The fine line between nothing matters and everything matters

An acquaintance of mine and I used to often chant, "It just doesn't matter." We would look at the ways of the world and think to ourselves, "Seriously?"

Because in the larger scheme of things, nothing really mattered. We were all going to die some day. Whatever wealth (or debt), reputation, knowledge, even friendships that we gathered along the way during this journey of life, the bottom line was we will die and all that will be lost. Food for worms we would become.

It is a beguiling notion and, unsurprisingly, many Buddhists succumb to the siren's call of nihilism. In fact, in my "Buddhism" list on Twitter, I saw this Tweet:

"The problem with dinner banter is most people don't want to hear your views on how nothing matters."

It's difficult not to believe at times that the point of living is dying, or as Jake Shears of Scissor Sister so eloquently sings: "Happy yesterday to all, we were born to die."

Is that really all there is to it? Because if it is, then I don't give a shit about the debts I run up, let the poor suckers I leave behind deal with that. If the banks want to extend me that credit, then fine, I will use it to the max and not give a shit because in the end, when I'm dead, they ain't getting nothing.

Or is that all there is? Perhaps we are all born to die, but is that it?

Ah, nihilism, come here my pretty.

Buddhism is filled with practices and concepts that are frequently co-opted by the opportunistic and simplified to such an extreme that one's delusions become strengthened rather than eradicated. The concept of "mindfulness" is one in particular, as exemplified here (please be aware that I cite Justin's post not because I have any "skin in the game" regarding the Google busses, etc., but because it's an excellent example of how mindfulness gets dumbed-down into an elite practice of showy privilege).

Perhaps the most misinterpreted teaching of the Buddha's is that to the Kalamas, which is often distorted into a justification for doing whatever you can rationalize as being OK. As the venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi wrote:

"On the basis of a single passage, quoted out of context, the Buddha has been made out to be a pragmatic empiricist who dismisses all doctrine and faith, and whose Dhamma is simply a freethinker's kit to truth which invites each one to accept and reject whatever he likes."

This is nothing new. During the Buddha's lifetime there were others who confused the Dhamma for a doctrine of nihilism. In the Vajjiya Sutta, a group of wandering mendicants make such an assertion:

"Now wait a minute, householder. This contemplative Gotama whom you praise is a nihilist, one who doesn't declare anything."

Interestingly, it's the lay follower Vajjiya Mahita who corrects these wandering mystics:

"I tell you, venerable sirs, that the Blessed One righteously declares that 'This is skillful.' He declares that 'This is unskillful.' Declaring that 'This is skillful' and 'This is unskillful,' he is one who has declared [a teaching]. He is not a nihilist, one who doesn't declare anything."

By declaring there are skillful ways to do things and unskillful ways to do things, the Buddha is quite clearly stating that yes, things do matter. Our actions matter. They matter because the intentions we form prior to our actions matter. The Noble Eightfold Path is all about the right ways to do things, presented with the understanding that there are wrong ways to do things. Or, the better way to explain it, there are skillful means and unskillful means. There are desired outcomes and outcomes to be avoided. The more we choose skillful actions, the more we experience desirable outcomes.

And none of this requires a belief in an afterlife. Being aware of that, the Buddha skillfully taught how we can "hedge our bets." By acting in accordance with the Dhamma, we're covered whether there is or is not an afterlife, whether there is rebirth or no rebirth. And clearly, we can experience the fruits of skillful living during our life now, as revealed in the opening verses of the Dhammapada.

The nihilist can speak with such aplomb about the fact that we all die and there's nothing that comes next. Yet, we do everything we can to extend whatever time we do have, to extend every moment of happiness we experience, and to avoid every unpleasant situation. This all becomes less frenetic once we become aware of the fact that we are where we are because of what we did in the past, and if we want to enjoy a happy future, then we need to pay attention to what we are doing right now in this moment.

Because it matters.

Happy Buddhists really annoy me

No, really. They bug the shit out of me.

"What crawled up your culottes?"

Buddhist sophistry.

Seriously, Buddhists who talk-tweet-blog-chirp non-stop about how happy they have become are really just projecting how miserable they are. But rather than deal with their unhappiness in an honest and direct way, they figure if they just keep telling others they are happy that maybe they'll be able to conjure up Manjushri's sword to cleave their miserable heart, revealing the pulsing bliss of Kwan Yin.

"Simply talking a lot doesn't maintain the Dhamma."

There's not a lot to be happy about. I'm a 55-year-old gay man surrounded by men who think they are 10s (some of them seriously are) and they're all looking for an 11. They go to the gym to get these bodies that they've become enslaved to, because as soon as they stop working out, their body goes to hell.

Well, I shouldn't cast stones. I go to the gym. Not as often as I should, but I go. I want to stay ahead of this bulge I have. Seriously, I can't even see my penis anymore. Well, I can see it when I have an erection, or when I tilt my head down, or when I'm lying on my back and my belly flattens out because gravity pulls all the fat down toward the mattress. And I kid myself that, yeah, I'm going to return to that svelt 180-pound gorgeous man I was in my 30s, I just need to shed, you know, like 30 pounds. And I need to watch my health. After all, I've had a stroke and a heart attack, so I should take care of myself.

Wait. I was going to the gym before I had a stroke and a heart attack, and I still had a stroke and a heart attack. So there you go. A lot of good it's done me.

But I digress.

All too soon, this body

will lie on the ground

               cast off,

bereft of consciousness,

like a useless scrap

               of wood.

Now there's a happy thought, eh?

Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of happy Buddhists and I admire them, I want to be like them, and I pay attention to what they say and do. And you know what? The really, truly happy Buddhists never talk about how happy they are. They don't have to because you can see it for yourself.

Happiness is just like any other feeling, it comes and goes. Anyone who says they are happy are lying. Because to be aware of your happiness means to kill your happiness. Consider the basics of meditation: when thoughts or feelings arise, you pay attention to them and observe them rather than indulge them, and when you observe them, they go away, the mind settles. So as soon as you acknowledge your happiness, you just killed the buzz.

Real happiness, the "Buddhisty" type of happiness is a happiness you never think about. It's just there, like the shadow that never leaves.

Give me a miserable Buddhist over a self-professed happy one any time. He or she will be the better teacher and companion than the halcyon Buddhist with his or her deluded saccharine silliness.

Homophobe say what?

Few things can get my Hugo Boss tighty-whities in a bunch, but when I read about some of the incredible things some religious leaders, let alone their minions, let flow out of their mouths or their pens,  I swear it makes me want to wear boxers and then run out and make a donation to the Churchof the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Admittedly, this is a problem of mine because I remain in the grips of greed, hatred, and delusion. But when compared with some of the lunacy that has appeared recently in the media (and let us not forget this is nothing new), I come off as absolutely brilliant when I say you should make a Manhattan with rye whiskey and not bourbon.

Well, that is absolutely brilliant. But I digress.

First event occurred last week while I was traveling in Texas. A small time Panhandle minister purchased some space in a rural weekly to enumerate his litany of reasons why folks should not vote for Obama, among them being the president's alleged support for the dreaded "gay agenda."

Seriously, if you have a copy of this, would you mind sending it to me? Because the bitches in the Gay HQ have been ignoring my missives as if I were Phyllis Schlafly.

A few weeks after this atavistic nonsense is published, a gay couple's home in that town was spray painted with the delightful words, "leave or die fags."

In and of itself, such an incident would not normally send me off, even when reading about politicians that espouse the death penalty for rebellious children and evolution deniers who sit on the congressional science advisory committee. But then I read something about an archbishop up in Minnesota that hit just a little too close to home.

