Compassion

Unconditional compassion may be one of the most important qualities a human being can strive to possess. To be selfless is a major key to opening the door to true understanding. I, like everyone else in the world, find this hard at times. I do not have a violent temper or anything like that, but I am human, and humans do not always live up to their true spiritual potential. It's part of the gig. It's part of learning.
“I am good to people who are good. I am also good to people who are not good. Because Virtue is goodness.
I have faith in people who are faithful. I also have faith in people who are not faithful. Because Virtue is faithfulness."
-- Tao Te Ching
Compassion, while to a certain degree natural and latent in us all, sometimes needs to be practised and honed just like any other skill we seek to learn. When we practise a martial art, for example, we expect difficulty and challenges along the way. That's why we practise so hard and so long. Our approach to spirituality should be no different.
"The Art of Peace begins with you. Work on yourself and your appointed task in the Art of Peace."
-- Morihei Ueshiba
And compassion does lead to peace in the end. Sometimes the process feels painfully exhausting, I admit, but our spiritual teachers were definitely onto something when they preached patience and kindness. In reality, anger and frustration merely cloud our minds. They obscure our focus and mental clarity.
"When a delusion like anger is present, we lose control."
-- The Dalai Lama
So although we will invariably fail at times, the pursuit of unconditional compassion is a worthy path to embark upon. It will not only help us fine tune our own spirituality, but it will make us better teachers to those around us as well.
"For hate is not conquered by hate: hate is conquered by love. This is a law eternal."
-- The Dhammapada

Siddhartha

It was almost twenty years ago that I first read Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. The book, a fictional account of a wandering monk in the time of the Buddha, is a story sure to trigger spiritual contemplation in any reader. It traces the protagonist's journey through asceticism, worldly desires, and eventually peace and reflection. It is ultimately about seeking truth in all its mystery, which, for Siddhartha, is what life is ultimately all about.
Although it is difficult to remember my exact thoughts about the book twenty years ago, what I do realize is how differently the words feel now that I have had much more life experience. Don't get me wrong, I was still very spiritually minded as a young man. At least as much as today. However, our consciousness seems to be ever-expanding, and as a result, time truly does give us perspective.
One of the things that really struck me this time reading the novel was the fact that this was not just a westerner's interpretation of Eastern thought, but a fusion of Eastern thought with Western mysticism. Hesse was, after all, German, and his take on Eastern philosophy was still seen through the eyes of the West. That said, the truth is the truth regardless of where one lives, and therefore the author still manages to cut through to the core of Siddhartha's contemplative nature.
While doing this, Hesse very deliberately draws parallels between the Buddha and his character, Siddhartha, but is very careful to separate the two in their approach to spirituality and teaching.
At the heart of Siddhartha, is the idea that, "Wisdom is not communicable." Instead, it is seen and heard everywhere all at once, and everything in life is timeless and unified.
However, regardless of which age I happened to be reading this novel, the author's words made me reflect deeply upon the nature of life and reality itself. While now I can relate more to the different stages of Siddhartha's life, perhaps when I'm older I'll look back with even more perspective upon Hesse's eloquent story.

...Just thought this fit well today, don't know why...

the broken buddha....

Years ago, a friend of mine was going through hard times. We were young. He left the city where we lived and went to stay with his folks for a year before he moved away once again for some further education.
He lived in a basement. He wrote a book of poetry. He met me sometimes for a chat or to throw around the football.
Pain is a strange thing, as most of us know. Enlightenment can truly arise from its depths. Don't get me wrong, any of us would trade away the anguish in a second for some calm and joy. And his trials would pass, in time.
Anyway, one of my best glimpses of Zen came from those days--in the shadowy basement of a suburban bungalow--in a city just like any other. I guess my friend had ordered Chinese food, not wanting to cook one evening, and the food had arrived with one of those cheap scroll calenders that most customers throw out. You know, the ones that say it's the year of the tiger or whatever and then have a calendar beneath this info with a giant business card ad... i.e. the true motivation for giving the calendar in the first place. (Phew... I'm out of breath now). Well, this calendar hung on the wall for the whole year in my friends room.
Backwards.
Yup. The words and images faced the wall. And in tiny writing, barely discernible on the otherwise blank back of the scroll, was a barely legible sentence. It read: "Time does not exist."
And to this day I am sure that my friend was right.

Buddha Nature...

"There's a very amusing story of a little disciple who comes to his Master and says, 'Oh Master, am I of the Buddha nature?'
And the Master says, 'No, you are not.'
'Well I've heard that all the stones, and all insects, and all the animals are manifestations of the Buddha--all beings. And I'm not?'
'Oh,' said the Master. 'It's true. All nature, all insects, all stones are manifestations of the Buddha nature. But not you.'
'Why not me?'
'Because you are asking the question!'"

                                        -- Joseph Campbell

returning....

A Taoist concept I am trying to get my head around is the following: Returning is an essential element of the Way.

On the grand universal scale it makes sense, everything lives, dies, and returns to its source. But how does it apply on a personal level? Or, a martial level for that matter?

Maybe, it is merely karma. Everything we give out returns to us in the course of time, as a matter of karmic balance. In Buddhist theory, this does not just apply to the here and now, but applies to the evolutionary aspects of reincarnation as well. But the Tao is more abstract. Perhaps less specific in this regard.

Personal and emotional equilibrium is another possibility. We return to ourselves and our balanced emotional state after every encounter or event. In martial terms this would be exertion, followed by the restful (yet aware) state of being. It would be about constantly recalibrating one's Mind, per se, or even the physical body itself. (Realigning to nature itself?) This is a return to the "unchanging aspects" of oneself.

