Transformation

Buddhism has been around so long that it is hard to recall the locus—the seed from which it grows. But by recalling the condensed teaching of the Buddha, the essence is the very first point: Life (e.g., mortal) is suffering. Everything else about Buddhism is centered around that locus. So whenever we become overwhelmed with the multiplicity of the branches springing from this ancient practice, all we have to do is remember the root: Life is Suffering. This is why Buddhism has such an enduring appeal—Everyone suffers, and nobody wants to. And no more thorough practice has ever been conceived to understand suffering and provide a means for overcoming it than Buddhism. Suffering springs from our mind and begins with how we perceive and understand ourselves and the world we live in. And this is why Buddhism is a full exposition of our minds.

Master Hsuan Hua writes about this matter in the opening section of The Shurangama Sutra. He points out two aspects of our mind: Superficial, but unreal, the other hidden, but real. He says that the hidden part is like an internal gold mine that must be excavated to be valuable. This gold mine is everywhere but not seen. The superficial part is also everywhere but seen, and it is this superficial part that lies at the root of suffering. He says,

“ The Buddha-nature is found within our afflictions. Everyone has afflictions, and everyone has a Buddha-nature. In an ordinary person, it is the afflictions, rather than the Buddha-nature, that are apparent...Genuine wisdom arises out of genuine stupidity. When ice [afflictions] turns to water, there is wisdom; when water (wisdom) freezes into ice, there is stupidity. Afflictions are nothing but stupidity.”

The word stupidity may sound harsh and uncaring, but sometimes stark truth is more effective than placation. The critical point of his statement (and a message of the Sutra) is that there is a crucial relationship between suffering and wisdom. Both of these rest on a fundamental principle of faith—That at the core of our being, there is the supreme good, which is ubiquitous. Unlike other religions where faith is in an external God, in Buddhism, faith concerns a serene commitment in the practice of the Buddha’s teaching and trust in enlightened or highly developed beings, such as Buddhas or bodhisattvas (those aiming to become a Buddha).

Many people get confused with words, especially the word “Buddha-nature.” When the uninformed hear that word, they start thinking about a ghost that they imagine looks like some ancient Indian person. What we believe makes a difference. But instead of the label Buddha-nature, we could call it “Mind-nature” because Buddha means awakened. When we awaken to our right primordial minds, our world is transformed. Buddha-nature is the unseen gold mine that inhabits all of life. Without accepting that core, we are incapable of accessing wisdom, and without understanding, we are all trapped in suffering. The flip side of suffering is bliss, just as the flip side of up is down, but when we are immersed in the down, it is most difficult to “pull ourselves up from the bootstraps” and rise above misery. During those downtimes, it seems that everything is down.

We have all had conversations about the essential nature of people. Some say that we are rotten to the core—that there is no vital good there. Such people have given up on their own human family. This voice is split between those who believe in God and those who don’t. On the one hand, if there is to be any essence of good, it is purely the result of that good coming from an external God. The “non-believers” hold no hope at all—Just rotten to the core. Neither of these voices acknowledges intrinsic worth. To one, the worth is infused; to the other, there is none.

The eternal presence of Buddha-nature (e.g., the pure/not polluted mind of consciousness) is a contrary voice of faith: The recognition of intrinsic, essential worth, present in life. This gold mine, which, when accepted in faith, manifests in wisdom amid affliction and turns ice into water.

Atlas Shrugged Redux?

I first wrote this post in November of 2012 (roughly 8 years ago), and the world has changed for the worst since then. The chapter of history initiated back then has continued and worsened, by far. So I am reposting now, with some additions to reflect our current situation so that readers might grasp how what is now occurring began.

If timing is everything, then what is contained in this post is nothing. Our world will change tomorrow either toward a return to tried and failed policies that nearly brought the world to the financial abyss or continue with policies that may sustain us for a few more years. What lies beyond those years is anyone’s guess. My timing is admittedly lousy, but the message is critical.

For those of you who are not familiar with Ayn Rand and her views of Laissez-faire (e.g., the government is a demon that saps society of economic incentives and thus becomes the prime-mover of downfall), allow me to provide a short primer.  Atlas Shrugged was considered by Rand as her magnum opus—her greatest achievement as a writer. The book was written in 1957 and portrays a dogmatically dystopian United States where many of society’s most productive citizens refuse to be exploited by increasing taxation and government regulations, and they go on strike. The strike attempted to illustrate that when those most responsible for the engine of economic growth are stifled, society will collapse.

