Angry Man

I had another experience with anger the other day. In one way, I am very glad this has become enough of a rarity that this fact is worth noting. This has not always been so. Anger can also be a valuable teaching tool, when I allow it to be. But it takes me several days before I can get over the recrimination and blame I feel whenever I am angry.

This itself is worth exploring. Anger is not who I am, but when it happens, I feel as if I have truly done something awful, something irreparable. Now, while I don't wish to encourage anger, I find it odd that something in my experience has led to a feeling of self-loathing when anger arises. It feels much like the conditioning young Alex underwent in A Clockwork Orange, which caused him to become debilitated by nausea and cramping whenever he contemplated violence. In that case, it was clear the conditioning was itself an evil thing, regardless of what Alex may have done (and he did plenty) to earn the enmity of society. Just so, without condoning my outbursts, I need to find a way to regard my anger as a natural extension of who I am, who I have been, and the experiences I have encountered in my life and (who knows?) perhaps many lives.

Part of the disapprobation I feel is made up of societal expectations. In many circles (unless you are a character on television or in film), any level of expressed  anger is entirely unacceptable. It seems to be considered manifestly unsafe. I am beginning to question whether or not this absolute prohibition is wise. Not that I am arguing for anger as a constructive force; generally speaking, by its very nature it is destructive. But when we look at it as an expression of generations upon generations of accumulated assumptions about the world, assumptions about  fairness and justice and reasonability, perhaps we can begin to consider anger more in  the light of a common emotional state than a problem. Could there possibly be the same acceptance and constructive engagement around anger that there currently is around, say, depression and anxiety? Could we come to recognize  that it, too, just like these other emotions, comes at least in part from a learned and possibly dysfunctional way of viewing the world? Especially since, it seems to me, a good part of anger comes from depression, anxiety and fear.

Not that I am asking  for special treatment, but if I am to have compassion for my anger, it would be helpful if those around me had compassion for it, too. In this most recent incarnation of my anger, which was work-related (these days, my anger is almost always about something at work), though I didn't anticipate the outcome to be this extreme, in my imagination I thought about what I might say if it came before someone from human resources. I thought quite seriously about claiming an emotional  accommodation. Once again, this would not excuse the behavior associated with it (though this was, in fact, rather mild), but would take into consideration this emotional predisposition with which I struggle. In the final analysis, once I have gotten over castigating myself, it does feel a bit like a prejudicial act to assume that my emotional states are the result of bad motives, while those of other emotionally challenged people are thought of in a more lenient light.

It  just so happened that the dharma talk I was listening to soon after this encounter with anger was one by Joseph Goldstein on what is known in Buddhist circles as aversion. The basic deal is this: there are three broad categories of mind states which stand in the way of one's ability to practice the Buddha's teachings. These are known as kilesas. This Pali word is usually translated as "defilements". That sounds  a little extreme, until we consider that what the Buddha taught was "purification" of mind states. Thus, much like the processing of raw ore into precious metals, wherein the dirt and detritus must be removed  in order to get at the pure treasure, when the defilements are present we cannot hear the dharma as well as we might otherwise. And without this clarity of understanding, we can never reach the ultimate state of nirvana.

In the Buddhist cosmology, the kilesas are craving, aversion, and ignorance. Anger is a form of aversion (though, it seems clear, it incorporates elements of the other two, as well). So it was particularly telling to encounter a talk on aversion just as I was contemplating my own aversive behavior. At one point, Joseph quotes Carl Jung as having said, "One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable and therefore not popular." I would add that making the darkness visible is also not socially acceptable, which increases the difficulty. Nonetheless, the Buddha also referred to anger as that which has a honeyed tip and a poisoned root. This is especially true of self-righteous anger. It  feels so good to rip into someone who is clearly in the wrong that it can be some time before the high of the anger passes sufficiently for us to realize that even under such circumstances, our anger is not useful.

