Tag Archives: Meditation

Joan Halifax on Mindful Photography

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I found this blog post this morning and thought it was quite timely considering my last post about  mindful photography. This is Roshi Joan’s  own moving journey with a camera.

Seeing Inside by Joan Halifax

When I was a kid, I got really sick. For two years, I couldn’t see. It was then I discovered I had an inner world, and it was a visual one. Since I was born with two good eyes, I knew the visual experience. Then suddenly, one morning, I felt my way down the hall of our house in Coral Gables, Florida, my hand sliding along the wall, and told my parents that I couldn’t see.

A cascade of physical disabilities followed and after a while disappeared. During the time when I was in bed, recovering from an unidentified virus, another world opened up to me. I began to re-create the outer world inside of me; I began to see inside.

When I got better, my mother and father gave me a Kodak Brownie Box Camera. Just as my interior life had appeared to me when I was sick, here was a little box that would capture what I saw. It could see inside. I was fascinated, and I was hooked. And I began to photograph the world that caught my eye, beginning from the age of six on, and now I am 70.

Today, a collection of nearly a hundred thousand photographs exists, a thread of images that span time and the world. When I was a kid, I photographed my handsome father standing proudly beside his Lincoln Continental. Soon thereafter, I photographed Cologne Cathedral with my Brownie. The haunting black and white image captured a heavy sky hanging ominously over the bombed cathedral. Recent photographs portray the faces of Tibetans, riven with the elements, Burmese elders, incandescent with innocence, and the landscapes of Zen and the Himalayas.

I never cared about or studied f/stops and shutter and film speeds. I only cared about composition and connection. I never took a class in photography, though I had friends who were great photographers, including Robert Frank, Ralph Gibson, Julio Mitchell, and others. I thought Diane Arbus was nothing but courage, and met her several times when I lived in New York. I was a huge fan. I loved the work of Ansel Adams and traveled with his daughter. Dorothea Lange’s photographs always took my breath away, as did the work of Gordon Parks and Eugene Smith. In the 70’s, I stayed in Eliot Porter’s house on occasion in Tesuque, and studied his work. More recently, the photographs of Matthieu Ricard show a view of space and light that is resonant with my Buddhist practice. Yet, though the work of other photographers interested me, I had no interest in emulating anyone. I just did my own thing, privately and joyfully, capturing light, seeing inside

As I lived with the camera, the camera was not only my eyes but also my heart. It captured and held light, light that I was always seeking and finding, light that filled the world, even the world of suffering, when light shines through the darkness.

When I was in my twenties, I discovered meditation. What a surprise! It was not so different than the gift of my childhood blindness. I could, through meditation, see inside. I could also see the world in a different way, a way the camera had taught me. The camera had given me a view, a view that accepted everything into its lens. I had a viewfinder (meditation), and a way to develop the world or action. View, meditation, action are one way that Buddhism is described. It is a summary of the Eight-fold Path of the Buddha. And it was to become my way of life, and the life I have followed and noted through my friend, teacher, and constant companion, the camera.

June 13, 2012
Prajna Mountain Forest Refuge

Be Aware of the Inner Gatekeeper

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by Lisa Ernst

How many times have you encountered the inner gatekeeper in your life but didn’t let it stop you? Maybe you wanted to get an advanced degree, or change careers, eat a healthier diet or begin a committed exercise program.  The inner gatekeeper is the voice that tires to hold you back, tells you that you can’t do it. Most of us have times in our lives when we just don’t listen, move ahead with our intentions and find success.

If we’re not mindful, our inner gatekeeper can impede our dharma practice. Why? Because a key element of genuine practice is becoming aware of habitual and unconscious patterns that run our lives. Through mindfulness, we can gradually see and undo those patterns. But the inner gatekeeper wants to protect the status quo and may try to convince us that we can’t. I believe a lot of people who intend to observe a daily mediation practice, for instance, will sit more consistently if they cultivate awareness of their inner gatekeeper. In my own practice this has served me well. Some mornings, especially if I’ve slept a little later than intended and have a busy day ahead, the gatekeeper will try to convince me I don’t need to take time to meditate. I hear the voice loud and clear and admit at times I feel tempted to act on it. But I don’t – I acknowledge the gatekeeper’s voice and meditate anyway. Once I’m settled on the cushion, I’m always grateful I wasn’t deterred.

