My friend Mark over at Marko Polo invited me to participate in his survey of Buddhist blogs. As I answered his questions, I realized that he'd given me the opportunity to take a quick snapshot of The Buddha Diaries and what it's all about. Here are Mark's questions, and my answers.
Buddhist Blog Questionnaire
1. How did you get acquainted with the teachings of the Buddha?
I grew up as the son of an Anglican (Church of England) minister, and my entire education was in Christian private schools. I was thoroughly indoctrinated in my youth, and abandoned all interest in the church—and in Christianity—by the time I was eighteen. I had no interest in religion of any kind until I was about fifty years old. At the time, my daughter was in the grip of a terrible disease (she has since recovered, thank you!) and I needed some more substantial anchor in my life. A friend recommended Soka Gakkai Buddhism—the branch that is based in chanting—and I was attracted to it because I was convinced that I could never simply sit in silent meditation, and chanting gave me something to “do”. A couple of years later, at an Esalen Institute workshop, I was turned on to Ram Dass, and soon discovered Pema Chrodron, whose book “When Things Fall Apart” spoke loudly to my situation. It was at this time that I first embarked on silent meditation, and soon joined a weekly sitting group to support my early practice.
2. What, if any, religion or philosophy do you associate yourself with currently? Could you describe your faith a bit?
I “associate myself” with Buddhism—but without calling myself a Buddhist. It’s more of a practice than a faith, because it doesn’t require me to believe in anything that I can’t actually put to the test through experience. My skeptical mind shies away from faith. I’m with Missouri: Show Me!
3. Which of the Buddhist teachings do you find most valuable in your everyday life? Why?
Breath meditation. Because it helps me train and stabilize the mind, and find some inner peace. Also the Eightfold Path (see Accesstoinsight.org.) It’s a practical guide on how to lead my life with integrity.
4. Describe your blog. What is your approach to writing? Who is your intended audience? What issues does your blog tend to focus on, be they Buddhist or otherwise?
The Buddha Diaries is a meditation on the events of my life seen through the lens of the Buddhist meditation practice. It covers everything from George the dog to George W. Bush, from books I read and movies that I see to travels and family. It’s a way of examining my life—and the life of the mind—as I continue on my journey through life, and its intended audience is anyone who shares my passion to lead an “examined life.” I’m not trying to convert anyone to Buddhist thought or practice, nor to preach the Buddhist gospel (if there were one.)
My writing, like my meditation, is a practice. I do it virtually every day as a means of remaining conscious and taking stock of where I am. The great adage that I learned years ago and have always followed is an old one: How do I know what I think ‘til I see what I say? Writing is an adventure of the mind, a means of self-discovery, a continuing journey. The fact that, through The Buddha Diaries, I have found many who want to share it with me is a source of endless pleasure and satisfaction.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/30/2007
There is nothing in the self, so do not seek falsely; what is attained by false seeking is not real attainment. You just have nothing in your mind, and no mind in things; then you will be empty and spiritual, tranquil and sublime. Any talk of beginning or end would all be self-deception. The slightest entanglement of thought is the foundation of the three mires; a momentarily aroused feeling is a hindrance for ten thousand eons.
~Tokusan
~Tokusan
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Heart of the Matter
I have been thinking a lot about the heart this week--prompted, in good part, by the review I have been writing of the new book by Ken McLeod, "An Arrow to the Heart: A Commentary on The Heart Sutra." (The review will be published here on The Buddha Diaries and probably elsewhere within the next few days.) For the better part of my life I was simply embarrassed by the heart. Specifically, my own. Brought up distrustful of every emotion, let alone its public display, I reached maturity--in years at least--obsessed with the brain (oh, and that other organ, down south.) The heart, when I noticed it, was only the source of trouble, discomfort, fear and pain--all things I would rather not have to contemplate. As for "love," that was too risky for me, involved too much giving of myself to others. Sex was a whole lot easier to deal with.As I have said elsewhere--and perhaps, too, in these pages, though I don't remember--I didn't discover that I had a heart until I was more than half way to heaven. It happened at a men's training weekend, where I had gone at a period of great trouble in my life to find out what I might be able to do to make it better. For the first time in my life, I encountered men who were willing to admit that they had an emotional and spiritual life as well as an intellectual and physical one, and who almost coerced me, in a loving way but much against my will, to get in touch with the heart I didn't know I had.One of the requirements of the weekend was to come up with a mission, a sense of one's life purpose, of what one was given to do with one's time here on earth. The mission I chose has been modified several times in the years that have since elapsed, but I am happy with where it stands today: to mediate harmony in the world by getting to the heart of the matter.
That weekend started me, too, on the path that has led me to this day. One of the signal heart events along the way was a retreat with that same Ken McLeod who wrote the book under review. I forget the name he gave to the retreat, but it concerned the inner warrior, that fierce part we need as our ally to do battle with the inner demons as well as the outer ones. The exercise I remember in particular was a visualization in which we participants were invited to grasp the hilt of a sword with full intention and, for the first stroke, to turn it inward, cutting from throat to sternum to reveal the open, beating, vulnerable heart. Sometimes in meditation, as this morning, I rehearse that powerful movement, opening the chest in my mind's eye to expose my heart to the world.
These days, when I attend to the heart, I am aware of other feelings. I have put in substantial mileage on this miraculous little machine, without--so far--any maintenance at all; and while I have been pretty good about keeping it turned over and exercised, the gas and oil I have fed it with have not always been of the highest quality. Each time I'm in touch with it, I have to wonder how much more service it can be expected to provide, and when the poor old thing might simply decide that enough's enough and leave me stranded in the middle of the freeway. I contemplate that fear, even as I strive to keep the heart open and generous.
I'm grateful to Ken for his book, and for the reminder that the heart is something that I always need to pay attention to. As a final note, if any man feels the need to know about that men's weekend--or any woman who loves him--he is most welcome to be in touch with me and I will supply more detail.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/29/2007
The concerns that have come down from numberless ages are only in the present; if you can understand them right now, then the concerns of numberless ages will instantly disperse, like tiles being scattered or ice melting. If you don't understand right now, you'll pass through countless eons more, and it'll still be just as it is.
~Ta Hui
~Ta Hui
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/28/2007
Mind, Buddha, and sentient beings are not three different things.
~Avatamsaka Sutra
~Avatamsaka Sutra
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Eating Art
Well, friends, my contribution to The Huffington Post this week is listed on the front (home) page as a "Recent Blog Post"--which, given the intricacy of the site, is a welcome boost. The entry, "Eating Art in an Age of Greed," is in the Living section, and it starts like this:
To read the whole article, and I hope you will, please click here--and comment if you feel so moved. I would much value your help in getting this new venture off the ground.
I have always recoiled from the word “consumer”—especially when it comes to art. I’m old enough to think of consumption as a disease that destroyed decrepit old aunties and sent starving artists in frigid Parisian garrets to the morgue after hacking their way through dreadful coughing spells to a miserable early death. And yet here we are, a nation of consumers. Our country counts on us to consume, it’s these days our patriotic duty...
To read the whole article, and I hope you will, please click here--and comment if you feel so moved. I would much value your help in getting this new venture off the ground.
