I finished reading "The Life of Pi". I started reading it when I heard Ang Lee's (Taiwan) film adaptation of the book was going to be released soon; this week now. As opposed to reading books after seeing films, which is what I have been doing, I thought this was a good opportunity to read the book before seeing the film, which I haven't done in a long time.
I have a lot of faith in Ang Lee. There's not much he can do that would disappoint me. He's a bold filmmaker who isn't afraid of challenges. Wang Kar-Wai (Hong Kong) is another of my favorite filmmakers, but I wouldn't argue against anyone who accused him of staying within a certain artistic comfort zone. He does his thing and he does it amazingly well. Ang Lee hasn't stayed in any comfort zone and I like that about him.
"The Life of Pi" is a fictional work by a Canadian writer about an Indian teenager who finds himself stranded in the open sea in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger. Within the story itself, I was struck by the main character's drive to survive and how completely opposite that is to my own mindset.
That dedication and will to overcome life-threatening challenges and survive in life is totally foreign to me. And is totally fine and refreshing but doesn't change an alternative perspective that would be thrilled and excited about being faced with a situation of abandon and futility.
Survive? Why? Just accept. I jest. Survival in itself has its own rush as a moment of living, although in the big picture of human lifetimes, survival still does not avert the inevitable.
But the story isn't a spiritual or existential metaphor; the being stranded out in the ocean in a life-threatening situation and coming to terms with needing that life-threatening situation to survive, no, no, no.
It's a good read, but shouldn't be mistaken as a great lesson about life. The book itself states plainly what it is commenting on, something a little more mundane and to be honest it was a little bit of let-down. As if I had been bamboozled.
It's certainly not a story that will "make you believe in god", as purported by one character. The religious background laid down has nothing to do with the main events of the story. I would go so far as to obliquely even say the main events of the story are . . . literary.
Showing posts with label the life cycle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the life cycle. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
From the Zohar:
"'When you walk, it shall lead you; when you lie down it shall keep you and when you awake, it shall talk with you.' (Proverbs 6:22) 'When you walk, it shall lead you,' refers to the Torah that goes before a man when he dies. 'When you lie down, it shall keep you,' refers to the interval when the body lies in the grave, for at that time the body is judged and sentenced and the Torah acts in its defense. 'And when you awake, it shall talk with you,' refers to the time at which the dead rise from the dust.
"Rabbi Elazar quoted the verse: 'It shall talk with you' (Proverbs 6:22). Although the dead have just risen from the dust, they remember the Torah they studied before their death. They will know all they studied before departing the world. And everything shall be clearer than it was before death, for whatever he strove to understand yet did not successfully grasp, is now clear in his innermost parts. And the Torah speaks within him." p. 190-191, The Essential Zohar
What I found fascinating about this passage is that Christians probably interpret the quote from Proverbs as referring to faith. It's a very simple, direct interpretation: when you walk (go forth or act in the world), faith will lead you (whatever you do will be righteous); when you lie down (rest) it shall keep (protect) you; and when you awake, it shall talk to you (ask you what you want for breakfast inform you how to act). Often even more narrowly interpreted: faith in Jesus or an exclusive Christian, white male God. That normative, bland Christian interpretation is fine and obvious regarding physical, material life, but nothing to go on and on about.
But the Zohar interprets it in a manner that I can re-interpret as squaring with the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Tibetan Buddhism describes the life and death cycle with three bardos of living (conscious life, sleep and meditation), and three death bardos (the point of death, the bardo of reality, and the bardo of becoming).
My reading of the death bardos and the guidance the Tibetan Book of the Dead counsels is that what we're striving for in the death bardos is the same as what we're striving for in the living bardos. Or striving for enlightenment in the living bardos is training for attaining enlightenment in the death bardos. Life and death are mirrored realities.
Actually the three elements of the quote from Proverbs can apply both to the three living bardos and the three death bardos, but what's fascinating to me is that I can interpret what the Zohar says to the death bardos at all.
Tibetan Buddhism is very meticulous about the death process and what happens between one death and the next incarnation of a . . . person, a soul, karmic energy. But there seems to be little in Judaism or Kabbalah about the mechanics of what happens after death. Just a far off resurrection and judgment that Christians took and ridiculously interpreted literally.
The book I've been reading, The Essential Zohar, doesn't explicitly state or endorse any theory of reincarnation, but the author seems pretty open-minded about the possibility of Buddhism-like multiple lifetimes and reincarnation.
The Zohar interprets Proverbs 6:22 not as some vague notion of faith leading us forth in life, but Torah, i.e., spiritual cultivation, leading us through the death experience. It doesn't explicitly say that the "when you awake"/"dead rise from the dust" is reincarnation, but that's how I read it, because it then fits in with Tibetan Buddhist ontology (alternatively it might not refer to reincarnation, but the awakening in a "mental body" in the bardo of becoming that precedes reincarnation).
Torah is what we do with spiritual energy in our lifetimes, how we cultivate it or not cultivate it. It's also karma. When we die, we take nothing with us except our karma, the energy patterns and habits that we've indelibly stamped on our manifestation of some primordial energy that is the basis of our consciousness through our behavior and thoughts.
We don't take our possessions, our body, or memories or anything that relies on brain matter for existence. Memories and thoughts rely on brain matter. Karmic energy doesn't. Our karma has no relation to our identity as a person, because our identities also rely on thought and brain matter.
So when we die, it is only Torah that leads us. All else falls away and dissolves. Tibetan Buddhism describes the death-point bardo as being so subtle that only the highest levels of practitioners can achieve realization/enlightenment in it.
For ordinary beings, the dissolution of awareness of the physical body elements and mental consciousness elements is so shocking and unfamiliar and disconcerting that it is impossible to maintain any stability to achieve realization, and it goes by like the snap of a finger.
The interval in the grave where the Torah acts as a defense can be likened to the bardo of reality where we are immersed in the primordial energy of the universe that is the substratum of what our human consciousness has become on this planet.
It is enlightenment, but we don't know it because of our conception of physical reality from having lived previous lives on this planet, karma. Even in the Tibetan description of the bardo of becoming/rebirth, a judgment takes place because that's what naturally emerges in this state as the wisps of karmic memory recall what occurred in our previous life and there is some recognition of "right" and "wrong". Enlightenment can occur in this bardo upon the realization that the judgment is itself mind, or created by "mind", and that right and wrong are manifestations of mind and not concrete or objective judgments.
What is Torah defending us against? Our spiritual cultivation defends us in the bardo states against the notion created by the karma from physically having existed that worldly manifestation was some ultimate reality.
The final bardo of becoming in Tibetan Buddhism describes the process by which reincarnation takes place. At some point there is a crux between a prior life and future life, and if enlightenment isn't attained, our karmic energy moves towards a future life.
Torah shall talk to you when you rise from the dust. If you cultivated yourself spiritually, that survives the death process whereby you lose everything that depends on material existence. With rebirth, your karma still applies, and if you studied the Torah, the Torah will remain with you. You can continue to undertake the spiritual path you were on in a previous life, provided you studied the Torah.
"'When you walk, it shall lead you; when you lie down it shall keep you and when you awake, it shall talk with you.' (Proverbs 6:22) 'When you walk, it shall lead you,' refers to the Torah that goes before a man when he dies. 'When you lie down, it shall keep you,' refers to the interval when the body lies in the grave, for at that time the body is judged and sentenced and the Torah acts in its defense. 'And when you awake, it shall talk with you,' refers to the time at which the dead rise from the dust.
"Rabbi Elazar quoted the verse: 'It shall talk with you' (Proverbs 6:22). Although the dead have just risen from the dust, they remember the Torah they studied before their death. They will know all they studied before departing the world. And everything shall be clearer than it was before death, for whatever he strove to understand yet did not successfully grasp, is now clear in his innermost parts. And the Torah speaks within him." p. 190-191, The Essential Zohar
What I found fascinating about this passage is that Christians probably interpret the quote from Proverbs as referring to faith. It's a very simple, direct interpretation: when you walk (go forth or act in the world), faith will lead you (whatever you do will be righteous); when you lie down (rest) it shall keep (protect) you; and when you awake, it shall talk to you (
But the Zohar interprets it in a manner that I can re-interpret as squaring with the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Tibetan Buddhism describes the life and death cycle with three bardos of living (conscious life, sleep and meditation), and three death bardos (the point of death, the bardo of reality, and the bardo of becoming).
My reading of the death bardos and the guidance the Tibetan Book of the Dead counsels is that what we're striving for in the death bardos is the same as what we're striving for in the living bardos. Or striving for enlightenment in the living bardos is training for attaining enlightenment in the death bardos. Life and death are mirrored realities.
Actually the three elements of the quote from Proverbs can apply both to the three living bardos and the three death bardos, but what's fascinating to me is that I can interpret what the Zohar says to the death bardos at all.
Tibetan Buddhism is very meticulous about the death process and what happens between one death and the next incarnation of a . . . person, a soul, karmic energy. But there seems to be little in Judaism or Kabbalah about the mechanics of what happens after death. Just a far off resurrection and judgment that Christians took and ridiculously interpreted literally.
The book I've been reading, The Essential Zohar, doesn't explicitly state or endorse any theory of reincarnation, but the author seems pretty open-minded about the possibility of Buddhism-like multiple lifetimes and reincarnation.
