Advaita Vedanta and Zen Buddhism

Advaita Vedanta and Zen Buddhism: Deconstructive Modes of Spiritual Inquiry
This title explores the relationship between the philosophical underpinnings of Advaita Vedanta, Zen Buddhism and the experiential journey of spiritual practitioners. This fascinating and innovative monograph explores the relationship between the philosophical underpinnings of Advaita Vedanta, Zen Buddhism and the experiential journey of spiritual practitioners. Taking the perspective of the questioning student, the author highlights the experiential deconstructive processes that are ignited when students' 'everyday' dualistic thought structures are challenged by the non-dual nature of these teachings and practices. Although Advaita Vedanta and Zen Buddhism are ontologically different, this unique study shows that in the dynamics of the practice situation they are phenomenologically similar. Distinctive in scope and approach "Advaita Vedanta and Zen Buddhism: Deconstructive Modes of Spiritual Inquiry" examines Advaita and Zen as living practice traditions in which foundational non-dual philosophies are shown 'in action' in contemporary Western practice situations thus linking abstract philosophical tenets to concrete living experience. As such it takes an important step toward bridging the gap between scholarly analysis and the experiential reality of these spiritual practices. "Continuum Studies in Eastern Philosophies" is a new monograph series focusing on research that explores and evaluates the philosophical content and background of Eastern ideas, traditions and practices. Books in the series will seek to develop a critical understanding of the key philosophical and religious ideas of the traditions, challenge Western assumptions about the nature of Eastern thought, and explore and analyse contemporary Western practice of the traditions.

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Hidden Teachings of Tibet

Hidden Teachings of Tibet: An Explanation of the Terma Tradition of Tibetan Buddhism
In all religions, sacred texts and objects have appeared miraculously. Among the most remarkable of these revelatory traditions is the terma tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. Termas herald a fresh opportunity for the renewal of spiritual practice. Here Tulku Thondup Rinpoche tells the story of the terma tradition initiated by Padmasambhava, the ninth-century saint who established Buddhism in Tibet.

The Hidden Teachings of Tibet serves as the core reference work for anyone interested in the terma, or hidden treasure, tradition of Tibet. Tulku Thondup, who has lived in the U.S. since 1980, provides a solid overview of the various types of treasures, how they are concealed and discovered, details on the so-called dakini script in which they are written, and insights into the tertons, or treasure discoverers, themselves. It is all organized in a format that makes for easy reference. Originally published in 1986, the book was issued in paperback in 1997. Tulku Thondup was also a key resource for another valuable book on the terma traditions, Apparitions of the Self by Prof. Janet Gyatso. Reviewer: Lawrence Pintak is a journalist and author who writes frequently on Buddhism and spirituality.

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BRUTALITY

I have been slowly catching up with the fourth season of “The Tudors,” and finally watched the concluding episode last night. Henry VIII died—none too soon, probably, for those who still risked incurring his wrath, in the unlikely event that there were any left around. His underage and sickly son, Edward VI, inherited the throne, but died after a few strife and calumny-filled years. The disputed succession went for a nine-day stint to Lady Jane Gray, summarily executed for her pains, then to the vicious Catholic, “Bloody” Mary, who reigned for five terrible years before she died and left England in the hands of her sister, Elizabeth I.

I don’t know whether another season is planned, to cover those subsequent reigns before the Tudors were succeeded by the Stuarts (the two Charles and two James, interrupted briefly by the “Commonwealth” under the Cromwells.) There should be, given the ample supply of bloody intrigue—not to mention the temporarily stabilizing reign of Elizabeth who expanded her country’s power beyond anything seen before. The series was so well done, give or take a few liberties with history, that another season would be welcome. But I set out to write about one lamentable aspect of the 16th century reign of Henry VIII that was unsparingly re-enacted on the 21st century television screen: its brutality.

Whoever thought that strapping a living human being to a stake atop a cord of wood and setting it alight was an acceptable punishment for one’s religious belief, or that such treatment was sanctioned by a merciful God? In at least two episodes of “The Tudors,” we were treated to the spectacle of heretics dying this agonizing death, to the delight of crowds gathered to witness the event. Almost worse was the casual ease with which sentences were dealt out, by men with agendas that were inspired more often by politics than by religion. The lives of human beings, as convincingly portrayed in these historical dramas, counted for little more than pawns on an arcane chess-board of court intrigue.

Burning at the stake was primarily reserved, of course, for those “heretics” who were beginning to embrace a new Christianity in the form of Protestantism. For those daring to challenge the monarch’s absolute authority or swept up in the swirling intrigue that surrounded the throne, there was imprisonment in the Tower of London, the torture chamber, and the execution block. And such kind treatment was reserved for nobles. For more grievous, or more common offenders, there was the ritual of hanging, drawing and quartering, whereby the victim was hanged, cut down before death, publically mutilated and disemboweled, and cut literally into quarters. It took a while, it seems, before death came to the rescue.

