Queen Lolo
August 21, 2007
Today's "Daily Dharma" from Tricycle continues with yesterday's theme of "Right Livelihood" and succinctly sums up what I was trying to say in my previous blog. No matter how hard we try to do it right, we inadvertently make choices and take actions that harm others. One of my favorite Buddhist writers, teachers, and practitioners, Sylvia Boorstein, writes (and Tricycle quotes):
"Right Livelihood appears to be harder to practice these days than in the time of the Buddha. The rule is still the same: Right Livelihood is organizing one's financial support so that it is nonabusive, nonexploitive, nonharming. However, these days what is abusive and exploitive is not necessarily self-evident. When the Buddha taught, unwholesome livelihood categories were easy to distinguish. Soldiering, keeping slaves, manufacturing weapons and intoxicants--all were on the proscribed list. In our time, soldiers sometimes serve as peacekeepers. It's hard to know the wholesomeness of all the products of any corporation, corporate mergers being what they are. Who knows what else is being manufactured by my detergent company's subsidiaries? . . . For me, a complete picture of wholesome Right Livelihood is even larger than the proscriptions that reflect external choices. Wholesome internal choices--healthy attitudes about one's work--also contribute to mental happiness and peace of mind. Everyone's livelihood is an opportunity for self-esteem."
-Sylvia Boorstein, It's Easier Than You Think
I like that. "Wholesome internal choices." Personally, I'm discovering that some of the external choices I've made, choices that at one time appeared to be right and wholesome and true on the outside, are not on the inside. And so I live and learn, adjust and choose again, in the on-going pursuit of -- and commitment to -- a greater understanding of Right Livelihood.
A Buddhist Apology To A Tree
by Queen Lolo
August 20, 2007
Today's "Daily Dharma" from Tricycle magazine goes like this:
"Changing Our Lives Through Action"
"Right livelihood is not just a philosophical ideal. It is a practical, achievable reality. Finding and maintaining right livelihood does require regular, consistent action, but the steps are clear and the results immediate. Finding your own right livelihood depends primarily on getting in touch with your "beginner's mind." Mindfulness challenges us to stay with things as they are and to change our lives through action that harms no one. Working together, mindfully and compassionately, we can create a community in which all our livelihoods are "right." -- Claude Whitmyer in Mindfulness and Meaningful Work from Everyday Mind, edited by Jean Smith, a Tricycle book."
So here's what I want to know: In today's world, it is really ever possible to do work that truly harms no one and no thing?
Can any livelihood really be "right?" It seems the deeper you go into ANY paying profession, the more you realize the inevitable impurity of even the most sincere and well-intended effort and actions. In this consumer-driven material world, almost everything done for gain results in some type of loss or harm.
Maybe it's not about attaining perfection in the quest for right livelihood, but instead, getting as close as possible and being mindful of where we fall short. Or simply approaching right livelihood as a practice or path, rather than a destination.
Along these lines...
I once asked a rabbi why there are so many prayers and laws in Judaism. His explanation, when filtered through my Buddhist heart and soul, went something like this: It's designed to keep you awake, to keep you conscious of the "cause and effect" of your actions, and to make you mindful of exactly what you are doing. The laws and conditions for eating meat, for instance, encourage awareness and gratitude for the life that was given/taken for your enjoyment.
To me, this means that while you can't completely avoid harming others (and that's true even if you're a vegetarian, Honey) you can at least be mindful of the impact of your actions and the suffering endured for your benefit.
Maybe I can learn a little from my ancestors. Perhaps offering a prayer or a single breath of awareness to those I consciously and unconsciously harm in the course of my work can make my livelihood a little more correct.
No matter how benign my work may appear, I know that even when sitting quietly in my room writing text for a client's brochure, a tree will be harmed to make the brochure's paper. And perhaps a young printer will have to work overtime to meet my client's deadline, leaving her sick husband at home to care for their colicky new baby all alone. And maybe while the sick husband is in the bathroom throwing up for the tenth time, the baby cries so loud she wakes up truckdriver next-door who is then so groggy from lack of sleep the next day that he crashes his truck into a schoolyard at noon.
You just never know.
In today's world, even if you do your best to cause no harm, you can still make a mess of things. So what's a Buddhist to do?
IS there any "right livelihood" in this day and age?
How much (if anything) do we have to give up to attain it?
Is "right livelihood" attainable, or is the point to simply strive for it?
Wishing you the awareness and ability to enjoy the miracle of your moment, your day, your life!
Queen Lolo
People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child--our own two eyes. All is a miracle.
-Thich Nhat Hanh, "Miracle of Mindfulness"
I used to have my own blog here. It was called "Queen Lolo's Blog."
I wrote a lot in the beginning. Then my life got a little chaotic and I slacked off on the writing.
In my own defense, I'm a writer by trade. So I write all day for a living. And when my life was in turmoil, the last thing I wanted to do in my off-hours was write some more.
But now things are better. I have more time to reflect. And so I'm back. But webmaster Reverend Greg wants me to prove myself before he puts in the effort to create a new page just for me. A little "editorial probation" so to speak. Let's see how I do.
In the meantime, I am camping out here, under the signage of my old departed friend, C.W. Metcalf.
I am happy to be back, happy to have a space again, happy to be back among the FWP community. But I have been a little sad to have lost all my previous blog entries when my Queen Lolo page was taken down. But heck, I'm a Buddhist, so I figured it was just one more opportunity to practice letting go and accepting impermanence and change.
But wait! Today I was browsing the pages of my fellow Fraught With Peril writers, and LO AND BEHOLD, while reading through Byrd's wonderful musings, I found all my own past entries!
Yippie! I get to hold on a little longer.
Apparently just as I am taking over C.W.'s blog, Byrd was given my old space. Ain't that recycling at it's best? And just as I have left up C.W.'s previous entries, Byrd left up mine!!!!
Eureka!
Thank you, Byrd, for keeping my entries up. I copied and pasted them into my new space, C.W. Tzu's space, so now you can delete the entries on YOUR page from September 2006 and previous to that. And now your blog will be all your own.
From one writer to another, THANK YOU for saving and protecting my words!
And FYI, when I re-posted all my previous entries, they showed up in the order I entered them - last one first. So following this is my very first entry from a couple of years ago. Sort of like time-travel through cyberspace...
Queen Lolo
Queen Lolo
March 8, 2005
"Don't Know" Mind Meets The Ninja
Oh happy day. I get a reply from Rev. Greg. I’d emailed him offering to send a sample blog as my “application” to become a regular contributor. I’m a writer, a Buddhist, a fan of “Fraught with Peril.” I figure it would be nice to have a cyber home for the scribblings of my seeking mind.
“Okay,” replies Rev. Greg, “But it had better be about Ninjas, and not about how evil they are either!”
Oy. What does a Buddhist mother on the Westside of Los Angeles know from Ninjas? If they have anything to do with martial arts, forget it. I might break a nail, or God forbid a sweat. With two girly daughters and a metro-sexual Jewish husband in the fashion business, the only warriors we’re likely to discuss over dinner are rivals Brittany Spears and Christina Aguilera. Or Sketchers vs. Steve Madden.
Come to think of it, I did once discuss Ninjas with another homeschooling mom. She was panicking over her toddler’s possible corruption by TV exposure to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. But alas, all-knowing Buddha Nature whispers loud and clear. Rev. Greg isn’t talking about Ninja reptile cartoons.
No fear. “Beginner’s Mind” is always a good starting point. And with the power of Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, something will surely come along to fill the gaps and endear me to the Powers That Be.
Sure enough, less than 24 hours later, I get an unsolicited email from the novelty store, Archee McPhee. Subject line, “Ninjas Make You Cool!” The email reads, “The Ninja Attack Ninja Flinger is here! What is it? A catapult that launches ninjas at stuff you want to launch ninjas at, which is everything, right? It comes with the four coolest ninjas ever. If you only buy one thing ever again, THIS IS IT.”
“THIS IS IT” indeed!
I copy, paste, and forward the synchronistic ad to Rev. Greg. He shoots back an email, “OH!!!! OH!!!! OH!!!! You are SOOOOOOOOOOOO in FWP!”
You gotta love the Internet. It’s the perfect vehicle for Instant Karma. Mission accomplished and I’m in the world that is Fraught With Peril.
Somehow this all sends me back a decade or so. I’d been hired to write a direct mail promotion for a well-known entertainment magazine. My first meeting was with the publisher, a regal woman with an air of old-world sophistication and a heavy Eastern European accent. I’m sitting in her Beverly Hills office, ready to be briefed for the assignment. She leans across her massive antique desk, looks me in the eye and says, “I have only one requirement for this sales piece. Make sure it includes the word “FUCK.”
Now this was before I discovered chanting. So even though I was far more familiar with “fuck” than with I am with “Ninjas,” it took me several months to complete that writing assignment (once I’d regained my composure). Yet this little Ninja little ditty took a mere matter of days! And I still know nothing about Ninjas.
If this ain’t actual proof, I don’t know what is.
Thank you, Rev. Greg, for inviting me along.
Long live the dharma!
Queen Lolo
Queen Lolo
March 2005
Questioning the Gohonzon
I have a Buddhist altar in my bedroom.
It has three shelves. The top one holds my Gohonzon. The second has my bell, incense, candles, and an origami of two cranes that was handed to me by a carnival mime who pointed at me and my husband as she made the little birds “kiss” each other. The third shelf has misc. items of spiritual relevance, including a framed “Don’t Give Up” penned by my then 4-year old daughter.
I enjoy my altar. I look at it often during the day. It serves to focus and inspire me.
But I have a confession to make.
I rarely sit in front of it and chant.
In his blog on this site, Rev. Ryuei writes, “Ultimate reality is something that is always present to us whether we are aware of it or not. So the question should not be - how can I acquire a paper scroll or an appropriate statue arrangement so that I can be awake… Rather, we should ask how we can simply be awake in each moment?”
Personally, I feel more “awake” walking in nature than I do sitting in front of my altar. I’ve had my Gohonzon for several years, and the truth is, I don’t quite get it. I feel more present and connected while playing with my kids, petting my dog, or peeling an orange. The flowers I encounter while on my walks wake me up to the wonder of existence far more than a paper scroll ever could.
Don’t get me wrong. I love to chant the Odaimoku and meditate and study Buddhist writings. I just haven’t been able to connect with the Gohonzon. Maybe I’m missing something... Then again, maybe not.
Please know that I did give it a good try. And I haven’t given up yet. When I first encountered Nichiren Buddhism, I did it as my friends at the SGI instructed. I sat in front of Gohonzon twice a day. I tried to grasp it’s meaning. I tried to not grasp it’s meaning. In either case, I did experienced “benefits.” I even liked going to the monthly discussion meetings. After decades of solitary study and practice, I was thrilled to finally have a sangha. But after the initial zing wore off, I realized something didn’t seem authentic to me. It didn’t quite feel “Buddhist” to me. My seeking spirit didn't feel there was enough genuine Buddhist seeking going on. And I grew uncomfortable with being told, however gently, that there was a “right” way to do things and I needed to make a few corrections in my approach.
Yet I still have my Gohonzon enshrined and my altar is dusted and cherished. But for now, it serves more as a reminder of my Buddhist faith than as a focal point of my actual practice. Perhaps some readers can shed some light on this subject, or share their experiences....
