There was a very clear super moon last night.
In Chinese philosophy, the “10, 000 things” is a shorthand way of talking about all the experiences – good and bad – which arise and pass away in our day.
This poem reminds us not to give too much substance to all the things which arise today:
Sitting alone in peace before these cliffs
the full moon is heaven’s beacon
the ten thousand things are all reflections
the moon originally has no light
Han-shan, 9th Century legendary Chinese figure.
Spaciousness does not come by arriving at a state of mind where thoughts and emotions simply do not arise and disturb us. On the contrary, difficulties are part of life, and emotions connected to them will always arise. Rather it comes when we can hold such mental events in awareness in such a way that we do not give them, or the stories and dramas that make up our personality, the importance that they clamour for:
Yes, there is the purity of these autumn waters extending out to the horizon
But how does that compare with the haziness of the moon on a Spring night?
Most people want to have pure clarity
But sweep as you will, you cannot empty the mind
Keizan Jokin, the “Great Patriarch” 1268 – 1325, second founder of the Soto Zen School
When things in work start to overwhelm me and cause a struggle, or when someone does something that causes fear, I notice that two things tend to happen – I get a type of tightening or contraction in the body and a feeling of speeding up in the mind. So this poet’s petition is a nice one to echo on this Saturday morning: Let the day begin gently, and let space enter in, expand and slow me down. Let the leaves fall one by one, and may their letting go permeate into my bones.
We do not have to learn how to contract; we find it easy to turn away, to freeze and to blame…
We do have to practice letting go and holding the heart open, to learn how to soften:
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
Robert Frost, from October.
photo david mastin
The Buddhists define spirituality as shamatha, or “tranquil abiding.” We are drawn to a spiritual path out of a desire for tranquil abiding. Just saying the words feels wonderful, like an antidote to the fear, unhappiness, and anxiety with which we often approach life. Fear of what? Fear of our basic human condition. If we stop long enough to take a quiet look at our situation, we’ll hear the tick-tick-ticking of time’s impersonal progress. For each of us, time’s march breeds a different fear: for some it is the terror of death; for others it is the worry of a life unlived; for some it signifies the loss of what we hold dear and familiar. These are not thoughts with which we usually enjoy lingering. Spirituality invites us to linger. It gives us a way of standing naked in the truth of the human condition; meeting it head-on with curiosity and openness. This is serious work, but the mysterious outcome of the work is a lightness of heart — what we call happiness.
Elizabeth Lesser, The Seekers Guide: Making your life a Spiritual Adventure
photo of Glendalough in autumn by J.-H. Janßen
If my happiness at this moment consists largely in reviewing happy memories and expectations, I am but dimly aware of this present. I shall still be dimly aware of the present when the good things that I have been expecting come to pass. For I shall have formed a habit of looking behind and ahead, making it difficult for me to attend to the here and now. If, then, my awareness of the past and future makes me less aware of the present, I must begin to wonder whether I am actually living in the real world.
Alan Watts
photo Shenandoah national park
No one escapes the wilderness on the way to the promised land.
Annie Dillard
photo peter dowley
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