C.P. Snow's Novels

 "It might be a good idea if each of us accepted just what his enemies said; it might make us better, and the world too. It would certainly rub into us that we were all miserable sinners" (CP Snow, Corridors of Power, Penguin Books, p.332)

I quite enjoy reading C.P. Snow's novels. One of the reasons I enjoy them is that they essentially explore how people in power interact with each other to gain influence, negotiate for power, lose gracefully, and gain credibility. These novels aren't terribly dramatic in the sense that there aren't any car chases or murder scenes. Instead, the drama plays out slowly and in conversation. All the characters in Snow's novels illustrate the concept that people are similar in their desire for success, to look good in others eyes, for status, and to save face. Acknowledging this, the characters work through their differences and help each other to gain what they need, knowing that they have similar needs. I like the civility of the characters and their recognition of fallibility or what Snow sees as sinfulness.

Snow's world is different from the world I live in. It's definitely a world where people work together to get what they need and know how to be graceful to each other. There is a sense of belonging in the stories that attracts me.

Handling Bodily Pains and Afflictions

     Sensation need not be something that I can make a story out of. That is, even painful sensations can just be viewed as phenomena that arise in the mind. When I remind myself that pain is temporary, fleeting and a mental construct, then I can relate to it more as a moment-to-moment experience. I need not be tied to it. I need not embellish on it or create a story out of it. It can be seen for what it is, just one of many momentary situations.

     When I am with my sensations, then I can relate to them in a friendlier and more curious, spacious manner. That is to say, they are not my enemies. I am able to see them as something that temporarily arises, then passes away, from one moment to the next. Now, I am no longer identified with these sensations. I can just appreciate them as the workings of complex causes and conditions. This can also most certainly help me to better focus on what needs to be done.

   Pain can be a stabilizer of the mind. It can be used as a way to focus on what matters the most. For instance, with pain, we can prioritize the thoughts that are most needed. And we can even use the pain to practice not adding panicked thoughts or judgments to it. If we are able to alleviate the pain, then by all means, we can put our best efforts into it. However, if we can't influence the pain in any way, then it's best not to add anxiety to it. In other words, we don't try to control what is not within our control, but to simply allow it to happen, once we have exhausted all the possibilities. This is one way that we can learn to separate what is in our control from what is not.

    

        

Adversities

  When facing adversities, it's always helpful to ask certain questions. Firstly, do we know the whole picture? Sometimes, we might be worried about a few isolated factors, and not have a clear picture of what is happening, so we find ourselves trying to piece together the whole from the isolated pieces we know. So, we might be filling in things that aren't part of the full picture.

   Second, is what we are experiencing permanent? Usually not! Surprisingly, what seems like a "forever" thing turns out to be something that has different phases. A pain in the body may feel bad on a certain day, but it ebbs and the body later finds ways to adapt to the situation. So, we can pay attention to whether the experience is fixed in one place, or if it might have different unfolding phases.

    Third, is the adversity something I can change? Or, conversely, is there something I can do to better relate to adversity? Perhaps we can see adversity as exciting, as a challenge to be overcome, or as a learning process. In these cases, I don't make the dire conclusion that the adversity is "all bad", a "catastrophe" or "doom". I leave open a space in the heart where I can connect more spaciously with it, taking a more logical and reasonable approach to it rather than simply wanting it to go away.

     So, to reiterate, adversity might involve asking ourselves whether we know all the full picture, whether we are seeing something fixed/eternal, and whether there are things I can do to allow the situation to sit better with me. 

Delightful Skies

  The sky is beautiful for all beings, on all occasions. There is no need to hoard the sky or even the clouds. They belong to everyone who can see or who imagines. When we open to this reality--that the sky is owned by all---then we can also open our hearts, minds and vision.

    What prevents us from delighting in the sky? I would say, attachment to the clouds , or the thoughts that circulate in our minds. As soon as there is an attachment to thoughts, we start to proliferate and identify with them until they become our prison. Anytime we catch ourselves suffering, it's because we are jammed in thoughts, especially anxious or grasping thoughts, especially about wanting to be something o someone. And this leads to a sense of discontentment.

