Last night I dreamed of Christmas, and it was sad. 

My sister and I were little kids again, living at my parents' house, and on Christmas morning, Mom, Dad, Sis and I all walked downstairs to see four giant mounds of presents sitting near the tree.   Without a word to each other, without a smile, we each walked to our own mound and started ripping the paper off the gifts, even before we had a chance to sit down. 

In the dream I stopped once, tried to thank my mother for a necklace she'd given me, but she waved me away and continued tearing through the mountain before her.  In minutes, we were all finished, sitting next to a giant pile of gifts and an equally giant pile of spent wrapping-paper and ribbon.  What should have been a wonderful event, a time to be grateful, to reflect on the love of the people who've given the gift, my familiy had rushed through, as if getting to the end mattered most.

This is a bit of an exageration, but I find that the more I practice mindfulness, the more eating meals with other people feels like that dream.  When I was a part of the rush, I never noticed it, but now that I'm trying to pay attention (and often struggling to do so, especially when eating), I really notice how little people care about their food, how little they savor the bites they take, appreciate the work that so many others have done to create the meal, even when they cook it themselves.

This is, of course, not universally true.  Some people appreciate their food a great deal and eat it with care.  Even people who don't do this regularly, do do it at times.  But what can I do when I find myself the odd man out at the table.  What can I do when the others are rushing but I want to slow down?

I suppose that, as with many things, deferring to simplicity is the answer.  I don't need a fancy technique in order to be mindful in a crowded, noisy restaurant with fast-eating friends.  And I certainly don't need to struggle to change their behavior or even to change the setting.  I just need to slow myself down, notice the beautiful presentation and the good company, and appreciate the gift of each bite.

The recent 'spring ahead' of the clocks has recast my mornings in darkness, and I've been waking up feeling quite sloggy.  I find that the best way to start mornings like this is to pick up one my books on Buddhism and read a few random paragraphs.  It helps me get my mind moving again.

This morning, I picked Thich Nhat Hanh's Being Peace and opened to page 33 where he says this:

"On the wooden board outside of the meditation hall in Zen monasteries, there is a four-line inscription.  The last line is, "Don't waste your life."  Our lives are made of days and hours, and each hour is precious.  Have we wasted our hours and our days?  Are we wasting our lives?  These are important questions.  Practicing Buddhism is to be alive in each moment."

Reading this shifted my attention back to the present.  My cloudy mind is here; that is what's happening now.  But also now, I'm able to hear the cars passing on the cold rainy street while I am warm and dry inside.  My body, though tired, is strong and healthy and sitting up in my chair.  My fingers are hitting the keys, and I am communicating my thoughts (muddled as they feel) into my blog.

I sometimes worry I'm wasting my life if I'm not making enough money.  I worry I'm wasting my life by not pursuing the career I think others expect of me.  But maybe this is wrong.  Maybe Thich Nhat Hanh is right.

If I am alive in the present moment, whatever I am doing, maybe that is enough.

According to this article in the San Francisco Chronicle today, a Stanford study has shown that the more time kids spend watching TV, playing video games, and looking at the computer (what they call 'screentime'), the more they will nag their parents for toys and food--and the effects can last for months or even years after the screentime ends.

This leads, I think, to interesting questions about voluntary simplicity and raising children.   We don't plan to have a child for several years, but my husband and I do talk about how we want to raise them.  We of course, hope to teach them that more is not better, and we'll limit TV and X-box-type video games by not using them ourselves.

The big issue for us is the computer.  Computers have been my husband's passion since he was ten or eleven years old.  Since his parents knew nothing about computing, he took odd jobs to buy his own equipment, his own second phone line, etc.  I am in complete awe of the amount he knows.  And that knowledge wouldn't have been possible if his parents had forced him to go play in the 'big blue room' instead of sitting indoors amassing screentime.

Granted, computers were different back then--certainly there were no advertisements on them and the video games were much simpler.  But computers are still learning tools.  If my children take an interest in them, I see potential harm in limiting their screen time.  My husband suggests that if they want to play computer games, they have to write them.  If they want to browse the internet, they have to write a browser.  Not a bad idea, though I've got a lot of learning to do (or several habits to give up) if I don't want to look hypocritical.

I think the answer, as with all parenting questions, is that there's little use in speculating, that 'kids change everything.'  I do hope, though, that this article will reach some people who have children and are interested in moving away from more! more! more!  The knowledge will be useful whether or not they take any action.