The Zohar interprets Proverbs 6:22 not as some vague notion of faith leading us forth in life, but Torah, i.e., spiritual cultivation, leading us through the death experience. It doesn't explicitly say that the "when you awake"/"dead rise from the dust" is reincarnation, but that's how I read it, because it then fits in with Tibetan Buddhist ontology (alternatively it might not refer to reincarnation, but the awakening in a "mental body" in the bardo of becoming that precedes reincarnation).
Torah is what we do with spiritual energy in our lifetimes, how we cultivate it or not cultivate it. It's also karma. When we die, we take nothing with us except our karma, the energy patterns and habits that we've indelibly stamped on our manifestation of some primordial energy that is the basis of our consciousness through our behavior and thoughts.
We don't take our possessions, our body, or memories or anything that relies on brain matter for existence. Memories and thoughts rely on brain matter. Karmic energy doesn't. Our karma has no relation to our identity as a person, because our identities also rely on thought and brain matter.
So when we die, it is only Torah that leads us. All else falls away and dissolves. Tibetan Buddhism describes the death-point bardo as being so subtle that only the highest levels of practitioners can achieve realization/enlightenment in it.
For ordinary beings, the dissolution of awareness of the physical body elements and mental consciousness elements is so shocking and unfamiliar and disconcerting that it is impossible to maintain any stability to achieve realization, and it goes by like the snap of a finger.
The interval in the grave where the Torah acts as a defense can be likened to the bardo of reality where we are immersed in the primordial energy of the universe that is the substratum of what our human consciousness has become on this planet.
It is enlightenment, but we don't know it because of our conception of physical reality from having lived previous lives on this planet, karma. Even in the Tibetan description of the bardo of becoming/rebirth, a judgment takes place because that's what naturally emerges in this state as the wisps of karmic memory recall what occurred in our previous life and there is some recognition of "right" and "wrong". Enlightenment can occur in this bardo upon the realization that the judgment is itself mind, or created by "mind", and that right and wrong are manifestations of mind and not concrete or objective judgments.
What is Torah defending us against? Our spiritual cultivation defends us in the bardo states against the notion created by the karma from physically having existed that worldly manifestation was some ultimate reality.
The final bardo of becoming in Tibetan Buddhism describes the process by which reincarnation takes place. At some point there is a crux between a prior life and future life, and if enlightenment isn't attained, our karmic energy moves towards a future life.
Torah shall talk to you when you rise from the dust. If you cultivated yourself spiritually, that survives the death process whereby you lose everything that depends on material existence. With rebirth, your karma still applies, and if you studied the Torah, the Torah will remain with you. You can continue to undertake the spiritual path you were on in a previous life, provided you studied the Torah.
They will know all they studied before departing the world. And everything shall be clearer than it was before death, for whatever he strove to understand yet did not successfully grasp, is now clear in his innermost parts. That is literally exactly what is said in the Tibetan Book of the Dead regarding the death bardo states.
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| WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 7:44 p.m. |
Thursday, April 08, 2010
I'm just cruising on through my life, with suicide just in front of me in time like a bow wave.
And it is time, the conditions are all in place right now, as they are, and nothing's going to change. The bow wave is not only always there now, it is not changing in size or shape. OK, it's not the perfect analogy.
Anytime is fine now, but the time still depends on me. And what that depends on, I'm not quite clear on. I just know that if I'm to break through to whatever may be next, it won't happen without another serious attempt with the full intention of succeeding.
Things still flash into my life and then they flash out. I've come to expect it to be this way. It's more than a pattern, it's pretty much fact and I accept it. I won't go so far as saying it's destiny, but facts are just facts.
And I am happy about it, too. I'm happy the things are the way they are because, still, the "best" possible scenario I can think of to want to continue on . . . I don't want. I don't desire that. It frightens me. More like repulse frighten than scared frighten.
So when? I don't know when. The bow of my ship might catch up with the bow wave as early as this month, or it might be maintained until, I don't know, September, and who knows what may change in that time? What I do know is that a ship's momentum keeps the bow wave going, and once the momentum is gone, there goes the bow wave, and no more bow; no reason for the bow. So I'll just know. Any momentum I have will be gone.
I do still think of unresolved underlying issues that have never been effectively dealt with – those that led to recurring issues too many to mention, but include anger if not rage, possibly humiliation to some extent. But somehow, at this point, those things just don't matter any more.
They really are irrelevant. Life goes on, the focus is on the younger generation making their way in the world and still have potential to make an impact on somebody's future. Do I think I matter anymore? No. Did I think I mattered before when I started writing all this? Probably, and foolishly I might add.
I've said before that in the course of growing up, it seems some social gene gets triggered in many that switches people's focus from being idealistic to realistic. People stop standing on soapboxes and feeling it necessary to make their opinions known and discussing abstract, theoretical or philosophical issues into the ground and want to settle down and raise a family and live comfortably.
I never got that switch. Like I've mentioned before, the questions I dealt with in my younger years are still more compelling than the questions of mortgages and paychecks and elementary schools, etc., etc.
But I understand it watching my brothers having and raising children, and I get it that it's not about me. It's about them. Not that I thought it was about me, what I mean is that when you start having kids or see people around you having kids, the scope of your world grows and what you were no longer is.
As a parent, your journey changes and becomes entwined with the journey of the beings you're raising. Their journey becomes part of yours, maybe even the focus, or theirs becomes part of yours, but your journey is no longer your own. I do get that part, I just don't have the responsibility of being here for another person. I get that at a point in life, my journey is not my own. It gets diluted.
Whatever, all I'm saying is that my one little suicide is a raindrop on the ocean and is not going to make so much as a splash in the big picture. There are people who will feel it, but even they are just small lives. And what's more, they are all grown adults responsible for their own lives and how they deal with their own feelings.
So things are still developing, I guess, but it's all pointing to the same direction it has always pointed. It's just more comfortable now, and unless I suddenly become really selfish and decide to just keep living a pretty inconsequential life just for myself, I do expect something in the next few months.
I'm hoping the decision and conviction will be sudden, although I still have a fail-safe in that how I do it will still take a considerable amount of time, it won't be spontaneous. I'll know it when it's just too unbearable to be here anymore, and that's not a bad thing.
And it is time, the conditions are all in place right now, as they are, and nothing's going to change. The bow wave is not only always there now, it is not changing in size or shape. OK, it's not the perfect analogy.
Anytime is fine now, but the time still depends on me. And what that depends on, I'm not quite clear on. I just know that if I'm to break through to whatever may be next, it won't happen without another serious attempt with the full intention of succeeding.
Things still flash into my life and then they flash out. I've come to expect it to be this way. It's more than a pattern, it's pretty much fact and I accept it. I won't go so far as saying it's destiny, but facts are just facts.
And I am happy about it, too. I'm happy the things are the way they are because, still, the "best" possible scenario I can think of to want to continue on . . . I don't want. I don't desire that. It frightens me. More like repulse frighten than scared frighten.
So when? I don't know when. The bow of my ship might catch up with the bow wave as early as this month, or it might be maintained until, I don't know, September, and who knows what may change in that time? What I do know is that a ship's momentum keeps the bow wave going, and once the momentum is gone, there goes the bow wave, and no more bow; no reason for the bow. So I'll just know. Any momentum I have will be gone.
I do still think of unresolved underlying issues that have never been effectively dealt with – those that led to recurring issues too many to mention, but include anger if not rage, possibly humiliation to some extent. But somehow, at this point, those things just don't matter any more.
They really are irrelevant. Life goes on, the focus is on the younger generation making their way in the world and still have potential to make an impact on somebody's future. Do I think I matter anymore? No. Did I think I mattered before when I started writing all this? Probably, and foolishly I might add.
I've said before that in the course of growing up, it seems some social gene gets triggered in many that switches people's focus from being idealistic to realistic. People stop standing on soapboxes and feeling it necessary to make their opinions known and discussing abstract, theoretical or philosophical issues into the ground and want to settle down and raise a family and live comfortably.
I never got that switch. Like I've mentioned before, the questions I dealt with in my younger years are still more compelling than the questions of mortgages and paychecks and elementary schools, etc., etc.
But I understand it watching my brothers having and raising children, and I get it that it's not about me. It's about them. Not that I thought it was about me, what I mean is that when you start having kids or see people around you having kids, the scope of your world grows and what you were no longer is.
As a parent, your journey changes and becomes entwined with the journey of the beings you're raising. Their journey becomes part of yours, maybe even the focus, or theirs becomes part of yours, but your journey is no longer your own. I do get that part, I just don't have the responsibility of being here for another person. I get that at a point in life, my journey is not my own. It gets diluted.
Whatever, all I'm saying is that my one little suicide is a raindrop on the ocean and is not going to make so much as a splash in the big picture. There are people who will feel it, but even they are just small lives. And what's more, they are all grown adults responsible for their own lives and how they deal with their own feelings.
So things are still developing, I guess, but it's all pointing to the same direction it has always pointed. It's just more comfortable now, and unless I suddenly become really selfish and decide to just keep living a pretty inconsequential life just for myself, I do expect something in the next few months.
I'm hoping the decision and conviction will be sudden, although I still have a fail-safe in that how I do it will still take a considerable amount of time, it won't be spontaneous. I'll know it when it's just too unbearable to be here anymore, and that's not a bad thing.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Kaohsiung, Taiwan
It's Lunar New Year. The official part, which lasts for about 3 or 4 days, is over, and businesses are open again, but the cultural part goes on for like two weeks and then turns into a couple more weeks of the Lantern Festival.My uncle invited me down because all of his kids, my cousins, are in town, and one has a new baby boy who I haven't met yet. I guess for that reason, I don't regret coming down, it's a nice gesture to represent, but I do regret that I booked my return to Taipei on Monday night, instead of Monday morning, or even Sunday night.