   I truly believe that education must teach us the basic of contentment. Without inner contentment--the ability to appreciate the free sky--we become consumers of, or consumed by, our thoughts. This is a genuine hazard that we need to learn to release at any given moment.

   Delight begins when we practice just awareness. This is not the same as being intelligent. It simply starts with unembellished awareness. Resting in awareness is the beginning of real peace.

Patience and Right View

  Sometimes, a plant won't grow because some factor wasn't ripened. It's not that the plant itself is defective, but there may be some condition that didn't prevail when it could have. When we accept that not all conditions ripen in the moments that we expect, we might adopt a more calm approach. We aren't blaming the plant for not growing. Instead, we try to figure out how that missing factor can be added or implemented.

    By reflecting more deeply on cause and condition, I believe that we can eliminate the sense of blame that can lead to intense suffering. Blame, whether for ourselves or others, is one way we might hold someone responsible. But this can sometimes cause a lot of intense anger or hatred. So instead of blame, we might decide to see the situation as the combination of shifting forces that are subject to change or influence. Instead of punishing the plant for not growing in a desired way, I can analytically decide why the plant may not be growing in the way I expected. 

    Even the human brain can be seen in this way. A person who is angry is not "inherently" so, but is so as a result of many conditions co-arising in the mind due to past and present factors planted there. We can't blame a person for those feelings since they are there as a result of complex conditions beyond that person's control or influence. When seen in this way, the anger in a person is impermanent, not inherently a part of that person, and is reason to treat the person compassionately.

   Conditioned arising is one way that we can let go of attributing success or failure to one factor that's beyond our control. We can then experiment with changing conditions that are within our control to see if it gets the desired result we want. This is a much more manageable way of tacking problems.

The role of suffering in Patience

  I am currently reading a book about patience, called Perfecting Patience by Dalai Lama. One area the book describes is how, by accepting suffering as an inevitable part of life, we can more readily embrace tolerance and patience. There is another aspect, which is that we learn to embrace suffering as part of the spiritual path. But when I read about this aspect of patience, I wonder if it means resignation of sorts. What's the difference between true tolerance and resignation?

    According to Buddhist teachings, suffering comes from attachment of some kind, usually to thoughts. If I continue to think and dwell on something that hasn't yet happened or isn't really my total responsibility, I become a prisoner to the thought. I add proliferations of thoughts until it becomes bigger and bigger. Then it gets out of control. Only through the grace of the present moment--it's sheer weight of being--can I be released from the tyranny of the thought. That comes from just being present with what is, like a fist that is opening up to the contingent moment.

    Embodiment is an easy reminder: I am here, in this moment, and nowhere else. Even something like getting up to go to the washroom during work break is one opportunity to relax into the steps. We can even imagine ourselves in that moment as Sisyphus, taking his break from the next roll of the rock up the hill. 

   One enemy of patience is simply overthinking and overcalculating. When I let go of trying to calculate my life--like trying to figure out every move and every step exactly--then a breath of fresh air comes in. I am able to release myself from the pressure to constantly align myself to my inner goals.

   Most importantly, when we realize that the world does not go according to our plans, we can treat this not as inconvenience but more as opportunity to reflect: does the success of this outcome really make a difference to who I am? What if the plan simply fails? Am I a failure because of it? And who is this I anyway? The ultimate tolerance is in realizing how the ego endlessly demands, yet many of these demands are not actual needs. They are nice to have but not absolute shoulds. So when we think this way, we can breathe more and enjoy what is happening rather than seeing it as a burden or tribulation.

Snowfall in January

    The snow is a beautiful tonight, and there were few cars on the road. I reflect: this world really is as pure as snow.

   The mind, just like the snow is pure. We only need rest in the moment, knowing that snow melts and turns into spring again.

    The cold will become warm and then cold. Being aware of these cycles will help us to become whole.

