For two dear friends: the last haiku by the Japanese poet Seira (d.1791)
Funabata ya Boarding the boat
kutsu nugisuteru I slip off my shoes:
mizu no tsuki moon in the water.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Haiku
For two dear friends: the last haiku by the Japanese poet Seira (d.1791)
Funabata ya Boarding the boat
kutsu nugisuteru I slip off my shoes:
mizu no tsuki moon in the water.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Where is this?
Hey folks, notice that I've completely changed the way the blog looks. I was interested to see that this particular image is one of the options on the template I chose. It might be the Cliffs of Moher pre-Visitor's Center. Anyone want to help identify?
From "Great Eastern Sun"
Long time no blog – trying to get it going again.
Here is a (very) long passage from the book Great Eastern Sun by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (1939-1987), one of the major players in the wave of Tibetan and Zen teachers who brought Buddhism to the west in the latter part of the 20th century. It is an incredibly profound commentary about the basic sadness of living in a messed-up world.
Here it is. Suggestion: Read it aloud to yourself.
“ . . .because there is still so much misery, chaos, and degradedness taking place in the world, a certain sadness begins to occur to you. That sadness could be called feeling your heart, actually experiencing your heart fully and thoroughly. Sadness is accompanied by a feeling of aloneness. You wish you could rush to somebody and babble out everything, empty your heart out and share it completely, so that you don’t have to feel sad. There’s that temptation, but it is not possible. It’s like unfulfilled love. When you try to tell somebody how much you love him or her, the other person can’t understand why you’re making such a dramatic fuss. This is the same kind of thing. The feeling of aloneness is an organic development. It is a natural situation. One doesn’t actually have to develop aloneness. Rather, it is a question of actualizing and realizing aloneness. When that happens, communicating with others becomes very simple.
“Sadness is also connected with the absence of cowardice. When you feel brave, free from fear, you also feel sad. That sadness is not the sadness of feeling low and depressed, but it is tear-jerking sadness that is always with you. One you have experienced the bravery that arises from basic goodness, you will also experience sadness and aloneness. In spite of joining festivities with your relatives, in spite of celebrating the holidays, attending Christmas parties or New Year’s parties--whatever you do to try to forget that sadness—sadness will always be there. The more you try to enjoy yourself and the more you do enjoy, nonetheless, there is still the constant sadness of being alone.
“That sadness also brings tenderness toward oneself. It is quite distinct from depression or the feeling that you want to commit suicide. When people are depressed and lonely—rather than alone—they sometimes what to commit suicide to get rid of their bodies and the environment of depression. With the Shambhala type of sadness, you want to live and help others. Tremendous humor is also present. Nonetheless, there is the sadness of being oneself.
“It is as if you were taking a walk in the forest by yourself in the twilight. You hear the birds. You see a glimpse of light coming from the sky: you might see a crescent moon or clusters of stars. The freshness of the greenery with occasional wildflowers is trying to cheer you up. In the distance, dogs are barking. In the distance, a child is crying. Shepherds are calling for their sheep. More likely, in America, in the distance, you hear the roar of the highway, where trucks and cars are making their journeys. Alone in this woodland, you can still hear them and feel them.
“You feel a little bit of freshness as the wind begins to blow on your cheeks. You smell the freshness of the woods. You might be startled by an occasional rabbit jumping out of the brush or an occasional bird, startled as you walk by its nest. Pheasants cross your pathway. As twilight goes on, you feel tenderness and sadness for your husband, your wife, your children, your grandparents. You remembers the classroom where you studied, learning to spell words when you first went to school. You remember learning to spell your name, learning how to write the letters j and o, m and a.
“The sadness of being oneself is like taking a walk in the forest, the borderland where things are not completely out of the way. There’s still a feeling that this particular woodland is surrounded by other living beings, human beings as well as other beings. You listen to the sound of your own footsteps, right, left, right, left. Occasionally you step on a dry twig, which cracks. Maybe there are occasional sounds of flies buzzing. Such sadness and aloneness are painful, but at the same time, they are beautiful and real. Out of that comes longing to help others. Being willing to work with others arises spontaneously. Because you care for yourself, therefore, equally you care for others. That seems to take a certain edge off the sadness. At the same time, sadness still hovers around you.
“You being to see yourself: you realize that you are unique, and you can see how you sometimes make a caricature of yourself. The sadness goes on, constantly. Yet you begin to realize there is something good and constructive about being you as yourself. This experience brings devotion, faith in the great warriors who have made the same journey. It could be devotion toward King Arthur’s knights, or any great warriors whose legend inspires you. When caring for others takes place, it brings devotion and dedication to this world in which you grew up. At the same time, caring for others brings renunciation. You are inspired to renounce anything that is without heart: any perversion, selfishness, egotism, and arrogance.
