I write therefore I am
(words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, stories, ideas)
This is one of those posts that actually started being written whilst cycling home. It was three in the morning (eleven hours ago...), it was cold, snow everywhere and I was coming home from work, feeling tired. Not mind-tired but muscle-tired. Just enough to make the prospect of getting home and cuddling on my sheets in the silence something to look for.
Yesterday was a tough day. Like most have been for the last couple of months, even three months now. The long and short of it was that, roughly two weeks ago, right after finishing NaNoWriMo, and as I was backing up ALL my stuff, the IT nightmare took place - I lost it all.
As it stands I don't know if I truly have lost ten years worth of stories and audio tracks but, I can't get access to any of it.
And I have to wait until I can get a chance to go to some people that might be able to help.
During the last two weeks I've been trying very hard to accept this and move on - but I simply can't. I can't write, I just keep thinking the same spiraling thoughts over and over. I know. It's a bit ridiculous to be so attached to information, something that, ultimately, is empty (as Buddhists say), but what can I do? Brains and the minds therein are strange inhabitants of our existence.
I have had quite a few insights in relation to this situation. Some are pretty obvious ones. Some less so. But, as far as they've come, they haven't actually changed my inner world of doom and gloom. I feel I'm on emotional stasis.
Even though my mind continues to search for answers amidst its files, creating more and more connections, I'm trying not to read too much into it, especially when it comes up with some pretty weird scenarios about the meaning of it all. I don't know if any of this was meant. I don't know if this is for the best. If this is a test. If it's all just random. If I should change direction and focus in my life. If this is the ultimate proof of artistic survival. what I do know is that all these things reveal fears and expectations...
One of the things I was thinking about last night was how this emotional wear and tear could serve as some sort of preparation to my upcoming meditation retreat (if I get there, since I'm having problems with my visa as well - that's what it's been feeling, problems all around... there's very little in my life right now that seems to offer a place of rest and peace - and that makes my feeling of isolation become overwhelming at times). Like this turmoil to be experienced and accepted right now would enable me to move deeper into meditation during the retreat. Or maybe it's a reverse echo of sorts, a kind of prequel for what's to come.
I'm sure that these things are true if I do get there and the retreat goes anywhere near where it did last year - and, from what I've gathered inside and with one of the monks, it's bound to.
Death is the final frontier.
Yesterday I also considered the very simple scenario of looking back on all of this from the vantage point of old age. Would it be still the drama I experience now?
If I do lose the data I think I'll remember this event when I'm older.
But if I don't, I'll probably forget. Lessons learned with pain (or, rather, with intensity) tend to stick around much longer.
Have I learned my lesson in regards to backing up stuff?
Not really. I was backing up the data and created an accident. And I know myself too well to believe I'm going to change my natural clumsiness in the next hundred years or so. More than anything I have to learn to live with it...
In any case, the whole point of what I'm writing here is simply to share how deep the impact of creating patterns inside one's mind can be.
Obviously I cannot know any other minds besides mine - at least, not in the same way and, I would venture, as profoundly. But it seems to me that minds do tend to behave alike since their raw materials and modus operandi are somewhat similar. Minds create patterns like one might create a trail in a forest. The more that trail is used, the more the effort one puts into opening it (consciously, willingly, or not) the longer it is likely to stay open, the deeper and wider the groove made on the soil.
And, with pain, we open not trails but highways in our brains. We map out scenarios that we wish to avoid but, at the same time, are extremely aware of (one implies the other, after all).
And this is what I've been doing. Grooves upon grooves, upon grooves. My neurons are heavily interlaced in some very specific patterns. So much so that part of me doesn't even want to get away from the patterns they represent. They are well known and, to an extend, safe. And, if we're safe, why should we change?
All this to say that my mind has been reeling and battling with itself in trying to come up with a solution for something that it has created but that it cannot solve. That is perhaps the core drama of the human life. We are here and yet we do not KNOW.
Perhaps we just need to accept that.
Somehow.
peace.
Sunday 19 December 2010
Saturday 30 October 2010
Is Meditation Difficult?
This is one of the questions I often encounter when talking with people about meditation.
But let me respond to that with another question: is Painting difficult?
Meditation like painting or playing an instrument or any other human activity requires time, perseverance, discipline and focus.
For most of us, that is.
Some of us just jump in hey presto!, they're there.
But these are the exception, not the rule.
I'm not one of these wonders. I'm one of the other ones. The ones that hesitate and falter and bash their heads and hurt and get hopelessly confused trying to figure out something they don't quite understand. The kind that makes mistakes that sets them back for a while, that turn out to push them forward for a time and that, in the end... well, I still haven't got there so I can't really tell you about that...
So meditation is a bit like painting (be it with a crayon, a brush or a blow-torch). If we have a natural aptitude to it, it will be easier to draw a smooth and steady line, to create and repeat shapes, to compose them on a canvas, to use colour, to play with various desired effects. It will probably mean a lot of work, a great many hours dedicated to that art, perfecting it in whichever ways we find ourselves most interested in.
But even if we don't have a natural aptitude for painting we can all do it to some extent. It might take us longer than these "naturals" but we might get to be as "good" as them if we practice enough, if we explore it enough. We might even be "better".
After all, even if someone has the greatest natural aptitude for painting but if they don't do anything with it, what good is that natural gift?
Besides, we might not be all that great with the brush and water colour but we might be incredible with charcoal. Who knows? We need to experiment and be willing to learn from those experiences.
I think meditation truly is a bit like playing an instrument or painting. There's music in all of us, there's art in all of us. And, to a certain extent, it is important to uncover our own music and our own art because it is an integral part of who we are.
The same applies to meditation.
Okay, perhaps Vipassana isn't for you. But maybe Yoga is. Or Tantra. Or something else entirely (Vipassana with a different teacher, in a different place....) These things will change as you get to know yourself through them.
The important thing is to be willing to learn from every single experience and, for that to happen, we need to know what occurred. And that means we need to be paying attention...
The other thing I'd like to mention is something that we tend to identify with difficulty.
When I speak about the schedule and the discipline of a meditation retreat (where a yogi is supposed to be meditating at every waking moment and refrain from such basic things as speaking, looking here and there and thinking too much) people react saying that it sounds really difficult or really hard.
And it is.
Even for me and I've done it a few times already.
But it is particularly so in the beginning of the practice. Then, as your body and mind start to become accustomed to the routine, it starts becoming easier and easier. And there is much to be gained...
This sense of difficulty comes about happens because most of us do not have the experience of being fully committed to anything through the entirety of our lives. Not at this level at least.
We're used to having moments where we can just "switch off" and "relax" and "take our mind off of things".
This is great for many activities but, in regards to meditation, at least in the way I have been taught and learned from, the emphasis is placed on the building of this kind of meditative momentum. And, in order for it to increase, we must make continuous effort. The emphasis truly is on the word continuous.
I'll give you the following example.
Imagine that you are on the shore of a river. This river is continuously flowing. There is no bridge whatsoever and the only way to cross it is for you to build a bridge yourself. There is however another problem: the only material available is sand.
The river flow is fairly calm and so, little by little, upon each handful of sand placed on the shore, the distance between us and the other shore shortens. The more we work, the faster and more precisely we do it, the faster we'll get to the other side. Still, we need to be careful for if we trip or start going in the wrong direction we might be making effort in a way that will deviate us from our objective rather than bringing us closer to it.
With this in mind my question to you is this: what will happen if we stop to rest?
Clearly the river never ceases flowing, therefore it will drag at least part of the sand we've placed. This means we have to continuously replenish sand. If we always put more sand than the amount the river takes we will be making slow but steady progress.
Eventually we will have to rest, to sleep. But these activities should be kept to a minimum in order for us to be able to reach our objective.
Of course, by placing sand on the shore of the river, the flow of the river itself is altered and, therefore, the placing of the sand must continuously adapt to this in order for us to attain our objective.
This is what happens in meditation. The more we diligently sustain our awareness upon the objects surfacing in our consciousness, the closer we will be moving to that other side of our reality, the one we might have glimpsed but whose route we are yet to find.
But there is another great advantage of undergoing a process such as this. In fact it's an advantage that brings many others. If we allow ourselves to commit totally to something not only will we know what that actually means, but we will also be a great step closer to what the word devotion truly means. And, as a side effect, we will know all the much better what are our limits, what we can do, when should we stop, how much further can we go.
In a word, through this process of total commitment, true compassion arises, for self, and for others.
And, in my opinion, if for nothing else, solely for this, this immersion in the meditative practice would already be incredibly valuable.
So, in conclusion and in answer to the initial question, meditation, per se, isn't difficult. We are all gifted for it in one way or another. The question is how far we are willing to explore and be explored by it.
After all, meditation's biggest problem isn't difficulty, it's the yogi...
Peace!
But let me respond to that with another question: is Painting difficult?
Meditation like painting or playing an instrument or any other human activity requires time, perseverance, discipline and focus.
For most of us, that is.
Some of us just jump in hey presto!, they're there.
But these are the exception, not the rule.
I'm not one of these wonders. I'm one of the other ones. The ones that hesitate and falter and bash their heads and hurt and get hopelessly confused trying to figure out something they don't quite understand. The kind that makes mistakes that sets them back for a while, that turn out to push them forward for a time and that, in the end... well, I still haven't got there so I can't really tell you about that...
So meditation is a bit like painting (be it with a crayon, a brush or a blow-torch). If we have a natural aptitude to it, it will be easier to draw a smooth and steady line, to create and repeat shapes, to compose them on a canvas, to use colour, to play with various desired effects. It will probably mean a lot of work, a great many hours dedicated to that art, perfecting it in whichever ways we find ourselves most interested in.
