Emil (moving portrait), a fellow guest at Deer Park Monastery.

New Years Revelation
When did my own negativity become such a monster? It's not even real, it's just subjective mental formation. It means that I will never be happy, and no matter what great situation I find myself in, no matter what great relationship I enter, I will eventually become critical, dissatisfied, discontented, disillusioned.

My criticism of this monastery has reached a fevered pitch. I started to say that it's not even a monastery, it's just a practice center catering to the needs of laypeople with no standards of quality or behavior. I started to say that the practice here has very little of what I consider the hallmarks of monasticism.

I started thinking that this branch monastery is no where near the ideal, and I started looking forward to going to the root monastery in Plum Village, France, or the other branch monastery in Vermont, thinking those places would be more to my liking because they are far removed from the surrounding lay community and were more conducive to a monastic environment. The incredible desert climate here was no longer such an important, determining factor of appeal.

My critical thinking attacked the administration and implementation of the monastic philosophy here and analyzed how it contradicted the very principle of mindfulness. I was standing on a soapbox, yelling at any passerby who bothered to stop and listen to me rant about what's wrong with this place.

No one agreed.

They told me they loved this place. This place was special, it was magical. They are so happy and grateful that this place is here for them. With the stresses and problems of their daily lives, they could come up here and they could relax, they could let go of their mind and be surrounded by nature, and smiles from other people were almost guaranteed. That's how I used to feel.

Suddenly my criticisms and negative view of the place became a mirror. Only I saw it and all I saw was myself in them. This has to stop.

True to my own philosophy, I was happy before with my relationship with my life, even if it was discontent or dissatisfaction. If I was discontented or dissatisfied, I told myself that I was happy being discontented and dissatisfied, and as such it was perfect. That doesn't fly here. This place is special and I don't want it marred by the negativity of my artificial mental constructs.

Even if my criticisms are valid, the expression of them can be not negative. I may not have control over the things I'm being critical about, but I do have control over how I deal with them myself.

For example, and this isn't really a criticism of mine, but more of an ideal in my mind, it would be nice to have a well-kept monastery, where the grounds are tended to and appears neat, pleasing, and pleasant, without leaves and flotsam scattered about every which way.

I have it worked out in my mind exactly how I would accomplish this in a mindful, community-oriented way, but it will never happen like that because I don't have control over the situation. What I can do is implement it in myself. After morning sitting, I can mindfully walk up and tend to the tea room or sweep the grounds until breakfast. Not even having it as a goal to clean the place, it's a meditation, just sweep in mindfulness until the breakfast bell is rung.

I'm sure if I think of all the criticisms my critical mind has created and sculpted, I can find a creative way to transform them or think of better ways to handle them aside from getting frustrated or angry.

No Coming, No Going
Buddhas or bodhisattvas, enlightened ones, don't die. They have seen to the heart of existence, of being, of reality, so how can they die? Enlightened ones don't confuse natural, organic metabolizing with life, or living, or truth, or reality.

Imagine an enlightened person, perhaps you've been fortunate to know one personally. Imagine them dead, having died, maybe cremated, and imagine their skull, holding their skull in your hands. Is this the enlightened person that you knew?

So you have their skull, their actual skeleton, and you attach layers and layers of organic material onto it, muscles, tissue, ligaments, organs, systems, and you put them into metabolic movement, and you have biology, life. Not uncommon, we all share this biology and in principle this is extended to all life metabolizing on this planet.

Add consciousness, intelligence, wisdom, insight, and personality so that you have your enlightened person whole again. So what is that skull that you were holding at the beginning?

What does it matter if an enlightened person is comprised of organic matter or not. Not comprised – represented by organic matter. Organic matter does what organic matter does – it metabolizes. It is created, it develops, it matures, it ages, and it dies.

The consciousness of an ordinary being is related to that biology, that physiology, regulated by it, maybe limited by it, controlled by it, and often people suffer because of their representative organic matter, but enlightenment is liberation from attachment to that biology and suffering because of it.

Organic matter isn't special. Even galaxy clusters, galaxies, star clusters, and stars go through a process that is organic. Our sun is metabolizing in an analogous way that our biological lives are. Our planet is also metabolizing in its own way with its numerous systems and transformation. The mountains are walking in meditation.

