Compound Life

"Whatever one sows and accumulates in life, one reaps as a result. Life is not a thing by itself but a compound of things. It depends upon conditions which form its existence. When certain conditions come into combination, life is formed." (p.14, Chao Khun Sobhana Dhammasudi., from Secrets of the Lotus, Swearer, 1971)


Most religious beliefs have some idea that is similar to the notion of "you reap what you sow." I was reflecting today about how the Christian church I had once attended for a while had emphasized the idea that one should 'give 'til it hurts', and this is somewhat related to the idea that merit comes from personal sacrifice or devotion to God. What's interesting about the above quote is that it is then followed by an account of the aggregated nature of life, which is characteristic of Buddhist teachings especially. "Life is not a thing by itself but a compound of things." If such is the case, does this invalidate the notion of a permanent soul? More than anything, it seems to suggest that because life is a compound of different factors, it is impossible to make a one to one correlation between the action and the result, since multiple conditions can affect the future results. This is where the second and third statements tend to complicate the first statement, by problematizing the clear-cut idea of 'good cause makes good result.' It suggests that there can be a multitude of changing conditions that affect a result, so one should not expect a given result.
   Perhaps the most apt metaphor that is used in Buddhism is that of planting vegetables. When I plant carrot seeds, it's not possible for me to get corn, and vice versa. However, the fact that I do plant carrot seeds is not a clear cut guarantee or indicator that the seeds will grow into fully-fledged carrots at any specific time. This seems to be because many factors are out there that can affect the possibility of having carrots, including soil, air quality, sunlight, temperature, and so on. Life is always, as this quote suggests, completely dependent upon other conditions to shape its existence, even when it has potentials to be a certain way. This is why we talk about karma 'ripening' or 'maturing' rather than 'resulting'.
     The attitude that arises from this philosophy is likely to be not so emboldened as a religion which might valorize suffering or generosity as a kind of heroic quality. Even if I feel confident in my intentions and abilities to create a certain situation, I can never be certain that it will mature when I most want or need it to, since other factors might interfere in the most inopportune or inconvenient moments. This is why one can never say that a result has an inherent value, because that result is only the temporary agglomeration of ripening causes, which can change to something else at a later time. There is never really a time to rest on one's laurels, as it were.
   But doesn't this also mean that life on earth is somewhat miraculous? It is most certainly something to appreciate, because what we have is always the result of many other factors working together in harmony.


Swearer, Donald K. ed. (1971). Secrets of the Lotus. New York: Macmillan

Not Escaping from Life

"Many people misunderstand meditation as an escape from life or as mysticism. In reality, however, meditation is mental development and not an escape from life at all. In fact, one cannot escape from one's own life even if one tried to do so."- Chao Khun Sobhana Dhammasudi., from Secrets of the Lotus (Swearer, 1971)


As I am reading the quote from the above text, I am reflecting on how most of the time, many people are looking for some truth that will unlock the mysteries of their life, and this 'truth' often takes the form of a sense of relief or release. Maybe it's not necessarily an escape into the mountains, but it could be the longing for a sense of home or 'security'-- a place where people can truly relax and be themselves, rather than trying to please other people or play a certain part in an uncertain drama. While I resonate with what Chao Khun is remarking, I also respect that people come to meditation to know their deepest wishes and heart. Is it an escape to do so? I think that depends on where a person goes with the longing for home.
   It also reminds me of what Master Sheng Yen has said, namely, that wherever he happens to be is his home-- and this is the way monastics view the world. There isn't any place to escape in the busy hustle of life, but the letting go of attachments can lead to a sense that everywhere is the mind's abode. To finally turn toward life wholeheartedly and not try to escape from it is, as Chao Khun suggests, the kind of direction of meditation. When I am finally able to give up escaping, my home widens and expands to include a variety of different situations, rather than trying to fasten onto a distant hope and then make my mind conform to that hope.
   This passage also alludes to the way past karma cannot be reversed: it has already come to pass. Trying to make myself into a better 'something' is also delusory, because the past has already slipped away: it's like trying to build a tower out of smoke. If I spend time trying to envy or admire others, none of that will change the way things are now, and all that can be done is to create favorable conditions for the future time, as well as adjust one's attitudes in the present.
   It's wonderful to realize, however, that the present conditions are already ripe for meditation. No matter how deep one's dilemmas are, that too is something that can be a practice--in other words, meditation never waits for things to be a certain way, since everything that is, is the material for practice. Perhaps it reminds me of the alchemists of the distant past, who could change any material into gold. The gold is the mind-nature of all things, and is the true nature of mind.


