Mental Fractals: Thinking About Thinking About Thinking

Thinking about thinking about thinking

Ripples on the pond

Where the frog jumped in

I think too much.  At least I think I think too much.  Or maybe I just think I think I think too much…..  OK - I think too much!!

In my job, I have to think a lot – analyzing clients’ problems, poring over documents and statutes looking for loopholes, combing the internet for similar cases, writing briefs, editing and more editing, all the time scheming, scheming, scheming.  Going to court is like a breath of fresh air.

There is no question that thinking is a vital part of my life.  I couldn’t do my job without using my brain, and the microcircuits inside the contraption I’m staring at are the product of some serious brainwork.

But an old saying comes to mind: just as the eye can't see itself, the intellect can't comprehend itself.  Thinking about thinking just goes around and around like a fractal pattern.

In Zen, intellect is a two edged sword. Thinking about logical problems is fine, however discovering what our essential nature does, and how it operates, is not an intellectual exercise.  Thinking about it is like boarding a locomotive headed in the wrong direction.  Attempting to say more would be offering free rides to the train station.

When I walk to work, I intend to be mindful, but invariably catch myself scheming.  When I walk home, I catch myself replaying the day's scenarios.

So lately, the emphasis in my Zen practice is just to be present when I’m not taking action, and when I am, to just act.  At least that’s the theory.  My brain takes the position that zazen is a splendid opportunity for more scheming and scenario replaying.

One of the things that seems to help at work is to take a deep breath and be present for a moment before picking up the phone.

Another is to perform frequent micro tea ceremonies throughout the day.  I keep a carafe of green tea far enough away from my desk that I have to get up and walk over to it, and I use a small cup that needs refilling often.

If there’s time, the icing on the cake is a stroll in the nearby forest, where scheming and replaying seem to fade into the rushing sounds of the creek.

Like the hallucinations in the final scene of A Beautiful Mind, I don’t imagine random thoughts will ever go away, but with practice, I’ll pay less attention to them.

So c’mon, Monkey Mind, give me a hug and then run off and play!

Sense of Self

(There is a video clip on this page but it doesn't seem to be visible to every computer.

If you can't see it, a thousand apologies! :)

An Ancient Tree Blooms: The Awakening of Compassion

Break open a cherry tree and there are no flowers,

But the spring breeze brings forth myriad blossoms.

~ Ikkyu Sojun

They say that the fruits of Buddhist practice are the awakening of wisdom and compassion.  As we grow in our practice, we first notice, then nurture, the blooming of these precious flowers in ourselves and others.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how this manifests in our society, especially our attitude to the suffering we inflict on women, other races and religions, gays and lesbians, the disabled, the addicted and mentally ill, and also other species.  There is a pattern that seems to repeat as we strive with each of these issues.

Schopenhauer said that every new truth goes through three stages:  First, it is ridiculed.  Second, it is violently opposed.  Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.

It’s easy to imagine the mustachioed chauvinists in the men’s clubs of the last century smirking about the ridiculous notion that women should have equal rights.  As the women’s liberation movement gained momentum, their casual dismissiveness escalated to righteous indignation and then to frightened fury.

First, the law was changed, making a woman no longer a man’s property, then women were permitted to own property, then vote, then hold office.  Today it’s a no-brainer that our sisters are equal to us in every way.  Sadly, it’s not yet so self-evident to our brothers in all parts of the world.  Or for that matter at home, where you still hear us say “the wife” and “the little lady”.

The same pattern repeated with the abolition of slavery, then segregation, then racial prejudice – at least in the eyes of the law.

It’s heartening that many things we considered to be ‘politically correct’, such as gender-neutral language, are now just plain ‘correct’.  In hindsight, the whole political correctness issue seems like an awkward adolescent phase we were going through.

