Glad to Mitta
I spent yesterday in a one-day retreat held by my Kalyana Mitta (spiritual friends) group. I wanted to share some notes on that topic.
Firstly, I should point out how honored I am to be a part of the group. We have become a close-knit family of well-intentioned, caring, serious practitioners who are willing to be completely open with one another. I’m honored to receive their friendship.
Meditating with this group is a delight. The sense of support and comradery is palpable, and in the two years since the group began, my practice has blossomed. Yesterday’s retreat was no different, and my deepest appreciation goes out to the folks who attended.
With that aside, I did have a couple interesting thoughts…
The first was an insight that might benefit practitioners with limited indoor space for walking meditation. Modify a gym-style treadmill so that it runs at one half mile per hour (or less), and voilà: the Buddhist walking meditation treadmill!
The other memorable incident happened at lunch. A thoughtful yogi brought a vegetable juicer and proceeded to juice some vegetables. Since I wasn’t eating anyways, I spent the lunch period meditating. But after spending the morning in silence, the noise of the juicer struck my ears as sudden, loud, and incredibly violent. Like someone was puréeing baby harp seals, but the blender was having a hard time breaking up their hard little skulls. That’s what it sounded like to me…
But overall it was a wonderful day of sitting and sharing aspirations and intentions with good friends. Really!
I actually have more to say about last spring’s two-day retreat, which was the KM group’s first retreat. For some reason, I held off posting about it, but I want to make sure a few of my notes are saved for posteriority… (sic)
Although it was only one night, it was actually my first overnight/residential retreat, which seems noteworthy.
Although the plan was for all eleven of us to stay under one roof, in the end it was just the hosts, myself, and one other guy. I was disappointed when my expectations for the weekend weren’t met.
At one point, while listening to a pre-recorded guided meditation by Joseph Goldstein, it became apparent that a second version of his talk was playing very softly in the background, slightly out of sync with the main one.
We had another good laugh when the hostess’ kickoff message was interrupted by Joseph’s full-volume baritone announcing, “Where is your mind now?”. Apparently the recorded guided meditation had continued playing (mostly silently) in the background for a while.
Note: unannounced candid flash photography during a silent meditation retreat is probably suboptimal.
Also, given that people try to eat slowly and mindfully during retreats, we learned that corn on the cob really isn’t the easiest thing to eat daintily and in silence.
Overheard from the house next door: “Mom! I’m gonna sing MacArthur Park until you let me have a slice of pie!”
Our hosts’ house has squeaky hardwood floors. My thought process after hearing one series of creaks went something like this: The house is settling. Isn’t it settled enough already? Do houses get unsettled? People get unsettled when houses settle. Does the house get unsettled when its people settle?
During one meditation, I opened my eyes and noticed that the four men in the room were all meditating in the same position: hands folded covering their crotches. Meanwhile, the two women both had their hands palms up on their thighs. I think this signifies something.
Thirty years ago, I felt that the Who’s song “Behind Blue Eyes” really captured the essence of what it was like being a teenager in the 70s. The key lyric goes, “No one knows what it’s like to feel these feelings like I do… and I blame you!”
That adolescent Ornoth fell prey to a common misconception: that if life’s conditions are good, and there’s still suffering, then it must be someone’s fault. If that blame is aimed at oneself, then it’s internalized as self-hatred and depression; if it’s directed externally (as it was in my case) it manifests as judgmentalism, anger, and hatefulness.
These days, I realize that my emotions-even the highest highs and the lowest lows-aren’t the least bit unique to me. They’re an essential part of the human experience that everyone on the planet shares.
The analogy can be extended to human society as a whole. For millenia, Western culture told us that technological progress was the key to achieving control and happiness. If only our basic needs were guaranteed, it would usher in a new age of lasting happiness.
In today’s modern society, virtually all of our needs are met, as well as most of our merest whims. But there’s still suffering. If anything, there’s been increased hue and cry about, “How can it be that we have so much, yet we’re more unhappy than ever before?”
Most people are still stuck in the mode of looking for someone (perhaps themselves) to blame for their unhappiness, but an openminded person doesn’t have to look far to find the real causes: every one of us suffers with our inability to predict and control the world, plus the inevitability of old age, sickness, and death. Happiness isn’t having everything one wants; it’s accepting what one has, and understanding the very real limitations on what life can-and cannot-give us.
The Who might have gotten it wrong, but their contemporaries the Stones got it right: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.