Having Dinner at the NYPL

So, my husband is, eh... intelligent. He's a mathematical physicist. And something called a Newton Fellow. Which basically means for me that every year an organization hosts a black-tie dinner for the fellows at some ridiculous location, and has famous mathematicians, members of Presidential committees on science, and so forth come and talk about international progress in mathematics. Last year, they rented out Ellis Island. The year before that, it was at the Natural History Museum. This week, it was at the New York Public Library.

The impressive thing about these dinners and this organization for me, and the reason why its even making a blog entry here, is that the founder, Jim Simons, always gives a speech that has to do with competing in the world economy and keeping up with the technological advances of China and Japan. But what a Newton fellow actually does is simply teach middle schoolers mathematics in public schools, and get treated like royalty all the while both monetarily and in the form of golden beet salads with goat cheese and dark chocolate truffles. I was pondering on the founder's unique vision, and found myself deeply admiring the expansiveness of his perspective. He knows that real progress isn't possible without a strong foundation, and that lies in the education of children, so while what he is actually concerned with is international development and world economy, he's throwing all his money and energy at the core of the problem.

I think we all need to have this sort of expansive perspective. There's a quote from the Baha'i Faith that illustrates that well: "Let your vision be world embracing." This is intricately connected to mindfulness. That sort of is what mindfulness is, after all: breaking free from the boundaries of our limited world view, to view things as they are, rather than as we judge them to be- and to realize the interconnectedness of our world, and our personal responsibility to act mindfully while we are part of it, because we are, quite simply, always part of it, whether we like it or not.

In fact, the only thing that I think illustrates the interconnectedness of all things as the study and practice of mindfulness in everyday life, is actually mathematics. Because, well, it is the foundation of everything. There isn't a thing in this world that isn't founded in mathematics, and, while sadly I cannot grasp it at nearly the level necessary to see the immense and intricate beauty in it, I know it through my husband's deep, undying love for it. In fact, leaving the NYPL that evening, I said to him that the title of the popular book of one of his former teacher's, Brian Green, was pure poetry to me. "The Elegant Universe," I said to him. "Why is it that mathematicians sometimes put things so beautifully, so poignantly?" And he responded, "Funny you say that." And read a quote on the back of the book he had been given as a gift that evening:

"I have always felt that mathematics is a language like music. To learn it systematically, it is necessary to master small pieces and gradually add another piece and then another. In a sense, mathematics is like the classical Chinese language - very polished and very elegant. Sitting in a good mathematics lecture is like sitting in a good opera. Everything comes together."

-Sun-Yung Alice Chang, mathematician

On Interconnectedness, and Dhara

A couple weeks ago, I joined perhaps the most eclectic yoga class ever. Well, this needs clarification. It isn't a yoga class. It isn't qi gong. It isn't meditation. It isn't a discussion group. It isn't a lecture. It isn't a wellness seminar. It isn't a group of people hanging out and eating fruit together in the late afternoon deep in the heart of Flatbush. It's all of those things. I stumbled upon a flier while trying out Third Root's free Wednesday morning meditation session (this is a place I spoke about with excitement in a past entry, and it certainly lived up to my own self-created hype), for a Young Adults Wellness Program. I am, just barely, within the age range, and, though I was worried I'd come face to face with a group of frenzied 14 year olds, I decided to drop my judgements and just be open to trying it. Turns out, most of the group is also composed of early twenties college age students, still making me a rare bird, a college graduate, but all the same, this is probably one the best experiences I've had so far in the city, and I'm sure I'll talk about it from many angles again in the future. The teacher, Jenna, has just returned from basically living alone in a cave in the middle of China for at least a year, and she is immediately engaging herself in non-profit endeavors (Her organization is called Dhara, and her website offers an introduction to one of the breathing techniques she uses. It's nice.) to put her learnings to work. In addition to a young adults program, she works with mentally ill students in a program called Six Weeks To Wellness (This program was featured in Time Magazine). She is such a calming presence, fully aware of how quirky and out of place she seems in this furiously active city, doing Tai Chi in Central Park, coming to class bearing Carribean fruits one week to celebrate the culture of Flatbush and apples and honey the next, explaining that in the Jewish tradition they eat this to symbolize the wish that "the fruits of your year be sweet." She's got a beautiful, magnetic soul, and her students follow her with total adoration. It's really bewildering; this young American woman with all the spirit of an old Chinese sage. Kind of turns your perceptions of culture and social standards on its head.

