Spirituality

Had a discussion with a friend about spirituality.

I said that spirituality exists only in the mind.

It is the soup of experience and DNA

in our separate brains that creates 

our separate spiritualities.

He disagreed.

Out of nowhere I said

"Spirituality is the comfort zone

that we build as a buffer

against the pure terror

of being alive."

Is my Buddhist philosophy part of my own buffer zone?

Yes, I think so.

Raccoons are remarkable beings.

They appear to use logic.

They certainly have memories.

They seem to have no abstract thought

so have no terror of life,

though they do all they can

to avoid death.

Is our terror of the enormity of beingness

A part of our "realm of thought,"

one of the "five aggregates"

and therefore illusory?

I think so.

Probably raccoons don't worry much

about such inconsequentialities!

Probably I am just getting old and jaded,

but recently I seem to be

repeatedly observing

that people who should know better

make no effort at all to live up to 

the teachings 

of

their supposed religion.

They're there for

the bells

and whistles

they

have the terminology down pat

but they make no attempt

to follow the teachings

of whatever prophet they follow.

This would be good if

their prophets were Hitler clones,

but when they follow

Buddhism

I would think

that a little practice

of universal compassion

no matter how 'unsuccessful'

would make

 a small improvement

upon this earth.

Of course I myself

am

perfect.

The raccoon has nothing to do with it!

A friend found this Buddha statue at a fund raiser for homeless dogs.

I'm not sure whether it's made of ivory or bone.

To the animal it came from it makes no difference!

This Buddha has a faintly sardonic curl to his lip.

I wonder if the carver intended it.

There Is No Now So Just Let Go!

I haven't written in this diary for years.   So much has changed.  The beautiful Zendo in the mountains has long gone, and the two Rochis who ran it died within 48 hours of each other a few weeks ago.  One of them was my teacher.  She was the most remarkable person I know.  Finding the Zendo in the Yellow Pages,  a place that simply was serenity and peace for me was so very lucky.

In my life I have had very little 'bad luck' so far, but I also have not had 'good luck'.  Great jobs, great men, great looks, great charm were never mine, but finding that particular Zendo and the form of Soto Zen practiced there made the great jobs, men etc so gloriously unimportant!

We remnants of the Sangha go our separate ways, occasionally getting together for a 'sit' and tea and shared words.  Occasionally I take a two hundred mile round trip to practice with another group, but I feel it's a little unjustifiable!

There is a certain luxury in sitting with a group of like minded people.  One feels strengthened for some reason, and the social interaction is something we sentient beings seem to need.  But alone, finding small silences in the day is a continual satisfaction.

The yin yang symbol should not be viewed as static.  It symbolizes the continuous flow and change that creates the whole that mystifies us.  We are all so gifted at balancing through change!  We do it constantly without a thought!

Does Time Pass?

Does time pass? Or is time just another deluded illusion of our lost little minds?
Be that as it may, I thought I'd better update this blog at least once in 2011.

Our beautiful Zendo in the mountains is no more. The lovely serene space with its elegant tans and zafus (sitting accomodations) has been torn out and recycled. The room will be a rec room or something similar I suspect.

Unpleasantness among the exalted resulted in our Roshis turning elsewhere. I assume the philosophy that they so warmly shared still accompanies them.

I would not mourn the passing of the Zendo if I were the Buddhist I would like to be. After all, attachment is an undesirable quality. If I stay in the ever-gone moment I will remember with affection, nothing more.

The Teachings of Harry Dean Stanton

I must have seen Harry Dean Stanton in hundreds of TV Westerns like Rawhide and Gunsmoke, but I didn't notice him until I saw Paris Texas. Yeah. Where he walks out of the desert. Next time I noticed him was in Repo Man which is possibly my favorite movie. Yesterday I looked at some of the 'add-ons' to the director's cut DVD of Repo Man and found an interview with Harry Dean Stanton done I think in 2002. To my amazement I discovered that he is a deep and austere Buddhist. How strange. No smooth-faced serenity in his corroded features! I bet Terry Gross and Charlie Rose etc run at the sound of his name, but if they had the courage to withstand his "you just don't get it, do you?"s it would be great stuff to watch and listen to.

