Metta-for

Hunger is the worst of diseases ~ the Buddha

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Taking In the Good: Spinach


The Buddha taught that a grass blade, badly grasped, cuts the arm, and I wonder what he would say about a spinach leaf the size of an elephant's ear.

I don't know if you know anything about people who cut themselves, and I don't happen to do that particular behavior, but I do understand the mechanism. Create a distraction, a neural trapdoor, a more immediate pain to bring relief from the bigger pain.

And sometimes, I am beginning to see, a relief from the bigger good.

I always felt something was (even more) wrong with me that glorious spring, my favorite season, actually brings on a mild depression, followed by a prickly bout of anxiety. All the garden beds need to be turned! The mulch needs to be forearm deep! The weeds need to be pulled now so that they won't even try it in July!
Delusional measurements, like corn, are knee-high in July.
But really, it's that something about spring makes my relentless self-improvement ramp up.
I ramp up.
[Sorry, spring food joke--ramps--and this is about spinach anyway!]

Everything happens for me in spring--it's how my particular life is calibrated, always has been.
And it's never a slow little germination on a scratchy brown Kindergarten-classroom paper towel either, or a sweet sod-in-a-Dixie cup kind of happening.
It's sudden spring.
If you are a gardener, you know the split-skin perils of the growth spurt--even in Eden.

Well, this is just that kind of spring.

Last Wednesday was one of the most beautiful days of my whole life, really. So much goodness in my life right now!
A scalp-shushing sunshine by 8 a.m. I'd finished a picture book manuscript. I'd run several miles the day before.
The first Taking in the Good class with Rick Hanson, which I was incredibly excited for, was that night.
I'd woken up feeling peaceful with my post the day before about not feeling peaceful--because, for the first time, I am giving something with my writing, and expecting nothing in return: there's no grade with peacefoodlove.
My beautiful husband had just kissed me goodbye and thanked me again for that very post, which he had said, spilling tears, made him feel seen--the highest compliment there is.

I walked across the grass to the bus stop with my children. Squeals of pure delight and an on-the-fly 6-year-old hip hop ode to chives from Otto. From Ava, my little minutiae seeker, a lovely green leaf she fanned, took a bite of, and then handed to me.
Apparently, the spinach had come up.
From snowflake-numb wasteland to everything pushing it's way up in just a few days' time.
Sudden spring.

I latched the gate on the way back from the bus and discovered, in the unfurling spinach all bogged down in its leaf mulch (because reframing not raking when you have too much land/too little time as "bedding down your plants for the winter" sounds like wisdom, not pure laziness), a lone crayon shining amongst the leaves--a little chewed up, a little raggedy, but perfectly good.
Wow, it must have laid there all winter, but the effect was that it, too, had just come up.

I didn't CSI the bite marks to see whether it was child or dog, I just felt grateful because?…
I had my metaphor for the day--and a side dish.
So I thought, so I thought.

What I took from the crayon coming up in the spinach was: it's okay that it takes you so long to write, Stacia. It'll come up, the right thing to write, and when it does it will be right there organically, and it will be good.
"Whatever comes up, whatever arises, it's good" is just a seedling practice for me, by the way.
It takes me lot of effort to notice the good--chiefly, my own--and to reframe my shortcomings.

You'd think it would be very easy to feel good when it's all spinach leaves, crayons and sunshine!
You'd think that, wouldn't you?
But it's not.

Look, I realize there's nothing easier or more vibrant than spinach--less than a minute to steam in a scant tablespoon of water, a pour of silky oil, salt & nutmeg.
(I also realize we're after exploring groundlessness here, but I'm going to stand my ground and say you really have to have the nutmeg.)

Spinach: there's nothing better for us--right? Packed with vitamins, antioxidants--even iron (though not as much as Popeye purported), it's just plain good.
And in this case, it's come up, albeit unexpectedly, right in arm's reach.
So why does a part of me actually resist the good?

It should feel good to be virtuous and healthy, but in a perverse nutritional whammy, it feels much "better" (easier, more comfortable...) to eat the junk food of self-doubt. It's a fix.
In fact, sometimes, when too many good things happen, there is a kind of…badlash for me.
This is how I've come to see it.

