It was many years ago and some things seem to change very slowly. I made my way through the parked cars, enjoying the bright afternoon sun. The leaves were beginning to turn dull and fluttered against the crisp blue sky. Stretching the kinks out of my legs, I took a deep breath. My lungs screamed betrayal as the smell of burned cooking fat rode the cool September breeze from the dumpster across the parking lot.
As I approached the drive-thru lane a young man carefully backed through the glass door and turned in my direction. The remains of a Value-meal box in his right hand, his left shoulder dipped downward toward the whining ball of flesh that he held firmly by the hand.
“Come on now,” he pleaded, “You’ve got to stand up.”
The boy’s rebellion reminded me of an outraged chimpanzee. Legs curled up into his stomach, he dangled at the end of his father’s arm. A vanilla complexion now scarlet against his long blonde hair, and with eyes closed in a grimace of wrinkles, he flailed against his father’s grip.
His father continued in a calm clear voice, “Come on now, stand up like a big boy.”
As if in a vision, there I was whirling in outrage against life with eyes locked tight against everything around me. Kicking and screaming against the firm hand of an unflinching world. And how I was so often like this little boy, with vision clenched behind a wall of anger, unable to grasp the depth of my sufferings.
July 21, 2011
June 15, 2011
How I Was Born
In the Guy Ritchie film Revolver, I was treated to a compelling, if not mind-bending, commentary on one man’s journey to transcend the power and influence of the human ego. The movie itself serves as a training film for those who are serious about winning mankind’s greatest battle, and arguably the real “war to end all wars.”
The human brain is the seat of our ability to experience a distinction between the “seer and the seen.” With each sensory experience there is a biological imperative at work. Some may call it “dualism,” others, the “Principle of Complementarity,” or even the “Uncertainty Principle.” Whatever name best suits your philosophical profile, the process is the same.
When the human organism registers a sensation, the resulting psychic experience is processed on two fronts: one is objective and the other is subjective. And though we may speak as though these two modes of experience are separate, they seem to arise simultaneously – even from day-one. We need but to observe the young child. His behaviors suggest the presence an innate perspective dictating a sense that whatever he observes belongs to him. If he touches the toy it’s his alone, and any suggestion of sharing is initially met with disturbing results. (Then again perhaps it’s a bit naïve to equate this kind of behavior with only the young – it seems to be something all too human regardless of age.) As the child becomes molded by his culture and familial environment, he is able to recognize that just because the bedroom light goes out it isn’t a personal attack on his existence. His experience testifies that if he goes to sleep tonight, he will awaken in the morning. Our brains function in such a way as to make itself believe that it is the center of all that is surveyed. How does this happen?
What causes this ego-centric or self-centered perspective regardless of education or age? A moment of honest introspection as well as self-observation over time, shows us that any attempt at living a spiritual life is forever handicapped by this selfishness. Ancient philosophers and theologians have gone to great lengths to advise us of this self-evident fact. We function as self-conscious beings and require an experiential antidote to grow beyond this - dare I say it - innate, egoistic perspective. This is an easy thing to suppose, but how can we really understand it?
In order to explore this for ourselves let us first accept a simple premise or two: the brain is the field out of which our difficulties arise and that our self-centered perspective is hard-wired within that miraculous lump of grey matter sitting between our ears. From here we could begin our analysis with any sensate experience, but sight seems the easiest with which to relate, so let’s begin there.
When I look at any object there are two things that occur - at a speed so fast, I think it’s reasonable for us to say - at the same time. There is the object observed – in this case, let’s say a horse – and there is also an awareness of this “act of seeing” the horse. The awareness may not always be the focus of our conscious attention, but it is nevertheless always present, enabling us to focus our attention on it if we wish.
So without going too far out on a philosophical limb, I think we can say that the brain informs itself, simultaneously, of an awareness of action – “seeing” – and a static, pictorial representation of the object observed. Or stated somewhat differently; the brain registers a static picture, as well as the fluid process (action) in conjunction with this picture. Even if the horse is galloping through a meadow, the object is still a static, mental representation or ideation – though moving through space. The process of that seeing-moment, though not always the focus of our awareness, is a dynamic function juxtaposed to, yet part of, a static representation in what one might think of as a dualistic, mental symbiosis.
The brain, in conjunction with the visual sensory mechanism, registers and imprints the form we observe into memory while simultaneously, within a separate yet connected area of the brain, allows for awareness of that “action” we call seeing. Making this point may seem unnecessarily repetitious of me. However the salient point here is that the contingently arising connection between observing and the observation is more familiar to us perhaps as the seer and the seen.
To see the horse and to recognize the action within which that object arises, allows us to understand the process within which the sense of “I” is born. In the absence of the brains ability to reflectively re-cognize the result of its own act of objectification, the human psychological landscape would not be as we know it today. Neither the notion, nor the experience, of what we refer to as the “self” or ego, would be part of our mental or experiential world. The human organism would merely experience sense data, and never “own” or question the origin of that experience.
As it is however, when Bob says, “I see the horse” there is reason to suggest that the “I” references the brain which is doing the seeing. There is no seer; there is just a process of seeing (seeing and seen) which is co-registered; once as the object seen and also as the action of seeing. When the self-referential process of the human brain reflects upon the object of its own process – the appearance of an observation - the brain identifies the process as itself and the “I” is born. It is the mind recognizing its own process.