Inspiration in Here and Now

  Why do we fail to be inspired? We take this moment as something that has happened before. And we start to think there is someone walking this treadmill. The belief that someone is born and dies is the root of all this tossing and turning. If, for a moment, we can turn to the witness that is in all things, then there is no sense of having to do something or complete something to prove one's worth or individuality.

   The desperate drive to become something or someone can take all kinds of forms, solidifying into the need to be visible or counted in some way. We even measure our worth in terms of our output or how we wish to please others. But in this moment, the mind is not born or destroyed. It doesn't come into being as a result of achievements, and it doesn't arise as a result of being evaluated as having worth. All of these latter events are conditions created by the mind. 

    Some people might still treat "being in the moment" as a kind of goal. For instance, a practitioner remarks "I want to live in this present moment all the time", as though there were any other moment to live in! When we stop making an achievement out of anything, we realize that we have always been "this moment" all along, and there is nothing to achieve even in that. Then we can truly relax into whatever state of being arises.

  Even the idea of "unconditioned" can be taken to mean something opposite to the causes and conditions of the mind. But truly unconditioned mind goes beyond all dualities. Thus, the unconditioned mind is not something that ever requires achievement, and it does not need to be affirmed. It just is, and we can rest in it. We don't need to grasp it or achieve it in any way.

True Happiness Has No Face

 Shifu's Dharma talk today is called "Different Levels of Sensual Happiness". I am inspired by this talk to consider how to engage the world more joyfully, with a mindset of happiness. While Master Sheng Yen pointed to a bouquet of flowers, he remarked on how the way we arrange flowers has become an art in itself--something we can appreciate in terms of its forms. Others in the group shared how the one thing that gets in the way of seeing daily beauty is the ego, and its desire for control.

  When you really look deeply into the flower, you will the the whole universe is in the flower. Seeds, soil, sun, wind and rain are all contained in it, so it's already complete in itself. Pan out even further and this "arrangement" points to an elegantly connected cosmos. Everything has its right place because the mind is able to recognize it and give it its full due. What divides art from non-art is that art factors the mind as reflecting all the forms. The flowers are never isolated from our eyes or our mind. When we take out a reference point, everything just is: it's no longer siphoned through a wanting self.

   It's funny how easy it is to forget the beauty that is in all things. Look deeply at anything without desire or striving and it becomes a perfection. But if we still see imperfection, we only need to let go even further, zooming out to see there is no self in it, no striving or will. Like a beautiful canvas, we only fail to connect to its beauty because we see from the filters of desire or craving.

This kind of happiness has no face. The moon has different phases--some bright, some dark---but we can still accept it fully for what it is, beyond its individual forms. Even in defining something as beautiful is limiting to a prescribed form: something we expect to see and feel that is an object. But what's beyond those forms? There is a question we must continually engage.

Link to Video:

Different levels of sensual happiness (GDD-899, Master Sheng-Yen)

The Angry Gods

 I am preparing a lesson plan on the Odyssey and reflect on how much we talk about the gods as "angry" or vengeful. In Buddhism, there is a class of gods called the angry gods or "asuras", who are said to possess many great powers due to their previous merit and blessings. Yet, these gods are extremely protective of their powers and compete with each other endlessly. To be with the asuras is to have so much power and yet to feel despondent when such power could be taken away by others. From a human's perspective, the gods have all the luxuries of life, and we therefore don't imagine they would need anything. However, perhaps the more we possess, the more we fear losing what we have. This is what explains the notion of jealous gods who continually fight with each other to keep the power they have.

   It would be interesting to do a study describing how qualities such as anger can reflect a certain stage in human consciousness in which we are controlled by our fears and a threatened loss of control. It's possible that early states of humanity somehow required angry gods in order to set a tone of authority that would form the basis for law. Once a state becomes more stable, the gods tend to be more peaceful and even diplomatic, because they feel more secure in their power. During times of peace, gods can afford to relax and extend more grace, especially when they have no other gods to compete with!

   We don't think that we owe the gods any compassion, just as we look up at those with wealth and envy their perceived life (and lack of relative hardship). But in Buddhism, even deities suffer the loss of good karma as well as the eventual withering away of their powers. Studying power in others can be one way we can learn the limits of human excesses, but also that no being escapes from suffering. Even when we seem to have everything, a restless mind still feels itself deficient and wants more.

