All The Time in the World?

    I attended a planning meeting which went until late in the evening yesterday, for an upcoming event at the meditation center. What impressed me about this experience is the sense that combined efforts can go a long way to making the process manageable, when people are focused and have a tight deadline to accomplish. There are times when pressure to meet a deadline can create a kind of strong cohesive energy which is hard to find when things are not so pressing. Time can be a very strong agent of change, and it makes me wonder what role 'time' plays in timeless learning.
   Contemplative education circles often emphasize timeless learning as a way of seeing wholeness in what we are doing and learning. It's about immersing oneself in the moment of doing and learning, rather than itemizing and reducing action into a measurable set of tasks. But, given my recent experience with the benefits of deadlines, I wonder, does timeless learning exclude time altogether? Or are the two notions of time and timelessness compatible somehow?
    Like most things in life, this is not an either-or exclusion question, but more of a way of clarifying complementary halves in a whole. Time has a role in human existence because human life is short, precarious and full of distractions and choices. I have often read Tibetan Buddhist texts which exhort people to protect their human life, seeing it as a precious opportunity that rarely comes upon sentient life. Keeping track of what we do with time does have a role, because we just don't know where consciousness will go in the next life, and what form it will take, so there is a need to reflect on how one uses time. Do we use time to generate beneficial things, or might we be using it to satisfy short-lived cravings? Is our time spent pleasing our desires or fancies, or is it used to get a glimpse into an inconceivable mind? Practice requires an earnestness and a sense of gravity in the face of time, and using time wisely is an aspect of merit that can't be overlooked.
   It seems that time itself can become a timeless practice when the moments are honored and respected holistically. I think this means making wise choices about how to use time and then immersing in those moments timelessly with a sense of abandon. Without a sense of the timeless, we could not enter this sacred space of moments, and time itself would just be a series of disjointed tasks that have no coherence or flow. But without the sense of time, it can be easy for the 'timeless' to become a wandering, yawning void. Sometimes, we have to be appreciative of our pressing deadlines, while not making an idol out of its small achievements.

The Ultimate Hoax

 Brave New Jersey is a fictional movie which was inspired by the real life misunderstanding that people had that Martians were invading during the Orson Welles' broadcast of War of the Worlds. The story concerns a group of people living in a small town called "Lullabye", and who slowly learn about the alien invasion through their radios. I find it to be a commentary not only on how people create the news using their own imagination, but also on how aspirations are often built on the scantiest threads of evidence. Though the characters eventually come to realize that they are not in fact being invaded by Martians, the panic that ensues forces them face to face with the frailty of their relationships and faiths, as well as giving them a window to aspire to change and do 'bold' things with their lives. In the end, human nature itself seems to trump over the so-called 'truth' of the story, as the characters come to terms with their true loyalties and devotions in the midst of crisis.
   This story has made me somehow wonder; why has the search for an ultimate 'truth' been such an obsession with people these days, and what does that obsession do to people? I have heard a lot recently about 'fake news' in the news (!) and the paradox of that sentence appals me just now. How can media label other media as false or misleading, without revealing its own precarious credibility? Can there ever be an ultimate 'truth' criteria for something that is currently changing and evolving all the time? I don't mean to sound like a relativist on this one, but I am really asking whether we can ever rest in the sense of certainty and trust, when even the most reliable research can be fallible and subject to continual skepticism and reinterpretation. Facts can be 'reinvented' or re-contextualized to suit all kinds of hidden agendas, so is there any resting in one version of the truth?
    I am theorizing that whenever we cling to one understanding of the "truth" to the point where it seems unavoidable and menacing, then we are most likely creating a dogma that will cause suffering. The same goes for the opposite quest for heaven or a kind of salvific guarantee. In both cases, what people miss is how they are being in that moment with others. Somehow that element of inter-being or relating gets sacrificed to a dogmatic pursuit of the 'truth' (as symbolized by the evasive "Martians" in the movie). It also leads to a kind of ruthless, take-no-prisoners attitude toward life, and a false view that one can achieve security by eliminating a perceived enemy or threat. In many ways, Brave New Jersey touches on these themes, because it allegorically looks at the way people respond to each other in the face of a kind of incontrovertible, unavoidable crisis or threat. While it turns out that the actual 'threat' is not real, what is real is what people create with each other when they are in a state of fear and panic, as well as the choices that people make when they are not in a state of panic. In both cases, people choose who they want to be together. This human factor is easily lost in the shuffle of emergency, but it's the reality that the townspeople ultimately need to return to when all the dust settles and they can see things with cooler minds and attitudes.