In accord with the dharma teachings, Joseph suggests four responses to aversion: mindfulness, investigation, wise reflection and, if all else fails, inattention to the subject of our aversion. Note that none of these approaches involve blame, shame, or rejection. In fact, he quotes the Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh that in response to anger, "we don't suppress it, we don't run away from it, we just breathe and hold our anger in our arms with utmost tenderness. The anger is no longer alone." He goes on to recommend staying with it because eventually "mindfulness particles will infiltrate the anger"  and "if you keep shining your compassion and understanding on it, your anger will soon crack and you will be able to look into its depths and see its roots."

Thus, despite my characterization earlier, anger is not necessarily a destructive force. It can be a force for good if contemplated with gentleness and care. This will  take some work on my part. Even more deeply than the sources of my anger seem to be the predisposition to shame and remorse associated with its expression. For me, these seem to follow as naturally as night follows day. This is not all bad (I would hate to feel that there was no need for restraint in expression of my anger, for instance), but I need to cultivate a pause in there, to consider what my anger has to teach me about being a compassionate, caring, loving human being. No matter how it is looked upon by my boss or you or anyone else, there is no part of me that is unworthy, that must be rejected out of hand. I can, as Thich Nhat Hanh said, hold my anger with love. And in so doing I can hold yours, too.

Namaste.

Thaings

I pick up trash while I'm walking and occasionally come across something wonderful. Once I found a small slip of paper, on which someone (I suspect an older child) had written, "This is not going to work." In response, in a younger child's writing, was this: "It will if you THINK it will".

The other day I picked up another scrap and on it was, "Thaings I wish could have Happen." There was nothing on the list, just that title. Don't we live much of our lives in pondering thaings we wish could have happen? Along with those we wish hadn't happened and others we dream still may happen. The same thing was happening in the Buddha's world 2500 years ago. Because we are planning animals (one of the few advantages we have over our predators) and can analyze our past actions and make corrections ("Almost got eaten that time, better revise my hunting technique!"), this kind of thinking is hardwired into us. Unfortunately, if not used for survival, these ways of using our minds lead directly and inevitably to suffering, which the Buddha defined as everything that is not in this moment.

After all, we know what the ephemerality of the moment is. I was just speaking with a friend today about this: who we thought we would be ten years ago isn't even close to today's reality, which means we have absolutely no idea who (or where or how) we will be ten years from now. Dead? King of the World? Who knows? Who cares? Much better to tell that outrageous fellow chattering away in my head to take a break so I can enjoy the moment in which I am existing instead of pondering and kvetching about future and past, that's what I think.

Had a birthday. I am 57. I don't feel that old, except first thing in the morning, when I feel 157. I had a good birthday week. I didn't do anything all that exciting, but that's fine with me—exciting is exhausting! Among other things, I got a Panda Popper (he shoots that little purple ball across the room and does so with a satisfying "pop!").

I was complaining about the freezer not being a freezer last week, and during my birthday week (the day before my birthday, actually), that was finally fixed. Our freezer actually has frozen food in it! Imagine that!

And, best of all, we finally got our new front stairs. I paid the company who did them (and then redid them) yesterday. What a load off my mind. Here they are: Ain't they pretty?

Point being that thinking about "thaings I wish could have happen" did me absolutely no good while I was going through all that turmoil; they took care of themselves in their own good time.

I live a good life. So do you. It is enough. And more than enough. It will work if you think it will.

Happy Bird

When Things Fall Apart....

Number One: We contracted with someone to replace our front stairs (from the street to the upper walk). They have been disintegrating and in need of repair for some time. The Concrete Guy came yesterday and...did a disastrous job. I mean, truly dreadful. We're talking unsafe. Not to code. Visibly crooked. Disappointing doesn't even begin to describe it.

Our new front steps...briefly

Number Two: When we came home from our long weekend over Memorial Day, our freezer wasn't freezing properly, which means that our refrigerator wasn't refrigerating, either, which meant spoiled food. (Good thing we're vegetarians!)

Number Three: I work in an environment in which my boss doesn't have my best interest at heart, at least that's the way it seems to me. Not that I am in any way objective; I could be entirely wrong here. I freely admit the possibility—the likelihood even—that she is a saint and I am an asshole. Though there is precious little evidence of the former assertion, there is plenty to support the latter. Still, this blog is about my world, n'est-ce pas? In any case, all I'm saying is that it makes for a moderately tougher work week. I'm not trying to make a case here for summary execution or (yet more radical) a job change. I just wish it didn't have to be so hard.

