CREATIVE DRIVE

The newsletter to make you even more amazing

NUMBER 35

Your mind is a place behind a door in a box.

REMEMBER the recent apology you had to work up in order to appease your life partner. (Note my use of the word "partner." It takes two, right?) What were the factors you cited in that apology? You thought they'd work. Well, let's create another one. I'll list the ingredients–the factors and admissions–and you can rate them from "1" (pathetic) to "10" (undeniable).

The Mishap

You were safely burrowed within your creative space when Marva came home. Moments later the yelling ensued. "Pertnerd! Pertnerd, are you there!?" (If your name really is Pertnerd, that's pretty sad. Get a new one.) She entered the kitchen and found an explosion of blueberry pulp, spatters and juice trails on the walls, the front of the fridge, the kitchen chairs and even the pine floor. The blender was in the sink, surrounded by a pool of blueberry-chocolate protein shake. "How the f#*k did you make such a mess!? What did you do, start the blender and just, I don't know, walk away!? It'll take hours to find it all and clean it up! Sometimes I can't believe you, Pertnerd!"

Yep, you did that. The mess was yours, as was the explanation. So, there was a problem. You'd made a mess, but apparently it wasn't so important that you felt compelled to clean up every bit of it. You didn't feel it was so bad that your life partner's happiness might be diminished. Instead, you retreated to the studio–your private space–and the solace of another epic adventure in the realm of your self.

Your Reasons

[No.? ] I was absent-minded.

[No.? ] I was preoccupied with [X].

[No.? ] The cat started barking and wouldn't be quiet.

[No.? ] The garbage truck arrived, and I wanted to watch the men work.

[No.? ] I simply trusted the fact that you'd clean up whatever mess I made, as always.

[No.? ] The ex-President was threatening the daughter of a federal judge.

[No.? ] I set the blender on "10" and switched it on without regard for consequence.

[No.? ] I was trying to make something special as a treat, just for you.

[No.? ] It's entirely my fault, and I'll clean it up.

[No.? ] I made the mess because I don't really know how to use a blender and need you to show me.

The Problem Is Your Excuse

You must have done the same thing earlier in life. You probably also heard this admonishment a thousand times when you were a kid: "I don't want any more excuses." Mom or Dad would say it at least once a week . . . . Wait, let's do the math . . . .

52 weeks x 11 years (ages 5 to 16) = 572

I stand corrected. You must've heard it approximately 572 times during your childhood and adolescence: "I won't listen to any more excuses, Pertnerd. You should learn to pick up after yourself. You must be more responsible and act like an adult."

"I'm a kid," you'd say. "I'm not an adult, I'm just a kid! Stop picking on me!" It was a cute little act, but Mom wasn't convinced. She knew manipulation when she heard it. Heck, she'd tried the same thing with her mom more than once back in the day.

Dad would join in. "Son, it isn't so much the fact that you made a potentially costly mess in the kitchen. It really isn't the fact that you left the whole thing for Mom to pick up. The main thing [Dad sets his walnut-burl pipe on the counter, where it immediately tips and spills tobacco embers] is that you gave her nothing but excuses. You trotted out one excuse after another, and then you capped it off with that 'I'm just a kid' stuff. Now, how am I supposed to teach you how to gamble and consort with floozies if I can't trust you to be more mature?"

Wait, I'm calling a timeout! Sorry, but that last line was too funny. It definitely wasn't something my dad would've said.

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The Zen of Us

A decade or so ago, I accepted an assignment that would eventually transform my thinking. It proved to be something I'd always needed but had neither acknowledged nor confronted. The assignment started with some introductory reading, after which I crossed the country for a meeting.

The scene was a monastery but not a cold, imposing one of the Catholic variety. It was a Zen monastery situated in a cozy, middle-class neighborhood. There were various buildings on the premises, such as the Zen hall, the kitchen and dining hall, a convent, an offertory, offices and a conference room. The grounds were spotless, thanks to a diligent maintenance crew.

It had been difficult to stop reading once I'd started. The introduction was meant to be a primer so that I could ask the Zen abbot a few questions during our meeting. Instead I read multiple chapters of his book, and upon my arrival at the monastery the two of us spent a few minutes together. Soon the conference table was ringed with eager, smiling faces, and they were looking at me.

"What do you think?" the abbot asked.