Neither Adding Nor Subtracting

 When our minds are fixated on gaining something, we tend to be narrow. We define things in terms of what we predefine rather than seeing the totality and resting in it. This can take the form of a kind of empty space or a feeling of not knowing what comes next or what to do next. It's important in that moment not to try to "add anything" or "subtract" from the experience as is.

  If we are trying to add something, it's like sticking a conclusion on top of something that has already concluded. We are straining to complete an already completed moment, which adds to our view that the moment is incomplete. This only creates vexations.

   On the other hand, trying to subtract from experience through simplifying it, is yet another subtle form of vexation. It is as though we are seeing a big banquet and then we tell the host that this is too much food and we are overwhelmed by the selection---so much so that we can't make any choice.

   In between these is the view that mind in the moment has already been perfected. We don't need to add anything new to it or take away from it. We are free to observe things arising as they are.

    This practice needs a sense of clarity and being in the moment that is sometimes hard to realize. But we can use anything to practice on it. When we are working, we practice resting contentedly in the exact nature of the work itself even when we may sense we lack the tools needed to perform the job thoroughly. Simply observe the unfolding process and trust that the mind is already deeply connected to it. When resting, we simply rest in the enjoyment of resting, without adding more or less to the experience. Encountering others, we don't need to add anything additional to what is really unfolding, and there is no need to placate others. This involves simply letting things be, but also open to taking on whatever needs doing. In other words, we don't need to be afraid of any phenomena.

Integration

  We often try to do well for ourselves by climbing a ladder: leaving behind the bad in favor of the good. I would suggest a different approach, which is to integrate disowned elements of the self.

   Platform Sutra talks about the sentient beings that exist within us:

Learned Audience, to take refuge in a true Buddha is to take refuge in our own Essence of Mind. He who does so should remove from his Essence of Mind the evil mind, the jealous mind, the flattering and crooked mind, egotism, deceit and falsehood, contemptuousness, snobbishness, fallacious views, arrogance, and all other evils that may arise at any time. (p.60)

When I read this passage, I reflect on how we contain all of these different elements of sentient beings. There isn't a single thing that a person has done, thought, felt, etc. that does not also reflect within ourselves. When I react to someone else, I create in my mind the idea of that person's motivation, and then reject that person for their perceived motivation. But what I am rejecting is really my own creation, since we can never truly know a person's mind. At most, we can guess, but beyond that, our guesses are based on our own train of thought. So we create cloud beings out of our mind that, at most, are only shadowy things that have no real substance.

Subduing or removing all these selves requires love and equanimity. Love: we accept and take in all these elements as parts of the same mind, just like the waves are parts of the same ocean. We don't separate or cast our one wave. Instead, we treat them all as just different forms. Even if we cannot embrace all these different forms, perhaps we can see that they are potentials that lie within all of us, which can emerge from many complex conditions. At the very least, we can cultivate the humility to know that what we don't like about someone is a seed that is within us. We can choose to accept that what we dislike is only temporary and arises from conditions.

Second is about equanimity. Having a balanced view allows all those states of mind that are unwholesome and partial to arise without taking over the show. To identify too closely with those elements of mind is to become imprisoned to them. They become compulsions rather than being integrated elements within the whole. 

Lastly, I try to observe deeply the mind that beholds all these elements. Is that mind inseparable from these mental states, or do the mental states only pass through mind as a function? Staying in that sense of mind can allow us not to become entangled in the sub-personalities. 

When I let go of clinging, naturally they liberate because these sub-personalities were always pure to begin with. It's like imagining that our toy soldiers were really "real", only to find that they were only real because we made them to be real through our imaginations.

The Sutra of Hui Neng. H.K Buddhist Book Distribution Press.

Park Dreams

  “The assertion about individual marks that really have no existence, concerns the distinctive marks as perceived by the eye, ear, nose, etc., as indicating individuality and generality in the elements that make up personality and its external world; and then, taking these marks for reality and getting attached to them, to get into the habit or affirming that things are just so and not otherwise.

