Grateful

It has been a full week.  I have been reflecting upon the past several years a lot this week, which is only to be expected.  The 24th was my seventh marriage anniversary and we celebrated it by hanging out at home and discussing our impending divorce.  AM has been so open, understanding and supporting of wanting me to be who I really am.  It has provided space for him to be honest about his feelings of disappointment, dissatisfaction in our relationship.  It has been sad in that regard, mostly because it is painful to change even when it is for the better.

I have been nursing a persistent ache in my left shoulder.  It occurred to CK and I last weekend that it is the arm I injured last spring, playing on the swings.  I'd went to jump off and caught a finger in the chain, wrenching the entire arm and shoulder.  I've taken most of the week off of doing yoga, especially anything weight bearing on my arms.  I'm icing the shoulder, which helps it. After teaching my beginning asana class today I find my lower back and hips ache; they have not appreciated the break.

I've been able to spend the past two days with CK, reconnecting after her being visiting home for the week.  While she was away I was aware of the ways in which she has become part of my life; the ways in which I felt her absence from the space in my life.  I found myself feeling anxious about my age, about my physical pain.  I've been aware the past week how often I feel so young, but I'm aware of the aging of my body and afraid I won't be able to be a good partner to CK.  Last night this fear bubbled out of me as I lay next to her.  Through her feeling ill from a terrible headache she offered reassurance and understanding.

She's across the room from me reading right now.  We've spent the day in close company.  It is easier to feel open around her now.  I'm starting to feel like I can relax into the spaciousness, the connection between us.  It is this constant back and forth still -- I feel myself pull away, resist trusting this love, and then remind myself again and again that it is OK.  

CB asked us all at dinner at Great Vow Zen Monastery on Thursday what we were grateful for.  I first noted how much Great Vow means to me, what a refuge it is in my life and how cared for I feel when I am there.  I also said how grateful I am for the people in my life who are open and compassionate to me, who encourage my growth and support me.

AM who is supporting me by wanting us to get divorced so we can both more wholeheartedly pursue who we really are.  It is strange in a way to call this support, but it feels that way.  He isn't calling me names or bad mouthing me, like my ex-husband of nearly 9 years ago does.  Instead he is trying to find a way to make sure everyone knows that we're doing this because we need to, that it will improve our friendship ultimately.

CK who wants to support my teaching yoga, being a freelance project manager and analyst so I have the time to do workshops.  Who likes to snuggle up with me and talk about raising children together; something that moves me to tears and fills me with such abiding wonder.  She expends energy on being observant, very thoughtful, and encouraging me to be silly.  With her I feel as though several truths have finally been revealed and I understand myself more deeply.

Open, Deep Places

Tonight I am up late. I've been cooking quite a lot and picked up one of my dearest friends from the airport at 9:45PM, in from San Francisco. Then cooked some more.

CK is down in Sacramento and I miss her. I know I've written something like this before. I remember being aware of missing her when she was home in July, but this feels different. She has commented noticing the same thing. How she didn't feel this way even just a couple of weeks ago.

Over the past few weeks our relationship has moved into a new place. In trying to put my mind to it the place it seems as though we have lost some of the urgency that is felt during a new relationship. In the place of the insistent sensations of want and uncertainty there is a feeling like moving into a deep, open space.

Another memory of swimming, this came to mind while thinking about the more open place my relationship with CK is now --

Before my third year of college I was teaching swimming, canoeing, kayaking, and synchronized swimming at a girls camp in central Oregon. On a day off I hiked over the ridge from the camp to a small lake a couple of miles away. The day was tremendously hot and the sun bright in a dark blue sky. There was no one else at the lake, I walked all the way around it and there was not another person to be seen. The water was still, dark and clear.

In the quiet I slid out of my clothing and slipped, naked into the cool water of the lake. Not my usual behavior, but I felt entirely at ease. My inspection of the shore, the other trails leading to the lake, had left me feeling safe to just enjoy the water alone.

