Today, I just learned that one of the colleagues I work with is leaving the company. Whether by choice or not, I can never be sure, but I notice that each time this happens, it's like a kind of familiar face falls away. I wonder to what extent, when we meet people, we identify "home" with those people, especially those whom we interact with on a daily basis.
The tendency to identify with others is probably a survival trait that we have acquired through our evolution as a species. If everyone in a group were nothing more than a "face", I would not associate any particular emotions, likes, or attitudes with that face, and the group would not cohere very well. Could the notion of "face" be an offshoot of the need for groups to preserve themselves? I am not an anthropologist, but perhaps it's a safe guess.
I also believe that we learn about ourselves when we learn about others, and there is a complex process that happens when I sort out "who I am" in the light of those around me. I tend to find that when I can feel that I am coexisting with someone else without competing with them for resources, I feel more "safe", but their leaving opens the door for another complex "working out" of mutual assistance and identities. It's a bit like "starting over" and having to navigate the uncertainties in not knowing who the next person will be who occupies the new position. All of these factors can contribute to the destability that people often feel when those around them shift to new spaces.
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
A Heart Needs a Head
Movies such as A Star is Born --which I quite loved, in fact--can sometimes perpetuate the idea that if only one finds one's true calling in life, or passion, then life would somehow go smoothly. The central character in the film, Ally, meets a musician who is struggling with his own addictions and who finds in love a way to overcome his demons. Ally's life immediately soars into stardom when she starts to let go of her insecurities, and the movie follows a kind of fairytale career trajectory. One of the key themes of the movie is to always know "what you have to say" and to follow that natural voice within. But such a kind of message leads me to wonder, is finding one's way through life always so straightforward in terms of reading the heart?
Master Sheng Yen highlights the importance of having a reflective space through which we can know ourselves. But he also mentions that due to the pace of life, it has become harder to even conceptualize the question, "what do I want from life?" He notes:
When people married in times past, they would rarely consider the option or even the possibility of divorce. These days, people often marry with an attitude of “What’s the big deal? The worst that can happen is that we divorce.” There was a time when people were not so busy, and they had more time to know themselves and understand what their lives were about. Now, we are sometimes even unfamiliar to ourselves. We may be confused by such questions, “What are you doing with your life?” or “Where do you think you are going and what will you be doing in the future?” (p.18)
What the pace of life does is that it often trivializes the deeper questions of the future, mainly because it bombards the senses with so many things to do. As a result, a person easily gets caught up in a delusion that there are endless opportunities and possibilities in the world.
In fact, however, while social life has changed, it's up to humans to make life valuable and meaningful. For example, if my attitude is simply to acquire the most accomplishments without any idea about their significance, such accomplishment become like the proverbial medals "gathering dust" on a mantelpiece. They mean nothing to the winner, because they are one of many experiences to be sought. The mentality of quantifying one's achievements sadly also trivializes death and the end of life, by making it nothing more than the resume of all of one's past accomplishments, in a "list" form. In reality, the nature of choice (and death) is that people always stand to lose something because they are not infinite, nor is the time infinite. This is why it's important not just to choose passionately but to choose wisely.
The title of this blog entry is "a heart needs a head", and I say this because it's so opposite to the cultural zeitgeist, which often says "follow your heart". But the head also represents the wisdom of differentiating appearances, and wisdom is needed to know when our hearts have found things that are good for our spirit's growth, not just desirable or passionate. Taking a slower approach to life (and even a more cautious, day to day approach) seems needed in the age of fast food and fast pace.
Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II Elmhurst. NY Dharma Drum Publications
Master Sheng Yen highlights the importance of having a reflective space through which we can know ourselves. But he also mentions that due to the pace of life, it has become harder to even conceptualize the question, "what do I want from life?" He notes:
When people married in times past, they would rarely consider the option or even the possibility of divorce. These days, people often marry with an attitude of “What’s the big deal? The worst that can happen is that we divorce.” There was a time when people were not so busy, and they had more time to know themselves and understand what their lives were about. Now, we are sometimes even unfamiliar to ourselves. We may be confused by such questions, “What are you doing with your life?” or “Where do you think you are going and what will you be doing in the future?” (p.18)
What the pace of life does is that it often trivializes the deeper questions of the future, mainly because it bombards the senses with so many things to do. As a result, a person easily gets caught up in a delusion that there are endless opportunities and possibilities in the world.
In fact, however, while social life has changed, it's up to humans to make life valuable and meaningful. For example, if my attitude is simply to acquire the most accomplishments without any idea about their significance, such accomplishment become like the proverbial medals "gathering dust" on a mantelpiece. They mean nothing to the winner, because they are one of many experiences to be sought. The mentality of quantifying one's achievements sadly also trivializes death and the end of life, by making it nothing more than the resume of all of one's past accomplishments, in a "list" form. In reality, the nature of choice (and death) is that people always stand to lose something because they are not infinite, nor is the time infinite. This is why it's important not just to choose passionately but to choose wisely.
The title of this blog entry is "a heart needs a head", and I say this because it's so opposite to the cultural zeitgeist, which often says "follow your heart". But the head also represents the wisdom of differentiating appearances, and wisdom is needed to know when our hearts have found things that are good for our spirit's growth, not just desirable or passionate. Taking a slower approach to life (and even a more cautious, day to day approach) seems needed in the age of fast food and fast pace.
Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II Elmhurst. NY Dharma Drum Publications
Monday, October 29, 2018
A Long Journey of Discovery
Today, I joked that the walk from Castle Frank Station along the DVP would be the longest hike in Toronto. I didn't realize that in fact, it truly is--or perhaps I had forgotten how long the journey would take. Nonetheless, the walk was beautiful and I was able to endure the pain in my legs and back to get to the "finish" of Taylor Creek park. Perhaps this will be the last time Toronto will have warm enough weather for walking, but I can imagine that with the proper clothing, this kind of walk can be quite enjoyable any time of the year.
Long walks in Toronto might seem a bit absurd to some, particularly when people are programmed to be always interacting with some kind of screen, itinerary, or to do list. However, there is something inspiring about simply enduring in a natural surrounding without the thought of having to do something, and being able to savor some of those moments of not always being stimulated by the sense of connection. It is sad that "nature walks" are not included as formal pedagogy in schools, and the one or two times that I ever did have a nature walk in school was generally for the purpose of identifying plants or geographical features, rather than as an exercise in being present to the experience of walking outdoors. A course which teaches young people how to use contemplative inquiry in outdoor walking might to a ways in helping them enrich their experiences of the natural world, but also to know something about their relationship to body, time, meaning and purpose.
Some "field" observations I would like to randomly jot in this regard, to be expanded upon later:
a) looking at trees seems to provide a natural release of stress, particularly seeing their swaying forms and being able to project that swaying, rhythmic and changing form onto my own embodied sense of being, makes the tension in my body seem less real, more fleeing
b) trails are places of induction into mystery and meaning. I am always poised between the uncertainty of not quite knowing where it's going to lead, for how long, and whether I can endure, yet there is a fascination in being on the path itself
c) trails offer new ways of looking at the "same old", and they have a way of disorienting and even defamiliarizing one's tried and true map of the city. I have had that experience today where, coming back to a familiar restaurant on Bloor and Yonge for dinner, I thought, "where exactly did I just come from? How come I cannot see it on my traditional map of the world?
d) nature trails are places where one can potentially contact liminal situations: the contact with a hungry squirrel, the sight of a curious bird, even the flight of a stationary helicopter. These experiences inject the everyday with something from a totally different world that is not saturated with "human" meaning--it has a spirit meaning of its very own.'
There is so much here to expand upon, but the point is that these random walks do have an educative value that might translate into the way people relate to things in the city. To be continued?
