107 posts tagged “writing”

Dharmavidya writes:

It has been an intense day. We are holding a weekend seminar on themes from the new book. There are about fifteen visitors plus members of the household: a lively group that has engaged in a lot of intelligent discussion, sharing personal experiences, and exploring relevance of the theory for ordinary life, for therapy practice and also for wider application to social questions. Although we have changed the format periodically to assist the process, discussion has flowed fairly continuously all day with occasional inputs from me. This is pretty impressive given that with the book not arriving until Thursday nobody had had the opportunity to read it in advance. I realise in retrospect that I was somewhat nervous how the day would go since this late publication meant that this was the first public airing on the work. It was both a relief and a satisfaction that many people found the day inspiring and spontaneously came to tell me so.

Some themes: # contrasts between 'ideal' and actual love # critique/appreciation of 'mindfulness' methods # the question whether avoidance of disappointment means not loving # the risks of love # the ubiquity of the dilemma: can one love again # the proper attitude toward emotion in spiritual practice # since love involves holding one other more dear than others does it generate conflict and # does it contradict 'democratic' or 'justice' ideals? # loving people one does not like # the dilemma of therapy as a requirement to love on demand for a fee # appreciation/critique of the theories of Carl Rogers

Dharmavidya writes:

Assume, if you will, that Buddhists have come to power. The election is over; the new president, Mrs Karuna Prajna, has taken office. Her prime minister, Mr Ananda Navamarga, has selected his cabinet. The PLC (Pure Land Congress) Party has a working majority. The opposition socialist, conservative, nationalist and liberal parties are, for the moment, in eclipse. The hopeful population waits in anticipation.

# What kind of society or culture does the new government want to bring about?
# What kind of actions in the world do they want the nation to undertake?
# What measures might they introduce, and what are the pros and cons of those measures?
# What transitional problems will they face?

Let us assume that the country has a developed economy with the same kind of levels of prosperity and technological sophistication as one sees in Western Europe or North America. Let us also assume that while the population has a fair measure of goodwill for the new government, Mr and Mrs Average have not turned into St Francis and Mother Teresa overnight.

The invitation here is for us to brainstorm what such a government might do.

The abandonment of religious virtue has left this culture aggressively antagonistic to the pursuit of the unknown, the unknowable, to the mystical realms of reality. The original enthusiasm for Zen in the United States was not just for personal discovery, but for the possibility of developing an appreciation for the unknown in an excessively cluttered society - it was an effort to break ground for new possibilities.

What we need to know cannot arise from what we know now; our liberation from personal and collective suffering must derive from what we cannot envision, what is beyond our imagination, even beyond our dreams of what is possible.

One day an American student asked a Japanese Zen master, "Is enlightenment really possible?"

He answered, "If you're willing to allow for it."

~ Helen Tworkov, from Tricycle: The Buddhist Review, Vol III, #3

One of the perennial problems in the interpretation of Buddhism is to fathom what Shakyamuni meant by "dukkha". It is commonly interpreted as suffering or affliction and I have, at times, used these interpretations myself. I have come to think, however, that there is a strong case for 'spiritual danger' being a more precise rendering. After all, Shakyamuni was a stoical person. He suffered at times and, we are told, he bore such suffering with fortitude. His life was not eternally happy, but he had the strength of character to handle the difficulties he encountered which included schism in the movement he started, the assassination of his friend and patron Bimbisara, attempts upon his own life, injuries, sickness and death by food poisoning. All these he took in a dignified and cheerful manner. It would not be apt to describe him as one who was always happy, but it would be true to say that when he encountered difficulty he did not sell out or compromise his core principles. He went on doing his best to help others through it all.

The word dukkha etymologically means a 'bitter space' and this seems to me to have echoes in such ideas as 'the dark night of the soul'. When we come up against something tough we are challenged. We might be defeated or we might rise above the obstacle. Shakyamuni used the word 'defeat' alot. Clearly a central part of how he saw his mission was to help us to avoid defeat.

::continue reading and contribute to the discussion - first, join Friends of Amida

Suzuki Roshi said, "Renunciation is not giving up the things of this world, but accepting that they go away." Everything is impermanent; sooner or later everything goes away. Renunciation is a state of nonattachment, acceptance of this going away. Impermanence is, in fact, just another name for perfection. Leaves fall; debris and garbage accumulate; out of the debris come flowers, greenery, things that we think are lovely. Destruction is necessary. A good forest fire is necessary. The way we interfere with forest fires may not be a good thing. Without destruction, there could be no new life and the wonder of life, the constant change could not be. We must live and die. And this process is perfection itself.

All this change is not, however, what we had in mind. Our drive is not to appreciate the perfection of the universe. Our personal drive is to find a way to endure in our unchanging glory forever....Who hasn't noticed the first gray hair and thought, "Uh-oh."