Being At Home Everywhere

What does it mean to 'be at home everywhere?' Does it mean being comfortable at all times or at ease in all situations? I remember the philosopher Marcus Aurelius remarking in his Meditations that one needn't have a literal vacation if their mind is always in a resting mode in all places. In the same way, perhaps being at home everywhere is a metaphor for the acceptance of all situations, pleasant or unpleasant, without the expectation of needing to return to something simpler or 'better.'
   I think what is interesting for me is to ask the question "compared with what?" whenever I am experiencing vexations or having some doubts. If I am feeling dissatisfaction with the present state of things, chances are that I am transposing that experience onto a vision (conscious or unconscious) of how things ought to be. This kind of situation causes me to conflict with the present moment. If, for instance, I see the chocolate ice cream and see an even bigger chocolate sundae, I will constantly be comparing the first with the second and then concluding that it is less than the latter. But if I then take that same experience and compare it to something that seems less pleasant to me, then that former experience seems better. But then we can inquire into this kind of situation even further: even if I find that the second thought is more desirable than the first, does that necessarily mean that it's what I truly want? This is where the inquiry becomes more nuanced, I think.
   A person might see someone else and completely admire them, but I have observed in myself that this admiration doesn't necessarily connect with wanting to be another person. For example, I have often admired people who are popular and extroverted, simply because they seem to attract people wherever they are and never seem to tire of the company of others. However, if you asked me whether I want to be an extrovert, I wouldn't be sure what to answer, because there are so many factors behind being anything. While extroverts enjoy the energy of others, it's not always blissful to be around people. On the whole, I often begin to feel that I am who I am because this is in part what I can handle at the moment, even though I am always subject to change.
 From the perspective of contemplative practice, being at home might amount to going beyond comparisons and having an attitude of continual discovery. This is to say: whatever is in the present moment has never happened before, and it is worth discovering and being curious about it. This is quite different from comparison, which is often based on memory and tends to categorize things relative to others.

Conflict

    Reflecting on how things balance delicately amidst conflicting tensions and polarities can be a valuable social and mental skill. I have learned a lot about how this kind of gentle beholding of tensions is a valuable aspect of knowing why I have conflicts, using a model of conflicting commitments as suggested by the writings of Robert Kegan.
    Approaching conflict from the perspective of interdependence, one might begin to realize that conflict is a very delicate knot. Sometimes, just like any knot, it's best not to move to swiftly to get rid of the knot, and nor is it a good idea to leave it without trying to deal with it in some way.
  Reflective practice is not necessarily about trying to solve problems or to prove one's mental acumen in doing so. A perhaps more interesting application of reflection is to move through life without a mentality of trying to separate one's being from conflict, but to see the conflict itself as fertile soil for spiritual cultivation. This seems to require a certain attitude of gentle appreciation for conflict.
   Sometimes it may seem that there was only really one 'right answer' and one may or may not have missed the boat on it, but behind every 'right' or 'wrong', there was a delicate process that went into one's actions and decisions. To try to break through one's internal conflicts and misgivings is to sidestep some valuable lessons contained in our competing commitments. Tolerating ambiguity and being able to see that 'both sides are right, in some ways', is already a kind of valuable social skill, in the sense that it loosens attachment to the self and particular views. It can also allow for a more realistic assessment regarding how to move through conflicts and still be able to accomplish things.

"Delicious" Moments

  After the group meditation tonight, the main facilitator had asked the group, 'what is your most delicious moment?' He was asking the question in the context of a sharing that quite often, people are asked to introduce themselves by way of a) what they do (usually for a living, alas) and, b) what they like to eat. Imagine what it would be like to ask the same question only looking at it in terms of moments. This kind of question gave everyone the opportunity to share in the context of what it means to meditate.
   I am not too sure what the most delicious moment is for me, but I did mention those moments in the course of my guided instruction when I am able to let go of the inner judge who is always looking from a supposedly 'objective' distance. Of course, this inner judge represents the effort to control experiences to my liking, or at least to give myself some feeling of invulnerability and authority. When I start to dislike who I am and what instructions I am providing during the group meditation, I then start to withdraw from everyone as though they were judging me. In fact, it's only myself in that moment who is providing the judgments and commentary. Even if someone else were doing so, I would be the one to decide whether such comments are valid or not.
   What it comes down to for me is to know that I always can choose to allow an experience to arise as it is rather than letting it go according to a supposed master script. Sometimes this might feel awkward because it allows people to provide a space for others to know them, which also creates vulnerability. If I am 'directing' the movie of my life, I can edit or modify everything according to my personal liking, but then this is no longer a valid relation to life. Taken to an extreme, this excessive planning mentality of trying to direct or control one's life eventually becomes a kind of farce. It's not only that most events are not that easily controllable, but that even the efforts to do so results in a kind of mechanical way of thinking.