The book was a huge success, championed the spirit of libertarian, entrepreneurial creativity, depicted the government and the less fortunate as blood-sucking leeches who robbed the rightful wealthy of their hard-earned rewards. Rand’s economic philosophies were so convincing that they guided the fiscal policies instituted by Alan Greenspan—Chairman of the Federal Reserve of the United States from 1987 to 2006. Greenspan was appointed by Ronald Reagan in August 1987 and was reappointed at successive four-year intervals until retiring on January 31, 2006—the second-longest tenure of anyone holding that position. During his tenure, the nation’s wealth was increasingly polarized into the hands of a shrinking number of individuals. And less and less into the hands of those who enabled their prosperity.

On the surface, Rand’s philosophy (and Greenspan’s policies) seemed to make good economic sense within a free enterprise system, except for one crucial detail: Greed, which, when left unchecked, caused the near-collapse of the world’s interconnected economies in the year following the end of Greenspan’s reign. 

The financial crisis of 2007–2008 was considered by many economists to be the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression of the 1930s (until now). This crisis did not come about suddenly but rather resulted from Greenspan’s policies that encouraged imbalance. The crisis resulted in the threat of total collapse of large financial institutions, banks’ bailout by the federal governments, and downturns in stock markets worldwide.

In October 2008, Greenspan testified before Congress and acknowledged that “Those of us who have looked to the self-interest of lending institutions to protect shareholders’ equity (myself especially) are in a state of shocked disbelief…I made a mistake in presuming that the self-interests of organizations, specifically banks and others, were such that they were best capable of protecting their own shareholders and their equity in the firms.” 

Greenspan assumed the best of the captains of industry and discovered, quite to his surprise, that the nature of man, in an unenlightened state of mind, favors their own self-interests instead of the “…self-interests of organizations…” The Buddha gave forewarning of this inclination 2,500 years ago, but few then and fewer now paid much attention. The heart of darkness is egotism, the perverse attitude of mind that says, “Me first, and none for you.”

Both Rand and Greenspan are no longer, but their legacy lingers. In a nation such as our own—based on individual liberties and a competitive, “free” enterprise system—the notion of freedom becomes, at times, a slippery slope. There have been more than a few variations of the following quote (e.g., coming from different sources), but the essential spirit is the same, regardless of who said it. The quote is this: “The right to swing my fist ends where the other man’s nose begins.”

This morning Paul Krugman (opinion columnist with the New York Times) posted an online article titled, “How Many Americans Will Ayn Rand Kill?.” And his message was timely. What he said wasn’t about striking someone’s nose, but something far more ominous—spreading the coronavirus by those shouting to the highest hills they have a right to exercise their individual liberties and do as they damn well, please.

There is no argument with that fundamental, constitutional right so long as their choice doesn’t affect others. The same point applies to the second amendment right to bear arms or spreading second-hand smoke (which by latest count kills 41,000 people every year in the US and affects many more with chronic respiratory diseases), or other examples. But that is chump-change compared to the number of infections now running rampant throughout our country and beyond. The staggering pandemic numbers are no longer reliable since they climb upward moment by moment, daily. Still, there is little question (to intelligent, not self-absorbed people, with some remaining common sense) that infections are skyrocketing due to irresponsible, deluded individuals.

Krugman’s observations, and my own, run counter to the spreading attitudes about preserving liberties that accompany the spreading virus. By no means does this critique minimize the suffering of thousands who need to get back to “normal” living. All of us need that. But there is one indisputable reality here: There is a 100% probability that living is the most dangerous thing we do. Nobody gets out of here alive. All of us will die a natural death, one day, in many different ways.

The only relevant issue is not if we will die, but when and how. That is not a matter of liberties. Suffering is a certainty in our conditional world. All conditional things go through the same process of birth, growth, and inevitable mortal death. And that begs the question of who and what we truly are and the implications for mortal life. 

Many believe we are nothing more than a conditional bag of bones. I, and those spiritually inclined, believe we are more than that. The religious answer (regardless of persuasion) maintains that within this bag of bones lives a spirit that animates us sustains us and never dies. That is who and what we genuinely are. And that should give us all hope. The implication of that view is that mortal life is critical for what comes next. “If with a pure mind a person speaks or acts happiness follows him like his never-departing shadow.”—The Buddha. And if you prefer that thought from a Christian perspective, consider this: 

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”—The Christ (John 15:13), probably the most misunderstood passage in the entire New Testament. Why? Because, as originally written in Koine Greek (The ancient language employed to write the New Testament), the passage really means, Greater love has no man than this: to lay aside one’s ideas for one’s friends. How so? Because of two Koine Greek words, mistranslated into English. The first of those words is ἀγάπην (agape, meaning unconditional love, the only kind that is the nature of God), and the second word is ψυχὴν, psychēn, meaning ideas. Psychēn is the root word that should be translated into English as psyche (the basis of psychology, psychiatry, psyche, etc.).

