I've heard it said that Catholics and Jews tend to be more guilty than most. I don't know why, but that's the accepted stereotype. Well, I was raised Catholic. And whether or not that has anything to do with anything, I am noticing a lot of guilt lately surrounding my buddhist practice. Guilt is a useless emotion if it isn't serving to motivate improvement. For example, when I feel guilty about not practicing the guitar I paid $200 for (or when I feel guilty for paying $200 for something I don't practice), when I feel guilty for not working out or exercising when I have plenty of free time, these are opportunities to act differently, to do the things I have objectively deemed worthy of my time instead of being idle. I feel like the best scenario would involve doing these things without the guilty feelings serving as motivation. But the guilt is there, largely because I don't do these things way more than I do, and so I usually just end up feeling guilty. This brings up the question of whether I actually WANT to do these things, or if there is something else going on -- some neuro-peptide addiction which is gratified by guilty feelings, perhaps. It's difficult to say. But if I'm feeling guilty and NOT taking action to fix whatever I am feeling guilty about, then the guilt just ends up being somewhat masturbatory -- I get to continue being shitty but still feel kind of good for being tortured over my shittiness.
Often, though, I feel guilty about stuff that is much more subtle and nuanced than simply going to the gym vs sitting around in my room. Sometimes I feel guilt over something no rational person would feel I should have to change, like not returning the feelings of someone, for example. I have noticed I will feel guilty BOTH for giving a homeless person money and for holding back from giving a homeless person money. I feel guilty when my practice doesn't resemble that of people I look up to. That last one is really a bit silly; I mean isn't it the point of "looking up to" someone to emulate the qualities in someone more developed which one hopes to cultivate in themselves? So while it's good to feel motivated, there's no reason to feel guilty about not being a particular way NOW. I struggle immensely with this.
I still get angry, upset, or otherwise worked up -- quite often, actually. I feel guilty when I get like this. One reason is that I feel like I am misrepresenting buddhism, zen specifically. I (perhaps erroneously) feel like meditation practice should help a person be calmer, more collected. I mean, it probably does... A common fear for me (which I touched on in an earlier blog entry) is that meditation really only helps keep me at mostly-normal levels of irritation -- that without it I would be a raging psychopath or something. That's most likely not true. What IS true, maybe, is that I was more angry or prone to getting worked up before I started zen practice, that I am less so now, and that in the future these traits will be even smaller. I do need to keep reminding myself that the fruits of practice (as Darlene Cohen mentioned) are best measured in degree rather than in order of magnitude (that phrasing was co-opted from an NPR article I can't now recall). It takes more than four years to turn an intense young man into a sage, cool cucumber. In the mean time, I will persevere in noticing my failings, feeling guilty about them (if it's a failing I can rectify, like judging people or being unkind, or clinging to a small sense of self) and using that as motivation to work continually TOWARDS the idea of buddhism. If I notice masturbatory guilt, I will try to let it go. And if I can't, well at least I will do my best not to feel guilty about it.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
How do you end the suffering in the world?
So a week or so ago, one of my classmates asked me, "How do you end all the suffering in the world?" My response was something like, "Well that's the $64,000 question, isn't it? I would say the answer is to have everyone in the world practice buddhism. But of course, you can't force people to practice buddhism. So I guess there isn't really a way." They looked at me for a second in confusion, then were like, "No, man! Kill everyone! That's what everyone else has been saying." Apparently this question had been asked of a few people that day, and the common response was to kill everyone. He asked a classmate the same question right after, and that's the response he got then, too. (Granted, that classmate in particular had just overheard our conversation and was giving that answer as a joke. Also, I found out later this question was inspired by the end of the video game Final Fantasy 9 in which an evil robot or something comes to end the world's suffering by killing everyone and you must defeat it.) I really liked this exchange. Folks unfamiliar with buddhism would likely not know that that question is central to Shakyamuni's story of awakening and the inspiration for seeking the way in countless devotees that followed. So I got really happy when he asked me this. I was excited to talk about something that I have considered for a while.