Reflections on Meat by a Buddhist Vegetarian
As some of you know, I am a vegetarian and have been for 3 years this past August. It has been interesting to watch my perceptions about meat change over this period of time. At first and for the first two years I didn't really feel sickened when I smelled cooking meat but now I do from time to time. I also sometimes have a hard time looking at raw meat or cooking meat without feeling horrified as if I was looking at human flesh.The main reason that I decided to become vegetarian was from an immense love of animals and compassion for their suffering. I feel a very deep connection and bond to all sentient beings and feel that eating them is no different then eating my mother.
That being said, I do not, however, look down on those who wish to eat meat nor do I have a problem eating meals with meat eaters. True, I do not like the smell or the idea but I would rather try to focus on the joy of being able to come together and rejoice in the pure presence of others then focus on our differences. Yes, I could turn up my nose and walk out on dinners that serve meat but that is not the middle way. Besides I am sure that I wouldn't (and don't) live up to someone else's standards and we all have to walk our own path and make decisions that seem the most logical to us in adherence to the famous Kalama Sutra. To criticize others for eating meat is less skillful and not conducive to creating and maintaining the environment of peace for all sentient beings including my meat eating friends and family whom I love dearly just as much as any other creature.
I'm not always skillful in my life but then who amongst us is? Which reminds me of something one of my mother's fellow Christian friends said when the subject of perfection came up in a conversation. She said, "You know what they do with perfect people don't you? They crucify them."
Anyway, It has just been interesting to watch my reactions to seeing and smelling meat being cooked. It has been (and continues to be) a fascinating and worthwhile practice in mindfulness. I am still amazed at what a powerful teacher just mindfully watching our lives unfold is to us all.
~Peace to all beings~
The Art of Self-Destruction
Are the souls of certain creative people particularly raw, that they are given to fortify themselves with alcohol or drugs and destroy their lives? It's not a new phenomenon, of course. There's a certain obsessive quality about the devotion that it takes to pursue the life of an artist despite all the obstacles encountered along the way. Few of those who attempt it rise beyond the level of mediocrity--not in terms of their work, perhaps, but how it is received or remembered in the course of years, decades, centuries... And then there are those who, no matter how successful, can never bring themselves to accept the adulation of the world out there; something inside convinces them that they are failures.
These thoughts prompted by two events last week, one movie, one theatrical performance. It's not fair, I know, to judge a movie based on the DVD, but Ellie and I missed "La Vie en Rose" when it was in the theaters, and caught up with it in our living room down at the beach at the end of last week. It's the story of the French songstress, Edith Piaf, the "little sparrow," who used her rather coarse and reedy voice to belt out songs that scalded the listening ear with its exuberance and pain.
Given the story of her turbulent life--abandoned as a child, brought up in a brothel, plagued by the death of a child, the murder of her sponsor, the plane crash death of the love of her life, disease--it's not surprising that this tiny (4 foot 8 inches!) fragile woman used whatever she could lay her hands on to alleviate the pain. It's clearly a meaty story, too, for the big screen. But, sadly, I just hated the film. Attribute it in part to the small screen, but the director's obsession with chiaroscuro effects--the dramatic juxtaposition of dark and light--made it often impossible to make out what was happening on the screen. Worse, though, was the infuriatingly "clever" play with time, turning what would have been an irresistible story of a heart and soul in deep distress into a confusing, intellectually-driven cinematic nightmare. My judgment. But I loved the songs.
By strange coincidence, we heard from friends that "Hank Williams: Lost Highway" was playing at our local theater, the Laguna Playhouse, and bought tickets for Saturday night. I'm an old Hank Williams fan. I couldn't resist.
And really enjoyed the show. It tracked Hank's rise to fame and his downward slide into oblivion as the demon alcohol sank its claws ever deeper into his flesh. Expelled from the Grand Old Opry and eventually abandoned by his band, the Drifting Cowboys, because of his uncontrolled drinking, he died of drug-induced heart failure at the age of twenty-nine in the back seat of a Cadillac on his way to a gig. Hank's songs about love and rejection, high living and remorse remain as enduring testament to genius gone tragically awry.
"Lost Highway" proved to be a good show, flawed at the end, I thought, by an unsuccessful effort to bring the audience back out of the despondency of its main character. It needed a different structure, one which allowed a little more retrospective distance--an end to which it could usefully have put the character of Tee-Tot, the black blues singer who was Hank's early inspiration and who "framed" the front end of the story. If I were to do the rewrite, I would end with the focus on this character, completing the frame and giving us a sane, Greek chorus perspective on the protagonist. Still, the actor-singer-performers did a great job in recreating the best of Hank Williams songs--enough of a treat in itself.
So, back to our initial question... Both Williams and Piaf suffered the wounds of a traumatic childhood (Hank was born with a mild case of spina bifida and was brought up in the Depression with an absent father,) and both clearly experienced great suffering in their lives. The art they practiced may have been to some extent a means of relieving the suffering by giving it back to the world in the form of songs. But evidently it was not enough. The path to self-destruction was filled in each case with as much pathos as tragedy--with as much self-pity, then, as necessity. The trail of death, in the twentieth century alone--from the poet Dylan Thomas to those rock stars, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, along with too many others to name--is depressing evidence of the prevalence of the disease.
The Buddhist teaching is that pain is inevitable, but suffering is a choice. If suffering is what we add to pain by attaching to it, it may follow that these creative people clung to pain because it provided them with the source and medium for their art. There are many others, of course, who choose a different path, and it will likely always be one of those impenetrable human mysteries as to why each one of us opts for the path we do. Sad, though, that talents like Williams and Piaf are snatched away from us before they can fulfill the greatness of their promise.
NOTE: I have just added to the blogroll a newly-discovered blog called "About Suffering" by Robert Daoust. It's very much in keeping with today's theme, so I hope you'll check it out.
These thoughts prompted by two events last week, one movie, one theatrical performance. It's not fair, I know, to judge a movie based on the DVD, but Ellie and I missed "La Vie en Rose" when it was in the theaters, and caught up with it in our living room down at the beach at the end of last week. It's the story of the French songstress, Edith Piaf, the "little sparrow," who used her rather coarse and reedy voice to belt out songs that scalded the listening ear with its exuberance and pain.
Given the story of her turbulent life--abandoned as a child, brought up in a brothel, plagued by the death of a child, the murder of her sponsor, the plane crash death of the love of her life, disease--it's not surprising that this tiny (4 foot 8 inches!) fragile woman used whatever she could lay her hands on to alleviate the pain. It's clearly a meaty story, too, for the big screen. But, sadly, I just hated the film. Attribute it in part to the small screen, but the director's obsession with chiaroscuro effects--the dramatic juxtaposition of dark and light--made it often impossible to make out what was happening on the screen. Worse, though, was the infuriatingly "clever" play with time, turning what would have been an irresistible story of a heart and soul in deep distress into a confusing, intellectually-driven cinematic nightmare. My judgment. But I loved the songs.
By strange coincidence, we heard from friends that "Hank Williams: Lost Highway" was playing at our local theater, the Laguna Playhouse, and bought tickets for Saturday night. I'm an old Hank Williams fan. I couldn't resist.
