Flowers in the sky of mind.

What dies, and what doesn't.

I’d like to tell you a story I call “Cleansing bubbles” about my own transformation.

One of life’s most enduring themes has been to find ourselves. The quest begins early, reaches a peak during adolescence and tails off afterward, largely because of frustration. Defining our identities is thus a universal pursuit that rarely culminates in anything real. If it reaches a conclusion, at all, it travels down the road of ego construction and maintenance. 

More times than not, nothing beyond ever occurs and we process what we think of ourselves in terms of how others see us, from moment to endless ever-changing moment. One moment a good self-image; the next a bad one. Our sense of who we are dances on the end of a tether like a boat anchored in a turbulent sea. Rather than finding our true, united nature, the quest is driven to enhance our differences. 

In the words Aśvaghoṣa: “In the all-conserving mind (âlaya-vijñâna) ignorance obtains; and from the non-enlightenment starts that which sees, that which represents, that which apprehends an objective world, and that which constantly particularises. This is called the ego (manas).” 

But as we shall see, there are two ends of this stick: one end that is emerging and the other end the seed from which the ego grows. In contemporary terminology, we lust for individuating ourselves at the expense of uniting ourselves. That universal quest to find ourselves is a dance of inside-the box futility. From beginning to end this entire process is flawed and based on a moving target dependent upon changing circumstances. All of life is changing and within change, there is no stability, except in the realm of stillness we call the soul—the hidden spirit awaiting discovery.

The quest was of particular importance to me since I never knew my father. The man I thought was my father was a sadistic beast who took pleasure in beating me, laughing all the while. The result on my psyche was devastating and hammered home the final nail in the coffin on my sense of self-worth when mixed with a broken love-affair during my young adult life, and the horrors of two years as a combat Marine fighting in Vietnam to survive by killing innocent people. 

I was 48 years of age, suicidal and a complete mess when I fled to a Zen monastery. By that time the seeds of disaster, planted in my subconscious had grown and flourished into plants of misery. Had it not been for the loving kindness and guidance of the Rōshi of the monastery I would be long gone and not writing these words. Because of him, I found myself—not the phony one that dances on a string of dependency, but the real one that never changes.

There is no limit to what I didn’t know when I first began my journey to self awareness. I was naïve and uneducated in the ways of Zen. I didn’t understand Japanese. I hadn’t yet read the significant sūtras. I didn’t even understand MU—the koan given me to transform my mental processes. But I did understand one simple metaphor given me by the Rōshi that turned the waters of my consciousness from the clouded filth of my imagination to clarity and self-realization.

I was told that while I was practicing Zazen to silently watch my thoughts, as bubbles arising out of the depths, into and through my conscious awareness and breaking on the surface of the water (e.g., thoughts becoming actualized phenomena—actions). I was to never attach myself to the bubbles but rather just watch and let them come, one after another, seeing the chains of causation seeping out of my encased memory, connecting, moment by moment my past with my present. And then to take the next step and realize what I was watching were old-movies of a dead past. That I did for months on end. I watched. I cried over the afflictions of my past, I endured the pain until one day there were no more bubbles; just clear water, the “movie” stopped and I was at peace. It was the practice of Zazen, that when conjoined with all that came before, shattered one part of me and introduced me to the better.

And then the dawn! What I could never see through the clouded waters of consciousness, I could see once the waters were clear. I was not the despicable person I had been led to believe. I was a never-changing, timeless soul—perfect at the core, encased in a broken body of ignorance. When I shared that experience with Rōshi during dokusan, the light of the sun shown through his face and he beamed, “welcome home.” It took me years beyond before I understood what he meant, but forever after that experience, the real me never bobbed again.

I am still encased in that broken vessel which is crumbling faster and faster as I age—and will remain that way until my shell is no longer, but I reached a point in my life when I felt compelled to do what I could to share the wealth of my realization.

Years later, I came upon a story told by The Buddha in the Tathāgatagarbha Sūtra. I share it to put flesh on the bones of my story: “‘Or perhaps, my friends, you can understand it like this: In a factory, statues of the Buddha are made by pouring liquid gold into moulds made of clay. In order to melt the gold into a liquid it has to be made so hot that the clay moulds become blackened and burnt. But when they have cooled down, the burnt, dirty moulds are broken and inside them the golden statues are revealed in all their beauty. In the same way, if we can break away our nasty feelings of greed and hatred we will find that underneath them, within us, we each have the hidden, perfect qualities of a Buddha, like pure shining gold.’

After finishing his explanations, The Buddha said to all the assembled holy men and women, ‘If you can learn to really understand this teaching, you will have understood one of the most important things that I saw when I became Enlightened, and you will see the way to perfect wisdom.’” 

That story is one of nine stories told to his followers near Rajagriha, in a great pavilion in the Sūtra. And rather than clay moulds becoming blackened and burnt, he saw upon his enlightenment a sky filled with beautiful lotus flowers which eventually wilted and died. But when they died a beautiful golden image of a Buddha meditating and radiating beams of light emerged out of the decay.

