Refuge From The Storm

"Until enlightenment, I go for refuge to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha..."

In Buddhism, "taking refuge" is a foundational concept. We recite these lines repeatedly - often throughout the day. But what do they mean?

Today, I got a great lesson in refuge from my dog. She's afraid of storms, and with any hint of thunder, she launches at me like flypaper, sticking with a persistence that is impressive. If I get up and go to the restroom, she is on my heels, and sitting under my feet. If I am sitting on the couch, her preferred position is on my lap. She will, with much encouragement, settle for immediately next to me, or wrapped around my shoulders like a winter scarf. She is relentless.

She is convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I have the power to protect her from the storms. In her mind, a tornado could come roaring through our house, and as long as she is with me, she will live through it. (To be fair, the photo here is of another pup who shares similar faith in me.)

Of course, their faith is misplaced. If our home were destroyed, I would not be immune to the dangers faced by the other beings in it. Upon tornado warnings, we all trundle to the basement, hiding in the bathroom tub like those clowns you see in the car at the circus. (HOW many will fit in that tiny space?)

But, it got me thinking - that to which we hold when things are difficult, that to which we retreat - that is our refuge. When times are easy, the words may be easy "I go for refuge...". But what do we do when times are hard? To whom and what do we turn? Do we drink until we're numb and take refuge in the bottle? Do we cling to our loved ones and place our sole refuge in them (who are just as unable to "protect" us from harm as I an unable to protect my dogs)? Do we crawl into bed and refuse to emerge for hours and sometimes days or weeks?

Or, do we go to the Dharma, the Sangha, the Buddha? Do we ask ourselves what applies to prevent our minds from being mired in the afflictive emotions that rise during difficult times? Do we call or write a teacher or friend who is from our Dharma Center and discuss the conundrum we're saddled with? Do we practice actively in our lives, applying the study and work we do when things are rosier? Do we stay present through the difficulties, fully and completely in the moment?

In times of happiness and times of sorrow, and even times in-between, that to which we consistently turn is our refuge. A constructively critical self-assessment of what/who we take refuge in can really aid us in our practice.

What do you take refuge in?

You Are Less Than Human

It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.
--Albert Einstein

I had a conversation yesterday with a good friend about the direction our country and our world are headed in. We discussed technology and the part it plays in the acceleration and direction of said world. The conversation gave voice to some concerns that have been growing in my mind and, when combined with a spiritual perspective, concerns I find troubling from a social/societal standpoint.

As a technology worker, I spend the better part of my working (and much too much of my non-working) life online. I sometimes wonder at the point of pushing pixels around all day, although I have seen great things come of and from the internet. I watch a lot of the nature and tone of the conversations that take place, and see that technology is definitely a catalyst. But, to what effect?

On the internet, it is easy to flock with those who are "flocking" in the same direction we are. On the internet, it is easy to reinforce our stereotypes (even of ourselves). On the internet, it is easy to take that "other-ization" that comes so easily in our minds and lives, and amplify it until it drowns out everything and everyone who isn't rocking to the same tune we are.

On the internet, it is easy to treat anyone who disagrees with us as less than human...
Less than worthy...
Less than us.

"HOW could THEY think THAT...?"
"HOW could THEY believe THAT...?"
"WHO do THEY think THEY are...?"

And implied in all of this is:

"I am right, and I would never do...(fill in the blank)"
"I know more than they do, and I am superior to them because...(fill in the blank)"
"I can't stand them and I have the right to feel superior because...(fill in the blank)"

In the process, we reinforce and reify our "I" until it is a solid chunk of granite, anchoring and weighing down every thought, feeling, and experience we have. We build granite walls and box ourselves in with them.

When we meditate and work with bodhicitta, that work helps break down that separation between us and others. The wall of "identity", that concrete, permanent 'I' that we have worked so long to build, is deconstructed brick by brick (and sometimes particle by particle). Our heart opens, like a lotus emerging from the mud, reaching toward the sun and fresh air.

And then we take our lotus online...

The internet is what we make of it. We can use the technology-facilitated communication to widen or narrow the gulf and separation. The key, I think, is being mindful in communication.

I'll leave with a few verses from Shantideva's Bodhicaryavatara:

...
114. Just as the hands and the like are cherished because they are members of the body, why are the embodied beings not cherished in the same way, for they are the members of the world?
...
117. Therefore, just as you protect yourself from even minor disparagement, cultivate a spirit of protection and a spirit of compassion toward the world.

Baby, It's Windy Outside

What if, every single time we felt a stiff wind, we just "went with it" and allowed ourselves to jump into a colossal face plant? What if, when we felt a breeze, we started running in its direction, regardless of where we were initially headed?

