tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92214639689587959282024-03-12T19:57:14.688-05:00Crossing NebraskaSpiritual explorations of the human condition with frequent
forays into Zen, mindfulness, art, science, psychology, and philosophy.Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.comBlogger177125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-11997599011493714862024-02-19T11:30:00.006-06:002024-02-21T13:10:04.321-06:00Synchronicity and Meaning (Part 3 of 3)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Gosh, it’s been almost a year since I began this series of posts recounting some of my recent experiences of synchronicity. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at it having taken so long, though, given that I knew from the start this installment was coming and would require of me a fair bit of emotional heavy lifting. In fact, this post may well be the most personally revealing one I’ve ever written, dealing as it does with the dysfunction of my family of origin and the karma it has wrought. But to disregard such messy context would be to excise these synchronicities from everything that gives them power and meaning in the first place. Please bear with me then, as I share enough background information to allow you privy to my state of mind at the time of these events. You may read the first two installments <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2023/05/synchronicity-and-meaning-part-1-of-2.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2023/08/synchronicity-and-meaning-part-2-of-2.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<div><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_0stKlf-p-IuOgE56I-rpx3YGl2mNnNzPaIP1MKFx8inejDNwg6nrDapdxeq0qOhJcefMhZc67wmzwI1VFkM-kEivQttzi0PYKE1EUGBDkp31cNFnoOFVZ891PWkvW90qPm-40GSQLuJm8STFD6pmP754PntunsnflW6E8GPTu-H7C5oDVns0OYSios/s4032/ChurchInterior.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_0stKlf-p-IuOgE56I-rpx3YGl2mNnNzPaIP1MKFx8inejDNwg6nrDapdxeq0qOhJcefMhZc67wmzwI1VFkM-kEivQttzi0PYKE1EUGBDkp31cNFnoOFVZ891PWkvW90qPm-40GSQLuJm8STFD6pmP754PntunsnflW6E8GPTu-H7C5oDVns0OYSios/w640-h480/ChurchInterior.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of Liverpool's Bombed-Out Church</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>First of all, I must say that I’m a Zen Buddhist and not particularly invested in any theories about the afterlife, not even reincarnation. That said, I certainly understand how such ideas might provide comfort in the here and now. One who believes in reincarnation, for instance, might feel less anxious about death knowing that they and their loved ones live on in some sensate form. On the other hand, someone with a traditional view of heaven and hell might envision deceased loved ones watching over them and enjoying all their usual earthly pastimes, even as those who’ve perpetrated unconscionable harm to them or the world at large are presumed to meet justice in another place altogether.</p><p>It's difficult for me to imagine someone so beyond redemption that they deserve eternal damnation. Thus, if the image many Christians have of heaven turns out to be true, I hope entrance to it is something more like the ending to the film version of <i>Jesus Christ Superstar</i>. If you’ve not seen it, it goes something like this: The crucifixion is complete; Jesus is dead; and all who played a part in the Passion Play descend from Calvary to board an old bus and ride off into the desert. The disciples are there, as are the Roman soldiers. Herod, Pilate, and Judas are there, and Mary Magdalene too. And while they’re not devoid of emotion regarding what has just taken place, there is an air of collegiality amongst them. It’s as if they’d thrown off the worldly karma that led them to play their earthly roles and could finally be together as their true selves, their best selves, reconciled with one another. That’s the way I understand that scene. Watch it <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SY1gEgjtc4" target="_blank">here</a> if you are so inclined.</p><p>I preface what follows with this imagery so that you’ll realize the full impact of what I’m about to say. You see, I’d been estranged from my father for a number of years by the time he died. My brother called one evening to say that he’d entered hospice and was not doing well. Before I could get on the road in the morning for the long drive to my hometown, he was gone. He died without family or friends near, gasping for breath after having long suffered from COPD.</p><p>I might feel sadness, guilt, or anger for not having known of his diagnosis until it had taken him, but apparently no one else in the family knew about it either. Was Dad ashamed of his condition—having been a star athlete back in the day? Did he feel that none of us had earned the right to know such a personal thing? Both are quite plausible possibilities. I might also feel sadness or guilt for not visiting him in hospice, or anger at my brother for not divulging the news sooner, but apparently he only learned of Dad’s precipitous decline in the final hours as well. I could feel sad or guilty for having been estranged from my father in the first place, but after a lifetime of him withholding emotional support, time, kindness, understanding, respect, guidance, resources, and information, I’d reached the limits of my endurance. And for that I harbored a lot of anger at him—so much so that I couldn’t even imagine meeting him on the aforementioned bus motoring off to the sweet by and by. I simply never wanted to see him ever again.</p><p>The last time I had a one-on-one conversation with my father was on a day when I’d actually intended to visit my mother where they resided in an assisted living facility. Mom was declining with dementia and shrank into silence in the presence of my father. The only way I could spend quality time with her was to walk with her to a common area in the facility or request that Dad find something to do for a while. On the day before that visit, I called my brother to inform him of my arrival in town only to learn that Mom had just been moved to the other side of state to live with my sister, who’d been trained as a nurse. This was puzzling to me since I’d called him just a couple of weeks prior to tell him of my upcoming visit. He’d not said a word about any such plans. Are you seeing any familial karma at play here? So, ever hopeful, I suppose, I ended up paying a visit to my father with my mother absent. The irony. I was actually concerned for him that my mother’s move meant he might never see her alive ever again. This was grief and a concern that we shared, I felt. But after that visit I would not see him, speak to him, or hear from him until the day of my mother’s funeral. If I did not continue to reach out to him, it simply wasn’t going to happen. That was the duty that was owed to him.</p><p>My mother was troubled by my estrangement from my father. In truth, though, she seemed to have little grasp of the dynamics leading up to it even when her faculties were at their peak. She had no idea how much I struggled to understand him behind his impenetrable walls. What sort of cruel upbringing had made him armor himself in this way? What demons could he possibly be wrestling with? What in the hell was wrong with him? And, yes, what then was wrong with me? “Of course he loves you,” was all my mother could or would say. Thus, I did my best to navigate an untenable situation with her well-being in mind. It was with this messy grief still hanging over me that I journeyed with my wife to my mother’s hometown of Liverpool, England in order to better understand her life for the purpose of giving her a proper goodbye—proper goodbyes being difficult to experience when a loved one slowly disappears into a haze of dementia.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5z87OOz8mtyfccI5aCLqgkGyb1vPp9MDUtwVBk0Zw5tMUrVcx7pNWoPZ1xFa8WBCg8LS7uSQzb_qNBBnRIabJlfg5SCbnbIksKIjiF5ycL_G48fGoTO0HsMsTGdEJmhNCsu4VTwsLAczE_wXGKAU8VLWOo3wQUxeC1Ls6bWbv5jR11NjyTvPvCSD-v0/s4032/CrosbyBeach.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5z87OOz8mtyfccI5aCLqgkGyb1vPp9MDUtwVBk0Zw5tMUrVcx7pNWoPZ1xFa8WBCg8LS7uSQzb_qNBBnRIabJlfg5SCbnbIksKIjiF5ycL_G48fGoTO0HsMsTGdEJmhNCsu4VTwsLAczE_wXGKAU8VLWOo3wQUxeC1Ls6bWbv5jR11NjyTvPvCSD-v0/w300-h400/CrosbyBeach.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Author At Crosby Beach, Liverpool</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Whereas my father’s German immigrant heritage was rarely spoken of and remains largely a mystery to this day, my mother’s heritage was richly and lovingly conveyed to us through stories of Liverpudlian life, wartime drama, the English countryside, and growing up just around the corner from little Paul, the future Beatle. I saw her everywhere we went in England by virtue of having so many memories triggered one after another. We flew into London and saw the many places depicted on the keepsakes and tchotchkes she’d lovingly kept on her shelves in America. We climbed the mountain in Wales from which my grandfather plucked a rock specimen in a rainstorm so that he could forge a connection with his rock collecting grandson overseas. We visited Crosby Beach, where I recall spending the day by the seaside with my mother and grandparents when I was just two years old or so. And we visited my mother’s childhood home, of which I also have vague memories—the one with the air raid shelter in the back garden that we’d heard so much about—the one where Mrs. McCartney, the neighborhood nurse, helped to stanch my mother’s worrisome nosebleed. And, of course, we couldn’t possibly go all that way without visiting Penny Lane, Strawberry Fields, and the grave of Eleanor Rigby—the places that inspired the music that I can’t possibly listen to without thinking of my mother.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS99X9n-2OZ4-_Z_xZe07J2V9gzNcoHk7KTv0tMPm4z37H1RxBw2DxM7ePwXoL7aExJ3kBX_R9JNtdtIH1w4cGVsa1vTWzDyXI26pAv1GYMfBycaBgGPkziQ3p8mwqxGNvjn1to2z315kkJ5uGLRzjnV12_DGY2K-BwCeEkcC1lz1uhZJIN2yYJXw6iB0/s3483/PennyLane.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3483" data-original-width="2612" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS99X9n-2OZ4-_Z_xZe07J2V9gzNcoHk7KTv0tMPm4z37H1RxBw2DxM7ePwXoL7aExJ3kBX_R9JNtdtIH1w4cGVsa1vTWzDyXI26pAv1GYMfBycaBgGPkziQ3p8mwqxGNvjn1to2z315kkJ5uGLRzjnV12_DGY2K-BwCeEkcC1lz1uhZJIN2yYJXw6iB0/w300-h400/PennyLane.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Author On Penny Lane, Liverpool</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Which brings me to synchronicity. As we were exploring downtown Liverpool, we came across the Church of St. Luke, the “<a href="https://www.slboc.com/" target="_blank">Bombed Out Church</a>” as it is often referred. Its ruins now serve as a reminder of the horror and devastation of World War II, and it certainly made palpable the fear my mother must have felt all those nights that she and family spent in their air raid shelter in the little back garden just a few miles away.</p><p>On the grounds of the church are flower gardens and an Andy Edwards sculpture called <i>All Together Now</i> depicting two WW I soldiers, one British and one German, about to shake hands and enjoy a <a href="https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/the-real-story-of-the-christmas-truce" target="_blank">Christmas Day soccer match</a>. Of course, the potential lesson to be learned from my stumbling upon this memorial to peace and reconciliation on a journey to honor the life of my mother was not lost on me. Her wish for my reconciliation with my father was percolating in my unconscious mind the entire trip. But something else on the grounds of the Bombed Out Church gave me pause. There in the grass beside the sculpture was a flower arrangement similar to one that might be found on a gravesite. It spelled out “MARK” and “DAD.”</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwEmHzqlz2ryq_AEMd0CXx0gMbrnDmWDGsTjpnWVUbGBlrEQePbPhFyfZVkpdrmLQu47-TB5G0K0Ea8H8mF55bkkncfVQduiNVPGUp6VZFk5MmViEzMdzQzOm6qtB802cp8zMylKHmM2Z3Yow21LS8_sCwtim-Dr26IDhGZlMkPjdim3qWeDT6E167yY/s4032/MarkDad.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2471" data-original-width="4032" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwEmHzqlz2ryq_AEMd0CXx0gMbrnDmWDGsTjpnWVUbGBlrEQePbPhFyfZVkpdrmLQu47-TB5G0K0Ea8H8mF55bkkncfVQduiNVPGUp6VZFk5MmViEzMdzQzOm6qtB802cp8zMylKHmM2Z3Yow21LS8_sCwtim-Dr26IDhGZlMkPjdim3qWeDT6E167yY/w400-h245/MarkDad.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floral Arrangement by Memorial Statue</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Yes, <i>Mark</i> is my first name. Now, lest you wonder how such a discovery didn’t make me think I’d entered the <i>Twilight Zone</i> right then and there, let me reveal a bit of backstory. The community of people that care for the grounds and work on the programming at the church apparently lost one of their members not too long before we arrived. I surmise that Mark was his name as well and that he was also a father. I say this because I vaguely recall reading a note to that effect as we were welcomed into the church interior by one of the volunteers. And yet, despite this “explanation,” how can I not see meaning in such an intriguingly serendipitous occurrence—a mystifying coincidence of particularly evocative circumstances and emotional ripeness. Such is synchronicity at its most profound. </p><p>With the power of this unprocessed experience still reverberating in my being, we made our way down to the Mersey waterfront and then back up to the Cavern Quarter. The Cavern Quarter, you probably already know, is anchored by the famous Cavern Club where the Beatles played before becoming too famous for such intimate venues. I recall my mother telling us that her younger brother had seen them there, which made me want to visit it even more so as to feel that bit of family lore.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmBAhp_jmV0x952ErleIKCKa1qQrmQgAa45Ee6CgUwdA5KEBM8SOQNPX5nTuSZImCrLMp6OOOHPf0_R_INwViEdiktCPiYnMzrb0wukbpC6xejgVJJwYeZY42QRSBiIfQMZklHWlmzSFAku0f4ckLhX9P7oe5pTHWCwp5QmWj4k5gPuXCDvkUwmE8lH8/s2289/CavernPerformer.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1985" data-original-width="2289" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmBAhp_jmV0x952ErleIKCKa1qQrmQgAa45Ee6CgUwdA5KEBM8SOQNPX5nTuSZImCrLMp6OOOHPf0_R_INwViEdiktCPiYnMzrb0wukbpC6xejgVJJwYeZY42QRSBiIfQMZklHWlmzSFAku0f4ckLhX9P7oe5pTHWCwp5QmWj4k5gPuXCDvkUwmE8lH8/w400-h348/CavernPerformer.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Solo Performer at the Cavern Club</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>We descended into that dark womb of rock and roll history, ordered a pint, and continued our exploration. Eventually we settled into seats in front of one of the stages where a solo performer was nearing the end of his set of mostly Beatles covers. He closed his planned set with a nice version of Lennon’s Oh Yoko! and then called out for requests. Before the words had even exited his mouth, it seemed, a woman called out: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45cYwDMibGo" target="_blank">Come Together</a>! And so it was.</p><p>What do you think about synchronicity? Is it possible for a loved one to reach us from “beyond” with a message conveyed in this manner? Maybe you believe that such phenomena are engineered by God on behalf of both the sender and receiver of such messages. Or perhaps you believe that our very being knows precisely what it needs in order to heal and continue growing in the best way our embodied wisdom knows how to grow. I’m not sure what, if anything, I believe. I remain open to this great mystery that unfolds with each of our lives. However, I do know this for certain. As the performer sang the chorus, “Come together, right now, over me,” I wept as if my mother was indeed with me once again and reminding me of her wish.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiED0FKBYg69hyUWu34BmyY0CV7pu13mqxAhEa389ECrlXBdD3oGWN0aqf0Cat27f1RH_gLK95u7Sc1kjFPK7HG3EPOlddugQAWtyE4eKAllJWlrokYSutX8qF8nh8b5jigDTe1bOOUIT_1ZlEfqjRPTzEmf_CahkJ8-Av2YJ8YZ639Ps3hSWWZk1tXB0Q/s4032/FlowersChurch.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiED0FKBYg69hyUWu34BmyY0CV7pu13mqxAhEa389ECrlXBdD3oGWN0aqf0Cat27f1RH_gLK95u7Sc1kjFPK7HG3EPOlddugQAWtyE4eKAllJWlrokYSutX8qF8nh8b5jigDTe1bOOUIT_1ZlEfqjRPTzEmf_CahkJ8-Av2YJ8YZ639Ps3hSWWZk1tXB0Q/w480-h640/FlowersChurch.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flower Garden Outside Bombed Out Church</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Copyright 2024 by Mark Robert Frank</b></p></div>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-92030756311842642502023-08-06T14:50:00.005-05:002024-02-21T13:15:56.767-06:00Synchronicity and Meaning (Part 2 of 3)<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s not
uncommon for those grieving the loss of a loved one to hope for a sign from
them that all is well on the “other side.” Perhaps this is especially so for survivors
left without any meaningful sense of closure. My mother, for instance, slipped
inexorably into the quicksand of dementia without me being able to say goodbye
in any meaningful way. Perhaps that explains my openness to receiving a sign
from her, despite my Zen Buddhist leanings leaving me less inclined to believe
in heavenly realms of souls and angels. Grief is never easy, but grief without
closure is more difficult still.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNDSzZt6yf9L1n1pPq55-QujeBfa_DGheNpW68QEbwh80ps1lM2Yhru93HUVbhsdERl4JXhituQebYl1ojOpcCXmOi-la26QiujAFqjpdjHf8ht0i66Lq8edNLmV-UVfV6q_iZTxwCBKDdivDM4ulq6J5GpM0WBqjiVYJIZlHLFT0fCnloG0nOBMXyZA/s3414/Burning%20Bush.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2947" data-original-width="3414" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNDSzZt6yf9L1n1pPq55-QujeBfa_DGheNpW68QEbwh80ps1lM2Yhru93HUVbhsdERl4JXhituQebYl1ojOpcCXmOi-la26QiujAFqjpdjHf8ht0i66Lq8edNLmV-UVfV6q_iZTxwCBKDdivDM4ulq6J5GpM0WBqjiVYJIZlHLFT0fCnloG0nOBMXyZA/w640-h552/Burning%20Bush.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Euonymus, sometimes called Burning Bush</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In the first
installment of <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2023/05/synchronicity-and-meaning-part-1-of-2.html" target="_blank">Synchronicity and Meaning</a> I described waking from dreamless
sleep with an artist’s name on the tip of my tongue. The last name was Bosch. The
first name rhymed with anonymous. Euonymus? No, that’s a plant of some kind. With
the mystery yet unresolved, I fell asleep again. Upon awakening the next
morning, however, I saw that a friend had posted a link to the Hieronymus Bosch
painting, <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/16/Hieronymus_Bosch_013.jpg" target="_blank">Ascent of the Blessed</a>. Hieronymus! Of course! But it was the subject
matter that gave me pause – d</span>eceased individuals being led by angelic
figures to and through a tunnel of light towards a presumably divine figure. It
was almost exactly the second anniversary of my mother’s passing. Was she
letting me know that all is well? Was she now safe and sound on the other side?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s certainly comforting to think that this might be so.
