The principle of impermanence can allow a person to relax more into the present circumstances, knowing that things are in continuous flux. It's not necessary to try to grasp a "handle" on every situation, the way that Archimedes might have imagined a lever over the earth. Rather, there is an attitude that no single technique is applicable to every situation.
Knowing there are no ultimate ends, one can rejoice in broken finishes or unexpected results. This is because we aren't falling into the trap of something being "forever enduring". The stories we read in school are mostly related to a state of imbalance (the setting and climax), followed by a presumably steady state (the "happy/unhappy" ending). In reality, there is no such state, and even "retirement" is simply a prelude to something else. There are neither happy nor unhappy endings, since there are overall no real endings at all.
If you look closely at the worse case scenario (whatever that happens to be in your mind), you will find that there is an illusory finish. How many movies have we seen where the hero or villain is cast into a deep well or an underground or inferno at the very end? The inferno seems to symbolize a literal boiling off of the person's identity. Such kind of destruction may feel attractive, in much the same way as getting rid of the clutter of one's mind is refreshing. But is there such a thing? Can a consciousness or mind be boiled to a cinder, or a point of no return? The "grand finale" is the fantasy that everything will resolve in one big flourish. But is that flourish really an ending? This illusory act of ends needs to be contemplated.
Wednesday, May 20, 2020
Tuesday, May 19, 2020
Reading Sutras
Due to a recent translation project for a Tibetan Buddhism collection, I have been reading Pure Land sutras recently. I admire and enjoy the beauty and repetition of the sutras, and sometimes the imagery takes me to different places.
To be honest, however, I have at times felt uncomfortable reading sutras without commentaries. I think part of what makes reading sutras difficult for me is that the descriptions evoke such a sense of vastness that is beyond my comprehension. The way that I have been taught to manage it is to treat sutra reading as a contemplative practice and to literally meditate on the words.
What does it mean to "meditate" on the words? Well, I think it means to enjoy them and read them in a mindful way. Quite often, when I am reading a book, I get caught up in my thoughts about a certain sentence. My fascination is drawn not so much to the book itself as to my thoughts or connections based on the book. At times, I focus more on my sense of meaning than on the words as they come to mind. I think reading sutras requires a more still mind, not one that is racing or jumping from one idea to the next.
An attitude of faith is also helpful--if, by faith, one means a strong conviction in the words. Some people might reflect that the words are in themselves powerful, so they trust their ability to benefit even from merely reciting the words. If one thinks this way, their attitude toward the sutra is more grateful and reverent. The sutra is not meant to be teased out like a puzzle; it has its own power and demeanor that are gleaned from the words themselves.
Reading the sutra aloud, I found, is also helpful. I think it's good to hear oneself saying the words, as a kind of feedback loop. And it convinces me that I am part of the sutra--the words are coming from my mind, and therefore it's not so alien to me. In this way, I connect the images of the sutra to the nature of my mind which is also containing the images. Again, the attitude is not to feel like an outsider because the sutra seems so "vast" but to contemplate that this vastness is always with me, and is awareness itself.
To be honest, however, I have at times felt uncomfortable reading sutras without commentaries. I think part of what makes reading sutras difficult for me is that the descriptions evoke such a sense of vastness that is beyond my comprehension. The way that I have been taught to manage it is to treat sutra reading as a contemplative practice and to literally meditate on the words.
What does it mean to "meditate" on the words? Well, I think it means to enjoy them and read them in a mindful way. Quite often, when I am reading a book, I get caught up in my thoughts about a certain sentence. My fascination is drawn not so much to the book itself as to my thoughts or connections based on the book. At times, I focus more on my sense of meaning than on the words as they come to mind. I think reading sutras requires a more still mind, not one that is racing or jumping from one idea to the next.
An attitude of faith is also helpful--if, by faith, one means a strong conviction in the words. Some people might reflect that the words are in themselves powerful, so they trust their ability to benefit even from merely reciting the words. If one thinks this way, their attitude toward the sutra is more grateful and reverent. The sutra is not meant to be teased out like a puzzle; it has its own power and demeanor that are gleaned from the words themselves.
