Since giving me his phone number, I have been getting a daily SMS from Buddha.
"Where u and what u doing?"
Again, like I've said before it's not necessarily about what we are doing, but how we report it, and how aware we are about giving updates about our work.
It is not merely a sign that the Lama is our best chum and that we need to be on SMS exchanges with him all day long. The question usually only comes once a day, just to keep you on your toes.
I've taken it more as a way to finetune the whole awareness process so that as I'm blundering my way through the day, I should still remember to put a few minutes aside to send the Lama an SMS about the latest new news and Dharmic developments around my small world.
It doesn't quite work that way though. My mind isn't nearly as sharp as it should be. Either
a) I forgot completely
or
b) Buddha beats me to it.
The case of (b) has been happening far more frequently lately. As I try to whip my memory up to standards, I am now at least vaguely aware that I should be sending my daily updates. So that I don't like a total chump, I have started to plan what I would say ahead of time. If I'm about to cut a good deal with someone, or while in the middle of an important and significant meeting, I remind myself that "after this, I'll send an SMS with all the exciting details," without the Lama having to ask.
And always always always, halfway through the meeting, or just as I've finished cutting the deal and shook the other guy's hand, my phone beeps.
Where u and what u doing?
The Buddha beats me to it again. GAAAAAH!
I wonder if the Buddha likes chasing people this way? Or does he roll his eyes and shake his head as he sends out the reminder, once again, each day, to the errant forgetful student.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Resolving conflict
I've been having problems with a housemate. Mostly, I just want to scratch his car or sit him down in a corner and scream at him until my face turns a Yamantaka blue. He has been infuriating and exasperating beyond belief: not taking care of his dogs, not paying back the large sums of money he owes me, making me chase him every month for rent, not contributing in any way to the cleaning of the house. If there is such a thing as hate, this is as close I have gotten to it in a very, very long time.
I am conflicted, mostly, because I know I shouldn't feel like this. The teachings speak of spaciousness, openness and the rare opportunities we have to really put our patience and compassion into action, into real practice. Spirituality is being nice to people who are not to you.
Rinpoche knows all about the conflict of course, since waaay back, almost 4 months ago. He is patient and indulges my complaints. He prompts me for new news about the housemate, shares in the salacious little details I impart, pats me on the back and tells me it'll be okay. I love it - when I'm pissed off with someone, all I want to do is tell the whole world just how difficult they're being, give examples, highlight every little tic that gets on my nerves, recount every conversation in sickeningly accurate details - for all this, I have amazing awareness and memory.
Rinpoche indulges my fancy for bitching.... although now I realise it is not ever about the content of what I'm telling him, but about the way I am talking to him about all this.
Over dinner the other day, he asked me for updates about the house situation. The housemate was supposed to be moving out in mid-March but things were unclear because he had said he didn't have the money for moving. So, over the delicious buffet, I spilled all the beans I had - which was almost as delicious an experience as the caeser salad I was eating.
I felt guilty about it, as I always do right at the back of the inner chambers of my conscience, but I explained it away by telling myself that all I was doing was answering Rinpoche's questions, and in a very calm, collected way too! I was trying, as far as possible, not to embellish my answers, but I think the glee I had in "reporting" was embellishment enough.
Rinpoche eventually stepped in to solve the situation - shameful, considering you hung out all your dirty laundry for your Lama to see, and then expect him to take it down and sort through it all. Rinpoche was offering to pay for the housemate's deposit on his new place, which would solve the situation both for the housemate (who wanted to move out) and the rest of us (who had been having so much difficulty living with him).
At that point, he said, "Well, you know he's already going through so much suffering, let's not add to it and we can't solve everything for him, but at least let's see where we can help."
I felt small as the bacon bits in the salad and my stomach felt totally dry. The lesson was not being taught in any sort of teaching, or talk; it was being taught through Rinpoche's own action of kindness, extending help to the housemate.
I thanked him for his help, and also apologised that he had to step in to sort this out.
He said, "Oh it's a pleasure. I like to help where I can. It's not a problem for me to help, but let this experience help you learn, so that the next time you have to handle something like this, you can do it with more patience, and understanding where the other person comes from. Then you can help them."
All my bitching, my gossiping, my completely and total relishing of relating tales had culminated in this: what it actually takes to solve a situation. Rinpoche never told me off; he actually even pointed out that all of the happiness the housemate was experiencing had been brought on by himself. But that wasn't the point - the point was, what do we do now? And how can we fix the situation?
Rinpoche "makes" us bitch. He "encourages" us with his questions and prompts, appears to join in the fun of gossiping by laughing along, giving his own commentaries and listening attentively to all you say.
And it's always so much fun to indulge and indulge and indulge in every little detail, isn't it? Especially when it seems that even the Buddhas are enjoying, and authorising, it!
But the point of bitching with Vajradhara is not about bitching. It is to exhaust every possible angle on the situation and then to ask ourselves, "So what can we do about it?" "How can we fix it?"
And then you work on bringing light to the person, or situation, and doing it with joy.
See, even bitching can be transformed, and Rinpoche works with even the biggest gossip queens to find a solution - both for them, and the people they gossip about.
I am conflicted, mostly, because I know I shouldn't feel like this. The teachings speak of spaciousness, openness and the rare opportunities we have to really put our patience and compassion into action, into real practice. Spirituality is being nice to people who are not to you.
Rinpoche knows all about the conflict of course, since waaay back, almost 4 months ago. He is patient and indulges my complaints. He prompts me for new news about the housemate, shares in the salacious little details I impart, pats me on the back and tells me it'll be okay. I love it - when I'm pissed off with someone, all I want to do is tell the whole world just how difficult they're being, give examples, highlight every little tic that gets on my nerves, recount every conversation in sickeningly accurate details - for all this, I have amazing awareness and memory.
