If I want world peace, I won't get it with heated debate about the issues.  By cultivating inner peace, my dealings with others will come from that place, and will only be an encouragement to others to commit to that same cultivation within themselves.  Then, organically, inner peace will begin to spread.

Obviously, this is not a unique teaching coming from me; I have heard, and experienced it, before.  Running into roadblocks while interacting with others, I have allowed myself to forget and to neglect.  Inner peace must be attended to - it is an act of intention.  That's the new knowledge for me.  In fact, in writing this blog, five different times I hit some key combination that deleted my writing and I had to start over.  I had to deal with frustration and rage.  I had to zoom out of the emotion and observe what I was doing.  When focusing on the good, the opportunity to bring it into practice will often come up, right in your face, and sometimes quite loudly.  I left the computer at one point, saw Meggy, and shared peace with her by stroking her head.

And now this blog is better than it could have been on its first draft.  I'm learning, each and every second.  Join me?

How to cultivate then?  A couple of articles on Beliefnet offer some hints.  They are both excellent.  I encourage you to read them both; they are easy and fast reading.  I have tried the potato chip meditation (second article) but with a walnut (I cannot stand raisins, which was the example I was being taught via a CD I had bought).  I see the benefit in choosing something like a potato chip, however, and plan to try it.  As I have big issues with overeating/compulsive eating, focusing on the act of eating, and making the practice of it a mindful one makes a lot of sense to me.  A lot of my inner conflict seems to somehow be associated with my consumption of food.

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http://www.beliefnet.com/gallery/mindfuleating.html


By Carmen Yuen

Too many of us are mindless eaters, to the point that we barely notice what we shove into our mouths. It's nigh time to put down the Blackberry, turn off the TV, and eat--just eat. Taking inspiration from the Buddha's Noble Eightfold Path, these eight practical steps help us move from "scarfing on the go" to "dining in the now."

1. Food Can Be Our Friend

We find the devil in the donut; we constantly worry over what we do (or do not) eat. Must every plate be served with a side dish of guilt? The Buddha taught that there can be an end to suffering--and this applies to our attitude towards food. We can be like we were as children, savoring every bite of our favorite snack. Eating can once again be a source of immense joy.

2. Reflect on the Origins of Your Food

When everything at the supermarket is wrapped in cellophane, it's easy to forget our connectedness to the food we buy. Our choices have a direct effect on the way food is grown. Ask yourself: are the methods sustainable? Are the animals treated humanely? Supporting mindful products--such as free-range eggs and organic produce--benefits both our environment and our health.

3. Avoid Stuffing the Senses

We're careful to avoid the candy aisle. But what about the magazines and TV commercials that scream "Lose ten pounds in a week!" and "Easy methods to trim those thighs!"? Mindful consumption extends to the words and images that we let into our minds. Recognize that sensory "junk" will agitate and mislead.

4. Take the Middle Path of Moderation

The young Buddha practiced asceticism--and not surprisingly, subsisting on a grain of rice a day led only to disillusionment (and an angry stomach). An offering of nourishing milk-rice helped him realize that inflexibility and dogmatism were at the roots of suffering. Let go of the stress surrounding "forbidden foods" and step onto the Middle Path of moderation.

5. Cook in the Now

Cutting an onion and washing the dishes are not necessarily forms of torture. The simple, everyday task of preparing a meal can be an opportunity for meditation. Choose seasonal produce that is bursting with flavor and packed with nutrients. Be present in every action: savor the smell of a cut apple, the texture of chopped walnuts. You may find a great deal of enjoyment in a once-dreaded process.

6. Share a Meal with Your Sangha

Traditionally, Buddhist monks worked side-by-side in the garden and ate together in a large dining hall. Sharing a meal is one of the simplest and most effective ways to strength our connections with loved ones and with our food. Try out a recipe with friends; surprise someone with a homebaked treat. The experience can be more satisfying than dining at the priciest restaurant in town.