Long walks in Toronto might seem a bit absurd to some, particularly when people are programmed to be always interacting with some kind of screen, itinerary, or to do list. However, there is something inspiring about simply enduring in a natural surrounding without the thought of having to do something, and being able to savor some of those moments of not always being stimulated by the sense of connection. It is sad that "nature walks" are not included as formal pedagogy in schools, and the one or two times that I ever did have a nature walk in school was generally for the purpose of identifying plants or geographical features, rather than as an exercise in being present to the experience of walking outdoors. A course which teaches young people how to use contemplative inquiry in outdoor walking might to a ways in helping them enrich their experiences of the natural world, but also to know something about their relationship to body, time, meaning and purpose.
Some "field" observations I would like to randomly jot in this regard, to be expanded upon later:
a) looking at trees seems to provide a natural release of stress, particularly seeing their swaying forms and being able to project that swaying, rhythmic and changing form onto my own embodied sense of being, makes the tension in my body seem less real, more fleeing
b) trails are places of induction into mystery and meaning. I am always poised between the uncertainty of not quite knowing where it's going to lead, for how long, and whether I can endure, yet there is a fascination in being on the path itself
c) trails offer new ways of looking at the "same old", and they have a way of disorienting and even defamiliarizing one's tried and true map of the city. I have had that experience today where, coming back to a familiar restaurant on Bloor and Yonge for dinner, I thought, "where exactly did I just come from? How come I cannot see it on my traditional map of the world?
d) nature trails are places where one can potentially contact liminal situations: the contact with a hungry squirrel, the sight of a curious bird, even the flight of a stationary helicopter. These experiences inject the everyday with something from a totally different world that is not saturated with "human" meaning--it has a spirit meaning of its very own.'
There is so much here to expand upon, but the point is that these random walks do have an educative value that might translate into the way people relate to things in the city. To be continued?
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Narratives of Hardship
It’s
interesting to compare the kinds of explanations for hardship that are found in
A Little Princess and Tales of the Greek Heroes. Whereas the
predominant trope of the Greek myths is that of punishing humans for
disobedience to the gods (and testing the virtue of humans such as Philemon and
Baucis), A Little Princess traces the
root of human suffering as downfall due to human excesses which have to correct
themselves naturally. In this second case, it isn’t that Sara needs to respect
the gods to expiate the “sins” of her father, who dies after investing in a
diamond mine network. Rather, Sara has to go through the hardship of being poor
as a way of testing her resolve to practice goodness to others and hospitality,
in spite of her diminished material wealth. Instead of gods, we find that
wealth itself becomes the measure of punishment and reward. Material wealth is
“awarded” to those who attain a virtuous attitude and don’t squander wealth,
while material wealth is “withheld” to test the strength of the character in
the face of deprivation. It’s not long before readers begin to think of wealth
and fortune as similar to the gods in the Greek myths. Wealth and sudden
changes of fortune are signs that either a person has something more to learn
or someone has achieved a certain amount of learning. It’s the story of a
person who does well in life by maintaining a virtuous character, in spite of
suffering or hardships, or deprivations.
How might a
Buddhist see this sort of story? Do Buddhists also see the value in developing
strength in character as a result of suffering? First of all, I am aware that
all of these narratives are just ways of telling ourselves how to deal with
hardship. It’s hard to say, beyond this, whether a person’s character is
“strengthened” through hardship, and I am more inclined to think that a
person’s belief in the redeeming powers of hardship is actually what motivates
them to keep practicing virtuous or productive things in the midst of
suffering. If I continue to believe I am entitled to things because of my
position, class, birth, upbringing and so on, I cause suffering to myself by
carrying resentment. If on the other hand, I am aware that all of these “ups
and downs” are only temporary, then I allow myself to focus only on what is in
this moment. I don’t try to trace back, through some kind of constructed
narrative, the “wherefore” or the “why”, since this kind of inquiry is not so
productive: it can lead to all number of debates about when suffering began or
what started my “downfall” when, in fact, sometimes one is only feeling some
temporary vexation in the moment that is not connected causally with anything.
