"Do you always want to be right or do you want to wake up?"
Pema Chodron (START WHERE YOU ARE)
I wonder.
(About everything, actually.)
DO I really want to "wake up"?
I find myself filled with good intentions, insight, clear-headed determination and then, WHAM!
One of the parental units waits until I'm halfway out the door, arms filled with something heavy for school, backpack packed to the brim with books (worn over down jacket and hood), mittens slipping my grip off the doorknob, to call me back, to remind me of something like, "There's extra coffee in the pot, you might as well finish it..." ARRRRRRGGGGHHH.
Nothing urgent. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing they need or desire. We've already connected for the morning--they know I'm rushing to make the first bell. They see I'm already tottering under everything I'm carrying. They can hear the back door ballet as I keep dropping my keys and missing the door knob. Yet, they call me back...for something inane. Something I can't make use of...and they know this. (They KNOW this.)
I spend ten minutes warming up the car, my ears and fingertips burning from the sub-zero temp. (My face burning, because I wanted a day full of light and controlled emotion and insight awareness and joy.) Now, I'm almost late. I have slipped on the ice because my arms were so full. I struggled to get the frozen-shut car door open and had to go back inside the house, to retrieve a cup of hot water to pour over the lock and handle. I'm irritated with my parents for breaking into my thoughts; breaking into my rushed routine outside, into the winter workday.
I am more upset with myself, for being upset with them.
(I am most upset with failing, yet again.)
At school: lessons go very well. Students take a quiz and demonstrate their progress. No one refuses to write the assigned essay. All come in, have pencils and paper and notebooks and are relatively focused. Suddenly, someone throws a water bottle across the room.
"He called me------------------------"
"HE called me----------------------first!"
The class erupts in cheers and laughter. Two boys much taller than me, one outweighing me by about fifty pounds, stand up, ready to start the goat-butting push and pull that begins every fight I've seen between teens.
I try speaking softly. No one listens. (No one.)
I raise my voice, making a joke about how no one but me can hear the joke...
I ask that everyone sit down and go back to their writing...
I close the door into the hallway, attempting to get attention off the two who remain standing and yelling, waving fists in the air.
A third party throws a rolled up piece of notepaper at one of the combatants, attempting to tip the argument over the edge.
I turn and face the class and now I yell: "Stop! Just everyone, stop!!"
Everyone does.
Boys sit.
Students go back to writing.
I report the two boys for the almost-fight, and for hijacking the class with this idiocy. (This is school protocol.)
It doesn't change the energy in the room. It doesn't rewind the argument. It doesn't return lost minutes of education.
A kind of "order" is restored.
(But, at what cost?)
At night, I cannot sleep, thinking about the entire day.
(Begun with such promise, such hope, such belief that I'm understanding this journey through the Dharma. I'm learning these lessons--seeing their effects on my attitude, my life.)Then, just the usual "bumps" that every day contains, throws me off the horse, into the ditch of my "wanting to be right" self. (My "perfect daughter with a professional position" self.)
Ugh.
The answer, according to Chodron, according to the Dharma, is to go back to the teachings. To literally whisper, in the dark, to myself. (To my Real Self.)
To take a long, cleansing breath, and talk to myself. Remind myself that my own "sins", my own "failings", my own expectations of perfection, are the brands of neurosis I insist on still engaging in.
I'm trying to be "the good daughter", still; I am trying to be "the perfect teacher", ever; I am trying to be the Enlightened Minns, on my own schedule. (Insanity. Pure and simple.)
Instead, I should just relax.
I should just sit and focus on my breath.
I should repeat what I've come to learn: start where you are.(Breathe.) Recite the Four Noble Truths.
Breathe.
Focus on the teachings about Life and Death.
(Acknowledge what is going off the path and what is staying on the path.)
Find my way back, through the Dharma.
Instead of self-flagellation and "checking out because I'll never succeed", I can use reproach to realize I have the rest of my life to keep moving forward. (To continue learning. To teach myself.)
To have my life add up to an Awakened Existence. (I can.)
I don't have to always be right. (Even most of the time...)
Reproach is the fourth strength.