~ Charlotte Joko Beck, Everyday Zen

Kisagotami was a poor widow who had suffered many cruel reversals in life. Then, a final twist of the knife, the beloved baby that was all she had in the world died. She was inconsolable and would not have the child's body cremated. Despairing, some of her fellow villagers suggested she go to see the Buddha. She arrived before him, still clutching the child's corpse in her arms. "Give me some special medicine that will cure my child," she begged.

The Buddha knew at once that the woman could not take the bald truth, so he thought for a while. Then he said, "Yes, I can help you. Go and get me three grains of mustard seed. But they have to come from a house in which no death has ever occurred."

Kisagotami set off with new hope in her heart. But as she went from door to door, she heard one heart-rending tale of bereavement after another. That evening, when she returned to the Buddha, she had learned that bereavement was not her own personal tragedy but a feature of the human condition —and she had accepted the fact.

Sadly, she laid down her dead child's body and bowed to the Buddha.

~ John Snelling, Elements of Buddhism

At the time of the Buddha there was a monk who was so infatuated with the Buddha that he followed him around like a puppy dog. Wherever the Buddha went, this monk went too. One day the monk became very ill and had to stay in bed. As he was lying in bed he started crying. When the other monks came to see him . . . he said, "I am crying because, being ill, I can't see the Buddha."

Upon learning this, the Buddha immediately came to visit the sick monk, who brightened up and looked happy again. Then the Buddha said to him, "Whoever sees me, sees the dhamma; whoever sees the dhamma, sees me."

Whoever sees a Buddha, sees nothing but enlightenment, which is the essence of the dhamma. Whoever can see the dhamma within, sees the Buddha, equaling enlightenment. The greatest jewel is recognizing the dhamma in oneself and not being attached to any one person, even the Buddha, who only wants to be our guide. When true confidence arises in the dhamma, it gives great impetus to the practice.

~ Ayya Khema, When the Iron Eagle Flies

Sometimes, the thought of “I” suddenly arises with great force. . . . The situation is like that of a rock or a tree seen protruding up from the peak of a hill on the horizon: From afar it may be mistaken for a human being. Yet the existence of a human in that rock or tree is only an illusion. On deeper investigation, no human being can be found in any of the individual pieces of the protruding entity, nor in its collection of parts, nor in any other aspect of it. Nothing in the protrusion can be said to be a valid basis for the name “human being.”

Likewise, the solid “I” which seems to exist somewhere within the body and mind is merely an imputation. The body and mind are no more represented by the sense of “I” than is the protruding rock represented by the word “human.” This “I” cannot be located anywhere within any individual piece of the body and mind, nor is it found within the body and mind as a collection, nor is there a place outside of these that could be considered to be a substantial basis of the object referred to by the name “I.”

~ The Second Dalai Lama (1475-1542), in Samuel Bercholz’s Entering the Stream

Central to the Buddha's teaching is the doctrine of anatman: "not-self." This does not deny that the notion of an "I" works in the everyday world. In fact, we need a solid, stable ego to function in society. However, "I" is not real in an ultimate sense. It is a "name": a fictional construct that bears no correspondence to what is really the case. Because of this disjunction all kinds of problems ensue.

Once our minds have constructed the notion of "I," it becomes our central reference point. We attach to it and identify with it totally. We attempt to advance what appears to be its interests, to defend it against real or apparent threats and menaces. And we look for ego-affirmation at every turn: confirmation that we exist and are valued. The Gordian Knot of preoccupations arising from all this absorbs us exclusively, at times to the point of obsession. This is, however, a narrow and constricted way of being. Though we cannot see it when caught in the convolutions of ego, there is something in us that is larger and deeper: a wholly other way of being.

~ John Snelling, Elements of Buddhism

The near enemies are qualities that arise in the mind and masquerade as genuine spiritual realization, when in fact they are only an imitation, serving to separate us from true feeling rather than connecting us to it . . .

The near enemy of loving-kindness is attachment. At first, attachment may feel like love, but as it grows it becomes more clearly the opposite, characterized by clinging, controlling and fear.

The near enemy of compassion is pity, and this also separates us. Pity feels sorry for that poor person over here, as if he were somehow different from us . . .

The near enemy of sympathetic joy (the joy in the happiness of others) is comparison, which looks to see if we have more of, the same as, or less than another . . .

The near enemy of equanimity is indifference. True equanimity is balance in the midst of experience, whereas indifference is withdrawal and not caring, based on fear.

If we do not recognize and understand the near enemies, they will deaden our spiritual practice. The compartments they make cannot shield us for long from the pain and unpredictability of life, but they will surely stifle the joy and open connectedness of true relationships.

~ Jack Kornfield, in A Path with Heart