Such communication would bring closure to so many of the questions that our
human condition presents us with. Death isn’t final after all. We really do
transcend our earthly suffering. We really will see each other once again
someday. Perhaps most important for my personal wellbeing, however, would be
the knowledge that my mother understands how difficult her final years were for
me as well as her. From her place of peace on the other side, she wishes for me
to also be at ease.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJEzA4ysPpLX7MIbRwfL1o66nxj_zwKCJDXPKog3E5mHuS-A505WyzxXgYJqVz9b3eI3zLg-lAwL2jRtw0ECpXCEalnmQ4ZUUDNGwP1bURgtqSZP0H-mDOzdP-SpJRscZB7B5wwHwADga81lSqCAljGsC8MaosdU2BEKFi1OKiJAiQNktiAoU5Rl7rtw/s2047/Hieronymus_Bosch_AscentOfTheBlessed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2047" data-original-width="896" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJEzA4ysPpLX7MIbRwfL1o66nxj_zwKCJDXPKog3E5mHuS-A505WyzxXgYJqVz9b3eI3zLg-lAwL2jRtw0ECpXCEalnmQ4ZUUDNGwP1bURgtqSZP0H-mDOzdP-SpJRscZB7B5wwHwADga81lSqCAljGsC8MaosdU2BEKFi1OKiJAiQNktiAoU5Rl7rtw/w280-h640/Hieronymus_Bosch_AscentOfTheBlessed.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ascent of the Blessed by Hieronymus Bosch</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ah, but my rational mind is no pushover! What would need to
be true for these synchronistic phenomena to have such an otherworldly
explanation? Their orchestration, if they didn’t also include the prompting of
my friend to post the Hieronymus Bosch painting in the first place, would have
at least required someone or something to plant his name in my mind as I slept,
knowing that I would soon be viewing one of his works. But not just any of his
works, mind you, one loaded with metaphysical meaning and connotations. For
without Bosch’s name somehow bubbling up into my consciousness in the dead of
night, I likely would not have looked for deeper meaning in the piece of his art
I was to perceive in the coming morning. Its appearance would have been little
more than an interesting occurrence in life’s unfolding. It is an evocative painting,
to be sure, and it likely would have prompted me to think of my mother on the
second anniversary of her passing. But it wouldn’t have struck me as a “sign.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Or might there be another explanation altogether?<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> As I asked in the first installment
on this topic: “Could it be that this synchronistic occurrence was orchestrated
by my unconscious mind to facilitate the greater wellbeing of the organism that
includes my conscious self?” In other words, might an unconscious aspect of my
being recognize the fruitfulness of believing in a metaphysical system where
souls live on, and all are made whole again in time? Set aside for a moment the
question of whether such a view of the afterlife is true or not. Perhaps part
of whoever or whatever I am in this present moment recognizes that “I” might
become more fully actualized if “I” were only to believe, or at least act as if
it is true. Maybe some guiding inner knowledge recognizes the potentially self-limiting
nature of whatever anger, anxiety, fear, guilt, remorse, or shame I may have
regarding my mother’s death, or death in general. Is this inner knowledge
nudging me to simply let it all go for the sake of greater wellbeing as I move
forward? There would certainly seem to be good reason for me to simply accept
this experience as “real” regardless of its origin. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But what
would need to be so for either of these proposed explanations to be true? For
this synchronistic occurrence to have been a sign from my mother, she (or some
entity acting on her behalf) w</span>ould have needed to foresee what artwork
one of my friends was about to post on social media and then somehow insert the
name of the artist in my sleeping mind that it might elicit in me the meaning
so intended. Likewise, with respect to the guidance afforded by some
hypothetical self-actualizing knowledge deep within, the future would need to have
been foreseen in order for some preceding event to then be engineered for the
sake of imparting the desired message. In both scenarios it is our assumption
regarding the linearity of time – ever onward into the future – that compels us
to focus on synchronistic events and plumb their depths for meaning. Anomalies
in the normal passage of time certainly do get our attention!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps this last point might provide an altogether
different vantage point from which to examine synchronistic events. Some
scientists believe that the passage of time is not as fixed as we might
believe. Albert Einstein, for instance, stated that past, present, and future
are merely stubborn illusions. Mystics, as well, have views of time outside our
everyday understanding of its passage. Perhaps, then, our experience of
synchronicity is not something that occurs because “reality” has been tinkered
with in some way. Perhaps our experience of synchronicity actually results from
a brief dropping away of our ordinarily constrained perception of the passage
of time. This dropping away of the ordinary succeeds in getting our attention
very quickly! So we give it a name: synchronicity.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What, then, am I to conclude from this experience and my
resulting reflection upon it? Do I believe any one of these explanations over
the others – or none at all? Fact is, I’m holding close but loosely to all of
these possibilities. The mystery of this human existence is too rich and deep
to be waved away with any shallow statement of belief. Do I feel better about
the reality of my mother’s passing? Yes. Strangely, despite my inconclusive
feelings about the “sign” she may have sent me, I do feel more settled about
her death. I’ll likely have more to say on this topic of synchronicity in a
coming post. There have been some subsequent experiences that have built on the
one that I relate in these two posts. I hope you’ll stay tuned!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the way, another name for euonymus is burning bush. Do I
take my interpretation of this experience of synchronicity too far in
contemplating the symbolism of the burning bush – the proverbial sign from God
in the wilderness? Again, I’m holding it all close, but loosely.<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p>
<span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank</b></span></div></span>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-46588529729863311062023-05-16T14:45:00.013-05:002024-02-21T13:16:18.865-06:00Synchronicity and Meaning (Part 1 of 3)“Oh my gosh, I was just thinking of you!” Have you ever been party to a phone conversation in which the person on the receiving end immediately blurted this out? It would seem to be a fairly common occurrence. But does it mean anything? Is it synchronicity, or is it merely coincidence? For if there is no reason for such events, and no meaning for them to accrue, then they result in little more than “gee whiz” wonderment.<div><br /></div><div>I’ve been a “student” of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronicity" target="_blank">synchronicity</a> for many years. By that I mean I give due consideration to apparently synchronistic phenomena whenever I happen to notice them. I appreciate the way they nudge me from my comfort zone in the rational world and open me to thinking about new possibilities for the reality I might otherwise take for granted. That said, I’m no pushover! My rational mind can’t help but analyze these potentially synchronistic occurrences before getting too excited about them. For instance, when those intriguingly timed phone calls come from my spouse, whom I think about and receive calls from on a regular basis, I’m not so overawed. Sorry, Darla!</div><div><br /></div><div>Might apparent synchronicity be a manifestation of our, at times, overly heightened awareness? In other words, are “synchronistic events” merely the overvalued results of our brain’s capacity for pattern recognition? I say overvalued because, by the time we begin wondering about synchronicity, our meaning-making inclination has kicked into high gear. This is a possibility that my rational mind entertains. Ah, but my rational mind is not so thoroughly in control of my being that it can instantly squelch the sudden flicker of engagement I feel upon noticing some potentially synchronistic phenomena. Let me illustrate my two minds on the subject by relating a meaning-charged example that I recently experienced.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GakIzO3BC1wUSc5x_JfQyJWxKTassmH510di2StlLDv-FPQIxt-F9ekiYDCP6vt3lqexsnTMVyb0hZWONMnBvwIPOD4KW3-4HGGon23oz_FkKKYtLPscDexFdD5Jbbe7o8zd3MvUMmIck36bvk6GMcZBHHu9Y7xVC4qDnGXvyl7FZa82NwP1Ge2w/s2047/Hieronymus_Bosch_AscentOfTheBlessed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2047" data-original-width="896" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GakIzO3BC1wUSc5x_JfQyJWxKTassmH510di2StlLDv-FPQIxt-F9ekiYDCP6vt3lqexsnTMVyb0hZWONMnBvwIPOD4KW3-4HGGon23oz_FkKKYtLPscDexFdD5Jbbe7o8zd3MvUMmIck36bvk6GMcZBHHu9Y7xVC4qDnGXvyl7FZa82NwP1Ge2w/w280-h640/Hieronymus_Bosch_AscentOfTheBlessed.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ascent of the Blessed by Hieronymus Bosch</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I awoke in the middle of the night recently with a name on the tip of my tongue. As I recall, I’d not been dreaming. I simply became conscious and began thinking of the name. The last name was Bosch, but the first name was unclear. It sounded like <i>anonymous</i>. Was it Euonymus? No, that’s a plant, I thought to myself. I pondered this “Euonymus Bosch” for a time. I thought he must be an artist, and I was reminded of a talk I attended some years ago. No, that was Bak, Samuel Bak. Feeling drowsy once more, and not having drawn any conclusions, I went back to sleep. Then, in the morning, while still in bed doing some stretching, I opened my phone to see that a friend had posted an image on social media of the Hieronymus Bosch painting, <i><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hieronymus_Bosch_013.jpg" target="_blank">Ascent of the Blessed</a></i>. Ah, Hieronymus! Synchronicity!</div><div><br /></div><div>Depending on your receptivity to such things, you may or may not find this incident compelling. However, allow me to offer up some additional context. For it is the context that provides fodder for the meaning-making function of the human psyche. I’ll start with the big picture. My mother died almost exactly two years prior to this incident. It was unsettling for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that her dementia had made saying a meaningful goodbye all but impossible. Over the course of some years, she’d simply faded into non-existence. My wife once asked me whether I thought she’d try to reach out to me somehow, to let me know that she’s alright. Darla has an understanding with everyone on her side of the family that she would indeed try to reach out from the “other side.” With respect to my mother, though, I had no idea. We’d had no discussions of such things.</div><div><br /></div><div>Around the time of the second anniversary of my mother’s death, we got word that the mother of one of our coworkers was in the hospital and not doing well. And then, during the week prior to my “Euonymus Bosch” incident, we learned that “Fletch’s” mother had passed away. The date of her death was just three days after the anniversary of my mother’s passing. Pertinent to this story, for obvious reasons, is that Fletch’s last name happens to be (are you ready for it?) Boesch!</div><div><br /></div><div>I hate to leave you hanging, but I don’t want the first installment of this post to become too long. I’ll continue my exploration of the possible meaning of this synchronistic occurrence in a follow-up. For now, though, let me simply state that the subject matter of Bosch’s <i>Ascent of the Blessed</i>—deceased individuals being assisted to and through a tunnel of light towards a presumably divine figure—does lend itself to interpretation as some sort of communication from my mother. Is she letting me know that all is well? I’m still processing that possibility. Another possibility is that this is not any communication from “outside” of me at all. Perhaps it’s an internal communication between my unconscious mind and my conscious self.</div><div><br /></div><div>Could it be that this synchronistic occurrence was orchestrated by my unconscious mind to facilitate the greater wellbeing of the organism that includes my conscious self? Will my acceptance of the metaphysical reality that Bosch has represented increase my wellbeing with respect to then “knowing” that my mother is alright? Perhaps my improved wellbeing extends even further than that. I’ve reached an age where I see my own mortality with greater clarity. Would “knowing” the “truth” of Bosch’s reality allow this organism (which includes my conscious mind) to make the fullest and best use of whatever remaining days I might have? Please allow me to share my thoughts on these possibilities in a subsequent post.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, be well!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank
</b></div>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-75532901330467541782023-05-03T07:42:00.002-05:002023-05-03T07:42:41.912-05:00The Weather Inside<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Perhaps it’s human nature that our moods so often track the weather outside—spiraling downward like the cold rain in the drainpipe and then lifting once again when the sun peeks through the clouds. Ah, but it isn’t always so. Sometimes we revel in the gloominess outside, finding a sort of melancholy joy in how it so perfectly supports our (and the world’s) need for rest and renewal. Unfortunately, the opposite all too often occurs. It might be a gorgeous day outside, but we feel as though we’re gazing out through dirty glasses. We sense brightness, but our mood is dark. We wish we had more spring in our step, but it feels as though our feet are stuck in mud.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Whether we’re experiencing depression, grief, or merely a persistently rough period in life, it can be all too tempting to believe that such inclement “inside weather” will be our lot forevermore. We might even commence to seeding our dark storm clouds with endless self-recrimination: We’ve “no right” to feel this way given all that we have to be grateful for. We’re “weak” for succumbing to these negative emotions. We’re not diligent enough with our spiritual practice. We’re not faithful enough. Maybe we just don’t “deserve” to experience the joy that everyone else seems to tap into with ease. Yes, this is when the storms begin to really become ominous!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxhteniHCJPo2ugw_3VDvPQfg-eGF6HbGG0poIraIw7OmJ7GxYz2rEKi6YWjzYWh38U_k852CgL93bE6kVOEk6Wuvsq1d1qzGqwWzY0s43RwZNisEVmF-2S4P-YxPl1aIwDVhidOX3MjeItsj-M8xx-xVUv-q7ZQuGD_k8mydpMwR3nzAZfvETT01/s4032/MossyBench.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxhteniHCJPo2ugw_3VDvPQfg-eGF6HbGG0poIraIw7OmJ7GxYz2rEKi6YWjzYWh38U_k852CgL93bE6kVOEk6Wuvsq1d1qzGqwWzY0s43RwZNisEVmF-2S4P-YxPl1aIwDVhidOX3MjeItsj-M8xx-xVUv-q7ZQuGD_k8mydpMwR3nzAZfvETT01/w480-h640/MossyBench.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old moss-spotted bench on a rainy day</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I’ve been pondering the gloomy weather these days during lunchtime jaunts in a nature park near the college where I work. You see, after being teased earlier in the season with a few gloriously warm and bright spring days, we’ve settled back into a spell of gray and chilly weather that seems to want to drag on forever. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pine at times for warmer and brighter days yet to come, regardless of what my Buddhist practice might say about accepting that which is! While the flora and fauna all around me accept precisely that which is with perfection I can only dream of, my “weather inside” is at times a blustery mix of fear and longing and frustration.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">One of the benefits of Zen meditation—simply sitting with whatever thoughts, sensations, and emotions happen to arise—is that it gives us plenty of practice watching the weather inside. As such, we become familiar with a quality of awareness that is independent of fleeting circumstances, emotions, and yearnings. Yes, I still get lost at times within the turbulence of my own private storms, even while gazing out at an otherwise glorious day. More and more, though, I’m able to watch the weather inside with the same calm awareness as when I watch the weather outside. And whatever storms I do experience tend to be less intense and of a much shorter duration.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">So, next time you’re feeling buffeted by whatever storms might be swirling inside of you, allow yourself to get in touch with that calm awareness that’s able to watch it all, experience it all, and feel it all, yet remain completely unharmed all the while. Sit and watch it play out if you are so inclined. Take a walk with it if your energy doesn’t quite allow you to sit still. Find your way to a natural place. Nature has so much to teach us about acceptance. All that dwells outside may not experience the weather inside that we humans do, but all of nature knows what it is to abide with the storms of existence.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Be well.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-29358359809934384982023-04-18T20:15:00.001-05:002023-04-19T07:48:40.277-05:00Ten Lessons on Living and Dying That I Learned From a Cat<p><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We
recently said goodbye to our beloved cat, Twinkie. He was just a few weeks shy
of his twentieth birthday, twelve of which I had the privilege to know. Twinkie
had been showing his age for quite some time, but his decline was so gradual,
and his presence so strong all the while, that we thought he might live well
into his twenties. In fact, Twinkie abided so well in whatever state of health he
was in that it took us until his final week to realize just how close to death
he actually was. He approached it like a buddha—poised, composed, and unperturbed.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow", sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWnAUTubEdlV2JDiv-1KnHFS9FBZjSA0xg-NoY0V0jtIPnYxiThL-Vn_9XWWJ5y9FBNCFiKlbK73YTelp4MpKi_x-iYYDkgawbszQjuE7eQyqGoJTS1aQUjr9dBM9L5DqmDPKiSqg1CY0CbSt4DJRLJzekLE70L_oNu3khKv0dqBO2ZfBTbghKOwc/s3832/TwinkieOutside.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3832" data-original-width="3021" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWnAUTubEdlV2JDiv-1KnHFS9FBZjSA0xg-NoY0V0jtIPnYxiThL-Vn_9XWWJ5y9FBNCFiKlbK73YTelp4MpKi_x-iYYDkgawbszQjuE7eQyqGoJTS1aQUjr9dBM9L5DqmDPKiSqg1CY0CbSt4DJRLJzekLE70L_oNu3khKv0dqBO2ZfBTbghKOwc/w504-h640/TwinkieOutside.jpeg" width="504" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The
Buddha is said to have died both in great pain and with great composure. We
know this because of the cause of death (food poisoning), the teachings he
imparted in his final hours, and the meditative state he enjoyed while passing
away. His dying was the culmination of all he’d learned and taught since first
glimpsing the sufferings of the world while on secret chariot rides beyond the shelter
of his father’s palace walls. Namely, that our earthly sufferings stem from our
attachment to this body, this mind, these thoughts, this life, these circumstances—all
of which are destined to change and be lost, no matter how we might wish
otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Twinkie
had mastered living and loving without attachment. He’d witnessed four young
humans maturing to adulthood and moving away. His devoted and comforting
presence was his gift to them during every joy and especially during every sorrow
that their growing up human did bring. And whenever they returned, even after
many months living away, he’d be there for them once again, with the entirety
of his being. The friends and girlfriends and boyfriends of his family members
came and went. Even some family members departed, and new ones, like me, arrived.