Enlightenment is recognition of the indestructible whole, the entirety of the cosmos that is one functioning organism or system, nothing is created, nothing is destroyed, there is no coming into being, there is no going out of being, there is just transformation. Even the shamans we call "physicists" describe that.

In the here and now of our actual lives, it is happening all around us. Enlightenment doesn't mean that all this happening around us is insignificant. It means that it is rich with the stuff of enlightenment. Enlightenment is found all around us in the here and the now.

The enlightenment of the Buddhadharma is not dependent on human existence (lots of humans have a problem with this concept. Bully). If humans didn't exist, the Buddhadharma still continues. It existed before humans evolved sentience, it will exist after humans are no longer here. The universe had no problem envisioning itself without humans for 99.999% of its existence. The earth will have no problem imagining itself when we are gone; basically the same as before we appeared. What is dependent upon human existence is its relevance, so we might as well take advantage of it while we're here and strive to live more enlightened lives.

I'm feeling no better about this place, and I'm temporarily feeling hypocritical putting out that I'm thinking about becoming a monk here. It's not that I'm not, but I'm experiencing the proverbial "Great Doubt" about the practice here.

I don't even know what happened, what snapped that made me go from 100% certainty to 95% doubt. Why didn't I see these problems before? Why did I consider this place pretty much perfect for me?

It's me, the problem is me, and it's ugly. When the darkness I'm dealing with overwhelms me, there is not a place on this planet, inside or outside of me, where I'm safe, and I don't think there are brothers in the world who can support me, despite their best intentions. And concurrently, I don't even want their support. I want to be consumed. I want the void.

It's strange how all this is going down. Last week, I rushed out a letter to the community to submit before my mentor left for Australia. It wasn't a very good letter, I was still non-committal about becoming an aspirant, and I've heard no response regarding it. I probably shouldn't have submitted it and waited until just before they left for Vietnam. It didn't make a difference that I submitted it through my mentor.

Then after submitting the letter, I told my parents that I was thinking of becoming a monk and they expressed no opinion about it, and that made my decision more solid. And now with this crashing doubt, and no one in the community acting as a liaison to tell me what the community is thinking, and with their Vietnam trip coming up, I'm just flapping in the wind.

I heard through the grapevine that I wouldn't have to pay for staying at the monastery while they were in Vietnam, but I didn't hear it from my mentor or any other of the Dharma Teachers, and so as far as I'm concerned, I've heard nothing. Which means I would have to leave anyway for financial reasons, and if nothing attaches me or attracts me to this community, why would I come back?

Why is this happening? It's me. This is all my creation. It's not happening to anyone else. If I reject this monastery and attempt Plan A again, that would be my creation as well. So what's really going on?

Actually, I don't know what the 'rents are thinking. A few days after I told them I was going to join this community, they started pushing me to go to Taiwan for the three months while the monastics were in Vietnam, instead of spending time in New Jersey visiting them.

Now I'm considering taking them up on the offer. I don't know why they are suggesting that I go to Taiwan, there's no reason for it. I have no connection with family over there. I haven't talked to my cousin Audrey in years and her English is probably non-existent by now. Any love from before was lost and I would go there detached and impersonal.

But maybe I could do a tour of monasteries over there. Maybe I could do some family research through archives. I wonder what the 'rents are thinking. What is their ulterior motive, because I know they have one? But as always, I will use their ulterior motive only to my own ends.

You have no idea how close I came to declaring my intent to become a monastic aspirant. If not in so many words to the community, I was close to presenting them my full feeling from the heart that I was going to become an aspirant, not might become an aspirant, but that I was sure about it and that it was imminent.

It didn't happen. The opportunity never manifested. Almost, but no. And then the whole edifice of my being here collapsed, and now I'm picking through the rubble to see if it's just a feeling that will pass, or if the collapse is substantive. And if the collapse is substantive, does Plan A go back into effect?

The practice here might be way too advanced for me. The ideal here is to maintain mindfulness at all times. Unlike any other Zen monastery, sitting is not central to ground the practice here, and reliably happens only once a day, first thing in the morning. Evening sessions are only scheduled when a brother raises a fuss about it, and there are no periods of intensive, extensive sitting.

