This evening, I was unable to attend group meditation sitting due to planning work system testing the following day. As with many situations where I miss the group sitting, I often feel anxiety and loneliness. The group meditation is such an authentic and nurturing space for me to check in with my body, my mind and those around me who are also doing the same. I have often reflected that meditation in a group has become my social life, and that it is almost the perfect social life for those who do suffer anxieties, whether they relate to being with others or parting from others. (In fact, I believe that these latter two are sides of the same coin). However, I told myself that this evening, I would make the best of my time away from the meditation group, and my work planning itself became a meditative practice. Instead of feeling "rushed" or hurried between various meetings as often happens at work, I was able to reflect by myself what kinds of tests I needed to perform to ensure that it is thorough and accurate. While I did feel regret in not being able to meditate with the group, being away from them allowed me to feel natural gratitude.
This vignette has made me reflect on a few things. One is the very familiar question of how work becomes meditative, especially when there are numerous social pressures to accomplish things quickly in a very small time frame. The second aspect is that of gratitude itself. Have you ever wondered why we say that we don't know what we have until we don't have it? I think the reason is that when a person has something, they are often too in a rush to really understand what it is and to enjoy it. But when a person has time away from it, they realize that it was their choice all along to have it in their life; it just so happened that they could not see the value that it had to them. By being away, one's mind is not swept up in the rush of things, and is better able to contemplate the good things they have. I think real gratitude precisely arises from the ability to slow down and feel the gifts that are in a person's life.
The sad thing, I think, is that in a very affluent society where there are many opportunities to enjoy so many things, one rarely gets a chance to savor a few things that are very important or mean something. It seems that even knowing something that well requires the discipline of a routine: spending a long time, if not even a lifetime, cultivating one or two things that are meaningful and knowing the ins and outs, ups and downs, of that experience. The group meditation is one example of a practice that I have found not only useful in itself but also a nurturing community which supports spiritual learning and practice.
In fact, I think this is why many seasoned meditation practitioners say they love the pain of meditation. It's not that the pain is diminished over time, but that it starts to take on a deeper meaning in context of the practice that is being cultivated as well as the diminished sense of self/entitlement that hopefully can arise over time.
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
A Well Rounded Education
When we talk about "well rounded", we tend to mean someone who knows a bit of everything, in many subject areas. But when I personally think of well rounded, I do imagine people who can weather different kinds of cycles and seasons of life. Their shoulders are "round": meaning that they are able to carry different kinds of things on their backs, and their weight is spread evenly across their bodies. Of course, this is a metaphor, but it seems to be about facing the whole character and not flinching from even the shadow aspects of the self, even when a person is terrified of those aspects.
In Buddhist philosophy, the metaphor of the lotus flower in the mud is one way of expressing how every situation, no matter how dire, is actually fertilizer for the growing plant. It's not about trying to separate good from bad or to suppress anything, but it's about clearly knowing not to identify ourselves with the material. This is hard to do, because even in movies and media, there is a tendency to want to punish things that people dislike or disown and reward the "good stuff". The problem with this is that we tend to depict this very triumph of good vs evil as something inherently violent. It is as though one disowns the violence by putting it forth onto others. I see this kind of retaliatory dynamic happen a lot, and it reflects the struggle to purge what is unsavory about ourselves and project it onto others. On the other hand, if a person can be truly okay with the material that comes to mind and not see themselves as "that" (simultaneous not identifying yet beholding), then there isn't a need to take it out on someone else. That someone else is just another voice in ourselves, or in the mind itself. There is no need to even feel bad; just feel okay about whatever feelings are emerging and not judge it as pure or impure, and then one begins to see it as shifting energy.
