On the Wreck

Is the wreck, the wreck of a failed marriage? Is it the wreck of Rich's husband's suicide? Is it the wreck of male-female relations in general? I can see elements of all three in this poem. Whatever it represents, the narrator merely surveys it, which is itself a good life-affirming process, especially since she is looking for untouched treasure in addition to the damage.

Speaking of self-surveying, I have started keeping a diary, which i plan to write in every night, surveying what I've done that day. What are the positive things? What are the negative things? What aspects of my behavior do I like? Which would I like to change? I did a one-time version of this many weeks ago, surveying my life up to that point, and that helped me a lot. I've become a bit complacent since then, so I think it's good to keep maintaining it.

Diving into the Wreck, by Adrienne Rich

First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.

There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.

Comments on 'Emperor'

This is a poem I've always had a fondness for, mainly because I suddenly 'got' the grammar of the sentence 'Let be be finale of seem,' one time as I was walking. Of course understanding the grammar doesn't immediately lead to understanding the poem. Here is the way to parse the sentence anyway: Let "be" be [the] finale of seem.

I found a site which gave several crictics' ideas concerning the poem. It is pretty clearly about a funeral. One critic mentioned that ice cream was common at black funerals in Key West, where Stevens was situated when he wrote the poem. The two stanzas of the poem are quite different. The first is very energetic and fun---a party-like atmosphere. The second is somewhat brooding and macabre. Covering the corpse with a sheet which fails to cover her "horny" feet. Note too that cold and dumb are loaded words, perhaps indicating a lot of grief and anger in the observer. Still, I'm not sure exctly what point Stevens is trying to make, if any. `The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream,' seems to indicate that the energetic life of the first room in the first stanza is primary, and at least one critic has made this interpretation, that the poem is an affirmation of life over death, but that's not so clear to me. After all the poem's title is also repeated in the second stanza. Perhaps the poem is a recognition of the juxtaposition of life and death present at the funeral, without any kind of affirmation in either direction. Other interpretations are possible too. The ice cream could be a detail that the narrator is concentrating on to maintain order in a chaotic emotional landscape. A refuge from the chaos of the reception and a refuge from the cold hard fact of death. I know when I am feeling down, or stressed, I can find comfort in small things. In this view, the sentence "let be be finale of seem," could refer to the verification of the person's death. She has only seemed to be dead to the narrator until he actually witnesses her corpse, when her death becomes a reality. In fact the first stanza of the poem itself can be seen as an elaborate buildup to the bald statement of the person's death. "Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, we present...a cold dumb corpse."

Well, I can see I am not going to plumb the depths here. I've already spent quite a bit of time thinking about this. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll post some other ideas.

The Emperor of Ice-Cream, by Wallace Stevens

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Comments on Stevens's Poem

I get a lot out of this poem, although I can't say I fully understand it. Part of what I like is the mood. Stevens is describing a profound experience of the beauty of the ocean illuminated by a woman singing. I love his description in the first paragraph of the sea's singing. Indeed, when I first read this poem, I thought perhaps the singer was not a person but a metaphorical embodiment of the ocean, or nature or the sun. Now I think when it says "She sang beyond the genius of the sea," it means that the sea's voice is beautiful, but the singer's song surpasses it. Later on, it says "Her voice made the sky acutest at its vanishing." The song she sang illuminated the beauty of the scene, and drew details like the horizon into focus.

There's not much I can say to add to the poem's beauty. That's sort of why poems exist I guess. They can express something that gets lost when it is translated into standard prose. I guess I'll let it stand as a testament to the beauty and power of spiritual experiences, for I would classify this as such an experience.

The Idea of Order at Key West

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman of the veritable ocean.

The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.

If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of the sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound

Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.

It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing made.

Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As the night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.

Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.

-Wallace Stevens

Comments on the firecat

It occurs to me that this sort of poem used to bewilder me. It's not about anything. Just a day in the life of a firecat and some bucks. I suppose I would have preferred some heavy-handed meditation on death, or Man's Place in the World, or something. But actually the poem can be appreciated in much the same way a photograph of nature can be appreciated. I like the way Stevens does not anthropomorphize the animals, too. It actually shows a deep understanding of the way nature works. There's a certain alien quality to the way animals behave, and that quality is captured perfectly here.