So, what the heck am I trying to say?

While growing up, my brothers and I loved listening to Little Orley stories. My son liked them too, once I found them on CD. (Every once in a while we play them for our partners and they think we're nuts. Guess you had to be there). Anyway, one of the stories in there is about the Happy Bird, who prescribes singing a happy little song, when every little thing goes wrong. Be as happy as can be and fill yourself with glee. Just sing a happy little song. Eventually the Happy Bird falls in a mud puddle and Orley challenges him to sing his own little happy song, which he does, if grudgingly. Today I feel like the Happy Bird covered with mud. But I ain't singin' no song.

The Buddha wants us to understand that considering anything as lasting is to court suffering. Everything is ephemeral. In fact, the most concise description of the teachings of the Buddha is this simple phrase: "All that has the nature to arise has the nature to pass away." Nothing lasts. To say that things fall apart is like saying one must breathe. Things fall apart not because of anything I did or because the world is out to get me. Things fall apart because things fall apart. Things fall apart because they cannot do otherwise.

So, I know that crooked stairs are a temporary phenomenon. One of these days I will have forgotten all about them (which will begin next week when they are torn out and replaced). I also know that my freezer that isn't freezing can be repaired (and will be, I hope, tomorrow). And aren't we lucky to have the money to pay for these things? I further know that my feelings of stress, my insomnia, and my dissatisfaction with my work life will pass, will pass, will pass.

But sometimes the directive to consider all phenomena as ephemeral feels like the Happy Bird singing. Like it or not, I'm the one living in the world with these crooked steps and this unsupportive boss in it, living with what Pema Chödrön calls "a lot of ephemeral—but at the same time vivid and convincing—stuff....When the bottom falls out and we can't find anything to grasp, it hurts a lot". What to do? I can't sing a happy little song, dammit, I just can't. Yes, this too shall pass. But right now it sucks.

Pema again:

The path...is not about going to heaven or a place that's really comfortable. Wanting to find a place where everything's okay is just what keeps us miserable. Always looking for a way to have pleasure and avoid pain is how we keep ourselves in [suffering]. As long as we believe that there is something that will permanently satisfy our hunger for security, suffering is inevitable.

Her solution:

Instead of always blaming the other, own the feeling of blame, own the anger, own the loneliness, and make friends with it....See how you can place the anger or the fear or the loneliness in a cradle of loving-kindness...learn how to be gentle to all that stuff. In order to be gentle and create an atmosphere of compassion for yourself, it's necessary to stop talking to yourself about how wrong everything is—or how right everything is, for that matter....I challenge you to experiment this way: drop the object of your emotion and see if the fact the intensity of the emotion lessens.

This isn't the Happy Bird's advice. Pema (and the Buddha) are telling us something we already know but have trouble believing—the source of our suffering lies within us and therefore the end of it lies there, too. Perhaps this is not what we want to hear. It is much easier to blame the Concrete Guy for my unhappiness. Yet when I practiced kindness toward him while remaining firm, I did not have to add to either his suffering or mine. Or to the suffering of the world. There is enough of that. There is enough.

Family

I don't write  much here about my extended family because I don't want to violate their privacy. I'm certainly not going to start now. But I went to California last weekend to help celebrate my brother's 60th birthday and want to write about how that was.

My brother and I have not always been close, at least not in a conventional sense. We have, more so than my other siblings perhaps, been enmeshed with each other's feelings and reactions, but throughout our childhood and into early adulthood this was not a good thing. Our acute sensibility of one another mostly took the form of anger, hostility, and confusion. This all started to change about 15 or 20 years ago and  our relationship has progressively improved to the point where he is now one of my favorite people in the world. This was hard work on his part  and on mine. To be able to go to his celebration felt as much like the culmination of a glorious progression as it did like a birthday party.

rb photo © 2013

We have a beautiful family. No, really, we do. We're pretty darn white (though some progress is being made in that regard), but for all that we are amazingly diverse. And for a bunch of middle class (mostly) white people, we do pretty well at  being joyful in each other's company, cutting each other enough slack to make this family thing  work. We love each other and it shows. We accept each other for what and who we are and, hey, no reason to sugarcoat it, there has been a lot to accept over the years. I wish this made us just the average family, but that's not what I see. It seems to me there is a great deal of grudge-bearing and vindictiveness in the families I know and experience through others.