And really enjoyed the show. It tracked Hank's rise to fame and his downward slide into oblivion as the demon alcohol sank its claws ever deeper into his flesh. Expelled from the Grand Old Opry and eventually abandoned by his band, the Drifting Cowboys, because of his uncontrolled drinking, he died of drug-induced heart failure at the age of twenty-nine in the back seat of a Cadillac on his way to a gig. Hank's songs about love and rejection, high living and remorse remain as enduring testament to genius gone tragically awry. "Lost Highway" proved to be a good show, flawed at the end, I thought, by an unsuccessful effort to bring the audience back out of the despondency of its main character. It needed a different structure, one which allowed a little more retrospective distance--an end to which it could usefully have put the character of Tee-Tot, the black blues singer who was Hank's early inspiration and who "framed" the front end of the story. If I were to do the rewrite, I would end with the focus on this character, completing the frame and giving us a sane, Greek chorus perspective on the protagonist. Still, the actor-singer-performers did a great job in recreating the best of Hank Williams songs--enough of a treat in itself.
So, back to our initial question... Both Williams and Piaf suffered the wounds of a traumatic childhood (Hank was born with a mild case of spina bifida and was brought up in the Depression with an absent father,) and both clearly experienced great suffering in their lives. The art they practiced may have been to some extent a means of relieving the suffering by giving it back to the world in the form of songs. But evidently it was not enough. The path to self-destruction was filled in each case with as much pathos as tragedy--with as much self-pity, then, as necessity. The trail of death, in the twentieth century alone--from the poet Dylan Thomas to those rock stars, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, along with too many others to name--is depressing evidence of the prevalence of the disease.
The Buddhist teaching is that pain is inevitable, but suffering is a choice. If suffering is what we add to pain by attaching to it, it may follow that these creative people clung to pain because it provided them with the source and medium for their art. There are many others, of course, who choose a different path, and it will likely always be one of those impenetrable human mysteries as to why each one of us opts for the path we do. Sad, though, that talents like Williams and Piaf are snatched away from us before they can fulfill the greatness of their promise.
NOTE: I have just added to the blogroll a newly-discovered blog called "About Suffering" by Robert Daoust. It's very much in keeping with today's theme, so I hope you'll check it out.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/27/2007
True victory is not defeating an enemy.True victory gives love and changes the enemy's heart.
~Morihei Ueshiba (founder of Aikido)
~Morihei Ueshiba (founder of Aikido)
Monday, November 26, 2007
Obama
Just back in Los Angeles, and settling back into the office here. Before Monday goes the way of every other day, and with comparable speed, I have a quick word or two on politics for the blog. I have been sitting on the sidelines for quite some time about the Democratic candidates for president, and have been going along perhaps too easily with the "inexperienced" tag that has been tied onto Barack Obama. At the weekend, though, I read two pieces in the current Atlantic Monthly that shifted my thought a bit: the first, "Goodbye to All That" (nice title, by the way: Robert Graves used it first) by Andrew Sullivan made the simple but to me compelling point that Obama's face alone would speak volumes to the world at large about a new America. "Change" would be more than a word: it would be unmistakably, inarguably visible. And change, as I see it, is what we desperately need. I'm no Democrat-basher. It was Ronald Reagan's commandment, of course, that no Republican should speak badly of a fellow Republican--and it worked for them. The Democrats are not above criticism, but let's for God's sake get one of them elected.
The second article, "Teacher and Apprentice,"by Marc Ambinder, revealed a different side of Obama, one that is more ambitious for the job than I had somehow imagined--a good thing, perhaps, given the high office he seeks. I'm glad to learn that he's not above a little Machiavellian strategizing when the need arises, and that he can be ruthless. It's not a quality I myself aspire to, but I do believe it's needed by a man who seeks to represent this country to the world.
I plan to float a while longer in this fluid situation. I gaze sadly at the lonely Kucinich button that hangs on the bulletin board above my desk, and wish that it made sense not only to agree with what he says, but to support him with my vote. But I'm not that idealistic. And I remember with some anger what Ralph Nader did in 2000. In drawing the idealist vote, he assured election victory for the man who sits in the Oval Office today. I still can't bring myself to grace him with the title that he stole.
The second article, "Teacher and Apprentice,"by Marc Ambinder, revealed a different side of Obama, one that is more ambitious for the job than I had somehow imagined--a good thing, perhaps, given the high office he seeks. I'm glad to learn that he's not above a little Machiavellian strategizing when the need arises, and that he can be ruthless. It's not a quality I myself aspire to, but I do believe it's needed by a man who seeks to represent this country to the world.
I plan to float a while longer in this fluid situation. I gaze sadly at the lonely Kucinich button that hangs on the bulletin board above my desk, and wish that it made sense not only to agree with what he says, but to support him with my vote. But I'm not that idealistic. And I remember with some anger what Ralph Nader did in 2000. In drawing the idealist vote, he assured election victory for the man who sits in the Oval Office today. I still can't bring myself to grace him with the title that he stole.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/26/2007
The road enters green mountains near evening's dark;Beneath the white cherry trees, a Buddhist templeWhose priest doesn't know what regret for spring's passing means-Each stroke of his bell startles more blossoms into falling.
~Keijo Shurin
~Keijo Shurin
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/25/2007
Immaturity is the craving for greater and wider experience.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
A Quote Sent in from a Subscriber
FORGIVENESS is a term that has been in use for 2,000 years, but most people have a very limited view of what it means. You cannot truly forgive yourself or others as long as you derive your sense of self from the past. Only through accessing the power of NOW, which is your own power can there be true forgiveness.
- ECKHART TOLLE
- ECKHART TOLLE
Technorati Tags: Buddha Buddhist Buddhism Meditation Dharma Compassion
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Peace of Mind
I have been noticing that my mind has been more than usually restless in the past couple of days, during meditation. It has been busy trying to write, while I have been busy trying to bring its attention to what I want it to attend to: the breath. I attribute this in good part to the recent conflict of opinions on The Buddha Diaries, in consequence of which I have been questioning my meditation practice, and what purpose it serves.
The simple conclusion that I reach, time and again, is that it works. I have a limited amount of time left to me in this life—and I’m still unable to jump that hurdle into belief in another, or other lives—and a limited amount of energy. Ahead of me lies the strong possibility of some form of illness or debility, and the certainty of continuing aging and death. I want to experience these parts of life with as much clarity and forbearance as I can muster, and that requires peace of mind. When I say that meditation works, I mean that it teaches me the path toward peace of mind.
I do need, still, to be engaged. I need to be engaged in books and movies, in the visual arts which have been the focus of much of my writing over the years, in politics and culture… My mind is still capable of learning, my heart still capable of growing when I immerse myself in such things.
What I don’t need, though, is a restless mind. I’m finding that I can engage just fine without it. For me, intellectual curiosity is not necessarily fed by battles over rights and wrongs or goods and bads. I believe that I have largely surrendered the need to be right, and that position feels comfortable to me. I am not averse to being in a place of comfort.
These quiet thoughts an observations, for a Saturday morning. Metta, then. I wish the world a peaceful weekend, filled with true happiness. And that would be enough, for me.
The simple conclusion that I reach, time and again, is that it works. I have a limited amount of time left to me in this life—and I’m still unable to jump that hurdle into belief in another, or other lives—and a limited amount of energy. Ahead of me lies the strong possibility of some form of illness or debility, and the certainty of continuing aging and death. I want to experience these parts of life with as much clarity and forbearance as I can muster, and that requires peace of mind. When I say that meditation works, I mean that it teaches me the path toward peace of mind.
I do need, still, to be engaged. I need to be engaged in books and movies, in the visual arts which have been the focus of much of my writing over the years, in politics and culture… My mind is still capable of learning, my heart still capable of growing when I immerse myself in such things.