7. Pause and Give Thanks

Your mouth is watering and your fork is aloft... but before you dig in, take a few seconds to breathe. Savor the delicious aroma; reflect on the hard work that has gone into the food, and how grateful you are to receive it. The simple act of pausing reminds us to be mindful of the portions we put on our plate.

8. Chew, Swallow, Enjoy!

There is a Zen saying: "When you eat, just eat." The act of eating food can enormously pleasurable, especially when we slow down. Chew, swallow, look around, and chew some more. With these simple techniques, you will discover that the path of mindful eating can lead to a peaceful mind.

Carmen Yuen is the author of "The Cosmos in a Carrot: A Zen Guide to Eating Well" (Parallax Press). To learn more about her and her work, visit www.carmenyuen.com.

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http://www.beliefnet.com/story/17/story_1742_1.html

By Edward Espe Brown

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/17/story_1742_1.html

Reprinted with permission from "Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings:
Recipes & Reflections" by Edward Espe Brown (Riverhead Books).

Years ago at a meditation retreat, we had an eating meditation.
Raisins were passed out. We were encouraged to help ourselves to a
small handful, "But don't eat them yet!" I sighed. I am not thrilled
with this kind of exercise. I prefer to have these experiences on my
own, instead of having them spoon-fed to me.

We were instructed to look at the raisins, to observe their
appearance, to note their color and texture--"But don't eat them yet!"
I supposed it could be worse, like "Ready now, one, two, three, open
your heart to the raisins." Next we were invited to smell the raisins,
and finally, after a suitable interval allowing for the aromas to
register, we were permitted to put the raisins in our mouths, "But
don't chew them yet!"

By now I was feeling annoyed and increasingly aware of an urge to
smash something. "Leave me alone," I complained (loudly to myself.).
"Let me eat, for goodness' sake." To have your act of eating abruptly
arrested is upsetting and disturbing. Get something tasty in your
mouth, and your teeth want to close on it. But WAIT! We were then
instructed to simply feel the raisins in our mouth, their texture,
their presence. We were obliged to restrain saliva flow and the
impulse to chew.

At last, we were permitted to complete the act of eating. The raisins
could be chewed. More juices flowed. The sweet and the sticky were
liberated from their packets--"But don't swallow yet!"

"Be aware of your swallowing. See if you can make your swallowing
conscious." Some people, I guess, just have a knack for knowing how to
take all the fun out of things. This noting and observing, attending
and awakening, certainly doesn't leave much opportunity for joyful
abandon, but I'll always remember those raisins.

Indeed, I thought of them when I taught a workshop on Zen and
psychoanalysis with Andre Patsalides, a Lacanian psychoanalyst. We
called the event "Eating Orders and Disorders." Andre explained that
in cultures where eating rituals were widespread, people experienced
few eating disorders. Conversely, we see that ours is a culture with
few eating rituals and numerous disorders. Many families, perhaps 25%
to 30%, almost never eat together, according to many reports. The
refrigerator, freezer, and cupboard are full of each family member's
favorites, which can be microwaved when each one wishes, maybe between
TV shows.

It's the American dream, the American way: freedom, disconnection,
food as product, food as fuel, never having to interact. The basic
rule, of course, is to pay very little attention to the stuff--food,
sitcom, people, or game show--coming in and then to be just a bit
baffled as to why you feel so undernourished in the midst of all this
plenitude.

I wanted to lead our workshop in an eating meditation, but hey, I
thought, let's get real. Let's skip the raisins and meditate on eating
just one potato chip. Then I thought we could go to oranges, my
concession to wholesome, and conclude with Hydrox cookies. I picked
Hydrox because I had heard they were the "kosher Oreos" (no pig fat, I
guess).

Since I didn't want to parcel out the instructions as they had been
given to me, I laid out the whole deal to start: Pay attention. Allow
your attention to come to the potato chip and be as fully conscious as
you can of the whole process of eating just one potato chip. Just one!
So you had better pay attention.

