With all the recent deadlines I have been experiencing at work as well as new learning opportunities elsewhere, it's important for me to pause and reflect on my attitudes toward time. Is time something that people accumulate, as in "clocking one's hours"? Or are there healthier ways of looking at our relationships with time?
A culture that is obsessed with time and deadlines operates under one implicit belief, and that is, "there is one time, and one time only: it's now or never." I have to admit that this mentality can be helpful for people who procrastinate, since it encourages them to let go of the illusion that there is ever a future tense, or a moment when it "will" happen. However, when taken to an extreme, such an idea about time can lead to a hurried attitude toward life. I keep trying to accumulate what I think will give me more satisfaction and security, not recognizing all the while that such conferring is entirely human made. A "degree" in a certain academic subject is not a universal "conferring" of one's personal value or worth, yet how often does one pursue such things under the implied notion that it's a static object that is being pursued?
Perhaps a healthier attitude is not to have any particular notion of time. If something needs to be done, then for sure we schedule that event, but we might keep in mind that in fact there is nothing that really needs doing, since there are infinite possibilities. If I bound myself to one particular set of habitual actions, I am really only committing myself to a habit-- one which can in turn be switched to something else when the need arises. In this way, I don't focus on the number of things I do but on the endless possibilities that are in each moment that can be done. This way, my attitude is more open and relaxed, with less need to rush.
It's hard to keep this space where one can enjoy moments without thinking of endless tasks. I suppose it can be helpful to reflect on how completing a task is never a guarantee or "safety" but is only one part of a larger state of flowing with conditions.
Friday, March 23, 2018
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Illusions of Control
There is always a tendency to blame oneself when things go wrong, and I have observed this in myself especially. When work is piling up, I tend to overcompensate by doing much more than I am physically capable of taking on at any given time, under the belief that somehow this will "get things under control." In reality, however, this only solidifies the illusion of a self that was in control to begin with.
During the group meditation tonight, we had this discussion related to how the mind tricks a person into believing that physical attributes which are passed down via evolution can tell people how they choose partners in life. The point of this discussion was in fact to suggest that all thoughts are somewhat delusional, because they are always only partial insights, similar to blind people encountering one part of the elephant. A thought is always by its very nature limited in scope: it cannot innovate or think new thoughts, as it's only one pathway that the brain happens to make. One of the biggest tricks that one's culture plays is in thinking that there is ever an "end" when we finally understand things definitively, thus maintaining a sense of control. In fact, phenomena are constantly subject to change and revision, and the only thing we can do is honor the commitments we have to others as they are happening in this moment.
During the group meditation tonight, we had this discussion related to how the mind tricks a person into believing that physical attributes which are passed down via evolution can tell people how they choose partners in life. The point of this discussion was in fact to suggest that all thoughts are somewhat delusional, because they are always only partial insights, similar to blind people encountering one part of the elephant. A thought is always by its very nature limited in scope: it cannot innovate or think new thoughts, as it's only one pathway that the brain happens to make. One of the biggest tricks that one's culture plays is in thinking that there is ever an "end" when we finally understand things definitively, thus maintaining a sense of control. In fact, phenomena are constantly subject to change and revision, and the only thing we can do is honor the commitments we have to others as they are happening in this moment.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Push and Pull of Expectations
There is an interesting tension to explore between having expectations and having "none". Most people tend to associate "having no expectations" with a kind of freedom. For example, if I am buying a new stereo with no expectations regarding how it should sound, then naturally I won't feel bad if it doesn't sound as good as the others. However, the idea that having no expectations is "liberating" is a bit misleading. What "no expectations" often translates to is a kind of unwillingness to share in the emotions of others. In that sense, not having any expectations might be concealing a desire to avoid struggles altogether.
It seems that the best expectations are the ones that are truly shared between people. By this, I mean that the expectation translates to concern and responsibility. In the case of being part of a spiritual organization, expectations are not just flights of fancy, but they are made concrete by the day to day decisions and operations of many working in tandem. Sharing expectations does not mean that people feel the same way, or are telepathically in tune with others. Rather, it relates more to a sense of having to take steps in doing things and make small efforts in a shared vision. This seems to me to be a kind of channeling of one's natural tendency to dream into something that is not entirely predictable and might not even suit people's whims of the moment. Yet, somehow, what makes the shared dream special is precisely that it is not meant to cater to the ego; it's a kind of project in which people are gradually relinquishing their desire to control every emotional state they have in service of a bigger ideal.
