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Last week my teacher said:
Emotion are invisible actions.
We don't usually interpret emotions in this way, I suspect.
Most of us probably believe that emotions occur without our active involvement.
But what if we create emotions in response to circumstance in much the same way as we make sandwiches in response to hunger?
Could we accept that much responsibility for our inner life?
Good question.
Last Wednesday I passed a parked car with the above bumper sticker. So - naturally - I stopped to consider karma.
It didn't take very long . . . in fact, it was over by the time I got out to take the photograph.
I noted the brevity of my consideration and I wondered: Am I so shallow that I can't (or won't) look deeply into karma? Or is there just not very much to consider?
The Buddha had a lot to say about karma. He categorized it into four types and talked about the results of each type. Most importantly, he said:
Beings are owners of their actions, heirs of their actions; they originate from their actions, are bound to their actions, have actions as their refuge. It is action that distinguishes beings as inferior and superior. [Culakammavibhanga Sutta]
But suppose one memorized all the Buddha's teachings on karma. Then what?
I'm sure the owner of the car had good intentions (karma!) in placing the sticker on their car. They probably hoped that people would consider consequences and appropriately adjust behavior. (See yesterday's post.)
But, in the rushing fluidity of each moment, can we realistically expect ourselves to pause and consider karma?
All of us have deep experience in the difficulty of human relationship. In various ways, parents, partners, children, colleagues, friends and neighbors drive us crazy.
Two things occur to me as I consider this.
First, I create crazy. That feeling is within me - not out there. The behavior of others is just the behavior of others. My response is my responsibility. How can I own that?
Second - and far more troublesome - I often struggle to see how I stimulate craziness in other people. Honestly, that's because I generally prefer fantasy over responsibility (and that preference leads to the demand that others reinvent themselves).
Something's got to change if I'm going to live a sane life. And it's going to require a deeper examination of attachments, intentions, pedestals, fantasies and other aspects of the "self." I don't know any other way.
My friend, Bob, and I get together for coffee every week or so. We share a common history and, more importantly, a similar approach to relationship.
Sometimes I instantly get what I'm up to. Other times, when I don't want to get it, I respond with a friendly, "fuck you, Bob."
Then we both laugh.
It's how we help each other grow up. And it's why I treasure this rare friendship.
An equally ancient clematis has grown into the tree, its tendrils spreading along every limb.
And, at the same time in the spring, star-shaped clematis flowers burst forward to join the magnolia buds.
Each plant has its own beauty. But when joined together, something wonderful occurs.
Partners.
Recently someone new to Buddhism asked how it was that the Bodhisattva of Compassion, Quanyin, could serve as the "patron" of both vegetarians and fishermen.
There was an aggrieved tone in the person's voice: How could she?
I replied that true compassion does not depend on conditions.
Without hesitation, Quanyin offers unstinting compassion to vegetarians and carnivores, fishermen and farmers, and saints and murderers.
That's because Quanyin has laid down the mind that picks and chooses based on like and dislike. She only responds to what is.
Indeed, love can only arise in response to what is. Everything else is fantasy.
These are easy words to write, but to live without dependence on conditions . . . well, that's something else. That's why clear-eyed direction is so important.
The untroubled mind, in the midst of great difficulty, remains alert to the beauty of each moment.
The bodhisattva mind, in the midst of great difficulty, calls out so that others might see the beauty of each moment.
Look! Black type on yellow page!
The klesha of ignorance arises from inattentiveness to this very moment. When we fail to perceive the truth, we refer to this moment as "the present."
The many faces of ignorance (confusion, delusion, distraction, aimless action) corrode our human relationships because they prevent us from seeing clearly.
We stockpile our confusions and distractions to avoid the truth that everything always changes. Because we refuse to be "okay" with change, we create suffering.
When we drop our attachments to permanence, self-hood and happiness - as a consequence of perceiving the function of mind in each moment - the present drops away.
Time ends.
And when time ends, each moment gleams with brilliance.
