Reducing Self Centeredness

  In Tea Words: Early Chan Lectures in America (2013), Master Sheng Yen distinguishes between "true" and "false" mind:"False mind is the state of ordinary sentient beings; it is the mind that suffers vexations arising from a self-centered view of the world. True mind is a mind free of vexations, a mind of wisdom" (p.7). This part of Master Sheng Yen's teachings suggests that "true" and "false" are related to a certain attitude one takes toward phenomena, not the phenomena itself. To use a simple example: my seeing a garden hose and confusing it for a snake is not necessarily in itself a sign of "false" mind. If I am not attached to either the phenomena or "garden hose" or "snake", then in fact the phenomena could be one or the other, and I don't suffer attachment or vexation as a result. If on the other hand, I am heavily invested in avoiding the snake (hatred) or thirsting after water from a garden hose (greed) then no matter whether it turns out to be a garden hose or a snake, I am approaching the phenomena with an attitude of self-attachment. In this sense, false mind arises to approach that phenomena.
   Another analogy I might think of to flesh out the example is that of being in a dream. Some people clearly don't know they are dreaming: you can see them tossing and turning in their bed and behaving as though they are "running away" from something that is only really arising in their consciousness. On the other hand, there are some moments when a person is truly knowing they are in a dream. One dream that I had very recently turned out to be so ridiculous (something about losing my knapsack in a crowded place) that I had to conclude that surely it must be a dream (why would I leave my knapsack anywhere when it's always attached to me everywhere I go?). In these moments, a person usually awakens from the dream because they are no longer engaged in it or invested in the self as a dreamer. I have had similar experiences where I dreamed that someone was shooting at me with a gun, only to reflect: "this surely isn't really happening to me; it's too crazy or improbable". In that moment, sure enough, I did wake up!
   Master Sheng Yen continues: "true mind arises when the mind is totally free from self centeredness; at this point it is no longer subject to the vexations of ordinary human consciousness" (p.7). This means, for me, that self-centredness is the root of vexations, not phenomena itself. If I am not attaching any labels or significance to what is arising in mind (such as "I like this" or "I don't like this"), then in actuality I am no longer pushed or pulled by the phenomena itself. It's not related to a central self anymore. This is not easy but sometimes I do experience it in the form of no longer attaching any significance or meaning to what I am doing or experiencing in groups. Regardless of whether a person is happy with me or not, my reaction to it is based on how attached I feel to a sense of self. If I find ways to challenge and experience something beyond the fragile sense of self, then I am more aware of something that is not subject to birth or death, and confidence then arises.

Sheng Yen (2013), Tea Words Volume Two. Elmhurst NY: Chan Meditation Center.

Multicultural Ways of Seeing

What would a multicultural way of being look like? I am sketching a few ideas about this, but what I am proposing is something like a "deep ecology" of multiculturalism: a kind of way of looking at diversity that is challenging to one's beliefs in one's own culture as well as open to learning the ways of others. How, more significantly, might meditation play a role in cultivating such a culture?
   In the group sitting today, I pointed out the idea that the open windows allow a lot of air to blow in, as well as sounds outside. One can either view the sounds and the air as obstructions or just as "things coming and going"---and in this regard, the room itself can be a reflection of mind. Is it possible that multicultural society can also be a way of thinking that challenges the notion of a fixed identity that possesses power and privilege over others? Can seeing the world as comprised of difference perhaps be a meditation itself?
   I don't know the answers to these questions but I would like to suggest that being vulnerable to listening to others' sharing their experiences is a very good way to understand how to think "multiculturally": to see past the veil of prejudice that we often assume from our collective cultures. Seeing without judgment (a hallmark of meditation and mindfulness) is also a good way of cultivating a sustained openness to others' voices, while questioning one's own identity. How, then, can these two perspectives (meditative and multicultural) be combined into one single way of being? This is a question I am wrestling with.

walking with tension

 Walking home from work tonight, I reflected on how being present with one's body is not about experiencing things "smoothly" but rather, being truly present with all those tensions. Why is this hard to do, at times? I think it's because a lot of times, a person whose body feels tense will associate the tension with thoughts they are having in that moment. It leads me to wonder, does "tension" even exist in the absence of any thoughts? The tension we experience due to stress and exhaustion is often at least exacerbated by one's thoughts. The more radical view is that tension is perhaps entirely the result of thinking! That may be partly true but it doesn't explain why a person feels more tired at certain parts of the day than others. Perhaps one has accumulated many thoughts over the course of a day?
   I have also reflected that it's important to make space for compassion when one feels tense or exhausted. That compassion doesn't add to one's tension by insisting that they should not be tense. On the contrary, there is a felt sense that even the tension is deeply allowable and embraceable just the way it is. This is not about taking a neutral stance on the pain itself but joyfully allowing it to emerge and even embracing it at times. This allows a different way of relating to the phenomena which is much more spacious and less "divided" within oneself.