Okay, this is hard for people to understand sometimes: how feeling good and safe can actually create aversion. Because if you have a trauma history or are just deeply conditioned (and I definitely consider my years of drinking traumatic), just around the time things get good and you relax...snap! It makes you a paranoid gatekeeper of your experiences.

My husband sees but doesn't truly understand how it could be so hard for me to take in the good--how could he?
I'm a very sunny person--other than a hereditary brow furrow which calls out for watermelon seeds to be planted there, I do not appear to struggle with this overtly.

Well, I just realized the reason I resist the goodness of spring. It's because I'm terrified I won't be able to live up to it.
Mettathud.

I've mentioned my deep admiration for Dr. Rick Hanson and his Buddha's Brain work. Essentially, you can sculpt your brain with goodness and actually rewire it, change it. As he has said: change your brain, change your mind, change your whole heart and life.
And I have mentioned that I am on this self-directed neuroplasticity path (which begins, incidentally, with this very thing: taking in the good).

Okay, I haven't exactly mentioned, in a full or complete way, the unbelievable running email thread I have going with Rick Hanson. It's just plain spinach-packed kind of good.

I wrote to thank him, and tell him about the blog--and I kind of flipped out when he emailed me back with such a wave of plain goodness and support for what I'm doing here that frankly, it knocked me out. He was soooo gracious!
This is a famous neuropsychologist and probably the smartest person you could throw (a carrot or) a stick at within 1,000 miles, and a darned fine writer himself, who said, in one of the most meaningful compliments I have ever savored:
"Keep writing and you'll soon have the guts of a book (if you want)."
[editorial note: it's the "if you want" part that's the greatest]
Just about perfect to encourage someone who's exploring the Buddha belly of embodiment, huh?
This was realllllly good, and so it was also reaaalllly scary for me. Having someone I admire see my writing, but more, the path I'm dedicated to, it's just been...absolutely terrifying.
I told him that.

And for sure, the junk-food of self-doubt has been right there since he said those things.
The"Who am I to____?" Twinkie, the "But I'm just a ______" Zagnut.
The "I'm not good enough to_____" Ding-Dong.
And of course, the big huge hole in the heart of the storebought donut that you can't ever fill up.

I told him that I would like to write candidly about this struggle, because I think that this conversation is a realllllly big opportunity for me to practice taking in the good.
And guess what? He was aces with that!

Our first Taking in the Good class was called "The Enchanted Loom," which was a tour through the tofu-esque brain, and the underpinnings of neuroplasticity. But from the first slide, I longed to get to the end: "Getting on our own side. Self-compassion."
Because I know that's my biggest issue.
This was the single biggest thread that ran through our small group discussion after he spoke--the struggle with self-compassion.
And I will tell you that sitting there, in the guided meditation to get on our own sides, and develop compassion for ourselves, one of the suggestions to feel it was to lay our hands over our hearts.
And that really worked for me (and worked for people in my group, too).
I pictured my heart, a lotus opening in a beautiful green light, which is the color associated with this heart energy in the body, chakra-wise.
And I felt good.

Guess what?
Spinach means "green hand." Okay, possibly. The Persian اسپاناخ aspanakh, translates roughly into "green hand" and even if its only wikipidiot luck that I saw this, I'll take it. The good, I mean.

So I am eating my spinach (which I do love) and I am practicing taking in the good, but I often fall on the sidewalk on the way to pick spinach and scrape my knees--which happened this morning.
At these moments, it's so painful, and so hard to get back up, even when I know it will feel better when I do.

What can transform pain into good?…Self-compassion.
Self-compassion, lovingkindness, metta…this spinach, this green hand, is the Mettāphor because it possesses the ultimate antioxidant: Vitamin M, Metta.
The Buddha said, The greatest protection in all the world is lovingkindness.
Self-compassion. Metta, or lovingkindness turned in.

Pretty recently, opioid peptides called rubiscolins have been found in spinach. These bind to the same places in the brain (and the GI tract) that opiates do--like the alcohol I used to rely on, or heroin. The same natural stickiness that promotes calm (like a runner's high with endorphins), stress release, and feelings of attachment. It strengthens the sense of pain resistance and self-control.

In other words? "The green hand" feels good and it's good for you.

So why not meditation and spinach for breakfast? Well, I never eat breakfast--except when I make it for other people. I have subsisted for years on a diet of black coffee and a handful of almonds and a green apple throughout the day, until the big offering of dinner. You see the rub here, right? I know what's good for me, I do.