I hate hanging out with family, it's the most boring thing in the world and isolates me and makes me not want to be here even more. It emphasizes my insignificance and represents it on a sublime scale.
I sit here thinking, "What am I doing here with these people? Why did I even come?" and once I get started on those lines, it quickly turns into "What am I doing here at all on this planet? What do I mean to anyone aside from banal, socially constructed ways?"
It's hard enough for me to be social, and coming here makes it worse because it puts me in social situations where I'm not really here at all, and it's alright for me to not be social. Then I go back to situations where there isn't a language barrier, but if at any point I feel like I'm out of the conversation, I'm fully comfortable disengaging, and that's not good.
A bunch of cousins gathered tonight and as they chattered incomprehensibly, I mused about how all of them, except the two youngest ones and me, are all parents now. They're all doing the family thing now, and they're doing a pretty good job of it, I shouldn't wonder. And to them, this path is the most natural thing in the world; it never occurred to any of them not to take this path. It might be a natural human social impulse, but it is definitely part of the Chinese cultural canon.
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| 10:29 p.m. - Three of my cousins on the left. We're all cousins to each other. On the right, a cousin's wife, my aunt and Audrey's daughter, Pie. |
Like the time I was looking for an Asian American drummer to play with and the only response I got was from a Japanese American ex-con who I couldn't get out of my house fast enough?
But I looked upon this group of parents and so thoroughly did not want any part of it, and that said, it includes sex. And I think it's safe to say if you're willing to throw out the sex, you really, really don't want to be a parent. I mean as a starting point. That's a whole 'nother discussion, though, which I haven't thought out.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
I don't know if freaked out is the word. Maybe perplexing would be more neutral and indicative of the lack of real emotional response I'm having towards Facebook. People with photos of their babies or having gotten married, blah, blah, blah, bores me to death. If only it were that easy. God how I want nothing to do with those people and their perceived boring, normative lives. I'd rather die. Death would be a much more worthwhile experience. Unfortunately, as conscious memory goes, it's a one-time deal, with not a lot of memory.
Maybe that's what adulthood is all about. When you make the decision that whatever teenage/college-aged paradigm that used to make life interesting gets buried in favor of the lifetime partner, procreation, nesting, settling down. Why did you get married? Why did you start a family? Did you think you were buying safety when you bought that piece of ground? She said all the best freaks are here, please stop staring at me.
All I have are reasons why not, and few are the people I want to hear the answers from. Luyen I'd want to hear. Diem I would not. Ed I would not. Dong I would not. Madoka I would not. Amina I would not. Nobuko I would. Vikki I would . . . not. Maybe it's the insomnia talking. It's in full swing, and I felt I was pre-meltdown at work today. I flipped the calendar a page forward at work today for a look-see and August . . . why am I doing this to myself. How much longer can this go on? I'm convinced that it won't. My health has to collapse sooner rather than later, and insomnia is only weakening my system.
I was supposed to meet a friend on Wednesday, but didn't hear back from him until later in the evening. He was in the hospital with appendicitis. He had just gotten back to Taiwan to start a new job when this happened. He was supposed to sign a new lease that day. When I went to visit him in the hospital the next day, he had people there with him. He was hardly waiting for me to show up. Afterwards, I thought that if my appendix broke, I'd probably die. If I had excruciating, debilitating pain, I wouldn't think of getting myself to the hospital or ER, as he had. I'd just suffer it in my apartment, maybe crawl to the Keelung riverbank in a protracted nightmare, but from what I hear, if you don't get your appendix operated on, you die.
And I wouldn't have peeps attending to me.
I'm just preparing to enjoy the dying process. Clear the thoughts, calm the mind, relax the body, let it happen. Smile. Even times when depression or depressive thoughts come to mind, I just mentally put my fingertips on it, and move it to a physical space outside of me and it's not depressing. It has no reality, it's plastic, malleable. Pre-meltdown at work, move it away from me. Feelings that used to attack me aren't me anymore, aren't mine. Pain and pleasure actually are the same thing, just different degrees of that thing. I was trying to explain that to a co-worker today with the mosquito bite meditation, and she wasn't getting it. She will, but not today.
Truth to tell, much of my perceived discontent has gone under meditation. Why discontent? Discontent is desire unfulfilled. What's the desire? Is it something to be fulfilled? Is it something fulfillable? Under scrutiny for what it really is, discontent also goes away. Breathe, and satisfaction is right here. Desire itself is unfulfillable. If I have desire, it's an affliction. Satisfying the desire doesn't cure the affliction.
I'm gonna try to go to sleep. I'll be awake in 3 hours and struggling to get enough rest for another full-time shift tomorrow. Saturday night is the easiest shift, which is why I took it, my 3rd full-time shift in a row.
Maybe that's what adulthood is all about. When you make the decision that whatever teenage/college-aged paradigm that used to make life interesting gets buried in favor of the lifetime partner, procreation, nesting, settling down. Why did you get married? Why did you start a family? Did you think you were buying safety when you bought that piece of ground? She said all the best freaks are here, please stop staring at me.
All I have are reasons why not, and few are the people I want to hear the answers from. Luyen I'd want to hear. Diem I would not. Ed I would not. Dong I would not. Madoka I would not. Amina I would not. Nobuko I would. Vikki I would . . . not. Maybe it's the insomnia talking. It's in full swing, and I felt I was pre-meltdown at work today. I flipped the calendar a page forward at work today for a look-see and August . . . why am I doing this to myself. How much longer can this go on? I'm convinced that it won't. My health has to collapse sooner rather than later, and insomnia is only weakening my system.
I was supposed to meet a friend on Wednesday, but didn't hear back from him until later in the evening. He was in the hospital with appendicitis. He had just gotten back to Taiwan to start a new job when this happened. He was supposed to sign a new lease that day. When I went to visit him in the hospital the next day, he had people there with him. He was hardly waiting for me to show up. Afterwards, I thought that if my appendix broke, I'd probably die. If I had excruciating, debilitating pain, I wouldn't think of getting myself to the hospital or ER, as he had. I'd just suffer it in my apartment, maybe crawl to the Keelung riverbank in a protracted nightmare, but from what I hear, if you don't get your appendix operated on, you die.
And I wouldn't have peeps attending to me.
I'm just preparing to enjoy the dying process. Clear the thoughts, calm the mind, relax the body, let it happen. Smile. Even times when depression or depressive thoughts come to mind, I just mentally put my fingertips on it, and move it to a physical space outside of me and it's not depressing. It has no reality, it's plastic, malleable. Pre-meltdown at work, move it away from me. Feelings that used to attack me aren't me anymore, aren't mine. Pain and pleasure actually are the same thing, just different degrees of that thing. I was trying to explain that to a co-worker today with the mosquito bite meditation, and she wasn't getting it. She will, but not today.
Truth to tell, much of my perceived discontent has gone under meditation. Why discontent? Discontent is desire unfulfilled. What's the desire? Is it something to be fulfilled? Is it something fulfillable? Under scrutiny for what it really is, discontent also goes away. Breathe, and satisfaction is right here. Desire itself is unfulfillable. If I have desire, it's an affliction. Satisfying the desire doesn't cure the affliction.
I'm gonna try to go to sleep. I'll be awake in 3 hours and struggling to get enough rest for another full-time shift tomorrow. Saturday night is the easiest shift, which is why I took it, my 3rd full-time shift in a row.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
I've taken to riding home from work along the riverside bikeways. It's longer, but it's much more pleasant. Quiet, solitary, no traffic, no traffic lights.
Tonight, the Keelung River was still as a mirror reflecting lights on the other side. Reality like fabric unfolded as I moved through it. And nothing was as clear as that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be me. Anyone else, fine. Just not me with these specific blocks and obscurations that prevent me from moving right, moving left, forwards or even backwards.
As someone else, these blocks and obscurations would still exist, but hopefully they wouldn't be set in such perfect resonant circumstances, reinforced by my own arrogance and ego, that I couldn't get desperate, that I couldn't really desire and want so much that I would be willing to do anything to get out in order to get what I want.
I'm not desperate. I'm not hungry. I don't want what I can't have. If I can't have you, I don't want you. Or so I tell myself in my arrogance and ego.
If my parents weren't coming in January for my cousin's wedding, if my cousin weren't getting married in January, would I be willing to go right now? That's rhetorical. Of course, the answer is yes. But my cousin is getting married in January and my parents are coming, and I'm not willing to go right now because of that, so of course the answer is no.
There are a lot of old people in my neighborhood. A lot of old people being wheeled around in wheelchairs by caretakers hired from other southeast asian countries. This is the culmination of all their lives' efforts? Did they foresee this when they were 20, 30, 40, 50? That they would be wheeled around in a playground park with tubes up their noses?
I also see a lot of people in my neighborhood who are 20, 30, 40, 50. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. And less. To me, they're all slices of the same life.
What happens when it's my father who's in the wheelchair? Do I want to see my father in a wheelchair with a tube up his nose, clinging to life because he doesn't know what to do otherwise? Fuckall hell no. Do I want to be the one pushing him around? Why are we doing this?
That isn't rhetorical. There is a reason why we're doing this. And you may have it. Many people have it. I don't.
When I was at the monastery, doubting my monastic aspiration, I had this idea of returning to San Francisco and living a simple hermit-like life. But here in Taiwan, I have the ultimate opportunity to live that kind of life. What am I waiting for?