Practice and Perfection

I'm back at T'ai Chi again. Several years ago I tried very hard to learn, but it seemed that my body does not remember the moves, and no matter how hard I tried I simply could not perform a sequence of moves without following someone else. This does not work, because the lovely balance and smoothly flowing motions are ruined when one's head is turned frantically in the wrong direction to try and follow someone else's moves. I think it may have to do with my two dimensional vision and my complete lack of any sense of direction. I am not sure that practice can overcome this physical limitation that is probably nested in my DNA. There are things that come easy and things that come only from effort, and it seems to me that there are things that just wont come no matter what.

Sometimes I think that Buddhism appeals to the lazy. No striving allowed! If one sits quietly and empties the mind, enlightenment will come. I suppose that the lesson here is that if I practice T'ai Chi with serenity and focus, 'getting good' simply does not matter. I am a stork, I will spread my wings.

It's All in How You Look at it.

I haven't written in this blog lately for a number of reasons, the main one being that I have started attending a far distant Zendo. The Zendo is presided over by three wise men. Although they are not ordained, it is perfectly obvious that they are far more intelligent, wise and educated than I am. I realized that I had no business writing a blog as a Buddhist when I was so foolish and ignorant.

On the other hand, I am quite aware that my intuition is probably at least as well developed as their's.

The other reason that I have not blogged lately is that I have been studying "The Essence of the Heart Sutra", which is a compilation of the heart of wisdom teachings of the Dalai Lama. I found myself troubled by some of the things that were said. My intuitive understanding of the Heart Sutra had taken me on a different path than the one on which I was being led by this book.

Perhaps it doesn't matter.

Within or without?

I had lunch with a friend today and he was telling me about his stays at a Vipassana meditation center. It sounded pretty interesting if a little heavy handed with the rules and regulations. What I wondered about was the emphasis on self examination. Can we ever know ourselves? I don't belief we have that capacity. Can we know others? I don't believe we can. Can we know anything? I think not.

Having said all that, I do believe that as I understand Buddhist teaching, universal compassion is what we should practice. It seems to me that this involves opening ourselves outward to encompass all that we can. I like to use the word 'empathy', meaning feeling for all things, including ourselves. I realize that with our delusive perceptivity our 'empathy' may be foolish and unhelpful. If I were a cynic, and unfortunately I think I am, I could say that at least then my delusions would not be directed completely inward.

Levels of sentience

I have a friend who has ants in her house. One day I put some plates with food on them in the ant zone. When we discovered the plates seething with ants I attempted to wash the ants down the drain. My friend stopped me. 'Let them eat,' she said. For several days I watched as the food congealed and hardened and the ants continued to feast.
During a recent snowstorm I found an Audubon Warbler floundering on the snow. I brought the beautiful bird into the house and attempted, unsuccessfully, to save it. At the same time I was trying to come to a decision about the phalanx of mice who had invaded my house. If they had stayed on the floor I wouldn't have cared, but their tiny feces were everywhere, especially on my kitchen counter. I know there is an allowed maximum of mouse feces in the flour that we eat, but I did not fancy mouse turds in my cheese sandwiches. Reluctantly I put out traps. The mice gorged merrily on the bait. Live traps seemed even more cruel and also ineffective. The mice are still here, but their population has declined at least for now. Procrastination has its uses.

Justifications can be made for killing.

Where do we draw the line?

A Buddhist's Diary November 14th 2009

I started this diary with the intention of doing an entry a day. Idiotic considering that (1) I didn't have internet access at home, and (2) I spend half the time wandering around in my van, and internet does not figure high in my list of priorities.

But I think there is a better reason for not trying to write about Zen Buddhism every day, especially for me. I do not particularly want to get into the esoterica of the philosophy. True, I could have listed one of those amazing Sanscrit or Hindi words each day and explained them, to myself as well as my diary, but why?

Like Christianity, the essence of Buddhism is simple. Old texts are stacked to the dim, smokey ceilings of Tibetan Buddhist temples, and there are scholar monks who spend their lives studying them. Have they found any priceless wisdom in their studies? I can recite a short version of the Heart Sutra, but the entire Heart Sutra is enormous. Part of the reason is the number of repetitions, which made sense in the days when most people had to rely on their memories, but surely not now?

I could have written about the daily challenges of applying both detachment and universal compassion to every-day life, but I think we all perceive differently, so that the struggle to be a dispassionate Zen Buddhist is a completely personal thing.

