ZAFROGZEN

This is another “Encounter” to go into the collection above. It’s also likely to eventually end up in my memoir.

I’d always been fascinated with the Penitente Indians — Native Americans said to be indigenous to Mexico who converted to Christianity.

Isolated in the sparsely inhabited reaches of Northern New Mexico the Penitente developed their own austere form of Catholicism, noted for its ritual reenactment of the Passion of Christ on Good Friday. A procession of flagellants whipping and scourging their flesh, blood streaming down arms and torsos, accompany a young man chosen to carry the cross that year. The ritual is said to culminate in an actual crucifixion using sterilized steel nails. Thankfully the guest of honor is taken down from the cross before he actually dies.

When the mainstream church sought to interfere in their practices the Penitentes evolved into a secretive, mystical “Brotherhood.”

In the fall of 1968 I was hitchhiking around the Southwest, circling through Hopi and Navajo country, past false-front cowboy towns, through dusty barrios and along city streets of neon and concrete. Stone “Hoo Doo” people, embedded side by side in the rock walls of mesas like guardians carved in the pillars of Egyptian tombs, gazed down impassively as I went back and forth through Utah and Arizona.

I slept under freeways and bridges, in dry river beds beneath a star-strewn sky, and on park benches and picnic tables. Occasionally I was taken in by friendly people looking to get high with a real hippie, or if I got really lucky — a lonely woman to lie with in a darkened bedroom.

I was a prototype for the legion of homeless wanderers who would follow in the years to come — wild-eyed madmen wrestling with personal demons on city streets and roadsides. It was one long meditation, sometimes spent actually sitting cross-legged beside streams or in mountains. I stayed for a short time in an old mining cabin beside a small creek winding through a meadow high in the Colorado Rockies where I awoke in the morning to little chipmunks perched at the foot of the bed seeking handouts. For a few weeks I worked pitching hay bales on a ranch.

Finally I ended up in Penitente country north of Taos, hitchhiking on a back road across an elongated plateau, with the range of Sangre de Cristo Mountains holding up the sky to one side. A series of short rides took me through tiny settlements of scattered adobe houses, with old pickup trucks rusting under bare trees and dirty faced little kids staring wide eyed at the long haired bearded stranger in a tattered corduroy sports coat and old bluejeans. It’s already October and the wind has a sharp cold edge to it.

Dropped off late in the afternoon at a desolate crossroads just south of the Colorado border, I gazed up apprehensively at the mountains slowly disappearing into ominous clouds and the sky growing darker. The main road, devoid of traffic and eerily empty, stretched out straight in both directions. Away from words and images to echo my feverish thoughts, my mind too grew empty and calm.

After a few hours without a single vehicle driving by, I realized it’s not only getting darker but much colder as well. Thin layers of icy snow started flying across the deserted roadway as an early blizzard blew in from the Northwest.

Far off in the distance a lone light flickered in a ranch house. My mind flew across the expanse of barren landscape and for a brief instant I gazed out through the eyes of a woman sitting inside by the fire.

The temperature dropped precipitously and low drifts of snow began to accumulate in a ditch by the roadside. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel cold. In fact I wasn’t feeling anything, except an overwhelming urge to fall asleep. The vision of a long dark tunnel opened up before me, with a glorious golden light at the end of it.

Just as I was getting ready to lie down in the snow by the side of the road, a baby blue and white ’55 Oldsmobile hardtop, exactly like one I once owned, pulled to a stop in front of me. For a moment I thought it might be an hallucination, but as I stumbled forward I saw three Indians, black hair and weathered faces under battered cowboy hats, staring expectantly at me. The door opened and they beckoned for me to get in the back seat.

As we rumbled off down the road they handed me a bottle of sweet red port to drink from, followed by a partially gnawed head of green cabbage to chomp. The port, a wine that I’d never tasted until then, warmed up my insides as it went down. It’s been a favorite of mine ever since — as is cabbage, which I prefer cooked, but tasted pretty good raw.

After a few pleasantries I discovered my saviors were Penitente Indians. They seemed pleased when I told them I’d always wanted to meet genuine Penitente. Once across the Colorado border we pulled into a big truck stop at a busy highway intersection. By then a cold rain was falling.

My companion in the back seat offered to buy me a drink at the tavern nearby. As we sat at the bar drinking whiskey and beer he told me he’d always wanted to meet a genuine hippy. “You look so much like Jesus,” he crooned while gently stroking my long hair. He said he’d taken LSD a few times and that I could stay at their place nearby and take it with them. The thought occurred to me that maybe they wanted to fatten me up for the “Ritual” in the spring. Although flattered, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to go there.