Specifically, things I have received from Zaadzsters:

• loving emails that have brightened many mornings
  
• excitement about the sharing of information that has motivated me to learn and grow more in these last few weeks than I did in the previous few months
• knowledge about sustainable and eco-friendly practices that I have now applied to my own life or that I plan to apply
• a reminder to act for the greatest good
• many notes of thanks for my small contributions
• help with my website
• the opportunity to create a discussion group on voluntary simplicity, and
  
• many kind and experienced people actively discussing the topic and teaching me how to live more simply, especially in my inner life
• a daily reminder of my goals--this really has changed my behavior for the better
• the opportunity to take part in changing the world.
  

Every single person I've talked to at Zaadz has contributed to this list.  Thank you all. 

I'm sure there are more things to list, but I'll leave it at that for now.  Feel free to add things you've received from Zaadzsters in the comments.

The other night my husband and I each wrote down three goals we want to achieve within the next five years and posted them on the wall.  Seeing them there not only reminds us of our own goals, it also help each of us to make sure our actions support the other's.  This is a new thing for us, but it seems to be working well.

As we were writing the goals down, I noticed that I had conceived mine in terms of changing habits rather than endpoints.  I'm not sure why I did this (it certainly wasn't purposeful), but the more I think about it, the more I like it.  It gives me a thing to do, rather than a task to reach.  It helps me stay in the moment while I move forward.

Looking around Zaadz, I see that many people frame their goals this way.  'Exercise daily' rather than 'get in better shape' or 'be mindful of where I spend my money' instead of 'save enough to retire early'.   Is there any benefit to this type of goal-setting?  In the past, I have always thought of my goals as endpoints to reach, and I have had success with that method. 

As I come up with shorter-term goals, I think I'll try framing some the habits way and some the endpoints way.  I wonder if there will be a difference in my success rates.  If there is, will this mean one way is inherently better (assuming it's not mere coincidence).  Will it mean one way is better for me but may not be for others?  I'd love to hear other people's thoughts on this, and I will, of course, post my own observations if any arise.

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[Our bad habits] cost us dearly, yet we cannot help but hold them dear, for they are us.  That is, we have all developed seemingly tried-and-true patterns of thinking and reacting, crystallizing into stories about ourselves and the world, and we cling to them as our identity and home.
                                                                               -Chip Hartranft

Check out Will Wright's presentation on his upcoming game, Spore.  It's insane.

The path to understanding non-dualism, stillness of the mind, etc., practically and not just theoretically, is often so juxtaposed to my old thought-patterns that it can become, for me, its own source of suffering. 

I would like to settle my mind and have been working to so do for many years.  The constant swirling of thoughts, worries and anxieties has caused me physical as well as emotional suffering.  And yet, I find myself so resistant to change, so ready with excuses and fears to hold me in my current patterns.

For example, I know that doing things for others makes me forget myself and my suffering.  Yet my mind pipes up with worries: will the people think I'm trying to get something out of them?  or will I get my fair share in return (despite my Naikan reflections showing quite certainly that I'm receiving more from the world than I'm giving)?

I also forget myself and my suffering when I'm deeply immersed in a project, and these projects often end up benefiting others.  Yet my mind pulls me away from my concentration, reminds me of all the other things I should be doing, all the other people I need to respond to.  I end up never quite giving myself fully to anything... except my worries.

And then I worry that I'm not sitting enough, not meditating correctly.  I anticipate having to do Naikan later.  I start to dread doing things that I enjoy.  It does not make sense.

Constructive Living/Morita Therapy would have me accept these worries and do what I need to do anyway, and I believe this is good advice.  But it can be so hard to follow.  Though to do it perfectly, I only need to do it now, I end up worrying about the future, replaying the past.  It can feel like climbing an impossibly high mountain sometimes. 

And this overwhelmed feeling is a perfect reminder of Morita's advice. (Paraphrasing):   When you're climbing up a mountain, it's OK to give up as many times as you want as long as your legs keep moving.

I just got back from my first acupuncture apointment with Marti Lee Kennedy.  The apointment itself was wonderful, but what stood out to me the most was how comfortable Marti made me feel.  When I was around her I felt she was giving herself to me completely, not out of obligation or duty but because she truly liked me.  And she interacted with everyone this way.

This capacity is something I've long wanted to cultivate.  I find that the more Naikan I do, the more it naturally happens, but I still have a ways to go.  Meeting with Marti served as a wonderful reminder to me.  It's easy for me to get caught up in 'inner' work, in meditation, yoga, etc. with the goal of improving myself first, thinking that if I am calm, I will natrually help make people around me calm.

But this isn't quite right.  Interaction between people is never one way.  I must also give myself to the moment, must listen to the other person, watch her, pay attention to what she needs and what she is giving me.  That I grow calmer as a result is only secondary.

I consider myself a buddhist.  I also consider myself an atheist.  