A monk and his teacher walked by a stream on a freezing cold day. The monk said 'The poor fish are cold'. The teacher said 'You cannot know whether the fish are feeling cold or not.'

The monk was suitably reprimanded. But couldn't he have said to his teacher 'You cannot know whether I know the fish feel cold or not'.
Well I call this the intellectual fox-trot. It is much simpler to walk carefully, think carefully and take careful action.

I find that the bells and whistles of Buddhism are alluring but not necessary.

A Buddhist's Diary. On the Road Again.

It is hard to think consciously about Buddhism when on the road. When spending the night in a wrecking yard and clearly observing illegal activity and trying very hard to prevent the dogs from barking and announcing our presence, one does not think of Buddhism. This must be the acid test of ability to practice in life what is believed in theory.
Why was I spending a couple of nights in a junk yard? It is a very long story.

Life is so interesting. It is hard not being attached to it!

My camera was destroyed when I was caught in a soaking rain storm, so I have no picture.

When I am through visiting family and friends, I will seek out a warm, peaceful, safe spot to spend at least a week meditating and practicing my painting and taking the dogs for long walks and seeking wisdom.

I think seeking wisdom is like looking for America.

A Buddhist's Diary Sept 22nd 2009

I have just returned from walking part of the pilgrim road to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. I did not travel the road as a pilgrim, but because I wanted to hike by myself in relative safety in a beautiful place where I wouldn't have to rely on a tent to sleep in.
My favorite part of each day was the early morning when it was still dark and I would shoulder my pack and take off in either moon or flash light. I don't know why I liked this so much, except that it was very peaceful. It was especially nice when after a few km I would happen upon a cafe and enjoy a cafe con leche before traveling on. I was told that I would not be the same after walking this way, and of course I am not the same because as a Buddhist I know that I am instantaneously and continually not the same, but I can't say that I am radically different in any way from when I first stepped on the road at Sarria. This is probably because I did not spend days holed up in my tent in the high Pyrenees waiting for the rain and fog to clear as some people did.
There is a tradition of withdrawing to the wilderness in Buddhism and Christianity and probably other religions. People come out of the desert or from under the Bodhi tree blazing with insight. Are the thoughts that come to us when we are solitary and perhaps dehydrated or starving any more valuable than the thoughts that come to mind when driving to work or changing a diaper?
Or is it simply that people are more willing to listen to and respect the words of the strange ones?
Could it be that we modify our thoughts and even beliefs when we function in a crowd and intuitively feel that if we don't 'fit in' with the conventionality around us, we will be shunned, not respected?

And so we become obediant pilgrims, following the well marked road.

Help!

One of the hazards of increasing age is that even in the U.S. where being old is considered a serious disability, people start asking advice.

I think I would have given better advice when I was twelve and my mind was pure and clear.

Sometimes it is easy to help because a person may already know perfectly well what he or she is going to do, and has no interest whatsoever in any counsel one might bestow. They just feel the need to bring decisions out of their heads to share.

The difficulty lies when a person with enormous problems dumps them on my lap. What do I say? "There is no hope for you because you choose not to stop getting high every day"?

I choose to interpret Buddhist philosophy as while acknowledging the mutual beingness of us all, compassion should be disinterested as well as universal. One of the Four Vows is to save all beings. In inscrutable Buddhaspeak does that mean saving one's self?

To get down to brass tacks: I help and advise to the best of my ability without compromising myself, and I expect no miracles.

A Buddhist's Diary July 11th 2009

Today I did it. I released Bird in the area where I found him. I've decided that Bird is male and although I refused to give Bird a name, I used the name Bird when I addressed him. This morning when it was still dark I stuffed him with shreds of meat, wrapped him in a soft flannel shirt and drove him home. He flew straight up into a mulberry tree and disappeared. Later, when I walked the dogs there were a whole lot of his family and friends flying about and calling to each other. I think I may have heard him still sitting in the tree calling for someone to come and put out a nice meal for him.

During the time that I had him I was stunned by his perfection. Everything about him was functional and beautiful. As he grew he acquired what had to be reflexive skills in flying, pecking and following flying insects with his eyes. Oh well, he's on his own in the world of tooth and claw now. Oh yes, he also liked to tear sunflower leaves to bits and he definitely ate what he tore off. Like the flycatchers I observed, he preferred the part of the leaf around the stem end. I may be wrong about their being Western Flycatchers, but my 1968 Peterson indicates that's what they are.