A psychedelic vision flashed before me of a smooth dirt floor inside ancient adobe walls, followed by a wave of paranoia as I remembered that the Indians of the Southwest had somehow determined that hippies were homosexuals. The thought of taking LSD with a band of horny Indians, who were also into bodily mortification, was even less appealing than the cold highway outside.

I downed my drink and thanked them for their kindness but said I really had to be on my way. They looked on with bemused expressions as I backed nervously out the door and quickly hitched a ride on a big rig truck going west towards Alamosa and Durango.

I’ve since read that dying of hypothermia (low body temperature) is actually quite pleasant, like falling peacefully asleep.

I often have a hit or two of marijuana (cannabis) from my vaporizer before doing hatha yoga and working out a few mornings each week. I’ve found it makes exercise much more interesting and enjoyable. In fact it goes well with any physical activity that doesn’t involve a lot of linear thinking, including sex — solo or otherwise. Marijuana is legendary for stimulating Shakti, the psychic/sexual energy cultivated in some yogic practices.

I recently threw the I Ching about my use of marijuana, which is starting to look increasingly like a habit. I got the hexigram The Army (number 7) with a change in the third place. That third line (read from the bottom up) essentially denotes a situation where someone other than the designated leader has taken command of the army and is, so to speak, in the driver’s seat. This indicates to me that perhaps I’m getting to a point where marijuana is using me more than I’m using it.

Some shamans warn that marijuana is a powerful spirit that will take you over in order to get you to propagate it. This is not unusual in the plant world. Obviously plants cannot move around much when it comes time to procreate and have sex with each other, so they often depend upon insects and animals to act as intermediaries. The most common method is through providing sweet honey for bees, who in the process of collecting it for nourishment carry pollen (sperm cells) from flower to flower.

Plants such as cannabis, that depend upon humans for procreation, take this process to another level. Opium poppies not only provide people with relief from pain, they are so addictive that the human host soon gives up everything else in order to do the plants bidding. Cannabis is much more benign but should still be treated with respect and some caution. Like with alcohol, I try to keep my marijuana use within bounds.

Despite that reticence I started propagating the plant early on. As a gardener it’s hard to resist a species that is so responsive to the hand of man.

It rewarded me generously. Although I was very cautious about growing marijuana when it was highly illegal and the penalties harsh (which only made the price go up), after it was made legal for “medical use” in California I enlarged my little greenhouse to what is still a relatively small size (about 10ft by 14ft). After drying and trimming my harvest I’d take a few pounds down to one of the dispensaries in San Francisco (usually in a “bad” neighborhood) and come out with thousands of dollars in cash — a wad of bills that would choke the proverbial horse. Some dispensaries actually dispensed with counting money and for expediency simply weighed the bills on their sensitive electronic scales instead.

Aside from the extra income, growing cannabis was a fascinating hobby. I read up on genetics and developed my own varieties, cloning outstanding specimens repeatedly — most notably “Moongoddess,” a potent Indica redolent of licorice and barnyards, which was especially stimulating sexually.

After about ten years that window began to close. With the housing crash and the resulting recession, so many folks started growing marijuana that the price dropped considerably. The medical market was flooded with bud and it became difficult for a small grower like myself to compete. With the recent legalization of cannabis in California that situation has only gotten worse (or better, depending on your point of view). Now I just grow a couple of organic plants every few years for my own enjoyment and watch with some trepidation as capitalism goes crazy over the possibilities of “cannabusiness.”

“The inferior man conquers others, the superior man conquers himself.”                                                                                                               Dhammapada

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Most people are disciplined by outside forces and obligations such as job assignments, deadlines and appointments. It’s easier to be disciplined when your boss tells you what to do and your paycheck depends on it.

One of the joys of being a self-employed artist was setting my own schedule. Friends envied my apparent freedom from external demands. What they didn’t appreciate is that painting requires a surprising amount of plain old fashioned, often tedious, work, which must by necessity be self-generated. In order to accomplish anything I had to devise schedules and deadlines — even setting my alarm to get an early start on the day. In other words I was forced to develop self-discipline.

In my twenties I started the serious practice of meditation and yoga, both of which involve considerable self-discipline. Later I took up running and weight training. To some extent I’ve managed to maintain those disciplines into old age, especially meditation.