I could try to tie this in specifically to Buddhism, but I think that would sound unneccessarily didactic and artificial. I think it's okay just to experience the poem.

Earthy Anecdote

Every time the bucks went clattering
Over Oklahoma
A firecat bristled in the way.

Wherever they went,
They went clattering,
Until they swerved

In a swift, circular line
To the right,
Because of the firecat.

Or until they swerved
In a swift, cicrular line
To the left,
Because of the firecat.

The bucks clattered.
The firecat went leaping.
To the right, to the left,
And
Bristled in the way.

Later, the firecat closed his bright eyes
And slept.

-Wallace Stevens

Abiding in the Fearless State

At a spot called Vulture Peak Mountain, the Buddha presented some revolutionary teachings on the wide open, groundless dimension of our being, traditionally known as emptiness, absolute bodhichitta, or prajnaparamita.

Many of the students there already had a profound realization of impermanence and egolessness, the truth that nothing---including ourselves---is solid or predictable. They understood the suffering that results from grasping and fixation. They had learned this from Buddha himself; they had experienced its profundity in meditation. But the Buddha knew that our tendency to seek solid ground is deeply rooted. Ego can use anything to maintain the illusion of security, including the belief in insubstantiality and change.

So the Buddha did something shocking. With the teachings on emptiness he pulled the rug out completely, taking his students further into groundlessness. He told them that whatever they believed had to be let go, that dwelling upon any description of reality was a trap. The Buddha's principal message that day was that holding onto anything blocks wisdom. Any conclusions we might draw must be let go. The only way to fully understand the teachings, the only way to practice them fully, is to abide in unconditional openess, patiently cutting through all our tendencies to hang on.

This instruction---known as the Heart Sutra---is a teaching on fearlessness. To the extent that we stop struggling against uncertainty and ambiguity, to that extent we dissolve our fear. Total fearlessness is full enlightenment---wholehearted, open-minded interaction with our world. By learning to relax with groundlessness, we gradually connect with the mind that knows no fear.

-Pema Chödrön, Comfortable with Uncertainty

I appreciate this reading alot. The idea that we should not cling to any teaching is for me an important and fundamental spiritual principle. I know Pema refers to the Heart Sutra here, but this idea also permeates the Diamond Cutter Sutra. Soon, I think I will start the Diamond Sutra all over again. There is a lot of good stuff in that Sutra, but one might say, "Hey stop clinging to that Sutra." If I followed this advice, I would be clinging to the teaching of nonattachment to teachings, which is not following the teaching. Not clinging to teachings shouldn't mean that we abandon all beliefs, but it should mean that we abandon beliefs that are no longer useful to us. The analogy that is used here often is that we should ditch the raft after we've used it to cross the river, at which point it will become a burden if we try to cling to it.

The principle of not letting a dogmatic belief system to settle in has many benefits. Thich Nhat Hanh's book Living Buddha, Living Christ is a wondefrul example of its fruition. Hanh saw that the clash between Buddhism and Christianity in Vietnam was having deleterious effects. If neither side is willing to compromise, the conflict will continue, even if it is not manifested in overt violence. Hanh did a very bold thing by studying Christianity deeply and identifying very deep commonalities between Buddhism and Christianity. And also by accepting Christianity, despite a large amount of prejudice against it in the Buddhist community. In his book he says he has two statues side by side: one of Buddha and one of Christ.
This is Buddhism at its deepest. Abandoning beliefs (we must oppose the other side at all costs) when they become harmful.

I am glad, too, that Hanh as done this. Having grown up in the Christian tradition, I get quite a lot out of Hanh's comparisons. It helps me to understand both Christianity and Buddhism a lot more deeply. In particular, I think Hanh's comparison of Buddha nature to the Holy Spirit is fantastic.

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Random thought: I could also post poetry by various authors on some mornings, and not explicitly Buddhist literature. What do you think, B?

