peak experiences

I’m on a mini-vacation. I take them every couple of months. I go away, just me and my dog, to the coast for two or three days. I take it really easy. I do exactly what I want to do. I eat sweets and shellfish, even though I’m a vegetarian the rest of my life and supposedly I’ve sworn off the sugar.

It’s wonderful. The northern and central California coast has to be one of the most stunning and dramatic landscapes in the world. We're so lucky. I just drive. Every hour or so, I’ll pull over and walk on the beach, or check out a view, or get a coffee and take a little detour down a road I’m curious about.

I usually have one or two peak experiences on these trips, moments when I know, really know, that life is this incredible adventure and that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I understand in these moments that I’m being exquisitely cared for every second of the way. I lose absolutely all worry and fear and feel profound joy and ease and comfort.

Sounds nice, huh? That’s why I go. I generally only have these experiences in places that are inordinately beautiful, and I have only ever had them alone. If I recreate those circumstances, which is really the purpose of these trips, the odds are pretty good that I’m going to get that little moment alone with God. It's something I'm really grateful for. When I remember to be.

But here’s the catch. As wonderful as they are, I don’t think having peak experiences is the point. I have always thought that the point of practice, and of life really, is to have more and more peak experiences that are closer and closer together until eventually it’s just pure bliss. Again, credit where it’s due, Pema Chodron says I’ve got it all wrong, and I think I believe her.

She tells the story of a Zen master who, whenever asked how he is doing, always says, “okay.”

One of his students eventually asks him, “Roshi, don’t you ever have bad days?”

“Yes,” he answers, “I often have bad days, and I have great days, and I am always okay.”

Equanimity. That’s the point. That’s what the work is about.

I haven’t written in the blog in over a week. I realize it’s sort of bad timing, because I finally did the e-blast and announced to the world that I’m blogging. Then I quit blogging. But every night I come home, and at the usual time when I would sit down to write, I feel okay. I’m not angry or worried or elated, and if I'm not sort of fucked up in some way, what's there to write about? I hope to learn soon that there is still plenty to write about.

So is this equanimity?

I’m not a Zen master. Believe me, that’s not what I’m saying. This will pass, and I will go back to my usual fluctuations between excitement and fear. I will. And in the meantime, I better figure out how to keep writing. I think I have a few readers now.