Gautama, Buddha. THE LANKAVATARA SUTRA (pp. 11-12). Independent. Kindle Edition. 

  The outdoor park meditation was beautiful tonight. When I was meditating, I felt a sense of oneness with the sounds and was able to connect with them all equally--the rumbling of underground trains, the sound of children laughing, a violin playing classical music, and so on. What a vibrant and living community I am living in. I soaked in the sounds with a kind of innocence that brought me back to summer.

    We never step on the same path twice, and the park already seems to be a dream to me. Interacting in any situation, it's best to take things in a relaxed way that always brings us back to the present. Fashi recommended a method of taking one part of the body and focusing 80% of the body and 20% on the environment.

     It takes a lot of practice to steady the mind and focus on the moment. But when I reflect on it, all the sentient beings are there to support us on this journey. Even when I feel that it might be otherwise, I know that everything around us is a reminder of the three seals: impermanence, no self and emptiness. If we are able to see this aspect in all things, then joy will naturally arise in our minds. On the other hand, to affirm that things are "just so" and "only just so" is to buy into the mistake that there are fixed identities and realities.

 

Courage of Foolishness

    Sometimes I do foolish things at work--doing things that don't really have a value to anyone, except a few managers and the like. I do foolish things by adhering to outdated principles, or blindly following my own habits, or even in doing "nothing at all". Foolishness is the opposite of wisdom, and for many, it can be the greatest source of suffering. However, I would like to suggest that sometimes there is a courage in continuing to be foolish or absurd, while also keeping an eye on something that can be improved or advanced.

   I listened to a video by Master Sheng Yen last week where he talked about the concept of reasonableness in Buddhism. Master Sheng Yen suggests that many of our ideas of what is "reasonable" are simply passed down from previous generations and are the influence of culture rather than actual reasoning. We do things that seem reasonable when, in fact, they are based on taboo, prejudice or even superstition. Anything that worked well in the past can suddenly mean nothing in the present, and may not achieve our original aims, so I have to choose between staying the course or innovating. I think what Master Sheng Yen tried to say (as I understand it) is that it's not always easy to distinguish custom from reason, and reasonable might just mean law-abiding and conforming for the sake of harmony with the greater society. This doesn't mean we are always acting in the most effective or best way.

   But then there is also the "foolishness" of risking oneself. That is: doing something that people may not like or approve of, but standing firmly on it because we have the confidence of knowing we did the best we could and it's right for us. This doesn't mean being inflexible, but it means being able to stand in one place and allow criticism of what we have created. There isn't always a need to apologize for this state of foolishness, and it may end up becoming wisdom in the end.

    Sometimes we don't know why things are happening, but we might reflect: things happen for mysterious reasons that will make sense at a later time, especially when the mind is calm and more settled. It's terrible to make hasty decisions in a split second when the mind is vexed and we are upset or just frazzled and stressed. In those moments, we might feel that staying still is dangerous and risky (even foolish, perhaps) but on the other hand, it's the only thing we can do before we can find a better path in our profession and in our creative life.

Illusions of Security

  I have been reflecting recently on the trade wars and looming possibility of recession. I have realized how mistaken to think that one could retire early or even rely on my present employment to protect me from the possible crisis ahead.  Many people will lose jobs, and I have even been thinking, there is not much difference between myself and someone who is unemployed or homeless. Is there anything that I can rely on for a source of security? I don't think such a thing as security really exists in a true way; it's only fleeting and illusory.

    People who delve with the stock market are kind of playing mental games. They think they know how to bank their money to maximize returns, but it's really a gamble that is dependent on a great many things. There is never any guarantee in life that people will gain in the long term, and I think it's silly that I would imagine myself retiring or even deriving a sense of security from the number of years I have worked, let alone the money in the bank. 