The Truth is Inconvenient

The difference between theism and nontheism is not whether one does or doesn't believe in God. It's an issue that applies to everyone, including both Buddhists and non-Buddhists. Theism is a deep-seated conviction that there's some hand to hold: if we just do the right things, someone will appreciate us and take care of us. It means thinking there's always going to be a babysitter available when we need one. We are all inclined to abdicate our responsibilities amd delegate our authority to something outside ourselves.

Nontheism is relaxing with the ambiguity and uncertainty of the present moment without reaching for anything to protect ourselves. We sometimes think that Buddhist teachings are something outside of ourselves---something to believe in, something to measure up to. However, dharma isn't a belief; it isn't dogma. It is total appreciation of impermanence and change. The teachings disintegrate when we try to grasp them. We have to experience them without hope. Many brave and compassionate people have experienced them and taught them. The message is fearless; dharma was never meant to be a belief that we blindly follow. Dharma gives us nothing to hold onto at all.

Nontheism is finally realizing that there's no babysitter that you can count on. Just when you get a good one then he or she is gone. Nontheism is realizing that it isn't just babysitters that come and go. The whole of life is like that. This is the truth, and the truth is inconvenient.

-Pema Chödrön, Comfortable with uncertainty

"God is a concept by which we measure our pain." -John Lennon

I couldn't resist throwing in the John Lennon quote, which, now that I think about it, is quite relevant. In any event, my concept of God is not the standard one. In fact I tend to use the word God only so that I can identify with other people when they talk about it/her/him. I really get a lot out of Thich Nhat Hanh's comparison of Buddha nature with the Holy Spirit. In some sense, we are all part of God. If God is this common Buddha nature, this is true. If God is the Universe, this is true. In this view, as part of God, we each have the responsibility to carry out right actions, as determined by our own judgment in collaboration with others. We cannot abdicate authority, nor seek an outside supernatural force. On the other hand, as Beckett pointed out to me, and as Chödrön emphasizes repeatedly, guilt and self-criticism can be quite harmful here. So even though, we each have personal responsibility, that doesn't mean that we need to obsess over our mistakes and failures.
Mistakes happen and nothing can change that. It reminds us of our imperfection, of our fallibility, and helps us to connect with other people, who are also imperfect. If we follow the Bodhisattva path, despite our failures, we have the potential to do enormous good. Even though we are a small part of humanity and the universe, we can do enormous good. When a maple tree drops ten thousand seed pods, each little seed pod has the potential to grow another tree which will drop hundreds of thousands of its own seed pods. Each seed pod will probably not produce a tree, but without any seed pods maple trees
would become extinct. Also, even if the seed pod does not produce a tree, it may help to feed a squirrel, or it may help to fertilize the soil, or any of a myriad of other options. Here is a good metaphor about clinging to outcomes. If I, the seed pod, perform right actions with the expectation of a certain outcome, I will almost certainly be disappointed. If I just stay in the present moment, I will not be.

Karma

Occasionally people who do not have a proper knowledge of karmic law say that such and such person is very kind and religious, but he always has problems, whereas so and so is very deceptive and negative, but always seems very successful. Such peopl may think that there is no karmic law at all. There are others wo go to the other extreme and become superstitious, thinking that when someone experiences illness, it is all due to harmful spirits. However, there is a definite relation between causes and effects: that actions not commiteed will never produce an effect; and that once committed, actions will never lose their potentiality.

-the Dalai Lama

The idea of karma first suggests to a lot of people the idea of a supernatural equalizing force. If I do bad things, I will be repaid in kind, and if I do good things, I will be rewarded with good things happening to me. However, this is the universe we're talking about here. It doesn't work that way. On the other hand, as the Dalai Lama points out, that doesn't mean the concept of karma is worthless; it just means we've misunderstood it. My own personal understanding is that, except in the case, perhaps, of sociopaths, that bad behavior will indeed lead to bad effects: bad mental effects, such as guilt, shame and anger. Good actions will lead to a happier state of mind. Similarly, bad actions do have a tendency to come back and bite us, and our good behavior is sometimes reciprocated. This is only a very general rule, though, and performing good deeds with an expectation of external approval or an external reward s a good way to be frustrated.

