Suffering, Bliss, and the Middle Way

         Okay, where to start? This is the problem… How do I manage to get a hold on all of the thoughts, opinions, emotions, and ideas running through my head at once and organize them into a coherent thesis? For someone like me, a self-proclaimed over-thinker, this challenge is almost too much at times. Just ask my high school teachers—they tried to get me to come up with a thesis, a conclusion, and transition sentences, for heaven’s sake. I was asked to choose ONE point, not EVERY point, and I was often accused of being too “vague” in my writing, which I attribute to the fact that I was always trying to include every possible connection that could be made between my topic and everything else in the universe. And the process of writing was near torture—I would spend countless hours of grueling work at the desktop—with the occasional five-minute “shake everything you’ve got” dance session to calm my restlessness—only to come out of my reverie and discover one meager and totally convoluted paragraph staring at me from the screen.

            Those many years of avoidance and procrastination and reluctance have passed, and somehow I have managed to overcome those obstacles and write a pretty good paper. But despite my newfound organization skills, the overactive mind relentlessly works on in my day-to-day life. This wasn’t much of a big deal in the past; in fact, aside from my academic struggles, I hardly noticed it for most of my life, until we started this yearlong trip. Suddenly, I felt like I could hardly get a moment of silence to myself…it was exhausting. For several months I was extremely upset over this new realization, because my overwhelm was making it difficult to function joyfully (my preferred M.O.) and I could not determine what about the trip was causing it (though my mind never ceased to point blame somewhere). I felt a constant craving for ease, for balance, for a feeling of lightness rather than the weight of my heavy mind constantly pushing me to the ground. The most frustrating part about it, however, was just how obvious my mind state was to everyone around me. I had my irises examined by an iridologist in New Zealand, and she told me, “You could make life so much simpler for yourself if you would just let go of those unnecessary thoughts.” My mom told me, “Most people have 3-4 mantras they use for their entire lives, and you are using 6 mantras a day!” And one Russian friend we met right before our retreat deduced my Numerology and told me simply, “You think too much.” It didn’t require much of a grasp of English for her to get right to the core.

            It is hard not to blame yourself and get a bit depressed when you hear from all sides that all of your problems could be solved if you just didn’t make them problems, which, though partly true, often just serves to increase one’s burdensome negative emotions. I had found many ways to personally cope and ease my burden over our months of travel (mostly through a whole lot of letting go), but our 10-day silent meditation retreat at Suan Mokkh monastery in Thailand was definitely the climax of my self-understanding. There, I quickly discovered (with great relief) that most people struggle with an overactive “monkey mind.” This constantly distracted, shallow state of being is actually generally accepted and often urged in mainstream society, a place where one must be able to switch one’s attention quickly from one task to another without getting too caught up in any of them—Hold on, I need a moment to dance. I’ll be right back.

Aaaaanyway…where was I?

            So we took a break from the demanding travel life to enter the silence and reflective tone of the monastery. I was very much looking forward to this experience, excited about some good quality quiet time, some time to really focus within and rejuvenate. The experience of travel involves stepping out of the real world into a place where you get a much clearer view of your own limitations. There are no responsibilities to focus on, but rather than silence, your mind rushes to fill in the blanks with more thoughts. Often, the mind will build up all sorts of expectations of what the future will hold, and when those expectations do not come true, it leads to stress and doubt and fear and all sorts of defense mechanisms in an attempt to protect the ego. I imagined that some time to meditate would provide some respite from these conditions, but in fact it only served to take the conditions to a further extreme—no responsibilities (aside from my daily sweeping duty), no talking, no reading or writing, two meals a day, no running—no place at all for the mind to hide.

            At the beginning of the retreat, I became very familiar with the idea of dukkha, or suffering. The first few days I wondered if I was actually insane and just hadn’t realized it up to that point. Every minor thing was capable of driving me crazy, particularly the actions of others. The woman in the room next to mine brushed her teeth three times a day, for the full three minutes, with her electric toothbrush, despite the fact that we only ate twice a day. There was no talking and limited interaction, so instead I would find myself trying to glean some meaning from others’ expressions, and sometimes I would even find myself getting offended if I felt they were not being polite enough in their reservedness! One Spanish girl refused to make eye contact or acknowledge others in any way, and I found it entirely infuriating. If someone appeared to be acting in a less-than-mindful way, I would launch into a full-on mental rant about their total misunderstanding of the retreat’s purpose and my disappointment in the human race as a whole. In those moments when I could not focus on others for distraction, I would either hear cartoonish voices putting on goofy plays and giving nonsensical lectures to nobody in particular, or James Taylor’s song Fire and Rain playing on loud repeat. To put it lightly, it was a bit much.

