Magic and Danger

  In our class today, I learned a bit about Tantric Buddhism. There is so much of this practice that is a mystery to me, and as one of my classmates had remarked to me, there is a kind of endless probing that can take place when one keeps going deeper into these teachings. While a younger part of me might have been quite fascinated and curious about the kinds of supernatural elements that might be found in Tantric Buddhism, another part of me wonders: if I really understood how it works, would it not cease to be magic after all?
    What's tied to the notion of magic is the idea that there are certain powers that the majority of humans have not yet developed the capacity to use, the result of which it can be risky to expose this information to everyone. Anything that seems to dangerous for the majority of people to use is classified as magic, in this regard. But once a certain percentage of the population learns to utilize something, it soon enough becomes formalized. Fire is a good example. I could imagine that in early times, people thought of harnessing fire as magical, and even attributed its presence to the deities. But once humans learned to harness fire in useful or controllable ways, the idea of making a fire ceased to be so magical, and nor was it the property of one or two people who were high-status figures. As soon as one person can predict how to create something using the same principles, it no longer becomes magic, but is a science.
   In my readings of Brahminic sacrifices in India in Buddha's time, I learned how much the sacrificial ritual is complicated by issues of knowledge. If knowledge is deemed as too 'simple', it becomes a public knowledge which anyone can use, and it no longer has the status of authority anymore. To 'know' something is in some ways to have access to special kinds of information that not everyone is aware of. That is why it was so vital to Brahminic power and status that rituals remain complicated affairs, which only certain kinds of people were privy to. Knowledge creates status and prosperity, and it then becomes a kind of power that only certain people can have, or afford to have.
  

Dr. Strange and Chan

 Tonight I had a chance to watch the movie Dr. Strange, and I had a few thoughts about this film. The movie is in some ways typical of a Hollywood adventure with the usual trappings of special effects, explosions, chase scenes and collapsing buildings. But what made this movie distinct, at least from a visual perspective, is the way reality itself is conveyed as continually collapsing, like a magic mirror which distorts and re-distorts things to the point where nothing seems quite what it appears to be. Visually, this movie is quite stunning, and it forces viewers to subconsciously balk at what they thought was a solid element, such as buildings and time itself.
   Strange is a very talented doctor who can solve just about any problem that his patients present him with, including a bullet lodged deep into a vital part of a man's brain. One evening, he is in a serious car accident, and not even his beloved colleague and fellow doctor can help him recover use of his hands to resume his career as a world-renowned surgeon. Strange ends up finding a man who fully recovered from a debilitating spinal injury, who then directs him to Nepal where he discovers a teacher by the name of the Ancient One. She is the one who in fact reveals to Strange that it is not the body which heals but the mind. One is only limited by one's imagination in terms of what is possible. Strange is skeptical, and he attributes this idea to a kind of cheap or crass New Age sentiment. It's only later, after a shocking demonstration of different dimensions of reality, that Strange realizes that what he believed was true is only a tiny, miniscule piece of an infinite reality. He is so inspired to become the Ancient One's disciple that he even camps out in front of her abode after she kicks him out for being an arrogant and egoistic pain!
    The rest of the movie explores Strange's induction into the magical world, where he learns to use his mind to avert the evil plots of one of the Ancient One's former disciples. One of the most interesting scenes, however, occurs when Strange is training in using his new-found powers, yet lacks faith in the strength of his hands and mind to do what others are doing. The Ancient One then pushes him into a situation where he is on the coldest part of Mount Everest, and he truly needs to use his powers to get back to the Ancient One's abode. "Surrender", the Ancient One urges Strange, after he despairingly tells her how impossible it is for him to do what others are doing. When Strange finally does surrender his limiting beliefs about what it means to know something and perform it well, he is able to return.
     A lot of these ideas about surrendering to one's true nature and powers are found in other science fiction or fantasy movies, Star Wars being one example. What impressed me about this movie is how sophisticated the magic is, to the point where even the concepts of space and time are being challenged. This isn't about using magic to ensure that the good folks win over the bad, but about using magic to challenge and subvert the human tendency to limit their beliefs to what they think they know. Even the very 'laws' of good and evil are challenged, as Strange is forced to decide whether to trust the sincerity and goodness of the Ancient One, after he learns that she has been using dark magic to keep herself alive indefinitely. 
     But what impressed me the most is the Chan perspective that this film sometime exudes: the idea that the biggest enemy is not outside oneself but actually consists of the beliefs that one has related to what they can and cannot do. It's these beliefs which create the ego, and they become even more dangerous when they mask as 'the good of everyone'. For instance, Strange begins the movie a very self-assured man, so confident in himself and his own decisions. When he is stripped of that confidence, he is forced to admit that his ideas of what is good and evil were only relative to his functioning as a prestigious, well-respected member of a community. In contrast, the Ancient One has used dark magic to try to restore balance to the world and is well aware of the contradiction this creates. Somehow, she shows a humility, in realizing that what she is doing is complex, but she is also doing it for the benefit of others, not herself. The contrast between these characters suggest that sometimes the wisest and most compassionate actions are deeply complicated, and even a wise and selfless person might live a life of ambiguity. But when viewers become aware of this ambiguity, they are not so quick to judge who is the good or the bad person in this movie, or what 'good' and 'bad' magic is.

