This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Refuge in the Present Moment ~ Diana Clark. It likely contains inaccuracies.

Refuge in the Present Moment - Diana Clark

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on October 22, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Refuge in the Present Moment

Good evening. It’s nice to see you all.

Tonight, I want to talk a little bit about the way we can approach our meditation practice in a similar way to how we approach everything else in our lives. Often, we approach things with a certain amount of striving, a goal-oriented mindset: "I’ve got to get this thing," "I’ve got to get more peace," "I’ve got to get more freedom," or "I’ve got to get more ease." There can be a certain amount of pushing.

Of course, we might say, "Of course we are," because this is the way we push toward other goals—whether professional, academic, or fitness goals. We have a certain amount of striving. But what’s a little different with meditation practice is that, with this striving, we often don’t notice the measuring that is happening. "Am I there yet? Have I gotten there yet? Am I peaceful yet? Is this easeful? Is the mind settled? Am I happy yet?"

If there is measuring, it means you’re not "there" yet. So, there is always a sense of lack. This is subtle, but it gets reinforced again and again if we have the sense that we have to be somewhere else or have some other experience. Suddenly, whatever is happening right now becomes the "wrong" experience because it’s not the one we had in our goal.

It can go further, leading to a sense of "there’s something wrong with me" or a sense of inadequacy. In fact, we could say that happens anytime there is a recurring measuring of oneself or one’s experience. Wanting to push toward a goal creates the conditions in which—though it isn’t necessarily obvious—there’s always a sense of, "Oh, I’m not there yet." We feel there is something wrong with this moment because it’s not that other moment we’ve dreamed up and are aiming toward. This sense of inadequacy or insufficiency about oneself often shows up, and that, of course, creates the conditions in which there isn't peace, ease, or freedom.

Waking Up to the Present

We might not notice that the way we approach our meditation practice is creating the conditions that prevent the settling or peace that might otherwise be there. Implicit in this striving is the subtle sense of, "Yeah, well, I’m going to get it later." This sense of ease or happiness will happen later. Again, this takes us away from the present moment. If we feel this present moment isn't right and that something better is going to happen in the future, it disconnects us from what’s actually happening now.

And that is so much of what meditation practice is about, right? It is just to be here for this moment, to be with whatever our experience is, and to be present for whatever is arising. This is what mindfulness is: being able to meet each moment with awareness, not being lost in thoughts or completely disconnected.

I think many of you won’t be surprised if I say that I have a poem by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer¹. She’s so great. The poem is called "Waking Up." At the beginning of the poem, she has an epigraph²—a quote from John Tarrant³, who is a Zen teacher. John Tarrant says: "Wait a minute. What if this is it?"

Rosemary Wahtola Trommer wrote this poem in response:

Waking Up

This is it, I think as I lie in bed not wanting to leave the warmth. This is it, my feet meet the cold wood. This is it, I water the orchid. This is it, I boil water, make tea. I think I’ll be a better person tomorrow. This is it, me dreaming of fresh starts. This is it, defuzzing the sweater. This is it, paying bills, answering mail, frying eggs, washing pans. No life but this one, no fresh start but here. This is it, the cat sits on my papers. This is it, the phone doesn’t ring. This is it, the floors need mopping, the letter needs written, the class needs planned. This is it, me wishing I could be more perfect. This is it, this, this only, only this. This is it, this flutter in my chest when the sun enters the room, the natural leaning toward the light. This is it, this silence, this cold, this warmth, this longing, this song on my lips.

She’s pointing to being present for every experience. While I was talking about having goals during meditation practice, she’s pointing to being present for your whole life, whatever is happening. I love that line, "defuzzing the sweater." It’s such a mundane thing, but it’s a recognition of something so simple. Maybe it represents taking care of ourselves in some way.

Something I really appreciate about this poem is that there’s no sense of being hurried. There’s no sense that something else should be happening or of trying to get somewhere. These are just ordinary things: watering the orchid, frying eggs, washing pans. There is a sense of ease—not so much striving, but just a recognition: "Okay, this is the next thing that’s arising. Can we meet it? Can we be present for it?"

Sometimes we think mindfulness practice should only happen in a special meditation posture on the floor. But this poem is called "Waking Up," and I love how she uses a little play on words. It begins with lying in bed not wanting to leave the warmth—literally waking up from sleep—but it’s also about waking up to each moment of one’s life. Otherwise, we’re always trying to be somewhere else or be someone else, and our life passes us by while we’re busy trying to go find peace and ease.

