11 aug 10 soggy zen

I feel like I haven't done anything but whine about the weather since we returned from a soggy week in Prince William Sound to the soggy summer in Anchorage on Saturday evening.* So I won't dwell on the dominant weather that we had in the Sound last week.

I'm trying to focus on how this is the first summer in a long time that I actually sit around reading. Earlier this summer I complained to a friend back East about the flurry of summer reading lists that pop up everywhere in June and how Alaskans were too busy making the most of every minute of sunshine to sit around reading. Winter is for reading. My remarks were possibly a bit insensitive because she was laid up with a broken ankle. I hoped that she was enjoying the opportunity to read and relax during the warm days. I wanted to know what she was reading for my own winter book list.

Then came our time in Prince William Sound - a week last month and a week this month. The weather was less than inspiring for exploring by either boat or foot most of the time, but perfect for snuggling in with a hot beverage and a good novel. This approach to a vacation, unusual for me, certainly leads to a relaxed state.

Paul commented on how the week had a Zen quality -- from the quiet mornings of reading (including a book on Zen) and doing Sudoku and crosswords to the chance to mindfully carry out chores and meal preparations. Even the landscape looked like an Asian painting with mists defining successive ridges and mountains.

Once again it seems that the trick is to bring that calm, relaxed state of the retreat back to the everyday world.

* And it's official - the National Weather Service says that we're setting records for cool, wet, and cloudy. And it has rained every day since this article was in the paper.

** I've added some more photos with captions to the gallery.

21 jan 10 where does it go?

The New Year is three weeks old and I'm finally sitting down to write about the end of the old year. We were treated to three auspicious celestial signs that last day of 2009. In the morning, the setting moon, almost full, had a partial eclipse. We watched it set into the fog over the inlet. In the early afternoon, as we drove just north of Houston on the way to Talkeetna, we saw a fata morgana on the ridge of the distant mountains to the west*. Then that night, the moon rose again and was full for the second time that month. That blue moon shone over us as we brought in the New Year on a very cold night.

New Year's Day was cold cold cold in Talkeetna. We snowshoed with friends to help set a trail to the east. We ate black-eyed peas for good luck at a potluck. That was the first that I'd heard of that southern tradition.

I can't tell yet if the auspicious celestial signs and the black-eyed peas have a made a difference in this year. I'm feeling better than I did at the end of last year. But maybe that's a whopping dose of vitamin D every morning, cutting back on coffee, and exercising more. Paul and I start each day with a bit of Buddhist wisdom from a book he bought me for Christmas. We've been cross-country skiing and mountain biking on the packed trails and hiking with Bhikkhu a few times. My evenings feel unproductive yet short and I'm almost a month behind on the blog. I guess black-eyed peas don't make you any more effective or efficient with time.

For resolutions for 2010 - I'm sticking to the tried and true (or still trying to be true to) from the last couple of years. My start may be slow and paced, but I'm hoping it will pick up with some practice and attention.


* I saw this phenomena again a few days later while walking around our neighborhood. Keyholes opened in the ridge of the Tordrillo Mountains, then became arches, and final mesas atop the mountains.

8 jun 09 trying to be present

A man at Quaker Meeting last week spoke out of the silence to just what I'd been trying to do for 30 minutes (until I'd totally forgotten and had acquiesced to the "chattering ladies in the attic.") He told of standing by a flowing creek one day with his mind full of thoughts and concerns. After some time, he realized that he couldn't hear the creek over his thoughts. He decided the creek sounded better than his racing thoughts and sat down to listen to it instead. I'd been struggling to quiet my mind and be present where I sat, to listen to the ambient sounds, whether they be the cars on Tudor Road or the breathing of Friends.

I've especially been trying to be more present with the outdoors these past few weeks. Somewhere I read that having a dog should help you be more present in the moment; the dog certainly is. So I've taken that as a reminder to get back to one of the core principles of Buddhism and Quakerism. Our walks aren't exactly meditation but I'm trying to pay more attention to the birds, the emerging spring, and the motion on the other end of the leash and to keep my mind from thinking about what's next on the agenda.

On Sunday Bhikkhu and I walked out to Powerline Pass from Glen Alps trailhead. I've been hoping for a clear morning to introduce him to the high country and to see the higher elevations emerging from winter. I tried to notice and name every plant to keep my mind where my body was ... lupines, white geraniums, false hellebore, alders, hemlocks. The sun and the scenery kept me thinking about how blessed I was to be in this place at this time; I hardly thought about the afternoon ahead or the work week to come.