But even if we don't have a natural aptitude for painting we can all do it to some extent. It might take us longer than these "naturals" but we might get to be as "good" as them if we practice enough, if we explore it enough. We might even be "better".
After all, even if someone has the greatest natural aptitude for painting but if they don't do anything with it, what good is that natural gift?
Besides, we might not be all that great with the brush and water colour but we might be incredible with charcoal. Who knows? We need to experiment and be willing to learn from those experiences.
I think meditation truly is a bit like playing an instrument or painting. There's music in all of us, there's art in all of us. And, to a certain extent, it is important to uncover our own music and our own art because it is an integral part of who we are.
The same applies to meditation.
Okay, perhaps Vipassana isn't for you. But maybe Yoga is. Or Tantra. Or something else entirely (Vipassana with a different teacher, in a different place....) These things will change as you get to know yourself through them.
The important thing is to be willing to learn from every single experience and, for that to happen, we need to know what occurred. And that means we need to be paying attention...
The other thing I'd like to mention is something that we tend to identify with difficulty.
When I speak about the schedule and the discipline of a meditation retreat (where a yogi is supposed to be meditating at every waking moment and refrain from such basic things as speaking, looking here and there and thinking too much) people react saying that it sounds really difficult or really hard.
And it is.
Even for me and I've done it a few times already.
But it is particularly so in the beginning of the practice. Then, as your body and mind start to become accustomed to the routine, it starts becoming easier and easier. And there is much to be gained...
This sense of difficulty comes about happens because most of us do not have the experience of being fully committed to anything through the entirety of our lives. Not at this level at least.
We're used to having moments where we can just "switch off" and "relax" and "take our mind off of things".
This is great for many activities but, in regards to meditation, at least in the way I have been taught and learned from, the emphasis is placed on the building of this kind of meditative momentum. And, in order for it to increase, we must make continuous effort. The emphasis truly is on the word continuous.
I'll give you the following example.
Imagine that you are on the shore of a river. This river is continuously flowing. There is no bridge whatsoever and the only way to cross it is for you to build a bridge yourself. There is however another problem: the only material available is sand.
The river flow is fairly calm and so, little by little, upon each handful of sand placed on the shore, the distance between us and the other shore shortens. The more we work, the faster and more precisely we do it, the faster we'll get to the other side. Still, we need to be careful for if we trip or start going in the wrong direction we might be making effort in a way that will deviate us from our objective rather than bringing us closer to it.
With this in mind my question to you is this: what will happen if we stop to rest?
Clearly the river never ceases flowing, therefore it will drag at least part of the sand we've placed. This means we have to continuously replenish sand. If we always put more sand than the amount the river takes we will be making slow but steady progress.
Eventually we will have to rest, to sleep. But these activities should be kept to a minimum in order for us to be able to reach our objective.
Of course, by placing sand on the shore of the river, the flow of the river itself is altered and, therefore, the placing of the sand must continuously adapt to this in order for us to attain our objective.
This is what happens in meditation. The more we diligently sustain our awareness upon the objects surfacing in our consciousness, the closer we will be moving to that other side of our reality, the one we might have glimpsed but whose route we are yet to find.
But there is another great advantage of undergoing a process such as this. In fact it's an advantage that brings many others. If we allow ourselves to commit totally to something not only will we know what that actually means, but we will also be a great step closer to what the word devotion truly means. And, as a side effect, we will know all the much better what are our limits, what we can do, when should we stop, how much further can we go.
In a word, through this process of total commitment, true compassion arises, for self, and for others.
And, in my opinion, if for nothing else, solely for this, this immersion in the meditative practice would already be incredibly valuable.
So, in conclusion and in answer to the initial question, meditation, per se, isn't difficult. We are all gifted for it in one way or another. The question is how far we are willing to explore and be explored by it.
After all, meditation's biggest problem isn't difficulty, it's the yogi...
Peace!
Saturday 21 August 2010
Unrequitted Collective Unconscious
Another example of the strange meanderings of mind.
In the shower I found myself thinking about the film Mars Attacks. I saw it recently for the first time. A Tim Burton classic. It's a strange film, with some, often dark, humour, but also with the ability of playing with the clichés of the genre. Both of SF and film.
In this film there's a couple, a man and a woman, that, as soon as they cast their eyes on one another, they fall in love.
But, throughout the story the two never truly get the chance to be together.Yet, on one of the last scenes of the film, with everything blowing apart around them, they kiss for the very first (and last) time.
As I observed my mind replaying this scene I pondered why unrequitted love is such a powerful hook for us.
The mind flash backwards rapidly, putting aside considerations of failed teen love and delved deeper into childhood. to the first experiences of love.
Surely these must come from our parents. Thus, our first experiences of failed and unfulfilled love, must come from them as well.
In fact, perhaps only through this lack of love/attention that at some point parents will inevitably display did we began to gain awareness about love itself.
In this way, perhaps unrequitted love is not only connected to our earliest experiences of love itself (and therefore deeply imprinted in our beings) but might be also the very form upon which the concept/experience of love lies more closely.
But before my mind wandered in this direction, it began thinking about aliens and film and how culture so easily finds its way into the unconscious. How subtly these imageries of films and art can enter the minds of those that can then affirm that they have made contact with such beings. Even if all of these powerful experiences might have (without them being aware of this) simply have happened in their minds. Then I thought of Jung. The Collective Unconscious. How amazed he would be if he saw this world of ours, with the media so widespread and prevalent in our lives.
Perhaps he'd say that what this society is attempting is the "homogenisation of the unconscious".
There was also an idea for a story that surfaced as I pondered the relation between sexuality and spirituality. Essentially what has often been pointed out to me: that the guru, the spiritual master, tends to be identified with a male figure rather than a female one.
I don't think I'll make a book or even a short story about it but I think I'll placed it inside another story... that sounds about right...
Just thought I'd share...
Peace.
In the shower I found myself thinking about the film Mars Attacks. I saw it recently for the first time. A Tim Burton classic. It's a strange film, with some, often dark, humour, but also with the ability of playing with the clichés of the genre. Both of SF and film.
In this film there's a couple, a man and a woman, that, as soon as they cast their eyes on one another, they fall in love.
But, throughout the story the two never truly get the chance to be together.Yet, on one of the last scenes of the film, with everything blowing apart around them, they kiss for the very first (and last) time.
As I observed my mind replaying this scene I pondered why unrequitted love is such a powerful hook for us.
The mind flash backwards rapidly, putting aside considerations of failed teen love and delved deeper into childhood. to the first experiences of love.
Surely these must come from our parents. Thus, our first experiences of failed and unfulfilled love, must come from them as well.
In fact, perhaps only through this lack of love/attention that at some point parents will inevitably display did we began to gain awareness about love itself.
In this way, perhaps unrequitted love is not only connected to our earliest experiences of love itself (and therefore deeply imprinted in our beings) but might be also the very form upon which the concept/experience of love lies more closely.
But before my mind wandered in this direction, it began thinking about aliens and film and how culture so easily finds its way into the unconscious. How subtly these imageries of films and art can enter the minds of those that can then affirm that they have made contact with such beings. Even if all of these powerful experiences might have (without them being aware of this) simply have happened in their minds. Then I thought of Jung. The Collective Unconscious. How amazed he would be if he saw this world of ours, with the media so widespread and prevalent in our lives.
Perhaps he'd say that what this society is attempting is the "homogenisation of the unconscious".
There was also an idea for a story that surfaced as I pondered the relation between sexuality and spirituality. Essentially what has often been pointed out to me: that the guru, the spiritual master, tends to be identified with a male figure rather than a female one.
I don't think I'll make a book or even a short story about it but I think I'll placed it inside another story... that sounds about right...
Just thought I'd share...
Peace.
Sunday 11 July 2010
Random Acts Of Consciousness
On Purity
Perhaps there are two types of purity. An Absolute and a Relative. The striving for the Absolute, for the ideal, for the perfection, is the continuous goal, ceaseless, endless, tiring even.
The striving for the Relative has all to do with acceptance. With knowing our being and our limitations and be willing to operate with them. The Absolute Perfection is perhaps a dream not reachable by most of us. But the Relative Purity, the acceptance of our failures and our willingness to acknowledge them is.
And perhaps the relative is the simplest way to the absolute.
On Buddha Being Fat
This is something that quite a few people have mentioned with some sort of unsettledness to their speech. It's something that makes them uncomfortable. How come such a prominent spiritual leader allows himself to be in such a way? To indulge himself? To disfigure his body? To be fat amidst those that starved?
There are two main answers to this.
The first one has to do with the symbol.
On a symbolical level we can see the Buddha's rotund figure as being a symbol for the fullness of life, for completion, for spiritual achievement - as a symbol of the Buddha himself, and so forth. It can also be a symbol of the consequences of the practice. The lowering and greater efficiency of one's metabolism (less waste) means one's resources are not squandered. That a true spiritual leads one to abundance, ie, it is rewarded with a long, healthy life (let us remember that in the times of the Buddha being fat was probably more equated with health than these days, where some other type of physiognomy and aesthetics seems to be predominant - something that will undoubtedly change in times to come as we as a society change as well)
The second one is a more prosaic one but equally important.
Let us assume that the Buddha was in fact big in the later phase of his life, mainly, after he attained full enlightenment.
Having achieved this spiritual clarity means of course the total detachment from life's affairs. Ie, total acceptance.