What is coming to mind at the moment about her class is that yesterday we practiced tree pose, first on our own, and then by standing in a circle together and touching palms. The pose was much easier to do with this subtle touch, and we all could feel the sway and struggle of everyone else in the group. Rather than creating a domino effect, it led to a gradual decrease in swaying, and near-total stillness. As one student put it in discussion afterwards, we felt both the strength of the person next to us and the responsibility of helping them stay stable by remaining stable ourselves. Jenna replied, "We're in our natural state in this way. Oneness. Interconnectedness. We just need to learn to feel like this all the time, out there in the world, because in reality, we effect each other just as much out there as we do right here."

What a concept. I won't even explain it, or attempt to explain it. Needless to say, there is, absolutely, a universal law of interconnectedness. Down to the atoms. I mean, really, what is keeping us apart? There is no break in the line of molecules leading from you to me. But you don't even have to go that deep. They say a butterfly flapping its wings causes a tsunami half way around the world. Could a peaceful stance, a loving attitude, somehow effect the day of all the someones inevitably connected to us in our urban everyday life, and bring peace to their family, to their work place, to their relatives and friends and organizations, bring perspective and balance and energy to their outlook, to their output, to the effect they have on this world?

Food for thought. Vital food for thought.

As for me, I kind of get caught in the awe of it, of that total interconnectedness, and maybe that's a good place to get stuck. In perfect, complete awe of this terrifyingly alive, terrificly interwoven city.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver

On Subway Mosaics

Do you ever take notice of the beautiful mosaics in the New York City subways?

I do. Maybe it's the mindfulness practice. Maybe it's because I actually dabble in mosaics myself. But I find them stunning.

My favorite to date? The Delancey F/M/J/Z stop on the Lower East Side.

If you find yourself there someday, take a moment to pause and take in the rich textures the artist created out of shards of tile. Funny how instead of simple square white tiles, a bit of color and creativity can transform a dirty station stop into an apple orchard.

Maybe if you're lucky, they'll be a street musician there, too, like there is in this picture I found:

On Generosity

Last Wednesday, I began taking a one-month course at the Insight Meditation Center in downtown Manhattan. I was interested in deepening my formal meditation practice, and intrigued by vipassana meditation, the meditative tradition of Theravada Buddhism, the oldest and most traditional form of Buddhism. While I do not identify as Buddhist, I think meditation is an important tool, regardless of our religious and philosophical background, to cultivate mindfulness in our everyday life. This reminds me: mindfulness is actually in the title of this blog, so I might as well explain what that means to me. To paraphrase Dr. Jon Kabat-Zinn, mindfulness is essentially moment-to-moment, non-judgemental, openhearted awareness. Which means? In terms of living here in the city, it is the challenge of being open and alive in each moment, without placing judgement on what we see around us or feel within us. And it's incredibly important for city-dwellers to cultivate in particular, given that we are in a world of sensory bombardment, advertisement, persuasion, temptation, and are often too busy to even know where we are, or even what we are doing and why. When I am running to a meeting after downing my breakfast in two seconds and drowning the noise out with my Ipod and thinking about what so-and-so said to me last week, where am I?

Lost.

So, mindfulness is important, and meditation is a tool to get more mindful more often, so why not draw from a tradition that has been studying this tool for ages.

All this said, when I arrived at the first session, the instructor, actually a woman trained by Kabat-Zinn named Elaine Retholtz, explained that we Westerners are getting ahead of ourselves trying to meditate. Apparently, when you study in Sri Lanka or Thailand, where Theravada is prevalent these days, they won't teach you to meditate for years. Instead, you sit around being told to contemplate deeply your intention to meditate, and, more imporantly, the concept of generosity.

This is fascinating to me, since often I find myself walking around the city, saying, "Be present, you have to be mindful, don't judge the situation, look at it with an open mind, be loving, be kind..." And all of these statements are about what I cultivate within myself, aimed at, what? Too often, at my betterment. At my happiness, contentment, even my sanity.

Yet, if you think about it, all those qualities- not judging, being present, being open and loving and kind- can also be looked at in a different way. Done right, it is for the betterment of others. I give my open mind to their perspective, and make them feel more at home in their world. I give them my ear for comfort, my time, for companionship, my love, for their wellbeing. Everything I do can be seen in this light, and sure, it benefits me, too, but also the woman selling me mangos on Flatbush Avenue, and the guy checking out books to me at the Brooklyn Public Library, and my husband when he comes home from a long, stressful day of work. By being mindful and happy myself, I bring that ever-needed sense of presence and belonging to the inhabitants of New York City.