Furthermore, an environment conducive to mindfulness is not required or promoted. That means the monastics here are so advanced in their practice of mindfulness that they can maintain it without even a mindful environment. When mindfulness is maintained within the individual, the environment is inconsequential.

For me, that leads me to ask what the hell is the point of the monastic environment? And that's where it differs between them and me.

For them, the monastic environment exists for the community, both monastic and lay. Just this morning, one of the Dharma Teachers giving this morning's Dharma talk was talking about how people from all different backgrounds come here on Sundays to practice. He said that he hoped people didn't think of this place as a Zen Buddhist monastery, but just a place in the mountains to gather and support each other.

Touché.

We are all each others' jock straps and bras.

For me, monasticism means renunciation. A contemplative life. I don't mean asceticism. The philosophy behind this school is "engaged" Buddhism, which means we remain aware of and involved in social issues in the world and that we maintain significant interaction with the lay community. But the way it is implemented at this monastery feels to me to be just "social".

Even if the practice here is pretty laid-back and isn't into artifice like hierarchy, I think a certain solemnity should be presented on public days and when lots of guests come up. An air of contemplation and reflection should be maintained and a certain amount of discipline should be expected in regard to lay practitioners' children. They shouldn't be allowed to roam free treating the place like a playground.

Mindfulness. We use that term roughly equivalent to the Christian "holy". Our being mindful, I think, is close to their being holy – to have in mind acting under God's will and God's presence. We just don't have the external deity to worship, so it's internal. Awareness, contemplation, presence.

When lots of people come up here, I find it a struggle to maintain mindfulness. I struggle with frustration and disillusionment. I don't feel a part of the community, I don't feel supported. I don't feel like I'm at a monastery, and if I'm not at a monastery, I'd rather be somewhere else. Like . . . a monastery.

I don't know what this means for my future. This could just be a passing feeling, a learning experience that I will adjust to. If I don't join this community, I don't expect to go looking for another. If I don't join here, it's another shot at Plan A, and if I fail at Plan A as miserably as I did in June, then I don't know what. Crawl back to San Francisco and do . . . Plan C?

I'm making a prediction. I am predicting that I will not become a monk. Yup, here I am making predictions about my life. Predictions about things I'm supposed to exercise control over. That is all.

Let it go, let it go, let it go. I know I can be a monastic. I think I can be a pretty darned good monastic. I think I'd be a boon to this community, and they should be doing everything they can to keep my interest, just as I'm doing everything I can to show them I'd be right for this community. But since they aren't me, since they aren't in my brain and in my personal history, I have to show certain things to them to convince them I'm right enough for this community.

But fuck being judged. I thumb my nose at being judged. I'm not going to bend over backwards to show them my original face. I'm not going to sell myself to them. I'm just going to continue being myself. Which is the point, after all. If they're not satisfied with me not planting a flag on my forehead with "monastic aspirant" on it, so be it. If I run out of money and have to leave, so be it.

I depend on their encouragement and whatever signs they send me to keep my morale up and momentum on the monastic path. And as is particular with me, I also depend on the flow of time moving forward, and what happens when. I also depend on any discouraging signs and the lack of encouragement, as well.

Plan A is still here. It's still my trump card. I still see signposts indicating turn-offs for Plan A. So I'm not going to sweat any judgments. I'm not going to sweat over becoming an aspirant or money running out, or how who thinks what of me.

I just continue to sit, continue to keep pulling myself back to my practice, continue to renounce the material life and trying to come to terms with that. On my own terms.

The way I'm saying it now is that I've made the decision to enter the monastery and become a monk. Now it's a matter of the causes and conditions manifesting and presenting themselves to make it an actuality. I leave it to fate. I won't do anything affirmative to make it happen, that has never been my style. Nothing has happened in my life as a result of me making it happen. Hm, that came out wrong.

Being bounced around like a pinball is more my style, and I see no reason to stray from my lifelong patterns. For what I'm doing in life – my search for meaning and living true to myself – monastery is the only (living) choice here. It's so clear. I just seem to have trouble getting that through my thick head. So come on, world, sock it to me.

