move past a mountain of my fear.
I’m afraid?
I can’t quite acknowledge that yet.
Anger is easier.
I wonder if they know I have anger to express. At HOPE House, we’d give a job assignment based on clinical needs of the patient. Did I need the digging, pounding, and smashing of rock?
Obviously.
I’m trying to do not just a good job, but an impressive job. I’m sure Reverend Joel will shower me with glowing accolades later. The ground is hard, a light-sand color, but it gives way to my pounding. I notice a dank, but pleasant, smell arise from the loosened earth as I gain access deep into its bowels. I am entering new territory, and no one has been here since the pipe was initially laid. At one point I notice a small ant scurrying up my arm. Instead of smashing, I lay him gently on the ground. Treated by these monks with such gentleness and kindness, I want to give back the same.
This place is growing on me.
The work period passes more quickly than expected and the physical exertion takes the morning’s chill out of my bones. We’ve been up since five; first meditating, then working by seven, breakfast, meditation, and back to work. No rest for the unenlightened.
Just when my digging settles in to a rhythmic pattern, Reverend Joel stops by my ditch to announce, “Time for class.”
Not a word about the job I’m doing. I’m sure he’ll comment later.
With a quick clothing change and cleanup, I’m ready to race around the abbey to the classroom to relax into learning what this is all about.
My brain will get its much-needed exercise.
My time to shine.
Energized and thankful I didn’t leave too soon, I have a little trouble finding the classroom. Finally, I arrive and plop in just a little late to see all my fellow trainees listening attentively to yet another male monk in brown robes.
Some of them are even sitting lotus at this session.
This monk is short, with the same bald head and the same brown robes, but he seems a little nervous, not as centered as the others.
Clearing his throat, he begins. “Today’s session will be about moderation. The Buddha had scorned extremes of eroticism or asceticism and recommended that we find the middle path to enlightenment by living an ordinary life.”
I’m excited. I’ve been debating with treatment professionals over rigid versus laissez-faire food plans, and I’m writing a book about moderation in recovery.
Great. I’m gonna get my money’s worth.
I truly value intellectual pursuits and discussions almost as much as I devalue meditation, which the monks hold in high esteem. For me, the class is over too quickly, and we’re sent back to meditate before lunch. I suffer through yet another meditation session. There’ve only been three since I first arrived.
And I have six times a day coming.
During meditation I cry while my nose twitches and pain pounds in my head. In each session, my mind races around a NASCAR track. But the minute I leave the meditation hall, all thoughts cease. I feel breezy, relaxed, and lightheaded.
So, I’m not getting it the way I think I should, but I am lightening up some. It takes time.
Time for lunch.
I follow others, grabbing a bowl, silverware, and cup, and then scramble with the rest to find a seat, each of us pretending it doesn’t matter where we sit. Massive screeching follows as those steel chairs scrape the floor again.
Is this loud irritation our signal to eat?
It is certainly a contrast to the melodious gong that announces meditation. I’m sure there is more psychological interpretation to devise, but I’m too hungry.
I like the seat facing the picture window that offers a crystal-clear view of the mountain.
Everyone but me knows the meal procedures. I follow along. We ritualistically unfold napkins and give gassho as each family-style bowl is passed. We give gassho before receiving the bowl, then spoon out our serving and bow again as we pass it on to the left. After all are served, a gong sounds and we take silent bites, giving gassho before each forkful.
Why, this could be heaven for my anorexic patients who love to perform elaborate rituals over the food they never get around to eating. Eventually, some of these tools will become a cornerstone to my maintaining permanent weight loss.
Wastefulness is considered morally unethical, and all food that is taken must be eaten. There’s nowhere private to stow leftovers for later. The other trainees know not to take what they won’t eat.
I make a big abbey mistake after breakfast right in front of the kitchen chief. As we stand silently in line to wash our individual plates, I beam proudly and say, “Where can I store the uneaten half of my orange?” I’m feeling terrifically virtuous at not finishing a meal.
Notice the big deal I can make over half an orange. I wasn’t saving a pork roast or anything.
As he swoops up my uneaten citrus, the monk scowls and growls about me to someone in the kitchen.
I’m ready to lose it again. Lower lip starts quivering. I am aware how vulnerable and open I am to any feedback.
Here we go. Here come the tears.
My head brews up a fight. A margin of safety has returned as I sense anger and irritation from this man.
I can deal with that.
My head starts racing defensively to tell him off.
I didn’t know the rules. It’s your fault.
Instead, I just stand quietly and watch. Frozen in front of his dishwashing window, I psychologically leave the scene, remembering all the many meaningless battles I’ve fought over the years.
According to the Buddhists, the process of awakening involves seeing in stark relief all the areas of your life that haven’t been working. In that awareness, you might feel despair, disgust, and sadness.
Well, it’s all happening for me right now.
In this loving environment, I’m beginning to see all the paradoxes in my life and all those areas that don’t quite measure up. I’d been so concerned about achieving and proving myself in the world and accomplishing great pioneering things in a very few years. For what?
No one cares here. In this cloistered environment, it’s more important that I pay attention to not wasting food or not taking more than my share and being aware that the planet needs all of us to remain conscious. In fact, it’s continuous awareness, paying attention, and staying present and alive that are the gift and burden of being human. And I have wasted so much time in pursuit of being the top-of-the-heap superhero. All of my efforts were expended in the service of a fearful ego so that I could avoid feeling like a total failure and an inadequate, scared little rabbit.
Is either of those necessary?