Pet siblings stayed for a time and moved on: his dog brother, Rusty, and his brother-by-another-mother,
Charlie. Still, Twinkie abided. There were always people to love, and people to
love him!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">At 19
years of age, he welcomed a new little feline into his world—a refugee of the
life-changing circumstances of one of the kids. Twinkie weathered young Blueberry’s
fearful rebuffs and took her nervous standoffishness in stride. In the end,
though, she learned from him: the rhythms of the household, how to ask for her
food, how to sit with her humans, and how to sit with him as well. And he
learned/relearned from her: watching as she climbed and played in the most nimble
and acrobatic of ways, watching through the sliding glass door as she delighted
in the birds and squirrels and insects just beyond the screened-in porch,
watching calmly as she came and went with ease through the cat door that he’d
become too stiff to crawl through.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In
midlife, Twinkie would sometimes cry out to us in the night, and we would
answer with assurances that he wasn’t alone. We thought he might be reliving in
his dreams the attack by an owl or a raccoon that he’d sustained one night
after accidentally getting locked outside. But these nighttime terrors seem to
have dissipated in his final years. Whatever trauma he’d experienced in his
youth was left there in his past as the returning shadows cast by that searing
memory eventually faded. Twinkie’s lingering physical sensitivity in the
vicinity of the puncture wounds he’d received on his hindquarters on that long
ago night seemed to have dissipated as well. He was no longer that nightmarish
thing that had happened to him. He’d let it all go, both physically and
mentally.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, the
years had made of him a buddha. Whereas other skills and abilities slipped away
from him with time, his ability to sit patiently and watch was one that he’d
perfected and maintained up until the end. His bent front leg made it difficult
to limp very far on his once-loved outdoor excursions, but watching with
engagement was something that his failing body could still do. He was blind in
one eye and very limited in what he could hear, yet he could still take in the
world with whatever sense of sight and sound and smell he still had. He no
longer had the energy to follow us around as we went about our lives, but he
could predict fairly well where we’d be for our breakfast and where we’d sit in
the evening. And the rest of the time there were familiar places from which to
watch our comings and goings. There were also patches of sunshine in which to
bathe on the brightest of days, and a soft bed on an easy chair with a window
view through which the daylight and shadow of even an overcast day could wash
over him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In his
final days, Twinkie was too weak to rise up from his bed to eat and drink. We’d
bring him his favorite wet food, but he would only give it a few licks. Likewise,
he’d only take a few sips of water from his bowl. My wife and I wondered
whether he was just trying to make us happy by doing so. Could it be that one
of his final acts of love for us was to make us feel as though our assistance
was truly needed?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Twinkie took
his final breaths with his cheek resting on the back of my hand and Darla
caressing his tired body. It seemed unfathomable that he was gone. He’d been
with us through so much. He’d also left us with so much. Allow me to now share
with you some of Twinkie’s teachings on how to live, how to grow old, and how
to die. I articulate them to the best of my ability to understand:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love
people with all your heart when they are with you. Welcome them back when they
return. There’s no need to ponder the why and wherefor of the time in between.
There will always be people to love and people to love you.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love life
deeply, and don’t be afraid to say goodbye. Birth, aging, and death comprise the
arc of life. There is great wisdom in the acceptance of what is.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Age will
diminish your abilities and faculties. Enjoy what is with whatever abilities
and faculties you have.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Age will
shrink your world. Take pleasure and comfort in that which is close at hand.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Appreciate
the joy of the young. Appreciate the joy of everyone. All the world’s joy can
be yours if only you allow it to be so.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Leave
past trials and tribulations in the past. They need no longer be you. They need
no longer concern or constrain you. You’ve learned from them whatever lessons
there were to learn.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pour
yourself into your activity, no matter how ordinary it may be. When eating,
just eat. When watching the birds, simply watch the birds. Be present with and
for all things.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Let your
loved ones be of assistance. Show your love for them by accepting their love
for you. Receiving with grace is a gift all its own. </span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sit
stoically when there is nothing left for you to do. The act of fully watching
is a miracle. Be fully present with and for it for however long consciousness
remains.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do not
fight the inevitable. When you’ve given your full measure, accept your rest.
Let gratitude reside in your heart</span></span></li></ol><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow", sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow", sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A metta
offering:</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">May all
beings be safe and protected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">May they
be free from both inner and outer harm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">May they
live with ease and wellbeing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">May they
come to know the blessing of true freedom in this very life.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank</b></span></span></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-82482903219092393862023-03-16T19:53:00.005-05:002023-03-17T08:12:21.638-05:00Zen and the Art of Swedish Death Cleaning<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">There is
richness to be discovered in living more simply. This is a reoccurring theme of
this blog. I’ve considered Duane Elgin’s practice of </span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif"><a href="https://duaneelgin.com/books/voluntary-simplicity/" target="_blank">Voluntary Simplicity</a><i> </i></span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">several times</span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">,
for instance, and the Japanese aesthetic of </span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif"><a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2012/06/can-wabi-sabi-save-world.html" target="_blank">wabi-sabi</a></span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">. I’ve also espoused
some of my own ideas on what I call </span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif"><a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2012/04/aspirational-contentment.html" target="_blank">Aspirational Contentment</a></span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">. These all relate
in some way to making room in one’s life for life itself to unfold more
authentically—whatever that may look like for any given individual. Continuing
in this vein, I’d like to offer some thoughts on <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/authors/Margareta-Magnusson/2136434905" target="_blank">Margareta Magnusson</a>’s </span><i><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">The
Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter</span><span face=""Arial Narrow", sans-serif">.</span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif">Magnusson
explains the overall concept: “I think the term <i>do</i></span><i><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">̈</span></i><i><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif">sta</span></i><i><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">̈</span></i><i><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif">dning</span></i><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif"> [Swedish for death cleaning] is
quite new, but not the act of <i>do</i></span><i><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">̈</span></i><i><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif">sta</span></i><i><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">̈</span></i><i><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif">dning</span></i><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif">.
It is a word that is used when you or someone else does a good, thorough
cleaning and gets rid of things to make life easier and less crowded. It does
not necessarily have to do with your age or death, but often does. Sometimes
you just realize that you can hardly close your drawers or barely shut your
closet door. When that happens, it is definitely time to do something, even if
you are only in your thirties.” [pp: 1,2]<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0s-hp_8_YllXQIoF0HH929sBs8RlAS-x5WjWgW8nLkPOYoEW_qocGbODNRwFWxFF051cJ1IcLA7r0DKKDAskAz-q3GYfwkAhzvleXVA5vdp8cUOaFnYDcA0vb4cY0p2PtsELj-k47aIqxfg7CfiUQXbcvbUfxQGphPYCQQgEgkDvA_dJLvfuGoVy/s1633/MargaretaMagnusson.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="Book cover of 'The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning''" border="0" data-original-height="1633" data-original-width="1301" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0s-hp_8_YllXQIoF0HH929sBs8RlAS-x5WjWgW8nLkPOYoEW_qocGbODNRwFWxFF051cJ1IcLA7r0DKKDAskAz-q3GYfwkAhzvleXVA5vdp8cUOaFnYDcA0vb4cY0p2PtsELj-k47aIqxfg7CfiUQXbcvbUfxQGphPYCQQgEgkDvA_dJLvfuGoVy/w319-h400/MargaretaMagnusson.jpeg" width="319" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">The book
is a quick read, but thoughtful and comprehensive, nonetheless. And the
examples she provides are representative enough that the reader may soon feel equipped to begin the process of death cleaning for themselves. While not
overtly spiritual, the book’s eminently practical advice is easily invested
with whatever spiritual importance the reader may bring to it. Just don’t
expect much in the way of spiritual guidance along the way. Magnusson seems
determined to leave that up to the reader, which is probably a good strategy
for making the practice more accessible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">My own practice
of simplicity seems forever a work in progress. Contemporary life is prone
to spawning new complications such that I feel the need to embrace simplicity
anew from time to time. But the fact that I’m now an age where my demise is no longer
just a distant eventuality lent immediacy to my first reading of Magnusson’s book. And,
since this blog veers toward the spiritual more often than not, allow me to now
bolster this brief “review” with some thoughts on what the process of Swedish
death cleaning brings up for me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">When we
own something, it owns us. I first learned this from a Zen teacher long ago. The
care and maintenance of things commands our time. They take up space, both in
our living quarters and in our psyches. Magnusson conveys this truth quite well
in a matter-of-fact sort of way. Things are the focus of her book, to the
exclusion of so much else that’s in need of a deep cleaning. For instance, she suggests
we rid ourselves of our biggest things first—and she does mean things. This is
probably good advice for someone downsizing in anticipation of a move. But
things may be invested with mental/emotional energy quite out of proportion
with their size. And don’t we all know that our ideas can take up the most
psychic energy of all! How shall we tidy up that jumble?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Meditation
practice certainly helps in this regard. Sitting still, letting go of thoughts
as they arise, and allowing oneself to simply be on a regular basis is like
tidying up the mind. It allows us to relinquish attachments to both ideas and
things alike with greater ease. Coupling meditation practice with the process
of Swedish death cleaning can be especially transformative. A simpler lifestyle
and tidier environment is conducive to a calmer mind, and a calmer mind allows
us to more readily embrace greater simplicity. Each practice supports the
other. And to the extent that our practice of death cleaning brings up some
heretofore unrecognized karmic fodder, all the better for our meditation
practice. “It’s all grist for the mill” is an expression that’s been uttered by
more than one spiritual teacher that I’m aware of! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Similar
to the truth that things can take up undue space in our lives is the reality that
relationships can do so as well, in spite of our best efforts and highest
hopes. Even long dormant relationships can leave us with emotional baggage that
may crowd out the person we aspire to be. Some of this is just karma that we
must work through in order for the relationship to evolve. Some of it, however,
can be thought of in terms of the Swedish death cleaning that Magnusson
describes. Please note, however, that I’m not talking about discarding old friends
to make room for new ones who are hipper, more interesting, and into the same
trendy restaurants that we are. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
talking about us making sufficient room in our lives that we might fulfill our
highest calling. Rather than it being an ego-driven pursuit, it is
service-driven one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">We might
ask ourselves, then, whether we’ve only habitually maintained a particular relationship
that simply isn't congruent with the life that we’re moving toward. This is
easier to answer with respect to some relationships—like the connection we
might have once had with an old drinking buddy. But relationships are seldom so
easily defined. They vary greatly in terms
of their mutuality and authenticity, and their congruence with our highest
calling. Ultimately, though, we sometimes must make a decision as to whether a given
relationship allows us to be the person we aspire to be, or whether it keeps us
stuck in the same old karmic ruts that we feel called to move beyond. And if we
do decide to let a relationship go, might we be prematurely closing the door on
possibility? After all, we’re all growing and changing—just not in the
same way or at the same rate. There is so much to consider here that a post
devoted solely to this topic seems called for. For now, though, I hope this
brief treatment provides at least some guidance and affirmation as you address
this matter in your own life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Closing
the door on possibility is so much easier when it comes to things. If we should
prematurely discard something, we can quite often replace it. Magnusson raises
this point to perhaps assuage whatever anxiety we might have as we proceed with
our death cleaning. That said, the emotional and spiritual work done in
conjunction with our cleaning will have freed up “space” in our psyche and afforded
us greater energy and clarity, nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">For
instance, I’ve collected a number of books over the years on Japanese art and
culture. These were important to me when I was formally studying Zen with a
teacher of Japanese heritage. And even after that relationship ended, I still
toyed with the idea of writing a novel set in Japan. For many years I assumed
that those books would one day serve as research materials for such a project. As
it turned out, though, my writing projects have moved in other directions. The writer
that I’ve become no longer has any strong inclination toward such work. Am I ready
to let them go? What does it mean to say goodbye to such a dream? What would it
mean to hang on to those books at this point in my life? Such is the fodder for
practice raised as we proceed with the process of Swedish death cleaning<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">My
library of professional resources raises similar questions. I’ve already let go
a great many of the books that I collected over the years. It’s felt good to
see these go to someone just starting out in their career. Others I’ve let go
with a measure of faith that they would be greeted with joy and gratitude by
someone more in need of them than I am now. This feels good. What requires a
little more work is the process of looking back on the challenges and successes
of my professional life: the karma that prompted me to make decisions as I did,
the benefits and difficulties that resulted, the paths taken and those passed
by along the way. Regardless of how we might feel about our waning or ended
careers, we still must attend to whatever grief accompanies the life changes
that we experience. Allow yourself to feel this grief. Just as it is good advice not to
discard too quickly the personal effects of a loved one whose departure we are
grieving, perhaps we shouldn’t rush the process of discarding the trappings of
our previous life/lives. And yet, the process of Swedish death cleaning is clearly calling us. Zen practice teaches us to relinquish attachment to this thing we call the self. Death cleaning is merely a physical manifestation of an internal process of letting go of even our most deeply held ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Some of
what I’m discarding relates to endeavors that I thought I might one day engage
in—mountains to one day climb (both literally and figuratively), and projects
to engage in during retirement. I’m reminded of the quote by the esteemed Zen teacher, <a href="https://www.sfzc.org/offerings/establishing-practice/books-shunryu-suzuki-roshi" target="_blank">Shunryu Suzuki</a>:
“In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind
there are few.” Much of our collecting of things throughout our life relates to
creating possibilities. We might explore certain ideas. We might build or
create certain things. We might engage in these pastimes. We might be of
service in this way. In our younger years, our days seem to extend endlessly
into the future. There is time enough for everything! Ah, but as we get older,
we must be more focused. We must be more judicious in how we spend
our time remaining. What will it mean to become the expert of our life? What
will it be like to say goodbye to all other possibilities but for living the
life that we are living? Oh, the freedom in such a life!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial Narrow",sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b>Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank</b></span></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-59558958852678513732023-02-21T14:07:00.004-06:002023-03-02T15:11:15.560-06:00The Climate's Check Engine Light <p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">Of all the anxiety-inducing things in this
modern life, having the check engine light come on has to be in the upper half
of the list! Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long for a diagnostic
checkup, as I had an oil change scheduled just a couple of days hence. And what
pleasant news I received!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>“It’s emissions-related,” our small-town shop
manager said. “You’ll have to have a dealer check it out to know more, though.”