Now off to take a walk so I can wake up and smell the roses! (Or smell the roses and wake up, as the case may be.)
Blessings,
Queen Lolo
March 15
Today was my birthday, and I spent it feeling amazed. Amazed that I somehow landed in a human body in this century in this country on this planet. Amazed that I was born into a safe, comfortable, and fortunate life. Amazed that I live with three of the greatest people on earth. Amazed that this whole human (and non-human) drama even exists.
I mean, what are the odds of all that?!
In “The Buddhist Handbook,” John Snelling writes, “To illustrate the priceless value of human birth, the Buddha told a story about a one-eyed turtle swimming in a great ocean. Floating on the surface of the ocean is a golden yoke. The turtle comes up for air once every hundred years. The possibility of achieving a human birth… is statistically less probable than that the turtle should rise to the surface of the ocean and put its neck cleanly through the yoke.”
Your birth, my birth, the existence of anything and everything is just stunning, don’t you think?
I called my mother today and wished HER a "happy BIRTH-day," since she was who really put out the effort all those years ago, and it was the day SHE first became a mother – while all I really did was pop my head out! I just wanted to say THANK YOU, MOM, for bringing me into this world. And thank you to the universe for being here and hosting me on this very interesting tour.
With awe and appreciation,
Queen Lolo
Queen Lolo
March 2005
The Final Word on "Waking Up"
The other morning our phone rang a little too early and woke up my entire family. Rather than be annoyed, my youngest daughter rolled over, opened her eyes and said, “We shouldn't be upset. We should be grateful that we’re alive and CAN be woken up!”
I think that says it all.
Queen Lolo
March 2005
Eternal Life
My homeschooled highschooler has been taking an online “Health” course. Finally a class that’s relevant to real life, with topics including Depression, Hearing Loss, Skin Disorders, and more. Today’s final lesson was on “DEATH and DYING.” Over dinner, I asked my daughter what the “Death” lesson entailed. She shrugged. “Death wasn’t much,” she said. “It was really just a space-filler.”
I’m going to hold that thought…
Queen Lolo
March 2005
Our Well-Flavored Lives
I am reading a book called “Turning The Mind Into An Ally” by Sakyong Mipham (it includes a great forward by Pema Chodron). I randomly opened the book this morning and my eye landed on a page that ties right in with my blog of March 15 (“Happy Birthday”). Here goes:
“”Well flavored” means that we’ve been born in a time and place where we have the luxury of hearing, contemplating, and putting into action teachings that awaken us to our enlightened mind. We’re relatively healthy, we have a roof over our head and food in our mouths. We have family and friends. We’ve encountered someone who can teach us how to train our mind and open our heart. Being threatened by nuclear war, terrorism, and global warming is a reminder that we can’t take such conditions for granted. We’re just these tiny, vulnerable beings riding on a blue dot in space. Yet sometimes we act as if we’re the center of the universe. The enlightened alternative is to appreciate how incredibly rare and precious human life is. The enlightened alternative is to appreciate everything."
Let's all take a moment (or better yet, a lifetime or two) and appreciate our well-flavored lives while we've got 'em. I know mine is pretty darn tasty these days.
With gratitude,
Queen Lolo
Queen Lolo
March 1005
Do Your Own Practice
In an article in Shambhala Sun, Natalie Goldberg shares a story told to her by Ed Brown about her teacher, Katagiri Roshi. (“When the Candle is Blown Out,” page 65, Sept. 2004.)
Ed was a longtime Buddhist practitioner and also a student of Katagiri Roshi. After 20 years of rigorous practice, one day he suddenly thought, "Ed, maybe you can just hear what your heart is saying. You can be quiet and pay attention to yourself.”
The next day, he had an interview with Katagiri. He asked the teacher, .“Do you think it’s okay to just listen to yourself?” His teacher looked down, then looked up and replied. “Ed, I tried very hard to practice Dogen’s Zen. After 20 years I realized there is no Dogen’s Zen.”
I love this story, because it reminds me not to do someone else’s practice. Dogen wasn’t a “Dogen Buddhist.” Nichiren Daishonin wasn’t a Nichiren Buddhist. And Shakamuni Buddha was not a “Buddhist!”
Each was an individual seeking personal answers to their own burning questions. Each discovered their own way to “enlightenment,” and then shared their methods and ideas with others. And while these methods may indeed help me answer my own burning questions, I need to be careful. Because it’s easy to get caught up in being a “Buddhist” of one “brand” or another, and forget my own original, burning questions. It’s easy to fall into the trap of practicing a certain way, and failing to discover what’s true for me.
I believe that what happened to Shakamuni under the Bodhi Tree was this: He was quiet and focused and experienced enough to finally hear his own heart. He wasn’t going through the motion of someone else’s practice. He tried that before and failed. He wasn’t doing it the way he’d been told. He’d had enough of that. (Nearly lost his life that way.)
In the same spirit, Nichiren Daishonin didn’t follow the Buddhist teachings of his time, either. He had his own burning questions, and found the answers for himself. If there is anything to be emulated here, I think it’s the incredible level of courage, self trust, and faith demonstrated by all these guys.
To me, the heart of Buddhism is knowing that the answers are within you. It’s not about being a Nichiren Buddhist or a Zen Buddhist or a Tibetan Buddhist. It’s about being YOU. Certainly I can learn from and try on the ideas and robes of those who came before me, and those who fill my lives today. But I always need to come back to my OWN burning questions, and find my own path to the answers that are right for me.
“We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness, which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world.” Marcel Proust
Queen Lolo
March 23, 2005
What is YOUR burning question?
In my blog of March 21, “Was Nichiren a Nichiren Buddhist?” I talked about Shakamuni and Nichiren each having their own burning question that fueled their search for enlightenment. Shakamuni asked, “How can we be free from suffering?” and Nichiren asked “How can the common man find happiness?” (Maybe one of my readers can word that more accurately.)
I believe we all have a burning question that propels us onto own own spiritual paths. My personal journey began as a teenager with a rabid fear of death. I began searching for a way to calm my panic and accept or transcend my mortality. In a nutshell, my own question was something like “How can I live happily knowing life will end?”
This question ultimately led me to Buddhism, where I learned (or rather, am still learning) how to be present and accept what is. I have also learned (definitely still learning) how to be happy no matter what. Has my burning question been answered? Not completely. But it has lit the way to a gradual unfolding of a very interesting internal adventure. It put me on the path, and brought me to the Wonderful Dharma.
What brought YOU to the path? What is YOUR burning question? Have you found your answer yet? Comments, please!
Queen Lolo
Queen Lolo
March 27, 2005
What about these prayer beads?
Nichiren Buddhists use "juzu" beads while chanting. Other Buddhist traditions use the longer, single-stand of "mala" beads. Can someone explain the WHY to me? I have recently read that the rubbing of beads during chanting is discouraged in some Nichiren sects (SGI members rub like mad). It seems mala beads would be easier to be used as counting beads (to keep track of daimuku or mantras) while juzu are easier to hold in your hands (and rub).
Malas also look very cool as a necklace. There's just no way to put on juzu.
Boiling it all down to what you wear,
Queen Lolo
Queen Lolo
March 31, 2005
Did Buddha Baby Go Out With The Bathwater?
When I was introduced to Nichiren Buddhism by an SGI friend, I was a little surprised to hear “this type of Buddhism doesn’t ask you to deny your desires.” But it wasn’t a turn-off. The truth is, I long ago found that intention has genuine, physical power in my life. It seemed that perhaps daimoku could be a way to positively channel that energy. Rather than try to transcend my human attachments, here was a way to honor them and use the energy of the universe to satisfy them.
Now, I was aware that “satisfying” my desires was contrary to every Buddhist teaching I had ever known. And I was a bit doubtful as to just how kosher this Nichiren/SGI “Buddhism” was. But the truth was, it felt more in sync with my genuine belief system. And besides, I was in a life crisis and needed a little positive input.
And so I began. Yes, I missed some of the inner awareness that came with other forms of Buddhism, but I figured I could always supplement that on my own. It was nice having a group to hang with, lots of new books to read, and some concrete focus to my practice. All was well. That is, until those pesky little questions started buzzing in my head.
I’m not talking about questioning the SGI. I’m talking about questioning Nichiren Buddhism as a whole.
You see, nowhere can I find anything mentioned about the Four Nobel Truths, or the Eightfold Path, or meditation. (I was even told "Nichiren Buddhists don't display statues of Shakamuni because he was "the wrong Buddha.") Nowhere can I find anything about non-attachment or meditation or any of the basics, all aspects of Buddhism I continue to work with on my own. Has the baby been thrown out with the bathwater? Or did Nichiren just move on with no looking back? Is this like the Old Testament vs. the New Testament, with Jews and Christians each embracing their own volume?
I have total faith that someone (if not everyone) here will have some insights for me. Perhaps you can recommend some good books that might shed some light on this issue. Because I’m not getting it from the SGI.
On a final note, I want to add that my practice has evolved since I began. To me, the secret to happiness is appreciation, love, acceptance, and lots of humor. Yes, I also like material wealth, a nice house, new clothes, and dining out frequently, and all those things do come more easily when I have a high life condition, positive expectations, and peaceful thoughts, and some level of non-attachment. But this is true whether or not I chant. Chanting one hour doesn’t get me the pay raise. But being focused and clear about what I want and then expecting it might. I now chant as a way to appreciate and honor my life and my practice, rather than as a way to direct my energy and get stuff.
(Okay, I admit I chant for parking places, but only because it works…)
Queen Lolo
April 06, 2005
Spiritual Materialism
I’ve been reading “Turning the Mind Into An Ally” by Sakyon Mipham, son of the well-known Tibetan teacher, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. In the chapter on "Rousing Motivation," Mipham writes:
“Many practitioners in our culture are motivated by worldly concerns and use spirituality to successfully accomplish their wishes. It’s fine to use spiritual practice to get what we want. People have always made offerings to the gods in order to ensure a plentiful harvest. It should be clear, however, that at the heart of this motivation lies the desire to please ourselves. The danger of this motivation is that we can trick ourselves into thinking that we’re becoming less worldly when what we’re really doing is distorting practice to fortify our comfort zone. This is a common pitfall, not a crime.
“My father often taught about “cutting through spiritual materialism.” This means cutting through our attempts to use spirituality to feed our solid self. The Buddha also taught that stability, the peace that comes through meditation, can become just as much of a trap as any old desire. We can create a Goldilocks zone our of our practice and hide there. We can become “spiritual junkies,” motivated only by what makes us feel good. So much of what passes as spirituality these days is really about pleasure-seeking, getting high. This self-absorption disguised as spirituality only leads to more suffering. Real spirituality is about getting grounded. Once we understand who we are, we can realize the needs of others and do something about helping them. Being grounded in who we are is known as basic goodness.”
This is a small portion of a wonderful book (which, by the way, is a national bestseller), but the subject seemed particularly relevant to many of the discussions on the FWP blogs. Spiritual materialism is an easy trap that I believe most of us fall into. And I'm not just talking about falling into it by "chanting for things" or "seeing our earthly desires as a vehicle for enlightenment." Buddhists of all flavors can get bogged down by methods and gadgets and doctrine of others. This Gohonzon or that? Chair or zafu? Mala or juzu? Nam or Namu? Meditation or chanting? China, Japan, Tibet, or India? Even following one teacher or one particular school of thought can be a trap. In my mind, perhaps the biggest trap of all.
