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| Hi,
How are you today?
I read your [mindfulness] journal just before.
Thank your for your sincere practice.
I thought that If the pain is always in you,
let's find the way to become friend with it.
How?
Let's think about that.
See you tomorrow morning.
May Dharmakaya fourfold grace guide you...
Good night...
From your Buddha mom.
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| I am currently undergoing testing in order to diagnose my intestinal
difficulties. (Viz. constipation, gassiness, abdominal pain, occasional
cramping.) I had a blood test done not long ago, but, as we speak, the
more trying and infinitely more sinister test is being administered.
For
the next few days, I must observe a special diet, taking care to eat
more fiber. And each time I defecate, I must lay on the surface of the
bowl's water a laboratory-issued napkin. Upon it will fall my waste, of
which I must then use my laboratory-issued popsicle stick to take a
small amount. I then spread the matter onto a laboratory-issued slide.
Taking one sample is not enough; I must then rotate the popsicle stick with utmost care, for reasons you must surely understand, take another sample from a different area of the stool, and spread it onto a separate slide.
Three
times, I must endure this ordeal. After the third, I will send the
samples to my doctor via first-class mail. I have just completed the
first round. The experience was as I expected: certainly vexatious -- I
watched the tip of that applicator as I would watch an enemy in
hand-to-hand combat, and with all the more caution as I took the second
sample -- but altogether, something that left me unharmed.
But
the implications of this experience cause me a deep and enduring
disquiet. What if, in the future, to gauge my character, I am asked
such questions as, "Have you ever poked your own poop with a stick?" Gone are the days when I could honestly deny it! And, even more unforgivable, I will no longer be able to say, "Why, of course
I have never sent my poop through the mail! Only a barbarian or lunatic
would do so!" How deeply violated I have been in the name of
medicine...
(Seriously though, I am so proud that I will be able to say that I have mailed my poop.) | | |
| After dinner tonight, I felt hungry. I had taken care to chew my food 30 times. My stomach felt full. But I wanted to eat more.
First,
I tried to look at my stomach. "See how full you are? See? Don't you
understand that you don't want more food?" I recalled something that
Bhante H. Gunaratana wrote in Mindfulness in Plain English,
something along the lines of, "In mindfulness practice, we see things
as they are. We avoid optimism and pessimism; clear sight of the world
is all that is necessary. It is its own form of optimism."
So
I watched the feeling in my stomach. I saw that it was removed from
hunger; though my body wanted to treat it by eating, it did not seem
like hunger. It was a deep discomfort to which I was responding with
desire.
I decided to put off my homework and practice
meditation. My stomach was beginning to feel very full, so I didn't
think it would be a good idea to do sitting meditation or to meditate
lying down. I stood up in my room for a little while. In a flash,
though, I decided to go do walking meditation.
As I walked
towards the sports fields behind Ursinus, I drifted in and out of being
lost in thought. I noticed something interesting: I had a desire to go
to places in the future and in the past. In the mental image that arose
of the particular incidents (one the memory of desiring to go to a
monastery, and the other was to play a video game that I played when I
was younger [I can't remember off-hand what it was... I want to say it
was Secret of Mana, but I don't feel like that's right]), there was
full absorption in what I was doing. And here, as I walked, watching my
mind, I felt something disconnecting me from it. The distinction was
something like this: At the moment, I was walking, and there was
something between the "I" and the act of "walking". In the mental
images, there was simply the act; there was no such barrier. Pure
pleasure being taken in what was occurring. More importantly, I know
very well that this barrier has been with me for at least several
years, and it may have been here longer. I further know that in my
memories, that barrier is not there, even if it was actually there when the memory was occurring. This fascinated me, and I wondered about what the barrier might be.
But
I knew I would not be able to find out by thinking about it. I decided
to simply watch it as best as I could in order to understand. Why
philosophize when you can experiment?
As I walked, it was hard
to keep watching the barrier. It seemed so formless, so immaterial, so
unreal. I couldn't even tell how I knew it was there.
