"Where Nothing Begins"

   I came across a very interesting article from Robert Aitken, called "The Dragon Who Never Sleeps" (collected in the book Engaged Buddhist Reader, edited by Arnold Kottler). Aitken is talking about gathas, which are short poems used in Buddhist practice to convey concise Buddhist teachings, as well as to remind people of what they need to be mindful of in their daily spiritual practice. Aitken wishes to adapt gathas for 'modern' Western audiences, particularly related to relationships that one would encounter in modern life. So he decided to write a whole string of gathas designed specifically for "modern Western" audiences who are interested in Buddhism. One of the gathas that really struck me goes as follows:

         When someone is late for a meeting
          I vow with all beings
          to give up the past and the future
          and relax where nothing begins. (p.35)


This gatha really speaks to me. For one, it reminds me of the anxiety that people face around 'nothing'. For another, it has a modern feel to it. I am picturing the unease that people feel when someone is not on time for a meeting, as well as that social space created as a result. Are people able to truly relax into something unplanned and unknown? Or does it create an unbearable space where something 'should' be happening but simply isn't?
    Aitken writes his gatha in a time when Western offices are very time-oriented. Products and services are often measured for 'time efficiency', sometimes leaving little mental energy to generate or incubate new ideas. The obsession with filling one's time with conversation and content often ends up stigmatizing silence, as well as more accidental moments where surprise connections can be made. I take it that Aitken is being somewhat ironic when he inserts the phrase 'where nothing begins', as though to indicate that 'nothing' has a specific beginning and an ending. Perhaps it might seem that way, but maybe 'nothing' is always pervading in between the spaces of thoughts. Hence, in an earlier gatha, Aitken writes:
     
      When thoughts form an endless procession,
      I vow with all beings
      to notice the spaces between them
      and give the thrushes a chance (p.34)

In fact, both space and time are somehow immeasurable. Can anyone really measure the time it takes for an idea to form in mind? I am sure that someday, a scientist might come up with a study to do exactly that, but it somehow doesn't address the question or how ideas are formed. It seems that the process of forming an idea is often mysterious, and I can never quite know where the good ideas arise.
     Aitken's gathas challenge my notion of how to measure the value of 'my time'. If a person is continually measuring themselves by habitual ways of being and doing, they are bound to start seeing time as something they own. Recently, I heard the expression, "not on my time" to refer to someone taking ownership of their time, as opposed to following someone else's rules. But in a meeting, whose 'time' is it anyway? Groups of people are really in one space and time. They don't occupy separate 'spaces'  or 'times', so can we say that there is 'my time' and 'your time'?
   Staying in a space of 'nothing' might also allow me to see that there are certain things about ourselves that simply cannot be known or resolved. It's interesting that a lot of Western psychology tries to fill that space with supposed problems or 'root causes', such as separation anxiety, trauma, or poor individuation. But it makes me wonder if perhaps the real source of the anxiety is simply a realization that there is a nothing that can't be covered up by something. That 'nothing' might just be the mysterious mind that can't be pinned down to an object or a thought. But knowing this, can I not simply 'rest' in this awareness of nothing, without trying to make an object of it?

Aitken, Robert (1996) "The Dragon Who Never Sleeps". In Engaged Buddhist Reader (ed Arnold Kottler). Berkley: Parallax Press.