A lot has already happened without my instigation to push me affirmatively to becoming a monk. Little things the monastics have done to make me feel included and at home and part of the community. Things like putting me into the daily work rotation without any fanfare, and giving me a couple of sets of monastic clothes to wear in order to fit in and be comfortable.

On the home front, I haven't mentioned anything to the parents yet. They didn't ask what my plans were or when I was flying back. We did have an in-depth conversation, or as in-depth as we could possibly have, though. I got them pretty darn close to outright saying that money is more important than family.

I got them there in a roundabout fashion, talking about my brother raising his baby, about them and how they raised us, about their relationship with my grandparents, about my mother's relationship with her younger brother who lives just an hour away from them in New Jersey, and with all of the answers, it was innocuous and natural when I asked, "So is money more important than family?". "In some ways," was the answer.

Well, OK then.

Your parents die, but that's OK because you still have the money you made while not spending more time with them. You don't visit your younger brother more often, even though you realize neither of you will be around forever, because you're too busy making money, and so is he (or so you say). And when either dies, the money is still there. Your son commits suicide, and that's OK because you still have money.

Then you die, and it doesn't matter that all you lived for was money; sacrificing family, relations, and meaning in the process, and it doesn't matter that you can't take the money with you – because you're dead. To your dying day, you lived with the security that you always had money in the bank in case of that emergency.

I'm telling you, they are Zen Materialists.

Time relentlessly hammers on. Causes and conditions manifest to signal and suggest courses of action. None of them definite; signposts pointing off into hazy mists.

At week six at the monastery, the "demons" have started to emerge. Added to that is overload. Burnout. Making sure none of it shows on the outside. Story of my life.

What I'm so-calling "demons" aren't bad, they may easily be a truth of mine. They may be the same old things that have driven my life this far (hint: the content of much of this weblog), but now they're being re-contextualized. Now a viable alternative has appeared and they are in opposition to it. They've been marginalized.

A new reality may be forming around me, but I'm still asking myself what my truth is. Will it be this new reality, or can I jump down the black rabbit hole of my old one and bring it to fruition? That used to be my entire reality. Now a new reality has formed in the space around me, and the old one is just an escape hatch.

Dig deeper, there is no difference between committing suicide and ordaining as a monk. Everyone will tell me otherwise. Who are they to dictate my truths to me?

My feeling towards my own death is like waiting on line for a ride at the amusement park. I'm excited for it and I can't wait. I want to experience it. But the line moves so slow. And sometimes all these schemes and fantasies feel as real as smoke lazily blown on a breeze.

I heard that to be a monk, you have to more than 100% sure.

I heard that there are people who say they have to become a monk or they feel they will die.

I've been feeling more on the lines of "If I don't die, I'll become a monk".

And sometimes not.

It would require a transformation to become a monk, and the transformation continues after becoming a monk. It would require transforming suffering. It would mean becoming a very different identity.

It would mean transforming my suffering. Delving way back and digging in the dirt to uproot problems and deal with the seeds of that suffering. Back into problems that are of no more significance to the living of my life, but have nevertheless shaped who I am.

Why do I even need to do that? I could easily just leave the past behind. In secular life I could do that. In secular life, I'd have to do that. The only way I could even attempt to do that in secular life is by committal into a mental hospital. Ha, so my secular equivalent of a monastery is a mental hospital.

But as a monastic, those things would eventually have to come up. It would be required to truly transform, which is the aim of this monastic practice.

The seeds of suffering need to be dug up and dealt with to transform the suffering. Transforming the suffering is necessary because we can't help others transform their suffering if we are still suffering ourselves. It is a monastic vow to help others transform their suffering.

It means transforming my identity, since my identity has been formed by suffering. That's why we get new names when we ordain. I'm not so attached to my identity that I'm not willing to let to go. I'm only still attached to my DVD collection.

I called my parents back after I ignored their phone calls all weekend. I don't want them thinking they can talk to me every week just because of the cell phone they provided. But I need to be more compassionate to them. Talk to them as often as they like. A foundation needs to be laid. Foundation for what, though, I have no idea.

They reported on what I see as suffering in their lives; what they see as life. My older brother and his wife are going to fire the nanny that my parents found to take care of the baby. The wife is having trouble getting along with the nanny.

