On Buddhism and Being a Bitch

                                                                                             

By Mahlia Lindquist

Every morning I do a short meditation and set an intention for the day. The intention is always the same: Mahlia, don't be such a bitch.

I’ve been doing this on and off since I started attending workshops at the Shambhala Center in Boulder over ten years ago. The workshops all have similar themes, such as the value of mindfulness, acceptance, non-attachment, generosity, kindness, compassion, and contentment. 

The basic message is that the world is a better place when we all play nice. In Buddhist talk it’s called “non-aggression.” 

Another Buddhist tenet is Karma. According to the law of Karma what we think and do will come back to us in this or another life. Gawd, I hope not.

While skeptical about Karma, I agree wholeheartedly that non-aggression is a good thing. Unfortunately, it's a challenge for me because I’m pretty sure non-aggression precludes being bitchy.

Due to my natural disposition, combined with the ravages of menopause, I am no more able to go through an entire day without being a bitch than endure a day without coffee and wine. The only difference being that whilst I don't see the point to a caffeine/alcohol free day, I am curious what it feels like to be sweet for an entire 24 hour period. 

Yet, after ten long years of starting the morning with an intention of sweetness, I can’t get it right. I think my many years of failure has something to do with the fact that most humans are basically jerks.

(See? I can’t even manage to keep my blog posts bitch-free.)

Other than the human race, nothing makes me crankier than meditation retreats. The workshops are sort of like the gym, dull. However, in both cases, showing up takes the edge off my edge, and so I show up.

The theme of my first retreat was “Basic Goodness.” Like most Shambhala workshops, this one involved a lot of sitting and breathing. At some point over these weekends, the teacher meets with each student privately to see how things are going. But, the teachers don’t actually ask the question right off.  They beat around the bush, like one of those maddening Zen koans (you know, “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”)

When it was my turn, an assistant led me into the “sanctuary”  (a fancy Buddhist term for the type of room common folk refer to as an “office.”) The teacher, Walter, motioned for me to sit down and then ... absolutely nothing. Nary a word. He just looked at me expectantly.

Conversation being one of my few core competencies, I normally help out in these ackward situations, but after sitting around all weekend I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, something about this dude’s attitude struck me as aggressive. 

And so I just stared back, my face a mask of blank but roiling with annoyance inside.  Each minute felt like an hour. 

During those eternal moments, my thoughts took a violent turn: Could I whack Walter over the head with the marble Buddha head on the desk and make my escape? If caught, would Shambhala notions of forgiveness mean Walter wouldn’t press charges?  Maybe it would knock some sense in to him so that he would act normal?

So far, my propensity for crazy bitchiness has been limited to ugly thoughts and tough talk, so I did not actually bitch slap Walter. I just stared back as my mind carried on like an episode of Criminal Minds.  

Suddenly, a voice outside the ones in my head: “So, how’s it going?”

Walter spoke!

Gratefully abandoning my criminal mind, I considered the question. The truth was that “it” wasn’t “going” anywhere. After sitting around and basically examining my belly button all weekend, I expected a wondrous epiphany. I had paid my $90 by god, and I wanted my enlightenment. 

I didn’t experience an epiphany or feel enlightened. I just felt bitchy. 

I tried to explain to Walter,  

Well, crossing the street today, a Hummer passed in front of me, and my first thought was, ‘asshole,’ so things are pretty much status quo from when I started sitting around and breathing at the Shambhala Center two days ago. In short, this whole weekend seems like a colossal waste of time and money.

A few more moments of our mute stand-off. Then Walter smiled broadly and said, “Yes, exactly! People who buy hummers are real assholes. Now we’re getting somewhere! " He looked at his watch, "Mahlia, it was lovely to chat with you, but our time is up. Will you please send in the next student?”

What in the hell Walter was talking about? Was he talking about buddhism, karma and/or being a bitch? I still don't know.

What I do know, is that on the off chance that Karma is a thing, for me it is going to be a bitch. Just to cover my bases, tomorrow my sincere intention is not to be such a bitch.