This diatribe’s bottom line is simple: Liberty is not freedom when we exercise our constitutional rights and harm another. Your right ends at the tip of my nose. We claim to be a nation of compassionate people, but that is brought into question when what we choose to do, a right or not, violates others’ well-being. 

Wise choices.

Leaving school behind.

Wise choices—Something we all want to make. The trouble is choices are measured after the fact, not before, and since none of us can know results before causes (or so it seems), making choices always entails risk. If we choose right, then the assumption is that things will go as we predicted, and the report card will read, “Wise choice.”

Today I want to talk about what wisdom means from a Buddhist perspective. If I were writing in Sanskrit (one of the ancient languages used for Buddhist scriptures) and was writing of flawless wisdom I would use the term Prajnaparamita which is a special category of wisdom. It is non-attached wisdom that arises from an enlightened mind. And what is an “enlightened mind?” It is a mind free of attachment, and by attachment I mean being intractable—having a hard-hearted, dug-in, no changing opinion which doesn’t conform to emerging reality. Attachment in short means an unswerving desire to cling to one thing and resist another. Attachment is an ego-based function, the polar opposite of an enlightened mind.

In a metaphorical way our primordial mind (e.g., our true nature) is an empty container. It has no beginning and no ending. Anything can be placed into this container without preference. In its un-contaminated state, our original mind works like a mirror reflecting all points of views, without preference. However, that is not the case with a mind contaminated with an ego, which is our “self-image”—the person we imagine ourselves to be. This image is construed to have definite and intractable points of view, to which the ego clings as a badge of virtue. 

The ego finds it very difficult to contend with no preferences and thinks that people who have no preference are wishy-washy. Look at the word definite and really pay attention to its meaning. “Definite” means decided or with exact and physical limits—intractable. Someone who is definite and unswerving is out of touch with evolving reality which undergoes continuous change. Such a one is immovable and clings to the way they wish things would be and ignores the way they are.

On the one hand we admire such people and think to ourselves, “That is a strong person who doesn’t change course.” And since we lust for stability in a slippery world, we gravitate toward such apparently strong people (e.g., the despots and charlatans of our world). On the other hand, people who change course to reflect evolving circumstances are conversely considered to be disingenuous. Very odd! 

Think about this; since we can’t know the future, we are constantly challenged to take a risky stand on an unending array of unfolding events. And we admire others (and ourselves) for taking up intractable stands and then criticize those who adapt and conform to actual circumstances, rather than imagined ones. Does anyone see the problem here?

Our egos demand being “right” because we equate identity with righteousness. Nobody in their “right mind” (curious expression) wants to consider themselves as wrong. The term “self-righteous” is a pejorative expression—a label, which nobody wants to wear. Everyone understands what this expression implies so we play tricks with our self and pretend that when we take up intractable positions we are somehow simply right without being self-righteous. Very peculiar!

Please understand that from the perspective of prajna —wisdom, “right” means something entirely different. It means expedient means—choices that adapt to evolving circumstances and reflect the moment (the mirror mind, of no discrimination). Choices which change, as life unfolds are wise choices and people who exhibit this capacity ought to be considered wise people—adaptable to changing conditions. 

This is why martial arts such as kendo, taekwondo, and jujutsu are so effective. These arts are based on continuous adaptation to evolving conditions and only work when the mind remains malleable and un-stuck. And the opposite is true: people who don’t conform, but remain intractable should not be admired, but instead be considered with compassion.

Our upside down world.

If you can, grasp that everything we perceive and process—whether internal or external-results from elusive images projected in our brain. You can then begin to appreciate the incredible miracle represented by the Buddha’s enlightenment. His understanding occurred 2,500 years before tools were developed, which allow us to validate his teachings from a neurological perspective. While the language used that long ago may seem arcane to us today, by transcending these barriers of time and culture, we can understand the true nature of ourselves and the world in which we have always existed.

Buddhism, by any measure, from the normal western perspective, seems strange only because we have been conditioned to see life in a particular way, which, as it turns out, is upside down. What we regard as “real” is not, and what we regard as not even perceptibly present turns out to be real. And because of this error, our understanding causes us to identify with illusions, which are simple mental projections. Not realizing this, we end up clinging to vapor and then suffering as it slides away. What is the solution?

