. looking good
53. love
54. making collages
55. meditation
56. mindfulness
57. moisturizer
58. money
59. mother
60. my office
61. nature
62. no pain
63. Nordstrom Rack
64. NY Times
65. organic fruit
66. peace
67. pen and paper
68. pleasure
69. private space
70. quiet
71. recognition
72. respect
73. routine
74. running water
75. safety
76. salads
77. security
78. sex
79. shampoo
80. shoes
81. sitting
82. sleep
83. sparkling water
84. spirituality
85. success
86. swim goggles
87. swimming
88. swimsuit
89. tea
90. teacher
91. thinking
92. to-do lists
93. toilet
94. toilet paper
95. toothbrush
96. toothpaste
97. trees
98. Twitter
99. walking
100. warm shower
101. warmth
102. wash machine
103. Whole Foods
104. wisdom
105. work
106. . . .

Obviously, the goal is not to get rid of all these attachments - although for some, it may not be a bad thing. Rather, it's about being aware of each one as it arises, and having a different relationship to it, made of appreciation, gratitude, and ease. No clinging. Not being like monkey in this Hindu story - as retold by Jack Kornfield in his book, 'Soul Food':

In India hunters had a proven way of catching monkeys. A half coconut would be hollowed out and a hole made that was only large enough to let a monkey's open hand pass through. The coconut was then pinned to the ground and tempting food placed beneath. A monkey would approach, intent on getting hold of the food beneath the coconut, but alas as soon as it grasped the food in its fist it found itself unable to pull its hand and the food free of the coconut. Imprisoned it would stay, caught by its own unwillingness to open its fist.

Now, I want to know what is your list? :)

The Hazards of Craving the Happiness From not Craving

Nothing like being away from one's comfortable home, to get in touch with the extent of one's cravings, and what that does to one's sanity. Sitting in my impersonal room at the hotel, I close my eyes, with the signal of the bell. Sweet ring soon transforms into shrilling sound of repair man drilling away. I was told by my host, guests usually do not hang out here during the day - meaning this is the time when we take care of business, so don't expect too much . . . Enough for trusting Trip Advisor's recommendation!

Hungry, lousy breakfast from hotel. Craving good, healthy food I am used to. Tired, this travel's making me weary, thoughts of when I return home, back to routine I have perfected. Sore bum from sitting on uncomfortable wooden chair, flashing image of cozy red egg chair in our living room. Not happy. Want to be happy. Craving feeling of well-being. Ah-ah moment. I am becoming a happiness addict, chasing after times of bliss during and outside of meditation. Ideas of what mindfulness practice should be. Conflict with reality. Not liking the uncomfortable moments, of which there are many, let's face it. Subtle, pernicious expectation that if I do it right, I will capture more tranquillity, more good times. And of course, ensuing judgement that takes me even further away from the possibility of happiness