This was my country, half a millennium ago. But the history of human brutality predates this period by far and, sadly, still shows no sign of coming to an end. From the human sacrifice of pre-history to the bloody spectacle of Christians slaughtered by wild animals for the sport of Roman emperors and citizens, from Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen to Cambodia and Rwanda and Bosnia, the brutality continues unabated.

So what is it about us human beings? In part, of course, it’s about enmity, about righteousness—whether political or religious. It’s sometimes about perceived territorial imperatives, about worldly resources and possessions. About “Lebensraum.” It can simply be about difference and prejudice. Or indeed a combination or exploitation of these factors. But too often it ends in the same way—in brutality and mass slaughter. And too often it is accompanied by sadistic pleasure, not merely a tolerance but a delight in the infliction of pain and the spilling of blood. On a small scale, we delight in watching it on our movie or television screens.

It may seem trite to be pointing these things out, but I wondered as I watched the horrors play out on “The Tudors”—was this instructive, or demeaning of my own humanity? Instructive, yes, in that it brings me to these words, to this understanding and appraisal of my own complicity in the common brutality of our species. I am at once horrified and spell-bound. I am sickened by the knowledge that human beings can do such things to other human beings; but also by the knowledge that I share the DNA of both Henry and his torturers and executioners. When I feel the anger boil within, as I sometimes do, as I assume most human beings do, am I somehow in touch with that DNA, that shameful heritage of hatred and brutality?

The Buddha teaches us to do no harm. He does not suggest, I think, that evil is inherent in the human species—nor certainly that it is absent. I like the realism of the Buddhist teachings: that awareness brings with it discernment, and that discernment brings increasing skill in doing those things that have good results and avoiding those that don’t. The actions of that English king and those around him, back in 16th century England, led their world deeper and deeper into the pit of fateful consequences. Sadly, here in the 21st century, we persist in the same delusional folly, that brutality is needed to secure power.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/30/2010

"As she has planted, so does she harvest; such is the field of karma."

~Sri Guru Granth Sahib

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The Mindfulness Solution: Everyday Practices for Everyday Problems

The Mindfulness Solution
Mindfulness offers a path to well-being and tools for coping with life's inevitable hurdles. And though mindfulness may sound exotic, you can cultivate it--and reap its proven benefits--without special training or lots of spare time. Trusted therapist and mindfulness expert Dr. Ronald Siegel shows exactly how in this inviting guide. You'll get effective strategies to use while driving to work, walking the dog, or washing the dishes, plus tips on creating a formal practice routine in as little as 20 minutes a day. Flexible, step-by-step action plans will help you become more focused and efficient in daily life; cope with difficult feelings, such as anger and sadness; deepen your connection to your spouse or partner; feel more rested and less stressed; curb unhealthy habits; find relief from anxiety and depression; and resolve stress-related pain, insomnia, and other physical problems. Free audio downloads of the meditation exercises are available at the author's website: www.mindfulness-solution.com. Start living a more balanced life--today.

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Two Movies: Haute Couture

We watched Valentino: The Last Emperor last night--a movie about the Italian fashion designer who just recently retired, after watching his business gradually consumed by corporate interests. It made for an interesting comparison with a movie we watched last week, The September Issue, about the preparation and publication of a season-opening issue of Vogue magazine. I woke up puzzling over the fact that I really quite liked one, and disliked the other enormously. I'm hoping that it's not just a matter of gender bias on my part...

Both movies are essentially about massive egos. They belong, respectively, to Valentino, the designer, and Anna Wintour, Vogue's editor-in-chief. Both, clearly, are set in the niche world of high fashion--an industry that caters primarily to the egos of the very wealthy and the very famous. It's all about appearances. Male and female beauty--or what the fashion industry promotes as male and female beauty--are idolized. The clothes that drape their perfect figures are for the most part over-the-top, sometimes frankly ridiculous to those of us who shop at the nearest department store. The pages of the glossy magazines in which they are marketed offer only the superficial thrill of glamor. It's not a world that I admire, let alone aspire to be a part of.

So why did I like one of these movies and despise the other? I'm sure it has to do with the two main characters involved, and with my judgment--based, of course, only on the way in which the movies presented them--that one was driven largely by a genuine love of beauty, the other by ambition and marketing. Both of them are "driven." Their work is their life; all other concerns and considerations fade into the background. Their relationships with those who love them come in a clear second. Each of them can be dismissive, even cruel to those who work for them--I almost wrote "slave" for them, because that's how it seems. The exclusivity of their ambition is at once commendable and repellent. Without it, they would not have been able to achieve what they have created in their lives, but it comes at a certain cost to their likability as

human beings.