I also experimented with fasting, which builds self-discipline and makes it easier to regulate the intake of food in general. At one point I gave up meat, fast food, alcohol, caffeine, sugar and every other substance even remotely negative or sinful. I soon started to taste the extra sugar, salt and other additives in foods, which my taste buds had been too jaded to notice.

I even tried total celibacy for a couple of years. Sexual desire has been compared to a fire, and like a fire, when no new fuel is added it eventually dies down. That definitely makes life simpler, if less interesting.

For awhile I lived in a remote location without electricity, which made it easy to eliminate mental stimulants such as TV, phones and other electronics. It’s assumed that running water, appliances and the other gadgets of modern civilization save us time and make life easier. I found just the opposite to be the case. If you really want more time and space, simplify your life.

Self-discipline shouldn’t feel like self-punishment. It’s not necessary to be harsh with yourself and live a Spartan lifestyle devoid of pleasure. Life is actually more enjoyable and rewarding when it’s disciplined. It’s simple things like getting out of bed before sunrise to benefit from the early morning surge of awakening energy or being hungry enough when you sit down for a meal so that you really enjoy the food, but with enough self-control to avoid the negative consequences of overeating.

It turns out that my seemingly herculean efforts with austere practices like fasting, yoga and strenuous exercise regimens was just the easy stuff. The real challenge is simple everyday things that require self-awareness, as well as self-discipline — like paying more attention to others, abstaining from gossiping and bragging, and avoiding bickering with my wife on long car trips. Now we’re talking self-discipline!

I remind myself that only God is perfect (and sometimes I wonder about her) but any improvement we can make in ourselves, no matter how small, redounds to the benefit of the rest of the world.

One of the reasons I’m sitting here writing this is that my own self-discipline has been lagging of late. Just thinking about writing this post has already resulted in some improvement. I’m still far from being a paragon of discipline and self restraint but my ongoing efforts have at least prevented me from sliding into an even worse chaos of overindulgence and excess.

Having spent an inordinate amount of time and energy attempting to tame what looks to be an especially errant and unruly nature, I consider myself something of an authority on self-discipline.

What follows are some basic strategies I’ve learned through my own (ongoing) efforts at self-discipline, along with a little research.

WRITE IT DOWN

Have you ever written out a grocery list, and then when you got to the market you couldn’t find it, but you remembered most of the things on the list anyway? Writing something down imprints it on your brain.

That capacity can be used to good advantage. Making a list of things to do goes a long way towards their accomplishment, as does placing the list where it will be seen and checking off items as they are completed.

One of the most effective ways to lose weight is to simply keep a detailed list of everything you eat. For folks who are trying to save money by spending less, keeping a list of every cent that is spent has proven to be the best way to cut back on expenditures.

If there’s something you would really like to do but are having trouble getting to it, keeping a list of how much time, and when, is spent on the activity is a practical way to accomplish your goal — be it exercise, meditation  or some other laudatory endeavor,

Making a list works because it puts what you want to accomplish out in front of you. Putting it in front of you in reality is even better. When I was painting there were days when I just didn’t feel like it but I would force myself to go out to the studio and sit at my easel. I’d start having ideas and before long I was hard at work. Just physically getting to the gym or the desk is half the battle.

VISUALIZE IT

When making a list, it’s good to simultaneously visualize yourself doing the things you want to accomplish. A big part of the brain apparently doesn’t make a clear distinction between a real event and an imagined one. Just rehearsing something in your imagination is akin to actually doing it. But rather than just imagining the end result, envision yourself going through the necessary steps to achieve it.

Several studies have demonstrated that lying on the couch and visualizing yourself exercising has a remarkable amount of the very same benefits as actually exercising. Just imagining exercising a particular muscle twice a day for a few months has even been shown to increase that muscle’s mass and strength by an average of 30 percent of what actually doing the exercise in reality produces. That’s unbelievable until you consider that a lot of what goes on during any activity are internal changes such as the brain’s ability to communicate with muscles, hormone secretion, and even gene activation or suppression.

So although it’s better to actually do something, just imagining it is surprisingly effective. That’s why Olympic athletes spend time visualizing their competitive event over and over before actually performing. It gives them a head start.

