using the arrow buttons.
by clicking on the page.
the page around when zoomed in by dragging it.
the zoom using the slider when zoomed-in.
by clicking on the zoomed-in page.
by entering text in the search field, and select "This Issue" or "All Issues"
by clicking on thumbnails to select pages, and then press the print button.
displays sections with thumbnails and descriptions.
displays a slider of thumbnails. Click on a page to jump.
allows you to browse the full archive.
about your subscription?
Lions Roar : November 2016
That was then. Now, twenty-nine years later, I’m skateboard- ing again. After first teaching my three-year-old how to balance on a board, I’ve begun visiting the VicWest skatepark, an intimidat- ing series of increasingly steep concrete bowls and ramps popu- lated by twentysomething pot-smoking athletes. I live on an island in British Columbia, so visiting the park means ferries, a full day in Victoria, and a serious commitment. But I’m in. Every night this week I’ve had dreams of skating, and I wake up rehearsing foot and leg movements. In the yoga and Bud- dhist traditions, the psycho-physical framework for memory is called samskara. Sam means “with” or “together,” and “kara” means “make,” “habit,” or “effect.” Some scholars suggest this is where we get the English word “scar.” In any case, it represents a coming together of patterns. Samskaras are like body memories, laid down in the muscles, connective tissue, and bones we use to move us around. So as I sleep, my body “rehearses” the weightlessness of dropping into a bowl or the electric achievement of landing a jump. It’s entirely somatic. In my imagination and body, I’ve got banks of skateboard memories—film loops I replay again and again. On my third day at the skatepark, I stood at the top of a six-foot vertical drop that smooths out into a long ramp. I was terrified at the prospect of “dropping in,” but in my mind’s eye I see myself dropping down into the ramp, falling in midair for a split sec- ond, and then feeling the rubber wheels land and successfully carry me into the ramp’s curve. I see myself doing this at twelve years old. (At least I think I can.) Skating in the present, I’m confronting these memories of the past. But I’m not traveling as fast as I do in my daydreams, and there’s a resistance to dropping into the bowl that’s all new. I’m forty-two years old. My nervous system has a tether on my imagination. And my legs don’t have the energy they once had, at least not for quick movements perched on the rim of what feels like a twenty-five-foot-deep bowl. (It’s actually about seven feet deep.) Still, I find the shapes of VicWest and try to ride them as far as I can. The back wheels dovetail with the swollen cement curve; the steel trucks grind the edges of a ramp; the bearings make their head-turning sound. There are a thousand moving parts and details one can pay attention to at any moment—and it’s all happening quicker than I can think. Maybe that’s the allure of skating now. I’m scared and the risks are higher. But the thrill today is found in the immediacy of the present moment, not in landing a trick or having a cute girl across the way feign interest. So I take my time. I may have doubts and worries, but I the village zendo year-end retreat with Roshi Enkyo O’Hara Garrison Institute, New York half retreat: December 26th – 29th, 2016 full retreat: December 26th, 2016– January 1st, 2017 A spacious and quiet Zen retreat with meditation, daily dharma talks, interview with Village Zendo teachers, and time to rest and walk along the Hudson River. For more information, please visit www.villagezendo.org LION’S ROAR | NOVEMBER 2016 25 CULTURE • LIFE • PRACTICE