a flowing event

A living body is not a fixed thing but a flowing event, 

like a flame or a whirlpool: the shape alone is stable, 

for the substance is a stream of energy going in at one end and out at the other.

We are particularly and temporarily identifiable wiggles in a stream 

that enters us in the form of light, heat, air, water, milk, bread, fruit, beer, 

beef Stroganoff, caviar, and pate de foie gras. 

It goes out as gas and excrement - 

and also as semen, babies, talk, politics, commerce, 

war, poetry, and music. And philosophy.

~ Alan Watts

a train of discontinuous fragments

.

In listening to my patients tell me thousands of stories, 

as they try to find some peace in the present, 

I have learned this beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

 Rather than behaving sanely, rather than being in touch with our present realities, 

we human beings - all of us, myself included - 

are too often simply run by losses and hardships long gone by,

 and by our stockpiled fears.  

 

Our collective history, our individual lives, our very minds, 

bear unmistakable testimony.


Instead of receding harmlessly into the past, the darkest,

 most frightening events from our childhood and adolescence gain power 

and authority as we grow older.  The memory of such events 

causes us to depart from ourselves, psychologically speaking,

 or to separate one part of our awareness from the others.  

 

What we conceive of as an unbroken thread of consciousness is, 

instead, quite often a train of discontinuous fragments.  

Our awareness is divided.  

And much more commonly that we know, 

even our personalities are fragmented - 

disorganized team efforts trying to cope with the past -

 rather than the sane, unified wholes 

we anticipate in ourselves and in other people...








~ Martha Stout
from The Myth of Sanity, Divided Consciousness and the Promise of Awareness
art by picasso

a multitude of others

From "the incessant workings of his mind and the physical activity
 displayed by the body... nothing of all that is from him, is him."
He, physically and mentally,  is the multitude of others.

On the mental plane, this "multitude of others" includes many beings
 who are his contemporaries: people he consorts with, with whom he chats,
 whose actions he watches. ... the individual absorbs a part of the various energies
 given off by those with whom he is in contact, and these incongruous energies, 
installing themselves in that which he considers his "I",
 form a swarming throng.

To a Westerner, Plato, Zeno, Jesus, Saint Paul, Calvin, Diderot,
 Jean Jacques Rousseau, Christopher Columbus, Marco Polo, 
Napoleon, and many others constitute a diversified crowd,...

 These names are only examples. The guests, whom X shelters
 in his particular guest-house, are not at all the same
 as those who live with Y.

"that which is compound", which is constituted by the combination of elements
 as a house is made up of stones, wood, etc., is only a collection, a group
 and in no way a real "ego".  Thus the individual is empty, 
everything is empty, because one can find nothing in it 
except the parts which constitute it.

 ~ Alexandra David-Neel and Lama Yongden

from The Secret oral teachings in Tibetan Buddhist Sects

art by Picasso

behind recognizable patterns

 

 

The Buddha described what we call “self” as a collection of aggregates -

 elements of mind and body - that function interdependently, 

creating the appearance of a woman or a man. 

 

We then identify with that image or appearance, taking it to be “I” or “mine,”

 imagining it to have some inherent self-existence.

 

 For example we get up in the morning, look in the mirror,

 recognize the reflection, and think, “Yes, that’s me again.” 

We then add all kinds of concepts to this sense of self:

 I’m a woman or a man, I’m a certain age,

 I’m a happy or unhappy person –

the list goes on and on.

When we examine our experience, though,

 we see that there is not some core being to whom experience refers;

 rather it is simply “empty phenomena rolling on.”

 It is “empty” in the sense that there is no one behind 

the arising and changing phenomena to whom they happen. 

 

A rainbow is a good example of this. 

We go out after a rainstorm and feel that moment of delight 

if a rainbow appears in the sky. Mostly, we simply enjoy the sight

 without investigating the real nature of what is happening.

 But when we look more deeply, it becomes clear that there is no “thing” 

called “rainbow” apart from the particular conditions of air and moisture and light. 

