Source : The desert Sun
It was one of those mornings.
I splashed vegetable broth into my coffee instead of creamer.
I realized too late that my socks were mismatched.
My car was running on fumes, forcing me to stop at the pricey gas station.
My satellite radio subscription ran out just as I was driving into the mountains – coincidentally, just as I was losing terrestrial radio reception, too.
An oversized RV hauling an even more oversized trailer pulled out right in front of me. He didn’t move more than 20 miles an hour.
And then I got lost.
It was a difficult journey.
Which is why I was cursing loudly and vigorously as I pulled up to the Yokoji Zen Mountain Center.
I paused for a second in the parking lot and debated on getting back into my car and driving home. But then a slight man in black robes approached me.
“Is this your first time?”
I nodded.
“Follow me.”
The monk’s name is Travis. He has devoted his life to Buddhism and lives on the center’s 160 gorgeous acres, located near Idyllwild.
Instead of tossing me right into a bowing, chanting, meditating room, Travis first conducted a beginner’s class to assist me.
In about an hour he explained the basic teachings and philosophy of Zen, the history of Zen and how to practice zazen (sitting meditation).
It was kind of like CliffsNotes for enlightenment.
We each squatted on zafu (round cushions) atop a zabuton (padded mat).
At a certain point this squatting business became a pain in my zafu, so I exchanged the cushion for a tiny wooden bench (tiny wooden bench).
Travis rang the bell and we began meditating.
Only my mind was still gathering speed, like a bike with no brakes on a steep hill.
I created mental to-do lists for the next week of work. Sang a song by the Jayhawks. Tried to figure out a solution to the genocide in Darfur. Thought about how much I like polar bears. Reminded myself to pick up soymilk …
Wait … wait. There it was! Not thinking! I’m not thinking!
Oh wait … darn.
So the very act of thinking about not thinking is actually thinking? I’m doomed.
“I’m doing it wrong,” I told Travis.
“There’s no wrong way to meditate.”
“Yes. There is. And it’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“There’s no such thing as wrong.”
“I’m thinking too much.”
“That’s OK. Just let the thoughts drift away.”
“And I’m thinking very un-Zen things.”
“Let the thoughts pass without judgment.”
“I can’t help it. It’s habit.”
“Of course. That’s why you practice meditation.”
I asked Travis how many years it took him to meditate without thinking.
“I still have thoughts,” he said. “But then I just say, ‘Oh that’s interesting,’ and let it go.”
I asked how long it would be until I get to that point.
“You shouldn’t rush this,” he said.
“I want to figure out some sort of timetable,” I said. “Perhaps if I doubled up on meditation, maybe did twice as much every day …”
“Listen,” he said, shifting on his zafu to look me square in the face. “Slow down. Enjoy the process. The journey is the destination.”
He said it’s like climbing a mountain.
“Sure, the summit is nice. But the best part of the adventure is getting there,” he said.
“Besides, once you’re at the summit, you still have to get back down the mountain.”
I only wish I had gotten the message earlier.