If the idea is to perceive the true nature of MY OWN MIND, I have to be careful about putting too much credence in the ways of others and watch out for the outside trappings of it all. In the end, I believe what matters is what you’re doing inside your mind and heart and life, not which Gohonzon you have in your altar.
One More Note on "Spiritual Materialism"
After writing and posting last night's blog on "Spiritual Materialism," I got this very timely email today from the "WEEKLY WORDS OF WISDOM" as chosen by Lama Surya Das. Check it out and see what you think. I thnk it's wonderful.
"There is no other task but to know your own original face.
This is called independence; the spirit is clear and free.
If you say there is some particular doctrine or patriarchy, you’ll be totally cheated. Just look into your heart; there is a transcendental clarity.
Just have no greed and no dependency and you will immediately attain certainty.
~ Yen-t’ou, from Teachings of Zen, edited by Thomas Cleary"
April 10, 2005
Queen Lolo's Personal Disclaimer
I don’t profess to be a teacher, an expert, or an authority on anything. Certainly not on Buddhism.
I don’t claim to have any answers, and I don’t want anyone to think I know what I’m talking about. I’m more inclined to ask questions and explore possibilities than I am to proclaim the truth. Any beliefs or realizations I share here are subject to change. In fact, they are guaranteed to change. Because the only thing I know for certain is this:
Things change.
Well, at least a lot of things do. Other things don’t change that much. Human beings are not much different than they were centuries ago. A list of the five greatest human fears, compiled over 2,000 years ago, is no different than anything you’d read in a current issue of “Psychology Today.” Fear of death, fear of public speaking, fear of losing loved ones…they are all the same. Then again, dinosaurs probably weren’t petrified by the idea of giving a speech. And if we blow up our planet and a new life form emerges in ten million years, maybe this new species will fight over who gets to be on the podium first. So let me rephrase that one thing I know for certain:
Things change but not always quickly.
Other than that, I have no idea what’s really going on. Life, the universe, form, emptiness, the workings of fax machines, and everything inbetween ... it’s all a huge mystery to me. And I like it that way. It keeps me awake and on my spiritual toes. As Stephen Batchelor wrote in "Buddhism Without Beliefs," “an agnostic stance is not based on disinterest. It is founded on a passionate recognition that I do not know. It confronts the enormity of having been born instead of reaching for the consolation of a belief. It strips away, layer by layer, the views that conceal the mystery of being…”
At the same time, I have spent the whole of my adult life, and a good part of my teenage years, examining this “mystery of being.” That’s why I’ve long been attracted to Buddhism. Where other religions tell us what to believe and how to live, Buddhism asks us to directly experience the truth for ourselves. Where other religions have us worship another being or person, Buddhism encourages us to examine the nature of our own minds and reality. At least that’s how I understand it today.
Of course, there are many different flavors and brands of Buddhism, each with a slightly or totally different set of practices, interpretations, rituals, teachers, and paraphernalia. There is a even a multitude of variations within each tradition.
I consider myself “eclectic” because I find value it in all. And I like it that way.
For me, the assorted branches of Buddhism are just different parts of the same elephant. With your eyes closed, you may think you’re touching the whole animal. But open your eyes, and you may see that what you’re grasping isn’t the entire story afterall.
From Zen Buddhism I have learned the practice of meditation and had experiences I cannot put into words. From Tibetan Buddhism I have learned about compassion and opened my heart to myself and others. From Nichiren Buddhism I have explored cause and effect, and learned the life-changing power of Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. I am not attached to any certain tradition or teacher. I openly listen and accept the wisdom of each for what it is. I have practiced and studied and integrated all the various types of Buddhism and will probably continue to do so all my life. Each has it's place in the totality of who I am – a part of the whole elephant, so to speak. And each helps me with the one great lesson that each Buddhist tradition has taught me:
Treasure the present moment.
And that's one piece of advice I don't expect to change.
Queen Lolo
April 11, 2005
This is an article from Shambhala Sun (my fave Buddhist magazine) by Pema Chodron (an amazing teacher). It explains in a very clear way exactly why we do the negative behaviors we do... whether it's overeating or smoking or drinking or shouting or driving too fast or sleeping too late or whining ... I'd love to hear back what you think of the piece. (My youngest daughter sometimes yells "SHENPA!" as a reminder when I'm starting to get caught by my anger or irritation. You'll understand once you read this...)
How we get hooked/how to get unhooked
By Pema Chödrön
You're trying to make a point with a coworker or your partner. At one moment her face is open and she's listening, and at the next, her eyes cloud over or her jaw tenses.
What is it that you're seeing?
Someone criticizes you. They criticize your work or your appearance or your child. At moments like that, what is it you feel? It has a familiar taste in your mouth, it has a familiar smell. Once you begin to notice it, you feel like this experience has been happening forever.
The Tibetan word for this is shenpa. It is usually translated "attachment," but a more descriptive translation might be "hooked." When shenpa hooks us, we're likely to get stuck. We could call shenpa "that sticky feeling." It's an everyday experience. Even a spot on your new sweater can take you there. At the subtlest level, we feel a tightening, a tensing, a sense of closing down. Then we feel a sense of withdrawing, not wanting to be where we are. That's the hooked quality. That tight feeling has the power to hook us into self-denigration, blame, anger, jealousy and other emotions which lead to words and actions that end up poisoning us.
Remember the fairy tale in which toads hop out of the princess's mouth whenever she starts to say mean words? That's how being hooked can feel. Yet we don't stop—we can't stop—because we're in the habit of associating whatever we're doing with relief from our own discomfort. This is the shenpa syndrome. The word "attachment" doesn't quite translate what's happening. It's a quality of experience that's not easy to describe but which everyone knows well.
Shenpa is usually involuntary and it gets right to the root of why we suffer. Someone looks at us in a certain way, or we hear a certain song, we smell a certain smell, we walk into a certain room and boom. The feeling has nothing to do with the present, and nevertheless, there it is. When we were practicing recognizing shenpa at Gampo Abbey, we discovered that some of us could feel it even when a particular person simply sat down next to us at the dining table.
Shenpa thrives on the underlying insecurity of living in a world that is always changing. We experience this insecurity as a background of slight unease or restlessness. We all want some kind of relief from that unease, so we turn to what we enjoy—food, alcohol, drugs, sex, work or shopping. In moderation what we enjoy might be very delightful. We can appreciate its taste and its presence in our life. But when we empower it with the idea that it will bring us comfort, that it will remove our unease, we get hooked.
So we could also call shenpa "the urge"—the urge to smoke that cigarette, to overeat, to have another drink, to indulge our addiction whatever it is. Sometimes shenpa is so strong that we're willing to die getting this short-term symptomatic relief. The momentum behind the urge is so strong that we never pull out of the habitual pattern of turning to poison for comfort. It doesn't necessarily have to involve a substance; it can be saying mean things, or approaching everything with a critical mind. That's a major hook. Something triggers an old pattern we'd rather not feel, and we tighten up and hook into criticizing or complaining. It gives us a puffed-up satisfaction and a feeling of control that provides short-term relief from uneasiness.
Those of us with strong addictions know that working with habitual patterns begins with the willingness to fully acknowledge our urge, and then the willingness not to act on it. This business of not acting out is called refraining. Traditionally it's called renunciation. What we renounce or refrain from isn't food, sex, work or relationships per se. We renounce and refrain from the shenpa. When we talk about refraining from the shenpa, we're not talking about trying to cast it out; we're talking about trying to see the shenpa clearly and experiencing it. If we can see shenpa just as we're starting to close down, when we feel the tightening, there's the possibility of catching the urge to do the habitual thing, and not doing it.
Without meditation practice, this is almost impossible to do. Generally speaking, we don't catch the tightening until we've indulged the urge to scratch our itch in some habitual way. And unless we equate refraining with loving-kindness and friendliness towards ourselves, refraining feels like putting on a straitjacket. We struggle against it. The Tibetan word for renunciation is shenlok, which means turning shenpa upside-down, shaking it up. When we feel the tightening, somehow we have to know how to open up the space without getting hooked into our habitual pattern.
In practicing with shenpa, first we try to recognize it. The best place to do this is on the meditation cushion. Sitting practice teaches us how to open and relax to whatever arises, without picking and choosing. It teaches us to experience the uneasiness and the urge fully, and to interrupt the momentum that usually follows. We do this by not following after the thoughts and learning to come back to the present moment. We learn to stay with the uneasiness, the tightening, the itch of shenpa. We train in sitting still with our desire to scratch. This is how we learn to stop the chain reaction of habitual patterns that otherwise will rule our lives. This is how we weaken the patterns that keep us hooked into discomfort that we mistake as comfort. We label the spinoff "thinking" and return to the present moment. Yet even in meditation, we experience shenpa.
Let's say, for example, that in meditation you felt settled and open. Thoughts came and went, but they didn't hook you. They were like clouds in the sky that dissolved when you acknowledged them. You were able to return to the moment without a sense of struggle. Afterwards, you're hooked on that very pleasant experience: "I did it right, I got it right. That's how it should always be, that's the model." Getting caught like that builds arrogance, and conversely it builds poverty, because your next session is nothing like that. In fact, your "bad" session is even worse now because you're hooked on the "good" one. You sat there and you were discursive: you were obsessing about something at home, at work. You worried and you fretted; you got caught up in fear or anger. At the end of the session, you feel discouraged—it was "bad," and there's only you to blame.
Is there something inherently wrong or right with either meditation experience? Only the shenpa. The shenpa we feel toward "good" meditation hooks us into how it's "supposed" to be, and that sets us up for shenpa towards how it's not "supposed" to be. Yet the meditation is just what it is. We get caught in our idea of it: that's the shenpa. That stickiness is the root shenpa. We call it ego-clinging or self-absorption. When we're hooked on the idea of good experience, self-absorption gets stronger; when we're hooked on the idea of bad experience, self-absorption gets stronger. This is why we, as practitioners, are taught not to judge ourselves, not to get caught in good or bad.
What we really need to do is address things just as they are. Learning to recognize shenpa teaches us the meaning of not being attached to this world. Not being attached has nothing to do with this world. It has to do with shenpa—being hooked by what we associate with comfort. All we're trying to do is not to feel our uneasiness. But when we do this we never get to the root of practice. The root is experiencing the itch as well as the urge to scratch, and then not acting it out.
If we're willing to practice this way over time, prajna begins to kick in. Prajna is clear seeing. It's our innate intelligence, our wisdom. With prajna, we begin to see the whole chain reaction clearly. As we practice, this wisdom becomes a stronger force than shenpa. That in itself has the power to stop the chain reaction.
Prajna isn't ego-involved. It's wisdom found in basic goodness, openness, equanimity—which cuts through self-absorption. With prajna we can see what will open up space. Habituation, which is ego-based, is just the opposite—a compulsion to fill up space in our own particular style. Some of us close space by hammering our point through; others do it by trying to smooth the waters.
We're taught that whatever arises is fresh, the essence of realization. That's the basic view. But how do we see whatever arises as the essence of realization when the fact of the matter is, we have work to do? The key is to look into shenpa. The work we have to do is about coming to know that we're tensing or hooked or "all worked up." That's the essence of realization. The earlier we catch it, the easier shenpa is to work with, but even catching it when we're already all worked up is good. Sometimes we have to go through the whole cycle even though we see what we're doing. The urge is so strong, the hook so sharp, the habitual pattern so sticky, that there are times when we can't do anything about it.
