Yesterday morning, I tried using agave nectar in place of maple syrup on pancakes and expected to be disappointed, but it was very good. If I didn’t have three-quarters of a bottle of maple syrup in the refrigerator, I would have gone ahead and used agave nectar on all the pancakes.
It wasn’t quite up to the job when it came to a cup of very strong black tea, however. The tea was generally sweet with two tablespoons of agave nectar in it (about the amount of sugar I usually use), but retained a bitter edge. I had to go ahead and add my usual amount of sugar, too. (Then it was sweet, all right.) Agave nectar has a lower glycemic index, by far, than other sweeteners, for those who are interested in such things. Supposedly you can use it in baking.
In the evening I watched The Air I Breathe, which was much more violent than I had expected. I wanted to see it because Kevin Bacon is in it, but the star attraction turned out to be Brendan Fraser, in the role of a brooding enforcer who can see the future.
Last Sunday evening, Eugene took questions, as he often does, and I had my hand raised so I could ask this question: How do you tell a “just a thought” from a “this would be good to do”? For instance, if I have the thought, “Maybe I should rob a bank,” it’s pretty easy to tell that’s a thought that shouldn’t be acted upon. (Of course, I haven’t ever had that thought spontaneously. Maybe it will prove to be more persuasive than I think when it happens.)
I believe that current conditions could not be otherwise, given the causes that came before, but I sometimes fear being too passive and failing to do something that actually would be a good thing to do and that I will or would regret not doing, such as move back to Ann Arbor.
I never got to ask my question, but as has happened before, Eugene's answer to someone else’s question answered mine: I realized I have framed the situation incorrectly.
“Should I move to Ann Arbor or not?” is the wrong question. “Why can’t I make this decision?” is even wronger. Here’s the right question: “Can I have compassion for myself in this situation of not being able to make a decision?”
I have ordered seven Todd Rundgren CDs from Amazon, and I bought one from iTunes that Amazon didn’t have: Runt: The Ballad of Todd Rundgren. I knew there was at least one excellent Todd Rundgren song that isn’t on Anthology—“Hurting for You,” from Hermit of Mink Hollow—but wondered if it would turn out that once you have Anthology plus “Hurting for You,” you have all of Todd Rundgren’s good songs, but I listened to Runt: The Ballad of Todd Rundgren today while I made Black Bean Ful from Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant and was knocked out by several very beautiful songs. Todd Rundgren is a genius.
I think you could face any grievous experience life could offer if you have Todd Rundgren’s music. Anthology alone would probably do the trick. Todd understands, from the very bottom of his heart.
I just got back from Eugene’s Sunday night sitting group and hope it isn’t hubris or something to say I feel really, really, really good. If I ascend to heaven tonight, let the record reflect that my last night on earth was very, very happy. I hope it wears off before I give every cent I have to orphans in India. I feel that good.
I have two friends at Eugene’s whom I’ve known for a long time, probably since the early or mid-1990s, because they used to go to Howie’s sitting group, too. Quite some time ago, they started going to Eugene’s instead, and it’s been nice to see them there.
The male half of this couple is named David, and I have noticed more than once that I have had a particularly deep meditation when sitting next to him. Last week, I was sitting right behind them, and after we were done meditating, David noticed me and said, “Were you right behind us the whole time? No wonder my sit was so good.”
Tonight they were going to sit in front of me again, but this time I got up and sat next to them. I joked that we could see if our meditations were good, and if not, I’d try sitting behind them again next week, and if that proved to be better, the week after that, I’d stay home entirely.
It turned out my meditation tonight was incredible, as good as it gets outside an actual retreat. I didn’t mention that right afterwards, nor inquire how David’s had been—I thought it might sound a little weird to ask, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Consequently, I was very ready to be powerfully rocked by everything Eugene said, and I was. He talked about how some of the Spirit Rock teachers spent time with Ajahn Sumedho this week. I don’t really think of myself as a Buddhist, even though I’ve been practicing Buddhist meditation since 1991, and I couldn’t have told you what lineage I belong to, or anything of that sort, though I do sort of think of Jack Kornfield as the spiritual father of all of us in the Bay Area, but tonight I found out, and suddenly it was meaningful to me, and suddenly I felt that I might like to be a Buddhist, though I hope I don’t go around saying, “Well, because I’m a Buddhist, blah blah blah.”
It’s funny how these joyous sorts of feelings, or feelings of devotion, are so naturally coupled with a strong sense of gratitude and a desire to share. I wished everyone in the room, everyone in the world, could be as happy as I was tonight. Some of the people in the room looked like they were that happy. It is really a great thing to meditate with a bunch of people. Hats off to Eugene for creating such a thriving community.
I think meditation in general has made me happier and happier as the years have passed, and turning my focus from vipassana to samatha practice has been a definite uptick, and using the technique of what Eugene calls “whole body breathing” has been the icing on the cake.
I attended Eugene’s daylong class on this at Spirit Rock a few months ago, and it has made a huge difference in my practice and in my life. This week a five-week class on this subject will begin; it will finish with another daylong, and all of this will be in San Francisco, fortunately. I am really looking forward to it. David’s wife is going to be in the class, too.
Eugene told us about a California wedding he attended this week, two artists, the wedding put on by all of their artist friends, and how a woman of perhaps 80 from the Midwest came up to him and said, “We didn’t have weddings like this when I got married,” but she recalled standing in a shaft of light during her own wedding; she said she could remember that numinous moment like it was yesterday. That made me cry, to think of that woman standing in that beam of light, and how she can still see it so clearly all these decades later.
Maybe everyone’s sitting was as great as mine, or maybe Eugene was really at the top of his game, because when the evening was over, the woman to my left said, “Wow, that was a really great talk. That was really satisfying!” And, as it happens, David, to my right, said his meditation, like mine, was incredible, so we decided we’ll sit together next week, just as an experiment, and agreed that if it’s no good, there won’t be any bitter recriminations. No swearing. Certainly no fisticuffs.
(If you don't meditate, I'm pretty sure you can get this exact same feeling by watching the YouTube video of Gino Vannelli singing "One Night with You.")
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