Hard Work Pays Off?

 I am thinking about the importance of effort, and whether or not it guarantees success if a person works hard. This might seem a no-brainer, since we are socialized into believing that our hard work pays off. But it's not at all necessarily true, and there is something a little bit dangerous about making assumptions that efforts lead to "good results" all the time. But as Buddhist teachings suggest, efforts don't just go to waste; eventually the efforts lead to some kind of result in a future time, whether tangible or not. Sometimes the "intangible" results are the most precious.
   Examples of intangible results of effort include the ability to discover oneself, cultivate patience and stick to something closely and carefully. These skills and habits are a lifetime of joy, and they prevent a person from going into all kinds of unwholesome states of mind and situations. Without effort of some kind, whether it be work or art, volunteer or family, would these kinds of discoveries be possible? Probably not, since even meditating without any of these things requires some kind of effort. I am not referring to a kind of forceful or strenuous effort but more like a consistent flow of energy, the way a current of electricity is consistently applied to create a current.
   I think that effort does have a good effect, but it always needs to be supplemented by some faith that one is doing something meaningful. Faith comes not from wanting something in the near future, but from cherishing the meaning of what one is doing now. This is the difference between a faith that is consistent with the present and a blind faith that strives for a future that never is.

reflecting on emptiness

 During the group discussion after meditation, we talked about the value of reflecting on the Five Skahandas and emptiness. Why would it be so important to do so? I think the answer is that doing so prepares a person for the inevitable surprises in life. My "status" as a person is always changing according to the times, and there is certainly no guarantee that what I have earned today is going to stay with me all the time.
   Emptiness is an opening into mystery, and reflecting on the emptiness of all things is actually an invitation to be more curious and fully aware of all these changes that are happening all the time. It's certainly not an invitation to stop trying! After all, what we find in the future is the results of what we are doing moment to moment in this time. But at the same time, there are times when there is simply nothing that needs doing, and those moments do need to be appreciated as well.
   Emptiness is not always about losing: it's being prepared for change. I only see something as a loss when I focus on deficit, rather than seeing that all loss is simply a shift into something else, a kind of transition state where what I once was sure of is less  sure. There is no harm in that, and it can be a healthy way to keep me on my toes.

Taoist Ideas in Life

I am not considering myself as an expert in "Tao" but I have been reflecting recently on the chapter in Master Sheng Yen's Chan and Enlightenment which has Taoist themes. I have also been thinking of my reading of Capra's Tao of Physics, where he describes Tao as a kind of balance of different energies, some active while others subtle and mysterious. I believe that a lot of the spirit of Tao can be used as a way of looking at life. But again, as anyone steeped in Tao might suggest, how a person uses Tao might depend on what part of the balance they are on.
  I think what attracts me to Tao is that idea of balance, which I am so fond of in my own personal narrative. Much of my blog at some point or another talks about "balance", and I believe this has a lot to do with making sure that one is not going from one extreme or another. To take a simple example: if I am trying too hard to study to "become" something or to achieve a certain goal quickly, I will get very tense and start to distract myself as a result of that tension. It is as though one were compensating for all the tension one creates in concentrating by introducing some pleasurable distraction. This does happen to me a lot when I am forcing myself to solve a problem for which I have no solution at hand: it is as though my mind were "turning on the sprinklers" to stop myself from becoming overheated with thought. On the other hand, one doesn't want to have too much passivity, since this leads to a less engaged way of interacting in the world. How to strike that balance is quite mysterious in itself, but I sometimes feel like the paradigm of having a balance is a good place to start in this regard.
   Knowing that there is a place for tension and conflict in life can also be a helpful way of looking at balance. If things are too smooth, what is not being acknowledged? I begin to feel that whenever my perspectives or ideas are too smooth, chances are that something is missing there.
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Equanimity

 I have been reflecting recently about how spiritual life goes through different phases. Sometimes a person has a very profound experience where they feel transported out of the world and into a kind of heaven, while other times, one is simply abiding in the spiritual practice of everyday. But the challenge is to come to a point where these highs and lows are no longer seen as distinct. They are just ripples from the same source.
 
