Finding the courage to go to the places that scare us cannot happen without compassionate inquiry into the workings of ego…… Flexibility and openness bring strength ……. running from groundlessness weakens us and brings pain. But do we understand that becoming familiar with the running away is the key? Openness doesn’t come from resisting our fears but from getting to know them well.
Pema Chodron, The Places That Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times,
We can …. look upon life as something that flows through the mind. Rather than thinking of oneself as a person who is going places, consider these as images going through the mind. Right now we have the image of the meditation hall; this is what we can perceive. The sound of this voice; the feeling of sitting on a cushion; the sense of sight; see that all these things flow through the mind like a current. When Ajahn Sumedho went traveling recently he said he made the determination before he left that he wasn’t going to go around the world, he was just going to let the world go through his mind. Afterwards he said the result was very peaceful: he went everywhere, saw everyone, did everything, but the sense of movement, of a person heading towards somewhere, was absent; there was stillness in its place.
Ajahn Amaro
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
Mary Oliver, Starlings in Winter
The strong winds on Sunday night blew the last leaves from the trees and they stand bare in the garden, clearly seen against the grey sky. Snow fell on the tops of the nearby Jura mountains. I was involved in a retreat over the weekend where we reflected on Kabir’s beautiful words “Throw away all thoughts of imaginary things and stand firm in that which you are“. However, as we all experience from time to time, that firmness does not always seem so near, and we can be blown by winds of doubt and self-criticism. It feels cold and we think we are alone. In moments like these we have to be patient. We cannot see the whole picture or understand why things are happening. When moments seem dark we can identify with what is going on in our emotions and get fixed there. We settle quickly into the negative feelings about ourself or our life, turn in on ourselves and close down. However, the theme of the weekend, and the weather outside, remind us to keep our roots deep in the goodness underneath, and not in what passes through the mind. We do not need to hold on to what is happening. Some kinds of unknowing are right. We trust even if we cannot see. In waiting, even in difficult moments, what is coming to pass is gradually revealed.
I prefer winter …… when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.
Andrew Wyatt, American Painter
Winter has finally arrived here, with snow on the nearby mountains. So a little reflection on working with the things that we cannot change or with things that inconvenience us:
A disciple asked the Zen master Tung-shan: “When the heat of summer and the cold of winter arrive, how can we escape them?” Tung-shan answered, “Why don’t you go where there is no heat or cold?” “Where is this place,” asked the disciple, “where there is no heat or cold?” At this the master replied, “When it is hot, be completely hot; when it is cold, be completely cold.”
The disciple’s question had a symbolic meaning, and the answer was given on the same level. Heat and cold stand for circumstances that affect our daily existence but are out of our hands to regulate or rectify. Impersonal facts with far-reaching effects on us include: general economic conditions; situations of war, violence or peace; accidents; laws, policies and prejudices; possibilities and opportunities available in a particular community; mechanical and technological breakdowns and so on. The disciple wished to know how to escape such restraints. He wished to live in an ideal country where it is never too hot or too cold.
The Zen master’s reply was also symbolic. Instead of offering an escape route, he invited the disciple to plunge directly into the current situation and become completely hot in summer, completely cold in winter. According to an interpretation by Francis Dojun Cook, the Zen master was suggesting a radical affirmation of one’s very conditionedness in order to transcend it. By plunging directly into the current, one flows with it and on it. When resistance is futile, yielding to the flow of the current of events offers the promise of life. In order to understand the reply of Tung-shan, we have to realize that he was speaking of a change in attitude. Rather than attempting to change the facts of the situation, or escape them by flight, we may change our attitude, accept things as they are, and thereby move beyond them to a point where we find peace of mind. That point or region of peace is the country where “there is no heat or cold.” These conditions no longer exist as problems for us, although they continue to exist as facts. What has changed is our attitude toward them.
Charles Cummings, The Best Place to Live
Authenticity is the expression of what is genuine and natural. It commands great respect because, unfortunately, it is so rare. The desire to be accepted, or to engage in competition and comparison, drives us to limit our behavior to what falls within narrowly prescribed, predictable norms. Ridding ourselves of old patterns and accessing the authentic self are entry ways to freedom and the domain of wisdom. In fact, as we discover how to befriend these processes, ageing and renewing our character can be what Carl Jung called, “A winter grace.” Jung believed that if we do not develop inner strength as we age, we will become defensive, dogmatic, depressed, resentful, and cynical. Our homeland of authenticity is within, and there we are sovereign. Until we rediscover this ancient truth in a way that is unique for each of us, we are condemned to wander, seeking solace in the outer world where it cannot be found.
Angeles Arrien, The Second Half of Life
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