But in a way, the answer he got from everyone else is more accurate. After all, I have seen first-hand how difficult it is to end one's own individual suffering, even with continual practice and reflection. The answer of killing everyone reminded me of a Norm Fischer talk in which he submits that really the only way a person can end their suffering is suicide (if I remember correctly). It reminded me of a Linda Galijan talk in which a story of buddha is recounted where someone asks him about troubles with his wife, his business, etc. and buddha says, "There are eighty kinds of suffering. I can only help with one of them." To which the person asks, "What's that one?" and buddha responds, "Dealing with the other 79." [paraphrase]. Numerous times at Tassajara, I was reminded that buddhism is called a practice for good reason; no one picks up a guitar and can instantly play like Eric Clapton. Similarly, simply practicing buddhism is not a way to end one's suffering -- at least, not instantly.
So, I still like my answer better. I do believe that the more I practice, the more adept I will be at not suffering. The more I examine the small self that suffers, the less energy this small self will have to keep suffering going. When I am clear-headed, it becomes very apparent that each instance of suffering is an opportunity to practice non-clinging, non-aversion, and to awaken to dharma. So each opportunity I actually seize to practice really does represent a moment in which practice ends suffering. And because of this, I find it very important to continue, and (when I am able) to show others how to do so as well. It's a marathon, though, not a sprint. If I don't remember that, well... I suffer.
But in a way, the answer he got from everyone else is more accurate. After all, I have seen first-hand how difficult it is to end one's own individual suffering, even with continual practice and reflection. The answer of killing everyone reminded me of a Norm Fischer talk in which he submits that really the only way a person can end their suffering is suicide (if I remember correctly). It reminded me of a Linda Galijan talk in which a story of buddha is recounted where someone asks him about troubles with his wife, his business, etc. and buddha says, "There are eighty kinds of suffering. I can only help with one of them." To which the person asks, "What's that one?" and buddha responds, "Dealing with the other 79." [paraphrase]. Numerous times at Tassajara, I was reminded that buddhism is called a practice for good reason; no one picks up a guitar and can instantly play like Eric Clapton. Similarly, simply practicing buddhism is not a way to end one's suffering -- at least, not instantly.
So, I still like my answer better. I do believe that the more I practice, the more adept I will be at not suffering. The more I examine the small self that suffers, the less energy this small self will have to keep suffering going. When I am clear-headed, it becomes very apparent that each instance of suffering is an opportunity to practice non-clinging, non-aversion, and to awaken to dharma. So each opportunity I actually seize to practice really does represent a moment in which practice ends suffering. And because of this, I find it very important to continue, and (when I am able) to show others how to do so as well. It's a marathon, though, not a sprint. If I don't remember that, well... I suffer.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Drinking the Kool-Aid
So I know that this phrase was originally used to reference the Jonestown Massacre, as a way of describing the "buying in" process it takes to think along the lines a cult wants you to, but lately I feel like its usage has broadened to mean a more general "buying in" of all kinds of ideas, lifestyles, attitudes, etc. And even if this phrase is not so general these days, well that is still how I have been thinking about it.
I have been thinking about it with regards to my experience in the Navy and what I want to do with my life afterward. Recently, I have felt particularly out of place; a round peg trying to fit into a square hole. I look around and see a fair amount of kool-aid drinking. "He's a dirtbag." "Don't be that guy." "You're talking to a chief. Of course you're wrong." Stuff like that. I would say the Navy is kind of cult-ish in many ways. There seems to be a conflation between being a good team member and giving up your personal identity. I know it is not truly this way, but the catch-phrases often seem to promote a subversion of critical thought in favor of aligning to military culture. By the way I just noticed that "culture" starts with the word "cult." Interesting. But in any case, I get it. It is important to follow procedure without questioning it, to trust that it has sound reasoning behind it, because in an emergency situation lives do depend on following one's training. And I feel those of us in the nuclear propulsion training pipeline have an exceptional degree of instruction in the rationale behind the procedures we will be following. The specific application of "Ship > shipmate > self" I feel is very important. It is the extraneous personality traits that I could do without. It is the attitude that I see many around me adopting that I feel is causing tension inside me, since I am not adopting it as well. I don't want to drink the kool-aid, I just want to do my job.
Funny enough, I had similar fears about zen buddhism at first. As Brad Warner writes in his blog, Tassajara (really any zen center, or similar type of place) can be kind of cult-ey in its own way, too. At first, I was really turned off by the apparent ethos of subverting thoughts of oneself as an individual, since "ego" is bad and we are all trying to awaken to "the true self," or whatever. I wondered (and asked) what the end goal was -- a totally homogenous bunch of zen zombies with no preferences or even the instinct of self-preservation? That's seriously how it seemed in certain lights. But I realize that is not true. Which is not to say there's no kool-aid at zen centers, either.