Developing mindfulness in daily life is much like building our muscles through repeated workouts. At first our attention is weak and gets swept away in habitual patterns, many of which are ingrained stress responses. Our inner gatekeeper is fully in charge at this point because our capacity to maintain presence in the face of unconscious responses is not yet developed. Our attention is overtaken by habit. The key is not to give up or get discouraged, but to remember that with each “mind workout” we make our mindfulness a little stronger. Even if you can only bring your attention fully into the present for a few seconds during a stress response, you will gradually increase your capacity. As you do you’ll become more aware of the inner gatekeeper’s voice directing you to return to your patterns. Each time you hear the voice and don’t follow it, you take a little power away from the gatekeeper. Slowly, the gatekeeper will lose its sway over you and you’ll begin to undo those old stress responses.

Uneasiness is the inner gatekeeper’s closest companion.  (If you’re unsure, take a closer look next time you hear that doubtful voice.) For this reason we are well served to meet the inner gatekeeper with compassion, even as we learn not to give in. The gatekeeper knows that releasing the anesthetizing veil of distraction and avoidance will bring us fully into this moment. With nothing to cling to, we eventually come face to face with a lifetime of evading what appears threatening: the realization that our sense of “I” as a separate, fixed self is an illusion. Even if we feel uneasy initially, however, as our practice strengthens, we can catch a glimpse beyond the illusion of safety and into the freedom of no-self. We have the chance to realize, with joy, that we are nothing, yet also everything.

A Meaningful Life

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“Given the scale of life in the cosmos, one human life is no more than a tiny blip. Each one of us is a just visitor to this planet, a guest, who will only stay for a limited time. What greater folly could there be than to spend this short time alone, unhappy or in conflict with our companions? Far better, surely, to use our short time here in living a meaningful life, enriched by our sense of connection with others and being of service to them.”

Dalai Lama

A Day of Mindfulness Retreat

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Cultivating Insight and Interconnectedness

Saturday, July 14, 8:30 a.m. – 4:00 p.m.

Led by Lisa Ernst

Please join us in a beautiful, rural West Nashville setting for a day of sitting and walking meditation. According to the Buddha, the greatest suffering arises from a sense of separation. Through the practice of mindfulness meditation we begin to access insight, which allows us to pierce the illusion of separateness and taste the joy of interconnectedness to all things.

Led by meditation teacher Lisa Ernst, the retreat is suitable for both beginning and experienced meditators; it will include periods of sitting and walking meditation, practice instructions, optional private interview and a dharma talk. Please bring a sack lunch. Tea and coffee will be provided as well as refreshments after the retreat.

Cost: $35, plus dana (donation) to the teacher. A deposit of $35 will reserve your space and is due by Monday, July 9. You may bring your deposit to the dharma center during one of our meditation sessions, or mail a check made out to One Dharma Nashville to: 12South Dharma Center c/o One Dharma Nashville, 2301 12th Ave. South, Suite 202, Nashville, TN 37204. Please include your email address. Directions and additional information will be emailed prior to the retreat. Please contact onedharmaretreat@gmail.com with any questions.

Mind Programs and The Dharma Operating System

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When you turn on your computer, do you have specific programs that automatically start along with the operating system?  Both the Windows and Mac Operating Systems let you select programs that will turn on immediately each time you boot up. In daily life, most of us have specific mental programs that automatically start as we get up and move into our day. Its unlikely we made a conscious decision to activate these programs and we may not even be aware of them, but they regularly influence our thoughts, emotions and our perceptions of who we are.

Even during meditation, these programs are often running stealthily in the background, affecting the quality of meditation. At times the programs may induce anxiety and restlessness, making it difficult to concentrate or cultivate presence on the cushion. One of the basic benefits of meditation is the enhanced awareness that allows us to see our hidden programs. Even for experienced meditators, however, the hardest mind programs to see clearly are related to self identity and the need to affirm that identity.