As I
watched, it seemed to take the form of a pain in my head, almost in the
middle of it, a flat plane perpendicular to the ground.
I
arrived at the field. It was empty, and it was very beautiful. The sun
was just setting. Far ahead of me, a groundhog and a rabbit gobbled up
grass. The groundhog moved ambitiously; I didn't know they could be so
agile and lively.
I took off my shoes and socks. I walked
very, very slowly. I won't relate what I thought about during the
meditation. I mostly just watched the grass brushing my feet, and got
distracted from time to time by the groundhog. But it felt
rejuvenating.
Eventually, I got so close to the groundhog that it ran away. I advanced a bit further, then walked back to my shoes.
I headed back to my dorm when my brother called. It was nice to talk to him. I love him. :)
He
mentioned that I am the most spiritual among "the four of us." (Jon and
Tyler are counted there.) Lately, more folks have been commenting on my
spirituality. It is confusing to me. I often find myself wishing that I
could be more spiritually open, that I could feel closer to that realm.
Sometimes, I feel so far removed from it... So pulled away from this
world by something I cannot identify; by that barrier, perhaps.
But
after my morning prayers, I feel uplifted. When I pray at my meals, I
feel the quietness. My fiery mind feels removed and lost in thought,
but, when I look, I see that, each day, I really am able to be
spiritual. I always just wish that I could share my spirituality, and
be confident with it.
I need not do so. I do not know what to do instead, but that desire will never be met.
There is still a fear in me of religion, to be religious. I fear my own judgment, and the judgment of others.
. . .
"We see things as they are." | | |
| Here's the dharma talk I gave at the retreat this weekend:
---
Earlier this week, I was helping one of the preministers, Sungsim, practice English. We came across the phrase, “Our life,” I’m afraid I can’t remember the context. It was something along the lines of, “Our life is a succession of endless meetings.” I’d seen this usage before, and I’d always considered it a grammatical error. “It should be ‘our lives’,” I thought. But when Sungsim asked me about it, it suddenly hit me that it wasn’t a grammatical error, but a philosophical one.
One won’t generally hear, in the English language, the phrase, “our life,” but instead, we’ll hear, “our lives.” The reason we make “life” plural is because we are all living our own, individual lives. We each have our own. And thinking these thoughts in my head made me realize how I find that I can’t really believe that.
Though we may not wish to be, we are all incredibly dependent upon others, especially in this society. We depend upon each other for just about every single need that could exist: physical necessities, such as the things needed to maintain one’s body; intellectual necessities, such as the knowledge of how to do certain things, and how to go about fulfilling needs; spiritual necessities, to find anything else we could need. I wouldn’t know how at all to survive on my own without the rest of the world, let alone understand how to be content and thriving. Even if I did, then I’d depend upon the world itself, which I do not mean to separate from the notion of “others”.
It is an incredible tool to practice, when going through one’s day, to stop, look at what your mind is focused upon, and to see just how much has already been given to you. It’s also very enlightening to watch and see what you are giving to the world.
