Daily Dharma

Being a buddhist, I accept that nothing lasts, and that impermanence, suffering, and absence of solid reality are the three marks of existence. Saying this is one thing; living it is another. The actual presence of a chronic, disabling, possibly life-threatening disease is a relentless and vivid reminder of death. It wonderfully accelerates your spiritual journey.

[...from On Being Unable to Breathe, an essay by Stephen T. Butterfield in the March 1988 issue of The Sun. Republished in Stubborn Light: A Collection of Writings from the Second Decade of the Sun, pg. 521]

Looking Up an Old Friend

This month I've been attemping this crazy project called National Novel Writing Month (affectionately referred to as NaNoWriMo by participants). By the weekend after Thanksgiving, I had only amassed a word count of 22,207 of the required 50,000 words in order to be counted a winner. My story idea exhausted itself and there was no where else to go with it, but it ignited my love for reading and writing and sent me on a hunt for new reads to devour.

During the process, I looked up an old friend—The Sun Magazine—because I've often been inspired and informed and moved by the stories, articles, poems and personal essays that are printed on its pages. The Sun was introduced to me by my high school creative writing teacher—a thin rail of a guy with long greying hair. He was kind of a hippie (and no, I don't have a problem with hippies... he just stood out in the conservative district where he taught and I attended school)—but he had good taste in literature. He would bring copies into the classroom to show us how "real writers" exercised the craft. He would tell a group of us later while we were working on the school's literary magazine that critiquing high school writing was often an unfulfilling experience. I produced my share of really bad essays, so I suppose I contributed to his pain... But during those classes I understood that writing was very important to me and that one day I hoped to craft my words well. I think he was grateful to those of us who tried because we had respect for language even when we jumbled it badly.

So maybe two weeks ago I was surfing online and found the magazine's recently updated website. As an IT professional, I am in awe of the design work on the site. It really is perfect and flawless. But even if the site was devoid of elegant Cascading Style Sheets, I would still read the content. It doesn't need a nice dress to look good.

Endorsements aside, there is an article out there that I wanted to share. It was written by Stephen T. Butterfield in the March 1988 issue. It is currently published in the Favorites from the Archives section, but I don't know how long it will be available. If you find this post years from now and they've pulled it from the site, this particular article is also published in the third Best of the Sun collection.

Just trust me on this—it is a thought-provoking read.

Daily Dharma

Practice is about learning to be kind, but we will never be kind until we truly experience our unkindness.

[...from At Home in the Muddy Water: A Guide to Finding Peace within Everyday Chaos by Ezra Bayda, pg 37]

A Solitary Work

It is so easy to judge. Our eyes are always facing outward, and our thoughts are often chasing that line of sight. We see people that we know or don't know and we size them up. We see people that we like or don't like and we praise or blame.

I've been concerned about someone for a long time. This person and I, we share a mutual friend. I find myself often discussing my concerns with the mutual friend. These concerns have become a frequent topic of conversation. But what do these talks accomplish?

Perhaps they are an occasion to release frustrations, but I've asked myself lately... How much venting does one need? How long can you continue to discuss something or someone until you have utterly exhausted the topic. At what point has enough been said? When do you know that you've crossed the line from constructive conversation to judgmental bashing?

Through this situation, I'm starting to see that the more time I waste dissecting someone else's issues, the less time I spend on my own. We often get pleasure from gossip--from talking about people--because in pointing out their flaws we think we somehow mask our own. We get into the game of making comparisons. We are happy when we believe we come out ahead.

How do we break out of a cycle that is so common in our society? How to we learn to stop judging and start practicing right speech?

Just now while writing this, I remembered a little mantra that I learned a long time ago (the source has been forgotten). But I looked up the little phrase online and found that it has been attributed to Shirdi Sai Baba, an Indian saint:

Before you speak, ask yourself: Is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve on the silence?

That last phrase I wasn't even aware of... I had heard it a bit differently--Is it true, Is it kind, Is it necessary--but the final phrase adds a little something. Silence can be a beautiful thing. If my words aren't so true, kind, and necessary that they are better than silence, perhaps they are best kept to myself.

Daily Dharma

The matter of birth-and-death is a grave one.
Impermanence will be upon us too soon.
Each of us should strive for Enlightenment with diligence.

[...quoted from an article in Still Point, the Dharma Rain Zen Center Newsletter, June 1995]

Saying Goodbye

Three women that I've known for most of my life died this year, one just today. I knew them first as my mother's sorority sisters then later as my own. They supported each other in a cancer survivors group, and were always there for each other, lifting each other up through difficult times—remaining positive through it all. I've learned a lot from these women, mostly that on my worst day I really don't have anything to complain about.

When I have to say goodbye to a relative, a soror, a close family friend—the matter of life and death becomes palatable. I notice that as I sit with each passing, the immediacy of the loss is the jolt that reminds me to consider the impermanence of all things. Too often the awareness of impermanence  slips into the background. Any acknowledgment of it gets lost amidst the work day, the dirty dishes, my daughter's homework, the laundry. Days speed past in a whirlwind and I often do not consider that every day I am one day closer to death. It could be my own... It could be the passing of someone I love, someone I know. Every day, that final day approaches. And we never know how long the clock will tick until we have to say goodbye.

We know this. Intellectually, we know this. But we still put so many things off. We can always call tomorrow. We can fix our relationships later. We can hold grudges for as long as it feels good. We can put off doing the things that we know we could do every day. Some of those things might be as simple as saying thank you, spending time with the people we love, drinking enough water, getting exercise, getting enough rest, engaging in spiritual practice. What is it in human nature that causes us to be so nonchalant, so lazy about the things we should approach with vigilance?

I think it is the illusion that there is always more time.

It is so common to approch life with that thought in mind, but it's a gamble at best.

Look around. If you knew that the people in your life would not be here next week, next month, next year... would you do anything differently? If you knew that you would not be here next week, next month next year... would you do anything differently? Is there something unsaid that you would make the time to say? Is there something undone that you would make the time to do?

What are you waiting for?

What are we waiting for?