Afflictions and Prajna

.,    During the group meditation sitting today, we talked about the themes of affliction and wisdom, and how discovering affliction in itself is a kind of wisdom that doesn't involve seeking wisdom or even substituting wisdom for affliction. I have to admit that I find this teaching hard to practice, much less realize, because I am in the habit if thinking that afflictions need to be removed in order for wisdom to be realized. Part of it has to do with a somewhat Puritan tendency to see that problems need to be stopped on their tracks through some kind of dedication or hard work. We talk about 'overcoming' addictions and attachments the same way that engineers talk about building dams to redirect bodies of water. In this sense, 'wisdom' is viewed as a project or as something that one needs to attain or achieve.
      The other way of viewing wisdom is something that is already inherent in being, but is often not apparent due to the mind moving according to affliction. I used the example tonight of looking at someone else's anger. If I see that person's anger as something that is bad or needs to be avoided, I am often actually creating an affliction myself, and then often projecting that afflicted state onto someone else. If on the other hand I am simply not moved by this expression, I might be able to see that there is no opposition between me and the anger in someone else. In fact, if I take a calm view of the anger and can see that I make so many similar mistakes in my own life, I cannot help but feel compassion, and I am no longer inclined to judge the other person based on my own afflicted states.
   The best way to look at this is to perhaps view affliction as the seeds of future wisdom. If something is causing me suffering now, I only need to look at it a bit longer and realize that it can be faced with a calm and collected mind. Affliction then becomes wisdom when I learn how to observe it in others and start to engage compassionately with it rather than trying to dismiss it or have a defensive view of it. In a sense, the difficulties I have with afflictions become the seeds for future wise actions. But it seems like this can only happen when I am not tightly bound to my afflictions or adamantly against them at the same time.

Contemplative Views of Decision Making

I am trying to deconstruct what makes decisions so difficult, and I think that there are several reasons for it. As I indicated in my previous blog entry, however, a contemplative method of decision making might begin to ground the mind a little bit. When I say 'contemplative', I am talking not just about meditating prior to making a decision (which is a great idea, I think), but also how decisions can be viewed contemplatively so that they don't appear as onerous or frightening in an overwhelming sort of way.
   Perhaps I should divide my entry into six major principles, which arise from my own personal experience of what decision making feels and looks like for me. They are as follows:

1) Stay close to the everyday roots of things.While decisions may seem like life-changing situations, they often refer to realities which are closer to the ground of experience in the everyday world. It seems not so necessary to cloud the whole process with abstract ideas which only add layers of unnecessary meaning or verbiage to the decision. For example, if I am deciding whether to embark on a trip that will cost a lot of money, I don't need to couch it as 'insufficient good karma', or something of that sort, when the solution might be saving money here and there or adjusting one's view of what 'costly' is. It might even involve taking an inventory of one's spending habits, to see if some things can be forsaken without loss of life or limb. The point is that it's not so necessary to add so many discursive judgments about the process when in fact there are actions one can do in the moment to alleviate suffering for everyone and make the plan run in a harmonious way. This seems to correspond with a contemplative aspect of directly contemplating the experiences in themselves as they are without adding dualistic concepts.

2) No decision is ever 'once for all', 'all or nothing' absolute. This idea corresponds, to my thinking, with the Buddhist notion of upekkha, or 'equanimity', which I believe also translates to the wisdom of non-attachment to views. One could say that any decision one makes it not carved in stone. It is one stroke which can easily change to something else over time, and it is always part of a deeper and multilayered tapestry of actions. While some decisions do in fact have deep repercussions and even fall-outs at times, decisions are always part of a never-ending flow of events. To put great store on one choice one makes is often reflective of an attachment to a notion of 'everlasting bliss': "now that I made that choice, I will always be safe, and at least I didn't make that other disastrous one". While this idea of delighting in one's choices seems pretty innocuous, it leads to the suffering that comes from fear of making a wrong or misguided future choice, or even 'fear of falling' from one's present state of 'bliss'. In fact, notions such as 'hell' and 'bliss' are only values that we create and then assign to our experiences, and they too can be modified through imagination or at least a calmer mind. An alternate perspective is to be mindful of the attachment to the view of what a choice means, and to perhaps be a little bit questioning or discerning of that attachment, rather than falling for the seductive fantasy of 'the right/wrong' choice, which so pervades culture and media.

3) Decisions are only moments in a continual state of flux. As mentioned in the second principle, decisions are always made in the midst of impermanence, and even the emotional effects of decisions are bound to fall away as well. Schopenhauer at one point suggests in The Wisdom of Life that happiness itself is not much more than a negative state of 'relief from suffering', which eventually abates once the source of suffering itself has cleared. This is just to say that decisions are a string of many long decisions which require constant maintenance and awareness. There is no such thing as making one big decision and 'that's it', because there will always be new conditions arising all the time, and it's not in our control to fix arrangements one way, or even to know for certain what lies ahead.

4) Work with what one knows and can do. At the same time, decision making is not a passive event of just watching conditions come and go. Rather, it involves seeing where one can take an active role in bettering conditions and streamlining processes, as well as knowing what one doesn't know, and being open to new information coming in. Good planning and thoughtful reflection can always lead to a wiser appraisal of how to face the conditions, but again, it doesn't mean that one is in control of the outcome all the time.

5) Anticipate Adjustments. Good plans always come with contingency routes, as well as the ability to ask, "What could go wrong?" "What is the worst that can happen, and how do I face that possibility?"

6) Still working on it... None of the previous five ideas about decision making mean or entail that I have overcome any anxieties, hesitations or doubts I have when it comes to making them. In fact, the ability to hold one's anxiety with compassion is one good (and very mindful) strategy when making difficult choices. This again, relates to the notion that decisions can sometimes bring us close to a natural humility, where we truly come to face and accept the unknown as well as the greater forces that move through life, rather than succumbing to comforting illusions of control and omniscience.