Then she added: “If we were in California, it might be something to worry
about. Here, not so much.”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I was relieved. It was just one of those
emissions things. Maybe my gas mileage was hurting a little bit. Maybe the
engine was running a little less efficiently—a little dirtier. But at least I
wouldn’t be breaking down by the side of the road.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>“Thanks for the word,” I replied, knowing that I
still had some minor recall-related things that I needed the dealer to attend
to. “I’ll ask them about it next time I’m in.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: arial; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ciybtlCkDoxJCixEEYKWplOJkbK57A2F2CtOj1-go_0lp-7YmZHup82qFe1qHOtXUiQJZQO31h-1OCztQ5qQET1APwLB5IQ7xLKi0sXCMotPzoVkuOeeDH_bzdbCBzyqA-vDyh_Cy9RaVB-A5VP0wlA-c35f3H4SZUEOOzJCMnqVn6kahQ-DLGlG/s2114/ApolloEarthImage.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2114" data-original-width="2114" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ciybtlCkDoxJCixEEYKWplOJkbK57A2F2CtOj1-go_0lp-7YmZHup82qFe1qHOtXUiQJZQO31h-1OCztQ5qQET1APwLB5IQ7xLKi0sXCMotPzoVkuOeeDH_bzdbCBzyqA-vDyh_Cy9RaVB-A5VP0wlA-c35f3H4SZUEOOzJCMnqVn6kahQ-DLGlG/s320/ApolloEarthImage.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Earth as seen from the Apollo 8 spaceship</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve been reflecting on this exchange, and especially
my relief, for some days now. It’s but one example of the multitudes of human
actions and nonactions which, in totality, have created our present climate-change
disaster. We’re inclined to prioritize our immediate well-being over some
future, more theoretical well-being, or lack thereof. It’s why we so often
eschew paying a premium for more energy-efficient appliances or windows given
that the future benefit doesn’t seem to be worth the present outlay of cash. But
this tendency to maximize our immediate well-being is not without cost in the
present. My relief at the nature of my engine diagnosis is tainted by the guilt
of my inaction.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I came across a term the other day that I don’t recall
being exposed to before: </span><i>moral injury</i><span>. Moral injury results when someone
feels compelled to act contrary to their deeply held values. Perhaps a soldier
does something in the heat of battle that runs counter to what he or she thinks
is in accord with the ethical conduct of war—something that then haunts them
for the rest of their life. Perhaps a nurse, feeling constrained by a doctor’s
orders, hospital protocol, or insurance industry dictates, feels forced to do
something that is not in the best interest of the patient. Unlike those
examples, my moral injury, is a self-inflicted one. I care deeply about the
environment and the future of our planet, and yet I settled quite comfortably
(superficially anyway) into a sense of relief at being able to avoid that
emissions-related repair cost.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So, why don’t I just buy an electric car? Surely
then I’d feel less angst about such things. Indeed. An electric vehicle is almost
certainly in my future. Up until now, though, I’ve received at least some cold
comfort from having hung onto my small and reasonably fuel-efficient
four-cylinder vehicles for ten years or more. No more, though. Electric
vehicles have entered the mainstream and are estimated to emit <a href="https://www.motortrend.com/features/truth-about-electric-cars-ad-why-you-are-being-lied-to/" target="_blank">30-50% less greenhouse gas</a> over their entire lifetime, depending on how the electricity that
charges them is generated. I’ll certainly be committing moral self-injury if I
don’t choose an electric vehicle for my next purchase. But will I feel good
about it? Will my moral injury be healed?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I don’t think so.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>No?</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>No.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>You see, if we could somehow freeze our current
population and consumption levels and make our global average lifestyle (not
just our automobiles) 30-50% more efficient, then perhaps we’d have a shot at
addressing climate change. Sadly, though, given present trends, our world
population will continue to increase, as will our per capita consumption. We’ll
need an ever-increasing supply of lithium and an ever-increasing supply of energy
to charge the batteries that we make from it. Will our transition to a growing
worldwide fleet of electric vehicles (and electrified everything else) really
take place without greenhouse gas emissions continuing to rise? And, if so, will
cleanly energizing this worldwide fleet really be accomplished without reliance
on nuclear power generation? I’m skeptical.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">The truly green future that I envision—one
without reliance on nuclear power—requires a paradigm shift. It involves us
transforming our self-centered and consumptive lifestyle rather than merely
finding new ways to power it. It involves us transforming our extractive,
power-over relationship to the natural world into a harmonious relationship <i>with</i>
the natural world. I propose that we:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial; text-indent: -0.25in;">Invest in and utilize mass transit to such an extent
that personal automobiles are no longer a daily or even weekly necessity. Rent
vehicles (rather than owning them) for those occasions when a personal vehicle
is essential.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; text-indent: -0.25in;">Refrain from materialistic displays of purchasing
power for the sake of status or prestige. Embrace the smallest and most energy
efficient option, whether it be a home, automobile, or other.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial; text-indent: -0.25in;">Practice evaluating a product’s entire lifecycle
before purchasing it. What is the impact of its manufacture on the environment?
What happens to it when it is no longer usable?</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">Embrace simplicity. Resist the urge to electrify
everything. Consider quality hand tools and time-tested kitchen devices, for
instance. Invest yourself—your labor and effort—into your yard and household
duties instead of thinking of them as something to accomplish in the shortest
time and with the greatest of ease.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">Consider having fewer children. Support investment
in under-resourced areas of the world such that high birthrates are not considered
an economic necessity. Reimagine immigration policy such that immigration is seen
as precipitating the reinvigoration of communities and economies.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">View the overall well-being of our communities as
essential to our individual wellbeing. Embrace win-win as opposed to zero-sum thinking.
A higher wage for a struggling worker benefits us all. Healthcare for someone
who didn’t previously have it benefits us all. Food security benefits us all. Stressed individuals do not make the best decisions
for the environment.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">Support a tax on fossil fuels and use the
proceeds to responsibly mitigate climate change disruption in under-resourced
areas of the world. The Citizens’ Climate Lobby proposal of a <a href="https://citizensclimatelobby.org/price-on-carbon/" target="_blank">Carbon Fee and Dividend</a> system is a sound one, as far as it goes. A truly transformational
system, however, would use the proceeds from the right-pricing of carbon usage
in affluent countries to help those whose very existence is threatened by the climate
change that we in the West are inordinately responsible for.<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></li></ol><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I certainly can’t be alone in wanting to do
right by the environment, even as my actions fall short from time to time on
account of my stress level or bank balance or occasional laziness. Where I do
feel alone, however, is in my skepticism that merely buying an electric car or
supporting that wind farm out in the country will be sufficient to truly put us
on the path to climate stability. These may be necessary, but they’re not
sufficient. My concern is that, without a paradigm shift similar to that
outlined above, we’re merely spitting into the winds of climate chaos—adopting
strategies that will ultimately prove ineffectual, even though they might
soothe our moral injury in the short term.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Image Credit</span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Earth as viewed by Apollo 8. Image courtesy of NASA:</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/images/36019/earth-viewed-by-apollo-8">https://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/images/36019/earth-viewed-by-apollo-8</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <b>Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank</b></span></o:p></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-51965339831801885672022-04-19T12:37:00.001-05:002022-04-21T07:48:12.007-05:00That Which We Already Know<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT42vAnGi69HG0QtpulvX08cATbwonNvWvoHAEV0kBXV25NQYahzReKvRe0tUmUnQd5YwQaLWOxa16HTmL0YKoxK0BekWZIYB0Tfx-OknegrXNv0cn2eQ8DXN29NnnVxtYQ1NAiUPmElTdA5qoHuOjBH5422UBSchknIYnSHZ8FXo7F3ug8wr6LT88/s2987/MarkFrank-Cover-Final-Cropped-JPEG.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2987" data-original-width="1969" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT42vAnGi69HG0QtpulvX08cATbwonNvWvoHAEV0kBXV25NQYahzReKvRe0tUmUnQd5YwQaLWOxa16HTmL0YKoxK0BekWZIYB0Tfx-OknegrXNv0cn2eQ8DXN29NnnVxtYQ1NAiUPmElTdA5qoHuOjBH5422UBSchknIYnSHZ8FXo7F3ug8wr6LT88/w422-h640/MarkFrank-Cover-Final-Cropped-JPEG.jpg" width="422" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Arimo, sans-serif; font-size: 17.85px; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">I’m so excited that this labor of love is coming to fruition! Final editing is underway. The beautiful cover artwork by <a href="https://www.sbinderdesigns.com/" target="_blank">Sophie Binder Designs</a> is complete. I hope to have this book in your hands soon!</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Arimo, sans-serif; font-size: 17.85px; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;">That Which We Already Know</em> is about stillness of mind. Part childhood memoir, part spiritual enquiry, part psychological and philosophical exploration, <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">That Which We Already Know</em> paints a picture of our fall from grace and ultimate redemption via the recollection of childhood truth: that we arise in this world with an innate capacity to experience stillness. There is nothing for us to learn in this regard. We simply need ease our adopted selves out of the way in order to realize how very much we already know.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Arimo, sans-serif; font-size: 17.85px; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;">That Which We Already Know</em> began as a flash of inspiration upon waking one morning. It seemed that in an instant I saw the arc of my life with perfect clarity. Raised Christian, I’ve been a practicing Zen Buddhist for nearly thirty years. This book recounts how I found solace as a child in a veritable garden of Eden, with the specter of war and a fallen world lurking just over the horizon. It would take me years of lived experience and formal Zen practice to fully appreciate the true nature of those formative years.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Arimo, sans-serif; font-size: 17.85px; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">Some readers may recall this book's inception as a series of blog posts here on <i>Crossing Nebraska</i>. Ultimately, the creative process caused the book-length manuscript to veer far enough from those initial drafts for me to decide to take most of them down. A few of them still remain, however. Please read some excerpts of the book <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2014/04/that-which-we-already-know-introduction.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2014/07/we-have-place-that-which-we-already-know.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2015/02/mind-and-body-are-not-two-that-which-we.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Arimo, sans-serif; font-size: 17.85px; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">While I'm talking things up, why don't I also bring your attention to my newer blog, <a href="https://heartlandcontemplative.com/" target="_blank">Heartland Contemplative</a>. It's a different flavor than this one. Perhaps it’s a bit less expository and a bit more naturalistic and experiential. You decide! Thank you!</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #111111; font-family: Arimo, sans-serif; font-size: 17.85px; line-height: 30.345px; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">Information on how to purchase <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">That Which We Already Know</em> will be forthcoming!</p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-84796348783782060332022-02-27T08:40:00.001-06:002022-02-27T08:40:39.998-06:00Dear People of Ukraine<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9VgvhkAwMSdUlvQ-LCWVUNVq_J--VU_PqmpE7cIW4mGpPdqXAcYBzx9IPCTh6CiVQXESLVjy2SoJ7RV9ewp13AzXbdQbEaHOVYeizE9w7qyHH8L4zH-7IPtJX9Rk1wGM7yqg5TorI0wN3C0NEW40y3JkgMgaTG9MeH_B6iBQlFznT4hTtw8KP6hZK=s896" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Flag of the nation of Ukraine" border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="896" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9VgvhkAwMSdUlvQ-LCWVUNVq_J--VU_PqmpE7cIW4mGpPdqXAcYBzx9IPCTh6CiVQXESLVjy2SoJ7RV9ewp13AzXbdQbEaHOVYeizE9w7qyHH8L4zH-7IPtJX9Rk1wGM7yqg5TorI0wN3C0NEW40y3JkgMgaTG9MeH_B6iBQlFznT4hTtw8KP6hZK=w640-h422" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flag of the nation of Ukraine</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dear people of
Ukraine,</span><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You are in my heart. I
cannot imagine what it must be like to be so brutally invaded on false pretexts
by the Russian military. Reports of your fighting spirit in the face of this
illegal aggression bring tears to my eyes. I must admit, however, that I feel
guilty cheering you on from my place of safety thousands of miles away. You are
the ones risking life and limb in this battle, not me. You are the ones whose
lives are now so disrupted, not me. So please know that I support you in your
choice to fight or retreat or surrender in the face of an untenable situation
as your needs and conscience dictate.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am sad, too, for the
Russian invaders and their families back home. Due to the lies and
manipulation of their immoral leaders, they have become murderers. They have
brought shame to themselves in the eyes of the world. We in the United States
know the reality of such lies and manipulation. Our previous President was a
master of such behavior, as you know. It is no wonder that he and the Russian
leader have such an affinity for each other.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You and other readers
here may wonder what has prompted me to write these words. Well, from the
earliest days of this blog, the Ukrainian people have been regular readers. It
is a reality that is as delightful to me as it is mysterious. What have I
written that so resonates in the hearts/minds of Ukrainians? Will I one day
meet some of you while on a book tour in a free and peaceful Kyiv? What a
beautiful dream!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be well. Be strong. Be
safe. Know that the hearts/minds of freedom-loving people and nations all over
the world are with you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span></span>With fondness and best
wishes for the future of a free and prosperous Ukraine,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Mark<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ukrainian flag image
via <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=421234">https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=421234</a></span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mark Robert Frank</span></b></p><br /><p></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-82199012693756016852022-02-12T10:01:00.000-06:002022-02-12T10:01:56.524-06:00One Last Time: A Ritual for Letting Things Go<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">I consider myself a
fairly non-materialistic person. Yet I never seem to go long without feeling
the need to let go of something. Some of this is due to my tendency to hang on
for a long time to whatever I do obtain – whether it's something I’ve been given or have
bought for myself. Running shoes are a good example. I use them exclusively for running for about
a year, then for casual wear for another couple of years, then as house and
yardwork shoes for a few more. Lately, though, running shoes have become
so delicately constructed as to throw off this gradual transition. They barely
make it through the running phase. But I digress.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEShrDRVS5FoBgpEzGYWPLMxeczvNIkm62oIe0H7leTPYN0dyhmnKSof-NWeGoMQQqJ6acUvFrTeVoGRCbdlXM3AbFMK2GQi015VNtth4UgmULMTPonxCcURTr2gtskWJU7MbZinnYjcF_NegeMn3_F4r-lya4QNkz92RSnWKVK5jpY8iEVGp3ebIw=s2506" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Wearing an old sweater and holding a stack of CDs one last time." border="0" data-original-height="2506" data-original-width="2363" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEShrDRVS5FoBgpEzGYWPLMxeczvNIkm62oIe0H7leTPYN0dyhmnKSof-NWeGoMQQqJ6acUvFrTeVoGRCbdlXM3AbFMK2GQi015VNtth4UgmULMTPonxCcURTr2gtskWJU7MbZinnYjcF_NegeMn3_F4r-lya4QNkz92RSnWKVK5jpY8iEVGp3ebIw=w605-h640" width="605" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As you may have guessed, I tend to part with
things mindfully. Recently I’ve been making my way through a stack of CDs that
I’ll most likely donate for a local library sale. I engage in this little
ritual of listening to them one last time before letting them go. It’s an
interesting exercise. Clearly, if I knew that I still wanted them, I
wouldn’t have put them in that stack in the first place. Nevertheless, listening
to each of them one last time becomes something of a celebration. I
think of why I bought it in the first place, and the memories that I associate
with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m really listening to the music in a way that
I haven’t for a long time, or perhaps ever. I think of who might listen to it
next, and I revel in the fact that it will have another life with someone new –
someone who will appreciate it more than I do now. Knowing that it’s the last
time seems to lend greater immediacy to the experience.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">I recently said
goodbye to a couple of sweaters that were given to me by my late mother. They’d
become a little baggy, and were sporting a few too many snags. Despite my
sentimental attachment, they didn’t quite make the cut after I decided to limit
myself to a single sweater drawer. But, whereas I always thought of them as
dresswear, maybe somebody else who obtains them secondhand will feel free to
simply knock around in them for years to come. I wore them one last time before
putting them in a bag to go off to the secondhand store. And while I did I
thought of the love with which my mother had picked them out. I thought of the
many years they were among my finer clothing items. And I thought of the life
that they still had in them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">Perhaps my having
witnessed parents and grandparents departing this earth with a glut of
belongings in their possession has given me a different outlook on things. I feel
a bit like I’m deconstructing a life that I once lived – or at least the
material trappings thereof. I’ve come to embrace the idea of things flowing
into and out of my life on the way to their next meaningful incarnation. For
instance, the previous owners of our home threw a freezer into the deal that we
just never found all that useful. It felt great to be able to give a young
family something they would really make use of. Likewise the treadmill the
previous owners left in the basement. When somebody expressed a wish for one,
we were more than pleased to oblige.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">Do you have any things
that you suspect might give you greater joy to part with than to keep? Some things will
likely not require much thought. Other items, however, might warrant the “last time” approach. Wear it, listen to it, or utilize it with full awareness that it might just be the very last time you’ll do so. Revel in its present position poised between possession and non-possession. If you decide to let it go, great. Enjoy the richness of increasing spaciousness. If you decide to keep it, though, I suspect
you’ll have a greater appreciation of it for having gone through this exercise.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 19.2pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Image Credits</span></b><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 19.2pt; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Photo of sweater and CDs courtesy of the author.</span><span style="color: #212121; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Copyright 2022 by Mark
Robert Frank</span></b><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-5740216805837688572022-01-01T17:00:00.000-06:002022-01-01T17:00:11.072-06:00New Year's Zen<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I awoke to the sound of drizzling
rain on the eaves. Darla remained fast asleep, so I had the house to myself for
most of the morning. New Year’s Day is one of intentionality, at least that is
how I intend for it to be, and this one started well. I set a pot of bean soup
to simmering on the stove, and sat down to mend my meditation cushion.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">If you’ve used a meditation cushion
(zafu) for any appreciable length of time, you know that the seams will eventually
start pulling apart at the weak spots, thereby allowing the kapok stuffing to escape
in little puffs whenever it’s compressed. Now, some may think this is a sign
that it’s time for a brand new cushion. Au contraire! Sitting zazen is a very
intimate activity, you see. One gets used to his or her zafu as one gets used
to an old pair of blue jeans. You cannot simply replace an old pair of jeans,
and you cannot simply buy a new zafu. It is far easier to learn how to use a
needle and thread.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4Ca39KgndrnmBhe39-rlTLZ67reU1ykGdw8f2uviYWg8qtM9nTrCXPdzPntZY7g8c7cgNrVU_WweRNCk3EnOwXcOY0VTuiCkUbfgVzvVabE0SU2vZlABNxw2ElzF9H6k4yuSvmKBg78jbLmmLzrZttgri181I8YvvwJTo4CVCNY39-H16GFGCMkL7=s2272" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="2272" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4Ca39KgndrnmBhe39-rlTLZ67reU1ykGdw8f2uviYWg8qtM9nTrCXPdzPntZY7g8c7cgNrVU_WweRNCk3EnOwXcOY0VTuiCkUbfgVzvVabE0SU2vZlABNxw2ElzF9H6k4yuSvmKBg78jbLmmLzrZttgri181I8YvvwJTo4CVCNY39-H16GFGCMkL7=w400-h396" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zafu with seam mended</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I’ve had this particular zafu for a
couple of decades now. It was one of many crafted by practitioners at the Zen
center where I once practiced. Perhaps I made it myself? I certainly had a hand
in making many of them during my tenure there. Perhaps I personally stuffed it
tight with kapok? I certainly stuffed a number of them while sitting out in the
garden trying not to let too many of the natural stuffing fibers escape on the
sun-warmed breeze. It’s become flatter over time, though, to which I’ve adapted
by using a folded blanket underneath – with more folds as time went by.