Catholic Archbishop for the Twin Cities John Nienstedt has been on a tirade amping up the anti-gay rhetoric with his efforts to promote a state constitutional amendment in Minnesota to ban same-sex marriage, but it was his advice to a young mother with a gay son that stabbed me in the heart. The archbishop told this woman her "eternal salvation" was at stake if she did not toe the line on the church's anti-gay position and do something about her wicked child.

I've worked really hard to remove a particular memory from my mind, to disallow its ability to shape me, and for the most part I've been successful. But when I read about this archbishop, it recalled for me a day when I was in first grade at a Catholic school and the nun teaching the class called me up to her desk. I couldn't look at her as she spoke her vile words, and instead stared at her finger as she pounded it into the top of her desk enunciating her words: "Richard Harrold, you are an evil and wicked little boy, and God has forsaken you."

OK, so I was a victim of a hate crime at 6 years old. Whatever. It was 1964. Nonetheless, the experience left me an angry little boy who grew up to be an angry teenager who chased whatever mind altering substance he could find, and for many years, left me an angry and bitter man. And let me tell you, this was one set of Samsonite I wanted to drop the fuck off on some corner and set on fire. But would I let go of it? No, I had years of being an ox dragging my cart of woes before I finally did. And when I did, I took lots of Polaroids that I keep in my pocket to remind me of my bitterness whenever I feel really happy.

Unsurprisingly, it is at times like these that I retreat into the Buddha's teachings on anger to remind me of the need to develop a compassionate mind. There's no shortage of examples within the Tipitika that extol the virtues of letting anger go. But letting go is only part of the deal. We must also develop compassion, because without compassion, that seed of anger remains within us to be sparked to life at a moment's notice.

The story that puts it all in perspective for me is Kucchivikara-vatthu: The Monk with Dysentery. In this tale, the Buddha finds a monk suffering with dysentery who is being neglected by the other monks. When the Buddha asks why, the reply he gets from the other monks is this monk "doesn't do anything for the monks."

Now, an unskilled reader might view the Buddha's reaction to this information, as he flies into a flurry of activity cleaning and caring for the sick monk, as the Buddha becoming royally pissed at the other monks for being lazy and selfish sumbitches. But remember, the Buddha was an enlightened being; he wasn't angry, he was just throwing some shade. He nursed the sick monk back to health, then admonished the others for their failure to tend to the sick among them. But to be useful to others, one must know what to do, just as a skilled nurse knows how to tend to others.

As good as it might feel in the moment, getting angry is useless. It serves no purpose. And it certainly does nothing to remove the hatred that may prompt it. Anger and hatred are diseases, not just emotions. And there are people dying from these illnesses all over the place.

So when you're angry, may I suggest that you first nurse yourself into good health before you attempt to assist others? You cannot treat anger with more anger. You must first develop compassion. And even if you take a long-ass time developing that compassion and never get around to ministering to others, at least feel comfortable knowing by doing so you're creating one less angry person in this world filled with greed, hatred, and delusion.

Not by hating hatred

Fourteen years ago on Oct. 11, I was working a Sunday evening at The Morning Sun, a daily newspaper in Mount Pleasant, Mich. I was watching some posts on a thing called USENET. Remember that? I was following posts by a fellow who was updating a young man's condition out in Wyoming. This young man was severely beaten, tied to a fence and left there in the cold night on the Wyoming prairie.

His name was Matthew Shepard.

I don't know why, but as I was reading these posts, I felt like something momentous was happening. And as more details of this horrific crime became public, it was clear a fundamental change was about to occur within the American psyche.

Matthew was lured away by two men,  Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson, who promised to take him home. Instead, they drove Matthew into the middle of the prairie where they pistol whipped him and tortured him. They tied him to a fence where he remained unconscious until about 18 hours later when a cyclist passing by spotted him. Initially, the cyclist thought Shepard was a scarecrow.

McKinney and Henderson met Shepard on Oct. 6, 1998, and it was probably after midnight when they beat him into a coma on Oct. 7. Shepard remained in a coma until he died four days later on Oct. 12.

He was 21.

When all the details of this event became public, the anger and hatred rising inside left me confused and feeling helpless. I hadn't found Buddhism at that time and I struggled to find ways to make sense of such a senseless act. I recall speaking at a candlelight vigil on the Central Michigan University campus; nothing formal, just a hastily organized gathering where I could not remain silent. I don't remember what I said, but I do remember how my voice trembled as I spoke.

Today, however, I do have Buddhism, and I am reminded of the many passages that clearly teach how anger and hatred never achieves anything good.

"As a log from a pyre, burnt at both ends and fouled in the middle, serves neither for firewood in the village nor for timber in the forest, so is such a wrathful man." Anguttara Nikaya II, 95

And in the Dhammapada the Buddha teaches:

"He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me of my property. Whosoever harbor such thoughts will never be able to still their enmity.

"Never indeed is hatred stilled by hatred; it will only be stilled by non-hatred — this is an eternal law."

And also:

"Guard your mind against an outburst of wrong feelings. Keep your mind controlled. Renouncing evil thoughts, develop purity of mind."

But one of the most interesting Buddhist tales about anger is one about the Anger Eating Demon, which I reprint in its entirety from Access To Insight.

Once there lived a demon who had a peculiar diet: he fed on the anger of others. And as his feeding ground was the human world, there was no lack of food for him. He found it quite easy to provoke a family quarrel, or national and racial hatred. Even to stir up a war was not very difficult for him. And whenever he succeeded in causing a war, he could properly gorge himself without much further effort; because once a war starts, hate multiplies by its own momentum and affects even normally friendly people. So the demon's food supply became so rich that he sometimes had to restrain himself from over-eating, being content with nibbling just a small piece of resentment found close-by.

But as it often happens with successful people, he became rather overbearing and one day when feeling bored he thought: "Shouldn't I try it with the gods?" On reflection he chose the Heaven of the Thirty-three Deities, ruled by Sakka, Lord of Gods. He knew that only a few of these gods had entirely eliminated the fetters of ill-will and aversion, though they were far above petty and selfish quarrels. So by magic power he transferred himself to that heavenly realm and was lucky enough to come at a time when Sakka the Divine King was absent. There was none in the large audience hall and without much ado the demon seated himself on Sakka's empty throne, waiting quietly for things to happen, which he hoped would bring him a good feed. Soon some of the gods came to the hall and first they could hardly believe their own divine eyes when they saw that ugly demon sitting on the throne, squat and grinning. Having recovered from their shock, they started to shout and lament: "Oh you ugly demon, how can you dare to sit on the throne of our Lord? What utter cheekiness! What a crime! you should be thrown headlong into the hell and straight into a boiling cauldron! You should be quartered alive! Begone! Begone!"

But while the gods were growing more and more angry, the demon was quite pleased because from moment to moment he grew in size, in strength and in power. The anger he absorbed into his system started to ooze from his body as a smoky red-glowing mist. This evil aura kept the gods at a distance and their radiance was dimmed.

Suddenly a bright glow appeared at the other end of the hall and it grew into a dazzling light from which Sakka emerged, the King of Gods. He who had firmly entered the undeflectible Stream that leads Nibbana-wards, was unshaken by what he saw. The smoke-screen created by the gods' anger parted when he slowly and politely approached the usurper of his throne. "Welcome, friend! Please remain seated. I can take another chair. May I offer you the drink of hospitality? Our Amrita is not bad this year. Or do you prefer a stronger brew, the vedic Soma?"

While Sakka spoke these friendly words, the demon rapidly shrank to a diminutive size and finally disappeared, trailing behind a whiff of malodorous smoke which likewise soon dissolved.

— Based on Samyutta Nikaya, Sakka Samyutta, No. 22

Hmm, it just occurred to me, did the demon disappear in a fart?