On-the-spot Equanamity

An on-the-spot equanamity practice is to walk down the street with the intention of staying as awake as possible to whomever we meet. This is training in being emotionally honest with ourselves and becoming more available to others. As we pass people we simply notice whether we open up or shut down. We notice if we feel attraction, aversion, or indifference, without adding anything extra like self-judgment. We might feel compassion toward someone who looks depressed, or cheered up by someone who' smiling to himself. We might feel fear and aversion for another person without even knowing why. Noticing where we open up and where we shut down---without praise or blame---is the basis of our practice. Practicing this way for even one block of a city street can be an eye-opener.

We can take the practice even further by using what comes up as the basis for empathy and understanding. Our own closed feelings like fear or revulsion thus become an opputunity to remember that others also get caught this way. Our open states like friendliness and delight can connect us very personally with the people that we pass on the streets. Either way, we are stretching our hearts.

-Pema Chödrön, Comfortable with uncertainty

I have to say, too often my observations of those I pass are limited to feelings of derision. It's an old, hard-to-break habit, and I'd like to be rid of it. I'm doing better than I was, but sometimes I catch myself doing it unconsciously. I like this idea of going to a crowded place such as a city block and practicing empathizing with each person.

Six Ways to be Lonely

Usually we regard loneliness as an enemy. It's restless and pregnant and hot witht the desire to escape and find something or someone to keep us company. When we rest in the middle of it, we begin to have a nonthreatening relationship with loneliness, a cooling loneliness that turns our usual fearful patterns upside down. There are six ways of describing this kind of loneliness:

1. Less desire is willingness to be lonely without resolution when everything in us yearns for something to change our mood.

2. Contentment means that we no longer believe that escaping our loneliness is going to bring happiness or courage or strength.

3. Avoiding unnecessary activities means that we stop looking for something to entertain us or to save us.

4. Complete discipline means that at every oppurtunity, we're willing to come back to the present moment with compassionate attention.

5. Not wandering in the world of desire is about relating directly with how things are, without trying to make them okay.

6. Not seeking security from one's discursive thoughts means no longer seeking the companionship of constant conversation with ourselves.

-Pema Chödrön, Comfortable with uncertainty

This is a great passage, and a great book. Very few authors have the capacity to make so much sense. Every time I read it, I feel like she's talking about something that makes pefect sense, even if I never consciously realized it, and even if I had unconsciously thought the exact opposite. This passage is a case in point. Like other human animals, I have the desire to not be lonely. On the other hand, like other unpleasant emotions, loneliness can be transcended through acceptance. The six things mentioned here are about practicing being comfortable with loneliness. (Loneliness is a poweful emotion. Even now, thinking about it, it is bringing forth some sadness.) All six practices mentioned here strike a chord with me. I fail to practice Number 3 an awful lot. In some sense, our consumer culture is about not practicing number 3. If you feel unhappy, a constant barrage of advertising subtly informs us, then buying a certain product will alleviate that unhappiness. Numbers 4 and 5 are also good ones. I have noticed a tendency of my mind to shrink back from certain uncomfortable areas, many of which are rather banal. Training my mind to not shrink away is a good way to expose these problem areas and get rid of their subconscious influence. Similarly, I have a tendency, when things don't seem exactly the way I want them, to wistfully think about how I can make them right in thr future, thereby ignoring what's happening at the moment. However, only by living completely in the moment can I ever make real decisions, and not let my brain's autopilot make the decisions for me. Finally this issue of discursive thoughts is something I've dealt with quite a bit. When walking to and from school, I very often get caught up in a pointless internal dialogue with myself. I used to set up arguments with straw men about various political issues I felt strongly about. This gave me the oppurtunoty to berate the straw man, and make myself feel better. (Wait, did that make me feel better?) Other times, I would play over an incident in my mind analyzing it from every angle until I could see how it made me look good. Obviously this sort of dialogue is not only pointless but actually harmful. It is a form of not living completely in the moment, a form of self-delusion. Not only am I not seeing reality the way it is, but I am working hard to edit it to my liking. It's hard sometimes for me not to get caught up in this sort of thing, but hopefully my awareness of what's going on will be a powerful tool to reduce its frequency.