To work with these programs in meditation you first have to recognize they are running. If you regularly feel anxiety or restlessness on the cushion, for example, you may discover familiar themes playing out in your mind as you look more closely. Perhaps you are anxious about how you will perform on an upcoming project, maybe you’re criticizing yourself for not living up to your or someone else’s expectations or worrying about how effectively you’re navigating an important relationship in your life. These programs are related to our perceptions of who we are, yet they are not our  “dharma operating system.“ They are only a limited element of our consciousness, just as our favorite computer programs have no functionality without the operating system. Our mental programs are a byproduct of something larger, our great nature that sustains life and allows life to pass away.

Your identity needn’t be caught in repetitive, often invisible programs. With consistent practice, you can gradually cultivate your awareness to recognize when the programs are running. When you truly realize they aren’t who you are, the programs might still run but not run your life nearly as much.

Your true nature includes the totality of what you experience in this moment, nothing excluded. All of the sounds, sensations, thoughts and feelings; the barking dog and the wind in the trees, the pain in your knees, tightness in your chest, and the joy of realizing all of this  is continually arising and passing away. So let the programs run if they must, but expand the scope of your consciousness so you can see them for what they are:  only a small part of the greater whole of awareness. Soon the programs will lose some of their power over your mind and you’ll discover you can operate quite effectively without them.

 

 

The Scientist and The Baker

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By Lisa Ernst

Most people who take up meditation will find over time that they are drawn to a particular practice style that becomes their foundational approach. Usually the approach will tend either toward what I call the “scientist” orientation or the “baker” orientation.

The scientist gets to know the object of his or her study through objective observation. This is a classic Vipassana style of practice, where the meditator uses an object of concentration to still and focus the mind. The value of this practice is in allowing the practitioner to observe arising phenomena such as physical sensations, emotions and thoughts without becoming swept away by attachment, aversion and personal identification.  Through committed practice, the meditator gains experiential insight into impermanence, suffering and no-self.

Bakers like to get their hands dirty, to put them in the flour and other ingredients and work with them as an extension of their bodies.  Through repeated practice, bakers lose the separation of themselves and the ingredients, diving deeply into immediate experience of baking.  In meditation, this style is known as direct experience, where the meditator immerses him or herself in whatever is arising and becomes “one” with it, losing a sense of fixed self and dissolving into emptiness. This sometimes challenging approach is associated with Zen and certain Tibetan forms of meditation, although it can be found in some Vipassana approaches as well.

I use the analogy of baking because, unlike other forms of cooking, it is a science. Without very specific ingredients in measured quantities, baking will fail. So without the underlying science to support the recipes, bakers won’t achieve successful outcomes.  Conversely, bakers provide sustenance for the scientists, resulting in a mutually beneficial relationship.

Although most meditators tend toward the scientist or baker style as their primary practice orientation, often they move between the two as needed as they become more experienced.

Which practice approach most closely fits your own?

“Seekers who disdain clamor to seek quietude are as it were throwing away flour but seeking cake. Cake is originally flour, which changes according to use. Afflictions are none other than enlightenment.”

–Pao-Chih, from THE ZEN READER

Letting Go of The Ladder

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by Lisa Ernst

On a recent visit to Colorado, I enjoyed a hike with my two teenage nieces to a place outside of Boulder called Mattress Rock. My oldest niece, Mary Katherine, had recently spent the night camping at the top of this rock and she wanted to show us the view. When we arrived, I saw the top was quite high and completely inaccessible through climbing. But a ponderosa pine was fairly close to the rock, and my niece said that’s how she and her friends had climbed up.

Nancy, my younger niece, enthusiastically grabbed a pine branch and began climbing. With some encouragement and guidance from Mary Katherine, she got across to the top of the rock without too much difficulty. Then Mary Katherine suggested I climb the tree. This caught me completely off guard. I looked up and didn’t like what I saw, not to mention the fact that I hadn’t climbed a tree since I was about my nieces’ age. Seeing my hesitation, Mary Katherine said, “Oh, Aunt Lisa, it’s just like climbing a ladder.” Suddenly an image of a ladder popped into my mind and I saw myself climbing with ease. My hesitation gone, I grabbed the tree and began climbing.