First, as the Sutra of Complete Enlightenment says, we must become aware of what is happening. Without this first step, there is no hope of ever being set free from a never ending dream—a nightmare of suffering that keeps repeating endlessly. When the illusions of our lives begin to break down (which they inevitably do), we are faced with tragedy. We suffer, so we search for relief, which unfortunately may come in further addictions that bring temporary relief but never last. It is like suffering from thirst and drinking salt water, which just makes us thirstier.

If we are fortunate, we discover the Dharma (the truth as revealed by the Buddha) and begin to fathom the source of our dilemma. It may start by taking a class or reading a book. Slowly our eyes become open to what is genuinely real, and our hunger grows. What begins as an intellectual snack holds the potential of becoming a full-blown meal. What fills the belly of one who has savored true awakening won’t do someone else any good. Ideas don’t fill the emptiness in our guts. Only awakening to our true nature can satisfy that craving for substance.

This sutra hits the nail on the head. Of course, the prime motivator is anyone’s own state of mind. As Master Sheng-yen pointed out, “Generally, unless a sleeping person is having a nightmare, he or she will not want to wake up. The dreamer prefers to remain in the dream. In the same way, if your daily life is relatively pleasant, you probably won’t care to practice to realize that your life is illusory. No one likes to be awakened from nice dreams.”

This is a bit like the story of a salesman who came across a man sitting on his front porch smoking a pipe. The salesman noticed a large hole in his house's roof and asked the man why he didn’t fix it. The man responded, “If it ain’t raining, there’s no need, and when it is raining, it’s too late.” The time to awaken is before the rains of suffering arrive.

Spiritual Math

One plus one equals two. Two divided by itself equals one. We learn these fundamental lessons about manipulating numbers early in life. It’s easy so long as it involves abstract numbers, and math doesn’t involve judgments and emotional overtones.

The rules are not subject to interpretation. We all agree on the rules, so we don’t get stressed even though one number is different. We don’t think, “Two is better than one” since two is just the sum of two ones joined together, and it would be impossible for the sum to exist without the union of ones.

That much is straightforward. No debate there. But when we add in the human component, it gets sticky. Now the game changes to “mine are better than yours,” and variations on that theme are unbounded. Differences now rule the day and are arrayed along with gender, politics, spiritual choices, age, sexual orientations, and racial differences (just to name a few prominent divisions).

The factor of difference overrides the factor of similarities, and conflicts flare as we war with one another over how we are better than someone different from us. Perhaps we all need to return to grammar school and learn the math of human relations. 

In today’s world, conflicts have become a dominant force, and these conflicts are all about how one person (or group) is better than another and beneath this issue lays the forgotten issue of unity. A person who chooses to align themself with one political group never stops being human. A person who strives to understand their relationship with their source by choosing one way against another never stops being human. One plus two always come out the same. These different numbers are always the result of the same fundamentals, and so are humans.

Cleaning house.

To people living in the Western World, Zen seems strange and irrelevant. I’ve tried for years to simplify Zen’s teachings that proclaim universal truths taught by The Buddha (e.g., Dharma). I took on this task so that people could understand and profit from The Buddha’s pearls of transcendent wisdom spanning time and place, every day. For the most part, I think this has been a road to nowhere, and my words have fallen on deaf ears. 

I now no longer try to teach the nuances that can obscure the real value: right thinking leading to the right effort. But then I reflect on this matter of frustration and factor in what the Buddha said: “The greatest action is not conforming with the world’s ways, and the greatest effort is not concerned with results.” Nobody can see the future, and in ways beyond our understanding, following the road less traveled can be lonely.

The story of John Chapman (known as Johnny Appleseed) is instructive. John was an American pioneer nurseryman who introduced apple trees to large parts of the Mid-Atlantic region of The United States. He became a legend while still alive due to his kind, generous ways, leadership in conservation, and the symbolic importance he attributed to apples. John journeyed alone throughout Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, including the northern counties of present-day West Virginia, planting seeds he knew would mature long after he was gone. He patiently went about his commitment with no concern for results, which he knew would take years to multiply.

Rhetoric without concrete expression is not worth the time of day, but there is presently a mood at work that troubles me greatly, and Zen offers a perspective that may be useful. To one who has studied and practiced Zen for many years, there is an inescapable conclusion which seems odd to the initiate but is true nevertheless—that we are all as different as snowflakes on the outside but fundamentally just indiscriminate snow at heart. We all appear to be uniquely different, but at our core, we are united and one. Ordinarily, all we perceive are differences, and when we are enjoying the good life, we are reluctant to share our wealth with others who appear different.