Given all this, I found myself liking Valentino a lot more than I liked Anna Wintour. Am I falling victim to male stereotyping when I respond negatively to her aggressive, demanding nature, a kind of cold and calculating approach to work and other people, a dispassionate obsession with the success of her work? I found no warmth of common humanity in her, only professional ambition. In Valentino, ambition seemed motivated by a passion to create something beautiful, and to honor beauty in the world, using the talent he was given. He seemed driven as much by emotion as by calculation, as much by aesthetics as by money. He also seemed capable of laughing a little at his own excesses, of glimpsing himself, at odd moments, as faintly anachronistic, even a little bit absurd.

Seen, too, at the end of a remarkable career, there was a certain pathos to his character. Amazingly fit and nimble at the age of seventy-five, he was shown as a man in inner conflict, a man caught between his reluctance to grow old and the inevitable fact of aging; and between the old world of courtesy and professional integrity in which he came of age and a new world where what counts is no longer the quality of design or the quality of life, but the corporate bottom line. For Wintour, this interesting and difficult conflict did not exist. She is planted firmly in the new world.

I enjoyed, too, the detail in "Valentino"--the scenes where the seamstresses were shown at work with their needles, where the nitty-gritty of the design world was on view. And I enjoyed, just a little, being wowed by the life-style of this man who has acquired incredible wealth and fame, and by the way he accepts it all, almost modestly, as his due. The climactic scene of his anniversary party, complete with fireworks, gourmet dinners, champagne, and airborne dancers at the Colosseum in Rome was so over-the-top excessive as to be kind of charming, in its own peculiarly outrageous way...

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/29/2010

"According to the karma of past actions, one's destiny unfolds, even though everyone wants to be so lucky."

~Sri Guru Granth Sahib

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American Buddhism As a Way of Life

American Buddhism As a Way of Life
The United States is becoming more comfortable with Buddhism each year. Celebrity converts, the popularity of the Dalai Lama, a stream of references in popular culture, and mala beads on every third person's wrist all indicate that Buddhism is becoming an accepted part of American life, even if a relatively small percentage of the population actually describes itself as Buddhist. This book investigates the ways in which Buddhist and American ways of life have inflected one another. Gary Storhoff and John Whalen-Bridge have organized this unique collection in accordance with the Buddhist concept of the Three Jewels: the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. "Buddha" discusses two key teachers who popularized Buddhism: Alan Watts and D. T. Suzuki, correlating their personal situations with the approach to spirituality they proclaimed. "Dharma" is concerned with the impact of Buddhist ideas and texts on the most ing social problems faced by Americans, including bioethics, abortion, end-of-life decisions, and identity theft. "Sangha" treats Buddhism in relation to social relationships, with chapters on family life, generational shifts, Asian American communities, the gay/straight divide, and Buddhist artistic practices-such as the making of a Zen garden-used to strengthen communal bonds.

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Tao Te Ching - Lao Tse

Tao Te Ching - The Tao and Its Characteristics
The Tao Te Ching is a classic Chinese book of wisdom, said to have been written by the Taoist sage Laozi (or Lao Tzu, the "Old Master") in the 6th century BC. It is the cornerstone text in Chinese Taoism, a philosophy, religion and way of life, and is also central to Chinese Buddhism. The Tao Te Ching has been an inspiration and guide to many Chinese artists, poets, calligraphers, and even gardeners, throughout history. In recent years its influence has spread far beyond its Chinese origins, becoming a popular source of spiritual understanding and guidance for many.


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In Fort Worth & Dallas

It's a little strange to be sitting here, shivering, in Laguna Beach this Monday morning, after sweltering for three days in one hundred degree heat in Fort Worth and Dallas. As I write this entry, the "June gloom" has lasted all day for two full days, and the sun shows no sign yet of appearing.

Texas was, yes! hot and humid. We arrived there late Wednesday afternoon, emerging from a flight with the worst seats we have ever encountered in an airplane. (Warning to all: DO NOT trust any seat reservations you make on Expedia, the airline is apparently not obliged to honor them!) We found ourselves in the very back row, prevented by the bulkhead from adjusting our seats while those in front of us adjusted theirs, our window view completely blocked by a large jet engine which roared deafeningly throughout the journey. Still, we arrived safely, and had that to be thankful for...

Grateful, too, to have a cheerful greeting at the airport from our friendly chauffeuse, Jackie, who regaled us with ample information about Forth Worth, the art education department atTexas Christian University, where I was to speak on Thursday, and the art of living in the state of Texas. She dropped us off at our hotel whence, once installed, we took a taxi to Sundance Square...