 I observe in myself a tendency to "do more", but when I am in a situation where I am not sure about what I should or shouldn't be doing, anxiety arises. This anxiety in the face of uncertainty is quite interesting: rather than allowing me to cultivate equanimity, it keeps pushing me into a state of fearing for my own existence. It sometimes helps to go the other way especially if the pain of not being able to do more is too strong: that is, to actually do nothing and see what happens. Does one "die" when one has "nothing to do" and "no role to play" or does life simply carry on? In knowing that life does in fact "carry on" without me always having to step forward, what effect does that have? In a word, and quite simply, it allows me to relax more into the conflict of not always knowing "what is to be done". It just might even allow me to focus on what really needs doing rather than putting me in an endless cycle of having to do things to please the others or to fulfill my sense of being okay with others.

Creating the real

During the Buddhist study group tonight, we discussed the metaphor of the loom and thread, which is used to describe the practice of silent illumination. While the "silence" is represented by the standing loom which spins the cloth, "illumination" refers to the ability to spin threads together to form cloth. Can we say that all reality is created by the mind? In a sense, yes.
   I should qualify this, however: I don't think that Buddhism is trying to uphold solipsism. Far from it, the idea of "everything created by the mind" puts a person more in the place of actively striving to make sense of the forms and impressions. After all, there are endless ways that people can respond to adversity, and even the notion of caving in is still a choice that people consciously make when they are feeling overwhelmed. It is hardly reality, and yet in constructing one's world, one also has the ability to confuse the world for something that exists independently of one's thoughts and attitudes. This is problematic, and it overlooks the role of creative effort in sustaining one's perceptions of the world.
  To say that the real is created seems to entail "hard work". However, I begin to suspect that it's much harder to go through life not affirming this view. Why? It's because when a person gives up their understanding that their experiences are created by the mind, they have to work hard to defend themselves against what turns out to be only their thoughts. If a person recognizes the way that they co create their experience (or even create it) through the way they process and think about it, they can be less attached to things as though they existed independently of one's framings.

Good and the Bad

  When a person can see between good and bad, not rejecting one or seeking the other, then she or he is able to decide without a sense of attachment. In fact, behavior can be more spontaneous when I stop attaching thoughts to the notion of "me".
    Does this mean, however, that I go around like an emotionless person? I don't think it has to be that way: for example, someone can be spontaneous and even passionate, yet not attached to a particular view. This is all about giving every situation one's best, given the experiences and ideas one has, without a sense of regret. The point  is not to suppress emotions (since that would entail that someone stands to lose something by revealing emotions) but rather to act without attaching those emotions to the self. This way, I see every situation as bringing my own experiences to bear and then trusting that the situation will unfold in a way that everyone is informed by new information and understanding. It's not about one person having the truth while others don't, but it's a kind of natural flow of experiences.

The Dark Side of Community

 In holistic education, there is often a great deal of attention paid to the value of communities. Community, as the word suggests, is about "communal ties", and this idea often relates to the idea of interconnection that is highly valued in holistic circles. However, I would like to suggest that communities are not always necessarily about celebrating commonalities and getting along with everyone. There is a dark side to community, as witnessed in famous "cults" throughout the world, where people begin to suspend their critical thinking in favor of attachment to a greater whole. The other dark side of community is that it can stunt a person's growth by granting them a sense of identity that is neither complete nor completely genuine. Sometimes the ideal of community overshadows the complexities that make up and individual.
   Are there ways to avoid succumbing to unhealthy attachment to communities? I think an important element in all of this is to understand the ways that unmet needs get projected onto communities, as though the latter were universal "cures" for many of our psychic wounds. Depending on how the leaders of the community will respond to these projections, one will either succumb to the illusions of an ideal, all providing community, or will start to develop a more realistic understanding of what it means to serve a community. Letting go of the fantasies one has about communities being all-giving and "always gentle" could be one way to get on with the real work involved in community building.

