Why is it important in times of turmoil to maintain a calm attitude? Is calmness sometimes just a sign of indifference? I wonder about this myself.
I am noticing that if I read a news story where the headline is very excited and has a great deal of judgment behind it, I will tend to get agitated or excited myself. But one of the interesting things I also notice is that it tends to make me a more constricted person, not 'passionate' at all. Contrary to what some might think, I actually believe that getting agitated over others' emotions, or becoming 'swept away' in a general sentiment around me, only makes me feel tight and narrow. And more importantly, it doesn't give me the space or room I need to breathe and think clearly on my own.
I have to confess that I am not much of a news reader, and it's only been in the last few weeks that I have noticed a lot of political stories in the news, particularly online. As much as I have sometimes enjoyed the political rallying, I also get a sense that things change quickly, and there is no need for me to stick to one thing that arises, when it is part of an unfolding series of events. I am starting to feel that it's better to take my time and try to figure out what all this media really means, rather than allowing my emotions to get riled up over what might be only one of many conditions that are unfolding.
Meditation is something that I think would greatly benefit myself and others at this time. I am not necessarily talking about a classic form of meditation, such as huatou or sitting in a full lotus posture. Rather, I am talking about a simple ability to attend to a simple action or process (such as the breath) without getting caught by attaching to thoughts and narratives. Sometimes, 'just sitting' is enough, because it breaks the kinetic connection to our thoughts and emotions, and allows them to dissipate on their own. Compared to what I experience when I simply follow the words of a news story and attach to it, meditation allows me not to be attached and to create that crucial buffer between thought and reaction, between reaction and action, emotion and motion.
By the way...my phone is still cracked (see previous entry!). But the sales clerk at the repair shop was nice enough to appraise my self-inflicted mess and advise me to go back to my phone company and see if I can possibly invest in a new phone. I will keep my cracks for now, thank you very much; they remind me that I am not all I am cracked up to be, that I am fragile, and breakable. They remind me also that I am fallible, fall-able, droppable and throwable, perhaps even throw-away-able. And knowing this reminds me of my humanity and sometimes my blindness in seeing my very own nose when my mind is preoccupied or rushed.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
A Cracked Phone
Today seemed to be a bad luck day for me, as I had neglected to take my cellphone with me this morning. I went back home to retrieve it (which cost me a bit of time) only to find later that night that it slipped from my hand and cracked on the pavement. I now regret the fact that I went back to retrieve the phone: a phone safe at home is much better than one freshly cracked! Nonetheless, my first impulse upon breaking the phone was to protect the phone by buying a case, which is something I should have thought of before cracking the phone! Now why would I have such a protective impulse, I wonder, after doing such a thing?
There is indeed something interesting about the desire to nurse something that is broken. Maybe it is a natural kind of instinct, but an alternate explanation is that the cellphone has become an extension of my own body and being. It makes sense that this would be so, because now our phones have become such faithful extensions of ourselves: providing the daily news, the facebook feeds, and the connections with the outside world that we crave. To break a phone is to disrupt something that seems so vital. So there is actually a sense of developing an attachment and treating it as an extension of one's own awareness and well being.
But once something is broken, one cannot go back to the way it was before. Either it gets repaired somehow or I will suffer a couple of years until it is replaced. But once it has happened, I can only accept its brokenness as symbolic of my own brokenness, and resolve to be more mindful in the future. It would make no sense for me to go back in time to a moment when it wasn't cracked at all, but at the same time, it is important to learn something from it and develop a resolve not to repeat the mistakes that triggered it to happen.For instance, do I really need to pull out my cellphone on a street corner, when it can be accidentally dropped? These are times when I am tested to see if I can truly be meditative about my actions, and not driven so much by anxiety.
There is indeed something interesting about the desire to nurse something that is broken. Maybe it is a natural kind of instinct, but an alternate explanation is that the cellphone has become an extension of my own body and being. It makes sense that this would be so, because now our phones have become such faithful extensions of ourselves: providing the daily news, the facebook feeds, and the connections with the outside world that we crave. To break a phone is to disrupt something that seems so vital. So there is actually a sense of developing an attachment and treating it as an extension of one's own awareness and well being.