Now let us assume the following scenario. The Buddha is walking with his disciples. They come to a village and the Buddha imparts his wisdom on the inhabitants. He asks for nothing but, as a sign of gratitude they make an offering to him. He has no wish for food whatsoever but he decides to partake simply because he realises this to be important for the villagers themselves. After all accepting their food is the equivalent of them accepting his teachings. In fact, it is almost necessary for the teachings to truly sink in. It makes him human. It makes him like them. And that makes his attainments reachable for all that have been listening.
The key idea here is acceptance. Not only the simple acceptance of what's being offered but also the acceptance of one's role and the consequences of such role. More, the acceptance that there are actions one must undertake if one's goal towards others is to be attained. His rotund figure thus becomes a symbol not of greed or lack of responsibility towards oneself but rather of true service to others - only on a much more subtle level than most of us can truly grasp.
The Buddha's business was first and foremost the liberation of all beings. And the Buddha was as adamant in this pursuit as he was in his wisdom towards this pursuit and the compassion of this pursuit. He was a being truly in balance with life.
If he had to gain a few pounds in order to fulfil this so profound act of giving towards other beings, well... so be it.
On Death and Kamma (or Karma)
I was thinking of death and dying after just having talked with my friend Gabriel about such things. He had voiced that these thoughts kept creeping in and tiring him, overwhelming him at times - and regularly so.
I too felt this (and still do) after leaving the retreat. I think it's a natural consequence. Within the practice one grows very close to oneself, to one's body, to life itself. And thus, contemplation of its transience and frailty is inevitable.
When we come back and practice a lot less we lack the mental stability gained from intense practice. But the instinctive knowledge, the insights continue. Less frequently perhaps but, sometimes at least, equally powerful.
So we are often reminded that we're just passing through and that life can truly end at any moment.
And this can be a bit disorientating to say the least.
After all, we never had that. We used to go around our lives thinking everything was fine or not fine or so-so and not worry about such things. What was the point anyway? Why think about death? Are we gonna solve anything?
Of course not. Best get on with things.
The problem with that is that we keep missing ourselves. And we keep missing our constraints. The true shape of our life-box, so to speak. And if we don't know those, how can we truly live our lives to the fullest? We need to know the rules of the game so we can truly play it, otherwise we'll be pretending, believing we are truly playing.
I think that's the first key in transformation. You don' change completely. You just add some of the ground rules to the big messy heap you are (and me too...).
At first this whole thinking of death business depressed me a little. Things seemed a bit pointless since everything was impermanent anyway. Why bother?
Well, that's when Kamma (or Karma...) comes in. You do things because your business (either you like it or not) is also the business of liberation. For yourself and other beings. With that in mind living one's life becomes somewhat easier (in the sense that there is some sense of direction) but also more demanding - because now we are becoming more responsible for one's actions.
See, the beauty of Kamma is that it never really goes away. It's like information or entropy (and I think it would be very interesting to explore similarities further...). It just keeps increasing. This is where Buddhism touches science on one of its most fundamental levels. Kamma keeps increasing, so does entropy, so does information.
So, the necessary question comes:
HOW should it increase?
In terms of entropy it should increase in ways that are beneficial to the whole of our ecosystem. Planet, Humans, All other life forms. For all, in sum.
In terms of information, at least in the part we humans are concerned, it should increase in terms of the information that is beneficial to all those involved: Gaia, humans, all other life forms. All beings and non-beings.
In terms of Kamma it should increase in terms of potentiating liberation in the most efficient and compassionate way possible, towards all beings.
More, with Kamma we realise that our consequences carry far longer than just the extent of our lives. So, the positive drive is most important. It is a frequency, it is a momentum, a kind of impetus that pushes things, other Kammas in that same direction of liberation.
That is our true business (to me at least...)
Thinking about these things and connecting these with the experience of death (I had just forwarded Gabriel a short text about such matters) I realised the following.
When we die the connection between our kamma and our physical body degrades and, eventually, vanishes.
Now, consider the last few moments of life.
If we are lucky, we will flash backwards and forwards through the important things in our lives. And it's this intensity, it is this track being played that will become the base matrix for the next state of being (if such is the case).
I'd often thought about this and this idea had kept becoming clearer and clearer in my mind.
But what I suddenly realised was that I was missing the surroundings.
That perhaps the surroundings also have something to do with this. That they might interfere.
I was thinking how the cat of a friend of mine had hidden underneath a parked car so it could die. It wanted to be left alone. It wanted to die with no one watching or interfering.
Perhaps what that cat instinctively knows is that by dying alone, the disconnection becomes clearer.
Imagine each of us is a radio station. And when you die you send out your most powerful broadcast ever to the universe.
Now, because we are all humans, the frequencies we operate in are all very similar. They're different sure enough, but still close enough to interfere with one another.
Now picture this. You're dying. But what you're broadcasting isn't just you - it's the stuff around you as well.
Your message has noise.
I'm not saying that we should die alone. In fact, what I'm saying is that we should be careful with our last broadcast (if we get to choose, of course...).
If we can, we should be surrounded by those that will amplify our broadcast, that will create a "positive interference". We should be surrounded by those that are wishing for our well being, liberation, good re-birth, whatever it is. They are not distracting us. They are helping us, guiding us also.
With this insight it became very clear in my heart why so many people wish to die at home, with their families. Why beings that devote their lives fully to spirituality seclude themselves and make death a ritual and support one another. They realise all this - more or less intuitively.
They want their transition to be as smooth and as peaceful as possible.
They wish to give life its due and proper farewell.
Peace.
Perhaps there are two types of purity. An Absolute and a Relative. The striving for the Absolute, for the ideal, for the perfection, is the continuous goal, ceaseless, endless, tiring even.
The striving for the Relative has all to do with acceptance. With knowing our being and our limitations and be willing to operate with them. The Absolute Perfection is perhaps a dream not reachable by most of us. But the Relative Purity, the acceptance of our failures and our willingness to acknowledge them is.
And perhaps the relative is the simplest way to the absolute.
On Buddha Being Fat
This is something that quite a few people have mentioned with some sort of unsettledness to their speech. It's something that makes them uncomfortable. How come such a prominent spiritual leader allows himself to be in such a way? To indulge himself? To disfigure his body? To be fat amidst those that starved?
There are two main answers to this.
The first one has to do with the symbol.
On a symbolical level we can see the Buddha's rotund figure as being a symbol for the fullness of life, for completion, for spiritual achievement - as a symbol of the Buddha himself, and so forth. It can also be a symbol of the consequences of the practice. The lowering and greater efficiency of one's metabolism (less waste) means one's resources are not squandered. That a true spiritual leads one to abundance, ie, it is rewarded with a long, healthy life (let us remember that in the times of the Buddha being fat was probably more equated with health than these days, where some other type of physiognomy and aesthetics seems to be predominant - something that will undoubtedly change in times to come as we as a society change as well)
The second one is a more prosaic one but equally important.
Let us assume that the Buddha was in fact big in the later phase of his life, mainly, after he attained full enlightenment.
Having achieved this spiritual clarity means of course the total detachment from life's affairs. Ie, total acceptance.
Now let us assume the following scenario. The Buddha is walking with his disciples. They come to a village and the Buddha imparts his wisdom on the inhabitants. He asks for nothing but, as a sign of gratitude they make an offering to him. He has no wish for food whatsoever but he decides to partake simply because he realises this to be important for the villagers themselves. After all accepting their food is the equivalent of them accepting his teachings. In fact, it is almost necessary for the teachings to truly sink in. It makes him human. It makes him like them. And that makes his attainments reachable for all that have been listening.
The key idea here is acceptance. Not only the simple acceptance of what's being offered but also the acceptance of one's role and the consequences of such role. More, the acceptance that there are actions one must undertake if one's goal towards others is to be attained. His rotund figure thus becomes a symbol not of greed or lack of responsibility towards oneself but rather of true service to others - only on a much more subtle level than most of us can truly grasp.
The Buddha's business was first and foremost the liberation of all beings. And the Buddha was as adamant in this pursuit as he was in his wisdom towards this pursuit and the compassion of this pursuit. He was a being truly in balance with life.
If he had to gain a few pounds in order to fulfil this so profound act of giving towards other beings, well... so be it.
On Death and Kamma (or Karma)
I was thinking of death and dying after just having talked with my friend Gabriel about such things. He had voiced that these thoughts kept creeping in and tiring him, overwhelming him at times - and regularly so.
I too felt this (and still do) after leaving the retreat. I think it's a natural consequence. Within the practice one grows very close to oneself, to one's body, to life itself. And thus, contemplation of its transience and frailty is inevitable.
When we come back and practice a lot less we lack the mental stability gained from intense practice. But the instinctive knowledge, the insights continue. Less frequently perhaps but, sometimes at least, equally powerful.
So we are often reminded that we're just passing through and that life can truly end at any moment.
And this can be a bit disorientating to say the least.
After all, we never had that. We used to go around our lives thinking everything was fine or not fine or so-so and not worry about such things. What was the point anyway? Why think about death? Are we gonna solve anything?
Of course not. Best get on with things.
The problem with that is that we keep missing ourselves. And we keep missing our constraints. The true shape of our life-box, so to speak. And if we don't know those, how can we truly live our lives to the fullest? We need to know the rules of the game so we can truly play it, otherwise we'll be pretending, believing we are truly playing.
I think that's the first key in transformation. You don' change completely. You just add some of the ground rules to the big messy heap you are (and me too...).