... in downtown Fort Worth for dinner, and found a lively city center with outdoor bars and restaurants where loud country rock bands...

... blasted out their music, and more modest soloists stood at the street corners playing their guitars. Dinner at a good Tex-Mex cafe, where Ellie appropriately downed a beer while I enjoyed a fine margarita and we shared an excellent table-side concocted guacamole. Hungry from the journey, I subsequently ate a perhaps overly generous carnitas plate. Arriving back at our hotel, we watched a dramatization of the Quentin Crisp story on television, and learned about Jack Kilby--the man who invented the microchip in a moment of genial happenstance. The latter provided a useful introduction for my lecture on creativity the following day.

And it turned out to be a great day. The Fort Worth museums are a feast for the art lover. We went first, in the morning, to the Kimbell Art Museum, and what a treat that was. This natural light-rich, Louis Kahn designed building...

... offers a perfect environment in which to see a collection that features a small, manageable number of choice works by some great, some lesser-known artists in the Western tradition--so fine that the meaning of that overused word "masterpiece" becomes immediately clear. We worked backwards through the ages, from Matisse, Picasso, Braque, to the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists (including a wonderful, small painting by Van Gogh that neither of us had never seen before: no photos--this one was on loan and pictures were not permitted) all the way back to the Italian Renaissance. Of special interest was "The Torment of St. Anthony"...

... the first painting ever made by Michelangelo (at age 12!) along with a thorough x-ray documentation of its subsurface. This extraordinary museum accompanies its exhibits with useful art historical information, so we were left without time to explore the non-Western collections.

From the Kimbell, we walked across the street to the newly constructed Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, pausing at the corner of the building to admire a spectacular, towering corten steel sculptural work by Richard Serra, a riff on the Italian campanile which offers an echoing, somewhat claustrophobic interior chamber...

... from which one can look up to a small patch of sky far overhead...

This museum, too, is a treasure house, and we were struck immediately by the installation of the art work. Not only within the particular galleries, but from gallery to gallery there are carefully planned rhymes and echoes that delight the eye and enlighten one's perception of the individual works.

Sitting over lunch by the expanse of water...

... that reflects the architectural grace of the building itself, we recalled that a friend from many years back, Michael Auping, is now the Chief Curator at the Modern, so I went to the front desk to leave a message for him, in case he should have a moment to say hello and renew acquaintance. We were delighted that he came right down from his office to chat with us as we ate...

... and even more delighted when he offered us a personal tour of the lower floor of the museum, which we had not yet visited--in the course of which he treated us to endless fascinating insights about his collaboration with Tadao Ando, the building's architect, about the wonderful support he gets from the Forth Worth cultural community, about his choices for the museum collection and their installation. One of the highlights, where art and architecture come together to mutual advantage is the small elliptical gallery whose high concrete walls create a stunning environment for an Anselm Kiefer winged book...

Taken together, Michael's curatorial choices offer an interesting, non-stereotypical history of art since World War II.

I could wax on about these two museums. We should have, would have wanted to spend much more time there than we could afford. A morning and an afternoon were not enough. We left time, though, to stop in quickly at the Amon Carter Museum, which houses a pre-eminent collection of American art--though we were two days too early to see the exhibition that would have interested us the most, "Constructive Spirit: Abstract Art in South and North America, 1920s-50s." A sprint through the permanent collection allowed us to enjoy a few glimpses of artists like Thomas Eakins and Frederic Remington, along with modernists Leon Polk Smith, Charles Scheeler, and Georgia O'Keeffe.

Time enough, then, for a quick shower and a change of clothes before being picked up at the hotel for the drive to Texas Christian, where we met up with Amanda Allison, who heads up the Art Education Department and Susan Harrington, who teaches the course for which "Persist" had been ordered as a text. The talk there...

... went well, to judge from the response. The audience consisted largely of teachers, all of whom had received a copy of the book as a part of the package accompanying their summer course. The title I had been given was "Nurturing the Artist Within," and the idea was to re-motivate some of these teachers of art to get back in touch with the artist they may have left behind in the demanding business of their lives. I used the opportunity to explore what "nurturing" might entail, basing my talk on the example of what it takes to nurture a child. Having fed ourselves so richly on what the local museums offered, it was not hard to expound a bit on the nourishment needed to feed the visual appetite of the mind.

After the talk, our hosts entertained us generously to dinner at a nearby Middle Eastern restaurant, and it was a pleasure to spend this time with people who take the trouble--and the risk--to be authentic in their lives. We each have our challenges, I learned again; they can defeat us--or enrich our lives if we choose to confront them with open eyes and a willingness to grow and change.

