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.

That which we are.

Perhaps today you will meet someone for the first time and introductions will occur. You’ll inquire about them and they about you. “Tell me something about yourself,” you’ll ask, and that is how we begin. 

Who are you? Who are they? It is the natural way of understanding another as well as ourselves. And that matter is perhaps the most important question anyone will ever ask or answer. The reason? Because the manner in which we understand ourselves serves is the bridge to understanding another. 

Whatever we believe about ourselves, is how we assume others understand themselves. If we think of ourselves as an isolated, mutually discreet individual, then others must be that way also. And on the other hand, if we understand ourselves as united with all, that must be how others understand themselves. Two of the most profound examples of such understanding comes from the Bible and the story of The Buddha’s life.

The first comes from Exodus during the encounter between Moses and God: “God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.’ He said further, ‘Thus you shall say to the Israelites,’ ‘I Am has sent me to you.’”

And the second is this: Following The Buddha’s enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, he passed a stranger on the road who was so struck by The Buddha’s countenance that he asked him, “Are you a god?” The Buddha replied, “No. I am not. What are you then?” the man asked. And the Buddha said, “I am awake.”

These answers may seem dissimilar but maybe that is because we are trying to hard to keep these spiritual disciples apart and distinct. However, putting that desire aside, perhaps the answers are the same. How so? 

Our normal way of grasping these answers is by assuming the answers (e.g., “I am” and “I am awake” to be adjectives. Instead, consider the answers as pronouns: Not descriptions but rather statements of inexplicable nature. And just maybe, that is true for us all. We are awake (e.g., consciousness itself). We are who we are—inexplicably: the fundamental nature of awareness.

Thoughts on Self Nature.

Over the years, having read, studied, and experienced the voice of enlightened people and considering my own, I have attempted to capture, with words, the essential nature of humanity and the opposite: Our corrupted nature. 

The latter has produced an eternity of evil and destruction globally, while the former has countered evil with goodness. I have personally experienced the transformation of self-destructive thoughts, words, and deeds into genuine benevolence. I have likewise witnessed the attempt to feign piety that clearly stood as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. People of the world seem to know that transparent evil is undesirable, and consequently, they try to conceal the heart of darkness with a camouflage of pretended allure. 

This effort, like the opposite of transparency, is affirmed by those who, similarly, play the same game. The pretenders flock together, as do those who choose to reveal a purity of heart, having nothing to hide. These two forces oppose one another and speak a different language.

But God would not allow me such relief, but instead brought back to me the more excellent relief of that magnificent young lady in the dawning of adulthood. It was then I found my true nature of completion and realized, contrary to what I had come to believe, that I was the essence of internal love that she alone had seen in me a half-century before. It was unquestionably a miracle and so clearly the act of a loving God that it was unavoidable to not see what had been there all along, but lay hidden beneath that sense of self-hatred. “Then I knew fully, even as I am fully known,” and at last, I came to understand the mature language of the heart that joined my heart with hers around the core of a unified, indwelling presence of God.

It has been my experience that the language of love, compassion, and tenderness is impossible to articulate with words. In contrast, the language of pretense and deception comes in convincing forms more difficult to detect, except to those who, by nature, have passed beyond words and found their true self-nature. To the former, the task is one of mime. To the latter, the charge comes naturally. The communication challenge for humanity is to find a way to bridge that gap to inspire the minds of those still lost, to a higher standard beyond these surrogates of truth, much like a teacher with advanced education and knowledge must employ with children, not yet schooled. 

Having once been an unschooled child, a teacher knows both the language of a child and the language of the heart. The opposite is not valid. It is as the Apostle Paul stated in the 13th chapter of 1st Corinthians, 

“…where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” 

Paul’s words, in essence,  are the same as the words of Meister Eckhart, the German theologian and philosopher who lived during the 15th century: “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.”