At first this whole thinking of death business depressed me a little. Things seemed a bit pointless since everything was impermanent anyway. Why bother?
Well, that's when Kamma (or Karma...) comes in. You do things because your business (either you like it or not) is also the business of liberation. For yourself and other beings. With that in mind living one's life becomes somewhat easier (in the sense that there is some sense of direction) but also more demanding - because now we are becoming more responsible for one's actions.
See, the beauty of Kamma is that it never really goes away. It's like information or entropy (and I think it would be very interesting to explore similarities further...). It just keeps increasing. This is where Buddhism touches science on one of its most fundamental levels. Kamma keeps increasing, so does entropy, so does information.
So, the necessary question comes:
HOW should it increase?
In terms of entropy it should increase in ways that are beneficial to the whole of our ecosystem. Planet, Humans, All other life forms. For all, in sum.
In terms of information, at least in the part we humans are concerned, it should increase in terms of the information that is beneficial to all those involved: Gaia, humans, all other life forms. All beings and non-beings.
In terms of Kamma it should increase in terms of potentiating liberation in the most efficient and compassionate way possible, towards all beings.
More, with Kamma we realise that our consequences carry far longer than just the extent of our lives. So, the positive drive is most important. It is a frequency, it is a momentum, a kind of impetus that pushes things, other Kammas in that same direction of liberation.
That is our true business (to me at least...)
Thinking about these things and connecting these with the experience of death (I had just forwarded Gabriel a short text about such matters) I realised the following.
When we die the connection between our kamma and our physical body degrades and, eventually, vanishes.
Now, consider the last few moments of life.
If we are lucky, we will flash backwards and forwards through the important things in our lives. And it's this intensity, it is this track being played that will become the base matrix for the next state of being (if such is the case).
I'd often thought about this and this idea had kept becoming clearer and clearer in my mind.
But what I suddenly realised was that I was missing the surroundings.
That perhaps the surroundings also have something to do with this. That they might interfere.
I was thinking how the cat of a friend of mine had hidden underneath a parked car so it could die. It wanted to be left alone. It wanted to die with no one watching or interfering.
Perhaps what that cat instinctively knows is that by dying alone, the disconnection becomes clearer.
Imagine each of us is a radio station. And when you die you send out your most powerful broadcast ever to the universe.
Now, because we are all humans, the frequencies we operate in are all very similar. They're different sure enough, but still close enough to interfere with one another.
Now picture this. You're dying. But what you're broadcasting isn't just you - it's the stuff around you as well.
Your message has noise.
I'm not saying that we should die alone. In fact, what I'm saying is that we should be careful with our last broadcast (if we get to choose, of course...).
If we can, we should be surrounded by those that will amplify our broadcast, that will create a "positive interference". We should be surrounded by those that are wishing for our well being, liberation, good re-birth, whatever it is. They are not distracting us. They are helping us, guiding us also.
With this insight it became very clear in my heart why so many people wish to die at home, with their families. Why beings that devote their lives fully to spirituality seclude themselves and make death a ritual and support one another. They realise all this - more or less intuitively.
They want their transition to be as smooth and as peaceful as possible.
They wish to give life its due and proper farewell.
Peace.
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Buddha Bar
A good friend just sent me a short text (see below, I've chosen to include it here integrally for clearer reference) stating that the Prime Minister of Sri Lanka is concerned against the usage of Buddha statues in a chain of food and entertainment venues deemed Buddha Bar. His concern is that the Buddha statues are set in a context where alcohol is consumed and dancing takes place.
My objective throughout the body of this post is to explain, in my opinion, which are the positive and negative aspects of this question, while trying to perhaps give some more context to why this question was raised in the first place.
"Newspaper reports here say the prime minister is seeking details on the nature of the Buddha Bar chain, which is based in Paris and appears to have branches in other cities including Dubai, New York and Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt. The trendy and expensive restaurants feature large statues of Lord Buddha. The prime minister's concern appears to be that alcohol is consumed or dancing takes place in front of the statues, both activities which many
Sri Lankans deem disrespectful in the religious context. If so, the prime minister wants to "take necessary action" against the bars but it's not clear what this would entail. The issue has already proved controversial in Indonesia, which has a Buddha Bar outlet in the capital. Members of the Buddhist minority and even a government minister have asked that it change
its name or close down, but neither has happened. The Sri Lankan government is sensitive about the majority faith here and recently the international rap singer, Akon, was forced to cancel a concert here because one of his videos shows a swimming pool party flanked by a Buddha statue. But a prominent Sri Lankan blogger has criticised the government attitude, calling the prime minister's comments an "empty threat" designed to bolster the
country's image as an island of Buddhism surrounded by Hinduism and Islam.// The blogger commented that many Westerners are interested in Buddhism because, in his words, "it's perceived as being above the petty squabbles and offences of other religions". The government may be gratified, however, to hear that the recession recently forced the London
branch of Buddha Bar to close down.
Prime Minister D. M. Jayaratne has sought information on a Restaurant\Bar chain located in several countries called the ‘Buddha Bar’ in a bid to see whether they were openly abusing Buddhism.
The Premier who is also the Buddhist and Religious Affairs Minister has instructed his Secretary to seek a report in this regard from Sri Lankan embassies.
The Prime Minister’s office reported that they had received information that these restaurants which serve liquor to customers in the presence of Buddha statues existed in the US, UK, France etc.
Details on their activities have been published on the Internet, they added.
Following the revelation, the Premier had instructed authorities to look into the matter and if found to be true, inform the Governments with the intervention of the External Affairs Ministry, to take steps to prevent such inappropriate use of Buddha statues.
The Prime Minister also expects to bring the issue to the attention of the World Buddhist Council."
I can see the validity of Sri-Lankan Prime Minister's argument, especially if he is someone that, as we Buddhists tend to say, has tasted the Dhamma.
When one has profound meditative experiences one's perception of world and self changes substantially. When this happens, as the direct result of applying the Buddha's teachings to one's life, one spontaneously begins to deeply treasure both the teachings, the Buddha and those that have sustained, expanded and nurtured these teachings safe for so many centuries. Sacredness is therefore temporal, contextual and, perhaps most importantly, directly experiential.
In this, I believe I comprehend how a fellow Buddhist might feel. For the Buddha was a man of incredible inner strength, something I feel only truly enlightened beings can truly understand (for they share it, at least to some extent). For the rest of us, the vision we have is much less clearer and therefore our perception of the Buddha tends to be based on hearsay, tradition, religion or indirect knowledge.
And, because of this, we miss the true sacredness, not only of the Buddha but also of all enlightened beings.
So, it is quite natural (especially for those of us not born in some sort of Buddhist tradition) for us to look upon a statue of the Buddha and see it perhaps more as a decorative element rather than a symbol of true sacredness.
Now I don't think that there's nothing necessarily wrong with this. It's a lack of cultural context, simply put.
However, I also feel that the core of the Buddhist teachings is the practice itself rather than any other external symbolism. I think the Buddha himself was very clear on this. His compassion was in his concern towards others. He knew that images are ultimately a distraction from the ultimate goal of meditation but that, in the earlier stages of the practice, they can be one of the supports towards the development of one's eightfold faculties.
My belief is that, if the Buddha were alive he would understand with an open heart someone's usage of his own image for commercial purposes. And he would continue to do his work of liberation for all beings.
I roughly agree with what the blogger that said that Buddhism is "perceived as being above the petty squabbles and offences of other religions".
Even though I don't agree so much with the wording he employed, I believe I've grasped the general intention for its using.
For me Buddhism's fundamental difference is that it focuses more in bringing to the world a method, a practice that allows each and everyone of us to come nearer to the non-dual experience that is at the heart of the human being. This is the thing perhaps most of us should be looking for. The thing most of us are in fact looking for - albeit in perhaps skewed ways.
Therefore each issue that confronts Buddhism should be seen from this light, from the light of compassion and non-duality.
I think it is important for us to differentiate between the teachings themselves and perhaps our attachment to them.
From another perspective I think we can confidently say that the image of the Buddha is one of the very few that the vast majority of human beings alive today can recognise and identify. It's not only obvious but inevitable that this image will be used for all manner of purposes. It is not owed by anyone. Even if some of us might cherished it incredibly, others definitely will not.
Some will perhaps even hate it. It doesn't matter. I think that there are bigger issues at hand.
Like how to remain compassionate in societies where humans are highly competitive and aggressive towards one another.
How to take care of the teachings and pass them on to future generations.
And, how can we ourselves become better human beings.
If these things are being observed then the the misuse of images isn't even a problem.
In fact we can even see this whole problem from a completely different perspective- We can see it as a celebration.
If for a long time now people have deified the image of the Buddha, well, I believe that I'm not too far of ins stating that, as culture changes, deification changes also.
To put it simply, that we are doing it again.
And that we are doing it through the eyes and tools of contemporary culture.
Thus, our deification comes through consumerism, perhaps the world's biggest religion these days.
In fact we might even say that this is a good sign. A sign that Buddhism is so present in current times, throughout the world, that somebody somewhere even thought that having a chain of restaurants/bars with the name Buddha would be good for business.
It means that Buddha and Buddhism are a recognised and recognisable part of our society. They are known.
And this is good. After all with obscurantism comes forgetfulness, comes a greater likelihood of the teachings being lost.
Of course with widespread knowledge comes everything else. Comes the preservation of values but also their distortion.
It's a natural consequence, nothing more.
Besides, we can always hope that, at least some of those that will enter the Buddha Bars for simple enjoyment, may perhaps leave a bit more curious about Buddha and Buddhism.