     And then I thought, since this over-reliance on external forces is quite foolish, I must turn inward to find a sense of ontological security, or security simply in being present, or being in the moment. If I am ever going to be homeless, I should at least be a joyful homeless person--leaving behind my sense of failure and regret, to face the wind and rain with a sense of peace in the present. Even if I am starving, I should also enjoy the sensation of hunger rather than being afraid of it. And in that sense, I will find a deeper sense of security as opposed to these illusory dog-chasing-tail stock markets.

  The idea of being able to rest from work is probably not a good idea to adopt. We should always expect to work until our dying day, and at least look for work. After all, work is our contribution to society. If we don't contribute our value to society, then we are simply waiting for ground zero, and this is not true peace or happiness.

    I have given up the hope of retirement. I will struggle and work until I die. I vow to at least be cheerful and take life one moment at a time, not worrying about the future. After all, the idea of ever being financially secure is essentially crazy since all of money is tied to others, and what happens to the world will happen to us in turn. We are only really riding the waves, and so we should never put hope and trust in them.

   To try to hope and desire an "easier" life is really only to invite suffering. There is simply no easy life, so the best way is to have an attitude that I will die working or die trying to look for meaningful work.

Anatomy of Kindness

 In my research on a possible upcoming book about Loving Kindness practice, I came across Kevin Griffin's book Living Kindness. In fact, I read this book before, but I believe it's one of my favorite treatments of the subject. Rather than seeing loving kindness as some kind of touchy feely prayer that elevates a person to a blissful state, Griffin grounds his ideas of loving kindness in real lived experience, without sentimentalizing it by making it only a fanciful thought. In fact, he provides many examples that show the difficulties that many people face when trying to extend loving kindness to all beings everywhere including those we have difficulties with.

  During my walk home yesterday, I asked myself, what makes for kindness exactly? Being an analytical sort, I am naturally one to try to break down something into discrete parts. I believe these parts could be described as "respect for complexity" "openness", "curiosity", "trust", and "humility". To summarize these points:

1) Respect for complexity: rather than concluding that something is the result of one thing (which usually leads to an attitude of blame) or results in one thing (which usually entails regret), looking at things with kindness means taking a more holistic approach and seeing that all results from interconnected and complex situations. In other words, a kind mindset steers clear of dualistic or hard-lined thinking, opting for a softer and more flexible approach to viewing situations

2) Openness entails an ability to see and feel things the way they really seem and feel, as opposed to trying to block out painful emotions. This may seem antithetical to kindness, but it seems that being kind requires tolerating difficult emotions and placing a certain kind of embrace around them so that we feel that they are tolerated. A soft openness, however, also suggests not attaching too much to one emotion or another--that is, to see that emotions are not who we are but rather they sit within us

3) Curiosity entails the desire to understand--to really understand the why without going to a place of labeling or condemning something. Curiosity continues openness with a state of inquiry into the why that does not attempt to change it into something else. Both openness and curiosity pertain to a sense of acceptance but also of wanting to know more and how things connect

4) Trust--trust means that we can be ok with uncertainty and allow that whatever is happening does come together even if it hardly makes sense in the beginning. A trusting mindset is one of faith in mind, that we are more than the sum of our identities, roles, etc.

When I put these elements together, I may get something close to kindness, although it's important to really feel a sense of optimistic and warm beholding, rather than treating these as neutral. Kindness is an effort in itself to see things in a way that we appreciate who we are and what we contribute as well as others around us.

The Hairnet

 “It is like the dim-eyed ones who seeing a hairnet exclaim to one another: “It is wonderful! Look, Honorable sirs, it is wonderful!” But the hairnet has never existed; in fact; it is neither an entity, nor a non-entity, for it has both been seen and has not been seen. In the same manner those whose minds have been addicted to the discriminations of the erroneous views cherished by the philosophers which are given over to the unrealistic views of being and non-being, will contradict the good Dharma and will end in the destruction of themselves and others.

Gautama, Buddha. THE LANKAVATARA SUTRA (p. 7). Independent. Kindle Edition. 

