Last night, I dreamed about rocks falling from the sky. During the night a storm would lift them up and shoot them into the sky. They left trails of red sparks behind them. During the day, they fell down.
Yesterday, I meditated with Zen Soto folks. The teacher gave a talk about Zen ancestors. Towards the end, I thought that I knew nothing about my great-grandmother. I thought about how quickly I too will be forgotten. And how I wished I knew something about my family’s past generations. Nobody talks about them anymore. My great-grandmother died when I was small. I wish I remembered her. And then I heard the teacher saying to the group: “You are still being nourished by the meal your great-grandmother cooked for you.” I kid you not.
Also, yesterday, while driving, I looked up in the sky. It had this blue color that reminded me of Boys for Pele album cover. Like the sky on the last or on the first day of summer when I was small. I felt sad. But then I remembered that the gorgeous blue is just a result of light being scattered by the Earth’s atmosphere and human eyes being able to pick up that particular light’s wavelength. I felt cheated.
I seem to be coping better with the stress in work. I owe this to my practice. My Sunday sitting filled me with joy. It happens to me more and more. When I notice how absurd, mundane, boring, predictable, repetitive and fleeting my thoughts are, I just can’t help but feel relief.
I know how unoriginal and childish this blog is. So I have decided to, for once, write something original and revealing. So yesterday, I had to bring my daughter to the doctor. In the waiting room, I picked up a plastic toy lying on the table. I pressed a button but nothing happened. “Typical” – I thought to myself. “Those toys never work. They always have empty batteries. Probably from the constant use by the kids waiting for their appointments.”
Bad At Being Still 