I’ve had them before, but not so deep and strong as this time. You’d think I’d be glad to be back to my “normal” life given what happened. Maybe it’s just shock and not depression.

First, there was the death, cremation and burial of my father-in-law. After more than 10 years suffering from dementia, his passing was not shocking and was viewed by some as a blessing. But it was a poignant reminder of his wife’s sudden death the previous year from a head on collision, calling back the grief and wrenching loss of that time. Then there was an ugly and painful-to-witness interaction between my husband and his brother. Tension between family members during such times is common, but knowing that didn’t make it easier.

And then there was the hurricane. We were in Vermont.

Sunday morning when the storm hit Vermont, after a night of heavy rain, we decided to go out to treat ourselves to breakfast at Dot’s, our favorite place for that in Wilmington, just a few miles down the road. It seemed that Hurricane Irene was going to just drop buckets of water on the state and pass on by. No big deal.

The Deerfield River runs alongside Rte 100 and is usually such a sleepy, shallow river I hardly take special note of it as it is simply one part of the gorgeous landscape. There is so much beauty on every road in Vermont that you can begin to take it for granted and not remark on it each time you pass by.

A couple miles down the road the wind picked up and the rain pelted down with evermore fury. The river was beginning to lap up onto the road. A tree had fallen, blocking our path.

We drove around the tree and continued our journey – we were hungry. We figured Vermont could handle a little bad weather and so could we.

Around the next curve the river was spilling onto the middle of the road. It had become thick and raging.

I had never realized how near the road the river was. Nature on both sides of the two-lane road was now closing in. Even if we were able to make it to town, we weren’t sure we’d be able to come back the same way. It finally struck us that being out at all was dangerous. We turned around.

We lost power soon after returning home and spent a few peaceful hours cut off from the world. We meditated, we read, we made love. All things one is meant to do on vacation. It was lovely. The sound of the rain mixed with the smell of incense, surrounded by nature, reminded me of the mountain monastery in the Catskill Mountains I once called my spiritual home. It was a bittersweet memory. (More on the bitter aspect of that in another post.)

Later in the day the rain let up and we ventured out. Again, we were hungry and thought we’d try our favorite roadside stand, Wahoo’s Eatery. What we found was devastating.

Roads impassable – we couldn’t get near Wilmington Center – fields flooded, trees knocked down, waterfalls on the side of roads where there had been a wooded hill. Cars overturned, structures ripped apart and thrown to the opposite side of the road.

The river was now higher, wider, and furious.

Via a back road on higher ground, we were able to get close to the back of Dot’s (our breakfast destination just a few hours before). It was still standing. That seemed good news as it sits right on the river and next to the bridge that spans the main street. Many people were congregated. Someone told us that the deck on his house had been swept away by the river. The rain had stopped.

We had no idea the extent of the damage or how bad it was elsewhere – we couldn’t get very far from home – until the power came back on later that day and we watched the news. Over the next few days we learned more about the local tragedies.

Hundreds of roads washed out, businesses and homes destroyed. The water swept away a 20-year-old woman who had been standing on the bank of the river with her boyfriend. Friends and neighbors suffered from minor flooding to complete loss. An art gallery in town was ripped off its foundation and floated down river ending up in Lake Whitingham like most of the other debris up river. I can’t imagine how long it will take to clean it out. It was heartbreaking to see it. We were so grateful to have had our first kayak trip ever on that lake just the Friday before.

The community spirit after the storm was inspiring. So many people pitched in to clean up, clean out, feed and clothe the homeless. I witnessed no one feeling sorry for their losses; they all seemed grateful to have survived.

And here I sit in a blue mood after three weeks in Vermont, forgetting how lucky I am to be able to spend three weeks in the country. So I’ve taken my own advice: sit, write about it, don’t resist. If you’re blue, be blue. It’ll pass. If you’re angry, be angry. It’ll pass. If you’re happy, be happy. It’ll pass.

I feel my mood shifting as I write this. By the time it posts, my mood will be transformed, I’m sure of it.

Later that day: I went for a bike ride. I took care of some business. I prepared for a class I will be teaching this evening. The blues are gone. I’m happy to be back in New York. I miss Vermont.

(View more photos from Vermont hurricane.)

The first thought that came into my head when I sat down on my cushion one day in late July was: “I don’t like my husband anymore.”

We were in the middle of a NYC heat wave, temperatures rising each day to well over 90 and into the 100s. We had finally moved back into our apartment after eight weeks of renovation and many boxes were still unpacked.

Yes, we were both tired and our patience strained to the breaking point. But, “not like him?” This thought-feeling surprised me and I wanted to investigate it. Were it true, I was in deep trouble.