I did breaststroke out several feet from shore, using a very causal, quiet form as to not break the silence. Then I floated, gazing up at the sky, pine trees at the edges. It was so quiet. Nothing but a slight breeze, an occasional bird, and the sound of lake water against my ears.

Anniversaries

I remember RC saying to me that he felt that anniversaries are more important in our lives than birthdays. We weren't party to the choice of our birthday, we just arrived for it. But anniversaries often mark an event we choose or an event significant to the lives we're a part of. I reflect upon the years I've been teaching yoga, the times my Father and my Dad each died, the first few times CK and I went out together, and the time when AM and I got married.

Compared to each of these times I can reflect back on the years that have passed. What has changed (much) and what has stayed constant (little) and how I still relate to the anniversaries. Those dates remain fixed in time but I am remain in movement. This autumn and winter marks the 8th year since my Dad died, the 7th year since my Father died (just a little over a week ago), the 7th year since AM & I got married, the 3rd year I've been teaching yoga, the 3rd year I've been practicing at Zen Community of Oregon, and one year I've been seeing CK.

The next year will be full of changes. All of these anniversaries will remain, perhaps a couple of new ones added, however the way I relate to each of them will have changed. Next year I will not be taking CK to the airport to share the holiday with her family -- either I will be with her or she will remain here and will creating new anniversaries and traditions. I find myself really excited at this thought and that helps offset the undercurrent of crankiness that has been there since I kissed her good-bye at the terminal.

Shossan

Last night it felt like the words were still percolating down through the layers to be able to write about them. Tonight it seems like there is more space between them and writing.

Shossan was done last night after zazen. Like sanzen, it is a chance to get to ask the teacher a question about your practice. Unlike sanzen, which is done in a room, privately with only your teacher and you, shossan is done in the zendo, standing, in front of the entire sangha. It provides the opportunity for everyone to share in the teaching being given.

First of all, I tried very hard to not practice questions in my head while sitting zazen. "Just be in the body, feeling the breath in the body.", I reminded myself when I found myself rehearsing. And it didn't go too bad. I felt some of the stillness of zazen settle around me like a blanket.

When shossan started I tried to be attentive to the sangha members, the questions they asked, Hogen's responses. When the row I was sitting in was given the indication that anyone with questions could get in line, I got up with a question in mind.

Even now it is gone. I stood a few steps behind the teacher's bowing mat, tried to be attentive to the person in front of me. That's gone now too. I moved forward when it was my turn, bowed to Hogen and went blank. The nice, safe, un-revealing question I had in mind was gone.

So I went back to a question I've had for a few weeks. I've not asked it in the past two sanzens I've had because I've been focused on the immediate change occurring in my life, but this question is what came out of the quiet anxiety I felt at realizing my question was gone.

When I talked to Hogen about the shame I felt coming up, what to do with it when I had checked out and knew I was making an ethical choice. This shame feels like some awful echo again. When it and some of the fear come up I tell myself again and again that it is nothing but old emotions, feelings that were unsafe for me to experience during the events that created them, ghosts. I try to send myself compassion, loving-kindness, and stay in the present.

These things feel like they get between myself. Last year's Ango was around the theme from a Teisho from Maezumi, "Close the gap between yourself and yourself." Hogen also had me practice with learning to have more pride for my achievements.

This Ango arrived and I felt like I was still working on the gaps. I try to assimilate what happened during my childhood, acknowledge that I had been so afraid and hurt. When I try to think of some of the things as part of who I am my mind just stops. It doesn't want to move into those spaces. It stops cold at the precipice and says, "Everything but this."

Hogen told me to be patient with myself. To stop expecting myself to be done with this already and feeling like I'm not making progress. There isn't a time line for my way on the path. He focused on one of the other of the Paramitas for me, shaki which translates to peace, patience.

It isn't that I'm judging these things unfairly. There's no way they can be looked at without expressing sorrow that I experienced them. I try to picture myself as that child and recall as much love for her as I can. It is reasonable that I judge what hurt me as a child as bad.

