Lone Illusion?

 Sitting in a coffee store, I feel the diversity of people occupying the same room: the sense of so many different stories and conditioned lives that emerge from those stories. Is it true to say that all these individuals lead separate existences? Or is there a thread running through all stories that allows people to naturally connect, even without saying anything?
   I can say there is definitely a difference between being in a room by myself and being in a room with others. Even if I am not interacting with them directly, there is a felt presence in the room; a kind of bustling, sentient activity. That may not be enough to feel connected to them but it's interesting to contemplate where this overall "sense" of aliveness comes from. Is it coming from the collective experiences of everyone in the room, like a kind of "pooled" energy? Actually, it is really mind itself that is the source  of these energies. There is no "reaching out" to touch or converse with these phenomena at all. It's already present, whether one is talking or drinking, eating or sleeping, observing or not observing.
   I find it so easy to take human energy for granted because of my conditioning to think of humans as people with shared goals. We learn about collaboration and cooperation in schools, which is how humans pool their resources to shared ends. But I bet that few schools recognize an already present sentience that happens when people are together in the same room. This felt sense, if one is aware of it, can create a kind of calm joy. I sense that all the "loneliness" a person feels is actually the striving to go beyond this basic, shared sentience. It is as though a person, forgetting what is already in their skin, were to project that living presence into specific people and then longs to get back what is already theirs.
  What spoils this moment are two distinct things: one is the longing for a specific quality which we attribute to someone else, and the other is a self-consciousness that insists that this body be present to others. This is what leads people in social situations to feel alone and then compelled to somehow strive to cover up that alone feeling through a word, a gesture and a reaching out. But nobody can heal it because that alone feeling is an illusion that is created from a striving and a sense of a separate ego or self. Trying to heal it is like trying to fix a cloud in one place so that it doesn't block the sun.

Resolutions

 During the last meditation session of the year, I had asked the group if they had any new year's resolutions regarding their own practice. I had mentioned that one of my own resolutions was to try to bring more relaxation to my work. GuoXing Fashi had once mentioned while he was in Toronto that people feel a lot of tension at work because on a conscious or subconscious level, they are trying to compete with others in their team, whether for status or accolades, or even out of fear of being the one with the lowest outputs. I have to admit that I have had such a fear myself, being in a company where "lean" is considered a good thing, and the department is always looking for ways to do more with fewer people. But one of GuoXing Fashi's key points that I found remarkable is how one can learn to treat their work as a spiritual practice: a practice of learning to master their own dualistic thinking and let go of self-clinging. That's a very tough lesson to learn, I have to admit. His other key point is that one doesn't necessarily have to leave their relaxation to a silent meditation hall;  in fact, relaxation can be practiced anywhere and it can even be done in high pressure situations. It takes more emphasis on the body presence as well as the sense that my existence does not depend on what is happening around me: it is much deeper than the ideas that I have about myself, work and others. As hard as it is, I start to realize especially during the second half of the year that I was very tense at work, trying to meet very strict deadlines, and I felt it in the form of body fatigue. I am definitely not relaxed enough at work.
     Resolutions, I have found, are not so easy to keep. There are many reasons for this, but as Rob Nairn suggests in his excellent book Living, Dreaming, Dying, part of the reason is that people are governed by very complex unconscious forces. I tend to think of it a bit like the Greek pantheon: rather than there being a single "ruler" God who is standing over all His creations, Greek mythology suggests that the forces of nature and spirit were in continual conflict and flux, even as mortals were looking to the gods and nature for sustenance and wisdom. This is hardly a stable place where a person's sole injunction is to obey a single ruler: on the contrary, it is a highly contested space where a variety of different gods and goddesses compete for the spotlight. Could some of this pantheon perhaps symbolize the different priorities that one's mind contains at any given time in life? And, if that's the case, how can I even resolve with any certainty to do anything, such as give up a bad habit or take on a new challenge?
      Nairn's answer is that the path of mindfulness is one of being aware of these forces by quieting the mind, and thus allowing changes to naturally arise over time. With the mindful mentality, my role is not to control forces but to harness them in ways that come from a sense of familiarity with them. Imagine, for example, being so terrified of snakes that you are not even able to face them without becoming anxious or going into a tirade about how bad snakes are, finally stomping out of the room in disgust. But if I sat in front of the snakes and allowed all these thoughts to pop in and out of mind without avoiding the snakes, what happens then? A lot of things happen, ironically, because I am no longer trying so hard to put some counter-thought in front of the snakes. I am simply becoming aware of the full gamut of my reactions, seeing how they change over time and might even disappear without our intervention in any way. By not trying to consciously control the situation, things become more clear because I am creating psychic space for more unconscious material to come out. In this way, I start to develop new patterns without trying so hard to create these patterns myself.