While still a child having little maturity and life experience, lost to the voice of others, I defined myself as incomplete and worthless according to the opinions of those who appeared to hate me, for reasons I failed to understand. The result was I conformed to unworthiness and attempted the impossible of persuading both myself and those who’s voice I valued, that I was worthy of their affection and love. In essence, I did not love myself because I placed more value or their opinions than on my inherent completeness.

It took many years for this self-deception to fully ripen into the unnatural result of pure self-hatred, so thorough that I found no reason to continue living. The only contradiction to this perceived sense of self-hate was the pure, unselfish love that poured out of a magnificent young lady in the dawning of adult life. And that love, where our hearts beat as one, was lost to my own naïve and innocent error, thus driving the stake of self-hatred and associated guilt even deeper. 

The ensuing suffering I then experienced continued up the birth of my daughter, who seemed to come as a gift from God to show me through experience how to recapture selfless love again. For 20 years she, and I grew together within the realm of unconditional love, and when she was gone, I returned once again to the hell of self-hatred left with the whisper of the lost love of both my first love and my daughter. Again, I found no reason to continue living, sought the ultimate release, and readied myself for bodily death.

At long last, I understand the meaning of selfless love. It does not mean to sacrifice and give up what is of value. It means instead to lose the sense of an artificial and perverted self, shaped by the opinions of others and affirmed by my desire to be loved, to cast off the unreal that hid the real. By losing the artificial, I found the truth. And this true self-nature is united as a single purity of heart, not only with my first love and my daughter but with the breadth of humanity. 

True love needs no interpretation or indirect translation thru the medium of words. It is pure, recognizable, and when my eyes finally opened, I knew what I had previously known only in part. Then, at last, I experienced what Eckhart had said, “The eye with which God sees me is the same eye by which I see God.” Or, as the native Indians have said, “Before we can truly understand another person, we must walk a mile in their moccasins. Before we can walk in another person’s moccasins, we must first take off our own.” 

The old self-hatred had to fall away before I could see the new Self-love, and when it did, I came to know that the ideas I had previously held of myself as a false self, alienated from others, unveiled a true Self that united with God and the world. 

Thus selfless love is a love that loses the artificial and is replaced with the real. Selfless love is Self-full love that echoes, in a circular fashion from one heart to another. What goes forth comes from within. Which in itself is already joined with a passion that indwells the heart of another. And when that happens, there is no separation between your true self and the true self of another. That, to me, is the definition of genuine compassion: to experience the love and agony of your beloved, and they of you. You become echoes of each other, and your hearts beat as one.

Surrendering from absolute truth.

Wise as a serpent.

“Man speaks with forked tongue,” ordinarily means someone is deliberately saying one thing and meaning another. In the longstanding tradition of many Native American tribes, speaking with a forked tongue has meant lying. 

This, however, may not have applied in ancient India, where the serpent was often considered one of the wisest animals, being close to the divine. In Sanskrit, Naga meant snake and was perhaps an allusive reference to the entheogenic nature of Nāgārjuna, one of the most revered figures in Zen and other sects of Buddhism. He is widely considered one of the most important Buddhist philosophers after the historical Buddha.

The relevant question in this post is whether or not there is such a thing as Independent Absolute Truth, and perspectives established by Nāgārjuna can help us thoroughly consider this matter. If there is such a thing, then just maybe no human can have access to or speak the absolute truth. Lao Tzu was persuaded that the truth cannot be told (absolute or otherwise).

To start the ball rolling, let’s begin with the notion of the truth of salvation. On the surface, it seems to be true that either we need salvation or we aren’t. A key piece of Christian scripture says yes, we need saving. You find this referenced scripture in Philippians 2:12, and it says, “…continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.”

From the Prajnaparamita Sutra (Diamond Sutra), The Buddha allegedly said, “O Subhuti, no one is to be called a Bodhisattva, for whom there should exist the idea of a being or non-being, the idea of any form of living entity, or the idea of a person, thus there are no sentient beings to be liberated and even no being-ness who attains Anuttara Samyak Sambodhi,”—the latter meaning in Sanskrit: supreme, unexcelled, perfect and equal enlightenment. The unexcelled wisdom which comprehends truth that is attained only by a Buddha. 