            After a few days, I began to get some respite from these overwhelming and chaotic moments. Relief came in the form of a hot cup of cocoa, a soak in the hot tub, a rejuvenating yoga session. I found a great deal of joy in pouring cold water down my back at the communal bathing pool, which I did twice a day to combat the hot jungle weather. One day I watched a cat squat down and take a big poop right in the middle of a bunch of people trying to focus on their walking meditation, and I had to run away to keep from laughing out loud at their bewildered expressions. These small moments of joy helped me to be more fully present and able to focus on the lessons of Buddhism.

            Buddhism is not only about silencing the mind, it is learning to let go of all of the things that the mind deems important. The pain we create now is always some form of nonacceptance—some form of unconscious resistance to What Is. We have to accept what is, and not try to resist it or change it, because it is futile. Buddha says, “What could be more futile, more insane, than to create inner resistance to something that already IS?” If we can fully accept the “isness” of life, then we have already greatly eased our burden of suffering. We will not be constantly trying to make our lives feel less unsatisfying, because we will have accepted the terms of life entirely. Besides, that is another truth of life—it is unsatisfactory. This isn’t a pessimistic idea; it is merely telling us that we will never find true happiness if we seek satisfaction in material objects or other people or anything else which is ultimately impermanent. The joy of eating ice cream only lasts so long as the ice cream is being eaten, and no process of looking forward to it or remembering it will allow that pleasure to continue. We will never be free of suffering if we attach ourselves to the idea that true happiness comes from outside of ourselves, because due to the impermanence of all things, we will forever be chasing happiness from one place to another. This attachment, this constant craving, this desire for something which is merely an illusion and by its own nature is subject to change, this is suffering. Buddhism says, “This too shall pass.” Embrace that and find peace.

            In addition to letting go of our attachment to the material world, Buddhism urges us to relinquish our idea of a Self. This idea is really complicated and I found myself struggling a great deal with accepting it during the retreat (probably because it would mean letting go of my “identity,” which is an indescribably difficult thing for the mind to do). Regardless of my acceptance or nonacceptance of this idea, however, I see a great deal of benefit in living selflessly. Most people I know (myself included) spend a good portion of their time building upon their ego (or identity), and the rest of their time defending it. That is why I felt like I was “driving myself crazy,” because I believed that the I doing the driving and the I who felt crazy were both me, rather than seeing the mind as a separate entity and allowing myself to let go of the need to associate with it. If I am not attached to what my mind is doing, I don’t look there for evidence of who I am. I still pay attention to how I feel, because emotions are good tools, but I no longer identify with those emotions and allow them to take me over completely. “The ego is in perpetual resistance to the present moment, and needs the ideas of past and future to survive.” So I let go of my attachment to both, and live in the only place that is actually real—the Now. Buddha says that when you live fully in the moment, “you see yourself in everything, but there is no “Self” that you need to protect, defend, or feed anymore.”

            Finally. Buddhism teaches that life is always about taking the Middle Way. One of our teachers was very fond of telling us that “Life is neither easy nor difficult,” which has proven to be quite true for me. Meditation is the same way. If I spent too much energy trying to attain a certain level of concentration, then inevitably I would get too hard on myself and become angry and frustrated. If I just sat there and did not try at all, then it would take about twenty minutes for me to come back to reality and realize that my mind had taken me on some crazy adventure of the imagination and I had not been present at all. This idea also relates to those who try to move toward or against ideas. For instance, if we like something, then our mind urges us to seize on it and take it over. If we do not like it, our mind pushes it away in an attempt to be rid of it. We make huge efforts to become one thing and to not become another, whichever pleases the mind most. But if we do these things as a way of bringing the mind satisfaction, rather than as a response to our inner truths and abilities, then we are trying to force a reality which is not actually based in truth, and therefore we will suffer. Instead, one does whatever is required in any situation without letting it become a role to identify with. Then the action is performed for its own sake, and there will be no sense of identity loss if the duty becomes obsolete. Taking the middle way sounds simple, but it rings true, and it leads to both motivation and relief because it shows that one need not do more than one is able, and that if it feels right, it probably is right. By taking the middle way, we can first do good, then refrain from doing evil, and then finally transcend good and evil altogether and reach a higher state of functioning that is without judgment. We can also find relief in letting go of the past and future, and living fully in the moment.