The participants waited in anticipation of any remark I cared to make, but I started to weep. The tears welled up, and I couldn't speak above a whisper.

"The lessons in this book . . . offer more understanding than . . . anything I'd hoped to find." I said something like that.

The group was silent for a moment or two. My client's assistant smiled, and she was tearful too. Then we got to work. There was a sizable book to translate and edit, chapter by chapter. We had several milestones to meet on the way toward publication, promotion and the next book in the series. The Zen master, a native of Taiwan, had enough control of English to convey his wishes and instructions, but his perception of life and its challenges was different than mine. Much of what he said was mysterious or mystical. It was abstract, but I was eager to absorb and understand it.

A Lesson and Transformation

If Zen teaches one thing, it's this: Life is bigger than you are. The extrapolation of that message is that your experience of life can be renewed with each and every moment. The experience, though, won't necessarily match your preconception of it. A preconception is at most an educated guess, but life in this world is somewhat random despite the universal order.

We have problems, and we have excuses. We spill things, we break things, and we ignore important things. We tend to set aside concern for the happiness of those around us. We pass strangers without smiling, as if courtesy and kindness might run afoul of some law. We train ourselves to all of that. The impoverishment of our imperfection is habitual, and we stubbornly adhere to it.

Zen is not a religion because it isn't God-focused. It's about you and your relationship to Creation. So, you needn't be a monk or a devoted practitioner in order to learn about that relationship. The life of a monk is immeasurably difficult anyway, and few can withstand the physical discomfort of prolonged meditation. What we can do, however, is use the primary lesson of Zen to gain freedom. Zen is sometimes referred to as the Way because it transcends negative thinking and destructive habits.

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Zen and Creativity

It's a good example of freedom to quote my friend the Zen master and his response to the question I got at the monastery meeting. If asked, "What do you think," he'll say, "I don't."

Imagine yourself as you enter a sun-filled room or out on the deck. You plop onto that big old couch or gently slip into a folding chair and wonder, "What shall I do now? What shall I do . . . ?" Immediately your mind begins to flip through the pages of a vast catalog. If you remember the city phonebooks of old, your mental catalog is just as thick. It's full of memories, names, faces, places, questions, doubts, worries, fears, nightmares, fantasies, ideas and ideologies. There are demons galore. So, you mind begins to race, and suddenly you aren't sure what you should think about. The blur of pages in your catalog is too fast, so you can't read any of it. How do you stop it!? Can it be stopped at all!?

Let's revisit the scenario. Envision a nice spot–or just choose one–and sit down. This time you won't ask the question, "What will I think about?" Instead, you'll fold up your legs and nest your hands within your lap. Close your eyes and breathe. Take the air in through your nostrils, and exhale it through slightly parted lips. That's right . . . . Settle into a slow, quiet idle where your breathing and heart rate fall within your control. Soon you can begin to count slowly: One . . . two . . . three . . . . One . . . two . . . three . . . .

Do not be intentional with your thinking. Don't direct your mind. Doing so will only lead you back to the catalog of habitual thoughts. Everything external to you will still be there, so allow yourself a few moments of freedom from it.

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If We're Willing to Try

Much of the day for a Zen monk, nun or practitioner is devoted to meditation, but the remainder is given to diligent effort. Purpose is sought in all things and every action, but the purpose is to invite the creative force of existence by stepping away from noisy, habitual negativity. It isn't easy to accomplish if you see it only as an endpoint, like a majestic peak above a vast plain of dissatisfaction. The method of Zen, however, is called practice for a good reason: It's something you can gradually improve.

"If you have an hour, you can meditate for an hour. If you have five minutes, you can meditate for five minutes. It does not matter how long you meditate at any one time but only that you meditate and seek calmness." The Zen master expressed that message in many ways.

I had learned about and written about meditation for a considerable time before I was invited to the Zen hall for a period of guided meditation. The place had been a church of one denomination or another, but in the Zen form it was free of any bias that the representation of saints might impose. It was quiet, and there was minimal light. We took our places along with north side wall, and I wrapped a silk cloth around my waist to prevent the distraction of cool drafts. We started our meditation, and amid the guidance I began to breathe and count. Soon I found that I was headed out and away; out beyond the atmosphere and the stratosphere, headed toward the Moon. I let my mind take me, and soon we passed the Red Planet, all parched and river-scarred. We approached Saturn, and in its orbit I saw the face of my father and hero. At the orbit of Jupiter or Neptune I saw the face of my brilliant, beautiful mother. I missed my parents so much, and I wanted them to know how grateful I was. Moments later we passed Uranus and the pebbly little Pluto. I was without any floor of awareness on which to stand. There was nothing I knew that would anchor me to myself.

