Renunciation

The third of the 10 Buddhist Perfections is “renunciation” (Nekkhamma parami). Renunciation is not always so easy for people. More so, it is often misunderstood. When we see a monk one of the first thoughts is often the idea that they have renounced all possessions. Their robes, their begging bowl, their beads are tools of devotion and symbols of their faith. Their possessions have been relinquished so that they may be free of desire.

That is only the superficial aspect of renunciation. It is the kindling that starts the fire of pure renunciation – the renunciation of thought in mediation, the giving up of desire in all its forms.

I have possessions. To some people, I have quite a few. To others, not so many. I have a laptop and I have a storage unit full of things and I have some clothes that I probably don’t need. I have a bank account and credit cards and I have a shopping list of things I would like to own someday. Have I abandoned the pursuit of enlightenment in exchange for materialism? It would be pretty easy for a purist to argue that I have done just this. However, life is a little black and a little white and many shades of gray.

My laptop is a tool which I use to write, to share thoughts with others, to send emails of encouragement. My storage unit holds mostly books; I use them to enrich my experiences. My bank account, although it does more shrinking than growing, allows me to be self-sufficient so that I am not a burden on society. I am not a captive of my own possessions, instead the physical possessions I choose to have liberate me in some way. And I know, because I have done it before, I could give up nearly everything other than shoes, shirt and pants and be just as tied and untied as I am today.

The biggest possession – the most significant shackle around my ankles – is my thoughts. They, at times, control me instead of the other way around. Years ago, I was a very angry young man – for no other reason than I did not know better. I held on to these thoughts and emotions as if they were the foundation of everything that I am. I gave up much of that, and I am happier for it. But my thoughts still comprise the heaviest of my possessions. In time, I hope, I can renounce all of them and only perceive with absolute clarity. (I have a long way to go!)

Renounce your thoughts and you will be free to perceive this world without any mental modification. This was the definition my teacher gave for Enlightenment. I have not been to nirvana, but if I do go, I think I will bring along a laptop.

Virtue

The second of the 10 Buddhist Perfections is virtue, in Pali language it is known as "sila parami". The word virtue always had a rather uptight connotation to me and I prefer the term “proper conduct”. I like to use this term because it goes beyond the stiffness of virtue and avoids the politically charged arena of ‘morality’. Proper conduct seems to fit better, as if it were a friend walking beside me or a useful bottle of mosquito repellant in my pocket. No one really has to know what I have in my pocket. It’s my quiet tranquilizer, that thin sheet of sila I carry in my pocket.

There are times, especially here in Laos, when it would be very easy to abandon my principles for a little immediate gratification. There are plenty of people who earn their living in less than virtuous way. Beyond the big “P” and the big “D” (whatever they may stand for), there are, again, more subtle ways that proper conduct is demonstrated. Walking down the street on a hot afternoon, an old woman is walking towards me on the same sidewalk. It is the only shady part of the street. I step out into the street so that she can continue walking in the shade. It’s a simple act of kindness, respect for elders and gentlemanly behaviour. It’s very easy to do. It’s called proper conduct. I find it quite enjoyable. People around me seem to agree.

So you sow...

Het dii, dai dii. Het sua, dai sua. – If you do good, good will come to you. If you do bad, bad will come to you.

The first of the 10 Buddhist Perfections or Paramis is generosity. Giving of oneself is manifested in many ways. Sometimes it is very obvious, giving alms to a monk, giving a donation to charity, spending time at a school for underprivileged children. Other times, generosity is more subtle; giving space to others in line, smiling at a stranger, giving someone the benefit of the doubt. These more subtle forms of Dãna parami (generosity) meld with the other 9 Perfections. To whichever category you like to assign your intent means very little, so long as you practice selflessness with each moment.

When a person is generous, many other people will find fault. They will say ‘Don’t give them money; it only encourages them to beg’. They will say, ‘why are you so nice to her when you know she is just using you’. They will find fault in just about every kind act you do. But they will not tell you to do the opposite. They will not say ‘you should spit on a beggar and be mean to them’. They will not tell you this because they know it is wrong. People know, deep inside, that generosity is a virtue. They also know how easy it is to get away with being selfish (or so they think). They do it often. And they wonder why they are so unhappy, so poor, so sick, so lonely.