What I don’t need, though, is a restless mind. I’m finding that I can engage just fine without it. For me, intellectual curiosity is not necessarily fed by battles over rights and wrongs or goods and bads. I believe that I have largely surrendered the need to be right, and that position feels comfortable to me. I am not averse to being in a place of comfort.
These quiet thoughts an observations, for a Saturday morning. Metta, then. I wish the world a peaceful weekend, filled with true happiness. And that would be enough, for me.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/24/2007
Education is the cultivation of the mind so that action is not self-centred:it is learning throughout life to break down the walls which the mind builds in order to be secure.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Friday, November 23, 2007
Cockroach
That’s it, I killed. Thanksgiving Day,
no less. In violation of the first,
most fundamental of the Buddhist precepts,
not to mention number six
of the Ten Commandments. Thou
shallt not. So yes, I killed
a bug. There it was, brazen,
on our kitchen counter top,
between two dishes brought home
from Thanksgiving dinner
with our friends. My intention
was no more sinister than removal;
my weapon, a paper towel, thrice folded
to protect my fingers from contact
with the creature. The cockroach, though,
is a fast and wily bug. First try
it darted as I struck; I was not sure
if it was in my grasp. “Did I get it?”
I checked with our house guest, watching.
”No,” he said, “I’m pretty sure
you missed.” And sure enough,
I’d come up empty. “There,” he said,
pointing, “there.” And there it was,
lurking maliciously, sheltered
by a nearby cooking pot. I struck again,
this time harder, faster, with less
hesitance, perhaps—a strike
that rapidly proved fatal, too hard
for the little creature’s body.
I disposed of it through the kitchen window,
where I had planned—I swear—to set him free.
Well, I thought—to justify my act—if only
he’d stayed sitting still, I could have
picked him up more gently
with my paper towel, and spared
his life. He brought it on himself.
Still, I woke thinking of this bug
this morning, and of how thoughtlessly
we do strike out against imagined enemies
and needlessly extinguish life. Too bad.
I only hope my accumulated merit
outweighs this act of wanton murder
on Thanksgiving night!
no less. In violation of the first,
most fundamental of the Buddhist precepts,
not to mention number six
of the Ten Commandments. Thou
shallt not. So yes, I killed
a bug. There it was, brazen,
on our kitchen counter top,
between two dishes brought home
from Thanksgiving dinner
with our friends. My intention
was no more sinister than removal;
my weapon, a paper towel, thrice folded
to protect my fingers from contact
with the creature. The cockroach, though,
is a fast and wily bug. First try
it darted as I struck; I was not sure
if it was in my grasp. “Did I get it?”
I checked with our house guest, watching.
”No,” he said, “I’m pretty sure
you missed.” And sure enough,
I’d come up empty. “There,” he said,
pointing, “there.” And there it was,
lurking maliciously, sheltered
by a nearby cooking pot. I struck again,
this time harder, faster, with less
hesitance, perhaps—a strike
that rapidly proved fatal, too hard
for the little creature’s body.
I disposed of it through the kitchen window,
where I had planned—I swear—to set him free.
Well, I thought—to justify my act—if only
he’d stayed sitting still, I could have
picked him up more gently
with my paper towel, and spared
his life. He brought it on himself.
Still, I woke thinking of this bug
this morning, and of how thoughtlessly
we do strike out against imagined enemies
and needlessly extinguish life. Too bad.
I only hope my accumulated merit
outweighs this act of wanton murder
on Thanksgiving night!
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/23/2007
Sensitivity is not a cultural effect, the result of influence; it is a state of being vulnerable, open.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Thursday, November 22, 2007
A Happy Thanksgiving...
... to all Buddha Diaries Readers. I am truly grateful to have your thoughtful participation in these explorations into the mind and heart, as I am grateful for everything that is granted to me in this life I have been given. May we all find true happiness and the source of happiness!
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/22/2007
When you perceive for yourself that violence only leads to greater harm,is it difficult to drop violence?
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Bumper Stickers (Part Deux)
Spotted in Laguna Beach, Wednesday, November 21... (feel free to click to enlarge!)
See what a piker I am?
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/21/2007
Meditation is the ending of thought.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
On Privilege and Suffering
Thanks to those who responded to my "mea culpa" yesterday. Thailandchani raised this troubling question: "Can someone from an obviously privileged background ever come to really understand suffering?" To which she added, "Buddha left privilege behind for enlightenment." Troubling to me, obviously, because I happen to enjoy enormous privileges: by birth, by education, by social situation--by virtually any standard you care to apply. When I look around the world and see the immense suffering everywhere--from hunger, disease, oppression, warfare, poverty--it's hard to resist those feelings of guilt that privilege brings with it.I happened to pick up a copy of a book by the Dalai Lama yesterday, at our local Target store, of all places, where Ellie and I had gone to find some stocking stuffers and cute clothes for our grandchildren in England. The book is called "How to Practice: The Way to a Meaningful Life," and on the very first page His Holiness has this to say on the topic in question:
Material advancement alone sometimes solves one problem but creates another. For example, certain people may have acquired wealth, a good education, and high social standing, yet happiness eludes them. They take sleeping pills and drink too much alcohol. Something is missing, something still not satisfied, so these people take refuge in drugs or in a bottle. On the other hand, some people who have less money to worry about enjoy more peace. They sleep well at night. Despite being poor in a material sense, they are content and happy. This shows the impact of a good mental attitude. Material development alone will not fully resolve the problem of humanity's suffering.And even the Buddha, as I recall, discovered after years of exposing himself to poverty and hunger as a mendicant and ascetic that deprivation brought no more release from suffering than did the life of luxury he had led before.
To return to Chani's question, then, I have to say that the answer is No. To me, with all my privileges, the suffering of a great part of humanity is unimaginable. There's no way I can "understand" it. Even though it exists, certainly, in my own back yard, it's oceans away, so vast as to be incomprehensible. Should I, like the Buddha, turn my back on the life that has been granted me, for better or for worse? There's a nagging part of me--the conscience?--that keeps telling me I should, even while I recognize that it's neither reasonable nor realistic, nor that such a gesture would even do very much to help.
On the other hand, as the Dalai Lama suggests, none of us escape the inevitability of suffering. Are the wealthy in their mansions with their drugs and bottles suffering any less than those out on the street, with theirs? Certainly, they are suffering in circumstances of greater material comfort--but how much does that help, when suffering happens in the heart and soul?
And then that voice kicks in again to tell me that I'm rationalizing...
I come back to the need to remain conscious, to accept responsibility for everything that privilege has brought to me, and to practice proportionate generosity. I'd be interested in your views.
photo credit
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/20/2007
So, does it require competition to understand oneself? Must I compete with you in order to understand myself? And why this worship of success? The man who is uncreative, who has nothing in himself - it is he who is always reaching out, hoping to gain, hoping to become something, and as most of us are inwardly poor, inwardly poverty-stricken, we compete in order to become outwardly rich. The outward show of comfort, of position, of authority, of power, dazzles us because that is what we want.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Monday, November 19, 2007
Mea Culpa
What a joy to be back in our little Laguna Beach sangha yesterday, after what seemed like weeks of absence. I guess it was probably no more than two weeks, but the mind does play tricks with time, doesn't it? The hour's sit, for example, seemed yesterday like an unusually long hour. But that's all it was. An hour... Such a pleasure, though, to be back with those good friends and fellow meditators. The post-sit discussion started off with a reading from a book I had received just the day before, Ken McLeod's "An Arrow to the Heart," a commentary on the (to me!) ever enigmatic Heart Sutra. More of this when I've had the opportunity to spend some time with the book...
