DAY TWELVE, PART II
Day Twelve: Continued:
Tumultuous. The vicissitudes of intense experiences I have undergone in the past 24 hours have left me exhausted. Hopefully, CT will rejuvenate. I’ll meditate tonight, and just be with the strong desire to smoke. This need for a cigarette generally comes from the following reasons:
~the coffee we had after cocktails with BQ at Fitzers (This is probably 93% of the jonesing – tight lungs, dry mouth, tired fr a long day? Perfect cocktail for a nightcap cigarette desire)
~closing down the week, and getting ready to move into stillness. We’re accustomed to using a cigarette to segue from motion to stillness, or from stillness to motion. From chaos into calm, vice versa.
~A reward for a hard day for work and for the spirit.
~To placate myself about Ch. Even as I type, it passes.* Truly, all is impermanent!
(Upon first typing, I meant the desire for nicotine, but upon revision, I find it also means desire for Ch.)
Checked landline VM and cell and work email a million times. Even into the 11th hour of 9 PM, was checking landline VM. Carted cell around all fucking day – even to the recept desk. Was irritated and impatient with JR and K. Too many friends writing to me at work, asking for things, making demands, calling to BS, asking for little things. Starting to get on my nerves. Finding it a trend that I have to cut people off. Having compassion is the key. That I love them, but I insist on going when I go – even if they want to “just ask something real quick.” In fact, I find it harder to stand up for things I need when I don’t have compassion for the persyn; being filled with anger makes me overcompensate with a debilitating level of self-restraint. Knowing that the other persyn knows I love them, and will be patient with them in a hundred other circumstances, gives me the freedom to enforce some parameters in this one. Feeling spread thin. Oddly, having just gone to a monastery, you’d think I’d have a thicker sense of self-being, or a denser identity, but a tad overwhelmed by everyone.
It’s a strange week, really. More than usual, I find conversations and interactions being pushed on me that I don’t want. Tiresome. Customary to this sort of discovery, but still surprising, I find my assertiveness and aggression instigated more from finding people and their needs tiresome, boring, and irritating than from anger or a burst of strength in the soul. J, an asst at the office alone, has – to my count – been at me and at me at least six times in three days. Not sure what that’s about – a sudden need for female attention, an inexplicable or sexually-related desire to engage me into interactions with him, or – exasperatingly, perhaps an excited sense of challenge from my increased unwillingness to have an increased level of interactivity with him. Had to read the riot act to B. again, and told him wasn’t going to do full-blown in front of other people. Dismissive of me once again – had to pull young, cute, and interesting rank on him. Left a bad taste in my mouth, but the truth. Next step is to treat him like the creep he insists on behaving like. Can’t do it tongue-in-cheek and then pretend it’s not creepy. Part of Year 26 is calling on people for exactly what they are doing, no matter what their intentions actually (or ostensibly) are – even (or especially) without judging them. J. and B. are wonderful men, with beautiful hearts and the best of intentions. Fine – get credit for that.
But my creeped-outness is no less real, and deserves some credit too. If anything, just an acknowledgement that it’s real and it’s valid, and wouldn’t have come about without some legitimate reason.
But all in all, it’s good to have friends and people who care about you – even if they’re inclined to occasionally behave inappropriately. Year Twenty-Six should also be about looking past actions to intentions. So it’s going to be a juggling act – with two hands that are very far apart. The one, which asserts its sense of reality and discernment more, and thus, will assert its own desires more, and the other, which will cease to judge and try to see. Like some Bikram postures, where you’re locked in one place and simultaneously relaxed in another. Half Moon: Tight, taut body, locked arms, easy breathing, soft chin, soft, opened chest, opened hips. The opening sequence of Pranayama – same thing. Relaxed shoulders, but engaged elbows, engaged, lifted chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don’t know if anyone is reading this blog yet, but I’m sure they’ve grown weary about the subject of Ch. I’m sure. After all, I’m the narrator, the object, the first persyn, the protagonist, and indeed, I’ve near grown weary of it myself. I honestly thought by the time I’d been twenty-five that I was rather beyond this sort of tiresomeness. The suspense, the desperate optimism, the tension, the games, the Rules, the cravings, the heart-pleadings, the vain wishing, the romanticization of a dark wintry evening. (See the pictures below taken on Madison from 55th to 43rd and back up again. Scenes from a heartsore wandering in the chilly, wistful evening in midtown.) You see what I mean? The poetic indulgence, the love martyrdom, the self-righteous, self-pitying romantic drama heroine. Hadn’t I moved on????