In Buddhist philosophy, the metaphor of the lotus flower in the mud is one way of expressing how every situation, no matter how dire, is actually fertilizer for the growing plant. It's not about trying to separate good from bad or to suppress anything, but it's about clearly knowing not to identify ourselves with the material. This is hard to do, because even in movies and media, there is a tendency to want to punish things that people dislike or disown and reward the "good stuff". The problem with this is that we tend to depict this very triumph of good vs evil as something inherently violent. It is as though one disowns the violence by putting it forth onto others. I see this kind of retaliatory dynamic happen a lot, and it reflects the struggle to purge what is unsavory about ourselves and project it onto others. On the other hand, if a person can be truly okay with the material that comes to mind and not see themselves as "that" (simultaneous not identifying yet beholding), then there isn't a need to take it out on someone else. That someone else is just another voice in ourselves, or in the mind itself. There is no need to even feel bad; just feel okay about whatever feelings are emerging and not judge it as pure or impure, and then one begins to see it as shifting energy.
Monday, February 12, 2018
"Ordinary" Role Models
When I was in a Teaching Writing class with Professor Guy Allen a couple of years ago, I was introduced to two very interesting and influential ideas. The first is, the best way to teach writing is to actually do writing, however badly that writing happens to be. This, by the way, didn't appeal to some the hard core teachers who decided to attend this class. I remember one or two walking out of Professor Allen's class when he explained that his class would not be about "how to teach writing" as much as it is about "how to write".
The second idea that got me was how he used his previous students' writing as a role model for the current class writing. This idea was extremely interesting for me, because it toned down many students' tendencies to want to imitate their favorite writers, who happened to be very accomplished due to many years' dedicated devotion to their craft. Why would Professor Allen choose previous student writing to inspire his class to write? The answer is simple: it's because the model is achievable enough, yet good enough, that the writing practitioner can and wants to imitate it. This balance between "making it challenging" but "not too overwhelming" is not entirely new. It forms the basis of social thinking such as Vygotsky's Zone of Proximal Development theory of learning. However, I found it unique and helpful when it was applied to Professor Allen's model of how to teach up and coming writers.
The idea of realistic social modelling interests me. I have a theory, and that is, when left to their own devices, most people gravitate toward people who are a little bit more accomplished than themselves in certain areas, but not so accomplished that they are considered too "lofty"to be imitated. This balance is hard, of course, but it seems natural for people to want to imitate those whom they know they can imitate to a certain extent. Is it possible that sometimes we admire people not just for their skill in something but also for a sense of goodness or virtue (decency?) that they exude? I am exploring some of these questions recently.
The second idea that got me was how he used his previous students' writing as a role model for the current class writing. This idea was extremely interesting for me, because it toned down many students' tendencies to want to imitate their favorite writers, who happened to be very accomplished due to many years' dedicated devotion to their craft. Why would Professor Allen choose previous student writing to inspire his class to write? The answer is simple: it's because the model is achievable enough, yet good enough, that the writing practitioner can and wants to imitate it. This balance between "making it challenging" but "not too overwhelming" is not entirely new. It forms the basis of social thinking such as Vygotsky's Zone of Proximal Development theory of learning. However, I found it unique and helpful when it was applied to Professor Allen's model of how to teach up and coming writers.
The idea of realistic social modelling interests me. I have a theory, and that is, when left to their own devices, most people gravitate toward people who are a little bit more accomplished than themselves in certain areas, but not so accomplished that they are considered too "lofty"to be imitated. This balance is hard, of course, but it seems natural for people to want to imitate those whom they know they can imitate to a certain extent. Is it possible that sometimes we admire people not just for their skill in something but also for a sense of goodness or virtue (decency?) that they exude? I am exploring some of these questions recently.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Managing Time and Energy
The more that I explore being a student in addition to other roles I am taking on, the more I recognize that it's not just about time management but also "energy" management. Which energies do I currently have at my disposal, and what can be put aside to be done when my energies are different? I have noticed recently that my ability to allocate personal energy is so crucial to managing different priorities.
One of the biggest "drains" of energy is over-inflated expectations, or the tendency to try to plan to do everything in a single night or period of time. This is a big drain because it often involves deliberating on multiple things that need to be done. I need to ask myself the question, at times, can all these things be done with the same level of intensity and enthusiasm? I have found that trying to switch gears between different research topics in one period of time can be quite draining.
