Jody Larson
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Be an Island Unto Yourself

4/26/2022

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​During what would be his final journey, Gautama Buddha first became ill when he and some of his disciples were staying at Beluva for the rainy season. His pain was very great, but through meditation he was able to endure it, and he made a recovery.
​     His attendant, Ānanda, was greatly relieved. He told the Buddha that he had “lost all sense of direction,” but now that the Venerable Master was well again, he could regain peace of mind because the Master would not die before giving some further teaching to the disciples (termed bhikkhus, monks; fem. bhikkhunīs).
    “Ānanda, what do the bhikkhus expect of me?” the Buddha asked. “I have taught the Dhamma [Dharma in Sanskrit] without any distinction between exoteric and esoteric teachings. I have hidden nothing and held nothing back.”
Picture
Buddha from the Northern Wei dynasty in China (A.D. 385‒535). In the Honolulu Museum of Art in Honolulu, Hawaii. Photo by Thaddeus Zajdowicz, Public Domain, CC0 1.0. 2017.
 ​     Masters commonly hid the inner secrets of their craft or teachings from their followers. This was termed “the master’s fist.” Gautama Buddha said that in his teachings there was no “master’s fist.” The Buddha believed that these teachings belonged to all people, without regard to caste or other distinctions. 
      Gautama went on to say, “Ānanda, . . . I am old and wasting away with age. I have traversed life’s journey and reached the end of my time. I am already eighty. As an old cart will move only if strapped up, my body is kept going by being strapped up. It is only when . . . [I enter] into the concentration of mind that has no outward characteristics that [my] body is sound.
​     “Therefore, Ānanda, in this world you should be islands unto yourselves, refuges unto yourselves, seeking no external refuge; with the Dhamma as your island, the Dhamma as your refuge, seeking no other refuge.”
  Gautama didn’t choose a successor, and from this passage it’s clear that he didn’t intend to create a Buddhist “dynasty.” 
Picture
The Buddha in his final days with Ānanda. East Javanese relief. Photo by Anandajoti Bhikkhu. CC-BY 2.0. 2017.
​     The word translated as “island” is dīpa. Opinions vary on the translation of this word, which can also have the meaning of “lamp” or “light.” Most evidence indicates that “island” is the intended meaning, based on how those in India depended on islands or sandbars for safety during the floods of the rainy season. Jain writings also contain dīpa in this usage.
     But an argument can be made for the meaning of a light or lamp, which could be used as a guide; the interpretation would then be “You should be guides unto yourselves.” Shinran, founder of the Jōdo Shin sect of Buddhism, used the word “beacon”; this word suggests a light or lighthouse marking an island, combining the two meanings in a pleasing way.
​In any case, the idea is that the Buddha’s disciples, who were well-versed in the teachings, should rely on themselves and on the teachings of Dharma after Gautama Buddha’s death. They needed no further instruction.
     Gautama still had a long way to go to Kusinārā, where he would lay down his head for the final time.
Picture
Detail of one foot of a reclining Buddha statue, 217 ft. (66 m) long, in Myanmar. Photo by Arttantra, Public Domain, CC0 1.0. 2016.
For Further Exploration:
Quotations of the Buddha are taken from Hajime Nakamura’s work Gotama Buddha: A Biography Based on the Most Reliable Texts, Vol. 2 (Tokyo: Kosei Publishing Co., 2005).

The story of Buddha’s decline and death is recorded in the Mahaparinibbana Sutta (Pali version). Many translations exist, but one that is worth checking out is Last Days of the Buddha by Sister Vajira and Francis Story (Sri Lanka: Buddhist Publication Society, 2000). 

Buddhist scholar Thānissaro Bhikkhu has also translated this sutra. The complete text is available online here.

Mary Oliver wrote a poem about the Buddha’s death, making use of some poetic license. It’s titled “The Buddha’s Last Instruction,” and you can read it here. 
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Dhammapada: A Buddhist View of Experience

10/25/2021

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All experience is preceded by mind,
led by mind, made by mind.
Speak or act with a polluted mind,
and suffering follows,
as the wheel of a cart
follows the track
of the animal that pulls it.
 
All experience is preceded by mind,
led by mind, made by mind.
Speak or act with a clear, bright mind,
and joyfulness follows,
like a shadow that never leaves.
 