            These lessons and many more can become quite deep and complex, so I will refrain from going too far in this blog, but I wanted to mention a few of those which had caused me to deeply rethink my ways of responding to the events in my life.  I saw very clearly the workings of my mind and the ways it becomes attached to illusion, and I began relinquishing my need for control. I rejoiced in gratefulness and loving kindness. I appreciated the beauties of nature, and especially that blissful moment when I found myself dancing silently and ecstatically in the hot pools while it rained. Oh thank you, universe, waving trees, blue-black sky, cold rain, soundless underwater, Bliss!! The only thing that could make this experience anything less than perfect would be…. FIRE AND RAIN playing in snippets on semi-repeat!!! DUKKHA!!! …Oh well, nothing is permanent, I suppose. Except Styrofoam. That stuff never biodegrades.

        Since the end of the retreat, I have given myself more opportunities to listen to my own inner truth and not follow my mind down its imaginary paths as eagerly as I once did. I am definitely not an expert meditator yet, and I bet that title is a long way off, but I have had a few powerful moments of presence which have changed the way I see many things. Much of my life up to this point has involved a lot of reminiscing nostalgically about the past and catastrophizing the future, and I am joyfully letting go of that. I am also having an easier time cutting off the beginnings of an imagination which could take me down a path of stirring up old emotions or building new ones. I stop the thought and allow silence to enter for just a second, like taking a breath, consciousness without thought. Stillness. Ease. But not easy.

Now I think I’ll take another moment to dance, but this time, for a different reason.

Hat TonSai, A Forgotten Love Rekindled

When you think of a tropical paradise, what do you think of? Do you think of soft sand beaches, small islands as far as the eye can see, towering cliffs on all sides, mischievous monkeys, constant unavoidable songs from the jungle, hammocks, and warm salt water baths everyday? For most of us these adjectives would suffice. Add to the mix thousands of limestone sport climbs, cheap jungle bungalows, and none of those common tourists (only a hand full of young rasta climbers from around the world), and I would call it paradise. Welcome to Ton Sai Bay, where the saying goes, “I’ll leave Ton Sai… tomorrow.” Its beauty is one of a kind and can only be fully understood with personally experiencing it. This is where the dilemma lies, once you experience it you often wonder if you really need to ever leave.
The only way in or out is by long tail boat, and once you arrive you can’t help but think of being on a secluded island. After wading to shore with your pack, you wave to the boat and quickly start searching for a place to call home. As you walk up the rutted dirt path you pass a couple of small bars, two stores, Chicky Mama’s and the message board which reads over and over again, “Lost camera, stolen by monkeys, please return if found.” It is at this point you look up at the monkeys in the trees, laugh and start to plan for the unexpected. As the bungalow search continues you pass Base Camp, a climbing guide place, and The Backyard hangout, before you finally reach the cheap bungalows at the end of the road. You check in, unpack, and settle in to the timeless, worry free life style we all crave so much. Tomorrow… climbing!
Going into this climbing adventure, I was legitimately nervous. There were a lot of factors that made me question what I was doing. I wondered if I had the mental and physical strength to climb considering the fact that I hadn’t been an avid climber in a couple years. Add to that the fact that I was in another country half way around the world where rescue by helicopter wasn’t an option, in a place where the only advice for evacuation was, "Don’t get hurt." The evacuation process was often long, painful, and unorganized, with the only way out being by boat. Watching one of the local Thai guys fall and break his arm the first day didn’t help any, especially after watching the sad attempt at getting him to a doctor. Add to that the difficulty of the climbs. There were hundreds of climbs, but only a handful that were in both Siri and I’s ability level. Top roping was not an option, considering the only access to the top of the massive cliffs was straight up no less than 100m. And of those doable climbs, there were only a few that had safe protection. Ton Sai’s limestone cliffs are some of the most corrosive, and normal stainless steel bolts did not stand a chance. This observation was made after years of bolting routes with stainless bolts and only recently has there been an effort to rebolt with stronger, less corrosive titanium bolts. This was great news, but the only problem was you often didn’t know which was which. Add the fact that most of the easier climbs had been climbed so much over the years that the rock itself had been polished down to a glass-like surface. Let’s just say in Ton Sai, chalk is your best friend. If these mental hurdles were not enough, consider probably the most serious factor, my climbing partner. When it comes to climbing, trusting your partner is vital; after all, they have--quite literally--your life in their hands. Don’t get me wrong, I have full confidence in Siri’s ability to comprehend the concept and her competence, but these things do not make up for lack of experience. She had only belayed a top rope a handful of times before arriving in Ton Sai, and a lead belay is much more serious, and requires a great deal more attention to detail, focus, and intuitiveness. All qualities Siri possesses, but they are not enough in themselves, hands on experience and practice in fine tuning these qualities is critical.
Needless to say, all these factors instilled a lot of doubt in my mind, but that’s the game you play while climbing. It is one of the most effective ways to become aware of these fears and to practice controlling your mind’s reaction. Climbing is the ultimate mind game. You consistently and consciously put yourself into the most trying of positions where you battle between giving up and just making that crux move no matter the result. You know that time is no longer a factor, because in this situation too much time spent thinking could be the difference between making it to that next piece of protection and taking that next fall. So you face your fear, rid your doubt, and with that last bit of energy, you make that move… AAHHH! There it is, the savior hold. And the mind comes rushing back, only to be thwarted again by that next move, keep the rhythm, one move at a time, focus.
Right at this moment, when your mind is about to break, and you are about to give into your uncertainty and fear, you calmly take a deep breath, place that toe, place that hand and with a still, collected, and composed mind, you make that move. It is at this point that all else disappears, and your mind is truly free of all thought, and you truly feel alive, at one with the rhythm of life. It is unmistakable and unavoidable.
Ton Sai was an epic experience and another reminder of how powerful the mind is and how easily it can allow the illusion of fear and the distrust to take control of you. It reminded me of the concentration and focus needed to control my wandering mind as well as the importance in doing so. Ton Sai successfully rekindled my forgotten love of climbing. I think a return trip is necessary. Maybe it will involve a sailboat, a few good climbing friends, and a long break from work.

