Well, I awoke to a different cat this morning. Still skittish, but is currently near my feet under my desk. We have had pets, and haven't jetted off into the dark distance after being picked up either.
I will have to give her more time. Yes, I still think I made a bit of a mistake by picking an all-black female cat, but whose fault is that? Not hers. She still needs a forever home. She's still a well-tempered animal. If I want a snuggler, I may just have to get another cat in the future. Meanwhile, I made a commitment that I would do everything I could to make this relationship work. I have 30 days to return her, and I was ready to give up after four because she wasn't being the cat I wanted. No, she's not. She's being just what she is. Isn't that what I spend hours practicing every flippin' week?
And the education goes on...
This has been a very interesting few days, and what it has revealed to me.
So I'm technically not supposed to have pets in my apartment. Right when I moved in, I asked after this to my land-lord, a dog lover. I told him that I suffered from depression, at times severely, and that I was hoping to have a cat at some point (at that time hoping I could take one of my then-current cats with me: specifically, the one that I rescued and named). I told him that me without a cat would be like him without his dog, to whit he replied "That bad, huh?" He assured me that I could have a cat if I really wanted one.
It was decided that the cat I had in mind wouldn't be able to come live with me. I understated or under-appreciated just how much this hurt me at the time. She was one of the few sources of joy and emotional support that I had while going through the deep pain of my divorce; something I did essentially by myself while at the same time having to keep a brave face while being an emotional protector and recovery aide to my step-daughter. The cat was always there, always wanting me to hold her, snuggle her and be near her. Most importantly, she was my constant companion through what felt like countless cold and lonely nights, always hopping into bed shortly before or after I did, ready to snuggle down with me under the covers as the winter wind howled, and I ached inside.
When I had to leave her behind, I knew it would hurt. I told myself it was for the best, and on one level that was true. But on another, I didn't care. I was giving up so much, and to add insult to injury, I had to give up the cat I brought in off the street and named myself. The one who bonded with me. The one who seemed to always love me when everything else seemed to be going to hell. The one I loved so much.
The summer/fall has been one of great tumult, to say the least. Great emotional highs and lows. Things are leveling off, and I feel better to a degree, but I know that with winter comes S.A.D for me, and this year may be harder than before for a number of reasons, but mostly due to the fact that I have no car of my own right now, and will be stuck in my apartment quite a bit of the time. So while on a recent run-about project with my landlord, I asked agan about getting a cat. The issue has never been him; it's been his wife. She hates cats. But he says "Well, it seems that my name is on the house, and she got that name from me, so if I say you can have a cat, just get one. If we get caught, I'll deal with it."
So with money I didn't have, I went down to the Cat Adoption Team shelter in Sherwood last Friday. I'd seen an all-black cat (a soft-spot of mine) on their site that was listed as very friendly once she warmed up if given a quiet space. Well, my flat is pretty much the epitome of that, and since she'd been declawed by a previous owner, I figured the furniture and carpet was safe. So I picked up Jasmine last Friday afternoon.
I was so looking forward to having cat energy back in my life. To say that I'm a "cat person" is like saying "I like music" about me. Dramatic understatement. One of my greatest joys in life the past ten years was moving out here and living with someone who loved cats as much as I did. I'd only had cats as a child, and they were farm cats: indoor/outdoor mousers to whom tragedy would almost always befall. I'd not had a cat of my own since about age 10 or so. I had a wonderful dog for many years, and had recently tried life with a dog again that went terribly (just the wrong dog at the wrong time--I did find him a great home) so I was keen to have a cat again to fill the void left in my life by having to let go of my kitties from my marriage.
The short form is: this ain't working, and is actually making me feel worse.
Jasmine has been here since Friday afternoon. She refuses to socialize at all. She'd much rather hide in the darkness. She will never come out of her hiding-places, even though she seems to like being petted. She doesn't like being held. She doesn't like to be near people, and only barely tolerates people approaching her. She is eating and using the box fine, but aside from that, has very little use for me or my daughter. This feels more like tennancy in a sub-let situation. It's actually rather upsetting.