Nairn, R. (2004). Living, Dreaming, Dying: Practical Wisdom from the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Boston: Shambhala

Of Shame

What is the difference between "healthy" shame and "morbid" guilt? This is a theme that I have encountered in a lot of Buddhist texts. Rob Nairn  notes that when there are things we feel ashamed of that gnaw at our conscience, our regrets take the form of the "furies" upon one's entering into the bardo states of death. Note that "Furies" come from Greek mythology and they refer to beings who taunt mortals as a form of punishment for things done badly in the past. I also see this kind of discussion arising in the theme of repentance. Many Buddhist masters are careful to point out that repentance is not about morbid reflection one one's guilt or "unworthiness". Such a preoccupation easily becomes self-absorbed, forgetting that people do in fact change and are capable of developing new insights and habits over time.
    I think there is such a thing as a healthy sense of shame. "Healthy" shame means that the person recognizes that their sense of shame is a reminder coming from themselves. Nobody can ever "make" a person feel shame. It's only when I am truly ashamed of some behavior or impulse that I am invited to reflect more deeply on it, from my own mind and heart. If someone is telling me that I should feel bad about something and my heart doesn't feel the same way, I can either explore what the other person means or might feel that the criticism doesn't apply to me. But if I am really pulled into it emotionally, I might ask myself what I really feel about it: do I truly feel that I should behave differently? What do I really feel or think about it? Here, I learn to own the sense of shame as an invitation to reflect more deeply on my actions and what I value in life. Sometimes it's only myself who creates shame, because what I am doing is not consistent with my beliefs in who I should be. So when I have a feeling of shame, I might want to explore that inner conflict between my behavior personal ideal (who I think I ought to be).
    Shame does not have to be seen as intrusive. It can be seen as the voice of one's own conscience or 'inner parent'. But this also does not mean that one should uncritically accept that voice. If the ideal I am striving for is unrealistic or unforgiving in some way, I might want to soften that voice or allow for more understanding. I might also soften that inner critic if need be. The point is to invite deeper exploration and curiosity.

The Answer in the Question

Continuing my reading of Rob Nairn's Living, Dreaming, Dying, I come across yet another interesting observation about the role of reflection in formulating questions. Nairn writes:

When we start to reflect, the mind engages the problematic issue as soon as effort is made to formulate a question...The act of formulating the question requires the mind to sift out all irrelevant and extraneous issues. In doing this it gradually exposes the main issue or issues, and then a conclusion isn't far away (p.215)