I feel a twinge of sadness when we slip a notch or two, as with the introduction of things like live crab vending machines and (*sigh*) meat-eating furniture…

Recently, on the animal liberation front, we seem to be at Shopenhauer’s second stage with several states proposing laws to make it illegal to take or publish pictures of the mistreatment of animals in factory farms and slaughterhouses.  To wit: [a] person who photographs, video records, or otherwise produces images or pictorial records, digital or otherwise, at or of a farm or other property where legitimate agriculture operations are being conducted without the written consent of the owner, or an authorized representative of the owner, commits a felony of the first degree.

On the cheerier side, it’s a joy to read about our steps forward, as last year when Catalonia became the first region in Spain to ban bullfighting, and when Illinois abolished the death penalty earlier this month.

Reminders of evolving compassion are everywhere.  The photo is a Vancouver bus that accommodates motorized wheelchairs.

I think the internet and the social media networks are playing a major role in accelerating the flowering of compassion.  We can participate by forging links, one person at a time, by taking every opportunity to share and be kind, and above all, by remaining diligent in our daily practice, for without that, it’s all just words.

Who is asking this question?
What wants to know?
An ancient tree blooms

Gazing at the Ox - Solipsism: Trapped in Tozan’s First Rank

Who would think that just beyond the gateless gate lies a deadly trap?

How could the realization of one’s true nature possibly have a down side?

The fact that I am contained in everything and everything is contained in me, where there is neither separateness nor oneness, would seem to be a state that has nowhere to go, nothing to do.

That’s the trap.

Wikipedia defines Metaphysical Solipsism as

the variety of idealism which is based on the argument that no reality exists other than one's own mind or mental states, and that the individual mind is the whole of reality and the external world has no independent existence. It is expressed by the assertion "I myself only exist", in other words, no reality exists other than one's own mind.

Yamada Koun Roshi (Robert Aitken Roshi’s teacher) called it “pernicious oneness”.

Beware of the intellect manufacturing gems like Everything is perfect just as it is, therefore I don’t need to do anything, or Everything is an illusion, including suffering, so I don’t need to do anything, or I don’t need to practice, because everything is enlightened. These and similar thoughts pave the comfortable road to hell.

Having finally seen the Ox face to face, are you just going to spend the rest of your life lovingly gazing into its eyes?

Hakuin Zenji said this about the First Rank of Tozan:

The rank of "The Apparent within the Real" denotes the rank of the Absolute, the rank in which one experiences the Great Death, shouts "KA!" sees Tao, and enters into the Principle. When the true practitioner, filled with power from his secret study, meritorious achievements, and hidden practices, suddenly bursts through into this rank, "the empty sky vanishes and the iron mountain crumbles." "Above, there is not a tile to cover his head; below, there is not an inch of ground for him to stand on." The delusive passions are non-existent, enlightenment is non-existent, Samsara is non-existent, Nirvana is non-existent. This is the state of total empty solidity, without sound and without odor, like a bottomless clear pool. It is as if every fleck of cloud had been wiped from the vast sky.

Too often the disciple, considering that his attainment of this rank is the end of the Great Matter and his discernment of the Buddha-way complete, clings to it to the death and will not let go of it. Such as this is called "stagnant water" Zen; such a man is called "an evil spirit who keeps watch over the corpse in the coffin." Even though he remains absorbed in this state for thirty or forty years, he will never get out of the cave of the self-complacency and inferior fruits of pratyeka-buddhahood. Therefore it is said: "He whose activity does not leave this rank sinks into the poisonous sea." He is the man whom Buddha called "the fool who gets his realization in the rank of the Real."

There is the small matter described in the delightful title of Jack Kornfield’s book After the Ecstasy the Laundry.

How can I escape from the trapless trap?  What direction should I take in a place where there are no directions?  One helpful idea might be to be mindful of compassion.

When everything you experience is a mirror, who is looking back at you through the eyes of a homeless addict or through the eyes of a cow at the slaughterhouse?

Now gazing into the eyes of the ox, be moved to do something.

P.S.  Don’t get stuck there either.  I try to refrain from giving advice, but I’ll make an exception here. If you think you may be stuck, find an experienced teacher without delay.