(Good-night.)
Pema Chodron (START WHERE YOU ARE)
I wonder.
(About everything, actually.)
DO I really want to "wake up"?
I find myself filled with good intentions, insight, clear-headed determination and then, WHAM!
One of the parental units waits until I'm halfway out the door, arms filled with something heavy for school, backpack packed to the brim with books (worn over down jacket and hood), mittens slipping my grip off the doorknob, to call me back, to remind me of something like, "There's extra coffee in the pot, you might as well finish it..." ARRRRRRGGGGHHH.
Nothing urgent. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing they need or desire. We've already connected for the morning--they know I'm rushing to make the first bell. They see I'm already tottering under everything I'm carrying. They can hear the back door ballet as I keep dropping my keys and missing the door knob. Yet, they call me back...for something inane. Something I can't make use of...and they know this. (They KNOW this.)
I spend ten minutes warming up the car, my ears and fingertips burning from the sub-zero temp. (My face burning, because I wanted a day full of light and controlled emotion and insight awareness and joy.) Now, I'm almost late. I have slipped on the ice because my arms were so full. I struggled to get the frozen-shut car door open and had to go back inside the house, to retrieve a cup of hot water to pour over the lock and handle. I'm irritated with my parents for breaking into my thoughts; breaking into my rushed routine outside, into the winter workday.
I am more upset with myself, for being upset with them.
(I am most upset with failing, yet again.)
At school: lessons go very well. Students take a quiz and demonstrate their progress. No one refuses to write the assigned essay. All come in, have pencils and paper and notebooks and are relatively focused. Suddenly, someone throws a water bottle across the room.
"He called me------------------------"
"HE called me----------------------first!"
The class erupts in cheers and laughter. Two boys much taller than me, one outweighing me by about fifty pounds, stand up, ready to start the goat-butting push and pull that begins every fight I've seen between teens.
I try speaking softly. No one listens. (No one.)
I raise my voice, making a joke about how no one but me can hear the joke...
I ask that everyone sit down and go back to their writing...
I close the door into the hallway, attempting to get attention off the two who remain standing and yelling, waving fists in the air.
A third party throws a rolled up piece of notepaper at one of the combatants, attempting to tip the argument over the edge.
I turn and face the class and now I yell: "Stop! Just everyone, stop!!"
Everyone does.
Boys sit.
Students go back to writing.
I report the two boys for the almost-fight, and for hijacking the class with this idiocy. (This is school protocol.)
It doesn't change the energy in the room. It doesn't rewind the argument. It doesn't return lost minutes of education.
A kind of "order" is restored.
(But, at what cost?)
At night, I cannot sleep, thinking about the entire day.
(Begun with such promise, such hope, such belief that I'm understanding this journey through the Dharma. I'm learning these lessons--seeing their effects on my attitude, my life.)Then, just the usual "bumps" that every day contains, throws me off the horse, into the ditch of my "wanting to be right" self. (My "perfect daughter with a professional position" self.)
Ugh.
The answer, according to Chodron, according to the Dharma, is to go back to the teachings. To literally whisper, in the dark, to myself. (To my Real Self.)
To take a long, cleansing breath, and talk to myself. Remind myself that my own "sins", my own "failings", my own expectations of perfection, are the brands of neurosis I insist on still engaging in.
I'm trying to be "the good daughter", still; I am trying to be "the perfect teacher", ever; I am trying to be the Enlightened Minns, on my own schedule. (Insanity. Pure and simple.)
Instead, I should just relax.
I should just sit and focus on my breath.
I should repeat what I've come to learn: start where you are.(Breathe.) Recite the Four Noble Truths.
Breathe.
Focus on the teachings about Life and Death.
(Acknowledge what is going off the path and what is staying on the path.)
Find my way back, through the Dharma.
Instead of self-flagellation and "checking out because I'll never succeed", I can use reproach to realize I have the rest of my life to keep moving forward. (To continue learning. To teach myself.)
To have my life add up to an Awakened Existence. (I can.)
I don't have to always be right. (Even most of the time...)
Reproach is the fourth strength.
(Good-night.)
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