Fuzzy Fingers of Fungus

 

Fuzzy white fingers of fungus are growing out of a birch log in my wood stack. Aaagh! They're coming to get me!

Part of the fun of Halloween is the thrill of fear that doesn't last too long. Feel the fear of fuzzy fingers growing out of a log.... Coming to get me! Aaaagghhh. (But not really. :) Ha. Ha.

Often, fear is no laughing matter. Fear lodges in our muscles and organs. Fear lodges in our minds, and our neural pathways keep running over the same ruts.

The antidote to fear is friendliness. Loving-friendliness to our self, first of all. And then, if and when we can, to the scary thing. Start with the easy stuff.

I'm feeling loving-friendliness toward white fuzzy fingers of fungus.

Pine Cones

It's a prolific year for pine cones, and i'm collecting bags full of them. A pine cone or two makes starting a fire in the wood stove easy; pine cones are almost as good kindling as fat sticks.

In these political days, it's easy to light the fire of righteousness. What's the matter with those people? Why can't they see things the way i see them?

But the fires of anger, worry, discontent, and even disgust are not dowsed by fighting fire with fire. The fire of fear burns hot. We are afraid of the other side, and they are afraid of us.

The Buddha said: Hatred never ceases by hatred, but by love alone is healed.

We might say: Anger never ceases by more anger, but is healed by kindness alone.

Let's kindle kindness. Let's take the high road and extinguish our own internal fires of fear. 

 

The Fear-Dispelling Buddha

 

With all the political shenanigans going on, i am relying on the fear-dispelling Buddha near my front door.

Who, me? Worry? Well, yes. I find my amydala (Danger! Danger!) is activated by the news.

Yet the fear-dispelling Buddha stands, silently reminding me to let fear go.

His right hand is raised as if to say Stop! Stop that obsessive mind. His left hand is lowered as if to say Drop it. Let it go.

How do you stop the discursive mind? My favorite practice right now is to say--out loud if need be--Cancel. Cancel. Cancel that thought. I don't want to make the rut of that worrying thought any deeper.

Give it a try today. Every time a sad, anxious, or mean thought passes through your mind, simply say Cancel. Cancel. even if you have to say it repeatedly.

I find that Cancel. Cancel. allows me to drop the thought for a second. Let it go. Notice that one second of peace. That's a one-second vacation from the obsessive mind. What a relief!

Scared Katydid

I brought a basil plant indoors to make pesto, and a katydid hopped on to the counter. I managed to capture her, and she wandered around my arm for a minute, but the whole encounter obviously scared the s**t out of her.

Fear is running rampant in our society right now. The question is: Am I going to pick it up? Or am I going to leave it right there--in the TV, on the radio, in the newspaper? I don't have to take it on board.

Yes, it seems like fear arrives in the mind in the middle of the night. That's one reason i have a policy: No mention of politics and no news after sunset. I know what exacerbates fear in the middle of the night--too much news, which gives rise to a feeling of powerlessness.

The katydid hopped off my arm and onto the deck. Enable your mind to hop off of fear.

Hydrangea Bear

Here in New England, i often see scarecrow-type figures out on people's lawns at this time of year. My favorite this year is a bear made of dried hydrangea blossoms.

Isn't it funny how i say "bear" and see "bear," but there's no bear there at all? This is what our perception does--sees resemblances and patterns and names it "bear." Like the constellation Ursa Major (big bear), which includes the Big Dipper. There's no dipper, and there's no ursa (or bear). We are simply naming the pattern.

Our entire world is made of these perceptions. Fear is one of them. Anxiety another.

But this is the time of year when we sort of like to be scared; we like to scream--especially if we're trick-or-treating with friends.

Boo!

Bandana Protection

It's hunting season here in the north woods. Time to wear bright orange or dayglo yellow when i go for a walk. Neighbors tie red bandanas around the necks of their dogs.