My mental association with the ladder had broken me out of my fear of the unfamiliar; I had confidence from my ingrained memories of easily climbing ladders. About halfway up, however, the ladder vanished from my mind and nothing was left but my immediate experience of climbing the tree. It was far more challenging than climbing a ladder and required a good bit of maneuvering. I didn’t look down and kept my mind completely focused on the task at hand. At the top, there was a daunting gap between the tree and the rock. I had to reach across and find a toe hold on the side of the boulder and carefully hold a thin branch while I maneuvered over to the top. A little shaky, but pleased to be done with the climbing, I enjoyed a beautiful view of the Colorado mountains.In Buddhist psychology, we often speak of ingrained patterns and associations that prevent us from fully experiencing our lives in the present moment. The mind is hard wired to filter experience through past associations and to label these experiences according to what it already knows. Pure, present moment experience, without this mental veil is very challenging and goes against our mind’s blueprint. Seeing and undoing these patterns and reaching pure experience are at the heart of mindfulness meditation.

When I was a young child, before my mental associations became fully ingrained, the feeling of walking barefoot on the fresh grass of spring was a blissful delight and the sensation of the ocean washing at my ankles brought a moment of pure magic. As I grew older, the childlike wonder of fresh and pure experience began to fade. Perhaps I could briefly touch it from time to time, but mostly it became a distant memory.

Through my meditation practice I learned that returning to this pure experience requires courage and commitment to see things as they are, without the filter that alters the moment into something other than what it is. In the case of my associating tree climbing with a ladder, it was a positive comparison that gave me the courage to climb. Once that association evaporated, however, I was left with the immediate challenge of climbing the tree. This was essential as the situation demanded that I bring my full attention to the task at hand – safely getting up the tree and onto the rock.

Quite often our past associations are of fearful or unpleasant experiences that cause us to seek refuge from this moment, where we imagine the danger remains. Meditation practice provides an excellent opportunity to see this pattern clearly. For instance, during a phase in my early years of practice I encountered a high degree of financial and career anxiety, at times so strong that I often avoided meditation because I feared the anxiety would overwhelm me. I had an ingrained tendency to try and avoid the anxiety, which felt unsafe. This is a normal human response to anxiety. The true origin of the anxiety had some deep roots and I knew I didn’t want to experience it directly.

Over the course of a few months, I saw that the anxiety wasn’t abating and realized that resuming my daily meditation practice might help prevent the anxiety from ruling my life. So I began sitting again, committing myself to staying as fully present in the discomfort as I could. I also began to see and disassociate from the story lines that accompanied my anxiety. At first, I had a strong impulse to escape just moments after I settled onto the cushion. But as I gently recommitted myself to presence in the face of fear, I slowly found room for the anxiety in my immediate experience. I didn’t need to follow the embedded thoughts and stories to cover it over. Just touching the discomfort lightly at first gave me confidence that nothing bad was going to happen; this began the process of undoing the chain of reactivity that had kept me in stuck in anxiety.

As my confidence increased, I often extended my sitting practice to an hour or more in order to fully experience the discomfort. Usually, about halfway through the session, the anxiety would melt away into the sweetness of the morning birdsong and the sunrise filtering through the window. As my heart opened to the fear, it also opened to the unconditioned beauty of this moment. Out of this intimacy a sense of gratitude and peace would arise. Repeatedly doing this practice revealed that I didn’t need to be afraid of embracing the discomfort, and my mental association of anxiety with danger began to fade.

To this day when anxiety arises I often feel the urge to escape. Mental patterns have power, and it is unrealistic to believe they can be completely eliminated. Although the impulse to turn away remains with me, less time elapses before I remember to meet the anxiety intimately with an open heart. Just as my association with the ladder faded into the immediate reality of climbing the tree, my experience of anxiety, just as it is, dissolves into the spacious, unconditioned nature of this moment.