Why am I so tortured? Why am I so merely unsatisfied? I can live a hermit-like existence, but desire leads me by the nose to do this, desire leads me by the nose to do that. And I'm unhappy about this about the work situation, I'm unhappy about that about the work situation. I'm unhappy about this about the band situation, I'm unhappy about that about the band situation. Social situation, friend situation, family situation, photography situation, music situation, cycling situation, location situation, weather situation, apartment situation, body situation, existence situation. Why can't I just be satisfied?
Why can't I just stop and say . . . I'm satisfied? That I like it in my little motel.
 |
| November 17, 12:46-12:47 a.m. |
As someone else, these blocks and obscurations would still exist, but hopefully they wouldn't be set in such perfect resonant circumstances, reinforced by my own arrogance and ego, that I couldn't get desperate, that I couldn't really desire and want so much that I would be willing to do anything to get out in order to get what I want.
I'm not desperate. I'm not hungry. I don't want what I can't have. If I can't have you, I don't want you. Or so I tell myself in my arrogance and ego.
If my parents weren't coming in January for my cousin's wedding, if my cousin weren't getting married in January, would I be willing to go right now? That's rhetorical. Of course, the answer is yes. But my cousin is getting married in January and my parents are coming, and I'm not willing to go right now because of that, so of course the answer is no.
There are a lot of old people in my neighborhood. A lot of old people being wheeled around in wheelchairs by caretakers hired from other southeast asian countries. This is the culmination of all their lives' efforts? Did they foresee this when they were 20, 30, 40, 50? That they would be wheeled around in a playground park with tubes up their noses?
I also see a lot of people in my neighborhood who are 20, 30, 40, 50. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. And less. To me, they're all slices of the same life.
What happens when it's my father who's in the wheelchair? Do I want to see my father in a wheelchair with a tube up his nose, clinging to life because he doesn't know what to do otherwise? Fuckall hell no. Do I want to be the one pushing him around? Why are we doing this?
That isn't rhetorical. There is a reason why we're doing this. And you may have it. Many people have it. I don't.
When I was at the monastery, doubting my monastic aspiration, I had this idea of returning to San Francisco and living a simple hermit-like life. But here in Taiwan, I have the ultimate opportunity to live that kind of life. What am I waiting for?
Why am I so tortured? Why am I so merely unsatisfied? I can live a hermit-like existence, but desire leads me by the nose to do this, desire leads me by the nose to do that. And I'm unhappy about this about the work situation, I'm unhappy about that about the work situation. I'm unhappy about this about the band situation, I'm unhappy about that about the band situation. Social situation, friend situation, family situation, photography situation, music situation, cycling situation, location situation, weather situation, apartment situation, body situation, existence situation. Why can't I just be satisfied?
Why can't I just stop and say . . . I'm satisfied? That I like it in my little motel.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
My uncle came up to Taipei this evening. He invited me out to dinner without telling me it was to a wedding banquet for the son of one of his old classmates. I had no business being there. Uncomfortable would be the perfect word to describe it, except I, out of principle, don't get uncomfortable. Awkward, yes, I do awkward, and it was awkward, but any number of situations with my uncle are made awkward by him.
I don't have enough exposure to family, nuclear or extended, to have a high tolerance to it. And my tolerance for this family is running thin. I don't think I'll be going to Kaohsiung again anytime soon. I'm certainly not planning on it.
Audrey called to mediate between me and my uncle getting to my place, because for some reason he wanted to see where I lived. Maybe an edict from my mother to check out where I'm living. The pattern of Audrey's behavior remains the same, and she was sweet, but I only feel it as manipulation now. I don't care. I just didn't care.
I need a category for blog entries called "negativity". The overcast weather didn't help today. I rode south today, crossing the Jingmei River into Hsindian to go to the Carrefour there to look for a coffee scoop. I'm at a total loss to understand why a simple coffee measure is so hard to find in Taipei.
Sitting there at that wedding banquet, surrounded by people I didn't know and couldn't understand. I observed the lives. The lives. Tables and tables of lives that I had nothing to do with, but here they all were for this person's wedding banquet.
I was at a table with a bunch of old people – old being in their 60s or 70s. Young people working and serving. Young people will someday be old people. These young people would someday be old people. Moved down the conveyor belt of life and time.
I thought about my brother and his wife and their wedding. They now have a kid. It's incredible thinking about the lives of these kids, the mystery of what they can become.
I never want to be a part of this. I don't want to be the young person serving other people because it's a job and I have my whole life ahead of me. In fact I've done that, working for a catering company in San Francisco. I don't want to be the person getting married having my life shown in a slideshow at my wedding. What kind of slideshow could capture my life? What kind of horror slideshow? I don't want to be having kids and having my priorities re-worked, realizing this little life is now the most important thing in the world. I don't want a job, I don't want to be supporting someone. I don't want to be someone's father, inviting my non-existent old friends to my child's wedding. I don't want to be alive.
What's so great about this human form? Our human lives endowed with liberty and opportunity to forward ourselves on the path towards liberation. I believe that. But I look at our human form and I see metabolizing machines. We crudely fuel our bodies with food, munch, munch, and we metabolize material to energy, and we expel our waste.
Waste. A good word on which to end this entry.
I don't have enough exposure to family, nuclear or extended, to have a high tolerance to it. And my tolerance for this family is running thin. I don't think I'll be going to Kaohsiung again anytime soon. I'm certainly not planning on it.
Audrey called to mediate between me and my uncle getting to my place, because for some reason he wanted to see where I lived. Maybe an edict from my mother to check out where I'm living. The pattern of Audrey's behavior remains the same, and she was sweet, but I only feel it as manipulation now. I don't care. I just didn't care.
I need a category for blog entries called "negativity". The overcast weather didn't help today. I rode south today, crossing the Jingmei River into Hsindian to go to the Carrefour there to look for a coffee scoop. I'm at a total loss to understand why a simple coffee measure is so hard to find in Taipei.
Sitting there at that wedding banquet, surrounded by people I didn't know and couldn't understand. I observed the lives. The lives. Tables and tables of lives that I had nothing to do with, but here they all were for this person's wedding banquet.
I was at a table with a bunch of old people – old being in their 60s or 70s. Young people working and serving. Young people will someday be old people. These young people would someday be old people. Moved down the conveyor belt of life and time.
I thought about my brother and his wife and their wedding. They now have a kid. It's incredible thinking about the lives of these kids, the mystery of what they can become.
I never want to be a part of this. I don't want to be the young person serving other people because it's a job and I have my whole life ahead of me. In fact I've done that, working for a catering company in San Francisco. I don't want to be the person getting married having my life shown in a slideshow at my wedding. What kind of slideshow could capture my life? What kind of horror slideshow? I don't want to be having kids and having my priorities re-worked, realizing this little life is now the most important thing in the world. I don't want a job, I don't want to be supporting someone. I don't want to be someone's father, inviting my non-existent old friends to my child's wedding. I don't want to be alive.
What's so great about this human form? Our human lives endowed with liberty and opportunity to forward ourselves on the path towards liberation. I believe that. But I look at our human form and I see metabolizing machines. We crudely fuel our bodies with food, munch, munch, and we metabolize material to energy, and we expel our waste.
Waste. A good word on which to end this entry.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
I obviously don't put much thought into getting old. The idea of it has never really been a consideration or an option. But there's a possible path in front of me where I go to this monastery, end up staying, and end up getting old. What getting old means and the specifics that path entails are varied and diverse (hint: the options include leaving the monastery).
On the most general level, it would involve a transformation where issues regarding suicide and existence are definitively resolved. No small thing, mind you, basically a re-working of my very premise of being, but in a monastic setting it's a distinct possible reality.
I think of this because I re-watched one of my favorite recent movies, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...And Spring. I highly recommend it because it's a great film, but I should also warn that it's paced . . . contemplatively. I wouldn't call it slow, but the dialogue is sparse, and it's a story told mostly through images and ideas.
It's easier to watch than Wings of Desire, another of my fave films that I've watched multiple times, arguably because it's hard to stay awake for the whole thing.
Anyway, the film depicts a spiritual human journey in seasonal segments, and the segment I related most closely to was the Winter segment, when the main character is old (late 50s; hey, that's the best I can do in contemplating "old"). There's a sense of accomplishment, of settling, of maturity perhaps. A sense of being done with all the distractions and strivings of youth.
So even though I feel old on the inside, I never thought about realistically being old in age. I'm thinking it might not be all that bad. If I were given the option of aging 20 years right now, I might seriously consider it (taking into consideration the two other options I usually consider).
On the most general level, it would involve a transformation where issues regarding suicide and existence are definitively resolved. No small thing, mind you, basically a re-working of my very premise of being, but in a monastic setting it's a distinct possible reality.
I think of this because I re-watched one of my favorite recent movies, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...And Spring. I highly recommend it because it's a great film, but I should also warn that it's paced . . . contemplatively. I wouldn't call it slow, but the dialogue is sparse, and it's a story told mostly through images and ideas.
It's easier to watch than Wings of Desire, another of my fave films that I've watched multiple times, arguably because it's hard to stay awake for the whole thing.
Anyway, the film depicts a spiritual human journey in seasonal segments, and the segment I related most closely to was the Winter segment, when the main character is old (late 50s; hey, that's the best I can do in contemplating "old"). There's a sense of accomplishment, of settling, of maturity perhaps. A sense of being done with all the distractions and strivings of youth.