There is something we can do after the fact, however. We can go sit on the meditation cushion and re-run the story. Maybe we start with remembering the all-worked-up feeling and get in touch with that. We look clearly at the shenpa in retrospect; this is very helpful. It's also helpful to see shenpa arising in little ways, where the hook is not so sharp.
Buddhists are talking about shenpa when they say, "Don't get caught in the content: observe the underlying quality—the clinging, the desire, the attachment." Sitting meditation teaches us how to see that tangent before we go off on it. It basically comes down to the instruction, "label it thinking." To train in this on the cushion, where it's relatively easy and pleasant to do, is how we can prepare ourselves to stay when we get all worked up.
Then we can train in seeing shenpa wherever we are. Say something to another person and maybe you'll feel that tensing. Rather than get caught in a story line about how right you are or how wrong you are, take it as an opportunity to be present with the hooked quality. Use it as an opportunity to stay with the tightness without acting upon it. Let that training be your base.
You can also practice recognizing shenpa out in nature. Practice sitting still and catching the moment when you close down. Or practice in a crowd, watching one person at a time. When you're silent, what hooks you is mental dialogue. You talk to yourself about badness or goodness: me-bad or they-bad, this-right or that-wrong. Just to see this is a practice. You'll be intrigued by how you'll involuntarily shut down and get hooked, one way or another. Just keep labeling those thoughts and come back to the immediacy of the feeling. That's how not to follow the chain reaction.
Once we're aware of shenpa, we begin to notice it in other people. We see them shutting down. We see that they've been hooked and that nothing is going to get through to them now. At that moment we have prajna. That basic intelligence comes through when we're not caught up in escaping from our own unease. With prajna we can see what's happening with others; we can see when they've been hooked. Then we can give the situation some space. One way to do that is by opening up the space on the spot, through meditation. Be quiet and place your mind on your breath. Hold your mind in place with great openness and curiosity toward the other person. Asking a question is another way of creating space around that sticky feeling. So is postponing your discussion to another time.
At the Abbey, we're very fortunate that everybody is excited about working with shenpa. So many words I've tried using become ammunition that people use against themselves. But we feel some kind of gladness about working with shenpa, perhaps because the word is unfamiliar. We can acknowledge what's happening with clear seeing, without aiming it at ourselves. Since no one particularly likes to have his shenpa pointed out, people at the Abbey make deals like, "When you see me getting hooked, just pull your earlobe, and if I see you getting hooked, I'll do the same. Or if you see it in yourself, and I'm not picking up on it, at least give some little sign that maybe this isn't the time to continue this discussion." This is how we help each other cultivate prajna, clear seeing.
We could think of this whole process in terms of four R's: recognizing the shenpa, refraining from scratching, relaxing into the underlying urge to scratch and then resolving to continue to interrupt our habitual patterns like this for the rest of our lives. What do you do when you don't do the habitual thing? You're left with your urge. That's how you become more in touch with the craving and the wanting to move away. You learn to relax with it. Then you resolve to keep practicing this way.
Working with shenpa softens us up. Once we see how we get hooked and how we get swept along by the momentum, there's no way to be arrogant. The trick is to keep seeing. Don't let the softening and humility turn into self-denigration. That's just another hook. Because we've been strengthening the whole habituated situation for a long, long time, we can't expect to undo it overnight. It's not a one-shot deal. It takes loving-kindness to recognize; it takes practice to refrain; it takes willingness to relax; it takes determination to keep training this way. It helps to remember that we may experience two billion kinds of itches and seven quadrillion types of scratching, but there is really only one root shenpa—ego-clinging. We experience it as tightening and self-absorption. It has degrees of intensity. The branch shenpas are all our different styles of scratching that itch.
I recently saw a cartoon of three fish swimming around a hook. One fish is saying to the other, "The secret is non-attachment." That's a shenpa cartoon: the secret is—don't bite that hook. If we can catch ourselves at that place where the urge to bite is strong, we can at least get a bigger perspective on what's happening. As we practice this way, we gain confidence in our own wisdom. It begins to guide us toward the fundamental aspect of our being—spaciousness, warmth and spontaneity.
_______________________________________________
Pema Chödrön is a fully-ordained Buddhist nun and the resident teacher at Gampo Abbey in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. She is the author of The Wisdom of No Escape, Start Where You Are, When Things Fall Apart and The Places That Scare You. Her most recent book is Comfortable With Uncertainty, published by Shambhala. ©2003 by Pema Chödrön. All Rights Reserved.
From Shambhala Sun, March 2003.
Queen Lolo
April 17, 2005
If I had a spiritual MRI scan, I’d probably be diagnosed with “Chronic Mental Congestion.” In fact, one health care practitioner told me my lifelong neck problem is a case of “stuck chi” or something like that. “The energy whirling around in your mind needs to be released so it can flow through your whole system,” she said.
Indeed, my practice has always been so cerebral -- meditating, chanting, studying, reading and writing – that I’ve often felt like the carved Buddha head on my bookcase. Just the head, and nothing more.
Then I got a dog.
For years my kids begged. For years I resisted. I didn’t want another life form to take care of. Most of all, I didn’t want a pet that needed to be walked.
I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but the only dog I’d ever fallen for (prior to owning ours) was “Lambsie,” a small, shaggy poodle who’d been disabled by a run-in with a coyote. There he was at the corner pet adoption, with the face and temperament of an angel, and two hind legs that barely functioned. For the first time in my life, I wanted to take home a dog. But the pet adoption ladies didn’t think first-time dog owners were the right match for a “special needs” dog. Wahhh.
Although we weren’t going to be given Lambsie, my heart had opened and my kids smelled opportunity. They began surfing the online pet adoption sites. Before long, my obsession surpassed even theirs. Then, one day, we got a call from Bichons and Buddies Pet Rescue organization. It seemed there was a purebred Bichon Frise named “Buddy” who needed a new home. The dog’s owner, Bob, had gotten Buddy a year ago to keep him company as he recovered from brain surgery. Then Bob had a relapse and passed away. Bob’s wife had to return to work and couldn’t care for the Buddy any longer.
I had one last panic attack, bought a supply of plastic poop disposal bags, and made the family swear up and down that they’d all help with the dog -- especially when it came to the walking.
We got the dog. The family all pitched in. We shared in the walks. For awhile. Then it all changed. No, it wasn’t that the kids flaked on me. It was that I elbowed them out of the job. Because I discovered something truly amazing …
Walking is a good thing.
I lost weight. I built up endurance and got a bit of muscle tone. I met all my neighbors, and their dogs, too. I found that walking is a great way to clear my mind and take a break from my writing and my family several times a day. But best of all I found out --
Walking effortlessly integrates my mind and my body.
When I walk, my entire being automatically shifts into an open, meditative state. I go from being a head full of energy to being an integrated part of the universe. It’s pretty remarkable for someone like me. And it just goes to show…
Be careful what you wish for.
The funny thing is that it turns out Buddy is a breed notorious for housebreaking problems. Bichon Frises need frequent walking. Ha ha! The joke’s on me! I ended up with the exact exact opposite of the handicapped pooch I originally coveted. And it’s wonderful.
This is why it’s risky to chant or pray for specific outcomes. “I want a dog that doesn’t need much walking” would have resulted in my missing out on the best thing that could have happened to me. Much better to ask for “that which is for my highest good and for the highest good of all others” or something along those lines. Keep it open. Because as my 8 year old recently said, “You just never know…”
No one who knows me would have imagined how much I enjoy walking every few hours, seven days a week. I try a different route each time. I take a different approach too. Sometimes I chant. Sometimes I observe my steps or my breath or the greenery around me. Sometimes I imagine I’m matching my awareness and pace to Buddy’s, paying attention to the world as he sees it.
Often I do nothing other than walk. That really is enough. More than enough. In fact, it’s the surest way for me to experience my true nature and the nature of all that surrounds me.
In response to a blog I wrote asking “What is YOUR burning question?” Rev. Ryuei replied: “…I have realized that the meaning of the Lotus Sutra and the Odaimoku is not so much that they are pointing to themselves but that they are pointing us back to ourselves, our own true nature, and that this true nature is not limited to our small, contingent, circumscribed self, but to the true nature of everything whatsoever.”
This is what often happens when I’m walking at night.. Away from the family I am involved in and attached to, away from the call of technology, away from the dishes and laundry, away from the Gohonzon and altar and meditation area, I am no longer attached to all that ties me to who I think I am or anything I feel I have to do. I experience an awareness far greater than my own “small, contingent, circumscribed self.” All the energy usually “whirling in my mind” reaches down to my toes and then back up and beyond – way beyond – until I feel as expansive as the nighttime sky. There is no separation between the flowers, the trees, the spider on the web, the empty can on the ground, and me.
On these moonlit walks I don’t just think about the connection – I feel it. I know it. I experience it in a way I have never been able to touch through any other practice.
It’s a big feeling. It’s a gentle feeling. It’s peaceful and calming and exhilarating, all at once. It’s reassuring, too, as if there’s nowhere to go during or after life, because everything is right here together where it belongs. The other evening it was so overwhelming, I had to sit down on some nearby steps and just breathe in appreciation for life. Buddy sat down next to me. The world was so quiet and full and there we were. It was astounding.
Then I had to pick up Buddy’s poop, and head on home.
All in service of a furry four-legged angel with an occasional bad temper.
I have a painting in my room with the inscription, “Most people don’t know that there are angels whose only job it is to make sure you don’t fall asleep and miss your life.” Buddy sure woke me up to a part of my life that I was missing – my spiritual life from the neck down.
You know, I used to think we rescued Buddy. Now that I write this, I realize that Buddy rescued me.
Thank you, Mardi and Jeannine, at www.BichonsandBuddies.com for bringing Buddy into our lives. (If anyone is looking for a small dog or knows a dog that needs a home, let these beautiful ladies know.) Thank you to my family, for convincing me that we are, indeed, "dog people." And thank you, Lambsie, for opening my heart.
Queen Lolo
April 21, 2005
I’ve been thinking a lot about why I am turned off by discussions about which Gohonzon is the “real” one, what is the “correct” way to practice, what would Nichiren say about such-and-such. In fact, the more I read this stuff, the more I started questioning Nichiren Buddhism altogether.
Then it hit me. The problem for me isn’t Nichiren Buddhism. The problem is that all these academic musings are about the framework of the practice, not about the practice itself.
Buddhism is beautiful and true because it’s about direct, personal experience, not opinion or dogma or rules or anyone else’s idea of what you should do and how you must do it. And the “direct experience” of Nichiren Buddhism is chanting. I have to believe that if any of us were to meet Nichiren and ask him “What really matters?” he’d say, “Just chant. The rest is detail.”
The truth is, even if this isn’t what Nichiren would say, it’s what works for me. Turning something as precious as Buddhism into an academic subject and arguing the small print is as tiresome to me as having to write a book report on a beloved book. It removes me from the active experience and sucks the life out it. I want to read for the sheer pleasure of reading. I want to practice Buddhism for the sheer experience of practicing. Trying to figure out and bullfight over why we think an author wrote a book, what an artist meant by his painting, or which Gohonzon Nichiren would have endorsed removes us from the direct experience. And besides, trying to second-guess anyone is a total waste of time.