This process leads Nairn to evoke Krishnamurti's statement, "the answer lies in the question" (ibid). But as I am reading this, I am wondering, is it the wording of the question that matters, or the sense of urgency that propels the question itself? There is simply no method here to determine whether or not we have arrived at the "right" question, save for a vague sense of certainty. However, perhaps the point of all of this questioning is not to find the "right" question at all, but rather to generate the sufficient urgency and "doubt" sensation to undo a lot of our assumptions that can underlie our questions.
  Two processes come to mind here as I am reading this. One is "Socratic" method, a method found in many Socratic dialogues that is designed to force the participants to question the very foundations of what they think they know. The second process is the huatou method in Chan Buddhism, a method of raising an impossible question (such as "What is nothingness?") which is used to generate a doubt sensation and cause the mind to shatter its dualistic notions of self and other, as well as go beyond discursive thinking or reasoning when answering an existential dilemma. Both methods are not necessarily about raising reasonable answers, but focus on the ways our minds get ensnared in pat answers that only reinforce dualistic thought.
  Nairn proposes a very interesting methodology for engaging the deeper questions that don't have easy, factual answers. He notes: "We are learning to open up to the profound wisdom within us, wisdom that is usually ignored. The route involves presenting ourselves at the door, handing over the question, then sitting down to wait. Patience is needed." (p.216, italics mine). I find this technique to be an excellent reminder of how the rational mind often tries to jump in quickly to answer its own question, rather than giving time and space for a deeper wisdom to set in and provide an answer from a much deeper, less intervening space.
  Nairn provides a more detailed exposition of the method of engaging the mind in deeper questions, including a useful guided meditation which can be found on pages 217-219 of his text. What I will say here is that one of the advantages of this methodology is the way it expresses letting go of the striving to answer a question rather than let the question 'go'. I find this insight interesting because it reverses my usual tendency to blame myself when my problems chronically reappear as well as try to fix the problem prematurely before the main issues have had a chance to surface. The second advantage is that it actually improves one's tolerance for not having a clear answer , as well a the joy of sifting through possibilities. In the rush to solve one's problems, there is often little room for exploration and ambiguity. But what if the real changes one wants to have in life are not coming from rational concrete answers but actually come from cultivating the joy of uncertainty and tolerating an unreciprocated frustration/desire in not-knowing.

Nairn, Rob (2004). Thinking, Dreaming, Dying: Practical Wisdom from  the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Boston: Shambhala.

Bare Attention

In his very thoughtful book, Living, Dreaming, Dying: Practical Wisdom from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Rob Nairn describes the benefits of bare attention:

Awareness of the thought process at this moment of arising is what makes freedom from thought possible, because when the mind is only at the stage of impulse arising , the energies haven't fully engaged. There is an almost impartial quality about the energy of the impulse. (p.175)

When a thought arises, it is not taken as being "my" thought or something that comes to my mind. Rather, there is a kind of energy that coalesces around a particular constellation of thoughts, and it's that energy that needs one's attention before it becomes very powerful or directive thoughts. To give an example, I might experience an uneasiness when a sound arises that seems unpleasant. That sensation of "unpleasant" gets translated to an attempt to compare the sound with a "more pleasant", desirable silence, and I am also going through the process of trying to figure out where the sound comes from and what I can do about it. All of these "actions" I am performing are adding to the strength of the original energy, by endowing it with all these characteristics that confirm its substantial nature. The sound even starts to seem more "real" and "solid" when it is associated with other impressions, but we often fail to recognize that the sound is really simply energy that is passing through the ear drum and being transformed into signals in the brain.
  I think it's a good practice not to take these energies to be substantial but to try to relax with them rather than forming a lot of ideas around them. In this way, one gets a fuller picture of them as part of a larger and much vaster context. Bare attention also allows a person to see that they are able to make decisions about perceptions and sensations before they turn into full blown judgments or stereotyped actions or responses. Knowing how to be in the moment before thoughts coalesce into "I" and "you" can be such a helpful and priceless skill that can awaken a more present, open and spacious mind.

Nairn, Rob (2004) Living, Dreaming, Dying: Practical Wisdom from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Boston: Shambhala

Secrets to Gratitude ?

Are there complex secrets to gratitude and gratitude journals? I am starting to keep a gratitude journal now, to record points that I feel thankful in life. John P. Miller (2014) has written about the benefits of gratitude journals in many of his books, and this is an area that I would especially like to explore in education. For example, does the process of keeping a gratitude journal help teachers appraise their students differently, across a span of time? I would like to have teachers try out gratitude journaling for themselves.
   I have some theories, even after my initial "test period" (well, 2 days, to be exact!) of writing a gratitude journal. Here are some summary "tentative conclusions":

1) Writing only about gratitude definitely has an effect on one's mentality. If I simply write a journal about "anything", it's bound to become speculative or potentially critical of something, which is antithetical to gratitude. My current blog is not a gratitude journal, because it meanders into all sorts of philosophical detours. Forcing myself to write on a theme of gratitude is a bit like channeling water into a long funnel: it focuses one's thought patterns so that positive affect is more likely to emerge.