Taking the Seat of Truth

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Taking the Seat of Truth

by Lisa Ernst

Recently I was invited to lead an opening meditation at a regional 12 Step retreat. Everyone there was eager and interested to spend several minutes in silent meditation. As I scanned the room during the meditation, I saw the faces of nearly everyone there in quiet repose. Afterward, many people sought me out to comment on how helpful those quiet moments were before launching into the activities of the day. This experience led me to reflect on Buddhism and the 12 Step program, although I’m not necessarily comparing all of their compatibilities and differences. There are some good books available on that topic already. What I’ve been reflecting on is how the 12 Step programs are another avenue to paying attention and shedding light on those parts of ourselves we’d rather not see. What’s required at 12 Step meetings is courageous honesty. Which is, of course, what we cultivate in meditation if we’re practicing sincerely.

I starting attending 12 Step meetings several years ago and went regularly for about three years. The most familiar 12 Step program is Alcoholics Anonymous, but many other 12 Step meetings exist to support those struggling with addition and the fallout from addiction. I wasn’t personally attending to address substance abuse problems, though some would kindly argue that my chocolate addiction could bear that kind of scrutiny. But since dark chocolate has now been classified as a health food, happily, I’m not fighting that one anymore. Instead, I began attending the 12 Step program to address interpersonal issues that arose in part from growing up in a family of alcoholics. At a deeper level, I believe many of the challenges I’ve faced in my life are part of the human condition; they are things most of us grapple with, whether we have substance abuse in our families or not. At the root is the very clinging and aversion of the mind that Buddha struggled with in his quest for enlightenment. On a practical level, I found the 12 Step program assisted me in working with the lasting effects of my upbringing in an alcoholic family. This is something meditation practice alone didn’t fully address.

What I have discovered from many years of practice is that meditation alone rarely succeeds in fully opening the gates of the mind and heart, even though it is a powerful way to illuminate much of what’s been hidden within us. Buddhist meditation (on and off the cushion) is my foundational path and it has made a profound difference in my life. Along the way, however, I have utilized several adjunct paths such as psychotherapy, support groups and 12 Step programs to augment and deepen my practice. I have found that any path that encourages me to face and tell the truth about my life, and find the courage to respond in a more constructive and compassionate way, will only serve to enhance my dharma practice.

The first 12 Step meeting I chose to attend was in Franklin, Tennessee, a town about thirty minutes outside of my hometown of Nashville. The meeting’s start time meant I had to drive to Franklin during rush hour traffic. That alone was a good practice in patience for me as I’ve never welcomed long commutes. The nearly interminable waits at countless traffic lights also led me to question why I was giving up another evening during the week when I could be home doing, what? Maybe reading a magazine or watching one of my favorite chefs on the Food Network? Ok, maybe not such a good argument to stay home. I also questioned whether the meetings would be so far removed from Buddhist practice as to feel alien and incompatible. As I mulled these questions, a twinge of anxiety arose and I nearly convinced myself to turn around and go home. But my years of meditation practice allowed me to recognize the voice of anxiety without getting caught in it. So I stayed my course to Franklin and attended the meeting.

When I arrived, I was greeted by many welcoming and friendly faces and I immediately felt at home. During the first meeting I kept quiet and just observed, but I appreciated the honesty and courage of the people in the room. They were clearly committed to telling the truth about their lives and exposing the hidden parts of themselves that led to suffering and even destructive behavior. Everyone who speaks at a 12 Step meeting must share directly from their own experience rather than from a conceptual understanding of their suffering. This direct and honest sharing is nearly always met with empathy and acceptance by the others in the room. There is no room for judgment. This allows an atmosphere of honesty to flourish. Twelve Step groups also cultivate a sense of community and compassionate support, much like a Buddhist sangha. Moments of meditation are often included in 12 Step Meetings, although most of the time is spent in group sharing.

