Ox Herding

Imagination

Hmmm . . . What was Albert thinking?

I imagine he was pointing to the importance of creativity in human affairs. If so, then there's something here worth examination.

We're all familiar with Creativity with a capital C: the works of Shakespeare, the teachings of the Buddha, and other transformational cultural productions. I don't have much to say about these.

But I do wonder about ordinary, lower-case creativity: the creation of a superb pasta sauce, the intuitive response that helps a friend in need, and other momentary transformations of daily life.

Sometimes everyday creativity seems to arise quite spontaneously, almost out of thin air. (Why did I put mustard into the pasta sauce? Who would have thought it would be so good?)

But more often, creative inspiration seems to emerge from a base of knowledge and expertise. In fact, when I examine the mustard-in-the-sauce, I can remember reading somewhere that mustard and brussels sprouts made a good combo. My spontaneity depended upon knowledge.

We also know from the history of Buddhism that, while spontaneous awakening does occur from time to time (Huineng, for example), the experience of enlightenment often depends upon years of intensive study, both of the self and of the texts. (Ted's been pointing this out over at Flatbed Sutra for quite a while; see here for an example.)

So don't burn your books just yet. Keep developing your craft. Spend time on the cushion. And stock up on mustard.

Que Será, Será

A nearby elementary school has decorated its facade with wonderful hand-painted tiles, some of which have inspirational phrases (probably chosen by responsible adults).

The tile above reads, "Que será, será," a Spanish expression meaning "what will be, will be."

Some of us old-timers will recognize it as the title of a song popularized by Doris Day in the mid-1950s.  Here's the first verse and chorus of the song:

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

I remember singing this song when I was a little boy, but somehow never imprinted on the "what will be, will be" part. (Of course, I didn't end up pretty or rich, either.)

Despite this old association, I felt unsettled when I first saw this tile. It seems fundamentally false. In the deepest possible way, we shape our destiny through our intentions and actions. It takes only a few moments of reflection to see this natural process at play.

Of course, if we wish to avoid the work of enlightenment, then it might be reassuring to throw up our hands and say, "Que será, será." Like a cosmic, "Whatever."

Thought Moments

Today's video begins with this:

The Buddha observed the mental states experienced after a physical or mental object enters the mind. He called these states, "Thought Moments."

The creator of this video asks simple questions of ordinary people and records their responses. The participants were willing to be humble and honest, and I found the results quite moving.

Thank you for reading Ox Herding. Best wishes for the weekend!

Barry

Mind Origin Tea

Last week, an old friend visited from Seoul and brought a package of yellow tea handmade by an old Korean nun (above). Yesterday I enjoyed this rare tea, with its rich melon flavor - very special!

Most Westerners don't know much about Korean tea, and I have only a slight acquaintance of it. High-quality Korean tea is known as chak seol cha, or "sparrow's tongue tea." This green tea, made from the tiniest new leaves, differs from anything I've had from China or Japan in that it's both salty and herby.

The records indicate that Camilla sinensis (the tea plant) was brought to the Korean peninsula by Buddhist monks early in the 7th century CE.  At that time, the beverage was known as neu woun cha, or "mind origin tea."

During long retreats, monks and lay people frequently step out the walking meditation line to down a quick cup of tea. I've done it myself, but have yet to discover the origin of mind.

During retreat, most of us employ single-serving tea sets (shown below). Boiling water goes in the cup until it cools to around 170 degrees. Then it goes into the tiny teapot with the leaves and steeps for about 3 minutes. The tea gets poured back into the cup and gulped down before the 10 minute walking period ends.

In 18th century Kyoto, an old Zen monk named Baisao ("The Old Tea Seller") left the temple life behind and sold tea on the streets. He wrote many poems about his experience. Here's one:

Pure water from a clear spring

simmering over the clay stove

battered robe and tattered cap

brown with fume and tea smudge.

Don't think I'm some old gaffer

with a wild-eyed love for tea.

My purpose is to awaken you

out of your worldly sleep.