Through all of the time that some of us were being obnoxious twits (I'm talking about myself here, though if anyone else feels the shoe fits them, feel free to put it on), our hearts have always been in the right place, or so it seems to me. Am I  being a bit of a Pollyanna here? I suspect some of my family would say so. But that's my observation. Where push came to shove, we have always had each other's backs. Even now it  is not all sweetness and light by any means—my sister couldn't come to our celebration because of a crisis with a grandchild. But we persevere.

rb photo © 2013

Our celebration was on the Northern California coast, about 40 miles south of San Francisco. It is a beautiful place, full of wildness, wind, and weather. It was cloudy, sunny, rainy, warm, freezing, foggy, and perfect, all in the  space of three days. We ate together, sat around fires, roasted marshmallows, went to the beach, and even visited the Boardwalk at Santa Cruz.

rb photo © 2013

I fulfilled my Bad Uncle role by encouraging children to play with sticks they lit on fire. I mean, what could possible go wrong, am I right? I am proud to report that (to the best of my knowledge) no one was permanently scarred and I'm fairly certain my nieces are still talking to me. I also had an 11-year-old tell me she wasn't sure I counted as an adult. A proud moment.

But the real  pleasure was being in each other's company. I know this sounds like any family anywhere, but I feel the miracle of us coming together every time we meet. Frank Bruni, in his New York Times column of May 26 (published while I was in my little tent cabin on the coast, a sweet coincidence) notes that family "aren't people [we] would have likely made an effort to know or spend time with if [we]'d met them at school, say, or at work.... They're less tailored fits than friends are. But in a family that's succeeded at closeness, they're more natural, better harbors." A safe harbor, that's exactly what it feels like when I am with my family. And, I must say, I don't really feel that way anywhere else in the world. The way our world is currently constructed does not consistently create communities in which we can feel accepted and at home. To have that, I must go find these people, wherever they may be.

Our parents moved around a lot, not from one community to the next, but to new homes within the Sacramento area. Which is to say, we have no edifice to go home to, no family manse, a physical structure to give solidity to our "familiness". I for one don't miss it, though. It is these people who make the safe place for me to come to rest. I will just keep going where they are. It's a good place to be.

Two darts

I don't know about you, but I think I need a return to basics. Here's the thing: I keep writing about what has gotten weird in my life and in the lives of those around me, but beyond quoting the Buddha to the effect that one should simply accept what is as it is, I haven't had much to say about a more comprehensive way of looking at things. Whereas I have become somewhat immune to the idea that life is trying to tell me something (I think if we were able to hear Life it would sound something like, "Hum de dum de dum de dum"), still, sometimes I feel like saying to the Buddha: "Thanks a bunch, big guy, but that advice is not really all that helpful, you know? I mean, we're still hurting here." So, here's this:

One of the core teachings of the Buddha is about the feelings of negativity, positivity, or neutrality that arise in response to every experience. This is a universal feature of our lives as sentient beings. This arising of response to experience is not to be avoided—the Buddha addresses this directly; saying it is foolish to attempt to become immune to these states of mind.

Let's say something really bad  happens to you, a cancer diagnosis or an accident. Maybe someone breaks into your house or your sister suddenly and for no discernible reason stops communicating with you. These things are unpleasant. Let's say, on the other hand, that you win a million dollars, a friend receives a clean bill of health, a loved one scores a success like admission to graduate school. These are pleasant. Finally, let's say that your day is filled with the unexceptional, that whole days can go by without any conscious reaction—this is the feeling tone of neutrality. These are inevitable, these feelings. But they do not constitute suffering.