However, there is something special about this zafu that I’ve become accustomed
to. Yes, I’m home whenever and wherever I sit zazen. But when I’m sitting on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> zafu, I know that I am both home
and at home. It is a refuge that I’m able to settle into with much greater
ease.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Many Zen practitioners become quite
familiar with a needle and thread. Either they’ve sewn something called a
rakusu – a bib-like garment signifying lay-ordination, for instance – or they’ve
taken part in the crafting or mending of the zafus upon which they and others
sit. It is a task that makes us even more intimate with our practice. No, it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> our practice.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Starting this New Year by mending
my zafu seems a perfect way to begin life anew with greater intentionality. It
is good to be intimately involved with the details of our life. Mending a zafu
or sewing a button on a garment, cooking a pot of soup or maybe even growing
the ingredients, fixing something old or repurposing it into something else
that’s useful – these activities, rather than being mere tasks that steal our
time from us, actually deepen our experience of life itself. They are every bit
worthy of our time, when we let them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">become</i>
our time.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">This year will be one of
intentionality. This is my vow. I will both simplify my life, and become more
intimate with its details. I will approach these details not as tasks, but as
life itself. By the way, I think the soup is ready.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Copyright 2022 by Mark Robert Frank</b> </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><i>All
images are the property of the author unless otherwise noted.</i><o:p></o:p></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-59735416698978893962021-04-10T20:19:00.005-05:002021-04-10T20:32:32.669-05:00The Battle for My Zen Soul<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">“Get
behind me, Satan!” Is it possible to have grown up in this Christian-influenced
land without hearing quoted Jesus’ rebuke of Peter’s counsel? I doubt it.
Certainly even non-Christians have heard it echoed in one form or another, if
only in faux reproach for having tempted a friend with a decadent dessert or
something! Buddhism, similarly, is a tradition in which demonic influences
tempt our hero, perhaps most notably right before he realizes enlightenment.
Just as Jesus was tempted to act contrary to divine plan, so the Buddha was
tempted by Mara’s efforts to foil his ultimate awakening.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">Are we
to take literally these struggles of good against evil, for want of a better
description, or are they best interpreted figuratively? I think most Western
Buddhist practitioners would lean to the latter. Largely, we’ve moved beyond the
dualistic thinking that leads us to think of this thing or that person as
inherently good and another as inherently evil. And yet we still sometimes hear
people speak of a malicious “ego” that sabotages our efforts toward awakening. Apparently,
so the thinking goes, our unawakened self hampers our awakening self in
whatever way it can – with doubts, distractions, restlessness, boredom, and
temptations. It’s as if a battle of good versus evil is taking place within our
very being.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WDVqL6GQSwE/YHJRZOe0wyI/AAAAAAAACLw/wx-tBI6-YBI8IzKt5envZzuzB3BzrkNSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s920/SpiritualityReligionVennGoodBetterBest-Border.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="920" height="485" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WDVqL6GQSwE/YHJRZOe0wyI/AAAAAAAACLw/wx-tBI6-YBI8IzKt5envZzuzB3BzrkNSgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h485/SpiritualityReligionVennGoodBetterBest-Border.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">In
reality, we’re merely creatures of habit – susceptible to maintaining whatever
patterns of behavior we’ve grown accustomed to. If we’re trying to exercise
more, we must work against the inertia of our more sedentary lifestyle until
our increased activity level becomes a longer term pattern. If we aspire to
maintaining a healthier diet, we must work against our habitual cravings and
our lifestyle-related time pressures that keep us defaulting to less healthy choices.
It’s like this with spiritual practice as well. Nothing malicious lurks deep
within us trying to hamstring our awakening. We’re merely persisting in old
patterns until new ones become established.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">This
dualistic thinking can also result in attempts to stifle healthy critical
thinking. We might be told that it’s our “ego” talking if ever we question some
Buddhist teaching or practice-related matter. If our practice were “stronger,”
so the thinking goes, we wouldn’t be questioning things as we do. If we were
“better” Buddhists, we would simply fit ourselves seamlessly into whatever Buddhist
community is most accessible to us. In other words, anything but wholehearted
and unequivocal acceptance of whatever teaching is being promulgated or
whatever religious structure might be in place risks denouncement as mere “ego”
– meritless, distracting, destructive ego. Please keep in mind, though, that
the Buddha practiced with, and ended up leaving, multiple teachers prior to striking
out on his own and realizing enlightenment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">I bring
this up following my previous post on the intersection of spirituality and
religion for obvious reasons. Some may dismiss that which does not fit neatly
within a prescribed religious framework as being nothing other than the work of
ego. Thus, instead of the Venn diagram from my previous post showing the circle
of spirituality intersecting with that of religion, some might urge us to
reconfigure our reality so that the circle of religion is fully circumscribed within
the circle of our spirituality. In other words, fully and authentically
internalize absolutely all aspects of your chosen religion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might even suggest that the two circles
should be one and the same! This would require all spiritual inclinations not
contained within the religious domain to be squelched or drawn into its fold.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">Ultimately,
though, suppression of who we are is both unhealthy and unsustainable. Religious
figures like Jesus or Buddha were not constrained by the religious teachings in
which they were immersed. Those religious teachings – Jewish, of course, for
Jesus, and Vedic with respect to the Buddha – catalyzed their further spiritual
growth rather than constraining it. In contemporary terms, then, we might
recognize Jesus and Buddha as spiritual and self-actualizing individuals who
were deeply influenced by the religious dogma of their day, but not constrained
by it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">Lest my
words be misconstrued as being dismissive of religious tradition, please read
my previous sentence once again. I am merely advocating for the healthy
presence of religion in our lives. Religion provides abundantly for a great
many with respect to fostering community, creating avenues for charitable and
social justice work, marking rites of passage, and providing comfort and meaning.
Without the structure that religious tradition provides, we wouldn’t have the
benefit of cohesive systems of thought and conceptual frameworks that might
serve to foster further spiritual and self-actualizing growth. Furthermore, without
at least some deference to religious tradition, we might find ourselves
flailing around without the benefit of the countless practice hours offered up
by untold numbers of beings over the course of thousands of years.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">However,
even though tradition does have a great deal to offer, there is still no
uniform agreement amongst all Buddhists or Buddhist sects regarding what
constitutes the right way to live or practice. Do we feel drawn to Zen
Buddhism? Perhaps Tibetan Buddhism appeals to us more. What about Theravada
Buddhism, Pure Land, etc.? Are we comfortable at practice centers that (at
least at present) primarily serve a new immigrant Buddhist community, or do we
feel the need to practice with those with whom there is no obvious language or
cultural difference? We converts must choose which tradition to follow or model
our practice after. In reality, though, we may simply stumble onto a particular
tradition and only later learn that there was a choice to be made.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">So, where
do things stand in the battle for my Zen soul? Well, in keeping with Zen
tradition, I’m actually quite agnostic with respect to the existence of
enduring souls. And the teaching of no-self certainly still resonates with “me”
as one of the most profound of Buddhist teachings, which is largely why that
good self / bad self dichotomy doesn’t ring true for me. There’s definitely no
battle going on, then, and there may not even be an enduring soul to fight for!
However, there is zazen (seated meditation). And there’s the bodhisattva ideal,
the Heart Sutra’s teachings regarding emptiness, and so much more. Few areas of
my life, if any, are untouched by formal Zen practice, and I’ve no doubt that
it will remain so until I take my final breath. But, all the same, I doubt that
I’ll be returning to formal Zen practice any time soon. That path has
disappeared beneath my feet. I’m in spiritual terrain now. And there appears to
be no turning back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><b>Image</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spirituality and Religion diagrams courtesy of the author</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"> </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><b>Copyright 2021 by Mark Robert Frank</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-30695679498014218312021-03-21T09:13:00.000-05:002021-03-21T09:13:06.213-05:00The Intersection of Spirituality and Religion<p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">My
experience of falling away from formal Zen practice can’t be all that unique. The
factors that precipitated my estrangement may have been different. And maybe my
Zen practice since “the path disappeared beneath my feet” looks different than that
of many others. But Zen practitioners can’t be immune from the experience of
“losing one’s faith,” can they? So I write these words with at least some degree
of confidence that they’ll resonate with others; not necessarily with those who
know me, or even those fellow practitioners who lived through the very same
spiritual turmoil as I, but with some.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">You
see, some of my erstwhile fellow practitioners took up formal practice with
other Zen teachers in fairly short order. Others diligently set about creating
a new place of formal Zen practice to take the place of the old one. I even
labored with them for a time on that endeavor, departing just as the bylaws of
that new practice community were formally voted into being. I suppose I just
wasn’t ready to get married again so soon! But why? Why did the path disappear
beneath my feet, but not those of many others? Why was my faith in formal Zen
practice so shaken, whereas others might have even had theirs strengthened? I
realize now that the answer lies in the relationship between spirituality and
religion, a topic that I began researching and writing about over a decade ago.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tn12iM5zPtM/YFdT1CmE-1I/AAAAAAAACLc/N_yJYDyguBgSQeeGmF2GDtyc54NKFwOJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s754/SpiritualityReligionVennBorderFinal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="754" height="379" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tn12iM5zPtM/YFdT1CmE-1I/AAAAAAAACLc/N_yJYDyguBgSQeeGmF2GDtyc54NKFwOJgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h379/SpiritualityReligionVennBorderFinal.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intersecting spheres of spirituality and religion</td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">In its
most general sense, spirituality is that which we manifest simply by virtue of
being alive. The root word, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">spirit</i>,
is derived from the Latin, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">spiritus</i>,
relating to the breath, soul, or life animating the materiality of the body.
Spirit has also come to refer to that which is unique to our being – our energy,
will, or determination, for instance. When we speak of spirituality, however,
we most often think in terms of that which we value most. What do we find
beautiful? What do we love? What brings us joy? What makes life worth living? Spirituality
begins to sound a lot like religion, however, when conversation turns from that
which makes life worth living to that which we believe. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">The primary difference between
the two is that, whereas spirituality arises from within each individual,
religion is an external construct to which we conform – either by choice or
coercive influence. R<span style="color: black;">eligion asks (demands?) that an
individual’s spirituality be brought into accord with its dictates – its
rituals, teachings, and beliefs. Spirituality and religion might coincide, as in
the case of a healthy individual willingly belonging to a healthy religious
organization. On the other hand, they might be divorced from each other, as it
is with the religious organization that is more about perpetuating dogma or wielding
power over its members than actually facilitating their spiritual growth.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">Picture,
if you will, a Venn diagram in which spirituality is represented by a larger
circle overlapping (intersecting) a smaller circle representing religion. Of
course you are free to consider for yourself the relative proportions of these
two circles, and how much they overlap, but my reasoning is as follows: Spirituality,
comprised as it is of more universal qualities, is the larger of the circles.
That religion intersects with spirituality instead of falling entirely within
its domain reflects the reality that religious practice may or may not be
imbued with spirituality. For instance, if a religious ritual is performed
without regard, without meaning, without any investment on the part of the
practitioner, then that practice lacks the quality of being spiritual. Ritual
performed in such a way is religious without being spiritual. When a religious
organization provides a solid framework or an appropriate context in which the
spirit of the individual might flourish, gain direction, become actualized,
etc., then we might call it a good healthy fit. On the other hand, when belonging
to a religious organization stifles or suppresses the spirituality of the individual
practitioner, then the harm caused is inestimable.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">Is it optimal
for an individual’s circle of spirituality to totally encompass that of their religion?
No, I don’t think that that is either necessary or even likely to be so. How many
individuals, even those in religious leadership, believe every single teaching that
their tradition might promulgate? How likely is it that someone will feel
totally invested in every single practice that falls within its sphere? What is
more important for spiritual health is that an individual maintain autonomy
over what they choose to believe and what religious practices they choose to
take part in.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">When
considered in this context, I now see that my falling away from formal Zen
practice involved a reconfiguration of the spiritual and religious domains of
my life. The respective circles that represent spirituality and religion drew
apart for me such that the intersection of the two became appreciably smaller.
I’m still very much a Zen practitioner. What I found myself questioning, and
ultimately casting off, were those religious accretions that constrained my
spiritual growth rather than nourishing it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">I’ve
found, over the course of this journey, that finding our way after the path
disappears beneath our feet involves introspection, patience, resolve, and,
yes, continued practice. You might be tempted to simply throw it all away. You might
wonder whether you’ve entered the Dark Night of the Soul. You might feel as
though you’re adrift on an ocean of emptiness after all meaningful form has
dissolved. But keep practicing, nonetheless. No matter how inchoate your
emerging practice might seem, keep practicing. The path that you’re to tread
will become visible over time.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Parts
of this post were first published in 2011 in <a href="https://crossingnebraska.blogspot.com/2011/01/spirituality-and-religion.html" target="_blank">Spirituality and Religion</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><b>Copyright
2021 by Mark Robert Frank</b></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-41607049448136602812021-03-12T20:14:00.000-06:002021-03-12T20:14:12.776-06:00Are You Here for the Tea or the Ceremony?<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">The
disillusionment that I spoke of in my previous post left me questioning just
about everything related to formal Zen practice – with the exception of the
zazen, that is. I’d never had reason to doubt that. But how much of what we
consider Zen practice is merely cultural artifact? How much is religious
accretion? What is essential, and why? What do I really believe, and why? And
what do the answers to these questions mean for how I actualize practice in my
own life? Obviously, these aren’t questions that can be resolved overnight.