Poem from Baisao: The Old Tea Seller, by Norman Waddell

A Little Dark

Gosh, I'd like to leave out the dark parts of life, too. The parts where:

• My knees hurt when bowing
• My wife doesn't like me
• The roof leaks in the winter rains
• Another day passes without enlightenment
• Someone cuts me off while driving
• Dinner requires some effort on my part

All these things (and more!) are just a little dark for me. And I don't like the darkness.

So - if you don't mind - couldn't you just make my fantasies come true?

Just Tolkoff

I read a number of Buddhist blogs and greatly appreciate the sincere effort that authors dedicate to this form of communication.

I respond most fully to those sites in which the author employs a unique voice or style. There are many such blogs, but today I'd like to feature Just Tolkoff, Joanne Tolkoff's wonderful site of drawings.

As regular readers of Ox Herding understand, it's quite easy to get pedantic or ponderous when writing about inner work. Joanne, on the other hand, uses drawing to express aspects of Buddhist teaching in fresh and provocative ways. What a delight!

Here, with permission, are examples of Joanne's work. (Note that Just Tolkoff contains a variety of drawing, not all Buddhist-inspired.) I hope you enjoy them!

 Thanks, Joanne!

Life and Death

A few days ago I went grocery shopping and parked in front of a row of carts outside the store.

When I returned with the groceries, I noticed two House Sparrows hopping around under the carts (you can see one of them above the cart wheels in the left side of the image above).

On earlier visits Susann and I had noticed these little guys and occasionally had tossed them some bread crumbs. Given the droppings, they seem to live under the carts. It's probably a good life.

As I sat in the car, I thought, "I'll get a bit of food for them."

And - just as that thought appeared - an American Kestrel stooped out of the sky and landed on top of the shopping carts! The sparrows got very small while the falcon fluttered around the top of the carts, trying to flush them out. Grocery shopping, indeed.

Oh!

Right there in front of me - the dance of life and death!

This dance lasted for at least ten seconds - until someone walked by with a bag of groceries. The falcon flew off (startling the person with the bag) and perched alertly on a nearby telephone wire.

Just another reminder that death is always at hand. Biding its time. Waiting for us.

Photos taken immediately after the attack.

For more information on the House Sparrow, click here.

For more information on the America Kestrel (formerly known as the Sparrow Haw), click here.

Look, How Beautiful

When I was a young man, I spent many hours with the poetry of Robinson Jeffers. His long poems centered on the primal importance of wildness. And he developed a challenging, uncomfortable notion of beauty not dependent on human life. Because I was schooled in Greek tragedy, Jeffers' work felt quite familiar to me.

Recently James Ford, Roshi, posted on Monkey Mind this video based on a Jeffers' poem. It brought back rich memories of reading Jeffers's work around campfires on the high peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Even if you lack these associations with Robinson Jeffers, you might get a hit from his work.

Thank you for reading Ox Herding. May we together raise our eyes and look during this weekend!

Barry

The Past

The past is never dead.

It's not even past.

It seems unlikely that William Faulkner knew much about the Buddha-dharma. But, as the above passage demonstrates, he knew something about human life.

Faulkner's observation might prompt us to ask, "Who keeps the past alive?" And the answer seems pretty obvious:  We do it ourselves.

We might also ask, "Why do we keep the past alive?"

I'm pretty interested in this second question. It suggests that we get something from the feeding the corpse of the past. What might that be?

I often struggle to understand what I'm up to with my stories and memories. Maybe you do, as well.

Perhaps it's enough simply to recognize that we're up to something. If we can recognize this, then maybe we can put down the corpse. That would probably reduce the odor.

Quote from Requiem for A Nun, by William Faulkner

Meditation

I laugh loudly every time I see this cartoon. Some of my amusement comes from the simple fact that when I meditate, there's always some content.

In this way, my "meditation mind" doesn't differ much from my "everyday mind."

Except that in meditation I can sometimes perceive the content.

In those times, meditation is just content without worrying. Sweet.