In other words, Buddhists are more interested in the human tendency to make
stories out of simple sensations and then attach to some identity embedded
there.
Saturday, October 27, 2018
More on a Fast Paced Life
I feel that I would like to go back to some of Master Sheng Yen's teachings, particularly his Tea Words Volume II, as some of what he is writing about touches upon the fast paced world that I am living in today.
When a person refers to "fast paced", what do they mean exactly? Today, I was sharing with some of the Grade 4 students about Frankenstein, a story which at one point was dubbed as "The Modern Prometheus, and how it's sometimes perceived as a warning against trying to control nature too much. I also reflect that from the perspective of the scientist, Frankenstein, this story might be an allegory for the ways in which one's creations end up controlling them, in many respects. How this relates to today's fast paced world might be expressed in the form of a paradox: the easier we make things to be, the more those things can influence a person. A good example might be the "addiction" to connecting on Facebook. When a person becomes attached to the idea of being recognized or having one's pictures "liked", a kind of short circuiting situation arises. One Dharma teacher, Guo Gu has remarked, "our need to be seen, heard and loved is greatly exploited by technologies that purport to meet those needs" (p.26). Why is it that apps and other online tools are so powerfully addictive? I think in some ways it's because they short circuit the long process that comes with connection by offering an easy substitute that feels like "being liked" or being recognized. In a scary sort of way, these technologies have a way of reminding us that the feeling of being recognized is really an internal one, not even something that people "share" necessarily, but something that I might feel when certain conditions are there in the environment. Whether it's coming from an app, a road sign or wherever, the function of these signs is to provide us with a somewhat illusory sense of uniqueness or "protection" from hostile elements in the world that might not necessarily have our interests in mind. In a way, recognition is a form of temporary immunity from a pervasive feeling of indifference or perhaps even a sense of fragility and contingency in one's perceptions.
To go back to Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen remarks:
There was a time when people were not so busy, and they had more time to know themselves and understand what their lives were about. Now, we are sometimes even unfamiliar to ourselves. We may be confused by such questions, “What are you doing with your life?” or “Where do you think you are going and what will you be doing in the future?”" (p.18)
Here, Master Sheng Yen is referencing the pace of life as something that prevents people from sitting down and reflecting on life's purpose. But what is Master Sheng Yen's recommendation to deal with this kind of fast paced life, from the perspective of Buddhadharma? Master Sheng Yen reflects:
Buddhadharma teaches that the world we live in is only a very small portion of the universe, like a grain of sand in the Ganges River, or a grain of sand in countless Ganges Rivers. Even if we feel that the world is as small as an egg, we can take heart in the vastness of the universe (p.19)
This is a very interesting perspective shift, and one worth noting as well. I believe that it refers to how the world could be seen as so vast that even the "busyness" we engage in is nothing compared to its miraculous vastness. It is not so necessary to dwell on these things we do daily when the universe is so much larger. Another way of looking at this is to say, what will one's world be twenty or thirty years from now? Are all the worries related to accumulating things and getting things done today, going to make a difference at that time? Most likely, the majority of things are only going to be temporarily known or recognized, only to be replaced by newer experiences.