Like those flowers, “I” died that day (e.g., that broken, filthy jar-image of myself), and out of that broken vessel emerged the true me radiating from the depths of my soul, like light through the clear waters. Dying flowers; crumbling molds; bubbles arising from the depths of tragedy—Metaphors all, of equal magnitude. We are all so very different on the outside, yet at the core of our hearts and souls—where it really matters, we are the same; brothers and sisters bound forever together. If you can experience this transitional death of what doesn’t matter and the subsequent birth of what does, you will have entered into the timeless realm of purity, and you will feel “at home.”

The suchness of Earth Day.

This year Earth Day slipped by without my notice. Perhaps that was because I, like everyone else, was transfixed on COVID-19 and my top-of-mind priorities were thus in flux.

Seeing things as they truly are, without delusions or bias, is a serious challenge to world survival. The Buddha referred to himself as the Tathāgata, which is a derivative of the East Asian term Tathatā: the true basis of reality. Ordinarily, if we think of it at all, we think of spiritual awakening as some sort of magical state of mind. According to the 5th-century Chinese Mahayana scripture entitled Awakening of Faith in the Mahayana, the state of suchness/tathatā manifests in the highest wisdom with sublime attributes and is thus the womb of the Buddha.

In the world of today, living in a state of denial represents a threat of massive proportions, not only to those who choose to stay blind but to us all. Putting one’s head in the sand of ignorance does not ensure safety. On the contrary, closing our eyes to the very real consequences of a warming climate accomplishes nothing more than ensuring the ultimate end of a world that enables life. 

On this day (Earth Day) we had an opportunity to do our part to find our voice of courage and speak up to ensure, not only our own survival but the survival of our own progeny, not to mention all sentient beings. What we all need is to recognize that every step of human progress, from the very beginning, has been contingent on having a livable environment. And unless we wake up soon we will find ourselves in an environment so hostile that life will no longer be possible. The signs of this progressing devastation may already be experienced as indicated in this article that reveals everything from growing allergies to ultimate destruction.

Earth we have a problem.

“Houston, we have a problem!” Those exact, iconic words, while capturing the essence of the situation, were not spoken by astronaut John Swigert during the Apollo 13 mission to the moon in 1970. 

On the way, the lunar landing was aborted after an oxygen tank exploded, crippling the service module upon which the command module had depended. For some harrowing times following the explosion, it seemed nearly inevitable Apollo 13 would not only never reach the moon but would instead be lost in space forever. The message was timely. The engineering ground crew on earth found a solution, and the craft, along with those on board, were saved.

Fast forward 50 years to 2020 and that same iconic message applies, only it doesn’t concern an ordinary spacecraft. Instead, it concerns our spacecraft-earth, and we too have a problem. There is no ground crew of engineers, separate and apart from our craft since we are already on the ground, and there is nobody but us to fix our problem. And what’s the problem? We have created a use-it-and-lose-it, planned obsolescent, throw-away society and are paying the inevitable price. 

Our military is an anomaly: Our warriors are expendable, are supposed to die a death of glory and valor, so as to justify and further promote wars for the sole purpose of filling the pockets of the war-mongers. And that requires greater and ever greater numbers of the treasures of our youth, along with the myth of nobility and honor, yet not become a liability to society, as costly veterans. And rather than having a Department of Defense, we have thrown that away also, and put in its place a Department of Offense which no longer fights a foreign foe, but instead, wages war on our countries own people, thus turning our country into a population divided along the lines of ultra-rightwing fascists vs. ultra-leftwing socialists; 

Our parents (and now those of us who are nearing the end) are an anomaly—We were not supposed to live as long when the Social Security System was established. We, too, are now an unaffordable social liability, which given current political ideology, must be cast adrift to save those we produced, many of whom have become despicable reminders of our own selfishness—the nut not falling far from the tree. 

We take pleasure—that vaporizes with every rising sun—in what is unwrapped but are suffocated by the tossed away wrappings. We enjoy luxuries never even imagined in previous centuries. Yet, we are breathing in toxic fumes; roasting in unbearable heat; can’t drink the out-of-the-tap water that may poison us; living in the residue of devastating hurricanes and floods, which require massive amounts of new capital—at a point in time when our financials reserves have been depleted to the point of zero—to repair, and improve lost infrastructure, to meet an ever-growing threat, that we cause ourselves; 

Combatting diseases with a diminishing supply of antibiotics, that will be made by companies run by those who desire, and enshrine, maximum profits at the expense of lives; 

Selfishly spreading a virus because we have lost a sense of the value for others but instead value only ourselves—all these, and more, residues of manufacturing to meet the demand that stems from too many consumers living with such luxuries, which never quench their greed, leaves them with a sense of despair, and the throw-away products they have produced, do not fill their felt sense of emptiness. 

We made a bargain with the devil and love one side of the bargain but hate the other side. In our inability to look at the consequences of our choices we have created a monster scenario of us destroying us. We are no longer human citizens but rather exclusively in-human consumers—using and throwing away.

We are like the insurance salesman in The Truman Show who discovers his entire life is actually a television show, yet we have not discovered our charade. Instead, we remain proud, unaware, never satisfied, selfishly ungrateful, and inclined to throw a parade to celebrate our genius, but be sure it does not last too long, for fear we will be late for watching a favorite movie (which we have seen ad—infinitum to the point of utter boredom) or our favorite reality TV show, with casts of robotic-idiots, acting in roles of archetypal halfwits, as role-models for the ready-to-be-hooked fish who love the taste of snakeoil.