I couldn’t concentrate on my meditation. I needed evidence. Why didn’t I like him? I came up with two reasons, two incidents that exemplified why I was so mad at him and decided not to like him anymore – the first seed of discontent that could easily lead to separation, divorce (we hadn’t even marked one year married!) – what he’d said, how he’d behaved, what he didn’t do but should have done.

I had two perfect examples I could bring to therapy and say: “this is what he did, please make him stop; this is what he didn’t do, please make him do it next time.”

Then I realized I was thinking and not focusing on my breath. I was not only thinking, I was focused on M: an unhealthy practice on or off the cushion.

So I brought my attention to my breath and started to settle down. The two examples of M’s behavior that supported my need to be right began to slip away. I didn’t want to lose them. I didn’t want to let them go. What if, when I got up at the end of my sit, I forgot what they were?

I kept roping them back in. I saw so clearly how I hung on, how I hated to let go. I realized I was angry and wanted to stay angry, gather up the evidence, justify my fury.

I brought myself back to the meditation cushion using Tonglen practice. I breathed in anger and breathed out love. I didn’t feel love, but I continued.

Anger – In; Love – Out. Anger – In; Love – Out. The two thoughts I wanted to remember floated away. I tried to tuck them away into a corner of my brain. Anger – In; Love – Out.

I slowly began to stop struggling. My belly softened. As did my heart. I still didn’t feel the love, but I no longer fought against the possibility.

If the two reasons for my anger were gone by the end of the sit, so be it. I continued breathing in and breathing out: anger, love.

I relaxed more. I felt neutral about M by the end of the sit. I remembered the two pieces of evidence with little to no emotion attached to them. I felt I could still talk about them to M and not carry the anger into the discussion.

I didn’t write them down. I saw no need. I trusted my memory. Two days later they are gone! Try as I might to get them back (and I do try because it’s my habit to hold on to resentment, grudges, hurt) I can’t find them.

I vacillate between wanting them back and feeling happy not to have them in my brain and body, irritating me. I’m sure you can guess which one has the most energy in this mental tug of war.

So, off to the cushion again to come back to neutral.

I’m beginning to like my husband again.

Already we’re on day 5 of another 30 sits in 30 days. I haven’t sat yet today. I’m not following Soyen Shaku’s first rule: “In the morning before dressing, light incense and meditate.” My own rhythm is more like this: “In the morning before dressing, make tea, pick up notebook and fountain pen, write something. In the evening before dinner, meditate.”

It doesn’t always work out that way. Sometimes I find time in the morning; sometimes it’s before bed. Last night I sat with a group of students at the JCC.

On Sunday, Day 3, I sat on the beach at the edge of the ocean around 1:00. The beach was so crowded it was hard to find an unpopulated spot. I must have walked a mile – great preparation for zazen. The waves were five to six feet high and loud. The crashing roar was exactly what I needed to help quiet the noise in my head.

It was day 49 of what was supposed to be a 35-day apartment renovation. We were living in the Bronx in a neighbor’s daughter’s apartment. A few weeks before we moved, while preparing our apartment – basically moving everything out, choosing paint colors, bathroom and kitchen fixtures, tile, and a million other little things – I got fired from a consulting job I loved (more on that later). My husband, M, was on a two month medical leave from work and unable to help much (our timing could have been better but the plan was in place long before these crisis, so we kept moving forward). The whole process began to take on its own momentum.

Then, on day nine of our relocation, a close family member was admitted to a psych ward of a treatment center after suffering a long bout of depression and anxiety. Needless to say, I had stress galore.

On Sunday, day three of 30 days of sitting, and day 49 of our seemingly endless renovation, my head was bustling with commotion.

Just the day before I had discovered that the new flooring for my home office had been delivered, received by the contractor and installed. One problem. It wasn’t what I had ordered. I hadn’t even planned on replacing the floor – I loved the floor that was there, old wood parquet – but it was too thin to sand once more and in worse shape than I realized.

The built-in desk had to be removed to lay the new floor, and by Saturday it had been re-installed, along with new moldings around the room.

Another problem. The floor was laid in a direction opposite what I thought it should be. I hadn’t specified. It was one detail too many at that point in the chaos. It had never even occurred to me; and the contractor never asked. Plus, that week, after sitting in a box in the basement for weeks, the bathroom sink was finally in place. But it too was not what I had ordered.

I was pissed at everyone for not paying close enough attention to the details: my contractor, the flooring company, the driver of the truck that delivered the wrong wood, the design consultant at the showroom where we bought our sink, the sink company, my husband, myself – everyone.

My head was spinning. Should I have the floor ripped up and redone to what I wanted? Should I exchange the sink for the one I wanted? M was fine leaving everything as it was; in fact, he preferred the “wrong” sink. And it wasn’t his office. He just wanted to be back in our own home.