Over the course of several meetings, I found myself responding to the emphasis on personal experience and honesty in a way that helped me with my own struggles. The approach felt quite compatible with my own Buddhist practices. Soon the meetings became a regular part of my week and I even made several new friends. Most evenings just as I took a seat at the meeting, a moment of awakening would occur: my mind would become clear and I would see something within my own heart that had been obscured. Often from these insights I would discover ways to begin undoing old patterns that had kept me locked in suffering. Sounds much like dharma practice, doesn’t it?

The word “dharma” actually has dual meanings. In the Buddhist tradition it has come to signify the Buddha’s teachings, while also pointing to “the truth of this moment.” For me, attending 12 Step meetings created a new avenue to work with difficult emotions and old patterns within the context of my dharma path. Although not a substitute for meditation, the meetings provided another way to experience the truth of this moment.

After attending 12 Step meetings for several years I found that I was less bound by the effects of my upbringing in an alcoholic family. I had become more at ease with others and the old stories of pain and despair that swirled in my mind had diminished to a whisper. I realized the meetings had served their purpose and it was time to move on with gratitude and appreciation.

The Flame of Mindfulness

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Many people are initially drawn to meditation in hopes of finding a more peaceful, less stressful life. Science has proven that consistent meditation practice can reduce stress over time, but there’s a lot more to the practice than cultivating a relaxed mental state. Skillful mindfulness meditation brings us into intimate contact with the thoughts and habitual patterns of craving that are usually hidden from our everyday awareness, the very thoughts at the root of our suffering. This practice opens the door to a gradual release from the patterns that bind us; it is nothing short of the path to liberation.

Through meditation and awareness practices, most of us uncover habitual reactive thoughts of one kind or another, old conditioned patterns that are usually set into motion by specific events.  Something may go wrong on the job, a loved one makes a critical comment, or a sensitive email or phone call isn’t returned.  If one of these events hit a trigger point, we may find ourselves  drowning in a flood of thoughts about our inadequacy, our failure to live up to some kind of standard we have set for ourselves, or what we believe the world “out there” expects from us. Without mindfulness, these self-referencing thoughts can begin to grow and strengthen until we fall into a state of intense anxiety or even depression.

This knotted, painful response occurs when we believe our self-critical thoughts are real. Unexamined, they can become an uncontested life narrative, something barely perceived because the thoughts are so ingrained and habitual, as regular and unnoticed as a steadily beating heart or the oxygen we breathe. Analyzing the conditioned roots of these patterns may help us understand them better, but that alone rarely frees us from their grip.  One of the most effective antidotes is mindful awareness practices, strengthened and honed through daily meditation, which begins to act as flame to paper, at times strong enough to burn away these habitual narratives on contact.

For over a decade in my teens and 20′s I was in a chronic state of clinical depression. Some people, including myself , are prone to depression, and it can become a hole so deep that finding a way out seems impossible. During this time I lived in a well of unrelenting depression, drowning in the murky waters of unexamined grief and loneliness, never able to see them mindfully. Finally after of years of living in depression as a way of life, a crisis brought me to a point of desperation and I began committed meditation practice.

Initially during my meditation I experienced a flood of sadness and grief, staying present in the midst of strong emotion that I had tried to ignore for years. This was a great relief to me as it finally liberated me from my attempts to repress or escape the pain.

Gradually, through this process of mindful, compassionate awareness, my grief was released and my chronic depression lifted.  But awareness of my habitual self criticism wasn’t yet strong;  all too often  a flood of negative thoughts were unleashed with seemingly minimal cause and I’d be tangled for days in a knot of self denigration. Trapped in the illusion that my thoughts were real, I’d find myself teetering at the brink of that old, familiar depression.

As my practice grew stronger, I could often see self-critical thoughts at their very arising, before they threw me into anxiety or emotional upset. At other times I might get sucked in for a while before  waking up.  But at any point along the way, my willingness to make mindful, compassionate contact with the tangle of thought/emotion grew into the very flame that burned the suffering away. This is the mind of awareness and insight that we all share, the mind that sees thoughts for what they are – transient, and eternally passing away.

Lisa Ernst