Why don't we do what's good for us? (and so, for other people and the world?). Let me give you all the news that sits--meaning, it's not good or bad, it's just whatever comes up:
We are wired that way, and we are conditioned that way. In trying to avoid pain, we take the carrot and we beat ourselves over the head with it, into…unconsciousness, lack of awareness, a feeling of being cut off.
And then we do it again and again because we feel cut off--too cut off to come back. We are angry with ourselves because we think we did that to ourselves, that we are bad and responsible for our own suffering, but really this is it. This is the suffering, and it's the same suffering of the whole wide world; one big bowl.

Our final small group discussion question in the first session of Taking in the Good was: "How was the self-compassion practice for you? Any difficulties with it? What helped you succeed at it?"

The short answer we all gave was: "OOF."
The awesome "answer" we all came up with was having the wisdom and courage to lay the green hand over our own hearts.

Self-compassion. Sometimes it feels so slow-fast.
To incline ourselves increasingly toward wanting to do what is good for us, even when we don't want to, or don't know if we can.
Feeling, being present, taking in the good, investing in my own goodness--all of these were difficult for me alone and I was just starting to do them! These take energy, fortitude, spinach.
So have some patience with me, I say to me, to you, to we.
It's coming up.

COMING UP (McCartney)

YOU WANT A LOVE TO LAST FOREVER , ONE THAT WILL NEVER FADE AWAY.
I WANT TO HELP YOU WITH YOUR PROBLEM,
STICK AROUND, I SAY.

COMING UP, OOH,
COMING UP, YEAH, YEAH,
COMING UP, LIKE A FLOWER,
COMING UP, I SAY.

OOH
YOU WANT A FRIEND YOU CAN RELY ON,
ONE WHO WILL NEVER FADE AWAY.
AND IF YOU'RE SEARCHING FOR AN ANSWER,
STICK AROUND, I SAY.

COMING UP, OOH,
COMING UP,
COMING UP, LIKE A FLOWER,
COMING UP, YEAH.

YOU WANT SOME PEACE AND UNDERSTANDING,
SO EV'RYBODY CAN BE FREE.
I KNOW THAT WE CAN GET TOGETHER,
WE CAN MAKE IT, STICK WITH ME.

IT'S COMING UP, OOH
COMING UP, SEE?
COMING UP, LIKE A FLOWER,
COMING UP FOR YOU AND ME

COMING UP,
COMING UP.

COMING UP,
COMING UP, I SAY.
COMING UP, LIKE A FLOWER,
COMING UP.
FEEL IT IN MY BONES, YEH, YEH, YEH, YEH.

YOU WANT A BETTER KIND OF FUTURE,
ONE THAT EV'RYONE CAN SHARE.
YOU'RE NOT ALONE, WE ALL COULD USE IT,
STICK AROUND, WE'RE NEARLY THERE.

IT'S COMING UP, OOH,
COMING UP, EV'RYWHERE,
COMING UP, LIKE A FLOWER,
COMING UP FOR US ALL TO SHARE,
COMING UP, YEAH,
COMING UP,
WELL, COMING UP LIKE A FLOWER.
COMING UP.

This morning I blew it on the self-compassion with my husband.
So this is what I made myself for breakfast:

Later, Ava came right off the bus and slammed the gate to check to see what had come up. She expects it to be there, the new growth, and still, she is delighted.
Again and again, no matter how cold our winter is, whether the dog bats at it, it comes up.
Goodness. All over.
My own wisdom and basic goodness just keep coming up too.

Ava says, "I love you Mom. You know what the best news is about spinach?--It's edible."
Such a green heart.

I lay my hand over my own heart.
What an offering.
She chomps on a leaf, shares one, swings open the gate wide, walks off into the sun.

















1 comment:

  1. Stacia, this knocked me out. You write so beautifully, like if jazz were effervescent vegetable juice twinkled with words.

    ". . . having the wisdom and courage to lay the green hand over our own hearts." Wow.

    "Coming up." Jeepers.

    (And thank you much, too, for your very kind feedback about me.)

    For what it's worth, it's seeming lately that it's wholesome humility to stop resisting and instead open to the goodness in one's own heart. Which is no less for being present in other hearts.

    Like yours.

    Thank you.

    Rick

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