Gratitude Object Exercise for Foreign Language Learners: A Mindfulness-Based Practice

   This post will introduce a special kind of gratitude journaling exercise which I have developed for students that I am currently tutoring in ESL. It comes from research I am doing in "foreign language anxiety (FLA for short), which is defined as a kind of fear of using a language with which one perceives a lack of proficiency (Gardner & MacIntyre, 1993).
     For a long time, I have been thinking about how guided meditation can be used in tandem with journaling to create a special experience of gratitude for speakers of a second language. This orientation toward gratitude is intended to shift the learner away from feelings of inadequacy about their performance in a second language, and toward warmer feelings of appreciating the things that one can write about, using whatever language skills and proficiencies they have acquired up to that point.
     After reading about the relationship between foreign language anxiety and self-perception, I am convinced that it's possible to overcome or at least manage this anxiety through a heightened appreciation and gratitude toward all beings, as well as toward one's own efforts as a language learner. When learning a language, like anything else, the common tendency is to focus on the mistakes rather than on the successes. This approach can make a person somewhat afraid to practice a new language in front of others. But it's possible to see things differently by reframing language learning as a process of connecting with others. When one appreciates their own effort to learn language as a dedication to helping others and connecting deeply with them, the emphasis is not on perfecting oneself through language, but rather through the sincere intention to benefit others in the process of learning. Perhaps, then, language learning becomes a kind of spiritual practice that can be offered to others as a dedication.
    But without a specific writing exercise to ground one's practice of a language, it's hard to imagine the possibilities of what learning a language could mean. As a result, I have decided to design this exercise to create a conversation about how the quality of gratitude can be used as both a motivation and a tool to inspire people in learning a new language.
    Below is my sample exercise on gratitude journaling for foreign language learners:

Gratitude Object Exercise for Foreign Language Learners: A Mindfulness-Based Practice

Choose an object for this exercise. It could be a photograph, or a gift, or any household item, preferably something you can see and feel. Have the object in front of you or in your hand before you start this exercise.

Before starting this writing exercise, make sure your body is relaxed. Sit in a comfortable position and close your eyes.

Take a moment to become aware of all the sensations in your body, without controlling the body. Feel your forehead and temples relaxing, followed by your eyes and eye sockets. Feel your facial muscles relaxing, then your neck and shoulders. Take three deep breaths. With each in-breath, feel your chest gently expanding, and relaxing completely with each outbreath. Then notice your waist becoming softer with each outbreath. Then become aware of your back, hips, thighs relaxing. Be aware of your ankles, feet and toes relaxing. Enjoy the sensation of the breath, and feel it spreading to all parts of the body, like a gentle breeze.

Now open your eyes.

Take a moment to reflect on the particular object you have chosen, without attaching any meaning to it.

You can take a moment to feel it in your hands, noting its texture, or smell, or appearance. Put your whole mind and heart on the object and become acquainted with it. See your connection to the object and feel it ‘speak’ to you. What does the object say if it could speak to you?

Put down the object. Now, in five minutes, write down as many phrases, words or sentences as possible related to that object or associated with it, without thinking about grammar or spelling. Let the mind be completely relaxed, without considering whether your writing is “correct” or not.

Pay attention to writing continuously, without stopping. Don’t be afraid to repeat the same words again and again, based on what you know.

If your mind wanders away from the process of writing about the object, gently go back to the object itself. Don’t judge the process but simply treat it as a writing practice.

In the next part of the exercise, consider all the things you wrote about the object. Then answer the following specific questions about the object itself.