Rinpoche indulges my fancy for bitching.... although now I realise it is not ever about the content of what I'm telling him, but about the way I am talking to him about all this.
Over dinner the other day, he asked me for updates about the house situation. The housemate was supposed to be moving out in mid-March but things were unclear because he had said he didn't have the money for moving. So, over the delicious buffet, I spilled all the beans I had - which was almost as delicious an experience as the caeser salad I was eating.
I felt guilty about it, as I always do right at the back of the inner chambers of my conscience, but I explained it away by telling myself that all I was doing was answering Rinpoche's questions, and in a very calm, collected way too! I was trying, as far as possible, not to embellish my answers, but I think the glee I had in "reporting" was embellishment enough.
Rinpoche eventually stepped in to solve the situation - shameful, considering you hung out all your dirty laundry for your Lama to see, and then expect him to take it down and sort through it all. Rinpoche was offering to pay for the housemate's deposit on his new place, which would solve the situation both for the housemate (who wanted to move out) and the rest of us (who had been having so much difficulty living with him).
At that point, he said, "Well, you know he's already going through so much suffering, let's not add to it and we can't solve everything for him, but at least let's see where we can help."
I felt small as the bacon bits in the salad and my stomach felt totally dry. The lesson was not being taught in any sort of teaching, or talk; it was being taught through Rinpoche's own action of kindness, extending help to the housemate.
I thanked him for his help, and also apologised that he had to step in to sort this out.
He said, "Oh it's a pleasure. I like to help where I can. It's not a problem for me to help, but let this experience help you learn, so that the next time you have to handle something like this, you can do it with more patience, and understanding where the other person comes from. Then you can help them."
All my bitching, my gossiping, my completely and total relishing of relating tales had culminated in this: what it actually takes to solve a situation. Rinpoche never told me off; he actually even pointed out that all of the happiness the housemate was experiencing had been brought on by himself. But that wasn't the point - the point was, what do we do now? And how can we fix the situation?
Rinpoche "makes" us bitch. He "encourages" us with his questions and prompts, appears to join in the fun of gossiping by laughing along, giving his own commentaries and listening attentively to all you say.
And it's always so much fun to indulge and indulge and indulge in every little detail, isn't it? Especially when it seems that even the Buddhas are enjoying, and authorising, it!
But the point of bitching with Vajradhara is not about bitching. It is to exhaust every possible angle on the situation and then to ask ourselves, "So what can we do about it?" "How can we fix it?"
And then you work on bringing light to the person, or situation, and doing it with joy.
See, even bitching can be transformed, and Rinpoche works with even the biggest gossip queens to find a solution - both for them, and the people they gossip about.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Phone
I'm such a chump, really.
I have this irritating habit (and I know it's irritating) of leaving my phone in another room and, for the next three hours, forgetting all about the fact that I even have a phone. Suddenly, I remember, panic and run around trying to find it.
Usually, by the time I get to it, there is a message from Buddha, "Hello Monster Deary, where are you and what are you doing?"
It is sod's law that whenever I have my phone on me, next to me, in front of me, I never get a Buddha message. And the moment I forget all about it in the next room, while it's on silent, he will message.
He must be getting exaseratingly sick of me always texting bad panicky messages,
"Sorry Rinpoche, I left my phone in the next room."
"Oh dear, hello Rinpoche, sorry, my phone was on silent."
"Oh no! I forgot my phone was in the other room."
I was thinking recently though about how much I hate hate hate having people ask me where I am and what I'm doing. I would almost ban my ex-boyfriend from asking me that question, even though he never really meant anything by it.
And surely, the Guru has better things to do than go all Big Brother on his students, constantly haranguing them about their whereabouts and movement?? Is he really that much of a control freak?
Strangely, the question has never bothered me. I hadn't even thought of it the way I did with clingy boyfriends and pesky acquaintances. With the Buddhas, this sort of question feels more like an exercise in awareness.
What are you doing? ask the dakinis and the Bodhisattvas. And, well, yes indeed: what are we doing most of the time? And is it anything worthwhile? Are we doing something that benefits? That will tangibly contribute towards something of worth? Or are we just idling and indulging our own little greedy selves again?
He has explained to us that asking for new news is not really because we actually wants to hear what we're doing (okay, so he isn't really a control freak!), but to force us also to be aware of what's going on around us, and to test how we look at and interpret situations as they happen.
Through the simple relating of new news and what we are doing, we reveal what our priorities are, what we are attracted to, what we find difficult to overcome, what we like and dislike, how aware (or unaware) we are, how analytical, gullible, vindictive, sneaky or gossipy we are.
And for the Guru to train us, all those little hang ups are just what he needs to get at to make us work through them, let go of them and emerge as lighter, clearer minds.
Sometimes, as we eagerly rush to tell him the latest gossip, or text him bitchy updates about the people we dislike, we may just as well be running around naked in front of him. With every little SMS, we strip ourselves that little bit more bare and the Guru gets deeper into the root of the problem - our problems.
And then he works on them.
And so, it's all a part of training, even telling him where you are and what you're doing. And how aware you are, in the first place, of where your phone is and whether you have messages you're supposed to reply to in a timely manner.
I have this irritating habit (and I know it's irritating) of leaving my phone in another room and, for the next three hours, forgetting all about the fact that I even have a phone. Suddenly, I remember, panic and run around trying to find it.
Usually, by the time I get to it, there is a message from Buddha, "Hello Monster Deary, where are you and what are you doing?"