Reasons for the Infatuation with Ch:
1) He was kind to me for more than two minutes
2) What I thought was model of virtuous, Dhammic discipline and piety. Don’t think he’s that disciplined though. Still lots of sense-pleasure seeking and impulse control issues. Didn’t even realize them to be impulse control issues when I called him on it.
3) Soothing, sonorous voice that all yoga instructors have. Calm, and placating. Mmmmm.
4) Beautifully devotional. Have almost instant infat for any boys who look serene and pious and are performing full prostrations to the Buddha or are chanting puja in Pali. Neither Asian nor non-Asians get more points for doing the same thing; it’s just a different kind of beauty in devotionality depending on who’s doing it. It has to be.
5) Told me I was awesome (in my sutta presentation). Bought me cigarettes. Went for a walk and wanted to show me his favorite little house down the road. Looks earnest whenever I say anything alarming. Sought me out to chat after first yoga class. Told me I attracting venting conversations from people because “you’re so receptive.” Thought my offering to the Dhamma project was “really kind.”
6)
* Reasons BJQ thinks he’s not calling me:
1) Cute, interesting, funny, intelligent. A breath of fresh air to the monastery. He’s lucky he’s still standing. Have boyfriend here of whom I discuss very frequently with him. Can’t act on intention. (I love BJQ, even if she’s a tad nasty when wasted)
* CCC thinks he’s not calling because he’s a flake.
* I think he’s not calling because he realized at some point during my last visit (Oct 27 thru Nov 6) that I liked him, but he doesn’t like me. Doesn’t like me because I sometimes act dumb,
too hyper and immature,
have been the very most remotely inappropriate (once???),
have too much urban edge and pushiness.
(Reserved, introverted, and sedate for a New York girl is still maybe too pushy & aggressive for the rest of the non-metropolitan country. Really. Don’t think this is newyorkcentric implicit self-aggrandizement or anything, but just really have seen it when I go somewhere like a yoga or meditation center where I have to be around a lot of people from different places. Thought I was shy, quiet, slowed down, mellowed out, only to find during goodbye conversations after 9 days that they thought I was “intense.” True anecdote, boyz and girls. Which makes sense if you think about it – your sweetest, most docile innocent will still need to learn to shove her way onto the 4,5 or 6 during rush hour on a daily basis, or else be late to work every single day, eh? The rest flows naturally from there.)
--- I really thought, throughout Years 24 and 25 that I had grown up. Gotten some self-restraint, some sense of propriety, some strict sense of etiquette, civility, and what is done. (And conversely, what is simply not done.)
Why, even under the intoxication of impulsive lust/crush, did I have to ever act unsightly with him? I thought I’d done everything right….There’s definitely such a thing as being too nice? But when I think about it, I was no more engaging with him than I was with JMcD, U Bk, Pirya, or many other Dhamma friends I’d made there. By some comparisons, even less. The only difference was the intention. I felt it, and eventually, on some level, he must have too. The way drunks and dogs can smell fear.