A Buddhist's Diary July 5th 2009

How strange life is! The dogs found this baby bird in the middle of the road looking a lot like a little rock. It appears to be a Western Flycatcher like the ones on my sunflowers. I am feeding it on little bits of meat and the occasional bug stuck on a tooth-pick. I think it can fly well, but I'm not sure it can eat without either me or its mom. I'm sure its mom will have forgotten all about it by now. I can't really train it to fly with its mouth open to snap up bugs. I thought about putting meat in its cage so flies will lay eggs there etc, and starve the bird until it realizes that its only hope is to eat either maggots or flies. I don't know why but I don't want to do this. I hope I will release it tomorrow. It will be happier I think. I'll miss its song in the early morning and evening. I think it's bedtime for birdies so I had better stuff its little gut before it tucks its head under its wing.

Leaf, Beak, Mandible.

This bird is making lacework of my sunflowers' leaves. I don't think it is eating the leaves, I think it is eating insects on the leaves. But the insects don't seem to be making the holes. I have stealthily observed the birds and I have seen their tiny beaks rip right through the succulent green flesh. So we have four lives here: mine, which, as interested observer and Tender of the Garden, has very little to lose, then the sunflower which is ten feet tall and a thing of beauty who, in the fullness of time will provide sustenance for many a winter creature, then there is the bird who needs instant nutriment and is finding it, enabling it to raise a family and survive, (I think it is a Western Flycatcher), and then there is the insect, that black thing below the main vein on the leaf. The insect must be getting something from the sunflower. Maybe it plays its part in the destruction of the leaf. I won't interfere. My garden is free range for all. After all I don't depend on it.
EXCEPTION!!! I bought a tomatillo plant and it came from the store infested with bugs and they are killing it! I go out each morning and unrepentantly murder the bugs, but it is hopeless.

A Buddhist's Diary June 10th 2009

Our Zendo now has only two loyal members: me and a man who works at the library. We have devised an inconspicuous notice saying Zen Meditation and the address and time. I insisted on a phone number to call before coming all the way into the mountains and finding no-one there.

It is a shame as the place is so beautiful, but it seems wrong to expect people to come so far. Perhaps we will work out something better. Our third dedicated member had a change of heart over the 'atman' concept. She is a Yoga teacher and somehow only just found out that Buddhism and Yogism differ absolutely over one thing: the concept of an essence of self which is unchanging. This is I think the Yoga atman. Buddhists are fairly uncompromising on the non existence of self other than as transient beingness. Oh well. It would be good to have a trustworthy group of six. Yes. Six people who can accept their nothingness and go out to lunch.

A Buddhist's Diary, May 25th 2009

It rained a couple of days ago, and the weather cooled a little. My garden is refreshed both by the cool rain and the bi-weekly visit of the acequia or ditch water.
I am learning a little about what grows in this desert oasis, and what doesn't. I have definitely learned that bird seed grows with abandon!

I went to visit a man who has an antique shop He is returning to China where he lived for thirty years. He was kicked out by the Red Guard, but he returned. Now he wishes to return to a monastery and die peacefully in northern China. He is trying to get rid of all the beautiful things in his shop. When the Red Guard destroyed the ancient tombs and temples, they used the rubble for road paving. The local people refused to travel on these roads and made their own way around them. This man and his wife collected artifacts among the rubble. I bought a broken T'ang burial tile which portrays a woman carrying a baby. The woman has a tragic face. He told me that the baby was being buried and the woman would have been the oldest female relative. I also bought a scroll of a sutra that has what looks like a drawing of a holy man. It is actually made of absolutely tiny character writing of the sutra I presume. It is very beautiful and hangs in my windowless living room.
He also partially cleared up my puzzlement over some of the sayings of Buddha as appearing in the Dhammapada. He says that of course the fool I walk with is me. OK. But doubt remains.

A Buddhist's Diary May 4th 2009

I give up on the daily diary idea. From now on I will just make entries on the day I commit them.
Yesterday we met many snakes on the road. My friend said that one, passing in front of us, looked like a pale, rippling ribbon fluttering across the way. This one got suspicious when we stopped to admire him.
I would not like to try and catch it alive and remove its fangs. I suspect either it or I would die in the process. This snake is a diamond back. It is about four feet long and has the black and white stripes at the end of the tail before the rattles begin.