Whittling away at anger

Recently while on my commute to work, a taxi driver in the lane to the right of me decided he wanted to make a left turn at the intersection I was about to proceed through. He waved at me for letting him go through while I cursed loudly at him. I had no choice but let him through as he cut me off.

Immediately I chastised myself for losing my temper like that. I practice what the Buddha taught his son Rahula, and that was to immediately cultivate a sense of shame at my own behavior.

Alas, I do that often, because anger remains a major issue for me. And as evidenced by some recent bloggers, it is an issue for others as well.

I am ashamed to admit that words like “moron!” and the f-bomb frequently flow effortlessly from my lips while I am driving. Unlike with other activities, the anger button is easily pushed while driving. I can be doing a lot of other things and never reach that fast flare of anger that seems to instantly arise when I’m behind the wheel. And the reason is very simple, despite my apparent inability to sufficiently deal with it: it’s ego.

You see, when I’m driving, all the rest of you are in my way. I’m quite perfect. I leave well-enough ahead of time so I don’t have to be in a rush, so it’s not that I’m in your way, it’s you haven’t planned enough time for your drive. And when you do get in my way, it’s because you’re a rude and pathetic self-centered bee-atch!

Well, maybe it’s not everyone else on the road.

The Buddha was consistently clear on how poisonous anger is for us. When he describes the Big Three – I’m not talking automakers – of greed, hatred and delusion, anger is right in there tied up with hatred. Anger is a form of hatred, it is an expression of hatred, and it sullies our kamma every time we allow its expression. Contrary to many pop psychologists, venting anger does not make us feel better; it does not relieve us of our anger. Rather, venting anger gives our mind fodder for justifying future anger so it is sure to reappear again.

Remember the Bhaddekaratta Sutta and the lesson it has for us? We must pay attention to what we are doing right now because what we do right now shapes what is yet to be.

An entire chapter of the Dhammapada is devoted to anger and our need to rid ourselves of this. Anger is described as wretched, causing one to appear ugly and drive away his friends. The Samyukta Agama simply guides us with, “Not being angry is always better than being angry.” And if that wasn’t enough for you, anger is identified as one of the Five Hindrances to one’s practice, more commonly labeled as ill will.

Face it, anger’s got to go.

Granted, the examples of what gets me angry are rather petty. Many of you may believe that what gets you angry is so much more important, so much more meaningful. But I think it’s safe to say that the allegedly “important” things we get angry about are generally infrequent. Most of us get pissed off by really stupid things.

I hope that I am less angry today than I was yesterday, and last month, and last year, etc. But it requires effort, something I don’t always remember and even when I do sometimes remember, it’s effort I want to avoid. I like being angry. I must, because there are so many things I do to nurture it. And if you have issues with anger, I suggest that you must like it as well. If you didn’t like being angry, you would rid yourself of this venomous emotion like you would dispose of a Ted Nugent recording.

When I do cultivate the necessary awareness of my anger, there are a couple tricks I employ. One I mentioned earlier, and that is to immediately create a sense of shame within myself for reacting with anger. I remind myself that the object of my anger, usually another person, is suffering like I do but I have no idea of what they are dealing with. Rather than react with a knee-jerk response that my woes are so much more important and overwhelming than anyone else’s, I attempt to develop a bit of compassion and empathy for my fellow human – even if he or she is an asshole. Whoops, did I say that?

Another trick I use when this option is available is to quickly find a mirror and look at my face. Have you ever really looked at your face while you are angry? Believe me, it’s not as pretty as David Oldham’s maniacal face in Harry Potter. And this really works, because even if you really try, you can’t stay angry while looking at your face in a mirror. It wouldn’t surprise me if you started laughing.

And a final trick, also quite simple, is to immediately be aware of your anger and ask yourself, “what is this? Where does this come from?” By immediately focusing on the origin of your anger, you quickly and cleverly shift your mind’s attention from self-indulgence into healthy investigation.

Granted, this takes effort and practice. But let’s look at the three types of anger as expressed in a simile I once read. There is anger like a line scratched into stone: this line can take years to be erased. There is anger like a line drawn in sand: the line remains for a while, but is eventually removed by the wind. And there is anger like a line drawn in water: so brief and fleeting, no trace of it is left behind.

While I remain quick to anger over the silliest things, my anger is much more like the line drawn in water. Before I found the Buddha, I had a lot of scratched rocks in my mind.

Speaking of anger, the photo with this post is from the memorial in Kuta, Bali, Indonesia, that now resides on the location of the former Paddy's Pub where a bomb exploded on Oct. 12, 2002, killing 202 people and injuring 240 more.

Buddhist Warfare, chapter 5

Brian Daizen Victoria provides a refreshing counterpoint to the previous essays in his “Buddhological Critique of ‘Soldier-Zen’ in Wartime Japan,” in that he pulls no punches when he flatly states that nowhere in the basic tenets of the Buddha’s teachings is violence condoned or justified. In fact, he admits that he is attacking the concept that Buddhism is innately violent and that the teachings support violent actions under certain circumstances. His target – Japanese Zen.

“I come to the conclusion that, by virtue of its fervent if not fanatical support of Japanese militarism, the Zen school, both Rinzai and Sōtō, so grievously violated Buddhism’s fundamental tenets that the school was no longer an authentic expression of the Buddhadharma.”

Them’s fighting words coming from a self-identified Zennie himself: Victoria states that he is a Mahāyāna Buddhist in the Sōtō Zen tradition.

Victoria’s basic critique is that the dharma was corrupted by teachings that came to be known as “warrior Zen.” At the root of this is the idea that the warrior must extinguish the self completely and be totally devoted to the emperor. Victoria cites what Yamazaki Ekijū (chief abbot of the Buttsūji branch of the Rinzai Zen sect) wrote at the end of a book by Zen-trained Lt. Col. Sugimoto Gorō.

“Buddhists say that one should have faith in the Buddha, or Mahāvairocana, or Buddha Amita, but such faith is one that has been captured by religion. Japanese Buddhism must be centered on the emperor; for were it not, it would have no place in Japan, it would not be living Buddhism. Even Buddhism must conform to the national structure of Japan. The same holds true for Śākyamuni’s teachings.”

Victoria reveals that this line of reasoning is more than just ethnocentrism, because at the heart of this notion is that one group of living, sentient beings is superior to another group of living, sentient beings.

“To purposely inflict pain and suffering, let alone death, on one segment of beings under the guise of benefiting another part, however defined, can never be a part of a Buddhism rooted in the teachings of its founder.”

An important distinction ought to be noted here. What Victoria exposes is more than just a mere twisting of the Dharma to justify violent acts. The entire concept of warrior Zen, and other similar schools of thought, is a corruption of the Dharma so severe that it justifies identifying entire nations as enemies worthy of slaughter.

Victoria notes that this is based on a flawed interpretation of the Buddhist concept of no-self, which I hear often repeated by many others, to mean that there is no self at all. Victoria quotes scholar-priest Walpola Rahula to explain:

“According to the Buddha’s teaching, it is as wrong to hold the opinion ‘I have no self’ (which is annihilationist theory) as to hold the opinion ‘I have a self.’ Why? What we call ‘I’ or ‘being’ is only a combination of physical and mental aggregates, which are working together independently in a flux of momentary change within the law of cause and effect … there is nothing permanent, everlasting, unchanging and eternal in the whole of existence.”

A simple Buddhist concept – there is no permanent self – is corrupted into there is no self at all, and if there is no self at all, imagine what heinous acts can be justified? Not long, as Victoria reveals with an excerpt from the Rinzai Zen master Takuan addressing a patron, the highly accomplished swordsman Yagyū Tajima no Kami Munenori:

“The uplifted sword has no will of its own, it is all of emptiness. It is like a flash of lightning. The man who is about to be struck down is also of emptiness, and so is the one who wields the sword. None of them are possessed of a mind that has any substantiality. As each of them is of emptiness and has no ‘mind,’ the striking man is not a man, the sword in his hands not a sword, and the ‘I’ who is about to be struck down is like the splitting of the spring breeze in a flash of lightning.”