That's suffering for my parents because of the wife's rejection of their choice for a nanny, who they consider perfect. Suffering for my brother and his wife as they search for a new nanny. Suffering for the baby who, although still an infant, directly experiences this wrenching change in nurturing. Suffering for the baby who is not being raised by his parents who are bent on their dual-physician income. Careless parenting.

My eldest brother – as my parents report, which is patently unreliable – is close to proposing to the woman he's dating. Suffering for my parents who can't help but meddle in none of their business. Suffering for my brother who might feel rushed and is looking down the barrel of serious life changes, responsibilities, and challenges.

And my parents suffer from the insatiable appetite of a hungry ghost. Well into their old age, they cannot stop working because however much money they make is never enough. This is not interpretation, I got them to say as much. Work and making money is all they have. They do take vacations and when they work, they look forward to their vacations. When they're on vacation, all they have to look forward to is coming home and working for more money.

But if they all think they're happy, who am I to say otherwise? Besides, what do I know of their lives?

For example, I go to Philadelphia to visit my brother who has the baby, I ring the doorbell, he lets me in, and we interact the way we always have. He says things, I observe him, I have opinions, I make judgments, but I know nothing about his day. I know next to nothing about his experience in the past ten years. I don't know if he just experienced a life-moving event in his job as a cardiologist. So who am I to point at his suffering?

I'm still working on disciplining my practice. This is not a vacation. This is to see if I want to be a monk for the rest of my life. I don't think I have a problem with that concept. I don't have a problem with wanting to be a monk. I think the issue is "rest of my life". Anything for the rest of my life is not something I want made final. 

But that's a separate issue from disciplining my practice. This monastic tradition is pretty low-key and relaxed, emphasizing compassion and connection over strict contemplation and self-realization. Strict contemplation is manifested in mindful living, and self-realization is a larger transformation that comes out of the overall practice of compassion and engagement. 

I'm not saying I get the practice yet, I'm sure I don't, but I do know that I need to discipline my focus, remaining mindful in social interactions and being strict about what I'm doing when. Hmm, that said, right now, in this moment, I need to get off the computer and get to bed. Tomorrow another week starts.

Deer Park Monastery, Escondido, CA

After being cancelled in October, Thich Nhat Hahn's trip to Vietnam is back on, so it looks like most of the monastics here will be gone from January 8, 2005 to mid-April. I have to consider what that might mean for me, even though it depends on what the monastics decide for me, too.

Someone mentioned that it's possible that I might be declared an aspirant before then and invited to go on the trip expenses paid (there's no way I can afford to go otherwise). That means I would not only be definitely on the road to monkhood, but I would feel somewhat indebted to become a monk. I don't feel so great about that, commitment-phobe that I am.

I might be told I can stay at the monastery with the remaining monastics, continuing on as a paying guest. If that happened, my money would run out by late February at the latest, calculating in a little bit of buffer to get back into secular life. If that happens, that happens. But if monkdom is out and leaving becomes inevitable, why would I continue staying for so long, why wouldn't I leave on January 9?

But what am I talking about going back to secular life at all? Becoming a monk is supposed to be my only living option. What about plan A? If plan A goes back into effect, might that be implemented on January 9? Might I stay beyond late February and let more money run out before implementing plan A? I confuse myself on this one.

I might be told that I can stay at the monastery, but also be declared an aspirant, meaning I wouldn't have to pay anymore. In that case, I suppose I would just continue on this path investigating monasticism on my own terms. I would be least averse to this happening because it involves the least for me to do or think about.

Does anyone still believe that I'm suicidal (plan A)?! Doubt it. I'm sure there are people, maybe experts in the field, who if they read this would easily determine that I never was suicidal. I just don't fit the profile. That's fine, bully for them. As for my entertaining the thoughts, I realize that as I go on, my life touches more people, and so would my suicide. Bully for them, too. I'm responsible for my life, they're responsible for theirs.

Deer Park Monastery, Escondido, CA

I have to be careful not to get too comfortable with my stay at the monastery and settle into the rhythm of life here. I need to remember I'm here for a reason, that there is a purpose to this. I woke up this morning thinking that I'm at the monastery, this is not my bed, this is not my room, this is not normal, and every day needs to be walked in single-pointed mindfulness that I'm figuring out if I really, really, really, really, really, really, really want to be a monk. Really.