The human brain is the seat of our ability to experience a distinction between the “seer and the seen.” With each sensory experience there is a biological imperative at work. Some may call it “dualism,” others, the “Principle of Complementarity,” or even the “Uncertainty Principle.” Whatever name best suits your philosophical profile, the process is the same.
When the human organism registers a sensation, the resulting psychic experience is processed on two fronts: one is objective and the other is subjective. And though we may speak as though these two modes of experience are separate, they seem to arise simultaneously – even from day-one. We need but to observe the young child. His behaviors suggest the presence an innate perspective dictating a sense that whatever he observes belongs to him. If he touches the toy it’s his alone, and any suggestion of sharing is initially met with disturbing results. (Then again perhaps it’s a bit naïve to equate this kind of behavior with only the young – it seems to be something all too human regardless of age.) As the child becomes molded by his culture and familial environment, he is able to recognize that just because the bedroom light goes out it isn’t a personal attack on his existence. His experience testifies that if he goes to sleep tonight, he will awaken in the morning. Our brains function in such a way as to make itself believe that it is the center of all that is surveyed. How does this happen?
What causes this ego-centric or self-centered perspective regardless of education or age? A moment of honest introspection as well as self-observation over time, shows us that any attempt at living a spiritual life is forever handicapped by this selfishness. Ancient philosophers and theologians have gone to great lengths to advise us of this self-evident fact. We function as self-conscious beings and require an experiential antidote to grow beyond this - dare I say it - innate, egoistic perspective. This is an easy thing to suppose, but how can we really understand it?
In order to explore this for ourselves let us first accept a simple premise or two: the brain is the field out of which our difficulties arise and that our self-centered perspective is hard-wired within that miraculous lump of grey matter sitting between our ears. From here we could begin our analysis with any sensate experience, but sight seems the easiest with which to relate, so let’s begin there.
When I look at any object there are two things that occur - at a speed so fast, I think it’s reasonable for us to say - at the same time. There is the object observed – in this case, let’s say a horse – and there is also an awareness of this “act of seeing” the horse. The awareness may not always be the focus of our conscious attention, but it is nevertheless always present, enabling us to focus our attention on it if we wish.
So without going too far out on a philosophical limb, I think we can say that the brain informs itself, simultaneously, of an awareness of action – “seeing” – and a static, pictorial representation of the object observed. Or stated somewhat differently; the brain registers a static picture, as well as the fluid process (action) in conjunction with this picture. Even if the horse is galloping through a meadow, the object is still a static, mental representation or ideation – though moving through space. The process of that seeing-moment, though not always the focus of our awareness, is a dynamic function juxtaposed to, yet part of, a static representation in what one might think of as a dualistic, mental symbiosis.
The brain, in conjunction with the visual sensory mechanism, registers and imprints the form we observe into memory while simultaneously, within a separate yet connected area of the brain, allows for awareness of that “action” we call seeing. Making this point may seem unnecessarily repetitious of me. However the salient point here is that the contingently arising connection between observing and the observation is more familiar to us perhaps as the seer and the seen.
To see the horse and to recognize the action within which that object arises, allows us to understand the process within which the sense of “I” is born. In the absence of the brains ability to reflectively re-cognize the result of its own act of objectification, the human psychological landscape would not be as we know it today. Neither the notion, nor the experience, of what we refer to as the “self” or ego, would be part of our mental or experiential world. The human organism would merely experience sense data, and never “own” or question the origin of that experience.
As it is however, when Bob says, “I see the horse” there is reason to suggest that the “I” references the brain which is doing the seeing. There is no seer; there is just a process of seeing (seeing and seen) which is co-registered; once as the object seen and also as the action of seeing. When the self-referential process of the human brain reflects upon the object of its own process – the appearance of an observation - the brain identifies the process as itself and the “I” is born. It is the mind recognizing its own process.
April 29, 2011
Thoughts: From Sound To Anger
On a day not unlike today, a thought scurried out from another of those dark corners of my brain and the following ensued after an inner voice inquired, “If there were no sounds, would there still be hearing?”
The conversation went something like this. “If there were no sounds - none whatsoever, including the sea-shell-like white noise that we notice sometimes when there seems to be total silence – could we say that hearing still exists? Is hearing an entity separate from sound?” A moment’s thought and I answered “no.” My reasoning, whether solid or at best, ephemeral, was that if the process of hearing requires a mechanism of reception – as in our case the brain/ear continuum – as well as a sound for this mechanism to process, then it seems to make sense that no hearing will arise in the absence of the necessary conditions of sound and ear. In the absence of either one of these contingencies hearing does not arise and is therefore not a separate entity.
The same reasoning can be applied to sight. In the absence of an eye, an object, and the presence of the necessary light - seeing will not arise. After a quick perusal, it would appear that the same is true for the other senses. This is because the senses, which we fallaciously consider the arbiter of our truths, are merely contingent processes. That is, the sensations are contingent on the presence of other factors which ultimately rest in biologically determined parameters of operation. For example, there are only a limited number of wavelengths of light and sound that we are, through the operation of these mechanisms, able to register. The same holds true for every sensate experience and each of us can take the time to verify this for ourselves.