It occurs to me that whatever the thought process, narrative, or conceptualizations we are buying into in order to interact with the world around us, it still entails "buying in" -- it's all kool-aid. There is "Defend freedom! Kill the bad guys and terrorists!" and then there is "All experience is part of one buddha body." And then there is reality. But with our minds being what they are, concepts do arise and (maybe this only applies to a beginner like myself) narratives can be helpful in doing whatever we are doing. In a practice discussion while at Tassajara, a practice leader told me that we are always telling ourselves a story; but some stories are helpful and some are not. I like that. So here, I would say I think it is important to realize that one is always drinking kool-aid of some kind or another and to be careful about what kool-aid one drinks. I felt so happy when I found the narrative of zen because it just seemed so damned rational. I think the narrative of the Navy is useful, but it does not resonate for me in the same way that buddhism does. So for the time being I am sipping from my cup, smiling at the other nice people in matching track suits, then spitting it out and sipping from my zen flask. And I am doing this so I can learn more about the phenomenon of drinking kool-aid.
I have been thinking about it with regards to my experience in the Navy and what I want to do with my life afterward. Recently, I have felt particularly out of place; a round peg trying to fit into a square hole. I look around and see a fair amount of kool-aid drinking. "He's a dirtbag." "Don't be that guy." "You're talking to a chief. Of course you're wrong." Stuff like that. I would say the Navy is kind of cult-ish in many ways. There seems to be a conflation between being a good team member and giving up your personal identity. I know it is not truly this way, but the catch-phrases often seem to promote a subversion of critical thought in favor of aligning to military culture. By the way I just noticed that "culture" starts with the word "cult." Interesting. But in any case, I get it. It is important to follow procedure without questioning it, to trust that it has sound reasoning behind it, because in an emergency situation lives do depend on following one's training. And I feel those of us in the nuclear propulsion training pipeline have an exceptional degree of instruction in the rationale behind the procedures we will be following. The specific application of "Ship > shipmate > self" I feel is very important. It is the extraneous personality traits that I could do without. It is the attitude that I see many around me adopting that I feel is causing tension inside me, since I am not adopting it as well. I don't want to drink the kool-aid, I just want to do my job.
Funny enough, I had similar fears about zen buddhism at first. As Brad Warner writes in his blog, Tassajara (really any zen center, or similar type of place) can be kind of cult-ey in its own way, too. At first, I was really turned off by the apparent ethos of subverting thoughts of oneself as an individual, since "ego" is bad and we are all trying to awaken to "the true self," or whatever. I wondered (and asked) what the end goal was -- a totally homogenous bunch of zen zombies with no preferences or even the instinct of self-preservation? That's seriously how it seemed in certain lights. But I realize that is not true. Which is not to say there's no kool-aid at zen centers, either.
It occurs to me that whatever the thought process, narrative, or conceptualizations we are buying into in order to interact with the world around us, it still entails "buying in" -- it's all kool-aid. There is "Defend freedom! Kill the bad guys and terrorists!" and then there is "All experience is part of one buddha body." And then there is reality. But with our minds being what they are, concepts do arise and (maybe this only applies to a beginner like myself) narratives can be helpful in doing whatever we are doing. In a practice discussion while at Tassajara, a practice leader told me that we are always telling ourselves a story; but some stories are helpful and some are not. I like that. So here, I would say I think it is important to realize that one is always drinking kool-aid of some kind or another and to be careful about what kool-aid one drinks. I felt so happy when I found the narrative of zen because it just seemed so damned rational. I think the narrative of the Navy is useful, but it does not resonate for me in the same way that buddhism does. So for the time being I am sipping from my cup, smiling at the other nice people in matching track suits, then spitting it out and sipping from my zen flask. And I am doing this so I can learn more about the phenomenon of drinking kool-aid.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
"Hell is other people" -- or -- Obstacles in walking the path of a bodhisattva
So there's this guy in my class... Let's just call him "Alex." Alex and I have a fair amount of static between us. A big part of that is because for whatever reason, he seizes every opportunity he can to be derisive, rude, or just plain mean to me. I don't understand why, but it really pisses me off. On top of that, I find most every other thing about him annoying beyond belief. He repeats the same jokes, the same TV show or movie quotes, day in and day out, and they're not even clever! Judging by his mannerisms I am 100% sure he is homosexual, yet he maintains he is straight. As a queer individual myself, this irritates me to no end. In summary, he possesses all the worst personality traits of a spoiled, eighth-grade girl. Because of this, it is extra infuriating that he has the gall to put me down.