To be patient with letting the scope of my childhood fear surface and be acknowledged, that feels like the practice Hogen was talking about. To not rush these emotions off and want to be done with them already. To treat them with loving-kindness, again and again if necessary, until those emotions feel comforted and quiet down.

Fear with Fear

This morning CK and I were walking to MAX to ride into downtown to our respective offices. We had fallen asleep the night before talking about the anxiety felt around all the changes going on. How close we are now and how there is fear that living together full time might compromise that. As we walked the topic resurfaced and CK noted that I wasn't participating.

In part I was just trying to listen, be present and open to her feelings. However, I was also very mindful of the fear I felt rising up inside of me. I was feeling unable to respond to her anxiety without the voice of my fear rising to the top. I didn't want to respond to fear with fear so I was silent.

Finally I just told CK what I was feeling. That I felt afraid of the changes hurting our relationship and was trying to keep silent until I could respond from love and compassion instead of that fear. As I spoke to her I was aware that I wasn't sure it was the best thing to say. I felt relieved at her positive response and that she appreciated knowing why I was silent.

I am sure at times my silence must feel like withdrawal and at times it is, when I pull myself around my pain and shut down to the world. At times, most times now I am just trying to run through all the routines I've developed to keep my anxiety in check, being mindful of the precepts, and trying to find words, hopefully skillful ones.

Since this mental activity is a new tool I'm trying to use for my PTSD I never gave any thought to it being worth sharing with someone what was going on inside my silence.

Off Balance

More than anything I feel entirely off balance. I feel anxious but not entirely connected to anything other than the sudden, large changes coming. Although I was surprised at AM's quick decision to move us both into a new life, separate, he's not wrong.

I remember swimming off the coast near Newport, at Beverly Beach or South Beach maybe. I was 14, maybe 15 -- one of those moments where I can't quite place the actual year. We were camping nearby with family from Washington. My cousins, both scuba divers and strong swimmers, and I were out past the first line of swells so we could catch waves forming to body surf in. The surf was huge and pounding that summer's day.

I had turned to look back at shore for a moment when a wave caught me in the back of my neck and shoulders. The force of it pushed me into the sand and rocks a few feet below the surface. I could feel the riptide grab on to me and I tumbled backwards across the ocean floor.

Salt water burns the eyes and I didn't have goggles on that day. We were just body surfing and goofing off. I kept my eyes pressed tightly closed as I staggered and fell, tumbled and was pulled along. It was impossible to get my bearings, to actually know which way was really up.

So I opened my eyes and looked for bubbles, where the sand was, turned my body around until my feet were below me, and pushed up off of the sand. Breaking the surface I could see how far I'd been pulled out. My eyes ached and burned, I was crying as I breathed in huge gulps of air.

After a few minutes of treading water I swam back to shore. As I stood to walk to my stuff I felt heavy and flopped down onto my towel exhausted. I lay on my belly breathing hard, feeling my heard pounding against my ribs, listening to the roar of the ocean.

I never told any of them, especially my Mother. I feared that, having confirmed my swimming out so far was dangerous, I'd have that pleasure forbidden me.

Since Sunday I've had some memory of that, being pulled along, buffeted by the tide, and at a loss to where my balance is. I am trying to keep my eyes open for the truth.

Sudden

I was unprepared for things to go they way they've gone. At first I thought I was merely asking for space, acknowledging that I didn't think I would change back into someone who felt the same level of passion.

AM is checking into housing. He spoke to the manager at our bank today and got advice on the steps we'll have to take disconnect our finances, our shared accounts. He feels excited, nervous, worried, and glad we are taking this step. He talks about what things he would like to keep when he moves, where he would like to move.

I still feel stunned at the sudden nature of the change. I thought we might keep the relationship going longer, but I really didn't feel like things would get better. I didn't expect AM to fully agree and set things in motion quickly. Part of me was so busy bracing for anger that I didn't expect harmony in situation known for acrimony.

Tonight I was sitting by the fireplace knitting a scarf for CK's mom. I had a moment of thinking of her there, sitting near me reading aloud to us by a fire. It was a good thought, I noted it and just enjoyed it without the worry and guilt swirling around it.