We have collectively become nothing more than that reality TV show with a reality TV show host as our leader. We have forgotten who we are and have not heeded the advice of the Dalai Lama: “Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” There is no “them.” There is only “us,” and we are destroying ourselves, all by ourselves. In the wisdom of Pogo: We have met the enemy and he is us.

Selling snowballs to Eskimos

There’s a fundamental law of economics: People will purchase things they feel they need. No perceived need=No demand=No sale. The entire economic engine begins with that fundamental understanding. The next principle that emerges from that one is that demand must be stimulated. People may actually have a need but are not aware of solutions. Or, no, actually, there is no need, but instead, there is a want. 

That’s where marketing and advertising come into play. As an ex-marketing man, I understand both of these building blocks, which are foundational to economic success. If I wanted to create a commercial success, it was first necessary to persuade someone that what they experienced as a want, was actually a need, and the best way to do that is by telling half-truths. 

I have never seen a successful marketing campaign that told the whole truth. Instead, marketing people dwell on the part, which appeals to people they wish to convert and intentionally avoid discussing the downside. The downside always comes along for the ride anyway, and often times that downside becomes apparent later, but by then, the sale has been made, and it’s too late to get your money back. There is no such thing as any product or service that is 100% good. In our ignorance, we are easily hoodwinked into being sold a bill of goods that looks to be without flaw.

I am no longer a marketing man. I am now a spiritual man. So what in the world does this have to do with spiritual matters? Simple: Snowballs. The most fundamental of all sales jobs is to persuade people that they are inadequate, in any and every way. If that can be done, then the rest is a piece of cake. What we believe about ourselves, fundamentally, lays the ground for everything that follows. If I think I am inadequate, then I will be open to making choices and buying things I don’t need but believe that I do. Nobody is going to be vulnerable and want to buy things when they are already adequate. That would be nuts. So the first task is to bring adequacy into question.

Fundamentally, that is what commercial life is all about: nothing more. Virtually from birth onwards to the grave, we are being sold a bill of goods about being inadequate. We are Eskimos with plenty of snowballs but are being duped into believing that we need more. If you want to put that into a spiritual context, try this on for size: “Like one in water crying, ‘I thirst!’ Like the son of a rich man wandering poor on this earth we endlessly circle the six worlds.” 

That piece of wisdom comes from a very famous Zen Master (Hakuin Ekaku). If you prefer the same message from a Christian context, try the story of the Prodigal Son, who wandered away from his birthright of splendor and ate from the trough of pigs. And if you wonder how this might translate into the economic context of today’s world, click here and watch a humorous yet insightful summation of the challenges of our world today: The growing gap between the ultra-wealthy and the rest of us, international trade wars (for that matter, any war), an out-of-control Federal Debt, global climate change, massive world-wide immigration problems, restructuring the fabric of nations, the corruption of cherished values (such as telling the truth) and how our freedoms are compromised.

The half-truth of life is that we are inadequate. The whole truth is we are inadequate, and we are also adequate and complete already, at the same time. Both of these are true together. Neither is true alone. That’s the whole truth, and when we realize this whole truth, then only do we cease lusting for what we have already.

Who are we? A view from linguistics.

Who Dat?

Our sense of who and what we are determines how we relate to the world. In a prior post, I stuck a little toe into the great sea of language to illustrate a point of significance regarding the matter of identity. Today I want to further the discussion by beginning with Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure (26 November 1857—22 February 1913). He is known as the founding father of semiotics—the study of signs and symbols as elements of communication behavior. 

His concept of the related chain of sign/signifier/signified/referent forms the core of this field of study. In brief, Saussure noted that something signified (an objective thing) is represented with a sign (a coded language form) by a signifier (a person) in terms of references to the thing. For example, the color black (a thing) must have a reference or contrast to something different from black (perhaps the color white) to be signified or detected. Once signified in a differentiated way from the referent, the signifier can then create a sign (the word “black”) to represent what has been signified.

If there is nothing signified, the entire language chain collapses since a sign can’t be established. We can’t create a language form other than to sign what is missing. For example, if there is nothing to be signified the best we can do is to create a sign called no-thing or nothing, to signify the lack of a thing. Since nothing is signified, the validity of a signifier is brought into question. Then we would have a no-signifier. In essence, the principle of signifier and signified must come and go together in matching cases. Nothing signified, no signifier. Something signified, signifier. That awareness is the beginning of language and communications and broadly acknowledged throughout the realm of linguistics.

This chain is quite similar to the Zen chain of causation in the following way: thing, thought, thinker; No-thing, no thought, no thinker. To remove any one of these, causes the chain to collapse. For example, a thinker only has meaning in reference to what a thinker does: thinks. If there is no thinking then the meaning of thinker is meaningless. Remove a thing and there is nothing (no-thing) and thus no thought. The central Zen question concerns the identity of “thinker.” Is a thinker who we imagine our self to be? The ordinary presumption is yes: we are a thinker who thinks thoughts. Rene Descarte established this seeming fact with his now famous, “I think therefore I am.” But this is an impossibility since when we stop thinking we don’t disappear even though the thinker does, thus the real us and a coming-and-going thinker must be two different entities.