In the meantime, I have been stewing some over Carly's response to my "Bumper Sticker" entry. He disapproved: "It's so out of the mainstream and unanswerable," he wrote, "it invites people to think Prius owners are a bit kooky. Sorry." In a subsequent, unposted communication, he was more detailed. I'm sure he won't mind my sharing some of it with you.
To all of which my first response is to get defensive. (He's right: I am a Leo!) I recognize that instinctive tightening of the gut, that flash of anger. I responded to his email to the effect that he was taking me too seriously, that I had intended it as something of a joke. In a word, I tried to shrug it off.
But then of course the next realization is that there is a deeper truth in what he says--otherwise, why should I be defensive? I do not aspire to sagehood, nor would I wish to be held up to that standard. But in some real sense it is quite un-Buddhist to declare, however subtly, the superiority of one's beliefs and practices.
I do not plan to remove that sticker from my rear end just yet. I will tote it around with me for a while, to see what else it has to teach me. Meantime, thanks to Carly for not buying into my comfortable bullshit. What would Buddha do? What he wouldn't do, I think, is put a bumper sticker on his car. Even if it was a Prius. Well, Carly's right again: especially if it was a Prius.
In the meantime, I have been stewing some over Carly's response to my "Bumper Sticker" entry. He disapproved: "It's so out of the mainstream and unanswerable," he wrote, "it invites people to think Prius owners are a bit kooky. Sorry." In a subsequent, unposted communication, he was more detailed. I'm sure he won't mind my sharing some of it with you.
"As I said," he wrote, in part, "it is very far out of the mainstream of your intended audience, therefore unanswerable and has an obscure tone, which does not invite introspection, but rather rejection.
"It was not your intention, but says, 'I know something you don't.'
"Because a Prius is already a statement itself, it says, "I know, or care more than you do, driving a conventional car.
"Because it is a religious statement, it says, 'My god is better than what you believe.' Or, 'My god is better than your god.'
"Because it is an obscure religion, it bolsters any opinion of how snobby religious people are.
"It is a very Leo thing to do because Leos are well-known to be egocentric. And Buddha is a brand which is worn with pride. As is Prius. The pride of the Lion.
"And because it's divisive, it doesn't conform with Buddhist ideals. Nor is it worthy of a sage."
To all of which my first response is to get defensive. (He's right: I am a Leo!) I recognize that instinctive tightening of the gut, that flash of anger. I responded to his email to the effect that he was taking me too seriously, that I had intended it as something of a joke. In a word, I tried to shrug it off.
But then of course the next realization is that there is a deeper truth in what he says--otherwise, why should I be defensive? I do not aspire to sagehood, nor would I wish to be held up to that standard. But in some real sense it is quite un-Buddhist to declare, however subtly, the superiority of one's beliefs and practices.
I do not plan to remove that sticker from my rear end just yet. I will tote it around with me for a while, to see what else it has to teach me. Meantime, thanks to Carly for not buying into my comfortable bullshit. What would Buddha do? What he wouldn't do, I think, is put a bumper sticker on his car. Even if it was a Prius. Well, Carly's right again: especially if it was a Prius.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/19/2007
If we can really understand the problem, the answer will come out of it, because the answer is not separate from the problem.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/18/2007
So, does it require competition to understand oneself? Must I compete with you in order to understand myself? And why this worship of success? The man who is uncreative, who has nothing in himself - it is he who is always reaching out, hoping to gain, hoping to become something, and as most of us are inwardly poor, inwardly poverty-stricken, we compete in order to become outwardly rich. The outward show of comfort, of position, of authority, of power, dazzles us because that is what we want.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Heading South for Thanksgiving
Some of my family plus my wife and I are going down to Florida to visit the Disney World amusement theme park over the American Thanksgiving holiday. I haven't been to Disney World since I was a child and I am really looking forward to wearing some shorts in November (it's usually quite cold here where I live in November whereas down in Florida, USA it will be a balmy 78 degrees--about 26 celsius--). I am also excited to ride the rides and just act like a kid again. Should be a nice break. I'll be back in about a week.If you still want to read posts while I'm gone then just check out my archives.
I hope everyone has a peaceful week and to my American friends, Happy Thanksgiving!!
Everything is as it is. It has no name other than the name we give it. It is we who call it something; we give it a value. We say this thing is good or it's bad, but in itself, the thing is only as it is. It's not absolute; it's just as it is. People are just as they are.
-Ajahn Sumedho, "The Mind and the Way"
PHOTO: Cinderella's Castle in Walt Disney World amusement theme park.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/17/2007
If we can really understand the problem, the answer will come out of it, because the answer is not separate from the problem.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Friday, November 16, 2007
Bumper Stickers
I have never once put a bumper sticker on my car--until now. It's a bit like wearing your heart on your sleeve, something I was taught, as a young English male, was never proper to do. The polite thing is to keep your opinions to yourself in all circumstances. And besides, who wants to drive around these days with an ad for a Kerry/Edwards ticket on one's rear end? Too painful. Or worse, Bush/Cheney. You'd risk brickbats, rotten eggs and tomatoes, or at the very least rude gestures on the freeway. (Though I like the simple W with a diagonal line through it.)
I do sympathize with a good number of the messages I see. I'm not opposed to peace, and all messages that signal support for that noble end never fail to warm my heart. I just worry that as soon as an eternal verity morphs into a bumper sticker, it degenerates into a cliche. "Support Our Troops" suggests so much that's different--and to me unacceptable--than what it's message purports to say that it makes my skin creep. I get a good laugh out of some bumper stickers, most recently "Honk if you like thinking about conceptual art." But once you get the joke... do you really want to be sharing your laudable sense of humor with every other driver on the freeway until your car finally makes the journey to its just reward in the junk yard? For me, no thanks. For the same reason, I personally reject tattoos.
Nature conservancy is good. I want to save the planet. I want to save the whales. I worry about the bees, and I do hug trees, of course, whenever the opportunity presents itself. As for those random acts of kindness... they used to be a refreshing bagatelle, but they have long since had their charm eroded by over-familiarity. Or am I just being cynical again?
Having begun this entry earlier, I took more than usual interest in the rear ends of cars as Ellie and I took our morning walk around Silver Lake. A lot of traffic there, believe me, and a lot of parked cars on the streets. I was surpised to see that only a tiny fraction of them were adorned with stickers. Perhaps they're going the way of the ill-starred John Kerry.
Out of the literally hundreds of free advertising spaces, I saw only five in use. "WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER." Certainly. One of those verities I was mentioning above. "USC MOM"--a higher education version of the "I'm a Proud Parent" syndrome. "Shirley Chisholm For President." No kidding! (She ran in 1972, and died on January 1, 2005--having lived long enough to witness the current assault on the U.S. constitution which she so nobly served.) One (very small) JOHN KERRY 04 sticker. And an advertisement for CATNAP, with a www address for easy contact.
Anyway, here's the point. I received from a friend the gift of the only bumper sticker I have ever actually attached to my car. Here it is, on my super energy-saving, self-righteously environment-conscious car. (It's name itself is a bumper sticker, no?)
