Many times in the course of the group meditation sharing, I notice that there are similarities in terms of what we share. If there's a day when one person expresses drowsiness, I find that I too felt the same way. Sometimes, what the participant relates is like a kind of spot-on impression of how I experienced the meditation practice as well. For instance, one participant mentioned today that she felt disconnected with her body and method and almost went into a dream state of successive thoughts--and I had a similar experience in the first sitting! Now, is this just a case of selective memory? Or is it a genuinely shared co-experience?
As I am writing this thought, I am reminded of childhood memories when I used to have a dessert which was a concoction of jello (green jello, to be precise) and melted ice cream. The two ingredients did not seem to be a match at all: one being rubbery in consistency, while the other being in a liquid state when melted. In spite of that, however, I was still able to enjoy the two ingredients together, until one day the thought of jello with ice cream became a kind of social norm. In other words, what 'happens' is often co-created, and whatever is emphasized in a shared narrative often influences one's experience of something. A good example might be how a very hot pepper might seem to be painful in one context, yet very edible and desirable in the context of a hot pepper competition. Suddenly, through the institutionalization of hot pepper eating contests, hot peppers are not seen as problematic, but as challenging and exciting to deal with.
I wonder if perhaps we get our cues on what to share or not to share from the overall emotional atmosphere that the group collectively evokes at a given time. I have yet to study this question but I think the meditation group would be an ideal area to study this kind of phenomena.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
Why Choice Matters
The more I consider Buddhist teachings, the more I reflect on what Buddha had originally exhorted to his early disciples: try for yourself and see for yourself. If my interpretation is correct, I don't think that the Buddha was saying that a person has to do something in order to get to heaven or avoid hell. Rather, he seemed to have been revealing something as basic as a law of life: yes, you can continue to live and suffer as you do, but there are bound to be consequences. If the Buddha were advocating an experimental attitude of 'see for yourself', however, is this negating the idea that karma is an inevitable result of previous conditions? Where does choice play into the idea that karma is a result of previous conditions.
Well, first, I believe it may be oversimplifying to say that karma is inevitable. This view is limiting because it closes off the possibility that we can influence the view of the past by what we do today. Even though something has 'already happened', that already happened is existing in mind right now. Therefore, I can't really say that anything is 'already done', as though I have no say in how it might look from this current perspective. Because time is in this continuous stream of unfolding, it makes little sense to be deterministic about it.
But the second is about choice. I sometimes wonder if people might start to take Buddha's teachings as dogma, when they see karma as some kind of physical law, much akin to gravity. Again, I think this is too literal a reading of Buddhism, and it can lead to a very reifying attitude: "well, I need to do this because Buddha or someone else said so, and what they say must be true, so therefore I should follow it." Ironically, this kind of thinking is exactly what the Buddha was warning his disciples not to do. Why? Couldn't the Buddha have simply set up a shrine and said "Just follow me, my way is the right way?" Again, however, this idea is based on a distorted notion of cause and effect. If things are statically related to each other, then Buddha could very well have simply asked people to accept his views on a combination of faith and trust. But his teachings mitigate against this kind of trust, because the Buddha was emphasizing the impermanent nature of all dharmas. According to this idea, there is simply no resting place or position to say, 'this is it', because one's awareness is inseparable from the 'this'. It is both a part of and somehow not imprisoned by the 'this'. That being said, it is a mistake to think that karma is a law that is external to mind or attitudes. And it would be simply dogmatic to say that one has no choice in how to view the teachings on karma, or its results.
Well, first, I believe it may be oversimplifying to say that karma is inevitable. This view is limiting because it closes off the possibility that we can influence the view of the past by what we do today. Even though something has 'already happened', that already happened is existing in mind right now. Therefore, I can't really say that anything is 'already done', as though I have no say in how it might look from this current perspective. Because time is in this continuous stream of unfolding, it makes little sense to be deterministic about it.
