It’s been one of those days all day long; not a bad day, mind you, just one of those. The kind when it spits rather than rains, a fine mist that covers your windshield, but doesn’t make it wet enough to let the wipers really clean it off. It’s either a Mamas and the Pappas kind of day – you know, “Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day” – or the kind where you almost feel like slipping the Karen Carpenter into the player so you can hear her sing, “Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.”
And at the end of the day, I’m in my office dreading the fact that I must write my daily blog about another chapter in the Dhammapada. I’m tired, it’s raining, I’m tired. So before I leave the office I decide to check out the next chapter, Shassavagga, and as I scan the verses I let out a sigh of relief. It’s a sigh brought on by the realization that tonight the task isn’t so bad, because the message is so simple, I really only need to present the opening verses.
“Better
than if there were thousands
of meaningless words is
one
meaningful
word
that on hearing
brings peace.
Better
than if there were thousands
of meaningless verses is
one
meaningful
verse
that on hearing
brings peace.
And better than chanting hundreds
of meaningless verses is
one
Dhamma-saying
that on hearing
brings peace.”
This brought me peace, because as I read through the rest of the text, the remaining verses were simply repeating this succinct message using different consonants and vowels.
There’s been plenty of discussion recently about returning to the essence of Buddhism, of redefining Western Buddhism, or American Buddhism, or Eastern Buddhism, or just plain Buddhism; finding the core elements that are necessary for the practice and perhaps discarding the trappings that are merely decoration, the ritualistic exercises that are more about culture than anything the Buddha taught.
This thing called Buddhism that we practice is like a big, scratchy ball of Velcro; you roll it around and stuff sticks to it. The stuff gets so stuck in the clinging fibers that it can be hard to remove it. Ever try to remove bits of thread and dust and nits from something like Velcro?
In some respects, the fact that Buddhism is so flexible, that it can in one region accommodate such things as nagas, and in another region absorb the idea of writing prayers on bits of cloth to be carried by the wind, is also a testament to its strength. And yet, the message can, at times be lost in all these fancy chants and dances and offerings and this gobble-dee-gook.
My teacher once told me that the only reason to perform any of the rituals at all is to develop mindfulness. There is no significance to the rituals, the rites; they are empty.
So do I use this notion that rituals and perhaps pedantic exercises are pointless and abandon my goal of blogging about a chapter in the Dhammapada every day?
No way. I am developing mindfulness.
And at the end of the day, I’m in my office dreading the fact that I must write my daily blog about another chapter in the Dhammapada. I’m tired, it’s raining, I’m tired. So before I leave the office I decide to check out the next chapter, Shassavagga, and as I scan the verses I let out a sigh of relief. It’s a sigh brought on by the realization that tonight the task isn’t so bad, because the message is so simple, I really only need to present the opening verses.
“Better
than if there were thousands
of meaningless words is
one
meaningful
word
that on hearing
brings peace.
Better
than if there were thousands
of meaningless verses is
one
meaningful
verse
that on hearing
brings peace.
And better than chanting hundreds
of meaningless verses is
one
Dhamma-saying
that on hearing
brings peace.”
This brought me peace, because as I read through the rest of the text, the remaining verses were simply repeating this succinct message using different consonants and vowels.
There’s been plenty of discussion recently about returning to the essence of Buddhism, of redefining Western Buddhism, or American Buddhism, or Eastern Buddhism, or just plain Buddhism; finding the core elements that are necessary for the practice and perhaps discarding the trappings that are merely decoration, the ritualistic exercises that are more about culture than anything the Buddha taught.
This thing called Buddhism that we practice is like a big, scratchy ball of Velcro; you roll it around and stuff sticks to it. The stuff gets so stuck in the clinging fibers that it can be hard to remove it. Ever try to remove bits of thread and dust and nits from something like Velcro?
In some respects, the fact that Buddhism is so flexible, that it can in one region accommodate such things as nagas, and in another region absorb the idea of writing prayers on bits of cloth to be carried by the wind, is also a testament to its strength. And yet, the message can, at times be lost in all these fancy chants and dances and offerings and this gobble-dee-gook.
My teacher once told me that the only reason to perform any of the rituals at all is to develop mindfulness. There is no significance to the rituals, the rites; they are empty.
So do I use this notion that rituals and perhaps pedantic exercises are pointless and abandon my goal of blogging about a chapter in the Dhammapada every day?
No way. I am developing mindfulness.
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