 Swearer, Donald K, ed.. (1971). Secrets of the Lotus. New York: Macmillan

Losing and Finding Again

 Have you ever lost something rather trivial, such as a piece of paper, and drove yourself crazy trying to find it? When I think about this scenario, I think of the story of the man who loses his keys, but instead of going . where he would most suspect they are lost, he stays in the light instead. Even when I am trying to find something, do I really have any idea what I am truly looking for? Suppose I then find that missing item--did I really find it, or was the missing item only symbolic of something more fundamental?
   A lot of this reminds me of the Augustinian model of good/evil which I read mainly from Anders Nygren's book Eros and Agape: namely, that evil is not a substantial thing in and of itself, but is only a misguided or 'perverse' search for the good. Things that we think we should not waste our time looking for can sometimes contain hidden meanings, such as the search for awe and wonder or a renewal of trust in oneself. According to Augustine, even the most profane longings are really sacred ones in disguise: I turn to them only when I don't have the resources to pursue a much purer form. This is to say: we should never dismiss our longings, however senseless and futile they may be, but at the same time, we should always keep an eye out for their lasting significance. Without this sense of the sublime meaning, one's searches turn out to be chimeric, only pointing to things that are subject to changing and shifting conditions. This is quite paper thin, when you think about it, but maybe by tracing one's longing back to the original and true inspiration, the search for the missing paper can become the search for one's life and purpose.

A Moving Wheel

 After the meditation practice tonight, we had a long sharing. In most situations where the sharing is long, I may start to fidget or get restless after a while, but this time, I just practiced being still and present. What I felt is a bit like the mind is a very vast and wide space, and even when there is movement, the movement is taking place in the midst of this vastness. One could think of it in this way: if you had a very small aquarium with fish that are moving quickly within it, you are bound to think that the fish are darting frantically in a small space, whereas a much bigger space registers less movement even when the fish are moving at the same rate. Why is that? I think it's because the mind registers all the phenomena as a totality and there isn't a single location you could point to and say, 'that's my mind'. Without a reference point to compare one position to another, everything is moving, but nothing is reacting to the moving. There is a kind of observation around everything, in which emotions arise but there are no accompanying reactions or frantic counter-movements. Essentially, things start to look harmonizing with each other, even when different emotions arise.
   It's hard to describe this intellectually, and I am afraid that I can only really have this experience after a period of meditation! But at least this kind of experience forms a template, and the more one can practice it, the more faith and confidence one has that it's possible. Another analogy is that of a wheel that continues to move even after a bicycle has tipped over on its side. The wheel represents all the karma from the past, whereas the unmoving bicycle represents the still awareness. While the wheel moves according to conditions, the mind doesn't.

The Temptations of Story

    If you have ever watched life history movies, you will notice that they follow very similar patterns: stories of early adversity followed by a struggle, periods of learning, and finally maturity, where a person's demons are confronted and surmounted. Of course, I am generalizing a lot here, but it seems that biographical narratives seek to follow mythical patterns of birth, trial, conquest and return. Many people, including myself, have longed for this pattern to occur at certain periods in their lives, especially when they are confronted with a very long journey that may or may not end in success. There is a craving for a guarantee that one's efforts will make a difference to others, in some big or small way. Even the great religions in the world tend to follow the life trajectory of one great, heroic or powerful being, to the point where life is meant to imitate this person. I find it touching to reflect on these religions, to know that there is a being whose love is so great that they were able to lay down a pattern for all humanity to embody and imitate.
   I have to admit, however, that I am observing in myself an opposite tendency, and that is to slow down awareness to the point where it is not looking for grand narratives in life. This part realizes that narratives can create all kinds of cravings and suffering, especially when a person wants her or his life to conform to one of their favorite stories, only to realize that it simply fails to do so. Emma Bovary is one example of a character in fiction whose life is so steeped in the grand narratives of romantic sacrifice that the life she actually has pales in comparison. This, along with a strange liaison , leads her eventually to despair and death. The problem I see in Madame Bovary is not, as some have suggested, that she lives in a kind of bourgeoisie prison, but rather that perhaps she has too many stories filtering out her experiences. Her mind becomes a kind of trap of its own.
   It leads me to wonder, is there a way to read stories that does not create the concomitant desire to live as though one were in an unfolding story? I guess my question hinges upon the related question of whether or not it's good and necessary to try to structure one's life in terms of story. Schopenhauer has said that toward the end of one's life, one is particularly inclined to do so because one has much more perspective on what has happened in the decades before, as well as the wisdom to be able to properly narrative and interpret those experiences. But note that Schopenhauer suggests this to happen in the advent of old age, and not as an unfolding process that happens in one's day to day experiences. Schopenhauer seems to be skeptical of the ability for one to find a fitting life story when the will to live (or life craving) is particularly strong.
     Overall, while I think that narratives are thought provoking tools to connect communities, I still feel deep inside that there are also destructive or shadowy aspects to narrative, including the expectations of heroic endings in one's own life. In today's academic world, we are going through a period where narrative research has become trendy, but I wonder if anyone has ever worked out theories regarding when narrative truly expands to enfold and embrace community, and when it might collapse identity by creating all sorts of attachments or internal projections.