Master Sheng Yen continues, "We may not be able to roam through it in its entirety at this point, but we need not feel any claustrophobia or oppression because the Earth feels small to us now. With a method of practice, we can discover a great world inside of us that is limitless, like the world around us. There is no measure of the space within and without." (ibid). Again, the sense of oppression that Master Sheng Yen is referring to is none other than the view that my "self" is limited to this body and the things it is able to do in a tiny stretch of time. In aligning myself to a greater vastness of the mind, all these thoughts start to diminish in their overall magnitude
Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications
When a person refers to "fast paced", what do they mean exactly? Today, I was sharing with some of the Grade 4 students about Frankenstein, a story which at one point was dubbed as "The Modern Prometheus, and how it's sometimes perceived as a warning against trying to control nature too much. I also reflect that from the perspective of the scientist, Frankenstein, this story might be an allegory for the ways in which one's creations end up controlling them, in many respects. How this relates to today's fast paced world might be expressed in the form of a paradox: the easier we make things to be, the more those things can influence a person. A good example might be the "addiction" to connecting on Facebook. When a person becomes attached to the idea of being recognized or having one's pictures "liked", a kind of short circuiting situation arises. One Dharma teacher, Guo Gu has remarked, "our need to be seen, heard and loved is greatly exploited by technologies that purport to meet those needs" (p.26). Why is it that apps and other online tools are so powerfully addictive? I think in some ways it's because they short circuit the long process that comes with connection by offering an easy substitute that feels like "being liked" or being recognized. In a scary sort of way, these technologies have a way of reminding us that the feeling of being recognized is really an internal one, not even something that people "share" necessarily, but something that I might feel when certain conditions are there in the environment. Whether it's coming from an app, a road sign or wherever, the function of these signs is to provide us with a somewhat illusory sense of uniqueness or "protection" from hostile elements in the world that might not necessarily have our interests in mind. In a way, recognition is a form of temporary immunity from a pervasive feeling of indifference or perhaps even a sense of fragility and contingency in one's perceptions.
To go back to Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen remarks:
There was a time when people were not so busy, and they had more time to know themselves and understand what their lives were about. Now, we are sometimes even unfamiliar to ourselves. We may be confused by such questions, “What are you doing with your life?” or “Where do you think you are going and what will you be doing in the future?”" (p.18)
Here, Master Sheng Yen is referencing the pace of life as something that prevents people from sitting down and reflecting on life's purpose. But what is Master Sheng Yen's recommendation to deal with this kind of fast paced life, from the perspective of Buddhadharma? Master Sheng Yen reflects:
Buddhadharma teaches that the world we live in is only a very small portion of the universe, like a grain of sand in the Ganges River, or a grain of sand in countless Ganges Rivers. Even if we feel that the world is as small as an egg, we can take heart in the vastness of the universe (p.19)
This is a very interesting perspective shift, and one worth noting as well. I believe that it refers to how the world could be seen as so vast that even the "busyness" we engage in is nothing compared to its miraculous vastness. It is not so necessary to dwell on these things we do daily when the universe is so much larger. Another way of looking at this is to say, what will one's world be twenty or thirty years from now? Are all the worries related to accumulating things and getting things done today, going to make a difference at that time? Most likely, the majority of things are only going to be temporarily known or recognized, only to be replaced by newer experiences.
Master Sheng Yen continues, "We may not be able to roam through it in its entirety at this point, but we need not feel any claustrophobia or oppression because the Earth feels small to us now. With a method of practice, we can discover a great world inside of us that is limitless, like the world around us. There is no measure of the space within and without." (ibid). Again, the sense of oppression that Master Sheng Yen is referring to is none other than the view that my "self" is limited to this body and the things it is able to do in a tiny stretch of time. In aligning myself to a greater vastness of the mind, all these thoughts start to diminish in their overall magnitude
Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
The "book end" metaphor of spirituality
I had this idea on my way home from work today, which relates to how my experience of spiritual life is literally book-ended: caught between the covers of books. This is not to say that I see spirituality as an intellectual form of book reading, but recently my ideas about what makes a person "spiritual" have expanded a lot.
I think the important aspect of spiritual life is that it always exists as a narrative which is shaped by communities of practice. Contrary to popular belief, spiritual practices are not about this lone traveler who transcends all social life. In fact, a person's spirituality is literally being mediated by language all the time, even to the point where evaluating how one interprets a spiritual experience is predicated on texts and the wisdom passed down along a lineage. Communities confirm or dis-confirm one's path, and this also becomes a point of reflection on that path. I would say that all of this confirms the important role that community plays in spiritual life.