Larger Conversations

I have to really appreciate the discipline of school and work, as well as the wonderful conversations I have been having through the portal. I am also learning the value of being able to see myself as part of a larger conversation. Sometimes, engaging in these larger conversations is a way of letting go of attachment to one's own opinions and sense of self.
   I also have a better sense recently of what most engages me in education, namely the sense of an expanding consciousness. Christopher Basche (2008) has written about a kind of collective classroom which extends across many years, and which captures the growing momentum of an engaged kind of learning. I think this corresponds to the notion that karma does not disappear; rather, it tends to remain and take on many forms in the future. This is why, even though I may not benefit too much from taking courses, I am at least able to appreciate the experience of contributing to a larger community that extends beyond myself.
   Taking courses is also different from other communities I have been in, where I have made poor decisions or judgments and had to pay the consequences for those decisions. In engaging in a room where everyone is equal, I have a chance to enjoy the give and take process without having so many decisions to make on behalf of others. I believe that for this reason the ideal classroom experience blends leadership with a respectful dialogue, and it is also a training ground for making decisions in a bigger life arena.

Bache, C. (2008) The Living Classroom: Teaching and Collective Consciousness (SUNY Pr, 2008)

Acceptance of Moral Life

 Moral life is an interesting topic that I have not explored, because I am often afraid that it's not possible to assign a single absolute moral meaning to things. Nor is doing so particularly desirable, because it's often the case that what seems right in one situation is not right in another. How do we deal with judgments that we are not doing what we are supposed to be doing at every moment in life?
   I think it's always important to respect the other's view: in fact, I think this is a moral principle in itself, to try as hard as one can to put aside their own moral judgments and to try to understand things from the others' position. I have to admit that I have not always been very good at this point. For example, whenever someone else is making a judgment regarding how I should conduct myself or what I should be doing, I immediately go to my own judgments ("no, what this person says is definitely not right", or "they shouldn't be telling me how to act"), without getting a sense of where that person is coming from. In this way, I am too defensive about allowing others' moral sense to invade my own. The opposite attitude is not to try to guard oneself at all from the judgments of others: if someone else has an idea that could be useful to me, why not entertain it and try it out? Being more open to suggestions is something I would like to try, but it requires the utmost relaxation: I am open only insofar as the ideas that others have are not a fundamental threat to my true self underneath the opinions I have accumulated about things.
   This "relaxation" however is not to be confused with apathy or a kind of passive resistance to suggestions. For example, a person might "go along" with something not because they truly are willing to try it but to avoid having to face conflict with someone else. This approach of passive resistance is not going to work well, because it ends up making a person feel disengaged and alienated even when they are going through the motions of doing what is "right". A different approach might be to realize that my resistance is only a sign that the other person is a close part of myself that hasn't yet gained full expression or recognition. When I own that part of myself, I am no longer trying to separate from it; I can embrace it as a newly discovered part of my being.

Many identities

Tonight I watched a documentary film as part of my course assignments called Between:  Living in the Hyphen (Nakagawa, 2005). It talks about what it feels like to exist in between multiple cultures. I resonated with this idea that one's culture can have a lot of say in how one aligns oneself as well as the locations of meaning that a person has around themselves. I also believe it's important and valuable to know a person's location(s) in terms of how they identify themselves: not necessarily in terms of a physical location but more like an inner narrative that helps a person to know how they might be seen by others and where they might be in their personal time lines of life.
  Knowing that the sense of identity shifts might make a person conclude that there might not be any point in knowing "who" one is. Can a person ever establish an identity if they are coming from completely different cultural worlds? However, I don't quite agree with this view, because knowing one's ideas about who one is can help a person recognize what kinds of meanings they see in the situations around them. In a conversation between friends, for instance, there could be a knowledge of the exact same words between both friends, but this doesn't necessarily mean that the two friends will see the same meanings in those words. Their cultural locations may be so different that it is impossible to locate a particular point of agreement. But if I know where I am coming from with some degree of clarity, I might recognize where I don't see eye to eye with someone else: it's not about "one person seeing the truth" vs "the other not seeing the truth" but more about differences in what the person's priorities and values might happen to be. The "truths" we live are not fixed in stone, but are based on the lives we are choosing to forge for ourselves moment to moment.

Nakagawa, Anne Marie, Between: Living in the Hyphen. https://www.nfb.ca/film/between_living_in_the_hyphen/

Living in the moment?

