The gap

I was temporarily debating whether I wanted to keep writing these. They take time (more than I’d like to admit, for a rather modest word count) and time feels increasingly compressed at this particularly stage in my life. But this whole experiment was intentionally low-stakes, with the primary goal of just writing something on a regular cadence. Like anything we get ourselves into, we can forget our initial intentions, and well-meaning, but unhelpful, layers get added to the process (perfectionism, pressure, ego, all that fun stuff). I know I’d be bummed to stop writing — if anything, due to the few meaningful exchanges these have sparked. And while this practice has serve as a nice pause for reflection, what’s been more surprising and delightful is how it’s helped me become more attuned to certain experiences. For small moments that would usually be fleeting, I’ll now find myself mentally capturing them “for later”. Most of these escape me, but enough of them remain. I guess any creative process becomes a portal to receptivity, trying to remain open for the muse or whatever. And just by dialing this receptivity up, ever so slightly, it’s been interesting to observe what appears, without looking for anything at all — like how butterflies are more likely to land on an open hand.

Alls to say, I want to keep this up. Entries have been shorter as of late, and will likely stay that way for the foreseeable future.

Two weeks ago, on the last day of my temporary unemployment, I decided to attend a 30 minute Zen meditation in person at the Berkeley Zen Center. There’s no rhyme or reason for this — it’s odd what one will choose to do outside the confines of a normal schedule — and only a few minutes prior I was in the throws of capitalist consumption at Uniqlo. Moral righteousness was nowhere to be found. Upon my arrival, I expected to be greeted with an introduction to the practice, maybe some bells, incense, and intention setting. But instead, I walked into pure silence, seemingly 5 minutes late, surrounded by very-serious-looking-people in very-serious-looking-poses who I assumed were inhabiting various stages of enlightenment. I was no longer so sure that this was a good idea. The problem was, I already took my shoes off. And the shame of having to put my shoes back on was enough to get me to sit down and meditate. So, I walked across a floor with squeaks that might as well have been hooked up to a loud speaker, and chose a cushion in what I deemed to be the un-enlightened corner.

And then I began.

Inhale one, exhale one, inhale two, exhale two, inhale three…. check watch: twenty eight minutes and thirty seconds left. Close eyes. Inhale three, wait, I did that one already, exhale three…. open right eye: picture of bald white dude in corner, probably a monk, what’s his deal. Close right eye. Inhale four, exhale… Fidget (back tightness), my god did I somehow sit on the squeakiest possible section of the floor, why is everyone else light as a bird. Inhale five, exhale…. and on and on…

Majority of the time was like this. But every now and then, there was a tiny something that changed in my experience. **It would be remarkably brief, to the point where, even writing this now, I am wondering if I was imagining it or projecting it onto the meditation in order for it to seem more meaningful.

It wasn’t until I was listening to Pema Chodron on Ezra’s podcast (I swear I don’t only listen to Ezra it’s just often recency bias of when I write these!) that I found language for this “something”. Pema Chodron describes it as “the gap”, a concept she learned from one of her teachers, Trungpa Rinpoche. It’s really worth listening to / watching the particular section where she describes the moment she came to understand the lesson. The transcript below with context.

Trungpa Rinpoche used to talk about something he called the gap. Again, I didn’t really know what in the world he was talking about. But he said: It could be possible that at the end of every breath, there’s a gap before you breathe back in again. He even sometimes gave a meditation: Natural breathing out, and then pause, create a gap, and then come back in. He called that the gap. It was supposedly very profound, but I didn’t have a clue, really, what he was talking about. Then I was in a meditation retreat, and we had a big fan that was going all the time. The hum of the fan became background noise that was always there. I was sitting there meditating, doing my practice, and the fan was going: Mmm, mmm, mmm. And all of a sudden: Mmm. [Pauses.] Mmm. It went off for just a second. I said: That’s the gap. That’s what he’s talking about. Mmm. [Pauses.] Mmm. Then I understood what he meant by gap. He meant there’s all this noise, and then suddenly there’s silence. It’s sort of like being in a sack, and it’s dark, and then there’s this little slit. And you suddenly realize: Oh, there’s a whole big space out there.

One way to interpret “the gap” is as a reprieve from the frenetic noise of daily life. But to Pema Chodron’s latter point, I actually think it’s maybe more appropriate to view it as a potent reminder that life is much bigger than the clanking around of thoughts and stories in our mind. The wisdom here, at least my interpretation, is in recognizing our ability to connect with this spaciousness, but not necessarily to try to live in it all the time. We’ve got shit to do! But if we didn’t pause, now and then, we might not notice “the gap” (or whatever you wanna call it), and over time we could sadly forget that it’s there — missing the forest for the trees so to say.

That said, sometimes the gap can come to us, unexpectedly, if we’re paying attention.

There’s a scene at the end of the Pixar movie Soul, where all it takes is a leaf and a maple seed. The other day Nina got mad at me (rightly) for being on my phone. When I then looked up, there was a bundle of dandelion seeds twirling an inch or so off the ground. It sounds like a trope, but they were dancing, there’s really no other way I could describe that movement. We chased them, along with a few other kids, and then they eventually drifted away.

It was a tiny gap in my day, but wonderfully large in its sustenance. I would have missed it were it not for being disciplined by my daughter. These damn kids are much wiser than they appear.

Closing quote

As the Brits say.. Mind The Gap

Parting song

Kurt Vile always seems like a dude that would be fun to hang out with. He’s got a new album, and I’ve been really liking the opening track Zoom97. I don’t smoke weed, but if I did, this seems like a good album to pair it with.