It is sod's law that whenever I have my phone on me, next to me, in front of me, I never get a Buddha message. And the moment I forget all about it in the next room, while it's on silent, he will message.
He must be getting exaseratingly sick of me always texting bad panicky messages,
"Sorry Rinpoche, I left my phone in the next room."
"Oh dear, hello Rinpoche, sorry, my phone was on silent."
"Oh no! I forgot my phone was in the other room."
I was thinking recently though about how much I hate hate hate having people ask me where I am and what I'm doing. I would almost ban my ex-boyfriend from asking me that question, even though he never really meant anything by it.
And surely, the Guru has better things to do than go all Big Brother on his students, constantly haranguing them about their whereabouts and movement?? Is he really that much of a control freak?
Strangely, the question has never bothered me. I hadn't even thought of it the way I did with clingy boyfriends and pesky acquaintances. With the Buddhas, this sort of question feels more like an exercise in awareness.
What are you doing? ask the dakinis and the Bodhisattvas. And, well, yes indeed: what are we doing most of the time? And is it anything worthwhile? Are we doing something that benefits? That will tangibly contribute towards something of worth? Or are we just idling and indulging our own little greedy selves again?
He has explained to us that asking for new news is not really because we actually wants to hear what we're doing (okay, so he isn't really a control freak!), but to force us also to be aware of what's going on around us, and to test how we look at and interpret situations as they happen.
Through the simple relating of new news and what we are doing, we reveal what our priorities are, what we are attracted to, what we find difficult to overcome, what we like and dislike, how aware (or unaware) we are, how analytical, gullible, vindictive, sneaky or gossipy we are.
And for the Guru to train us, all those little hang ups are just what he needs to get at to make us work through them, let go of them and emerge as lighter, clearer minds.
Sometimes, as we eagerly rush to tell him the latest gossip, or text him bitchy updates about the people we dislike, we may just as well be running around naked in front of him. With every little SMS, we strip ourselves that little bit more bare and the Guru gets deeper into the root of the problem - our problems.
And then he works on them.
And so, it's all a part of training, even telling him where you are and what you're doing. And how aware you are, in the first place, of where your phone is and whether you have messages you're supposed to reply to in a timely manner.
Just down the road from Gaden Heaven
I'm feeling a bit wigged out.
I randomly came across a blog written by this girl who lives all the way out in America somewhere, and she seems to have developed a very strange sort of infatuation with Rinpoche. I'm still trying to figure out if it's because she's in love with the teachings, or if she's actually somehow in love with him.
Anyway, she just keeps talking about how she wants to come out here, how she wants to take rebirth in Malaysia, how she wants to "trade in her old crusty lama for a dark sexy one."
It's a little bit creepy to read things like that, when people write stuff that's almost obsessive or infatuated, and here we are living just down the road from Rinpoche. (Alright, so maybe she does just love the teachings, and I'm getting weirded out for no reason. I think we all sort of get to a stage, where we feel protective of Rinpoche, like we don't want people to think wrong things or or develop odd views about him).
It's also a reminder - albeit a rather strange one - of how fortunate we really are to be near a teacher who gives us the teachings when we need, and to have all this Dharma so accessible to us.
You know, when you're being bombarded on the phone for the 40th time that day because everyone in the Dharma centre wants something from you, or what you did wasn't good enough, or you didn't get something done in time by yesterday, or how "Rinpoche said..." and he wants it by now, you freak out and scream and want to tell everyone to just BITE ME.
I forget that even when I'm dealing with the 41st person who is asking for yet another unreasonable thing, it's always still about serving the Guru, and making all the joys contained within his work flourish around hundreds of other people.
I forget, when Rinpoche is making us stay up until 5am and torturing us with stories that "I really don't care about right now, Rinpoche!" there are millions and millions of people out there in the world who would do anything for a small bit of guidance from the Buddhas, from God, from the angels or whoever is out there listening, and who just don't know where to find it, or how to get there.
And there he is, right there on the next sofa: Buddha making me play pick games, feeding me coke and asking me what I think about the latest new news.
I randomly came across a blog written by this girl who lives all the way out in America somewhere, and she seems to have developed a very strange sort of infatuation with Rinpoche. I'm still trying to figure out if it's because she's in love with the teachings, or if she's actually somehow in love with him.
Anyway, she just keeps talking about how she wants to come out here, how she wants to take rebirth in Malaysia, how she wants to "trade in her old crusty lama for a dark sexy one."
It's a little bit creepy to read things like that, when people write stuff that's almost obsessive or infatuated, and here we are living just down the road from Rinpoche. (Alright, so maybe she does just love the teachings, and I'm getting weirded out for no reason. I think we all sort of get to a stage, where we feel protective of Rinpoche, like we don't want people to think wrong things or or develop odd views about him).
It's also a reminder - albeit a rather strange one - of how fortunate we really are to be near a teacher who gives us the teachings when we need, and to have all this Dharma so accessible to us.
You know, when you're being bombarded on the phone for the 40th time that day because everyone in the Dharma centre wants something from you, or what you did wasn't good enough, or you didn't get something done in time by yesterday, or how "Rinpoche said..." and he wants it by now, you freak out and scream and want to tell everyone to just BITE ME.
I forget that even when I'm dealing with the 41st person who is asking for yet another unreasonable thing, it's always still about serving the Guru, and making all the joys contained within his work flourish around hundreds of other people.
I forget, when Rinpoche is making us stay up until 5am and torturing us with stories that "I really don't care about right now, Rinpoche!" there are millions and millions of people out there in the world who would do anything for a small bit of guidance from the Buddhas, from God, from the angels or whoever is out there listening, and who just don't know where to find it, or how to get there.