Outside of Zaadz, these are two things I generally keep to myself.  The few times I have disucussed my spiritual life with other-minded people (I come from a family of conservative Christians, among whom the topic of religion is hard to avoid), they have had difficulty understanding how I can live a fulfilling life without God to guide me.

In Breaking the Spell, a book I'm currently reading by philosophy professor Daniel Dennett, I found a paragraph that perfectly expresses my answer to that question.  He says:

"What [spiritual atheists] have realized is one of the best secrets of life: let your self go.  If you can approach the world's complexities, both its glories and its horrors, with an attitude of humble curiosity, acknowledging that however deeply you have seen, you have only just scratched the surface, you will find worlds within worlds, beauties you could not heretofore imagine, and your own mundane preoccupations will shrink to proper size, not all that important in the greater scheme of things.  Keeping that awestruck vision of the world ready to hand while dealing with the demands of daily living is no easy exercise, but it is definitely worth the effort, for if you can stay centered, and engaged, you will find the hard choices easier, the right words will come to you when you need them, and you will indeed be a better person.  That, I propose, is the secret to spirituality, and it has nothing at all to do with believing in an immortal soul, or in anything supernatural" (pg 303).

So well put; I plan to quote it often.  "Keeping that awestruck vision of the world..." is probably one of the best things any of us can do.

That, like any other generalization, sounds ridiculous when taken out of context; as with any other group of people, some look quite healthy, others look like complete slobs, and many rest somewhere in between.  Nonetheless, my experience with this phrase last night was pretty funny, at least to me.

After a day of pounding rain (among months of rain), last evening's weather finally cleared up a little, affording my husband and me a really nice setting for our run.  Shaken up by the rain, the flowers perfumed the air, the setting sun lit the horizon with orange and pink clouds.  It was beautiful, and our run reflected that.  We had started out feeling gloomy, and by the end we were almost glowing.

So it was especially funny when near the end of our run we passed two people standing on the sidewalk talking, and one said, "vegans don't look that healthy."  I have no idea what they were talking about; these were the only words we heard. 

Now, I don't claim my husband and I look like underwear models, but we've been eating really well lately, and we'd just been discussing how healthy we felt, and come on, pretty much anyone looks healthy while they're out running.  Anyway, we both turned around and said, "we're vegans," and the guy said, "that's what I was afraid of" and we all laughed.

So that's all.  It was nice.  I hear plenty of vegan bashing in Berkeley, and I try to consider it a good thing--it reflects, at least, a high level of vegan awareness.  I usually say nothing; there's little point in arguing an ethical decision, and people are notoriously irrational about health, but our reaction to this guy last night was reflexive. And satisfying.

And I know I should spend time out of my safe little bubble of hippy liberalism now and again, but I doubt I'll ever leave it for good.  Its little moments like the one last night that remind me how much I freakin' love Berkeley.

Setting long-term goals is, of course, a great way to keep your life moving in a positive direction, to help you achieve all the things you want to achieve.  

However, goal setting is useless unless you can keep those goals in mind now, unless you continually ask yourself whether what you're doing contributes to reaching that goal.  The trouble with this is at least two-fold:

1- It's difficult to keep several far off goals in mind at once, and

2- Even in you keep your goals in mind, it can be difficult to know whether your actions are in line with them.

I've taken a few steps to deal with (1).  First, I've narrowed my long-term goals down to three mid-term (about five years from now) goals.  Second, I've written them down in bold letters, framed them, and hung them on my wall.  Seriously.  In fact, I took down the wall clock and replaced it with my goals.  Every time habit turns my head to check the time, I see my list of goals.

But this does not resolve problem (2).  For example, one of my goals is to finish and publish my novel.  The list on my wall keeps this near the fore of my mind, but I'm still not always sure whether a given action of mine is keeping me on track.  For example, it may be true that going for a run will improve my brain function, which in turn will make it easier for me when I sit down at my computer to write.  But it may also be true that the time spent running would have been better spent actually writing. 

Reframing your goals as habit-changes may be one way to overcome (2), and that's what I did automatically with the other two goals on my list.  But with my novel, my goal is not to simply write every day.  My goal is to finish.  And publish. 

Here is where mini-goals come in.  Setting them happened for me accidentally when I ran into Randy Ingermason's Snowflake Method for writing a novel.  Though I'm much further along in my writing than I think most members of his target audience, I decided to pull myself away from my routine and give his steps a try.  Writing in steps meant, basically, setting mini-goals. 

And you know what?  It was deeply satisfying.  Instead of each day knowing I'd not yet reached my goal, each day wondering if I was really on track, I finished each day knowing I'd accomplished a specific task I'd set out to do.  The idea of mini-goals is nothing new, but it was something I'd fogotten.  If you find yourself slipping away from your goals, you may want to give it a try.