Hairnets are not likely coveted things in any culture, so why would Buddha use the analogy of the hairnet? I think the hairnet represents anything that is taken to be precious or profound, but is in fact very mundane and everyday, even to the point where is hardly exists. A hairnet is quite thin, in fact, and it takes the shape of whatever hair it is bundling or covering. I also wonder if perhaps hair is a symbol of lust, in the sense that to contain hair is to contain a source of allure or desire, which monks would have avoided by shaving their heads altogether. 

The hairnet's delicate appearance also makes for a good study of existence and non-existence. When we look closely at any kind of net, we see that most of it is composed of empty space. Can you imagine that the majority of what you see around you constitutes mostly empty space? Rather than feeling overwhelmed by the solidness of crowds, we can reflect on the delicacy of appearances and how they are really only passing reflections. In this way, there is really no conflict.

An experiment that you can try on a crowded public space, is to take a look at things that seem overwhelming, such as human feelings, body language and gestures--and then slowly break down what we are seeing into perceptions, thoughts, sensations (within the body) and interpretations (what we think is happening). When these are all broken down, we realize that it's a construction that we make with our minds. The kinds of judgments we make about ourselves and others is not as "real" as we may imagine. Like the hairnet, we are dealing with things that have so much fragility because they are halting appearances that we construct together.

So, we can try experimenting with how much the things around us are really monolithic things, and how much they are really constituted by faculties of mind.

On "Flow"

  The animated movie "Flow" concerns the adventures of a cat and his friends as they struggle to survive a flood. From the beginning of the movie, we find this beautiful small cat enjoying his solitude, only to have his own fortress engulfed in water. He is forced to depend upon other living creatures, including a capybara, a water bird, a lemur and a few dogs. 

    This movie was moving to me because I felt connected with these animals, even when their communication was not in any language that could be put into words. The story itself reminded me that most of our language happens on a nonverbal level, taking the form of gestures, actions and intimations. As the title of the movie suggests, all of our actions, hopes, intentions, are taking part in a continuous river that always threatens to engulf us, as does happen when the cat frequently submerges himself in deep waters, only to be saved by some force of nature or graceful act from other species. Yet, somehow "life goes on" as they say, and more than anything, this cat even willfully submerges itself in water, almost as though it were experimenting with how long it can stay submerged without struggling to get back to the boat from which it has taken refuge. This is something like what we do when we meditate: how long can I bear the leg pain, the itchiness, the drowsiness and discomfort? Maybe I can learn to catch a few fish instead of catching "Z's"!

     Flow is also an expression that denotes a state of vulnerable allowing. Like the cat, I feel myself oscillating between states of fear (wanting to protect myself, my likes and solitude) and states of flow: wanting to keep a part of myself separate in order to salvage my existence (like that tiny ball of a lifeboat that floats around throughout the movie), while sometimes finding myself letting go into the flow of experience. I don't think it's wrong to be afraid, but at the same time the beauty of this movie comes from this cat's brave acts of gradual trust: trusting the dog that gobbles all its fish, the ways of the other animals on the boat, and the ability to co-exist with them.

    I highly doubt that anybody can "go with the flow" on their own or out of their own choosing. The flood, in fact, seems to symbolize how something greater than all of us has to sweep us away from ourselves before we can truly experience flow. That "something" might be a huge loss or a yielding to something mysterious or bigger than us, and it can also be a big question mark that we wrestle with and can't solve or understand. But the point is it can't really come from self-attachment. It has to be allowing something bigger to take over. So, when we talk about going with the flow, we need not try to divest ourselves of anything. The best way is to have faith and trust that something is already unfolding the way it is meant to, and to enjoy the ride as much as we can.

Real Presence as Antidote

 In the same way, the ignorant and simple-minded who are favorably influenced by the erroneous views of the philosophers do not recognize that the views that are influencing them are only dream-like ideas originating in the mind itself, and consequently they are held fast by their notions of oneness and otherness, of being and non-being. It is like a painter’s canvas on which the ignorant imagine they see the elevations and depressions of mountains and valleys. 

Gautama, Buddha. THE LANKAVATARA SUTRA (p. 6). Independent. Kindle Edition. 