One day, I was reading the scripture when I came across a rather lengthy verse spoken by Master Sotaesan. I will abbreviate it, but it’s still pretty meaty:
“Generally, if we talk about the earth, it is just silent, without language or activity, and so the people of this world presume it is an insentient substance. But in fact there is a real and definite evidence of its being ever bright and numinous. In farming, when we sow seed, the earth perforce must help that seed grow. Furthermore, where red bean seeds are planted, the earth makes sure that red beans will sprout; where soybeans are planted, soybeans must sprout. Where much human labor was performed, there will be a large harvest; where little human labor was performed, there will only be a small harvest; and where human labor was performed incorrectly, losses will occur. Without the slightest confusion, doesn’t the earth respond by clearly distinguishing in accordance with the characteristics of each seed and the input of human labor? Hearing this explanation, one might say, ‘That is because the seeds themselves possess the essential elements of life and sprout thanks to the labor supplied by farmers; the earth is nothing more than the foundation.’ However, how can a seed sprout and grow on its own without receiving the response from earth, and what result would there be had one applied oneself to planting and cultivating in a place that did not receive that response from earth? And not only that, but there is not one of all the myriads of things that rely on earth that does not appear without receiving that response from earth. Therefore, there is not a single thing that the earth does not influence, nor is there any case where it does not exert its authority regarding arising and ceasing, progression and regression. This is not just the case with earth. Heaven and earth are nondual. The sun, the moon, the stars, winds and clouds, rain and dew, and frost and snow are all a single energy and a single principle, so there are none of them that are not numinously efficacious. Thus, all the wholesome and unwholesome deeds that human beings perform will never deceive regardless of how secret they might have been, nor can we resist the resulting retribution and response. All this is the consciousness of heaven and earth and the awesome power of heaven and earth’s clarity. However, the consciousness of heaven and earth is not the same as human consciousness involving joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. It is a consciousness that conducts itself in no-thought, a consciousness that manifests in signlessness, and a consciousness that is impartial and complete, without any selfish motives. Those who understand this principle will be awed by the clarity of heaven and earth, so that no matter what sensory condition one faces, one will not dare to deceive one’s own conscience and commit transgression. Those who have gone a step further and modeled themselves wholeheartedly on the consciousness of heaven and earth will gain an infinitely pure consciousness and could even command the awesome power of heaven and earth."
When I first read that, I had to pause and think about it for a while. How could the earth have consciousness? I didn’t even understand how this could make sense: Consciousness, I thought, is the principle of having a mind, thinking, and being able to process and understand.
The answer came to me in a sort of image: I remembered the day before, when I had been sitting by a stream, watching the water flow. I had been trying to comprehend the immense implications of what that river meant: I had been trying to watch it as gajillions of little water droplets, flowing all together, having, by chance, gathered in this stream, and now all touching, colliding, traveling, and mixing. Now, I could not possibly comprehend this. I couldn’t guess where to put all of those droplets, how they could interact, how they could stay together and continue along together. But, after reading this scripture, I realized that I could dramatically change my idea of what consciousness was. Although I could not comprehend how all of these supposedly individual water droplets could move together, they still managed to perfectly. I could watch them do it; I could see it with my eyes and my mind. And what is consciousness but this? A flow of thoughts, a flow of feelings, all perfectly connected, all exactly where they are supposed to be. This flow in nature follows the same principle that constitutes the flow that I am. What is my mind, what is my body, but a river, flowing ever onward?
I made this large digression about consciousness to illustrate that the flow that I am is not separate from the flow that any of you are. If tiny water droplets, crashing about chaotically, can all move together, how can we, who depend so heavily upon each other, consider ourselves separate? Nor can we consider ourselves separate from the flow of nature, or this retreat house, or each other’s minds. All of us interact endlessly and perfectly, whether it feels that way or not. We are all one big river, flowing; we are not separate people doing our own thing. Instead, we are all here together. We are living “our life.”
I believe that spiritual practice is an imperative element in this analogy. If I were the water droplets themselves, I don’t think I would see the river as a serene and perfect flow, but instead I’d be chaotically flailing around, getting dashed against rocks, never seeming to find any rest. Thus does the dharma become such a key aspect to us.
As each day passes, I find myself more and more grateful for what I have been given, whether it was given with intention or not. Thus do I wish to thank all of you from the depths of my heart.
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| I went camping with Liam and his friends this weekend. I drove up by myself yesterday morning; I had hoped to carpool, but it didn't work out. The days were so bright, so blue, so green, so white... The air was cool, and there was always a light breeze. And the sun kept coming down, even when it went behind a cloud for a little while.
When we got up there, we went swimming in the lake. Jon, Cassie, Nathan and I played in there for a long while. That was wonderful. I'd been wanting to swim for months. My shoulders hurt from the exertion, but what the hell did I care. It was much more important to enjoy myself.