But once something is broken, one cannot go back to the way it was before. Either it gets repaired somehow or I will suffer a couple of years until it is replaced. But once it has happened, I can only accept its brokenness as symbolic of my own brokenness, and resolve to be more mindful in the future. It would make no sense for me to go back in time to a moment when it wasn't cracked at all, but at the same time, it is important to learn something from it and develop a resolve not to repeat the mistakes that triggered it to happen.For instance, do I really need to pull out my cellphone on a street corner, when it can be accidentally dropped? These are times when I am tested to see if I can truly be meditative about my actions, and not driven so much by anxiety.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Some Thoughts about the Ten Practices- Giving
I am in a coffee shop preparing for the Surangama Sutra Study group meeting, when I come across the section on the 10 practices, also known as paramitas. I wanted to give myself a kind of review in how I relate to these terms.
The first practice is called the "Practice of Happiness" (p.333), but from the commentary by Master Hsuen Hua, this corresponds to the practice of giving (dana). I think this makes sense, in the way that what we always try to give is happiness. When I am in a great mood, I will naturally 'give' that state of mind to those around me; whatever is inside of me flows outward. But more than that, Buddha identifies this as the way Bodhisattvas "respond to the needs of all beings throughout the ten directions." (p.333). In other words, it's not about just giving happiness, but it is also knowing what kinds of happiness people need to have in the moment. For some people, the happiness involves talking with them to know what worries them, whereas for others, it might mean giving them their own space to be with their thoughts and sort things out. To give, one needs to know well the person to whom one gives.
In the commentary, Master Hsuen Hua notes, "You should enjoy giving. It's not that you decide to give only under duress; it's not that on the on hand you want to give, but on the other hand you don't want to." (p.334). I think this amounts to saying that giving grudgingly isn't a real form of giving, since it's not coming from the heart or from a whole-minded perspective. When I want to give but am not sure whether I really want to, I create a conflict between one thought and another, and the two thoughts 'fight' for my attention until one finally wins over the two. This kind of giving never feels good because the giver hasn't really surrendered to the present moment, wholeheartedly. The other trap that Master Hsuen Hua warns against is that of giving only in the expectation of an instrumental gain or reward. Unfortunately, this can happen if a person is only focused on the Buddhist notion of merit.
Giving doesn't necessarily need to be about a tangible item that someone else can use and enjoy. In fact, I believe that every moment is a practice of giving to what needs doing. If there is a homework assignment for me to do, the best way I can face it is to put my whole mind and energy into it, without dividing my attention on past and future events, or vexations. Once I commit to doing something, I let go of thinking about the personal gain I might incur.
Master Hsuen Hua also notes that there are three kinds of giving, according to the Buddha's teachings: "1) the giving of wealth, 2) the giving of Dharma, and 3) the giving of fearlessness" (p.334-335). This last one interests me especially, because it appears to mean providing others with encouragement to face their own fears. Perhaps being present with others helps in that way the most, rather than seeing giving as an excruciating ordeal. In Western cultures (in particular the church), I have heard the slogan "give until it hurts", to the point where giving that doesn't hurt does not seem to count. Without a stable mind, however, all gifts are given with vexations and a lot of expectation. In this way, the degree to which I suffer from giving might suggest that my mind and heart are not in the moment.
Surangama Sutra: A New Translation (2009). Ukia, CA: Buddhist Text Translation Society
The first practice is called the "Practice of Happiness" (p.333), but from the commentary by Master Hsuen Hua, this corresponds to the practice of giving (dana). I think this makes sense, in the way that what we always try to give is happiness. When I am in a great mood, I will naturally 'give' that state of mind to those around me; whatever is inside of me flows outward. But more than that, Buddha identifies this as the way Bodhisattvas "respond to the needs of all beings throughout the ten directions." (p.333). In other words, it's not about just giving happiness, but it is also knowing what kinds of happiness people need to have in the moment. For some people, the happiness involves talking with them to know what worries them, whereas for others, it might mean giving them their own space to be with their thoughts and sort things out. To give, one needs to know well the person to whom one gives.