When we interact with the dreamlike ideas of the mind, are we supposed to behave ethically towards them, or is the precepts not that important? I have been thinking about this since Saturday's class. One conclusion that seems clear to me is that, indeed, anything we do that harms others is harmful to the mind itself. For instance, when a person has a fit of anger, they are bound to feel regret even if the angry thought wasn't fully expressed. This is because they know that anger is based on a fundamental delusion of self as separate from others. As one participant had explained in our Introduction to Meditation workshop today, nobody ever "makes" a person angry (or even happy, for that matter) since we interpret other people's behavior through our own lenses and perceptions.  By simply letting go of the dualistic notion of self and other, we can see that harming others is no different from harming ourselves. So, it is indeed important to be ethical. After all, wouldn't harming others be like dropping bricks on our own feet? 

Concepts such as being and non being, oneness and otherness, etc. are all based on a view of the self that is founded on duality. All these concepts are ultimately the mind's projections. Now we know this, but do we really know it fully, deeply and with our hearts? I think the important thing is to be present in every situation and to treat this moment as the only moment there is. In doing this, we cut away our comparisons, likes and dislikes, and learn to fully accept this moment as the totality of our mind and awareness, rather than trying to identify with only one tiny piece of the canvas as ourselves. This also means that every thought, no matter good or bad, can be accepted on equal terms. We don't say one thought is better than another, only that one is maybe more useful and beneficial. That is why we need to be careful not to reject certain ideas or thoughts, since they are all ultimately only projections coming from the same awareness. To cast judgment on one of those thoughts is almost like the left hand slapping the right. What is the point if they come from the same source?

A City in the Clouds

“It is like the city of the Gandharvas which the unwitting take to be a real city when in fact it is not so. The city appears as in a vision owing to their attachment to the memory of a city preserved in the mind as a seed; the city can thus be said to be both existent and non-existent. In the same way, clinging to the memory of erroneous speculations and doctrines accumulated since beginning-less time, they hold fast to such ideas as oneness and otherness, being and non-being, and their thoughts are not at all clear as to what after all is only seen of the mind. It is like a man dreaming in his sleep of a country that seems to be filled with various men, women, elephants, horses, cars, pedestrians, villages, towns, hamlets, cows, buffalos, mansions, woods, mountains, rivers and lakes, and who moves about in that city until he is awakened."

Gautama, Buddha. THE LANKAVATARA SUTRA (p. 6). Independent. Kindle Edition. 

What is this city of Gandharvas that is described in the Lankavatara Sutra? I think it must be a very strange place indeed, something like a nostalgic place or a golden age. Most people have some place in their mind where they feel innocent and can go back to it when they feel stressed. But the point is that if we are not careful, we will cling to the memory and take it as something substantial, like a city that never ends.

Non existent means the city does not really exist as something separate from our perceptions of it. Yet, we can still call something existent because it lives within our mind. We still function as though it were real, and as long as we take it as real, we will always create a separate sense of self that moves within it.

I once heard a story about a man who divorced his wife because she became jealous of his video game activity and decided to "murder" him online--meaning kill off his character in an online game. The point is that the man took his image of himself and the "world" he lived in to be so real that he couldn't separate from it. He could not even tell that the body and image he created and "inhabited" in this game was just that: a series of concocted images that become habits as they are enforced within the mind over time. Had the man realized that he was only in a dream, he could loosen up a bit and forgive his wife for "killing" him, knowing that his body and all he takes to be "him" are only figments of the imagination.

To move about in this city--is this delusion? If we know we are in a dream-like place, we can function perfectly fine in the imaginary city, to the point where we are no longer bothered by the fact that it's illusory. What we do in that dream does matter. For instance, if we resists what happens within the dream, we only reinforce the sense of duality that gets us in delusion in the first place. When we stop resisting, we see that all the walls in the dream are merely projections of mind--not even a my mind, it's just ripples and effects. 

So, it is definitely important that we behave well within this dream: follow precepts and try to improve. But at the end of the day, there is no I that is improved. We are only living the dream and enjoying the scenery floating by like a city in the clouds.