The first thing in the morning is a good time to plan out the day and visualize what is to be done. When I began practicing yoga in the sixties I read all of the limited number of books on the subject that were available back then. After learning various exercises and postures I devised my own “routine” which I refined and ran through in my mind every morning while lying in bed. Rehearsing the routine in my imagination made it easier and more effective when I actually did it. Visualization has been a part of yoga and meditation practices for centuries, but it’s only recently, with the surge in neurological research, that such strategies have gained scientific credence.

WILLPOWER

Repeating a particular activity, even if only with the imagination, wires it more securely into the brain. Thus each attempt at self-discipline is worthwhile. There’s no such thing as failure unless one actually gives up and stops trying. Every attempt at self-discipline is a step towards accomplishing it. Even just thinking about it is a step in the right direction.

I started smoking at a young age. After ten years of smoking a pack-a-day, I decided to quit, but it took a year of concerted effort to finally stop completely. I was rolling my own by then and every time I’d decide to quit smoking, I’d ceremoniously empty my tobacco tin into the creek. By nightfall I’d be down on my knees in abject humiliation pawing through the trash for butts. Finally the repeated attempts to quit began to outweigh the acquired conditioning to smoke. Eventually I was able to easily go without cigarettes.

Research has shown that willpower is like a muscle that can be strengthened by repeatedly exercising it. Each attempt, even if it fails, is important for building self-discipline. Every time you force yourself to go to the gym or eat something healthy rather than junk food, you’re changing your brain and how you think.

Like a muscle, willpower also gets tired with overuse. That’s why it’s difficult to resist that drink after a hard day at work. Even self-discipline and willpower need a rest sometimes. It’s like training an animal, one should not be too tough nor too slack, but persistent and consistent.

The importance of willpower and self-discipline cannot be overestimated. It’s an inner strength and ability to stick to decisions that’s essential to success in any undertaking and can overcome addictions, procrastination and laziness.

Although most people would agree that willpower is important, few realize that it can be consciously cultivated and developed. With practice of self-discipline the brain begins to change ingrained patterns of thought and the subconscious starts to help with regulating and overcoming impulses rather than bringing them on.

HABITS

We rely on habit much more than we realize. For instance when first learning to drive a car we had to consciously think about each action, but once we’ve practiced enough driving becomes automatic and effortless. That’s because driving and all the actions it entails is a conditioned habit.

The part of our brain that makes conscious decisions, while obviously vital, is just a sliver of our overall mental activity. Our brains and bodies come equipped with a good deal of built-in pre-programing for the control of basic bodily functions such as breathing and digestion. But most of our functions and abilities are learned and programed into our brains by repetition until they’ve become automatic and unconscious. A simple act such as walking across the room, which we can do without thinking about it, requires so many rapid, sophisticated calculations that if we had to consciously decide every action we took we’d be frozen in place, unable to move, .

In psychology the sub-conscious is traditionally viewed as the seat of repressed desires and powerful archetypal forces festering just below the surface, over which we have little control. I think a more accurate view is to see the subconscious as like a very sophisticated computer that has been programmed by repeated thoughts and behaviors to respond in predictable habitual ways — which fortunately can also be reprogrammed with concerted effort.

When a behavior becomes a habit through repetition and conditioning it stops requiring our conscious direction and instead functions on auto-pilot. How many times have you done a repetitive act like locking the front door or turning off the stove, only to get halfway down the street and wonder if you’d done so? That’s because those simple tasks have become automatic and unless the act is consciously noted the brain doesn’t feel the need to record the event.

The enduring character of habits is crucial. Even though we don’t practice such things as swimming or typing, those conditioned patterns can still be brought up when needed. I couldn’t tell you where any of the keys on the typewriter are, but I can still sit down and type up a storm without thinking about it. Almost everything we do, from riding a bike to shooting pool, and probably even our perception of “reality,” would be impossible without that ability to record and repeat habitual patterns.

The good news, when it comes to eliminating bad habits, is that once they are formed and imprinted on our brain they can be replaced or changed over time, with perseverance and mindfulness. The bad news is that they rarely ever completely disappear. Even when a habit is overcome we must still be on our guard lest it take hold again. Repetition and time are crucial factors in eliminating or adopting habits. It’s said that it only takes about two months of repetition to make something into a habit.

Getting rid of a long term, ingrained habit like smoking can be difficult because the brain will resist changing a habit pattern in favor of what it has been programmed to do. The physical addiction to nicotine is said to disappear after a few weeks but the habitual patterns of behavior keep kicking in. The part of the brain that stores habits doesn’t distinguish between bad and good habits, so if you have a bad one, it’s always lurking there. Unless you consciously fight a habit, the conditioned pattern will unfold automatically.

