A student talk by Gillian Kosen Marcus
First, I thought I got the request to speak tonight by mistake, like I was just cc’d copied with another person’s email request which didn’t make any sense. In addition to not feeling qualified to talk about Buddhist practice, I was in denial that I got the request. It was like I was unable to accept the request in that moment, so I refused to acknowledge its existence.
My mind is good at playing tricks like that on me to get what my ego thinks it needs in order to feel safe. My ego is especially sneaky and can creep up on me in any moment, especially when its existence/strength/control is being threatened.
It is helpful to not be the first student to give the talk and hear how others approach the topic. I appreciated when Mushoku talked about the form of Buddhist practice. I remember when I received the email I was thinking, do I talk about my practice or just Buddhist Practice in general?
I have been noticing lately that while people may not “sit” and follow the form, they are involved in pursuits that involve samadhi, like in horseback riding where being present is so important and when your thoughts can get you in trouble.
I also appreciated how Hogen doesn’t take himself so seriously. I am a big drama queen in my mind. You would think it was the end of the world at times and that my life has been threatened, I create so much danger in my mind. Our practice is simple, not easy. It is easy to let my anxiety run away from me and solidify my habits.
“An egomaniac with an inferiority complex”
I recently heard this A.A. term and I really resonated with it. I believe oftentimes I am an “egomaniac with an inferiority complex.” I am constantly validating the idea of dualism by comparing myself to others and judging where I stand in comparison. I am getting better at reminding myself to go to my practice -- notice my breath and look at what is in front of me -- which helps me snap out of it before I go back to my mind games.
I remember that in his talk Doman said that what is important is not so much that we are thinking, but that in that moment that we acknowledge it, we go back and keep going back to our practice. If we keep going back, we strengthen the muscle that takes us back to our practice. I guess that with time my muscle will get stronger.
Identity and Attachment
I so identify with my mind and the identity I have of myself. In my moments of egomania, I pride myself on not having a “work” identity any longer. I am no longer my job. Who am I without my job? I didn’t realize that I simply replaced one identity for another until I broke my finger, and that now I am now totally attached the identity of being a horseback rider.
Because of my broken finger, I have not been able to ride. At first, I was so agitated and frustrated that I would have to wait six weeks to ride. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that much time, it felt too long. I kept telling myself that I could do things to try to decrease the amount of time, like acupuncture, acupressure and herbs. My identity was on a shattered foundation. Who was I if I don’t ride? I wanted to CONTROL the amount of time it took to get better. One or two weeks felt possible, but thinking about not riding for any longer caused me to feel anxious, insecure and like I was no longer grounded.
Well, my finger had its own ideas – it was going to get better when it was going to get better no matter what my mind had planned. I was getting in my own way of healing. I have spent the past six weeks still seeing my horse every day and taking care of him and I haven’t even really noticed lately that I have not been riding. I have realized that the actual riding is simply one of the things that we do together. I think that my broken finger may have actually even improved our relationship because I have actually been less frustrated when my horse and I are together.
I get really annoyed when I ride. There are so many things to remember and my brain gets really caught up and I can’t stand feeling out of control. The riding teacher is telling you to do something and you tell yourself to do it but it doesn’t happen. Or fear gets in the way. Or I imagine that my horse is in control of me when I can’t get him to slow down. My negative self-talk gets REALLY loud, but when I go back to my practice and simply listen to the teacher and become more aware of what is in front of me, the frustration can dissolve.
In one of my last lessons, I was able to refocus my attention on what the teacher was saying rather than listen and react to my negative self-talk. Whenever an automatic negative thought came up, I refocused on what the teacher was saying to me and I had the best ride.
Maezen gave a talk a few years ago and mentioned going to a yoga class and saying, “Let the teacher’s mind be your mind.” When I was able to do this, my negative self-talk got quieter when I was no longer acknowledging it. Fearfulness and feeling out of control are what takes me away from practice the most. It is at these times I get so caught up and it feels so REAL that I have the most difficult time reminding myself to take care of what is in front of me.
Surfing
The last time I went surfing, I went into the water when the waves were a little bit larger than my comfort zone. I started to feel out of control when I couldn’t get past the waves. The water’s current or force felt so strong and I convinced myself that I was in danger. I had a difficult time seeing things “as they are.” I believed my thoughts – and the second that I judged myself for thinking something was wrong with me because I thought the waves were too big for me - I reinforced the separation and got really fearful. I think I felt just as scared as if my life was being threatened.
I got out of the water, all the while telling myself that I was a loser for getting out of the water. I can’t remember the last time I did that. I did not tell myself to focus on my breath or to simply look at what is in front of me. I notice that this out of control feeling becomes more apparent or stronger when there is some sort of disconnect.
In reality, my life wasn’t endangered and I had a choice to get out of the water. I was not being threatened at gunpoint and totally defenseless. When I do not see things “as they are” and believe my thoughts/judgments, I can get overwhelmed, panicky and overreact. Rather than just getting out of the water, making no issue of it and moving on to the next moment, I hold on to the terror of feeling out of control and that something is wrong with me because I thought the waves felt too big. To compare yourself to others is to despair. This would be the most optimal time to go to my practice.
