Okay, I Shouldn't Have

I admit it, I shouldn’t have laughed. But knowing what had led up to this, what happened was funny.

The night before last, I heard Celine suddenly call out “Down cat!” She said this not because she doesn’t know the cats’ names. Rather, she didn’t know which one was the guilty party this time. After all there were three of them in the kitchen and she was in the lounge next to the kitchen. The fourth cat was in a small enclosed hallway, and the fifth was in a bedroom. Yup, you read correctly—five cats.

Lest you think Celine is a crazy cat lady, allow me to set the record straight on her behalf. Up until the day a friend and I were here and allowed Shandy (an outside cat whose mother had been given shelter here) inside for the first time, Celine had never allowed a cat in the house.

Now, several years later, there were five.

Kahleen, (the resident cat as she likes to view herself) was enjoying her new basket in the hallway. She had been taken in a year ago when a close friend passed away. Nancy and Kelly's cat was in their room. The three cats in the kitchen were taken in because Celine’s adopted daughter is moving to France.

So what has this Tale of Five Cats got to do with Buddhism? 

First lesson—giving fearlessness. One of the three practices in giving is that of fearlessness, which is removing the worries and insecurities of others. Celine and Nancy brought the three cats inside to discourage a large feral cat that has been coming around at night to the verandah where the three cats have been sleeping. The plan is to bring the cats inside for a week in the hope the feral cat will stop coming around.

Second lesson—compassion. It takes a lot to put the welfare of others (in this case four cats) above your own preferences, to allow the "others" inside your house, and to care for them.

Third lesson—humor. We often talk about happiness and contentment in Buddhism. I'll extrapolate from this that be be happy, a good sense of humor helps. And it takes a good sense of humor to not get angry when you hear the sound of a cat landing on your kitchen table even though you tried to render the table top unappealing through the placement of various boxes and sheets.
 

Turn It Off

I’m typing this entry on a computer to be read on other computers. So the topic of this entry will likely seem a bit strange. It’s about reducing our dependency on computers.

I’m not saying this from the perspective of one who is uncomfortable with computers or who rarely uses them. I’ve used computers since the 1980’s. The first one was a 286. When you turned on the computer, you would be directed to the DOS prompt. There you typed in the name of the software program you wanted to use, hit enter, and watched as the black screen with the orange lettering slowly changed to the next screen.

My next computer was a 386, then a few years later, a 486. Over the years, the numbers went up dramatically and the computers were named. With each computer, I learned by trial and error how to use the upgraded or new programs. So it's safe to say that I’ve used computers for tens of thousands of hours.

Currently I have two computers. That started a few years ago in Indiana. Living with my mother, who in her nineties still used her computer, if I had a computer problem there wasn’t a helpful (and free ;-)) person around to figure it out. Having two computers enabled me to keep working on one while I figured out what was the problem on the other.

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that I’m typing this entry on a computer. There was a writing step before this. I wrote this entry yesterday with paper and pen, on a no-computer Sunday. It has been an interesting experience because writing is much slower on paper than on a computer. (Okay the typing has slowed down on this paragraph because one of the cats here, taken in at the death of a friend, is now on my lap and draped across my left arm with her paws elegantly crossed and covering part of the keyboard.)

I’ve been reading The Plain Reader, a collection of various essays that were previously published in Plain Magazine. The essays were written by Amish, Quaker, and other “plain folk.” The book is excellent by the way, and I strongly recommend it.

One of the essays, “deleting children” by Mary Ann Leiser eloquently put forth the view that teaching our children how to use computers at younger and younger ages is doing them a great disservice.

In a world that sings the praises of technology and competition, who we are and how we relate to our environment have largely been considered irrelevant. What matters is the economy (always growing), profit (at any cost), and globalization (even though in North America, we were already blessed with everything we needed). Now another group of victims in our mad race to the future is our very young children.

Parents, fearful their children will not be able to keep up with the neighbor’s children, enroll their children in preschools where the use of computers is taught to children only a few years old. Between television and computers, these children live in a virtual world. The real world, just outside their window goes by unnoticed. If a wise grandmother, remembering the wonders of nature from her childhood, tries to tempt her grandchildren to venture outside, they are shocked. “It’s dirty out there! And boring.”

We have allowed—and worse, encouraged—our children to become hooked into the technology machine. If you think I exaggerate, try taking a child’s cell phone away. Or wait till the television or computer goes off because of a power cut or the machine breaks. Both parents and children will be at a loss as they look at one another in the unchosen silence. Used to the flashing, constantly changing images on the screen (just look at the national evening news in the US or even the station breaks on PBS) and the barrage of computer-generated sounds, the blank screen and silent speakers make for an eerie discomfort. Hooked on technology we’re lost when we don’t have all our electronic aids.