1. Consider: where does this object come from? Who made it? What kind of work went into it? How was the object made? Reflect on all the living beings who contacted the object, or shaped it, or lived in it or beside it. Write down a few words or sentences about where it came from and who or what made it.
    
2. Take a moment to appreciate the living beings who came into contact with this object and shaped it or interacted with it in some way. Write a few words about who (or what) contacted the object. Reflect on what efforts they made to shape the object into something you could use or consume.  Reflect on the common bond you have with the living beings who made this object, or the natural world which shaped it. Write down a few words or sentences about the connection between the object and others.
    

Now go back to your list. Look at all the words you used to write your descriptions and dedications.

 Take a moment to appreciate the effort you made to spend time with each word, in the present, and to learn each word.

Appreciate your efforts to learn the language and all the words you have learned.

Dedicate your continued effort to using the new language you are learning to communicating good intention, peace and wellness to others.

Thank yourself for taking the time to be fully present with this exercise.

 

 

 Gardner, R. & MacIntyre, P. (1993). A Student’s Contribution to Second Language Learning, Part II: Affect Variables. Language Teaching 26, 1-11.

Up for Grabs!

  I recall a couple of months back, how Judy and I had stumbled upon a couple of old books which were on the street, 'up for grabs'. One was about language, in particular the history of English language and characters, while the other is a book by Terry Orlick called Free to Feel Great: Teaching Children to Excel at Living (1993). This book is a real treasure, because it actually talks about mindfulness without even using the term 'mindful'! Now, think of that--schools have been insisting on trying to de-sacralise the meditation process by stripping it of any element of spiritual tradition attached to it. But more than 20 years ago, a man did exactly this, and went even farther to stop using the term mindfulness! He even uses "Book of Highlights" to describe a gratitude journal which explores how children can highlight the positive and wholesome things in their lives. He lists a few examples, including Human Contact, Contact with Nature, Play, Personal Accomplishments, Relaxation, Discovery and Good Sensations (p.14-15). After reading this list just now, I start to realize that this book should perhaps be for adults. But luckily it is not...because the adult world has a tendency to use abstract terms to describe what are really very emotional and visceral, everyday experiences of being in touch with one's surroundings, body and sensations. All this is 'mindfulness', but without the very important (if not overused) language.
    The reason I bring up this point is to say: the practice of being mindful paradoxically means that one often has to innovate on the terminology a bit in order to keep the ideas fresh in mind. When I read Orlick's book, I am seeing something I have perhaps read in a different way, but it is being presented with fresh, almost child-like eyes and mindset. And this mindset of curiosity and simple child-like delight is often part of what it means to be in this moment, with everything one has and is. Rather than thinking of this process as some abstract 'mind discovery' it might perhaps be an advantage to go back to what this experience really looks and feels like in the day to day grind of life.
    I must say, Orlick's book is a gem, and it is helping me to get fresh perspectives on the topic of gratitude.

Orlick, Terry (1993). Free to Feel Great: Teaching Children to Excel at Living. Carp, ON: Creative Bound