Even with the distance, doing The Rules, skipping his yoga class as to not distract myself, not rushing to speak to him once silence was over, not ever letting my Silence and mindfulness perceptibly buckle around him, trying to stay inside of myself, deepen my practice, working hard, writing hard, thinking hard. Meditating like a banshee. Thinking over what CCC calls “working on myself.” Re-thinking my values of Dana, Sila, Pañña. My Rightful Efforts. There’s just no way. If I were him, what would I have seen? A young lady who was diligent and earnest – who tried to live with generosity and in virtue. Who writes like a banshee, loves her family, works hard at her practice, is efficient and organized, too sophisticated to be swayed by backbiting, tries to practice generosity.
Who was funny, fun, interesting, intelligent, quirky. (Who expects an Asian girl to know ‘spanakopita’ and obsess about okra in curry? Who expects anyone – period -- to give a synopsis on Tompkins Square Park tenant riots, Eric Drooker, Allen Ginsberg, police brutality while mopping a monastery kitchen?) To make kick-ass power point charts, know Scripture decently and Abhidhamma cursorily, get excited about a new pink yoga mat, give kind warnings about the type of backbiting that lands you in hell realms?)
At total honesty, who can say anything I did was flirting or inappropriate? Who can say anything I did was nicer or more engaged or more gregarious than with someone for whom I had no sexual interest? Who can say I was let any intentions slip? Who can say I was wearing my vagina on my sleeve?
The lesson is to nip things in the bud when they start. And it’s true. He sought me out. And I had wanted to develop a deeper tie to this place for so long – much earlier than when he’d ever come – that I was happy somebody there thought I was special and took an interest in me. Somebody there saw me for the lightness and brightness I so earnestly aspired to, for the kindness that evaded me in lay life, for the charm that was so hard to carry in daily life, but so easy to toss off there. I think, I began to love him because he was the first persyn there who would let me.
The lesson is to not surrender to indulgences of your ego. Of course he thinks you’re special. You were likely the sole cute, young, single visitor in a long time. Think you’re hot stuff? Get in a line-up on 5th and 53rd at 5 PM on a weekday. Let’s see how you hold up, bee-yatch.
Completely exhausted by now, but satisfied. Think today was the longest entry since the birth of Year 26. You can all thank Ch.
Tumultuous. The vicissitudes of intense experiences I have undergone in the past 24 hours have left me exhausted. Hopefully, CT will rejuvenate. I’ll meditate tonight, and just be with the strong desire to smoke. This need for a cigarette generally comes from the following reasons:
~the coffee we had after cocktails with BQ at Fitzers (This is probably 93% of the jonesing – tight lungs, dry mouth, tired fr a long day? Perfect cocktail for a nightcap cigarette desire)
~closing down the week, and getting ready to move into stillness. We’re accustomed to using a cigarette to segue from motion to stillness, or from stillness to motion. From chaos into calm, vice versa.
~A reward for a hard day for work and for the spirit.
~To placate myself about Ch. Even as I type, it passes.* Truly, all is impermanent!
(Upon first typing, I meant the desire for nicotine, but upon revision, I find it also means desire for Ch.)
Checked landline VM and cell and work email a million times. Even into the 11th hour of 9 PM, was checking landline VM. Carted cell around all fucking day – even to the recept desk. Was irritated and impatient with JR and K. Too many friends writing to me at work, asking for things, making demands, calling to BS, asking for little things. Starting to get on my nerves. Finding it a trend that I have to cut people off. Having compassion is the key. That I love them, but I insist on going when I go – even if they want to “just ask something real quick.” In fact, I find it harder to stand up for things I need when I don’t have compassion for the persyn; being filled with anger makes me overcompensate with a debilitating level of self-restraint. Knowing that the other persyn knows I love them, and will be patient with them in a hundred other circumstances, gives me the freedom to enforce some parameters in this one. Feeling spread thin. Oddly, having just gone to a monastery, you’d think I’d have a thicker sense of self-being, or a denser identity, but a tad overwhelmed by everyone.