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH

A crucial moment always arises, when one is confronted with an urge to indulge a bad habit. By paying close attention it’s possible to notice when those moments of choice arrive and remember that one can either reinforce the habit by indulging it or resist it and weaken its hold. That’s a good time to pause and take a deep, breath. Depending on the strength of the urge, it’s possible at that moment to choose to do something else, perhaps substitute a more benign habit. Usually the urge will subside in a short time if the habit is resisted.

If one does succumb to the temptation to indulge in whatever habit one is trying to resist it’s important not to give up completely or beat up on oneself over it. The more one fights a bad habit the less satisfying it will be if it is given in to, which will weaken its hold. Eventually, the repetitive attempts to alter the habit will accumulate and overpower the habitual pattern.

Many habits are combined with other behaviors, involving cues or triggers that kick in the need to satisfy the habit. The classic example is of Pavlov’s dog which would start salivating whenever a cue that was connected to getting food, such as the sound of a bell, would occur. It’s at that point that the habit can either be reinforced or a new habit connection made.

For a smoker, that first cup of coffee in the morning usually demands a cigarette. Linking habits like that increases their power, but that linkage can also be used to replace bad habits with something less harmful. Instead of a cigarette one could eat a banana with that first cup in the morning. At first it won’t feel right. But if it’s repeated often enough, before long the banana will become the habit and if there are no bananas one will have to go looking for one.

If the bad habit is replaced with another more acceptable habit, which satisfies the same urge, the bad habit eventually will lose it’s power. This means changing a normal routine, which can feel uncomfortable and awkward at first.

When trying to establish a new, more beneficial habit, connecting it with an existing habit will facilitate its adoption. For instance, with that first cup of coffee or tea in the morning, instead of surfing the internet, one could make it a time to write out and visualize what is to be done that day. Through the association of one habit with another the brain establishes neural connections that double the strength of both habits.

Habits are also frequently linked with certain times of the day, which act as triggers for the habit to kick in. It’s been shown that if we eat a meal at the same time every day, when that time rolls around, while we might not start drooling like a dog, we do secrete digestive juices and saliva in anticipation. Linking up a pre-dinner cocktail or a desert afterwards can quickly become a habit, as can doing some exercises beforehand or taking a walk after dinner.

Obviously some habits are easier to adopt, than others. Anything that tastes or feels especially good can easily become a habit. The most seductive and immediately pleasurable habits such as sugar, alcohol and addictive drugs, as well as procrastination and laziness, turn out to be negative if continued. Habits like exercise and meditation which can be challenging in the beginning are productive of pleasure later on, producing a host of positive responses and pleasurable feelings brought on by the internal production of powerful natural drugs, such as endorphins and dopamine, that stimulate a cascade of beneficial mental and physical responses.

KEY HABITS

When people start exercising, they also change other, unrelated patterns in their lives, often unknowingly. Research has shown that people who begin exercising also start eating better and become more productive at work. They indulge in other bad habits less and say they feel less stressed. “Exercise spills over,” says James Prochaska, a University of Rhode Island researcher. “There’s something about it that makes other good habits easier.”

If there’s any cure-all it would be exercise. It not only makes one stronger and healthier, it alleviates many otherwise intractable mental issues such as anxiety, depression and poor self-esteem.

Exercise is a key habit that triggers widespread change.

Another key habit is meditation. Just a few minutes every morning sitting up straight, relaxing, and focusing on what is being sensed at each moment, while letting go of rumination on the past and future and the ceaseless flow of discursive thought, has proven to boost willpower by stimulating the areas of the brain that govern decision making and regulate emotions. Research has shown that the effects of meditation are incredibly far reaching and positive.

A key habit that is often overlooked, and one that I’m especially deficient in, is neatness. Just making the bed in the morning has a positive effect on the entire day. A work space that is organized and neat greatly improves mood and productivity.

Neatness is also conducive to mindfulness, another key habit. I tend to concentrate so intensely on whatever project I’m working on that I shut out everything else and stop noticing where I’m putting things or what I’m doing with my body. This results in a lot of wasted time looking for tools, in addition to physical issues from holding uncomfortable positions for too long.