The Buddha speaks in terms of two darts. The first dart is the feeling. The second dart is my reaction to the first, my attempt to cling to the good, reject the bad and ignore the neutral. The first is the natural arising of reaction to a stimulus. The second dart is suffering. The first is unavoidable. The second is what we get to examine when we look to find the end of suffering. Accidentally grabbing a hot coal will cause pain. Tightly squeezing the coal will cause intense suffering.

In a talk I listened to recently, the great Dharma teacher Joseph Goldstein pointed to the way that children react, how in one moment they can be joyful, in the next weeping, and in the third at peace. In our "adult" way of being, we cling to that which creates feeling tones, we mull over the circumstances, the causes and conditions, favoring this obsessive clinging over the more immediate living through and letting go of experience. We reject the painful and beg the good to stay, and in doing so miss out on the immediate experience of the moment.

When my mother was child, she had a dog to whom she was very attached. The dog was struck and killed by a car. When her parents sat her down to tell her about it, they feared an extreme reaction of grief. What she said was, "Dog can't last forever". This is a famous family story, and for good reason. It wasn't that she didn't miss or grieve the loss, but that the dog was gone and that his going had been inevitable. (I know, I know, she didn't think it through like that, but that's what it tells me, anyway!)

Another story (I'm pretty sure I have written about this one before, but bear with me): a meditation master (I believe it was Ajahn Chah, but I'm not sure) once showed a disciple a cup that he cherished. It had been a gift and was beautiful, so doubly valued by him. He told the disciple there were two ways to look at the cup. The first was to dread the day it would be destroyed, since this is the way of all cups, and therefore to protect it and guard against anything that might threaten it. The other way was to say, "it is already broken", to appreciate its beauty and meaning while it was whole, then let it go when it was no longer, to see it then as having finally reached its inevitable state, the state to which his mind had already relegated it. It is clear that the first is the way of suffering, while the second is the way of peace.

My relationships are already broken, my job is broken, my peace is broken, my heart is broken, my coffee cup (his name is Bucky) is broken, my phone is broken, my health is broken, my glassses are broken, my love is broken, harmony is broken, community is broken, my feeling of security is broken, life is broken. I don't intend to give up on any of these. On the contrary, I will cherish them, hold them that much more closely to my heart. They are precious in their unbroken state precisely because I have allowed them to be broken in my mind. When they break, when my brother can't hear me, when my sister is silent, when I am stolen from, when I know how different my work is (and how much I grieve what it used to be),  I can say to myself, "Yes, yes, this is how it always was, and I had the good fortune for a time to experience these things in their unbrokenness. What a lucky man I am!" When I can do this, when I can say, in all sincerity, "It is enough", in that moment I have reached the end of suffering.

Uncertainty

There's a lot going on right now but it's difficult to know how to write about it here, at least without sounding like I'm whining.  I'm not  whining. No, really....

I am reminded by a loved  one that getting things out of my head is always helpful, no matter what. On the other hand, I don't want to feel as  if I am vomiting all  over these pages as a way of making myself feel better. Nonetheless, here goes:

• The nature of my work is changing. 


• My son and his wife are moving away. This is a good thing—she is going to graduate school—but Michigan is a long, long, long way from here.


• My mother has been  in a skilled nursing facility for several weeks getting IV antibiotics for a persistent infection. She's home now, but is still not entirely well. Both of my parents are just plain old. Meanwhile, my shoulder has been giving me trouble, making me feel as if I am getting there myself.


• My friend Debbi is dying.


• I have a coworker who's husband is going through much the same process that Debbi has, but he's only at the beginning.


• My relationship with my wife is shifting. Of course, this happens all the time, as anyone in a long-term relationship can attest. But the big changes are more noticeable and the big, noticeable changes come to pass when big events intervene.


• I have lots of committments to travel, pretty much entirely around my family. These are all good things—my parents, my brother's birthday, visiting my son and his wife (and their lovely kitties, to which I am both deeply attached and seriously allergic, an interesting combination). It is all very good and seriously stressful in aggregate.


• When I am stressed (no surprise here) I tend to eat to excess. As I have shared before, I am not an eat-the-whole-cake kind of overeater. To borrow from  the lexicon of alchoholism, I am a maintenance overeater, not a binger. Which has its downside in my ability to remain in denial about it while I am stuffing my face. And (this is key) my lack of discipline about my eating actually adds to my stress rather than relieving it. In the moment it feels good, but then the feeling  of chaos that comes with being so out of control just adds to the stress.


