If there was to be a useful inscription to put on a medallion around your neck, it would be: ‘This is the way it is’.
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu
Tag: Life
Thoughts from the garden on a beautiful morning
This early morning saw beautiful sunshine and finally the cherry tree at the end of the garden burst into flower. A picture of growth and life. And yet this last week I have gotten some news that reminded me that we are all subject to illness and change. There are times that we cannot predict or even understand all that happens to us or to those who are dear to us. And my work brings me into almost continual contact with the struggles and inner yearnings of people and also the deep-rooted patterns and habits that keep them locked in fear and anxiety. When things go well, as they have been for some time now, or when I am blessed to sit early in the garden on a day such as this, I easily fall into the belief that this will remain the case for ever. However, the news of this week and events over the last few weeks – with the disaster in Japan and the outbreak of war in Libya and the struggles of people in Syria and the Ivory Coast – remind me that our life here is unsatisfactory in a fundamental way. We can never be certain of the permanence of any external thing to which we look for our feelings of wellbeing. So this throws me back inside myself and to the ongoing cultivation of a quality of awareness that can work with everything that happens, good and bad. Moments like this help me to focus on the question of how I are living this life which is constantly subject to change. It reminds me to work with life as it is and not just with the parts that are as I like. What are the priorities I choose and which I want to endure? Can I practice mindfulness in all my choices? Where am I focusing my energy? In the small corner of the world where I am, can I stay in contact with people around that which is important and let go of all that contributes to the suffering of the world?
You are like a candle. Imagine you are sending light out all around you. All your words, thoughts and actions are going in many directions. If you say something kind, your kind words go in many directions, and you yourself go with them. We are …transforming and continuing in a different form at every moment.
Thich Nhat Hahn
What arises, ceases.
The past is a memory… Remembering is a condition that arises and ceases. It has no core or substance. When you explore memories, you stop believing in them so strongly, and you no longer live in their world, assuming all kinds of things from just remembering. “Panna” in this sense is being aware of the way it is, rather than holding views, opinions and emotional reactions to memories. Or applying this to people : Where is that person right now? They are just a memory that arises. In the reality of this moment, what we remember of them is a condition of the mind that arises and ceases in the present. This way of reflecting helps us break down the illusion that people are permanently what we think.
Ajahn Sumedho
Where suffering begins
The origin of suffering – the idea that we need to have something, become something or get rid of something – has the power to get any of us heated up.
It is the mind’s relationship to the senses that is the problem
Ajahn Sucitto, Turning the Wheel of Truth
We often do not like just being with ourselves
Sometimes in our lives we have to let go of things which once seemed important in order to allow the space to be filled with new things. However, this requires courage, and we often avoid it by preferring to be occupied, to fill up empty space and time.
Emptiness is the pregnant void out of which all creation springs.
But many of us fear emptiness.
We prefer to remain…surrounded by things…which we imagine are subject to our control.
Wayne Muller
On being true to ones nature
Another poem by Mary Oliver, about a flower that blooms in Springtime. It is a lovely affirmation of love for life, and the willingness to open and stand firm in one’s own purpose. To share with others, and to shine.
All my life, so far,
I have loved more than one thing,
including the mossy hooves of dreams, including’
the spongy litter under the tall trees.
In spring, the moccasin flowers
reach for the crackling lick of the sun
and burn down. Sometimes,
in the shadows, I see the hazy eyes,
the lamb-lips
of oblivion, its deep drowse,
and I can imagine a new nothing
in the universe,
the matted leaves splitting
open, revealing the black planks
of the stairs.
But all my life – sofar –
I have loved best how the flowers rise
and open, how
the pink lungs of their bodies
enter the fore of the world
and stand there shining and willing – the one
thing they can do before they shuffle forward into the floor of darkness, they become the trees.