From an orthodox Christian perspective, we are to believe that we need salvation, and from the Buddhist perspective, there are no beings to be saved (liberated). So what gives? And is there any way to have both of these be true? And here is where Nāgārjuna brings the solution, which, as it turns out, is a matter of relativity and dependent origination. He taught the idea of relativity; in the Ratnāvalī and gives the example that shortness exists only with length. Elsewhere he said, 

“That which is the element of light is seen to exist in relation to darkness; that which is the element of good is seen to exist on account of bad; that which is the element of space is seen to exist on account of form.” He was also instrumental in developing the two-truths doctrine, which claims that there are two levels of truth or reality in Buddhist teaching: the ultimate reality (paramārtha Satya) and the conventionally or superficial reality (saṃvṛtisatya). 

He said that neither the conventional nor the ultimate could exist alone; both came and went together: they dependently originated with each other. It is quite likely that the Apostle Paul was referring to that part of us that is unreal that must cease to exist for “…it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.” And of course, the imaginary part of us is that which moves, changes, and is the source of all woe: the idea or image of ourselves (ego). The ego has every right to fear and tremble when facing the truth of our real, unchanging Self. It is also equally likely that The Buddha was speaking from the perspective of unexcelled, perfect, and equal enlightenment. In that realm, there are no beings to save since they are already whole and unified (despite what they may think, albeit imperceptible).

Nāgārjuna would point out that both of these statements are true together. Neither is true independently. Yet only when someone awakens to their own genuine Self-nature does such a one realize that from the ultimate, unconditional perspective, salvation is unnecessary. And from the conventional, conditional perspective, there is a necessity for salvation—the ego must be removed (or integrated) before, or concomitant to, awakening to happen. There is a valid American Indian expression that goes beyond the forked tongue idiom. It is “Before walking in another man’s moccasins, you must take off your own.”

Truth, half-truths and the power of delusion.

“You can’t handle the truth.”

Over the years, due to personal experience, I have learned quite a bit about truth-telling and delusion. I knew it first hand, beginning as a child, and in adult life working as an advertising executive on Madison Avenue. The lessons I learned have been an essential education about the motive of driving these matters. It’s a good thing that people employed in the advertising business are not required to answer in the positive the oath required in every court of law in our nation: “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” If advertising people were so required, we’d need to build many more prisons to house those who knowingly perjure themselves daily.

The reason I say this with certainty is that the advertising business is designed to deceive others by telling half-truths. The positive is singled out, and the downside is always left out. After working for many years in the business, I reached the point when I could no longer persuade myself that it was okay to deceive people, all for earning a very good living. By then, I had learned that for reasons justified by my parents, I had been lied to as a child. The result was holding some very bad beliefs about myself.

Since that moment of truth (pun intended), I have noticed that people tell lies and half-truths routinely, justified on several flawed notions. One of these notions concerns a lack of confidence in those hearing the truth. The inherent belief is that if they hear the truth, somehow, they will be destroyed or think harshly of the person choosing to withhold the truth. In the movie A Few Good Men, the commanding officer of the Marine Corps base at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba (Colonel Jessep) is being questioned in court by Navy lawyer Lieutenant Kaffee, concerning the death of one of the men under the Colonel’s charge. Jessep is lying because he doesn’t think anyone can handle the truth. The dialogue goes:

“Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I think I’m entitled to them.

Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I want the truth!

Col. Jessep: You can’t handle the truth!”

In the end, Jessep is arrested and charged with perjury. This movie is, of course, a fictional portrait of behavior that happens, with seeming justification, on a vast basis, but this is not a limited fiction. 