It’s a strange week, really. More than usual, I find conversations and interactions being pushed on me that I don’t want. Tiresome. Customary to this sort of discovery, but still surprising, I find my assertiveness and aggression instigated more from finding people and their needs tiresome, boring, and irritating than from anger or a burst of strength in the soul. J, an asst at the office alone, has – to my count – been at me and at me at least six times in three days. Not sure what that’s about – a sudden need for female attention, an inexplicable or sexually-related desire to engage me into interactions with him, or – exasperatingly, perhaps an excited sense of challenge from my increased unwillingness to have an increased level of interactivity with him. Had to read the riot act to B. again, and told him wasn’t going to do full-blown in front of other people. Dismissive of me once again – had to pull young, cute, and interesting rank on him. Left a bad taste in my mouth, but the truth. Next step is to treat him like the creep he insists on behaving like. Can’t do it tongue-in-cheek and then pretend it’s not creepy. Part of Year 26 is calling on people for exactly what they are doing, no matter what their intentions actually (or ostensibly) are – even (or especially) without judging them. J. and B. are wonderful men, with beautiful hearts and the best of intentions. Fine – get credit for that.
But my creeped-outness is no less real, and deserves some credit too. If anything, just an acknowledgement that it’s real and it’s valid, and wouldn’t have come about without some legitimate reason.
But all in all, it’s good to have friends and people who care about you – even if they’re inclined to occasionally behave inappropriately. Year Twenty-Six should also be about looking past actions to intentions. So it’s going to be a juggling act – with two hands that are very far apart. The one, which asserts its sense of reality and discernment more, and thus, will assert its own desires more, and the other, which will cease to judge and try to see. Like some Bikram postures, where you’re locked in one place and simultaneously relaxed in another. Half Moon: Tight, taut body, locked arms, easy breathing, soft chin, soft, opened chest, opened hips. The opening sequence of Pranayama – same thing. Relaxed shoulders, but engaged elbows, engaged, lifted chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don’t know if anyone is reading this blog yet, but I’m sure they’ve grown weary about the subject of Ch. I’m sure. After all, I’m the narrator, the object, the first persyn, the protagonist, and indeed, I’ve near grown weary of it myself. I honestly thought by the time I’d been twenty-five that I was rather beyond this sort of tiresomeness. The suspense, the desperate optimism, the tension, the games, the Rules, the cravings, the heart-pleadings, the vain wishing, the romanticization of a dark wintry evening. (See the pictures below taken on Madison from 55th to 43rd and back up again. Scenes from a heartsore wandering in the chilly, wistful evening in midtown.) You see what I mean? The poetic indulgence, the love martyrdom, the self-righteous, self-pitying romantic drama heroine. Hadn’t I moved on????
Reasons for the Infatuation with Ch:
1) He was kind to me for more than two minutes
2) What I thought was model of virtuous, Dhammic discipline and piety. Don’t think he’s that disciplined though. Still lots of sense-pleasure seeking and impulse control issues. Didn’t even realize them to be impulse control issues when I called him on it.
3) Soothing, sonorous voice that all yoga instructors have. Calm, and placating. Mmmmm.
4) Beautifully devotional. Have almost instant infat for any boys who look serene and pious and are performing full prostrations to the Buddha or are chanting puja in Pali. Neither Asian nor non-Asians get more points for doing the same thing; it’s just a different kind of beauty in devotionality depending on who’s doing it. It has to be.
5) Told me I was awesome (in my sutta presentation). Bought me cigarettes. Went for a walk and wanted to show me his favorite little house down the road. Looks earnest whenever I say anything alarming. Sought me out to chat after first yoga class. Told me I attracting venting conversations from people because “you’re so receptive.” Thought my offering to the Dhamma project was “really kind.”
6)
* Reasons BJQ thinks he’s not calling me:
1) Cute, interesting, funny, intelligent. A breath of fresh air to the monastery. He’s lucky he’s still standing. Have boyfriend here of whom I discuss very frequently with him. Can’t act on intention. (I love BJQ, even if she’s a tad nasty when wasted)
* CCC thinks he’s not calling because he’s a flake.
