The Contracted State

Working from home, I often have a sense of being imprisoned or detained. Under the present circumstances, I suppose this is understandable, but I wonder whether the sense of being stuck at home comes from my tendency to use movement and walking to avoid difficulties and challenges. More to the point, this is very much what makes meditation sometimes uncomfortable: there is a sense that I don't yet know how to related to that feeling of being "contracted" or , perhaps, trapped in some way.
   I am also aware that in those moments, it's best to analyse the sense in which I am too identified with those emotions. It's helpful to ponder, do those emotions of feeling "stuck" linger, or do they pass? Am I bound to those feelings and, if so, how can I even be aware of them if I am stuck to them? These kinds of questions encourage a more lax openness rather than judging these kinds of emotions as terrible or unbearable in some ways.
  Another point I try to tell myself is that each time I am able to tolerate something that is uncomfortable, unfamiliar or hard to manage, it gets easier the next time, because I am more aware of its relative nature. If I simply push away discomfort each time it happens, I will not identify those states as mind, as much as the pleasant states. By identifying both "good" and "bad" as states of mind, I am able to see that they both come from the same source, and there is no fundamental difference. Pleasant or unpleasant, good or bad, all have the same ultimate source.

The Four Reminders

I am starting to read about the "Four Reminders" in a book by Andrew Holecek called Preparing to Die. The Four Reminders are 1) the preciousness of human life; 2) the impermanence of world and people; 3) helplessness in the face of death; 4) worldly desire as  the source of suffering (p.22-23).
   It seems pertinent in the present situation to bring forth these ideas, because they relate to the corona virus, and they also remind us that death can happen at any given time. Knowing that life is already fragile can help us foster an appreciation for the fact that we are still alive today, and that we really have no idea when our lives are going to finish. But, at the same time, it might also be helpful to thing that kinds of ideas these four reminders counter-act:  that is, the tendency to think of things as permanent; the tendency to take for granted life's preciousness; an illusory sense of being able to control death or even live on indefinitely through our creations; 4) the craving for worldly things,
   My own reflection on these reminders is that they balance each other and even build upon each other, even though ostensibly they do seem separate. For instance, if a person only focuses on detachment from worldly things, they lose sight of the precious value of human life. Renunciation, rather than being a means to insight, is seen as an end in itself, which becomes a bit like nihilism. The insight into impermanence also needs to come with insight that the nature of mind is not limited to specific phenomena. This ties in with the precious opportunities that come with having the ability to practice Buddhadharma as a human being. Finally, the contemplation of the end of things, such as death, helps to counterbalance the sense of "overindulgence" of pursuing worldly things (that is, realizing their insignificance in the face of death), but also it prevents people from becoming too attached to impermanence that they are unable to see the significance of ending life or seeing life approach a different life.
   One could map this kind of quadrant in terms of 'locus of control' as well as 'sense of importance'. Too much of the first reminder and not enough of the second can give people a false sense of entitlement in the universe (being "God's chosen" makes us infallible and immortal). Conversely, an overdose of reminder 3 and not enough of reminder 4 can give us a sense that we have no control whatsoever, when in fact 4) is a source of valuable insight that can steer one on a wisdom path. In a sense, I see these four reminders not simply as sequential reminders, but as balancing forces that can help bring out the meaning of the other while curbing the excesses that can come from relying too dogmatically on one principle or ideal.

Holecek, A. (2013). Preparing to Die: Practical Advice and Spiritual Wisdom from the Tibetan Buddhist Tradition. Boston: Snow Lion