The subject is deer. Those sweet Bambis who graze in our yards. Deer are so over-populated (30 per square mile instead of the optimum 18) that they are desperate for food. Our rhododendrons and other shrubs suffer. My star magnolia has a "waist" at deer nose height where all the buds and branches have been nibbled.

Deer also carry deer ticks, which in turn are carriers of Lyme disease.

We want to protect ourselves and our loved ones when we are walking in the woods. This wish can be incorporated into our loving-kindness phrases: May i be safe and protected. May i be safe from inner and out danger.

Loving-kindness is our antidote to fear. Fear of hunters, fear of ticks, fear of our own minds.

Deer in the Yard

It's snowing today, and a beautiful buck visited my garden.

What a collision of thoughts and feelings!

• Bambi!
• deer ticks
• So beautiful.
• Lyme disease
• Wow! A deer!
• Is he eating my garden?
• Way too many deer in the neighborhood
• It's hunting season.
• He knows he's safe in our yard.

All these thoughts cause a variety of emotions: happiness, irritation, anger (at the ticks), fear (at Lyme disease), anxiety, desire for him to stick around, sadness when he leaves.

It's not that one thought or one feeling is right and the other(s) is wrong. The challenge is to feel them all and keep breathing.

My Chipmunk Life

Last evening, our group of meditation teachers talked about what we were doing, if anything, regarding fear in our various communities. Activist groups have arisen in some practice communities, and other communities aren't talking about the great divide since that's not their main message.

One of my more political friends talked about what is going on on college campuses, and i could feel fear begin to zing around in my body. Oh, no, i thought. I'll wake up in the middle of the night with a ruminating mind if i don't fully experience this fear right now.

An hour later, as i was lying in bed, i thought about all the cute chipmunks that are darting around these New England stone walls, chasing each other, and diving into their holes under the lilac bushes. A mother fox with 5 kits has a den in the stone wall a hundred feet away. The chipmunks don't appear to be afraid. They are simply living their chipmunk lives. Can i live my chipmunk life?

And then, i fell asleep.

In Memory of Florence

The first Tuesday of March is Town Meeting Day here in Vermont--a day when a couple of hundred town citizens (about 10% of our town's population) sit on metal folding chairs in the gymnasium of the K-8 school and vote on spending money on a new road grader or buying a new fire truck or passing the school budget.

Today's Town Meeting began with a roll call of those who had died in the past year, followed by a moment of silence. The last name was Florence H. who always sat in the front row at Town Meeting.

I blogged about Florence a year ago. In memory of her, i'm reprinting part of that blog here:

When i was checking out of our local farm and garden store, i saw a lovely hand-drawn card of flowers taped to Florence's cash register. Florence has been a clerk at the store for as long as i've been going there--a few decades. "What a lovely card," i said.
"Oh, that was for my birthday," she said. "Last August."
"So, how old are you, if i may ask?"
"93," said Florence. "Sometimes, it's a bit scary."
Yes, living in an aging body is scary. You're on a roller-coaster ride, and you don't know what's going to happen next.

We are all living in an aging body, and no one knows what's going to happen next. Another friend, aged 75, sent an emissary to Town Meeting to propose that our little bitsy town sign the Charter of Compassion. That friend will not live to see our next Town Meeting.

Compassion is one of the best antidotes for fear.

Birthday Trowel

My sister gave me a trowel for my birthday. Since it has a purple handle, it was love at first sight. This birthday trowel also has a narrow blade, which i love. I'm not sure why i prefer a narrow trowel; perhaps it feels more precise.

I'd like to go use my birthday trowel right now, but the ground is frozen solid since it was -4 degrees F. this morning. So i'll have to wait for spring. I'll have to practice patience. Patience aids us in not succumbing to fear, discouragement, and doubt, of which there is plenty nowadays.

If you are going to take up only one practice, let it be patience.

I patiently await the coming of spring.

