The Buddha Machine vs. Lawn Signs

Many of my friendships are defined by particular characteristics. These characteristics may not be unique to this particular relationship (say, "shoe shopping buddy"), nor are they the sum-total of the relationship, but they are somehow an important part of the identity of that relationship. My friend and, until recently, co-worker, Mats and I have one of those relationships. It is defined by our fondness for weird Asian kitsch. We have been buying each other stuff for years. All of it somewhat inexpensive, all of it amusing.

This year for my birthday I received from him the Buddha Machine. Cool, weird, funky (don't know how much he paid for it, so I can't tell you if it was cheap), and wonderful. It is a small, blue, plastic mechanical device from China that plays twelve different Buddhist chants. It comes on a lanyard - need I say more. Not being entirely sure what to do with it, I have hung it in my car where I could be serenaded at will.

Today I was driving to a far suburb, and about half-way there I flipped on the Machine, chose a chant and chilled. I was curious what letting this thing run would be like. It took me a minute or two with several of the chants to really settle into one, but once I did - whoa.

What I Learned:

First of all, chants are something that allow your mind to focus on one, simple thing. Playing chants is a weird thing to do when you're driving. You are both more present, but less alert; or the opposite; or something. At first, it did not permeate my reality that much. Then, suddenly, I understood that the chants were beginning to draw my attention and I wondered if driving and chants were as good a combo as I had initially thought. (I learned a while ago that I couldn't listen to Eckhardt Tolle and drive at the same time.)

Again suddenly, I realized that I was experiencing a synthesis between the driving and the chanting. It was about this time that I hit the edge of the 'burb's residential area. Spread before me about every block or so, was a house with political campaign signs. The majority of these signs were for candidates I have little interest in supporting - some I might even have a tendency to respond to somewhat viscerally. The thing is, by the time I hit the string of lawn signs, I was in a place where I was able to observe them with a breathtaking amount of equanimity (not to mention an ease with simultaneously observing my equanimity!). They were signs. With names on them. Huh.

The Buddha Machine - who knew? As cool as it is, I think I'll be careful/responsible about using this in a moving vehicle. Late nights, for example, would be right out. Nine hour car trips; also probably a bad idea. Respect the Machine.

The Perfect Fig

Yesterday I was doing a quick "drive by" shop of the Trader Joe's across from my office. I was working a long shift and wanted to have some fruit and nuts for quick snacks I could grab between appointments, when I saw a large container of fresh figs. I love figs. Love them. Heart them. After quickly assessing their mold situation (fresh figs seem to mold before they leave the store), I snagged them with glee.

I didn't end up eating them until I got into the car to head home. I broke open the seal, reached in, and bit deeply into a fig. It was good; good enough for another one. This one was better. One by one I worked my way into the box, relishing each one, until I bit into a fig that exposed me to a depth and richness of flavor I had never met before. It was a fresh fit with all the dark, sweet funkiness of a dried fig. I was transported.

This transcendent experience put me in a quandry. My choice:

1. Stop eating figs (For now? Forever?) as no fig can compare to this perfect, ripe jewel.
2. Eat more figs hoping for more of the same or, be still my heart, one even better.
3. Eat more figs acknowledging with a sweet anguish that no fig will ever live up to this one.
   

What do you think I did? What would you do? What does this say about attachment and equanimity? If you try to log in and it gets hinky, email me here.

Things That Bug the Crap Out Of Me - Part 1

I have decided that it might be interesting to examine things that get on my nerves and, by examining them, learn more about equanimity and compassion. Please be warned; they are bound to be stupid. Embarrassingly so. The things that get on our nerves rarely deserve the energy we give them.

The first one, in no particular order of gravity, irritation-induction, or importance, involves the new Dyson hand-dryers being installed in public restrooms. Does anyone NOT hate those electric hand-dryers in the restrooms? They just don't work worth a damn. The Airblade does. I was so profoundly impressed with these things. They work. Well. Really well. So what's my issue?

So the problem itself is not the dryers; it is the people who use them. They work very simply. You stick your hands in and then slowly pull them out and the dryer works like an air squeegee. Genius, no? Directions are posted and worded clearly above the dryer. So why do people try to use them incorrectly? Here's this beautifully designed solution to a problem and people can't be bothered to learn how to use it properly. Of course, it then works no better than the old-style dryer. Let me be clear, this issue does not keep me up at night or raise my blood pressure appreciably. It just bugs me.

Now, I didn't design the Dyson Airblade; why do I care whether or not people use it or appreciate it appropriately? I think the things that I find irritating are:

1. Here is a product which does not look at all like the product it is replacing. There is a pervasive lack of curiosity that is made apparent here,
2. There is no appreciation for good industrial design - both in the aesthetic and practical senses,
3. There is no gratitude that someone designed something that will make YOUR life better, addressing an inherently problematic and pervasive item we all encounter.

That probably boils it down for now.

Okay, let's break it down:

1. I feel a kind of compassion for those who, for whatever reason, live their life without the capacity for curiosity. Perhaps they are overwhelmed by other problems in their lives. Maybe they were raised in an environment in which curiosity was firmly discouraged (it happens - sad but true). Whatever the reason; I can allow my heart to soften in relationship to these people because I realize that their circumstances are deficient and I wish them better.
2. I don't know what to do about this one.
3. How do I know what their feelings about the Airblade? This is a hyper-dramatization of the story I have started in my own head about these people. I have used the momentum of my indignation to wind myself up and used this as fuel for the fire of self-righteous thrills.
   

There. I feel better all ready.

So, like my friend Dennis Cass who is trying to help people become more awesome in their contributions to culture (primarily writing), I'd like to help people cope better with life. Is there something bugging the crap out of you? Would you like me to help you defuse it in a way that creates compassion and takes the energy out of it?

Send your pet peeves to me and we'll see what we can make of them.

Hi Honey; I'm Home

I have returned from a trip at the behest of a kind and generous friend from Arizona. We spent part of our time at a resort and spa in Sedona located in an amazing red rock canyon. Yes, I did make some enso paintings; I even drew some in the red earth of the canyon. More on that later.

One morning I headed out to walk the trail running the length of the canyon and was profoundly moved by the rocks above me which felt like great benevolent gods. I tried to take photos, but it was not the best use of my time since my skill and camera were inadequate to the task. Finally, I decided to put the camera away. I realized it was getting in the way of my appreciation of my experience.

This led to an experiential insight. As is true of most insights, the raw material was already there, but my ability to appreciate the truth was stimulated by experience. I was able to understand that equanimity is to be cultivated not only around those things that are difficult or unpleasant, but also in relationship to that which we find pleasurable. This is not to take some sort of monastic or ascetic stance in regards to experiencing enjoyment. The need for equanimity comes in the attachment to that in which we find pleasure. These experiences, too, are fleeting and impermanent and by attaching to them we find ourselves unable to be present in the moment.

Being able to fully grasp the impermanence is something that can only add to the enjoyment of the experience. I have found myself fretting about the fact that my lovely experience will eventually end. Upon reflection, I realize what a waste of that opportunity it was to be concerned about the future such that it removes me from fully experiencing the present. Anthony Bourdain (my TV boyfriend) gave up taking photos years ago since he felt it did not do justice to his experience.

Have you ever found yourself in a place of unspeakable beauty, or experiencing an episode of profound bliss and found yourself grasping at the experience? Please share what that was like. What was it? How did it manifest for you? Where did you feel it in your body? Have you ever found yourself regretting it?