Planting Seeds, not Running Races

  There is something to be said about not making too many leaps. I learned this in meditation, because it's the most subtle thing that there is in the world. Anyone who tries to put a marker of 'progress' on meditation is bound to be disappointed, because eventually you will reach a kind of still point where even the idea of progress seems superimposed, if not a bit fake. Can we put 'progress' on water or oceans? We never think that these things 'progress' and yet there is a tendency to value progress over and above the simple things in life.
   I tend to think it in this way. For everything I do in life, I will say that I try to put in 400% of who I am. I mean: I set a high bar for myself, even if I know that deep down, it's not possible for me to achieve it given my mental and physical limitations. But there is always going to be something out there that surprises me or dumbfounds me. For instance, even with the best intentions,  I might test a process at work, only to find later that there is some bug in the program that wasn't even discovered in the test cases. Even with the very best blueprint, there are times when that plan itself can blind a person to other factors that could not have been imagined or conceived of when the blueprint was first designed. Does progress or 'thinking fast' help in those situations? Sometimes it does help to think quickly, but one should never be lulled into equating quickness with solving a problem thoroughly. In other words, there is no guarantee in progress that one doesn't have to start all over again.
    I find that it's important not to think too linearly. I cannot harbor this illusion that success happens when a person covers all the bases. Life doesn't happen this way, because there is no plan that can account for all the karmic seeds and how they ripen at different moments in time. When you see a well-crafted movie, you will notice all its subtle twists and turns, and how the good director weaves the details together symbolically, and none of it is quite what you expected. Now take that movie and multiply it by all the people and situations you come across, and you will find that life is made of a million overlapping and conflicting movie plots, plans, and blueprints. Can any of these things orchestrate to create a predictable outcome? One can reasonably expect things to happen based on previous trials, but besides that, can it be done so quickly and in a linear fashion of jumping from A to B?
    I think Buddhism has an interesting take on this, and that is to refer to merit as a field, instead of as an edifice. The typical meritorious symbol in certain cultures in the West is that of a statue: I build one to commemorate a famous person, or someone who contributed their resources to a better society. But Buddhism uses the field instead of the statue, to represent virtue or goodness. Goodness does not come about automatically by doing something noteworthy. Rather, it is about doing certain things at certain moments, to certain things, and waiting for other conditions to co-create a wholesome result. None of this is about rushing: we can't just plant the seed and stare at it, waiting for it to grow. In fact, the whole process of observing the development of something is teaching us about the ways of the universe: complex, unpredictable, and always full of twists and emerging new karmic results. None of this is boring, and it's wonderful to think that relationships themselves are really about learning the ways of the universe from each other. Why race through it when it can be enjoyed slowly?

Emotional Roller Coasters

 Tonight, during the group sitting, we talked about the notion of emotional roller coasters. After watching Master Sheng Yen's video about emotions in Buddhism, one participant had asked the question: would the view that one 'should' cultivate equanimity lead to a boring view? Aren't emotional roller coasters somewhat exciting in life, and why would anyone want to embrace a 'flat line' emotional life when they can have roller coasters all the time?
    This question interests me mainly because I really never did love roller coasters, even as a child. Somehow, the idea of being plunked into a semi-secure metal (or sometimes wooden) partition and then flung up into the air was never my idea of 'fun'. Now I do know others out there who crave the excitement and stimulation of a roller coaster, which leads me to suspect that a lot of one's reactions to roller coasters may be due to previous affinities or karma. Somehow, I have learned to prefer stability of mind, even though there were times when my mind was far from stable, especially when young.
   To go back to the Chan attitude: in fact, Chan is meant to help a person develop equanimity in the face of all situations, whether they are roller coasters or straight lines. It is not designed to flatten emotions, but it is meant to see emotions as impermanent manifestations. If I feel angry, I can feel that way without thinking that the anger is inseparable from me. The same goes with other emotions as well. If I am really knowing that the emotions are parts of a dream, then I am neither moved by them nor rejecting them. I simply see the emotion as part of the mind that is just arising then and there. But this doesn't mean that I crave stillness, because stillness is just the natural way of mind. It isn't something that needs to be actively cultivated separately from one's experiences. In this way, it's possible to live a roller coaster life, but not feel that one's mind is a roller coaster. This has a lot to do with not attaching to the roller coaster itself: neither seeking it nor rejecting it. This means that I can rejoice in another's interests, but always know in the back of my mind that opportunities to indulge the interest or hobbies don't last: they too will pass. This way I learn to ride the roller coaster but always with this awareness that I will get off it soon enough.

All Beings are our Mothers?

I have often heard the argument in Tibetan traditions that one must learn to see all sentient beings as one's mother, particularly as we have all been in this endless cycle of samsara...and somehow through all that time, we must have all mothered each other at some point. I find it interesting that mothering should be the paradigm for Tibetans, and I get stuck here. Even though I have been mothered, in fact, I don't recall ever having been a mother, and I don't think I even have what is called a maternal instinct within me. There are times when I simply find it hard to relate to the notion of loving all things unconditionally as a mother would a child. It is as though I am looking for a somewhat easier metaphor to work with, yet cannot find one at all.
   As much as I do value the metaphors of all sentient beings having been one's mother, I also feel that the maternal loving feeling we give and receive is never sufficient. Why do I say that? I say it because all those maternal feelings are skilful means to soften the heart, but they don't always necessarily constitute deepest wisdom. To give an example: we have all come across examples of mothers who overprotect their children or even develop unhealthy attachments to them, and vice versa. In fact, most psychology of the twentieth century is concerned just with this notion of maternal bonds gone awry! It leads me to wonder, is Mother a singular quality after all, or are there as many styles of mothering as there are mothers?