Okay, accuse me of wearing my heart on my sleeve. I just feel comfortable with this one. First off, it asks a question, it doesn't come up with the answer. It invites contemplation. I like that. Second, it's modest both in scale and color. Third, it's playful--a parody of the whole WWJD thing. And fourth... well, I like it.
What do you think? Do you have a bumper sticker? Kucinich, anyone? (I thought he was great in the debate last night!)
I do sympathize with a good number of the messages I see. I'm not opposed to peace, and all messages that signal support for that noble end never fail to warm my heart. I just worry that as soon as an eternal verity morphs into a bumper sticker, it degenerates into a cliche. "Support Our Troops" suggests so much that's different--and to me unacceptable--than what it's message purports to say that it makes my skin creep. I get a good laugh out of some bumper stickers, most recently "Honk if you like thinking about conceptual art." But once you get the joke... do you really want to be sharing your laudable sense of humor with every other driver on the freeway until your car finally makes the journey to its just reward in the junk yard? For me, no thanks. For the same reason, I personally reject tattoos.
Nature conservancy is good. I want to save the planet. I want to save the whales. I worry about the bees, and I do hug trees, of course, whenever the opportunity presents itself. As for those random acts of kindness... they used to be a refreshing bagatelle, but they have long since had their charm eroded by over-familiarity. Or am I just being cynical again?
Having begun this entry earlier, I took more than usual interest in the rear ends of cars as Ellie and I took our morning walk around Silver Lake. A lot of traffic there, believe me, and a lot of parked cars on the streets. I was surpised to see that only a tiny fraction of them were adorned with stickers. Perhaps they're going the way of the ill-starred John Kerry.
Out of the literally hundreds of free advertising spaces, I saw only five in use. "WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER." Certainly. One of those verities I was mentioning above. "USC MOM"--a higher education version of the "I'm a Proud Parent" syndrome. "Shirley Chisholm For President." No kidding! (She ran in 1972, and died on January 1, 2005--having lived long enough to witness the current assault on the U.S. constitution which she so nobly served.) One (very small) JOHN KERRY 04 sticker. And an advertisement for CATNAP, with a www address for easy contact.Anyway, here's the point. I received from a friend the gift of the only bumper sticker I have ever actually attached to my car. Here it is, on my super energy-saving, self-righteously environment-conscious car. (It's name itself is a bumper sticker, no?)
Okay, accuse me of wearing my heart on my sleeve. I just feel comfortable with this one. First off, it asks a question, it doesn't come up with the answer. It invites contemplation. I like that. Second, it's modest both in scale and color. Third, it's playful--a parody of the whole WWJD thing. And fourth... well, I like it.
What do you think? Do you have a bumper sticker? Kucinich, anyone? (I thought he was great in the debate last night!)
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/16/2007
The true is not an ideal, a myth, but the actual. The actual can be understood and dealt with. The understanding of the actual cannot breed enmity, whereas ideals do. Ideals can never bring about a fundamental revolution, but only a modified continuity of the old. There is a fundamental and constant revolution only in action from moment to moment which is not based on an ideal and so is free of conclusion.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Thursday, November 15, 2007
A New Venture
Just a note, this morning, to let you know that The Huffington Post published my first entry on that site yesterday. As we used to say in English English, I’m all chuffed about it. I hope that my blogging friends will check me out here, and that you’ll consider giving me a boost by commenting, or even by checking in as a “fan.” I could use the help.
It's my intention to contribute at least once a week on Huffington. My hope is that these entries will attract more readers to “The Buddha Diaires” and, in turn, to this circle of bloggers I now think of as my friends. If Huffington readers link from The Post to “The Buddha Diaries,” they will find links there to all my friends and neighbors in the bloggerhood.
Aside from which—and more importantly: May we all find true happiness and the source of happiness! Blessings all around.
It's my intention to contribute at least once a week on Huffington. My hope is that these entries will attract more readers to “The Buddha Diaires” and, in turn, to this circle of bloggers I now think of as my friends. If Huffington readers link from The Post to “The Buddha Diaries,” they will find links there to all my friends and neighbors in the bloggerhood.
Aside from which—and more importantly: May we all find true happiness and the source of happiness! Blessings all around.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/15/2207
If there was no fixed point, no conclusion, there would be no contradiction.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
New York City: the Last Day
I'm now two days behind and playing catch-up. Looking out over the Hollywood Hills from where I sit at my desk, with a small breeze rising and the first glow of the sunrise yet to touch the city with its glow, I find it hard to get back to the constant flow of restless energy and the chill in the air of New York City. Ah, here comes the sun this minute, catching the windows on the slopes of the hills with the glint of gold...
New York, then. Sunday. Sunshine... We were delighted, leaving our small apartment for a newspaper and coffee run, to walk out into a beautiful, crisp fall day, perfect for the celebration of our anniversary. The sunshine felt like a special blessing after two days of cloudy skies and rain. We had booked matinee theater tickets for the afternoon, and were rather glad to hear that the show had been canceled due to a stage hands' strike: we would be able to enjoy the day out in the fresh air instead.
A subway ride up to Columbus Circle, and a lovely walk through Central Park up to the Natural History Museum.
The park was glorious, at its best--though we were surprised at how green the trees had remained, this far into the fall. That's global warming for you, I guess. Great crowds of families with children, strolling, cyclists, roller bladers, joggers... waves of them flowing toward us and passing us constantly from behind. We left the park at 77th Street and made our way up to 79th, where we had been invited for Sunday brunch by our friend Victoria, whose family had been theater friends with Ellie's family since the 1930s, and whose mother had for many years welcomed us to stay in her apartment on our vistis to New York City. Also on hand, Ellie's nephew, Danny, of whom we see too little.
So, lox, sturgeon, cream cheese, bagels, coffee... and good conversation. A true pleasure.
After brunch, we summoned our remaining energy and strode across the park to the Met--one of the most amazing places on this planet for anyone interested in art, archeology, anthropology, the history of human culture and the products of the human imagination. We started off in ancient Greece and Rome--a whole new installation--and were once more stunned by what those forebears of our Western civilzation achieved in marble, clay, and other media.
Here's the new central atrium for that period...
and the four graces...
Count 'em! We wandered on through Africa and Mexico, pausing here and there to admire what was once called "primitve" art--that now seems so sophisticated in its breadth of understanding of the universe and man's place in it. And could not resist a tour of the modern and contemporary galleries. Here's a big David Hockney...
...with myself posed carefully to obscure your view of it. (I earned the right, I think. I wrote the Abbeville Modern Masters book on Hockney.) I often wonder, in a place like the Met, how our modern and contemporary art will stand comparison with that of ancient Greece and Rome or, say, the Renaissance. Or the Baroque...
Such marvelous things they made! How much of what has been made in the 20th and 21st centuries will look as good five hundred years from now?
Well, it's an imponderable question, really, but my mind seems to like to play with it--usually, I have to confess, in disfavor of our own time. We left the Met at closing time and walked back down Fifth Avenue in the gathering darkness--distracted momentarily by the work of the window dressers at Bergdorf Goodman, preparing far too early for the Christmas season.
I hate to get commercial here, but they were doing a beautiful job--very Baroque--if not Rococo.
We enjoyed an extravagant anniversary dinner at Estiatorio Milos Restaurant in midtown, with lofty ceilings, excellent service and cuisine, and a good wine. Here we are...