During the process of organizing for the mindfulness youth camp coming up in two weeks, the thought occurred to me that there are so many ways of approaching mindfulness and meditation. To present it in one shot is not going to have a good impact on youth, since it might end up presenting much more than can possibly be applied. A case in point: when we describe meditation as "living in the moment", we don't necessarily mean being fixed only on the present (since this would be very limiting). It means that the mind is fully with even the memory, as it is happening in the moment. There isn't a past even to return to, even though one's memories continue to remain present. Though this is a subtle distinction, it is noteworthy because it allows practitioners to really be with whatever is arising in their minds.
   It is fascinating to reflect on whether young kids can really benefit from meditation. I suspect that anything which involves relaxed stillness and silence can be healthy for children, because it lessens one's attachment to fleeting distractions. The other thing is that, going back to this idea of "presence", meditation can help the students let go of the idea that they should give up or get rid of past memories. The main thing is that memories are always in the present, so we can see them arising without giving into their power to pull us into a fictional "then".
 

Wilber's Rule

Getting home from meditation tonight (and after a lengthy battle with an assignment), I found the following quote by Ken Wilber. It reads

  "I have one major rule: everybody is right. More specifically, everybody—including me—has some important pieces of the truth, and all of those pieces need to be honored, cherished, and included in a more gracious, spacious, and compassionate embrace."  (Wilbur, 2000)

I love this quote, because it captures a holistic moment. Can you imagine if people walked around believing this? There would likely be fewer disputes in life, and much more harmony. Why? Because I think that people desperately want to very much feel validated in their perspectives. Most of the time, people believe in their hearts that either they are "right" or the other person is "right". There is a very entrenched idea that the world would fall into chaos if people started to admit that perhaps every experience has a certain amount of validity. But quite often there is more chaos if people believe they have to prove something in order to feel that they have validity in the social worlds they inhabit. 

Instead of thinking this way, what would it be like for people to believe that all walks of life and all people have some valid sense of experience or thought that is worth sharing? How would one feel if they just adopted such an attitude into their life? Perhaps they would argue less and be more curious. I also suspect that such an approach might give more room for people to allow each other their own view, while not rejecting themselves or each other outright.


Wilber, K (2000), Collected Works of Ken Wilber, Vol III

Seeing Oneself in the Picture

It can be a helpful exercise to really see what's happening inside of oneself and to take it for what it is, rather than trying to sugar coat it in some ways. I am thinking about the expression "self-befriending" as an act of totally and completely understanding one's emotional states but with a full and complete awareness.  Why is this act of self-befriending so difficult? I suspect it's because people miss the awareness part and jump directly to simply reacting to what's happening within. I see some situation that feels painful to me and automatically, I feel as though that situation itself were a multiple choice test: choose the correct answer and the person will stop suffering. But it isn't so easy and this and sometimes the awareness of the situation is enough to know how to deal with it.
    What would it be like if, instead of indulging one's impulses or trying to suppress them, one were to simply observe the inner pain that these impulses arise from? To observe the pain, in other words, without trying to react to the situations that give rise to that pain. This requires a certain mindset of not straying into theories about why certain pain arises or what one can do about it, but actually to learn to be fully clear about the pain itself without needing to escape it.

Reflections of the Mind

  Every time I reflect on Buddhist teachings, it's as though everything is so reflective of one's state of mind that there are really no problems that need resolving. I am not saying that there are no "problems" (or challenges) but more that one does not necessarily need to rush to stamp out a problem if it's really coming from the state of one's mind. This is because the actual problem itself stems from my thinking about things, not from actual things in themselves.
  This sounds a bit Kantian (and abstract), but I remember hearing a story about a monk who was being interrogated by prison guards, and whose only fear is that he would under the direst torture give in to anger. Whose anger? His own, in a sense. A prison guard's emotions are their own emotions, and thus they have little to do with me. However, this does not mean that I take a contemptuous or dismissive approach to the guards, since they too are also on my mind. So I do need to take care of those guards. However, the point is that I don't treat the guards as separate from me.
   Sometimes, a body metaphor might help. I have yet to feel that my left hand is having a fight with my right. I have never felt that way, although some neurologists have reported conditions in which people don't experience one of their limbs as a part of their bodies at all. In these rare cases, one sees the body as something outside of oneself or one's mind. But for the most part, the body is seen as something that is part of awareness and is not of any surprise to me. Well, the challenge is, can one extend this idea to face any situation? Can one see that even if their body is feeling pain, that this pain is not some kind of "invader", and that it actually does exist as part of one's awareness? This is hard to practice, but I feel challenged to try.