It has occurred to me to pity him. After all, most people only put others down because they themselves feel weak or insecure. If he is in fact "in the closet," I should be understanding of the internal struggle that must be going on, having gone through it myself. It has also occurred to me not to judge him at all; reenforcing stereotypes, limiting what others can be based on the small ideas I maintain about life, well that's just plain shitty. And the extra suffering I experience from his mean-spirited comments is a direct result of my attempt to feel superior.
I am reminded of a talk Darlene Cohen gave where she talked about a woman at the weekly sangha meeting who would irritate her. What she had to do was practice letting go of the irritation when the meeting was over, and let the woman irritate her anew each week. I should try that. It's not just this one guy, though. Lots of stuff that lots of people do bothers me. Like when I vent about Alex to someone else, and they just calmly reply that we just have to not let small stuff bother us, cause we'll be in the same class for the next five months. It frustrates me when other people seem much more adept at letting small stuff slide... I'M the one meditating and chanting! Surely I should be the best buddhist in the room! Why are they so good at being collected if they don't even meditate? Why am I so bad at it? Would I be even worse if I didn't meditate? Is that all my practice is good for -- just being not-quite-as-shitty as I would otherwise be?
I confess I am guilty of wanting something from practice.
There's countless examples of other people bothering me, no point in trying to list them all. At Tassajara, at some point it became abundantly clear to me that I am always the only source of my suffering. Not my circumstances, not what happens to me, and certainly not other people, no matter how much it seems like it. I have always tried to remember this lesson. Well, as we can see from my experiences with Alex and other people, I am pretty forgetful these days.
Jizo Bodhisattva vowed to go to the hell realms in his mission to save all beings... As he is one of the guiding inspirations for me, perhaps I can be inspired to be more enthusiastic about finding myself in hell (i.e. around other people, per Sartre's quote) and continue towards my goal of saving all beings as well... Starting with myself.
It has occurred to me to pity him. After all, most people only put others down because they themselves feel weak or insecure. If he is in fact "in the closet," I should be understanding of the internal struggle that must be going on, having gone through it myself. It has also occurred to me not to judge him at all; reenforcing stereotypes, limiting what others can be based on the small ideas I maintain about life, well that's just plain shitty. And the extra suffering I experience from his mean-spirited comments is a direct result of my attempt to feel superior.
I am reminded of a talk Darlene Cohen gave where she talked about a woman at the weekly sangha meeting who would irritate her. What she had to do was practice letting go of the irritation when the meeting was over, and let the woman irritate her anew each week. I should try that. It's not just this one guy, though. Lots of stuff that lots of people do bothers me. Like when I vent about Alex to someone else, and they just calmly reply that we just have to not let small stuff bother us, cause we'll be in the same class for the next five months. It frustrates me when other people seem much more adept at letting small stuff slide... I'M the one meditating and chanting! Surely I should be the best buddhist in the room! Why are they so good at being collected if they don't even meditate? Why am I so bad at it? Would I be even worse if I didn't meditate? Is that all my practice is good for -- just being not-quite-as-shitty as I would otherwise be?
I confess I am guilty of wanting something from practice.
There's countless examples of other people bothering me, no point in trying to list them all. At Tassajara, at some point it became abundantly clear to me that I am always the only source of my suffering. Not my circumstances, not what happens to me, and certainly not other people, no matter how much it seems like it. I have always tried to remember this lesson. Well, as we can see from my experiences with Alex and other people, I am pretty forgetful these days.
Jizo Bodhisattva vowed to go to the hell realms in his mission to save all beings... As he is one of the guiding inspirations for me, perhaps I can be inspired to be more enthusiastic about finding myself in hell (i.e. around other people, per Sartre's quote) and continue towards my goal of saving all beings as well... Starting with myself.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Dry Spell
It has been just over three months since my last blog entry. I am disappointed in myself. I really intended to write more regularly when I started this blog, even if the posts were short and banal, but instead I have succumbed to torpor and let the practice of examination through writing stagnate somewhat. But the title of this post is actually not a reference to the gap in blog posts; it is a reference to my sitting practice.