But the second is about choice. I sometimes wonder if people might start to take Buddha's teachings as dogma, when they see karma as some kind of physical law, much akin to gravity. Again, I think this is too literal a reading of Buddhism, and it can lead to a very reifying attitude: "well, I need to do this because Buddha or someone else said so, and what they say must be true, so therefore I should follow it." Ironically, this kind of thinking is exactly what the Buddha was warning his disciples not to do. Why? Couldn't the Buddha have simply set up a shrine and said "Just follow me, my way is the right way?" Again, however, this idea is based on a distorted notion of cause and effect. If things are statically related to each other, then Buddha could very well have simply asked people to accept his views on a combination of faith and trust. But his teachings mitigate against this kind of trust, because the Buddha was emphasizing the impermanent nature of all dharmas. According to this idea, there is simply no resting place or position to say, 'this is it', because one's awareness is inseparable from the 'this'. It is both a part of and somehow not imprisoned by the 'this'. That being said, it is a mistake to think that karma is a law that is external to mind or attitudes. And it would be simply dogmatic to say that one has no choice in how to view the teachings on karma, or its results.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Spirit in the World
I am thinking about the idea of life as an eternal cycle, and how we can often be comforted by the fact that anxious moments are not 'forever' but can be an opportunity for growth. Where does the faith come from, however--to know that suffering is not 'forever'? That's an interesting aspect which most spiritual teachings share.
During the class today on Media and Evangelism, Dr. Hess mentioned the idea that one can only be comfortable with the tension and conflict of strangers when there is a strong sense of hope is beyond that. I don't think this is about getting a 'reward' for being kind to strangers. It has rather to do with the ability to contain tensions when there is a larger space in which to work through those same tensions. But, in another sense, it goes deeper than this. In fact, the tension itself is perhaps the key aspect to the realization of the 'beyond that'. I am not talking about either masochism or resignation. "Masochism" is the belief that embracing suffering can lead to a transcendent gain, while resignation suggests that suffering is only a side effect of a spiritual path. Both ideas aren't quite it. I think it's more productive to suggest that one needs to bear out the entire story of the stranger in order to get beyond the self and transcend the tensions of self and other, all the while quietly bearing those tensions.
I might try to put it in another way. Sometimes, we might think there is something standing over the whole world, and we have to bear the world patiently to please or attain what stands over it. Another way is to say that the world itself is an expression of that which transcends the world. This means that spirit is deeply embedded in the world, and not apart from it. This latter view suggests that we can embrace what is in front of us as a lesson of kinds, rather than reject it in favor of something more 'world transcending'.
During the class today on Media and Evangelism, Dr. Hess mentioned the idea that one can only be comfortable with the tension and conflict of strangers when there is a strong sense of hope is beyond that. I don't think this is about getting a 'reward' for being kind to strangers. It has rather to do with the ability to contain tensions when there is a larger space in which to work through those same tensions. But, in another sense, it goes deeper than this. In fact, the tension itself is perhaps the key aspect to the realization of the 'beyond that'. I am not talking about either masochism or resignation. "Masochism" is the belief that embracing suffering can lead to a transcendent gain, while resignation suggests that suffering is only a side effect of a spiritual path. Both ideas aren't quite it. I think it's more productive to suggest that one needs to bear out the entire story of the stranger in order to get beyond the self and transcend the tensions of self and other, all the while quietly bearing those tensions.
I might try to put it in another way. Sometimes, we might think there is something standing over the whole world, and we have to bear the world patiently to please or attain what stands over it. Another way is to say that the world itself is an expression of that which transcends the world. This means that spirit is deeply embedded in the world, and not apart from it. This latter view suggests that we can embrace what is in front of us as a lesson of kinds, rather than reject it in favor of something more 'world transcending'.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
Good to be Cold
Sunday meditation took place in the cold basement, among a few very brave participants. I found that after hearing stories about what Zen monks suffer in the retreat centers in Japan, I tend to think that this kind of cold I feel is reasonable, if not bearable. None of the participants seem to mind, but there is a lot of mention about the heater not circulating a lot of heat, and the possibility of even changing the heater. Should we get a louder one that might disturb the participants, however much it disperses a lot of needed heat? Or the quieter one which actually has no circulating heat?
Of course, these questions are pretty immaterial when it comes to the actual practice of meditation itself, but the point is to suggest that we normally spend a lot of time trying to adjust our inner temperatures: if sad, make happy; if alone, turn up the 'social' dial, and so on. What if we simply ignored that inner dial, or didn't adjust it even if we had the power to do so? In fact, I am lucky that we haven't had too many group meditation spaces where we could in fact have adjusted a thermostat to get the temperature 'just right'. This is because everyone's 'just right' is very different, even though people often assume that the inner thermostat is the same for everyone.