   

Bare Awareness

   "Bare awareness" is a term that I first encountered when I read Jon Kabat-Zinn's writings, and I have more recently read about it in a book by Donald K Swearer called Secrets of the Lotus. One of the tricky things about the notion of bare awareness is that it's about seeing non-judgmentally, or seeing past the sense of self or "I". The problem is that the "I" is often so deeply ingrained in seeing that the act of seeing is already presupposing a self. Even something as innocent as taking notice of a sweet food in a candy store is tinged by the lens of desire, which is often used to select what we want to pursue.  I have often caught myself realizing how consciousness seems to 'pre-select' objects of desire, thus defining the scene in front of me before I can take in everything in the picture.
   It's not enough to try to suppress the thoughts of desiring something in particular, since that thought has already arisen in mind at that point, and there is no sense in fighting off the thought: it's just a puff of smoke that will be replaced by other thoughts. I have found that what most helps for me is to understand that the thought itself is not my mind; it is only coming from the previous karma which has accumulated as the result of habits. I have also noticed how trying to fight a particular thought only makes that thought seem more real than it is, only because I am adding to that same thought.
   Just now, as I am writing this, I am thinking about the difference between bare awareness and asceticism. I think that ascetics try to cut off all desires through a strenuous exercise of mind or will, whereas bare awareness is somewhat softer than this: it sees past the desire or thought to get a sense of what supports the thoughts. In this way, there isn't an effort to engage content, only to look deeply at the process that gives rise to the thoughts themselves.

Technique vs Technology

  I am reading a book called Mediating Piety: Technology and Religion in Contemporary Asia (2009), and I am inspired to reflect on the differences between technology and technique. One of the philosophers who is mentioned in this anthology is Felix Guattari, who argues that "engagement with machines makes possible new ways of existing" (Lim, p.2). This quote struck me because it makes me realize that technology doesn't necessarily get equated with mechanical 'techniques'. There is an orientation toward technology which tends to reduce it to a kind of crutch which prevents people from becoming actively involved in a process: an assembly line is one such stereotypical example. On the other hand, there is a whole spectrum of orientations which allow people to see technology not as 'technique' but as windows to allow people to create and enhance their abilities to reflect and contemplate.
   One example I am thinking about recently is the act of taking videos and sound clips of natural scenery--something I have been inclined to do recently with the change in the weather and the coming of spring. I have been trying to find ways to essentially 'capture' the sounds and sights of spring in Toronto and incorporate them into contemplative videos where nature becomes an object of meditation. Some may suggest that I am engaging in what Heidegger would refer to as "challenging" which "puts to nature the unreasonable demand that it supply energy which can be extracted and stored as such" (Heidegger 1977: 296). The act of creating a video, replicating and editing it to suit a particular message, and allowing users to view it or stream it infinitely, is something akin to trying to tap into the resources of nature and capture its beauty or spiritual values. I wouldn't necessarily say it is a form of "challenging" nature in the sense that Heidegger refers to it, since streaming a video doesn't stretch natural resources too much. On the other hand, the idea of trying to take natural images and convert them to audio-visual meditations might suggest a form of trying to capture or replicate spiritual experience itself. I am even wondering if creating 'meditations' for others might reduce them to passive spectators of technology rather than giving them space to meditate using their own method.
    If technology can inspire others to be their own creators of media, this is perhaps a very great boon to society, and it empowers others to contemplatively explore using media. But I am interested in learning what kinds of images and sounds can inspire the mood to create, and which combinations are only meant to entertain. Perhaps the most inspiring forms of media are ones which leave many questions for viewers to answer through their own creations and reflections. By hinting at something that remains unanswered or inexhaustible, contemplative media might even provide inspiration for artists in their own paths. I would be interested in learning about how one kind of media object can spark or inspire many others.


Lim, F.K.G (ed) (2009). Mediating Piety: Technology and Religion in Contemporary Asia. Boston: Brill.