I’m always reminded of an old master craftsman who did some work on our house. He moved at a steady unhurried pace and everything was returned immediately to the proper place in his toolbox. At first I worried he was moving so slow that it would cost me a bundle at his hourly wage. But he accomplished way more in less time than someone who rushes about, scattering tools and wasting energy in unnecessary motion.

SWEET LIMITATION

In the I Ching, the ancient Taoist book of wisdom and divination, the Hexagram that comes closest to self-discipline (other than the constant exhortation to “persevere”) is Limitation. The hexagram’s three lower lines, or trigram, symbolize a lake, while the upper trigram represents water.

A lake occupies a limited space and if more water flows in, it overflows. Thus it shows the necessity of setting limits, which is seen as the backbone of virtue and correct conduct. To voluntarily impose limits on one’s activities and desires is analogous to the Taoist ideal of moderation and the “golden mean” between extremes such as overindulgence and severe self-denial.

The I Ching cautions that “galling limitation” must not be persevered in. If we go to far in imposing limitations on our own nature, that would be injurious. Limits must be set even on limitation.

This is a highly refined form of self discipline — which can be surprisingly difficult. It’s often easier to give up a pleasurable habit entirely than it is to be moderate with it. If something is enjoyable it’s natural to feel that more of it would be even better. Most of my own “addictions” such as a glass of wine with dinner, a couple squares of dark chocolate after breakfast and even the occasional hit of marijuana, are harmless and even beneficial — in moderation. But if they are consumed in unlimited quantities the effects cease to be pleasant and can turn negative. Almost everything, sleep, work, and especially food, is enjoyable and beneficial when limited but harmful when carried too far.

The lower (inner) trigram, lake, in the hexagram of limitation also represents “joy” and the upper (outer) trigram, water, symbolizes “danger.” For someone given to extremes, to be able to enjoy pleasurable habits while still being mindful of the dangers in overdoing them, requires continuous mindfulness. Fortunately, even moderation can become habitual if persevered in long enough.

Bamboo is admired (and feared) for it’s tenacity. It’s steel-like roots can even penetrate concrete. In fierce winds it simply bends rather than breaking — a model of perseverance under pressure.

It is actually a giant, primitive  grass, a holdover from an earlier prehistoric period. Although each stalk or “culm” is distinct from the others, they are all one interconnected plant under the ground. They might appear to be separate individuals — but not far beneath the surface they are living just one life.

Bamboo has many practical uses. The tender shoots can be eaten and the hard wood-like stalks are used to construct everything from fences to flooring.

It can also make music. Since earliest times bamboo has been fashioned into flutes of various types. In many traditional cultures the flute was a favorite instrument for young men out courting. There is nothing so attractive, and penetrating, as the solitary sound of a flute on a moonlit night. The god Krishna is pictured holding a flute to the side of his lips, standing with one leg causally crossed in front of the other. It’s said that the sound of his flute was irresistible to the gopi (cowherding) girls he favored.

MAKING MY OWN MUSIC

What prompted me to think of constructing a flute from a length of bamboo I’d found was the lack of electricity in my little hermitage in the foothills and my consequent inability to play music on a radio or phonograph. Not that I really missed those “conveniences” but I did miss music and I was excited by the prospect of making my own with an improvised bamboo flute.

When I spied a thin steel rod connecting the radiator to the firewall on an antique pickup truck, one of the old rusting vehicles that dotted the landscape in the vicinity of my shack by the pond, I immediatly thought of the lovely white-hot coals that the narrow fire chamber in my cook stove produced.

I took the rod from the old truck and filed one end to a sharp point. Then I sawed off a length of bamboo and reamed out the thin nodes that separated the inner chambers, leaving one end closed. After heating the steel rod in coals until the tip was glowing red, I pressed the hot point on one side of the bamboo near the closed end. The rod burned smoothly through, emitting a satisfying sizzling noise and a light, fragrant smoke.

Holding the piece of bamboo to one side I blew down into the hole with pursed lips. Then I blew some more. I blew and blew. After a few hours, when I was about ready to give up, a deep reedy sound suddenly flowed out of the flute with my breath.

Ecstatic, I wandered about for the rest of the day blowing that one low mournful note, a sound much like an owl would make.

One by one I burned four finger-holes along the top of the flute and finally one for my thumb on the bottom side, adjusting the pitch as I went along. Soon I was tootling happily around, composing simple melodies which became “variations” as I tried to repeat them.