2) Sometimes, I hate to say it, but gratitude is difficult to cultivate with any modicum of sincerity. I was going to write this morning that I am "grateful to my morning coffee", but this does not feel sincere to me at all. It also lacks impact, because coffee cannot be extended to general principle of life, and its effects are limited to that caffeine rush in the morning. When I sit down to write in this journal, what pops to mind is actually things that are otherwise irritating or annoying to me (such as getting on the wrong bus) and how I can challenge myself to "refrarme" it in a grateful way. Is this more sincere than writing about coffee in the morning? I don't know, but I find that the act of reframing a negative situation into something positive feels very empowering to me.

3) A theory: could gratitude journals form a kind of transitional object that mediates between everyday suffering and the desire for something "better"? I tend to think of it similar to how the ancient Roman meditation of conjuring up "worst case scenarios" as a way of preparing them for the very worst, which is an interesting principle.

4) Gratitude forces me to be simpler in how I think. Do I like something or not? Why do I like it? What makes me happy to have it? And so on. I tend to be complicated in my regular blog, but my gratitude journal forces me to be more simple and immediate. Perhaps the problem with being a teacher or academic is that one has a tendency not to be direct, and gratitude journals ge more to the point.

More to be continued on this experiment!

Keith's Gratitude Journal: https://keithgratitude.blogspot.com/

Miller, J. P. (2014). The Contemplative Practitioner: Meditation and Education in the Workplace. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Reflection on Suffering

 In his commentary on Shantideva's verses in A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life, Dalai Lama advocates reflection on the suffering that arises from strong emotions and vexations, especially as a way of gaining insights into life as a whole. He notes, "While we find that there are many factors and conditions that cause pain and suffering in our lives, the conditions that would give rise to joy and happiness are comparatively rare." (p.27). Knowing that or moments of joy are a little bit pale in comparison with moments of happiness, can we reorient ourselves to suffering in a way that it becomes more like a blessing?
   I can think of at least two scenarios in which this would make sense. The first scenario is that we can think of suffering as a kind of teacher, who trains us in the art of tolerance and allows us to see our own reactions. If I experience irritation with a stranger, what does that say about me as a practitioner? In knowing how I interact with others, I can obtain a very sharp and clear (sometimes) understanding of where I might be stuck, and the places where I might need to find new coping strategies to frame healthy responses to the situation. The second scenario is that suffering can force us to a place of renunciation, where we no longer hold onto ideals that are untenable or dreams that don't have substance in our lives.
  The third value of suffering which is not mentioned in Dalai Lama's text was given to me at a Surangama Retreat held by Venerable GuoXing many years ago. GuoXing Fashi used the analogy of swallowing the hot pepper to describe one particular orientation to suffering when one is on the cushion. Some people might think that swallowing hot peppers is a form of torture, and might even question the sanity of the person who decides to do it. But there is actually something satisfying that comes from knowing that I can reverse a traditional equation of "pleasure" with "seeking" and "pain" with "avoiding" behavior. I can learn to see the frustrating or somewhat unpleasant experience in a way that I start to befriend it. I experiment with the idea that things around me are not desirable or undesirable in themselves, but are granted those traits by my attitude and relationship toward them.
   I want to use another example from Greek mythology and that is Medusa. Medusa was punished by Athena for an affair with Poseidon by being transformed from a beautiful maiden to a very hideous monster with snakes for heads. We rarely see Medusa as a pitiable character in Greek mythology who is worthy of compassion: all the mythical books immediately label her as a kind of villain simply by virtue of her appearance. Medusa is given the label of "bad", yet we never consider, what would life look like from her eyes? I think this extends to the idea that what we sometimes think of as an unpleasant experience is actually only one of many possible narratives we can select from to frame that experience.
  We can not only learn to experiment with different framing of things but we may also, in some circumstances, go beyond framing itself to contemplate where all these frames originate, and whether we, as "subjects" are really bound to stay in one particular frame or not.

Dalai Lama (2018). Perfecting Patience: Buddhist Techniques to Overcome Anger. Boulder: Snow Lion