I didn't anticipate this at all, but I see it clear as day now why this is so upsetting to me. I'm well aware that rescue cats often take time to warm up and establish a report with new owners--even those that are true-blue cat people. I've been fortunate enough to have helped save a number of cats from the street over the past 10 years--and have been blessed to have grow close to two of them. And therein lies the rub. Jasmine is the spitting image of my former black-cat snuggle partner. I made the mistake of adopting a kitty that looks JUST like my old cat that I miss so much. Obviously, I did this as a subconscious expression of my missing and wanting my old kitty back so much. But this is like the cloning paradox: you may be able to have the physicality of something again, but the personality is something wholly and totally different.
This cat hurts me to be around. It looks so much like my old cat, yet wants nothing whatsoever to do with me apart from keeping the food dish managed. It doesn't hate me, or hiss at me or anything overt, but at the same time its manner and want of attention is so drastically different that it makes me feel like my old cat that I miss so much is back in my life, but wants nothing to do with me anymore. This is like a strange cat-lover's nightmare, except that Rod Serling never shows up to give some twisted explanation.
I have made arrangements to return Jasmine to the shelter tomorrow. I know that part of me is sad for her: I am a very tolerant, understanding and accepting cat person, and there's part of me that knows that if a cat doesn't respond to me (seriously, all cats seem to love me) the chances are slim that she will be well suited to anyone else. At the same time, though, I have faith in the C.A.T. and know if Jasmine has any kind of chance to find happiness, it'll be through them.
It has been an odd and upsetting, but powerful and over-all positive practice lesson regarding preconceptions and attachments, and I bow to the Bodhisattva that is Jasmine for teaching me that you can't go home again, and that being steered there via emotional auto-pilot is something to be ever wary of.
Dev says I should go orange. We'll see...
A rather useful discussion popped up recently on one of my sangha's listservs, and I thought I'd repost here. So here's a few things on the etymology of the word "zen", why we sit and sleep on marsh-grass, and pushy cats.
I am wondering what the Buddha taught about sitting.The Buddha said this of life and living:
"Meditate.
Live purely. Be quiet.
Do your work with mastery.
Like the moon, come out
from behind the clouds!
Shine"
Did he say "The more you sit, the more likely you are to become enlightened?"Not really. We (read: "zen practitioners") sit zazen because that is our primairy method of meditation. But we also walk (kinhin), bow in gassho, walk through the zendo in shashu, and many other physical action that are forms of meditation in their own right. Effectively, every movement in life, all the way down to simply sitting with no meditation object at all (shikantaza) is meditation. Often we swap "sitting" ( za+zen = literally "sitting meditation") for "meditation" when we probably shouldn't.
The Buddha said; "All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become."
So if you want to "become" enlightened, you must use the mind (the thinking thing) and the body (the sitting thing).
The monks and teachers sit so much. Should the world be sitting as much or more than them if it wants to become enlightened?The Buddha said; "Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without."
Meaning that you can't make the world more peaceful externally; only internally. But when you accept that there is no "you", only "us", the way to get the world to be a better place is for as many "us'es" as possible to practice things that generate peace and equanimity. That's mindfulness. For most schools of Buddhism, the best and most direct form of mindfullness is whole-hearted and full-bodied concentration on the moment, and that is sitting meditation in one form or another.
Did he say that generosity is the "fastest way to enlightenment"? I have heard that he did. What did he mean?I don't know that he actually did say that, but food for thought: You can never take too much if you're giving something freely. The first of the Ten Perfections is giving.
Is it possible to put "my enlightenment" as my first priority in life?A more important question may be "Should I make achieving enlightenment my first priority in life?" Also, "my enlightenment" has an extra word in it that sets a condition of the ego.
We often say "May all beings reach enlightenment, even before I do" that encompasses both noble conditions: that all escape suffering, and that as a Bodhisattva, you help all do so even before you do.
What is a good guide for deciding to 'get more involved' or to 'do more sitting, studying, chanting, etc'?What may be better to do is consider the Bodhisattva Vow instead: "Beings are numberless: I vow to free them. Ilusions are inexhaustible: I vow to end them. Dharma gates are boundless: I vow to enter them. The Buddha way is unsurpassable: I vow to embody it."