Another energy "drain" involves choosing to do something when one doesn't have the specific energy that might best accomplish the action. In the very late evening, for example, I find that writing becomes too difficult a task, and so I do need to switch to something more passive or relaxing, such as reading. Sometimes one just gets a sense of when they have done "enough" of something, and they then need to switch gears or get rest.
It's a mistake to think that pushing past energy blockages is the way to resolve them. Even in meditative traditions, monastic teachers don't generally encourage trying to force oneself not to be tired. Quite the opposite: being less tired might mean having to find other ways to do things while conserving energy. I think the analogy might be that of crop rotation: being able to rotate or switch to a different crop is one way to preserve the soil of an overused crop area, thus replenishing that crop in the long run. Overdoing one thing at the expense of others also lacks the much needed balance between different projects and activities. This is why it's important to examine what can be done given one's overall energy inclinations.
One of the biggest "drains" of energy is over-inflated expectations, or the tendency to try to plan to do everything in a single night or period of time. This is a big drain because it often involves deliberating on multiple things that need to be done. I need to ask myself the question, at times, can all these things be done with the same level of intensity and enthusiasm? I have found that trying to switch gears between different research topics in one period of time can be quite draining.
Another energy "drain" involves choosing to do something when one doesn't have the specific energy that might best accomplish the action. In the very late evening, for example, I find that writing becomes too difficult a task, and so I do need to switch to something more passive or relaxing, such as reading. Sometimes one just gets a sense of when they have done "enough" of something, and they then need to switch gears or get rest.
It's a mistake to think that pushing past energy blockages is the way to resolve them. Even in meditative traditions, monastic teachers don't generally encourage trying to force oneself not to be tired. Quite the opposite: being less tired might mean having to find other ways to do things while conserving energy. I think the analogy might be that of crop rotation: being able to rotate or switch to a different crop is one way to preserve the soil of an overused crop area, thus replenishing that crop in the long run. Overdoing one thing at the expense of others also lacks the much needed balance between different projects and activities. This is why it's important to examine what can be done given one's overall energy inclinations.
Saturday, February 10, 2018
On Being Given a Name
Labels can be quite interesting, in the sense that they can confer a particular status on a person which is either earned or not earned. I have many times felt "shocked" or surprised to be labeled or thought of in a certain way, only to find myself later wondering, is it the act of labeling itself which is a shock, or is it the surprise at the label itself?
I suppose that a lot of this depends on one's attitude toward the name or label. If I think that labels define who I am (whether they are coming from me or someone else) then I am bound to feel somewhat limited by the label itself. If on the other hand I see the label as just a new way of looking at something I never thought about before (or something to ponder), then that very same label is less restrictive and predefining of me. However, I feel it's important to be able to reflect on where the reaction is coming from---that is, what the motive is of the reaction itself.
Quite often, for instance, it's not the labeling process that hurts a person so much as the kind of label one gets, and to what extent it might not resonate with the subconscious labels one might give themselves. It can work in another way too. Suppose, for instance, I am given the label of "genius", when throughout my life, I have labelled myself as stupid or somehow mentally incapable in some way or another. That label of "genius" can be emotionally moving or empowering, because it frames me in a way that might inspire me to feel confident and having more to offer to the world than I had ever imagined previously. But of course, if the label doesn't reflect what could actually happen, then it might prove counterproductive. The point is that it's not being given a label that's limiting so much as the conflict one has between a description of themselves which (perhaps) they don't recognize, and their felt experience or sense of who they are.
I also think that being labeled in a narrow sense can also be mysteriously liberating. If a person has too many ill-defined expectations of themselves and they are given a label that more accurately reflects their passions and aspirations, then this process of labeling can re-align that person's emotional energies. In that sense, labeling might not be all that bad. On the other hand, taking one's labels "literally" is always going to be a bit problematic, because we can never define all our possibilities through one or two words.