In the commentary, Master Hsuen Hua notes, "You should enjoy giving. It's not that you decide to give only under duress; it's not that on the on hand you want to give, but on the other hand you don't want to." (p.334). I think this amounts to saying that giving grudgingly isn't a real form of giving, since it's not coming from the heart or from a whole-minded perspective. When I want to give but am not sure whether I really want to, I create a conflict between one thought and another, and the two thoughts 'fight' for my attention until one finally wins over the two. This kind of giving never feels good because the giver hasn't really surrendered to the present moment, wholeheartedly. The other trap that Master Hsuen Hua warns against is that of giving only in the expectation of an instrumental gain or reward. Unfortunately, this can happen if a person is only focused on the Buddhist notion of merit.
Giving doesn't necessarily need to be about a tangible item that someone else can use and enjoy. In fact, I believe that every moment is a practice of giving to what needs doing. If there is a homework assignment for me to do, the best way I can face it is to put my whole mind and energy into it, without dividing my attention on past and future events, or vexations. Once I commit to doing something, I let go of thinking about the personal gain I might incur.
Master Hsuen Hua also notes that there are three kinds of giving, according to the Buddha's teachings: "1) the giving of wealth, 2) the giving of Dharma, and 3) the giving of fearlessness" (p.334-335). This last one interests me especially, because it appears to mean providing others with encouragement to face their own fears. Perhaps being present with others helps in that way the most, rather than seeing giving as an excruciating ordeal. In Western cultures (in particular the church), I have heard the slogan "give until it hurts", to the point where giving that doesn't hurt does not seem to count. Without a stable mind, however, all gifts are given with vexations and a lot of expectation. In this way, the degree to which I suffer from giving might suggest that my mind and heart are not in the moment.
Surangama Sutra: A New Translation (2009). Ukia, CA: Buddhist Text Translation Society
Saturday, January 28, 2017
No two moments the same
In the recent days, many people have felt turmoil in the world, especially with the change in political landscape post- U.S. election. While there are those who might wonder why this is important or relevant to daily life, others hunker down into a heavy despair. I think it's important in these moments to take a somewhat middling path between the despair of thinking it's the end of the world, and the apathy of not caring at all. Can Buddhist teachings help in this way? Yes, I believe that they can be good and useful reminders.
I have noticed indeed that people often take the approach of either trying to shut out painful situations (such as using the biggest set of headphones) and becoming militantly angry, to the point of rage about a situation. I think what characterizes both these approaches is that they assume that whatever is on their mind has a permanent existence. In fact, nothing is like that. People do and can change over time, even if a person is stuck in one view. The problem is that sometimes people don't stick around long enough to see change happen on its own, and when they do stick around, they may only be seeing the present through the lens of a distant memory. It's a bit like a scientist who has worked on this one theory all her or his life and sees things only as a way of confirming that theory. If I stop thinking that everything by necessity fits that mould or does not, I can start to see things in very different, novel ways as opposed to before.
There is a certain joy that comes from staying in a relation with someone and observing how we change our reaction to the similar situation over time. Why is that? I think it's because we begin to realize that the mind can see variations if they listen deeply and closely enough. If you take a picture of one tree 100 times, it might look like the same tree at first, but then when your mind is more relaxed and you slow down, you might begin to feel that the tree changes across the images. But if I don't slow down and really look at it, I will conclude that it's all just the same thing. And this leads to the boredom that often incites violence or anger at something. It's as though rather than seeing each instance as separate and distinctly formed from its own unique conditions and circumstances, I lump all the experiences into one in order to make a case 'for' or 'against' its existence. Can we get out of that rut enough to see that they aren't really the same at all? I think this is a challenge that everyone needs to face in the moment.