Self Reflection and Culture

Recently, I had the opportunity to create a self reflection about my identity using a video assignment. I have to admit that I started out quite optimistic, only to find myself later thinking that perhaps my self-reflection is quite boring or not that inspiring to other people. It's funny how my perspective changes when I try to see myself "from the outside", and perhaps the whole point of the exercise is to precisely see oneself "as though" one were meeting themselves for the first time. The idea is that in actively reflecting on your own identity, you start to create a cultural "artifact" and even participate in the process of making culture into an object that can be studied or approached as "study".
   The paradox about culture, it seems: when you are immersed in a culture, you are not able to see it as "culture" per se, because there is nothing to compare it to. On the other hand, as soon as culture becomes an object of research or study, it somehow ceases to be lived experience. In addition, there is something somewhat forced or even selective about the process of deciding what makes it in an identity and what is in fact left out. The tricky thing also about culture is that as soon as I make an observation about it, I am already changing its way of being.
     Knowing that culture is not a static object, there is no need to make a fetish out of it: it's not frozen in time, and I can't see myself in it. So why does one bother to study culture? Quite simply, it's because studying culture takes a person out of the delusion that they are operating exclusively from a psychology divorced from others or the environment. It helps one to realize that everything is interconnected with something else in some way, and how people live do have patterns. Finally, cultural studies might help to remind a person of the things that they value and what parts of themselves are operating from those values. In this way, becoming acquainted with one's culture can do a lot in shaping oneself.

Gratitude and Intimacy

 Does intimacy survive impermanence? I think that more than anything, intimacy is increased when one realizes impermanence. The two go hand in hand. However, the qualifier to this statement is that a different kind of intimacy emerges, which is based on a sense of gratitude. It's not about desiring, since desiring is grasping that which cannot ever really be grasped. Even one's emotions, however strong they may happen to be, are continually shifting and changing all the time. But with a sense of gratitude, one can contain all these changes and be able to see that everything is good and has its place in the entire pattern of things. Perhaps this is real gratitude: to be able to see individual things in the context of wholes, rather than taking the one part as the whole itself.
 

Considering Judgment

 When people meditate for a long time, do they start to relate to judgments differently, whether it's their own or someone else's? The reason I ask this question is that I wonder if judgments start to lose their sense of pervasiveness when a person learns to just sit in the present moment, and whether they can even turn more toward these judgments as hints and suggestions rather than as judgments. What would be the main differences between these things?
   I think that for me, judgments hinge around a narrow sense of the self as always needing to be in charge of a situation. If my feeling of wishing for control is too tight, then everything around me will be experienced as a slight or a challenge to that sense of control. You can even try this: imagine something you really want to have or enjoy doing the most, and then try to interact with people around you while simultaneously harboring that thought. Often you will likely feel irritated and annoyed because you cannot fix on that one thought which you most like or appreciate. On the other hand, if you are having a conversation with someone to avoid some task or chore you don't like, that conversation will seem so heavenly! Perhaps this is because we are using self-reference to view the situation. But if we were to "turn down the volume" of that thought and want it a bit less, then the moment becomes full of more possibilities, because it is no longer an obstacle to where one wishes to be. In this way, how one assesses the situation plays a big part in whether or not one is able to fully commit to being present to the situation itself.

"Under" Weather

 This weekend's hot weather has gradually dissipated into something more manageable. I find myself more resolved to continue my course work and resume the six weeks' worth of tasks. I shift away from irresolution to the final "let's get things going". No matter what, the first steps lead me to the next, until there comes a point where I don't even consider turning back.
   Two themes have emerged from this recognition: the first is that I am not isolated from my physical world by any means. I am creaturely: subject to every creature's share of heat, cold, lethargy, boredom, despair, hunger, thirst and fatigue. There are so many factors, in fact, that contribute to one's moods that one can no longer ask the question, "what's wrong with me?" Instead, it shifts to, "what exactly makes this situation challenging for me?" Is it possible to list all the factors that make this particularly challenging? This requires a certain modicum of honesty: not trying to pretend that I am "above" creaturely needs like drink, rest, cold air and a place for private reflection, but factoring these into my current state of mind. Instead of idealizing myself to be somehow independent of these factors, what would it be like to include even the most mundane conditions in an assessment of how I am doing?
   The second theme is, as I wrote about in my previous entry, the need to see motivation as part and concurrent with the journey itself. Staying in the place of "why" can sometimes be constructive to clarify certain things, but if it gets so broad as to ask "why am I even in this place, doing this thing, existing, etc" then chances are that the question will never be resolved. I may even need to step back and consider that some of these things are undeniably existential; they are part and parcel with the journey of uncertainty.