Then, as so often happens, I made a mental leap to some conversation I had recently where I was asked about the notion of “transcendence” and what that means in terms of enlightenment as well as its relationship to overcoming Klesha’s or the defilements of mind which separate us from recognizing the Buddha Mind within.
I then imagined a mind experiment concerning this question. I imagined a receptor of some sort that used a monitor to display a circle in the center of the screen. The background was white and inside the black circle appeared the color red in a range from a very light pink to the deepest and brightest red one can imagine. A change in the shade of red would correspond to the degree of anger the person experienced when hooked up to the apparatus. The darker shades indicating a greater degree of anger while less redness within the circle would indicate a diminished experience of anger.
Then I imagined that a subject would move from emotional quiescence up to a state of rage, and progressively move through to a meditative state of calm over a period of several minutes while being monitored through this process by my apparatus. To tie up any loose ends I imagined my apparatus having the ability to register all levels or degrees of anger so that if it was present to any degree whatsoever, we would be able to detect it. Isn't fantasy wonderful?
The subject was then shown a film which he said produced a "homicidal rage" when he first saw it, and upsets him still, if he thinks about it. As the experiment proceeded it became apparent when the subject became extremely angry, as evidenced by fact that the center of the circle would take on a deep red hue. Then as he calmed himself by meditating, the shade of red began to diminish slowly until the circle was the lightest shade of pink….and then melted into the white background outside the circle.
What I gleaned from this little excursion into my imagination was that to "transcend anger" is to be, ultimately, in a state devoid of anger. After the test subject let go of the stream of after-thoughts, which initially arose out of viewing the film, he gradually became "emotionally free of anger" as evidenced by the disappearance of any shade of redness. The man himself however remained. There was no outward physical change to his body. Furthermore, it occurred to me that what would also disappear would be the usual outward consequences of anger in that person’s life. In short there would be no experiential consequence for him, nor would there be a re-birth of anger, or its lesser minions, in anyone with whom he came in contact while angry. The negative karma that arises out of anger would be avoided. He would not have to practice over many life-times in order to achieve what is possible in this one; here and now.
The conversation went something like this. “If there were no sounds - none whatsoever, including the sea-shell-like white noise that we notice sometimes when there seems to be total silence – could we say that hearing still exists? Is hearing an entity separate from sound?” A moment’s thought and I answered “no.” My reasoning, whether solid or at best, ephemeral, was that if the process of hearing requires a mechanism of reception – as in our case the brain/ear continuum – as well as a sound for this mechanism to process, then it seems to make sense that no hearing will arise in the absence of the necessary conditions of sound and ear. In the absence of either one of these contingencies hearing does not arise and is therefore not a separate entity.
The same reasoning can be applied to sight. In the absence of an eye, an object, and the presence of the necessary light - seeing will not arise. After a quick perusal, it would appear that the same is true for the other senses. This is because the senses, which we fallaciously consider the arbiter of our truths, are merely contingent processes. That is, the sensations are contingent on the presence of other factors which ultimately rest in biologically determined parameters of operation. For example, there are only a limited number of wavelengths of light and sound that we are, through the operation of these mechanisms, able to register. The same holds true for every sensate experience and each of us can take the time to verify this for ourselves.
Then, as so often happens, I made a mental leap to some conversation I had recently where I was asked about the notion of “transcendence” and what that means in terms of enlightenment as well as its relationship to overcoming Klesha’s or the defilements of mind which separate us from recognizing the Buddha Mind within.
I then imagined a mind experiment concerning this question. I imagined a receptor of some sort that used a monitor to display a circle in the center of the screen. The background was white and inside the black circle appeared the color red in a range from a very light pink to the deepest and brightest red one can imagine. A change in the shade of red would correspond to the degree of anger the person experienced when hooked up to the apparatus. The darker shades indicating a greater degree of anger while less redness within the circle would indicate a diminished experience of anger.
Then I imagined that a subject would move from emotional quiescence up to a state of rage, and progressively move through to a meditative state of calm over a period of several minutes while being monitored through this process by my apparatus. To tie up any loose ends I imagined my apparatus having the ability to register all levels or degrees of anger so that if it was present to any degree whatsoever, we would be able to detect it. Isn't fantasy wonderful?
The subject was then shown a film which he said produced a "homicidal rage" when he first saw it, and upsets him still, if he thinks about it. As the experiment proceeded it became apparent when the subject became extremely angry, as evidenced by fact that the center of the circle would take on a deep red hue. Then as he calmed himself by meditating, the shade of red began to diminish slowly until the circle was the lightest shade of pink….and then melted into the white background outside the circle.
What I gleaned from this little excursion into my imagination was that to "transcend anger" is to be, ultimately, in a state devoid of anger. After the test subject let go of the stream of after-thoughts, which initially arose out of viewing the film, he gradually became "emotionally free of anger" as evidenced by the disappearance of any shade of redness. The man himself however remained. There was no outward physical change to his body. Furthermore, it occurred to me that what would also disappear would be the usual outward consequences of anger in that person’s life. In short there would be no experiential consequence for him, nor would there be a re-birth of anger, or its lesser minions, in anyone with whom he came in contact while angry. The negative karma that arises out of anger would be avoided. He would not have to practice over many life-times in order to achieve what is possible in this one; here and now.
