By Paul Achitoff

We all know that making our practice continuous by bringing attention to our lives moment-by-moment is essential. We also know that doing this is extremely difficult, because we become lost in our thoughts and emotions and forget that we are not being attentive. Unless we are mindful, our bodies and minds will continue to act in very predictable patterns, day after day, like bowling balls in the gutter. If we place obstacles in the path of these rote behaviors, we may stumble across them; when we do, we have the opportunity to be mindful once again. For example, I know that every time I take a shower, I tend to wash myself in a certain pattern: first my left arm, then my right, then my chest, and so on. If I set an aim for myself to wash my right leg before anything else, I may forget -- but I also may remember in the middle of my shower that I forgot, and can try to continue on mindfully. If I usually wear my watch on my left wrist, I might wear it on my right wrist for a week. Every time I check the time I have another opportunity to extend my practice.

A powerful device that can be useful if we are around a friend or partner who also practices is to make very small, arbitrary changes in the way we speak. For example, we might decide not to use a common word like "some" for a week. If our partner notices that we asked for "some cake," we can wink at them, and they can use the hint to wake up for a little while. These arbitrary reminders have to be changed often; otherwise, like notes posted on the refrigerator, we get used to them and they stop working.

One of the most deeply-rooted habits of our mind, and one of the most destructive, is also one that, if used in this way, can strengthen our practice enormously. This is the tendency towards such unskillful emotions as anger. If, instead of wallowing in an angry internal dialogue, we use this familiar feeling as a reminder to resume our practice, everyone will benefit. As William Shakespeare said: "Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head; and this our life exempt from public haunt finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it."

This article appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i News, Fall 2000