It was an extraordinary lecture, to shortend it, and I highly recommend taking a course, going to a daylong retreat, or attending a lecture or sitting group at the Insight Meditation Center. You don't have to be Buddhist to practice meditation, so I invite you and encourage you to explore and use this wonderful tool, to be more alive and more happy, and therefore, shed light and happiness on the bustling, stressed, underslept, over-worked, starving-for-love world around you.

The Insight Meditation Center is located on 28 West 27th Street (10th floor). Go to http://nyimc.org/ to view the upcoming events there.

On Prospect Park, And Dappled Things

This afternoon I went for a walk with my husband, Nick, in Prospect Park. It felt strange at first to walk casually around, since I know Prospect Park primarily as a runner. It was essential to me when we were moving to Flatbush that we were as close to the park as possible, since I wanted the considerable miles and hours of my life I spend running to be scenic. (Coincidentally, the outer loop of the park is just over a 5K in distance. This is a really helpful website with all of the exact distances of the trails to help you plan your run.)

But anyway, today I wasn't there running. I was there to show Nick the spot I always pass and never, in all my athletic rigidity, allow myself to stop at before finishing a lap on the outer loop. It is a beach-like area on the lake, where all the geese gather on the sandy shore. The roots of the trees are all exposed and spread themselves out on the ground in intricate patterns, and in the late afternoon, the light is really stunning on the water.

It was really wonderful to sit out there on a tree root reading what Nick calls my "hippie books." In other words, I'm beginning another Julia Cameron book called Vein of Gold. A "hippie book" it might be, but I really enjoyed The Artist's Way, and she isn't positing any crazy theories, so it's more like a craft book for seekers of creativity. Anyway, the theme of the course is to live life artfully, which is convenient, considering that is what I am trying to do these days; dig deep, live mindfully, experience New York and all it has to offer me while I'm still here.

And in a simple way, I feel like I did live artfully today. I sat on a root watching the geese on the lake, reading a book, and listening to an Indian woman singing by the water side while the runners too diligent to stop ran by me. At one point Nick pointed to a bird and said, "That looks like a cow pattern. Isn't there a name for that kind of pattern?" I said, "Dappled. I know a famous poem praising dappled things. It goes something like, 'Glory be to God for dappled things...' and praises everything dappled, dappled cows, dappled light, all dappled things."

Late afternoon gives a great opportunity for appreciating dappled light since it hangs so low in the trees and leaves lacy shadows on the walk. If you are present enough you'll realize there is a lot of raw natural beauty hidden away right here in Brooklyn, ready for you to experience. To get to the spot where I was watching the geese, take a meditative walk to the park and enter from the Flatbush corner of Parkside and Ocean. Walk against the tide of runners and bikers (or, better yet, take the run-down walking path next to the road) until the road starts to bend and you reach a sandy beach area and four dozen some-odd geese, and experience the beauty of Brooklyn and dappled late afternoon light through the trees in Prospect Park. Maybe you'll find yourself living your day a little more artfully.

Trekking for Tofurky

Instant gratification. I like it.

Lately, I can't get it in two areas of my life, and it's making me think that the conscious process towards gratification that often is undervalued and overlooked.

Usually, if we have a food need, the solution is quite simple. Need ketchup. Go to grocery store. Buy ketchup. Satisfied. One of my little vegetarian needs is Tofurky sandwich slices. They're delicious, come in a wide variety of flavors (My favorites are Italian and Hickory Smoked), and they give me another option besides a garden burger or a hummus sandwich for lunch. But the problem is, I can't find a grocery market near me that sells Tofurky. Even at the big Stop and Shop 15 minutes away from me sells only Smart Deli slices, which, as someone who remembers the taste of meat from younger years, taste like bologne no matter what flavor you get. Yum. Except not. Not yum at all. (What is in bologne, anyway?)

So I trekked to Whole Foods in Manhattan recently to pick up some Tofurky, and felt Flatbush had let me down. I had to go all the way to Union Square for deli slices?

But the thing is, not having it immediately when I wanted it didn't hurt me. I got to have my favorite Wheatberry Waldorf Salad while I was at Whole Foods, and in the meantime, I just had a hummus sandwhich, and I happen to have my hummus sandwich recipe down: since I'm not vegan, I just put a layer of shredded parmesan cheese on the hummus, layer it with sliced cucumbers and shredded carrots, or, as I had the other day, carrot chips for a nice crunch. It's a killer meal. And anyway, now that I have to trek for Tofurky, I find I appreciate it more. I prepare my sandwich more carefully, and enjoy it more slowly. So, Flatbush not carrying Tofurky, in a way, helps make me a more mindful eater.