I am personally aware of a situation where an entire family participated in a fraud, feeding the family head with half-truths. All concerned knew that the head chose to live with the fantasy that the family was perfect and without flaw. None of the family members ever told the truth to the head but instead affirmed the fantasy in order to preserve the desires of the matriarch, and thus receive her blessing. Consequently, the family head refused to listen to anything that undermined her wishes, and other family members chose to endure lives of shame, guilt, and feelings of inadequacy to support her desires.

Often times the motive of feeding another half-truths or lies appears to be well intentioned: to either preserve a belief that isn’t considered to be beneficial (to either the teller or the hearer), but what is the result? The one being protected or lied to is not made stronger but instead made weaker by not being challenged to deal with adversity. And the one telling distortions is forced to try to remember the details of the lie, to tell other supporting lies (or be exposed) and thus endure self-condemnation and shame. 

Knowing whom to trust has always been a dilemma. As far back in recorded history as the time of the Buddha, people have been perplexed by this conundrum. In one particular sutra the people of Kesariya, India asked the Buddha how to ascertain the truth. His famous answer was:

“Now, Kalamas (a clan in Kesariya), don’t go by reports, by legends, by traditions, by scripture, by logical conjecture, by inference, by analogies, by agreement through pondering views, by probability, or by the thought, ‘This contemplative is our teacher.’ When you know for yourselves that, ‘These qualities are skillful; these qualities are blameless; these qualities are praised by the wise; these qualities, when adopted and carried out, lead to welfare and to happiness’—then you should enter and remain in them.”

That’s a tall order in a world dominated by deceit and misdirection. We find ourselves in a predicament of degrading confidence, falling trust and loss of regard for just about everyone, from those close to us as well as public officials of all sorts. However, perhaps this loss might be a good thing since for far too long we have placed our trust in others and lost trust in ourselves.

Mixing it up.

We’re a curious species. Being human puts us at the top of the food chain. It also puts us at the top of other chains, such as the chain of creativity. No other life form (at least none that we know of) can imagine and solve problems as we do. 

Unfortunately, this seems to be a two-edged sword. One way cuts in the way of creation, and the other way cuts in the form of destruction. We are masters of both.

Awhile back, I wrote an article called a “Bird in hand” and spoke about compounds that result from mixing different things together. The point of that article was that once mixed, an entirely new compound results. The separate ingredients can then no longer be detected, but something new has been created.

I’m an old man now and have been kicking around spiritual conclaves for quite some time, and I’ve noticed a meaningful thing about compounds. People show up in a wide variety of such places for various reasons, but the alleged reason is they go there seeking God. After a time, many remain for other reasons, and they forget about why they came in the first place. A rare few figure out an essential truth: God doesn’t live in churches, synagogues, or temples. God lives in people.

Many people pay lip service to what their own scriptures tell them. For example, Christian scripture says that “You are the body of Christ.” If you happen to be a Buddhist you’re taught that everyone contains the enlivening essence of The Buddha. But too few seem able to accept the resulting compound and just go ahead and act like God is absent from the true temple of themselves.

Have you ever wondered what our world would be like if everyone conducted themselves by embracing this fundamental principle? If we really want to make the world a better place, begin to see yourself and others as a compound container of divinity. I am aware that most of us exhibit some less than ideal nastiness, but it’s also mixed together with genuine love and compassion. Adversity seems to bring out the goodness that is always there. And even if you don’t accept the idea that we are the resulting compound mixture of spirit and matter, it never hurts to pretend that we are.

Two Realms—One Reality

A prominent scientist and a girl on the edge of becoming a woman seem to have little in common. I know them both intimately and thus see the common ground even though they may not. 

Both are highly intelligent, both creative, both kind, and a pleasure to be with. One is a senior citizen, the other still a teen. Their worlds and concerns are years apart, yet they seek the same thing: Rules and guidance systems to plot a future path. Their chosen paths are very different, but their approach is the same. 