Some years back, there was a frequent political mantra that emphasized our differences and denigrated our unity and went by the handle of  Makers and Takers’. The implication in that mantra suggested that makers were singularly responsible for their own wellbeing, and takers were leeches who sucked up the life-blood earned by the makers. In his commentary on the Sutra of Complete Enlightenment, Chan Master Sheng Yen said that nobody having pleasant dreams wants to wake up. Only when they have nightmares are they eager to do so. His observation is that there is a correspondence between the magnitude of both suffering and awakening. 

While in the Marines, we put this in different terms with an idiom that a problem is never significant until it becomes your own. Then only does it seem to be meaningful. Whenever a person experiences anything (painful or otherwise), only then do they consider the merits of ideas opposite of their cherished previously held convictions. The experience might be something life-threatening to themselves or their loved ones, such as being infected with COVID-19 because they were convinced that wearing a mast was unnecessary. That is an example of clinging to political/religious dogma and, consequently, not paying attention to unfolding life. The entirety of Zen concerns the alleviation of suffering. There is no other purpose for this quest than that. And much of suffering arises by clinging to dogma and not exercising wisdom. 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: not yet, and denial. The not yet part is the realization that it is impossible to have mortal life and not suffer because the fundamental nature of conditional life is suffering. The denial part concerns resistance (a form of attachment which creates even more suffering). Nobody wants to suffer, and unfortunately, this motivates many to stay in states of denial. The pain seems too sharp to face, so we stuff it down and try to go on with life. But this can eventually be a significant problem because it isn’t possible to keep suffering locked away forever. 

Sooner or later, the seeds of unresolved trauma we locked away in our subconscious sprout and seep out to corrode our sense of wellbeing. Strangely, this emergence of the subconscious seeds of trauma is like the apple seeds that Johnny planted. PTSD is precisely that: tragedies that couldn’t be resolved have been buried in deep recesses of our mind and sooner or later emerge into the light of day and wreak havoc.

When you learn and practice zazen (a form of yoga, originally labeled dhyana yoga), 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 spiritual 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. And when you arrive at your goal, you realize that you can only alleviate suffering by becoming a servant to all, regardless of distinctions. Why? Because by being a servant to all is the same as serving yourself.

“The greatest action is not conforming with the world’s ways, and the greatest effort is not concerned with results.”

Charting Life.

In school, we all learned how to conduct research and chart the results. Nobody answers questions exactly the same, so some answers chart high, some chart low, and when we plot all of the answers, we can see a picture emerge that tells a story. We can even apply certain formulas to get a more accurate picture by “smoothing” the data and making projections based on what we learn. A good piece of research combined with properly done analysis helps us evaluate conditions and understand our world.

But look at how a chart is arranged. On one axis lies the range of variables being measured, and on the other axis lies a fixed frame of references, such as time or space. If our chart is really sophisticated, it might be a three-dimensional chart to get a more sophisticated picture. But whether two-dimensional or more, there is always a baseline that doesn’t move, so there is a constant by which we can map our work. If the baseline moved, as the data moved, there would be nothing learned.

When you think about it, this is a metaphor for how our mind works, and it must be this way. Otherwise, what we would see would just be a mish-mash of confused data: No picture. So how does this metaphor apply? Our true mind is the unmoving baseline, and moving data is our perceptible world. The variables data move. Our mind remains constant. If either of these were different (e.g., moving mind or constant data), the result would be inconceivable.

Now overlay the Buddha’s teaching on this map, and see what you get. Our unconditional, unmoving mind is joined irrevocably to our conditional and moving world. It is simple yet profound. It’s right there staring us in the face, but what can’t be seen is what doesn’t move. Rabbits learned that lesson eons ago, but we are still trying to figure that out.

Dancing through life

Watching two accomplished ballroom dancers is a delight. They move in graceful, fluid motions almost as a single entity. One leads; the other follows. If there is no cooperation, then harmony is broken with both trying to lead, and the motion is jerky and chaotic. 

If neither leads, there is no motion. If you look at what’s happening in Washington right now, you can see the non-dance of chaos. Whether we move or don’t, dance can only occur if there is a floor to dance on. 

Dancers don’t move through thin air. In a certain sense, we are like those dancers. We move in a relationship with others across the immovable floor of life. Our movements are either fluid, graceful, or chaotic, depending on how we cooperate. It’s a matter of giving and taking. Two gives or two takes end in stalemate. We have invented a saying to express this dance. It is called “What goes around comes around.” We reap what we sow. 

In Buddhism, this is called karma and works the same way. The floor beneath the dance is, of course, the immovable foundation of our life—our mind. If it moved, the dancers would be shaken. But since it is stable, the dance can proceed: One half leading, the other half following. And the dance can only happen with these three things—The immovable floor and the two partners. When all three functions in harmony, the dance of life is a beautiful thing.