One day, maybe, I will be a rabbit ready to roast myself. In the meantime… Het dii dai dii. Het sua dai sua.

Hunting Big Game

There is small game and there is large game. There is a different approach to hunting one versus the other. If you are hunting small game, go out into the forest and rush the bushes, flushing out the small game. If you are hunting big game, go out into the forest and wait for it to come to you.

I am hunting big game.

Kwáam sa ngup. Peace.

The Handkerchief

Some times I get a little too verbose. Yesterday’s post is a good example. It wasn’t until late yesterday that I remembered what made me write all that soul-touching stuff. It was a handkerchief. A handkerchief I never got around to mentioning in the post.

This particular handkerchief once belonged to my ex-wife’s grandfather. I had never met the man (he had passed away a couple years before I met his granddaughter) but I know he was a good man. I know this because of the things people say about him and by the way his descendents and friends carry themselves. Jim was a proper southern gentleman whose memory is still mentioned with respect. Occasionally, I think of him when I pull out that handkerchief.

Washing it out in the sink the other day, I though “Why do I keep this thing?” It’s ripped – I don’t like using ripped things because I think it is a sign of disrespect towards oneself – and truly the handkerchief should be retired. But I don’t toss it out. I continue to use it because it caught a lot of snot from a good man and maybe some of his good nature is infused in its fibres. Even it the item is void of any residual energy, it helps to remind me to be a good man… albeit a little worn out in places, but still good to wipe a tear or two.

By the way, I carry a handkerchief because it’s a gentlemanly thing to do. Also, I carry it to wipe my brow – my head gets so hot sometimes my hair long ago decided it wasn’t needed and left for cooler climes (such as the shower drain). I do not use a handkerchief to blow my nose; I use a tissue for that. So, if I offer you my handkerchief, you can be assured it is clean and snot-free.

Touching Souls

When I was young – younger – I worked on a production for Arthur Giron’s play titled Becoming Memories. It’s a story of lessons learned and how they are passed from generation to generation. At that age, my mind was expanding at an incredible rate and I often thought of the meaning of life, death and all that stuff in-between. During one particular rehersal, seeped in the ambiance of the production, I had constructed a mantra which has stayed with me ever since. The saying I have repeated in my head thousands of times over the years is, “My soul will live until the end of the souls which I have touched.”

I like this little prayer of mine. I like to take the “souls which I have touched” part and consider how that may pan out. Each person I encounter – each soul – is touched by me. I, who am very imperfect, touch dozens of people each day. How long the reactions to my decisions last coincides with the intent I put behind the task. The amount of energy I put into loving, hating, envying, paying, ignoring, idolizing, humiliating, emulating, teaching, helping, kissing, fucking, screwing, loving – oooh, I already mentioned loving, didn’t I? – caring for someone, is going to dictate how long those impressions will last. To the end of their soul, I suppose..

How long does you soul last? Double back, and you see the mantra reads ‘until the end of the souls which you have touched.” So this means, if I touch a soul, that will influence how they deal with other souls, who will in turn touch other souls. Taking a wild guess, and I’m probably wrong, the average person interacts at some level with a dozen or two people each day. That’s a lot of soul-touching and those impressions are going to last for a very long time.

I think it’s a great amount of responsibilty we have to realize we have an impact on this world – this world of souls – that will last for eternity. When I consider some of the bad behaviour I’ve seen in this world, I think many of us forego this responsibility we have. We may be able to recite a golden rule, but do we live it? In some cases, yes. In other cases no.

There are people all around the globe who recognize this reponsibilty. They are people who practice kindness. They are people who practice honesty and sincerity and equality. They are people from all walks of life – soldiers, monks, merchants, carpenters, musicians, students. And, yes, they are as imperfect as all of us. In fact they are exactly the same. They are people who have accepted the idea that they have a very long-lasting influence on their neighbor, world, universe.

I do not think there is a limit to how many people can play in this game. In fact, I think there is room for every single person. Not only that, I think it would be ok to include dogs, and cats, and rats and pigs and bunny rabitts and… and donkeys, even if they do have to show up in court to defend a braying issue with the irrate neighbor. There is plenty of room for us all. Yet we have to remember we have a responsibility to touch each soul in a way with which we can be content… even if it might last for eternity.