What Saussure brought to the realm of language formation, Zen brings to the realm of identity formation. And the conclusion of Zen is that we—the true you and me are independent of a vacillating signifier/sign we call ego. Our true identity is solid and doesn’t move, because while things change, the referent is no change since we are not an objective thing. Instead, we are a subjective non-thing. And how is this awareness established? Through the Zen practice of not thinking which reveals the true, never-leaving you and me. 

The image of us (an objective sign) is meaningless without something signified (an objective thought), thus there is no signifier, which is a central premise of Zen: no-self (at least in an objective sign form). Our true non-sign self arises when there is no thought. We are the one signifying the lack of thought as well as the presence of thought. We see either the presence or the absence of thought and it takes both signified thought in reference to no thought for either to have meaning and this is true of all things, which must have a referent of difference to be signified. In physics, that principle is called relativity, and in Buddhism, it’s called dependent origination.

In the end, the self/no self-referent reveals the interconnected fabric of us. The sign (objective self-image/ego) can be seen to move and gyrate and the real us (no-self) never moves, and this, in turn, reveals a fabricated and discriminate mind (thoughts and emotions) and a real not-to-be-found indiscriminate true mind. The first is based on changing objective conditions/things (and is thus not substantial) and the second is based on the lack of objective things, which is unconditional and therefore substantial. 

Consequently, we are both real unconditionally and not real (based on objective conditions) at the same time. One part is born, grows big (unfortunately too big some times), decays and dies. The other part (the real us) is never born, doesn’t decay and lives forever. Unfortunately, the common-coin self-understanding is just the objective sign/symbol, which we label ego and unless we go to extraordinary means we rarely discover the real person that we are.

Lessons from a hurricane—The great paradox.

Things are not as they appear, nor are they otherwise.

Complacency and apathy are indeed comfortable. These attitudes lull us into the illusion that all is well when the wolf is near our door. Disasters may fall upon others but not us. Just when we think all is well, the storm of change comes upon us. 

We so wanted the security of eternal bliss, but it rushes suddenly away like a hurricane through our fingers, ripping our pleasure apart and leaves us with a devastated spirit. All spiritual traditions address this looming catastrophe, yet we assume it won’t happen to us. In 1 Thessalonians 5, the Apostle Paul wrote,  

“…for you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, ‘Peace and safety,’ destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.”

What is this “day of the Lord?” Many would argue it is the final day of reckoning when we must stand before God and be held accountable for our actions. Judgment seems to be the ultimate form of justice that will at last prevail, or so we’ve been led to believe. However, there is an alternative that is worth considering.

An aspect of being human is to think that our way alone is secure while all others are in jeopardy. There is a psychological term to explain this. It’s called either optimism or normalcy bias and is central to the nature of self-destruction. While in such a state of denial, we justify our choices because of our self-centered sensed need. Destruction is someone else’s problem, but certainly not ours. A viral pandemic will strike others, but not us. Our attitude is governed by a self-understanding that appears to keep us apart from others, secure in our sense of superiority. Today there are many who choose to live in states of denial, and they will discover too late that, contrary to belief, they are not apart. What we choose collectively affects us all, and this is made clear when amid a hurricane that indiscriminately rips everything apart. 

While in such a state of mind, we are sure that, given our sense of self as unique and special, we are above the suffering of others. But all too often, we make choices we are not proud of because we misidentify as someone unworthy, far beneath the unrealistic standards of perfection we set for ourselves. Or we may do the opposite and imagine that we alone are superior. The moment we awaken from our sleep of self-centered ignorance is our personal day of reckoning, our “day of the Lord.” At that very moment, we discover that we are no more special than anyone else, yet they and we are pure of heart. Before that moment, we lived in a state of complacency and delusion, sometimes called normal.

The very first of the Buddha’s Four Nobel Truths explains the nature of suffering, and it has three aspects:

• The obvious suffering of physical and mental illness, growing old, and dying;

• The anxiety or stress of trying to hold onto things that are constantly changing; and,

• A subtle dissatisfaction pervading all forms of life, because all forms are impermanent and constantly changing.

The second of his truths is that the origin of suffering is craving, conditioned by ignorance of the true nature of things (most particularly ourselves). The third truth is that the complete cessation of suffering is possible when we unveil this true nature, but to do that, we must first let go of what we previously thought. And the final truth is the way to this awakening: the Eight Fold Path. What we discover along this path to a higher level of consciousness is the same driving force of suffering that moves us out of ignorance and towards awakening: the first truth. It is both the cause and the compelling force of change. 

“Things are not always as they seem; the first appearance deceives many.”—Phaedrus, circa 15 BCE

Little Bear and Lily Pads

The kingdom of magic.

Many years ago I had an experience, which irrevocably changed my life. When it happened I knew it was transforming but I had no idea to what extent, nor did I have any contextual framework into which to fit the occurrence. 

It took many years more before I fully comprehended what had taken place, and the impact on my life. It is hard to speak of the experience in terms, which can be understood, but I’ll give it my best shot since I know how important it is to share what happened⎯not for my benefit but for those who may read this. 

In metaphorical terms, the floor of my bucket collapsed and I fell through Alice’s rabbit hole into a vast and unknown realm. I had lived 40 years by then with no clue that my sense of reality was questionable. It wasn’t what I hoped for but I never thought there was any other possibility. I was living just like everyone else, based on the notion that I knew who I was. I had a name, a career, relationships, and a long history. I functioned in all of the ordinary ways—in short, I had a well-defined identity and I was miserable even though by any conventional measure it appeared as if I were successful. 