March 13, 2011
A Response to E's Comment
Your question:
I want to include a more visceral, experiential approach. In the latter paragraphs, you move a lot into desire, grasping, wanting. And while that may be a cause of "self," I want to put more emphasis on "Who am I?" when the grasping falls away! Am I Buddha nature? Am I pure consciousness? Am I emptiness? Am I nothingness? Am I One?
My answer:
Since you have brought up the ideas of Buddha nature, Pure Consciousness, Emptiness, Nothingness, and Oneness, I will defer to my blog on these issues specifically. As to this particular question I offer the following opinion.
In the previous post, I made the following statement: this thing I think of as "me" will simply be one with whatever is at the moment. Therefore, regardless of what one names it, the "I" which has shed grasping and aversion will remain as the on-going flow of experience for each individual. Personally I believe that is an adequate understanding of Buddha-dharma, and the other terms.
Buddha means "awakened one." Awakened to what? Well, awakened to what his teachings point to.....the result of following his path. Call it enlightenment, transcendence, release, or Oneness, etc. I think it is synonymous with the emptiness that is, in each moment, filled with the process of unending contingent-arising which would be understood as nothingness if it were to be apprehended by human thought. It is the vast primordial unfolding of consciousness as well.
What we have to remember is that all these terms are just metaphoric fingers that point to an unknowable moon. When we try to use words, which by their very function narrow our vision and focus, in order to understand the unknowable we actually move further away from correctly understanding.......an understanding that surpasses words.
I read a paper by a young girl (Blair Felder) the other day in which she made these observations. We need to "perceive conventional reality with objective observation laced with awe." I think this speaks to the need to "know the self in order to transcend the self" as Dogen taught. This requires us to find Nirvana, enlightenment, etc. right here - that what is pointed to by these terms is here and now - not somewhere else in another time. She also wrote that if one can, "exhaust the meanings of conceptualization by being contemplative and skeptical of conceptual meaning, one can reawaken to the state of emptiness." That state of emptiness is "I" sans conceptualization, grasping, and aversion.
I hope this leads to further exploration.
I want to include a more visceral, experiential approach. In the latter paragraphs, you move a lot into desire, grasping, wanting. And while that may be a cause of "self," I want to put more emphasis on "Who am I?" when the grasping falls away! Am I Buddha nature? Am I pure consciousness? Am I emptiness? Am I nothingness? Am I One?
My answer:
Since you have brought up the ideas of Buddha nature, Pure Consciousness, Emptiness, Nothingness, and Oneness, I will defer to my blog on these issues specifically. As to this particular question I offer the following opinion.
In the previous post, I made the following statement: this thing I think of as "me" will simply be one with whatever is at the moment. Therefore, regardless of what one names it, the "I" which has shed grasping and aversion will remain as the on-going flow of experience for each individual. Personally I believe that is an adequate understanding of Buddha-dharma, and the other terms.
Buddha means "awakened one." Awakened to what? Well, awakened to what his teachings point to.....the result of following his path. Call it enlightenment, transcendence, release, or Oneness, etc. I think it is synonymous with the emptiness that is, in each moment, filled with the process of unending contingent-arising which would be understood as nothingness if it were to be apprehended by human thought. It is the vast primordial unfolding of consciousness as well.
What we have to remember is that all these terms are just metaphoric fingers that point to an unknowable moon. When we try to use words, which by their very function narrow our vision and focus, in order to understand the unknowable we actually move further away from correctly understanding.......an understanding that surpasses words.
I read a paper by a young girl (Blair Felder) the other day in which she made these observations. We need to "perceive conventional reality with objective observation laced with awe." I think this speaks to the need to "know the self in order to transcend the self" as Dogen taught. This requires us to find Nirvana, enlightenment, etc. right here - that what is pointed to by these terms is here and now - not somewhere else in another time. She also wrote that if one can, "exhaust the meanings of conceptualization by being contemplative and skeptical of conceptual meaning, one can reawaken to the state of emptiness." That state of emptiness is "I" sans conceptualization, grasping, and aversion.
I hope this leads to further exploration.
March 11, 2011
Thoughts on the Identity of Bob
Generally, I think we can agree that the entity we refer to when we say "self" is this mind/body aggregate that we see when we look in the mirror. Other terms I might use to identify Bob's attitudes, experience, or spatial identity of this self are Bob, ego, angry, old, loquacious, yada, yada, yada.
The human brain functions as a dualistically oriented, interpretive hub for sense data. It is also houses the operation responsible for language, and the result is the sense that this self, or this "Bob-thing," is a fixed entity which becomes reified in the mind and thus, appears to be the essence of who we are. Albeit, we might find ourselves unsure from time to time whether this is actually the way it is, but the drive to exist, to be something eternal, is a powerful human motive, and leads us back to the comforting belief that the "self" - as a core essential something - is real. It is hard to imagine, let alone argue with, some other interpretation. I'm suggesting that this is an inherent component of human consciousness and is part of human DNA.