So even though I feel old on the inside, I never thought about realistically being old in age. I'm thinking it might not be all that bad. If I were given the option of aging 20 years right now, I might seriously consider it (taking into consideration the two other options I usually consider).
Sunday, September 12, 2004
I've been thinking a lot about the monastery option, trying to get clear and critical about it. It's not going to change anything, but . . . I'm procrastinating. 'Trying to get clear and critical' is what I do as long as I'm not making and implementing the decision.
I visited that monastery last month in upstate New York, and their practice just didn't resonate, and I could tell if I stayed longer and was exposed to more aspects of their practice, it still wouldn't resonate (my imaginary alter ego says that's precisely a reason why I should try it out there – a good point, but one on which I shan't dwell).
Even though the head honcho there is pretty incredible, and, mind you, not present when I was visiting, I was very critical, nit-picking maybe, about a bunch of aspects of their practice which was very distracting to me. But part of my consideration is taking apart and letting go of my criticisms of that monastery's practice, as well as being critical of any idealization or romanticization of the monastery I do want to go to near San Diego.
And part of the whole consideration boils down to 'why become a monastic?'. I don't think of myself as being particularly religious or spiritual. I'm more into the metaphysical, even the psychological, and as far as the religion is concerned, the central attraction is the promotion of peace, understanding, and a wider, holistic view of the world and the people in it.
Hm, damn. I thought there was a larger discussion in this, but it's easy to question monasticism while I'm sitting at my parents' house with no other human interaction or concerns, and I can't go on living like this much longer. I certainly have no desire to go back to secular life; get a job, get a life, make friends, get a relationship, ride a bike, play an instrument, buy music, buy DVDs, call friends, drink beer, lose friends, drink whisky, drink gin, blog my little heart out, on and on and on, no and no and no.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Part of me feels wrecked. Part of me feels affirmation.
I say over and over again that I've failed social connections over and over again in the Bay Area, whether by being unable to make them, or by breaking them. The most solid connections I've had were the Oberlin folks that I came out here for in the first place (and then lost contact with), ie, the ones that go waaay back.
A strange, timely set of "coincidences" in the past week got Nobuko, Ansje and me together tonight, reflecting on the past 11 years. I love these people, the connection was all there. Huge pangs of remorse of how things went.
Ansje and I were never really close, but we've always gotten along and liked each other, but our social interactions were always contingent on some Oberlin gathering. Still, our shared education and views always allowed us to connect really well.
Nobuko and I were much closer, close enough for things to go wrong. I've always loved Nobuko (not romantically), we always had a strong connection, we had incredible discussions at Oberlin and many a time she was able to change my view on something or the other, and our connection continued in the post-Oberlin afterlife.
We lived together in a house with two other Oberlin grads from 1995-1996, the stress of which had us go in different directions and we cut contact for several years, and even after reconnecting, it wasn't the same; sporadic, coincidental meeting up.
I thought our split was mutual, but she made it clear tonight that it wasn't, it was all me. And I believe it, as further discussion revealed how much I had blocked out about that time period, or revised in my memory.
I consider cutting off from Nobuko the single biggest mistake I've made in the Bay Area. Well, maybe going to law school was a bigger mistake. But that's how much she means/meant to me. To me, Nobuko gets uttered in the same breath as Madoka, although the different dynamics in the friendships render different results.
We're born into a given family, and then we go out into the world and find our chosen family. If I could choose my family, Nobuko would definitely be in it. No brainer. We let a lot of water flow under the bridge that we shouldn't have. I shouldn't have.
If we had the reconnection we had tonight a month ago, I would seriously consider not leaving. It felt so good to say something, and have someone know you for so long and so well, that they knew about it and its history. When I mentioned the monastery, she said, "yea, you used to mention that as an option". Affirmation. When I mention it to people I've met more recently, they just go, "cool". Good luck.
It's nice being known.
Eleven years ago, we were young, we were passionate, we were stressed, we were angsty, and I add that eleven years ago I liked who I was a lot more than now. Now, I'm much more at peace and comfortable with myself, but I like it less. That's how it works sometimes.
It's timely that we reconnect when it's too late, when I've made my decision. Just like TK telling me about a job opening at his firm after I gave notice on my apartment, even though he had been mentioning an impending opening since February. I'm meant to leave San Francisco. One way or another.
Nobuko and Ansje's support for me going to a monastery really meant a lot. It makes my current conflictedness much harder, thinking about the "another" way of leaving San Francisco. They even said they would be up for going down to Deer Park Monastery for a week stay when they got the chance. That, too, meant so much; like we were cut from similar cloths, that the experience is something they would be interested in exposing themselves to.
Meaning. Connect, George, connect.
I say over and over again that I've failed social connections over and over again in the Bay Area, whether by being unable to make them, or by breaking them. The most solid connections I've had were the Oberlin folks that I came out here for in the first place (and then lost contact with), ie, the ones that go waaay back.
A strange, timely set of "coincidences" in the past week got Nobuko, Ansje and me together tonight, reflecting on the past 11 years. I love these people, the connection was all there. Huge pangs of remorse of how things went.
Ansje and I were never really close, but we've always gotten along and liked each other, but our social interactions were always contingent on some Oberlin gathering. Still, our shared education and views always allowed us to connect really well.
Nobuko and I were much closer, close enough for things to go wrong. I've always loved Nobuko (not romantically), we always had a strong connection, we had incredible discussions at Oberlin and many a time she was able to change my view on something or the other, and our connection continued in the post-Oberlin afterlife.
We lived together in a house with two other Oberlin grads from 1995-1996, the stress of which had us go in different directions and we cut contact for several years, and even after reconnecting, it wasn't the same; sporadic, coincidental meeting up.
I thought our split was mutual, but she made it clear tonight that it wasn't, it was all me. And I believe it, as further discussion revealed how much I had blocked out about that time period, or revised in my memory.
I consider cutting off from Nobuko the single biggest mistake I've made in the Bay Area. Well, maybe going to law school was a bigger mistake. But that's how much she means/meant to me. To me, Nobuko gets uttered in the same breath as Madoka, although the different dynamics in the friendships render different results.
We're born into a given family, and then we go out into the world and find our chosen family. If I could choose my family, Nobuko would definitely be in it. No brainer. We let a lot of water flow under the bridge that we shouldn't have. I shouldn't have.
If we had the reconnection we had tonight a month ago, I would seriously consider not leaving. It felt so good to say something, and have someone know you for so long and so well, that they knew about it and its history. When I mentioned the monastery, she said, "yea, you used to mention that as an option". Affirmation. When I mention it to people I've met more recently, they just go, "cool". Good luck.
It's nice being known.
Eleven years ago, we were young, we were passionate, we were stressed, we were angsty, and I add that eleven years ago I liked who I was a lot more than now. Now, I'm much more at peace and comfortable with myself, but I like it less. That's how it works sometimes.
It's timely that we reconnect when it's too late, when I've made my decision. Just like TK telling me about a job opening at his firm after I gave notice on my apartment, even though he had been mentioning an impending opening since February. I'm meant to leave San Francisco. One way or another.
Nobuko and Ansje's support for me going to a monastery really meant a lot. It makes my current conflictedness much harder, thinking about the "another" way of leaving San Francisco. They even said they would be up for going down to Deer Park Monastery for a week stay when they got the chance. That, too, meant so much; like we were cut from similar cloths, that the experience is something they would be interested in exposing themselves to.
Meaning. Connect, George, connect.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Suicide is not for everyone, and I certainly don't condone it without strict prerequisites. Foremost, if you don't believe in reincarnation, don't try it. Because then this life really is the only chance you'll get. Make it worth something for christsake. I would also counsel against suicides inspired by an immediate situation or crisis. If you can point to a specific reason you are reacting to, don't try it.
There are things I'll miss in failing to commit suicide. I'll miss the sense of closure. I'll miss the exuberance and ecstasy of feeling I've made it; that I've gotten to the end intact and in pretty good shape. I'll miss being able to reflect on my life and taking stock over my proud and happy moments, and actively letting them go, which we all have to do eventually anyway.
I'll miss having a good cry (more likely a good snotty bawl) over leaving and saying goodbye to this body and this life that I've naturally grown to call home all these years. This body and this life have been a good shell to me, warm and comfortable *pats body on its head portion*. This life including all the people in it.
No, instead I'll leave it to fate, with death an unpredictable unknown. My health will decline and I'll continue to struggle day in-day out, year in-year out, with mundane problems of financing my life, entertaining my life, and maintaining my lifestyle, although there will be continued moments of enriching my life and educating my life. I've got all the time in the world.
Always carry on. The love of my life leaves me, carry on. Someone I love, or someone I know dies, carry on. Hate my parents, carry on. Get sick, carry on. Get hit by an SUV, carry on. Lose or quit my job, carry on. Get old, carry on; life changes, carry on. Be offended by the morons who condemn suicide and think they know what life's about, carry on. Get lonely and isolated, carry on. Carry on until death hits out of the blue, or not so out of the blue, but in declining misery.
I wish suicide were for me. Dying would be such an adventure. Death is the only adventure.
There are things I'll miss in failing to commit suicide. I'll miss the sense of closure. I'll miss the exuberance and ecstasy of feeling I've made it; that I've gotten to the end intact and in pretty good shape. I'll miss being able to reflect on my life and taking stock over my proud and happy moments, and actively letting them go, which we all have to do eventually anyway.