They must be “lived into,” tested out for efficacy and authenticity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NQqCff0sXds/YEwfSzVmwJI/AAAAAAAACLE/O5pr-tQXFzchUzCNS7QAflrrNXnoCyMXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s575/TeaBowlCropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="575" height="316" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NQqCff0sXds/YEwfSzVmwJI/AAAAAAAACLE/O5pr-tQXFzchUzCNS7QAflrrNXnoCyMXwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h316/TeaBowlCropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bowl of Green Tea</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">I had
the good fortune to practice with a number of teachers while living into these
questions. One was the abbot of a Korean Seon (Zen) temple from whom I learned,
along with other things, the Korean form of the tea ceremony. Over the course
of some months she taught me how to arrange the various cups, bowls, and utensils,
how to use the just-boiled water for warming up the cups, how to measure the
loose tea and discern when the boiled water had cooled to just the right
temperature for steeping it, and how to pour successive measures into each of
the required cups until all of them were filled with a brew of the exact same
quality and strength. Of course, we also enjoyed some glorious tea – after
sitting zazen, that is.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">The
various tea ceremonies elevate one of the simplest of life experiences to the
level of pure art. Their ritualistic nature allows us to lose ourselves in
their unfolding – focusing our attention, and heightening our senses all the
while. Sure, we can prepare a cup of tea in whatever manner we’ve grown
accustomed, and perhaps even lose ourselves in the experience as we do. There
is something about shared ritual, though, that enhances the potential for such
transcendence.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">And so
it is with formal Zen practice. Like the tea ceremony, it couches in communal
ritual that which is actually a very simple and straightforward endeavor. Just
as the consumption of tea is the common denominator of the variously intricate tea
ceremonies, so zazen is the common denominator of Zen, Seon, and Chan practice
in the Japanese, Korean, and Chinese traditions, respectively. Put more simply:
the ritual and ceremony may vary, but zazen (seated meditation) is
indispensable. Which is not to say that ritual should be cast aside as
unimportant.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">Ritual
serves the purpose of preparing us mentally and physically for zazen. Entering
the room where you sit in the same way every time, approaching the altar and preparing
it in the same way every time – these ritual activities focus your mind, calm your
being, and enable you to more quickly and easily settle into your zazen. Feel
free to ascribe whatever meaning you find appropriate to these preparatory
activities. However, their ability to settle and prepare you for your zazen is
real.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="color: black;">It is
my hope, whether you’ve had to leave more formal Zen practice behind, or whether
you’ve never had the opportunity to engage in it in the first place, that you
will discover authentic ritual all your own in which to couch your zazen. Don’t
forget that your zazen is the “tea” around which your ceremony is built. Make
it meaningful. Make it yours. Make it a practice from which you drink deeply
each day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"> </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Copyright 2021 by Mark Robert Frank</span></b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-91911825312830054542021-02-28T09:56:00.002-06:002021-02-28T09:56:33.817-06:00The Gift of Disillusionment<p><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Disillusionment is not usually
spoken of in positive terms – stinging, as it does, with a sharpness commensurate
with our investment in the illusion. But as the stinging subsides, and awareness
of newfound truth comes to the fore, we find ourselves faced with a choice. We
can keep clinging, perhaps even with self-righteous indignation, to the
illusion that we were once so invested in. Or we can be grateful for the new
glimpse of truth that we’ve been given.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oQ-cpRyF_Ic/YDu8k-snpqI/AAAAAAAACK4/alu2M_Mujs0E63m2CobH64TsSl18My8lACLcBGAsYHQ/s792/BuddhaInCabinet-cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="792" height="389" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oQ-cpRyF_Ic/YDu8k-snpqI/AAAAAAAACK4/alu2M_Mujs0E63m2CobH64TsSl18My8lACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h389/BuddhaInCabinet-cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seated Buddha in altar cabinet</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I was pretty disillusioned after
parting ways with the teacher from whom I’d learned so much about formal Zen practice.
It was wrenching to see someone descend into narcissistic delusion who I’d
previously associated with a practice of awakening. I came to realize, however,
that my disillusionment went much deeper than that of just one student/teacher
relationship gone sour. I began to see my personal experience within the
context of a religious system that seems to foster unhealthy power
relationships with inordinate ease. Despite whatever religious insights a
teacher might enjoy, they are quite often as lacking in mental and emotional
health as the rest of us, even as they wield great interpersonal power with little
meaningful oversight. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Despite my disillusionment,
however, I never abandoned my practice of Zen. I’ve maintained a daily regimen,
and continue to study the sutras and their commentary. But how many of us don’t
continue after such a setback, or cannot continue for the lack of a model of
how to proceed? I think of all those seekers who visited our temple and left
disillusioned within a short period of time. I wondered about them even then.
“Ours is a difficult practice,” was the frequent reply. “Americans do not have
the same commitment as those in Japan,” I was told.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I now see my disillusionment as a
gift. Sure, it ushered in a period of spiritual tumult and grief, but it also
allowed me to continue practicing Zen as I never could have before. Something
had grown cold in the heart of that temple. Practice had become rote, and
oriented around one particular individual. It might sound strangely
contradictory, but I found it easier to practice on behalf of all beings while
practicing alone than in the oxygen-depleted environment that I left behind.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Disillusionment is a gift because
it unburdens us of illusion. And while our illusions may have been comforting,
meaningful, enjoyable, and even growth-enhancing for a time, if awakening is what
we truly seek, then all illusion must fall away. There is a so-called “Zen
story” that involves a dialogue between a student and his teacher. "I come
seeking liberation," the student proclaims. "Who has enslaved you?”
the teacher responds. “Can you show me your chains?” In retrospect, my
disillusionment “stole me away” from formal Zen practice even as it gave Zen
practice back to me in a way that allowed me to return to authenticity,
meaning, and continued growth. My disillusionment was like a mourning dove calling
me to awaken to newfound freedom.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b><u>Image<o:p></o:p></u></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">All
images are the author’s unless specifically noted otherwise.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b> </b></p>
<b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Copyright
2021 by Mark Robert Frank</span></b></div></b>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-45800211010803294942021-02-07T10:30:00.004-06:002021-02-28T09:17:53.278-06:00One Last Stick of Incense<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">When I
left the big city for small town life some years ago, I had the distinct sense
that my relationship with “formal” Zen practice would never be the same.
Sure, there was a temple not too far away from my new home that I’d already visited with some regularity for retreats and special events. It was still too far away to
attend with any great frequency, though. And so I set my sights on diligently maintaining a solitary practice still guided by the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodhisattva" target="_blank">bodhisattva ideal</a>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">During
one of my last visits to that big city temple where I used to practice I
purchased a couple boxes of the incense that we used there. I rationed out that
stock over the ensuing years, first using a stick every now and again, then a half
stick, and, finally, a third. It was surely quite diminished of
its finer essence by the time I lit the last partial stick not too long ago.
Nonetheless, it still had the power to take me back to that zendo where I first
experienced its rich scent.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><br /></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yaVrQpUOJ6I/YCAUOpYOZYI/AAAAAAAACKc/WA2LhgtqAko4K2nAcHTofbRsJp7UNnOzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/OneLastStick.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Incense stick lying unlit across a burner" border="0" data-original-height="1621" data-original-width="2048" height="506" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yaVrQpUOJ6I/YCAUOpYOZYI/AAAAAAAACKc/WA2LhgtqAko4K2nAcHTofbRsJp7UNnOzQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h506/OneLastStick.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">I’ll
never forget my first visit there almost a quarter of a century ago. Though I
was not new to meditation, I was then new to formal Zen practice. It was a weekday
evening and there was nobody else there except for me and the doan – the person
who prepared the altar, lit the candles and incense, and rang the bell to begin
and end meditation. Todd was a short, squat man whose soft-spokenness
was colored by an interesting accent due to his hearing impairment. He was
“just another student,” so to speak, but he gave me my first lessons in formal
Zen practice: how to enter the zendo, how to bow before taking my seat, how to
maintain a proper meditation posture. They were lessons that, even in the
absence of any other Zen training, could have held me in good stead for a
lifetime. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">Now, if
you’re in the habit of reading books by Buddhist teachers, you’ve likely encountered the admonition that you must find a good teacher. Often enough what is
meant by this is that you must find a teacher who can guide you all the way to
enlightenment, whatever that might be. Others, however, myself included,
consider a teacher to be a good one if they impart to the student what is
necessary in order for them to continue practicing on their own with the
confidence that they are doing so in accord with a time-tested tradition. In
that regard, Todd was one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, and I’ve had many
over the years. Few have been as kind and modest as Todd was. Few have listened
as well as that hearing-impaired man could listen. And few have taught me precisely
what I needed to know, precisely when I needed to know it, as he did.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">I went
on to be in Todd’s position on many occasions – teaching people Zen meditation
and “showing them the ropes” of formal Zen practice. I enjoyed the “smells and
bells,” the camaraderie, the sutra study with our teacher in the evening, the Sunday
service and the Dharma discussion afterwards, and the long weekend practice days
punctuated by work in the yard and quiet tea on the porch. During the best of those
days, I thought of becoming a monastic. I thought of maybe even becoming a Zen teacher. At
other times, though, I pondered why so many practitioners arrived at the temple
full of wonder and praise for the practice and their newfound Zen Master, only to leave a short
time later disillusioned or downright angry. It troubled me. It troubled me as
well as I strove to remain free of the scheming of some of my fellow students, maneuvering
under the cover of silence to gain favor with our teacher. And, with increasing
frequency, I noticed our teacher’s presence and personality growing larger and
larger until it finally became quite literally impossible for me to experience
the silence and stillness that had attracted me to practice there in the first
place. By the end of my tenure there all I could see was a pitiful human being, overcome by paranoid grandiosity, lashing out at his students, and ultimately driving most
of them away, myself included.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">Now, some
will say that it’s all grist for the mill – that everything that happens provides
insight into the workings of our egoic minds, if only we receive it. Yes, there
is truth in those words. Some will say that all of our judgements are merely
aspects of our own negative karma projected out onto the world and other
people. Indeed. Did not many of my experiences of formal Zen training mirror
those that I’d had while growing up in a dysfunctional and harshly
authoritarian family? They did. And some may even suggest that I should
have stayed with that teacher in order to work through all of those issues. However, I now recognize as mere religious belief the opinion that every teacher has the ability and inclination to work with students in a healthy
and positive way. And so the path disappeared beneath my feet.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">I felt
many things as I lit that last bit of incense, and smelled what remained of its
essence. Of course I felt sadness for all of the many positive experiences with
good people who, with the exception of a few, are mostly memories to me now. I
felt the disillusionment of seeing this practice of awakening that I hold in
such regard being desecrated by delusion and patriarchal dysfunction. And
though I’m grateful for the training, and for having seen first-hand all the
potential and pitfalls of “formal” Zen practice, I’m also grateful to be free –
liberated in much the same sense that Buddhism promises is possible. This
wilderness, to be sure, is not without difficulties of its own, but the
spaciousness and openness that I awaken to each day smell of truth.<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Copyright 2021 by Mark Robert
Frank</span></b></div></b>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-57011062963732733462021-01-29T04:00:00.005-06:002021-01-29T04:00:00.418-06:00When The Path Disappears Beneath Our Feet <p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">Have
you ever been walking in the woods, looking around at the trees and the sun
filtering through them, perhaps admiring the subtle changes in flora that the varying
light and moisture and soil conditions have given rise to, when suddenly you realize
that you can’t make out the trail anymore? You peer intently at the forest
floor up ahead, but the trail seems to have completely disappeared. You turn
around and you’re met with the same! Where did the trail go? You’re heart begins
to beat faster. You’re lost!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oPSspYJCe-U/YBIMPRf-YgI/AAAAAAAACKA/FxYHYzSKoAsshVjJvVSk5UDa__l7PtRWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/WoodsWithPath.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Wood in autumn with bright sunlight and faint path" border="0" data-original-height="1629" data-original-width="2048" height="319" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oPSspYJCe-U/YBIMPRf-YgI/AAAAAAAACKA/FxYHYzSKoAsshVjJvVSk5UDa__l7PtRWwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h319/WoodsWithPath.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">In a
way, I hope that you’ve had such an experience. For one thing, it gives us a
much needed lesson in watching for such things in the future. Mostly, though,
it teaches us something primal about ourselves. How do we respond when we’re
suddenly immersed in “wilderness”? Do we become fearful? Is it exhilarating? Do
we have confidence in our ability to find our way, or do we find ourselves on
the verge of panic?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">I’ve spent
a fair amount of time up in the mountains of Colorado, quite a bit of it far
above the tree line. Often enough in the highlands, if you’re heading to a summit
anyway, the trail will peter out long before you reach the peak. Whatever loose
rock might otherwise have formed a discernable path has already been carried
down below. At such times, a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cairn" target="_blank">cairn</a> left by a previous trekker can be a welcome
sight, but there aren’t always rocks available in order to build one. Now, you
may not think that’s of any great concern. Aren’t you close enough to see the
top by then? But there can be false summits, and ridges to navigate around. A
wrong turn could have you skirting a dangerous precipice, for instance. So, you
always need to keep your eyes open. You always need to be self-reliant. Arriving at the summit is nobody’s responsibility but yours.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PY9-eRqWP4/YBINA1QWnRI/AAAAAAAACKI/VW_Zmf3nNfcse5-HWrX9nUrXVQucnN8rgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/PeakWithCairn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mountain cairn with peak in the background" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1977" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PY9-eRqWP4/YBINA1QWnRI/AAAAAAAACKI/VW_Zmf3nNfcse5-HWrX9nUrXVQucnN8rgCLcBGAsYHQ/w386-h400/PeakWithCairn.jpg" width="386" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">The
same is true of spiritual practice. Words can point you down a path, but eventually
you’ll need to find your own way. Eventually the path will disappear beneath
your feet. You’ll be in the deep wilderness forest. You’ll be near the top of a
mountain peak still obscured by the clouds, or the many ridges yet to traverse.
Have you ever been in this place? Was it exhilarating, or did you find yourself
on the verge of panic?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="color: black;">Perhaps
fear prompts us to make our way back down the mountain without reaching the top,
or otherwise find our way back to where the trail is still clear. We might take
comfort there amongst people who are seeing for the first time the terrain that
we’ve already seen. Perhaps we enjoy pondering with them those questions that
we’ve already pondered. Perhaps we’ll vow to find a guide who can offer up just
a few words more about the terrain up ahead. Sadly, though, if we never make
our way back to that wilderness, or that summit, we will always harbor unanswered
questions deep inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Copyright 2021 by Mark Robert Frank</span></b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-78931522404643379952021-01-16T11:37:00.000-06:002021-01-16T11:37:06.760-06:00Reflections on Dogen's Kannon<p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">Kannon
is the Japanese name for Avalokiteshvara, the Boddhisattva of Compassion. No
doubt you’ve seen a representation of him or her (depictions of both genders
exist). Perhaps she has a dozen heads. Perhaps he has an eye in the palm of
each of a multitude of hands. These physical attributes are intended to depict
a willingness and ability to help alleviate the suffering of the world. In
fact, Avalokiteshvara is a Sanskrit name variously translated as “Lord Who
Looks Down” or “He Who Hears the Cries of the World” (Schuhmacher & Woerner,
1994).<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bcib60UnmFQ/YAMhKZPPtRI/AAAAAAAACJg/LEBs3pbFemQQosJHJtgr3_nQ2PkDSMIMwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/SLAM%2BAvalokiteshvara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1781" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bcib60UnmFQ/YAMhKZPPtRI/AAAAAAAACJg/LEBs3pbFemQQosJHJtgr3_nQ2PkDSMIMwCLcBGAsYHQ/w348-h400/SLAM%2BAvalokiteshvara.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avalokiteshvara at the St. Louis Art Museum</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><i>Kannon</i>
is also the title of one of the fascicles in Dogen Zenji’s <i>Shobogenzo</i>. In it Dogen speaks of the awesome and mysterious abilities
of this revered being, and of our difficulty in understanding and expressing how
these abilities might be used. In fact, we can learn a great deal about Avalokiteshvara,
Zen, and the nature of knowledge itself by wading into this dense work. In
addition to furthering our understanding of just who Kannon is, we gain insight
into what it’s like trying to communicate an ineffable reality, and what it
means to understand. Let’s see what we can glean. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">The
fascicle begins with a conversation between two old monks, Ungan and Dogo, who
have variously known each other or practiced together under the same teacher for over forty
years. Both are no doubt familiar with the limitless capabilities/qualities
that the Avalokiteshvara possesses, but Ungan appears to be pondering how this
reality is conveyed. The conversation below is from the Nishijima & Cross (2008)
translation. I’ve restructured the dialogue only slightly in order to improve
readability and allow for comparison with another translation: <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-left: .5in;">“What does the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion do by using
his limitlessly abundant hands and eyes?” Ungan asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-left: .5in;">“He is like a person in the night reaching back with a hand
to grope for a pillow,” Dogo responds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“I understand. I understand,” Ungan replies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“How do you understand?” Dogo asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“The whole body is hands and eyes,” says Ungan.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“Your words are nicely spoken,” says Dogo. “At the same
time, your<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">expression of the truth is just eighty or ninety percent of
realization.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“I am just like this. How about you, brother?” Ungan asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“The thoroughly realized body is hands and eyes.” Dogo
replies.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">Even a depiction
of a thousand-armed being only goes so far towards conveying the limitless
abilities of the Avalokiteshvara. Sure, a thousand-armed being has 500 times the
average human potential for using hands to alleviate suffering, but the
Bodhisattva of Compassion cannot be measured in multiples of human capability.
The thousand-armed image is a representation of a limitless being. And that is
what Ungan is pondering. What does it really mean to have limitless functioning?
How can something as unfathomable as limitless functioning be understood, or described?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">Which
brings us to Dogo’s response: “He is like a person in the night reaching back
with a hand to grope for a pillow.” Instead of thinking in terms of fantastical
multiples of limbs or eyes, Dogo is using a metaphor that each of us ordinary
beings can relate to. We’ve all reached for a pillow or blanket in the night.
We need more cushioning for our head, or a little bit more cover to keep us
warm. We have a need and we respond.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">But let’s
take a look at how Nishiyama (1975) translates this dialogue. I’ve similarly
restructured it in order to aid in comparison:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-left: .5in;">“Why does [the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion] have so
many hands […,] and eyes on every finger?” Ungan asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-left: .5in;">“It is like someone who falls off his pillow during the
night and gropes for it while still asleep,” Dogo responds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“I understand completely,” Ungan replies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“What do you understand?” Dogo asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-left: .5in;">“Does [the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion] have hands and
eyes all over its body?” asks Ungan.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“You have spoken properly but it is not enough,” says Dogo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">“I only know what I answered. What else do you want?” Ungan
asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-left: .5in;">“The entire body of [the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion] is
hands and eyes.” Dogo replies.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">So, in
this translation it is made clear that the person is still asleep while
reaching for that pillow! But how does going from a depiction of a bodhisattva
with one thousand arms to a description of a sleeping man groping for his
pillow help further our understanding of the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion?