And there he is, right there on the next sofa: Buddha making me play pick games, feeding me coke and asking me what I think about the latest new news.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Fear
We went walking again (in the middle of) the other night. Me, Rinpoche and five other boys. I donned my fittest dri-fit Nikes, rummaged for socks and was all ready to go.
This time, we were off walking in another park - more hills, more upward climbs and a whole lot more sweating. We started off on a neverending 3km of slope. As we set off, Rinpoche decided we would play a game of New News. Everyone, in turn, was to give one new bit of news - as a way to gauge how perceptive we've been about the things around us, and how we see and interpret things. "You give me your new news, but also concentrate on your walking." It was all too impossible, tiring, pant pant, but we trudged along and racked our brains for the most exciting thing we've come across in the last 24 hours.
JJ and I stood at the back and plotted what news we'd tell. We made a deal - which news he'd tell, and which news I'd tell. A girl wants to sound intelligent, after all.
As we panted along though, I wondered how I would even find enough breath to tell my story. It was like those classic tales of Buddha, where the bad guy walks behind Buddha and tries to catch up to him. No matter how fast he walks or runs, Buddha always remains at the same distance away, and he can never catch up the distance. Felt exactly that, that day. I swear, no matter how fast I made my little feet move, the Buddha remained way up ahead.
We turned round a bend, to face a narrow trail that went off the main path. Rinpoche halted dead in his tracks, grabbed Joey and pointed into the trail. "Do you see it? There, to the right. Right there. Can you see it?"
Joey, the numbskull, was all "Yes yes! I see it," though none of us really believed him. Rinpoche described him to us - crouching, white-eyed, looking to the ground. He grabbed all the boys in turn to ask if they saw anything. I didn't see anything, of course. I'm sure if I tripped over something crouching and white-eyed, I wouldn't even know. Rinpoche said, "Okay, he's starting to look at us now, let's go."
We carried on the trail, quietly, with out hands clasped obediently behind us, feeling like the air was heavy. None of us really knew if he was being serious or not - there's no doubt there are "things" out there, and there's no doubt that Rinpoche knows about them. Whether they're really there or not - well, that was up to what we each believed.
Further along, down another bend in the road, we came across another narrow, bumpy trail, heading far off into a horrid, dark, mesh of blackness. We stopped again, this time to listen. Joey, again, said, "Yes! I hear something! Like a static." Rinpoche gave us a demonstration of what he was hearing - a low, creepy crying sound which made all of us want to bolt. He asked us in turn, "Do you hear it?" and each of us in turn (except eager Joey) said no. When he'd asked all of us, and we'd all said no, he burst into a big laugh and said, "Well, that's because there's nothing there! There's no crying sound! There's no crouching man with white-eyes!"
The Buddhas, must have been looking down from their lotus seats and doubled up in laughter at our guile. But still, I couldn't quite figure out if he was really joking or not. You never quite know with Rinpoche, after all. Things can always take an unlikely turn.
By now, I felt like my legs were about to break from all the walking - more an indication of how unfit I was than anything else. We rounded back to where we started and Rinpoche asked what time it was. James perked up and said, "We just do another 10 minutes?"
And just because of that, of course, it would end up being much longer.
We went rounding the hill again, and before we knew it, were back at the doorstep of the little crouching, white-eyed man... if indeed, he was actually there, we still didn't quite know.
Rinpoche bounded along, all smiles, grabbed JJ's hand and said, "Let's go visit him!" before he traipsed up the little trail, all rocky and narrow and slidey. I grabbed on to James' arm, braced myself for the dark and up I went.
We walked, further and further and further. The street light on the path was got distant enough for us to really notice how black the blackness actually was. I tried to do the Om Holy Thing and told myself off for not having enough faith in the Guru and Three Jewels to keep me safe. The Buddha is right there, what fear should there be?! But then, when you never quite know if the crouching man may just suddenly shine white and luminous in the dark like a Ju-on character, you can't help but feel terribly jumpy.
Rinpoche finally stopped. James and I found ourselves shunted right behind the group, our backs exposed to all the weird sounds, colours, shifting shapes with their neon eyes.
Then he said, "You check your minds now. Are you scared? Does your mind feel fear? How much fear you have is how strong your ego is."
The teaching evolved to Rinpoche telling us about a monk in Gaden, Gen Nyima who was renowned for his solitary retreats in deep, dark Bhutanese forests, just as dark as this one; who then became a renowned practitioner for his extraordinary attainments and healing abilities; who remained, in spite of everything, deeply humble and compassionate.
I had my recorder on go - I wasn't going to miss this teaching for nothing, not even if a hand came out from nowhere and snatched it from me. And as the teaching went on, and the little luminous numbers ticked by on the recorder, we loosened out tight little huddle, spaced ourselves out, got comfortable and relaxed into the security blanket of Dharma. Suddenly, this was the safest place in the world.
Rinpoche asked, "Are you still scared? Where has your fear gone?" We checked, and the fear had gone. He explained that if the fear can go, it means that it isn't permanent - just like all the rest of our temporary happinesses, sadness, angers. If all those - as symptoms of our ego - aren't permanent, they can be removed. And once the symptoms are removed, the real root of our illness - ego - can also be removed, to reveal a mind of total clarity, wisdom, light in the middle of a pitch black forest trail.
There are tests all the time, and Rinpoche will make you pass each one if you're willing enough to even take out your pencils and go for the test. As the six of us bounced along the hill and crept into forest trails, it was a constant test of our fears and egos - and being forced to face them.
