a buddhist perspective

One morning, in the spring of 2004, I opened my window blinds, sat down at my desk in front of the window, and glanced out to look at the lawn and pond. Several yards in front of the window, I saw a tiny bunny hovering over the body of a full-grown rabbit. The rabbit had apparently died in a small indentation, about a yard across, in the ground. Throughout the day, I watched as the young bunny ran back and forth over and over across the lawn chasing away a large bird that was trying to get at the dead rabbit.

When not chasing the bird, the bunny bit off mouthfuls of the tall grass growing in the indentation, went to the rabbit, and placed the grass on top of the body. The process took considerable time, as the bunny had to keep chasing off the hungry bird at the same time. The bunny was still trying to fend off the bird when I shut my window blinds that evening.

One morning in the spring of 2005, I saw a grown rabbit hop straight to the spot where the other rabbit had been buried. The rabbit rearranged what remained of the still discernible mound of grass and then hopped back the way it had come from around the side of the building. I did not see the rabbit in 2006, nor in 2007 as I was then working in another room.

It is now spring, 2008. Late Monday night, I returned to the US from two months in Australia. Tuesday, I woke up in the afternoon trying to readjust to a very different time zone. Wednesday was my first morning in about eighteen months to work at my desk in my old spot in front of the window.

The thick grass outside my window was deep and due for the weekly cutting. I could still see the spot where the rabbit had died for the grass has yet to cover the “burial mound.” As I watched, I saw a rabbit come around from the side of the building and hop straight to the spot. It remained a few seconds and hopped off a bit to the left of the spot. Then it hopped straight back to the spot, rearranged some of the dead grass, paused a few seconds, and hopped right back the way it had come from around the side of the building.

Affinities span many lifetimes. They do not involve just human beings. And just as humans can be filial children, other beings can as well.

Maybe we believe that our safety lies in holding on,
That losing our grip could spell disaster,
Or we may believe that holding on is the way to salvation.

But do we really know it is safer to hold on?
Would letting go really be so bad?
Do we really gain from holding on?

It is the role of the teacher to show us that such security is illusory.
That holding on only holds us back.
That our salvation lies in letting go.

Our holding on is a constraint we've placed upon ourselves.
It is an attitude, a way of thinking.
And our thinking - unlike the weather or the movements of the planets - is one thing we have complete control over.

The task of the teacher is to show us that we can change our minds, and that it is safe to do so.

~ Peter Russell 

No, that's not allegorical, it's literally what we did today.

Here in Nanango, we're in early fall. Imagine it as a late summer day in Tuscany. Lots of sunlight and dry, clear air. In the grove on the side of gently rolling hill, there are 400 olive trees and thousands of beautiful olives. (Want to come yet? ;-))

Celine and I were picking the kalamatas (a favorite of mine), and Charles and Dave were up the hill picking a smaller but equally dark variety of olives. We had gotten a later start in the morning than planned because the olive trees owner's son, daughter-in-law, and grandson had been visiting and the latter had apparently been playing wth the phone. (Grandparents and parents will understand what this means, others can use their imaginations.)

When Celine couldn't get through on the phone, we all decided to get in the car and drive to Olive Oasis to see if Malcolm and Beverly Thompson were around. They were, and Mal joined us in the picking (after hanging up the phone).

If you’re wondering about a Buddhist nun picking olives; no, it’s not in the job description. But according with conditions and not wasting food are, so I happily joined in. The others were going and the olives needed to be picked. Celine had volunteered to help a friend harvest his crop and Mal had offered to split the profits from the sale of the olives at the monthly market this weekend. So our share would go the Amitabha Buddhist Retreat Centre.

First lesson—friendship. Celine and Charles wanted to help a neighbor who was recovering from an operation. Dave, an old friend of theirs, was visiting the centre to help all of us.

Second lesson—generosity. Not wanting to take advantage, Mal and Beverly offered to share the income from the sale of the olives.

Third lesson—patience! I picked a lot of blueberries when I was growing up and olives are, fortunately, larger than blueberries, but there were a LOT of olives and, hey, I’m not a kid anymore. (Unless you compare me to Charles who’s ninety-three. Fourth lesson—relativity in accordance with perception.) Some olives were over ripe and others still green. Some were high on the trees and others low. Some in the shade and many others in the bright sun.

The olives needed to be picked one at a time, although some were in a group of three or four. And some very cooperatively just fell off the branches and landed in my bucket. (Yes, buckets again…must be destiny or something…)

So today was a good day, a day filled with friendship, generosity, and patience.  

I'm beginning to think that I need another category. I'll call it "Musings."

I drove to the Farmer's Market in Goshen yesterday morning. (Alec, now you know why I couldn't have a translation meeting. ;-)) I don't drive a lot and am even more careful in not making any unnecessary trips since I have been struggling to try to follow the 90% rule of Riot 4 Austerity. (There's a link for the site on the sidebar.) But the Goshen market is only about nine miles from here and the Maple City co-op is also there. So I can get fresh, local produce and all my bulk supplies in one trip.

There's not much fresh, local produce available midwinter in Northern Indiana, but I got what I was hoping to from Kate Lind of Sustainable Greens and a few other growers.  It's such a delight to buy food that was picked (okay I confess, the delicious cookies I bought were baked) just yesterday.  To get to meet the grower or the baker helps to foster a connection with what we eat. Local food is "real" food, in most cases neither genetically engineered nor bombarded with pesticides. It tastes like food used to taste. And it nourishes (not sure of the cookies on this one!) just like food used to.

As I was driving, I continued to listen to Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. Pollan was writing about "tribes." Thanks to the Internet, we can find people who share our interests and concerns. We can find others who belong to our "tribe." Our tribe might be concerned about living simply and in a sustainable way or it may be concerned about living in a way that focuses on doing good and on not harming others. Hmm...sounds like the two tribes may not be two after all.

Living our practice can be done every moment as we mindfully consider the consequences of our actions and wisely make decisions—not for our own gratification—but for the welfare of others.