Despots and fiddles

Note: I first wrote this post in September of 2011—Nine years ago. While the specifics have changed, the essence has not.

“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.”—Let them eat cake. While scholars no longer attribute this saying to Marie Antoinette, it has nevertheless remained as the prime example of disdain by the aristocracy for people in need. It exists in classic anthologies epitomizing indifference exhibited by those with means for those who suffer. In the same vane is the myth of Nero fiddling while Rome burned, which has come to mean to occupy oneself with unimportant matters and neglect priorities during a crisis.

Both of these are finding relevance in our world today. While people try to regain their footing following natural disasters or struggle to survive following extended unemployment, loss of homes, and virtually any means of support, politicians wax on endlessly concerning themselves more with how many points they can gain by confronting “the opposition” than how many mouths they can feed.

In exactly two months time the appointed Washington “super committee” must propose ways to reduce an out of control Federal deficit. Whatever means they propose must be voted on by Dec. 23. As the situation currently stands these people are no closer to reaching accord than when they were convened a month ago. During that month one of the most devastating hurricanes on record destroyed the lives of hundreds of thousands and goes on record as one of the 10 costliest catastrophes in the nation’s history.

FEMA is our first-responder agency for bringing aid to such people as those who were wiped out by Irene or by the devastating EF5 multiple-vortex tornado that struck Joplin, Missouri. Every caring American expects our government to provide whatever support is necessary to assist those in need. Instead, FEMA is being held hostage by the radical fringe, lead by House Majority Leader Eric Cantor who demands that offsetting budget cuts in other programs must be found before approving new funding for FEMA. Such additional funding in the wake of costly disasters has been the usual procedure in Congress in the past since natural disasters by their very nature cannot be predicted.

On one level Mr. Cantor’s reasoning appears responsible. To go further in debt at the same time that the super committee is trying to come to terms with the future of our nation seems unreasonable. The costs must be born somehow and the source of such funding is perfectly obvious. When infamous bank robber Willie Sutton was asked why he robbed banks, his answer was immediate and clear: It’s where the money is. So where’s our money? It isn’t in the hands of the disappearing middle class. It isn’t in the hands of the expanding poor and desperate. The money is where it always has been: In the banks. Yet it is precisely the financial institutions of our nation that are now doing everything possible to manipulate the law to ensure that we once again pay for their own mismanagement. 

They were not shy in asking us to bail them out when they teetered on the edge of disaster. We did so and they repaid our generosity by handing out astronomical bonuses to their “senior executives” and then refused to fuel our economic recovery. In the meantime, so we’re told, corporations are flush with fat profits. Why won’t they reinvest? Because there isn’t sufficient demand. And why isn’t there sufficient demand? Because people have no jobs. And why do people have no jobs? Because the people who have money won’t invest it. Does anyone but me see the Catch 22 here?

If Mr. Cantor wants to find the offsets to continue FEMA funding, then he should take a lesson from Willie, go get the money from where it exists and stop his fiddling. Rome is about to burn and we need a lot more than “cake.”

At the brink.

The recent debacle in Washington brings into sharp focus a fundamental flaw in our way of thinking and thus how we wrestle with problem-solving. We call it “the blame game.” This quagmire precisely illustrates a classic cultural flaw: Republicans blame Democrats. Main Street blames Wall Street. Your neighbor blames you, and you blame your neighbor. Apparently, nobody sees the big picture, which is this:

Wall Street doesn’t exist as an independent entity, separate and apart from you and me (Main Street)—investors who are greedy for a free lunch and believe that there is an independent up, separate, and apart from an inevitable down. Likewise, neither Republicans nor Democrats exist as independent entities. And neighbors only exist because of you and me.

This notion of an absolute right or wrong—one independent dimension in opposition to another—is simply wrong-headed. Unfortunately, this notion is going to bring our culture to its knees unless we wake up soon. This spirit of “me against the world” has never worked and never will work simply because it is not true. No world is separate and apart from “me and you.” We are the world which we are creating together, either in opposition with one another or in the messy struggle to work together for the common good. It may appear as a solid political strategy to set yourself apart from the other guy (or gal), but it creates and perpetuates a myth destroying us all.