Having said all that, I simply adore reading and writing about Buddhism. But the subject matter needs to be REAL. It needs to be about personal experience. I don’t just mean “I chanted for ten hours and I got a new job” kind of experience. I want to know how Buddhist principles work in YOUR inner life. I want to hear heartfelt, genuine, gutsy, lay-it-out-on-the-table revelations of what Buddhism means to YOU and what YOU bring to the table of this amazing, varied practice.
I want us to share our practices, rather than simply debate the framework of it. Because the framework is just the framework, and personally I could care less which Gohonzon you chant to. Heck, chant to a brick wall or a photo of Mickey Mouse if that’s what works for you. What I want to know is -- What kind of life are YOU creating with your Buddhist practice? What is kind of life is your Buddhist practice creating for YOU?
Queen Lolo
April 22, 2005
This was sent to me today by Lama Surya Das... I share it here as a reminder that the most important part of our practice is to simply BE HERE NOW...
* * * * * * * * *
Buddha said:
"Do not pursue the past.
Do not lose yourself in the future.
The past no longer is.
The future has not yet come.
Looking deeply at life as it is
in the very here and now,
the practitioner dwells
in stability and freedom."
* * * * * * * * *
Queen Lolo
April 24, 2005
A friend from the SGI recently read FWP and sent me an email. It was a pleasant surprise, as she is a leader and has been involved in the organization for decades and I hadn’t expected such positive feedback. I told her I wanted to share her comments on the site, since the question “Is the SGI changing?” comes up so frequently and her voice was important here.
She also raised a point about meetings being different in other parts of the country. Here in Los Angeles, there’s a huge focus on material gain and career success. The experiences people share are usually about an external success, rather than an inner spiritual breakthrough. I’m not saying our lives are not important and that I don’t want success as much as the next person. I’m just saying I don’t believe that is what “true Buddhism” is about. Material success is a great part of life and I love having money and a nice house and a cell phone and quality medical care. But to call the acquisition of such “Buddhism” is just too much of a stretch even for eclectic old me. Buddhism is a inner practice that certainly does effect the outer world – but the focus should be on the inner and not the end result. At least that’s what I think today. As I always say, check back with me tomorrow because all is subject to change.
I also want to add that unlike my friend, I don’t think the “biggest” problem with the SGI is the focus on material gain. I think the problem is that it’s an organization. Buddhism was never meant to be "owned" or governed by any organization, and certainly not one that professes to have an exclusive on “true” Buddhism and openly expresses hostile attitudes toward those who think differently. But that's another topic, one that's already been talked to death, and something that doesn't really bother me much anyway since I'm really not a group kinda gal...
Now, on to her email.
She wrote:
“I think the biggest problem with the SGI experience format is the “I chanted and got a new job thing.” It makes people like me and you feel like things are topsy turvey-- which they are -- and also that we have no real voice. I'm at the point with my practice now that I can see clearly that the benefit to practicing is not in "getting what you want.” For me, my practice is really about a broader range of appreciation... appreciation of what my life tells
me and really trusting my inner voice... not judging things that I've felt are "bad" or "wrong" with me as necessarily "bad" or "wrong" at all -- really trusting my life and letting those "bad" things serve to benefit me... appreciating my full range of feelings and human emotion--not trying to always push things to a positive side.
Right now, my daimoku is almost exclusively based on self-reflection -- really seeking to see all sides of issues I'm dealing with and then listening to my life for the best action to take, even if it's based on my favorite world -- anger -- and really having faith to see that everything has value when the center of your life is buddhahood...
Any leader who really practices true buddhism will tell you that determinations should always be in the background of buddhahood-- not the reverse... they will also tell you that buddhahood is found in the 9 lower worlds.
I'm really struggling to get away from this "I chanted and got this thing" approach and really deepen our group's understanding of what the practice is actually about. It's next to impossible to have a real dialogue at the meetings when so many members are focused on material goals. I would love to build the group in a way that is authentic versus based on some kind of bizarre marketing message, if you know what I mean. I'd like to build a group that people of similar minds as ours can really enjoy -- we just don't know where they are because they don't come to meetings anymore!!!"
Queen Lolo
April 26, 2005
After being asked once or twice if a comment I made regarding “awakening through eating an orange”” was in reference to a chapter in Brad Warner’s “Hardcore Zen,” I went out and got the book. I hadn’t read it yet, and figured if folks thought I was quoting it, it must be damn good. (Ha ha.)
It is. I especially like Brad’s take on reincarnation, which is a subject that recently came up in the comments on Rev. Ryuei’s blog. In Brad’s chapter “In My Next Life I Want To Come Back As A Pair Of Lucy Lui’s Panties,” he shares the following:
“A guy walks up to a Zen Master and asks, “Is there life after death?” The Zen Master says, “How should I know?” The guy replies indignantly, “Because you’re a Zen Master!” “Yes,” says the Zen Master, “But not a dead one.”
This sums up everything any of us know about death. We can speculate, hope, and theorize, but we just can’t know. Not that I like that. I can’t stand it. But when it really gets to me, I remind myself of all the wonders of life. The fact that our eyes can see. The fact that oranges exist. The fact that we’re born in the first place. The fact that when I click “send” the email somehow gets to your computer. It’s all so awesome and miraculous and unexplainable that I have to believe – or at least I want to believe -- that death is the same. Awesome and miraculous and unexplainable. It's just so bizarre that we're even born in the first place -- how can we begin to think we know what death may bring?
And then, if that doesn’t work, I remind myself of something a friend said to me a long time ago: “All that is real is right NOW. Everything else is just a thought.” Yes, even “death” is just a thought. The fear of death is just a thought, or maybe a feeling. Sometimes a pretty gripping one, too. But when I can boil it down to “it’s just a thought-or-feeling" and then remember the fleeting nature of such, it’s oh-so-much easier to handle.
But ultimately, the one and only true answer to life and death and reincarnation and everything in between is always one and the same for me. As Ram Dass said, “Be Here Now.”
And as Brad Warner writes, “Right now is what counts. If you want to believe in reincarnation, you have to believe that this life, what you’re living through right now, is the afterlife. You’re missing out on the afterlife you looked forward to in your last existence by worrying about your next life. This is what happens after you die. Take a look.”
Now there’s a concept. What business do we have worrying about eternity when we can’t even get through a single day without whining? I think I'll work on appreciating this life -- day by day, moment by moment -- as if it's all I've got. Just in case it is.
Queen Lolo
May 04, 2005
In his latest book, “Pathways to God,” Ram Dass talks about gurus and teachers. He mentions upagurus* and how rather than being “gurus,” they are considered in India as teachings. He writes, “They are there like the marker stones along with road that say, 'Go this way. Go that way.' I think, in fact, it is much more productive to look at those beings that way – as teachings rather than as teachers. This way, we can take a teaching here and a teaching there and then go on, instead of getting hung up in deciding “Is this really my teacher?” The whole teacher-trip leads us into making The Big Commitment, and then we sit around judging and comparing and worrying whether we’ve made the right choice.”
Now I know R.D. is referring to the Hindu path, that he has a guru, that he’s made a huge commitment to his practice. But his explanation made me think that in terms of my own Buddhist practice, it would be oh-so-very-nice if Nichiren’s message could be presented as Buddhist teachings, rather than as The Gospel Truth from The Only Valid Teacher.
I don’t want to be a “member” of anything. I don’t want to sign up or, as Ram Dass calls it, make “The Big Commitment” to anything but being true to my own spiritual practice and path. I want to be able to go to a Buddhist meeting to learn about Nichiren Buddhism, not to help a district grow or be the “right” kind of Buddhist or earn brownie points for fitting into an organizational agenda. I want to be able to make it part of my own eclectic practice, just as I do when I take a class in mindfulness meditation or meet with a visiting monk. I don't want to be considered someone's "Shakabuku" and be expected to practice in a certain way in order to be doing it "right."
Do people have to practice and study Nichiren on their own if they want to approach Nichiren Buddhism this way? Are there any independent Nichiren Buddhist authors sharing their experiences and translating the teachings of Nichiren? Are there any groups of Independent Nichiren Buddhists that meet in person and share their practices with no strings attached?
*Not to be confused with Oompaloompas.
Queen Lolo
May 09, 2005
The following story made AOL news headlines today. Seriously, folks.
Now, what does it have to do with Buddhism? Not a damn thing. But I just thought everyone should know, as soon as possible, that "the chicken thing has nothing to do with the motorcycle thing."
RIDGECREST, Calif. (May 9) - Linc and Helena Moore may have finally learned the answer to that age-old question: Why did the chicken cross the road? Because the chicken doesn't know jaywalking is illegal.
Kern County Sheriff's Deputy J. Nicholson does know, however. The deputy issued a ticket on March 26 to one of the couple's chickens for impeding traffic on a road in Johannesburg, a rural mining community southeast of Ridgecrest.
The Moores arrived in Superior Court on Friday to plead not guilty to their chicken's alleged transgression. A trial was scheduled for May 16.
Nicholson has declined to discuss the matter, but sheriff's Sgt. Francis Moore said chickens on the roadway have been a problem in the community of 50 residents. Officials didn't believe it could be resolved by simply issuing the couple a warning.
''Sometimes you have to let people talk to the judge,'' Moore said.
The chicken's owners say they believe they were cited because they were among several people who complained that sheriff's deputies haven't done enough to control off-road vehicle riders who damage roads and create dust and noise in their neighborhood.
Sheriff's officials say that isn't so, adding they are doing what they can to keep off-roaders away from the area's homes.
''The chicken thing has nothing to do with the motorcycle thing,'' Moore said.
Queen Lolo
May 10, 2005
Just when you were exhausted from wondering what a jaywalking chicken has to do with Buddhism, I arrive with a blog that delivers the answer!
It came to me quite by accident, as I was reading the Burton Watson version of The Lotus Sutra in the bathtub tonight. I turned to a chapter where Buddha is telling Manjushri the four rules that a bodhisattvas should abide by if he or she wishes to preach the sutra in the evil age hereafter. It's Chapter 14, page 197...
“They should not closely associate with hazardous amusements, boxing or wrestling, or with actors or others engaged in various kinds of illusionary entertainment, or with chandalas, persons engaged in training pigs, sheep, chickens or dogs.”
So although I'm sure you have compassion for the plight of the Moore's (the owners of the naughty fowl mentioned in my previous blog), you are hereby advised to steer clear if you know what's good for you. (That is, unless they can prove they didn't train that poultry to jaywalk.)
Queen Lolo
May 11, 2005
I’m blogging on a blog, here… Namely “Tears of the Refugee” by Charles who writes here under “Phantom City.” The interesting comments in his wonderful blog entry raise an issue that has confused me from my very first contact with the SGI… (Hope you don’t mind me quoting you, Charles…)
Charles wrote: “As you notice, there has been subtle effort to de-emphasize the historical Buddha and insert Nichiren as the "true Buddha." Discussion of the life, times, and various teachings and sutras of Shakyamuni is not encouraged... I have long thought that in the SGI, the study should be completely revised. It seems to me that the basics of Shakyamuni's Buddhism should be taught like the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold path. Ask 10 SGI leaders what are the Four Noble Truths and Eightfold Path, and I assure you that they will not get it right - some won't know any of it.”