Laying Down Tracks

It snowed a couple of days ago, and i rushed out of the house before i shoveled the front step. A day later, my footprint is frozen in place.

This trace of yesterday's step is a good description of karma. We are laying down the tracks for our neural networks all the time. Listen to the news, feel afraid or angry, and thereby build the habit of fear or anger. Feel grateful for the blessings of your life today--beautiful snow, for instance. Spend 30 seconds enjoying the snow and begin to build the habit of joy and happiness.

What track, what trace do you want to leave behind for tomorrow? And the day after that? And the year after that?

Light at the end of the Tunnel

Going to writing group today, i walked down a long dark hall with a pot of white mums sitting near the end. Just seeing those flowers made me want to walk toward them.

My 93-year-old hospice client tells me she has been "in the tunnel" twice. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel coming closer and closer. She had no fear then, and she says she is not afraid of death now. In fact, she's sort of curious to see what's on the other side.

Her grumpy sister died a year ago and came to her in a dream. "It's not what you think," said her sister, smiling.

The Friendliest of Birds

I consider chickadees to be the friendliest of birds, and here's why: they are almost fearless. They arrive at the bird feeder while i am putting the sunflower seeds in it. Yesterday, one chickadee made a touch-and-go landing on my outstretched hand full of sunflower seeds. You really have to mindful to feel the glorious happiness of a small puff of feathers clutching your finger for less than a moment.

Compared to other birds, the chickadee is foremost in friendliness. The tufted titmice are skittish. The goldfinches, still in their winter olive drab, travel in flocks and scatter at the mere breath of wind. The cardinals zoom off if you so much as move your eyes.

Metta is often translated as loving-kindness, but it stems from the word maitri, the Sanskrit word for "friend." It is just as accurate to translate metta as friendliness or loving-friendliness. One aspect of friendliness is freedom from fear. In other words, fearlessness.

As tiny little fears poke their way into my mind--anxiety, worry, uncertainty, unease, dread, jitters, or what have you--can i respond like a chickadee? Can i fly right into the heart of the unknown?

Partridge on Partridge Road

I live on Partridge Road, so named for the ruffed grouse (aka partridge) that live at the foot of the road. For years, when i meditated on my deck, i'd hear them drumming, sounding sort of like a distant motorcycle.

I haven't heard them for the past several years. Then, as i stopped at the mailboxes, a partridge flew low over my windshield, landing just 10 feet away. The partridge have returned to Partridge Road.

Several other neighbors have reported seeing the bird--it attacks their car, it follows them into their driveway. The one i saw seemed fearless and very curious.

I do know that foxes live just a few hundred feet away, and i've seen a fox jump up and grab one my neighbor's chickens in mid-air. So, even if the partridge isn't afraid, i am.

Fear assumes there is a future, and that something bad is going to happen.

What if we were like the partridge--fearless in the moment and curious?

Surrender

When i say i have zero fear about this breast cancer / lumpectomy today, some friends think i'm in denial. Other friends say, "You're so brave" or "You're so strong." Strong has nothing to do with it. I am not taking a stance nor standing against cancer nor standing up to it. I am surrendering.

I surrender to Life as it is unfolding.

Right this minute, not even the doctor knows, really, what he will find. He has made some educated guesses. I surrender to his expertise.

Not even the doctor knows what my follow-up treatment will be. "It all depends" on what he finds. If he doesn't know yet, i don't need to know.

For years i have ended my meditation with May i see and accept things as they really are.

Today i see that many things are unknown. May i accept not knowing what cannot yet be known.

No worries. No fear.

Zero Fear

Yesterday, the rabbi asked me, "What's your fear level?"

"Zero," i said.

I have breast cancer.

Notice your fear level. Right this moment.

I'm going for a lumpectomy tomorrow.

I've known about this for 10 days. (See my February 17 blogpost.) And my visits to my local doctor and hospital (4, so far, with another one today) have been stress-free. So easy.