But there is more to this "book end" metaphor than that. Since there is always a space "between" book ends, one should also look for the spaces between different discourses that are out there on spiritual life and practice. There are also practices and ways of being that simply don't fall into words at all. Knowing that there are these spaces of unknown or unnameable states of being can help people become less literal minded about the texts they read. Does this suggest that an eclectic approach works better? In some cases, it might, but perhaps a good way to look at it is that texts are always serving as go-betweens for vast spaces of spirit that can only be known through a direct contemplation through practice.
I think the important aspect of spiritual life is that it always exists as a narrative which is shaped by communities of practice. Contrary to popular belief, spiritual practices are not about this lone traveler who transcends all social life. In fact, a person's spirituality is literally being mediated by language all the time, even to the point where evaluating how one interprets a spiritual experience is predicated on texts and the wisdom passed down along a lineage. Communities confirm or dis-confirm one's path, and this also becomes a point of reflection on that path. I would say that all of this confirms the important role that community plays in spiritual life.
But there is more to this "book end" metaphor than that. Since there is always a space "between" book ends, one should also look for the spaces between different discourses that are out there on spiritual life and practice. There are also practices and ways of being that simply don't fall into words at all. Knowing that there are these spaces of unknown or unnameable states of being can help people become less literal minded about the texts they read. Does this suggest that an eclectic approach works better? In some cases, it might, but perhaps a good way to look at it is that texts are always serving as go-betweens for vast spaces of spirit that can only be known through a direct contemplation through practice.
Monday, October 22, 2018
Ways of Reading Spiritual Texts
I have been reflecting recently on the correct attitudes toward reading spiritual texts. I believe that two factors in particular stand out in terms of effectively helping people to immerse themselves in reading spiritual texts. The first is that one should have an attitude of humility when reading spiritual texts. Texts are like living beings, and there is simply no way to swallow or absorb all the various meanings of the text in one big "gulp". This brings me to my next point, which is that spiritual texts are inexhaustible in terms of providing sources of wisdom. I have found that I can read Master Sheng Yen's books several times over and over, and yet still find something so valuable in reading them. It is as though each reading were an entirely new moment to which the text addresses itself in uniquely new ways.
Sometimes, a reader like myself has to admit the fact that they are not able to absorb every possible aspect of a text. It doesn't always get "internalized" into one's worldview or way of being. I notice, for example, that I feel vexations after work, and I have noticed my need to come back to basic Chan texts by Shifu (or commentaries) to be able to ground my mind again, or at least provide a wider perspective on what I experience. My attitude at that point is one of admission, admitting that my practice is too weak to carry me through these rough patches, and I do need to remind myself of some teaching that will at least ground my awareness. Here, it's the text that grounds me, not necessarily my own personal embodiment of it. And sometimes being able to admit my need for reading something inspirational or informative helps me to ground myself and not to be so independent all the time. A lot of times, the desire to turn to a book is really that desire to surrender to something that is greater than the sum of desires, fears and dislikes.
Sometimes, a reader like myself has to admit the fact that they are not able to absorb every possible aspect of a text. It doesn't always get "internalized" into one's worldview or way of being. I notice, for example, that I feel vexations after work, and I have noticed my need to come back to basic Chan texts by Shifu (or commentaries) to be able to ground my mind again, or at least provide a wider perspective on what I experience. My attitude at that point is one of admission, admitting that my practice is too weak to carry me through these rough patches, and I do need to remind myself of some teaching that will at least ground my awareness. Here, it's the text that grounds me, not necessarily my own personal embodiment of it. And sometimes being able to admit my need for reading something inspirational or informative helps me to ground myself and not to be so independent all the time. A lot of times, the desire to turn to a book is really that desire to surrender to something that is greater than the sum of desires, fears and dislikes.
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