Once again, a blog on this site has helped solidify a cloudy question that’s been floating around in my mind… “Where’s the “Buddhism” in Nichiren Buddhism as presented by the SGI?”
I’m not asking this with a critical tone, but rather with genuine curiousity and an inquiring mind. I am hoping all of you out there, who probably know far more than I about Nichiren Buddhism, can help me decipher what’s really shakin’ in the world of those who follow the Daishonin. I am hoping that some of you who are involved in the SGI, or who used to be involved, can shed some light on this for me here. I’m hoping that those of you who practice Nichiren Buddhism outside the SGI can enlighten me, too.
The fact is, the original Buddha is rarely mentioned at an SGI meeting, except in passing during the “Explanation of the Practice.” Nichiren is quoted. President Ikeda is quoted. Sometimes senior SGI leaders are quoted. But our Main Man, the former Gautama Siddhartha, rarely makes the cut. Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems that if we’re practicing BUDDHISM, the teachings of Buddha should be the main emphasis. They clearly were for Nichiren Daishonon, or he would have called himself something other than a “Buddhist” and he would have promoted something other than the Buddha’s “Lotus Sutra.”
In my first blog on this site, I wrote that in all my exposure to Nichiren Buddhism, “Nowhere can I find anything mentioned about the Four Nobel Truths, or the Eightfold Path, or meditation. (I was even told "Nichiren Buddhists don't display statues of Shakamuni because he was "the wrong Buddha.") Nowhere can I find anything about non-attachment or meditation or any of the basics, all aspects of Buddhism I continue to work with on my own. Has the baby been thrown out with the bathwater?”
Now I’ll admit that most of my knowledge of Nichiren Buddhism has come through the SGI. And I’ll confess that I actually do like the practice they taught me. I like chanting. I like how it puts me in rhythm with something deep within myself and something vast outside myself. I like the way it really works. But maybe it should be called something other than “Buddhism.” Other traditions and other Buddhist teachers translate and re-package and update the teachings of the Buddha, but they all remain true to their original source. The Dalai Lama doesn’t ask us to have faith in the Dalai Lama. He asks us to practice Buddha dharma.
I guess the bottomline question for me is: Is “Buddhism” as taught by the SGI really “Buddhism?” And if so, how?
Queen Lolo
May 12, 2005
I took down my SGI Gohonzon today.
(No lightening bolts so far….)
I rolled it up and put in the box it came in and put it in a drawer where I keep special things.
(No thunder storms or knocks at the door yet…)
I replaced it with a representation of the Buddha, beautifully embroidered in cloth on a small purse, thoughtfully given to me by my beautiful sister for my birthday this year.
(No earthquakes or even heart palpitations.)
I have had my Gohonzon for awhile now. I gave it my best shot. I like chanting, I enjoy the practice as taught to me by the SGI. This wasn’t an anti-SGI move.
It was me being true to myself. Try as I might, the Gohonzon doesn’t do anything for me. I don’t do anything for it. We just sit there awkwardly staring at one another, the Gohonzon and I, like two mismatched singles on a terrible blind date.
In writing about how to set up a “puja table” which is similar to an altar, Ram Dass says, “In developing an inner Center, a meditative stance, or connecting with your heart cave, it is most useful to create an external quiet space where you can hook up for refueling. When setting up the puja table, choose a quiet place, a place that can be a refuge. You come home feeling speedy, you’re angry at someone – or whatever – sit down in front of the puja table and Remember.Typically, pictures of holy beings, statues, flowers, fruit, beautiful stones or shells, or things which you associate with the highest place in yourself, are put on a puja table….”
This is how I believe an altar should function, too. So today I replaced my Gohonzon with a depiction of the Buddha that touches my heart. I may later replace it with something else. Maybe a small painting of White Tara. Maybe a photograph of a flower, taken by my daughter. Maybe I’ll even put the Gohonzon back at some point. I like to change things around. Shake up my mind. Wake myself up.
But what wakes me up up may not be what wakes you up at all. (My teenager said if she had an altar, it would have a photograph of Chad Michael Murray, a celebrity hottie.) What centers me, focuses me, reminds me of the truth of existence (or at least of my faith in such), is something only I can decide. And since my ultimate challenge and purpose is to trust myself and have faith in my own path, creating a meaningful altar is a really big deal.
Then again, it’s no big deal at all.
Queen Lolo
May 14, 2005
In the introduction to his amazing book “Modern Buddhist Healing,” Charles Atkins, our own Fraught With Peril blogger (“Phantom City”) writes:
“In order for chanting and visualization to work, you do not need to understand Buddhism or alternative medicine any more than you need to understand the complexities of engine design in order to drive a car. Prayer and meditation are elegantly simple in nature, and are absolutely free. Prayer is our direct communication link to the absolute reality of life and the universe. The essence of Buddhist healing is simple enough for a child to master in a few moment and profound enough to humble a skilled physician….To extend my own life, I tapped into that utterly impervious aspect of consciousness free from the agonies of fear, pain, or death. All may enter with a prayer; no one is denied access.”
“All may enter with a prayer.”
Is that beautiful, or what?
Charles is talking about the method he used to heal himself from cancer and that he now generously and compassionate shares with others through his writing. But I believe his approach is right-on for ANYTHING – not just healing from disease or pain. Chanting and prayer can work without us even understanding how. Without us even knowing what Nichiren intended. Without an SGI meeting, without a Gohonzon, without a single grain of Buddhist wisdom.
In fact, maybe chanting works even better without us analyzing and dissecting and getting bogged down in 101 mind-numbing dharmic details. I have a feeling it would for me.
When I first started chanting with the SGI, I was just happy to be chanting. I didn’t have my Gohonzon right away, so I usually chanted while in the bathtub, focusing on the silver faucet. My life began to fall into place in a way I’d never known before. I felt like I was “in the flow,” tapped into the rhythm of my life and the universe in a wonderful new way. (Maybe it had something to do with the bathtub?)
Maybe I should have left it at that. Just chanting in the bathroom. Or while out walking. Or even later on, in front of the Gohonzon, blissfully practicing with an open “Beginner’s Mind” that didn’t know enough to create doubts and mental barriers.
But noooooo. Us Jews, even us Bu-Jus, are notorius questioners. We even answer questions with a question. And so I had to start digging. “What about this Buddhism?” “Does this jive with what I’ve learned in the past?” “How come they don’t mention the Four Nobel Truths?” “Is it really kosher to use a practice based on non-attachment to score a deal on a pair of purple Ugg boots?”
Maybe all the questions would have been okay but one thing got lost in the process:
I stopped chanting. Or at least greatly reduced its frequency. Not that my life stopped working. Not that the flow dried up. I believe there are other ways to keep the faucet open. But there’s something about daimoku that works faster for me.
Maybe “faster” isn’t the best description. But when I chant, even just a few times on a walk, things seem to click into place. Mainly things having to do with people and relationships. Especially people who are also chanting daimoku. “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo” is like a magnet that pulls us together. “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo” is like a shot of caffeine out into the universe. Gets the energy going like nothing else.
And so, I am now going to try it again with that “Beginner’s Mind.” Before chanting, I will thank my brain for her concern, and then kindly request that she take a little vacation. I will turn off the judgements, the chatter, the mental blabber. And just go for it.
If it works, it works. Does it matter why? Does it matter how? (Oh oh, there I go with the questions again.)
I plan to send a copy of "Modern Buddhist Healing" to everyone I know who is facing a physical challenge, even those who are not Buddhist and who would not read or be interested in anything having to do with Buddhism. That’s the beauty of this book, and that’s the magic of daimoku too. Whether we’re Buddhists or Jews or Catholics or Christians or Muslims or agnostics or atheists or anything else, we all have that safe, precious, point of light within us, and we can use the technique Charles teaches to reach it.
As Charles says, “All may enter with a prayer.” What could be more universal and cost effective than that?
Thank you, Charles, for writing your books and connecting... Thank you to everyone on this website for being here and giving me the best education I've ever received on things that really matter... thank you to everyone who reads and comments (or reads and doesn't comment). All this dharmic energy and support is deeply appreciated and has opened up my life in ways I never imagined. Hope it's doing the same for you!
Queen Lolo
May 18, 2005
Buddhist practice doesn’t end on the cushion or in front of a mandala. It may begin there, or be revitalized and remembered there. But the point of any formalized, routine spiritual activity – whether it be meditation, chanting, mindful walking, tantric sex, conscious breathing or whatever -- is to positively impact the entirely of one’s life. Not just the 20 minutes or so we spend in front of the altar or in prayer.
How does your Buddhist practice enhance your whole life?
That’s what I want to know.
I don’t care which tradition you embrace, how you practice, whether you chant Nam Myoho Renge Kyo or Om Mani Padme Om or Oobla Dee Oobla Dah. I don’t care if you try to empty your mind and “just sit,” or focus on a dynamic inner visualization.
What I care about is how it all moves forward with you out into your life.
Does it make you a happier person? Does it calm you down? Make you more courageous? Does it keep you sober? Does it make you less angry? Keep you sane when the in-laws come to town? Does it help you be a better parent or partner or dental patient? Does it clear up your skin or lower your blood pressure? Does it ease your fear of wrinkles or cancer or death?
Bottomline. What does it do for you and why do you keep at it?
That’s what I want to know.
My practice enables me to live the best possible life. It keeps me centered in the present moment, with the past and the future (and that fear of death) where they belong. It slows me down, chills me out, and makes me a better listener. It reminds me that not only am I fully responsible for my own life, but also for the well-being of entire world. And that everything matters. But that everything also changes. So do your best and care deeply, but don’t take it all too seriously. It makes me happier, which in turn makes me more silly (much to my kids' chagrin).
A friend who used to follow the Maharishi of TM-fame told me about a mom who came to the guru and said, “I am troubled because I don’t have much time to practice because of my young children.” He replied, “For now, your children are your practice.”
Yes, indeed. My children and my husband and my dog and my work and my garden and my love and my anger and my chronic neck pain – they are all my practice. As much as meditation and chanting and reading the Dhammapada or the Lotus Sutra or any other Buddhist writings.
I try to use it all to wake up, to appreciate my life, to be here now. However it happens – that’s my practice for that moment.
Whatever yours is… however you practice Buddhism… what does it do for you?
That’s what I want to know.
Queen Lolo
May 21, 2005
This blog entry is about three letters that Buddhists don’t usually talk about.
No, not S-G-I.
Today I’m talking about GOD.
Yep, G-O-D.
You can call it the mystic law if you prefer. Or the Source. Or the energy that makes it all happen. The little spark that animates us. The creative intelligence that keeps the wheels in motion. The creator, the higher power, the Wizard behind the screen.
Forgive me if I’m not sounding Buddhist. Lately I don’t know where “Buddhist” ends and everything else begins. And by the way, I’m encouraging this confusion in myself. I’m allowing the lines to blur. Permitting the divisions to fade. I’m surrendering and opening up to what feels right in my heart, rather than what works on paper or in theory.
So let’s talk about God.
When I was about three, I asked my dad what God was. He said, “God is anything you want God to be.” “Even a piece of toast?” I asked. “Yes, even a piece of toast,” he replied. I thought this was incredibly cool. (I still do.)
