In preparing for a presentation which I will deliver tomorrow, I have noticed that there are these very interesting relationships around expectations. If I form a very strong image of those to whom I am presenting, I will often feel surprised or often disappointed when the things that people do turn out different from my 'image'. In fact, what actually happens is often, if not always, different from how one imagines it, because there are so many unforeseen conditions that influence the way a particular presentation is going to unfold. If one were to actually 'fathom' the factors that influence the look and feel of a presentation, I am sure it would be quite mind-boggling to behold.
Why, then, does one need to prepare for a presentation if there are so many unforeseen factors? Well, this might be along the lines of asking, why does one need a train track when so many unexpected hazards will cross the tracks? Of course, one needs a path or a track, to make the train work and allow it to accomplish what is needed. But if the fixation is on the track itself rather than on the whole journey that one makes, then everything will seem like a jolt to the train's path. In a similar way, one needs to have some kind of a plan for how to organize a discussion and what to teach. I see it as the dialectic between the speaker and the listener. If I am only speaking to hear my own voice, then the listener will feel totally excluded from the unfolding process of learning, and it will seem a waste of time for the listener. But if the speaker is able to organize her or his thoughts according to the situation of the listener, then the presentation becomes a good fit, and the learner's needs are considered.
Imaginatively, I picture a presentation as a bit like what an artist does when she or he paints. I have once watched a television program when I was a teenager where an artist paints, then stands back to look at what she or he has painted...then paints, then stands back..repeating the process back and forth until satisfied with the unfolding view of the picture. If I am not checking in now and then to see how the picture might look from a distance, from another angle, or in another's place, then the picture only becomes a monologue, and I am not able to see if from other perspectives. There is a careful straddling here between sticking to one's purpose and allowing other purposes to influence the direction.
Friday, March 10, 2017
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Dreaming is Hard Work
You have probably heard the cliché before that "life is but a dream". I have heard the expressions in a Buddhist context. For example, Master Sheng Yen remarks in his 108 Adages, "Everybody says life is like a dream, so why does everybody refuse to wake from this dream?" What's interesting in particular about Master Sheng Yen's remark is that it hints at the troubled relationship between the dreamer and the dream. Dreaming is so beautiful and ethereal, so why not just float along this dream and enjoy it? The problem is, as Master Sheng Yen relates, people refuse to wake up from the dream of life, and it's been said that people often have to have a tragic experience to finally want to wake from the dream.
The point of the adage of life as dream is not to let people coast along through life without any effort. Rather, it's somewhat the opposite: if it's so easy to be lulled into this ephemeral, insubstantial set of images and thoughts, then waking from it is all that much harder to do. This is so because people like myself often wish to live with less discomfort and more ease in life. In this case, the tendency is to sometimes just live to survive rather than truly understand the dream itself. To thoroughly know life as a dream is to take a very different stance on what happens: to see that suffering comes from taking the dream to be solid (and thus desirable).
Why do I say "Dreaming is Hard Work"? I am thinking that it takes hard work to see that one is really dreaming. And I have noticed that times of heavy work or scheduling can be wonderful opportunities to see how fleeting life can be. Think of it this way: if I didn't have so many requirements, I may take the way of resting but eventually I might also cling to something that substantiates who I am. Having things to do can ease the burden of looking for ways to 'be somebody' to the world (as it were), which then frees up the mind to serve all other beings. Once I am really (and honestly) working, I am no longer distracted by a sense of self. Now of course, it could go the other way, and I can start complaining that I have too much work to do! But the principle is not to get angry at the work, but to see it as there to open the mind up to new possibilities of seeing, as well as to devote oneself to things which are not oriented on self.
The point of the adage of life as dream is not to let people coast along through life without any effort. Rather, it's somewhat the opposite: if it's so easy to be lulled into this ephemeral, insubstantial set of images and thoughts, then waking from it is all that much harder to do. This is so because people like myself often wish to live with less discomfort and more ease in life. In this case, the tendency is to sometimes just live to survive rather than truly understand the dream itself. To thoroughly know life as a dream is to take a very different stance on what happens: to see that suffering comes from taking the dream to be solid (and thus desirable).