Never As Planned

   I wonder to what extent and how much human suffering is the product of expectations falling short. This is not about failures in big projects, but more so about challenging assumptions about how things are supposed to unfold. As soon as I set out to do something, I make it into a separate goal, and then put all my energies into it. It's never quite as planned, however.
   In my workplace, there are conflicts about "realistic time frames" to solve problems and meet targets. Part of what resonates with me is the need to create boundaries in order to get projects moving. In order to deal with problems, one has to (to some degree) isolate the problem to the point where it is something to be tackled within a certain pre-defined time. It's perhaps natural to want to operate in this way. However, realistically, one should also recognize that commitments to projects entail moving beyond an obsession with time. To be in the moment, one must lose the sense of time, since the very concept of time distances a person from the things they are absorbed in. If I am intent on playing a game of chess and someone stands over me pointing at a watch, I am not only distracted by the signal to wrap up, but I also taken out of my moment in that experience. Similarly, people who are absorbed in a project naturally lose the sense of time boundaries. Time becomes secondary to the needs of the process one is working on.
   Plans are bound to fail because they are naturally skeletons of what hasn't happened and will never happened. The function of a plan is quite simply to provide a base or a framework. A plan cannot capture the real ins and outs of human experience and its dilemmas. Even planning for death is the same. The thwarting of plans, however, needn't be the disillusionment with planning itself. Rather, it could be a sign that one is getting frustrated when they lean in too much toward the plan, without considering the details.

Dust Settles

 Being at home for two weeks now, with the occasional walk outside, has forced me to re-examine (and re-appraise) what "home" means to me and how to feel at home. Having lived in Toronto in various rental units, I find it admittedly hard to feel at home, and part of the reason also is that I have treated my life as a kind of experiment, rather than as a place to dig roots. With the recent pandemic that's sweeping the world, I have had to face my fears of home--in particular the fears of being too firmly planted in one place to the point where I might feel the terrors of everyday boredom, or the gnawing pains of  missing out on things that are "out there". I am sure that I am not the only one to have felt this way in these past few weeks, but it hits hard for me nonetheless, especially considering how much clutter I have chosen to live with recently.
   Homes indeed represent the states of one's mind. A mind that is stirred up is hardly at rest, and leaves a lot of unrest in its wake. This feeling of unrest creates a feeling of not being settled, which then perpetuates itself in a vicious cycle of retreat and escape from the clutter, or even a tendency for novelty that adds more to the pile of inner and outer clutter.  To the contrary, making oneself at home requires a certain ability to stay with the difficulties of having to sacrifice the "outer", which represents endless possibilities, for an "inner", which represents stillness and equanimity.
   I have to admit that I haven't quite made my home, but at the very least, a bit of cleaning up has allowed me to see the carpet, and this is at least a start! Being at home also allows me to discover the things that I have missed and never even knew that I had. I am not talking about peace of mind, love, harmony, and so on, but the more mundane band-aids, plastic cutlery, and that Best of Chilliwack CD I had been looking for which had unceremoniously been left out of its case for quite some time.
    I am not sure if I will continue to live like this after the coronavirus passes, but at least I have a taste of what its like to take care of my home and live in it with some degree of comfort.

Not Catastrophizing

 Recently, corona virus has been making the news, and many countries are feeling the impacts of this illness. Strategies such as social distancing are being used to prevent the spread of this illness, and I applaud many leaders for stepping up and showing concern for others. On the other hand, it's easy to give up in these times. I would like to discuss a bit about how Buddhist teachings in particular have helped me weather the proverbial storms.

   Buddhism teaches the middle path, which means that there is no absolute yes or no. Any time a person or group of people proclaims that something is "bad", they make a demon out of it, and even go so far as to wage a war against it. Many writers are positioning the corona virus as an "enemy" that all people need to band together to defeat. Few have offered the perspective that viruses, like humans and animals, are creatures simply trying to survive and thrive.  There is nothing out of this world or supernatural about this; if creatures have a strategy that will propagate their species, then they will certainly do so. Why wouldn't they? But because history is written by human beings, any creature or sentient life (or even non-sentient life) that threatens human life is branded as a threat. There is even a sense that viruses have conscious "purposes" in much the same way that humans have purposes. In fact, we can't verify if this is correct or not, and often these purposes are only based on our own will to survive.

   It's tempting to turn things, even things one knows little about, into enemies, monsters, or looming threats. These threats are projections of our own fears. For example, when I was living in an apartment on the west side of Toronto, I would hear mice scurrying under the floorboards of my kitchen. Although the mice turned out to be very small (and sometimes quite adorable in appearance), my mind would imagine them to have cat's eyes and razor sharp teeth. This is because I didn't want them invading my personal space, so I imagined them to be more fearful and dangerous than they actually were. I was really projecting my own anger, panic and hatred onto an image that had nothing to do with the mice.