I'll miss having a good cry (more likely a good snotty bawl) over leaving and saying goodbye to this body and this life that I've naturally grown to call home all these years. This body and this life have been a good shell to me, warm and comfortable *pats body on its head portion*. This life including all the people in it.
No, instead I'll leave it to fate, with death an unpredictable unknown. My health will decline and I'll continue to struggle day in-day out, year in-year out, with mundane problems of financing my life, entertaining my life, and maintaining my lifestyle, although there will be continued moments of enriching my life and educating my life. I've got all the time in the world.
Always carry on. The love of my life leaves me, carry on. Someone I love, or someone I know dies, carry on. Hate my parents, carry on. Get sick, carry on. Get hit by an SUV, carry on. Lose or quit my job, carry on. Get old, carry on; life changes, carry on. Be offended by the morons who condemn suicide and think they know what life's about, carry on. Get lonely and isolated, carry on. Carry on until death hits out of the blue, or not so out of the blue, but in declining misery.
I wish suicide were for me. Dying would be such an adventure. Death is the only adventure.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
So I've been meditating on my brain. Thinking about it, contemplating it, keeping it in as sharp focus as possible. Grey matter, curved and looped, wrinkly, squishy, encased in my skull, in my cranium. Trillions, or in my case billions, of simultaneous electrical impulses, buzzing with life, like ants, to organize perception and reality.
I've been meditating on consciousness. Focusing on thoughts, the nature of thoughts, what are thoughts?, of perceptions, sensations. What is their reality? I don't want to take this for granted, I want to know. Or at least think about it or die trying.
I've been meditating on memory. Take an old photograph of, oh I don't know, let's say Amina. In my memory I recall the elements of the photo, what it looks like, but can I actually visualize it from this information in my mind? No, I can't. I can't close my eyes, and in the darkness see the photograph floating there, but then I draw on memory to recall the photograph, and I know precisely what it looks like, down to the moment I took it.
How about sound? Um, I've been listening to ELO's masterpiece "Out of the Blue" lately, so let's try the song "Turn to Stone". Queue it up in my memory and press play. Fade in, flanged synth, Jeff Lynne's trademark crisp acoustic guitar, hi-hat shuffling, enter vocals. That's interesting, it's all there. Vocals are loud and clear. The mid-range is a bit muddy with the guitars, but it's there. The bass is a little indistinct, and since bass below 70hz or so, I think, is more something you feel than can recall from memory, that's completely gone.
Well, that was an interesting, if inconclusive experiment.
Back to consciousness, I'm re-reading the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead, Robert Thurman's translation with oodles of interesting background information. Try to get at consciousness by meditating on ultimately losing it. So many ways to die. A peaceful dying in sleep is the easiest to imagine reading the book.
I also entertain a gunshot wound to the head like Kurt Cobain, drowning after jumping off the Staten Island Ferry like Spalding Gray, having flesh flayed from bones like Hypatia, being in an unfortunate city targeted for a live human nuclear bomb experiment in the waning days of a war, being bled to death in a Khmer Rouge prison hospital, being mauled by a neighbor's Presa Canario dogs, and this can go on for a while, but that's about as long as I want this paragraph to go.
Death, the final loss of consciousness only occurs when some vital part of our physical mechanism fails to sustain what it's supposed to, fundamentally coming down to the brain, the heart, the lungs, or blood. I wonder what happens to time when we die. The so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead delineates a specific progression in the final loss of consciousness to death, but is it affected by the speed or violence of the interruption to the brain, heart, lungs, or blood?
What is it that I've had my entire waking life that fades and leaves? I used to look at my legs and toes and muse about how far away they looked. I wiggle my toes, and I just did that. What just did that? What was the connection from up here to down there?, what identifies that as my leg? This is when I still lived in New Jersey.
Now, what exactly was my point? Oh yea, fuck meditation. OMG, did I just use ELO in a meditation?!
I've been meditating on consciousness. Focusing on thoughts, the nature of thoughts, what are thoughts?, of perceptions, sensations. What is their reality? I don't want to take this for granted, I want to know. Or at least think about it or die trying.
I've been meditating on memory. Take an old photograph of, oh I don't know, let's say Amina. In my memory I recall the elements of the photo, what it looks like, but can I actually visualize it from this information in my mind? No, I can't. I can't close my eyes, and in the darkness see the photograph floating there, but then I draw on memory to recall the photograph, and I know precisely what it looks like, down to the moment I took it.
How about sound? Um, I've been listening to ELO's masterpiece "Out of the Blue" lately, so let's try the song "Turn to Stone". Queue it up in my memory and press play. Fade in, flanged synth, Jeff Lynne's trademark crisp acoustic guitar, hi-hat shuffling, enter vocals. That's interesting, it's all there. Vocals are loud and clear. The mid-range is a bit muddy with the guitars, but it's there. The bass is a little indistinct, and since bass below 70hz or so, I think, is more something you feel than can recall from memory, that's completely gone.
Well, that was an interesting, if inconclusive experiment.
Back to consciousness, I'm re-reading the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead, Robert Thurman's translation with oodles of interesting background information. Try to get at consciousness by meditating on ultimately losing it. So many ways to die. A peaceful dying in sleep is the easiest to imagine reading the book.
I also entertain a gunshot wound to the head like Kurt Cobain, drowning after jumping off the Staten Island Ferry like Spalding Gray, having flesh flayed from bones like Hypatia, being in an unfortunate city targeted for a live human nuclear bomb experiment in the waning days of a war, being bled to death in a Khmer Rouge prison hospital, being mauled by a neighbor's Presa Canario dogs, and this can go on for a while, but that's about as long as I want this paragraph to go.
Death, the final loss of consciousness only occurs when some vital part of our physical mechanism fails to sustain what it's supposed to, fundamentally coming down to the brain, the heart, the lungs, or blood. I wonder what happens to time when we die. The so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead delineates a specific progression in the final loss of consciousness to death, but is it affected by the speed or violence of the interruption to the brain, heart, lungs, or blood?
What is it that I've had my entire waking life that fades and leaves? I used to look at my legs and toes and muse about how far away they looked. I wiggle my toes, and I just did that. What just did that? What was the connection from up here to down there?, what identifies that as my leg? This is when I still lived in New Jersey.
Now, what exactly was my point? Oh yea, fuck meditation. OMG, did I just use ELO in a meditation?!
Friday, February 13, 2004
And the days and the weeks keep counting down. It just doesn't stop. It's been counting down for a loooooooong, long time now. End of second week of February. End of third week of practice period.
Do I give notice on my apartment come the last week of February. Do I get rid of my stuff all through March and enter the monastery? Do I pack up and go back to New Jersey? Do I continue in cruise control in perpetuity, waiting to the last minute and then flipping a coin?
Do I even reach the end of February? Or the end of March? Does the trail pitter out, fade to white, like the end of The Unbearable Lightness of Being (the movie)? I get scared. I get attached. I feel the push and the pull, pushed and pulled. What if I give in and live, instead of give in and die?
It's the same wall. It doesn't change a thing. Why the attachment to living? I don't think otherwise it's an attachment to dying, it's more impulse or intuition. I imagine how freeing it would be just to let myself live, get these ideas of leaving out and away, once and for all, and . . . live another how many more decades and die anyway?
Why not now? Why later? I've never lived my life to live for the later. I've lived my life to die, well, just about now-ish. And thus, this wall. The moment is a masterpiece, the weight of indecision's in the air.
It's the 200 years later theory. What will it matter in 200 years, so don't waste time glombing and gloombing and lolling around in the negative if I don't want to. My parents will die, too, hopefully a little shocked to find that shit happens and some things money can't take care of, family will die and pass, friends will pass.
With luck, we can hope to become someone's memories, and from someone's memories we can become someone's stories, and from someone's stories we can be someone's curiosity.
No, living is not a solution to this puzzle. Life is a koan, a puzzle that can't be solved with linear, logical, normative thinking. Solving it requires releasing this grasp and attachment to this matrix, this structure of forms and thoughts. Spirituality doesn't provide answers. Science doesn't provide answers. But they point in resonant directions. And in the swirl of theory and intuition, there's me and my own decisions.
No solutions, no end to the path. In my belief system, I will come back to continue the journey, hopefully with a similar intuition to pick up on the trail where I got stuck in this life and move further along on it. Perhaps with a little less attachments. Perhaps more. Perhaps more struggle. Whatever works.
And if I'm completely wrong, and killing myself is karmically equal to killing another person regardless of the circumstances and situation? I'll have to jump off that bridge when I get to it.
Do I give notice on my apartment come the last week of February. Do I get rid of my stuff all through March and enter the monastery? Do I pack up and go back to New Jersey? Do I continue in cruise control in perpetuity, waiting to the last minute and then flipping a coin?
Do I even reach the end of February? Or the end of March? Does the trail pitter out, fade to white, like the end of The Unbearable Lightness of Being (the movie)? I get scared. I get attached. I feel the push and the pull, pushed and pulled. What if I give in and live, instead of give in and die?
It's the same wall. It doesn't change a thing. Why the attachment to living? I don't think otherwise it's an attachment to dying, it's more impulse or intuition. I imagine how freeing it would be just to let myself live, get these ideas of leaving out and away, once and for all, and . . . live another how many more decades and die anyway?
Why not now? Why later? I've never lived my life to live for the later. I've lived my life to die, well, just about now-ish. And thus, this wall. The moment is a masterpiece, the weight of indecision's in the air.