 

Our sense of self is like that rainbow - 

an appearance, arising from causes and conditions, 

that we cling to as ourselves, "my identity."

 

 

 

 

 

.- Joseph Goldstein

from  Tricycle

 

 

 

 

let go

Let go 

this 'everywhere' and this 'everything' in exchange for this 

'nowhere' and this 'nothing.' 

Never mind if you cannot fathom this nothing,

for I love it surely so much better. 

 

It is so worthwhile in 

itself that no thinking about it will do it justice. 

One can feel this nothing more easily than see it, 

for it is completely dark and hidden to 

those who have only just begun to look at it. 

 

Yet to speak more accurately, 

it is overwhelming spiritual light that blinds the soul that is experiencing it, 

rather than actual darkness or the absence of physical light. 

 

Who is it then, who is it then, who is calling it 'nothing'? 

Our outer self, to be sure, not our inner. 

Our inner self calls it 'All', 

for through it he is learning the secret of all things, 

physical and spiritual alike, 

without having to consider every single one separately 

on it's own.

 

 

 

~ The Cloud of Unknowing

.

capacity for solitude

In the 20th century, the idea of solitude formed the centre of Hannah Arendt’s thought.

 A German-Jewish émigré who fled Nazism and found refuge in the United States,

 Arendt spent much of her life studying the relationship between the

 individual and the polis. For her, freedom was tethered to both the private sphere – 

the vita contemplativa – and the public, political sphere – the vita activa.

 She understood that freedom entailed more than the human capacity to act

 spontaneously and creatively in public. It also entailed the capacity to think

 and to judge in private, where solitude empowers the individual to contemplate

 her actions and develop her conscience, to escape the cacophony of the crowd – 

to finally hear herself think.

In our hyper-connected world, a world in which we can communicate 

constantly and instantly over the internet, we rarely remember

 to carve out spaces for solitary contemplation. 

 

We check our email hundreds of times per day; 

we shoot off thousands of text messages per month; 

we obsessively thumb through Twitter, Facebook and Instagram,

 aching to connect at all hours with close and casual acquaintances alike. 

We search for friends of friends, ex-lovers, people we barely know,

 people we have no business knowing. 

We crave constant companionship.

But, Arendt reminds us, if we lose our capacity for solitude,

 our ability to be alone with ourselves, then we lose our very ability to think. 

We risk getting caught up in the crowd. We risk being ‘swept away’,

 as she put it, ‘by what everybody else does and believes in’ – 

no longer able, in the cage of thoughtless conformity, to distinguish 

‘right from wrong, beautiful from ugly’. Solitude is not only a state 

of mind essential to the development of an individual’s consciousness – 

and conscience – but also a practice that prepares one for participation

 in social and political life. Before we can keep company with others,

 we must learn to keep company with ourselves.

 

 

 

~ Hannah Arendt

from
Read more at Aeon HERE

 

 

gratitude

 

 

 

 

 

After a wedding ceremony in Singapore a few years

ago, the father of the bride took his new son-in-law aside to give

him some advice on how to keep the marriage long and happy.

 

"You probably love my daughter a lot," he said to the young man.

 

"Oh yes!" the young man sighed.

 

"And you probably think that she is the most wonderful person

in the world," the old man continued.

 

"She's soooo perfect in each and every way," the young man 

cooed.

 

"That's how it is when you get married," said the old man, "But

after a few years, you will begin to see the flaws in my daughter.

When you do begin to notice her faults, I want you to remember 

this. If she didn't have those faults to begin with, Son-in-law, she

would have married someone much better than you!"

 

So we should always be grateful for the faults in our partner

 because if they didn't have those faults from the start, they would

have been able to marry someone much better than us.

 

 

 

~ Ajahn Brahm

from Who Ordered This Truckload of Dung? 

art by Klimt

 

 

 

the garden

 

 

 

 

In relationships, you create an environment with your work on yourself, 

which you offer to another human being to use in the way they need to grow. 

You keep working. You become the soil—moist and soft and receptive—

so the person can grow the way they need to grow,

 because how do you know how they should grow?