I eventually reached a point when I took a serious look at the life I had fashioned and asked myself a hard question: Did I want to spend the rest of my days doing more of the same, and getting the same result? I decided that I didn’t, but by then I had a lot invested in a bad game with no idea what the alternatives might be. In spite of this dilemma I saw that if I was ever going to find the answer, I had better consider again, from the beginning, with the time I had left. So with that realization, I cut loose from my moorings and plunged into foreign waters.

Through a convoluted set of circumstances, I soon found myself living in a Zen monastery, which I first thought of like a halfway house to give me time to solve my mystery and chart a new life path. Little did I know that this choice would open the door to a wholly different realm, which would radically transform how I looked at the world and myself. When I say, “the floor of my bucket collapsed” what I mean is that my floor—the foundation of my life up to that point: my imagined identity; ego—was blocking discovery of my real, true nature. It was like wearing a coat that obscured my naked and real self. 

I had not been at the monastery very long and can’t explain why the collapse happened so soon. I have since read many stories about Zen monks spending years in dedicated practice before experiencing this metamorphous. I don’t know why it happened to me as it did. All I know is that when it happened it felt like I was being flushed down a toilet and when it was over “I” no longer existed. The “me”—identity, which was my floor, died there. And I was transformed from an isolated individual into an integrated sojourner and I joined the world for the first time, spiritually fresh, clean, naked, and raw.

As I look back over what I’ve just written it looks unbelievable and strange. I know that, but I also know—after having lived many years beyond that magical moment—that it is worth the risk of possible scorn to share it. If even a single person believes this story, they will know that it is possible for them to be transformed also. And if that means they will take a similar risk to cast aside what they think is real and discover the same reality that I did, then a good outcome will have resulted. You might be tempted to think this experience made me special. It had the opposite effect. I realized that we are all the same; none any more special than anyone else. In fact, I now realize that this whole wish to be special is a major obstacle to waking up to who we really are.

I am not a Zen master. I did not spend years of dedicated practice to achieve this transformation. There is no reason whatsoever that it should have come when it did, but it did. And if it happened for me it can happen for anyone. What I have learned since that moment of transformation is this new and unknown realm is neither new nor unknown. It is like a story I used to read to my daughter when she was very young—the story of Little Bear, who discovered that he didn’t need to wear a coat since he already had one. We too don’t need the extraneous cloak of an ego. We already have a true nature, which is always there beneath the cloak. I can only tell you that my deepest nature is infinitely finer than the extraneous one.

If you take the time to read Zen literature you’ll find this underlying, true nature called many names—Buddha-Nature, the One Mind, pure consciousness, True man without rank—the names don’t matter. Call it what you choose. Maybe the best name is Lily—the flower of life. The water lily grows on a pad floating on water, rooted in the muck, which is hidden in the deep. In many icons, the Buddha is shown sitting on that pad. What we all would be wise to not do is to gild our lilies, or put coats on bears who already have one.

Circumstances and suffering.

In your mind’s eye picture yourself on a boat floating down a river. Some parts of the river are tranquil pools and some parts are roaring rapids. The river flows continuously with every inch different from what existed the moment before and the water under our boat just keeps changing. 

We imagine the boat offers us security from the surge. And while we are in those tranquil pools there is very little risk; we just float along enjoying the day and basking in the calm. But the boat moves and the roaring rapids follow the calm, which at times puts holes in the bottom of our boat. So then we have a choice to either fix the holes or sink.

This imaginary reverie is a parable that speaks to attachment and identification. None of us is flowing down the river of life alone. Instead we choose to ride in big or small boats with others who make the same choice. But there are different boats on this river populated by people not like us. And then an unfortunate thing happens: We begin to attach our identities to our boat and when we do, we stop being able to even see the holes, much less repair them.

Everyone rides a boat. The name of our boat may be a particular political party, a family or gang, a union, a nation or a religious institution, or any one of a near infinite set of other configurations, with which we choose to identify. The boat becomes our identity and we cling to “our” boat for fear of drowning since none of us has ever learned to swim. The circumstances of our life are constantly changing like the river. The water is just water. Circumstances are just circumstances. The water is not to be feared and water doesn’t create suffering. It is our fear of being free of our boat that creates suffering. We can’t imagine that we can swim but instead remain prisoners on our boat.

In such a state of mind, we become defensive and hostile. When someone in one of those other boats criticizes our boat we suffer because our boat has become who we experience ourselves to be. To criticize our boat feels like the same thing as criticizing us. So then we put a shot across their bow and they respond in kind. We end up sinking their boat and they sink ours. Nobody wins. But the truth is that we are not our boat. Instead, we are swimmers, having never learned to swim, who have chosen to ride on boats. There is nothing about changing circumstances that produce suffering. That is purely the result of identifying with boats. Those boats are our ego we assume will carry us through the tides of life. But the boats/ego are not who we are. We mistakenly cling to these artificial identifications. Maybe we all need to get off our boats and find out that we can swim and survive.

Beyond 911—Over the cliff

It has been 15 years since 911, and it’s time to dust off a previous post that was painful to write and perhaps painful to read. I wrote about the side of a veteran’s life that nobody wanted to hear. We much prefer to bathe in the glory of war and avoid the aftermath. But as one who fought and has an aftermath, I thought it was important to paint the whole portrait.