There's a movie I like called Bagdad Cafe. There's a character who has only one line in the entire movie. In the third act of the movie, she's standing outside the door of her room with her bags all packed to leave. The rest of the characters gather around wondering what's going on, why is she leaving? She says, "Too much harmony".

I've never fit into a group. And almost every group I've been a part of eventually fell to pieces. Point being I'm just not a group-oriented personality.

On Sunday evening, the community gathered to watch a two-hour video of the community's visit to Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park this past August. They went for five days at the invitation of the YMCA, who donated their facilities for the visit. The video was edited down from six hours of digital video they shot with one camera, and one of the monks skillfully and tastefully added music.

I was prepared to watch maybe 30 minutes of it, thinking it would be like a home video type of thing, but I ended up staying for the whole thing. It could have been shorter, and the editing did get sloppy towards the end, and personally I would have slam-dunked the ending with abbreviated shots of the entire trip to recap the experience to leave the viewer with the warm and fuzzies.

It was really moving, and it led me to feel that there really is something magical about this community and the joy that they generate and bring. There was a moving scene in the video where the monks and nuns formed a ring around one of the Giant Sequoias in a mass hug. The editor humorously cut to a shot of one of the nuns hugging a tiny little sapling.

And these monks have fun, too. At one of the waterfalls, one of the monks climbed up a precipice and was sitting cross-legged like a mountain sage, and the camera caught another monk reverently going up to him and performing prostrations, both of them ending up chuckling. And another shot of two monks getting into heated martial arts posturing at each other and then ending in a spontaneous hug.

The end sequence was the final meal and the YMCA director who invited the community and donated the facilities for five days (at an estimated cost in the thousands, more than you think), and she was crying through the speeches and the singing because she was so moved and touched by their visit. It's a strong community. And I'm not sure I'm ready for it.

I can't envision myself being a part of something this special. If it's magic, I'm more on the witnessing, interpreting end, not the generating of it. (The children in the film Hook, Maggie and Jack = magic = Peter Pan's happy thought). But it's a real possibility that if I start down this path, I will be accepted and supported to succeed. I just need to take the first step, and I'm still balking while the community waits and watches.

People talk of wanting enlightenment, not realizing that if they're shown what it takes to be enlightened, they'd probably pass. Even if it's distinctly possible. People talk of heaven as if they had any idea what heaven is, but if they stood at the gates of heaven and were given the option to come back to earth, they'd probably choose earth.

I look around me at this great community. I recall my path getting here, my life, why I'm here, what my life was, my identity, my desires, my attachments, my death. I look ahead at going to France for ordination and training, eventually hoping to be sent back here after the two years required stay at Plum Village (sometimes one). And that would be it. My new identity, my new name, I'd be a part of this. So what's stopping me? Too much harmony.

Aaaaugggh! It's another retreat weekend. The third one in four weeks. People are pouring in and I'm providing hospitality, getting people to their rooms. In return, I'm able to have extended internet time in the office. However, I just want to run away from all these people. I need to retreat from the retreat!

Deer Park Monastery, Escondido, CA

I'm pretty comfortable that I might be "monk material", but that's not important. I'm not heading towards ordination as a goal, I don't care whether I'm considered an aspirant or not. My view of my path is still the same, it just might lead to being ordained as a monk. Or it can end up being very wet.

Or it might just lead down the mountain road one day for the last time. Maybe I'd find my way back to San Francisco, Inc. Crash at friends' apartments, plumb my connections to see if I could land another job as a paralegal.

If not, anything really, any modest job would do. I would look for cheap housing. Just a room in a shared situation would be fine. Live simply, modestly, humbly. Close to a practice center so I can get to morning sitting easily enough, Lower Haight, the Castro, or the Republic of Berkeley. I would lead a semi-disciplined, reclusive lifestyle; perhaps a secular monasticism of sorts.

For starters, I wouldn't have much, just basic necessities like I had at the monastery. I'd live close to the ground in my modest living space, have basic clothes, toiletries, sleeping bag. I'd keep my hair buzzed short, failed monastic. I'd have to learn how to cook, simple vegetables, although I wouldn't consider myself vegetarian. It might look lonely, but I'd be happy. I'd be free (psst, so why don't you do it?).