Can I Sing You a Sorry Song

Lyrics of a song I wrote 40 years ago.

You Are My Heart

Can I sing you a sorry song
About the times that I've been wrong
I loved myself more than you
I needed  your love, but I didn't want you

I closed my eyes and got lost in my mind
I couldn't see people, didn't know that I was blind
And I can't say now that it was long ago
There's only one thing now that I really know

Refrain:

You're the wind in the woods
You're the rain on the sea
You're smiles on faces
You're a babe yet to be
You're a stream through a forest
You are waves that are wild
You are my heart
And I am your child

So when I get proud and quick to condemn
Won't you kindly remind me of all the times when
I talked in my sleep thinking I was wise
But wouldn't stop dreaming to open my eyes

(Refrain repeating last 2 lines)

Oddly enough, it didn't make the charts, and I still have a tendency to talk in my sleep...

Stepping Off The Flagpole

Leaves of thought

Bud, flourish and fall

In an eyeblink

All through the day, random thoughts form in my head.  Some are welcome, like an insight into a problem or a spontaneous urge to express affection.  Others are merely distractions.  The special ones are thoughts of envy and resentment and superiority.

All thoughts are just things my brain produces. If I hang on to any of them, they will get in the way of whatever I’m doing next.  My aim will be off.  I have to let them all go.

Paddling down the rapids
No time to reflect
On skilful strokes

What about the special thoughts?  Of course I have to let them go as well.  But envy and superiority remind me that I continue to compare myself with others, to see myself apart from others, and as being separate from everything else.  They present a wonderful opportunity to let go, just for a moment, of my illusion of being just the temporary whirlpool in the river, and for a second or two, to be the river as well.

Until the next thought comes along.

Stepping off the flagpole
A hundred times a day
A cup of tea would be nice

The Oak Tree in the Garden

Fearlessly unfolding

Destination unknown

The oak tree in the garden

Sometimes when I set out to write a new blog post, I lose my nerve, thinking of all the wonderful, brilliant, heartfelt posts being written every minute. I started blogging because I wanted to make a difference, and felt sure there was more I could do on the internet than click the Hunger Site every day.

I want to make a dent in all the suffering out there, but my problem is believing the fallacy that I need to make a dent that is significant to me.

But how is it possible to know the effects of even the smallest action? In a very real sense, I have no idea what I'm doing or what the universe is doing.

The first of the Bodhisattva Vows is a daunting proposition:  "All beings without number I vow to liberate". To keep our vow, we can only speak and do the things that seem right at the moment - hopefully things that are kind, helpful and sincere - and leave the consequences to themselves.

Ah But I Was So Much Older Then

I went through all my teens in the ‘60’s, very much influenced by Bob Dylan and the Beatles.  That was when I explored different spiritual paths with a small group led by a grey-bearded guru who seemed to be in his 60’s and about whose qualifications I have no idea.

We were more or less a Roman Catholic yoga group, as he taught us about various Indian masters, and we read the Autobiography of a Yogi, but we went to early morning masses at a Ukrainian Catholic Church and the Stations of the Cross at a Franciscan friary.  We took bottles of water to the rectory of the cathedral to have them blessed and turned into holy water, which we sprinkled around, I believe to drive away evil beings.

You could hear us approaching by the jingling of our crucifices and little medallions of St. Christopher and a host of other saints we wore on chains around our necks.  Oh, did I mention we all had to grow beards?  Our fearless leader would take us on guided tours.  I remember being introduced to some kindly old men at a festival in the Sikh temple.  I also remember following our guru, along with my brother clones, jingling into a crowded smoke-filled meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Eventually our little group drifted apart.  One of us became a librarian, another became a counsellor, another went mad, and I wandered through science labs, plywood mills, late night city streets driving taxi, and law school.  I also drifted away from the various traditions I visited and more or less gravitated to Zen, which I practiced on my own until about five years ago, when the value of sangha finally dawned on me and I joined a group considerably less unusual than the first one.