Stephen Batchelor has said that the teachings of the Buddha are about becoming awakened to a new way to live in this world. That they embody, not just a spiritual realization, but they direct us to recognize the "self" as nothing other than that with which we identify. Rather than a concrete, essential something, he says that we are "a project to be realized." This resonates as true for me, and I hope to express why it does so in the following excerpt from my blog entry on September 5, 2010 titled The Illusion of Me. I have made some minor tweaks to the original in hopes of making it more reader friendly. Then again, we'll see.
.......What I want to talk about here is the fact that when I refer to a "part of me" it implies that this me to which I claim ownership, is able to shapeshift or in some other way separate into a second....what shall we say...."alternate me?" Like that entity we hear referred to as an alter-ego perhaps. Philosophically interesting - maybe; and while helpful in describing my experience, it may not be at all helpful in understanding the notions of impermanence and no-self in Buddhist teachings. Each of us must judge for ourselves in these matters.
So now more to the point. Ego is a term that designates an "enduring and conscious element that knows experience," (Philosophical definition based on Random House Dictionary 2010). This definition, along with the term "know," leads us to imagine an enduring and conscious "self" which is refuted in the Buddhist teaching of Anatta (No-self).
Robert Kennedy says, in his book Zen Gifts to Christians, “The self is the sum of its functions in the present moment.” When I imagine a function as an experience, it allows me to understand the essence of ego or self, not as a single entity but rather, as a verb. A verb which denotes a mental construct/process (perhaps we might read as "illusion") manifested in physical behavior and commonly referred to as an act of grasping, wanting, desiring, or evading. In this way it becomes quite easy, in light of dependent-arising, to understand ego as an action arising out of attraction or aversion which arises out of sensory contact. Think about it - the brain, working within its biologically determined functions, responds to sensory contact; from these sensation "wanting" arises, and the result is dissatisfaction or suffering. Why? Because in an ever-changing world we are unable to find lasting satisfaction, or permanently avoid being dissatisfied.
It stands to reason then, if we stop wanting - being attached, and grasping after things - the ego or “I” will no longer arise. In the absence of wanting, this thing I think of as "me" will simply be one with whatever is at the moment. The Buddha told us that life is suffering because of this grasping; our tendency to strive for more and more and never be satisfied. We find ourselves dissatisfied with life; we suffer from want. We tend toward becoming covetous of that which we don't have, neurotically attached to what we do, and in fear of losing it once obtained. Ego, desire, suffer; they are one and the same. We get off track when we think that ego is an actual entity that somehow this sufferer is assaulted by it's suffering from the outside.
To be free from want we must disentangle the threads of "I" in the tapestry of self arising from the world of form that plays behind our eyes.
I would like to address one more question that comes to mind; "So what?" In the piece above there this sentence - "In the absence of wanting, this thing I think of as "me" will simply be one with whatever is at the moment." Even if it happens to be true that understanding the notion of self in the manner described above, assists us in becoming free of wanting, why should we care? Why should we aspire to be free of want?
To "want" is, by definition, to be focusing on something we do not have. If I look longingly at something, figuratively or materially, I am not in the present. I am not connected to the present moment. The more I want the object of my longing, the more I become obsessed with having it. From this obesessiveness arises a further distancing from my actual life. My mental energy becomes increasing caught up in fantasy. The more I become attached to this object of desire, the greater my dissatisfaction with "what is." In addition, the more the notion of "I" will become reinforced as a real entity that is continually assaulted by the whims of an uncertain, bewildering world. Life becomes some variation on the mantra, "It's me against the world." Suffering for the human animal is a disconnection with our true nature; a fluid, interconnected Self. (See the blog entry titled Self or Real Self, in November 2009)
On the other hand, when I can see Bob as a "project" that unfolds from moment to moment it becomes easier to recognize that "I" am what I think. "I am" the ever-changing flow of life - existence. I change each second as part of the interconnected web of arising and passing which is life itself. There is no Bob in the usual sense. There is only the flow of sensory processes, and neither these nor anything else is permanent. There is nothing to cling to, nothing to covet. Bob is the ephemeral changing of a plethora of objects arising out of sensory contact and human ideation. Dissatisfaction is transcended in each moment of this experiential realization. As fleeting as it may be, I find it worth the time and energy to work for it.
The human brain functions as a dualistically oriented, interpretive hub for sense data. It is also houses the operation responsible for language, and the result is the sense that this self, or this "Bob-thing," is a fixed entity which becomes reified in the mind and thus, appears to be the essence of who we are. Albeit, we might find ourselves unsure from time to time whether this is actually the way it is, but the drive to exist, to be something eternal, is a powerful human motive, and leads us back to the comforting belief that the "self" - as a core essential something - is real. It is hard to imagine, let alone argue with, some other interpretation. I'm suggesting that this is an inherent component of human consciousness and is part of human DNA.
Stephen Batchelor has said that the teachings of the Buddha are about becoming awakened to a new way to live in this world. That they embody, not just a spiritual realization, but they direct us to recognize the "self" as nothing other than that with which we identify. Rather than a concrete, essential something, he says that we are "a project to be realized." This resonates as true for me, and I hope to express why it does so in the following excerpt from my blog entry on September 5, 2010 titled The Illusion of Me. I have made some minor tweaks to the original in hopes of making it more reader friendly. Then again, we'll see.
