Caitlin Candee
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At this moment, not really. Which is a little strange because offering meditation instruction during this class feels reasonably good. I feel comfortable with the basic instructions, the mindfulness of body, breath, and thoughts. But somehow offering it outside of class feels intimidating. I think there’s safety and structure that the class provides, that doesn’t exist out in the ‘real world’. I worry that my personal practice isn’t strong/consistent enough, and I’m sort of faking all of it. My anxiety here feels a little fragile, and possibly overly self-centric. An idea from earlier in the course, that I’m just here to help someone discover a practice, feels simpler, less fraught.
The paramita of generosity is the one that feels the most poignant to me right now, possibly because it feels elusive. The idea that “feeling connected to your own sense of richness is the secret to generosity” feels very true, particularly because I’m feeling a little short on richness and a little short on generosity. When I look for generosity and richness, I currently find a sense of depletion and fatigue. And when I sit with those, underneath there is some grief and broken-heartedness. I think somewhere under there is the path back to humanness and richness.
It seems to me that richness and gratitude are quite interlinked. At times I have been aware that gratitude is a muscle that can be strengthened with practice, and I think richness might be as well. My richness comes from delight and connection. Taking risks, seeing people, letting myself be seen. There’s something about the defensive posture of late that is precluding the openness required to recognize and celebrate those things.
It feels bizarre to write something so vulnerable as a blog post, but I think it’s probably a good thing <3It was a little nerve-wracking, but it also felt good. It felt like a new way to practice with someone, be in community with someone, which is an honor.
I noticed some self-consciousness, around wanting my partner to have a good experience, so that I would be perceived well. Then feeling a bit sheepish about that feeling important, and trying to loosen the grasp on wanting to be perceived as good at this, and relying on the idea that my value/skill isn’t the important thing here, the usefulness/centrality of the practice is the important thing. The idea that my partner might be having a great time, or might not be, and those can both be useful — and I’m actually not an important part of that.
I liked trying to weave together offering instruction and remembering my own practice. Letting the above self-consciousness just be ‘thinking’ and coming back to focus on the practice. It feels like ‘the practice’ joins the ‘breath’ as the point of focus. It felt like a pretty intense practice session, where I could feel the nerves and self-consciousness rise and recede.
I grew up in a Unitarian church, which pulls from a variety of religions and lineages. In my adulthood, I’ve been moved by teachings from Tara Brach, Pema Chodron, Robina Courtin, Thich Nhat Hahn, and Jess Morey, among others. I have been honored to see the Dalai Lama give teachings, and taken refuge with Lama Zopa Rinpoche. I’ve learned from the writings of authors like Elizabeth Gilbert, Glennon Doyle, and Brene Brown, who aren’t strictly spiritual leaders, but have been important in my journey.
There is an interesting dynamic for me with a lot of these, because they are people I don’t have personal relationships with. Previously that might have made me reluctant to name them as my lineage, but I’m getting more comfortable with the idea that if wisdom from these teachers has impacted me and my life, that IS a real genuine link, regardless of if they know me. I think that is one of the challenges with modern study of Buddhism, the widespread interest and democratization of access to the teachings (both wonderful things) have increased dramatically, while access to teachers has not.
I really like the feeling that lineage conveys a certain sense of ownership. Teachings and wisdom and vows have been passed down through generations, and when I learned/experienced them, they also began to belong to me. In a world conscious of intellectual property, it feels unintuitive and a little subversive to say, ‘yes, these belong to me now, too’, but I think the practice of learning, thinking about, and applying the teachings truly does make them a part of us.My understanding is that eternalism presupposes some permanence, some eternal soul, some unchanging self. I do believe in some sort of ultimate, universal goodness. Something bigger than ourselves, some common sentience. Like the metaphor, my consciousness is a drop of water, waiting to rejoin the ocean. Is that the same as eternalism? Is the difference in the individuality of it?
My understanding is that nihilism thinks ‘this is all there is’, or that nothing exists unless it can be seen or experienced or proven. Which honestly seems scary to live in to me… the idea that this is all there is, that reality is constrained by what the human brain can conceive. There’s such a loneliness in that. Somehow this feels like teenager years and existential dread to me.
My understanding of the ‘middle way’ is that things are interdependent and changing. Not being eternalistic means things aren’t independent, as then they wouldn’t be affected by other things, they wouldn’t change. Not be nihilistic means things are real, things matter.
I am still working on defining in my own brain, they both sound simple and make my head spin!
The distinction between supporting discovery and teaching feels important to me. Where ‘teaching’ requires an expertise or a mastery within the teacher, ‘supporting discovery’ allows the wisdom and magic to live in the practice. There’s freedom in that, because it loosens the grip on insecurity and ego about a lack of mastery (about a thing that I’m not clear can be ‘mastered’) and allows for curiosity and exploration to be engaged in together.
I’m thinking more about the importance of the container for discovery. It should have a start, it should have a structure, it should have an end. It should be a place of openness and wisdom and rigor. The container allows for the curious exploration to take place.Hi, all!
I’m Caitlin. I’m originally from the Bay Area, California, but live in Washington DC now. I’ve been practicing/studying for about 10 years now, mostly in the Tibetan and insight traditions.
I’m excited to be participating and looking forward to practicing with you all <3
My email is cscandee@gmail.com.
Caitlin