My motto: If you feel like doing it, do it. If you don't feel like doing it, do it even more ;)
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I have wondered if "sitting" can mean in more than just the physical sense. Can we be "sitting" while rocking a baby to sleep; while raking leaves; or cooking? Can being fully present in these moments be considered "sitting"?This deserves its own answer, but it is tied into the previous questions, so...
When I said, in my previous post; "Often we swap 'sitting' ( za+zen = literally 'sitting meditation') for 'meditation' when we probably shouldn't" I was being literal. Here's a brief on the etomology of our favorite word "zen", and how it relates to "sitting".
The word "zen" is the Sino-Japanese interpretation and pronunciation of the Chinese character 禅, which is typically pronounced "ch'an" in modern Standard Mandarin Chinese, but was more likely pronounced "d'zen" (form a "d" with your mouth and lips, but pronounce "Zen") in Middle Chinese. The term "zen" is actually a contraction of the seldom-used long form zenna (Mandarin: chánnà), which is itself a derivation from the Sanskrit term dhyāna (pali: jhāna), which refers directly to a specific type of meditation: the use of the mind as a tool for examination of mind and body states without attachment or judgement. This manner of examination--meditation--was given to us directly by the Buddha, and is explained to us in the Pali Canon -- the first and most complete collection of scriptures in the Theravada Buddhist tradition. The Sanskrit word is derived from the Indo-European root that means "to see" or "to look". Bodhidharma brought this kind of meditation from India with him to China. Initially, it was poorly recieved. Bodhidharma left southern China, heading north, purpously living in obscurity in the Shaolin monastery so he could practice this "seeing" meditation with his whole being, famously sitting facing a cave wall for nine years in dedicated practice. Eventually, this practice established itself, and developed into what is known as "Chan". From China, Eihei Dōgen, a Japanese Tiantai monk, brought this practice back with him to Japan, where it became the basis of the Soto school of Buddhism, and was pronounced "zenna", later shortened to just "zen".
So, very literally, the term "zen"--in all its forms and machinations--means "to see deeply, rightly, clearly and directly". One of the most important aspects of the etmology of the word often gets left behind and that is "directly". Zen is an experiential practice, not merely a mental or intellectual one.
Sitting is a form of "zen", but to say "can we sit while doing other things" is a bit wonky and erroneous. It's more right to ask "can I practice Zen while doing something else?" The answer to that is "absolutely". The other answer to that is, arguably "That's the point..." "Zen" is whole-hearted attention to the moment, no matter what that moment may be. When you sit, just sit with your entire being. When you rock the baby, just rock the baby, being present in every action of that task with your entire being. When you rake, just rake. When you sing, just sing, and so on. When you look at it that way, every single action--physical or mental--in life can be (and our teachers, all the way back to the Buddha say is) meditation, including the very last act of life, death.
So:
- "zen" = examining meditaion
- "za" = sit
- "zazen" = sitting examining meditation
- zen + "do" (hall) = meditation hall
- za + "fu" = zafu, or "sitting cushion" (literally: "sitting on cattails" ["fu" = "stuffed with cattail fluf", a common stuffing for cushions in China and Japan])
- za + "buton" = zabuton or "sitting mattress" ("buton" being a varriant root of "futon" or "cattail-filled mattress" [fu+ton])
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Then maybe I would know which level to use (when cooking a dinner to be ready at a certain time use 'Level 6', when petting the cat/dog use 'Level 2')
The exercise of "other" meditative tasks that are not zazen brings to mind the pursuit of traditional Japanese archery (kyūdō) often practiced by zen students. You often here "be the arrow", or "be the bow". This, too, is zen ("meditative attention"). So it is no stretch of the imagination to take, say, cooking dinner, and think "be the whisk", "be the knife", "just dice" and "just beat the batter". It may sound silly at first, but anyone who does any task that takes great concentration to achieve a particular result often talks of "finding a zone" and experiencing a falling away of the deliniations that define where they stop, and the task or given action begins.
And seriously, what cat doesn't want "level 11" attention at all times? ;)
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