Similarly, some time ago I wrote a book (The Non-Identity Crisis) that has the following on the dedication page:

“This book is dedicated, not to a person, but rather to an idea: the eradication of war and the end of suffering. In particular what I have to say in this book is dedicated to all who have experienced anguish resulting from the tragedy of 911. I write as a fallen warrior with my own wounds inflicted during a previous conflict—The Vietnam War. True for all warriors of any and ever war, the scars never go away, even the ones that lay buried deep in your mind. We learn mostly from our own suffering and if we wish to not keep repeating it, the only ones who can chart a new course are us.”

In this book I write a lot about what war is really like when we scratch away the veneer of glory. We are living in the aftermath of 911, Osama Bin Laden is now dead, and our actions years later reflect this trauma. Bin Laden is now gone but his legacy is not. There is a message in this book that addresses both our responsive actions and moving beyond the trap. I’d like to share with you a perspective from the book that may not been immediately evident:

“When you kill another, sooner or later their surviving loved ones will come after you. War is the ultimate failure of the human family and if we ever hope to live in peace we are the only ones who can create the conditions for that to happen. What we are doing right now around the world is continuing the legacy of war and thereby guaranteeing future conflicts. What I have to say throughout this book is how to end it. Holding onto the desire for vengeance and justification for killing that emanated from 911 virtually insures our collective downfall. The mantra of ‘Never Forget’ is a banner for that downfall and only appropriate for those who never fought. For those of us who have fought, we must forget and forgive or go insane. What Bin Laden started but couldn’t finish on 911—to bring down our culture—we may do to ourselves due to our attachment to revenge at all cost. Did he anticipate our predictable response? It’s impossible to say, but a fundamental rule of warfare is to know your enemy and goad him into a trap of his own making.”

If we are sincere in wishing to honor the sacrifices of our young men and women who so valiantly offer themselves to defend our way of life, the best way of doing that is to stop the insane path we are presently following, bring our warriors home and pay for their healing and restoring their lives.

A little child will lead them

“You say either and I say ither. You say neither and I say nither. Either, ither, Neither, nither. Let’s call the whole thing off.
You like potato and I like potahto. You like tomato and I like tomato. Potato, potahto. Tomato, tomahto. Let's call the whole thing off
But oh, if we call the whole thing off, then we must part. And oh, if we ever part, then that might break my heart.”

Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong started that song roughly 60 years ago with lyrics of “Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off.” There was no way anyone could have known 60 years ago that this song ought to be our current theme song. It would appear the way things are going that we are about to part and it will break our heart and why? 

Over petty differences no more meaningful than “Potato, potahto. Tomato, tomahto.” What began with a chuckle has now turned into really serious turf wars, and the words have changed. Now it isn’t potahto vs. potato. Instead it’s greed vs. need, but fundamentally it’s still about differences.

That’s the challenge of being human: Having differences but always joined in common turf where there is no war. We can be, and are, both but that doesn’t mean we have to chow down on each other. 

Ordinarily wolves like to eat lambs and leopards find goats rather tasty but a long time ago a prophet foresaw a day when,  “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” That guy was the prophet Isaiah and I sure hope his crystal ball was clear because right now it looks like dinner time is just around the corner.

The Deep

The easiest thing in the world is to get swept up in the waves of adversity. During such times it is nearly impossible to keep your cool and not panic. 

Over time it is quite possible to learn how to use these waves like a surfer uses a surfboard. It is unreasonable to think we’ll ever find times without waves—It is the nature of life that they come.

Even during tumultuous times, there is calm and tranquility just a few meters beneath the surface. In fact, waves are just the result of the ocean calm being pulled by external forces and without being connected to the deep there could be no waves. The deep and waves are two aspects of what makes the ocean what it is.

Our human challenge is to find that deep place of calm so that during the storms of life we won’t be swept away.

Bipolar

Manic depression; Bipolar affective disorder is a certifiable mental illness that can mimic something akin to phases of awakening. 

The principle of dependent origination says that everything in life is a reflection of this fundamental principle, and this is illustrated with the broadly known relationship between suffering and enlightenment. 

Bodhidharma said that without afflictions, there could be no enlightenment. The two are linked by the principle of dependent origination. A famous Zen saying is, “No suffering. No enlightenment. Little suffering. Little enlightenment. Great suffering. Great enlightenment.”

In his commentary on the Sutra of Complete Enlightenment, Chan Master Sheng Yen said that nobody having good dreams wants to wake up. Only when they have nightmares are they eager to do so. The point is that there is a correspondence between the magnitude of both suffering and awakening. The entirety of Buddhism concerns the alleviation of suffering. There is no other purpose for this quest than that. So some reading this may think to themselves, “I don’t suffer so Zen isn’t right for me.”

I have two rejoinders to this observation: (1) not yet, (2) and denial. The “not yet” part realizes that it is impossible to live and not suffer because the fundamental nature of conditional life is suffering. The “denial” part concerns resistance (a form of attachment which creates more suffering). And I am not throwing stones of blame. I too remained in denial too long and paid the price. I wrote about this in another post: The Four Horses of Zen.