Baba Hari Dass writes, “A yogi searches for God in the world and says, “This is not God… this is not God… this is not God,” and he rejects everything. As soon as he finds God he says, “This is God… this is God.” He begins to see God in everything and accepts everything....”
God in everything. In a piece of toast. In the moon. In the wind, the flowers, the pavement, the dog pee on the patio. God is in me, in you, in every last bit of it. Now and forever.
I’m not talking about a man in the sky with a long white beard. (But you can have that version if that suits your fancy.) I’m talking about the energy within everything. The miracle of life. The fuel that makes the flowers bloom, puts the juice inside an orange, makes our hearts beat. Birth, life, death, everything in between – that’s what I mean by “God.”
Back in the ‘70s, Ram Dass (a Hindu) taught a class at the Buddhist Naropa Center. He alternated evenings with Trungpa Rinpoche (A Buddhist.) Ram Dass says, “Trungpa was teaching about meditation and emptiness, and I was teaching about devotion and the guru. The students felt like they were at a tennis match!”
I don’t think it’s a conflict to add a sense of devotion and surrender and wonder to the practice of Buddhism. For me, it’s a matter of putting gratitude for the miracle of existence or "God" at the head of everything in my practice. Acknowledging this power (or energy or source) makes me feel softer. More open. More connected to others. When we say “Namaste” at the end of my yoga class, I feel my inner light acknowledging the light within each person in the room. It’s the God in me recognizing and appreciating the God in them.
If that’s not Buddhist, oh well.
When my own child was three, out of the blue she told me, “God lives in our hearts and we live in God’s heart.”
I think I’ll hold that thought.
Queen Lolo
May 29, 2005
Today I witnessed a group activity that renewed my faith in the human race.
The individuals in this group were, without a doubt, the most fully-awakened beings I have met in a long time. Each was clearly in touch with her true nature, her joy for life, and her reason for being there. The entire group related to one another (and to themselves) with total honesty, spontaneous emotion, and deep love.
No, these were not monks, lamas, leaders, or saints.
These were eight homeschooled girls between the ages of 3 and 9, at a “My Little Pony”- themed birthday party for Madison, age 6.
The group activity I refer to was a five-minute game of Pin The Tail on the Donkey. But it wasn’t your ordinary version of the game.
Theirs had no winner or losers. There was no competition. They used no blindfold.
Instead, they played the game with eyes wide open.
As each child came to the front of the line to take her turn, she was handed a tail to stick on the donkey. (Actually it was My Little Pony in this case.) Each child decided for herself HOW she wanted to play. Most wanted to do it with their eyes open. And yet, in spite of this seeming-contradiction, each approached the game with total concentration and serious determination. The lack of a blindfold did nothing to take away the fun.
Watching from the sidelines, I almost fainted in delight.
The game took on the spirit of a cooperative art project rather than a competitive sport. When one child did opt to close her eyes, no one cared at all. In fact, no one even seemed to notice where the others placed their tails. It simply didn’t matter. No one was comparing themselves with anyone else.
The goal wasn’t to be the best or outdo your friends. It wasn’t about poking fun at someone who completely missed the mark. (Although my kids always love it when grandpa “accidentally” puts the tail on grandma’s back at our parties.) There were no winners, losers, or prizes. It wasn’t about what you’d get at the end.
It was the simple pleasure of the moment that counted. It was about sharing an activity with friends. Period.
These girls knew that the most direct route to their goal was straight ahead with open eyes. To hell with “rules” that hold you back and pit you against your friends, fostering competition rather than encouraging joy and connection. It was a simple activity that lasted no more than five or ten minutes. But it truly took my breath away. (And I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.)
As the birthday girl blew out the candles on her cake, I made a silent wish that these kids will have the courage and wisdom to live their whole lives in the same spirit they had that day at Madison's 6th birthday party, playing together with their eyes, minds, and hearts wide open.
While we try to teach our children all about life,
our children teach us what life is all about.
-- Angela Schwindt
Queen Lolo
June 05, 2005
“Lojong” is a Tibetan Buddhist mind-training practice that uses 59 slogans to help us wake up and open our hearts. I’ve been working with the teachings, and reading Pema Chodron’s book, “Start Where You Are” which focuses on each slogan and offers practice insights on how to apply them to daily modern life.
The slogans include, “Always maintain a joyful mind,” and “Don’t expect applause,” and “Change your attitude, but remain natural.”
Last night I read the chapter on “Be Grateful To Everyone.” Pema talks about how we usually want to avoid situations and people who drive us crazy – when, in fact, these are precisely what we need to wake up and grow.
“When you’ve met your match, you’ve found a teacher,” she writes.
Pema shares a story about the Indian Buddhist teacher, Atisha, who went to Tibet. He was worried about his “blind spots” -- those places in us all that we hide from ourselves and others. He wanted to make sure he’d continue waking up and working on himself. He was told that the people of Tibet were good-natured and kind, and was concerned they wouldn’t be irritating enough to push his buttons. So he brought along a mean-tempered Bengali tea boy to drive him crazy. (The comical ending to the story is that when he got to Tibet, he realized he didn’t need the tea boy after all, because the Tibetans weren’t as pleasant as he’d been told.)
Apparently Gurdjieff had his own version of the “tea boy” too. There was a very high-strung student in his community who drove all the other students insane. One day this guy freaked out and ran away. The others were thrilled! But Gurdjieff was upset, and went after him in his car. When an assistant asked Gurdjieff why he cared about this annoying student, Gurdjieff confided a secret. "You're not going to believe this... and you must tell no one. I PAY HIM to stay here!"
Pema told this story at a mediation center that later sent her a letter.“We used to have two people here helping and there was a lot of harmony. Now we have four and the trouble is beginning. So every day we ask each other,
“Is somebody paying you to be here?”
I know we all have people, organizations, and life situations that serve as our “tea boys.” No one has to pay to be exposed daily to irritations. We don’t have to look any further than our own families, friends, neighbors, or freeways. No matter how hard we try to surround ourselves by loving, supportive influences, we still get hit in the face every single day by a multitude of things we’d rather avoid. It's just part of the human drama.
So what’s the solution? “Be grateful to everyone” means viewing it all as grist for the mill. “Other people trigger the karma that we haven’t worked out,” Pema says. “They mirror us and give us the chance to befriend all of that ancient stuff that we carry around like a backpack full of granite boulders.”
Far from wishy-washy, “Be grateful to everyone” requires fierce willpower and focus. It’s much easier to jump into defensiveness, hide under the covers, or plot a juicy revenge. It’s simpler to pour a glass of wine, turn on the radio, and put that cranky tea boy right out of your mind. Afterall, he’s the one with the problem, right?
Well, Pema says, “Do you want to always be right? Or do you want to WAKE UP?”
Queen Lolo
June 09, 2005
Once upon a time, a certain gentleman of royal breeding got fed up with the good life and headed out into the big wide world to find himself. Although this handsome young prince had a fine young wife and an adorable newborn son, he didn’t let that stop him from pulling the the old "ta ta and see you around" routine.
That’s the third part of Act One of Buddha’s story. And it’s the part that's always been problematic for me.
You see, I have trouble mustering up compassion for a guy who dumps his family in favor of self-reflection. Perhaps that’s my problem, not his. In any case, this skeleton in Siddhartha’s royal closet puts a slight damper on my enthusiasm and makes him less a little less likable in my book. It's one of those great unresolved questions for me: How could our beloved Buddha have started out a self-indulgent deadbeat dad?
Then the other day, I found an answer that works for me. In quite a few ways.
It came from “Buddhism For Mothers,” a wonderful book by Sarah Napthali. In the very last paragraph of the book, Sarah writes:
“As mothers, what can we make of that story of the Buddha leaving his family in the middle of the night? I asked Fu Schroeder. ‘Oh, but he wasn’t the Buddha when he left his child. He was a young prince, in terrible pain,’ she answered. ‘If you’re awake, you don’t leave your child. Where would you go?’”
I love this explanation for so many reasons. First, because it reminds me to have compassion for human behavior that appears less than ideal. We all do stupid stuff. Intentionally or not, we all act in ways that hurt others, even those we truly love the most. Even Buddha did, on his way to enlightenment. And in the longrun, there is always the remote possibility that something jerky could end up being of great value for eternity. Just something to keep in mind the next time you mess up, or someone you love pulls a fast one.
Second, the explanation reminds me that most behavior comes from positive intent. Siddhartha wanted to find the answer to true happiness. Nothing wrong with that. It helps me be more compassionate when I remember that even the nastiest behavior is a poorly-executed attempt to meet a basic human need. (Marshall Rosenberg, the founder of “Non-Violent Communication” has authored numerous books on this subject that are well worth reading.)
Finally, the last four words in the question posed by Fu Schroder at the end of the explanation offer the greatest reminder of all. “If you’re awake, you don’t leave... Where would you go?”
Yes indeed. Where would you go? There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You can't escape yourself, and whatever you're looking for is right here anyway. It's inside your head, your heart, and your own back yard. As Dorothy said, "There's no place like home." So take off your shoes and stay awhile.
It's like the story I once read about a student observing his teacher, a Tibetan Buddhist monk. They had finished a class and the teacher went out to the sidewalk to wait for a taxi that was due to arrive. The student watched from inside the building, and began to worry as time passed and no cab appeared. As the minutes ticked by, his teacher simply stood on the sidewalk and waited calmly, without impatience or frustration. The student grew increasingly concerned about the time, while the teacher just stood peacefully and happy on the sidewalk.
Finally, the student came out and approached his teacher. “You’ve been standing here for 30 mintues waiting. Why aren't you getting upset?" he asked.
"Why should I get upset?" asked his teacher in surprise. "I'm not going anywhere."
The monk knew that where ever you go -- there you are. No matter how far we run, we're not going anywhere at all. And even though I have days when I crave solitude and dream of long stretches of quiet meditation, I know that for me, there's more material for spiritual growth in the midst of family life than on a mountaintop. Surrounded by personalities and chaos and bills and hugs and kisses and dust and laundry and strawberry smoothies and skinned knees and bad moods and so much love you can't imagine... there's no escaping the moment-to-moment, endless opportunity to face myself, to genuinely experience the law of cause and effect, to care for others, and to truly live my practice, with nowhere to hide. (Unless you're my dog, then there's that cozy spot under the bed where no one can reach you.)
So what do you think? Could Siddhartha have done it without leaving home? Or would his princely duties and all the royal temptations have gotten in his way? What about YOU? Does "real life" contribute to or hold you back from your spiritual practice? Given the chance, how would you really like to live and practice?
Queen Lolo
une 14, 2005
Buddhism teaches us that relying on external sources for our happiness is the sure-fire path to pain. Whatever we can GET, we can lose. (And we will.) If I need things to be a certain way in order to be happy, I will constantly suffer. Either I will suffer from the eventual loss, or I will suffer from fear of the eventual loss, or I will suffer from it all being other than what I expected. You get the picture.
On the other hand, if I accept life and other people on their own terms, I will not be attached to things being a certain way. So I can be happy no matter what.
But lately I’ve been thinking. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with suffering. This eternal process of wanting… searching… getting… becoming dissatisfied… wanting again… searching… and so on… Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe it’s what keeps us moving, growing, evolving, expanding.
For instance, for years I lived in a place I didn’t like anymore. I wanted to move, but my husband didn’t. I was suffering in that environment, but I tried not to focus on it. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter where we lived. That happiness comes from what’s INSIDE, not the external surroundings. That in fact, we had a nicer place than most of the world’s population and I should be damn grateful.