The Jungle Has Spoken

First, the spies-- tiny drones coming to gather our genetic information, sneaking in to even the most carefully masked sanctuaries, and leaving behind the burning sense that no place is truly safe. 

Then, the scavengers. Large armies of precise and well-informed soldiers, infiltrating every unguarded nook and cranny and stealing away with any crumb that might go unnoticed. Eventually, the slower but larger thieves of anything left carelessly unsecured, never to be seen again.

The mind games. Hours of constant piercing locust whistles at high decibels, running in shifts. Monkeys inching ever closer to the windows, their opposable thumbs twitching and teasing our flimsy barricades. Some shadow creature eating our soap at night, just a few nibbles at a time. The constant, seeping moistness slowly and methodically overtaking any exposed pages or tight spaces. 

The ever-watching eyes. The threatening calls of the frogs right outside the door, and the loud barking alarm of the gecko at any sign of our attempts to escape.

It is enough to drive a person mad.

Finally, a warning: A few small and very carefully placed piles of dung left on our doorstep to be discovered in the morning, every morning, the perpetrator long since hidden...but always watching.

Nothing is secure. Nothing is safe.

The jungle has spoken.

So here we are in Tonsai, Thailand, an isolated climber Mecca nestled among the sharp limestone rocks separating jungle and sea. We are here with a whole slew of young and shapely tourists from around the world, to spend two weeks seeking adventure in the daytime and sleeping in a moldy bungalow at night. We got here on February 10th after spending our first few days at touristy Karon beach near Phuket (hiking to the Big Buddha, rock scrabbling, and snorkeling), then two days and one crazy night on Phi Phi Island. It is a relief to be away from the crazy dirty pricey chaos of really touristy places, though even here isn't authentic Thailand (and still a bit out of our $15 per day budget). There is so much good climbing here, lots of hiking and exploring, spectacular landscapes and magical jungle. Every day brings a new adventure, and an opportunity to face a fear or push the boundaries of my comfort zone. I am coming to understand Fear as the tangible experience, something which can be tasted, touched, smelled, examined and understood from all angles. I am becoming more accustomed to the experience of my own fear, and this acquaintance process is helping me to be more comfortable in any situation (though it probably doesn't help my social prospects much when I smell this bad). I am learning that the best kind of fun is a mixed feeling of excitement and apprehension, where I want to go forward and backward at the same time. We went on a day hike to a lagoon, which I had not been informed would involve several hours of climbing up and down nearly vertical mudslides with nothing but a slimy rope and sharp rocks to hold on to. I was in flip flops and a white t-shirt. A few others turned back, but we made it, and it was breathtaking. Once we finally got back into civilization I was sweaty and covered head to toe in streaks of red mud, my hair disheveled and my arms sore. I felt like a jungle warrior. The next day we went deep water solo climbing with a local outfit. We were taken by boat to some cliffs rising out of the ocean, and given some wet shoes and moldy snorkels. We swam to the ladder dangling over the water and climbed on the slippery rocks until we lost our strength or slipped and fell into the water below. At first I was nearly paralyzed by the height of the rocks and uncertain about my arm strength after the previous day's trials, but by the end I was climbing harder routes than I had ever tried before and jumping from 20 feet or more. I have always been fearful of heights, but another day I rappelled myself for the first