Empty nature whispers its secrets more clearly, uninhibited by our inhibitions.
Empty of paper, we free trees, and grow with them.
Empty of water, we die. Water is sacred and must be cherished.
Empty of land we fly, light as air.
Empty of air we suffocate. Breathe with respect for air also breathes us.
Empty of fire, our hearts grow cold, unable to burn love.
Empty of mind, we know everything.
Category Archives: Buddhist Thinking
Love’s Font
Here is a wonderful, spiritual post from Meredith at Graceful Presence. This is beautifully honest and heartfelt musing inspired by yogic philosophy. Later she quotes the New Testament, capturing the true presence of the spirit of Jesus, in the colors and mood I think he intended his teachings. It’s worth reading the whole thing. I love how she gently explores the different layers of inner spaciousness, starting with time, then breath, then emotions, and through compassion to infinite love.
When I meditate, which unfortunately is only occasionally, I find the first thing I need to do is relax the tension in my chest, around my sternum and heart. Almost instantly, I feel a warmth spread through my limbs. It’s almost as if a space is literally created around my heart to allow it to feel what it always yearns to feel: unbounded love and forgiveness.
Presence: In quiet moments of solitude, I have been turning to the spaciousness of the present moment. I have been allowing this feeling of spaciousness within me expand, just to see how far it can go, and observing what the experience of it is for me. The intensity of this experience is subtle. In the simplicity of observing the present moment, noting what thoughts come and go, hearing the flies buzzing by and the soft clucking of the chickens, feeling the warm breezes on my skin, and observing my own breath… there is a prevailing fresh quality of resting in Presence. I still don’t know the answer to that question or how far this can go yet, because there is no end to the in-the-moment experience of this. In other words, each moment of feeling spaciousness is a new moment – I feel it expansively and freshly. The experience of this for me is of open possibility, and a quiet peaceful serenity. Though occasionally disturbing thoughts surface in the present moment of observing, I am becoming practiced in just allowing these troubling thoughts dissolve. When I realize turmoil, and then become less absorbed within it, I feel a humbling compassion toward myself. This is fertile ground for love.
The Nothingness of Everything
I like asking paradoxical rhetorical questions. Sometimes just asking them gives insight to the unanswerable ones. I like pondering extremes, ultimates. It gives me perspective. I feel more able to handle the little ups and downs in my life.
These questions are not new. They are certainly influenced by Lao Tzu.
How can we know anything until we know nothing? Do you think it’s possible to know nothing? How can you know it if it is nothing? Is “anything” better known if seen with the awareness of its opposite, nothingness? Nothingness is like the star you can only see if you look slightly away from it. It’s only there in absence of everything else. In the above illusion, the wheels turn where you do not look.
Somehow everything, anything, has a little more presence, aura, after a little absurd discussion about nothing. The presence of life is more poignant when seen in the shadow of nothingness. We all get caught up in the drama of our lives, and we often forget the void which gives everything perspective. We forget the soothing comfort of knowing we are timeless, that we were always here, that we will always be here, even when our bodies go back to the earth. We forget the freedom that affords us, the fearlessness it affords us.
In the rare moments when I feel completely (in Krishnamurti’s words) “free of the known”, I am most capable of making decisions, solving problems, attending duties. I am capable of throwing myself into life, filling it up.
For the next few weeks, I plan to ponder the nothingness of my blog, experience its absence, to see what it really is. (we’ll see how long it lasts!)
Spirit Fuel
There’s a quiet part of me that doesn’t get to speak up very often. It’s the part that tries to find some spiritual identity, an awareness of the importance of an inner life, balance, centeredness, love, and thinking beyond my own life and problems.
Spirit. I don’t really like names for things so complex and abstract. But what else do you call something as big as our whole inner life? These days many of us are trying to figure out who we are deep down. I thought I’d share some of my thoughts, since I was so bold as to put spirituality in the description of my blog. So who am I deep down?
I’m not religious. I have read a lot about Buddhism and it’s thinking. I was really into Zen for awhile, probably because of its quietly passionate detachment. And more recently I’ve learned about the thinking, spirit and practice of yoga. One of the main yoga texts is the Bhagavad Gita, which is an amazingly universal and powerful spiritual text, and it’s centuries older than Christianity. But I don’t really practice any of these regularly. I like to think I don’t need to lean on any religion or spiritual practice. That I can manage by my own wits. But a little voice, a very quiet one, manages to whisper to me once in awhile, “Please don’t ignore meâ€.
It’s a voice that exalts in beauty, wonders at rainbows, falls in love, is thankful, really thankful for what I have. It’s the calming voice of a soothing mother, comforting me in times of doubt. It tells me that if I did my best, I can feel good about it. But it also tells me when I could do better. When to forgive myself. When I need to change a behavior, when I need to apologize for something. I guess the conscience could be a spirit of sorts. But so is the wind.
This soft voice is at times much more powerful. When I allow the time to dwell upon it, muse on it, it tells me I am timeless, that all history passes through me, that I am a part of something magnificiently huge. It tells me I am connected, all the time, with and by something I will never understand. That I am safe no matter what happens to me. That my weaknesses are forgiven, that my strengths are gifts, but are not mine to own. I believe there is a scientific explanation for all of the above. A great read about that is “Concilience” by Edward O. Wilson. But the mystery will always remain as to who made the science, who came before the egg or the chicken. In my humble opinion, the more we know, the less we know, and the smaller we get. Humbling.
It tells me that all things, living and otherwise, are mysteriously interwoven, that our planet’s health is crucial, that helping others is not charity, but duty. That compassion is the key. That any power I have is a tool to benefit all. These thoughts are known to be patterns of survival for humans. We all benefit from nourishing our surroundings and ourselves and each other. It worries me that this common sense is lost in all the ideological shouting that seems to go on about religion.
In a nasty and chaotic world, I often feel torn. How do I reconcile so much need in the world with my own self fulfillment? I seek balance: between action and inaction, between self fulfillment and selflessness, between inner and outer life, stress and relaxation. I my case it means flowing toward forgiveness, especially for myself. I often feel I’m not doing enough, for others or the world, but if I get sick over it, the unbalance doesn’t help anyone.
I’m starting to realize that a certain amount of selfishness is not a fault, but fuel to get to the core of our true self. To a place where the fire burns close, where the inner and outer lives feed off each other, rub together, warmed by friction. Personally, I have trouble getting close to the fire. I protect my inner-self, mostly to keep from getting hurt, but it really imprisons me. I only limit myself by keeping my soft self hidden from the outside. Maybe that’s because it’s terrifying to be vulnerable. Does anyone else feel that way?
So if we force ourselves to help others, we are denying that devine friction to fuel our goodness, and we begin to resent those we help. If we cultivate our inner voice and listen to it, we may not find a particularly charitable spirit inside. But through gentle, forgiving honesty with ourselves, we find natural goodness, which hopefully will reach out in some way to benefit others. This can be family, friends, neighbors, strangers, even enemies. That depends on how much you’ve opened your heart. It can’t be faked, really.
I used to feel alone when alone. Now I feel connected, infinite.