Changing everything would cost more money, money that I wasn’t making, money that had been put aside for the renovation but was turning out to be not enough, money that I was beginning to think I’d never make again. (The company that fired me owed me money and they were being very nasty about it. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see it.)

And time. It would take another week or two (who knew?) to correct things and get what I wanted.

My brain was screaming. After all I’d been through I deserved to have what I wanted, didn’t I? How could this happen? Why doesn’t M support what I want? I wanted to get home too, but what’s more important here? After all, I did most of the work, didn’t I?

I love the beach. It was a glorious day on Sunday – one of those perfect east coast summer days – hot but breezy enough to make it comfortable and not blow down your umbrella. The sea was blue. A few clouds decorated the sky without threat. But I wasn’t sure I could relax enough to enjoy it.

After a couple hours of lazing and reading, I took my walk to find a quiet spot for meditation. We had plans that evening so I knew it would be hard to find time to sit later and I had to sit. I was committed to that. My Sangha was in the background encouraging me, supporting me.

I found my seat. I focused on my breath. The thundering ocean in front of me. I don’t know how long I sat; 20, 30 minutes maybe. But when I got up and started walking back, everything was quieter. The noise in my head, the lapping waves, the screeching children playing on the shoreline. And now, two days later, even the incessant noise of the jackhammer outside my window is not so nerve wracking.

By Monday afternoon when I met with my contractor, I wasn’t even angry. I had sent him an email on Saturday simply stating the problem and I think he was worried about what I might ask him to do. I realized that I had left on the beach my need to have what I thought I wanted. My stubborn insistence to have it my way had dissipated. I didn’t even ask him to uncover the floor so I could look at it one more time just to be sure.

I knew it would be fine. I knew I would like it. I knew I wasn’t just settling. And I actually made room for the possibility that maybe the “mistake” would turn out to be better than the original “plan.” Same with the sink. And the bonus is that instead of spending more money and time, both the floor and sink companies are issuing some credit for their errors.

I am at peace today. Four more days till we’re back in our apartment. That’s the plan right now. One day, one sit at a time we’ll get there, to face whatever chaos moving back involves.

I look forward to it, to whatever life brings. One thing’s for sure, I’m definitely not ready for the alternative.

Four of the 12 people in our 30-day cyber-sitting Sangha got together last night to sit in the same room.

We improvised, used yoga mats, sofa cushions, bed pillows and one chair. We sat for 30 minutes and it felt like 10 to me. The smell of incense, other people breathing and sitting still, Romeo, Deb’s cat, joining us. It was intimate and deep. At the end of the sit we read from the Tao te Ching, our usual practice when class is in session. We began with verse 30.

Whoever relies on the Tao in governing men
doesn’t try to force issues
or defeat enemies by force of arms.
For every force there is a counterforce
Violence, even well intentioned,
Always rebounds upon oneself.

The Master does his job
and then stops.
He understands that the universe
is forever out of control,
and that trying to dominate events
goes against the current of the Tao.
Because he believes in himself,
he doesn’t try to convince others.
Because he is content with himself,
he doesn’t need others’ approval.
Because he accepts himself,
the whole world accepts him.

Then we ate Deb’s homemade chili and salad, fresh fruit and sorbet. We ended the evening with a very short 15 minute sit and capped it off with a little chanting, sans bells and drum. Namu Dai Bosa – 21 times. It means gratitude. Romeo made love to his rabbit doll and mewed along with us.

A fine ending to a 30-day vow. We all recommitted to another 30 days.

30 days ago today, one of my students had a brilliant idea.

We were on hiatus from our weekly class (more on the hiatus and the class later), and without the support and encouragement that she got from the group sitting practice she was finding it challenging to get to the cushion every day. In fact, her practice had deteriorated to the point that it was almost non-existent, on her own, alone in her apartment.

So she emailed the members of our little Quiet Corner Sangha and suggested that we all join her in committing to sitting every day for the next month. 30 sits in 30 days. And to emailing the group each day about our practice.

To my surprise and delight, eight of us signed on, made a vow together, and began our cyber-space sitting group. Since that first day, four others have joined us, so we’re now up to 12 regular participants.

We are convening tonight for a live, 30^th day celebratory sit – and as it so often happens with people’s schedules, all 12 of us can’t make it. But we’ll all be sitting together nonetheless. And tonight I suspect we shall renew our vow to sit for 30 more days together, and 30 after that, and so on…

Thank you, Deb, for the inspiration to do this. I’m sure had it come from me – the “teacher” – it wouldn’t have been quite so successful.

I bow to you all, my students, my teachers. You all inspire me and help make my practice stronger.