She recognizes her mental attitudes: "not wanting to leave the warmth." So often we don’t even notice this; we’re not tuned in to that resistance to what comes next. But she recognizes the pushing away. Then her "feet meet the cold wood." We might even say there’s a little bit of walking meditation there. Those of you who have been here for Wednesday mornings or day-long retreats know that in addition to sitting, there is walking meditation. She’s talking about that—feeling the pressure on the bottom of the feet while doing ordinary things.

Then she has that fantastic line: "I think I’ll be a better person tomorrow." We think, "I’ll take care of all the things that will support my peace later," but then the next line says, "This is it, me dreaming of fresh starts." She recognizes the mind drifting off, fantasizing that things will be different tomorrow, and she comes back: "No, this is it." She recognizes what the mind is doing.

Often, we don't think about being present for the way we are thinking—the categories of thoughts like "not wanting" or "resistance." She includes all of these in the list of things happening throughout the day.

Finding Refuge

In this tradition, we often practice being with the sensations of breathing or the body. If I were giving a guided meditation, I would probably start with mindfulness of the breath. But sometimes we don't point out that in meditation, just like in daily life, we can open up our experience. Once there is a little settledness, we can be with whatever is arising—including the thought "I'll be a better person tomorrow"—and notice, "Oh yeah, this is it, me dreaming of fresh starts." We just notice that the mind is doing whatever it is doing.

Sometimes we have this idea that to be present is to be present only with clear, tangible experiences that have defined edges. But I’m pointing to something that can be more diffuse, subtle, or even vague.

This idea of being present is a support for finding "it." Often, what we are looking for "out there" is actually right here. In the Buddhist tradition, we talk about taking Refuge⁴—often in the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha⁵. But even more broadly: Where is it that we find safety? Where do we feel protected?

A refuge is a place where there can be some safety. We can find that being in the present moment has a certain amount of safety. To just be here with what we’re experiencing in this moment, in a simple, easeful way, is a way to notice how much of what we’re afraid of is exacerbated by our thoughts, ideas, and beliefs. The experience happening right now is just the experience happening right now.

I like the notion of refuge as sitting underneath a giant, ancient tree with big limbs. Perhaps there is rain outside, and you find yourself protected under the tree. You aren't completely separate or isolated—you'll still get a little bit wet, and you aren't disconnected from what's happening—but you feel sheltered. Sometimes we feel that to be safe, we have to create a total barrier between us and anything threatening. But here, we can still be in the world while feeling sheltered by these reaching branches.

There’s also something about being with trees that can uplift the heart. I know it’s that way for me. We’re so lucky to live in an area with redwoods and oaks. There is a steadiness they offer as a kind of refuge. This movement toward safety and ease is a heartfelt movement. We can have an orientation toward the present moment as a place of refuge.

Going for refuge is the opposite of feeling lost or disoriented. Maybe everything isn't clear yet, but I know that this direction leads toward greater peace, ease, freedom, and well-being. When we are present for our lives, it brings this kind of safety.

I spent so many years of my life not being present—trying to be anything but present. I was trying to get "out there" and make something happen, or just distracting and entertaining myself. We can get into a habit of being disconnected from ourselves.

When I say "experiences," I am pointing to something very simple: sense experiences. Feeling the fabric under my hands, the sounds of a car leaving, the visual field in front of me. Coming back again and again to our sense experiences is a way to show up for our lives. The mind might protest: "It can't be that simple! It has to mean something!" But what would it be like to be completely embodied with our life? We discover that there is actually an uplift in the heart when we meet whatever is arising in the next moment.

Orientation Toward Non-Harm

I would add one more thing to this: being in the present moment with an orientation toward not causing harm—not for oneself, and not for others. If you are truly in the present moment, you start to become more sensitive to the harm being caused to yourself and others. This orientation flows naturally out of being present. You notice, "Oh, that conversation felt awkward," or "Trying to always look good is exhausting and harmful in some way."

Being present is what is skillful, helpful, and beneficial—the opposite of harm. Our ethical behavior and our orientation toward being with our experience go together. This repeated orientation is transformative. It’s easy to be dismissive of the idea: "I’m just going to let go of that thought and be with the felt experience of the chair against my body." We might think that surely such a simple thing can't provide a way toward freedom.

It turns out it can.

So much of our suffering⁶ is in our thoughts—holding on to them and thinking, "This one is true." But what if we let them go and just stay with our experience? There might be discomfort or pain in the body, but that is not the same as suffering. The suffering is the "I’ve got to get rid of this," "I’ve got to fix it," "It’s their fault," or "This is a terrible thing." Can we just be with the fact that "this is uncomfortable, and it feels like this"?