Why do I say "Dreaming is Hard Work"? I am thinking that it takes hard work to see that one is really dreaming. And I have noticed that times of heavy work or scheduling can be wonderful opportunities to see how fleeting life can be. Think of it this way: if I didn't have so many requirements, I may take the way of resting but eventually I might also cling to something that substantiates who I am. Having things to do can ease the burden of looking for ways to 'be somebody' to the world (as it were), which then frees up the mind to serve all other beings. Once I am really (and honestly) working, I am no longer distracted by a sense of self. Now of course, it could go the other way, and I can start complaining that I have too much work to do! But the principle is not to get angry at the work, but to see it as there to open the mind up to new possibilities of seeing, as well as to devote oneself to things which are not oriented on self.
Monday, March 6, 2017
The Body's Sense of Time
This evening, I came home and felt an unusual headache as well as a general sense of exhaustion. I say 'unusual' because I don't often have the sharp migraine that I had tonight. I did get through this headache okay (and am still recovering) but I felt as though the time had slowed down tremendously when it was hitting me strongly. Luckily, I feel that it has subsided since then, and I am thus allowed to be a bit more productive in the last hour of the night.
It's interesting for me to observe the effect that a body ailment or sickness can have on the sense of time. Professor Mary Hess was mentioning today that we often aren't aware of rules until they are violated and broken, and I suppose the same principle applies to the body. When I am feeling well, there is not much in the way of a bodily obstacle that prevents me from more or less achieving a certain modicum of productivity. But when something feels tight or painful, I often carry that sensation into everything I do--and time eerily starts to slow down tremendously! It makes me realize that the sense of time is a deeply embodied event. When my steps are cumbersome or leaden due to a pain in the body or a sickness, time slows down because the succession of movements is a lot harder to create, much less sustain. Not only this, but at times, every moment feels like something which depends completely on my own physical exertion. I can imagine that living on a dense planet with a heavier gravitational pull that Earth's would also slow down the sense of time.
I think the point of this discussion is to perhaps suggest that the body is quite miraculous--and it's good never to take the body for granted in its present state of health, because it is already doing amazing things.
It's interesting for me to observe the effect that a body ailment or sickness can have on the sense of time. Professor Mary Hess was mentioning today that we often aren't aware of rules until they are violated and broken, and I suppose the same principle applies to the body. When I am feeling well, there is not much in the way of a bodily obstacle that prevents me from more or less achieving a certain modicum of productivity. But when something feels tight or painful, I often carry that sensation into everything I do--and time eerily starts to slow down tremendously! It makes me realize that the sense of time is a deeply embodied event. When my steps are cumbersome or leaden due to a pain in the body or a sickness, time slows down because the succession of movements is a lot harder to create, much less sustain. Not only this, but at times, every moment feels like something which depends completely on my own physical exertion. I can imagine that living on a dense planet with a heavier gravitational pull that Earth's would also slow down the sense of time.
I think the point of this discussion is to perhaps suggest that the body is quite miraculous--and it's good never to take the body for granted in its present state of health, because it is already doing amazing things.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Creativity and Its Connection to Serendipity
While I was working on my video project tonight as one of the last assignments for my Media/Evangelism course, I felt initially frustrated. Something about the story arc that I composed for this piece felt really weighted down and cumbersome. But it no longer seemed like I could start the whole project from scratch. Not only did I seem to run out of new ideas on where to go with it, but I also felt so frustrated with the process that I saw myself disengaging from the pain of frustration.
It was that moment that I decided to take a rest and start looking at some potential music pieces that I could add as a soundtrack for the video. I experimented with a few of the songs by playing them alongside the video to 'try them on' as it were. Again, I wasn't too thrilled about the choices at first--and there was one particular piece called "Sad Day" which seemed simple yet effective enough to carry my story along. The funny thing is that Sad Day was only 2 minutes 28 seconds long, while my video project was over 3 minutes!...so I knew I had to cut things here and there if I wanted to use this song without looping it indefinitely. But what I didn't realize at the time was that the very moment when the song ended, I realized that this point is exactly where the video needs to be cut. In fact, the accidental aspect of this discovery (also called "serendipity") sent a chill down my spine...it is as though the accident itself knew better than I did about where the video needs to be cut!