Gee, seems like a lot of people forgot about the Kalama Sutta, which guides us to test assertions to determine if they are true and comport with the Dharma. And as Victoria points out, it appears that many have forgotten the Buddha’s words in the Dhammapada:

“All men tremble at punishment, all men fear death; remembering that thou are like unto them, do not strike or slay.


“All men tremble at punishment, all men love life; remembering that thou are like unto them, do not strike or slay.”

But this didn’t happen specifically or uniquely to Japanese warrior Zen; this corruption of the Dharma began much earlier in China with the Ch’an school that preceded Zen, which Liang Su criticized in the eighth century:

“Nowadays, few men have true faith. Those who travel the path of Ch’an go so far as to teach the people that there is neither Buddha nor Dharma, and that neither good nor evil has any significance. When they preach these doctrines to the average man, or men below average, they are believed by all those who live their lives of worldly desires. Such ideas are accepted as great truths that sound so pleasing to the ear. And the people are attracted to them just as moths in the night are drawn to their burning death by the candle light (italics added by Victoria).”

Victoria also flatly denies that a bodhisattva could possibly kill any other living being and have that killing justified. Victoria acknowledges the Mahayana concept of expedient means which seems to create loopholes for “compassionate violence.” To portray this, he cites the Lotus Sutra and the story of the burning house in which a loving father deliberately lies to save his children’s lives. What is interesting about this parable is that instead of it being used to explain how telling a lie may be necessary to save a life, it is used to show that the Buddha was a liar! The “lesser” vehicle really wasn’t true at all, asserts the Lotus Sutra; the Buddha only taught it as an expedient mean to bring believers to the “greater” vehicle.

Victoria concludes this chapter with a dire warning to we Westerners as we adopt Buddhism into our culture.

“As Buddhism continues its spread in an easterly direction (i.e., to the ‘West’), one critically important question is, how much of Buddhism’s historic proclivity to condone warfare as a function of the Buddhadharma will spread with it?”

Death waits for no one

When the news was released, crowds spontaneously gathered at the critical spots, some sooner than at others. The obvious first location was the White House from where the news came – Osama bin Laden was dead. Finally dead. Finally. Dead.

As I write these words, I am struck by the thought of how we view death. That it really isn’t there. That somehow, we and others escape it. Because when it does occur, we respond with shock, horror, dismay, and sadness.

Or if we harbor hate, then with glee. The water dipper couldn't look any clearer now.

Not with equanimity, not with mere observation. Death waits for no one.

Except when it is someone we collectively revile, who has come to stand for a communal feeling of being so deeply wounded that we cannot see the reason or the rhyme.

Gradually, people began gathering at other critical spots: Times Square, Ground Zero. More slowly did they congregate in Shanksville, Pa. I wonder what they did inside the Pentagon.

It was revelry. It was celebratory. It was, like it or not, human. Yes, I let out a brief “whoop!” when I heard the news. But that was it. It was gone. Spent. I did feel a bit of shame at the exclamation. But I am, after all, an imperfect human. And despite what Susan Piver says, and she says many wonderful things, it’s not a problem. It just is.

And I have often pondered what drives a person such as Osama bin Laden to scheme such violence, to nurture such hatred.

And I also often think about what makes us so blithely ignorant of how our actions impact others.

My favorite verse of the Dhammapada is right up there at the right, and it says it all. Everything begins with a thought, followed by a word or deed. Intention arises and we decide whether to act on the intention. But many of us are so automatic that we don’t even understand how the intention arises – we just act.

And actions, mind you, bring results.

Yes, Osama bin Laden was an evil and twisted man. He created great evil in this world. Like a true megalomaniac, he had no thought for others: it was all about him and his vision. Seriously, there are great parallels between bin Laden and Hitler. Hitler at first thought he could do something to elevate Germany, which had been seriously done a major wrong by the Western powers following WWI. But he became obsessed with mind, a mind that sought only to satisfy its cravings. Bin Laden was no different. The narrative quite similar.

And our reaction to the “end” is also eerily quite similar.

There is nothing new. It’s all the same being replayed over and over and over. And each time it happens, we have a choice. Will it be to respond automatically just like always? Or to intellectualize everything, to speak in platitudes so far removed from any actual emotion that we become dead inside while at the same time patting ourselves on the back for saying the right thing, the correct thing, the Buddhist thing.

Or will it be to say, “Wait, not this time. I want this to end.”

Many thanks to Nathan at Dangerous Harvests, to Justin Whitaker who told me about Susan Piver, for William Turner at Being Buddhist, Kyle at The Reformed Buddhist, Adam at Fly Like a Crow, and Maia Duerr at the Jizo Chronicles (Jesus was a very wise man).

War in the name of Buddha? Name one

It eventually occurred to me what it was about the article I wrote about previously that troubled me so. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but then it became clear.

The problem is with the way the article described the book’s premise and assertion that Buddhism – the religion – is not as peaceful as it is portrayed. This is completely wrong. The premise ought to be that Buddhists are not immune to violence, both in terms of being victims as well as users of violence, and share a commonality with practitioners of any religion in that respect.

However, Buddhism per se is a non-violent religion. No where does the Buddha advocate violence. I know of no such instance in the Tipitika where the Buddha tells someone to go and start a war in his name. But it won’t take me long to find several such instances in the Bible.

Rather than condone war or any kind of angry response, the Buddha was explicit in his condemnation of anger and behavior motivated by anger.

In the Dhammapada, the Buddha said: “All beings fear death and they all fear the pain of a club. Think: How do they make you feel? Then do not kill and do not club; live peacefully with all beings and do not add to the violence of this world. Harm no one here and you will pass your next life in peace.”

That’s pretty clear. And yet, in the Bible there are numerous passages that blatantly condone violence, such as “An eye for an eye.” And there are histories within the Bible that relay how God commanded his followers to wipe out entire cities because the residents there didn’t worship him.

History documents numerous wars fought in the name of God or the name of Allah, but name one fought in the name of Buddha. Granted, individual Buddhists, and even Buddhists collectively have banded together to defend themselves and are continuing to do so today in areas like Southern Thailand, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Myanmar. And they have been victims of violence at the hands of Western influences, some of which was so eloquently revealed by Kyle at The Reformed Buddhist. But these practitioners that the authors of this new book write about – even if some of them are monks – are not acting out of anything the Buddha said. They have not one shred of Dhamma to back their decision to take violent action against anyone, even an aggressor.

This is really sophomoric logic, the idea that an individual member of a religious group becomes representative of that religion’s doctrine by virtue of the combined factors of his or her behavior and the fact he or she is a cleric within that group. To conclude that Buddhism is violent, or has a violent side, because some monks are involved in violence would be the same as asserting that Catholicism is a prurient religion because some priests molest children. When you get down to it, this line of reasoning is what sustains such abhorrent notions such as racism, anti-Semitism and homophobia.

I am not denying that Buddhism has been affected by violence, nor am I saying that all Buddhists behave peacefully. But when it comes to the assertion that Buddhist doctrine – that Dhamma – is violent and that Buddhist monks who engage in violence do so because of prompting by the Dhamma, to even suggest that is a mendacity I cannot tolerate.

Kamma via video

What do you feel when you gaze upon a Buddha statue? What becomes of your mind when looking at a Tangka? What happens to your body when you enter a temple? When I was visiting Thailand and going to the various temples, I asked my guide why were the temples so ornate, filled with golden images with an obvious intent at creating beauty? He replied that for the poor, coming to such beautiful temples filled their hearts with joy and put their minds at ease, because the temple was a place for spiritual sanctuary. The statues in and of themselves mean nothing, but provide a vehicle to pay homage to the Buddha’s teaching.