Nobody wants to suffer and unfortunately this motivates many to stay in states of denial. The pain is too sharp to bear so we stuff it down and try to go on with life and this can eventually be a large problem because it isn’t possible to keep suffering locked away forever. Sooner or later it seeps out and corrodes our sense of wellbeing.

When you learn to mediate (and practice it) all of that suppressed mental poison gets released, you clean out the pipes and move on toward wholeness. It isn’t fun to lance that boil but it beats living with the compacted aftermath of suppressed suffering. Along the way toward restored mental health there can be wide swings from one depth to the opposite, but this is the necessary result of mental house cleaning. Zen is not a practice for the faint of heart. It’s only for the most desperate and those who exhibit the necessary courage to go through the anguish required to have a life worth living.

Spirit and me.

The notion that our spiritual lives are separate from our biological lives is a bit strange. Even if you don’t believe there is a spiritual world, I’ve never met anyone who argued that they didn’t have a spirit. The means of experiencing anything, spiritual or otherwise, is based in biology. 

On the other hand, you may accept that there is a spiritual reality but think that we are separated somehow from that spiritual dimension. For the spirit to be experienced, our biology is the avenue of communication since that is our means of experience. 

I personally know there is no such separation. Instead, I am persuaded of what the Dharma (and Christianity) teaches that our wholeness is the undividable conjunction of spirit and matter: that I can only exist as that partnership. If this is not so, then what part of me is compelling movement? An object can’t move. A stone just sits there and doesn’t move. We however do move and without a spiritual consciousness, we would be no better than a stone.

The point of contact, regardless of how the spirit is understood, is biological. However, and whatever we have, any experience is through a biological pathway impacting our bodies (a fantastic organism involving a multitude of biochemicals, hormones, neurotransmitters, and electricity). When we experience fear, our biochemical makeup is altered in one direction. When we experience joy, it’s changed in another order. Anger, another, and so on. The altering of our biochemical makeup affects even enlightenment, and all of these biochemical changes affect our thinking and responses to life.

The ingestion of drugs likewise alters our biochemistry and our sense of reality. What seems real given one biochemical arrangement is wholly altered when drugs are introduced. What seems familiar in a non-drug induced state is completely changed when drugs are used. And this is also true when enlightenment is experienced. What looks divided and alienated in our usual every-day way, before enlightenment, is seen as unified and compassionate after enlightenment. Our world and our self-understanding are subsequently turned upside down.

I don’t advise doing drugs because they can be addictive and ruin your life. On the other hand, there are situations where drugs are beneficial. But I do recommend the worldview and the self-understanding that arises with both certain drugs and enlightenment. One can destroy your life. The other can save your life. Besides, the latter is free of charge, and the former can bankrupt you. One can set you free, and the other can send you to jail. People die all of the time from a drug overdose, and nobody has ever died due to enlightenment.

Simple complexity.

I’ve been a student of Zen for more than 40 years. During that time I must have read hundreds of Buddhist and Zen books. To be honest nearly all of them were profound yet abstruse. 

Transcendent truths can be perplexing for a number of reasons. Since language is limited and reading is language-centered, this constrains understanding of changing time and cultures. It’s an oil and water conundrum. Additionally, what is considered truth is a variable depending on a host of changing conditions. Mining profound treasures involve a lot of digging and dirt tossing. And after the mining, you still have a problem: How to transmit the gold to others.

Long ago Lao Tzu addressed this problem when he said, “The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name.” That is indeed a perplexing communication challenge. As I’ve worked through this challenge I have struggled to distill and shift out the dirt so that I could speak simply of matters that are anything but simple and obvious.

I’ve studied the writing of the great sages and seers to understand their wisdom. Jesus chose to speak in parables. The New Testament is full of his parables. The Buddha chose similar methods. Both were so erudite their own disciples rarely grasped their insight. And while these methods worked with some, the vast majority still didn’t understand. Life’s greatest truths are not so evident. I’m no sage but I use their communications methods since I am persuaded that if I can find ways to share the wealth of my own mining then a lot of people can begin to find their own treasure. 

One of the most valuable communication tools used by The Buddha is known as “Upaya” — expedient means. The principle is simple: Teach people at their level rather than your own. This method is extraordinarily wise. Imagine what would happen in a Kindergarten class if the Ph.D. teacher tried to teach nuclear physics by employing high-level jargon. It doesn’t mean that young people one day won’t be capable of becoming nuclear physicists. But there is a huge difference between knowing something and being an effective teacher. All of us have experienced both and all of us prefer good teachers.

What I have chosen to do is adapt. I use, as much as possible, simple language with graphics and other devices that aid in the learning process so that matters of great profundity can be grasped by people not yet schooled. They know precisely the nature of their own dilemma but they don’t know the nature of the solutions. Transcendent truths provide the solutions they seek. It is my job to speak simply of these truths. All I do is haul water to thirsty horses. The horses decide if they want to drink.

Crisis—Danger and Opportunity

Who am and who are you? To answer those questions, let’s go try a virtual experience. In your mind’s eye, I want you to see yourself in a movie theater.  You are there sitting next to your favorite movie-going buddy, and the main attraction begins. Make it your favorite of all time. Wow! This is a great movie. You are really engrossed, almost like you are in the film, except for one thing: You aren’t (in the movie). As much as you might be enjoying the experience of watching, you always know you’re not “in the movie.” The film is on the big screen across the room, and you are there in your seat. Two separate things: you (the watcher of the film) and the movie (projected onto the big screen).