It's the 200 years later theory. What will it matter in 200 years, so don't waste time glombing and gloombing and lolling around in the negative if I don't want to. My parents will die, too, hopefully a little shocked to find that shit happens and some things money can't take care of, family will die and pass, friends will pass.
With luck, we can hope to become someone's memories, and from someone's memories we can become someone's stories, and from someone's stories we can be someone's curiosity.
No, living is not a solution to this puzzle. Life is a koan, a puzzle that can't be solved with linear, logical, normative thinking. Solving it requires releasing this grasp and attachment to this matrix, this structure of forms and thoughts. Spirituality doesn't provide answers. Science doesn't provide answers. But they point in resonant directions. And in the swirl of theory and intuition, there's me and my own decisions.
No solutions, no end to the path. In my belief system, I will come back to continue the journey, hopefully with a similar intuition to pick up on the trail where I got stuck in this life and move further along on it. Perhaps with a little less attachments. Perhaps more. Perhaps more struggle. Whatever works.
And if I'm completely wrong, and killing myself is karmically equal to killing another person regardless of the circumstances and situation? I'll have to jump off that bridge when I get to it.
Monday, January 26, 2004
Floodgates:
Damn, why can't I just take a pill that will make me want to live? Why isn't there a pill I can take to make me depressed, just so that I could take more pills to make me not be depressed? Why is my life so black and white in its greyness, and grey in its black and whiteness?
It would be so easy to take Elizabeth up on her suggestion to move to Chicago, where she's pretty sure I could land a job where she works. Just go on living. Get out of the Bay Area.
And then what? Live in a dream. Float through a dream. Even be happy. Just live, wouldn't that be great? Wouldn't that be wonderful? It would. And a friend who is apparently good enough that she thinks of me when she knows there are job openings and I want to get the hell out of San Francisco? That kind of blew my mind, as the suggestion came out of the blue after several months of radio silence.
And my daily life now filled with practice and reading, cut through the bullshit that is institutionalized Buddhism, secular Buddhism as far as I'm concerned. Moral Buddhism that encourages dualistic thinking. Boy, have I got a beef about that.
Enter the monastery come April? And how do I see myself one year hence? Five years hence? Ten years hence? I don't know, I really don't. It could be that in the chain-of-lifetimes scheme of things, I'm just about ready to enter a monastery, but not quite there yet. I keep killing myself.
I believe this repeated killing myself in subsequent lifetimes is part of my learning, since there is no tangible reason why I'd be killing myself. Of course I don't know if this is the first time I don't have a reason but want to do it, or if that has been par for the course and part of the learning. I'm aware of all the nuances of possibility in this, so any Buddhists reading this, keep your fucking karmic projections to yourself please.
In my past beliefs, which might be self-serving, I have been killing myself in successive lifetimes, but for karmic reasons, I've always been able to be re-born human. Since I'm eschewing human moral interpretation, "karmic reasons" mean that the suicides have exhibited "non-attachment". Suicides that exhibit attachment to delusion, i.e. the physical/phenomenal world, are more the kind that might lead to re-birth in the lower realms. Attachment = "bad".
And of course entering a monastery isn't an end goal. For me myself, entering a monastery means having reached the point where I'm ready for that environment to cultivate . . . whatever, I'm not going to try to describe or explain it.
I got the sense from the Deer Park monks that at least some of them were in a chain of lifetimes where they had reached that point and successively end up entering a monastery to continue their practice. A few of them highly advanced who come back and become monks to aid others.
And, in my belief system, it doesn't end there either. In my world, there are beings who have already done the monastic practice and have fully cultivated and mastered non-attachment to physical reality, and die and are re-born just living unattached lives, enlightenment being unlikely or impossible in this era of mappo, degeneration of the dharma.
They could be your neighbors, could be a homeless person, a doctor or a lawyer, could be Madoka, could be Bob, but they're out there. They're here. We can only know ourselves, so don't bother figuring out who they are, just be glad they're there. The keys are compassion (material) and non-attachment (spiritual). Balanced.
But that's getting a bit far out there.
Maybe I'm in a stage of progression that we all need to get through, all who believe at least, a stage where we need to exhibit non-attachment in the "ultimate" fashion. A stage where despite having all the reasons to live, we are not attached to this physical life. It's not an end, we still come back. But we come back a little further along the path.
I don't know. But the possibilities are endless and wonderful.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Counting down. I'm still counting down, but to what, I don't know. It's habit for me to be counting down to some end. It's even natural. Isn't each of our passing days counting down to an end?
People don't like thinking about those things, not knowing when anything will end. Not knowing when anything will end, people find it useless or impossible to count down the days. But they're nevertheless counting down.
I've been finding myself in conversations trying to tactfully figure out what people's motivations are. What are they doing? Why are they doing this? Instead of just floating through our lives to reach 60, 70, 80, just because we were given these lives, what is compelling us, propelling us to reach 60, 70, 80?
Sometimes it's hard to steer the conversation away from depressingness, and if it looks like it's headed that way, I'll try to dissolve it before it gets there. If a conversation on life is going to be depressing, what's the point?
I'm still counting down, but to which choice, I'm not sure. I must have a fear of making a choice, of being proactive; either positively kill myself being true to myself and understanding it and being able to explain it for myself, or wild blue yonder it and implement the monastic choice. I have good arguments either way and I'm in danger of freezing up and not doing anything.
Instead, I play games with myself, try to set tangible chains of events into motion to force a choice. This time it is giving notice on my apartment on March 1st so that by April 1st, something will have to happen. But I think if I'm giving notice on March 1st to force something to happen by April 1st, it won't be committing suicide. So counting down.
Suicide actually hasn't been feeling very tangible lately. I don't think that means anything in terms of what I do, in fact it might be a positive step towards it, in that it might indicate a loss of attachment to the idea of it. In my mind, it's less and less real, but that just might be a mini-breakthrough of sorts. But it's counting down and having no idea what's at zero.
We're at second line from the bottom of January. Counting down. Something has to happen. Something has to change.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Got this from Randy a while ago, forgot to post it:
To the survivors:
According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's probably shouldn't have survived.
Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets. (Not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking.)
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle. Horrors!
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing. We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the street lights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. No cell phones. Unthinkable. We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then rode down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo 64, X-Boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, video tape movies, surround sound, personal cell phones, personal computers, or Internet chat rooms.
We had friends! We went outside and found them. We fell out of trees, got cut and broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.
We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and ate worms, and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes, nor did the worms live inside us forever.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's home and knocked on the door, or rang the bell or just walked in and talked to them.
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment.
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke a law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law. Imagine that!
This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers and problem solvers and inventors, ever. The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all.
And you're one of them!
Congratulations. Please pass this on to others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before lawyers and government regulated our lives, for our own good.
Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors?
A must read for people over 25 yrs of age.
To the survivors:
According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's probably shouldn't have survived.
Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets. (Not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking.)
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle. Horrors!
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing. We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the street lights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. No cell phones. Unthinkable. We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then rode down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo 64, X-Boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, video tape movies, surround sound, personal cell phones, personal computers, or Internet chat rooms.
We had friends! We went outside and found them. We fell out of trees, got cut and broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.
We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and ate worms, and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes, nor did the worms live inside us forever.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's home and knocked on the door, or rang the bell or just walked in and talked to them.
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment.
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke a law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law. Imagine that!
This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers and problem solvers and inventors, ever. The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all.
And you're one of them!
Congratulations. Please pass this on to others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before lawyers and government regulated our lives, for our own good.
Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors?
A must read for people over 25 yrs of age.
Thursday, November 13, 2003
I recently watched the Pink Floyd "Dark Side of the Moon" DVD, and Roger Waters said something that I've always agreed with, that our basic personalities are formed in the formative years of our lives, and not much of that basic personality changes for the rest of our lives.
I bank a lot on what a child takes in prior to learning what "mommy" or "ball" or "doll" is. From the point our memory kicks in, what I consider the proverbial beginning of the end, we start discriminating the world around us. We receive stimuli and experience things, we learn and grow and develop, but our reactions and what we learn and how we grow are all informed by that basic personality; what our infantile minds soaked in unconsciously without discrimination.
This means two things to me, variations on a theme, really: 1) we should live true to our nature; and 2) we can't change ourselves into being what we aren't. But I don't want to give the impression that I'm making a huge sweeping theory that I think applies to everyone.
It comes down to: 1) I have always tried to live true to myself (that was a very conscious thought when I was a teenager); and 2) there are limits to how much I can change or stray from my basic core personality.
I think of this because of the seeming changes since spending a week at the monastery, but nothing has changed. We experience things that make it look like we've changed, but it's more blossoming of different realizations.
The idea of renouncing material living resonated in me a long time ago. It has never completely gone away, although it has never solidly taken root. The same goes with suicide (which is a form of renouncing material living if you think about it), it's something that resonated early and it has never gone away, and has never pushed itself as an issue over the edge. So to speak.
I'm not saying that renunciation or suicide was specifically planted in my subconscious infant mind, but something was that when I came across the idea of suicide in my life, a realization blossomed, something resonated. Same thing with the attraction to monastic life.
In Buddhism, they say physical manifestation occurs with causality and conditions. So looking at a barren hillside, it is not accurate to say that there are no flowers there, because come Spring and the cause and conditions presented by the sun, rain, and seeds, then will there be flowers.
Or here's a more modern-day example I thought while standing outside the SF Zen Center: when you have a date with someone, you don't immediately go into the bedroom and hit the sack. You prepare, get dressed to look and smell nice, you chit chat and charm, you have dinner, some drinks, maybe a movie, and then when the conversation winds down and the attraction is there, then all the causes and conditions are in place to head into the room with the bed to do the nasty. I can't wait until I can give Dharma Talks.