—Opening stanzas of the Dhammapada, Pali Canon
​All that time that the Buddha taught, forty-five years, and no one was taking notes. That’s because no written language was present in the area. It wasn’t until about 450 years after the Buddha’s death that his teachings were written down. Prior to that, the discourses were memorized and passed on orally. 
      The Pali Canon, written in the Pali language, is the most complete Early Buddhist canon still available today. The Dhammapada is part of this canon. (Other collections are available in other languages, and some are earlier, but none is thought to be as complete.)
Picture
A page from the Pali Canon. The circles have holes at their center allowing cord to be passed through for binding pages together. https://www.buddhist-art.com/blog/pali-canon/
​The meanings of ancient foreign languages are subject to the interpretation of the translator. I put together the version of the stanzas at the beginning based on a number of translations into English, including that of Gil Fronsdal, Thanissaro Bhikkhu, Glenn Wallis, and Jay N. Forrest. I also checked the English meanings of some terms in the Pali Text Society’s Pali–English Dictionary.
    The problem with translations is that often they reflect the preferences, cultural beliefs, or level of understanding of the translator. My version naturally reflects my choice of “best words” based on my own understanding. 
​     Even well-known interpreters can put an odd slant on translations. Thomas Byrom, a scholarly translator of Buddhist works who died in 1991, comes under criticism for translating the first line as “We are what we think.” The Pali version says no such thing. (See author Bodhipaksa’s critique in the fall 2014 issue of Tricycle.) 
      ​Looking deeper into meanings, “mind” could also be “heart” or “heart-mind,” because the seat of consciousness in Buddhism is in the chest (i.e., the heart) and not in the head. The word for “mind” might also be translated as “thought” or “intention.” If the mind/thought/intention is obscured, polluted, or wishing harm, then the result is suffering. If the mind/thought/intention is clear, pure, or bright, then the result is joyousness or happiness. 
     ​Notice the analogies used with the two stanzas. The polluted mind drags suffering along, like a cart pulled by a draft animal. With a clear mind, joyousness simply follows like a shadow that never leaves. A shadow is not a burden; it has no weight and is simply present.
   ​In Buddhism, karma is not just actions but also the intentions behind them. Your mind—your intention—affects what you experience in the world and how you experience it. Are you consumed with anger over perceived injustice and wanting to make someone pay? You’ll be angry a lot, and you’ll see injustice everywhere. Are you focused on the abundance of the world and on giving to others? You’ll find you have plenty to give and many opportunities to help. 
Picture
Greco-Buddhist representation of the Buddha. Gandhara, 1st century CE. Tokyo National Museum. Public Domain.
​This idea doesn’t mean you change your outlook in order to change the world. The world is how it is, regardless. It also doesn’t mean that you pretend you aren’t angry when you are, or that you adopt a false generosity to make yourself feel better. The important thing from a Buddhist point of view is to shift your own perception, understanding, and intentions.
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Buddha and the Sacred Trees

7/5/2021

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    ​Gautama Buddha was eighty, and he was feeling his age—he compared his body to an old cart that will move only if held together with straps. But through entering into “the concentration of mind that has no outward characteristics,” he could remain comfortable.
     He had decided some months earlier, at Vulture Peak, to travel back to his home in Kapilavastu, where he spent the first twenty-nine years of his life. This was a journey of some 200 miles, on foot. Now he was in the city of Vaiśālī (Vesālī), a place he had stayed often during his travels. 
    Having completed his morning rounds with his begging bowl, Gautama told his disciple and attendant Ānanda that he wished to go to the great sacred tree, Cāpāla, for his midday rest.
    Vaiśālī had a number of sacred trees with small shrines at their feet. These were places where wandering ascetics often rested from the hot sun. At the Cāpāla he reminisced about the sacred trees he had known: 
Picture
Sal (śāla) tree, _Shorea robusta_, new leaves with flower buds. J.M.Garg.
“Vaiśālī, the land of the Vṛjis, is delightful. The sacred tree of Cāpāla is delightful. The sacred tree of Sattambaka is delightful. The sacred tree of the luxuriant leaves is delightful. The banyan tree called Gautama is delightful. The grove of śāla trees is delightful. The sacred tree called ‘the place where the Mallas dropped their burden’ is delightful. The sacred tree called ‘the bank of the Monkey’s Pond’ is delightful. The world is a delightful place. Human life is sweet and beautiful.”*
​The next morning, Gautama rose early to beg for alms. After he had eaten, he “turned his body to the right and [while turning,] looked around in every direction with his elephant’s gaze.” He said to Ānanda, “Ānanda, this is the last time I will look upon Vaiśālī.”

​Gautama is saying goodbye to places he has appreciated during his life. He feels a nostalgia that many people feel as the end of life approaches. Some scholars are critical of this passage, stating that these are not the sentiments of an enlightened being. (One wonders how they would know.) Their objection makes sense only if being free of emotion, that is, feeling nothing, is a Buddhist value. I think this is an error. Buddhists are not striving to become robots; emotions are a fundamental part of who we are. Gautama was a human being with human feelings—but he was not bound by habitual patterns of reaction.†

​Ultimately, Gautama Buddha died in Kuśīnagar (Kusinārā), not making it to Kapilavastu. He lay down between two śāla trees, and after receiving many visitors, passed away. 

Picture
The words “Bu-dhe” (left) and “Sa-kya-mu-nī” (“Sage of the Shakyas”) (right) in Brahmi script, on Ashoka’s Rummindei Minor Pillar Edict (circa 250 BCE). Photo Dharma.
Picture
The Death of the Buddha (Parinirvana). Pakistan (ancient region of Gandhara), ca. 3rd century. Schist, H. 26 in.; W. 26 in.; D. 3 in. Metropolitan Museum of Art.