“Then, a fundamental wholesomeness arises in oneself, which we call the Great Eastern Sun. It is Great because it is vast and inconceivable. One cannot measure how vast the universe is stitch by stitch. Because of that vastness, there is Great East: vast possibilities, vast vision, vast aloneness, vast loneliness, vast sadness. One is always in the East, the dawn of wakefulness. One never falls asleep, never gets tired of life or breathing in and out, as long as we live. One never gets tired of opening one’s eyes. One never gets tired of this aloneness, the stirring of this woodland.”
-- Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (1939-1987), from Great Eastern Sun (Shambala, 1999), 149-151
Here is a (very) long passage from the book Great Eastern Sun by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (1939-1987), one of the major players in the wave of Tibetan and Zen teachers who brought Buddhism to the west in the latter part of the 20th century. It is an incredibly profound commentary about the basic sadness of living in a messed-up world. Here it is. Suggestion: Read it aloud to yourself.
“ . . .because there is still so much misery, chaos, and degradedness taking place in the world, a certain sadness begins to occur to you. That sadness could be called feeling your heart, actually experiencing your heart fully and thoroughly. Sadness is accompanied by a feeling of aloneness. You wish you could rush to somebody and babble out everything, empty your heart out and share it completely, so that you don’t have to feel sad. There’s that temptation, but it is not possible. It’s like unfulfilled love. When you try to tell somebody how much you love him or her, the other person can’t understand why you’re making such a dramatic fuss. This is the same kind of thing. The feeling of aloneness is an organic development. It is a natural situation. One doesn’t actually have to develop aloneness. Rather, it is a question of actualizing and realizing aloneness. When that happens, communicating with others becomes very simple.
“Sadness is also connected with the absence of cowardice. When you feel brave, free from fear, you also feel sad. That sadness is not the sadness of feeling low and depressed, but it is tear-jerking sadness that is always with you. One you have experienced the bravery that arises from basic goodness, you will also experience sadness and aloneness. In spite of joining festivities with your relatives, in spite of celebrating the holidays, attending Christmas parties or New Year’s parties--whatever you do to try to forget that sadness—sadness will always be there. The more you try to enjoy yourself and the more you do enjoy, nonetheless, there is still the constant sadness of being alone.
“That sadness also brings tenderness toward oneself. It is quite distinct from depression or the feeling that you want to commit suicide. When people are depressed and lonely—rather than alone—they sometimes what to commit suicide to get rid of their bodies and the environment of depression. With the Shambhala type of sadness, you want to live and help others. Tremendous humor is also present. Nonetheless, there is the sadness of being oneself.
“It is as if you were taking a walk in the forest by yourself in the twilight. You hear the birds. You see a glimpse of light coming from the sky: you might see a crescent moon or clusters of stars. The freshness of the greenery with occasional wildflowers is trying to cheer you up. In the distance, dogs are barking. In the distance, a child is crying. Shepherds are calling for their sheep. More likely, in America, in the distance, you hear the roar of the highway, where trucks and cars are making their journeys. Alone in this woodland, you can still hear them and feel them.
“You feel a little bit of freshness as the wind begins to blow on your cheeks. You smell the freshness of the woods. You might be startled by an occasional rabbit jumping out of the brush or an occasional bird, startled as you walk by its nest. Pheasants cross your pathway. As twilight goes on, you feel tenderness and sadness for your husband, your wife, your children, your grandparents. You remembers the classroom where you studied, learning to spell words when you first went to school. You remember learning to spell your name, learning how to write the letters j and o, m and a.
“The sadness of being oneself is like taking a walk in the forest, the borderland where things are not completely out of the way. There’s still a feeling that this particular woodland is surrounded by other living beings, human beings as well as other beings. You listen to the sound of your own footsteps, right, left, right, left. Occasionally you step on a dry twig, which cracks. Maybe there are occasional sounds of flies buzzing. Such sadness and aloneness are painful, but at the same time, they are beautiful and real. Out of that comes longing to help others. Being willing to work with others arises spontaneously. Because you care for yourself, therefore, equally you care for others. That seems to take a certain edge off the sadness. At the same time, sadness still hovers around you.
“You being to see yourself: you realize that you are unique, and you can see how you sometimes make a caricature of yourself. The sadness goes on, constantly. Yet you begin to realize there is something good and constructive about being you as yourself. This experience brings devotion, faith in the great warriors who have made the same journey. It could be devotion toward King Arthur’s knights, or any great warriors whose legend inspires you. When caring for others takes place, it brings devotion and dedication to this world in which you grew up. At the same time, caring for others brings renunciation. You are inspired to renounce anything that is without heart: any perversion, selfishness, egotism, and arrogance.
“Then, a fundamental wholesomeness arises in oneself, which we call the Great Eastern Sun. It is Great because it is vast and inconceivable. One cannot measure how vast the universe is stitch by stitch. Because of that vastness, there is Great East: vast possibilities, vast vision, vast aloneness, vast loneliness, vast sadness. One is always in the East, the dawn of wakefulness. One never falls asleep, never gets tired of life or breathing in and out, as long as we live. One never gets tired of opening one’s eyes. One never gets tired of this aloneness, the stirring of this woodland.”
-- Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (1939-1987), from Great Eastern Sun (Shambala, 1999), 149-151
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)