meditation and ice cream

Tonight, driving home from meditation (well, meditation and ice cream, because it was the last night in the old Kadampa Buddhism space), I told E I started a blog today (I did start one earlier, but it was false and I’ve just started again), and she said, “Why?” And I said (“Because everyone else is doing it?”) … (“Because I filled the last page in my black and white composition book today so I may as well try journaling online?”) … (“Because I feel a desperate need to make a half-assed effort to connect with humanity?”) … “I don’t know,” I said. “Why not”?

“Hmph,” she said.

We agreed that we both felt better after meditation. E felt less frustration with home life. I felt less self-loathing. The possibility of shedding your self-centered burden of guilt for something else, I can't put my finger on it right now, was presented.

Kedreb, the monk who leads the class, talked about exchanging self with others. Not your whole personality, but the object of your intentions. Instead of self-cherishing, cherishing others to the point of meditating on their good as your object. During the meditation part, I tried to focus on the good of those around me. The blond woman in the front row. The guy with the long hair and small goatee, E. First I thought, so instead of meditating on my own petty desires and fears, I’m concentrating on theirs? How does that help anything? And then I felt like I could sort of see this abstract, amorphous “good” floating above us all, that we all yearn to be part of, call it what we will. That worked, and I started seeing larger circles of people—everyone in the room, and their lovers and families and friends, everyone in Chicago, including the dryer repair guy who was curt with me yesterday, and his girlfriend, who called him every two minutes while he was at my house, and the receptionist at the air conditioning place who tried to sell me on their exorbitant “flat rate” repair deal (I have a lot of repair issues going on right now; i won't mention the toilet or the car), and her family, and my family, and D—(do I worry enough about his welfare? Or just what I want from him?), and then everyone in Illinois – Barack Obama, and the governor, and the people downstate, and then the country, which of course led to George Bush, and I began to feel it’s interesting to see everyone in this way, and that you don’t have to approve of them to want their good. Or, it could all be nonsense, like saving up kisses from your dad when he puts you to sleep. Then we all went out for ice cream.

During ice cream, I talked with J, an actor who went Equity three years ago and hasn't worked much since. (That happens in Chicago a lot.) He wants to direct. THird time today I was reminded of the lesson I hopefully learned in the last production: the best thing I can do as a director is to size up the current situation thoughtfully and truthfully, and adjust my plans and priorities accordingly. You have to realize you either have the artistic vision or not, you can't much change that. But you can and must learn to see better, to adapt to situations without feeling you're being put out by changes or problems, or you'll always be reliving the last thing you should have done.

All the same, I should have gotten the turtle sundae instead of the regular sundae. It comes with candied pecans, and mine didn't even have peanuts.