There was also the usual - the banter, the jokes, the tricks that Rinpoche would play among those of us who were unsuspecting, sleepy and unaware. There was the recollection of new news, to test how much of an interest we took in the work and world around us. There was analysis, explanations, Dharma teachings that sprung out of Rinpoche's sneakers.
And perhaps, just perhaps, a little hunched man with white eyes who trotted alongside us to listen to what was being said.
This time, we were off walking in another park - more hills, more upward climbs and a whole lot more sweating. We started off on a neverending 3km of slope. As we set off, Rinpoche decided we would play a game of New News. Everyone, in turn, was to give one new bit of news - as a way to gauge how perceptive we've been about the things around us, and how we see and interpret things. "You give me your new news, but also concentrate on your walking." It was all too impossible, tiring, pant pant, but we trudged along and racked our brains for the most exciting thing we've come across in the last 24 hours.
JJ and I stood at the back and plotted what news we'd tell. We made a deal - which news he'd tell, and which news I'd tell. A girl wants to sound intelligent, after all.
As we panted along though, I wondered how I would even find enough breath to tell my story. It was like those classic tales of Buddha, where the bad guy walks behind Buddha and tries to catch up to him. No matter how fast he walks or runs, Buddha always remains at the same distance away, and he can never catch up the distance. Felt exactly that, that day. I swear, no matter how fast I made my little feet move, the Buddha remained way up ahead.
We turned round a bend, to face a narrow trail that went off the main path. Rinpoche halted dead in his tracks, grabbed Joey and pointed into the trail. "Do you see it? There, to the right. Right there. Can you see it?"
Joey, the numbskull, was all "Yes yes! I see it," though none of us really believed him. Rinpoche described him to us - crouching, white-eyed, looking to the ground. He grabbed all the boys in turn to ask if they saw anything. I didn't see anything, of course. I'm sure if I tripped over something crouching and white-eyed, I wouldn't even know. Rinpoche said, "Okay, he's starting to look at us now, let's go."
We carried on the trail, quietly, with out hands clasped obediently behind us, feeling like the air was heavy. None of us really knew if he was being serious or not - there's no doubt there are "things" out there, and there's no doubt that Rinpoche knows about them. Whether they're really there or not - well, that was up to what we each believed.
Further along, down another bend in the road, we came across another narrow, bumpy trail, heading far off into a horrid, dark, mesh of blackness. We stopped again, this time to listen. Joey, again, said, "Yes! I hear something! Like a static." Rinpoche gave us a demonstration of what he was hearing - a low, creepy crying sound which made all of us want to bolt. He asked us in turn, "Do you hear it?" and each of us in turn (except eager Joey) said no. When he'd asked all of us, and we'd all said no, he burst into a big laugh and said, "Well, that's because there's nothing there! There's no crying sound! There's no crouching man with white-eyes!"
The Buddhas, must have been looking down from their lotus seats and doubled up in laughter at our guile. But still, I couldn't quite figure out if he was really joking or not. You never quite know with Rinpoche, after all. Things can always take an unlikely turn.
By now, I felt like my legs were about to break from all the walking - more an indication of how unfit I was than anything else. We rounded back to where we started and Rinpoche asked what time it was. James perked up and said, "We just do another 10 minutes?"
And just because of that, of course, it would end up being much longer.
We went rounding the hill again, and before we knew it, were back at the doorstep of the little crouching, white-eyed man... if indeed, he was actually there, we still didn't quite know.
Rinpoche bounded along, all smiles, grabbed JJ's hand and said, "Let's go visit him!" before he traipsed up the little trail, all rocky and narrow and slidey. I grabbed on to James' arm, braced myself for the dark and up I went.
We walked, further and further and further. The street light on the path was got distant enough for us to really notice how black the blackness actually was. I tried to do the Om Holy Thing and told myself off for not having enough faith in the Guru and Three Jewels to keep me safe. The Buddha is right there, what fear should there be?! But then, when you never quite know if the crouching man may just suddenly shine white and luminous in the dark like a Ju-on character, you can't help but feel terribly jumpy.
Rinpoche finally stopped. James and I found ourselves shunted right behind the group, our backs exposed to all the weird sounds, colours, shifting shapes with their neon eyes.
Then he said, "You check your minds now. Are you scared? Does your mind feel fear? How much fear you have is how strong your ego is."
The teaching evolved to Rinpoche telling us about a monk in Gaden, Gen Nyima who was renowned for his solitary retreats in deep, dark Bhutanese forests, just as dark as this one; who then became a renowned practitioner for his extraordinary attainments and healing abilities; who remained, in spite of everything, deeply humble and compassionate.
I had my recorder on go - I wasn't going to miss this teaching for nothing, not even if a hand came out from nowhere and snatched it from me. And as the teaching went on, and the little luminous numbers ticked by on the recorder, we loosened out tight little huddle, spaced ourselves out, got comfortable and relaxed into the security blanket of Dharma. Suddenly, this was the safest place in the world.
Rinpoche asked, "Are you still scared? Where has your fear gone?" We checked, and the fear had gone. He explained that if the fear can go, it means that it isn't permanent - just like all the rest of our temporary happinesses, sadness, angers. If all those - as symptoms of our ego - aren't permanent, they can be removed. And once the symptoms are removed, the real root of our illness - ego - can also be removed, to reveal a mind of total clarity, wisdom, light in the middle of a pitch black forest trail.
There are tests all the time, and Rinpoche will make you pass each one if you're willing enough to even take out your pencils and go for the test. As the six of us bounced along the hill and crept into forest trails, it was a constant test of our fears and egos - and being forced to face them.