It seems that the best expectations are the ones that are truly shared between people. By this, I mean that the expectation translates to concern and responsibility. In the case of being part of a spiritual organization, expectations are not just flights of fancy, but they are made concrete by the day to day decisions and operations of many working in tandem. Sharing expectations does not mean that people feel the same way, or are telepathically in tune with others. Rather, it relates more to a sense of having to take steps in doing things and make small efforts in a shared vision. This seems to me to be a kind of channeling of one's natural tendency to dream into something that is not entirely predictable and might not even suit people's whims of the moment. Yet, somehow, what makes the shared dream special is precisely that it is not meant to cater to the ego; it's a kind of project in which people are gradually relinquishing their desire to control every emotional state they have in service of a bigger ideal.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Esoteric Practices
This morning, I was reading chapter 45 of Master Sheng Yen's Common Questions on the Practice of Buddhism, called "Esoteric Buddhism and the Fate of Buddhism". This chapter describes the way that esoteric Buddhism tends to rely on the special powers of teachers, which can make it particularly vulnerable to straying from the Buddha's actual teachings. As I was reading this chapter, what struck me was how appealing it is to find a personal teacher who somehow speaks to one's own personal affinities and interests. I also begin to wonder, why might charismatic leadership have a large role to play in the way people are attracted to Buddhist or other spiritual teachings?
One particular answer I was reflecting on is the potentially psychotherapeutic dynamic that might sometimes happen between a guru and a student. Rather than simply serving to point to one's mind, spiritual teachers might also serve the purpose of providing missing or incomplete roles from a student's childhood, such as that of a parental figure, while gradually subverting or weaning the student off such relationships. Particularly in the case of tantric practices (of which I profess to know very little), I do wonder whether the supposed completion of male and female energies might correspond to or at least appeal to someone whose personal dynamics with the opposite sex might be underdeveloped or somehow unresolved. Could it be that some of these practices mirror a "rapprochement" that might resolve old issues from a person's past, or at least in one's current relationships?
Many Buddhist practitioners shy away from more esoteric practices. However, I do have to wonder whether having such practices or even knowing they exist might serve as a repository for unfinished or incomplete emotions--almost serving as a kind of shadow where one's transgressions are played out, yet "in the safety of one's mind" rather than being enacted. Eventually, one matures away from these incomplete emotions when one realizes (perhaps to one's disappointment) that there isn't really an all-knowing caregiver who is able to fulfill such desires whenever one wants them. In this way, one safely lands back to the Four Noble Truths, yet much more empowered not to revisit the past hopes of an all-knowing, omnipotent parental figure who can buffer one from such truths.
ShengYen (2017). Common Questions on the Practice of Buddhism. New York: Sheng Yen Education Foundation
One particular answer I was reflecting on is the potentially psychotherapeutic dynamic that might sometimes happen between a guru and a student. Rather than simply serving to point to one's mind, spiritual teachers might also serve the purpose of providing missing or incomplete roles from a student's childhood, such as that of a parental figure, while gradually subverting or weaning the student off such relationships. Particularly in the case of tantric practices (of which I profess to know very little), I do wonder whether the supposed completion of male and female energies might correspond to or at least appeal to someone whose personal dynamics with the opposite sex might be underdeveloped or somehow unresolved. Could it be that some of these practices mirror a "rapprochement" that might resolve old issues from a person's past, or at least in one's current relationships?
Many Buddhist practitioners shy away from more esoteric practices. However, I do have to wonder whether having such practices or even knowing they exist might serve as a repository for unfinished or incomplete emotions--almost serving as a kind of shadow where one's transgressions are played out, yet "in the safety of one's mind" rather than being enacted. Eventually, one matures away from these incomplete emotions when one realizes (perhaps to one's disappointment) that there isn't really an all-knowing caregiver who is able to fulfill such desires whenever one wants them. In this way, one safely lands back to the Four Noble Truths, yet much more empowered not to revisit the past hopes of an all-knowing, omnipotent parental figure who can buffer one from such truths.
ShengYen (2017). Common Questions on the Practice of Buddhism. New York: Sheng Yen Education Foundation
Monday, March 19, 2018
A Ghost Town
The trip to Niagara on Sunday felt like a trip through time. The escarpment was full of different trails, many of which involved and slippery terrain. There were times when I experienced a kind of vertigo as I approached the running water of the Niagara River, and even times when I felt that human beings are incredibly tiny compared with the rest of the planet as a whole. If anyone ever wants to feel an accurate size perspective of humans compared to the natural world, they could perhaps do no better than to go to the Adam Welbeck power station and look down at the power facilities below as well as the hydroelectric dam. There is such a feeling of being overwhelmed and yet also seeing a realistic view of how people compare with the planet they live in.