Anyway, maybe that's what's happening now for me with a decision to be made towards one form of renunciation or the other. The core impulse towards renunciation has always been here, never went away. But now the conditions have arisen in this life, informed by my entire history of karmic causality, whereby one of these two things must happen.
Living a normative life has never been a primary focus in life; job, career, family, growing old. I had a job and quit it because I find it meaningless to be caught in the cycle of making money to spend it; endure 9 to 5 in order to entertain and sustain myself from 5 to 9.
I haven't been in a relationship for five years, and now as a practical matter, considering my values, it would be pointless to get into one. My desire to obtain the benefits of being in a relationship is outweighed by my lack of desire to be caught up in that whole relationship thang.
Finally, playing music has been a motivating factor for continuing on with material life all these years, but even the desire for that gratification is completely gone.
To me, it all makes sense, and I don't feel trapped by feeling these are my only choices. It feels right and true to myself, although I can see how that kind of choice might be horrific to most folk. Hm, I hadn't thought about how other folk may react being in my shoes. Interesting. But then I read other folks' weblogs and I feel that if I were in their shoes, I would feel trapped and horrified at the choices I would have to make.
I bank a lot on what a child takes in prior to learning what "mommy" or "ball" or "doll" is. From the point our memory kicks in, what I consider the proverbial beginning of the end, we start discriminating the world around us. We receive stimuli and experience things, we learn and grow and develop, but our reactions and what we learn and how we grow are all informed by that basic personality; what our infantile minds soaked in unconsciously without discrimination.
This means two things to me, variations on a theme, really: 1) we should live true to our nature; and 2) we can't change ourselves into being what we aren't. But I don't want to give the impression that I'm making a huge sweeping theory that I think applies to everyone.
It comes down to: 1) I have always tried to live true to myself (that was a very conscious thought when I was a teenager); and 2) there are limits to how much I can change or stray from my basic core personality.
I think of this because of the seeming changes since spending a week at the monastery, but nothing has changed. We experience things that make it look like we've changed, but it's more blossoming of different realizations.
The idea of renouncing material living resonated in me a long time ago. It has never completely gone away, although it has never solidly taken root. The same goes with suicide (which is a form of renouncing material living if you think about it), it's something that resonated early and it has never gone away, and has never pushed itself as an issue over the edge. So to speak.
I'm not saying that renunciation or suicide was specifically planted in my subconscious infant mind, but something was that when I came across the idea of suicide in my life, a realization blossomed, something resonated. Same thing with the attraction to monastic life.
In Buddhism, they say physical manifestation occurs with causality and conditions. So looking at a barren hillside, it is not accurate to say that there are no flowers there, because come Spring and the cause and conditions presented by the sun, rain, and seeds, then will there be flowers.
Or here's a more modern-day example I thought while standing outside the SF Zen Center: when you have a date with someone, you don't immediately go into the bedroom and hit the sack. You prepare, get dressed to look and smell nice, you chit chat and charm, you have dinner, some drinks, maybe a movie, and then when the conversation winds down and the attraction is there, then all the causes and conditions are in place to head into the room with the bed to do the nasty. I can't wait until I can give Dharma Talks.
Anyway, maybe that's what's happening now for me with a decision to be made towards one form of renunciation or the other. The core impulse towards renunciation has always been here, never went away. But now the conditions have arisen in this life, informed by my entire history of karmic causality, whereby one of these two things must happen.
Living a normative life has never been a primary focus in life; job, career, family, growing old. I had a job and quit it because I find it meaningless to be caught in the cycle of making money to spend it; endure 9 to 5 in order to entertain and sustain myself from 5 to 9.
I haven't been in a relationship for five years, and now as a practical matter, considering my values, it would be pointless to get into one. My desire to obtain the benefits of being in a relationship is outweighed by my lack of desire to be caught up in that whole relationship thang.
Finally, playing music has been a motivating factor for continuing on with material life all these years, but even the desire for that gratification is completely gone.
To me, it all makes sense, and I don't feel trapped by feeling these are my only choices. It feels right and true to myself, although I can see how that kind of choice might be horrific to most folk. Hm, I hadn't thought about how other folk may react being in my shoes. Interesting. But then I read other folks' weblogs and I feel that if I were in their shoes, I would feel trapped and horrified at the choices I would have to make.
Friday, October 03, 2003
I'm losing this battle against the status quo. But I won't do August again. No dramatics. The sun's going down sooner each day, and I can't bear another Winter. I can't bear Daylight Savings ending. I can't bear another "holiday season". I don't know what will happen. I don't know what I will do.
After that month-long run of reading, I'm trying to strip away the religious trappings to find what I think is real to me. It's hard to distinguish what's real and what was imagination, especially when it was something I thought I understood and accepted. It makes me feel sorta "atheist", taking the concepts and mechanics and then removing the religious and faith components. It's sort of empty, and not liking that, it makes me think I'm more "Buddhist" than I like to let on.
I consider my family. It's good. My parents did a good a job as possible is my final analysis. But it doesn't change whatever I do about myself. I still consider it unthinkable that my parents die before me. It just resonates that way.
They say when you die, your life "flashes" before your eyes. I'm thinking that time ceases to exist when you die. Time is a function of perception, created by the functions of the physical brain. Consciousness may continue for a bit, but since time has stopped, who is to say "how long" it takes for consciousness to dissolve through the betweens, as described in the Tibetan Book of blah, blah, blah.
When I die and my life flashes before my eyes, I want to see it from an outside perspective, mostly from above, continuous from birth like a film being fast-forwarded, like Koyaanisqatsi, with an emphasis on the passage of each day with the sun rising and setting. Each day will be like a minute in relative "real time", and I can trace the path my life took me day by day.
In real time, that would take six hours and five minutes for each year. Four years would take a day. My life to date would take more than 8 and a half days. I think. I suck at math. Get off my back.
It will be interesting to trace my formative years that I have no recollection of. See everything from an outside point of view, every day, everywhere I went, everything I did, everyone I met, everyone I knew, everyone I loved, ships passing in the night, sparks, collisions, sunrise, sunset, seasons changing, growing up, growing bigger, progressing, changing, learning, developing, my ghost travelling.
I had a good life. It is interesting to me. It doesn't matter when it ends. I had a blast.
After that month-long run of reading, I'm trying to strip away the religious trappings to find what I think is real to me. It's hard to distinguish what's real and what was imagination, especially when it was something I thought I understood and accepted. It makes me feel sorta "atheist", taking the concepts and mechanics and then removing the religious and faith components. It's sort of empty, and not liking that, it makes me think I'm more "Buddhist" than I like to let on.
I consider my family. It's good. My parents did a good a job as possible is my final analysis. But it doesn't change whatever I do about myself. I still consider it unthinkable that my parents die before me. It just resonates that way.
They say when you die, your life "flashes" before your eyes. I'm thinking that time ceases to exist when you die. Time is a function of perception, created by the functions of the physical brain. Consciousness may continue for a bit, but since time has stopped, who is to say "how long" it takes for consciousness to dissolve through the betweens, as described in the Tibetan Book of blah, blah, blah.
When I die and my life flashes before my eyes, I want to see it from an outside perspective, mostly from above, continuous from birth like a film being fast-forwarded, like Koyaanisqatsi, with an emphasis on the passage of each day with the sun rising and setting. Each day will be like a minute in relative "real time", and I can trace the path my life took me day by day.
In real time, that would take six hours and five minutes for each year. Four years would take a day. My life to date would take more than 8 and a half days. I think. I suck at math. Get off my back.
It will be interesting to trace my formative years that I have no recollection of. See everything from an outside point of view, every day, everywhere I went, everything I did, everyone I met, everyone I knew, everyone I loved, ships passing in the night, sparks, collisions, sunrise, sunset, seasons changing, growing up, growing bigger, progressing, changing, learning, developing, my ghost travelling.
I had a good life. It is interesting to me. It doesn't matter when it ends. I had a blast.
Monday, September 15, 2003
It is clear that the Book of Natural Liberation (the so-called "Tibetan Book of the Dead") deplores suicide unless the person has already attained liberation, or is confident he or she can do so in the between. - Robert Thurman translation, p. 90 (his own text).
If I'm not confident, I don't know what is.
I like Robert Thurman's full translation of the title, The Great Book of Natural Liberation Through Understanding in the Between. I like the translation of the "between" for the word "bardo" referring to the states we go through in life and death, although in the context of the book, the various "betweens" refer to the death states between dying and being re-born. Although maybe "bardo" specifically refers to those betweens, I don't know. Get off my back, do I look Tibetan?
Anyway, I like it because referring to these states as "betweens" helps envision the life-cycle as a circle where one is always between other states. It's a continuous progression with where you are coming from and where you are going all being connected.
If I'm not confident, I don't know what is.
I like Robert Thurman's full translation of the title, The Great Book of Natural Liberation Through Understanding in the Between. I like the translation of the "between" for the word "bardo" referring to the states we go through in life and death, although in the context of the book, the various "betweens" refer to the death states between dying and being re-born. Although maybe "bardo" specifically refers to those betweens, I don't know. Get off my back, do I look Tibetan?
Anyway, I like it because referring to these states as "betweens" helps envision the life-cycle as a circle where one is always between other states. It's a continuous progression with where you are coming from and where you are going all being connected.
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