There was also the usual - the banter, the jokes, the tricks that Rinpoche would play among those of us who were unsuspecting, sleepy and unaware. There was the recollection of new news, to test how much of an interest we took in the work and world around us. There was analysis, explanations, Dharma teachings that sprung out of Rinpoche's sneakers.
And perhaps, just perhaps, a little hunched man with white eyes who trotted alongside us to listen to what was being said.
Friday, February 8, 2008
A walk in the park
The Buddha, in spite his recent illness, powered up to get some fresh air and do some exercise a few days ago. He called me along to go for a walk in the park and I knew, that although he was the one with the splitting migraines, dizziness, fevers and pain, I would be the one having a tough time catching up....
...which really is what happened. I'm still aching 2 days later!
As we set off on the track, he reminded me, "Take care of your knees, okay, Paris. Remember, you're an 85-year-old woman" and would, in all his alertness, check every few minutes if I was doing okay, if my legs were hurting, or if I wanted to stop. He even held on to my arm to keep me steady and slow as we trip-trapped across that horrible, rickety, scary suspension bridge in the middle of the park.
I was all gung ho as we started off - I thought we would only do one round of the park, but the Buddhas, with their endless store of energy, never tire, and we would end up doing 3 big hilly rounds and one small, flat round. I'd never done so much exercise in the last 2 years, as I did in those few hours.
It isn't simply a walk in the park, of course. It never is "simply anything" when you're out with the Buddhas. Every step turned into a little teaching. For a whole two hours, I had Rinpoche all to myself and as I harrassed him to death about questions, he put a whole lot of everything into perspective for me.
I bitched to him about people who were driving me nuts, wondered aloud about all the people who currently hate me, talked about all the people I loved in the centre, gossiped and gave him new news, and told him all about my own neurosis.
Rinpoche hollered mantras at the monkeys, gave me profound teachings about what it means to give offerings, explained the tricky inner workings of the mind and its sneaky manipulations, reassured me that no, not everyone hates me in the centre, and gave me a heads up on what it could mean to take on ordination vows as a nun in future.
What constantly surprises me (although by now it really shouldn't anymore) is just how eternally patient Rinpoche is with all of us.... well, with me anyway. He listens to all I have to say, no matter how trivial or tormented I may sound, and responds just as you never expect him to. When you think you've just said something trite, he turns it into a teaching or he points it back at you, to point out a characteristic within the way you think, or act. When you think you've just proclaimed something terribly profound and meaningful, he turns to you with a big laugh and diffuses all seriousness.
I decided, as a way to preempt the shit hitting the fan, to just open up and let all the crap hang out; I told him all of what I'd been struggling with myself most of late. I figured if this was a time to have my weaknesses pointed out so I could just get over myself already and do something about it, it was now.
It'd been really hugely bothering me how I seemed to be totally addicted to complaining. As far as pissing and moaning goes, I am the queen of. I told him (confessed!) how I knew I seemed to be a chronic complainer and notorious gossip and braced myself for a good old shouting at.
But the Buddhas shall always surprise you. Rinpoche even turned that, my gossip addiction, into a teaching, not just for me, but for the other person who had been called along for the walk and who, for the moment, was not in the Three Jewels' good books for recent bad behaviour and manipulative action.
He gave a very detailed, lengthy teaching of the inner workings of the mind, and the many tricky motivations that come along with different types of complaints. He explained what it meant to actually complain, described the different levels of complaining and the multiple (often manipulative) motivations that come along with it, and how we can overcome it.
Then he told me, "Yes, you do complain a lot, BUT you have to look at the content of what you complain about." He pointed out to me that when I complain about people, it is to figure out what is wrong with them because I want to fix things and figure out how help them.
I thought he gave me too much credit. I know I'm a nasty little gossip and I just totally relish in bitching, so why was Rinpoche turning it into something almost like a virtue? I said, "But but but, no, I think I'm just being a bitch."
He said, "Yes, you are a bitch! But you're a bitch with a halo." (I just don't get it! How is it that I never seem to do anything wrong?)
My legs were feeling pretty shot by then, not because of my knee injury but because I was so completely out of shape. Rinpoche was still bounding along like he did this every day. I was wondering how it was that he managed that (and give Dharma teachings, and joke with me and look out for me when I'm crossing that bridge and ask me questions) when he was still recovering from his illness, and I was healthy as a horse.
The thing is though, you would never know even if he was feeling like death because he would never show you how tired or ill he was feeling. If it benefits you that he stay alert, look well and traipse around a hill like a marathon walker he would do it, even if he was being chewed up by a migraine the size of the hill itself.
We finished walking about 9, before we headed off back home and got ready for dinner and another whole night of fun and games. The evening had only just begun!
...which really is what happened. I'm still aching 2 days later!
As we set off on the track, he reminded me, "Take care of your knees, okay, Paris. Remember, you're an 85-year-old woman" and would, in all his alertness, check every few minutes if I was doing okay, if my legs were hurting, or if I wanted to stop. He even held on to my arm to keep me steady and slow as we trip-trapped across that horrible, rickety, scary suspension bridge in the middle of the park.
I was all gung ho as we started off - I thought we would only do one round of the park, but the Buddhas, with their endless store of energy, never tire, and we would end up doing 3 big hilly rounds and one small, flat round. I'd never done so much exercise in the last 2 years, as I did in those few hours.
It isn't simply a walk in the park, of course. It never is "simply anything" when you're out with the Buddhas. Every step turned into a little teaching. For a whole two hours, I had Rinpoche all to myself and as I harrassed him to death about questions, he put a whole lot of everything into perspective for me.