For more than 2 millennia, Buddhists worldwide have seen the flaw of this “me against the world” approach as contrary to interdependent origination, which states the truth of our collective unity. There is no such thing as an independent anything—Light and dark arise and disappear together, up and down arise and disappear together, democrats and republicans arise and disappear together, form and emptiness; you and me...the list is endless, and it is a simple truth if only we would put it in motion. Instead, we remain trapped in opposition with anyone and everyone. We remain convinced of absolute righteousness (otherwise called self-righteousness), which only folks like us are privy to, and we likewise remain persuaded that others not-like-us are obviously wrong. Two problems here:

1. The idea of a “self” is just that...An idea. It is not a substantial, real thing. And if it is just an imagined figment, then there is, what? A figment of imaginary righteousness? The answer to that rhetorical question is yes—imaginary.

2. Even if there were a real self (which could be called our Root Consciousness, Buddha Nature or any name you choose—the name is irrelevant), such a reality could not be independent and separate because it is ubiquitous, never-born, never-dies, and not a reality which can be claimed as exclusive by anyone. It is a common, shared-by-everyone reality. We are in this pickle together and can’t escape.

So, where does this leave us? Well, it’s not too difficult to conclude. Either we continue on as we have since the beginning of time chasing the phantom of “me against the world” (and live with the consequences of that pursuit—racial and cultural suicide), or we chart a different course of unity. It would seem that we are at a tipping point, balanced on a precipice between choices. Collectively we will decide, but one thing is clear: Whatever choice we make will result in both benefits and consequences because these also arise together as an interdependent union. To listen to a good talk on the web of causes and effects undergirding our current crisis, click here.

Coming and going.

To a person of Zen, words are a mixed blessing. They can lead you astray or open your mind to the music of the muses. One of the greatest mystical poets of all time is Rabindranath Tagore.  Sadly, while he lived, he was little known outside of the Calcutta area and unknown outside of India. 

He and Lao Tzu awaken in me purity of heart unmatched by others. One of Tagor’s resonate themes is opening doors. Here is one facet from his poetic jewel, “Journey Home.”

The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

All of us are travelers searching far and wide for what is closer than our own breath, seeking what has never left us. In our mind’s eye, we imagine ourselves’ indwelling presence, which we separate from what that presence witnesses. To Lin-Chi (the father of Rinzai Zen) such people are spiritual dilettantes. He said, 

“Zen students today are totally unaware of truth. They are like foraging goats that pick up whatever they bump into. They do not distinguish between the servant and the master, or between guest and host. People like this enter Zen with distorted minds and are unable to enter effectively into dynamic situations. They may be called true initiates, but actually they are really mundane people. Those who really leave attachments must master real, true perception to distinguish the enlightened from the obsessed, the genuine from the artificial, the unregenerate from the sage. If you can make these discernments, you can be said to have really left dependency. Professionally Buddhist clergy who cannot tell obsession from enlightenment have just left one social group and entered another social group. They cannot really be said to be independent. Now there is an obsession with Buddhism that is mixed in with the real thing. Those with clear eyes cut through both obsession and Buddhism. If you love the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion.”

If we listen with open minds, we can hear the connection between Tagore and Lin Chi. There is one who travels and one who is found. The traveler knocks on a billion alien doors and, in the end, returns to find the one who has never moved.  Guests come and go yet the host never leaves. The Buddha lived in India 2,500 years ago. Lao Tzu lived in China at roughly the same time. Lin Chi died in 866 CE, and in 1913 Tagore received the Nobel Prize for literature. 

The lives of these men span an eternity, yet their voices resonate with a familiar echo. After all this time, we are still chasing and becoming attached to the moving rabbit, unable to notice who is doing the chasing. Buddhism has begun to capture the attention of the Western mind, but sadly it still dwells on the bobbing at the expense of the one noticing the bobbing, and as Lin-Chi says, 

“Now, there is an obsession with Buddhism that is mixed in with the real thing. Those with clear eyes cut through both obsession and Buddhism. If you love the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion.” 

In our world today, we enshrine the sacred and spit on the ordinary. No wonder in our time we are reaping the poisonous fruit of divisiveness. 

Solomon and a divided nation

Once upon a time in a kingdom far away, there lived a king of great wisdom. Each day the king would hold court and hear the pleas of his people. One day, two opponents came before him for his adjudication over a matter of extreme importance concerning the state’s child. One of the opponents pleaded with the king to slash to the child’s support to the bone, arguing that the state will flounder and die unless the child is starved. His opponent argued that unless the king waged war on his neighbors and robbed their coffers, there wouldn’t be enough money to continue supporting the child, and it would likewise die. The king saw that to preserve the child of state, he would need to adopt a middle way between these two extremes, reducing the child’s support and avoiding war, which greatly angered both opponents but saved the child.

