Life and Hope and Buddhist Nuns

Sometimes the propositions of Tibetan Buddhism really cross sticks with Human Nature, especially in the seventh chapter of this little Pema Chodron book I've got here, "When Things Fall Apart." In the "Hopelessness and Death" section, the charming, round-faced sage with a buzz-cut promotes the benefits of "hopelessness" and disparages the comforts of theism (indulged in by millions). It's an addiction, she says. Well, maybe some folks get hung up on a jolly, kindly, managerial God and can't stop thinking about him (not that addiction is always to kindly, jolly things), but I never did, even as a kid. Somehow, the threat of years-long punishment in Purgatory for childish transgressions outweighed any images of his hippie son Jesus's loving glances and mysterious but compassionate words. I was kind of glad to give up on God when I "came of age," and I had only recently advanced to laughing at the Everything-Happens-for-a-Reason cliche (whether it had to do with God or not). But I draw the line at dropping "the fundamental hope that there is a better 'me' who one day will emerge." I mean, what the heck did I buy this book for, anyway? Isn't an occasionally meditative, more peaceful, less reactive and impulsive "me" a better one? And isn't this book touted as an aid to achieving this? (Even though there's no "self," we're supposed to behave well toward others.) What's going on here is your basic "Zen" paradox: the harder you try to grasp an idea and roll with it, the slipperier it gets, and then the landscape changes, the leaves turn yellow, the clock falls back, and you're rolling uphill.

Test Drive

I understand it's silly to be proud of NOT buying something I can't afford. I wasn't even tempted, really. I'd informed my daydreams, "No," ahead of time. But being on the edge of the cliff, enjoying the view, was fun. I was too sane to actually jump off. But used-car salespeople don't understand sanity. They are there to discourage it. As one of three trying to convince me said, "Occasionally common sense rears its ugly head." This was after I'd taken the nearly-new Toyota MR2 Spyder for a spin, with the top down. I never got to fifth gear, but fourth was a thrill. The woman salesperson, Dana, went with me, and directed me to a business park nearby where there was a pleasant loop road deserted for the weekend. It had a hill, several curves, and one short straightaway. The silver-and-black roadster had something special: auto-manual transmission. No clutch, just the touch of a finger on a steering-wheel button or the right palm gently tapping the spider-decorated stick. I got the hang of it almost immediately. Now that's not silly to be proud of, is it? I told them, laughing, that if they could work out payments of $100 or less per month, I'd buy it. The manager himself took MY car for a test drive, and reported it to be in fair condition. Hey, I KNEW that. The paper he then handed me invited payments of $316 per month for 60 months, not terribly high for some, but way out of my range. Besides, where would I park such a car? On the street as usual? No, I've parked it back in my daydreams, where it belongs, but the dreams are more vivid now.

Temporary Wowness

I am so full of love right now for everyone. And really, it only took a glass and a half of wine (I'm a cheap flower child). I took a friend to a play (a play with lots of cussing and violence) and she liked it, and I was glad to be with her. WOW. I stopped to visit another friend and give him a birthday present, and he smiled and was hospitable and talkative. WOW. My brother does a great blog that brings some of the siblings and even my father ("Dr. Kinbote") together (virtually), and I'm so enthused. WOW. My husband is the world's best lover (last night), but also has given me an evening of alone-time (tonight) as if he knows what I need at every minute. WOW. And an elegant older woman (my age, ha ha) at the Buddhist-GroupTherapy-BookDiscussion the other night laughed at my jokes and sent me an e-mail today. WOW. People who need people are the luckiest people in the world! (or not, as the case may be).

Paean to Yoga in Cliché Mode

One of my sisters asked me recently why I did yoga. Her view was that it was a waste of time. She’s a person with lots to do: a full-time teaching position in a European university, and two beautiful but willful little boys. She used to love to go to the gym and sweat. She seems to feel that unless something is strenuous both in appearance and subjective experience, it’s not really physical exercise. She doesn't really want anything less than her ideal workout (although she stays trim running after her children and shorting herself on meals) and laments her former-fitness-buff fate. I understand that; I am still addicted to cardio machines and weight work, and glad I have time to do it. And yet, I love yoga. It’s really more of a complicated discipline than either of the above, an exercise not of exertion but of control and precise forms. Rather than heavy breathing to pull in the air, the breath is coordinated with movements, usually very slowly done, calling for a lot of muscular strength in places you didn’t know you had muscles. The movements themselves are at the edge of what is possible for most amateur practitioners in terms of stretching and flexibility. American yoga doesn’t ask the impossible, and offers alternative positions for those who can’t quite do the lotus or the various twisting “binds” that conclude some of the more advanced postures. Poses like “triangle” are a balance challenge for me (let’s not even talk about “standing tree”)! The spiritual aspects of yoga are downplayed for Westerners; in my state-sponsored university gym, any “meditation” at the end of an hour-and-15-minute yoga session is verboten. But the vaguely-Eastern music drones on. Sometimes it’s pleasant when kept at a low volume. At the very least, it helps create the illusion that one’s movements are smooth, not jerky. I have achieved more of that “good achey” feeling (particularly in the hamstrings) from yoga than from almost any other workout. Friends of mine have had to take naps afterwards; even the instructor ends the class with, “Don’t go tossing any hay bales today. Be kind to your lower back; it’s probably very vulnerable right now. Drink plenty of water.” This is also what some massage therapists say after giving you a deep rubdown. I rarely follow the advice, but it indicates that there have been enough unfortunate post-session events for both yoga instructors and massage therapists to be wary of lawsuits. So something must be getting done to the body! I’m a once-a-weeker, not all that devoted, but I look forward to it. My Saturday morning yoga class makes my weekend.