Around April 10, I injured my right foot while playing frisbee, and eventually I had to get a cast put on. At first, I used this as an excuse to take a vacation from zazen entirely (since I disliked sitting in a chair -- lower back pain being one reason). But I eventually did make myself start sitting again; at first in a chair, then I even gave my pillow/zafu method a try with my right leg extended out. My practice is still rather haphazard compared to the trend I was on before the injury, however this experience has yielded some insight into my approach to practice.
I have often wondered why I try to do zazen every day. I mean, I practically jumped at a chance to stop doing it, guilt-free... If it is such a burden then why do it? Like, even if I would sit every day for a week, I would still have bad days and good days; I would still snap at people sometimes; I would fall easily into greed, hatred, and delusion. Well, after my vacation, I noticed that when I wasn't sitting regularly, my bad days were worse and I would fall into the three poisons more often. This is one observation which got me back on the wagon, if only by one hand and jumping to keep up. I'm guessing the effect that I observed is akin to that which I have heard Brad Warner, among others, describing; like brushing one's teeth, daily zazen shakes up some of the stuff which has settled in the mind, allowing it to drift along its way and yielding more clarity. With this additional clarity, one is less likely to be tricked by deluded thinking and fall into negative patterns. Okay, so I sit zazen in order to suffer less. Oh, I also remember my dreams much more.
It bugs me to think that I should be so transactional about this (see "Thank you for your service"); in other words, I give up the time every day it takes to meditate and I give up some degree of comfort while I am meditating in exchange for less suffering. It further bugs me that I should fall into comparing mind to motivate myself back on the cushion (I am MORE calm and aware when I do zazen than when I don't). But all this hemming and hawing is just silly! I am forgetting that practicing zen is really for the benefit of all beings (including myself), and there is no reason to be bugged by the natural fruits of practice. I feel discouraged when I think that there is no way sitting on a cushion can affect the countless hearts of people I will never meet and therefore can't end the world's suffering... but that is silly too because I am forgetting the ways in which I benefit people with whom I interact on a daily basis; when I am calmer and more aware, my actions are more skillful, and I am thus beneficial to others. One of the vows I chant after sitting goes, "Beings are numberless; I vow to save them." It doesn't say "all of them." Over the course of one life, the beings one can "save" or more practically "benefit" are indeed numberless. And so I practice for the beings I CAN benefit, and pray for the ones I can't.
As a final thought, and a further turning of this dharma wheel, I just wanted to say that all of this angst and justification are totally unnecessary, and they are even avoidable if I were to just do the practice of just sitting. It occurs to me that "shikantaza" means not only "just sitting" when on the cushion, but "JUST SITTING!!!" when approaching the cushion as well; not rationalizing, not comparing, not scrutinizing... Just... Sitting... Letting thoughts that arise fall away whether I am on a zafu or a chair, in my room, in a zendo, or in the Rickover building listening to a complaint from a classmate...
Damn... this practice is so hard, but so important, too... I suppose if I suffer less, if I am more skillful with others, so much the better... But just sit, Burnham, okay? Okay.
Around April 10, I injured my right foot while playing frisbee, and eventually I had to get a cast put on. At first, I used this as an excuse to take a vacation from zazen entirely (since I disliked sitting in a chair -- lower back pain being one reason). But I eventually did make myself start sitting again; at first in a chair, then I even gave my pillow/zafu method a try with my right leg extended out. My practice is still rather haphazard compared to the trend I was on before the injury, however this experience has yielded some insight into my approach to practice.
I have often wondered why I try to do zazen every day. I mean, I practically jumped at a chance to stop doing it, guilt-free... If it is such a burden then why do it? Like, even if I would sit every day for a week, I would still have bad days and good days; I would still snap at people sometimes; I would fall easily into greed, hatred, and delusion. Well, after my vacation, I noticed that when I wasn't sitting regularly, my bad days were worse and I would fall into the three poisons more often. This is one observation which got me back on the wagon, if only by one hand and jumping to keep up. I'm guessing the effect that I observed is akin to that which I have heard Brad Warner, among others, describing; like brushing one's teeth, daily zazen shakes up some of the stuff which has settled in the mind, allowing it to drift along its way and yielding more clarity. With this additional clarity, one is less likely to be tricked by deluded thinking and fall into negative patterns. Okay, so I sit zazen in order to suffer less. Oh, I also remember my dreams much more.
