Ox Herding

Sixth Anniversary

Recently Ox Herding hit the six-year mark but, given the inconstant evolution of the site, I'm not throwing a party or anything. Ox Herding has changed quite a bit over the years, mirroring in some ways the changes in my own life. That's normal, right?

One thing hasn't changed, though - the interest, encouragement, and support of readers from around the world. Please accept my sincere appreciation. You keep Ox Herding alive!

On past anniversaries, I reposted articles from the preceding year that captured the spirit of the blog. But the site's been pretty quiet for the last twelve months so I've dipped into archives from previous years and rediscovered a few old favorites. I hope you'll enjoy them.

2009: Zen Knees

2010: On Certainty, 5

2011: Creep Week, 1

2012: The Teacher

2012: The Friday Video: Love Dogs

 

A Note on Ox Herding

Yesterday's post was the last of my reflections on solo retreat. I hope you found interest and encouragement in these short essays.

Long-time readers may remember that I used to write for Ox Herding five days each week. Last year the posts became more infrequent and irregular, owing to my retreat and travel schedule.

Although I expect to travel frequently during 2013, I hope to post more often than I did in 2012 (but perhaps not five days each week).

You'll see a new kind of post on Mondays, what I call "appreciations." These posts will "appreciate" books, people, blogs, food, movies, music and other items that have personal meaning.

Foremost among the things I appreciate:  your readership. Thank you for following this blog.

Barry

A Note on Comments

For the past weeks, Ox Herding has received an increasing volume of spam disguised as comments. The spammer is pretty clever and I have to "manually" remove each comment. In an effort to forestall this flood of unwanted commentary, I've turned on the "captcha" functionality . . . so when you leave a comment, you'll have to fill in a code so that the system knows that a human being wishes their voice to be heard.

Thanks for your patience with this. Perhaps in a few months I can again turn off the captcha functionality.

Barry

Go Mindful

Last week I was contacted about a new site designed to support and inspire people of all traditions in their meditation practice.

Go Mindful provides a place where people can talk about their practice and offer testimonials about the ways in which mindfulness practice has supported their lives. It's yet another form of social media that can help this world. I hope you'll stop by Go Mindful soon!

Update to Zen Women Website

Some of you know that I maintain another website, Zen Women, which catalogues all the known stories of women Zen practitioners in the Tang Dynasty period of ancient China.

Today I added two sidebars items to Zen Women that may interest those seeking more information on women in Zen.

In the left-hand column, you'll find "Books on Women in Buddhism," a selection of works that center around the Zen tradition. Some of the books document historical figures in the history of Buddhism and Zen, while others address contemporary issues.

At the top of the right-hand column, you'll find an extensive list of women actively teaching Zen around the world. This list is based on the Sweeping Zen database of teachers and only includes those who have received formal authorization to teach (either transmission or inka, depending on the tradition). The Sweeping Zen database, while extensive, is not comprehensive. I'll update this list periodically, as the Sweeping Zen database changes.

While the Zen Women site doesn't get updated often (few new stories have emerged since I first put up the site, although I remain hopeful!), I hope these changes add to its value.

Dust Devils

Occasionally the small world of Buddhist blogs whips itself into an whirl of controversy. If you read these blogs, you've probably encountered heated discussions on teachers, conferences, racism, "my Buddhism is better (or truer) than yours," or other topics.

I don't have much to add to some of these controversies, especially those that seem to arise from a momentary updraft. I'm generally unwilling to add dust to dust. At least, not knowingly.

But some topics, such as the abuses of Shimano and Merzel, are more than momentary dust devils. The substance of these topics moves through the world like an enormous tornado and requires a responsible, uh, response.

I can write about predatory teachers because I have some insight into my own predatory nature. Out of this, I might offer something of genuine value. Not that others will agree, of course.

But with other topics (such as racism within Buddhism (present in all traditions, East, West, North and South)), while I can feel the grating in my eyes, I lack the insight needed to wash away the dust.

This discomfort prompts me to pay close attention. And, by the same token, it keeps me out of the swirl of discussion, since getting close to a dust devil only gets more dust in the eyes. And there's enough of that already.

Photo by Chazz Layne; used under Creative Commons license.

Anniversary Week, 5

Ox Herding featured many wonderful videos last year, from keen-eyed Zen teachings to stimulating art films. Among these I most enjoyed the entire week dedicated to videos of Radiohead's great song, "Creep." Now, I suspect that many of you didn't share my response. But - hey! - I get to be a creep sometimes! Of the "Creep" videos, here's my favorite, from March 7, 2011:

Creep, 1

 The Ox will plod in a odd direction this week, with five different video versions of "Creep," Radiohead's debut single from 1992.