In our phenomenal world, it’s an expedient matter to measure conduct against adopted standards. It keeps us on track and out of the weeds, at least most of the time. Conditional society couldn’t function very well without agreed-to standards that define acceptable behavior and help us chart the road ahead. The problem is that such standards only work when everyone embraces the same standards, but standards that suit one person don’t suit another, which is why we have conflict—No universal agreement. 

One of the central teachings of Buddhism is “Dependent Origination.” The teaching is not difficult to understand, but it seems difficult to fully embrace. The premise is this: All things exist in balance with the opposite. For example, “down” requires “up;” light requires darkness; phenomena require noumena (infinite other examples). These opposites are dependent and arise and cease together. There would be no such thing as a down without an up, which is why the teaching is called what it is—things depending on opposites to originate and cease together. 

Simple to grasp but not so simple when it comes to adopting needed standards. And why is that? Because a standard used to measure light wouldn’t work so well when there isn’t any light. And this observation becomes even more critical when it comes to the edge separating opposites, which is to say, “How do you establish rules and standards on the edge dividing the opposites?” Where neither is there, yet both are there. 

This sounds like an impractical consideration but stay with me. My scientist friend is a brilliant physicist pushing the limits beyond normally acceptable boundaries (into the metaphysical realm). The young lady is likewise exploring the limits beyond normally acceptable boundaries of ethics. She is searching for some spiritual rules and guidance. Both go into the same realm and try to use proven yardsticks from the phenomenal realm applied in the noumenal realm without realizing that the rules must change when you cross that boundary line. What we become accustomed to—perceptible objectivity, becomes worthless when operating in an imperceptible realm. It is like trying to find a new set of glasses which will allow you to see air. 

We commonly make two errors in conducting our phenomenal affairs, and these two haven’t changed since the time of The Buddha. The errors are that we perceive objects as either fixed and lasting or fluid and decaying. In one sense, we conclude with permanence and in the other nihilism. This conundrum is exactly the same as what confronted people in The Buddha’s time, and what he realized upon his enlightenment is that both are true, and neither is true (as separate matters). 

His enlightened resolution came to be known as The Middle Way. But how does that make sense? How can something (anything) be both true and not true at the same time? For that to work, it is necessary to acknowledge this dilemma, which my two friends are wrestling with—The opposites of phenomena and noumena and being willing to stand with one foot in each of those two camps. The Sutra of Complete Enlightenment (Address by the Bodhisattva of Pure Wisdom) said 

“...the intrinsic nature of Complete Enlightenment is devoid of distinct natures, yet all different natures are endowed with this nature, which can accord and give rise to various natures.” 

Elsewhere, it says that enlightenment is not something that comes and goes; it is ever-present. This, too, seems like an irrational statement. It is a perfectly logical question to ask, “If enlightenment is ever-present, then how is it I don’t experience it?” Perhaps the answer to that question is that we are trying to see air with a new set of glasses. Air can’t be seen with any glasses, and “Complete Enlightenment is devoid of distinct natures...” If enlightenment has no defining nature, then it doesn’t matter how sharp our vision—It can’t be seen. 

Yet the Sutra goes on to say that “all different natures are endowed with this nature, which can accord and give rise to various natures.” So what is the pearl of wisdom here? Perhaps the pearl is to stop expecting the impossible and accept that the task is not to invent another set of tools but rather live by the Spirit’s constant infusion. Buddhists might choose to call Spirit “Buddha-Nature.” Christians might choose to call it “The Holy Spirit,” but a name is just a handle. Some people prefer one handle, others prefer another handle, but noumenal truth has no handle or nature. 

We are not comfortable in “flying blind,” but isn’t that the definition of expedient means—Doing what is needed, one moment at a time, as phenomenal life flows and changes? How useful is it to use fixed standards when all of life is shifting and changing? The rules that worked yesterday are yesterday’s rules, and tomorrow’s rules will only work when unknown conditions arise. Circumstances change, and when they do, we need to measure the moment and act appropriately. This flexible way requires only one leap of faith—That enlightenment is a constant reality, and it has no nature.