Reading the sutra aloud, I found, is also helpful. I think it's good to hear oneself saying the words, as a kind of feedback loop. And it convinces me that I am part of the sutra--the words are coming from my mind, and therefore it's not so alien to me. In this way, I connect the images of the sutra to the nature of my mind which is also containing the images. Again, the attitude is not to feel like an outsider because the sutra seems so "vast" but to contemplate that this vastness is always with me, and is awareness itself.
Monday, May 18, 2020
Observing Intensities
Intense emotions such as fear or desire can seem like they last forever or even dominate a person's life. However, I have found that such experiences are short lived and are based on circumstances that are themselves impermanent.
I find that with anxiety in particular, I am at a loss, because anxiety tends to lead to racing thoughts. Sometimes it's a bit like looking at a cloud chamber and seeing all these streaks and swirls on a blank surface. If I am attentive to the whole experience, I find that the panic is often based on lacking sufficient information on how to fully handle the situation. Maybe I am able to face the situation but I haven't accepted it fully because the pieces in the puzzle just aren't there. In those cases, I need to tell myself that there's nothing wrong with "me", only that I am being given a partial view which is incomplete. I can only work with what I know to make the picture more unified later on.
Desire may look like wanting to complete something, but what if it were wanting to avoid the suffering of "not having"? If one could allow that suffering of not having to arise instead of trying desperately to complete the picture of desire, then the desire itself abates. I think it's because desire is seen for what it really is, and it's no longer so desirable.
These two emotions, anxiety and desire, are often very intense. Intensity has a way of clouding the mind and making a person forget the whole picture (see Spinoza). It's no wonder that people often do rash things when they're in the state of these emotions. They are only looking at a tiny fraction of the whole experience of life, like looking at a tiny thread in an enormous tapestry. If a person allows the pain of these two emotions to take their course without searching frantically for a solution, they might tend to make better decisions, because the solution will come later on, when the mind is calm and clear.
I find that with anxiety in particular, I am at a loss, because anxiety tends to lead to racing thoughts. Sometimes it's a bit like looking at a cloud chamber and seeing all these streaks and swirls on a blank surface. If I am attentive to the whole experience, I find that the panic is often based on lacking sufficient information on how to fully handle the situation. Maybe I am able to face the situation but I haven't accepted it fully because the pieces in the puzzle just aren't there. In those cases, I need to tell myself that there's nothing wrong with "me", only that I am being given a partial view which is incomplete. I can only work with what I know to make the picture more unified later on.
Desire may look like wanting to complete something, but what if it were wanting to avoid the suffering of "not having"? If one could allow that suffering of not having to arise instead of trying desperately to complete the picture of desire, then the desire itself abates. I think it's because desire is seen for what it really is, and it's no longer so desirable.
These two emotions, anxiety and desire, are often very intense. Intensity has a way of clouding the mind and making a person forget the whole picture (see Spinoza). It's no wonder that people often do rash things when they're in the state of these emotions. They are only looking at a tiny fraction of the whole experience of life, like looking at a tiny thread in an enormous tapestry. If a person allows the pain of these two emotions to take their course without searching frantically for a solution, they might tend to make better decisions, because the solution will come later on, when the mind is calm and clear.
Friday, May 15, 2020
Systems Allergies
I have a kind of love/hate relationship with "systems" philosophies, or philosophies which try to systematize all that has been written and synthesize them into a unified pattern. My love of such philosophies is that they provide road maps to contextualizing whole theories of thought, while also providing some humility. Knowing that my resistances to some things may be an allergy to a key component in an overall system, I can approach such things with more balance and humility. I am not building a wall around something which is meant to be integrated into a totality.
On the other hand, I am hesitant that sometimes systems offer an illusion of completeness that never fully translates into experience. Systems don't often factor the need for people to take things piecemeal or even to stay in a particular rung for a long time. A system sometimes interprets staying in one place as "not seeing the trees for the forest"---getting mired in one place without seeing its purpose in the grand whole. But a system that overlooks the intricacy of the parts is also not quite right; systems are meaningless unless they factor the living processes or "pieces" that come together to make the whole. That is, even if one were to comprehend the entire universe as a single unified organism, that insight is essentially "lifeless" unless one comprehends how each part is actively unfolding according to an inner principle. Without parts, wholes could not be wholes. Similar to the body, if each part functioned the same way, they would not survive for long. Not every cell in the body can and should function as a heart cell, even though the heart is essential to the overall survival of the organism.
