Day 4 Dog Barking in the Temple

A Bridge of Light Over the Turbulent Yuba River

The Dog Next Door Barked Again and Again

Dog barked all day.
Then he barked all night.
Boring when you analyze it.
Sad when you feel it.
Background noise when you set it down.
Like a thought or a compulsion.

From my upcoming book Simple Life

This place has been a refuge from consternation and blaring static, with one exception. My seeming nemesis, the barking dog, is here.

I have pretty bad tinnitus, or ringing in the head. Something about the pitch of certain dogs actually hurts my brain. It’s not uncommon for people with nerve damage in their ears to experience this sort of jolt from certain noises. For me, it’s the ubiquitous barking dog. It’s noise that actually sends the shock of my ears into my veins. This jolt too often foments agitation and stories about neglectful dog owners. The barking neglected dogs seem to be everywhere for me, including here in the supposed silence. 

A hundred yards from the trailer a dog is penned in and alone. The dog shouts like the person coughing in a church meeting or a screaming baby in the coffee shop.

I went for a walking meditation on our third day. Then back to the trailer after morning meditation sadnha and asanas (Yoga postures) I am peaceful for moments. That’s when the barking dog begins his disruptive teaching. Why would they allow such a disruptive barker to annoy ME in this place of tranquility?

I went to find the source of the barking. In a cabin around the corner from us a dog was yelling from behind the windows. With each cry the curtains shook. My heart leapt. Why had I come closer to the noise that bothers me? Though I walked away, I was tempted to stay and just face my fears with the dog.

I decided to meditate instead. Not running away. Not going deeper into the illogical thing that vexes me so often. I went to the forest meditation structure. I sat. What can I do Father Mother? How do I manifest the fear and loneliness (barking) of this world inside of myself?

I sat until I felt a semblance of clarity. The dog continued to bark nearby. But the shivers had left my body along the rigidity in my shoulders and neck. Then I listed all the things I could do with vexation of feeling afraid in the world.

-          Shake it off like an animal shakes off the rain and fear after being chased.

-          Yell

-          Be the dog without asking the whys about the owner and circumstances

-          Be empty space, which carries no ordinary sound.

-          Sit with the moans and yips without absorbing its cuts and punches.

-          Gird myself with my practice

-          Confront the owner if I can or at least find out about the welfare of the one barking and crying.

-          Give up and become a victim

-          Avoid by obsessively doing something

-          Name it. Go deeper inside and say what the real issue is.

-          Bark and bark myself

-          Fix it

-          Blame myself for being too sensitive.

-          Hate dogs.

-          Love dogs.

The point became clearer. I have freedom to choose. There are a hundred options in this bag of curiosity. The other point is to pause and begin any action with non-action. Am I centered and truly more ready to be in the world that confronts one with sensory assaults at every turn?

The world was not meant to be lost in or be afraid in. I remember that the ways of the world are not a personal affront to me, unless I make it that way. An experience is neither good or bad, kind nor debilitating unless I react from a place mirroring those attributes. All of this is simple to say. But difficult to do.

I’m reminded of the poem by Basho:

The temple bell stops.

But the sound keeps coming

out of the flowers.

What I focus upon becomes the very thing I hear in my own thoughts and dreams.

Dear Reader: What is your barking dog in this world?
What seems to be so outside of you that it feels victimizing to experience it?
It could be the evening news, or a teenage son’s petulance.
It could be the rain that continues for days or a lover who has not returned your call.

I found some ideas to transform my barking dog issue. The first idea is that I have choices. My first choice is to pause and feel myself, not my stories. This is the practice of yoga.

What is your barking dog? What are your choices, right now and here?

Peace,
Rick

(c) Copyright Richard Sievers, December 2012, All Rights Reserved