* I think he’s not calling because he realized at some point during my last visit (Oct 27 thru Nov 6) that I liked him, but he doesn’t like me. Doesn’t like me because I sometimes act dumb,
too hyper and immature,
have been the very most remotely inappropriate (once???),
have too much urban edge and pushiness.
(Reserved, introverted, and sedate for a New York girl is still maybe too pushy & aggressive for the rest of the non-metropolitan country. Really. Don’t think this is newyorkcentric implicit self-aggrandizement or anything, but just really have seen it when I go somewhere like a yoga or meditation center where I have to be around a lot of people from different places. Thought I was shy, quiet, slowed down, mellowed out, only to find during goodbye conversations after 9 days that they thought I was “intense.” True anecdote, boyz and girls. Which makes sense if you think about it – your sweetest, most docile innocent will still need to learn to shove her way onto the 4,5 or 6 during rush hour on a daily basis, or else be late to work every single day, eh? The rest flows naturally from there.)
--- I really thought, throughout Years 24 and 25 that I had grown up. Gotten some self-restraint, some sense of propriety, some strict sense of etiquette, civility, and what is done. (And conversely, what is simply not done.)
Why, even under the intoxication of impulsive lust/crush, did I have to ever act unsightly with him? I thought I’d done everything right….There’s definitely such a thing as being too nice? But when I think about it, I was no more engaging with him than I was with JMcD, U Bk, Pirya, or many other Dhamma friends I’d made there. By some comparisons, even less. The only difference was the intention. I felt it, and eventually, on some level, he must have too. The way drunks and dogs can smell fear.
Even with the distance, doing The Rules, skipping his yoga class as to not distract myself, not rushing to speak to him once silence was over, not ever letting my Silence and mindfulness perceptibly buckle around him, trying to stay inside of myself, deepen my practice, working hard, writing hard, thinking hard. Meditating like a banshee. Thinking over what CCC calls “working on myself.” Re-thinking my values of Dana, Sila, Pañña. My Rightful Efforts. There’s just no way. If I were him, what would I have seen? A young lady who was diligent and earnest – who tried to live with generosity and in virtue. Who writes like a banshee, loves her family, works hard at her practice, is efficient and organized, too sophisticated to be swayed by backbiting, tries to practice generosity.
Who was funny, fun, interesting, intelligent, quirky. (Who expects an Asian girl to know ‘spanakopita’ and obsess about okra in curry? Who expects anyone – period -- to give a synopsis on Tompkins Square Park tenant riots, Eric Drooker, Allen Ginsberg, police brutality while mopping a monastery kitchen?) To make kick-ass power point charts, know Scripture decently and Abhidhamma cursorily, get excited about a new pink yoga mat, give kind warnings about the type of backbiting that lands you in hell realms?)
At total honesty, who can say anything I did was flirting or inappropriate? Who can say anything I did was nicer or more engaged or more gregarious than with someone for whom I had no sexual interest? Who can say I was let any intentions slip? Who can say I was wearing my vagina on my sleeve?
The lesson is to nip things in the bud when they start. And it’s true. He sought me out. And I had wanted to develop a deeper tie to this place for so long – much earlier than when he’d ever come – that I was happy somebody there thought I was special and took an interest in me. Somebody there saw me for the lightness and brightness I so earnestly aspired to, for the kindness that evaded me in lay life, for the charm that was so hard to carry in daily life, but so easy to toss off there. I think, I began to love him because he was the first persyn there who would let me.
The lesson is to not surrender to indulgences of your ego. Of course he thinks you’re special. You were likely the sole cute, young, single visitor in a long time. Think you’re hot stuff? Get in a line-up on 5th and 53rd at 5 PM on a weekday. Let’s see how you hold up, bee-yatch.
Completely exhausted by now, but satisfied. Think today was the longest entry since the birth of Year 26. You can all thank Ch.
posted by 26 at 12:10 AM
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