.......What I want to talk about here is the fact that when I refer to a "part of me" it implies that this me to which I claim ownership, is able to shapeshift or in some other way separate into a second....what shall we say...."alternate me?" Like that entity we hear referred to as an alter-ego perhaps. Philosophically interesting - maybe; and while helpful in describing my experience, it may not be at all helpful in understanding the notions of impermanence and no-self in Buddhist teachings. Each of us must judge for ourselves in these matters.
So now more to the point. Ego is a term that designates an "enduring and conscious element that knows experience," (Philosophical definition based on Random House Dictionary 2010). This definition, along with the term "know," leads us to imagine an enduring and conscious "self" which is refuted in the Buddhist teaching of Anatta (No-self).
Robert Kennedy says, in his book Zen Gifts to Christians, “The self is the sum of its functions in the present moment.” When I imagine a function as an experience, it allows me to understand the essence of ego or self, not as a single entity but rather, as a verb. A verb which denotes a mental construct/process (perhaps we might read as "illusion") manifested in physical behavior and commonly referred to as an act of grasping, wanting, desiring, or evading. In this way it becomes quite easy, in light of dependent-arising, to understand ego as an action arising out of attraction or aversion which arises out of sensory contact. Think about it - the brain, working within its biologically determined functions, responds to sensory contact; from these sensation "wanting" arises, and the result is dissatisfaction or suffering. Why? Because in an ever-changing world we are unable to find lasting satisfaction, or permanently avoid being dissatisfied.
It stands to reason then, if we stop wanting - being attached, and grasping after things - the ego or “I” will no longer arise. In the absence of wanting, this thing I think of as "me" will simply be one with whatever is at the moment. The Buddha told us that life is suffering because of this grasping; our tendency to strive for more and more and never be satisfied. We find ourselves dissatisfied with life; we suffer from want. We tend toward becoming covetous of that which we don't have, neurotically attached to what we do, and in fear of losing it once obtained. Ego, desire, suffer; they are one and the same. We get off track when we think that ego is an actual entity that somehow this sufferer is assaulted by it's suffering from the outside.
To be free from want we must disentangle the threads of "I" in the tapestry of self arising from the world of form that plays behind our eyes.
I would like to address one more question that comes to mind; "So what?" In the piece above there this sentence - "In the absence of wanting, this thing I think of as "me" will simply be one with whatever is at the moment." Even if it happens to be true that understanding the notion of self in the manner described above, assists us in becoming free of wanting, why should we care? Why should we aspire to be free of want?
To "want" is, by definition, to be focusing on something we do not have. If I look longingly at something, figuratively or materially, I am not in the present. I am not connected to the present moment. The more I want the object of my longing, the more I become obsessed with having it. From this obesessiveness arises a further distancing from my actual life. My mental energy becomes increasing caught up in fantasy. The more I become attached to this object of desire, the greater my dissatisfaction with "what is." In addition, the more the notion of "I" will become reinforced as a real entity that is continually assaulted by the whims of an uncertain, bewildering world. Life becomes some variation on the mantra, "It's me against the world." Suffering for the human animal is a disconnection with our true nature; a fluid, interconnected Self. (See the blog entry titled Self or Real Self, in November 2009)
On the other hand, when I can see Bob as a "project" that unfolds from moment to moment it becomes easier to recognize that "I" am what I think. "I am" the ever-changing flow of life - existence. I change each second as part of the interconnected web of arising and passing which is life itself. There is no Bob in the usual sense. There is only the flow of sensory processes, and neither these nor anything else is permanent. There is nothing to cling to, nothing to covet. Bob is the ephemeral changing of a plethora of objects arising out of sensory contact and human ideation. Dissatisfaction is transcended in each moment of this experiential realization. As fleeting as it may be, I find it worth the time and energy to work for it.
December 7, 2010
Non-Resistance versus Affecting Change
How does one remain non-resistant to the moment and still work for change? On our way to answering this question let’s begin by exploring what it means to be “non-resistant” to the moment. To accept the moment as it is, without resisting, is not to necessarily agree or condone the actions contained therein. By way of example, I can thoroughly disagree with the opinion or action of another but still accept the fact that they think or act as they do. However, most of us are used to having negative thoughts about another’s ideas or behavior. And these negative thoughts are what usually come between us and skillful action in attempt to not be that other.
In one of Scott Peck’s books he wrote something that has stayed with me over the years. I paraphrase here as, “The unsavory acts of another man relieves me of the burden of being him.” Or in the Buddhist writings, those who present us with dissatisfaction are the heavenly messengers offering the catalyst for change. And in my own life I am in constant want to remember that he who has the eye of the middle way sees not the man, but the suffering.
I am always grateful when I can remember these thoughts in the midst of an all too familiar, disparaging, internal dialogue about something I don’t agree with. I’m not suggesting that I condone things like rape, racism, and man’s inhumanity to man in any form. However, I have come to realize that my mental diatribes do nothing to right any situation. And they are likely to cause me to act in a manner that is counter-productive to desired ends.