​*Quotations and descriptions are taken from Gotama Buddha: A Biography Based on the Most Reliable Texts, vols. 1 & 2, by Hajime Nakamura (Gaynor Sekimori, transl.) (Kosei Publishing Co., 2005). This is a scholarly work that uses a variety of sources and Buddhist texts. It’s currently out of print.
†For one discussion of emotions in Buddhism, see “Buddhist Insights for Accepting and Respecting Our Emotions,” by Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, Huffpost, 06/04/2010. Click here.)
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Time and the River

5/23/2021

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About six years ago I posted on Facebook about a plastic, European Medieval clock kit that we kids put together long ago, which resembled the photo here. The horizontal bar at the top with square blocks acts somewhat like a pendulum; it seesaws forward and back, powered by a dropping weight. Changing the positions of the blocks on the bar allows adjustment of clock speed. Gears and a sprocket wheel advance the single hand around the face to track the hours.
Picture
Brass-faced Matutinus model clock by the Ardavín company, Madrid, Spain (www.ardavin.net).
      At the time I posted about this, I wondered whether daily life would have a different pace if we paid attention only to hours, rather than to minutes, let alone seconds.
      The development of mechanical clocks allowed tracking of time during both day and night, and on cloudy days—a definite advantage over the sundial. 
Picture
A helmsman’s marine sandglass. Public domain (1859).
​Ships had a different timekeeping problem because of movement on the sea, sometimes drastic movement. The marine sandglass provided a workable solution from at least the 14th century. It’s an “hourglass” that tracks time in half-hour increments. The sandglass was hung from a hook, so that it could sway and keep vertical as needed with the movement of the ship; thus the flow of sand continued—more or less accurately. Each increment and turn of the glass was marked by ringing of the ship’s bell.
   Much of my work life was run by deadlines. That’s not true now, but sometimes I still tend to behave and feel as though it is. I get over-invested in punctuality and making sure things are done “on time.” I almost never have a set schedule these days; my day planner is largely empty space. But that old drive lingers on.
      The drive is the problem, not setting a time or meeting an appointment. It’s about how I approach these set points. 
      In 1970, Gestalt therapist Barry Stevens published a book titled Don't Push the River (It Flows by Itself). The title was arguably the best part.
       I have spent so much time pushing the river.
​In 2019, I stayed at Upaya Zen Center for about ten days. At Upaya and many other Zen centers, a wooden board called a han is struck in three sets of repeating patterns as the time for morning meditation grows closer. I found that upon hearing the han, I could rush around to get ready and dash to the hall to be on time, or I could move in an unhurried but directed way to do the same. 
Picture
A han at Tassajara Zen Center. Calligraphy by Linda Ruth Cutts, 2017.
    Either way, I still got to the hall. When I moved deliberately but without rushing, staying in the flow, I found my mind was already more at rest when meditation began.
    Time passes, whether precisely measured or not. Sometimes we do need to work quickly or move swiftly—but we gain nothing when we translate that into feeling pressured, pushed, anxious, or rushed because of old habits.
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Like Day and Night

4/23/2021

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​“It is like seeing the world from an aerial point of view: there is light, there is dark: both are accepted. You are not trying to defend light against dark.”
—Chögyam Trungpa, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism (1973: Shambhala Publications). 
If you are someone who grew up with a Western mindset, then you might likely strive to determine once and for all what is right and what is wrong, so that you can be in the right and can relax. 
      You know the result of this quest: opinions differ.
     We don’t have to look far to see how this dichotomy between good and bad works on us. Social media and news media play us—and prey on us—by presenting events in a hyped-up, dramatic light. It’s easy to be agitated and upset constantly from viewing media. We just want it to stop—“it” being whatever the currently designated evil is.
     Things that have nothing to do with me are made my business. I am invited to be outraged by injustice, broken by tragedy, frightened by the actions of others, even terrified by the weather forecast—until the ad break, where I’m assured that with the right beer, a better cellphone, a new car, or a doctor’s prescription, I can be okay again.
 
Chögyam Trungpa is using the light-and-dark analogy to attempt to explain a difference in perception—but it’s easy to misinterpret what he means.
     He does not mean that light and dark are the same thing. Everything does not exist in a monochromatic gray fog where anything goes. Bad acts and good acts do happen, and we can discern the difference.
     He also does not mean that light and dark never change. Looked at from high Earth orbit, we see that at any given moment, half the world is in darkness and half is in the light, but each area is continuously moving from one to the other. (Does this sound like Taoism? There’s a reason for that. Chinese Chan Buddhism, the originating tradition of Japanese Zen Buddhism, incorporates much of the older Taoist philosophy.)
     The Buddha-Tao mindset invites us to view events in a dispassionate way: suspending judgment, preference, and conditioning, if only for a moment. By doing this, we can see what is happening without a knee-jerk reaction based on prior emotions, favorite ideas, childhood conditioning and beliefs—or on being manipulated by a party line or a media ad campaign.
​“If you wish to know the truth,
then hold to no opinions for or against anything.
To set up what you like against what you dislike
is the disease of the mind.”

--The Hsin-Hsin Ming by Seng-ts’an, Third Chan Patriarch; transl. by Richard B. Clarke (White Pine Press, 2001).
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