Lastly, it could all be about cycles--or circles--so prominent in eastern thought. We always return to the beginning of the circle. We evolve in cycles and return to beginner's mind in all we do. In jiu-jitsu, the circle is paramount, and we always complete the circle of a technique and return to the starting point.

And each morning we return to a new day, and study more and more about the nature of ourselves and all around us.

Nature is a language, Can't you read?

I am not in a martial arts funk. However, my practice of meditation and energy work have both been greatly altered over the past few months.

For the most part, with me, the meditative/reflective aspects of my training have been a routine--almost necessary--part of my martial equilibrium. But now, after a few months, I have found my discipline has eroded in this regard. It seems like I am just being lax until I delve deeper into the reason why this is so.

The reason is Nature.

I have found myself spending much more time than usual in the natural world, with my family, far away from concrete and traffic, and in the company of trees, lakes, and just pure quietude. This, I figure, has been my meditation and reflection time, and to learn the principles of energy one need look no further than a wooded area with small birds and squirrels. (Corniness doesn't mean it lacks truth).

In my area, the lotus, so sacred in terms of vedic/buddhist tradition, appears this time of year in the form of a white water lily--amid lily pads and leopard frogs--and opens its pedals to the sun in a like manner. Chestnuts fall to the ground, with a Newtonian thud, and one's place in the world seems a little clearer.

I have often thought about the dojos of old Japan, nested away on a mountainside. Outlook is influenced by environment, and therefore abilities in turn. Do concrete jungles have advantages also, fine tuning our senses to a more realistic setting for self-defense? Should we take training retreats--to our opposite living situations--as a form of cross-training?

Anyway, I feel better to have realized my meditation has not become lost. Rather, it has just changed its form for the time being.

American Buddhism--Part Three...

Gary Snyder.

Another Beat/San Francisco Renaissance writer who spent his time divided between the U.S. and Japan. In Jack Kerouac's book, Dharma Bums, he is the poet Japhy Ryder who spurs the author on towards Zen meditation and ideology. His poetry is naturalistic and infused with Japanese sensibility. And oh yeah, he has won a Pulitzer Prize for his efforts. Synder has also translated Chinese and Japanese texts into English.

"In the blue night

frost haze, the sky glows

with the moon

pine tree tops

bend snow-blue, fade

into sky, frost, starlight.

The creak of boots.

Rabbit tracks, deer tracks

what do we know." - G.S.

Synder's Zen influence on his contemporaries is undeniable. And his spiritual approach to life and literature opened many artistic avenues for his peers.

While living in Japan, Synder received the name Chofu (Listen to the Wind). And along with awards for Nature Writing, "Synder also has the distinction of being the first American to receive the Buddhism Transmission Award (from 1998) from the Japan-based Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai Foundation." -- wikipedia

Worth checking out, for sure.

Faults...

"Look upon the man who tells thee thy faults as if he told thee of a hidden treasure..." -- The Dhammapada (Chapter six)

This is probably one of the most difficult concepts to embrace in both martial training and in living life in general. That "man who tells thee thy faults," comes in many forms: a sensei, an uke, a friend, a spouse, and especially, one's self. If we're not open to looking at our own short-comings it could set us up for a fall. It could mean danger, for the spirit, or, on the street, physically.

Sometimes, while training, we express such flaws in technique in a jesting manner; other times it becomes a very serious conversation. As long as it solves the problem, the comments are considered a success.

As a friend, or an uke, I would be letting my partner down if I were to pretend a technique is working well if it is not. As a friend outside the dojo, the same applies.

But the hard part is always hearing such flaws about yourself.

As always, humility is a great teacher.

American Buddhism--Part Two

It is the academically overlooked eastern influences on western culture that I am trying to unearth in these posts. Also, the influences that have impacted me, personally.

I mentioned in the last article the influence of the Beat writers on 1960s counterculture. These authors brought about a new take on eastern thought, weaving its philosophy into a more American, loose-fitting, frontier-style ideology. While this movement was born and bred in the States, another huge influence on the hippie era actually came from the pen of a German-born, Swiss author.

Despite winning a Nobel prize for literature in 1946, Hermann Hesse's popularity in North America didn't peak until after his death in 1962. It was then that the themes he had been exploring since just after the turn-of-the-century found appeal with the university students in the western world--themes that explored "an individual's search for authenticity, self-knowledge and spirituality." (wikipedia)

The titles popular with this audience included: Steppenwolf, Journey to the East, and Siddhartha (an interpretation of the story of Buddha).

"Buddha's way to salvation..." said Hesse, "...(Is) not just learning and knowing, but spiritual experience that can be earned only through strict discipline in a selfless life."

Again, in Hesse, we get a hybrid philosophy in the sense that he was initially steeped in the schools of German Romanticism and European theosophy. He was also very knowledgeable when it came to the work of the western scholars, such as, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Carl Jung. (The latter two themselves were quite interested in Eastern culture and thinking).

Again, the western take on the East is a merging of two separate hemispheres of the world--like two sides of the brain--fusing into one school of thought. It is not the ideology of the Zen monks in Japan, nor is it specifically Tibetan or Indian. Just as the Christianity of the southern United States is not that of the ancient catacombs of Rome, rather, the former serves as an extension of the latter.

It becomes it's own thing, and serves to influence new schools of thought, in turn.

Like the Siddhartha of Hesse's novel, the author, too, was often at odds with the world of humankind. He was strongly opposed to Hitler and the Nazis (they eventually banned the publishing of his work); he questioned the western educational system; and he believed in the individual pursuit of searching inward for life's answers instead of through the material forms of the world.

In many ways, it seems his life's work was focused on the transcendence of pain in the modern world, a theme well understood by Buddhists and other spiritual followers alike.