After they got out of the water, I sat on the beach and stared at the sky, and the forest, the water... It was all so beautiful. Looking at the water, it seemed so unreal. I don't think I'd ever looked at water so closely before. The way it reflected, the way it moved, I couldn't believe that this was part of the world. I guess that just shows that I've been somewhere else all this time. :)
At one point, Jon came back in and stood next to me. He just cleared his throat and looked behind me. I had noticed that a little boy had snuck up behind me, but I hadn't paid him any heed until that point. So I put on a dramatic flair and said, "What's up, Jon? Is there someone behind me?" I turned slowly so that the little boy, who had now grabbed onto my neck and shoulders, had time to continue to hide behind me. "Cuz I don't see anyone!" I turned the other way, amidst great giggling. The little boy's brother ran up also and tried to hide.
It ended up being a nice little diversion. The little boys hopped on my back, and I acted as a seahorse to them. Their names were Mikey and Matthew. Mikey was 5, Matthew was 3. They had red hair and pale skin, and were generally adorable. Matthew kept clinging to my arms and my legs; he loved being held and touched. Eventually their mother came over and I introduced myself to her; she told me I could tell them to go away if they were irritating me. They weren't.
Cassie and Jon came over and said they were going to have a hand-stand competition in the deeper water, and that we should judge. I had them shout, "ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, GO!" and then we counted how long they were underwater. Everyone stared at us, and grinned. It was nice. (By the by, the first two contests were ties, and then Cassie one in the third round.)
Eventually, they lost interest in me, and I went back to watching the scene. People came and sat with me from time to time, but I wasn't terribly engaging, so they soon left. From time to time, young women in bikinis would walk by and cast looks my way. If they actually made eye contact, I smiled genially, but most seemed content to just look mysterious. I thought for a while about courting in general; I can see why it gets the attention that it does in our culture. I also felt fine leaving it to other people.
When I finally came out, my feet looked like those of a drowning victim. They were blue and pasty and gross. But they soon cleared up.
We all played Frisbee for a while, but I was exhausted. Around dinnertime, I walked down a trail for a long time with my Carebears backpack full of the stuff for Won Buddhist prayer. I found a spot overlooking the natural dam. The sun coming down on it all was just beautiful. After praying, I ran back, because I was worried that the folks at the camp wouldn't save any food for me. (I ran back mindfully, I swear!)
That night, we roasted marshmallows and such. It was really nice. I had my first s'more in years, and it was delicious.
There was a stargazing... gathering? that evening, and we went. There were lots of clouds, though, and we got there late anyway, so we were unsatiated. We went down to the dam. At one point, we were walking through a heavily wooded place, and the path ahead of us was perfect darkness. I said, "The only thing nicer about walking down a path into darkness is running down it." Tom said, "Let's do it." So we ran down. It was exhilarating; couldn't see a damn thing. Tom and I came out of the woods first, and so we got to watch the moon rise.
The others caught up with us, and we went down to the dam. The mist was coming out on the water. It was quite a sight; words are inadequate. But I felt like I couldn't see a lot of it. My body hurt, and my mind was moving a lot. I'm not good at being aware, of being myself, when I'm in groups of people. I don't know why.
As we walked back to the camp, I talked to Liam about some philosophical stuff, but my heart wasn't in it. I was too tired and in too much pain to truly be open and aware. I'm glad I got to talk to him, though. I miss talking to my brother.
When we got back, it was just too much for me at that point. I went to bed.
I wonder why I have such difficulty sleeping.
When I decided I should get up in the morning, I lay in my sleeping bag for a while, hoping and wondering. I found myself asking, "Why?" and just feeling bad about having to get up. I really wished my body didn't hurt so much. But I knew I had to get up, and that things would be OK as ever.
Getting up and having the warmth leave my body felt good.
We packed up, and I drove home. My head hurt so much. But I made it.
There was so much to learn from every experience that came to me. I find that happening in pretty much every moment of my day these days. But there is too much to interpret. If I were to expound upon it all, I'd have no time at all. I'll just have to keep it all to myself. Hopefully, once I'm a bit wiser, it will come back out at times that would be helpful to people. And to myself. | | |
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