THE SHAKUHACHI

Later, after I’d made a few of those side-blown or “transverse” flutes, I tried my hand at shakuhachi, which are blown from the end like a clarinet but without the reed and mouthpiece — just the open end of the bamboo with the front side cut at an angle to make a sharp edge to blow against, similar to blowing on a bottle to get a sound.

Although they can be constructed in a variety of lengths and diameters, producing deeper or higher sounds, the shakuhachi is named for its most popular length of one and an eighth “shaku,” or just over 21 inches. They were developed in medieval Japan by Zen Buddhist monks who formed a sect all their own — wandering mendicants called “Komuso,” or “priests of emptiness and nothingness,” who wore baskets over their heads as a form of self-effacement on their begging rounds and practiced “Suizen,” or “blowing zen.”

Focusing on sound is an ancient method of meditation. It is especially favored in zen, with its emphasis on the present moment. Avalokiteshvara, or Kwan Yin (one who hears), is said to have experienced great enlightenment reflecting on sound, along with the question “who hears?”

After making my first shakuhachi flute I soon learned why it originated as a way of meditation practice. Its main feature is the quality of the sound produced and the intense concentration necessary to bring forth any sound at all, much less the vast range of subtle nuances that are possible with these simple instruments.

I discovered that the shakuhachi was almost impossible to play without a quiet mind. But after prolonged meditation it seemed to almost play itself, my body and the flute forming one unified whole, with the sound coming from deep in my gut and spontaneous music flowing out with surprising quality and depth.

But if I was distracted and lost in thought the shakuhachi refused to play along.

JAMMIN’ WITH THE BIRDS

When I drove around on my landscape painting expeditions I kept an eye out for bamboo. The shakuhachi is ideally made from the thick root-end of Japanese bamboo, which can be difficult to find.

On one of my trips I stopped to investigate some bamboo growing beside a tiny stream. It was the typical bamboo usually found growing in California, more like corn stalks than the hard wooden culms of oriental bamboo. However, as I peered into the small grove an odd stalk caught my eye. Almost completely black in color, it looked to have broken off and died long ago. But the root end was hard and intact. I carefully dug it out of the ground. There was not enough for a full length shakuhachi — only about a foot of good wood, with a few rings of root to give it thickness and a nice taper.

When I returned to the foothills I shaped the small piece of strange bamboo into a short flute. After I’d finished burning the holes and I blew into it, the timbre of the notes astonished me. Shakuhachi are normally rather low in pitch and their music is slow and haunting, almost mournful at times. But the notes fairly flew out of this shorter version, in light and joyous birdlike trills.

I’d already made several shakuhachi and each one had it’s own personality. Some seemed to have more music in them than others. But this small black flute was something else entirely. The quality of the sound and the music that flowed effortlessly out of it was truly magical.

One day I meandered downstream playing my new little flute. It was springtime and carpets of wildflowers were appearing everywhere. At a place where the creek flowed through a grove of tall Digger Pines, I stopped and sat on a huge log. The sound of my flute soared up exuberantly in every direction.

Before long I noticed that birds were landing in the pines above me and chirping merrily along with my flute. The surrounding trees filled with hundreds of birds, all singing at the tops of their little lungs, a delirious chorus in a multitude of different chirping voices.

RENUNCIATION

When an old friend visited me and heard the sound of the new flute he was naturally entranced. He was a musician and could play shakuhachi fairly well. He deeply desired that little flute.

I was trying, at the time, to live the life of a renunciate, giving up all attachment. I never locked my door when I left home and always gave what little extra cash I had to panhandlers. I tried not to desire anything that others had and to only accept things that were freely given, without aggressively seeking anything for myself. I often sold my watercolors for less than I could have gotten and deliberately didn’t promote myself or make much of what I did.

So, of course I felt compelled to give my beloved flute to my friend when he departed.

A few months later, when I saw him again, I hesitantly asked about the little shakuhachi I’d given him. “Oh, I forgot it somewhere,” he said casually.

I kept my disappointment to myself but the saying, “Pearls before swine” came to mind.

Not long after that I managed to make a longer, mellow-toned shakuhachi that also had some natural music in it, although nothing compared to the one I’d given away.

Another friend came by and when he heard the sound of my playing he deeply desired that shakuhachi. He’d never played one before, so I told him that if he could get a sound out of it he could have it. He spent the entire day blowing and blowing, until he was exhausted, but he never got a single sound. So I declined to give it to him.

A few weeks later I caught that same shakuhachi in a car door while hitchhiking and shattered it.