It bugs me to think that I should be so transactional about this (see "Thank you for your service"); in other words, I give up the time every day it takes to meditate and I give up some degree of comfort while I am meditating in exchange for less suffering. It further bugs me that I should fall into comparing mind to motivate myself back on the cushion (I am MORE calm and aware when I do zazen than when I don't). But all this hemming and hawing is just silly! I am forgetting that practicing zen is really for the benefit of all beings (including myself), and there is no reason to be bugged by the natural fruits of practice. I feel discouraged when I think that there is no way sitting on a cushion can affect the countless hearts of people I will never meet and therefore can't end the world's suffering... but that is silly too because I am forgetting the ways in which I benefit people with whom I interact on a daily basis; when I am calmer and more aware, my actions are more skillful, and I am thus beneficial to others. One of the vows I chant after sitting goes, "Beings are numberless; I vow to save them." It doesn't say "all of them." Over the course of one life, the beings one can "save" or more practically "benefit" are indeed numberless. And so I practice for the beings I CAN benefit, and pray for the ones I can't.
As a final thought, and a further turning of this dharma wheel, I just wanted to say that all of this angst and justification are totally unnecessary, and they are even avoidable if I were to just do the practice of just sitting. It occurs to me that "shikantaza" means not only "just sitting" when on the cushion, but "JUST SITTING!!!" when approaching the cushion as well; not rationalizing, not comparing, not scrutinizing... Just... Sitting... Letting thoughts that arise fall away whether I am on a zafu or a chair, in my room, in a zendo, or in the Rickover building listening to a complaint from a classmate...
Damn... this practice is so hard, but so important, too... I suppose if I suffer less, if I am more skillful with others, so much the better... But just sit, Burnham, okay? Okay.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Perception is Reality
One quote I've heard a lot since joining the Navy is, "perception is reality." It started in boot camp: our Recruit Division Commander(s) would shout it back to us if anyone argued that they weren't talking in the galley, sleeping, or doing whatever they were accused of doing when they got called out for breaking the rules. It meant that simply giving the appearance that you were doing something out of line means a petty officer or chief is well within their rights to harp on you for it. For the record, I mean sleeping anytime between reveille and taps (during a presentation, for example, when it is necessary to stay awake.) This phrase has persisted into nuclear field training, where the following scenario plays out fairly often: Chief: "SN So-and-so, go stand at a podium in back for the rest of class." SN So-and-so: "But I wasn't sleeping." Chief: "Perception is reality."
This phrase continues to strike me as enormously profound. I know, I know, all the petty officers mean by it is, "Look, you were laying your head down on your desk. As far as I am concerned, that's as bad as sleeping. Stop quibbling about whether or not you were literally asleep and do as you're told since you were obviously not sitting up and paying attention like you should have been." Younguns, as it turns out, are remarkably prone to argue with authority figures. Catch phrases go a long way to convey proper military behavior. But still... it's pretty zen, I think.
Perhaps that sounds like a contradiction. Zen, as I understand it, instructs us to set aside our perceptions, not to believe in them, and instead remind ourselves that perception taints reality, colors it as something different than it is. All means of perceiving are empty. But going further, perhaps it dawns on one that such tainted input, flawed though it may be, is the only means of interacting with reality afforded to this body. While it is important not to get carried away by the thoughts we form about what goes on around us, while satori may be a beautiful experience of truth, a smack in the head from a teacher's kosu still hurts. And that is very naturally true. As the Pink Floyd song goes, "...all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be."
So perhaps "perception is reality" is inaccurate. Maybe "perception distorts reality" is more accurate.
Maybe, "our perception, flawed though it may be, is the closest experience of reality we get."
Maybe, "the reality of interdependent co-arising is comprised at least partially by one's own flawed perception and the flawed perception of all beings."
Yeah. That one has a nice ring to it. And as zen would have us face reality, I feel we would do well to face the perceptions of others as well as our own.
For example: Is zen a religion or not?
...