time off of a 20-meter high cave mouth, and became familiar with the feeling of lowering myself backward into an abyss of air and emptiness. I climbed up a cliff on a bamboo ladder and walked along a rim of no more than a few feet, looking at the 400 foot drop to the rocky waters below. I climbed higher and higher, without stopping or falling even when the jagged rocks cut into my fingers and knees. Each day brings a lesson in letting go and holding on. I let go of my fears and mind games, my expectations, my doubts, my sense of self and its limitations. I hold on to the rock, and nothing else.

Neal has talked to me of climbing as a meditative experience, and I am beginning to understand what he is talking about. The whole sport is about clearing your mind of everything that gets in your way and taking a big step into uncertainty. It is about respecting the forces which are greater than your small body, which transcend the minor issues of daily life and give a taste of purity, of truth, of power. Climbing is always a risk, as is everything in life-- nothing is ever truly secure or permanent. The point is to let go of that need for security, the hand grasping at something solid and unchanging, and to trust instead in the mystery itself (Grace). Focus only on this one moment, the Here and the Now, nothing else, and if you do that, then your thoughts disappear and there is silence. In that silent emptiness you realize that there is nothing left to fear, and you just float right up the mountain. 

In between climbs and other adventures, I have been reading a book about a woman called Peace Pilgrim. From the 1950s to the 80s she traveled across America on foot, with no money and no possessions except the clothes on her back. She only ate when food was provided, only spoke to those who approached her, and slept where she lay down. Within a few years she was booked at speaking engagements across the country, at churches and universities and house parties, speaking about the path to inner (and eventually global) peace. She was a very spiritual person, though she didn't associate with any particular religion or practice. Her own journey to inner peace took her fifteen years, with a lot of ups and downs and a few big leaps. She discovered that her life had become burdened by too much materialism and needless responsibility, and she slowly abandoned that way of life. She taught the importance of bringing one's life down to Need level, and speaking one's own inner truth. I came by this book by chance, when some unnamed friend left it for me to find in my backpack, and it has been a source of constant inspiration and upliftment ever since. It supports my attempts to set my fears aside and gives me tools to live each moment with love, intention, and gratitude. Peace Pilgrim says that it is a misconception that fear is necessary in our lives, and that good sense can do the same job without the baggage. She also says that no problem ever comes to you that does not have a purpose in your life, and that it is important to have a meaningful attitude in your actions, or else you will suffer. If you live by the laws that govern all of nature, your life will be simple and at ease. "God is always reaching toward people (grace). With your own free will, reach back (faith)." This path sounds (and is) really simple, but it requires a lot of letting go, and letting go of things which may appear to bring comfort and gratification for the sake of higher joys. Just like in climbing and meditation, you must shed all of these layers which obscure the truth and lay yourself bare for all the universe to see. 

I am inspired! I am on the journey! Can I live this life? Only time will tell, I suppose, but it can't hurt to try. Even if I never become an expert climber, at least I can appreciate the rock beneath my feet, the open air and the unobscured view.

"Inner Peace is where Peace begins."-P.P.