It wouldn't make much sense, we'd look like fools, and we'd have a difficult time getting anywhere:
BOOM. Splat. Oh, look at her running by - must be a stiff breeze. Pure silliness?

Negative mental states and emotions are just like the wind in this example. Sometimes they're strong and carry more force, sometimes subtle. But, they're always impermanent. They always go. How fast they 'go' depends a lot of the time upon how hard we attach to them. If I get angry over something, and I "stew in my anger" (have you ever visualized yourself sitting in a pot of anger, cooking?), the anger will stay and color everything I do. One of my teachers calls it "wearing anger glasses" - everything we see and come into contact with is then colored by that emotion.

While we would never act outwardly in the way mentioned in the first paragraph, we do this all the time with our minds.

Have you ever done a face plant? Smarts, doesn't it? One step down and then BOOM. But the colossality (is that a word?) of that kind of fall is nothing compared to some of the after effects of anger.

I think maybe when we really do dive into the emotional turmoil of our minds - when we become completely absorbed in negative emotions - steeped or stewed in them - the effect (upon us and those around us) is just as extreme, and often just as painful. Like ice-skating with friends and holding hands, when one falls, pretty soon everyone is on the ground. Bruises heal and bones knit pretty quickly. Relationships and friendships take time - and may never heal completely.

When these negative emotions come up, they are often difficult to let go. It's like herding cats - you get a few going in the direction you need, and one sprints off after who knows what. But it's not an impossible task... with practice. And practice. And practice.

Here's to fruitful practice for us all.

How to Ride a Roller Coaster (When You Can't Get Off)

A long, long time ago, I ran into a situation the likes of which I had never experienced. I cried. I pleaded (to the empty air). I complained - at length - about everything I didn't like, everyone who had a hand in it, and railed against the injustice of it all. And then, it hit me. I was on a roller coaster a thousand feet in the air, wind screaming past me, getting ready to hit that drop we all secretly thought might just end in death when we were children.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

There was no panic lever.

I couldn't "stop the ride".

I could not change a single thing about the external circumstances I was facing. The only thing I could do was change my own thinking about them.

It is a foundational lesson that has repeated itself over and over personally, in the lives of friends, family, co-workers, and (just about) every other person I've come into contact with. When these situations come up, now (ok, usually) I remember that experience, and the fact that sometimes we cannot control or affect the outcome. We can only how we deal with it in our own minds.

I think often of this quote from His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama:
"If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry.
If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying.
There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever."

I still seldom throw my hands in the air and squee into the plunge of the roller coaster of life when it gets to those huge downward drops.
But at least now, I'm able to open my eyes and loosen my grip on the safety bar...
a little.

Swimming Lessons on Saka Dawa

The self-centered ego is such a powerful - and limiting - thing. The world is so much smaller when we frame things in context of "I, me, my, mine". Those labels, and the resultant views ("I don't like her because she did ------ to ME", "He took MY ----- and didn't ask", etc), box us and other people into these preconceived roles where the echoes of attachment and desire bounce off of each other until we're in the middle of this monumental cacophony, and we can barely function for all of the "noise". It induces tremendous suffering - both in our lives, and in the lives of others.

Learning to let go of that context is so difficult. And yet, it is so simple. It's a bit like learning to swim. When we're learning to swim, we hold onto the edge of the pool, the bottom of the pool, someone else who can swim (our teachers), etc, like our lives depend upon it/them. Most of the time, they do. The edge/bottom is solid, as are our teachers - they allow us to hold, and explore a 'little' of the water. But we will never know the feeling of drifting with the flow of the water, of being surrounded and uplifted by its current or tide, and the freedom that comes from relaxing enough to just float on the surface and experience the peace of being "part" of the flow, without letting go. We can, by just holding on with a few fingers, even fool ourselves into thinking we've immersed ourselves in it. But, to gain the full experience, there comes a point where we must let go.

I'm not saying that letting go of the ego is as easy of letting go of the side of the pool and learning to swim. But, if you think back, there was, for many of us, a lot of fear involved in that letting go. There was a lot of practice before taking our first feeble swipes at treading water, then retreating back to the safety of the edge (or our teachers). But, it was pure elation when we finally did it. That fear, it seems to me, is very similar to self-grasping. It's a self-protective mechanism that virtually immobilizes us.

The trick is to learn how to navigate the waters (experiencing and operating without the self-centered ego) - to learn the flow and feel, to practice (and practice, and practice). But at some point, which for many of us (this writer included) may be eons and lifetimes away, we will have to let go.

Post-Retreat Reflections

I spent the weekend with a group of people who focus a lot of time and energy on cultivating compassion, trying to shed their egos, and thinking about how to benefit other people. I witnessed many, many quiet acts of selflessness, both there with them, and when I returned home.