In order to act in a manner conducive to change, I have to be open. I have to be accepting of all facets of the negativity that I desire to change. Acceptance here is not acceptance of the negativity itself but rather acceptance that it is a necessary aspect of the present moment as it is. This requires me to have a deep understanding of Impermanence and Dependent-Arising as a fact of human existence, right here, right now. This does not mean I shouldn’t feel great sadness or pain. These are endemic in human existence…..so just accept it, feel what you feel, and decide how to proceed. No pointing fingers, no verbal or physical outbursts, no eye-for-an-eye mentality; just be empty. And in the words of Dainin Katagiri, “Then this emptiness makes your life alive in the universe and you are ready to act.”
We spend far too much time accusing and arguing over right and wrong, good and bad. Just accept that these are categories created by man pointing to supporting extremes in the natural process of dependent-arising. The existence of either depends on the other. The pendulum of impermanence knows nothing of such categories. It just swings with the force of our reactions to these extremes. Thus we can see the middle way of action. In Taoist terminology it's Wu-Wei; the non-action that leaves nothing undone.
In answer to our question, Katagiri gives us insight derived from our practice on the cushion when he writes, "How can you do this? Just pat your ideas on the head and pass by......just become empty and flexible."
In one of Scott Peck’s books he wrote something that has stayed with me over the years. I paraphrase here as, “The unsavory acts of another man relieves me of the burden of being him.” Or in the Buddhist writings, those who present us with dissatisfaction are the heavenly messengers offering the catalyst for change. And in my own life I am in constant want to remember that he who has the eye of the middle way sees not the man, but the suffering.
I am always grateful when I can remember these thoughts in the midst of an all too familiar, disparaging, internal dialogue about something I don’t agree with. I’m not suggesting that I condone things like rape, racism, and man’s inhumanity to man in any form. However, I have come to realize that my mental diatribes do nothing to right any situation. And they are likely to cause me to act in a manner that is counter-productive to desired ends.
In order to act in a manner conducive to change, I have to be open. I have to be accepting of all facets of the negativity that I desire to change. Acceptance here is not acceptance of the negativity itself but rather acceptance that it is a necessary aspect of the present moment as it is. This requires me to have a deep understanding of Impermanence and Dependent-Arising as a fact of human existence, right here, right now. This does not mean I shouldn’t feel great sadness or pain. These are endemic in human existence…..so just accept it, feel what you feel, and decide how to proceed. No pointing fingers, no verbal or physical outbursts, no eye-for-an-eye mentality; just be empty. And in the words of Dainin Katagiri, “Then this emptiness makes your life alive in the universe and you are ready to act.”
We spend far too much time accusing and arguing over right and wrong, good and bad. Just accept that these are categories created by man pointing to supporting extremes in the natural process of dependent-arising. The existence of either depends on the other. The pendulum of impermanence knows nothing of such categories. It just swings with the force of our reactions to these extremes. Thus we can see the middle way of action. In Taoist terminology it's Wu-Wei; the non-action that leaves nothing undone.
In answer to our question, Katagiri gives us insight derived from our practice on the cushion when he writes, "How can you do this? Just pat your ideas on the head and pass by......just become empty and flexible."
November 28, 2010
Non-Doing
I must say that I spend a fair amount of time being confused by my readings in Philosophy and Zen literature. However, this exercise is preferable today to training for 10K races and various other sporting events. Some may call it 'old age' but I prefer something akin to wisdom - though I admit to feeling a twinge of ill-conceived hubris at the use of the term. However, after hours of perplexity and furrowed brow, reward often comes with a sudden flash (and a rush of adrenaline equal to the runner's high). In a moment of direct experience, clarity descends upon a previously clouded understanding. And it's always exciting when something that seems so abstruse at first, becomes obvious once it is.....is what? Digested, understood, integrated... once again the inadequacy of words becomes clear.
One of the most perplexing statements in Zen is the one below by Lao Tzu and comes from Taoist literature:
"Less and less is done
Until non-action is achieved
When nothing is done, nothing is left undone."
How, we ask ourselves; how can anything be left undone when nothing is done? It confounds rational thought.....and that is actually the point. But let's save that for another post. The point here is that I read this over and over throughout the years and while I grasped it intellectually....sort of....it wasn't until today that I realized that I had experienced it earlier in the day.
Various writers had used any number of examples to help me "understand" what was being said, but it wasn't until my own experience embraced its truth that it was understood at a completely different level. One that I cannot seem to adequately express in words. Michael Jordan thrilling fans with aerial acrobatics on the baskeball court, gifted pianists performing feats of digital prowess that I can barely imagine even as I watch, or the archer who is said to have hit the target without having aimed because it, the arrow, shoots itself: these are everyday examples of what is being pointed to in the teachings on Non-Doing.
I was never able to pass the typing course in high school because of a combination of not caring enough to practice, and a tensing under pressure which also devastated my attempts at making a foul shot under pressure. My mind could never "let go" enough to allow a natural unfolding of the fruits of rigorous practice. The ego can be a daunting adversary. Suffice it to say that over the years I have learned to type well enough to handle anything I've needed to create with a computer keyboard. Typing while simultaneously reading the words from a book however became a laborious and time consuming task. Since this has become a necessary activity today, due to sheer repetition minus the dreaded competition with clock or man, things have changed.
