Notes From A Burning House

Oh.  Oh.  Aaaauuuurggggghhh.  Gaaaaaaaaaauuuhh!!!   

Ah.

Mmm. ???  Oh.  RRrrrrrrrr.  Auuuuugggghhh!!!!!

Last week, I got a pretty harsh sunburn.  Usually I take more care, but last week I was foolishly unprepared and soon turned a shade hotter than pink.  The pain was exquisite, but it was just an opening act for the miracle of healing.

Hold on a second.  Mmmm.  Hrrrrrr. RRraaaaaAAAAAAHHH!!!

Yes, it’s the itching time.  The sensation is so intense, I get the shivers. 

It recalls a memory from seven years ago, an itching sensation that was even more severe, with the added onus of doctor’s orders not to scratch, no matter what. 

In 1998, at age 27, I got chicken pox.  Procrastination really does make things worse.  My doctor warned me of fatal complications that can arise from adult cases of chicken pox – including pneumonia and encephalitis (a swelled head? Great, two strikes against me already). 

He ordered me to bed for a month.  It was an enforced vacation from grad school – I was in the Conservatory at the time.  I lived in an apartment on Candace Street, in the Smith Hill neighborhood of Providence, Rhode Island.  Rebecca was wonderful, coming by every day, helping me with tasks or just keeping me company.  When the sores began to dry it felt like a tickling fire that consumed me utterly. 

Kind of like this.  Rrrrr.  Hhhhhaaahhhhhhh.  Baaaaaaahhh!!!

But the pox was worse.  My body would involuntary twitch and shake, just to rub against my clothing.  Even a breeze would provide a teasing hint of relief.  I could bathe, I could soak in oatmeal tisanes, if it pleased me, until my skin puckered; but as I dried, the fire would return. 

It’s hard, this skin business.  We are wrapped up in this organ, with 20 square feet of tissue exposed to all elements and subject to irritation.  Itching can alert us to potential harm, such as a visit from a thirsty mosquito, or some irritant to the dermis – a pinprick from a hair, a piece of grit.  As far as alert devices goes, this is a smart one.  Itching is hard to ignore.  I don’t even try, this week.  I just examine, with fascination, all of the moving sensations that slither, leap, and rattle from my toes to my brain.  A really powerful itch can be felt all over the body.  The Itch.  Iiiiiiiiitching.  Gaaaaaarrrrrr. 

Formal Zen meditation is done in a sitting position, and it is important to be very still while remaining relaxed and open. We also bring our attention to a single point and decline to hop on the trains of thought that normally pull us through our days. It is a simple yet very challenging practice, and all practitioners deal with resistance.  Even if one is highly motivated to do this, there can arise methods of distraction that are subconscious. 

Many meditators have experienced “phantom fatigue,” the sensation of being exhausted and sleepy during a meditation period that suddenly lifts when the bell is rung and the sitting period is over – one goes from falling over asleep to feeling energized, alert, and ready to put on their dancing shoes and set the night on fire. 

Another subconscious resistance is The Itch.  It often chooses the nose.  Nothing has landed on your nose (except, for now, your focused attention) yet there is an itching sensation so powerful it feels like a tiny dentist is drilling straight through the tip of your schnozz, aiming for the stem of your brain. 

A monk giving retreat orientation said to some newcomers, “Nobody ever died of an itchy nose,” and one of them replied, “How do you know?” 

One can, however, die to an itch.  Encountering a barrier, already one has split into two; becoming the barrier, the fire burns clean and releases energy.  The Itch – a mundane and comical variant of the Zen analogy of choking on a ball of hot iron.  If the whole universe is on fire, Ko Bong asked, how do you avoid getting burned? 

Ko Bong had a ferocious itch. 

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