Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 57

I wake up late and spend an extra long time over my coffee. At some point I think to myself that I should have a shower, but I’m feeling too lazy to bother.

Then another part of me steps in and says that it would good for me to feel washed and refreshed before getting on Zoom with the retreat group this morning.

I listen to this part of me and decide that yes, I will have that shower, overriding the lazy part. I get undressed, step into the shower, lather up, and feel my heart sink as slowly the pressure starts to go until there is no water coming out of the tap at all.

I take a deep breath.

I step out of the shower, grab my towel, and head to the boiler to see what’s up. I check the pressure which has dropped significantly. I open the valve to refill the tank and…nothing. There is no water coming into my flat.

Another deep breath.

I am actually still pretty calm at this point. No worries, it happens. At least I have access to clean, running water, a privilege that about a quarter of the human population does not enjoy.

I text my landlady telling her what’s happened. My partner comes out of the front room where they’ve been on a call, takes one look at me stood in the kitchen, dripping wet with nothing but a towel wrapped round me, and asks me what’s going on.

And that’s when I lose it. Something about being asked, another person looking at me with care and concern, brings out the frustrated part of me. I tell them I need to get on Zoom with my retreat group and there’s no running water and I don’t know what the problem is.

They calmly go outside. I’m watching them through the window. There’s a man there wearing a super high-tech face mask and holding some kind of tool, I don’t know what. He is talking and my partner is smiling.

They come back inside. The upstairs neighbor is having their boiler fixed and they have shut off the water to the entire building. It should be back on soon.

Now I’m really annoyed. A simple knock at the door letting us know would have been nice. I’m actually more annoyed at not being told what was happening then getting in the shower, all lathered up and then losing water.

I take another, deeper breath.

I feel into the contraction in my throat, where frustration often starts. I want to go upstairs and tell my neighbors to have some consideration. Then I have to remind myself that I don’t really know what’s happened.

Maybe the technician didn’t mention he was shutting off the water to the whole building. Or maybe he said he was shutting it off but they didn’t understand that meant all of us.

Whatever’s happened its already happened and out of my control.

I flip the script. Isn’t it amazing that this has happened? Who would have guessed that this would have been the first thing to happen to me today? I never would have guessed.

It’s a wonderful teaching in gratitude. Don’t take anything for granted. Anything and everything can be taken away at any moment. Each moment when my expectations are met, from water coming out of the tap to a mtg going well to the sun shining to a meal being served on time, are all moments to appreciate.

They are not guaranteed or owed me and I don’t deserve them. At the drop of a hat everything can change.

A friend of mine who is also a dharma teacher opens every retreat by reminding the group of the preciousness of going on retreat. That at any time something could happen that means we may not be able to go on retreat anymore.

That moment is here. It has happened. And it’s an unending lockdown during a global pandemic.

But at least we can still practice. And we can still practice together on Zoom.

I get on my Zoom call. I’m talking about receptivity and the qualities of awareness we can get curious about in our meditation. That within awareness anything can arise and pass away, including constricted mental states. I tell them about what happened to me this morning, and confess that I got caught up in frustration for a moment.

Awareness is completely open, without limit. It is clear and luminous, receiving everything just as it is. Awareness is deeply sensitive, all phenomena arising and passing away without bias.

Our minds are not separate from this awareness, nor is what is arising in them. If we can remember this in any given moment of suffering, then the potential for freedom can also arise.

After the session I have a bit of lunch and then do some writing. Then I’ve got a phone call with a friend who is, as he says, parachuting into our retreat tomorrow morning as a guest teacher. We have a lively chat about what we’ve been up to and then talk a bit about how the retreat is going and what he plans to share with the group tomorrow.

Then I finally have time to try my friend’s vegan rhubarb cake that she brought by yesterday. I have it with a bit of yogurt and it’s delicious. Thank God for friends and for cake.

I spend the rest of the afternoon doing one-to-one meditation reviews with people from the retreat. I really enjoy this way of working, hearing about what they are noticing in their direct experience as they meditate, how they are meeting that experience, and what they are learning.

The explorations are rich and layered and there is a lot of insight shared. It’s deeply satisfying to know people are getting on with the instructions I’ve given and seem to be getting a lot out of it.

I do a bit more writing and then it’s time for dinner. Leftover Mexican, yum.

My partner’s got an evening Zoom call so I go into the bedroom and decide to relax and watch a bit of TV. Season 2 of Dead to Me has just come out on Netflix.

I’m a bit annoyed with the main characters who have suddenly become one dimensional. I long for complexity and nuance. I decide I’ll give it one more episode.

Later we go for another roamin’ in the gloamin’ in Hackney Downs. The fading light casts everything in a blue haze.

When we get to the park we find a pink ball left all alone in the middle of one of the football fields. We start kicking it around. Its breezy and the ball keeps getting taken by the wind. We kick it along with us as we walk.

On the way home we walk past a white glove on the paving and a white rose blooming in a neighbor’s garden. I take photos of both.

We take a bath and go to bed. Right before falling asleep I tell my partner that it’s almost time to change the sheets, I think. When did we last change them? Neither of us can remember but we’re pretty sure it’s been about two weeks.

The days have started running one into the other and there are no more familiar markers for when to change the sheets. Usually we do it when one or both of us is coming home or about to leave on a trip, like a retreat.

I used to go on a lot of retreats. Now, not so much. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still be on retreat.

After all, retreat is just a state of mind.