A plausible answer, and yet I wondered whether Buddhism, with its statues and images and artifacts, in some ways is similar to the Vatican. But that’s not why I raise this question. I ask this because I know that I have a biological and emotional response when I see a Buddha statue or the interior of even the simplest temples. I feel calm, at ease, as if all my burdens have been lifted.

When I see violence, I also have a biological and emotional response. I have it regardless of whether I am seeing this violence in real life or on a movie screen. It shocks me, causes me to feel empathy for the victim, even if the victim is fictional. And that is precisely the response sought by the screenwriter or the author.

I ask this because of a post at dhamma musings where Shravasti Dhammika responds to a question about whether it is wrong for someone to play violent video games. Is there a connection between a person’s enjoyment of such games and the likelihood of he or she becoming violent?

A commenter left the response that there is not a shred of evidence to support the conclusion that playing violent video games leads to violence, a dubious claim in my opinion because there is evidence. It may be scant evidence, but there is evidence. And the data I would agree leads more strongly toward a conclusion that violent content is not a single causal agent of violent behavior in others.

Shravasti Dhammika took the opposite tack as well, saying that the converse must be true; if violent content has no significant impact on our behavior, then viewing things of beauty – art, a natural scene – would also have no positive impact on our behavior. I find that conclusion dubious as well. But Shravasti Dhammika did say something I can agree with and understand: while playing violent video games is not necessarily morally wrong, it is unskillful.

Whether we are playing a violent video game or viewing pornography, we ought to keep in mind that we are creating kamma. When I play a video game like Halo, I have made a choice to play the game, knowing that to play this game I must destroy animated figures that represent human life. It is my intent to play the game. Kamma is intent.

My teacher used an example one time of a nephew of his. This nephew would play The Sims, a harmless enough game, right? But his nephew would put a decidedly sinister twist into the game. He would create characters and put them into a room with no doors, no windows, no plumbing nor a phone. He would then sit back and watch the animated figure suffer until it “died.”

This young man was creating kamma.

Now, this young man would probably never do something like that in real life – lock someone in a room without a toilet just to watch them defecate on the floor and then slowly die of dehydration and starvation. But doesn’t the fact that he would do this in a video game, in an “alternate reality,” say something about this person’s psychological makeup? I don’t know. I used to play Star Craft a lot, and that certainly involved killing other creatures, even humans should I decide to play as one of the creatures and select humans as my enemy. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I continue to have issues with anger. Does my enjoyment of a movie like “Kill Bill” play into that, even though I know the violence in such a movie is absurdly comic?

Right now my conclusion is enjoying a movie like “Kill Bill,” or a Sam Peckinpah movie like “The Wild Bunch,” is relatively harmless. But I no longer find enjoyment in video games that require developing skill in “killing” animated figures. And I certainly can’t stand to watch those real life cop shows, because the people suffering in those programs aren’t avatars or animated gifs – they are real people, and I find it abhorrent that such content is presented as “entertainment.”

“One who, while himself seeking happiness, oppresses with violence other beings who also desire happiness, will not attain happiness hereafter.” (Dhp X, 131)

Brahmanavagga: Brahmans

Finally, 26 chapters and 26 blog posts in 26 days. This is it, the final post in my personal challenge. And I’m torn because in looking at the Brahmanavagga, I really don’t want to blog about the verses; instead, I want to evaluate what this experience was like.

I mean why did I set out to do this? I announced this endeavor in a blog post Oct. 18, revealing part of the inspiration came from Julie Powell, who decided to show her admiration for Julia Child by blogging daily about her experience cooking a different recipe each day out of Child’s famous book “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” And just like Powell, I hit some low spots during this effort, days when I really didn’t want to do it, I just wanted to rest after work. I didn’t have quite the meltdown that Powell did, but there were nights when I just hated the fact that I said I would do this.

But that was the key that kept me going, that I said I would do it. How many times do we say to ourselves that we will do something, but in the end, the task is never completed, abandoned for a multitude of reasons.

I thank all of you for staying with me through this. Although there weren’t many comments, I could tell folks were stopping by to check out what this oddball was up to. There were so many times when I wondered what I was up to. Was I trying to show off? Or was I successful in being sincere as I could be about what the Dhammapada meant to me?

In the final analysis, I believe a major reason for taking this on was to get me through my separation from Benny. I had something I could focus on each day to keep me from dwelling in self-pity and melancholy. I had a my moments, but staying focused on getting something done, something written regarding the Dhammapada helped me keep moving forward. I know, I know, I could complain bitterly about how wretched our government is that it won’t allow people like me marry the people we love, let alone be able to sponsor them for permanent residency when they are not a citizen. And many of you would think, he’s got a right to feel that way, it is a shitty deal.

Well hello! Life is full of shitty deals. Always is, always was. And it always will be. I want to get beyond that. It’s not that I don’t want to feel sadness at all. Sadness really is a beautiful emotion, just as beautiful as happiness – when experienced appropriately. But like any emotion – even happiness – sadness can become disruptive and destructive.

We are all handed water drops during our life that we want to keep, but we can’t keep them; if we try, they dry up and disappear. So I always come back to the koan that I liked so much from the movie “Samsara.”

How do you keep a drop of water from evaporating? By giving it to the sea.

“He’s called a brahman
for having banished his evil,
a contemplative
for living in consonance,
one gone forth
for having forsaken
his own impurities.”

Bhikkhuvagga: Monks

There’s been a lot of discussion recently about monks, the sangha and finding teachers. We’ve had the ordination of bikkhunis in Australia bunching up some panties in Thailand; others perplexed that their teachers seem to be less than perfect; and many discussions about the nature and direction of the Western sangha. And so I come to chapter 25 in the Dhammapada (only one more to go after this!), and with this background in mind, I look at the Bhikkhuvagga – or Monks – with an eye toward what it can tell me about Buddhism and the Sangha in the here and now.

And my conclusion is that it tells me nothing and everything.

On the one hand, the Bhikkhuvagga presents these idyllic descriptions of monks and a monk’s life.

“Hands restrained,
feet restrained
speech restrained,
supremely restrained —
delighting in what is inward,
content, centered, alone:
he’s what they call
a monk.

A monk restrained in his speaking,
giving counsel unruffled,
declaring the message & meaning:
sweet is his speech.

Dhamma his dwelling,
Dhamma his delight,
a monk pondering Dhamma,
calling Dhamma to mind,
does not fall away
from true Dhamma.”

Verses like these portray some serene individual that doesn’t get angry or even mildly perturbed, so when we encounter a monk who is a human being – and most are I think – the picture doesn’t quite fit. I can remember when I first observed my teacher smoking. I have to admit, I was disappointed! This guy’s a monk and he smokes Winstons! But where is the real problem here? It’s not with him, it’s with me, with my expectations about what a monk is and how a monk should behave. Of course, this doesn’t mean that a monk is not dwelling in the delight of Dhamma just because I perceive the monk is not living up to my own expectations. But because I have these preconceived ideas, I suddenly turn into the Sangha police and start issuing Dhamma tickets!

It’s the last verse, however, that portrays for me everything about monks.

“A young monk who strives
in the Awakened One’s teaching,
brightens the world
like the moon set free from a cloud.”

That image, of a moon set free from a could, is common in the Tipitika. And what I really like about this verse is that what it portrays, someone who lives the Dhamma and brings light to the world, is something that any of us can achieve. Whether we take vows or simply live good lives, we can bring joy to others. We can blow away the clouds over someone’s life, as well as our own. And that’s the beauty of Buddhism for me.