All of this reminds me of the idea that Francis Cook mentions in his book Jewel Net of Indra that European portraiture often evokes closeness, whereas Eastern landscape paintings tend to position people as smaller elements in a much larger whole, which stretches back through eons of geologic and cosmological time. Those who are most accustomed to reading "human stories" close-up might feel disheartened when faced with the size of humans compared to the tallest mountains or the deepest escarpments. On the other hand, there is a kind of cathartic feeling that comes with not taking the human world so close up, and contextualizing human quarrels and woes in the context of a greater landscape. Going to places which illustrate the geological periods of history can often contextualize human life as a brief pinpoint compared to the greater dramas that have taken place over millions of years. It somehow makes me realize that my life (and life in general) is a precious miracle, not to be squandered on small worries and obsessions.
As if to reinforce this last point, I had the opportunity to visit the stores at Niagara on a Monday morning, only to find so few people living there and shopping compared to what I have seen in Toronto. I also noticed that many of the store fronts reflected businesses that were closing or recently relocated. I wondered if the town was doing okay in the economy we live in today. The only life I could find, perhaps, was that of a dog who was chained to a post in front of what looked to be the only public library. When I touched the dog, I could see that it was shivering, and had such a look of forlorn on its face. That look remained with me throughout the day. I think it stands for the universal sense that all living beings are bound by a slender and fragile thread of community. Even in the most thinly populated places, people long for community, and that longing keeps people together in spite of time's march.
All of this reminds me of the idea that Francis Cook mentions in his book Jewel Net of Indra that European portraiture often evokes closeness, whereas Eastern landscape paintings tend to position people as smaller elements in a much larger whole, which stretches back through eons of geologic and cosmological time. Those who are most accustomed to reading "human stories" close-up might feel disheartened when faced with the size of humans compared to the tallest mountains or the deepest escarpments. On the other hand, there is a kind of cathartic feeling that comes with not taking the human world so close up, and contextualizing human quarrels and woes in the context of a greater landscape. Going to places which illustrate the geological periods of history can often contextualize human life as a brief pinpoint compared to the greater dramas that have taken place over millions of years. It somehow makes me realize that my life (and life in general) is a precious miracle, not to be squandered on small worries and obsessions.
As if to reinforce this last point, I had the opportunity to visit the stores at Niagara on a Monday morning, only to find so few people living there and shopping compared to what I have seen in Toronto. I also noticed that many of the store fronts reflected businesses that were closing or recently relocated. I wondered if the town was doing okay in the economy we live in today. The only life I could find, perhaps, was that of a dog who was chained to a post in front of what looked to be the only public library. When I touched the dog, I could see that it was shivering, and had such a look of forlorn on its face. That look remained with me throughout the day. I think it stands for the universal sense that all living beings are bound by a slender and fragile thread of community. Even in the most thinly populated places, people long for community, and that longing keeps people together in spite of time's march.
Friday, March 16, 2018
Thinking Forward
The entire scientific idea of "looking for a cause" is so antithetical to a lot of what I am reading in Chan Buddhism. And I do wonder if perhaps the academic world is catching up to the idea that the world is not driven by single causes, but by a whole vast array of interrelated variables which is referred to as causes and conditions.
When planning things, one is often under one impression about how it's going to go, not realizing that the plan only exists in that single moment or span of time. We have such an example at work, where the system's database is not functioning the way anyone could have imagined in the beginning. Yet, lacking in any prior knowledge or information, we sketch an outline of what we think things might look like. In almost all situations, what a person can create in a moment cannot capture all the scenarios of what could happen later.
If a person recognizes that plans are only hypothetical and tentative (in fact, similar to experiments), then there is no strict blueprint for how a person should feel or think. In fact, like any form of research, what a person plans is only a guess as to what could happen. If I am approaching plans from the perspective of what outcomes I want to arise, I had been leave a sufficient margin for things to be somewhat different. This is because the conditions in which I formulate a plan are always limited to the information and experience I have in that moment.
When planning things, one is often under one impression about how it's going to go, not realizing that the plan only exists in that single moment or span of time. We have such an example at work, where the system's database is not functioning the way anyone could have imagined in the beginning. Yet, lacking in any prior knowledge or information, we sketch an outline of what we think things might look like. In almost all situations, what a person can create in a moment cannot capture all the scenarios of what could happen later.
If a person recognizes that plans are only hypothetical and tentative (in fact, similar to experiments), then there is no strict blueprint for how a person should feel or think. In fact, like any form of research, what a person plans is only a guess as to what could happen. If I am approaching plans from the perspective of what outcomes I want to arise, I had been leave a sufficient margin for things to be somewhat different. This is because the conditions in which I formulate a plan are always limited to the information and experience I have in that moment.
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Material Issues
During the group meditation's "walking" session tonight, I was somehow inspired to talk about the way that all the different paces of life (slow walking, fast walking, gradual increases and decreases) can be encompassed in an overall totality of mind, if we choose to cultivate the subtle interconnection underlying these different experiences. Of course, I have some difficulty really articulating this idea, but I think that the idea is to see things in a balanced way, using a method to lessen attachments. When seen in this way, "fast" and "slow" are just different styles of being, and they aren't that much different from each other in their essence. Meditation can thus allow oneself to be more supple and accommodating toward these different gradations of being.