Perhaps even a few of those will read some Wikipedia entry about these things.
Perhaps a smaller fraction even will engage in the study and practice of the teachings and have their life transformed by them.
And who will be able to say that the Buddha Bar was a bad thing then?
On a more practical note we can also say that we will never be able to track down each improper usage of Buddhist imagery. I think it's somewhat pointless to even try and go out into the world and do that. I think we have more to lose by opposing one's freedom of using imagery that belongs to no one and all than we might possibly gain by doing so.
We must not forget that Buddhist imagery has been witness to many good and bad things throughout these 25 centuries. And it is likely that they will continue to do so.
If anything let's us take these things in the spirit of the Buddha. In the spirit of what he taught and struggled so hard to give to people, to help people achieve for their own benefit and that of all beings.
To take these matters with compassion and understanding, promoting a right, holystic, wholesome view.
Let us replace confrontation with compassion.
Let us be Buddhists.
My objective throughout the body of this post is to explain, in my opinion, which are the positive and negative aspects of this question, while trying to perhaps give some more context to why this question was raised in the first place.
"Newspaper reports here say the prime minister is seeking details on the nature of the Buddha Bar chain, which is based in Paris and appears to have branches in other cities including Dubai, New York and Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt. The trendy and expensive restaurants feature large statues of Lord Buddha. The prime minister's concern appears to be that alcohol is consumed or dancing takes place in front of the statues, both activities which many
Sri Lankans deem disrespectful in the religious context. If so, the prime minister wants to "take necessary action" against the bars but it's not clear what this would entail. The issue has already proved controversial in Indonesia, which has a Buddha Bar outlet in the capital. Members of the Buddhist minority and even a government minister have asked that it change
its name or close down, but neither has happened. The Sri Lankan government is sensitive about the majority faith here and recently the international rap singer, Akon, was forced to cancel a concert here because one of his videos shows a swimming pool party flanked by a Buddha statue. But a prominent Sri Lankan blogger has criticised the government attitude, calling the prime minister's comments an "empty threat" designed to bolster the
country's image as an island of Buddhism surrounded by Hinduism and Islam.// The blogger commented that many Westerners are interested in Buddhism because, in his words, "it's perceived as being above the petty squabbles and offences of other religions". The government may be gratified, however, to hear that the recession recently forced the London
branch of Buddha Bar to close down.
Prime Minister D. M. Jayaratne has sought information on a Restaurant\Bar chain located in several countries called the ‘Buddha Bar’ in a bid to see whether they were openly abusing Buddhism.
The Premier who is also the Buddhist and Religious Affairs Minister has instructed his Secretary to seek a report in this regard from Sri Lankan embassies.
The Prime Minister’s office reported that they had received information that these restaurants which serve liquor to customers in the presence of Buddha statues existed in the US, UK, France etc.
Details on their activities have been published on the Internet, they added.
Following the revelation, the Premier had instructed authorities to look into the matter and if found to be true, inform the Governments with the intervention of the External Affairs Ministry, to take steps to prevent such inappropriate use of Buddha statues.
The Prime Minister also expects to bring the issue to the attention of the World Buddhist Council."
I can see the validity of Sri-Lankan Prime Minister's argument, especially if he is someone that, as we Buddhists tend to say, has tasted the Dhamma.
When one has profound meditative experiences one's perception of world and self changes substantially. When this happens, as the direct result of applying the Buddha's teachings to one's life, one spontaneously begins to deeply treasure both the teachings, the Buddha and those that have sustained, expanded and nurtured these teachings safe for so many centuries. Sacredness is therefore temporal, contextual and, perhaps most importantly, directly experiential.
In this, I believe I comprehend how a fellow Buddhist might feel. For the Buddha was a man of incredible inner strength, something I feel only truly enlightened beings can truly understand (for they share it, at least to some extent). For the rest of us, the vision we have is much less clearer and therefore our perception of the Buddha tends to be based on hearsay, tradition, religion or indirect knowledge.
And, because of this, we miss the true sacredness, not only of the Buddha but also of all enlightened beings.
So, it is quite natural (especially for those of us not born in some sort of Buddhist tradition) for us to look upon a statue of the Buddha and see it perhaps more as a decorative element rather than a symbol of true sacredness.
Now I don't think that there's nothing necessarily wrong with this. It's a lack of cultural context, simply put.
However, I also feel that the core of the Buddhist teachings is the practice itself rather than any other external symbolism. I think the Buddha himself was very clear on this. His compassion was in his concern towards others. He knew that images are ultimately a distraction from the ultimate goal of meditation but that, in the earlier stages of the practice, they can be one of the supports towards the development of one's eightfold faculties.
My belief is that, if the Buddha were alive he would understand with an open heart someone's usage of his own image for commercial purposes. And he would continue to do his work of liberation for all beings.
I roughly agree with what the blogger that said that Buddhism is "perceived as being above the petty squabbles and offences of other religions".
Even though I don't agree so much with the wording he employed, I believe I've grasped the general intention for its using.
For me Buddhism's fundamental difference is that it focuses more in bringing to the world a method, a practice that allows each and everyone of us to come nearer to the non-dual experience that is at the heart of the human being. This is the thing perhaps most of us should be looking for. The thing most of us are in fact looking for - albeit in perhaps skewed ways.
Therefore each issue that confronts Buddhism should be seen from this light, from the light of compassion and non-duality.
I think it is important for us to differentiate between the teachings themselves and perhaps our attachment to them.
From another perspective I think we can confidently say that the image of the Buddha is one of the very few that the vast majority of human beings alive today can recognise and identify. It's not only obvious but inevitable that this image will be used for all manner of purposes. It is not owed by anyone. Even if some of us might cherished it incredibly, others definitely will not.
Some will perhaps even hate it. It doesn't matter. I think that there are bigger issues at hand.
Like how to remain compassionate in societies where humans are highly competitive and aggressive towards one another.
How to take care of the teachings and pass them on to future generations.
And, how can we ourselves become better human beings.
If these things are being observed then the the misuse of images isn't even a problem.
In fact we can even see this whole problem from a completely different perspective- We can see it as a celebration.
If for a long time now people have deified the image of the Buddha, well, I believe that I'm not too far of ins stating that, as culture changes, deification changes also.
To put it simply, that we are doing it again.
And that we are doing it through the eyes and tools of contemporary culture.
Thus, our deification comes through consumerism, perhaps the world's biggest religion these days.
In fact we might even say that this is a good sign. A sign that Buddhism is so present in current times, throughout the world, that somebody somewhere even thought that having a chain of restaurants/bars with the name Buddha would be good for business.
It means that Buddha and Buddhism are a recognised and recognisable part of our society. They are known.
And this is good. After all with obscurantism comes forgetfulness, comes a greater likelihood of the teachings being lost.
Of course with widespread knowledge comes everything else. Comes the preservation of values but also their distortion.
It's a natural consequence, nothing more.
Besides, we can always hope that, at least some of those that will enter the Buddha Bars for simple enjoyment, may perhaps leave a bit more curious about Buddha and Buddhism.
Perhaps even a few of those will read some Wikipedia entry about these things.
Perhaps a smaller fraction even will engage in the study and practice of the teachings and have their life transformed by them.
And who will be able to say that the Buddha Bar was a bad thing then?
On a more practical note we can also say that we will never be able to track down each improper usage of Buddhist imagery. I think it's somewhat pointless to even try and go out into the world and do that. I think we have more to lose by opposing one's freedom of using imagery that belongs to no one and all than we might possibly gain by doing so.
We must not forget that Buddhist imagery has been witness to many good and bad things throughout these 25 centuries. And it is likely that they will continue to do so.
If anything let's us take these things in the spirit of the Buddha. In the spirit of what he taught and struggled so hard to give to people, to help people achieve for their own benefit and that of all beings.
To take these matters with compassion and understanding, promoting a right, holystic, wholesome view.
Let us replace confrontation with compassion.
Let us be Buddhists.
Tuesday 29 June 2010
A Time For Everything
The more you meditate the more meditative your attitude towards life will be. During the last few days I have been meditating more than usual. And I've kept catching myself doing things only semi-alert (what we call the normal state of consciousness, the non-awakened state) to them - the usual.
But, because I have been meditating more, I have been able to retain some measure of concentration after that moment of awareness. For a few seconds my mind stops chattering and begins paying attention to the little things that fill our lives.
Just a few minutes ago I was taking a shower. One of those showers that you thank the universe for the experience. Today has been a very warm day here in London and I cycled, quite relaxedly though, for about half an hour, from work. I was sweaty and warm and just wanted to get in the tub and feel the water falling all over me.
And when I did I suddenly realised the soft but deep pleasure I was having. The body relaxing from the exercise, the mind relaxed for me being home, and the warm feeling of becoming cleaner, lighter, freer. I observed the mental chatter and it disappeared.
And I immersed on the physical sensations invading me at each moment. A huge beautiful symphony that I barely could keep track of. I didn't try to. I just allowed my frail consciousness to flow, just like water, through the plethora of experiences coming to me.
And, after a few seconds of mental silence a thought came to me. An insight. The realisation that, as a child this type of awareness was much more common than it tends to be these days. At least, I believe this is the case for most of us. As children, because we have less mental constructs in our heads, our minds sometimes, spontaneously, shut up and we're simply there, peacefully observing. Being.
In a flash I realised that we lose this with time, as we become increasingly obsessed with time itself. With meaning. With knowing. With this experience or the next or the previous or some other, somewhere in the past, perhaps coming towards us from the future. With fantasy.