• OK, and this is the hardest one to write about: I just don't feel very connected to my fellow human beings. My communication with family, coworkers and friends is cursory and strained much of the time, when it happens at all. I yearn for more meaningful contact in my life and fly around trying to be all things to all people falling short (I mean, who wouldn't?)

I have nicknamed all this The Five D's: Distance, Dissolution, Disease, Disability, and Death. A cheery group. The point here is, though, that these happen to us all and happen all the time. We are all moving away from each other, if not geographically, then emotionally. We are also all moving toward each other; it is a shifting dance. Dissolution, Disease, Disability, Death—these are in the nature of what it is to be alive, at least if one does not die young. We must all face the dissolution of who we are today in order to become who we will be tomorrow. That it happens gradually for most of us is no proof against having to face the reality of it.

I know that much of what goes on with me is a lack of trust. My meditation group was talking about this just the other day. I don't trust easily and do so rarely. I have pretty good experiential proof that people are not trustworthy. Life itself is one patch of shifting sand after another; it's hard to even trust the ground upon which I stand. Which is the whole point! Yes, the Buddha would say, yes, now you've got it! Nothing is substantial, all is shifting, cloudlike, unable to support your weight. Lie back. There is nothing to do. Nothing to be. Nothing to become but free. It is enough.

Who, me?

When I describe someone, I sometimes wonder how that person would in turn describe me. The hope is that it would not suffice to say, "You know, that asshole". I'm pretty sure that's not it. But is has occurred to me that "intimidating" might be an adjective one would choose. I remember once (not long ago) I said to a boss, "I don't think of myself as the least bit intimidating". "But," she bluntly replied, "you are". I have suspected for some time that, especially at work, I am more respected than liked. Not a bad thing (it could be neither!), but not the most desirable condition.

I don't know what to make of all that, but I do know that I have discovered, by being more aware of how people respond to me, that I am most certainly not the person I wish to be. I view myself as open, kind, loving, and generous. I'm not, though. This is not a morbid reflection, just an observation. I was in conflict with a family member not long ago (I wrote about it before) and what became most evident was how very unclear I was (and am) about the effect of what I say and how I am. In many important ways I am entirely blind. What a discovery to make this late in life.

I suppose that in some ways this is quite good—what it implies is that I both care and am noticing how what I do ripples out into the world. I have to assume that prior to this awareness I was blundering through and creating wreckage everywhere I went while thinking I was doing pretty damn well. I have a coworker who, it seems to me, believes she is a benign force in the world, a person who is both doing well and doing good. But my perception of her is of a steamroller, flattening those who don't agree with her perception of what is good and truly perplexed that anyone could disagree with her vision of how things should be. After I get over being annoyed with her, with a jolt I realize I do exactly the same thing! I am not accusing either of us of malfeasance; I think we're both just clueless about our impact in the world. I'm trying to get a clue here, that's all.

I have always distrusted the idea that we abhor in others qualities we dislike in ourselves, either consciously or unconsciously. It seems to me a concept too smug and simplistic. And yet, when I look around me, that idea seems to conform to what I see. Another example: there is a meditation teacher in my town who I really don't much care for because he is self-satisfied, cranky, aloof, and intellectually arrogant. Hmm...sound a bit familiar?

This could easily begin to seem like unstinting criticism, but that's not what I'm getting at, not at all. I am pretty fond of myself (odd how in the West this sentiment has come to be seen as vanity, whereas in most cultures it is simply assumed that people think well of themselves). On the other hand, as Suzuki Roshi said, "You are perfect just as you are...and you could all use some work".

There is also a place for full-hearted acceptance of myself as I am. But I admit to being a bit confused about where acceptance leaves off and complacency begins. I don't want to be a jerk and leave it at that. "Oh, well, I broke your toes stepping all over you, too bad, that's just how I am". On the other hand, I can't and won't be eternally subject to the opinions of others in how I shape my actions and attitudes. That way madness lies.