Confidence Comes From "Doing"

 I have written before about the idea that there are times when a person "overdoes", meaning that they try to use action to fill up their time and manage anxiety, rather than actively inquire into why they are doing something. However, I have just noticed the opposite tendency, and that is to ask too many "whys" before plunging into a project or a task. This begs the question, what is the difference between asking as a form of productive thinking and asking as a procrastination or avoidance strategy?
  I again recall the recent retreat, where Guo Yuan Fashi referred to the importance of being fully present in one's planning. Once the plan has been set, it can certainly be revised, but the commitment also entails wholehearted action. I am also thinking that sometimes the way to step forward is simply "step forward", even if the first step is going to be uncertain, shaky, or even out of step entirely. Sometimes in doing something, one is able to find unexpected clues and answers to the original question, "why bother to do this?"
   This actually turns out to be very interesting, because normally Western psychology has adopted a model of putting motivation before behavior rather than seeing them concurrently. It seems a common sense idea that in order to do something wholeheartedly and with success, one needs to first of all establish why they are doing it. But interestingly, I cannot think of too many examples in my life where my decision to do something lead to predicted results. This is because quite often the biggest decisions aren't really known until one goes ahead with them.  In this way, all I can do is continue to refine my understanding of the situation to keep seeing whether it matches with my original motivations, or if my motivations have changed at all. For this reason, sometimes motivation might even come after doing.

Cheerful in All Situations

This title is actually a bit of a misnomer, because I have not found it possible to be "cheerful" all the time. I remember reading some article years ago, perhaps in William James's writings, where he talks about the idea that one smiles first before one is happy, as a way of prompting feelings of happiness. But when I talk about "cheerful", I am referring more to an attitude than to an emotion, and therefore not dependent on emotions at all.
   Cheerfulness, to me, is a kind of decision not to allow the troubles of life to affect one's sovereignty over their emotional life. It often means being selective and discerning about where one would like to devote one's overall energies in a given situation.This is a delicate balance for me. At work, for example, I will be anxious if I am overwhelmed by many tasks, and in that sense, the tasks do influence my emotional life. But if I choose to take the tasks in a cheerful way, I am no longer bound by certain ideas or thoughts that make me a kind of prisoner to those tasks. To give another example I heard of that I am quite fond of quoting: Alan Watts gave the example in a cassette tape I had listened to many years ago, about how, even in the midst of a pile of dishes, one is really only responsible for one dish at a time. A cheerless person will look at the whole pile of dishes in front of her or him and lose their entire "appetite" to wash dishes. They thus become governed by the appearance of "so many dishes to clean". On the other hand, a cheerful person has this ability to curtail the obvious, and even to train their mind so that they are not jumping to the overwhelming conclusion or thought that all these "things" need to be handled all at once. Ironically, then, being cheerful involves a certain selective ability to see, rather than taking in the entire picture. It requires a kind of active approach to curtailing the way one sees things so that they are not starkly overwhelming or daunting.
   I apply this principle now to a course syllabus I am reviewing about "Identity and the Literary Text". Here, I start to get bogged down by the assignment requirement which asks me to write down five key areas of my identity. "Wow, identity: that is such a huge topic", I realistically assess. However, I then unrealistically conclude that because the syllabus assignment requires me to discuss this topic, I am somehow required to write everything about it. Rather than seeing the assignment as a potentially exploratory or evocative one where I have artistic license to select the areas I want to discuss and reflect on, I think this assignment asks me to define who I am...which is subject to continuous change in most cases! Now isn't that something? In fact, the task of defining one's true self is not something that most people can reasonably do in six weeks, which thus leads me to wonder if perhaps I have missed the point of the assignment or might need to adjust my expectations about how I will approach the requirements of the assignment.