I would say that systems need to be complemented with sideways moments that defy systems--to remind us that even systems are vehicles that operate in specific contexts, and in themselves are empty. If they are valuable, by all means use them, but it seems important not to think that systems are reality itself. No map ever fully captures the territory it describes.
On the other hand, I am hesitant that sometimes systems offer an illusion of completeness that never fully translates into experience. Systems don't often factor the need for people to take things piecemeal or even to stay in a particular rung for a long time. A system sometimes interprets staying in one place as "not seeing the trees for the forest"---getting mired in one place without seeing its purpose in the grand whole. But a system that overlooks the intricacy of the parts is also not quite right; systems are meaningless unless they factor the living processes or "pieces" that come together to make the whole. That is, even if one were to comprehend the entire universe as a single unified organism, that insight is essentially "lifeless" unless one comprehends how each part is actively unfolding according to an inner principle. Without parts, wholes could not be wholes. Similar to the body, if each part functioned the same way, they would not survive for long. Not every cell in the body can and should function as a heart cell, even though the heart is essential to the overall survival of the organism.
I would say that systems need to be complemented with sideways moments that defy systems--to remind us that even systems are vehicles that operate in specific contexts, and in themselves are empty. If they are valuable, by all means use them, but it seems important not to think that systems are reality itself. No map ever fully captures the territory it describes.
Thursday, May 14, 2020
A Soul's Whimsy
I am reading a lot of books where spirituality is portrayed as a series of levels that a person aspires to, based on a combination of practice, insight, right views and faith. I have to admit that, at times, that road can be daunting, and a person can lose their sense of direction in it, perhaps ironically. Spirit, in my opinion, needs to be infused with a sense of soul.
I have recently been watching the news about Little Richard, the musician who died at age 87. Seeing the way he inducted Otis Redding into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame on Youtube, I feel inspired by him. He is hardly what you would call a "calm" person- in fact, he seems ridiculously all over the place at times, albeit in a delightful way. But there is this soulful passion in him, and an ability to cheer up everybody in the room. This is hardly what everyone nowadays might call a spiritual practice, but I do believe that the ability to rise to the occasion in an artful way is a form of spirit, in the purest sense of the word.
What I most appreciate about his performance on that video was the verve and spontaneity of his performance. Like most people who give speeches in commemoration of others, Little Richard could just as well have read off pieces of paper or practiced a speech. However, it wouldn't have been the same as just saying it like it is in the heart and even risking being off the "speech end" and going a bit crazy. But this "craziness" too is something that is not acted out; it's a sincere outpouring of the heart that takes dedication and focus. Perhaps it comes from the craft of being a musician, but also it must come from the love of singing and voice.
People these days need more craziness at times, and certainly more cheering up. I think that in spite of the need to progress and learn more (which all very serious business and undertakings), there is room in all of this for people to sometimes do whatever they feel, even if it's off a beaten path or just plain silly. Things do not always need to make sense, even when we need things to make sense. And sometimes just recording these ideas can be helpful at a later time.
I have recently been watching the news about Little Richard, the musician who died at age 87. Seeing the way he inducted Otis Redding into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame on Youtube, I feel inspired by him. He is hardly what you would call a "calm" person- in fact, he seems ridiculously all over the place at times, albeit in a delightful way. But there is this soulful passion in him, and an ability to cheer up everybody in the room. This is hardly what everyone nowadays might call a spiritual practice, but I do believe that the ability to rise to the occasion in an artful way is a form of spirit, in the purest sense of the word.
What I most appreciate about his performance on that video was the verve and spontaneity of his performance. Like most people who give speeches in commemoration of others, Little Richard could just as well have read off pieces of paper or practiced a speech. However, it wouldn't have been the same as just saying it like it is in the heart and even risking being off the "speech end" and going a bit crazy. But this "craziness" too is something that is not acted out; it's a sincere outpouring of the heart that takes dedication and focus. Perhaps it comes from the craft of being a musician, but also it must come from the love of singing and voice.
People these days need more craziness at times, and certainly more cheering up. I think that in spite of the need to progress and learn more (which all very serious business and undertakings), there is room in all of this for people to sometimes do whatever they feel, even if it's off a beaten path or just plain silly. Things do not always need to make sense, even when we need things to make sense. And sometimes just recording these ideas can be helpful at a later time.
