50 - Again

Today is our official 50th wedding anniversary. Ms. Ché and I were married in Reno on November 1, 1969 and returned to Stockton where we were then living late that evening after dropping my best man off at his house in Citrus Heights. It was a whirlwind day that started off with Ms and I both sitting in meditation in the darkened dressing room of our tiny apartment -- the first "home of our own."

We got together two years before we were married and we celebrated that anniversary as our 50th and the following year we celebrated another 50th. Now we've arrived at the 50th anniversary of our legal marriage.

In order for Ms to get a driver's licence earlier this year, she had to produce a marriage certificate since her last name at birth is different than her married name. She had no idea as there is nothing on the New Mexico Motor Vehicle Dept website that even hints at such a thing. Well, she stormed home when she was told she needed to bring her marriage certificate, and stewed for a bit, wondering what to do. Where was that thing, anyway? What if it was still in California amongst our other possessions still stored there?

She fumed for a while and then got to work in her library/office/workroom where she keeps a lot of our important papers. She had never been asked for a marriage certificate before, at least not in the recent past, so she had no memory of where she had put it. But after about 20 minutes, she came forth with the document (and her birth certificate, SS card, two proofs of residency and her expired driver's license and stormed back to the MVD office up the road.

I've had to deal with that office a few times, and the personnel is very nice. But they're strict when it comes to "Real ID" requirements, and they brook no workarounds. You either have the proper documentation or you don't get a "Real ID."

The thing was, Ms. Ché could find nothing on the MVD website requiring the presentation of a marriage certificate by married women who use their husband's last name, and she printed out the MVD web page to prove it.

The clerk expressed surprise that it wasn't on the website and assured Ms. Ché that she would promptly inform Santa Fe of the problem. Of course I figure the same issue has come up thousands of times before, so I doubt Santa Fe gives a good gott-dam about it, but whatever. Ms. Ché got her driver's license, and there you go.

Yes, we started that day 50 years ago in sitting meditation -- Zen -- but a few years later we would stop practicing, she before I did, and have our adventures, what I'm now thinking of as "life pilgrimage."

A couple of years ago, Ms. spent a few weeks at Naropa Institute (University now) at the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics where daily meditation sessions were offered, not required. She took them up. Oh yes.

She reported back that it was the most amazing thing, a reminder of what we did so many years ago, but also different because of the sensei and the sangha context, the large Tibetan singing bowl to signal the beginning and end of meditation, and the talks given by sensei. She said it was not the easiest thing for her elder bones to get up and down from the cushion on the floor, but she did it, and every time she meditated at Naropa, she felt both peace and whole.

When she came back, she brought her renewed Buddhist insight with her, and she was going to set up a meditation corner in the house, with cushion and bell and our painted wooden sculpture of the Daibutsu but realized she couldn't do it because of the cats.

We have cats of course. We've always had cats. Cats are elemental creatures for both of us, we could argue they are totem creatures,  as both of us see our selves and our natures reflected in the cats who live with us. More and more of them have become house cats, which was not the plan -- we had one house cat at first and took care of many ferals. But gradually one or another feral  cat was tamed and began tentatively to join us in the house. We were given a pair of kittens by the neighbor boys. Others have just arrived on their own. Ms. Ché has a strong adoptive instinct, and as more and more cats join us in the house, we have to make certain adaptations to their ways and needs. One of them being a soft, warm place to snuggle. A cushion for sitting meditation would be perfect. In fact, the one Ms. Ché got for that purpose is now a cat-bed. Of course.

Some of our house cats practice Zenning on their own account, Larry being a prime example. He was very hyper when he arrived,  apparently after wandering a good long time. An older feral we called Joe adopted Larry and took it on himself to instruct the younger cat in Zen meditation. I kid you not. Joe had been Zenning out in the yard for a long time, and when he took on Larry, he literally taught him step by step what to do. And gradually, Larry learned. He is now wise and calm, and he goes into Zen state randomly, like a tested master, and he's showing some of the younger cats what to do.

It's almost as if the feral colony is becoming a monastery. But like many other monasteries, not everyone can handle the challenge and they go about their cat-business on a lower plane. Some are clearly ascended masters, though. Larry is very nearly the Abbot of this group though he rarely puts on airs.

When the meditation cushion was given to the cats it meant we would not have a dedicated meditation corner in the house, but oddly that's been liberating. Since we don't have this singular place for meditating in the house, we can and do meditate wherever we are. Randomly. It's a kind of liberation that many practitioners seek but never find. They need and want the structure of regular meditation times and places, wearing regular meditation robes sitting on regular meditation cushions, and all the trappings of "actual" Zen meditation. Otherwise, perhaps, they can't do it. It doesn't feel right.

That's one of the common hazards Zen masters pointed to long ago: attachment to particular places, things, needs and wants. Attachment to people like your sensei or roshi. Without them, you can become lost. 🕉🕉

Indeed. It's true. Learning to practice without the structure you may be used to is a definite challenge which not every Zen practitioner can master or necessarily wants to master.

So, no. We don't have a meditation corner in the house, but we have our workarounds. The sound of the singing bowl is the signal we use for meditation -- just as a small brass bell was 50 years go. We may still have that bell, but if we don't, we have others like it. The singing bowl, however, is a recent nod to Naropa, and I must say, small as it is, it has an impressive tone. Not quite as deep and long-lasting as the one at Naropa's meditation room, but as effective just the same.

When one or the other of us strikes the tone (it is usually Ms. who does), the meditation moment begins.

Not only do we shift into a sitting meditation mode, so do some, not all, of the house cats.

Could we do it without the tone of the singing bowl? Of course.

Our shrine to the  Buddha is also one of the helpful elements as it is a reminder to meditate. The gold painted wooden statue of the Kamakura Daibutsu  is so eloquent that a mere glance is sufficient to put me in that meditative space. 

And so it goes. It's our official 50th, and so we will celebrate in various ways today and tonight.  It's a reminder of our long time together and how very challenging and rewarding that time has been.

🕉🕉🕉