Of course, these questions are pretty immaterial when it comes to the actual practice of meditation itself, but the point is to suggest that we normally spend a lot of time trying to adjust our inner temperatures: if sad, make happy; if alone, turn up the 'social' dial, and so on. What if we simply ignored that inner dial, or didn't adjust it even if we had the power to do so? In fact, I am lucky that we haven't had too many group meditation spaces where we could in fact have adjusted a thermostat to get the temperature 'just right'. This is because everyone's 'just right' is very different, even though people often assume that the inner thermostat is the same for everyone.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Starting Out the Weekend
My meditation group had recently switched from Sunday mornings to Saturday mornings. In the beginning, I felt a bit apprehensive about the change, thinking that many would not be able to adjust to the new change in the schedule. When I checked in with the group meditation members today, however, I found that many benefitted from starting out their weekend with meditation. One of the group members, for example, shared how it can be helpful to frame one's weekend chores as a kind of meditation practice, especially in contrast to treating chores as merely something to get done.
In fact, I would agree that meditation can give otherwise menial chores a kind of meaning. The reality is that simply being present to anything without desiring something else can make that very same thing meaningful. It takes away from the consumerist mentality that what we have is not enough, and we somehow need to acquire more in order to feel better about themselves.
Still another participant had shared a different side of this: sometimes group meditation practice can be a kind of place that is especially away from the pressures of daily life, which is what makes it refreshing and different. This view seems to be quite different from the idea that meditation necessarily should or must attend to each moment. I believe that both views are equally valid. While one contends that we can treat all situations as extensions of sitting meditation, the other view stresses and emphasizes that meditation itself is a special activity that has its own special place and meaning. It is not somehow mired by the stresses of daily life.
Meditation can be considered both as a rest and as a way of reframing one's stressful life. As another participant had shared: the difference between 'relaxation' and meditation is that meditation allows one to rest in even the most unpleasant situation, while relaxation always favours the pleasant. I mention this because I strongly believe that meditation can prepare people for deep losses that they will inevitably experience in life. By attending to the unpleasant sensations of leg pain (or even boredom) in sitting practice, one is preparing for the much more difficult losses that happen outside the cushion.
In fact, I would agree that meditation can give otherwise menial chores a kind of meaning. The reality is that simply being present to anything without desiring something else can make that very same thing meaningful. It takes away from the consumerist mentality that what we have is not enough, and we somehow need to acquire more in order to feel better about themselves.
Still another participant had shared a different side of this: sometimes group meditation practice can be a kind of place that is especially away from the pressures of daily life, which is what makes it refreshing and different. This view seems to be quite different from the idea that meditation necessarily should or must attend to each moment. I believe that both views are equally valid. While one contends that we can treat all situations as extensions of sitting meditation, the other view stresses and emphasizes that meditation itself is a special activity that has its own special place and meaning. It is not somehow mired by the stresses of daily life.
Meditation can be considered both as a rest and as a way of reframing one's stressful life. As another participant had shared: the difference between 'relaxation' and meditation is that meditation allows one to rest in even the most unpleasant situation, while relaxation always favours the pleasant. I mention this because I strongly believe that meditation can prepare people for deep losses that they will inevitably experience in life. By attending to the unpleasant sensations of leg pain (or even boredom) in sitting practice, one is preparing for the much more difficult losses that happen outside the cushion.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
The Heartbreak School
I am quite interested in Parker J. Palmer's unique perspectives in his book Healing the Heart of Democracy, and in particular a line where he remarks, "Everyday life is a school of the spirit that offers us chance after chance to practice dealing with heartbreak." (p.59) This perspective is interesting when Palmer makes a distinction between breaking down and breaking out. Whereas breaking down refers to the tendency for the heart to withdraw or even shut down in the face of pain and suffering, this breaking 'outward' is more like using the experience of heartbreak to open the heart to more tension. I tend to think of it as a kind of challenge to the sense that we can ever take our suffering and reduce it to a single explanation about who we are. Perhaps the meaning of suffering in fact is to leave a person completely in the lurch regarding who they are, but without denying them the sense of responsibility for their existence and how it is unfolding in the moment.