That is the refuge of the present moment. Sometimes, when people describe difficulties in their lives, I tell them: "It could be really helpful just to feel your feet on the ground." It’s a very simple thing that disrupts the momentum of thinking and brings attention to a tangible experience. I found this very helpful back when I was working and attending many meetings. Some meetings were uncomfortable, with people blaming each other or behaving poorly. Just feeling my feet on the ground reminded me: "I am actually here, in this body. I don't have to get lost in my thoughts or spill out unskillful language."

Maybe this "is it"—orienting toward these ordinary experiences, defuzzing the sweater and watering the orchid. Maybe that isn't just a way to describe freedom; maybe it is the way to have that freedom. Maybe the goal and the means are the same.

I’m going to read the poem one more time.

Waking Up by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer

This is it, I think as I lie in bed not wanting to leave the warmth. This is it, my feet meet the cold wood. This is it, I water the orchid. This is it, I boil water, make tea. I think I’ll be a better person tomorrow. This is it, me dreaming of fresh starts. This is it, defuzzing the sweater. This is it, paying bills, answering mail, frying eggs, washing pans. No life but this one, no fresh start but here. This is it, the cat sits on my papers. This is it, the phone doesn’t ring. This is it, the floors need mopping, the letter needs written, the class needs planned. This is it, me wishing I could be more perfect. This is it, this, this only, only this. This is it, this flutter in my chest when the sun enters the room, the natural leaning toward the light. This is it, this silence, this cold, this warmth, this longing, this song on my lips.

I’ll end there and open it up for questions or comments.

Q&A and Reflections

Participant 1: This reminds me that everything is practice and practice is all the time. We shouldn't think there’s going to be one "magic moment" where we suddenly feel enlightened. Practice is the routine and the everyday.

Diana Clark: I might use slightly different language because as soon as we use the word "practice," we separate it out from "everything else." What is being pointed to here is that it’s just our life. We do have formal meditation, but it's really about being present for whatever is arising.

Participant 2: Every Monday I think I should buy a book of Rosemary Trommer's poems, but you said she's online?

Diana Clark: Yes, she posts a new poem every day online.

Participant 2: When you read the line "I'll be a better person tomorrow," I imagined her with a little impish smile. We hope for a fresh start thousands of times, but this time she caught herself. She saw what she was doing.

Diana Clark: Nice. She noticed: "Oh yeah, tomorrow there'll be a fresh start." [Laughter]

Participant 3: I might be a little cynical, but I thought she was being almost satirical. Like the narrator is making a big deal out of nothing—"I have to mop right now!" Sometimes when I meditate, I try to tune into every little thing to the point where it feels artificial, like I'm trying to pick something out of nothing. I also heard a tone of being unsatisfied: "I kept doing it wrong, so now I have a fresh start... wait, that didn't work, so this is the real fresh start."

Diana Clark: That's the beauty of poetry—it's open to interpretation. I didn't know whether to read it as "This is it!" or "This is it..." [Laughter]. I appreciate that epigraph: "Wait a minute. What if this is it?" What if all the things we think are "out there" are actually right here, or in the very next thing?

Participant 4: I wasn't familiar with her, but hearing it for the first time, it sounded to me like she was saying each of those things is "it" individually, without the clutter of the day-to-day "I've got to do this" or "I'm ten minutes late." It sounded instructive—to be able to stop everything else and just make tea, and that's it.

Diana Clark: Thank you. That was how I was holding it as well.

Jim: I have the luxury of a computer here, and I remembered from taking German in the 70s that Traum is "dream." So I was thinking: Rosemary Dreamer.

Diana Clark: Rosemary Dreamer! Very nice. I think Peggy has a comment.

Peggy: I love the tree analogy. I went to a different meditation tradition this morning, and that teacher also read a Rosemary Trommer poem that had trees in it! It's cool that you both mentioned her. Also, I decided to turn my TV off for a few days, which I normally never do. I noticed that with many daily activities, I usually think, "This is boring, I've got to finish this so I can do that." But when I stop and am present with what I'm doing, it's not boring anymore. It’s actually peaceful.

Diana Clark: Beautiful. It turns out that if we’re just present with what’s happening, it turns out to be fine. Instead of feeling we should be elsewhere, we just have the experience.

Peggy: Although sometimes hard feelings come up, it’s still better than when they are at a distance.

Diana Clark: That makes sense. Thank you. Wishing you all a wonderful rest of the evening.