Sometimes..well, I would have to say that in many unacknowledged cases, serendipity can serve to move people along when they have run out of solutions or new ways of looking at problems. Without the ability to entertain accidents and even see their potential to add unexpected good things to what a person is doing, there may not even be so many things completed as they are. It is certainly as though there is an intelligence in the universe that works through people, rather than leaving it up to people to decide or determine things through their own intellect.
It was that moment that I decided to take a rest and start looking at some potential music pieces that I could add as a soundtrack for the video. I experimented with a few of the songs by playing them alongside the video to 'try them on' as it were. Again, I wasn't too thrilled about the choices at first--and there was one particular piece called "Sad Day" which seemed simple yet effective enough to carry my story along. The funny thing is that Sad Day was only 2 minutes 28 seconds long, while my video project was over 3 minutes!...so I knew I had to cut things here and there if I wanted to use this song without looping it indefinitely. But what I didn't realize at the time was that the very moment when the song ended, I realized that this point is exactly where the video needs to be cut. In fact, the accidental aspect of this discovery (also called "serendipity") sent a chill down my spine...it is as though the accident itself knew better than I did about where the video needs to be cut!
Sometimes..well, I would have to say that in many unacknowledged cases, serendipity can serve to move people along when they have run out of solutions or new ways of looking at problems. Without the ability to entertain accidents and even see their potential to add unexpected good things to what a person is doing, there may not even be so many things completed as they are. It is certainly as though there is an intelligence in the universe that works through people, rather than leaving it up to people to decide or determine things through their own intellect.
Friday, March 3, 2017
Religion's Awe
Where does religious awe come from? As I am reflecting on this question, I am thinking about how Buddhism has come to Canada, and who is practicing Buddhism. There is something already truly miraculous about this, because people encounter Buddhism from very different experiential paths. If I only focus on Buddhism as a spiritual doctrine and set of edicts, I might fail to connect to the fact that Buddhism is encountered in infinite ways by different people and for different reasons. This is already miraculous in itself because it demonstrates the Heart Sutra proclamation, "Form is emptiness and emptiness is form". Without the specificity of form, Buddhism could not really demonstrate the empty co-mingling of phenomena. Everything would all be subsumed under one object or concept, rather than being seen as parts of an unfolding and ever-changing whole. Without the pervasiveness of emptiness, on the other hand, there would be no change and no mind permeating all the changes. Through the permeability of all things, an infinite number of changes and combinations are possible.
I think the sense of awe must come from the inescapable presence of mind, which often requires accident or serendipitous coincidence to really be recognized. It arrives, for instance, when a person inadvertently or intuitively juxtaposes two or more very different concepts which seem unrelated, but in fact are later found to have a deep interconnection that defies logic or mundane reasoning. Are there accidents? I suppose one should trust that there aren't that many real accidents, only discoveries of the permeability of mind in all things. This dance of coincidence goes on and on for ages, until all the mind is realizing its true nature and breaking through the subject/object duality which makes existence such a powerful prison.
I think the sense of awe must come from the inescapable presence of mind, which often requires accident or serendipitous coincidence to really be recognized. It arrives, for instance, when a person inadvertently or intuitively juxtaposes two or more very different concepts which seem unrelated, but in fact are later found to have a deep interconnection that defies logic or mundane reasoning. Are there accidents? I suppose one should trust that there aren't that many real accidents, only discoveries of the permeability of mind in all things. This dance of coincidence goes on and on for ages, until all the mind is realizing its true nature and breaking through the subject/object duality which makes existence such a powerful prison.
Thursday, March 2, 2017
"Cult" of Intelligence
During the company-wide meeting today, the CEO was explaining the notion that 'things are changing', and organizations need to retain their best talents to navigate change. It's become a kind of adage that the world we live in today is far more 'competitive' than in previous times, if not simply due to the explosion of information available at people's fingertips. With the explosion in new kinds of learning, the gaps that (arguably) used to artificially divide people are no longer so evident today anymore, thus explaining a greater sense of competition for resources.
One of the interesting things I have noticed lately, especially with theories of 'growth mindset', is how the ability to navigate accelerated change tends to be linked to some notion of special talent or intelligence. It is as though we live in a time when it is thought that the 'brightest' or most clever people are the ones most likely to survive. This tends to induce a kind of cult around that elusive quality known as "intelligence". Has anybody, however, ever really been able to define intelligence except for after the fact? But even if it is accurately labelled as intelligent or talented, can anyone really tell what marks a 'sharp' mind from a 'not sharp' one?