...barely the worse for wear, it seems, for all our New York exertions. We ended our day and our stay in New York, fittingly, amongst the elbowing crowds and the garish lights of Times Square, and took the subway south to our temporary digs.
And finally, Monday morning, breakfast, apartment cleaning, and a taxi ride out to JFK. A surprisingly easy passage through ticketing and security, an okay airport lunch, and a long flight back to Los Angeles--with an enormous neighbor who spilled over into a good half of my seat. Ah well. A good thing I have learned to live through these experiences with at least a small measure of equanimity.
New York, then. Sunday. Sunshine... We were delighted, leaving our small apartment for a newspaper and coffee run, to walk out into a beautiful, crisp fall day, perfect for the celebration of our anniversary. The sunshine felt like a special blessing after two days of cloudy skies and rain. We had booked matinee theater tickets for the afternoon, and were rather glad to hear that the show had been canceled due to a stage hands' strike: we would be able to enjoy the day out in the fresh air instead.
A subway ride up to Columbus Circle, and a lovely walk through Central Park up to the Natural History Museum.
The park was glorious, at its best--though we were surprised at how green the trees had remained, this far into the fall. That's global warming for you, I guess. Great crowds of families with children, strolling, cyclists, roller bladers, joggers... waves of them flowing toward us and passing us constantly from behind. We left the park at 77th Street and made our way up to 79th, where we had been invited for Sunday brunch by our friend Victoria, whose family had been theater friends with Ellie's family since the 1930s, and whose mother had for many years welcomed us to stay in her apartment on our vistis to New York City. Also on hand, Ellie's nephew, Danny, of whom we see too little.
So, lox, sturgeon, cream cheese, bagels, coffee... and good conversation. A true pleasure.
After brunch, we summoned our remaining energy and strode across the park to the Met--one of the most amazing places on this planet for anyone interested in art, archeology, anthropology, the history of human culture and the products of the human imagination. We started off in ancient Greece and Rome--a whole new installation--and were once more stunned by what those forebears of our Western civilzation achieved in marble, clay, and other media.
Here's the new central atrium for that period...
and the four graces...
Count 'em! We wandered on through Africa and Mexico, pausing here and there to admire what was once called "primitve" art--that now seems so sophisticated in its breadth of understanding of the universe and man's place in it. And could not resist a tour of the modern and contemporary galleries. Here's a big David Hockney...
...with myself posed carefully to obscure your view of it. (I earned the right, I think. I wrote the Abbeville Modern Masters book on Hockney.) I often wonder, in a place like the Met, how our modern and contemporary art will stand comparison with that of ancient Greece and Rome or, say, the Renaissance. Or the Baroque...
Such marvelous things they made! How much of what has been made in the 20th and 21st centuries will look as good five hundred years from now?
Well, it's an imponderable question, really, but my mind seems to like to play with it--usually, I have to confess, in disfavor of our own time. We left the Met at closing time and walked back down Fifth Avenue in the gathering darkness--distracted momentarily by the work of the window dressers at Bergdorf Goodman, preparing far too early for the Christmas season.
I hate to get commercial here, but they were doing a beautiful job--very Baroque--if not Rococo.
We enjoyed an extravagant anniversary dinner at Estiatorio Milos Restaurant in midtown, with lofty ceilings, excellent service and cuisine, and a good wine. Here we are...
...barely the worse for wear, it seems, for all our New York exertions. We ended our day and our stay in New York, fittingly, amongst the elbowing crowds and the garish lights of Times Square, and took the subway south to our temporary digs.
And finally, Monday morning, breakfast, apartment cleaning, and a taxi ride out to JFK. A surprisingly easy passage through ticketing and security, an okay airport lunch, and a long flight back to Los Angeles--with an enormous neighbor who spilled over into a good half of my seat. Ah well. A good thing I have learned to live through these experiences with at least a small measure of equanimity.
Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 11/14/2007
Attention is a strange thing. We never look but through a screen of words, explanations and prejudices; we never listen save through judgements, comparisons and remembrances. The very naming of the flower, the bird, is a distraction. The mind is never still to look, to listen.
~J. Krishnamurti
~J. Krishnamurti
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Buddhism and Secular Humanism
I am one of those "Western Buddhists" who is also a secular humanist. So what exactly is secular humanism you ask? Well, this post will be my attempt to answer that question and show how my interpretation of Buddhism fits into it.Humanism is often described as a philosophical system/way of life that emphasizes reason, ethics and justice and specifically rejects the supernatural. In this regard I do not believe in the supernatural reality of Bodhisattvas as I can not confirm their existence via reasonable, scientific means which is a hallmark of the Humanism that I bring to my Buddhist beliefs. It is actually also a hallmark of Buddhism as seen in the pragmatic, famous teaching found in the Kalama Sutra that is interestingly somewhat similar to the scientific method:
Rely not on the teacher/person, but on the teaching. Rely not on the words of the teaching, but on the spirit of the words. Rely not on theory, but on experience. Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. Do not believe anything because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything because it is written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and the benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it."
In fact, Buddhism has a very accepting, positive attitude and view toward science. The Dalai Lama has even stated before that if science proves an aspect of Buddhism in error then Buddhism must change to reflect the new reality:“One fundamental attitude shared by Buddhism and science is the commitment to keep searching for reality by empirical means and to be willing to discard accepted or long-held positions if our search finds that the truth is different,” he writes in his 2005 book, The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality.
“If science proves facts that conflict with Buddhist understanding, Buddhism must change accordingly. We should always adopt a view that accords with the facts.”
That is all a little off track from my train of thought regarding Bodhisattvas. Part of my rejection of supernatural aspects of Buddhism comes from my practice of Zen Buddhism which tends (and I emphasize tends) to de-emphasize Bodhisattvas. I can not absolutely deny their existence and despite what many say, science doesn't and can not deny the possibility of something new being discovered and I, like many science based folks, am very open to new discoveries. That being said, either way, liberation from suffering is ultimately left up to us humans with the exception of perhaps Pure Land Buddhism. I do, however, believe in Bodhisattvas in a metaphoric sense as the ideal of altruistic excellence. As well as believing that certain living people can share many characteristics of the seemingly mythical Bodhisattva. I do take great hope and refuge in the idea that we all have (sometimes latent within us) the wonderful attributes that the many Bodhisattva icons represent and we practice to cultivate those.
In addition, I do not believe all the fantastic stories told in many of the ancient sutras as literal. I prefer to study, contemplate and ponder the essence of the teachings from these sutras rather then focus on the magical nature of some of their accounts.
In addition, Humanism and Buddhism both share the belief that there is no separable soul within sentient beings.
Another aspect of Humanism is the belief in the value of this life. Humanists do not believe in an afterlife as such and thus emphasize realizing happiness now rather then constantly dreaming for some better life to come. For Humanists, the present moment is the only moment that exists and therefore it is in this moment, right here, right now where we find meaning and purpose. This is an idea that fits squarely within the Dharma and is in fact crucial and critical to the Buddha's teachings.