It sort of reminds me of the old story about the man and the starfish. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. A man is walking along the beach and he observes ahead of him someone stooping occasionally and throwing something out to the sea. As he gets closer, he realizes that the man is picking up starfish exposed on the beach from the receding tide and he’s throwing them back to the sea. The man witnessing this asks the other, “Why are you doing this? There are hundreds of starfish on this beach, you can’t possibly save them all. How can this matter?”

The other man just smiled, stooped down to pluck another starfish from the beach and toss it back to the ocean. He then said, “It mattered to that one.”

Just by being positive and striving to live the Dhamma in as much of what I do, I can be like that young monk and brighten a little part of the world.

Tanhavagga: Craving

Ah, craving – the very heart of the Buddha’s teaching. That all of our dissatisfaction with life – all our unhappiness, disappointment, frustration, everything that is contained within the word dukkha – is largely the result of our craving. We get ideas in our heads that things have special intrinsic value and qualities that make them appealing and desirable and so we want them. And when we don’t get them, we feel sad.

It started when we were children because at that time we didn’t know any better. We didn’t know that a Sears bicycle functioned the same as a Schwinn; we just wanted the Schwinn because all the other kids did. Well, all the other kids that mattered. We wanted the latest game or toy, but a new game or toy always came along later that we had to have as well. And oh, we can only pick one?

“When a person lives heedlessly,
his craving grows like a creeping vine.
He runs now here
& now there,
as if looking for fruit:
a monkey in the forest.”

With the first verse the Tanhavagga makes use of the monkey mind metaphor to describe this craving of ours, because as we grew older and allegedly wiser, we dropped many of our childhood cravings. But did we drop craving altogether? Not likely; in my case I believe my cravings just became more sophisticated.

Am I supposed to not want anything? Have no desire at all? I don’t think that is what the Buddha was saying, particularly with reference to laypeople. We are social animals; we desire companionship and we have a desire to feel secure as well as useful to others. But craving, to me, is more than just mere desire.

Let’s examine sex for example. I like sex. Do you? I would like to have sex more often than I do, and I would guess most of you are of similar mind. But when does a desire for sex become a craving like what the Buddha described?

“Cleared of the underbrush
but obsessed with the forest,
set free from the forest,
right back to the forest he runs.
Come, see the person set free
who runs right back to the same old chains!”

I picked this verse because I believe it gets close to describing how a craving is different from a desire. In some ways, we are bordering on the concept of addiction. But addiction is one of those words that person can easily distance him or herself from. Craving is more subtle.

Let’s say you have a partner or spouse. And you see someone really hot. I mean, this person is so hot you can’t stop looking at them even though you know you ought to look away. The person walks away, but you’re still thinking about him or her. My god he was hot! Oh man, and did you see that ass?

When you see your partner or spouse, do you say, “Hey honey, I saw this really hot guy today with the most fantastic ass, it was like, man, I wanted to butter him up and have him for dinner!”

I know I wouldn’t, and I don’t think many of you would either. Because we know what the reaction would be. Saying something like that would create stress, it would cause harm. So we keep it to our self. It’s harmless, right?

But that was craving in action. And the Buddha in many places instructs us to learn how to recognize this craving immediately and put an end to it! We need to begin questioning ourselves, asking why am I thinking about this person? This only leads to harm. I need to re-focus my mind. And when do that, when we follow this guidance, the craving does dissipate.

Of course, now that I’m single, well, that’s a different line of thinking entirely!

Nagavagga: Elephants

When I began reading the Nagavagga, my eyes started to go out of focus and roll into the back of my head. Reading Dhamma has that effect on me occasionally. I mean, even when ellipsis are used to remove the repetitive language in the suttas, they can still be a chore for me to read. Hey, I never said I was a perfect Buddhist, or even a slightly better than average Buddhist. Remember, I like to collect things, drink wine and have sex with men. So that’s like two out of the Five Precepts right there, plus I’m ignoring the concept of non-attachment because I collect books and compact discs.

And now that I’ve reached Chapter 23 of the Dhammapada, I’m kinda running out of steam here. I’m beginning to sense the creeping approach of insincerity in my writing. But I can't give in now, I mean, after the Nagavagga, I only have four more to go! So I refocus my eyes and read the verses again. I don’t know a lot about elephants. And besides, I don’t have any photos of elephants. You’d think out of all those trips to Asia I would take at least one photo of an elephant. It’s not like I didn’t see any.

Anyway, that’s when the following set of verses grab my attention.

“If you gain a mature companion —
a fellow traveler, right-living, enlightened —
overcoming all dangers
go with him, gratified,
mindful.

If you don’t gain a mature companion —
a fellow traveler, right-living, enlightened —
go alone
like a king renouncing his kingdom,
like the elephant in the Matanga wilds,
his herd.

Going alone is better,
There’s no companionship with a fool.
Go alone,
doing no evil, at peace,
like the elephant in the Matanga wilds.”

I can relate to this notion of going alone on many different levels. For example, there has been some discussion among the Buddhist bloggers I read recently about the value of having a teacher as well as the difficulty in finding one. And I don’t necessarily mean finding a good one, but being able to find any teacher within a 50 or 100 mile drive.

I was fortunate in that I found a good teacher who gave me a solid grounding in the Dhamma. I went to the Dhamma classes regularly, attended the guided meditation sessions regularly, and I went to the ceremonies too. I made my meager contributions to help the dhammasala’s financial health, as well as lent my sweat to help build a new meditation hall as well as repair a collapsed deck.

But now I am without a formal teacher, and the reality is that it hasn’t bothered me all that much. Granted, my practice lapsed, and frankly sucks for the time being. But I’m rebuilding my habits.

What these verses revealed to me was just how picky I’ve been about finding another teacher or another sangha on the one hand, and the overall disinclination I’ve had at bothering to seek one out. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing, because as these verses point out, it’s better to go alone than to hitch yourself up with a bad teacher.

You’d think living in Chicago there would be a plethora of teachers. Well, there are a lot of them. But I’m just not feeling that push yet to really go out and meet any of them. I have no doubt the time will come. For the time being, however, I am content to go it alone, doing no evil, and finding peace.

Nirayavagga: Hell

There’s a song on the “Darklands” album by the Jesus and Mary Chain titled “Nine Million Rainy Days” that has a line that pretty much summed up a relationship I had with another person. Granted, this relationship was not a love relationship; he was not a boyfriend. But for a while we believed we were close until the relationship completely disintegrated, largely because of our mutual yen for hedonism and mass quantities of drugs and alcohol. Here’s the lyric:

“As far as I can tell/I’m being dragged from here to hell/And all my time in hell is spent with you.”

That song sums up the nature of that relationship; it was hell. Took me a while to realize it, but I finally did. I can honestly say I’ve been to hell.

Because of that experience, I tend to take all references to hell within the Tipitika as metaphorical. I don’t believe in a place, a destination, beyond my current reality that is “hell.” Hell is inside my mind, and if I’m not careful, my mind will very willingly take me there again. And even if there is a real place, a real destination called “hell,” the fact I don’t believe it exists is moot. Because as long as I pay attention to how I think, act and speak, as long as I behave with skill, I not only stop creating a hell during my lifetime, but I enhance the nature of my rebirth, thus avoiding this place if it is there.

The Nirayavagga covers some of the acts that result in “hell,” largely following the content of the Five Precepts. For example, false speech is addressed in the first verse.

“He goes to hell,
the one who asserts
what didn’t take place,
as does the one
who, having done,
says, ‘I didn’t.’
Both — low-acting people —
there become equal:
after death, in the world beyond.”

Liars live unhappy lives, as the liar must always keep track of his or her lies. And when the ruse is revealed, the consequences can be severe. So the liar is always trying to outrun the hell he or she created; but it always catches up. It’s kind of like the Fram oil filter motto – you will either pay now or pay later.