After a while, you come to appreciate that what you can offer

 another human being is to work on yourself, to be a statement 

of what it is you have found in the way you live your life. 

 

One of the things you will find is the ability to appreciate what is, 

as it is, in equanimity, compassion, and love that isn’t conditional. 

You don’t love a person more because they are happier

 in the way you think they should be.

What you cultivate in yourself is the garden where they can grow,

 and you offer your consciousness and the spaciousness to hear it.

 

 

 

~ Ram Dass

 

 

 

what makes us miserable

It is startling that we desperately hold on to what makes us miserable. 

 Our own woundedness becomes a source of perverse pleasure and fixes our identity.  

We do not want to be cured, for that would mean moving into the unknown. 

 Often it seems we are destructively addicted to the negative.  

What we call the negative is usually the surface form of contradiction. 

 If we maintain our misery at this surface level, we hold off 

the initially threatening but ultimately redemptive and healing

 transfiguration that comes through engaging our inner contradiction. 

 We need to revalue what we consider to be negative.

  Rilke used to say that

 difficulty is one of the greatest friends of the soul.  

Our lives would be immeasurably enriched 

if we could but bring the same hospitality

 in meeting the negative as we bring to the joyful and pleasurable.

  In avoiding the negative, we only encourage it to recur... 

 

The negative threatens us so powerfully

 precisely because it is an invitation to an art of compassion

 and self-enlargement that our small thinking utterly resists. 

 

 Your vision is your home, and your home should have many mansions 

to shelter your wild divinity.  Such integration respects

 the multiplicity of selves within.  

~ John O'Donohue

from Anam Cara

photo by edmund teske

first - touching peace within

 

 

 

 

 

 
~ Thich Nhat Hanh

 

 

 

the art of disappearing

 

 

 

 

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone is telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

 

 

 

 

~  Naomi Shihab Nye

 

 

 

 

 

My Life Is Not Mine

 

 

Spring, and everything outside is growing,
even the tall cypress tree.
We must not leave this place.
Around the lip of the cup we share, these words,

"My Life Is Not Mine."

If someone were to play music, it would have to be very sweet.
We're drinking wine, but not through lips.
We're sleeping it off, but not in bed.
Rub the cup across your forehead.
This day outside is living and dying.

Give up wanting what other people have.
That way you're safe.
"Where, where can I be safe?" you ask.

This is not a day for asking questions,
not a day on any calendar.
This day is conscious of itself.
This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness,
more manifest than saying can say.

Thoughts take form with words,
but this daylight is beyond and before
thinking and imagining. Those two,
they are so thirsty, but this gives smoothness
to water. Their mouths are dry, and they are tired.

The rest of this poem is too blurry
for them to read.

 

 

 

 

~ Rumi

 art by Mawra Tahreem

 

 

 

 

 

 

what's done is finished

 

 

 

 

The monsoon in Thailand is from July to October.

During this period, the monks stop traveling, put aside all work

projects, and devote themselves to study and meditation. The

period is called Vassa, the Rains Retreat. 

 

In the south of Thailand some years ago, a famous abbot was

building a new hall in his forest monastery. When the Rains Retreat

came, he stopped all work and sent the builders home. This was the

time for quiet in his monastery.

 

A few days later a visitor came, saw the half-constructed building

and asked the abbot when his hall would be finished. Without

hesitation, the old monk said, "The hall is finished."

 

"What do you mean, 'The hall is finished'?" the visitor replied,

taken aback. "It hasn't got a roof. There are no doors or windows.

There are pieces of wood and cement bags all over the place. Are

you going to leave it like that? Are you mad? What do you mean,

'The hall is finished'?"

 

The old abbot smiled and gently replied, "What's done is finished,"

and then he went away to meditate.

 

That is the only way to have a retreat or to take a break. 

Otherwise our work is never finished.

 

 

 

 

 ~ Ajahn Brahm

from Who Ordered this Truckload of Dung?