The good news is that I have noticed that there are times that practice just feels automatic, like when you have a trigger. I have heard Doman call it “instant Samadhi” like when Roshi gives a teisho. I love when I am in the ocean on my surfboard and dolphins come really close and you can hear them breathing.
Sesshin
When I first started practicing, other than work, I didn’t want to do much of anything or go anywhere – my social life felt empty. I didn’t like having time off work. I couldn’t think of much to do. When I did a sesshin, I felt relieved that I had somewhere to go for three days, even if I was doing something that felt so difficult.
I don’t feel like my life is empty anymore. Now when I go to sesshin I feel like I am missing something because I would rather be with my horse, Buster, or be in the ocean. I don’t think I would’ve discovered Buster/surfing if it wasn’t for my practice.
Perfectionism
Going back to my being an egomaniac with an inferiority complex, I have always been very reactive to people, getting annoyed or feeling I wasn’t good enough. I have a hard time finding a balance in the middle. I didn’t have strong models growing up of how to live in the world, I basically learned what I didn’t want to be like. I thought that the answer to dissolve the pain was to try to be perfect. All my intensive effort at trying to be perfect backfired and just caused me more suffering. On the one hand, I thought perfection was the way to go, and I was sort of stuck with that attitude/mindset and didn’t have another choice or another way of being that was offered to me?
I am still lured in by the power of perfection. Like I said earlier, my ego is tricky and sneaky and I was seduced by feelings of euphoria. Eastern philosophy appeared glamorous. I tried yoga first. Of course, I got caught up in doing it “perfect” and was never good enough.
The reason I came to the Hazy Moon
I have mentioned this before - in the year 2000, my last year of graduate school, I took a weekend class on Buddhism. I admired the teacher’s way of being. She appeared patient, had a calming presence and didn’t get upset or appear critical. I remember thinking, “I want to be like that.” This was the first time that I had a functional model in front of me who was telling me how to do it – meditation. I dabbled, met different teachers and explored until I came here. I have been given the privilege of learning how to practice and coming to realize that the practice is simple, not easy.
Perfectionism is still an internal struggle. I still struggle with perfectionism being my standard of safety - I would love to be able just to tell you about my practice rather than read this talk to you about my practice – part of me still wants to give this talk perfectly. This trying to be perfect is a barrier to my practice (internal awareness). Maybe the reason why I came to Hazy Moon isn’t as important as actually being here and that I keep coming back. I have made a choice to be here now. Issues have come up in my practice – not only perfectionism, but music ringing in my head over and over, and various makyos that have caused me to ask myself – do I want to quit?
One of the reasons that I will not quit is my ego won’t let me – I feel a threat to my social personality. Again, maybe it is not the reason why I won’t leave but that I still keep coming back. I have made a conscious decision to come to the temple despite what comes up – it is actually my need for perfection that has led me to sitting still. I would not have found the good things in my life if I didn’t come to practice, because my energy was previously more focused and directed toward the negative. As long as I remember to keep coming back to my practice–returning to my breath and noticing what is in front of me –and not making an issue of why I came here in the first place, why I won’t leave, etc.
It seemed like Roshi wasn’t pleased when we didn’t ask very many questions after Mushoku’s talk. Often I remain quiet rather than take a risk of looking foolish, being worried about what other people think rather than challenging myself. It would benefit me to do what I fear and hate to do. My ego wants to impress Roshi – and go for the external to gain peace rather than focusing on the internal. If Roshi is impressed with me then I feel good, vs. feeling good without being dependent on the external. My ego is cunning, can get in the backdoor, like smoke. If who I am as a good person depends on someone else’s opinion, then I am in trouble. Like I said earlier, the practice is simple not easy.
Perfectionism is a rejection of yourself, before you accept yourself. It eats up so much energy – it is hard to accept myself “as I am”–. My ego wants to be perfect, extraordinary, but fears I am less than average.
Charlie Brown
My 16 year old dachshund, Charlie Brown died last week. Charley taught me so many things, but I think maybe one of the most important is that I am able to feel a little more accepting of death. Not mine of course, but other people’s or animals’! Hopefully, I will get more accepting of mine by continuing to practice.
It has been over 30 years since I have had a pet die of old age. Charley showed me when he was ready, so I was able to be more receptive. This dog was so voracious and loved food so much, eating was his favorite thing to do. When he eventually lost interest in food and no longer ate, I saw that he was no longer able to experience joy or peace, and I couldn’t accept that as his life. Most of all, I didn’t want Charley to suffer and I could see that he was, which was intolerable to me. I had been witnessing his recent decline and saw how difficult it was for him to stand up or even walk. He lived for 16 years, and while I selfishly wish it could’ve been longer, I feel grateful that he lived to an old age. I know that he had an extraordinary life. Gendo reminded me animals are less attached to their bodies than we are.
Charley’s body was wasting away, and when the veterinarian told me that Charley was ready to go, I agreed. I held Charley in my arms when they gave him the shot and I counted my breath. I focused on my breath and let my tears flow. Charley slipped away. I believe he had a great life because when he loved you, he really loved. He wasn’t concerned with getting love back, he just loved. My practice helped ground me when Charley took his last breath. I was surprised at how little pain I was feeling. I am more secure knowing that I can go to my practice at anytime and that it will always be there for me.
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