I have noticed indeed that people often take the approach of either trying to shut out painful situations (such as using the biggest set of headphones) and becoming militantly angry, to the point of rage about a situation. I think what characterizes both these approaches is that they assume that whatever is on their mind has a permanent existence. In fact, nothing is like that. People do and can change over time, even if a person is stuck in one view. The problem is that sometimes people don't stick around long enough to see change happen on its own, and when they do stick around, they may only be seeing the present through the lens of a distant memory. It's a bit like a scientist who has worked on this one theory all her or his life and sees things only as a way of confirming that theory. If I stop thinking that everything by necessity fits that mould or does not, I can start to see things in very different, novel ways as opposed to before.
There is a certain joy that comes from staying in a relation with someone and observing how we change our reaction to the similar situation over time. Why is that? I think it's because we begin to realize that the mind can see variations if they listen deeply and closely enough. If you take a picture of one tree 100 times, it might look like the same tree at first, but then when your mind is more relaxed and you slow down, you might begin to feel that the tree changes across the images. But if I don't slow down and really look at it, I will conclude that it's all just the same thing. And this leads to the boredom that often incites violence or anger at something. It's as though rather than seeing each instance as separate and distinctly formed from its own unique conditions and circumstances, I lump all the experiences into one in order to make a case 'for' or 'against' its existence. Can we get out of that rut enough to see that they aren't really the same at all? I think this is a challenge that everyone needs to face in the moment.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Our Unshared Memories
During the meditation group sharing, we had this discussion about memory, and I recall reading a book about Iris Murdoch by her husband, John Bayley, Elegy for Iris. In it, John talks about how he could only relate to his Alzheimer's suffering wife through the lens of previous memories he had shared with her. Whenever Iris would break out into a smile as he related a story from back in the days when she was able to speak coherently, John would conclude that Iris surely 'remembered'. But this reflection lead me to wonder, do we not somehow construct very different memories based on our causes and conditions? Is there anyone who has ever really shared their memories with someone else after all?
I related to the meditation group a cliché example: that of a married couple who have an argument over 'remembering' an important milestone shared by the two of them. While one person might remember something specific about the date and time in which they met, the other might have completely different sorts of impressions on that very same experience. In fact, couples can get into the biggest fights over having very different memories about the same situation. What is the fight really about, though? It's not necessarily about who cares more, but more centered around which memories are most crucial or important to the relationship. It makes no sense to accuse the other of having 'selective' memory, especially when it seems that everyone's memory is selective! But because I remember something so vividly, I take it that this memory must be the bedrock for my shared experiences with the other person. In reality, are any of these memories really shared at all? Or might it be more feasible to suggest that we sometimes share similar values regarding situations, even when our memories about the situations might be different?
We also had an interesting talk about the role of sharing in the group practice. It seems that whenever I am having what I think is a poor meditation experience, a few encouraging words from other participants has a way of uplifting my experience by reframing it. For instance, if my leg pain is framed as "heroic journey" through an arduous self-discipline, then that might encourage me to keep enduring. On the other hand, if my feeling of pain is taken to mean that I am not 'fit' for meditation, then this would surely turn me off the practice altogether. With these framings or potential reframings of meditative practice, one might then ask--whose story is it anyway? Perhaps it doesn't necessarily belong to anyone in particular, but could rather be a story that touches and is constructed in a community of practitioners.
I related to the meditation group a cliché example: that of a married couple who have an argument over 'remembering' an important milestone shared by the two of them. While one person might remember something specific about the date and time in which they met, the other might have completely different sorts of impressions on that very same experience. In fact, couples can get into the biggest fights over having very different memories about the same situation. What is the fight really about, though? It's not necessarily about who cares more, but more centered around which memories are most crucial or important to the relationship. It makes no sense to accuse the other of having 'selective' memory, especially when it seems that everyone's memory is selective! But because I remember something so vividly, I take it that this memory must be the bedrock for my shared experiences with the other person. In reality, are any of these memories really shared at all? Or might it be more feasible to suggest that we sometimes share similar values regarding situations, even when our memories about the situations might be different?
