The Truth and Delusion of Mind Made Experience

Taking a walk this morning, I felt drawn to listen to an old talk from Gil, on the Dhammapada. The ancient text goes like this:

All experience is preceded by mind,

Led by mind,

Made by mind.

Speak or act with a corrupted mind,

and suffering follows

As the wagon wheel follows the hoof of the ox.

All experience is preceded by mind,

Led by mind,

Made by mind.

Speak or act with a peaceful mind,

And happiness follows

Like a never-departing shadow.

"He abused me, attacked me,

Defeated me, robbed me!"

For those carrying on like this,

Hatred does not end.

"She abused me, attacked me,

Defeated me, robbed me!"

For those not carrying on like this,

Hatred ends.

Hatred never ends through hatred.

By non-hate alone does it end.

This is an ancient truth.

The words and Gil's commentary came as much needed medicine for my unruly mind. Unguarded thoughts have been running havoc and brought much turmoil in both body and mind. Hence the severe pain in my right shoulder that reached a climax in the past few days. Muscles tensing to marble like hardness and compressing a nerve. I need to stop and take a look and change my ways of mind. Whining, hatred of outer conditions, identification with 'poor me' self have caused enough unhappiness.

I have little control over some circumstances. I also have little control over the mind. 

I can keep on practicing however. Over and over, bringing the attention back to the mind. What am I thinking? Is it wholesome? Is it helpful? Where does it really come from? How else can I view this moment? 

Not trusting the mind . . . 

I Like to Sing

Why I do the work I do:

Last Saturday, I witnessed Emma break into a smile, and start clapping, and singing "America . . . ". I kneeled besides her wheelchair, and clapped and sang with her. The musician leading our group had succeeded once more to open doors for residents like Emma who are otherwise walled into silence. 

A few days later, I stopped by her room, and sat by her as she laid curled up on her bed. I told her how much I had enjoyed seeing her so happy, singing the other day. And got her to smile. "Yes, I like to sing." 

I have been thinking a lot about Emma and her quiet suffering. 

"We've got to get you to sing more often, Emma."

Breaking Their Bank

Found in my mailbox this morning, this offer from a mom from the Bay Area French group listserv:

Nous avons une tirelire où nous mettons l'argent que nous trouvons et nous avons décidé d'utiliser son contenu pour acheter un boom box pour vos résidents. Nous compléterons ce qui manque. Ce sera un modèle de base comme vous pouvez l'imaginer mais il pourra jouer des CDs. Etes-vous toujours prenante?

(We have a piggy bank where we put money that we find and we have decided to use the money to buy a boom box for your residents. We will make up the difference. It will be a basic model as you can imagine, but it will play CDs. Are you still interested?)

This in response to a call I put out to the group to donate unused CD players that we could use in activities with residents at assisted living community where I work.

Generosity is a wonderful thing, not just for the donor, but also for the recipients. In this case a whole circle of them. First me as the facilitator, then the activity coordinators who lead the music groups, then the residents who so much love to sing and dance.

Noticing barriers melting around the heart, and a sweet wave filling in whole chest. I imagine a bunch of little French kids gathered around their piggy bank, and counting their coins. And Anita, their mom teaching them what it's like to practice generosity.

I feel inspired. How about you?

The Inescapability of Dukkha

Many moments today, I found myself surrounded, imbibed even, with great unpleasantness. First was the pain in the neck, down the right shoulder, the arm, the forearm, the wrist, the fingertips. A pinched nerve awaiting release . . . Then, a general malaise from difficult conditions, outside. I could (can still) feel the tightness in the stomach, the bitter taste in the mouth, the ball in the throat, the tiredness from fighting so much what could not be done away with. At least not now. 

Body and mind mirroring each other in endless ways. Acting out Ayya Khema's insight:

The Buddha also taught a supermundane, transcendental(lokuttara) series of cause and effect. That one starts with unsatisfactoriness (dukkha). Dukkha needs to be seen for what it really is, namely the best starting point for our spiritual journey. Unless we know and see dukkha, we would have little reason to practice. If we haven't acknowledged the over-all existence of dukkha, we wouldn't be interested in getting out of its clutches.

The transcendental-dependent-origination starts out with the awareness and inner knowledge of the inescapable suffering in the human realm. When we reflect upon this, we will no longer try to find a way out through human endeavor, nor through becoming more informed or knowledgeable, or richer, or owning more or having more friends. Seeing dukkha as an inescapable condition, bound up with existence, we no longer feel oppressed by it. It's inescapable that there is thunder and lightning, so we don't try to reject the weather. There have to be thunder, lightning and rain, so we can grow food.

Dukkha is equally inescapable. Without it, the human condition would not exist. There wouldn't be rebirth, decay and death. Having seen it like that, one loses one's resistance to it. The moment one is no longer repelled by dukkha, suffering is greatly diminished. It's our resistance which creates the craving to get rid of it, which makes it so much worse.

~ Ayya Khema, Dukkha for Knowledge and Vision ~  

It's my resistance which creates the craving to get rid of 'it', which makes it so much worse. I know, I know . . . in my head.

And when I am really honest with myself, deep down, the delusion still holds for the promise of more pain free states. At the root is sensual desire and the wanting to feel good.

Thinking of Charlotte Joko Beck

I got word today that Charlotte Joko Beck had entered hospice. Charlotte is one of the few remaining old grande dames of contemporary Buddhism, along with Ruth Denison and Toni Packer.

In her honor, I would like to share this video:

Yes, formal practice is not the whole thing. Just like practicing scales on the piano does not make one a great pianist. "It's not enough."

Nothing like the crucible of the daily hassles . . . Aren't we lucky?

No Need to Go to the Monastery

I used to fantasize about leading the life of a nun, in a monastery in Burma. A radical act, rehearsed many times in the privacy of my mind. 

No longer.

What has changed, is the realization that the path of service, right where I live, can be just as good as the monastery. When relating to someone with extreme forgetfulness, there is no other option but to be completely engaged in the present moment. The consequences for not showing up or for operating from some theoretical idea, can be quite severe, including getting punched, pinched, or yelled at. Yesterday, one of the resident called me "you, stupid cow", after I had checked out for a second, and failed to be right there, with her. Not quite as elegant as being hit by a zen master's stick, but just as powerful.  

If the Buddha was alive today, I am pretty sure he would advise his monks to spend time in assisted living communities or nursing homes. Being with the forgetful ones is one of the most intense practices I have come across. And one of the most freeing also! 

If you are ever so inclined, try it some time. Volunteer in one of those places and let the residents be your teachers. 

Three Gifts

Just as I was about to leave for the evening, I caught his glance. A lonely figure resting in his wheelchair, Richard looked as if he could use some company. He did. 

Listening to Richard's speech, I stuck to my intention to stay present for him, no matter what. That I could not make sense of his speech was besides the point. More important was letting him know that I was willing to hang in there with him. Richard kept on talking. There was mention of him being in an ashram. Oh! yes the ashram . . . I repeated empathically, remembering his past as a spiritual teacher and his many travels to India. He smiled, then resumed his disordered discourse. Just when I was starting to tire, Eddy the housekeeper came to clean Richard's spot on the dinner table. And I heard, loud and clear, Richard's "thank you". Eddy kept on with his job, unfazed. I thought to myself, "wow!"

When it was time to end, I thanked Richard for the gift of our time together. And I got a second surprise. "Yes, this was very special. Thank you." Richard took my hand and pulled it to his face. "I have fear." That was all he could get out, before drowning again into a stream of made up words. 

Driving home, I got yet another surprise. In my heart, this time. Feeling so completely whole, and at peace.