I bitched to him about people who were driving me nuts, wondered aloud about all the people who currently hate me, talked about all the people I loved in the centre, gossiped and gave him new news, and told him all about my own neurosis.
Rinpoche hollered mantras at the monkeys, gave me profound teachings about what it means to give offerings, explained the tricky inner workings of the mind and its sneaky manipulations, reassured me that no, not everyone hates me in the centre, and gave me a heads up on what it could mean to take on ordination vows as a nun in future.
What constantly surprises me (although by now it really shouldn't anymore) is just how eternally patient Rinpoche is with all of us.... well, with me anyway. He listens to all I have to say, no matter how trivial or tormented I may sound, and responds just as you never expect him to. When you think you've just said something trite, he turns it into a teaching or he points it back at you, to point out a characteristic within the way you think, or act. When you think you've just proclaimed something terribly profound and meaningful, he turns to you with a big laugh and diffuses all seriousness.
I decided, as a way to preempt the shit hitting the fan, to just open up and let all the crap hang out; I told him all of what I'd been struggling with myself most of late. I figured if this was a time to have my weaknesses pointed out so I could just get over myself already and do something about it, it was now.
It'd been really hugely bothering me how I seemed to be totally addicted to complaining. As far as pissing and moaning goes, I am the queen of. I told him (confessed!) how I knew I seemed to be a chronic complainer and notorious gossip and braced myself for a good old shouting at.
But the Buddhas shall always surprise you. Rinpoche even turned that, my gossip addiction, into a teaching, not just for me, but for the other person who had been called along for the walk and who, for the moment, was not in the Three Jewels' good books for recent bad behaviour and manipulative action.
He gave a very detailed, lengthy teaching of the inner workings of the mind, and the many tricky motivations that come along with different types of complaints. He explained what it meant to actually complain, described the different levels of complaining and the multiple (often manipulative) motivations that come along with it, and how we can overcome it.
Then he told me, "Yes, you do complain a lot, BUT you have to look at the content of what you complain about." He pointed out to me that when I complain about people, it is to figure out what is wrong with them because I want to fix things and figure out how help them.
I thought he gave me too much credit. I know I'm a nasty little gossip and I just totally relish in bitching, so why was Rinpoche turning it into something almost like a virtue? I said, "But but but, no, I think I'm just being a bitch."
He said, "Yes, you are a bitch! But you're a bitch with a halo." (I just don't get it! How is it that I never seem to do anything wrong?)
My legs were feeling pretty shot by then, not because of my knee injury but because I was so completely out of shape. Rinpoche was still bounding along like he did this every day. I was wondering how it was that he managed that (and give Dharma teachings, and joke with me and look out for me when I'm crossing that bridge and ask me questions) when he was still recovering from his illness, and I was healthy as a horse.
The thing is though, you would never know even if he was feeling like death because he would never show you how tired or ill he was feeling. If it benefits you that he stay alert, look well and traipse around a hill like a marathon walker he would do it, even if he was being chewed up by a migraine the size of the hill itself.
We finished walking about 9, before we headed off back home and got ready for dinner and another whole night of fun and games. The evening had only just begun!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
You get a little worried when it's all going lovely
I’ve seen Rinpoche get mad. Real mad. And even then I’ve only had a glimpse.
The Buddhas of course, never get mad just for the sake of getting mad, or because they’ve got a big head and want to push their power around. The Buddhas never show their anger until they really need to show their anger.... or until we push our limits and we get what we deserve.
A glimpse of the ins-and-outs of the ladrang have shown me a little bit of the realities of vajra anger – that it is fuelled entirely by compassion and by the Lama’s wish to push us to the next level, to get over ourselves and our hangs up already! Vajra anger of the Lama doesn’t ever stew, grow or thrive in its self-satisfaction. It’s used purely as a method and there is none of that holding-on that we thrive on in our own silly tempers.
I was round at the ladrang one day upon Rinpoche’s invitation. As I hung around the dining room when I first got in, I could hear Rinpoche yelling away. I thought, “uh oh, someone’s getting it,” and thought I’d stay very still like a mouse until the storm blew over.
Later, I got invited up to the gym room, where Rinpoche was doing his daily walking exercises... and screaming away at one of his assistants.
I sat very quietly in the corner and tried to be invisible, feeling not just slightly worried for what was going on but also embarrassed for the screamee.
The whole thing felt very bizarre of course, like you’re hanging out with Yamantaka as he does his daily treadmill exercise. Today, Yamantaka was telling the screamee about the ugliness his anger, how it would consume him and drive him insane if he didn’t overcome it. Amidst all of what seemed like harshness were big truths and little truths to strike at the heart of the screamee, and the enlightened solution for overcoming these angry, self-created obstacles. Vajra anger had manifested to counter samsaric anger.
It went on for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, Rinpoche stopped, turned to me and said, “Hey Paris! Isn’t this fun! I thought I’d invite you along so you can see what we do in the ladrang!” The anger had gone *poof* It wasn’t any sort of sarcastic act, or pretence. Rinpoche was back to normal.
The other ladrang staff, also sitting around the treadmill, then proceeded to hold a meeting with Rinpoche to discuss ladrang affairs. The screamee was sitting on the other side of the room very quietly, looking not very happy. Rinpoche however, had finished with the screaming, there was no need to hold any more of that anger, and so all had resumed as before.
The teachings explain that the Lama will not resort to wrathful means unless the initial peaceful means he uses to clear our negative habits have not worked yet. And so far, I’ve only been the recipient of peaceful means. I’ve never been screamed at, not even mildly. (A few pointed, though gentle remarks are enough to make me freak out though). In all the years that I’ve known Rinpoche, it’s always been fun and games. I am showered with compliments and praises, and even when I am throwing enormous big tantrums in front of him, pursing my lips and thinking horrible thoughts about how I’d like to just go home so please stop talking, Rinpoche! he comes over to give me a big hug and tell me everything will be okay. (Then everything does get okay, and I get over myself!)
