Sue Ellen

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  • in reply to: Week 4 Essay #81840
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    A current concern in my life is the daily dance of accommodating my husband’s mental and physical decline as he ages, given that I, too, am aging. His memory and problem solving skills are spotty, his mobility is challenging. He perseverates on topics and tasks, with much fruitless repetition and often distress. This guy was a professional engineer, an energetic and passionate father, a loving partner. Yes, oh yes, the second of the Four Reminders breathes down our necks. There is no time to waste. I have always felt that I might die at the same age my mother and grandmother died, 86. That is only ten years away. And yet, I am well aware that either of us could be gone in a blink.

    Interestingly, my husband’s anxiety about death propelled us to make and prepay our arrangements with a local funeral home. He seemed much happier knowing that he felt in control of that and that I would not be burdened should he die first. If I died first, he would be in a pickle. Our sons would rally and make kind decisions for his well being, but he would be very lonely and as he has said, would feel that half of him had died. There is a missing bit here in his thinking – he seems not to have a feeling that time here is not to be wasted, since he turns away from potentially enjoyable activities.

    In the beautiful book, Making Friends with Death by Judith Lief, there is a phrase that has stuck with me: “Cultivating an awareness of death is at the same time cultivating an awareness of life.” I find that so comforting. I find that any striving for virtuous behavior in hopes of some positive karma somewhere down the line is counterproductive. Being genuine, sincere, trustworthy and kind without expectation of reward speaks to me.

    As far as the fourth of the Reminders, that is a tough one. I do like the idea of love creating the ground for suffering, but as translated by Sokuzan, “The homes, friends, wealth and comforts of samsara are the constant torment of the three sufferings.” Whew. That sounds harsh. And yet, these things, too, are impermanent. I love the idea of impermanence in general – it leads to fully cherishing joys while also riding waves of difficulty. So here and now, maybe the good days of laughing together are to be cherished, and the hard days of disorientation and discouragement can be born because they, too, will slip away.

    in reply to: Week 2 Essay #81741
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    Lacey, your description of an environment in temporary chaos reminded me that a shrine is not a static thing. It expands and contracts with our lives, and can be as simple as attention given to a space, even if that changes.

    in reply to: Week 2 Essay #81740
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    Betsy, your shrine seems so beautifully personal, populated with mementos of the special relationships in your life. “Stuff” can be simply attractive doodads, but your assortment seems bathed in love – especially the plastic alligator! We love the people in our lives as they are, and as they were in a shared past that’s meaningful to us.

    in reply to: Week 3 Essay #81733
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    After much consideration, the teacher with whom I yearn to talk is my grandfather. I was privileged to grow up in his household and to know him for a very long time, until his death at 97. I adored him and he cherished me, his only grandchild. We spent many hours together, sometimes telling stories, sometimes just being in the same space – me curled up with my book in a cozy chair, him grading papers. I saw him as a genius, a guru, the person who I wanted to emulate. I will abbreviate him as “G,” and me as “S.”
    S: I have lived 30 years since we said goodbye, and feel almost as unsure and bumbling through life as I did then. How did you get so wise?
    G: I always felt unsure, often bumbling – it’s the human way. I just did the best I could with the moment, at the age I was, with my skills at the time.
    S: I screwed up so badly, so many times. I hurt people. I hurt myself. I feel so guilty.
    G: Yes, you did. I did, too. Your mother, my dear only daughter, did as well. Each time, we were afraid, sometimes of loss, sometimes of overwhelm. Each mess up brought each of us to a different place, like a surging wave.
    S: But the guilt? The regret, the remorse, and sense of being a f**kup?
    G: Those harsh feelings were like the debris field after a shipwreck. Nothing could change what had already happened, the flotsam washed around until it was gently submerged or landed on a shore. The ship was no more, but the shore was still there, the water cleared. I regretted many things I’d done and felt ashamed for the reasons behind some of my actions, but in the end they led me to a life that included you and your family. There is no way of tracing all of the causes and conditions that brought the present together.
    S: You held me in the chaos of my early life, you kept loving me as I careened through young adulthood, you expressed joy being with me in your later years. Thank you, Grandpa. I love you.
    G: I love you, too, Susie Q.