The meditation ended, and I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes. (This Zen stuff can be heavy.) Silently we walked to the main door, where the master asked how it was for me.

"I left Earth and traveled past the Moon and Mars. I saw all of the planets, and I saw my parents . . . . I'm sorry, but it was emotional for me."

A brief pause followed.

"No. That is not it. You did not meditate properly. Next time, you will do better." The remark wasn't snide but was meant to refine my approach. It meant that my experience was still guided by and drawn to emotions, which are personal and habitual. If I had successfully meditated, there might have been a brief glimpse of what is called emptiness; a state that's utterly free of egoistic concerns.

The Problem Doesn't Own You

So, what is a problem? It's a result. It's the product of something left unsaid or undone; the consequence of something you do over and over. The problem is something you repeat at every opportunity despite the fact that you know it's wrong. Oh, I know: God will forgive you, and your family will understand. The ghosts that wander your house unseen will accept and forget. Nothing can provide a suitable excuse. There is no such thing as a perfect excuse. You are human and therefore imperfect.

Weakness and strength are the two sides of a coin. When you face the weakness, the coin is turned to reveal strength. With strength you can release your negative thinking and, with open arms, welcome all the good that can enrich an open, uncluttered mind.

It is at this point that you can be more creative, productive and intelligent. You'll no longer think of everything in terms of how it relates to you. After all, a voyage to the Moon or Mars doesn't depend on your opinion of it. From the perspective of how you relate to Creation, you'll see much of the world that you'd ordinarily miss. You'll sense the potential within, and you'll appreciate the potential of everyone around you.

That's mighty stuff, right? It is. Zen, after all, is the pursuit of truth, which isn't a human invention. Belief is a human construct, so it's subject to bias. Whatever you believe, you assume to be true. You might tell yourself that the sky is green. Say it often enough, and eventually you'll repeat it to others. Problems are beliefs too, and that's why we own them. A problem is a possession, so it's something you shouldn't want. Set it down. Let it go, and then you can move on.

Well, now you know that a problem is yours, but the problem doesn't own you. The laziness and excuses you've made in order to keep from doing your best are habitual. That's all you need to know about Zen unless you'd like to learn more. You don't have to become a Zen Buddhist, either. You simply need to stop worrying about yourself for a few minutes.

Meditate on that and see how you feel about what's ahead!

A QUICK EXERCISE

A house can be a home, but too much clutter will ruin the experience. You'll head to the kitchen for another chocolate cookie and step on a can opener somewhere in the hallway. Ouch! The following paragraph is cluttered too. Today's task is to find and remove the junk. Jettison anything that isn't helpful to the story. I've also used incorrect word forms. You should find them easily enough. Have fun!

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It was on a stormy, windswept autumn day, as the late-clinging leaves fell in moldy, musty torrents, that the little girl–a child who would remain under her mother's watchful care for years hence–prepared herself to embark upon a quiet, little-used path through the deep-green woods behind the farmhouse. She knew it was there. She could sense it because she, on previous adventures through the expanses of her backyard, had seen hints of posts, perhaps very old but not half-rotten amidst the acidic soil and evergreen offal. Nevertheless, or maybe because of it, she felt drawn to the spot where the pathway was hinted, and she wanted to at least see some of what was there, for surely there was a there. "Every place is a there," she thought. "No place can be nowhere, except for a place in my dreams." She sought neither magic nor mayhem but only the chance to feel and to know that it would be her own adventure, however brief. If Mommy called, and if she were to hear her mother's voice, Dora would quickly run from the path and spring across the lawn towards the house, where she'd leap into that perfect, safe embrace. For the moment, however, she heard only the soft hiss of nature, which beckoned her forth and into the fragrant depths.

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THANK YOU for reading this issue of Creative Drive. We hope you got something out of it. Remember, ads are accepted Monday through Wednesday for publication on Thursday, after which your ad will be reserved for the next issue.

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See you next time!

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? Copyright 2024 by Lawrence Payne. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated or distributed without permission from the author.