I feel like I need to end with a poem:

The screen is before me
The floor is below me
My wife in the kitchen
Walking around
A cardinal on branch
In the backyard
Snow, partially melted,
Lies on the ground
The floor is below me
The screen is before me

Obstacles as Questions

Obstacles occur at the outer and inner levels. At the outer level the sense is that something or somebody has harmed us, interfering with the harmony and peace we thought was ours. Some rascal has ruined it all. This particular sense of obstacle occurs in relationships and in many other situations; we feel disappointed, harmed, confused, and attacked in a variety of ways. People have felt this way from the beginning of time.

As for the inner level of obstacle, perhaps nothing ever really attacks us except our own confusion. Perhaps there is no solid obstacle except our own need to protect ourselves from being touched. Maybe the only enemy is that we don't like the way reality is now and therefore wish it would go away fast. But what we find as practitioners is that nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know. Even if we run a hundred miles an hour to the other side of the continent, we find the very same problem awaiting us when we arrive. It keeps returning with new names, forms, and manifestations until we learn whatever it has to teach us: Where are we separating ourselves from reality? How are we pulling back instead of opening up? How are we closing down instead of allowing ourselves to experience fully whatever we encounter?

-Pema Chödrön, Comfortable with uncertainty

This is a wonderful, poetic passage. Things which bother us such as anger, fear, insecurity and pain will constantly return. However, they can be dealt with by acceptance. Once we have learned to accept pain, when it returns it will not contort our mind into convoluted knots. We will experience the pain, but we will not try to repress or deny it thereby magnifying the pain a hundredfold. Similar remarks hold for other unpleasant emotions. Attempting to deny their existence results in much more misery than merely allowing them to happen. A good example is insecurity. One of my favorite pasttimes used to be getting drunk and trolling the internet for crank sites and cranks on political blogs. I didn't consciously realize it at the time, but this was so I could bolster my own fragile ego and feel smugly superior to these obvious nuts. In fact much of my behavior can be traced to my own insecurity. Insulting others to their face or behind their back, looking for the flaws in people and not their positive traits, a constant evaluating of whether I am better or worse than any given individual. All of these were aspects of a weird misguided attempt to expurgate my insecurity. Instead, acceptance of my insecurity just leaves me the insecurity, which is easier to deal with when it is clearly recognized, and does not entail the massive body of bad karma arising from repression.

A Zen Story

Here is a possibly apocryphal story I picked up on a political blog. A student asks a Zen master what is man's inherent Buddha nature. The Zen master proceeds to take a piss.

The person who posted this koan meant it as a cynical commentary on human nature, but it rings true to me in a different way. Our Buddha nature is our natural state, where we function as is, as one with the natural world. (That's my take on it anyway.) Pissing has unpleasant connotations as a result of various factors such as societal norms, but pissing is the most natural thing in the world. A bear in the woods doesn't think twice about pissing. Of course, "acting like an animal," has a very negative connotation, but why should it? Not every animal behavior is bad. I think it is good to recognize that we are animals, and that we have a whole suite of behaviors that result from this. But why is that bad? The Buddhist philosophy is that we will not be rid of our basic animal nature[no negative connotation!], but we can participate with our eyes wide open. An awakened animal is a damn good thing!

Another, more metaphorical interpretation of this koan has to do with the fact that pissing is a way of ridding the body of toxins. Similarly, meditating is a way of ridding the body of mental detritus as a way of realizing our Buddha nature.

Comments on this passage

This passage points to several things I think are important. First, if you want to make a difference in the world, taking care of your own backyard is a good place to start. Cultivating an attitude of openess and compassion via practice on oneself and acquaintances, one can maintain this attitide if a new situation, which may incolve the choice of aggression, arises.

I like also the idea of being comfortable with the aspects of one's personality that we tend to reject as unworthy. I believe this makes perfect sense, even from the perspective of caring for others. It has been remarked, and I believe it, that we tend to belittle and criticize others when they evidence character flaws that we recognize and detest in ourselves. Thus, if we take the step of not detesting our character flaws, we are making progress toward compassion for others. I often find that a non-critical attitude toward my character "flaws" allows me to work around them, or to see that they are not actually flaws at all. (When I say "often," bear in mind that I am relatively new at this.)