I suppose that a lot of this depends on one's attitude toward the name or label. If I think that labels define who I am (whether they are coming from me or someone else) then I am bound to feel somewhat limited by the label itself. If on the other hand I see the label as just a new way of looking at something I never thought about before (or something to ponder), then that very same label is less restrictive and predefining of me. However, I feel it's important to be able to reflect on where the reaction is coming from---that is, what the motive is of the reaction itself.
Quite often, for instance, it's not the labeling process that hurts a person so much as the kind of label one gets, and to what extent it might not resonate with the subconscious labels one might give themselves. It can work in another way too. Suppose, for instance, I am given the label of "genius", when throughout my life, I have labelled myself as stupid or somehow mentally incapable in some way or another. That label of "genius" can be emotionally moving or empowering, because it frames me in a way that might inspire me to feel confident and having more to offer to the world than I had ever imagined previously. But of course, if the label doesn't reflect what could actually happen, then it might prove counterproductive. The point is that it's not being given a label that's limiting so much as the conflict one has between a description of themselves which (perhaps) they don't recognize, and their felt experience or sense of who they are.
I also think that being labeled in a narrow sense can also be mysteriously liberating. If a person has too many ill-defined expectations of themselves and they are given a label that more accurately reflects their passions and aspirations, then this process of labeling can re-align that person's emotional energies. In that sense, labeling might not be all that bad. On the other hand, taking one's labels "literally" is always going to be a bit problematic, because we can never define all our possibilities through one or two words.
Friday, February 9, 2018
The Spirituality of Exhaustion
I am quite tired due to different situations, such as the weather and a fairly busy week. But I have been reflecting that in fact, my schedule isn't that different from anyone else's, and in fact others such as parents would have more responsibilities than I do. Is there a way of observing one's tiredness to better handle it?
I notice that when I observe myself, two things tend to arise. One is that when I feel tired and start to internalize the message of "how tired I am", I will tend to conserve energy rather than exert efforts, thinking I am more occupied than I actually am. When this happens, I will end up feeling more tired, because my attitude has slackened. It's as though I give myself the message that "I am too tired to do anything significant" and my body simply follows. Paradoxically, when I tell myself that I have too many things on the go to be tired (the opposite message), I tend to feel more energetic. This is because I didn't trick myself into believing that my physical state determines how I am going to behave.
This evening, I happen to feel a bit more energetic than usual because I am aware that the weekend will be busy with studies, teaching and retreat combined. But knowing this, I came home much more energized than usual because I am somehow determined to get all these things completed. This is one example of where being busy doesn't necessarily have to make a person feel exhausted. More so, I tell myself that I can handle more than I have imagined, and I end up mustering energy to do each task.
Exhaustion tends to be a mental attitude that comes from taking on too much mentally. I find that I am most exhausted when I am either taking on too many things at once, or trying to be a perfectionist in what I do. Both these attitudes are detrimental to action, because they tend to burden the mind with worrisome thoughts. I tell myself that everything has to be a certain way in order for me to completely function well, when in fact, even in our most alert moments, we are only able to do so much. Accepting what we can do as valid is one way to work with tiredness rather than shouldering too many burdens that can lead to utter exhaustion.
I notice that when I observe myself, two things tend to arise. One is that when I feel tired and start to internalize the message of "how tired I am", I will tend to conserve energy rather than exert efforts, thinking I am more occupied than I actually am. When this happens, I will end up feeling more tired, because my attitude has slackened. It's as though I give myself the message that "I am too tired to do anything significant" and my body simply follows. Paradoxically, when I tell myself that I have too many things on the go to be tired (the opposite message), I tend to feel more energetic. This is because I didn't trick myself into believing that my physical state determines how I am going to behave.
This evening, I happen to feel a bit more energetic than usual because I am aware that the weekend will be busy with studies, teaching and retreat combined. But knowing this, I came home much more energized than usual because I am somehow determined to get all these things completed. This is one example of where being busy doesn't necessarily have to make a person feel exhausted. More so, I tell myself that I can handle more than I have imagined, and I end up mustering energy to do each task.