    in reply to: Week 2 Essay #81565
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    Your thoughtful concern that others might find an atmosphere of peace is a lovely extension of your practice. I have struggled, too, with asking for anything – asking who? Perhaps it is just the asking itself, the holding of intention for the well being of another person, that is the act of bringing the wisdom of lineage as balm for those whom we care about.

    in reply to: Week 2 Essay #81559
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    The first offering that came to mind reminds me of the old Christian hymn, “Just as I am, without one plea.” My Grandpa loved that hymn, and it always reminded me to present myself as I truly am, that it’s fine, my offering of myself, my humble daily life, my aging body and mind – all are just as I am right now. On my little shrine table I have small things that represent all of the members of my family: seashells collected for me by my children (many years ago) in a glass jar, a bronze elephant paperweight from Grandpa’s desk, a little mug mat Granny knitted as a child, a tiny jade elephant my mother brought me from China, a mala made by the woman who gave me the metta prayer, my framed Refuge Vow name given by Susan, and Pema Chodron’s compassion cards. One son gave me an infuser, and I love to smell forest scents. There is a little watercolor I made with one of Sokuzan’s oft-repeated phrases, “The knot of the mind untangles itself in space.”

    And then I ask for blessings by those people, some of whom have died, and by Guan Yin, the Buddha of compassion, whose picture I also have hanging. I have a bit of a struggle with asking blessings, which seems like begging, but perhaps viewing it as inviting these people into my practice feels more welcoming.

    I had intended to set up a kitchen shrine, but am struggling to find a spot that won’t be in the way. I was surprised that I immediately saw that I need a shrine near the cozy corner of a sofa where I curl up and read every day. I placed a special tile for my tea mug on the low table, along with a mug my mother gave me with a few pens and pencils, a small stack of beautiful bookmarks people have made for me, and three books that are special to me. I found an antique copper bookend that I may also include. There is also a crown of thorns plant that I do not like (a mutual feeling), that reminds me of living with suffering. And then, in late March, the daylight is just right and will saucily burst out with two-lipped coral blooms. Just to spite me, I’m sure.

    in reply to: Week 1 Essay #81467
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    What came to mind after the first class is that I really need to take care of Hinayana business in my home practice. I have a small altar, but it’s tucked away a bit. It’s time to rethink the space and how it figures into my daily practice. I do live with the intention of bringing precision and thoughtful priority to an honorable life – to me, the needed foundation for any practice. How can I work for the well being of others if my small life is in disarray?
    The Mahayana is, for me, what Buddhism is all about. What’s the point of existing if it is not to open to others and how to love them? My daily practice is usually shikantaza, a Zen practice, which seems to be all about the intention to be a bodhisattva, saving all beings (quite an aspiration, no?). I am currently reading a thought-provoking book, How To Be Perfect by Michael Schur, which explains a wonderful African concept called “ubuntu.” The idea is that “A person is a person through other people,” the essence of which seems to be something like doing everything we do to improve the entire community. That rang a bell for me since it dovetails with the Buddhist view of interconnectedness, a very Mahayana concept.
    And the Vajrayana – hoo, boy, I cannot even get a handle on that. (My mind always pictures the amazing and eloquent Crystal Gandrud as sort of a Vajrayana priestess.) To quote Susan, “These teachings focus on what you might concern yourself with once your personal life and your heart are in a settled state….” To imagine that my personal life and my heart could ever really by in a settled state is a stretch. The daily coping with samsara does not seem to lend itself to feeling settled, in my experience. Or perhaps that is the point: navigating the storm tossed sea of samsara could be the very state of being settled, riding the waves.
    There is a part of me that sees the Hinayana as the 101 course, foundational and basic, with the Mahayana as the 200 or 300 level courses, and Vajrayana as either the 400 level or grad school. And here I am figuring out Kindergarten!

    in reply to: Welcome! Please introduce yourself. #81371
    Sue Ellen
    Participant

    Greetings from Eagle River, Alaska. My name is Sue May, Shiwa Chotso after taking the Refuge Vow in 2019. I haven’t taken an OHP course in several years, and this one seems like a “boots on the ground” course in taking dharma into everyday life, which continues to have surprises. I think that I am approaching this course in a spirit of curiosity, albeit with an innate skepticism.

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