We also had an interesting talk about the role of sharing in the group practice. It seems that whenever I am having what I think is a poor meditation experience, a few encouraging words from other participants has a way of uplifting my experience by reframing it. For instance, if my leg pain is framed as "heroic journey" through an arduous self-discipline, then that might encourage me to keep enduring. On the other hand, if my feeling of pain is taken to mean that I am not 'fit' for meditation, then this would surely turn me off the practice altogether. With these framings or potential reframings of meditative practice, one might then ask--whose story is it anyway? Perhaps it doesn't necessarily belong to anyone in particular, but could rather be a story that touches and is constructed in a community of practitioners.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Enjoy the Surprises
I was reflecting today on how life needs to make space for the unpredictable. How many times have you seen a picture or a news story and thought that the future is somehow predestined in that picture? I have found that I have a habit of projecting the future onto something that is only in this moment and is bound to change.
There is something quite beautiful about the idea of children being surprised by the unexpected. I recall that this happened to me in my 6th birthday, when I was unexpectedly surprised with 'early' birthday presents prior to that date. I couldn't believe at that time that somehow rules could be bent on enjoying birthday celebrations. Quite often, surprises come from very unexpected spaces, but the problem with adult life is that we often don't stick with something long enough to be genuinely surprised by it. Rather than waiting for the beautiful things to come from something, we keep changing the channel to find something that is immediately within our control. So I found that sometimes we have to go back to being someone who waits for surprises, but does so not in an expectant way...maybe is just open to the possibility of surprise.
There is something quite beautiful about the idea of children being surprised by the unexpected. I recall that this happened to me in my 6th birthday, when I was unexpectedly surprised with 'early' birthday presents prior to that date. I couldn't believe at that time that somehow rules could be bent on enjoying birthday celebrations. Quite often, surprises come from very unexpected spaces, but the problem with adult life is that we often don't stick with something long enough to be genuinely surprised by it. Rather than waiting for the beautiful things to come from something, we keep changing the channel to find something that is immediately within our control. So I found that sometimes we have to go back to being someone who waits for surprises, but does so not in an expectant way...maybe is just open to the possibility of surprise.
Monday, January 23, 2017
a fast paced world--on slowing down
When the world is moving at a fast pace, it is often hard to tell when it's time to stop and when it's time to sit down and reflect on what to do next. I believe that this is because there is a fear of missing out on a lot of events. How, then, can a person slow down and try to see what's happening to them? I think I am still trying to work the answer out myself.
I wonder if perhaps it's when a person fails that they can start to see that there is no need to keep up with others. After all, the reason for the struggle to keep up often relates to a deeper fear of failure which needs to be addressed. When I can loosen up and realize that losing one chance is not the end of all chances, then my mind has permission to slow down. But if the mind is always fixated on success and keeping the success one has, it can be quite hard to know when and how to let go. Does it sometimes take a big change in a person's life to do so? Certainly--many self-help books will tell you so. But I don't think it's as easy as said. A person needs to have something they feel they can fall back on when there is a lot of loss in life, so there needs to be a sense of security there to risk insecurity. This is why even when faced with loss, there is always going to be that tug of self-protection which wants to pull back and retreat a little bit. This seems like a human balance, and I wouldn't feel so bad if I happened to feel that I needed to protect myself from change now and then.
I wonder if perhaps it's when a person fails that they can start to see that there is no need to keep up with others. After all, the reason for the struggle to keep up often relates to a deeper fear of failure which needs to be addressed. When I can loosen up and realize that losing one chance is not the end of all chances, then my mind has permission to slow down. But if the mind is always fixated on success and keeping the success one has, it can be quite hard to know when and how to let go. Does it sometimes take a big change in a person's life to do so? Certainly--many self-help books will tell you so. But I don't think it's as easy as said. A person needs to have something they feel they can fall back on when there is a lot of loss in life, so there needs to be a sense of security there to risk insecurity. This is why even when faced with loss, there is always going to be that tug of self-protection which wants to pull back and retreat a little bit. This seems like a human balance, and I wouldn't feel so bad if I happened to feel that I needed to protect myself from change now and then.
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