“Four things befall the heedless man
who lies down with the wife of another:
a wealth of demerit;
a lack of good sleep;
third, censure;
fourth, hell.

A wealth of demerit, an evil destination,
& the brief delight of a
fearful man with a
fearful woman,
& the king inflicts a harsh punishment.
So
no man should lie down
with the wife of another.”

An act of sexual misconduct is addressed here. While Buddhism teaches us to avoid attachment, the Buddha nonetheless recognized that in the layperson’s life, there are certain cultural norms that the wise and skillful pay attention to. The trouble created by sleeping with someone else’s partner is far reaching. Think about it this way.

A long time ago I was chatting up a fellow online and it looked like a rendezvous was possible. But then the guy said he needed to be very discreet, I couldn’t contact him later because he couldn’t risk his wife finding out. I said, “Wait a minute! If you’re going to all this trouble to be dishonest with your wife, someone you took a vow with, how can I possibly expect you to be honest with me about anything? Like your HIV status for example?” His response was like, “Huh? What are you talking about?” But the conversation was over.

“Just as sharp-bladed grass,
if wrongly held,
wounds the very hand that holds it —
the contemplative life, if wrongly grasped,
drags you down to hell.

Any slack act,
or defiled observance,
or fraudulent life of chastity
bears no great fruit.

If something’s to be done,
then work at it firmly,
for a slack going-forth
kicks up all the more dust.

It’s better to leave a misdeed
undone.
A misdeed burns you afterward.
Better that a good deed be done
that, after you’ve done it,
won’t make you burn.”

To behave with skill, constant vigilance over our motives is necessary. Even when we “think” we practice the Dhamma well, our squirrel minds will find clever ways to lead us astray if we’re not vigilant. And the consequences of the “lapses” can lead us into a self-made hell that may take us a very long time to crawl out of. Right on point is the next verse:

“Like a frontier fortress,
guarded inside & out,
guard yourself.
Don’t let the moment pass by.
Those for whom the moment is past
grieve, consigned to hell.”

Wrong view is problematic for all people, but sometimes I think my fellow brethren in “the life,” as it used to be known, have some real issues with this.

“Ashamed of what’s not shameful,
not ashamed of what is,
beings adopting wrong views
go to a bad destination.

Seeing danger where there is none,
& no danger where there is,
beings adopting wrong views
go to a bad destination.

Imagining error where there is none,
and seeing no error where there is,
beings adopting wrong views
go to a bad destination.

But knowing error as error,
and non-error as non-,
beings adopting right views
go to a good
destination.”

Talk about emptiness, the Circuit Scene – particularly among gay men – is as empty as you can get. The circuit boys see danger in stable relationships, in monogamy, and see no danger in promiscuity. The line of thinking that justifies promiscuity is not limited to just sex; it reaches far beyond that to other areas. Of course, we may think there is no harm in such hedonism because we don’t observe any negative consequences being experienced by these fellows. But that’s only what we can see.

Pakinnakavagga: Miscellany

I have heard the complaint from some who say they don’t have time to study the Dhamma because it confuses them so. Their concern is understandable, particularly for a Westerner. The suttas are written in a very cumbersome style, using not only archaic language, but cultural themes that are readily understood by people raised in Asia. As my teacher once told me, “stop using a Western mind to understand the Dhamma!” Ironic, considering my teacher was born and raised in the U.S.

Things become a bit more esoteric with the Pakinnakavagga, the metaphors in the lessons a bit more difficult to grasp, in part because the images are very Asian, very Eastern.

For example, consider this set of verses:

“Having killed mother & father,
two warrior kings,
the kingdom & its dependency —
the brahman, untroubled, travels on.

Having killed mother & father,
two learned kings,
&, fifth, a tiger —
the brahman, untroubled, travels on.”

This metaphor means nothing to me, so I read the translator’s notes.

“This verse and the one following it use terms with ambiguous meanings to shock the listener. According to DhpA, mother = craving; father = conceit; two warrior kings = views of eternalism (that one has an identity remaining constant through all time) and of annihilationism (that one’s consciousness is totally annihilated at death); kingdom = the twelve sense spheres (the senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, feeling, and ideation, together with their respective objects); dependency = passions for the sense spheres.

“Next verse: two learned kings = views of eternalism and annihilationism; a tiger = the path where the tiger goes for food, i.e., the hindrance of uncertainty, or else all five hindrances (sensual desire, ill will, sloth & drowsiness, restlessness & anxiety, and uncertainty). However, in Sanskrit literature, ‘tiger’ is a term for a powerful and eminent man; if that is what is meant here, the term may stand for anger.”

Does that help? Only marginally for me. It’s too intellectual for me and puts me to sleep (I never understood how some get so enamored with the Abhidhamma; I just want to make it through the day without getting angry). I relate much more easily to the verses immediately following:

“They awaken, always wide awake:
Gotama’s disciples
whose mindfulness, both day & night,
is constantly immersed
in the Buddha.

They awaken, always wide awake:
Gotama’s disciples
whose mindfulness, both day & night,
is constantly immersed
in the Dhamma.

They awaken, always wide awake:
Gotama’s disciples
whose mindfulness, both day & night,
is constantly immersed
in the Sangha.

They awaken, always wide awake:
Gotama’s disciples
whose mindfulness, both day & night,
is constantly immersed
in the body.

They awaken, always wide awake:
Gotama’s disciples
whose hearts delight, both day & night,
in harmlessness.

They awaken, always wide awake:
Gotama’s disciples
whose hearts delight, both day & night,
in developing the mind.”

Admittedly, my mind is not always “constantly immersed” in things like the Dhamma. It’s more apt to be immersed in thinking about that hot Asian guy I saw while biking along the lakeshore yesterday. And I’m not always constantly trying to develop my mind; more likely trying to decide whether I should watch “Pirates of the Caribbean” or a James Bond movie (sometimes Clint Eastwood). And while I am frequently immersed in “the body,” it’s probably not the type of immersion the Dhamma is hoping I would be immersed in. Despite all that, I can relate to these verses because they speak to me in a manner I can grasp and put into practice (when I feel my hair on fire).

“Sitting alone,
resting alone,
walking alone,
untiring.
Taming himself,
He’d delight alone —
alone in the forest.”

There’s a part of me that finds attractive what is described above. I enjoy being alone, I am comfortable doing things alone. But at the same time, I want to share my aloneness with someone. Sounds paradoxical, I know.

Only five more to go!

Maggavagga: The Path

Anyone who desires to practice Buddhism needs to have conviction; a steadfast belief that what he or she is doing will bring the desired results. Thanissaro Bhikkhu in part three of “Wings to Awakening” says this about conviction, that it has three parts:

“(S)ocial (whom to trust), intellectual (what to believe), and practical (how to act as a result). Because conviction is focused not on a descriptive proposition but on a course of action — the skillful mastery of the processes of kamma in a social context — these aspects are inextricably intertwined. The social aspect comes from the need to associate with people who have already mastered these processes, learning from their words and emulating their actions. The intellectual aspect — belief in the principle of kamma — is necessary because the development of skillfulness within the mind requires that one understand the nature of kamma, take responsibility for one's actions, and have conviction in one's ability to benefit from developing one's skills. The practical aspect is necessary, for if one does not follow through in developing skill, it shows that one's conviction in the development of skillfulness is not genuine, and that one is not fully benefiting from one's beliefs.”

It is with this in mind that I approach Chapter 20 of the Dhammapada, the Maggavagga, or The Path. Because in the Maggavagga, we get a series of verses that repeat the basic concepts of the Buddha’s teaching: The Noble Eightfold Path; the Four Noble Truths; the doctrine of anatta, or not-self (here is a delightful cartoon that explains succinctly the doctrine of not-self or no-self); the nature of dukha and the deluded mind.