Friday morning, our friend Midge...

... arrived at breakfast time to drive us from Fort Worth to Dallas--a longer distance than I had imagined. First stop, once we arrived, was at the offices of Quin Mathews, who had heard of my interests through the MAC, where I was to talk that evening, and who had generously invited me to interview for his radio broadcast "Art Matters" on the local radio station WRR. Having learned about the monthly discussion group that Ellie and I call "Artists' Matters," he included Ellie in on the interview session that we recorded in his sound studio. I don't have details yet about the broadcast date, but will be sure to keep readers of "Persist: The Blog" informed. In addition to his work in radio, Quin is a film-maker, and we were to catch up with that aspect of his work later in the day at the Dallas Contemporary Art Center, where his documentation of the current installation was included in the show.

We made the pilgrimage from there to the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza, where the most dreadful moment in the history of this city is commemorated. It was strange, indeed, to be standing where Lee Harvey Oswald stood, looking down over that infamous "grassy knoll" and re-living that moment which all of us who are old enough remember with anguish--the moment when JFK was shot and killed. The museum offers a complete and fully documented history of that tragedy, with multiple display panels, video installations and a guided audio tour. Much of the material was familiar to us from previous accounts, but the drama of being on the actual spot was nonetheless intense--and, for me, intensely moving. I noticed many others around me who made no effort to conceal their tears.

Next we drove on to the Nasher Sculpture Center, another architectural treasure designed byRenzo Piano. (We wondered at the fact that Texas manages to support this marvelous projects, while Los Angeles seems to lag behind in this regard.) A fine, light-filled space where we found a show of drawings by the British artist Rachel Whiteread that we had already seen at the Hammer in Los Angeles, so we opted instead for lunch in the very pleasant cafeteria and a walk through the sculpture garden. It includes a good number of fine works by artists of all kinds, from Aristide Maillol...

... to Henry Moore and Mark di Suvero, but the highlight for me was the James Turrell room, where one can sit comfortably...

... and gaze up into the sky through the open square cut into the ceiling...

On the right day, it can be a monochrome painting of infinite, but on this particular day, with clouds constantly in motion, it was a moving picture of shifting shapes in white and grey. A very lovely meditative interlude.

Walking across the street, we found a retrospective of the contemporary Belgian painter Luc Tuymans at the Dallas Museum of Art. I have seen quite a number of his paintings separately in the past, and did not expect to be quite as impressed by this exhibit as I was. I had thought somehow that the artist's attenuated palette and understated dramas...

... might become less interesting when viewed in quantity, but I was quite wrong: they seemed only the more intense and moving. I had also underestimated the depth of his social and historical consciousness, and found myself much stimulated by his engagement with issues ranging from the Holocaust to the still-current Iraq war. Tuymans turns out to be a deeply committed humanist, who observes the world through a troubled and compassionate eye.

After a brief stroll through some other galleries at the Dallas Museum, we decided it was time to call it a day and drove on to The MAC where I was scheduled to speak at 6PM. We arrived in the area in time for a restorative cup of coffee and a cookie at a local cafe, and to wander through the galleries, admiring especially the beautiful, delicately constructed foam sheet hanging sculptures by the Japanese artist Kana Harada. I gave a briefer-than-usual talk and allowed more time for questions and discussion, which I think was an appropriate strategy for the cafe-style environment, with the audience grouped around small tables. It seemed to work well, and there were plenty of questions and observations. It was particularly nice to have our good friends Midge and Larry there, and to note the presence of our new friend Quin Mathews, who is also a board member at The MAC.

Dinner al fresco in still hot and humid weather with Midge and Larry and their friend--our new friend--Nancy. It seems that wherever we go we find ourselves in touch with genuinely human people who experience the same weird blend of suffering and joy that we know from our own lives. The deep pleasure is to be able to share it all, and to recognize others in ourselves, ourselves in others...

Midge had arranged for us to occupy the guest suite in their spectacular new digs at the South Side on Lamar, a gigantic, redbrick former Sears, Roebuck mail order distribution center...

... which has been converted into a small city unto itself, with shops, cafes, galleries, and markets as well as studio lofts and apartments for comfortable living. It offers everything a person could need in one (thankfully!) air-conditioned environment. Midge and Larry's 2,500 square foot space...

... allows ample room for a studio for Midge...

... along with spacious living quarters. The guest suite was perfectly comfortable, though we did regret the lack of windows there, at the center of the building. It was strange to sleep in a totally darkened space.