One day in boot camp, the setting sun was shining in brilliantly through the fogged windows. Several of my shipmates were trying to see the sun. Then they complained about their eyes hurting. I don't remember what exactly the words I shouted at them were, but it was something like, "Holy shit! Of COURSE your eyes hurt you fucking dumbasses! You've been trying to stare at the fucking sun! There's a REASON you're not supposed to do that!" I had been having a bad day. Probably. In any case it's the response that sticks with me the most: One guy went, "Wow. You want to be a zen buddhist monk and you use words like that?" A lot of responses went through my head, like pointing out how it takes a while for reality/practice to develop towards intention, or how his idea of "monk" is too limited, but I think all I said was, "yeah." or something. But that issue has remained in my memory, illustrating as it does what peoples' perceptions of religion are.
I wholeheartedly endorse Brad Warner's position as he states in this blog post. It really speaks to me. However I also have noticed that people tend to look at the incense, statues, candles, chanting, austere silent sitting, and perceive "religion." That is human nature. The military chaplain corps offers the following options to service members: Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist. As much as I shuddered to hear "worship" used to refer equally to the various "religious needs" of Christian/Jewish/Muslim sects and buddhist meditation together (since for me there is no aspect of "worship" in my buddhist practices*, though it did occur to me that several branches of buddhist practice are much more similar to some Christian practices than they are to zen), I also had to acknowledge that until people hear otherwise they are bound naturally to perceive any religious practice as just a different flavor of what they have experienced for themselves.
So in the spirit of the Middle Way, with respect to perceptions about religion, I try to eschew my own perceptions while at the same time accepting the perceptions of others as being a part of reality, part of the "where I am" in the dictum "start where you are." To use peoples' perceptions as a jumping-off point, not trying to "correct" them, that should be my focus.
*I suppose "homage" is pretty close, all things being equal... but I still don't like the word "worship."
This phrase continues to strike me as enormously profound. I know, I know, all the petty officers mean by it is, "Look, you were laying your head down on your desk. As far as I am concerned, that's as bad as sleeping. Stop quibbling about whether or not you were literally asleep and do as you're told since you were obviously not sitting up and paying attention like you should have been." Younguns, as it turns out, are remarkably prone to argue with authority figures. Catch phrases go a long way to convey proper military behavior. But still... it's pretty zen, I think.
Perhaps that sounds like a contradiction. Zen, as I understand it, instructs us to set aside our perceptions, not to believe in them, and instead remind ourselves that perception taints reality, colors it as something different than it is. All means of perceiving are empty. But going further, perhaps it dawns on one that such tainted input, flawed though it may be, is the only means of interacting with reality afforded to this body. While it is important not to get carried away by the thoughts we form about what goes on around us, while satori may be a beautiful experience of truth, a smack in the head from a teacher's kosu still hurts. And that is very naturally true. As the Pink Floyd song goes, "...all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be."
So perhaps "perception is reality" is inaccurate. Maybe "perception distorts reality" is more accurate.
Maybe, "our perception, flawed though it may be, is the closest experience of reality we get."
Maybe, "the reality of interdependent co-arising is comprised at least partially by one's own flawed perception and the flawed perception of all beings."
Yeah. That one has a nice ring to it. And as zen would have us face reality, I feel we would do well to face the perceptions of others as well as our own.
For example: Is zen a religion or not?
...
One day in boot camp, the setting sun was shining in brilliantly through the fogged windows. Several of my shipmates were trying to see the sun. Then they complained about their eyes hurting. I don't remember what exactly the words I shouted at them were, but it was something like, "Holy shit! Of COURSE your eyes hurt you fucking dumbasses! You've been trying to stare at the fucking sun! There's a REASON you're not supposed to do that!" I had been having a bad day. Probably. In any case it's the response that sticks with me the most: One guy went, "Wow. You want to be a zen buddhist monk and you use words like that?" A lot of responses went through my head, like pointing out how it takes a while for reality/practice to develop towards intention, or how his idea of "monk" is too limited, but I think all I said was, "yeah." or something. But that issue has remained in my memory, illustrating as it does what peoples' perceptions of religion are.
I wholeheartedly endorse Brad Warner's position as he states in this blog post. It really speaks to me. However I also have noticed that people tend to look at the incense, statues, candles, chanting, austere silent sitting, and perceive "religion." That is human nature. The military chaplain corps offers the following options to service members: Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist. As much as I shuddered to hear "worship" used to refer equally to the various "religious needs" of Christian/Jewish/Muslim sects and buddhist meditation together (since for me there is no aspect of "worship" in my buddhist practices*, though it did occur to me that several branches of buddhist practice are much more similar to some Christian practices than they are to zen), I also had to acknowledge that until people hear otherwise they are bound naturally to perceive any religious practice as just a different flavor of what they have experienced for themselves.