As I've looked for inspiring or heuristic quotes for our sangha's Thought for the Week emails, I've inadvertently improved my typing skills. Just this afternoon I read the following statement by Ray Grigg from his book The Tao of Zen:
"When non-doing appears as inaction it is peaceful, silent, and still; when it appears as action it is thoughtless, reflexive, and intuitive....This apersonal momentum is what moves the fingers of the pianist; it seems as if no one is deliberately playing the piano, as if the player has become the instrument and the music is making itself."
At the very moment I read that passage I realized that I had been aware of that exact experience while typing. Though sporadic, there are moments when I am looking at the page of the book and, without thinking about or imagining the keys of the computer, my fingers find the letters that I am seeing on the page. When I realize that it is happening however, the thought causes a disconnect and the smooth non-typing aspect of the moment is lost in a flurry of mental interference. It reminds me of the intermittent reception we used to get with a television using the old "rabbit-ears" antenna. You would have neither picture nor no-picture. It was a jumble of static and a cacophony of distorted visual images. Suffice it to say that in those moments there are many words "undone" compared to when I am able to simply allow my fingers to work through my eyes.
I am amazed that whenever I can settle into this "zone." It's as though something or someone else is doing the typing. My self-reflective consciousness must dissolve however, so that when I relax into non-doing, "nothing is left undone." Meaning nothing needs to be fixed later. The following quotations take on a new clarity.
One of the most perplexing statements in Zen is the one below by Lao Tzu and comes from Taoist literature:
"Less and less is done
Until non-action is achieved
When nothing is done, nothing is left undone."
How, we ask ourselves; how can anything be left undone when nothing is done? It confounds rational thought.....and that is actually the point. But let's save that for another post. The point here is that I read this over and over throughout the years and while I grasped it intellectually....sort of....it wasn't until today that I realized that I had experienced it earlier in the day.
Various writers had used any number of examples to help me "understand" what was being said, but it wasn't until my own experience embraced its truth that it was understood at a completely different level. One that I cannot seem to adequately express in words. Michael Jordan thrilling fans with aerial acrobatics on the baskeball court, gifted pianists performing feats of digital prowess that I can barely imagine even as I watch, or the archer who is said to have hit the target without having aimed because it, the arrow, shoots itself: these are everyday examples of what is being pointed to in the teachings on Non-Doing.
I was never able to pass the typing course in high school because of a combination of not caring enough to practice, and a tensing under pressure which also devastated my attempts at making a foul shot under pressure. My mind could never "let go" enough to allow a natural unfolding of the fruits of rigorous practice. The ego can be a daunting adversary. Suffice it to say that over the years I have learned to type well enough to handle anything I've needed to create with a computer keyboard. Typing while simultaneously reading the words from a book however became a laborious and time consuming task. Since this has become a necessary activity today, due to sheer repetition minus the dreaded competition with clock or man, things have changed.
As I've looked for inspiring or heuristic quotes for our sangha's Thought for the Week emails, I've inadvertently improved my typing skills. Just this afternoon I read the following statement by Ray Grigg from his book The Tao of Zen:
"When non-doing appears as inaction it is peaceful, silent, and still; when it appears as action it is thoughtless, reflexive, and intuitive....This apersonal momentum is what moves the fingers of the pianist; it seems as if no one is deliberately playing the piano, as if the player has become the instrument and the music is making itself."
At the very moment I read that passage I realized that I had been aware of that exact experience while typing. Though sporadic, there are moments when I am looking at the page of the book and, without thinking about or imagining the keys of the computer, my fingers find the letters that I am seeing on the page. When I realize that it is happening however, the thought causes a disconnect and the smooth non-typing aspect of the moment is lost in a flurry of mental interference. It reminds me of the intermittent reception we used to get with a television using the old "rabbit-ears" antenna. You would have neither picture nor no-picture. It was a jumble of static and a cacophony of distorted visual images. Suffice it to say that in those moments there are many words "undone" compared to when I am able to simply allow my fingers to work through my eyes.
I am amazed that whenever I can settle into this "zone." It's as though something or someone else is doing the typing. My self-reflective consciousness must dissolve however, so that when I relax into non-doing, "nothing is left undone." Meaning nothing needs to be fixed later. The following quotations take on a new clarity.
"Real calmness should be found in activity itself." - Suzuki Roshi
and
"When an archer is shooting for nothing
He has all his skill.
If he shoots for a brass buckle
He is already nervous.
If he shoots for a prize of gold
He goes blind
Or sees two targets -- He is out of his mind!
His skill has not changed. But the prize
Divides him. He cares.
He thinks more of winning
Than of shooting --
And the need to win
Drains his power." - Chuang Tzu
For anyone interested in reading further on the connection between Zen and Taoism, I recommend Ray Grigg's book The Tao of Zen. The following excerpt is found on page 294 and adds a cogent end to this post.
"Th[e] Taoist sense of virtue shares with Zen a standing aside from self so that things are left to do themselves. Detachment from doing permits doing to arise thoughtlessly and spontaneously, without the labored self-involvement that imparts ulterior motives. Such doing, consequently, becomes something more than ordinary doing because it is allowed to happen within the flow of a larger, selfless wisdom. The highest form of doing in Taoism and Zen occurs without any interference from a deliberate or contriving self. The doing is happening but no one is doing it."
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