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So now I'm back for good, or for a while at least, and glad to be here. The following is cut for length and possible lack of interest to some:
Three days at the Buddhist meditation retreat left me not only bugbitten but very sore in the knees. I do yoga a good bit and usually meditation around 20 minutes at a stretch. At the retreat, we were told we'd sit for two hours a day, broken into half-hour sessions throughout the day. In fact some were only 20 minutes, but we also sat on cushions for the four hours of teaching between sessions. We didn't have to sit cross-legged during the teaching, and could change positions, but it was hard to find a way to sit that didn't involve bent knees. By the last meditation on Sunday morning, I'd finally figured out the arrangement of cushions and posture that made sitting bearable, but it was very interesting to see how dealing with the physical discomfort affected my mind.
The meditation we do is Shamata, the Tibetan Buddhist focus on a single object--for me, it's a visualization. The goal is to see the image clearly, as if it's real, and not to let your mind wander from it. Usually my distraction is the random thoughts and fantasies that come to mind, and the technique is to let those thoughts go and return to the object I'm meditating on. Of course the pain in my body didn't go away in the same manner, but by the final session I realized my focus had narrowed pretty much to the physical pain and the object of meditation, with very little other distraction. While it was hard to keep the focus, I wound up feeling that my ability to do it had been strengthened.
The teachings were on the meditation process (based on ideas from Pabongka) and have to say it was wonderful to discover that I'd been expecting to start at what's really the end of the process--having the image clear and stable. Our discussions revealed that almost everyone has to start with piecemeal, fuzzy images and go through a long period where we just try to keep coming back, before we reach the point where we can hold the image for several minutes. Then, once we can keep the object in mind, we can work on making it clear, complete, and detailed. I feel much more hopeful about making some progress now.
Incidentally, I'm also learning from LJ and real-life friends that other kinds of meditation are very different, yet interestingly the effect on my non-meditation life seems to be similar. I find it increasingly easy to let go of negative feelings, the same way I let go of distractions during meditation. Part of the goal of my meditation is to ultimately understand and experience the extent to which reality is shaped by my projections, and I begin to see how that might happen.
Oddly, the other thing that's happening is that my creativity seems to be increasing. I'm getting better ideas for things to write and having more energy for actually writing. Of course, that might also be due to the fact that I'm retired and don't have to put all that energy into work...
Another thing about the retreat was that we didn't talk for 48 hours. I've done this before, and always realize how differently we relate to each other when we can't speak. It seems to cut through a lot of posing and pretending, and to make it much easier to feel each other's humanity. I've noticed how that happens between people who don't share a common language, as well. Odd that the tool developed for communication, language, winds up actually preventing or distorting it, so often. Of course, the nature of the retreat and the people who chose to attend played a part in this, but I noticed my own reactions: one woman I didn't know came late, seemed not to quite understand how things were working, made a few disruptions. My initial response was irritation, and then I saw that I was having that feeling. I worked at trying to look at her sympathetically, seeing how out of place and confused she must feel. I wound up seeing her intelligence and kindness. It was a good lesson--wish I could do that more often (see my own blind spots, that is).
And finally we were so fortunate in the weather. Warm, with a cool breeze and lots of brilliant sunshine on the new leaves and flowers, a full moon when we walked back from the main hall to where we slept.
The retreat was held at a former YMCA camp now used for Outward Bound. Several cats and dogs live there, and are obviously much petted by the transient kids, because I've never seen animals so immediately affectionate with strange humans and each other.
I set up my yoga mat on the porch, determined to ignore the swarm of bumblebees already buzzing in the azaleas. No sooner did I get up in Downward Dog than one of the cats came under me and began purring and nuzzling my nose. I moved into Cobra and she hopped on my back--found a way to get involved in every pose. Then a couple of dogs saw the fun and joined in, nosing and licking my neck and face. The cat also nuzzled the dogs and the smaller dog went underneath the larger dog. It began to look like and orgy of bestiality, with animals climbing all over me and each other, and the bees buzzing around the whole thing. Wish I had![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
gleefulfreak's ability with stick figures to show you how it looked, but maybe it's just as well that I don't.
Bugs, indeed, yes. A thiamine patch (supposed to be insect repellent) was obviously just a source of fun for the redbugs who left me with several nice red welts and the non-vegetarian mosquitoes who must have gained some weight while I was there. Next time I get out the DEET again.
Before that, I spent a couple of weeks in Chicago, mostly going to the Ring Cycle (Der Ring des Nibelungen: Das Rheingold, Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung. There's way too much to say about it all, and I'm not even going to try to talk about the music (don't know enough) or Wagner's anti-Semitism and use/abuse by Nazis. In fact, as will be obvious, I know very little about Wagner, German music, or German philosophy. I'm jotting down some random reactions in hope of getting some light on all this from some of you who know much more than I.