If you were to describe that experience to your therapist you’d probably be prudent to avoid saying that you were in the movie. If you did say such a thing your therapist might give you a new name, like nuts and start making out some papers with labels of “delusional.” Please avoid such a report.

Now prepare yourself because I’m going to tell you something too incredible for it to register and you’ll probably want to start making those papers out for me. Abraham Lincoln wasn’t a Buddhist—at least as far as I know. Maybe he was. But he did say something very Buddhist. He said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” which paraphrases a statement by The Christ in The New Testament. Many very intelligent people say smart things regardless of affiliation and labels. The occasion was the Republican State Convention on June 16, 1858. The place was the statehouse in the Springfield, Illinois, and Lincoln had just been chosen as the Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate to run against Democrat Stephen A. Douglas. The details of what, where, and when are not particularly germane to my point but I throw them out for you to get the picture. What is germane is what he said during his acceptance speech: “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Lincoln was of course referring to the Union and the looming cessation by the Southern states. And his point is applicable to who we all are as people.

Many Buddhist sages have said pretty much the same thing but meant it as a definition of reality—all of reality, but in our case, applied to people. Our house—our beingness—also can’t stand when divided against itself. There is no division separating our nameless essence from our physical and psychic being. They are a single, indivisible thing. We are not some name or a nameless essence. We are not a function or a nameless essence. The division is a phantom. It doesn’t exist, except in our illusionary minds, but never in fact. 

The very moment (down to an unmeasurable dimension of time) there is a watcher and there is what is watched. The instant there is something watched, there is a watcher. Watched and watcher arise together. Instantly. Not one first and then the next. They are flip sides of the same coin. And the opposite is true. When one vanishes, so does the other.

Ladders and Walls come into being and cease from being in a flash. They are bonded eternally together as partners and can’t be separated. So what’s this got to do with movies and who we are? Simple—but actually not so simple to put our heads around. What we normally do is imagine our identities, as separate and independent things (rather than linked, interdependent things). We are thinkers thinking thoughts—illusions lost in illusions. We have all kinds of ideas about ourselves. We imagine and label ourselves with Lao Tzu’s “ten thousand things.” And all of these ideas come to be who we think we are. 

When we meet someone we may be asked to introduce ourselves and how do we respond? “I am so-and-so”—we provide a name. What we don’t say is “Oh I am Ms. Nameless.” Either named or a name we call “nameless” is not who we are. We are both—an indivisible house. We are ladders with walls and it can’t be otherwise. You are real. You are not a fleeting and vaporous thought. Vaporous thoughts are just that: thoughts that vaporize. But you are the indivisible Union (Lincoln’s term) of essence and non-essence, otherwise known (in Buddhist terminology) as emptiness and form. They arise and cease together instantly.

One of the central Sutras in Buddhist practice is the Heart Sutra which says “Emptiness is form. Form is emptiness.” Essence and form are glued together. Maybe you prefer to name essence as God. That’s okay so long as you don’t try to conceptualize God as an imaginary being. God is transcendent—beyond defining characteristics (meaning nameless), so whatever handle you use is irrelevant. What is transcendent is bonded together, not two but One. God doesn’t come and go. Coming and going implies movement from one place to another. If you are essence—God is essence—there is no place that you are not, so how can you come and go? 

You’re already here. It is an illusion to imagine these as separate matters like sitting in the movie theater with our movie-buddy, watching a movie. There is no watcher without what is being observed. Nor is there something watched without a watcher. And to watch at all is not possible without the animating spirit of essence. Otherwise, we’re just talking about flesh, bones, blood, and everything that comes along for the ride.

But what happens in normal “everyday life?” We get caught up in our home movies (buzzing brains) and stop being. We replace being with thinking about being. We don’t eat cake. We think about eating cake and eat the illusion. We don’t just sit. We think about sitting and sit on an illusion. We love to multitask and think we are efficient and productive. 

Actually, we are being distracted with no focus. We don’t work at our jobs (which we may hate), so we think about hating the job and think about where we wish we were. We don’t work with our spouses to manage difficulties; we think about everything that is wrong with them and why they don’t do what we want them to. 

Nothing is scared that way. While we are thinkers, we are not be-ers, and there is nobody at home. And because we do that, we experience fear and anxiety. At the deepest part of our essence, we experience separation and lack of intimacy. There is no way we can be intimate with someone we don’t even know, and I am speaking about our own identity—our real SELF, not the illusionary one.

What we need is integration and what we get is self-created division. We have a primordial knowing about our unity (and lack thereof). When our sense of being is based purely on a fabricated self (otherwise known as ego—home movies), we are rightly fearful because that is shifting sand with no stability, just like one-legged ladders without a wall.

When our identities are tied purely to the shifting sands of life, we know we are vulnerable; nobody has to tell us. We know, and it fills us with anxiety and fear. It can, and often does, paralyze us into inaction, like a deer fixated on the headlights of an oncoming car, frozen with fear, desiring to know the next moment and not able to be in the only moment we’ll ever have: The present one. When identity crises arise, there is both danger and opportunity. We can stay in trouble, like the deer, or we can come to our senses and grasp the opportunity. So how do we get out of this trap that has dominated all of humankind since we first arrived as a species? That’s a matter for my next post.