A final breakfast with our hosts, downstairs at the cafe, where we had to compete with a lively and growing crowd of songwriters, gathering there for a weekend workshop. En route to the airport afterwards, Larry was kind enough to indulge Ellie's wish to see what the residential areas of Dallas looked like, and we drove through some quite lovely suburbs--and past some quite substantial mansions along the way. A fond farewell to our hosts at curbside--and we took advantage or our early arrival to ensure good seats on the return flight! All in all, a great trip, and one that we'll remember for some time to come.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/28/2010

"My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/27/2010

"We have to continue to learn. We have to be open. And we have to be ready to release our knowledge in order to come to a higher understanding of reality."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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The Cure.

Just like a fever breaks, last night I felt a deep and rejuvenating release from the rising waters that had crested yesterday with my, "discouraged" post. It isn't the "cure" of liberation from the cycle of suffering and rebirth but rather a break in the fever that is discouragement. Writing out my emotions has long helped me process the disorienting thoughts that ensnares all of our minds. It is a form of honesty, which is a trait that I've been blessed and cursed with. Blessed in the sense that it helps me dissect confusing emotions with direct and exacting examination but cursed only in the sense that such honesty means facing sometimes painful and uncomfortable realities. Yet, despite the discomfort it seems to be one of the most direct and effective ways of dealing with obstacles and discouragement.

This release was initiated with my honest writings yesterday, and the sympathetic comments helped me let go of my guilt that somehow I was "failing" as a Buddhist. Intuitively I knew this deep within the recesses of my mind but hearing it from outside yourself always seems to help convince you that what you suspected is in fact reality, and not just your mind tricking you yet again with another delusion.

So, last night lying in bed I had the most unconventional yet therapuetic meditation. Lying in bed I embraced the exhaustion of the day and just enjoyed the feeling of my tired body being cradled by our cloud-like bed. The soft, soothing, rhythmic breathing of my wife cuddled against me brought me a deep sense of calm. Being fully present in the moment I was aware of my own chest rising and falling with deep, natural breaths. Absorbing the feeling as the boundaries and limits between my body and my immediate surroundings blended into the music of the band, "The Cure." Thus, the title of the post.

Feeling limitless yet grounded at the same time--like the sky stretching from horizon to horizon, free to flow yet held from disappearing into outer space by the grounding power of gravity. As I floated about in this state of pure awareness I soon drifted off in a deep restful sleep. Today I awoke feeling like a huge weight was lifted from my mind. A new day has dawned and yet I am thankful for the reminder lesson I was given in my months of struggle. As they say, "It's always darkness before the dawn" and yesterday was that darkest water mark before it crested and ebbed to make way for pure, stabilizing balance that comes from a deep grounding of oneness.

~Peace to all beings~

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/26/2010

"Life is available only in the present. That is why we should walk in such a way that every step can bring us to the here and the now."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Discouraged.

***WARNING: LONG Rant ahead that's not your typical "Kittens and flowers" Buddhist post***

I'm struggling lately in my Dharma practice. I haven't meditated in months--not because I don't want to because I do, but I just can't get myself to do it. A large part of it is my mental illness that makes finding motivation extra challenging. Especially when the heavy medicating drugs I have to take to prevent mania and psychotic episodes zap me further of the will to do much of anything. It's difficult to fully convey how difficult it is to over-come.

Furthermore, I deal with a constant level of depression just beneath the surface of even my best days where I feel fairly decent. And please don't say, "Everyone gets depressed" because deep, clinical depression isn't like just having a bad day. Irregardless of that it's just an insensitive thing to say to someone who is living with clinical depression. It's chronic and biologically based on chemical imbalances in the brain.

And it's not as easy as just taking a pill because I already do, and still there is this underlying level of feeling like life isn't worth it. People think just because there are medications that they are cures--they help take the corners off the sharpest symptoms but they don't "cure" you in the sense that they don't bring you to the level of those who don't live with a severe mental illness.

Ironically, I was attracted in part to Buddhism because of it's psychological benefits, and I still believe it has immense help for those dealing with mental illness. However, Buddhism is difficult for anyone let alone for people with mental health challenges (unless you're enlightened, and how many can honestly claim that?). And it seems that the more I think I know about Buddhism the less I actually do. Everyone loves that "honeymoon phase" when you first taste the Dharma and it literally changes the way you see the world for the better but then the nitty-gritty, hard work begins and at times you stop and ask yourself, "Is this really worth it?"

It is. Buddhism can be a real bitch, and sometimes I wish I could just adhere to a religion where blind faith was about all I needed to do. However, I have felt those fleeting moments of enlightenment too profoundly to abandon the Dharma. I'm just discouraged about how poor my practice is right now, and has been for some time. An aspect of this discouragement stems from a lot of anger that I struggle with on a daily basis, which is, in part, again, rooted in the schizoaffective disorder.