Mine—No Take

It’s an education to watch young children learning the social skill of sharing (or not). It’s an unnatural skill. The ordinary way is to not share but rather to possess. One of the first words a child learns is “mine,” and another is “no.” 

The other day while waiting in the doctor’s office, I watched an encounter between two small children—one a girl, the other a boy—both younger than 2 years of age, competing to possess toys available in the waiting room.

The boy was there first, having complete reign over the cache of toys. Then the girl arrived, and the challenge began. He noticed the threat to his exclusive possessions and immediately sent out body language which said in effect, “mine, stay away.” She wasn’t hearing this message but instead began to carve out her own share. He responded by taking back what he had lost. She responded, in turn, “no,” “mine”—back and forth it went, with occasional interventions by the parents demanding sharing, which were largely ignored.

As I watched this exchange, I saw their futures as grown-ups still engaged in the same struggle, now being played out in the market place and relationships. “Mine” means “not yours.” It starts early and continues throughout life until we come to see that taken to an extreme, this simply doesn’t work. Then we are motivated to share but always begrudgingly. We don’t like to share, regardless of the social skill compromises we learn. There is a part of each of us that harkens back to our earliest memories of possessiveness and fear of loss.

Underneath the motivation for this behavior lies another human dimension, which also begins to function very early—an imagined, independent self that fuels attachment with actions of clinging and resistance—“Mine,” “No take.” Left unimpeded, this behavior creates unending suffering, and until we go to the heart and address the underlying imagined self, no learned social skill will survive very long. During times of stress, we revert back to early behavior and throw aside learned compromises—fearing a threat to our sense of self and demanding an increase to insulation from jeopardy (monetary and emotional). 

The perceived risk rises, and we hunker down. What is the answer to something so embedded? Risk is endemic to living, and this perception is always at odds with the idea of “mine.”  The tides rise, and they fall. Nothing lasts as “mine” and to depend upon permanence is a prescription for suffering. 

Sooner or later, the little girl or boy will come along and want their share. We’ll be confronted with an unending struggle with no solution except one: Eradicating the mythical and imagined self, which fuels this dynamic. When this eradication occurs, we become aware that beneath independence is interdependence; beneath imagined, there is the real, and beneath the limited fuel, we find an unending supply. Down deep, beneath the everyday struggle, we find bedrock—The One we have always been, has no center called “mine” or “no take.” At this level, there is neither you nor me. Just a unified “us.” 

Every religion of significance cautions about being self-centered, but Buddhism provides a concrete way to vanquish this center. Telling someone “what” to do without saying “how” accomplishes nothing but frustration. This eradication and discovery doesn’t happen by itself. It is the fruit of dedicated and focused practice, which may seem excessive and unnecessary. But the alternative is a life of suffering that comes with “mine” and “no take.” We all have the same opportunity to either live with the myth of an imagined and independent self or free of this pernicious demon and experience liberation.

Incredible

The juxtaposition of where we stand at this point in the human journey is incredible. The extremes are astonishing! 

On the one hand, we are living during a time when it is possible to be connected, almost instantly to anyone, anywhere in the world who has the necessary technology. The Internet, exploration of the cosmos, advances in medical, communications, and scientific technologies—all and more have transformed our physical world in ways far beyond what we could have imagined just a few years ago. If these advances were a measure of human achievement, we would get a grade of A+, but sadly we are failing.

Our ability to find common ground and move forward as a united human race has never been in greater jeopardy. Global communities are coming unglued at once. The Middle East is a burning house (and has been for centuries). So is the Amazon rain forest. So is the entire East Coast of the USA. At this point (which is increasing rapidly), 35+million people are infected with COVID-19, more than 1 million have died and there is no significant global cooperation to deal with this out-of-control disease.  In our nation (and many others around the world) governments have ceased to function and riots are understandably occurring with increasing intensity. And to top it all, our entire physical world is reflecting these extremes: Hotter hots; Colder colds, massive floods, great geographic segments turned into desserts, and melting ice caps.

On the one hand, it has never been better and on the other hand, it has never been worse. Clearly, the problems have nothing to do with what we can do but instead result from what we refuse to do. We fight like snarling animals, fighting over a dead carcass about ideologies, with opposing factions prepared to kill one another and take pride in dying to achieve a one-sided agenda.

We are compromising our collective welfare, due to no loss of intelligent capacity but rather because of mental, emotional, and spiritual poverty. What ought to be perfectly clear—what the nature of the problems are, and thus the solutions, continues to be ignored as we struggle to develop more and more technology while refusing to see what even a small child could see. Take a few moments and watch this, and then reflect on what we are losing. If you don’t get a large lump in your throat when you watch, you’re probably already dead.