POSTSCRIPT

After I moved back to the city I continued to make shakuhachi for awhile. I soon discovered that those random-length unrefined flutes I’d been making were looked down on as “backyard shakuhachi,” not worth playing. When I visited one well-known western shaukuhachi player he at first commented on the beauty of the bamboo and the quality of the sound of my flute, but when he took it and attempted to play it himself he frowned and dismissed it as “not in tune.”

I tried making shakuhachi in the prescribed way, with a smooth coating of resin on the inside bore and an inlay of ebony on the mouthpiece, but the results were not worth the trouble and I soon lost interest in flutes altogether.

Now, decades later, with a nice grove of Madake bamboo growing outside my meditation hut, I’ve started to fool around with shakuhachi again. After a little research I discovered that the unrefined shakuhachi I’d been making are called jinashi (unfilled) for their lack of a precise resin-coated bore and the necessary two-piece construction that characterize most modern shakuhachi.

Many jinashi shakuhachi are said to be “in tune with themselves” and not meant for playing with other instruments. Apparently, as shakuhachi began to be used in performances with koto and shamisen, rather than for solo meditation, they had to become uniform and tuned exactly the same. But a certain quality and essence was lost in the process. Now, at least in some circles, the old style jinashi shakuhachi are coming back into fashion.

                        

                           “Just to be alive is enough.”

                                         Suzuki Roshi

I’ve always loved walking. I walked to school as a kid and I walk to the bank or market whenever possible, or I just amble around town. Now that it’s raining here in Northern California I’ve been getting on my treadmill in the mornings, which might be boring to some (I see people reading on treadmills), but as a longtime meditation fanatic I’ve learned to get high on mindless repetitive activity. I saw a photo of the Dalai Lama on a treadmill, in his robes no less.

With an eye towards doing more walking meditation on my Sunday retreats I’ve been working on the pathways around my little meditation hut/teahouse in the woods. I added an additional loop to the trail that circles the hut so that it makes a loose figure eight (like an infinity symbol). It goes up past moss-covered pines and rhododendrons and around Huckleberry bushes under a lacy Hemlock tree. The beauty of the coastal light there, shining down though morning mist is, in a word, awesome.

Previously I’d been walking slowly around the hut three times for a total of about five minutes, between 25 minute periods of sitting meditation — Rinzai Zen style, except that they frequently walk fast. In Soto Zen, the other major Zen school, they sit for 40 minutes and walk for 10 at a very slow pace. I walk at a relaxed, somewhat slow but still normal pace (about 1 mile an hour).

In the Thai Forest tradition the monks alternate sitting for an hour with walking back and forth on a short path for an hour. I’ve practiced a little with those folks and after I got used to it, the longer periods of walking started feeling pretty good. But it’s only recently that I’ve come to fully appreciate walking meditation.

FINDING EMPTINESS

Usually to “feel empty” denotes a negative depressed state of mind. Most people find the idea of emptiness unappealing, if not downright scary — as is evidenced by the constant need to be occupied with some kind of mental activity, as if the world they’ve constructed might crumble and leave them without a mooring should the mind become empty, even for a moment.

In meditation, being empty, if not the goal, is at least the pathway and the gate.

Despite being simple and direct, emptiness is hard to fathom. The mind is devoid of mental activity, like empty space, yet not asleep or oblivious, quite the opposite — it’s totally awake and open to what is immediately present, like a clear mirror that simply reflects what is before it. The distinction between self and environment, subject and object, disappears. Everything, all concerns, are let go of and resolved in emptiness, while the immediate scene comes alive with renewed energy and brilliance.

That such a simple state is blissful and timeless would seem to defy common sense. But there it is. The whole of creation and all of time in a single place in a single moment. 

Ironically, I seldom experience that kind of emptiness, or samadhi, while sitting in meditation. I’m usually too involved in a struggle to just slow down and be present. But when I’m calmly walking around the pathway between sittings, without any particular goal, my mind can open up. There’s something about the combination of inner stillness with movement. Buses and planes have the same effect on me.

You might say, why meditate at all? Why not just walk?

It’s only those sitting meditation periods, and the effort involved, that make it possible for that mirror-like experience to unfold while walking. I usually have to meditate most of the day before my walking takes on that wonderful character. It’s like cooking something — the right amount of heat and time is necessary for the food to get done.

Now when I sit in my hut on Sundays, after several hours of my usual meditation routine, I alternate half hour sits with half hour walks. What a blessing!