I have Attention Deficit Disorder (or, A.D.D.) in conjunction with the affective side of things (affective simply means mood disorder, or bipolar. So, schizoaffective disorder is a combination of some schizophrenic symptoms and some bipolar symptoms). A.D.D. is a condition, which (in part) prevents the brain from being able to screen out stimuli that most people can relegate to the background.

So, while I am also hearing and listening to you talking to me, I can also hear at the same time: birds chirping outside, the kids screaming in their yard as they play, the traffic noise, the humming of the refrigerator and other appliances, the lawn mower going in the distance, etc. and I can't screen it out to focus simply on the conversation. All of this noise at once raises the stress in my mind and makes me impatient with the inability to focus on just one sound, which often makes me angry. In addition, I am hyper-aware of what is going on in the world and I get so angry because I just see humanity (and especially here in America) doing everything it can to destroy itself, its environment, its economy, its political system of democracy, its compassion for those who need assistance, its decency toward others in public places, its health care system, its acceptance of minorities and those of different sexual orientation, and on and on.

It makes me wonder what's the point of doing anything?!! Why participate in society and voting when it doesn't seem to make a difference or matter. What is the difference between letting karma do it's thing and predestination because some Buddhists seem to just shrug their shoulders in the face of struggles as if to say, "Eh, it's just karma doing its thing--what's the point?" And, yes, I know that suffering is inevitable and everywhere. I know that the world is not the place to look for stability. However, it seems that in response, many Buddhists take the default position to disconnect from society and disregard politics.

Yet, I struggle with this solution because it seems rather fatalistic, nihilistic and a form of avoidance. It seems to me that we owe it to ourselves to try and do our best to make it a better world--even if it can never be perfect. Aren't we making things worse if we just disconnect from society? Don't we have a duty to try our best to help build a better society? What if everyone just disregarded politics and civic responsibilities? Isn't it a bit selfish in a way? If no one tried to maintain some sort level of a stable world then it seems to me that some dictator would just take advantage of that and wipe out whole sections of the globe. Isn't that basically just letting suffering multiply? It's one thing to realize that suffering on some level is inevitable. However, to just disconnect seems to ironically cause more suffering from less and less good-hearted people participating to crafting how a country's general society behaves.

I'm certainly not giving up on Buddhism by any stretch but I'm discouraged today and it has been building. I guess my discouragement is with a lot of things but my Buddhist practice has me a bit frustrated, dispirited and depressed. I know it's not Buddhism that is the problem, and I know that I have a lot of work to do but please don't just post simplistic comments saying things like, "All you have to do is 'A' or 'B.'" Or, "You're problem is 'X.'"Everyone is full of advise but it's all easier said than done.

I'm not necessarily looking for answers, or advice--just some sympathy and assurance that I'm not the only one with these discouragements. I mean, intuitively I know that I'm not the only one but the things I hear sometimes from my fellow Buddhists makes me feel like I missed out on some meeting where everyone gained enlightenment. I'm not any kind of expert and I've got plenty of rust around the edges but I am always skeptical of people who seem to think they have it all figured out and that they're going to set everyone straight on how to be like them.

Buddhism, the Dalai Lama and Quantum Physics.

I have deleted the post on Buddhism and quantum physics because it appears that I didn't fully understand quantum physics before attempting this write-up. I apologize for any confusion that I might have created. I do still believe though that there is a strong connection between Buddhism and science.

-James R. Ure

PHOTO CREDIT: Gail Atkins

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/25/2010

"Mindfulness helps you go home to the present. And every time you go there and recognize a condition of happiness that you have, happiness comes."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/24/2010

"It is possible to live happily in the here and now. So many conditions of happiness are available-more than enough for you to be happy right now. You don't have to run into the future in order to get more."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/23/2010

"Enlightenment is always there. Small enlightenment will bring great enlightenment. If you breathe in and are aware that you are alive-that you can touch the miracle of being alive-then that is a kind of enlightenment."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Chimps: Learning Compassion

Chimpanzees: An Unnatural History , which re-played in PBS's Nature series this past Sunday night, is a heart-breaking lesson in compassion for our fellow living beings. It documents the work of centers like the Fauna Foundation, Save the Chimps, and the Center for Great Apes, havens for animals abused by humans in a variety of ways--whether as inappropriate "pets", as performers for our entertainment in circuses or movies, on on television programs or, at worst, as the living objects of medical or scientific experiment. The program shows animals that have lived the majority--some of them the entirety--of their 35-40 year life span in the cramped quarters of small cages, injected with noxious or toxic substances like the HIV virus, and subjected to horrors of all kinds. It also shows a number of kind-hearted human beings who come to their rescue, offering them loving and respectful homes for the last years of their life.