In one way or another children seem to naturally retain this openness of perception, before objectives and all manner of wantings come into place.
I recalled the words of a friend of mine that keeps reminding people around him that "There's a time for everything".
I agree with this. I think it's important to become aware of the age in life we are traversing so that we can fulfil in harmony with our capabilities.
And then be able to let it go and move on to the next.
I think he, like myself, has observed many times people that are still stuck to a particular age that they feel they have not lived completely. This may happen through longing for those times long gone. Or through hatred towards those times (or even those living that age themselves).
Living in a way that we are flowing with the time present in us is easy but also difficult. For it's rare to find reliable guides to help us find footing where we stand.
Most of the times, we end up having to figure it all out by ourselves. This is not only tiring and incredibly complex but also difficult to achieve.
To my mind this should be the main role of those with greater experience than ourselves. Usually this means people older than us, people that have crossed the times we are traversing already, that can see where we stand from the vantage point of their distance.
Of course, these days particularly, things aren't that easy. Things keep changing around us and, young or old, we all struggle in one way or another to keep up with the changes we see around us.
This much is clear...
We cannot stop the world. Perhaps nor should we want to.
But the one thing we know we can incredibly influence is ourselves.
Therefore it is important to find those that can guide us through the unfolding of our-selves.
Which kind of brings me back to the beginning of this. For these people (we can call them spiritually minded - even if they don't believe in spirituality themselves, simply by being interested in their actions, in their beings and their relation with things around them, they are already being spiritual and spiritual beings - that is, to me at least, the core of spirituality, uncovering the true extension of self), these spiritual people, will have lessons learned, stories to tell, ideas to teach, advisable practices and, above all, the experience of their years and the examples of their lives to share.
(and I think this is the role we all should represent to one another too... everybody has something to learn and something to teach - sometimes even they are the same thing, only from perhaps different perspectives)
But, in order for us to benefit from this wealth of knowledge, we must learn how to be present. I usually say, learn how to listen. And listening, to me, is a full being thing. When you listen you listen with the wholeness of you - not just the ears.
Using just the ears is like saying that cycling is pedalling.
And I think that we all know what will happen if we only pedal and don't pay attention to traffic, use the handle bars or even sit properly...
For this we need to be present.
So, and in conclusion, for us to truly be present in this time and age of ours we need to retain awareness of what's happening. We need to be insightful into the now. We need to be present.
Then, perhaps not only we'll fulfil each time, one moment at a time, but perhaps we will feel that each time, each moment, is already full. That each moment is already everything.
But, because I have been meditating more, I have been able to retain some measure of concentration after that moment of awareness. For a few seconds my mind stops chattering and begins paying attention to the little things that fill our lives.
Just a few minutes ago I was taking a shower. One of those showers that you thank the universe for the experience. Today has been a very warm day here in London and I cycled, quite relaxedly though, for about half an hour, from work. I was sweaty and warm and just wanted to get in the tub and feel the water falling all over me.
And when I did I suddenly realised the soft but deep pleasure I was having. The body relaxing from the exercise, the mind relaxed for me being home, and the warm feeling of becoming cleaner, lighter, freer. I observed the mental chatter and it disappeared.
And I immersed on the physical sensations invading me at each moment. A huge beautiful symphony that I barely could keep track of. I didn't try to. I just allowed my frail consciousness to flow, just like water, through the plethora of experiences coming to me.
And, after a few seconds of mental silence a thought came to me. An insight. The realisation that, as a child this type of awareness was much more common than it tends to be these days. At least, I believe this is the case for most of us. As children, because we have less mental constructs in our heads, our minds sometimes, spontaneously, shut up and we're simply there, peacefully observing. Being.
In a flash I realised that we lose this with time, as we become increasingly obsessed with time itself. With meaning. With knowing. With this experience or the next or the previous or some other, somewhere in the past, perhaps coming towards us from the future. With fantasy.
In one way or another children seem to naturally retain this openness of perception, before objectives and all manner of wantings come into place.
I recalled the words of a friend of mine that keeps reminding people around him that "There's a time for everything".
I agree with this. I think it's important to become aware of the age in life we are traversing so that we can fulfil in harmony with our capabilities.
And then be able to let it go and move on to the next.
I think he, like myself, has observed many times people that are still stuck to a particular age that they feel they have not lived completely. This may happen through longing for those times long gone. Or through hatred towards those times (or even those living that age themselves).
Living in a way that we are flowing with the time present in us is easy but also difficult. For it's rare to find reliable guides to help us find footing where we stand.
Most of the times, we end up having to figure it all out by ourselves. This is not only tiring and incredibly complex but also difficult to achieve.
To my mind this should be the main role of those with greater experience than ourselves. Usually this means people older than us, people that have crossed the times we are traversing already, that can see where we stand from the vantage point of their distance.
Of course, these days particularly, things aren't that easy. Things keep changing around us and, young or old, we all struggle in one way or another to keep up with the changes we see around us.
This much is clear...
We cannot stop the world. Perhaps nor should we want to.
But the one thing we know we can incredibly influence is ourselves.
Therefore it is important to find those that can guide us through the unfolding of our-selves.
Which kind of brings me back to the beginning of this. For these people (we can call them spiritually minded - even if they don't believe in spirituality themselves, simply by being interested in their actions, in their beings and their relation with things around them, they are already being spiritual and spiritual beings - that is, to me at least, the core of spirituality, uncovering the true extension of self), these spiritual people, will have lessons learned, stories to tell, ideas to teach, advisable practices and, above all, the experience of their years and the examples of their lives to share.
(and I think this is the role we all should represent to one another too... everybody has something to learn and something to teach - sometimes even they are the same thing, only from perhaps different perspectives)
But, in order for us to benefit from this wealth of knowledge, we must learn how to be present. I usually say, learn how to listen. And listening, to me, is a full being thing. When you listen you listen with the wholeness of you - not just the ears.
Using just the ears is like saying that cycling is pedalling.
And I think that we all know what will happen if we only pedal and don't pay attention to traffic, use the handle bars or even sit properly...
For this we need to be present.
So, and in conclusion, for us to truly be present in this time and age of ours we need to retain awareness of what's happening. We need to be insightful into the now. We need to be present.
Then, perhaps not only we'll fulfil each time, one moment at a time, but perhaps we will feel that each time, each moment, is already full. That each moment is already everything.
Tuesday 22 June 2010
Strange Pathways
Life is a strange thing. I think we spend a lifetime getting used to it and more or less failing because it keeps slipping from under our fingers.
I've just seen the second part of the Crow Road TV miniseries. It's based on the Iain Banks book of the same name. And it's as much about secrets and how they tear you down as well as Scotland and Scottish culture and way of being. And, if only for the latter, it's worthwhile seeing.
For a long time I've been thinking what should I write here. I mean sure, it's about spiritual stuff. Yesterday a talk I had with someone I recently met focussed precisely on this. His preoccupation had to do mainly with other people's expectations - and the change of those expectations. Like you'd been building a product and then somehow frustrated the reliability of that product.
My view is somewhat different.
But what is spirituality?
The best definition I can come up with is that it doesn't matter the theme as long as you are really fully there. There rest, when you're half there (or less) is just everything else we fill our time with.
In a word, spirituality is immersion.
I've been thinking about how and what should I write here because I am a bit shy of sharing my vulnerabilities. Not so much because I am afraid of being harmed by others people's knowledge of them (like most people seem to be) but because that experience may harm them in some way. I mean the world is filled as it is with negative stuff and white-brained dogmatism. I wanted to escape all that. At least here. And to be precise. To give people something worthwhile. Something somewhat different from what seem to be surrounded and to do it in a hopefully positive or inspiring way. Uplifting.
Arrogant of me? Perhaps. But I am sick of reading rubbish that's not even true to itself.
And I think it's important we protect one another. Things are difficult as it is without that.
But what is a blog? It's supposed to be a place where you come and you just write whatever comes to mind, writing for yourself, yet sharing it all for the whole world to see. So it's supposed to be personal, yet for the whole world to see.
It kind of doesn't make much sense now does it? But, then again, if you're like me and you have one of these, then you probably don't worry too much with these things and just get on with it.
Until the day...
(and that day ifs perhaps tonight for me...)
While I was walking down to the postal box to return the DVD something like this monologue was happening in my mind:
I'm feeling I'm moving too fast through life. Divided between a knowledge and a bodily yearning. As if I'm too old and still young enough. Trying to fit together two different perspectives about the same thing. As if I'm harbouring two different beings. But that are both myself.
I'll explain further.
The experience of meditation changes things a bit. You kind of fast forward into lessons that probably you're only supposed to learn and realise later on in life. The relativisation of romantic love. for passion is after all one of our most dire concerns.
And yet you're still young enough for your body to just want more than your mind deems necessary or even healthy.
And if you find yourself in a tight spot. Being the arbiter of a very strange game indeed.
And you end up doing what is only reasonable to do.
Everybody gets to win or to lose sometimes.
You improvise. You allow one to win and the other to lose whenever situations are appropriate.
I'll tell you what's perhaps my greatest vulnerability. Sharing my deeper, innermost truth with someone.
I always feel that if I do do it, I will be banished. I will be cut away for the very thing I'm trying to reach.
Writing or isolation then become obvious choices for a screen or pen and paper will never run away unless you want them to. And you can always have the secrecy of your mind to keep nurtured.
It's easy to trace back to where these things started to come into my life, at least consciously.