Exhaustion tends to be a mental attitude that comes from taking on too much mentally. I find that I am most exhausted when I am either taking on too many things at once, or trying to be a perfectionist in what I do. Both these attitudes are detrimental to action, because they tend to burden the mind with worrisome thoughts. I tell myself that everything has to be a certain way in order for me to completely function well, when in fact, even in our most alert moments, we are only able to do so much. Accepting what we can do as valid is one way to work with tiredness rather than shouldering too many burdens that can lead to utter exhaustion.
Thursday, February 8, 2018
Modern Wood Chopping
In our Thursday evening sittings at University of Toronto, I like to keep things simple and easy to understand. When we sit, we are completely sitting and present; when walking, we enjoy the process of walking as though it were "for the very first time". As I was saying to one of the other members and volunteers in the group, there are times when the students will leave for quite a while and then suddenly come back to practice, after many years in a "hiatus" from meditation. We mutually concluded that the complexity of life and its changes can often take a person away from a daily or regular practice of anything, not only meditation.
In Chan and Enlightenment, Master Sheng Yen reminds his audience of a time when life was much simpler for the ancient Chan masters (p.191). He suggests that ancient Chan masters had to practice flexibly in their daily lives by applying their methods to chopping wood, and other chores. While this is wonderful in its simplicity, I do still wonder how the principle of doing things one at a time can apply to certain creative endeavors, where people often think "in parallel" or synthesize different ideas across different disciplines. It can become harder to find time to calm the mind when we are often asked to market ourselves to think beyond our current ways.
It almost seems as though, in the absence of huge blocks of time to go on retreats or even meditate regularly, individuals do need to find ways to at least extend a basic discipline or attitude into their daily life, whether it's mindfully and slowly turning on one's computer at work (as our recent visiting teacher Chang Hu Fashi suggested) or just dropping what we are occupied with to listen to the person beside us. These moments of time are so important because they remind us that we are not our thoughts, as one of the practitioners tonight was suggesting. We may have negative thoughts, but those thoughts are not our true selves.
I may not be exposed in my work to "chopping wood" or carrying wood, as Chan Masters did, but what would be the equivalent in modern contexts? Perhaps it is going to the photocopier to make copies! This too requires full attention and a meaningful presence to prevent our minds from going on autopilot. There are certainly always ways to extend the simplicity of doing one thing at a time, even in our technological world.
Sheng Yen (2014) Chan and Enlightenment. Taipei: Dharma Drum Publications
In Chan and Enlightenment, Master Sheng Yen reminds his audience of a time when life was much simpler for the ancient Chan masters (p.191). He suggests that ancient Chan masters had to practice flexibly in their daily lives by applying their methods to chopping wood, and other chores. While this is wonderful in its simplicity, I do still wonder how the principle of doing things one at a time can apply to certain creative endeavors, where people often think "in parallel" or synthesize different ideas across different disciplines. It can become harder to find time to calm the mind when we are often asked to market ourselves to think beyond our current ways.
It almost seems as though, in the absence of huge blocks of time to go on retreats or even meditate regularly, individuals do need to find ways to at least extend a basic discipline or attitude into their daily life, whether it's mindfully and slowly turning on one's computer at work (as our recent visiting teacher Chang Hu Fashi suggested) or just dropping what we are occupied with to listen to the person beside us. These moments of time are so important because they remind us that we are not our thoughts, as one of the practitioners tonight was suggesting. We may have negative thoughts, but those thoughts are not our true selves.
I may not be exposed in my work to "chopping wood" or carrying wood, as Chan Masters did, but what would be the equivalent in modern contexts? Perhaps it is going to the photocopier to make copies! This too requires full attention and a meaningful presence to prevent our minds from going on autopilot. There are certainly always ways to extend the simplicity of doing one thing at a time, even in our technological world.
Sheng Yen (2014) Chan and Enlightenment. Taipei: Dharma Drum Publications
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