Widening the Circle Further

How is there going to be less aggression on the planet rather than more? Bring this question down to a personal level: How do I learn to communicate with somebody who is hurting me or hurting others? How do I communicate so that the space opens up and both of us begin to touch in to some kind of basic intelligence that we all share? How do I communicate so that things that seem frozen, unworkable, and eternally aggressive begin to soften up and some kind of compassionate exchange begins to happen?

Begin with being willing to feel what you are going through. Be willing to have a compassionate relationship with the parts of yourself that you feel are not worthy of existing. If you are willing through meditation to be mindful not only of what feels comfortable but also of what pain feels like, if you even aspire to stay awake and open to what you're feeling, to recognize and acknowledge it as best you can in each moment, then something begins to change. (Pemä Chödron)

Thoughts on Six

It is interesting that Buddha commends Avalokiteshvara on his comments, even though Buddha had been meditating. This points to a unique aspect of Buddhist meditation: awareness of one's surroundings. The way of a buddha is to combine an understanding of emptiness with compassion for other beings, and awareness of the world around us. So, during meditation, we do not block out the world. Rather, we perceive it directly, with no intervening layers of mental dialogue. At least some of the time anyway. During meditation I am not always free of conceptualization, daydreaming, and mental dialogue, but the instances where I am are more frequent and longer in duration. Sometimes what happens is I will have a state like this, and then immediately begin to think, "Hey, I'm not having any thoughts!" thus interrupting my streak. This is normal, as I understand it from reading various authors. At least one author mentioned that it is important not to judge one's performance after meditating. It is often tempting to say, "That was a good one!" or "I just couldn't get into it today," and other things like that, but these comments are obstructions to progress. Indeed, as I've alluded to a couple of times before, on days when my meditation is distracted or stormy, rather than nursing a sense of annoyance that my meditation has not gone well, I have found myself learning more about myself, because the stormy meditation points to something in my mental landscape which is disturbing me.

Apparently there are other types of meditation, and I understand Hindu meditation is one of them, which emphasize insulation of the self from the outside world. Thus if you spoke to such a meditating person, she wouldn't hear you. I have heard second-hand that this effect has been documented through scientific studies. If a loud noise is made when a Buddhist is meditating, her brain pattern changes, whereas the pattern of a Hindu meditator is unaffected.

Well, anyway, that is the Heart Sutra. Any thoughts or feelings about how this text compares to the Diamond Cutter Sutra?

Six

Shariputra, the bodhisattvas, the great beings, should train in the perfection of wisdom in this way."

Thereupon, the Blessed One arose from that meditative absorption and commended the holy Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva, the great being, saying this is excellent. "Excellent! Excellent! O noble child, it is just so; it should be just so. One must practice the profound perfection of wisdom just as you have revealed. For then even the tathagatas will rejoice."

As the Blessed One uttered these words, the venerable Shariputra, the holy Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva, the great being, along with the entire assembly, including the worlds of gods, humans, asuras, and gandharvas, all rejoiced and hailed what the Blessed One had said.

Thoughts on five

Nirvana is not a blissful state of mind, nor is it some kind of physical paradise. It refers to a state of mind without attachment, and can also refer to death, when we are free of all attachments. It is the former meaning that is being used here. Once we start to remove all the attachments and mental constructions in our mind, our inherent Buddha nature is realized. This is our ability to experience the world directly, perhaps more like more "primitive" animals, but with a fundamental difference. The difference is that we are aware. We are aware of our instincts, and can choose not to act on them.

The mantra given here is translated many different ways.

"Go, go, go beyond, go totally beyond, be rooted in the ground of enlightenment."

"Go on to the other shore."

"Gone, gone, altogether gone, altogether gone to the other side."

"GONE, GONE, GONE BEYOND, COMPLETELY GONE BEYOND, ENLIGHTENMENT, HAIL"

"(Gate)Gone, (Gate)Gone, (Paragate)Gone beyond, (Parasamgate)Everyone Gone Completely Beyond, (Bodhi)Awake, (Svaha)Hooray! "