So in the spirit of the Middle Way, with respect to perceptions about religion, I try to eschew my own perceptions while at the same time accepting the perceptions of others as being a part of reality, part of the "where I am" in the dictum "start where you are." To use peoples' perceptions as a jumping-off point, not trying to "correct" them, that should be my focus.
*I suppose "homage" is pretty close, all things being equal... but I still don't like the word "worship."
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
The Power of an Apology
Last week on Friday, our class had lab exercises all morning. I partnered with a person who sometimes rubs me the wrong way with their brusque manner. Long story short, it wasn't too long before I felt that I was getting my intelligence insulted, that I was being rushed, that I was being viewed as incompetent, and it got me angry. I let my anger show. Then, I regretted it. But no matter how nice I tried to be the rest of lab, I could feel the other person had withdrawn behind a wall, and there was nothing I could do to make the tension go away.
Well, almost nothing. It occurred to me during lunch that regardless of how I felt from my interactions with this person, the way I responded was negative and unhelpful. And I can always apologize for my actions. And furthermore, I can always forgive others for theirs. So I resolved to forgive the perceived slight and I apologized to that person when we returned to class. And I felt a LOT better. The tension between us melted, and the weight of the negativity that I had been carrying around in my heart vanished. In its place grew a sense of well-being and equanimity.
Now this positive sense was not to last long, as an interaction with another classmate shortly thereafter put me once again in a foul mood. I don't think I reacted angrily in person (as I did that morning), but I sure gave them a big piece of my mind in my imagination. And inside, the outcome was just as destructive: my equanimity had left me and the ball of tension was back.
I don't know whether karma has a metaphysical aspect or not, but within an hour something uncanny happened: the second person apologized to me. And I felt a lot better. And it made me think that maybe that's how I affected the person from that morning. And it really drove the point home that apologies are powerful. It made me think of a day at Tassajara...
That morning, my friend said something really bitchy to me. And it really hit me hard; my emotions were really raw almost all summer. My mind took me for a pretty bad trip... like REALLY bad, really fraught with negativity. I tried talking to him about it later but it just made things even worse. And I had to get to work for guest dinner. But while I was going about my business, he came up to me and offered me a sincere apology, and all that negativity just went *woosh* ... gone, gone, gone really far away... It was like seeing a dark storm far away over the ocean, on the horizon.
And all this makes me think of a quote I saw in a meme on facebook:
Well, almost nothing. It occurred to me during lunch that regardless of how I felt from my interactions with this person, the way I responded was negative and unhelpful. And I can always apologize for my actions. And furthermore, I can always forgive others for theirs. So I resolved to forgive the perceived slight and I apologized to that person when we returned to class. And I felt a LOT better. The tension between us melted, and the weight of the negativity that I had been carrying around in my heart vanished. In its place grew a sense of well-being and equanimity.
Now this positive sense was not to last long, as an interaction with another classmate shortly thereafter put me once again in a foul mood. I don't think I reacted angrily in person (as I did that morning), but I sure gave them a big piece of my mind in my imagination. And inside, the outcome was just as destructive: my equanimity had left me and the ball of tension was back.
I don't know whether karma has a metaphysical aspect or not, but within an hour something uncanny happened: the second person apologized to me. And I felt a lot better. And it made me think that maybe that's how I affected the person from that morning. And it really drove the point home that apologies are powerful. It made me think of a day at Tassajara...
That morning, my friend said something really bitchy to me. And it really hit me hard; my emotions were really raw almost all summer. My mind took me for a pretty bad trip... like REALLY bad, really fraught with negativity. I tried talking to him about it later but it just made things even worse. And I had to get to work for guest dinner. But while I was going about my business, he came up to me and offered me a sincere apology, and all that negativity just went *woosh* ... gone, gone, gone really far away... It was like seeing a dark storm far away over the ocean, on the horizon.
And all this makes me think of a quote I saw in a meme on facebook:
Forgive. Not because the other deserves forgiveness,
but because you deserve peace.
Well I think in general most all of us do deserve forgiveness, but I don't want to labor that point. It's a good reminder that the action of forgiveness, the action of an apology, the harmonious dance between those two complimentary actions, really has the power to put out a furnace of emotion inside us and to let us move on to a calmer, happier state. So give it a try next time you think of it. It works for me!
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