My wife (who thinks I'm a bit daft for some of the actvities I engage in), after having a superbly yucky week, STILL took the time from her weekend of handling EVERYTHING (all 5 dogs and people stopping by who are used to me being 'there' when they want/need) to go through the mound (ok, MOUNTAIN) of mail and paperwork on the counter, organize it, clean the garage, and the laundry closet. This was after taking one pup to the vet on Saturday, walking all 5 dogs each day (which takes 2+ hours, because she has to walk them in 2 groups), grocery shopping for the week, etc, etc - most of which she never even mentioned. She did all of this so that I could go work on cultivating more compassion, shedding my ego, and cultivating the desire to ease suffering in others. Heh heh... lesson #1...

Lesson #2 came along about the middle of the second day when my throat started getting dry, and then later again the following morning. We were reciting some texts (it takes a while), and I'm not used to talking a lot because I work at home. We hadn't had any water, and I was parched...it was going to be a long day. By the following morning, I was literally fantasizing about ice water: like how beautiful it was and how nice it would be to gulp it down...from a clear, tall glass. I showed up this morning, and then I looked up at my teacher. And realized. He had been reciting the whole weekend. For HOURS and HOURS every day. While we could drop out and concentrate in certain parts, he was leading, and so could not. And, he had to speak loudly and clearly...in a language that is not his native tongue. Never complaining, he even answered our questions at lunch the first day - his food still on his plate for most of the time because we had so many, while we shoveled into our mouths, trying to eat well before fasting.

This morning when we broke our fast, we ate breakfast together. Again, our patient teacher sat with his meal in front of him, not even able to take a bite for the first 15 minutes because of the volley of "who, what, why, and how" we were firing at him. All the while, he smiled, answered, encouraged more questions - never even looking at his food. He could have previously eaten a huge breakfast for all of the interest he showed in what was in front of him. But he hadn't - he hadn't eaten for about 43 hours. Again, while we were shoveling fruit and oatmeal like it was the meal of "the gods" (and it sure tasted good...), he was more interested in if we "got it". When I left, about 45 minutes later, most of the food was still on his plate, and he was answering questions and engaging in discussion with great enthusiasm. Lesson #3.

On my way home, I stopped to buy a "treat" for lunch later. As I was leaving, a man walked toward my car. He was talking to himself about something that was beyond my ability to understand - most likely because it was in his own private language. He was filthy - and I mean down to the bone filthy. He was wearing probably at least 3 layers of clothes - long johns (I think), then jeans, then baggy shorts over the jeans, with the same pattern repeated up top. He was so thin, I think he might have weighed 110lbs soaking wet (with all those clothes on). I prepared myself for the inevitable..."ma'am, can you...?". It never came. He instead headed straight for the trash can, and with a skill that comes from years of such practice, pulled out the only clean piece of paper in the entire thing. With the receipt in-hand, he then walked over to where a tire had mashed something that was barely food before it was discarded and flattened, and scraped the remains onto the receipt with all the reverence of a priest who had spilled the communion offering. I just KNEW what he was going to do next. Yep - he wrapped up and popped into his pocket for a later culinary delight. He went back to said garbage can to see if he could rustle up some liquid to wash it down, found a good bit, and then walked on his merry way. I stopped him and got a closer view, shared a few words, etc, and then we parted ways.

Lesson #4 - This ghost of a man... hollow eyes, the most base life one can experience, no hope of anything beyond the pain and suffering of day-to-day - he was an outward manifestation of how most of us live our lives on the inside. And, the majority of us turn our eyes away when we see this outward appearance with the same vigor with which we nurture it internally. We think nothing of eating the spoiled crap off the streets that has who knows what kind of bacteria, germs, waste, etc - but in the form of what we consume and foster with, and in, our minds. We are all, in some way, hungry ghosts, mentally drifting through this existence, trying to gulp down salt water in the form of so many distractions, thinking it will quench our thirst.

I learned so many things this weekend... most are intensely personal and not shared here, but I wanted to at least share these few.

Your kindness is a treasure. I am so grateful...it is beyond my ability to express.

Awakening

Lifetimes spent
Lamenting -
“I never had”,
Possibilities never realized.
Caught up in desires,
Driven by ego’s imaginings.
All the while,
In front of me
Mothers, fathers,
Sisters, brothers,
Friends, enemies, strangers -
All my children.
And my fathers, mothers,
My friends, my brothers.
Billions, generations -
All my relations.
Under delusion,
I lost time,
Wasted, wanting,
Missing the connection
Amaranthine thread
Blind, I was -
Not just to the thread,
But the tapestry.
Wholly beautiful.


(copyright 2011)