The feel of my life might be something like Episode 19 of the anime, RahXephon, when Ayato leaves Tokyo Jupiter with Hiroko and they try to run away from all the confusion and insanity. They just live life simply compared to what they've found reality to be, living out of a hotel room, Ayato gets a job, and all they have is each other until the situation catches up and comes crashing down on them. It's a beautiful, melancholy episode, narrated from the point of view of Hiroko's diary.

With a job and settling in somewhere, I wouldn't be quite so ascetic, but I would buy only what I needed with a few well-defined luxuries. No rampant accumulation of stuff. I'd allow my computer, worthy DVDs, CDs, and books, but only if reading in book stores and borrowing from the library just don't cut it. One of my bikes for getting around, but no more "cycling". Probably one acoustic guitar.

I would avoid seeking out any social scene. Time spent with other people would be well-defined, but I wouldn't be anti-social. I wouldn't necessarily avoid friendships or relationships, but as the past six years have shown, my outward demeanor isn't one that has people dying to get to know me, and I wouldn't try being more socially attractive. Any social situation where I couldn't maintain mindfulness would be out.

A diary-narrated life. A dream. A fantasy. John Lennon might say it'll be just like starting over, but Modest Mouse says starting over ain't what life's about. Besides, here at the monastery is my diary-narrated life.

Deer Park Monastery, Escondido, CA

I talked more to the person I mentioned before who was turned down for novice ordination after spending nine months at this monastery. I'm not so worried about my prospects now. It didn't take any mystic insight to see that he clearly is not ready. One day he might be a monk, he might even be a great monk, but right now, even I can see that he's too immature, too impulsive, and not clear enough on his path.

He hit upon a revelation that he didn't need the approval of the Deer Park monastics to go straight to the root monastery in France to continue his training towards ordination. And he's right about that, but that was true all along. As a revelation now it's pretty weak, but he was hyped up and rarin' to go like Luke Skywalker in 'The Empire Strikes Back' on speed.

He can go to Plum Village without the blessing of the Deer Park monastics, but the results will be the same – they will also see that he's not ready. And how will that feel? The happiness he thinks he will gain by becoming ordained is false. It's the same happiness that people get when they land a new job, move to their dream city, or buy a house. You can hate your job or get fired, find out your dream city isn't all it's cracked up to be, or your house can burn down.

Of course, you can love the job, love the city, and live in the house without ever anything bad happening, that's not the point. It's the attachment to some idea to find happiness which is counter to this practice. He is attached to the idea of this practice to find happiness, and being a monk requires more than just being able to do this practice. It requires all the causes and conditions for a seed to bloom into a beautiful flower.

He is definitely a seed, but he's a seed on dry sand. And he can be a happy ordained seed, but without the life experience and personal development the Deer Park monastics seemed to be hinting at, i.e., the shit life throws at us to become fertilizer, he won't grow or bloom into anything. He will just be a seed doing the practice.

Escondido, CA

I'm down in town again typing this, even though I have permission to use the internet at the monastery for one hour on Friday afternoons for communications, which blogging arguably is. 

My request for an extended stay at the monastery was approved last week, and I asked for one hour of internet per week. It's not a lot of time, I was exercising self-restraint and it got summary approval, but it should be enough to upload postings that I can compose on a community computer during the week. 

It has all been a blur, for blog purposes, not expecting to have any internet access, then finding this internet cafe, then getting access at the monastery. I'm still figuring out how to focus and redefine the direction of this blog. The whole monastic thing is new ground and warrants description, but this blog has been so much internal space, so much darker stuff, that I don't want to just start taking it in a totally different direction. 

And man, already so much internal space has been covered in the past three weeks, and there's no way I even want to try to recount it all. Like I said, lots of great conversations, lots of like-minded people, sparks and wind energy flowing, and hugging other men like I've never hugged other men before! 

The nuns scare me, though, for some reason. I just feel that they are due a higher amount of respect and decorum, even though that's probably wrong. I avoid them and always bow to them politely when I can't. 

Three weeks. OK, maybe just a bit on the situation: 

I had been reading so much that when I arrived at the monastery, I had all this head knowledge. But then as I walked up the mountain to the monastery, *zoop*, it just all went away, my brain wiped clean. Every time I tried to think some concept through, I just couldn't do it – a good sign, really. Slowly, it has come back, though. 