When I announced our potato-chip-eating meditation, I was greeted with
various gripes, taunts, and complaints: "I can't eat just one."
"That's ridiculous." "You're going to leave us hanging with
unsatisfied desire. How could you?" Nonetheless, I remained steadfast
in my instructions and passed around a bowl of potato chips, urging
each participant to take just one. When everyone was ready, we
commenced. "Instead of words," Rilke says in one of his sonnets,
"discoveries flow out astonished to be free." And so it was.

First the room was loud with crunching, then quiet with savoring and
swallowing. When all was fed and done, I invited comments. Many people
had been startled by their experience: "I thought I would have trouble
eating just one, but it really wasn't very tasty." "There's nothing to
it." "There's an instant of salt and grease, and then some tasteless
pulpy stuff in your mouth." "I can see why you might have trouble
eating just one, because you take another and another to try to find
some satisfaction where there is no real satisfaction to be found."
"If I was busy watching TV, I would probably think they were great,
but when I actually experience what's in my mouth, it's kind of
distasteful."

That one potato chip even surprised me, the experienced meditator,
with its tastelessness. Now I walk past the walls of chips in the
supermarket rather easily without awakening insidious longings and the
resultant thought that I really ought to "deny" myself. I don't feel
deprived. There's nothing there worth having. And this is not just
book knowledge. I know it.

The oranges were fabulous, exquisite, satisfying. The reports were:
"Juicy ... refreshing ... sweet ... succulent ... rapturous." About
half the participants refused to finish the Hydrox cookie. One bite
and newly awakened mouths simply bid the hands to set aside what
remained: "This we know to be something we do not need, desire, want,
wish for. Thanks anyway."

The ritual of eating attentively in silence put everything in order.

How to Eat Just One Potato Chip

Bets have been made. Challenges have been laid. You've been told you
can't do it. You've never dared to try, but here's the secret. Taste.
Taste what you put in your mouth. Experience it!

The potato chip is already manufactured and is always "ready for you"
(waiting perhaps innumerable eons for this opportunity), so
concentrate on preparing the other ingredients. To strengthen and
focus the concentration, eliminate all the most obvious distractions:
TV, radio, stereo, reading material (especially People magazine and
the daily newspaper), talking, shopping, driving. Concentration is to
be applied to the potato chip and only to the potato chip. No dip
allowed. You are encouraged to be seated and not to have a drink in
the other hand.

Attention is to be attuned to what is actually present moment after
moment. "Attuned" because attention is often turned toward what is
wished for or feared, and frequently glosses over the actual
experience. Refine or focus the attention by pointing out what is to
be attended to: how the chip feels in the hand, how the chip looks in
the hand, the smell of the chip, the intention to place said object in
the mouth, how the chip feels in the mouth, how the chip tastes
(moment after moment!), how the chewing sounds, and, carefully now,
the sensation of swallowing.

Mindfulness is to be "whipped up" or aroused, as it tends to save
itself for things more important than chips. Remind yourself that
eating a potato chip with mindfulness is vitally important. To be
mindful means that the experiences attended to actually make an
impression.

One way to arouse mindfulness is to practice making notes about what
you are going to tell your grandchildren about this particular potato
chip: "beige ... greasy between the fingers ... exquisite curve ...
cute ruffles ... urge (like a fire flaming to life) to place in mouth
... feel with tongue ... powerful crunch..." and so forth. But please,
don't take my word for it. Find your own words.

Got your ingredients together? Seated? Undistracted? Focused? When you
are ready, you may pick up and eat (better yet, savor) that one potato
chip. Get everything you can out of that chip, because it's the only
chip in the entire universe.

Edward Espe Brown is the author of the best-seller 'Tassajara Bread Book' and past president of the San Francisco Zen Center. He helped found the acclaimed Greens restaurant in San Francisco, with chef Deborah Madison.