The staging was delightful to me, and suggested a nod to the idea of the cycle as a cartoon or anime of superheroes. The choreographer had been with Cirque du Soleil for many years, and you could see that same imagination at work. The Rheinmaidens were on bungee cords! Sounds funny (and the scene has some comedy, with Alberich's coming on to them) but the motion of them going up and down had the perfect slow fluidity of underwater movement. Couldn't believe how well they were able to sing while bouncing, though. Later, the flight of the Valkyrie was represented by small dancers on trampolines at the back of the stage, costumed like the large singers who then appeared at the front of the stage. Really worked well--this time, not really comic, since the dancers did almost seem to fly. Certainly better than any kind of fake horse thing I can imagine, and wires (used for the Forest Bird and Alberich's final appearance) seem too slow for that dynamic music. The neon tubes used to indicated the Rhine and the Magic Fire, the trapdoor appearances, the silliness of Siegfried: all had that cartoon-like quality, and also the Japanese bunraku-style puppets, with black-dressed handlers on stage manipulating the sticks, and the stylized puppet dragon and bird,
Have to say that all the music sounded glorious to me. I expected to be overwhelmed by Placido Domingo, and he was all that I expected, but also found that Jane Eaglen was a perfect Brünnhilde--to my ear, at least: her voice is so beautiful, so female, but also so powerful. Of course I eventually began to see her similarities with Buffy: her superhuman power, her high moral principles that got her into trouble, her almost losing her moral principles but returning to them in the end--and of course, facing the apocalyse and saying, "Bring it on!". Eaglen's a bit larger than Gellar, but so majestic. Have to say that Buffy had better judgment about men than Brünnhilde.
I knew the story of the Ring, and thought I'd seen it once on TV, but somehow the ideas behind it struck me so differently this time. Wotan and Alberich seemed so clearly to mirror each other, Rheingold seemed so much a parable about the dangers and ultimate hopelessness of obsession with money, power, youth, and sex, Walküre seemed so similar to Lear. Clearly compassion was the only good motivation. It seemed very Buddhist to me, but I had no idea of whether Wagner had any connections there. By the end of the first two operas I got interested in Wagner's philosophy and read a bit about his connections with Schopenhauer and Feuerbach, who now also sounds Buddhist to me, and found at least one source that called Parsifal a Buddhist drama ( http://home.c2i.net/monsalvat/india.htm ).
Strange that a writer with those influences could also be see as anti-Semitic and used as a spokesman for Nazism. I can see all that in the plays, too. What a weird mind.
Three days at the Buddhist meditation retreat left me not only bugbitten but very sore in the knees. I do yoga a good bit and usually meditation around 20 minutes at a stretch. At the retreat, we were told we'd sit for two hours a day, broken into half-hour sessions throughout the day. In fact some were only 20 minutes, but we also sat on cushions for the four hours of teaching between sessions. We didn't have to sit cross-legged during the teaching, and could change positions, but it was hard to find a way to sit that didn't involve bent knees. By the last meditation on Sunday morning, I'd finally figured out the arrangement of cushions and posture that made sitting bearable, but it was very interesting to see how dealing with the physical discomfort affected my mind.
The meditation we do is Shamata, the Tibetan Buddhist focus on a single object--for me, it's a visualization. The goal is to see the image clearly, as if it's real, and not to let your mind wander from it. Usually my distraction is the random thoughts and fantasies that come to mind, and the technique is to let those thoughts go and return to the object I'm meditating on. Of course the pain in my body didn't go away in the same manner, but by the final session I realized my focus had narrowed pretty much to the physical pain and the object of meditation, with very little other distraction. While it was hard to keep the focus, I wound up feeling that my ability to do it had been strengthened.
The teachings were on the meditation process (based on ideas from Pabongka) and have to say it was wonderful to discover that I'd been expecting to start at what's really the end of the process--having the image clear and stable. Our discussions revealed that almost everyone has to start with piecemeal, fuzzy images and go through a long period where we just try to keep coming back, before we reach the point where we can hold the image for several minutes. Then, once we can keep the object in mind, we can work on making it clear, complete, and detailed. I feel much more hopeful about making some progress now.
Incidentally, I'm also learning from LJ and real-life friends that other kinds of meditation are very different, yet interestingly the effect on my non-meditation life seems to be similar. I find it increasingly easy to let go of negative feelings, the same way I let go of distractions during meditation. Part of the goal of my meditation is to ultimately understand and experience the extent to which reality is shaped by my projections, and I begin to see how that might happen.
Oddly, the other thing that's happening is that my creativity seems to be increasing. I'm getting better ideas for things to write and having more energy for actually writing. Of course, that might also be due to the fact that I'm retired and don't have to put all that energy into work...