Wednesday, May 13, 2020
Where Wind Blows
The wind is a kind of symbol of change and impermanence. We seem to have many metaphors for it, pertaining to direction, to time and to general chaos, depending on how one construes the wind. I remember a friend from long ago once saying that people sometimes yell at the wind as though it were a person. And hasn't the wind often been personified as such in old children's drawings?
"Being tossed about" by the wind is not the way to go, and we often hear stories about people literally being carried away by winds. Whether they symbolize passions, or just change of circumstances, such sayings position stability in the feet, on the ground, and where gravity pushes us downward on a level path. Having too many directions to go in is often seen as a sign of danger, especially reflecting old sailor's stories. So finding one's ground and being rooted somewhere is a reflective turn that counterbalances getting lost or overly torn from one desire to another.
On the other hand, sometimes wind energies can be internalized in the form of flexibility, or the ability to bend with the wind. The strongest trees are more or less able to bend with the wind rather than trying to hold a rigid position against it. When circumstances change, one needs to know when to go along with it and not necessarily cherish outdated ideas about the self and its priorities. Wind can mean a willingness to trust unknown forces of change and give into their mysterious powers and dislocations, rather than always desperately trying to stake a certain ground. Contemplating these metaphors of "wind" and "ground" could be one way to navigate unfamiliarity without being overly rigid , on the one hand, or overly distracted on the other.
"Being tossed about" by the wind is not the way to go, and we often hear stories about people literally being carried away by winds. Whether they symbolize passions, or just change of circumstances, such sayings position stability in the feet, on the ground, and where gravity pushes us downward on a level path. Having too many directions to go in is often seen as a sign of danger, especially reflecting old sailor's stories. So finding one's ground and being rooted somewhere is a reflective turn that counterbalances getting lost or overly torn from one desire to another.
On the other hand, sometimes wind energies can be internalized in the form of flexibility, or the ability to bend with the wind. The strongest trees are more or less able to bend with the wind rather than trying to hold a rigid position against it. When circumstances change, one needs to know when to go along with it and not necessarily cherish outdated ideas about the self and its priorities. Wind can mean a willingness to trust unknown forces of change and give into their mysterious powers and dislocations, rather than always desperately trying to stake a certain ground. Contemplating these metaphors of "wind" and "ground" could be one way to navigate unfamiliarity without being overly rigid , on the one hand, or overly distracted on the other.
Monday, May 11, 2020
Joys of Reading II: Collection
Having a book collection can be both "blessing" and "curse". I have several books piled up on my shelves, waiting to be read, only to be succeeded by other books. I believe that books need to be cherished to the extent that one makes a promise to oneself to read them, regardless of their immediate relevance to one's current life situation. The other aspect of books is that, as I have suggested earlier, we can become more open to their messages when we consider them as conversations with living words and authors.
I have tried to make it a general rule not to collect books unless I am certain that I will re-read them at a later time. I am hardly one to re-read fiction, except if the book is quite exceptional. Recently, I have found that that books I am most likely to re-read are either Buddhist books or spirituality-based books such as Ken Wilber's. I consider that books are references and guides, and once these guides have made their mark, I need to see if they meant anything to my life.
On the other hand, some books do have a value that goes beyond their utility: they mean something that can never be quite captured. Having a book, even before reading it, always feels like having a special portal machine that can take a person through an exciting experience. Books have potency because they distill many thoughts that go through the brain, sometimes fastening a few key words of wisdom along the way. Honoring the mystery of books is one way that we can accept them into our lives, instead of always considering them only as practical tools for survival or knowledge.
I have tried to make it a general rule not to collect books unless I am certain that I will re-read them at a later time. I am hardly one to re-read fiction, except if the book is quite exceptional. Recently, I have found that that books I am most likely to re-read are either Buddhist books or spirituality-based books such as Ken Wilber's. I consider that books are references and guides, and once these guides have made their mark, I need to see if they meant anything to my life.
On the other hand, some books do have a value that goes beyond their utility: they mean something that can never be quite captured. Having a book, even before reading it, always feels like having a special portal machine that can take a person through an exciting experience. Books have potency because they distill many thoughts that go through the brain, sometimes fastening a few key words of wisdom along the way. Honoring the mystery of books is one way that we can accept them into our lives, instead of always considering them only as practical tools for survival or knowledge.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)