Back in the day, I never hesitated to be profound.  A friend and I, being a couple of wannabe hippies going with the flow, came across a big sluggish frog lounging on the road.  I picked it up and put it in the grass.  My friend said, "Hey, man, why did you do that? If it happens that it gets run over, then it happens."  I sagely replied, "And if happens that I come along and move it off the road, then it happens."  But I was at my most profound when a slightly younger guy who had been listening to me prattle said, "Dave, you're so wise." Without missing a beat, I said, "No, I'm a fool. I know what to do, but I don't do it."  I'm still working on that one.

When the '60's were over, I more or less kept my deep thoughts to myself. Now that I'm in my 60's, it feels like I have a few more things to say. I worry that they won't be as profound as when I was a wise man.

But I'm younger than that now.

Point of No Return

It’s like trying to stuff a flower back into a bud.

After catching a glimpse of your dad putting on a Santa costume, or a glimpse of your original face, you can never see your world the same way again, no matter how much you may want to.  Even if you try to drown the awareness with distraction, or other drugs, you never permanently forget.

A thought persists, “I have no idea why, but I must keep sitting, no matter what.”  And maybe once in a while, you remember why.  Other times, forgetful, alone and afraid.

If there are miracles, one is surely the sangha.

I wrote a couple of poems:

My cowardice is in vain.
There is nowhere
To hide.

~~~

Round cushions,
Square mats,
Kind hearts.

The Middle Way – Should I Speak Up?

When to take action and speak up and when to do nothing and shut up?

Instant action is no problem.  Shouting “look out!” or grabbing someone about to fall requires no thought.  It’s the deliberate choices that are the problem.  Doing zazen or going to bed.  Commuting to the Zen Centre or staying home and watching a movie.  It seems the more I think about these choices, the more likely I am to talk myself into the easy alternatives.  If I can let my thinking drop, I’m more likely to find myself sitting on my zafu or out the door and down the steps heading for the bus.

I tend to keep my mouth shut – I think, out of fear of being thought of as an idiot.  So when I do get going, the same dilemma follows me:  should I shut up now, or keep babbling on and be thought of as an idiot?

Reading Point of Contact on the Sweep the dust, Push the dirt blog got me exploring the question again.   How to find “a point of contact between wisdom and compassion; between action and still; between the heart and the mind; between this moment and the next.”  Then I re-visited “Interdependence and the Middle Way” in Opening the Hand of Thought by Kosho Uchiyama.

My concept of my individual self feels “real” (whatever that means).  So does everything else I can see and touch.  I would be an idiot to say none of this exists.

“Truly seeing the aggregation of the world, the thought of nonexistence does not arise.”

But they say every cell in our bodies is replaced within seven years.  So my “self”, and every other particular thing, is more like a candle flame, or a whirlpool in a river – having apparent independent existence, but completely changing every moment.

“Truly seeing the nonsubstantiality of the world, the thought of existence does not arise.”

On the other hand, this particular whirlpool I call me, and every other particular thing, came into being, exists, and will eventually stop existing.  Some things die sooner than others – mountains generally last longer than mayflies – but they/we all go through this process as a result of the unimaginably complex interaction between every “thing” and every other “thing”.

“The view that all things exist is one extreme; the view that nothing exists is the other extreme.  Being apart from these two extremes, the Buddha teaches the dharma of the Middle Way: because this exists, that exists; because this arises, that arises.”

The Middle Way isn’t a compromise between two extremes.  When thoughts of existence and nonexistence are released from our intellectual grasp, the Middle Way is nothing other than this very moment.

Which is why zazen is priceless: doing nothing but sitting and letting go of thoughts, including thoughts like this one.  And having faith – not having faith that something is going to happen as a result of doing zazen, or having faith in anything else – just having faith, period.

Getting back to the question of when to shut up, I guess I need to stop thinking and just do it.

Before I’m thought of as an idiot. 

But it’s probably too late for that.