    When people say something is "bad", they might just, out of curiosity, pose the question, "bad for whom?" And they might then see that any judgment of good or bad involves a self or a self-attachment. A story I have heard about in Buddhist lore is that of a bodhisattva who is willing to give their body to a starving tiger. Although this story is not meant to be read literally, it suggests that a bodhisattva is less attached to their own body. While bodhisattvas may not be able to sacrifice in this way, the attitude is that their own body and others' bodies are equal: one does not have more of a "right" to live than another, and nor does one body have more privileges and rights to live than another. If I am happening to cherish this body over others, I have identified myself as this body, and might even think I will cease to continue without this body. And it's this kind of attachment that can lead to all kinds of distorted thinking, such as jealousy for titles, struggles for security and safety, and even fights over toilet paper. What if I am not this body, but rather that mind could embrace every experience as its own? This is a question to ponder.

    People will continue to make meanings around this pandemic. But I think it's helpful to explore these things more as narratives than as concrete facts. In fact, all views are views based on a particular way of being in the world that is conditioned and therefore limited. There is never a final resting place to say "this is it", because "this" is relative. Knowing how one is conditioned by one's own sense of having a separate body one is able to see that there isn't a final story on corona virus, or on anything for that matter. And knowing that these narratives shift and change as new information arises can give us more space to breathe and not to be stifled in fear.

The Heart of Reflection

 I have come to the conclusion that the reflective life is a kind of justified life. Reflection is what turns an otherwise lifeless landscape into something that is always a source of meaning. If anything, I would want to teach my students the value of reflection as an end in itself, as opposed to a process of finding or figuring out something. This is because the actual conclusions are not as important as the insights one has along the way. In fact, the journey is the most crucial aspect of reflection.

 Now, what the reflection is pointing to and how one reflects, is not as important as the process of reflection itself, and what it does to open the heart to an appreciation of something personal. But what's tricky about reflection is that it cannot precisely be taught in the same way that a formula in math class can be taught. This is because reflection needs to come from a genuine sense of curiosity about something that is deeply keyed into one's way of being.  In order to tease out that way of being and connecting to the moment, one needs to play with ideas and images, in the same way that a dog might play with a toy or a ball. In fact, reflection is an art of teasing out the personal felt connections that one has with a phenomena or an experience as a whole.
   How can we teach reflection in schools? I have heard reflection sometimes referred to as "reflection in action" (Schon, 1983)or "deep learning", but I think what is key to the art of reflection is that one does not measure it in terms of preconceived ideas about depth and meaning. A reflection is "meaningful" only insofar as it connects with one's personal sense of openness or ability to improvise on an idea or an inner conversation. The "what" of reflection does not matter as much as the freshness of living in that what and not thinking of that "what" as something that is already done and finished. There is no "case closed" in reflection, since the case--whatever it happens to be---is forever open to new connections or scrutiny. And reflection also requires that the person reflecting befriend their thoughts, with an attitude of "why might you be thinking this way?" "I noticed you said or thought this and not that". This curiosity almost requires a kind of slowing down to allow oneself to gently probe something that might seem obvious at first, but later turns out to be built on assumptions.
   If I were to pinpoint key elements of a reflective practice, it might go something like the following:

• The ability to slow down and catch the thread of a particular thought and draw out its key themes
• The ability to gently probe into one's relationship with a set of ideas. Is the idea stimulating or perhaps dry and boring? Did it start out as promising, only to later fizzle out? If the latter, then what happened to that idea that made it, perhaps, fizzle out?
• Not taking for granted one's interests, not matter how idiosyncratic. In other words, one doesn't rule out any topic for reflection, so far as it stimulates the imagination and the capacity to extend into a deeper sense of interconnection and meaning
• Not being afraid to be a little bit selective, in the sense of trying out what ideas one might have more affinity with
• Look for patterns and underlying meanings of things rather than sticking only with measurable phenomena.