Finding the Magic in This Moment, or Making this Moment Magic.

“This is it.”

I recently filched that line from an article written by Josh Baran, author of “The Tao of Now.” It beautifully encapsulates an important tenet of the Zen approach to living, to finding perfection, Nirvana, in the present moment. Josh writes of his own experience: “This phrase may not sound like profound prayer, a powerful mantra or positive affirmation, but it was my touchstone, and it worked. Those three words topped my habitual seeking mind, the mind that always wants something different, better, bigger or newer, the mind that is always yearning for special experiences, easier times or a different life, the mind that wants someone or something to rescue us. Whenever I found myself ruminating on how things should be different, I would say, 'This is it,' and perhaps only for a moment, came home to a more present experience of reality."

This is it: This moment, right here, right now. In Zen and other teachings, there is no past, no future. Both are a lie of the mind, a fraud, a thief of the present, of life itself. We allow the mental mechanisms and default systems, the engrained conditioning, memories, habits, thoughts and beliefs acquired in the “past” and brought into the present, to inform our current thoughts and actions. They compel us to pine for the way things were rather than the way they are, to play the “coulda, shoulda, woulda” game of regret over choices not made and paths not taken. We project them into our “future,” hoping, wishing, praying that tomorrow, the day after, next week, next month, will be better. We expect that life will improve when we lose 10 lbs., graduate from school, win the lottery, meet Mr/s. Right, get out of debt, pay for the kids' education, find the right job or retire from it, and then feel disappointed when our situation changes but our level of satisfaction does not. We fret over what might or might not happen tomorrow. All futile. All mental machinations that steal our attention from the only moment that matters, the only moment in which we can effectively take an action, affect a change, the only moment which we can actually live. This moment. Right here, right now. This is it.

Peace, happiness, Nirvana - all are our true nature; all are accessible and available to us at every moment. But contentment comes with a caveat: Buddha teaches that desire – the interplay of tanha, the cravings of the body driven by the attachments of the mind, of wanting things to be other than how, what, where, when, who and how much they currently are - is the root of all human suffering. Other 20th century sages such as Krishnamurti teach that the denial of “what is” – that which is actually happening in the current moment, uncolored by one’s beliefs, memories, judgments and other conditioning acquired in the past as well as expectations/fears for the future – disrupts our happiness. Eckhart Tolle talks about “the power of now”, about how suffering occurs when you turn away the present moment because the ego thinks something else is more important. Even Sheryl Crow recently repackaged the sentiment for modern times in one of her songs: “It’s not having what you want, but wanting what you’ve got.”

I tried to live without desire, to want what I have when I didn’t have what I was convinced I wanted. I really, really tried. Sometimes I was successful. To wit: I managed, for two seasons, to overcome my ego and shame when I became probably the oldest coat-check girl in Manhattan. In the hierarchy of restaurant work, coat checker falls somewhere between bus boy and dishwasher – you really can’t go any lower. Friends and family reacted with unveiled shock and disapproval: “You’re doing what?!?” This drop in status, from Art Director/Copywriter at a well-known international resorts company with a $2 million (pre-millennial) budget, required a major leap of faith (not to mention humility). Rather than view it as an embarrassing fall from grace, I succeeded in checking my ego at the door and dealing with the real “what is” – the need to generate income while pursuing creative projects – and spin it into a positive experience: I burned thousands of calories a night running up and down stairs carrying heavy coats and bags; come March, I was in incredible shape. I had the opportunity to meet and have a meaningful if brief exchange with dozens of interesting people every night; some led to dates or long-lasting friendships. I went home most nights tired but with fistfuls of cash. And I used it as a springboard to more lucrative, fun and rewarding work as maitre d’ in great restaurants in Manhattan and the Hamptons.

Other times, I failed to overcome my tanha. Miserably. To wit: I tried, really tried, to be content with what I was sure was a less-than-perfect relationship with an interesting but remarriage-phobic DDD (Damaged Divorced Dad). For several years, each week we shared several lovely evenings of New York theatre, wonderful dinners, lively conversation and fairly hot you-know-what. Then we each returned to our own lives. The Venn diagram of our relationship did not include weekends, holidays, family gatherings, vacations, important events such as weddings and funerals. It was a consistent, exclusive, and yes, even committed bond, but superficial at best; it felt like a bi-weekly, gentrified booty call. (Of course, DDD considered it ideal.) The “what is” - a relationship lacking in real depth with a man holding on to me, but at arm’s length - left me cold, stifled, and wanting more.

What to do with this tanha? For the better part of three years I endeavored to be the Buddha and find contentment with the situation, to want what I have (a reliable but superficial relationship, satisfying in some respects) rather than have what I was convinced I wanted (love, depth, real connection, happy ever after). And it worked, until it didn’t.

When I realized the truer “what is” of the situation: that I wasn’t ready to be the Buddha. That in that moment, something was not necessarily better than nothing, that good enough was not good enough. That I needed to make some changes.

So I guess my point is that the what, in conjunction with the how we receive the what, drive our experience. That our level of happiness or satisfaction or fulfillment has much less to do with what’s happening in our external world – our job, relationships, home, etc. - than how we embrace or reject the “what is” with our hearts. It works until it doesn’t, or vice versa – and we alone make that call.

Maybe one day I’ll reach Nirvana, and easily, naturally welcome as the dispassionate observer everything unfolding around me. Without judgment, without wanting it to be some other way. Maybe one day I’ll be like Josh, who says, “This. This very ordinary moment is it. We don't need to see the extraordinary because when we allow ourselves to be fully at home in the ordinary, it becomes extraordinary and full of wonder." Maybe one day, I'll let go of my attachments to the things I'm convinced I need and want in life, and fully embrace each moment as a perfect gift – the present - to be appreciated and experienced and enjoyed exactly as it comes.

Until then, I'm learning to be content in the awareness that we alone have the power over how we spend our time here. That despite whatever Sturn ung Drang appears to be raging around us, we make the ultimate decision regarding how we receive what we perceive (and, for that matter, how we perceive what we receive): It’s all contingent upon what we believe. That nothing and no one but me, myself and I can be held responsible for my happiness or lack of it, my choices and the results thereof. The peace and contentment, even happiness and joy, Nirvana! are within our reach at any and every moment. Could it really be that easy?

Okay, not exactly the Buddha-head, but getting closer …

(And whenever we’re unable to escape from the hellish hamster wheel we spin in our head, of the “poor me” who wishes things were some other way, we don’t have to look very far to see examples of people making lemonade out of the few meager lemons they’ve been handed. Just think of the Haitians who had little, then lost everything – family members, entire homes, jobs – living day to day in a broken country, unsure of when/if they’ll find their next meal or clean water. Think of those who choose to sing and dance and pray together, to set up makeshift schools and take care of other people’s children, rather than loot and shoot ... and count today’s blessings.)

This is it, my current “what is”: On Good Friday, I’ll be with my mom when she goes in for surgery, but tonight I’m going out to dinner …

© 2010 Theresa Quadrozzi - A Muse In Manhattan