It's like the guitar I'm trying to learn lately. As I type this, the four fingers of my left hand feel like they have third degree burns. I've been told that as soon as I get calluses, it will be clear sailing. But for now, I'm consciously pushing down my raw fingertips on thin wires. Ouch. I know the calluses are coming in, but slowly, nearly as slowly as my skills (my husband had to deal a couple days ago with hours on end of me singing "Let It Be" and twanging away at what are supposedly the chords to the song.) But trust me, I won't take those calluses for granted when they do come in. Not for a second.

I guess the summary of it is: never settle for instant gratification, don't take a good thing for granted, and be mindful of the end in the beginning. Or, in simpler terms: Don't buy Smart Deli. Trek for Tofurky.

On The Difficulties of Urban Mindfulness

Taking the seemingly totally irrational approach, I thought the best way to start talking about mindfulness in New York City would be to talk about a very different city: Toronto. I just got back from a trip to Canada where I was presenting research at the American Psychological Association's annual convention, and I stayed right in the heart of downtown Toronto. Toronto is striking in a number of ways. First of all, it's clean and beautiful in a way that makes me question what a city should look like. On my first day there, I was scouring around for what New York has taught me is a trashcan - a little grated metal bin often overflowing (especially in dear Flatbush) with 7up drizzle and coffee cups and fried chicken combo plate remnants. I couldn't find one, but Downtown Yonge was somehow spotless. Not a ketchup packet to be seen. I thought- oh my God, Canadians are so eco-friendly, they must carry their trash with them all day and throw it out when they get home! No one is spitting and chucking drumsticks and ciggaratte buts on the street? Are they human? Finally I figured out that trashcans in Toronto are large rectangular bins where you can choose Paper, Plastic, or Rubbish. Every trash can comes with recycling options.

Yeah.

And the food was amazing, varied, and very vegetarian friendly at every level of cuisine. I dined fine a few times (BTW, Thaione on has some of the most innovative Thai dishes I've ever tried. Go for the Coconut Cashew Vegetables the next time you're in the area if you like it sweet.) and found plenty of veggie fare for me everywhere I went. But even the cart food is vegetarian friendly! Every single hot dog stand - and there were hot dog stands everywhere for some reason - offered 100% veggie hot dogs, with nearly a dozen toppings to choose from to sauce your meal with. So much for dry falafels with tahini and a mound of lettuce- this was personalized, and in my opinion, really good meat free street food.

But that is nothing, really, in comparison to the city itself. Oh, the aesthetics of that city. Every building was beautiful in a different way. I can't really describe it- you'll have to go there and be mindful of it for yourself. The infrastructure is in itself a work of art. I found myself thinking, as I took the subway (where a screen in the station tells you exactly how many minutes until the next train arrives, and the stop announcements are noticeably automated rather than yelled at you over a half-broken speaker system): if every city paid as much attention to beauty as to utility as Toronto seems to, well, everything would be different. The world would be revitalized. Because, if you ask me, beauty is transformative. And a society recognizing that is a society moving forward.

I digress.

The point is, several scratchy muttered subway announcements and a few overflowing trash cans later, I arrived back in Brooklyn, thinking about how challenging it is to be mindful here. Do we want to see all of it? Or just go to the Met for our prearranged by "donation" beauty (nothing against museums; the ROM was fantastic, thumbs up Toronto) and fancy restaurants for our cleanliness? What does it mean to live in a city where the bench I'm trying to read a book on smells strange and the woman next to me is feeding her infant child Mcdonalds french fries and Hawaiian punch through a straw? ... Yes, I actually witnessed that happen.

That's where New York City has a lot to offer, though. The challenge of holding all of it in our awareness with compassion, rather than bitterness and discontent, opens new doors. It stretches our craving for and ability to see and experience beauty. And I suppose that is what this is all about. Because New York is no Toronto. It's a rough, vibrant, dirty, bustling catastrophe, and a really hard place to just be in. But, rough edges and all, I adore it. The longer I live in this city, the more in love I fall with it, and the deeper I dive, the more I find there is.

So, considering that, as Iron and Wine puts it, our life is composed of endless numbered days, I'm trying lately to wake up a little less cynical, a little more aware, and most importantly, devoted to my intention: dive deep.