Pain is inevitable; Suffering is optional.
Resist the present moment (the mental pain, the thought
of cancer), and distress arises.

The future cannot be known. Not really. The doctor doesn't know what the follow-up will be until after the lumpectomy. Wanting to know what can't be known is called anxiety and worry. I'm not going there.

Today is a sunny, blue-sky day.

This is what our meditation practice has been aiming at for all these years: Deep happiness regardless of outer conditions.

Meditate today as if your hair is on fire. Your life, your well-being depends on it.

Footprints in the Snow

Even though the coldest 90 days of the year began on December 9, temperatures here are hovering just above freezing during the day and just below freezing at night. This creates a lovely white winter with snow cover but no ice underfoot. Crunchy not slushy. Crusty not slippery. A dusting of snow every few days keeps the snow looking fresh.

In the snow on the back step, I saw footprints--of a cat, which puzzles me since none of my neighbors have cats nor have we seen a feral cat lurking around. These footprints came right to the back door.

The other night, when I was home alone, an outdoor floodlight, which has a motion detector, flashed on. I startled and felt the adrenalin of fear in my body even as my mind immediately started talking myself out of it. Just a wild animal. At the back door? Probably a raccoon. What if it's a person?

My body felt afraid. My mind wanted to ignore the body and pretend nothing was happening. We do this all the time--ignore the signals our body sends us. We ignore all sorts of emotions--fear, sadness, irritation, impatience. You could call it denial. You could call it avoidance. You could call it ignor-ance.

Wild animals make their living by listening to their bodies. One false step and it's over. We don't live in such a precarious position. We use our minds to argue with our bodies constantly.

Fear in my body felt very uncomfortable. I wanted to get away from it, so i used my mind to talk me out of it. I could have simply been present with fear and discomfort. It ends of its own accord. Even fear is impermanent.

Death in the Garden

I left a 5-gallon bucket out in the garden a couple of months ago. Then the hurricane blew through. Yesterday i found a dead mouse floating in a half a bucket of water. Death by drowning. An unintentional death.

Mostly in the garden we intend death--to slugs and bugs, voles and moles, beetles and weeds. We plot the demise of woodchucks. We pray for hunters to decimate the deer population. We feel exasperated enough to wish death on 4-legged, 6-legged, 8-legged, or many-legged creatures.

But an unintended death strikes our heart. "Oh! Poor dear."
We sigh, breathing out the contraction of surprise, horror, and really, the fear of our own death. After all, death may overtake us in some surprising way. The body and the ego: Gone.

If we look closely enough, we see that we die every minute. Our ever-changing experience arises and passes away, moment by moment.

We go to the garden to touch the pulse of life--growing, blooming, and fruiting before our eyes. And dying.

Surprise!

I like surprises, so back in May, i bought a pack of "Heirloom" tomatoes at the Farmers' Market. Which Heirlooms? Only time would tell.

So, i couldn't quite believe my eyes when i saw the first yellow tomato in the vegetable garden. Yellow? What's a yellow tomato doing in my garden? Oh, right. The Heirlooms!

My dad loved yellow tomatoes, but i would never willingly eat one. I have to say though, that yellow tomatoes are surprisingly tasty. Another yellow tomato plant has tomatoes with green stripes. Then there's the coral-colored tomato that's green on top. I keep waiting for it to ripen, but it only rots. Oh! It's supposed to be coral and green, so i eat it as is.

Our lives are full of surprises, even though we like to think we are in control of our lives. With all the choices available to us nowadays, we think we should get what we want. Certainly NOT yellow tomatoes!

But no one can predict the future. And it bothers our minds tremendously (called anxiety, worry, restlessness, or fear) when we consider the future.

I don't even know--for sure--what i'm going to eat for breakfast in 20 minutes.

Stay in the present moment. It's the only place we can ever be anyway. Let it surprise you.