In myself, I find it's common for me to withdraw from suffering by trying to see myself in it. I might start to blame myself for the problem I am facing or even put a label on myself for having this problem. Overall, it creates the false sense of isolation, as though only "I" in my special weakness could have this problem. In fact, it may very well be the exact same burden that everyone has, but when I put myself in front of the experience, I make it seem as though only I am having it.
What would life be like if, rather than narrating suffering from the perspective of I, there was this vulnerable honesty about all the fragility that comes with suffering? What if I fully experience my fallibility and fragility, without having to name myself as being 'this' or 'that'--in other words, just experiencing the pain in the raw without putting any special narrative on it? I believe this is an interesting challenge that Palmer poses in his book which I would like to explore in my spiritual practice.
In myself, I find it's common for me to withdraw from suffering by trying to see myself in it. I might start to blame myself for the problem I am facing or even put a label on myself for having this problem. Overall, it creates the false sense of isolation, as though only "I" in my special weakness could have this problem. In fact, it may very well be the exact same burden that everyone has, but when I put myself in front of the experience, I make it seem as though only I am having it.
What would life be like if, rather than narrating suffering from the perspective of I, there was this vulnerable honesty about all the fragility that comes with suffering? What if I fully experience my fallibility and fragility, without having to name myself as being 'this' or 'that'--in other words, just experiencing the pain in the raw without putting any special narrative on it? I believe this is an interesting challenge that Palmer poses in his book which I would like to explore in my spiritual practice.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Creative Tensions in Daily Life
On the way to group meditation practice tonight, I had dozed off before my appointed stop, and ended up at Steeles Avenue. As luck wouldn't have it, I missed the bus along Steeles, so I ended up grabbing a very quick dinner and walking to the center amidst quite heavy snow. I was in quite a bit of a rush to get to the center, but upon arriving there, a sense of calm fell over me as I started to see the Chinese red lanterns creating a mellow glow in the Chan Hall. Even while we were doing the exercises, I could feel something beautiful and dreamlike about this red glow, providing a sense of comfort to the meditation practice.
I started to reflect: although the travel to and from the meditation is tight and at times full of tension, there is what Parker Palmer would perhaps call 'creative tension' in all of this (Palmer, 2011, p.14-15), which is the ability to hold my frustration or tension as part of an overall creative process. The best way to describe this creative tension would be to suggest that whenever there is an action or a feeling, it is part of a spectrum which includes its opposite or contrasting tones. Whenever there is tension, there is also somewhere in that tension a sense of peace. After all, why else would I be going to group meditation practice except to somehow cultivate a wholesome space of peace for all? But before I get to that place, I have to navigate other, equally valid spaces. Does it make sense? If a person is rushing frantically to get to the meditation cushion to escape those uncomfortable feelings, then they are missing out on a chance to see the tension as equally valid as the lack of tension. It's also an energy of mind, the same way in which meditation has its own energy. The key is that I look upon the tension with the same even-minded awareness as I would while in sitting meditation. I sort of enjoy that tension by immersing myself in it and fully acknowledging why it's there and why it even should be there for that matter.
After all, tension is partly chosen, but it's partly based on the conditions as well. In looking at these tensions, could we not also cultivate a spacious awareness, perhaps even a joy in the moment?
I started to reflect: although the travel to and from the meditation is tight and at times full of tension, there is what Parker Palmer would perhaps call 'creative tension' in all of this (Palmer, 2011, p.14-15), which is the ability to hold my frustration or tension as part of an overall creative process. The best way to describe this creative tension would be to suggest that whenever there is an action or a feeling, it is part of a spectrum which includes its opposite or contrasting tones. Whenever there is tension, there is also somewhere in that tension a sense of peace. After all, why else would I be going to group meditation practice except to somehow cultivate a wholesome space of peace for all? But before I get to that place, I have to navigate other, equally valid spaces. Does it make sense? If a person is rushing frantically to get to the meditation cushion to escape those uncomfortable feelings, then they are missing out on a chance to see the tension as equally valid as the lack of tension. It's also an energy of mind, the same way in which meditation has its own energy. The key is that I look upon the tension with the same even-minded awareness as I would while in sitting meditation. I sort of enjoy that tension by immersing myself in it and fully acknowledging why it's there and why it even should be there for that matter.
After all, tension is partly chosen, but it's partly based on the conditions as well. In looking at these tensions, could we not also cultivate a spacious awareness, perhaps even a joy in the moment?
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