Deep Thoughts

By Mahlia Lindquist

If thoughts were countries, on the average day mine would range from bland Canadian to ugly American to psychotic North Korean. One of my ongoing projects is to create a United Nations of the mind, where thoughts peacefully coexist, so that I might extend my attention span beyond 5 minutes. 

It started with meditation classes at Boulder’s Shambhala Center. The word Shambhala sounds weird, but compared to traditions that include a virgin birth, parting of the sea or sacred underwear, it is positively mundane. From what I know about the Bible, Koran and Torah they are confusing and kind of scary. Ruling Your World, and the other Shambhala texts, take a more simplified, practical, and positive approach to spirituality. I especially appreciate that the Shambhala teachings don’t have anything against homosexuals, dancing, caffeine, sex or alcohol, all of which have an important place in my life.

The one sticking point for me is the Shambhala tenet that we all have basic goodness. It’s hard to imagine people like Hitler, Stalin, or Glenn Beck as having even a modicum of good. While I still don't totally get basic goodness, a group that believes humans are fundamentally okay is infinitely preferable to one that preaches we are inherently sinful. 

What really sold me on Shambhala is its emphasis on mindfulness, which they say will help rein in my thoughts and cultivate a gentler attitude toward shameless cretins who finagle a handicapped permit even though they are perfectly healthy. While I welcome the opportunity to a be a nicer person, that is a secondary benefit to being able to focus long enough to balance my checkbook.

One way to cultivate mindfulness is through meditation, which is usually done by sitting and focusing on the breath. This is surprisingly difficult because of the members of the United Nations vying for attention. Another way to cultivate mindfulness is to go about the day, observing and taking note of thoughts without trying to judge, censor or control them.

On the way to my friend Kathleen’s wedding in Boulder last week, I decided to give it a go.  I would simply observe each thought from the time that I got out of the car until I got back in. 

When subject to close scrutiny, it turns out my my thoughts are an incoherent, running commentary that to the untrained ear might sound like, “blah, blah, blah.” They went something like this…

As I got out of the car: 

“Is the taboo against guests wearing white to a wedding still a thing?… Maybe this dress was a bad idea … come on Mahlia, don’t be so shallow, think serious thoughts, the miracle of life, global warming … Geez, my hands looks awful, why didn’t I get a manicure, it’s not like I don’t have the time for heaven’s sake… Mahlia, you really need to get a job… It’s so beautiful here, I must have been temporally insane when I moved to Miami …

That was within the first 2.3 seconds. It was going to be a long, tedious night at this rate.

As I walked into the party:  

"This is awkward, I don’t see anyone I know… maybe I will feel less anxious if I plow myself with alcohol  … Oh, there’s Jill thank goodness, a friend… wow, Kathleen looks so beautiful and radiant (hallelujah, finally a worthy thought) … this sure is different from Miami, I don’t see anyone dressed like a hootchie mama… ”

Sitting down to dinner:

Geez, another uncomfortable moment, not a single name I recognize at my table  … I should text Zoe and remind her to play her cello … at least the guy sitting to my right is good looking, though that does not bode well for dazzling conversation… maybe I should have brought someone ... hey, he's actually charming and funny … darn, good manners dictate I also chat with the person to my left…. argh, is it possible to die of boredom in ten minutes or less?… Mahlia, be nice and grow up …  

Walking back to my car alone, it was much easier to notice thoughts:  

Kathleen and Craig are such a beautiful couple… I should NOT have told that woman her claim to be awful with names is an excuse for disinterest … if she just hadn’t said was too busy concentrating on a person’s energy to remember names I could have resisted … why, oh why, did I over-share with the charming man at my table, it really was unnecessary, not to mention unattractive, to admit to my habit of skipping showers …

In thinking about my thoughts at the wedding that night, I got sort of depressed. They were so trite and superficial. Worse yet, boring. So boring in fact, they could be used in place of water-boarding to torture enemies of the state. Even more boring than the guy to the left at dinner who inspired thoughts of suicide. 

Oh yes, did I mention, many of my thoughts were unkind?

The good news is that in the world according to Shambhala, good, bad or boring, I am not my thoughts. 

The  other good news is that I was able to balance my checkbook yesterday.