“Of paths, the eightfold is best.
Of truths, the four sayings.
Of qualities, dispassion.
Of two-footed beings,
the one with the eyes
to see.”

The Buddha acknowledges that there are other paths, other doctrines, other dhamma. But he determined that the Noble Eightfold Path was the best the follow, a path focused on developing skillful thought, action and speech. By following the Noble Eightfold Path, the Four Noble Truths are realized, which then leads to dispassion. With dispassion, one sees how things really are. (skipping verses again)

“When you see with discernment,
‘All fabrications are inconstant’ —
you grow disenchanted with stress.
This is the path
to purity.

When you see with discernment,
‘All fabrications are stressful’ —
you grow disenchanted with stress.
This is the path
to purity.

When you see with discernment,
‘All phenomena are not-self’ —
you grow disenchanted with stress.
This is the path
to purity.”

Just about everything we do every day is a fabrication. My job is a fabrication that is driven to create more fabrications. That does not mean my job is not real. It just means our economy only exists because as a societal group we agree to a large extent that it does exist. If our mass agreement stopped, it would be gone, it wouldn’t exist. In poker, equivalent straight flushes are ranked on the suit of each hand, so a straight flush of spades will beat an equivalent straight flush of diamonds. The concept that spades are superior to diamonds in poker is a fabrication. The concept of spades as a suit is a fabrication. A playing card is real because it's matter, but any attempt to qualify the playing card as valuable or worthless requires a fabrication of thought.

“There are no sons
to give shelter,
no father,
no family
for one seized by the Ender,
no shelter among kin.

Conscious
of this compelling reason,
the wise man, restrained by virtue,
should make the path pure
— right away —
that goes all the way to Unbinding.”

Death waits for no one, and no one is exempt from death. The Buddha commented on this frequently, instilling the notion that one can use death as a motivator and even as a teacher.

So I follow the path with conviction. And each step along the way, my conviction becomes stronger. It still wavers from time to time. Maybe I skip a day of meditation. Perhaps I stray from the path, misled by another. But eventually I return. It is a path that works.

Dhammatthavagga: The Judge

We’ve all grown up with the concept that authority comes with a uniform. And while this uniform can appear in a very direct manner, such as a police officer’s uniform, or a military uniform, there are other more subtle uniforms that we recognize as well.

There is the doctor’s coat, the three-piece suit, and the Major League Baseball cap that is tilted in a certain way.

But there are other cultural uniforms that signify authority, or so we are taught. The somber gray-haired sage, the well-learned scholar. And it is primarily with these “authorities” that the Dhammatthavagga is concerned with.

The bottom line in this chapter of the Dhammapada is don’t demure to someone because they carry the trappings of authority; one has authority only if their words match their deeds or teachings.

In the Lakkhana Sutta (AN 3.2) the Buddha instructs how to discern between a fool and a wise man.

“A person endowed with three things is to be recognized as a wise person. Which three? Good bodily conduct, good verbal conduct, good mental conduct. A person endowed with these three things is to be recognized as a wise person.”

In the Dhammatthavagga, we have a series of verses that primarily focus on how one shouldn’t rely on appearances to determine whether someone is wise, because a fool can be disguised in such a manner.

“A head of gray hairs
doesn't mean one’s an elder.
Advanced in years,
one's called an old fool.

But one in whom there is
truth, restraint,
rectitude, gentleness,
self-control —
he’s called an elder,
his impurities disgorged,
enlightened.”

Similarly, just because someone wears the ochre robes doesn’t mean that he ought to be followed. The world is filled with charlatans. And many of these tricksters write books, very important books, and they need to promote these books, so they talk a good talk to promote what they say so you will buy their book.

“A shaven head
doesn't mean a contemplative.
The liar observing no duties,
filled with greed & desire:
what kind of contemplative’s he?

But whoever tunes out
the dissonance
of his evil qualities
— large or small —
in every way
by bringing evil to consonance:
he’s called a contemplative.”

I’ve been searching for a sutta and I can’t find it, but it’s one where the Buddha outlines clearly how to determine whether someone is a suitable teacher. It’s really frustrating that I can’t find it. But the gist of the sutta is first determine whether the teacher knows the Dhamma and second determine whether the teacher follows the Dhamma, regardless of whether he or she knows it. So if you find someone who knows the Dhamma, but does not follow it, then that person is not a suitable teacher. Likewise, someone who does not know the Dhamma and does not follow the Dhamma is also unsuitable. But if someone doesn’t know the Dhamma, but follows the Dhamma, that person may be worthy of following. So there are good people out there that are worthy of following, even if they don’t know squat about the Dhamma. Living the Dhamma matters more than knowing it.

Malavagga: Impurities

I’ve mentioned before that there is unresolved anger within me, which contributes to my quick flares of rage usually over the stupidest things. Driving really triggers most of these incidents. It comes down to my inability to be patient: someone cuts me off or is driving too slow. But there is also an arrogance within me that feeds this anger. I get in these moods when I delude myself with how superior I am to others: a better driver, or whatever. This anger, impatience and arrogance are all impurities, and impurity is what chapter 18 of the Dhammapada is all about.

What I like about the Malavagga is that you can take just about any set of the verses and contemplate them on their own. For example:

“Just as rust
— iron’s impurity —
eats the very iron
from which it is born,
so the deeds
of one who lives slovenly
lead him on
to a bad destination.”

That’s a powerful image, likening one’s careless and heedless deeds to rust on iron, slowly eating away at the core. It’s a slow process, but destructive nonetheless.

This set of verses is among my favorites:

“Life’s easy to live
for someone unscrupulous,
cunning as a crow,
corrupt, back-biting,
forward, & brash;
but for someone who’s constantly
scrupulous, cautious,
observant, sincere,
pure in his livelihood,
clean in his pursuits,
it’s hard.”

Being truly aware of my actions at all times is very difficult! Now consider being truly aware of all my thoughts! Wow, that seems impossible! Despite the suffering that it brings, being heedless of what I am thinking, saying or doing is really the easy way out. It can be a very easy existence until I wind up doing something really stupid that brings immediate and severe consequences.

“Whoever kills, lies, steals,
goes to someone else’s wife,
& is addicted to intoxicants,
digs himself up
by the root
right here in this world.

So know, my good man,
that bad deeds are reckless.
Don't let greed & unrighteousness
oppress you with long-term pain.”

The Five Precepts are clearly laid out here for us, as well as the consequences for not keeping them. The metaphor is that failing to keep the precepts leads to complete disruption in your life, so much so it is as if you had uprooted yourself, and an uprooted plant withers and dies.

This verse I really like as well:

There’s no fire like passion,
no seizure like anger,
no snare like delusion,
no river like craving.”

Passion is like a fire in many ways. Yes, passion burns hot like a fire, but just as fire does, passion consumes; it consumes you and it consumes the object of your passion.

Anger truly is like a seizure. When in the throes of a seizure, you have no ability to think, you are often unaware of what is going on, what you are doing, or even how it all started. Anger so easily turns into pure reckless action. It’s a complete loss of control. And like a seizure, it leaves you spent.

There is no snare like delusion, and there are many who know this all to well, as they prey upon the delusions of others.

Craving, like a river, creates its own inertia; once it begins, it just continues to roll on and on until like a large river it becomes an unstoppable torrent of desire. But also like a river, with water in constant flow, our craving never stops once it gets what it seeks. In fact, it hardly pays attention to the object of desire because as soon as it is grasped, craving’s attention is on a new target.

And so what is the impurity in all of these that brings such sorrow and woe, such dissatisfaction and uneasiness?

It’s ignorance.