The Japanese term ikigai translates as, roughly, "that which makes life worth living."   I first encountered the term today in this video about longevity on the National Geographic website. 

What's your ikigai?  Here's one of mine:

I'm still thinking about the others.

My mother called the other night to tell me she'd found some audio tape recordings she'd made when I was about two or three years old.   When I asked her what was on them she just laughed, then she'd send me a copy.  I was, she said, quite exhausting.  Like many toddlers, I was constantly asking 'why'. 

It's a voice that's gotten quiet in me as habit took over my actions.  This is, often, a good thing.  My brain's trick of pattern recognition (and what are habits but patterns of action?) serves me well.

But, obviously, not all habits are 'good'.  Though they may have provided benefit in the past, some are now doing harm.  The world is always changing, and I want to change with it.  But altering habits by force of will is difficult.  People often seek motivation to bolster their efforts, but this, too, can be hard to come by.  

This is because most of the motivations we seek are external: a  personal trainer to help us get in shape, a monetary 'reward' if we focus at work, a friend to quit smoking with us.  But these motivators can be expensive, or far off, or short-lived.  What we really need is motivation from the inside.

Asking yourself 'why' is the key to finding such motivation.  For example, I have a habit of worrying; it's something I want to change.  It's also something I've struggled with for a long time, but the other day I started asking myself 'why', as often as I could.  Why am I worrying about my appointment tomorrow?  What benefit does my subconscious mind hope to get from this worrying?  Also, why am I eating this soup?  Why am I going to bed now?  For the last few days, my internal voice has sounded a lot like a toddler.

The answers are often difficult to find, but that's okay.  If I don't know the answer, I set it aside and return to it when I do my sitting meditation, not to analyze it but just to be with it.  And answers are starting to appear.

Once you know why you're acting as you are, I think changes will occur naturally.  You won't need force of will to stop the worry (that's sure to fail anyway).  Instead, you'll come to realize that you're not getting the specific benefit you hoped (deep down) to get.   You'll start to see that you could get that benefit in another way.  Or maybe that you no longer want or need it. 

I've only spent a few days with toddler mind, and already I'm starting to feel a change.  It's something I hope to continue for the rest of my life.  Why?  I'll have to meditate on that later.

The rain finally stopped yesterday, and though it's still a little cold, I went to the park and felt the earth, finally, beneath my bare feet.

It's been so long!  There are many tree-lined streets in Berkeley, many lush flowering yards and gardens--plenty of 'nature' to look at, but so little to touch unless you go to the parks.  And with the rain, the trails have been too muddy to hike without damaging them, same for the grassy fields.  So I've lived, in my shoes, on the pavement or in my third-floor condo, barefoot on the carpet, doing my best to stay connected to the ground. 

It wasn't until I took off my shoes yesterday morning (and again today. So wonderful!)  and did qigong in the grass that I realized how much I had lost touch.  It was beautiful, glorious, happy.  Mud!  Grass!  Trees!  Breath!  Intoxicating.

For the last several days, I've been asking myself why I'm doing whatever it is i'm doing.  For me, this usually means asking myself why I'm worrying or analyzing.  It's turned out that I most often don't know why my mind is spinning the way it is, and sitting with it in meditation has yielded few answers so far, but an interesting thing has happened.  In continually asking 'Why am I doing X?', a pattern of Xs has appeared.

Namely, it seems I'm very often preparing to fight, or I'm preparing to defend myself in a fight.  I replay past conversations in my head over and over (something I already knew I did), tweaking them so that the other person voices their criticism of me and I can counter with some defense (something I didn't know I did). 

I also play out future conversations, such as those surrounding upcoming appointments and events, in much the same way.  And I do this over and over and over.  It's quite fascinating, really, to watch this going on without judging it.  I'm not sure what I'll do with this knowledge, probably nothing purposeful.  I think I'll just keep watching and see how things change on their own.

The park by my house is a wonderful place.  I was sitting there reading this afternoon and ended up talking to someone new.  I felt a kinship with him right away, much as I've felt with many zaadzsters since joining. 

He is the owner of spaceshare.com, a new business with the motto: "less cars. more community."  I certainly agree with that.   If you'd like more information, or if you'd like to volunteer, check out his website. 

I imagine you'll be seeing him around Zaadz before long, as well, but if not, he's certainly shares this community's spirit and could use our help.

Thank you to everyone who reads my blog.  It's wonderful to feel supported in sharing my thoughts.

I'm going to be doing an intensive yoga teacher training for the next several weeks, so I won't be around Zaadz much.  I'll check in when I get a chance, however, so if anyone wants to get in touch with me, feel free to send me an email.

See you again in June.

Maile