This point could perhaps be a sticking point between the two because of the Buddhist belief in rebirth. Although an argument could be made that evolution is not much different from rebirth as physics allows for the concept that nothing actually disappears but rather changes molecular composition into something entirely different, not unlike what the theory of rebirth postulates. That being said, many Buddhists (especially western and Zen Buddhists) give concepts of an after life (rebirth) little thought preferring instead to focus simply on present circumstances and let any afterlife that might occur take care of itself. I personally believe that seeing the change and rebirth in every present moment to be more beneficial to our practice then constantly obsessing about an afterlife and what kind of rebirth we might experience. I believe that the bliss of enlightenment occurs in the seemingly mundane events of this humble human life. I do not spend much time contemplating Nirvana either as it is often said that such a "state" or concept to be beyond explanation or understanding.
Humanism also gives prominence to individual responsibility which harmonizes with the Dharma as there is no savior in Buddhism. While teachers are very helpful, again, in the end our happiness and liberation from suffering is up to us.
Humanism also believes that to better the world we all need to work together through reason, tolerance and an open minded exchange of ideas which is important to Buddhism as well. We Buddhists believe that we are interconnected and therefore interdependent upon others. We are therefore encouraged to work for the greater good of humanity rather then just for what is good for ourselves. Humanism (as does Buddhism) believes that all lives are precious and equal regardless of religion, faith, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity or creed.
For me the secular aspect of my Humanist philosophy definitely emerges from my western culture, upbringing and education. I firmly believe in the separation of religion and state for the good, betterment and survival of both.
I find it important to state one more thing, not all Humanists think alike (in fact some believe in a religious form of humanism) as not all Buddhists think alike. This post has been my simple attempt at explaining the Secular Humanist framework in general terms as compared to Buddhism.
And finally, of course I do not and would never assume that my interpretations here should be taken as "better Buddhism" or in any way taken to mean that others should adopt them. They are merely the result and conclusions that I came to from following the Buddha's advice in the Kalama Sutra.
And before you determine that I am a heretical Buddhist (whatever THAT means) I would refer you to a post made by Zen Master Gudo Nishijima who has been practicing for nearly 60 years where he too finds comparisons as well between Humanism and Buddhism.
~Peace to all beings~
Power Art vs. Powerful Art (cont.d)
To pick up where I left off yesterday. Big art is not necessarily powerful. Power spaces can diminish even the largest works. By the same token, big art is not necessarily empty. Nor is small art necessarily less powerful for being small.
This is all a bit convoluted, I admit, but at least I know what I mean. I hope you caught the gist of it too.
There were other things that caught my eye--and my imagination--as we made the gallery rounds. Take George Condo, at Nicholas Robinson Gallery:
Here's an artist who has deliberately eschewed the mainstream throughout his career, and whose work has been widely admired for its idiosyncracy and its refusal to be categorized. An odd mix of the surreal, the futuristic, the socially engaged and the satirical cartoon, Condo's work is confrontational in its unabashed grotesquerie, even as it allows itself to be wildly funny--a characteristic studiously avoided by all "serious" artists. It is at once fearless and derisive of "good art." I like it. A lot.
Which reminds me to say that you don't have to be in the vast spaces of a Mary Boone or a Gagosian to find the best and most interesting work. If you talk to him, you'll find that the Nicholas Robinson of the Nicholas Robinson Gallery is charming, perceptive, and informed. He clearly loves what he's doing, and is passionate about the art he represents. (He's also a fellow Brit. But does that prejudice me? Nah!) And if you leave the main gallery and venture down the back stairs, you'll find the work of several other artists he represents, including that of another I personally responded to, Steven Gregory. Gregory constructs things out of human bones--or artifacts in the shape of bones:
This big wheel is a powerful memento mori, very Buddhist, I thought, in its circular form and its demand that we look at death head on. No blinking.
I can't end my report on Saturday without at least a mention of our visit with an old friend, Judith Miller, an artist whom Ellie used to showcase, back in the early 1970s when the Ellie Blankfort Gallery was in full bloom, back in the early 1970s. Judith is living in New York these days, and fortuitously had a show at the Cheryl Pelavin Gallery down in Tribecca. Lovely paintings, featuring mostly what we tend not to look at, down below our feet, the potholes and puddles with all their glorious reflections. Those made from photographs taken in Times Square, after rain, are spectacularly rich in shimmering, quasi-liquid color:
What a delight to see Judith again, and to find her still engaged in her art.
It's no good. I can't write about everything we saw in the New York galleries. I have to stop somewhere, so let it be here, on an encouraging note. There are many galleries like Nicholas Robinson in Chelsea and Cheryl Pelavin in Tribecca, some of them seeded in amongst the powerhouses, and they provide ample evidence that the creative spirit is alive and well--even in New York, where, as we West-Coasters see it, the Establishment reigns supreme. We like to think that all the best, most creative stuff happens here. Well, much of it does. We can be grateful for the energy of our own art community. And even so, as we shall see when I finally get around to recounting our Sunday adventures, New York is, well... There's the Met, the Modern, the Whitney. And the Met... Incredible! More later!
This is all a bit convoluted, I admit, but at least I know what I mean. I hope you caught the gist of it too.
There were other things that caught my eye--and my imagination--as we made the gallery rounds. Take George Condo, at Nicholas Robinson Gallery:
Here's an artist who has deliberately eschewed the mainstream throughout his career, and whose work has been widely admired for its idiosyncracy and its refusal to be categorized. An odd mix of the surreal, the futuristic, the socially engaged and the satirical cartoon, Condo's work is confrontational in its unabashed grotesquerie, even as it allows itself to be wildly funny--a characteristic studiously avoided by all "serious" artists. It is at once fearless and derisive of "good art." I like it. A lot.
Which reminds me to say that you don't have to be in the vast spaces of a Mary Boone or a Gagosian to find the best and most interesting work. If you talk to him, you'll find that the Nicholas Robinson of the Nicholas Robinson Gallery is charming, perceptive, and informed. He clearly loves what he's doing, and is passionate about the art he represents. (He's also a fellow Brit. But does that prejudice me? Nah!) And if you leave the main gallery and venture down the back stairs, you'll find the work of several other artists he represents, including that of another I personally responded to, Steven Gregory. Gregory constructs things out of human bones--or artifacts in the shape of bones:
This big wheel is a powerful memento mori, very Buddhist, I thought, in its circular form and its demand that we look at death head on. No blinking.
I can't end my report on Saturday without at least a mention of our visit with an old friend, Judith Miller, an artist whom Ellie used to showcase, back in the early 1970s when the Ellie Blankfort Gallery was in full bloom, back in the early 1970s. Judith is living in New York these days, and fortuitously had a show at the Cheryl Pelavin Gallery down in Tribecca. Lovely paintings, featuring mostly what we tend not to look at, down below our feet, the potholes and puddles with all their glorious reflections. Those made from photographs taken in Times Square, after rain, are spectacularly rich in shimmering, quasi-liquid color:
What a delight to see Judith again, and to find her still engaged in her art.
It's no good. I can't write about everything we saw in the New York galleries. I have to stop somewhere, so let it be here, on an encouraging note. There are many galleries like Nicholas Robinson in Chelsea and Cheryl Pelavin in Tribecca, some of them seeded in amongst the powerhouses, and they provide ample evidence that the creative spirit is alive and well--even in New York, where, as we West-Coasters see it, the Establishment reigns supreme. We like to think that all the best, most creative stuff happens here. Well, much of it does. We can be grateful for the energy of our own art community. And even so, as we shall see when I finally get around to recounting our Sunday adventures, New York is, well... There's the Met, the Modern, the Whitney. And the Met... Incredible! More later!
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