Just as it is easy to understand that these things are so deep and span so much that it's not likely that they'll be changed dramatically any time soon. Unless something equally dramatic happens to change that happens. I at least, shy of meditation itself, am not planning on undergoing other type of possibilities.
it is obvious that, either we like it or not, we always end up pouring ourselves into the characters we create. One way or another we have to give them realism, solidity, presence. And the only reference we've got is our own.
in a way the characters always control you. The difference when you do see it happening. And you play along. And the more you play, the more you see the subtleties in which they relate, that they change, that they mirror, that they escape. The way they represent the myriad of archetypes we all have inside ourselves.
It should be clear to you by now that I don't really know where I'm going with this: I'm trying to figure it out myself. I keep coming to the title but I'm finding no real solace there.
Here's another thing that I wanted to say.
people claim they want the truth all the time but, in my experience, very few are actually ready for it. I've done it a few times. Shared the truth (or as close as I can muster to it) with them. But more often than not people mistake the opening of your heart, with all its faults and failures (that's why it is hard, if it were perfect we wouldn't be so shy in doing so), by our shirking away from them. Because you tell them of the distance you feel, they mistake this with unloving feelings. They mistake confusion with not caring. Whilst in fact it's quite the reverse. You share the confusion and the distance, because you care, because you feel close, because in some strange way you've learned to trust that person, because you want to share yourself with them.
Being turned down on this is quite hard. It's always hard for me at least. It has happened numerous times, in varying degrees, but there's always a hurt and a feeling of betrayal... I don't know, betrayal is not the right word right now, right here, maybe disappointment. A feeling that things should've been different (yet perhaps you knew at the onset that this was truly the outcome only you didn't want to to believe it...)
And it makes you feel you don't want to do it again. Because you don't want the distance to increase, along with the confusion and all the other things you were trying to get away by sharing them.
That's why I keep trying. sometimes you get it right. Even for just a few brief moments. And when you do, life acquires something better than meaning. It acquires empathy. With what it doesn't matter. Perhaps just with itself. That's what I keep searching for perhaps. People that allow this feeling to surface more rather than less.
Whenever I come out of one of the retreats I always end up meeting someone. I'll recognise the shine in the eyes, the openness inside them. And I see the joy that doesn't come merely from being happy but the joy that comes from being in tune and in acceptance of all things, wonderful or not.
And I know that we can't talk. That we can share.
And I am comforted in the knowing that even if we don't talk, even if we don't meet that we're already sharing incredible amounts.
We're already sharing our strange pathways.
I've just seen the second part of the Crow Road TV miniseries. It's based on the Iain Banks book of the same name. And it's as much about secrets and how they tear you down as well as Scotland and Scottish culture and way of being. And, if only for the latter, it's worthwhile seeing.
For a long time I've been thinking what should I write here. I mean sure, it's about spiritual stuff. Yesterday a talk I had with someone I recently met focussed precisely on this. His preoccupation had to do mainly with other people's expectations - and the change of those expectations. Like you'd been building a product and then somehow frustrated the reliability of that product.
My view is somewhat different.
But what is spirituality?
The best definition I can come up with is that it doesn't matter the theme as long as you are really fully there. There rest, when you're half there (or less) is just everything else we fill our time with.
In a word, spirituality is immersion.
I've been thinking about how and what should I write here because I am a bit shy of sharing my vulnerabilities. Not so much because I am afraid of being harmed by others people's knowledge of them (like most people seem to be) but because that experience may harm them in some way. I mean the world is filled as it is with negative stuff and white-brained dogmatism. I wanted to escape all that. At least here. And to be precise. To give people something worthwhile. Something somewhat different from what seem to be surrounded and to do it in a hopefully positive or inspiring way. Uplifting.
Arrogant of me? Perhaps. But I am sick of reading rubbish that's not even true to itself.
And I think it's important we protect one another. Things are difficult as it is without that.
But what is a blog? It's supposed to be a place where you come and you just write whatever comes to mind, writing for yourself, yet sharing it all for the whole world to see. So it's supposed to be personal, yet for the whole world to see.
It kind of doesn't make much sense now does it? But, then again, if you're like me and you have one of these, then you probably don't worry too much with these things and just get on with it.
Until the day...
(and that day ifs perhaps tonight for me...)
While I was walking down to the postal box to return the DVD something like this monologue was happening in my mind:
I'm feeling I'm moving too fast through life. Divided between a knowledge and a bodily yearning. As if I'm too old and still young enough. Trying to fit together two different perspectives about the same thing. As if I'm harbouring two different beings. But that are both myself.
I'll explain further.
The experience of meditation changes things a bit. You kind of fast forward into lessons that probably you're only supposed to learn and realise later on in life. The relativisation of romantic love. for passion is after all one of our most dire concerns.
And yet you're still young enough for your body to just want more than your mind deems necessary or even healthy.
And if you find yourself in a tight spot. Being the arbiter of a very strange game indeed.
And you end up doing what is only reasonable to do.
Everybody gets to win or to lose sometimes.
You improvise. You allow one to win and the other to lose whenever situations are appropriate.
I'll tell you what's perhaps my greatest vulnerability. Sharing my deeper, innermost truth with someone.
I always feel that if I do do it, I will be banished. I will be cut away for the very thing I'm trying to reach.
Writing or isolation then become obvious choices for a screen or pen and paper will never run away unless you want them to. And you can always have the secrecy of your mind to keep nurtured.
It's easy to trace back to where these things started to come into my life, at least consciously.
Just as it is easy to understand that these things are so deep and span so much that it's not likely that they'll be changed dramatically any time soon. Unless something equally dramatic happens to change that happens. I at least, shy of meditation itself, am not planning on undergoing other type of possibilities.
it is obvious that, either we like it or not, we always end up pouring ourselves into the characters we create. One way or another we have to give them realism, solidity, presence. And the only reference we've got is our own.
in a way the characters always control you. The difference when you do see it happening. And you play along. And the more you play, the more you see the subtleties in which they relate, that they change, that they mirror, that they escape. The way they represent the myriad of archetypes we all have inside ourselves.
It should be clear to you by now that I don't really know where I'm going with this: I'm trying to figure it out myself. I keep coming to the title but I'm finding no real solace there.
Here's another thing that I wanted to say.
people claim they want the truth all the time but, in my experience, very few are actually ready for it. I've done it a few times. Shared the truth (or as close as I can muster to it) with them. But more often than not people mistake the opening of your heart, with all its faults and failures (that's why it is hard, if it were perfect we wouldn't be so shy in doing so), by our shirking away from them. Because you tell them of the distance you feel, they mistake this with unloving feelings. They mistake confusion with not caring. Whilst in fact it's quite the reverse. You share the confusion and the distance, because you care, because you feel close, because in some strange way you've learned to trust that person, because you want to share yourself with them.
Being turned down on this is quite hard. It's always hard for me at least. It has happened numerous times, in varying degrees, but there's always a hurt and a feeling of betrayal... I don't know, betrayal is not the right word right now, right here, maybe disappointment. A feeling that things should've been different (yet perhaps you knew at the onset that this was truly the outcome only you didn't want to to believe it...)
And it makes you feel you don't want to do it again. Because you don't want the distance to increase, along with the confusion and all the other things you were trying to get away by sharing them.
That's why I keep trying. sometimes you get it right. Even for just a few brief moments. And when you do, life acquires something better than meaning. It acquires empathy. With what it doesn't matter. Perhaps just with itself. That's what I keep searching for perhaps. People that allow this feeling to surface more rather than less.
Whenever I come out of one of the retreats I always end up meeting someone. I'll recognise the shine in the eyes, the openness inside them. And I see the joy that doesn't come merely from being happy but the joy that comes from being in tune and in acceptance of all things, wonderful or not.
And I know that we can't talk. That we can share.
And I am comforted in the knowing that even if we don't talk, even if we don't meet that we're already sharing incredible amounts.
We're already sharing our strange pathways.
Saturday 19 June 2010
The Human Incompleteness Theorem
This is a theme that has been running in my mind for a while now and yesterday, while cycling home, this title surfaced and I more or less felt it was time to start writing about it. After all, if I don't do it, I'll probably end up forgetting it.
(for a while at least, these things do tend to come back again, reformulated, at a later stage, as if everything had its own cycle or appearance, disappearance, transformation and reappearance)
Kurt Gödel was the mathematician that proved MATHEMATICALLY that any single system we might come up with will never contain enough tools to be able to prove every possible affirmation about that system.
To put it more simply, if you want to know EVERYTHING about the box, you need to be OUT of it.
Bringing this theme closer to home, if we want to know everything about ourselves, or consciousness or whatever it is, we simply have to accept the fact that we can't, because, whatever the tools we employ, the very tools will end up limiting us.
We have a physical body, mind, consciousness, karma, spirituality. All these things (either we know exactly what they are or not it doesn't matter) will define how much we can know about ourselves.
It is our nature (well, for most of us it is it seems to me...) that, as soon as we realise something we jump on to the next.
And to the next.
And to the next.
It's a never-ending process of "searching for".
For better or for worse Kurt Gödel comes to clearly state that we will never reach everything.
If anything, it will be the reverse, the more we know, the more we will become keenly aware of the astounding array of possibilities. And if our perception of things changes then chances are we'll add even more to what we already had. Every new thing will expand our system, perhaps making us feel even more incomplete than before.