A lot of complicating factors prevent us from labelling or identifying intelligence or lack thereof. One of the biggest complicating factors is the fact that it's often impossible to really know what a person is thinking or even why. Nobody can truly peer into another person's mind to see what is happening there, or why it's doing what it does. Even the thinker herself may feel puzzled as to why she thinks as she does!
If 'intelligence' can only be identified by what a person does (the quality of the result, that is), can one ever really pinpoint just what exactly makes a person intelligent? I have no answer to this question as of yet, but I am posing it as a way of making problematic the idea that intelligence is something one can accurately measure at all times and circumstances.
One of the interesting things I have noticed lately, especially with theories of 'growth mindset', is how the ability to navigate accelerated change tends to be linked to some notion of special talent or intelligence. It is as though we live in a time when it is thought that the 'brightest' or most clever people are the ones most likely to survive. This tends to induce a kind of cult around that elusive quality known as "intelligence". Has anybody, however, ever really been able to define intelligence except for after the fact? But even if it is accurately labelled as intelligent or talented, can anyone really tell what marks a 'sharp' mind from a 'not sharp' one?
A lot of complicating factors prevent us from labelling or identifying intelligence or lack thereof. One of the biggest complicating factors is the fact that it's often impossible to really know what a person is thinking or even why. Nobody can truly peer into another person's mind to see what is happening there, or why it's doing what it does. Even the thinker herself may feel puzzled as to why she thinks as she does!
If 'intelligence' can only be identified by what a person does (the quality of the result, that is), can one ever really pinpoint just what exactly makes a person intelligent? I have no answer to this question as of yet, but I am posing it as a way of making problematic the idea that intelligence is something one can accurately measure at all times and circumstances.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
the hidden value of being busy
Master Sheng Yen writes, "the busy make the most of their time" in the fifth of his 108 adages. He further goes on to suggest, "In broadly sowing the fields of merit... why fear any hardship or rebuke?" And while I agree with what Master Sheng Yen says, I begin to think that being busy actually makes me better appreciate not being busy at all! Why is that? Well, I wonder, have you ever had those moments where you became so absorbed in doing something that the sense of self just fell away? I have to admit that this kind of experience does not happen all the time for me, but the point is that moments of busy-ness can put someone in a position that is similar to that of the huatou-- it sort of pushes a person to the point where they have no time to even think about what they have finished or completed.
This practice of viewing busyness as the emptying of self is interesting to me, because I tend to associate Buddhist views of being busy with 'gathering merit.' Yes, it's correct to say that merit can aid in one's personal practice by purifying the mind somewhat. But there seems to be more to this practice than gaining merit alone. There is a sense that over time, a person loses the feeling that their works really count for very much, focusing instead on how excessive work can really humble the mind and heart, to the point of a diminished self-striving. This is because a person reaches a saturation point, where they are so absorbed in completing the tasks single mindedly in a 'cue' that they don't even notice themselves as separate beings, at that point. And this is a good insight, because it trains the mind not to look for praise or respond aversely to blame. When there is a lot to be done, there is not much time to dwell on either of these! But as I said previously, doing a lot makes me more thoroughly and deeply appreciate those special moments when there is nothing in particular to do. Soon, these experiences of doing something and having nothing in particular to do, can start to merge together.
This practice of viewing busyness as the emptying of self is interesting to me, because I tend to associate Buddhist views of being busy with 'gathering merit.' Yes, it's correct to say that merit can aid in one's personal practice by purifying the mind somewhat. But there seems to be more to this practice than gaining merit alone. There is a sense that over time, a person loses the feeling that their works really count for very much, focusing instead on how excessive work can really humble the mind and heart, to the point of a diminished self-striving. This is because a person reaches a saturation point, where they are so absorbed in completing the tasks single mindedly in a 'cue' that they don't even notice themselves as separate beings, at that point. And this is a good insight, because it trains the mind not to look for praise or respond aversely to blame. When there is a lot to be done, there is not much time to dwell on either of these! But as I said previously, doing a lot makes me more thoroughly and deeply appreciate those special moments when there is nothing in particular to do. Soon, these experiences of doing something and having nothing in particular to do, can start to merge together.
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