I wonder if perhaps that’s because he knows that that would be the best way for me; that a screaming match wouldn’t work for me. Perhaps it is through all the fun, games and praises that I am most inspired to do more Dharma work and to do it better, as has probably been in the case all these years.
There’s still a little part of me that, in spite of the fear of being yelled down, wishes for some of that vajra anger and for the Lama to tell me straight out just what the hell is wrong with me. It’ll hurt like a bitch, for sure - nobody wants to hear what they’re doing wrong, or how they’re fucking up - but I think I’d rather know so I could fix it, than cruise through every day repeating the same old dumb crap.
But the Lama won’t necessarily give you what you expect. And I suppose that while I’m expecting him to go all Yamantaka on me and my neurosis, he won’t.
Still, I’m waiting for the shit to hit the fan one day, when I least expect it. I’m slightly worried that he’s already telling me what the hell is wrong with me, through his jokes, or hints, or subtle comments during conversation but I’m just too thick to pick it up. And then, one day, it’ll blow up in my face.
Until then, prevention is often better than cure, so while the good gets going, this should be the best time to practise and fix whatever I know I can fix – the laziness, the anger, the jealousies, the ego-trips, the impatience and judgements.... Then at least, if and when the shit does hit the fan, at least I’d have already lined the floor with tarpaulin.
The Buddhas of course, never get mad just for the sake of getting mad, or because they’ve got a big head and want to push their power around. The Buddhas never show their anger until they really need to show their anger.... or until we push our limits and we get what we deserve.
A glimpse of the ins-and-outs of the ladrang have shown me a little bit of the realities of vajra anger – that it is fuelled entirely by compassion and by the Lama’s wish to push us to the next level, to get over ourselves and our hangs up already! Vajra anger of the Lama doesn’t ever stew, grow or thrive in its self-satisfaction. It’s used purely as a method and there is none of that holding-on that we thrive on in our own silly tempers.
I was round at the ladrang one day upon Rinpoche’s invitation. As I hung around the dining room when I first got in, I could hear Rinpoche yelling away. I thought, “uh oh, someone’s getting it,” and thought I’d stay very still like a mouse until the storm blew over.
Later, I got invited up to the gym room, where Rinpoche was doing his daily walking exercises... and screaming away at one of his assistants.
I sat very quietly in the corner and tried to be invisible, feeling not just slightly worried for what was going on but also embarrassed for the screamee.
The whole thing felt very bizarre of course, like you’re hanging out with Yamantaka as he does his daily treadmill exercise. Today, Yamantaka was telling the screamee about the ugliness his anger, how it would consume him and drive him insane if he didn’t overcome it. Amidst all of what seemed like harshness were big truths and little truths to strike at the heart of the screamee, and the enlightened solution for overcoming these angry, self-created obstacles. Vajra anger had manifested to counter samsaric anger.
It went on for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, Rinpoche stopped, turned to me and said, “Hey Paris! Isn’t this fun! I thought I’d invite you along so you can see what we do in the ladrang!” The anger had gone *poof* It wasn’t any sort of sarcastic act, or pretence. Rinpoche was back to normal.
The other ladrang staff, also sitting around the treadmill, then proceeded to hold a meeting with Rinpoche to discuss ladrang affairs. The screamee was sitting on the other side of the room very quietly, looking not very happy. Rinpoche however, had finished with the screaming, there was no need to hold any more of that anger, and so all had resumed as before.
The teachings explain that the Lama will not resort to wrathful means unless the initial peaceful means he uses to clear our negative habits have not worked yet. And so far, I’ve only been the recipient of peaceful means. I’ve never been screamed at, not even mildly. (A few pointed, though gentle remarks are enough to make me freak out though). In all the years that I’ve known Rinpoche, it’s always been fun and games. I am showered with compliments and praises, and even when I am throwing enormous big tantrums in front of him, pursing my lips and thinking horrible thoughts about how I’d like to just go home so please stop talking, Rinpoche! he comes over to give me a big hug and tell me everything will be okay. (Then everything does get okay, and I get over myself!)
I wonder if perhaps that’s because he knows that that would be the best way for me; that a screaming match wouldn’t work for me. Perhaps it is through all the fun, games and praises that I am most inspired to do more Dharma work and to do it better, as has probably been in the case all these years.
There’s still a little part of me that, in spite of the fear of being yelled down, wishes for some of that vajra anger and for the Lama to tell me straight out just what the hell is wrong with me. It’ll hurt like a bitch, for sure - nobody wants to hear what they’re doing wrong, or how they’re fucking up - but I think I’d rather know so I could fix it, than cruise through every day repeating the same old dumb crap.
But the Lama won’t necessarily give you what you expect. And I suppose that while I’m expecting him to go all Yamantaka on me and my neurosis, he won’t.
Still, I’m waiting for the shit to hit the fan one day, when I least expect it. I’m slightly worried that he’s already telling me what the hell is wrong with me, through his jokes, or hints, or subtle comments during conversation but I’m just too thick to pick it up. And then, one day, it’ll blow up in my face.
Until then, prevention is often better than cure, so while the good gets going, this should be the best time to practise and fix whatever I know I can fix – the laziness, the anger, the jealousies, the ego-trips, the impatience and judgements.... Then at least, if and when the shit does hit the fan, at least I’d have already lined the floor with tarpaulin.
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