 

 

 

 

winds of change

 

 

 

 

The eight worldly winds are 

Pleasure and Pain, Gain and Loss, Praise and Blame, and Fame and Disrepute.

 Look at your own life — how do you find security in a big storm? 

A large weather system unexpectedly moves in and, as it approaches,

 we may feel unstable, vulnerable. These forces arrive, 

and the best we can do is mentally prepare with the awareness 

that all things change and are impermanent. 

 

We can make a plan, 

but given the magnitude of the event, we are unable to predict the outcome.

 We can maintain our composure by cultivating an attitude 

that arises from practicing meditation, 

calm concentration, acceptance, and equanimity.

Pleasure and Pain, 

two aspects of our moment-by-moment existence, 

wise teachings direct us to enjoy pleasure fully when it is present

 and to be prepared for it changing, with an attitude of letting go. 

It is known that the ability to enjoy life is tied to accepting what is 

without an attachment to having it be a certain way. 

 

 When we meet pain, we might not take it so personally. 

We are not a failure because pain is here.

 I may have an ache but it can change. 

Can we see clearly the comings and goings of life? 

Can we see that these forces exist independent of us? 

Not taking them personally is freedom.

 Can we find happiness independent of life’s unfolding condition?

 Recognizing this inevitability and accepting it is part of the journey.

Gain and Loss 

 is directly related with the ownership of wealth or possessions 

and the removal or disappearance of this. 

It is about the ways economic security can come and go. 

When we recognize our attachments to gain,

 we can see how we may get lost in greed —

 the wanting mind that always needs more. 

In investing, we take a risk and it this has a precarious nature.

 Can we maintain some kind of mental neutrality 

when things get shaken up and we lose? 

Can we appreciate a gain without having to always win —

 enjoy it without attachment?

How do you relate to Praise and Blame?

 Have you noticed how our society and social media thrives on this?

 Each person brought before the public arena is endlessly scrutinized

 in ways that belittle and blame them for anything that goes wrong

 in their political, social, academic, or arts career.

 And we praise them ludicrously 

 when they do something “we” approve of or like.

 This is a very rocky road, and it seems we are obsessed with it.

Fame and Disrepute 

are fluctuations in life that I can relate to personally. 

After writing a book in 2004, I was eager for some recognition and fame.

 I thought the publication would open some doors for me as a well, 

as a “known expert in tea and meditation.” 

When this did not easily occur, it felt as if I was experiencing

 a form of postpartum depression, having birthed this book

 and then been disappointed in the way it was received.

 I had expectations that set me up to stumble. 

Then, after several months, I realized how the center-of-attraction

 and notoriety need was lame compared to the making of the book, 

which was a labor of love. 

The gift came in the process of writing it and, when I realized this,

 I could accept that this was the way it was. I did not really experience disrepute, 

but I could understand how difficult it would be if something related to the book

 made me appear dishonorable or unworthy and the shame that would bring. 

It is similar to being “popular” and then losing that attractive force. 

I can see how others get stuck in this place when trends fade,

 fashions go out of style, scientific theories are replaced, 

and movie stars, pop culture idols, or elite athletes

 lose their fame do to a scandal.

During this time of snarly winds and dust devils, 

allow them to be a reminder of the Whirling Dervishes 

and notice how their spinning starts from their center, and how, 

without losing their balance, they twirl like the still point in the center of a cyclone. 

Getting to that clear center is how we can navigate these eight vicissitudes of life.

Just as one must often become still to see the movements of clouds,

 a still state of equanimity allows us to appreciate the inevitable

interplay of forces as they occur around and within.

 

 

 

 

 ~ Lhasha Tizer

from the Mungalla Sutta

 

 

 

 

a moment of peace

 

 

 

 

 

Grant yourself a moment of peace,

and you will understand

how foolishly you have scurried about

Learn to be silent,

and you will notice that

you have talked too much.

Be kind,

and you will realize that

your judgement of others was too severe.

 

 

 

~ Ancient Chinese Proverb

 photo by Hesham Abdelwahab