Although a hit when released, over the past nineteen years the song has mushroomed into a cult classic, adapted in a variety of ways.

Today's "Creep" (lyrics below) is sung by Scala & Kolacny Brothers, a girl's choir from Belgium. The stop-motion video, by Alex Heller, tells a story that probably resonates with many of us, that of an outsider desperately wishing to become an insider.

We might feel the impact of the video at an instinctive, emotional level, but for me it also contains an essential dharmic message: when we distort our life to in response to outside circumstances, dukkha inevitably arises. This is especially true when we attempt to manipulate how others respond to us.

I hope you enjoy this week's videos as much as I've enjoyed finding them.

Creep, written by Thom Yorke

When you were here before,
couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel,
your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh

She's running out the door...
She's running out
she runs, runs, runs, runs...
runs...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin here?
I don't belong here

I don't belong here...

Anniversary Week, 4

In the early spring my life went sideways. While I didn't (and don't) care to expose the details, I wrote a series of posts on loss that were as personal as anything I've written on Ox Herding. The series began with this post on May 5, 2011.

Loss, 1

Some years ago I gave a mala, originally given to me by Zen Master Seung Sahn, to a young monk who was off to winter retreat in Korea. I didn’t hesitate in making the gift.

But now I find myself longing for those curious gray seeds, wishing I could pass them through my fingers again.

I miss them.

Chunks of vegetable matter on a string. Silly, huh?

It makes me wonder about the emotions that accompany loss.

Perhaps most of us think of grief and anguish as natural responses to the inevitable passing of things. Perhaps they are. Indeed, the Buddha commented about these emotions:

That’s how it is when living in the world, when there is the gaining of a personal identity.*

"That's how it is."

But the Buddha included a barb in his comment. The strong emotional churn that comes with loss arises from "gaining" of a personal identity.

Dang. We're back to "I, my, me, mine."

No wonder the grief that accompanies loss feels so profoundly personal!

Yet this very grief incorporates a wonderful gift - an opportunity to discover how we fabricate emotion through projection of self onto the world.

Such discovery may not put an end to the intense, discomfiting feelings that come with loss. At least, I haven't experienced that.

But perhaps, if we study the self, we might perceive these feelings for what they are:  Markers of loss.

And nothing more.

* Thana Sutta

Anniversary Week, 3

This post, from February 23, 2011, highlights my daily practice - not my formal sitting meditation, but the work I do throughout the day to see what I'm up to. Sometimes I can get an insight as events unfold, but more often it takes some time to develop a clear perception. And that's okay, because it lessens the likelihood of a recurrence. Lessens it, but I still have to take responsibility.

Paranoia

I'd like to write about something near to all of us: paranoia.

I'm not talking about delusional thoughts like "The FBI is following me" or "There's arsenic in the tofu burger."

No, I'm talking about something more prosaic and, in its familiarity, often invisible.

A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a group of people who struggled to relate to me. Where they wanted clarity, I offered evasion. Where they wanted relationship, I offered manipulation. Where they wanted fluidity, I wanted control.

The encounter got a little difficult, at least for me, and I left feeling quite angry.

Later, as I worked with my feelings, I realized that my evasion, manipulation and control served only one purpose: to prevent these people from seeing me.

And that's the essence of paranoia, as I use the term - the impulse to avoid genuine contact with others.

Now, I don't care one way or the other about the terminology we apply to this behavior. Or if we use any term at all.

But I care greatly about developing insight into the behavior itself, the impulse to withhold myself from the world.

Because, if I can't see what I'm up to, how can I ever change?

Anniversary Week, 2

One of the downsides of steady practice is that I continually have to face the fact that my impulses cause problems for others (not to mention myself.) This has been a particular point of study over the last year, as revealed in this post from November 22, 2010.

Cruelty

(Speaking of shoulds) I recently decided that one of our cats, Graham, should sleep on the cushy chair next to my desk, rather than on his preferred couch. That way I could enjoy his company while I worked.

So, whenever I found him on the couch, I'd bring him into the office and put him on the chair. He would immediately get up and head back to the couch.

Nevertheless, I persisted in my efforts to train him. (Train a cat. Right!)

Then, last week, I "got" what I was doing.

I had no thought for Graham's happiness. I didn't even have much thought for my own true happiness. I just wanted Graham to conform to my desires.

I wanted to remake the world. Again.

And I saw the cruelty inherent in this. More accurately, I felt the cruelty . . . like a blow to the stomach.

Of course, there's nothing wrong with wanting the company of this sweet kittie. But my demand was fucked up and once I saw that, I let him return to being a cat.

He still likes me, which says a lot about a cat's generous spirit.