The point that I want to make has nothing to do with this. Recently, I have been reflecting on a band I had liked as a teenager called Material Issue. They were very well known for pop songs that have a catchy feel to them, and I have to say that their album International Pop Overthrow was a cassette that I had played many, many times. One of the songs, "A Very Good Idea" talks about a person who is asking his love not to break his heart, even though the lyrics suggest that this person already has. 25 years later, I somehow feel ambivalent toward the singer, Jim Ellison, who committed suicide when he was quite young (only 31 years of age, in fact). In my mind, I connect this singer's untimely passing to the yearning quality found in many of his songs. Somehow, I also feel this kind of longing in his voice when I hear it, to this day.
I am not particularly fond of the kinds of attachments that Ellison writes about in his songs. In general, I have come to a certain age where I can accept life's ups and downs more than I could when I was a fan of Material Issue as a teenager. In fact, I tend to think that the longings that Ellison is describing (loneliness?) is something that should not be indulged too much: it can get very self--destructive and counter-productive to what a person needs. If a person pines after someone he lost or hurt him, could it be that it wasn't the right partner for him? My reasoning mind tends to kick in when listening to this song these days. However, what remains and leaves a powerful impression is how raw and honest Ellison's voice is, and how it expresses a certain kind of lucidity that adolescents can empathize with. What remains is not the kinds of attachments that Ellison is talking about (to failed loves) but rather the authenticity of the voice itself: this person is willing to stick to his guns and express how he really feels, even when a lot of those feelings are doomed to be unresolved.
To go back to my original theme: no matter what thoughts come to mind when a person is walking, the importance turns out not to be the content of the thoughts but rather the manner in which one's actions flow and interconnect into one totality. If I look to find ways to resolve my thinking, I will only end up becoming attached to them, but if I am willing to see their raw spontaneity in that moment, then my priority shifts toward simply being present and connected. I appreciate Ellison not for what he strove to attain in his songs (somehow, I suspect, an unattainable perfection), but rather the rawness of what he was feeling and experiencing, which suggests to me someone who was true to his inner life and feelings. And I do believe that this is also what can happen when a person slows down and appreciates something simple like walking. Suddenly, the objects of one's thoughts are much less important than the rawness of the present circumstances in which those thoughts arose in the first place.
The point that I want to make has nothing to do with this. Recently, I have been reflecting on a band I had liked as a teenager called Material Issue. They were very well known for pop songs that have a catchy feel to them, and I have to say that their album International Pop Overthrow was a cassette that I had played many, many times. One of the songs, "A Very Good Idea" talks about a person who is asking his love not to break his heart, even though the lyrics suggest that this person already has. 25 years later, I somehow feel ambivalent toward the singer, Jim Ellison, who committed suicide when he was quite young (only 31 years of age, in fact). In my mind, I connect this singer's untimely passing to the yearning quality found in many of his songs. Somehow, I also feel this kind of longing in his voice when I hear it, to this day.
I am not particularly fond of the kinds of attachments that Ellison writes about in his songs. In general, I have come to a certain age where I can accept life's ups and downs more than I could when I was a fan of Material Issue as a teenager. In fact, I tend to think that the longings that Ellison is describing (loneliness?) is something that should not be indulged too much: it can get very self--destructive and counter-productive to what a person needs. If a person pines after someone he lost or hurt him, could it be that it wasn't the right partner for him? My reasoning mind tends to kick in when listening to this song these days. However, what remains and leaves a powerful impression is how raw and honest Ellison's voice is, and how it expresses a certain kind of lucidity that adolescents can empathize with. What remains is not the kinds of attachments that Ellison is talking about (to failed loves) but rather the authenticity of the voice itself: this person is willing to stick to his guns and express how he really feels, even when a lot of those feelings are doomed to be unresolved.
To go back to my original theme: no matter what thoughts come to mind when a person is walking, the importance turns out not to be the content of the thoughts but rather the manner in which one's actions flow and interconnect into one totality. If I look to find ways to resolve my thinking, I will only end up becoming attached to them, but if I am willing to see their raw spontaneity in that moment, then my priority shifts toward simply being present and connected. I appreciate Ellison not for what he strove to attain in his songs (somehow, I suspect, an unattainable perfection), but rather the rawness of what he was feeling and experiencing, which suggests to me someone who was true to his inner life and feelings. And I do believe that this is also what can happen when a person slows down and appreciates something simple like walking. Suddenly, the objects of one's thoughts are much less important than the rawness of the present circumstances in which those thoughts arose in the first place.
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