Ring the bells that still can ring

I've been busting my brain non-stop over some reports and financial documents today, the kind of concentration that makes you forget your own name and identity for a few hours. It's 3:15 p.m. and I haven't had lunch or taken five minutes to relax, so I've decided to force myself to stop and write. My boss just came in to inform me that the report I have produced for the Department of Canadian Heritage is "excellent, first class", so I'm allowing myself this little reward.

Despite the mountain of work I completed, I have been feeling quiet and pensive lately. I've been reflecting on the past year and remembering a lot of difficult situations I lived through and the intense feelings which resulted from them. I remember feeling the loneliest I have ever felt before. Since a child I have always loved and appreciated solitude and having some time on my own, perhaps in order to contrast being part of a large family and developing many friends across the country over the years. But last year I felt a stillness that I have never experienced before. Despite having a supportive surrounding, I still found myself twirling my thumbs, walking alone, wondering who I could call or see, and extensively reflecting on my life. I know it's strange for me to mention that now, since my life has been so full and busy since the spring. But I find this reflection significant. I feel like I've been moving through life very quickly lately because things have been going so well for me; generally speaking, this is positive change and has allowed me to simply move through actions without too much self-awareness. But at the same time, I am recognizing that I feel emotions and thoughts more acutely when I am going through difficult situations. Time slows down and many moments become tattooed in my brain in a way that happy thoughts seldomly rival. And now, strangely enough, I have suddenly found myself wanting to find this level of awareness and quiet honesty that I had acquired earlier this year.

I remember one cold January afternoon, walking into the Zen centre. It felt sacred to walk inside; one-on-one training is not offered at this particular centre, and those who participate in sitting practice (or, "meditation") must be admitted as formal students. But I had approached a particular monk, the Ven. Chunen Chiden, and explained that I lacked direction and discipline in my meditation and in life, and he agreed to meet with me to discuss these issues. We met on several occasions in the large, sparsely decorated heritage house and he showed me the correct salutations and preparations that one should do when beginning the sitting. But on this particular occasion, I felt especially affected by my desire to calm my thoughts and by a feeling that I was failing miserably, despite Chunen Chiden's guidance. I walked into the main entrance and could hear the echo of my boots against the white hardwood floor. I hung my coat, removed my boots and socks, and took a few minutes to collect myself. I was feeling so vulnerable that day, and wondered what had happened to the work I had accomplished in earlier sessions. I looked around at the white walls, at the imposing staircase, down the hall to a window - just hesitating. Finally I walked up to the bell, struck it, and waited for a response. I heard another bell echo from inside another room, and I walked towards the closed door from which the sound was coming from. Soon I was sitting in front of Chunen Chiden inside the huge room; the room is so sparse you can hear every breath. It so strange how vividly I remember these details, which is why I am mentioning them now. It was a difficult session indeed, and tears fell down my cheeks as I felt the emotions welling inside of me. And I remember the monk's face, not angry or disappointed; but calm, relaxed, understanding and, at times, gently amused.

I know someone who is feeling the stillness, loneliness and sadness I felt then. And I am struggling now to remember how it was for me so that I can be a friend for her that I felt I did not have at the time. I will try and read this entry again to remind myself of this.

... On a lighter note, the scenery around me has become quite beautiful in the past few weeks. The leaves have become bright orange, yellow and red, the air is crisp and the days shorter. It feels invigorating and real, which may be the cause of my newfound reflection these days. I am glad for this and am appreciating autumn for the first time in years.

And now I coming back to the reality of this day, my office, my current life. I feel grateful to have written down these thoughts. Somehow it has validated my current state of mind of late and allowed me to express myself for the sake of expression. To no one in particular, but glad to share it all the same.

(Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything -
That's how the light gets in.)

-Leonard Cohen