So if I can keep my thoughts under control for a few minutes of sitting or strolling in the sunshine, can I do it while moving a little faster? A local bicycling blogger wrote last week about tuning out the brain and how mountain biking can be a form of meditation. On Sunday afternoon Paul and I biked through Bicentennial Park and the Campbell Tract to get me to Meeting. As we descended on Brown Bear, a steep, rooty trail, I found myself thinking too much about what I should be doing. I remembered the post on 'meditative biking' and settled into the bike. I started relaxing more and was half way down the slope that I usually pause at the top of before I even realized what I was doing. I managed to keep my brain in the background for most of rest of the ride and felt like I was flowing down stream along the various winding trails through the woods and along the creeks.

25 may 09 Introducing

Benji Bhikkhu the Prancing Bich-poo

I'm not sure how it happened, but we've become a pack. I mean, I do know the series of events of the last 10 - 12 weeks (looking at a rescue photo for 2 months, filling out an online application, phone calls, visits, trial adoption). What I don't quite understand is how I went from being a cat person to a dog owner and how Paul went from being a non-pet person to the guy saving table scraps and buying squeaky toys. How did this funny little dog end up a part of our lives?

Meet Bhikku ~

The outer dog ... If you were to ever think we'd get a dog, this is probably not the dog you would have predicted. He's an unknown mix but probably part poodle, part Bichon Frise, and maybe something else. So he's got a stout little body, short legs, and a poodlish head, all covered with curly white and apricot hair. He arrived here on April 30 fresh from the groomer, who shaved his body yet left his topknot and ears long. The rest has been growing out and I've been cutting his ears back to something less flowing. Eventually he'll be covered in soft curls. He's in his 'golden' years, probably around 10, with cataracts and a skin condition. He's a little overweight, but daily walks and fewer treats have already improved his figure. He rarely barks, usually just when excited while playing ball with Paul or if we've been at work.

The inner dog ... Once you meet him, you understand why we're adopting him. The Friends of Pets website described him as 'an amiable boy.' He has a charming personality that is led by a 5" tail that shakes his whole body. He follows us almost everywhere and is always happy to see us, even if we've only been gone a few minutes. He arrived with good manners and he has picked up the house rules very quickly (though that doesn't mean he doesn't get up on the couch if we leave the house for 5 minutes). When the three of us walk, Paul often holds the leash. If I get behind, Bhikkhu looks back to see if I'm coming. If Bhikkhu and I walk without Paul, he runs around the house upon our return until he finds Paul.

The name ... Paul and I have been reading together about Buddhism since our trip to Asia this winter. In one book, every quote of the Buddha begins with 'O Bhikkhu,' and we had started using the phrase affectionately with one another. A Bhikkhu is an ordained Buddhist monk. He is "expected to obey rules of conduct" and the translation from the Sanskrit literally means "beggar, or more broadly, one who lives by alms" (quotes from wiki). Given his wise and kind nature, our hope that he'll obey rules, and the fact that everything he eats comes from us (and he does beg), we've named him Bhikkhu (we pronounce it "bee-coo").

Change ... if you read my last April entry, you may have been wondering about the change in our lives. I even gave you a clue. To continue with the Buddhism, if live is change, which can bring suffering, you might as well have a Bhikkhu at your side to help you down the path.

Apologies to Buddhists out there; we hope this sweet boy's name doesn't offend anyone.

28 apr 09 time for change

Maybe it's just the energy and hope that comes with spring ... but it feels like things are changing. This morning I told Paul my (new) theory that we should introduce change to our lives periodically to keep ourselves mentally flexible. That way when life throws you something you can't control, you've got some experience, some reference, for making the necessary alterations.

Our life is pretty comfortable these days. We've been considering making a change that would shake up our routine a little. So maybe my theory is just an attempt to convince Paul to make this voluntary change. But I do believe that we can't become too stuck in our ways or we will stop growing. The phrase about the old dog ... I don't want to be old ... I want to be able to learn new things and be open to the positive and negative changes that will come.

That's why I love living in a place with extreme seasons. There's always a change a'coming. Welcome back to Alaska, Spring.

