Mary Pitz
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I found it very humbling to give instruction. After hearing the instructions for several years, I thought it would just sort of flow easily. Hahaha! I felt like I rushed through, quickly firing off some random directions, but then left a great deal out. Now I know to pace myself more, pause in between instructions. Pretty sure I completely left out the part about eyes and gaze completely. If my partner had truly been a beginner, I’m not sure I provided sufficient information.
I was happy that I remembered at least a bit of the tree imagery, as I find it so helpful.
I was uncertain about how much to actually say during the actual meditation period, so I stayed quiet. I think now that a gentle reminder to simply come back to the breath if you get lost in thought is helpful, so next time I will include that if it seems appropriate. I was also concerned about my own meditation leading me to forget to watch the time, so I checked it constantly—I’m hoping that with practice I’ll develop a better feel for that.
I liked Susan’s suggestion to start at the bottom, then build up from there. Having a mental picture of the body from the cushion up can be a checklist I always have with me.
Hi MaryBeth–
The 20 minutes seemed long at first to me too; even though I often sit at least that long, the one-on-one nature made it seem a bit daunting, but it wasn’t at all.
I was very impressed with your delivery of the instructions. You didn’t seem to be mimicking Susan, rather you sounded like you had an excellent grasp a technique and could explain it clearly and sincerely! It was lovely to sit with you this first time.Hi Joe–
You’ve made an interesting point about the difference between giving instruction over Zoom versus in-person. Now I’m anxious to try an in-person instruction to see how it differs!Hi Elizabeth–
That is wonderful–the Pema Tigers! Isn’t it amazing that you were able to connect, and then also find a group who shares that connection. It’s hard not to think something else is going on. I moved not long ago and *somehow* stumbled headlong into a group of women who ostensibly get together weekly to draw and do watercolor, but it’s become so much more very quickly. The universe nudges us sometimes.Hi Rosie–
You’ve brought up something I hadn’t realized until I was writing my own essay, and you stated it so clearly: learning best from women Buddhists. I believe that’s one reason that I’ve stayed with it, and why the connection seems so strong. The religion of my youth simply had no place for me. I look forward to looking into some of the books you’ve mentioned!
And your profile picture is wonderful–yes knitting is it’s own form of meditation for which I am grateful.I was relieved the first time I heard Susan talk about lineage, and made it clear that our lineage is personal and is not limited to only our Buddhist teachers. That made it much more meaningful!
I was a member of a Shambhala sangha for several years, so my lineage includes Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. Also those whose works I’ve read, the Dalai Lama and Thich That Hanh.
Pema Chodron’s works have helped me through very difficult times, particularly the admonition to “lean into the pain” when all I want is to make the hurt go away. She imbues her teachings with such warmth and humor and humanity that it’s infectious.
I also include Sharon Salzburg, who I read very early on, and whose description of Basic Goodness set me on a whole new path. And of course, Susan Piver, who makes all of this real and a part of daily life.
I’ve always felt a strong connection to Our Lady of Guadalupe, especially now, when compassion is so desperately needed. (Her statue watches over our yard—-she made the trip from Socorro, New Mexico seat-belted in the back of a Honda. I’m sure it was a sight.)
And my grandmother Jennie, also a shining example of compassion and kindness. I don’t have a statue of her, but she deserves one. It would include a pie.I definitely have more experience with eternalism than nihilism. I grew up in a large Catholic family and went to parochial school. We went to church every Sunday and sometimes before school during the week as well. It was the 1970s, and what I recall being taught at home and school I describe as “social-justice Catholicism”–take care of those less fortunate, feed the poor, racism is a sin, everyone was created in God’s image so we’re all equal. Lots of folk music too.
But as I learned more the questions began–why do I have to go to confession if I’m being watched all the time anyway? Why could women only be nuns? And then the big one: original sin. Even as a kid, I couldn’t get my head around that. However, I’m very grateful that I did have something to ground me and never stopped thinking there had to be “something.”My late husband was more of a nihilist. Very logical, the show-me-your-proof type. I especially remember one animated discussion when we had to stop in the middle, as we realized we were both using the same ‘evidence’ to argue opposing sides (me that there was “something”; him that nope, this is it). We laughed, but of course neither of us backed down. He was also one of the most hopeful and optimistic people I’ve known–I’m not sure why, but I found that ironic.
Hello Vy–
What a unique opportunity you’ve had, to see several different viewpoints from an early age. I especially liked the way you’ve summed it all up–comfort with “uncertainty, mystery and magic.” And it sounds like, open to whatever might come your way next!Yes Melanie–the beginner’s mindset! Your image of the tool kit is very fitting; there is no one technique or teaching that can be effective or stand on its own without the others.
The tools most important to support discovery seem to be openness, presence, and consistency.
Openness, as in listening to and truly hearing the questions and concerns a student has, without judging or immediately formulating my own response or rebuttal (as I often catch myself doing–I’m working on it!) before they’ve even finished.
A calm and thoughtful presence also encourages discovery, rather than an approach that implies that I have the answer, and they must guess it like a riddle.
Consistency too. The instructions are the same every time. Every. single. time. This seemed repetitive to me in the beginning but then became helpful–I could focus on my breath rather than trying to trying to figure out whether a different instruction was a new thing or a rephrasing of something I was already familiar with.