The first and most fundamental of the Buddha's teaching is: DO NO HARM. We humans, sadly, are an unkind species, and seem incapable of following that simplest and most obviously ethical of all rules. We treat our cousins, the animals, with the cavalier and deeply disrespectful assumption that we are their superiors and that they exist on this planet only at our pleasure and for our benefit. As this video shows, their dignity and forbearance shame us. It was impossible to watch--at least for the two of us--without tears for the dreadful history of some of these unmistakably sentient beings, but also for the compassion of those determined that their last years will be marked not by abuse, but by genuine respect and love.

NOTE: I leave for the Dallas-Ft. Worth area tomorrow morning. I have not decided yet whether to attempt to keep up with The Buddha Diaries; but if you don't hear from me until the coming weekend, please don't be surprised. I will be back. In the meantime, if you don't hear from me, please join me in sending out goodwill, compassion, and wishes for the happiness of all living beings--not forgetting those we dislike, or those who do us harm. As Thanissaro Bhikkhu constantly reminds us, the world would be a much better place if all of us could find true happiness--the kind that takes nothing from others and allows us all to give the best part of ourselves.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/22/2010

"People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Father's Day...

... yesterday. I'm not much of a one for these "days" that have been promoted over the years by commercial interests until they have become matters of obligation and guilt. Still, it was a joy to hear from each of my three grown-up children in their variously different places--Matthew in Harpenden, just north of London; Jason in Coralville, near Iowa City, Iowa; and Sarah in Glassell Park, just across the 5 freeway from where we have lived in the Los Feliz/Silver Lake area of Los Angeles these past forty years. (It strikes me, by the way, as odd that we have no useful word for the oxymoronic "grown up children." "Offspring" is too clinical, and I never liked the word anyway. Should we not have a word for people who are certainly no longer children but to whom we are equally certainly still parents? I wonder if such words exist in other languages?

I spent a part of the day working on an essay in preparation for my trip, this coming week, to the Dallas-Fort Worth area, where I'm booked to give a lecture at Texas Christian University and a book-signing event of some kind at an artists' organization known as "The MAC." The essay is called "Nurturing the Artist Within"--the title of the lecture at TCU. I was using the occasion to explore the idea of "nurturing," and using the analogy of child-rearing to think a bit about how best to treat that "artist within" who so often gets abandoned or neglected by creative people of all kinds in the contingencies of life--a common phenomenon which leads to a great deal of unhappiness and frustration.

More of this later. In the meantime I have been noting with some bemusement to what extent I am becoming my own father. Every time I stand in front of an audience, I think of my father in his pulpit, or sanding at his lectern to read from the Bible. As I think I have said before in these pages, he was essentially a performer. He had wanted to be an actor before going into the church, and his acting instincts remained strong--in both his personal and professional life. Even as a child, there was a part of me that saw through his act: beneath the belief he needed to project in the work of his ministry, there was a deeply doubting man. And, in a curious but profoundly human contradiction, beneath the familiar act of Harry, the "humble parish priest" there was a man of a certain vanity--the one I recall as the "show-off."

Like most of us, I guess, at the earlier moments in our lives, I would never have believed that I could be anything like my father. Now, though, I find the preacher in myself as I go out to share my "wisdom" with various groups of people; and, as I have noted before, I have begun to discover the pleasures of the "show-off," too. I wonder. Here's a poem I wrote about this several years ago. It's called...

ECHOES

Sometimes I hear his voice
in mine: my father's turn
of phrase, a sudden, plaintive
note, a particular tonality,
a hint of affected modesty.
I hear it when I read a line
aloud, or start to preach
my version of the gospel.

Sometimes, more startling,
I hear my own voice in my son's:
a raising of the timbre to sound
a note of protest, indignation,
the anger carefully concealed
behind a conventional politeness
or a charming smile, the quick,
ingratiating deference of tone.

And thinking this, I wish now
I had heard my grandfather,
who died before I could recall
his voice. From his stern picture
I imagine it firm, but gentle,
the master copy of the voice
from which my father's
was imprinted, and my own.

And I hope now, too, to live
for long enough to hear in Joe,
my grandson's voice that echo
of the generations, father down
to son; and perhaps not least
for him to recognize in his,
when he is grown to manhood,
some echo of the sound of mine.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/21/2010

"Freedom is not given to us by anyone; we have to cultivate it ourselves. It is a daily practice... No one can prevent you from being aware of each step you take or each breath in and breath out."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 6/20/2010

"Wisdom is often times nearer when we stoop, than when we soar."

~William Wordsworth

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Glass, Steel..

Even these...



... can be beautiful, from the right angle, viewed in serenity! (I wish the moon had showed up better. You can see it as a tiny white dot, slightly right and down from center.)