In my eyes so much of Western Buddhism amounts merely to ideas and techniques and lacks real heart compared to Buddhism in Asia. Western Buddhism is young, precocious and perhaps a little immature in this respect. At a time of crisis this can be particularly apparent and has been expressing itself in the monastery to some degree. Luckily, as the pandemic has been looming closer, things are changing in the monastery from a bit of a heady response – working out what to do, or how to think about the whole thing – to more of a heart response. The great-uncle of one of our community members is fighting for his life against the virus right now in Holland. This fact began to really bring things home to us. We will put a picture of him and his wife, also sick, up on our shrine and dedicate our practice to their welfare. This kind of response is all we have when there is nothing more that can be done or said, and it is very important for that very reason. In this way our regular routine of chanting opens up to hold and carry these events without us being changed. This helps us in turn to open up to these things, for them to really come home to us, without shaking our lives too much. It is a nice phrase actually: to ‘bring something home’, meaning for us to realise the full reality of something. We can be welcoming these realities into our hearts, offering them a home of compassion, and growing in kindness and wisdom as a result. Then, ultimately, all our insights, all our samādhi will be a heart response, a radical opening of the heart. Since this text was written, the great-uncle who was mentioned has passed away... I think myself lucky to have been through what I might call the feeling revolution in England in the 1980’s and 1990’s. Before this it wasn’t very acceptable for men to show their emotions, especially at a time of crisis. This got turned around when women started looking for the new, sensitive man. Then it became fashionable for men to have emotions! We were helped along by the tragedy of Lady Diana’s death. What a milestone that was in the emotional evolution of the male sex! So now, at a time of crisis like this, we can have a good cry along with everybody else and feel a lot better. The ability to experience an unpleasant feeling rather than tighten up against it can actually be a sign of strength too, in my eyes we are no less men for showing emotion. It can be the case also, however, that people with a very strong spiritual nature will start having emotions different to the normal, cry for different reasons. Different perceptions lead to different emotions. So there should not be a socially imposed standard on emotion either. We have to understand that people see things differently. Still we may question our perceptions or those of others later but tissues always come first. Crying in response to a good, wholesome perception could be our spiritual definition of what it could mean to ‘have had a good cry’. Sometimes the lockdown seemed like prison, but at a time of crisis, there is something about silence as a response. The kind of silence I mean is the minute of silence observed on memorial days to honour the dead. Such silence has tremendous power, gravitas. To me there is something very beautiful about such silence, a tremendous peace. I can want it to last forever. Yet more than this, much more to me, there is also something deep down that knows that this silence – only this silence – can actually last forever. To me this is the great turning point. This is the truth; and seeing this truth – out of the darkness comes light. So, I do not look at this moment for a sign of hope, for a fresh beginning. I have my hope and my fresh beginning already in the silence. And this silence is right there seeing the truth also of the suffering, not looking somewhere else and as such has true love and compassion. To me this is also a love that at such a time is truly consoling to others, a love that is just, simply, ready with the tissues. To me such love is a response that has both wisdom and compassion; to me this is the love of the Buddha – love on the path to liberation. This silence is a love that is not looking for answers or for hope when there is none. What hope is there for a body that is dying? There is none. There is hope only for the spirit and only for the spirit that can let go of the body, not for the spirit that holds on with hope. So this is a love that does not let us down at the crucial moment. We have found a refuge for ourselves and can be a refuge to others at a time of real crisis. I can also think that, if there was nothing more that could be done for me, I would be happy to die alone in such silence in order to be able to connect with this refuge, to go with it. So please, no chanting, no serenades or lullabies when my time comes, thanks anyway. Silence is golden. And, in the meantime, many of us are living in isolation, in the solitude of the corona lockdown. If we can keep our spirits up we have the perfect opportunity to meditate and prepare ourselves to meet such a solitary death, training ourselves to stay with the silence, to see that the body is not us and let it go. Then we will not only have courage to face the future, then we can die any time we like. In fact we can be dying all the time into that glorious silence. We can be dying to ourselves every day, as we live and love. This is letting go. I offer this for your reflection Ajahn Kalyāno http://www.openthesky.co.uk Reading by the AuthorIn the monastery we have prepared a special box. It contains everything we have for use in case one of the community members gets the virus. So we have everything together in advance to help us nurse someone in isolation (gloves, hand sanitiser, aprons, masks etc.). We also have a nursing procedure written out to help us to look after the patient without spreading the virus. We are doing our best practically and preparing ourselves mentally to accept whatever happens. Today we also placed a small, brightly coloured, yellow box – which will remain empty – within the larger box. The idea is that this little yellow box is a symbol. It is there to remind us that if we look on with wisdom (yellow is the colour of wisdom in all my art work) this will keep a little bit of the heart and mind empty and safe in the midst of the crisis. As we look on with wisdom this creates emptiness in the mind – there is a little detachment, no grasping within the mind. The source of true emptiness, of freedom, lies right there at whatever we are giving our attention to, not in some other place. We find a refuge not by running away but by facing the truth of the situation. Seeing the truth the mind becomes the truth, everlasting, ineffable. So this little box-within-the-box is a symbol of the true transcendent. It is there to help us to stay light, to keep a light touch, while still fully acknowledging the seriousness of the situation and giving our full attention to dealing with it. This is very different from keeping a little bit of the mind empty, staying a little bit spaced out; which is the old hippy way, perhaps, not the way of mindfulness, of wisdom and compassion. We would like to wish you all the inner joy of the little yellow box. Or perhaps we think that if we are really compassionate we should be depressed and anxious about the whole thing? Wouldn’t be very good for the immune system would it? Or be positive and think we will not get it, or that we will be alright if we do, that could make us careless, couldn’t it? No, I think the right way is neither extreme, it is the calm, caring, mindful middle-way of the little yellow box. I offer this for your reflection Ajahn Kalyāno http://www.openthesky.co.uk And what if we lose someone we love? When someone dies we feel sad. We can replace this painful reaction with a clear conscious response - holding their memory, keeping their goodness alive in our life. In this way we are acting directly to alleviate our loss. We are not stepping back and accepting the grief, we are acting positively at its source. The traditional thing to do in a Buddhist culture when somebody dies is to do something good in their memory. In this way we can be doing more even than keeping the memory of the person alive. We can be keeping that person alive in our actions. Say they were a father or mother. As their son or daughter we can be stepping in to their shoes, caring in the way they used to care. This can also mean looking after ourselves like Mum or Dad used to. This is how, through compassion, we can let go. If we have the opportunity to plan ahead we can find out from our elders, or any of our loved ones, what they would like us to do after they have gone and we can promise to do our best. Then our elder can go in peace, whenever their time comes. This is how, through compassion, they can let go. Then, when we are feeling better, we can take another look at the whole situation with an open mind and question what has really happened. It is clear that the body of the person has died but they were never just their body, were they? They are no longer around in the physical, material world, the realm of the senses, but they can still be very much around in the mind can’t they? Certainly they are still around in the mind and hearts of their loved ones. If we meditate, withdrawing from the senses, it is possible to find in our hearts a memory or a presence that is stable and clear. Perhaps then we may also want to look for something further beyond the world of the senses, something that is not tied up with the body. We can want to withdraw from the body, knowing now how vulnerable that body really is. We may want to learn to meditate and find out for ourselves what lies within. Many Buddhists believe, or even see, that there is something about this inner space that is beyond death. And if we cannot see in this way we can still have found a refuge in our life beyond the suffering of the body. Perhaps this is what our loved one, having known such suffering, would want for us most of all. Reading by the Author |
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