Technology and competition are what parents with the means to do so are pushing on even their youngest children. Children are now supposed to excel at everything they do, to get the best grades, to land that choice job (and quickly), to own the biggest house on the block.

What is no longer stressed to our children? How to get along harmoniously with the environment and other people, discover what they love doing, share unconditionally with others, be caring grandchildren, do honest work that creates something of lasting value, and create a loving home.

We need to turn off our televisions and computers, take our young children by the hand, walk out the door, and look—slowly look—at the wonders of the real world around us.

It's My Karma

When natural disasters or human-made catastrophes happen in countries where there are Buddhists, people often ask me if the people there accepted this as their karmic retribution. My response is that intellectually we may understand something, but when life hits us hard and everything we know crumbles around us, it is unbelievably difficult to say “It’s my karma.” What the intellect knows, the emotions overwhelm and wash away.

Rarely—very rarely—a person with deep belief and understanding is able to rise to the surface of what we Buddhists call the sea of suffering and say “I understand” even as he is thrust under by another wave.

I have a very good friend of many years who is able to do this.

When in trouble he calls me. All I can do is say how sorry I am as I try to find consoling words for a pain that right now doesn’t seem to have an end in sight.

As he talks, his voice gradually begins to sound a little stronger and then he comes to the “It’s my karma.” And in his voice is an understanding that I don’t know if he is completely aware of.

Each time that he says it’s his karma, he pays down that karmic debt and lightens his burden a bit. This load-lightening is darned difficult. But when we’re in a situation that doesn’t look like it’s going to end tomorrow, what we tell ourselves about it today can either ease our suffering or increase it.

Truthfully, my friend is very unusual. We all encounter difficult relationships, physical discomfort, financial setbacks, and a myriad other problems. But how many of us blame others, look for excuses, tell anyone who will listen to us all about our problems—basically do anything but accept responsibility.

How many of us can calmly admit that we have a debt to repay as we say “It’s my karma.” How many of us are that honest with ourselves.

Silence is Golden (And Less Troublesome!)

Those who have listened to me talk in the last several months know I am having trouble speaking due to vocal cord damage.

A few days ago I arrived back in Nanango, Australia where I am living in a small Buddhist community. I had mentioned to Celine this morning that my throat was painful again, and she responded that I had been speaking too much yesterday at the centre but could be quiet today.  So, I used the Etch-a-Sketch like board she had gotten for me to write questions, etc. during the morning.  At lunch, however, I didn't have the board handy so started to join in the conversation. (We are social creatures of habit and remaining quiet even when everyone knows we're not to talk still feels antisocial.) So I began to talk, but Celine reminded me I was not to talk and jokingly said what I was going to say was not that important anyhow.

And she was absolutely right.

What I was about to contribute to the conversation was unnecessary. The conversation about the garden Nancy and Kelly were working on continued beautifully without me.  What I was about to contribute wasn't important. There's nothing unusual about that. (No. Not just for me. ;-)) Much of what most of us say isn't important. Now, a little unimportant conversation to be polite to others isn't that bad, but how many of us stop at "a little."

How much of our time is spent in unnecessary conversation every day? One hour? Two? Whatever it is, it adds up. And how many times in that unnecessary conversation do we say something that irritates or even hurts another person? However many times we did, it was that many times too much. For the sake of meaningless conversation, we will have created an enmity. One that we will encounter in the future.

So while I do not in any way recommend you go out and damage your vocal cords, I do recommned you consider before you speak. Is what you are about to say really important? Would it be wiser to simply remain silent. 

Difficult Practice Conditions

Question: How does a university student continue his or her practice while living in residence, which rarely facilitates opportunities to meditate, and is often defined by alcohol, sex and over-consumption? Also, I am unable to light incense in my dorm (which is an important part of my daily meditation time) due to fire regulations.

Response: Good conditions need to be created. We do this through our practice. I understand this is especially difficult to accomplish when we live in circumstances that do not lend themselves to the quiet preferred for meditation.

Is there a quiet place you can find to do your meditation away from your dorm? It may not be the environment you prefer or one where you can light incense, but you could do a basic meditation. Doing so will help plant the seeds for better conditions in the future.

Also, when we think of "practice," we most often think of our formal meditation. But practice is following the teachings wherever we are, so being patient in difficult circumstances and being diligent when the environment is not ideal are also invaluable forms of practices.