The photo is Paul on a raft trip in western Colorado in 1995. My wonderful in-laws gave me a scanner when I was in Colorado and I'm pulling out my black-and-white negatives.

14 mar 09 The Middle Fork

On Friday afternoon I found the antidote to the work stress that had been steadily increasing all week. My friend Jo-Ann suggested that we drop a car at Glen Alps and ski down the Middle Fork trail to a car we'd leave at Prospect Heights. With a couple of inches of fresh snow, the conditions on the exposed and often windy trail might be just perfect. And they were. The fog that shrouded our houses didn't reach to Glen Alps, and amazingly, there wasn't any wind there.

Jo-Ann after climbing to the east side of the valley of the South Fork of Campbell Creek

The Middle Fork is also one half of a nice loop between Prospect Heights and Glen Alps. With such perfect conditions, Paul and I returned on Saturday to ski up the Middle Fork and down the Powerline Pass trail for a 2.5 hour tour. Clouds formed, dissipated, and moved across the peaks, and sometimes I just stopped to watch the change in light.
Paul welcoming in Lucky Cat fashion at the Middle Fork of Campbell Creek

Currently in our study of Buddhism, Paul and I are reading about the Middle Way, the eightfold path of self-discipline, self-development, and self-purification that leads to a cessation of suffering. On Friday and Saturday, I found the Middle Fork was another path to the cessation of stress. It might not get me to Nirvana permanently, but the Middle Fork and perfect Anchorage 'spring' weather took me there for a few hours this weekend.

22 dec 08 Buddhist Birthday (revisited)

If we were going to spend a month in two predominantly Buddhist countries, I thought I might attempt to understand the local religion and maintain some sort of spiritual practice during our trip. I read Peace is Every Step by Thich Naht Hanh several years ago and re-read it sometime in the last few years when the non-peaceful 'diplomacy' of our country was becoming personally unbearable. Last summer I studied a small pamphlet, The Mindful Quaker by Valerie Brown, for an introduction to Buddhism from a fellow Quaker. For this Southeast Asia sojourn, I brought Living Buddha, Living Christ by Thich Naht Hanh along in the hopes of learning about Buddhism and bringing some new perspective to my own religious tradition.

My birthday fell on a laid-back travel day in Luang Prabang in Laos, designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its many Buddhist temples and pagodas. We were with four friends, two couples, from Talkeetna. The guys had signed up for an all-day cooking class; we women planned to relax, take care of some travel logistics, eat a fabulous lunch, and get a massage. I slept late so had the guest house dining room table to myself for morning coffee. That's when I read the introduction to Living Buddha, Living Christ. I met the rest of the group at a restaurant nearby on the Mekong River for breakfast and then had the rest of the morning to myself. I found a large rock under a tree on the Royal Palace grounds -- a quiet spot for meditation, reading, and reflection.

Thich Naht Hanh's openness to understanding Christianity helped me to be open to absorbing Buddhist principles. He drew parallels between the life of Buddha and the life of Jesus; this reminded me of what draws me to Quakerism. Jesus was fully open to the Light of God, similar to Siddharta's achievement of enlightenment. Jesus used that Divine guidance to determine how he led his life and how he treated others. For me, religion should be about how we live our lives on Earth, not about some reward in the next life. Buddhist precepts, principles, and practices could help me be more open to the Light, bring me closer to nirvana, and transform me into the person I'd like to be.

The Laos people and the beautiful city of Luang Prabang embodied many of the lessons that TNH wrote about -- generosity, loving-kindness, mindfulness. We rose early several mornings to watch the monks walk through town to receive food from the faithful. The giving touched me more than the receiving, which was done humbly and silently. The local Buddhists provide all the food that the monks eat. Should they sleep late one day, some monks would have less rice that day. Would there be hunger in this world if we all felt such responsibility to ensure that our neighbors were fed each and every day?

The Laos people are often called laid-back (I used the term myself in emails from the road), but that description ignores the spiritual foundation that enables these people to be so warm, welcoming, and peaceful despite a very tumultuous recent history. Paul summarized Buddhism as "Suffering happens. Be happy." I'm hoping that accepting more of Life with that thought can help me continue on my spiritual sojourn and that my 43rd birthday is the start of a more enlightening year.

I'm working my way through the 1200 photos I took in Laos and Vietnam. I'll be posting them on my Picasa site by theme and location as I go.

** Click here to see photos of Luang Prabang **