Another thing about the retreat was that we didn't talk for 48 hours. I've done this before, and always realize how differently we relate to each other when we can't speak. It seems to cut through a lot of posing and pretending, and to make it much easier to feel each other's humanity. I've noticed how that happens between people who don't share a common language, as well. Odd that the tool developed for communication, language, winds up actually preventing or distorting it, so often. Of course, the nature of the retreat and the people who chose to attend played a part in this, but I noticed my own reactions: one woman I didn't know came late, seemed not to quite understand how things were working, made a few disruptions. My initial response was irritation, and then I saw that I was having that feeling. I worked at trying to look at her sympathetically, seeing how out of place and confused she must feel. I wound up seeing her intelligence and kindness. It was a good lesson--wish I could do that more often (see my own blind spots, that is).
And finally we were so fortunate in the weather. Warm, with a cool breeze and lots of brilliant sunshine on the new leaves and flowers, a full moon when we walked back from the main hall to where we slept.
The retreat was held at a former YMCA camp now used for Outward Bound. Several cats and dogs live there, and are obviously much petted by the transient kids, because I've never seen animals so immediately affectionate with strange humans and each other.
I set up my yoga mat on the porch, determined to ignore the swarm of bumblebees already buzzing in the azaleas. No sooner did I get up in Downward Dog than one of the cats came under me and began purring and nuzzling my nose. I moved into Cobra and she hopped on my back--found a way to get involved in every pose. Then a couple of dogs saw the fun and joined in, nosing and licking my neck and face. The cat also nuzzled the dogs and the smaller dog went underneath the larger dog. It began to look like and orgy of bestiality, with animals climbing all over me and each other, and the bees buzzing around the whole thing. Wish I had
gleefulfreak's ability with stick figures to show you how it looked, but maybe it's just as well that I don't.Bugs, indeed, yes. A thiamine patch (supposed to be insect repellent) was obviously just a source of fun for the redbugs who left me with several nice red welts and the non-vegetarian mosquitoes who must have gained some weight while I was there. Next time I get out the DEET again.
Before that, I spent a couple of weeks in Chicago, mostly going to the Ring Cycle (Der Ring des Nibelungen: Das Rheingold, Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung. There's way too much to say about it all, and I'm not even going to try to talk about the music (don't know enough) or Wagner's anti-Semitism and use/abuse by Nazis. In fact, as will be obvious, I know very little about Wagner, German music, or German philosophy. I'm jotting down some random reactions in hope of getting some light on all this from some of you who know much more than I.
The staging was delightful to me, and suggested a nod to the idea of the cycle as a cartoon or anime of superheroes. The choreographer had been with Cirque du Soleil for many years, and you could see that same imagination at work. The Rheinmaidens were on bungee cords! Sounds funny (and the scene has some comedy, with Alberich's coming on to them) but the motion of them going up and down had the perfect slow fluidity of underwater movement. Couldn't believe how well they were able to sing while bouncing, though. Later, the flight of the Valkyrie was represented by small dancers on trampolines at the back of the stage, costumed like the large singers who then appeared at the front of the stage. Really worked well--this time, not really comic, since the dancers did almost seem to fly. Certainly better than any kind of fake horse thing I can imagine, and wires (used for the Forest Bird and Alberich's final appearance) seem too slow for that dynamic music. The neon tubes used to indicated the Rhine and the Magic Fire, the trapdoor appearances, the silliness of Siegfried: all had that cartoon-like quality, and also the Japanese bunraku-style puppets, with black-dressed handlers on stage manipulating the sticks, and the stylized puppet dragon and bird,
Have to say that all the music sounded glorious to me. I expected to be overwhelmed by Placido Domingo, and he was all that I expected, but also found that Jane Eaglen was a perfect Brünnhilde--to my ear, at least: her voice is so beautiful, so female, but also so powerful. Of course I eventually began to see her similarities with Buffy: her superhuman power, her high moral principles that got her into trouble, her almost losing her moral principles but returning to them in the end--and of course, facing the apocalyse and saying, "Bring it on!". Eaglen's a bit larger than Gellar, but so majestic. Have to say that Buffy had better judgment about men than Brünnhilde.
I knew the story of the Ring, and thought I'd seen it once on TV, but somehow the ideas behind it struck me so differently this time. Wotan and Alberich seemed so clearly to mirror each other, Rheingold seemed so much a parable about the dangers and ultimate hopelessness of obsession with money, power, youth, and sex, Walküre seemed so similar to Lear. Clearly compassion was the only good motivation. It seemed very Buddhist to me, but I had no idea of whether Wagner had any connections there. By the end of the first two operas I got interested in Wagner's philosophy and read a bit about his connections with Schopenhauer and Feuerbach, who now also sounds Buddhist to me, and found at least one source that called Parsifal a Buddhist drama ( http://home.c2i.net/monsalvat/india.htm ).
Strange that a writer with those influences could also be see as anti-Semitic and used as a spokesman for Nazism. I can see all that in the plays, too. What a weird mind.
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