It didn’t work. I grew more and more unhappy. I wanted more. I wanted something different and new. Well, we did finally move. Our new home is prettier, more peaceful, more spacious, surrounded by nature. And guess what? We’re all much happier. I'm happier. My family is happier. Really and truly happier. From the outside in.
So here’s my question. How do you know when the problem really IS something outside of you and that a real, physical change is in order? If your job, your home, your partner, your pajamas just don’t feel RIGHT – how do you know if it’s just your own expectations that need to be adjusted, or if you really should move on? How do you know if it’s your relationship, or your job, or your pajamas – or if it’s just that never ending, gnawing sense of dissatisfaction we all carry around from birth to death as part of the human condition?
Lately I’ve been think that perhaps suffering isn’t something to alleviate, but rather something that helps us pay attention and keep moving forward. If we don’t try to numb it, medicate it, hide it, run from it, or put on a happy face, suffering can be a very motivating force and one hell of a wake up call.
The question is – how do you know if it’s a wake up call that needs to be answered, or just that nagging itch that wiggles through our lives life to make sure our monkey minds are never at peace?
Queen Lolo
June 21, 2005
I finally roped one of my family members into watching one of my old favorites, “Joe Vs. the Volcano.” If you haven’t seen it in awhile, do yourself a favor and take a look. It’s a lovely “fairy tale” about the awakening of Joe Banks, a guy suffering from “terminal brain fog” who faces his mortality and becomes a hero. There are plenty of sleepy moments, but the overall message is worth wading through the rest.
My favorite moment in the movie (and I don’t give anything away here) is when Patricia Graynamore, played by Meg Ryan, tells Joe, “My father says almost the whole world's asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says only a few people are awake. And they live in a state of constant, total amazement.”
I saw the movie for the first time in 1990, and that line has stuck with me ever since. “Living in a state of constant, total amazement” is, to me, what being awakened and enlightened is all about.
I only got through half the film with my daughter before we decided to go to sleep and save the rest for tonight. As I turned off the VCR, I asked her what the film is trying to tell us. “It’s the same as when I always say we should live life the way it’s meant to be lived,” said my eight-year old Buddha Girl. “We should have fun and appreciate life.”
In his review of the movie, Roger Ebert wrote, “At night, in those corners of our minds we deny by day, magical things can happen in the moon shadows. And if they can’t, they should, and we should always, in any event, act as if they can.”
The truth is, the magic isn’t just in the shadows of the moon. There’s magic in the glaring light of day, in the trees, in the warmth from my laptop computer, in your heartbeat, in the annoying sound of the leafblower outside my window, in every little thing that makes up life. When we’re awake, we know it’s all magic –and yet it’s also all ordinary. When we’re not quite awake, we can still act as if the magic is there. Perhaps that, in fact, is what faith is all about.
Posted by at 01:34 PM | Comments (1)
June 14, 2005
Is the problem really within you?
Buddhism teaches us that relying on external sources for our happiness is the sure-fire path to pain. Whatever we can GET, we can lose. (And we will.) If I need things to be a certain way in order to be happy, I will constantly suffer. Either I will suffer from the eventual loss, or I will suffer from fear of the eventual loss, or I will suffer from it all being other than what I expected. You get the picture.
On the other hand, if I accept life and other people on their own terms, I will not be attached to things being a certain way. So I can be happy no matter what.
But lately I’ve been thinking. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with suffering. This eternal process of wanting… searching… getting… becoming dissatisfied… wanting again… searching… and so on… Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe it’s what keeps us moving, growing, evolving, expanding.
For instance, for years I lived in a place I didn’t like anymore. I wanted to move, but my husband didn’t. I was suffering in that environment, but I tried not to focus on it. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter where we lived. That happiness comes from what’s INSIDE, not the external surroundings. That in fact, we had a nicer place than most of the world’s population and I should be damn grateful.
It didn’t work. I grew more and more unhappy. I wanted more. I wanted something different and new. Well, we did finally move. Our new home is prettier, more peaceful, more spacious, surrounded by nature. And guess what? We’re all much happier. I'm happier. My family is happier. Really and truly happier. From the outside in.
So here’s my question. How do you know when the problem really IS something outside of you and that a real, physical change is in order? If your job, your home, your partner, your pajamas just don’t feel RIGHT – how do you know if it’s just your own expectations that need to be adjusted, or if you really should move on? How do you know if it’s your relationship, or your job, or your pajamas – or if it’s just that never ending, gnawing sense of dissatisfaction we all carry around from birth to death as part of the human condition?
Lately I’ve been think that perhaps suffering isn’t something to alleviate, but rather something that helps us pay attention and keep moving forward. If we don’t try to numb it, medicate it, hide it, run from it, or put on a happy face, suffering can be a very motivating force and one hell of a wake up call.
The question is – how do you know if it’s a wake up call that needs to be answered, or just that nagging itch that wiggles through our lives life to make sure our monkey minds are never at peace?
Queen Lolo
July 09, 2005
Introduction/Back Story: I recently decided to do a “test” and see what happens if I chant “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo” more instead of just doing my Buddhist practice without verbalizing this specific mantra. I have been consciously chanting and paying attention to any external signs or results. The following occured during this middle of this experiment. Coincidence or not? I'll let you decide.
I got a new car recently and thought it would be fun to get one of those personalized license plates. I wanted something clever or Buddhist or both, but everything I thought of was either already taken or voted down by my kids. I decided to save the money (personalized plates come with an annual fee) and just settle for whatever the California Department of Motor Vehicles sent me.
At the very least, I wanted the letters and numbers to be easy to remember, so I could pick my Toyota out of all the others in a crowded parking lot. At the very most, I hoped for something that might somehow feel a bit “personalized.” “Wouldn’t it be cool if I ended up with something that had some Buddhist meaning?” I said to my kids, knowing the odds of that were one in ten zillion.
Well, today I got my new license plate in the mail.
It has four numbers. And just three letters.
The letters are, in perfect order: NMR.
Good thing there isn’t a K at the end, or I just might have fainted. I mean, actual proof is one thing. Overkill is another.
Queen Lolo
August 06, 2005
I just finished a one-week acting camp at Santa Monica Playhouse with my 8 year old daughter. As a child, I didn’t like camp and I did ZERO acting. But as they say, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” And as a writer, I am always on the look-out for opportunities to shake up my insides, wake up my brain cells, and scare myself silly.
So I took a deep breath and signed up as the oldest “kid” in this exchange program with 13 students from the Los Angeles theater and 14 students from their Tokyo “sister” school, The Model Language Studio.
We spent five intensive days under the direction of Chris DeCarlo, a wonderful, witty, and passionately creative man, who brilliantly communicated and directed this conceptual experience to an unlikely ensemble that ranged from age 7 to adult, spoke two different languages, and spanned three generations.
Our musical performance piece was about a treasure hunt, with three teams searching for their deepest desires. One the second day of camp, Chris asked us each to craft a sentence about what we wanted most in life. Was it more money? Was it fame? Was it entertainment and fun?
That evening, I gave the question a great deal of thought. What makes me happy? What gives me the most satisfaction? Is it my family? It is creative expression? Is it good health? Is it changing the world? Is it losing that extra 5 pounds?
I realized that while all those are important to me, they are all worthless without one very specific thing:
An inner feeling of appreciation.
I’m not talking about the sentiment of appreciation. I’m talking about an inner experience of appreciation. Without it, I’m just a hamster on a wheel, running in circles, accumulating this and that. But when life is filtered through the sweet lens of appreciation, I can have nothing more than my own inhale and my exhale, and be the happiest camper on earth. Just like Nichiren on Sato Island.
Blanche Hartman, the former abbess of the San Francisco Zen Center, writes, “You know, if you just think about it a moment, it's simply awesomely, amazingly wonderful just to be alive! Just to be alive is awesome. It's a wonderful gift, and especially on a beautiful spring day like this. But you know, it took me a lot of years of meditation practice, and a heart attack, before I really got it that just to be alive is awesome. As I was walking out of the hospital having survived a heart attack about eleven years ago now, I had this thought: "Wow! I could be dead. The rest of my life is just a gift." And then I thought: "Well, it always has been a gift from the very beginning and I never noticed it until it was almost gone." I think that is true of many of us, that we don't notice what a gift it is just to be alive.”
The question is, HOW can we live with appreciation so that we CAN notice the gift of being alive?
Would you believe I found some answers – not at a Buddhist retreat, but at a local acting camp for kids? The very first day, Chris taught us five aspects to bring to our acting:
1. Energy and enthusiasm. Approach every moment as fresh and new. Bring all your aliveness and being to each and every scene.
2. Focus and concentration. Pay attention. Be in the moment. Stay present. Don’t let your mind and energy wander from what you are involved in.
3. Commitment. Go for it. Don’t be afraid of mistakes; in fact, if you make them, make them BIG! Being right isn’t what matters. Expressing your heart is what counts. You don’t have to be brilliant -- you just have to be YOU.
4. Be safe. Don’t do anything that feels unsafe or immoral. Don't hurt yourself or anyone else.
5. Trust and respect. We’re all in this together. Have trust and show respect for those around you. Make the space safe for everyone.
These were all tips for acting. But they also guided me in appreciating my week at camp in a deeper, spiritual context. The camp felt like my own, secret, personal Buddhist intensive, with every moment a chance to cultivate awareness, presence, and, especially, appreciation.
In fact, one of the most pertinent lessons was the one on BOWING. “When you take your bow at the end of a show, you are not saying LOOK HOW GREAT I WAS! You are bowing in appreciation for the audience's time and attention."
Something else happened at camp, something far greater than my own personal Buddhist trip. You see, the Japanese students attend a school in Tokyo that uses acting to teach English, and this was part of their educational program. English-speakers also committed to learning a few lines in Japanese. (I struggled all week just to learn one line in Japanese, which ironically was “Money is the greatest treasure!”) Because (and in spite) of this underlying challenge, everyone worked together with tender compassion and tremendous trust, patience, and understanding. The Santa Monica Playhouse students helped the exchange students pronounce their lines, and the exchange students helped us with our Japanese. There wasn't a second of judgement, ridicule, or impatience. A warm hug, a reassuring back rub, a friendly smile, a "thumbs up" often had to take the place of the spoken word. But it all worked. By the end of one, short, action-packed week, we had become an international community of actors, crying and hugging as we said our goodbyes after the final performance.
In the end, our show delivered the message that life's true treasure isn't something to search for. It's right here where we stand, in the friendships we already have. It was the theme of the play, and the actual reality of the camp experience. It was pretty darn amazing.
All of life's a stage...
I guess it's really true. The lessons that apply to theater, apply to regular daily life as well. And certainly to my Buddhist practice. By following the 5 keys to acting, our little group created more than just a show. We cultivated a supportive atmosphere of warmth, friendship, and appreciation, treasures worth more than all the Manolo Blahnik shoes in Neiman's. The bonds made at camp were a direct result of all us all putting in our best effort, which involves every one of the 5 keys to acting. Energy and enthusiasm; focus and concentration; commitment; safety; and trust. It worked for our performance, it worked for our friendships, and I know it works in daily life and practice, too.
The night camp ended, I found the following quote by Suzuki Roshi,