Well, Ungan is not saying that a depiction of a being with one thousand arms,
scores of eyes, or twelve heads is wrong. After all, such depictions are mere
suggestions of qualities that are, in fact, limitless. The real question Ungan is
pondering is the nature of the actualization of this functioning.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">Clearly
we can all relate to being asleep and sensing a chill or a pillow gone hard. We
change positions, tug at our blankets, adjust our pillow, or otherwise do what
needs to be done in order to address the need and continue our slumber. At such
times our senses are fully and seamlessly integrated. We have full and complete
functioning. There is, albeit in unconsciousness, a detection of a need and
remediation of that need without discrimination or deliberation. It is
complete, perfect, and automatic.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">Of
course, Kannon is not unconscious. As a bodhisattva, his or her awareness is perfect,
supreme. Which is not to say that Ungan’s metaphor is a faulty one. We simply
have to take it to another level and ask ourselves whether we can, in a fully
conscious state and without deliberation, observe and address a need with
perfect action brought forth by every fiber of our being acting in perfect
concert.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;">So, a
painting of Avalokiteshvara with one thousand arms and eyes might take us part
of the way to a perfect understanding of the Bodhisattva of Compassion. Dogo
says that Ungan’s description conveys perhaps 80-90% of his or her ultimate reality.
To do any better than that would require countless words, Dogen says. Dogen goes
on to convey much more in Kannon than I can possibly touch on here. I can only
imagine how close to complete his description becomes! My hope, however, is
that this reflection might nudge someone’s understanding forward another tenth
of a percent so that their continued practice might make realization complete. The
perfectly realized body is seamlessly permeated with hands and eyes. May it be
so for each and every one of us!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">References</span></b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nishijima, G. W., Cross C. (2008).
Shobogenzo: the true Dharma-eye treasury, Vol. II. (G. W. Nishijima & C.
Cross, Trans.) Published by Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and
Research. (Dogen’s original <i>Kannon</i>
from 1244.) <a href="https://www.bdk.or.jp/document/dgtl-dl/dBET_T2582_Shobogenzo2_2008.pdf">https://www.bdk.or.jp/document/dgtl-dl/dBET_T2582_Shobogenzo2_2008.pdf</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nishiyama, K. (1975). Shobogenzo: the
eye and treasury of the true law, Vol. I. (K. Nishiyama, Trans.) Published by
Nakayama Shobo Buddhist Book Store. (Dogen’s original <i>Kannon</i> from 1244.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Schuhmacher, S., Woerner, G. (1994).
The encyclopedia of Eastern philosophy and religion. Shambhala Publications,
Inc.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: center; text-indent: -.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">See also:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nearman, H. (2007). Shobogenzo: the
treasure house of the eye of the true teaching (H. Nearman, Trans.) Published
by Shasta Abbey Press. (Dogen’s original <i>Kannon</i>
from 1244.) <a href="https://www.shastaabbey.org/pdf/shoboAll.pdf">https://www.shastaabbey.org/pdf/shoboAll.pdf</a></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Image Credits</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Avalokiteshvara in
the collection of the St. Louis Art Museum, photographed by the author.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Copyright 2021 by Mark Robert
Frank</span></b></div></b>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-82263908690367599422021-01-02T11:51:00.002-06:002021-07-28T09:01:23.356-05:00Tending Horses in the 21st Century<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This post is adapted from one I wrote some years ago entitled <i>Tending Horses as the World Warms</i>. I
wrote that one in response to the continued denial of climate change by so many in the United States, denial that keeps us from taking action to mitigate
impending disaster even as massive climate change-related events threaten lives
and property all over the world like never before. Since then we’ve witnessed
widespread recalcitrant denial in the face of a deadly pandemic, denial that's made our nation’s suffering and death even worse. It seems that, to our
detriment, we just can’t seem to agree on some very fundamental aspects of the reality
in which we live. We become attached to the stories we tell ourselves about the
way the world is, and we have a difficult time letting them go. Until we’re
forced to, that is. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Why do we have this tendency to stay lost in our stories even when
they no longer fit the reality in which we live? Is it because we have so
much psychic energy invested in the creation of our grand cities built from
brick-pallets full of ideas and concepts mortared together with belief, speculation,
and supposition? Is it because our sense of self is more dependent on the stories
we tell ourselves than reality itself?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TSSHXD7bFAQ/X_CuH4tPucI/AAAAAAAACJU/QaLinUk4_mMqFo5Mog4uVscj7GTDWWe2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s541/Four%2BHorses%2B-%2BShime.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="541" height="345" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TSSHXD7bFAQ/X_CuH4tPucI/AAAAAAAACJU/QaLinUk4_mMqFo5Mog4uVscj7GTDWWe2wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h345/Four%2BHorses%2B-%2BShime.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four Wyoming horses</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Questions such as these are likely the reason that Zen Buddhist
practice resonates with me so. It replaces belief with a very deep and profound
realization of the reality that is right before our eyes: that we suffer for our failure to understand that no “thing” enjoys a permanent and independent
existence. In fact, contrary to all of the hype and romanticism, a deep
understanding of this truth (sometimes called the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_marks_of_existence" target="_blank">three marks of existence</a>) is all that enlightenment is –
a profound realization of the interdependence, the impermanence, and the
emptiness of all phenomena.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We don’t all share the same capacity for realizing this truth.
Some grasp it in quick fashion. Others have to be taught the same
lesson over and over again before accepting it. In <i>Shime</i>, a
fascicle of the <i>Shobogenzo</i> written in 1255, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C5%8Dgen" target="_blank">Dogen Zenji</a>
relates the following teaching:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The Buddha once told his monks that there
were four kinds of horses. The first, upon seeing the shadow of the riding
crop, is startled and forthwith follows the wish of its rider. The second,
startled when the crop touches its hair, forthwith follows the wish of its
rider. The third is startled after the crop touches its flesh. The fourth is
awakened only after the touch of the riding crop is felt in its bones. (Nearman
2007, p. 1045)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Forget what you might be thinking about animal abuse, or the
appropriateness of fear as motivation. The Buddha is talking about us waking up
to reality, whether our awakening comes via listening to his teachings
related to birth, old age, sickness, and death, or whether our awakening comes
at the hands of life itself, riding us hard and putting us away wet (and old,
and sick, and dead). Dogen continues:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The first horse is like a man who realizes
impermanence when he learns of a death in a neighboring village. The second
horse is like a man who realizes this when death occurs in his own village. The
third is like a man who does not awaken this mind [the mind that realizes
impermanence] until death occurs among his own family, and the forth horse is
like a man who awakens this mind only when his own death is imminent.
(Nishiyama, 1975; Vol. 3, p. 113)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Is there any better evidence than this precipitously catastrophic
pandemic and the ongoing, slower moving climate crisis that </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">we suffer for our failure to understand that no “thing” enjoys a permanent and independent existence?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> How can we even begin to think that we are independent of the environment,
each other, and all things? Sure, we can keep believing stories that tell us
something to the contrary, but that will not change reality or make it go away.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The question for Buddhist and non-Buddhist alike, then, is what
kind of horse will we be? Perhaps we’ve already missed our chance to be that
first kind of horse, the one that merely has to see the shadow of the riding
crop in order to understand what must be done. We might have also missed our
chance to be one of the second type as well. So, will it really take each and
every one of us experiencing some catastrophe impacting our families or
ourselves before we become enlightened to the consequences of our actions, before we wake up and begin asking ourselves what we’re going to do about it?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">References</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Nearman, H. (2007). Shobogenzo: the
treasure house of the eye of the true teaching (H. Nearman, Trans.) Published
by Shasta Abbey Press. (Shime was compiled and transcribed from Dogen’s
original manuscript by Ejo in 1255.) </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/9221463968958795928/5164108517854761348">http://www.shastaabbey.org/pdf/shobo/090shime.pdf</a></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Nishiyama, K. (1975). Shobogenzo: the eye
and treasury of the true law, Vol. III. (K. Nishiyama, Trans.) Published by
Nakayama Shobo Buddhist Book Store. (Shime was compiled and transcribed from
Dogen’s original manuscript by Ejo in 1255.)</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Image Credits</span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Wyoming horses
photographed by the author</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Copyright 2013, 2021 by
Mark Robert Frank</span></b></div></b>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-13422007895794400452020-10-01T19:46:00.000-05:002020-10-01T19:46:09.846-05:00The Karma of a Nation<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">The Sanskrit word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">karma</i> has essentially become part of the
English lexicon. Who is not at least somewhat familiar with the way it’s taken
on a “what goes around comes around” sort of meaning in everyday parlance? Which
is not really too bad a definition, as far as it goes. If you start doing a
little research, though, you’ll find that there’s actually quite a range of
thought about the true nature of this thing we call <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">karma</i>. On one hand are very precise definitions, like karma being the
result of action coupled with intention. On the other are very broad
implications of metaphysical import, like if your good karma outweighs your bad
karma by the time you pass on, then you’ll enjoy a favorable rebirth.
Otherwise…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Each of these extremes raises
questions of its own. The former, for instance, begs the question: “If I do
something that causes harm unintentionally, do I still accumulate bad karma?”
The latter requires us to begin discussing concepts like souls and the precise
“mechanism” by which karma bridges lifespans. But let’s not get lost in the
weeds. Karma is also sometimes referred to quite simply as a law of cause and
effect. Every thought or action helps create the ground or causes and
conditions from which the next thought or action arises. Which brings us to <u>patterns</u>
of thought or action.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">The word karma derives from the
Sanskrit root kri, which carries with it connotations of doing, making,
creating, etc. (<a href="https://www.wisdomlib.org/definition/kri" target="_blank">Wisdom Library</a>) And where there is doing, making, and creating there are <u>patterns</u> of
doing, making, and creating. Thus, it’s possible to move beyond thinking of
karma in purely individualistic terms. For instance, we can speak of the karma
of human life itself. Each of us is a creation based upon a pattern (evolving
as it is) that has been passed down via a genetic code created anew each time
sperm meets egg. Families have their own unique genetic karma – tendencies
toward health or disease. Parents pass down to their offspring ways of being in
the world that arise from various parenting styles (patterns), and the values
and ideas they might instill in their children. And, yes, nations have karma as
well.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9jKiRsi8sqw/X3Z2dJEJ5OI/AAAAAAAACHE/Mw_RFe-V76IMaP3_MYt6Q4uI3dXxsfvhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Flag%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bstreet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1438" data-original-width="2048" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9jKiRsi8sqw/X3Z2dJEJ5OI/AAAAAAAACHE/Mw_RFe-V76IMaP3_MYt6Q4uI3dXxsfvhwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/Flag%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bstreet.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flag on the pavement near the street memorial for Michael Brown<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">So, what is our karma here in the
United States? Is it generally good, or generally bad? What is the ground from
which our nation will be born anew in the very next moment, or in the aftermath
of the coming election? Will it be a favorable rebirth? This will require a
little “soul-searching.” And we won’t make any real progress if we allow
ourselves to become lost in a misty-eyed reverie of patriotic ideas and
imagery.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">We cannot deny the fact that this
nation was built on land stolen from indigenous peoples through physical
violence and even genocide. Is it really in keeping with the natural order of
things that such karma simply goes away with the passage of time? And what
about the wealth that so many of us enjoy today that was accumulated through
the stolen labor and stolen lives of all those men, women, and children who
were enslaved on this nation’s soil? Don’t we kid ourselves with such platitudes
as: “nobody alive today was born a master or slave.” The karma lives on. Yes, Civil
Rights legislation has helped, but the karma of our racist past still lives on in
this moment, in all of us, in some way, shape, or form. No justice, no peace.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Of course we have an abundance of
good karma, as well. A democratic nation was formed on this land that has been
a beacon of righteousness for the world for over two centuries. Our peaceful
transitions of power based on the will of the majority (mitigated somewhat, to
be sure, by that pesky electoral college) have shown the world what civilized
and enlightened government can look like. And not only that, we’ve kept despotism
from overtaking the world. We’ve helped fight disease and hunger. We’ve created
the educational institutions that have brought forth some of the world’s
greatest creative minds. We’ve helped raise the standard of living of much of
the world, thereby alleviating suffering for untold numbers of people.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Ah, but our culture has also
perpetuated the myth of the so-called rugged individual – going it alone,
entitled to take what is his (and whatever else he can get), and eschewing
responsibility for others with casual reference to ideals of equality, freedom,
and hard work. But these ideals, in addition to giving us positive guidance, give
us as well the cover we need to be silent in the face of inequity and injustice
– as if we’ve never seen the hard work and wholesome choices of another go unrewarded.
Silence is violence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">All of this karma roils in each of
as we speak. It plays out in our White House, the halls of Congress, and the Supreme
Court. It swirls on the airwaves and out in the streets. We are on the eve of
deciding what will happen when some of the best karma we’ve accumulated, our model
democratic institutions, meets some of our worst – our most entitled, greedy, violent,
abusive, and self-interested urges personified.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Please reflect deeply on where our
country is going, and act in accord with what is most beneficial and just. The
fate of our nation hangs in the balance. What is the karma we will perpetuate? Be
well, everyone. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Image<o:p></o:p></u></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">Flag
on the street near the memorial to Michael Brown,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">an
unarmed Black man killed at the hands of a White police officer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">Photo
taken August 9, 2015 <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Copyright 2020 by Mark Robert Frank<o:p></o:p></b></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-20524967178486487782020-09-25T21:37:00.002-05:002020-09-25T21:37:15.619-05:00With A World On Fire<p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">It's been a tough season, and a tough year. The strain is beginning to show. People are doing what they need to do to stay alive, and well, and sane. And so am I. When I saw a tiny bird had died after flying into the window shortly after I arrived at work, I had to find meaning in it somehow. Otherwise I might have just broken down and cried, which actually wouldn't have been such a bad thing to do. So I wrote this poem. This little being has given something of its life energy that I might carry on. I hope it gives something of its life force to you as well.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3DV99vPK1eE/X26l9MncDjI/AAAAAAAACG4/fAkXAqy-CzUE0xrRyGzo0gS_Z76RgRupQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Bird2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1937" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3DV99vPK1eE/X26l9MncDjI/AAAAAAAACG4/fAkXAqy-CzUE0xrRyGzo0gS_Z76RgRupQCLcBGAsYHQ/w606-h640/Bird2.jpg" width="606" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">With A World On Fire</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With a world on fire or drenched
beneath the onslaught of a hurricane,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And an economy collapsing ’neath
the greed of our so-called finest brains,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With people shot dead on the
streets for scaring lawmen with their skin,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And old folks dying in lonely rooms
without their loved ones ever coming in,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With kids in cages on the border
because their lives mean so much less than rules,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And whistleblowers called out of
order when they bring to light the work of fools,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With a future that is dark and cold,
and hope made so unknowable,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And essential workers essentially
told they are essentially disposable,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With assault weapons in our state
house halls in order to make the impotent feel like men,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And a loose cannon behind the White
House walls tweeting hateful nonsense again and again and again,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Why should I stop and shed a tear
for a tiny bird that a window broke?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Why should I find a place for him
nestled in the grass, beside a stream, beneath a shady oak?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But if I don’t, what then will I
become?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And if I don’t, what kind of will
is done,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In our world so saturated with this
kerosene of shame, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">All ugly and broken down, and going
up in smoke and flame?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So I’ll remember you dear bird of your
beloved earth and sky,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So that something good and innocent might never in me die.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Copyright 2020 by Mark Robert Frank<o:p></o:p></b></p><br /><p></p></div>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-32717512497842595162020-09-04T21:12:00.012-05:002020-09-06T11:59:36.521-05:00One True Teacher<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">“I
have never said to my disciples that I am a true teacher. From the beginning I
have said that the zazen each of us practices is the only true teacher.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kosho Uchiyama<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">But what about the Buddha himself?
Was he not a true teacher in Uchiyama’s estimation? No doubt some would call it
sacrilege to answer in the negative. There exists a story in which the Buddha’s
entire sermon consists of him holding up a flower. One of his disciples,
Mahakasyapa, is the only one who “gets it” – conveying his understanding with a
smile. Many Buddhists believe that something passed from the Buddha to
Mahakasyapa in that moment. But might it be that Mahakasyapa merely conveyed to
the Buddha that his own zazen (seated meditation) had taught him what the Buddha had already realized?