Another thing I felt early on was that I realized I had no heart. I couldn't find it anywhere. It made me think of how I told Madoka that she was a role model for being for me, but couldn't explain what that meant. I think part of it was me projecting on her having a big enough heart for me, too. 

Life here is pretty varied. Sometimes it has been slow and peaceful when I was the only guest. Right now, there are several guests who will be here for up to several weeks. Weekends often see groups of people coming up for one reason or another. 

I live in a guestroom with six beds, but I have some say as to who gets put in with me, since one of my impromptu duties has become hospitality for guests. I've been able to reject long-term guests in my room, but I'm totally open to week-long guests and over-nighters. I try not to abuse my authorita. 

Daily schedule includes waking up at 5:30 and sitting for 45 minutes at 6:00. Three meals a day with rotating duties. Other blocks of time are spent in working meditation, Dharma talks (lectures by Thich Nhat Hahn that are sent same-day over the internet from the root monastery in France; they have a pretty sophisticated production facility to burn CDs and DVDs that are also sold in the book store), in-house lectures, and other monastery-related things one might expect. I also have a lot of down time to go exploring and hiking in the surrounding mountains. 

It's just a great, loving, compassionate community. Very laid back, very permissive. The practice here focuses on mindfulness and developing awareness of every moment at all times. It is both very simple, and very subtle and sophisticated at the same time. It's also very deceptive because the insight and wisdom of the monks and the community is jaw-dropping. 

What does this all mean to my life? I don't know. I don't need to know. From time to time I go back and forth between thoughts of becoming a monk, which would mean being shipped off to the root monastery in France for at least a year for training, and not, but I just let these thoughts come in and wander and then leave when they want to, because ultimately, I think my decision will just manifest itself. I'll just know. The decision will be there like an arrow shot straight and true. 

I'm not confused about any decision. Either I become a monk or not. I'm still me. I do hope to encounter some demons along the way. If I don't hit some dark times between now and making a final decision, I'd be concerned about being numb. But maybe I won't need to, I've had my share of dramatics in the past. 

I do have a mentor now that I've been accepted for an extended stay and expressed interest in a monastic path. I don't expect to burden him at all with problems. I think we're a good match because I'm not needy and I don't think he wants to mentor someone who is needy (that's probably wrong). 

We've had a good rapport all along, ever since last year, and we may play spiritual racquetball every once in a while and he can shed some insight on my path and give me direction here and there, but I anticipate our sessions will be casual. The joke is that he's my tormentor, being tormented by his tormentee.

Wooha! Internet cafe! I'm being a bad boy.

Monday is "lazy day" at the monastery and I hitched a ride to town (Escondido) and found this internet cafe. I'm not sure it's within the spirit of my stay at the monastery, but I don't think there are explicit prohibitions either. I might be making regular trips to town on Mondays! It's a six mile walk, but I think there is a bus line that goes half the trip.

Anyway, I'm sure you're dying to hear about monastic life.

After staying for two weeks, I submitted a letter to the monastic community informing them of my desire for an extended stay, and my intentions and aspirations and what I might contribute to the community.

Someone told me it was a good letter and there should be no problem, although as a mental exercise I pondered what I would do if I got rejected. Where would I go? What would I do? You can probably guess what would cross my mind, though.

In the same vein, when I visited this same monastery last year, there was another long term resident on a possible monastic path. Eventually, he asked if he could be ordained and they, in the most nicest, wisest, compassionate way, turned him down, telling him he wasn't ready.

It's incredible the insight these monks have. He didn't feel rejected at all, and in the end, he feels they were right. So becoming a monk isn't a shoo in. After however many months I'm here, I may ask what they think and they might also tell me the monastic path isn't for me, and I implicitly trust their insight. What I would do then is another discussion and I don't have time now since this internet cafe closes in fifteen minutes.

It's been an incredible two weeks. The first two weekends I was here, there were retreats, and I made some great, if temporary, connections with people passing through. Great conversations. I have more to say about that, too, but alas, no time. Next time I come to town, I'll try to come earlier.

November 1, 2004; 5:03 P.M.