I was talking to a friend a few days ago about this. I told her that this isn't a pessimistic vision of things but merely a call to accept one of the most basic rules of the game. That, in fact, this theorem revolutionised mathematics, making it a much more fertile ground. It was a huge leap in terms of attitude and my personal stance is that it still hasn't even been fully integrated in the scientific community. It's too big and it goes against our natural desires. Therefore, it's acceptance is more on logical and scientific terms rather than heartfelt or experiential ones.
To me, as soon as I discovered Vipassana and had the chance of experience deeper stages of the practice, I made the connection between Buddha and Gödel immediately. It was an obvious one. Gödel had simply reached a mathematical framework for something essential to the Buddhist teachings. The experience of the incompleteness and limitation of self.
In a way we can think of the Incompleteness Theorem as a mathematical assertion on the nature of desire, on its omnipresence, on the acceptance that the drive for knowledge is something that binds us and that keeps pushing us forward but that, ultimately, we're fighting a losing battle. That even though it is important that we continue to expand our vistas, it is crucial to accept that we cannot reach the Absolute with our minds or any kind of construct. You see the Incompleteness Theorem reveals the fine boundaries that are in place at all levels of experience. And, subtly, just like the Buddha encouraged us to go and seek and see for ourselves, it teaches us that the best thing we can do is perceive that these are in place, accept them and let go. Thus allowing us to integrate them. Grow closer to them. And expand.
I think in a very subtle way Gödel is telling us there is more to life than mathematics and mind. The Buddha simply said, and you can see it for yourself. You can experience directly the breaking point of normal perception into something much vaster than no longer depends upon the mind's conceptualisation.
By experiencing the end of mind one gets as closely as possible from getting out of the box.
In fact, we reach the walls of our box. We become part of them.
Perhaps we cannot look on what's on the other side.
But we've reached all that we could, the maximum of our possibilities.
And I believe that when we return to the inside of the box (all of this may only take a moment to happen) we will find that it has considerably expanded.
And by travelling between these two very different experiences we will be able to wholly transform and expand the whole of our world view.
For the good of all beings.
Peace.
(for a while at least, these things do tend to come back again, reformulated, at a later stage, as if everything had its own cycle or appearance, disappearance, transformation and reappearance)
Kurt Gödel was the mathematician that proved MATHEMATICALLY that any single system we might come up with will never contain enough tools to be able to prove every possible affirmation about that system.
To put it more simply, if you want to know EVERYTHING about the box, you need to be OUT of it.
Bringing this theme closer to home, if we want to know everything about ourselves, or consciousness or whatever it is, we simply have to accept the fact that we can't, because, whatever the tools we employ, the very tools will end up limiting us.
We have a physical body, mind, consciousness, karma, spirituality. All these things (either we know exactly what they are or not it doesn't matter) will define how much we can know about ourselves.
It is our nature (well, for most of us it is it seems to me...) that, as soon as we realise something we jump on to the next.
And to the next.
And to the next.
It's a never-ending process of "searching for".
For better or for worse Kurt Gödel comes to clearly state that we will never reach everything.
If anything, it will be the reverse, the more we know, the more we will become keenly aware of the astounding array of possibilities. And if our perception of things changes then chances are we'll add even more to what we already had. Every new thing will expand our system, perhaps making us feel even more incomplete than before.
I was talking to a friend a few days ago about this. I told her that this isn't a pessimistic vision of things but merely a call to accept one of the most basic rules of the game. That, in fact, this theorem revolutionised mathematics, making it a much more fertile ground. It was a huge leap in terms of attitude and my personal stance is that it still hasn't even been fully integrated in the scientific community. It's too big and it goes against our natural desires. Therefore, it's acceptance is more on logical and scientific terms rather than heartfelt or experiential ones.
To me, as soon as I discovered Vipassana and had the chance of experience deeper stages of the practice, I made the connection between Buddha and Gödel immediately. It was an obvious one. Gödel had simply reached a mathematical framework for something essential to the Buddhist teachings. The experience of the incompleteness and limitation of self.
In a way we can think of the Incompleteness Theorem as a mathematical assertion on the nature of desire, on its omnipresence, on the acceptance that the drive for knowledge is something that binds us and that keeps pushing us forward but that, ultimately, we're fighting a losing battle. That even though it is important that we continue to expand our vistas, it is crucial to accept that we cannot reach the Absolute with our minds or any kind of construct. You see the Incompleteness Theorem reveals the fine boundaries that are in place at all levels of experience. And, subtly, just like the Buddha encouraged us to go and seek and see for ourselves, it teaches us that the best thing we can do is perceive that these are in place, accept them and let go. Thus allowing us to integrate them. Grow closer to them. And expand.
I think in a very subtle way Gödel is telling us there is more to life than mathematics and mind. The Buddha simply said, and you can see it for yourself. You can experience directly the breaking point of normal perception into something much vaster than no longer depends upon the mind's conceptualisation.
By experiencing the end of mind one gets as closely as possible from getting out of the box.
In fact, we reach the walls of our box. We become part of them.
Perhaps we cannot look on what's on the other side.
But we've reached all that we could, the maximum of our possibilities.
And I believe that when we return to the inside of the box (all of this may only take a moment to happen) we will find that it has considerably expanded.
And by travelling between these two very different experiences we will be able to wholly transform and expand the whole of our world view.
For the good of all beings.
Peace.
Thursday 17 June 2010
One Hundred Verses Of Advice 02
02
"To apply yourselves with body, speech and mind to the sacred teachings,
People of Tingri, is the best thing you can do."
These verses seem to take us back to the positive consequences (for self and others) of truly engaging with a true spiritual path. Perhaps it tells us how from the teachings comes all that we might need in our life. But perhaps also, that every action, every word and every thought can be a vehicle for the teachings themselves.
Dilgo Khyentse reminds us that cause and effect are omni-present and that the consequences of our actions will karmically reflect on future incarnations. That the body is a vehicle we must learn how to use. And he tells the tale of a sage that, at the end of every day, piled stones in two heaps. White stones for every good deed. And black stones for every bad deed. And that he did this until the day came where he only had a pile of white stones in front of him.
"To apply yourselves with body, speech and mind to the sacred teachings,
People of Tingri, is the best thing you can do."
These verses seem to take us back to the positive consequences (for self and others) of truly engaging with a true spiritual path. Perhaps it tells us how from the teachings comes all that we might need in our life. But perhaps also, that every action, every word and every thought can be a vehicle for the teachings themselves.
Dilgo Khyentse reminds us that cause and effect are omni-present and that the consequences of our actions will karmically reflect on future incarnations. That the body is a vehicle we must learn how to use. And he tells the tale of a sage that, at the end of every day, piled stones in two heaps. White stones for every good deed. And black stones for every bad deed. And that he did this until the day came where he only had a pile of white stones in front of him.
Tuesday 15 June 2010
One Hundred Verses Of Advice 01
Hi there
A recent friend (or perhaps a long time one... it depends on which side of reality we are seeing, how far and how deeply we can see into the truth) has given me a book containing Dilgo Khyentse's commentaries on Padampa Sangye's One Hundred Verses Of Advice.
Today at work I had the idea of writing these here and make a brief commentary on what they made me reflect upon and, perhaps share some of Dilgo Khyentse's insights.
So, without further ado...
01
"If you spend the present meaninglessly and leave with empty hands,
People of Tingri, a human life in future will be very hard to find."
To me this is call for people to practice spirituality as a way of reaching higher forms of attainment and thus liberate themselves, at the very least, from the cycle of rebirth in lower existences (the realms below the human one, ie, animals and the various hells)
It is a reminder of Karma and of the somewhat invisible yet omnipresent consequences of our actions.
It also alerts to the fact that by not being able of attaining a human life in a future rebirth (and attaining something pertaining to a lower realm) almost certainly will mean a great difficulty in purifying oneself, in releasing oneself from ignorance. In the lower realms spiritual work becomes incredibly difficult and so one tends to stay trapped in there for many cycles.
This is admonishment for all people to use the great blessing of incarnating in a human body wisely, in pursuit of liberation, for their well-being and that of others.
Dilgo Khyentse puts it more plainly by simply stating that when the time for sowing comes the farmers sow. They do not wait around for a better time. This is what we should do with our human life and the sowing of spirituality also.
peace.
A recent friend (or perhaps a long time one... it depends on which side of reality we are seeing, how far and how deeply we can see into the truth) has given me a book containing Dilgo Khyentse's commentaries on Padampa Sangye's One Hundred Verses Of Advice.
Today at work I had the idea of writing these here and make a brief commentary on what they made me reflect upon and, perhaps share some of Dilgo Khyentse's insights.
So, without further ado...
01
"If you spend the present meaninglessly and leave with empty hands,
People of Tingri, a human life in future will be very hard to find."
To me this is call for people to practice spirituality as a way of reaching higher forms of attainment and thus liberate themselves, at the very least, from the cycle of rebirth in lower existences (the realms below the human one, ie, animals and the various hells)
It is a reminder of Karma and of the somewhat invisible yet omnipresent consequences of our actions.
It also alerts to the fact that by not being able of attaining a human life in a future rebirth (and attaining something pertaining to a lower realm) almost certainly will mean a great difficulty in purifying oneself, in releasing oneself from ignorance. In the lower realms spiritual work becomes incredibly difficult and so one tends to stay trapped in there for many cycles.
This is admonishment for all people to use the great blessing of incarnating in a human body wisely, in pursuit of liberation, for their well-being and that of others.
Dilgo Khyentse puts it more plainly by simply stating that when the time for sowing comes the farmers sow. They do not wait around for a better time. This is what we should do with our human life and the sowing of spirituality also.
peace.
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