Perhaps the Buddha merely led Mahakasyapa to his own true teacher – his zazen –
and Mahakasyapa proved to be a student worthy of its teaching.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hjZFQJct5LI/X1Lxncv38xI/AAAAAAAACGU/zt7tAwUIXq07n6CGfFc5JQyIXCFmK0KEACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/StoneInStone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1639" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hjZFQJct5LI/X1Lxncv38xI/AAAAAAAACGU/zt7tAwUIXq07n6CGfFc5JQyIXCFmK0KEACLcBGAsYHQ/w500-h400/StoneInStone.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Let’s get our heads out of the
clouds for just a moment, though, and consider some very practical lessons that zazen can teach us:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">Zazen
will tell you if you’re getting enough sleep. If you’re burning the candle
at both ends, as soon as you stop long enough to practice zazen sleep will
settle like a dark cloud upon your mind. Listen to it, and adjust your
life accordingly.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p> </p>
<ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">Zazen
will tell you if your life is too busy. If so, you’ll likely be cutting
short your practice periods, or skipping them altogether. You may even
come to resent your zazen for infringing upon your “precious” time to get
things done. Err on the side of trimming all traces of useless busyness
from your life.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zazen will teach you whether or not
you’re giving it the attention it deserves. If your zazen results in
nothing but a whirling mind from bell to bell, perhaps your meditations
are too infrequent, or not quite long enough for you to settle in.
Redouble your efforts so that you have time to settle into stillness.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">But the teachings get deeper still:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">Your
zazen can serve as your very own bullshit detector. Every Buddhist knows
that we’re products of our conditioning – patterned ways of looking at
ourselves and the world that are false, but perhaps comforting in the
short term. If you get out of its way your zazen can show you how things
really are. But beware! I first heard of zazen being a bullshit detector
from a teacher who seemed to believe at least a little bit of his own!<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<ol start="5" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">Speaking
of seeing things as they really are: they never last for long. All that
lives eventually dies. The enjoyable and insufferable alike all pass away.
Impermanence is, in fact, one of the three marks of existence (along with it
being unsatisfactory and devoid of inherent selfhood). Zazen has the
potential to bring us face to face with our own impermanence in a way that
we may have never experienced before. With a punch to the gut your zazen
may well teach you that the life that you’re living isn’t worthy of the
preciousness of your fleeting existence. Listen closely.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoListParagraph"><o:p> </o:p> </p>
<ol start="6" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">When you
come face to face with the precious and fleeting nature of your own existence, you’re only a breath
away from realizing that the same is true for everyone and everything.
Once we see this clearly, a wellspring of compassion opens up from deep inside
of us. We’re in this together. What a miracle that we’re all here
right now, creating this world of ours from moment to moment!<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<ol start="7" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">And gratitude
follows. As the walls tumble down between self and other, and we begin to
really appreciate all that others do or have done for us, we can’t help
but feel gratitude. And as we begin to really feel the struggles and painful
experiences of others, we can’t help but feel gratitude for all that is good
in our life.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoListParagraph"><o:p> </o:p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<ol start="8" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">Every
step we take along the Noble Eight-fold Path is seen more clearly, and
actualized more authentically, because of our zazen. The path we walk
informs our zazen, and zazen informs our path. Together they are purified.
They are not separate.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">So, as you settle into your zazen
next time, please be open to the multitude of teachings that arise from moment
to moment. There’s much to learn from your one true teacher -- many more than just the eight that I've pointed to today!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">.<b><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>References<o:p></o:p></u></b></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: center; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: -0.5in;">Uchiyama,
K. (1993). Opening the hand of thought. (Tr. by Okumura, S. and Wright, T.)
Published by the Penguin Group.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.5in;"> </span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Image<o:p></o:p></u></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Stone
in Stone</i> by the author </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Copyright 2020 by Mark Robert Frank<o:p></o:p></b></p>Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-41815821619002832262020-05-23T20:32:00.000-05:002020-05-23T20:32:10.894-05:00Faith and Faux Knowledge<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
We're experiencing a deficit of
faith right now. Its lack corrodes our institutions, and erodes our social
discourse. But whether you count yourself among the faithful, or the faithless,
don’t assume that you know what I mean just yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
This may well chafe some atheists who might
be reading this, but you have faith as well. It’s just that, whereas a
Christian places his or her faith in the existence of God, or the Resurrection
of Christ, an atheist might place it in love, science, the potential goodness
of humanity, or even the prospect that we’d all be a whole lot better off without
religion! Yes, we all live our lives by placing faith in someone, or something. And when
we find ourselves in general agreement with others regarding the metaphysical concepts
in which we have faith, then we might begin to call ourselves members of a
particular faith tradition.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B270swQTE-4/XsnIXpbbseI/AAAAAAAACEw/fSUgTM-3fOE2I6V_Q1_QP_HhGgXpXRLIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/RiverbottomEvening.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1586" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B270swQTE-4/XsnIXpbbseI/AAAAAAAACEw/fSUgTM-3fOE2I6V_Q1_QP_HhGgXpXRLIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/RiverbottomEvening.jpg" width="395" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
So, where’s the deficit? How can I
profess to such an expansive definition of faith even as I claim that its lack
is so destructive to that which we hold dear? Here’s the crux: so many who
profess strong faith are actually confusing it with the attainment of certain
knowledge. And not only do we tend to confuse our personal faith with certain
knowledge, we also seem ever at the ready to act as if this certain knowledge
applies to everyone else as well. However, the relationship between faith and
knowledge, as best I can discern, is that a long-lasting, personally tested
faith might afford you a working knowledge as to what is true for you – and nothing more. No matter how strong your faith, no matter what you might believe,
no matter what personal truth you might have come to realize, Truth is still
beyond your apprehension/comprehension – as well as mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Since I’m usually the only Buddhist
in the room these days, any religious discussion that I’m involved in becomes
something of an interfaith dialogue. And being married to a Christian pastor
means that these interfaith discussions are most often Buddhist/Christian in
nature. So, recently some of us were having a conversation about faith, and I
stated that it was my experience that faith is all too often confused with
knowledge – just as I’ve been expounding upon here. The concern regarding this
statement was that it would send us down the slippery slope of relativism,
where all truth is subjective, and there is no gauge with which to measure good
and bad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Indeed, I <i>was</i> talking about relativism, but not in the way that this person
thought I was, I don’t think. I wasn’t saying that there is no Truth. My
contention was/is that, whatever capital T Truth might exist (its existence is
something I must take on faith, by the way) we can only ever glimpse it either
partially or through a glass darkly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
And why do I think this distinction
between faith and faux knowledge is such an important one to make? Our current
events are rife with struggles between various entities: individuals, classes,
religions, party-line adherents, and nations. Each is convinced of their absolute rightness, and their firm grasp of capital T Truth.
This belief in our absolute rightness (and the absolute wrongness
of our foes) is corroding our institutions, and eroding our social discourse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
I think this distinction between
faith and faux knowledge is an especially important one to make if we're going
to take part in interfaith dialogue of any kind. Sure, I could feign humility
when entering into conversation with people of different faith traditions. I
could bury my belief in the absolute rightness of my views so deep down
inside me that no one was the wiser – perhaps not even me! But what good would
that do? Every attempt at interfaith dialogue that I might engage in would
surely be corrupted into a one-sided exercise in proselytism. No real learning
would take place. No mutual understanding would be advanced. No greater peace
would result. For how can there be real peace between us when I’m convinced of
the inferior nature of the faith that your life experience has brought you to? No,
true humility requires of us a willingness to be changed by another – by every
other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
So let us keep our faith. Let us
live whatever faith we’ve come to enjoy. And let us strive to keep our faith
from slipping into the trap of faux knowledge – for our own wellbeing as well
as that of all humanity. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b><u>Image<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
Evening sun through the groundcover in the bottomlands, courtesy of the author<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Copyright
2020 by Mark Robert Frank</span></b></div>
Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-54506166045848532182020-03-19T21:13:00.000-05:002020-03-20T10:26:53.646-05:00Wherever Mindfulness Finds You<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Surely this spring will not be
remembered as just any other spring. For just as the crocuses are teasing us
with tender blossoms and their promise of new life, so it is that hardship and even
death lurk just over the horizon. A global pandemic has already taken some of
us, and it will take an unknown number more. Surely all can see that life will
not be the same for quite some time, if ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
How strange it is to lose that
which we’ve taken so for granted! I now look back with fondness at the simple
joy of sitting in a coffee shop on a weekend morning. And I lament that we were
too busy to take my wife out for a nice meal on her birthday this past weekend,
the last weekend we could have done so before the restaurants were ordered
closed. I also just happened to visit the library earlier this week to renew my
card, only to be told that they’d be closing the following day. How strange it
is to say goodbye to one thing after another that all seemed so commonplace as
to hardly be worth mentioning two weeks ago, but which now hang like
tantalizing fruits just out of reach. Life seems to have lost its gorgeous
ordinariness!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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What is life, anyway, but long
stretches of ordinary scenery from which we sometimes climb to joyous heights, or
from which we sometimes descend into dark foreboding canyons? Those who’ve read
this blog over the years know that I once returned home after a very ordinary
workday and workweek only to find that my wife would never grace its rooms
again. And how could I not think of that canyon from which I climbed as I met someone
in recent days who’d been diagnosed with cancer just last month, and who would
be facing life-changing, and perhaps even life-threatening surgery in this one.
And all around us the gorgeous ordinariness of life seems to have taken leave!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
At times such as this – when we’re
staring into the abyss and wondering as to the very meaning of existence – it’s
quite common for our religious inclinations to come to the fore. Perhaps we’re
overcome with regret for having wasted so much time when we could have been practicing
in whatever way our tradition would have us practice. If only we’d spent more
time preparing ourselves spiritually for the hardship to come! Maybe then we’d
be so much more settled and grounded than we are. Maybe then we wouldn’t be so haunted
by doubt and fear. Maybe then we’d rise above these feelings of anger and ill
will, and these urges to gratify our senses and build up our sense of self. And
maybe then we wouldn’t be sinking into gray dullness, weighed down by leaden
thoughts and a general malaise.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
We have no choice but to face this
broken world just as it is, with whatever heart and mind we have. And that is
precisely what mindfulness entails. Any thoughts of superiority or inferiority
of spiritual attainment are mere delusions. In fact, the very idea of spiritual
attainment is one of the most seductive delusions of all. Mindfulness begins
right where we are. And right where we are is an incomparable place for the
sages and the distracted alike.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was sunshiny and warm the other
day – the day that I first realized the gravity of what we’d all soon be
facing. I went for a run down to the river as I often do. And as I ran I
thought about what it would be like to survive this virus with scarred lungs
that left me unable to ever run again. Needless to say, it was not just any ordinary
run. And yet it was. Upon returning I passed one of my neighbors, an older
woman with a crooked back and an out-of-kilter gait. I didn’t recall ever seeing
her on a walk before. And as we passed we smiled big smiles at each other in
greeting, as if the world could not be any better than the gorgeous
ordinariness we were feeling. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Copyright 2020 by Mark Robert Frank</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<i>All
images are the property of the author unless otherwise noted.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9221463968958795928.post-1628732801293037702020-02-09T14:35:00.001-06:002020-02-09T14:35:55.077-06:00Kalama Sutta to Jamesian Pragmatism, and Beyond<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 2px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">There were many itinerant teachers at the time of the Buddha, going village to village begging for alms, and providing teachings to those who would listen. Not surprisingly, they would often contradict each other, thus confusing the people and perhaps even causing them distress. After all, we don’t just want to be told pretty stories, we want to know what’s true. And so it was that the Kalamas of Kesaputta were hoping that the Buddha might ease their troubled minds:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">[They] said to the Blessed One, "Lord, there are some brahmans and contemplatives who come to Kesaputta. They expound and glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, and disparage them. And then other brahmans and contemplatives come to Kesaputta. They expound and glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, and disparage them. They leave us absolutely uncertain and in doubt: Which of these venerable brahmans and contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Not much has changed in the 2,500 years or so since the Kalamas sought guidance from the Buddha, has it? Seekers still crave doctrinal certainty, and purveyors of belief still propound their own views and criticize those of others. And what were those doctrines on which the Kalamas sought clarity? Although not explicitly stated in the sutra, the existence of souls and the nature of karma were apparently at least two such matters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">This, I think, is a fascinating aspect of the <a href="https://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/an/an03/an03.065.than.html">Kalama Sutta</a> (Sutra). The doctrinal views of others are not defined, but neither are those of the Buddha explicitly defined. There is no discussion of the inherent rightness or wrongness of any doctrine. Rather, the Buddha exhorts the Kalamas to examine the fruits of following such doctrine. Does a teaching lead one to live a positive life or not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Now, the Buddhist teachings related to karma (the law of cause and effect) have never given me much pause. I’ve seen karma at work in my own life and in the world around me. For a time I even embraced the idea that karmic consequence extended into other future lifetimes via some mechanism involving reincarnation or the transmigration of the soul. However, there arose in me some doubt as to whether these ideas are actually consistent with more bedrock Buddhist teachings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Sure, there are instances of the Buddha purportedly talking about his past lives. But did he really say these things, or are they stories that were later attributed to him by those seeking to advance their own understanding or point of view? And if these stories were indeed told by the Buddha, might they have been intended to be educational in nature, rather than taken as literal truth? There also exists amongst Buddhist teachings a sort of extrapolation of the twelve-fold chain of dependent origination to encompass past, present, and future lifetimes before and after the physical death of any particular being. However, this seems to me now to contradict those teachings related to the fundamentally empty nature of existence. What exactly is it that moves from this being to the next when this being is considered to be entirely dependent upon the five <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/skandhas">skandhas</a> for its existence? (Merriam-Webster defines the five skandhas as the "transitory personal elements of body, perception, conception, volition, and consciousness whose temporary concatenation forms the individual self.")<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">As we are about to see, though, such logical dissection of doctrinal views should not be relied upon in totality (at all?). Rather, it is the fruit that arises from adherence to a particular doctrine that is most important. Says the Buddha:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Of course you are uncertain, Kalamas. Of course you are in doubt. When there are reasons for doubt, uncertainty is born. So in this case, Kalamas, 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 unskillful; these qualities are blameworthy; these qualities are criticized by the wise; these qualities, when adopted and carried out, lead to harm and to suffering” — then you should abandon them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Without doubt, my own thoughts on the matter of reincarnation or transmigration are little more than logical conjecture, inference, and pondering. So let me now examine belief in reincarnation/transmigration, or lack thereof, through the lens of whether or not it yields good fruit or bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">If there is a danger that denial of the existence of a soul might lead one down a path of nihilistic behavior that causes harm to oneself or others, then, yes, perhaps such a view should be abandoned. However, I’ve known many an atheist or agnostic who live very ethical lives dedicated to helping make the world a better place for everyone. Thus, I can draw no conclusion in that regard. Yes, behaving appropriately in this life so as to avoid negative repercussions in the next might be a strong motivation to “be good.” But it is certainly not the only one. A basic sense of compassion might be another, as would the realization that we are all quite inextricably bound together in this glorious world of hardship and joy. On the other hand, belief in a life after this one might actually prompt us to “kick the can down the road,” so to speak, to not strive as we could in this life to do what is good and right. After all, there will always be another life in which to pick up where we left off, won’t there? Thus, I am not particularly swayed one way or the other on this matter by examining the lives lived by those who believe as opposed to those who do not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Notwithstanding my own personal exploration (you must do your own) of this matter, what the Buddha leaves us with is essentially a <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/5116/5116-h/5116-h.htm">Jamesian Pragmatic</a> approach to belief. In other words, regardless of truth or falsity, does belief (or acting as if one believes) yield good fruit in this life, or not? In this regard the Buddha provides us with a rationale for belief that serves us, and the world, regardless. If we have souls that reincarnate (and notice that the Buddha does not actually say here that we do), then our purity of action will serve us well. If we don’t have such souls, our lives will still be lived well in this world. If the karmic law of cause and effect does indeed hold true, then we and the world will be well-served by the purity of our action. If, on the other hand, karma is not sound teaching, then our life will still be one well-lived in this world. Here are the four assurances that the Buddha reportedly conveyed:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">If there is a world after death, if there is the fruit of actions rightly and wrongly done, then this is the basis by which, with the break-up of the body, after death, I will reappear in a good destination, the heavenly world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But if there is no world after death, if there is no fruit of actions rightly and wrongly done, then here in the present life I look after myself with ease — free from hostility, free from ill will, free from trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">If evil is done through acting, still I have willed no evil for anyone. Having done no evil action, from where will suffering touch me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But if no evil is done through acting, then I can assume myself pure in both respects.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">I suspect that we will still be pondering the existence of souls if we humans are still around in 2,500 years. Such questions cut straight to the heart of what it means to be alive. We simply cannot know these things. It is this shared human unknowing more than anything else that motivates me to want to live a life that is of benefit to all beings. Perhaps we will all one day have this veil of fundamental ignorance pulled away from our eyes, but until that day comes I will simply try to live a good life – or lives as the case may be!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px; text-align: start;"><b>Copyright 2020 by Mark Robert Frank</b></span></div>
Mark Robert Frankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17076744028132663843noreply@blogger.com0