Wonderful Moment, (Almost) Unbearable Moment

 Well, so I thought I would just start with where I left off, with my announcement of being in recovery from alcoholism and then plod chronologically through the last seven years. But since I live another day every day, and there are new fucking learning opportunities every day - don't you hate it when that happens - there is no way I would ever catch up. So I'm just going to throw a big bunch of stuff in the air, like throwing pasta at the wall to see if it sticks, because Sue Howard said that's how you tell if it's done, although my Italian friend Andrea says that means it's overdone.

Here's something. When I got sober, my wonderful doctor at Hazelden told me that starting drinking at age twelve had affected my developing brain. I was understandably disheartened at this news, until he told me I was going to be all right. Brains can heal and re-wire. It's called "neuroplasticity," and boy howdy, am I glad this turned out to be true - although it did cause a few leetle changes, such as a complete reboot of my personality. The keys to the transformation, creating new dopamine receptors and neural pathways, were meditation, time, and a lot of sleep. The healing brain needs lots of sleep. And a LOT of meditation. Heart practices, sound meditation, following the breath. We're talking twenty, forty, sixty minutes a day or more, for years.

I started with a Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) class, then started going to a Buddhist-oriented recovery program four times a week, then to the Heart of Wisdom Zen temple, and eventually started participating in day-long meditation retreats - then a weekend - then a full week. When you literally meditate all day, either formally sitting in the zendo, or during walking practice, or work practice, or mindful eating, every moment becomes the present moment, to be given your full attention. No reading, talking, writing, phones or TV. Even the clocks and mirrors are covered. Suddenly, twenty minutes of counting breaths became just a mindfulness snack.

And I started to change. I learned that thoughts are just thoughts. That you can't argue with reality. Well, you can, but you'll suffer. Reality always wins. That feelings won't kill me. My personality changed profoundly, to the point where my kids were thrilled but my (now ex-) husband, used to a reactive overly-dramatic heavy drinker, wanted out. My inner landscape changed so much that introspection became something of a spectator sport - what unfamiliar thing will I do or think next? 

I'll leave you today with a poem I wrote that evokes what one meditation retreat meant to me. Three vocabulary words: "Han" is the pattern of sounds caused by striking a wooden board by a mallet, that calls the community to meditation. "Zendo" is the meditation hall. "Zazen" means formal sitting practice.

RETREAT: TRIO

#1 Walking Practice

All the shoes by the door

All the hands palm to palm

All the soles pressed to the floor

Heels, toes, feet as balm

Thirty pairs of eyes downcast

One heart.

#2 Work Practice

Crack

Blade strikes cutting board

Han.

Tone

Silver bowl sings to spoon

Bell.

Inhale

Peppers, oranges. Nostrils, awake!

Exhale.

#3 Zazen

Drop the story, me.

Drop the me, story.

Weeping in the zendo.

Breathe softly. Blow the breath away.

Does suffering have a sound?

Is it visible by candlelight?

Drop the stone woman

Drop her from a great height

When she shatters, gather her up

Wrap her in the weft and warp of thirty breaths