Perception

“He take all my money!” she explains. “He fucking my friend. He tell me to go away. He no want me any more. Two years together, now, no good.” She is heartbroken, I can see that. She is frightened – she does not want to go back to being a working girl. I try to help her. I tell her to be patient. I tell her to find people who can help her stay out of the business. Around us, people only see a falang trying to pick up a whore. Perception is everything in this world.

Far away… “I can just head back to XYZ Company.” He is confident in his delusion. “Yeah, no one can operate as many things as me.” the lies, the self-aggrandizement is endless. He has not worked in months. Not even the most desperate of employers would touch him in this state. But he thinks they are all just waiting for his call. Perception is everything in this world.

I’m going to make this happen. I try to convince myself that my plans are not all that far fetched. I take a persistent approach. I fail. I try again. I get drunk and hung-over and recover. I tell myself again and again, the only failure is the failure to try. I am trying. Perception is everything in this world.

Relaxation

Do we know how to relax? When we relax, are we truly relaxing or are we merely suspending activity? My first few days back on the trail, and I have come face to face with this question. In my first 48 hours, I was surprised by the cacophony in my mind.
It has been a long time since I read Yogananda’s book, Autobiography of a Yogi. My memory of the exact phrasing is a bit murky yet I clearly remember a thought I had when reading it. He talks about the chatter in our minds and one of the benefits/purposes of meditation is to harness the endless many voices in our heads; through meditation we can clear out the chatter. However, meditation is not something you can do once and expect it work. It takes daily practice to achieve any results. It is amazing how, through lack of practice, I have allowed so many choirs to run rampant through my head. The events which forced these singers from the stage were not planned, yet in the end, I welcomed the shock to my system.
It was my first day back on doxycycline. I had taken it a bit too long after lunch which has a disastrous effect on the stomach. Sitting, sweating, nauseous in the Hippie-Hi bar, I tried to eat, tried to drink but could only manage to recline in an upholstered chair and watch a bad movie about Santa Claus’ daughter, the marketing exec, returning to the North Pole. Fighting with my stomach while disgusted with this rot from Hollywood, I noticed something I was too busy to see only days earlier; relaxation was something I only pretended to do.
My mind whirled. My thoughts, trite and disjointed and endless, seemed like a rapid switching of channels on the television. On one channel I paused just long enough to understand the plot line. It was an infomercial selling the idea that I too have become entrenched in the business of generating pure rot – just like Hollywood. I tried to turn off the set, but the channels kept switching. Doxy pushed me back into my chair until it was time to catch my overnight bus.
Sleepless for two days my thoughts became even more pointless. Eventually, they made no sense at all. As if my thoughts were the sounds of babies screaming on airplanes I tuned them out – only a faint glimmer of hope existed that once we landed, they would resume their quiet gurgling. I stayed awake through the day. In the early evening, I had some crickets and beer on the banks of the Mekong with a friend. I had returned to the land where time stands still, the mighty brown river washes anxiety away, slow this time of year, but just as solid as the monsoon season.
After my friend left, I sat in silence, finishing my beer, watching the sunset. This thought came to me: It takes some time to relax. It is not just an hour in the spa or the decompression tank that allows us to relieve ourselves from the frenzy. We need time to first realize exactly how fast we are moving and then it takes even more time to release ourselves from the bonds we make with our inner chorus. Maybe it takes focusing on something in a selfless way, too. Some time with close friends, a sunset on the lazy river bank and I feel I am getting nearer to relaxation, but I am not quite there yet. Perhaps with some daily practice, I can find a calmness in my mind which I once knew so well.

Omens

I once heard someone say there is no such thing as coincidence. In ways, I agree with this; everything is inextricably connected although we may not be able to divine the connection.

Earlier this winter, I was sitting at a café talking to my sister on the phone. At the time, I was struggling with the thought of what to do when I grow up. I had been considering several things such as starting a school, returning to the corporate world, becoming an illegal immigrant in the USA, and other lucrative prospects. The one choice I had decided on that day was to return to Laos

Just as I uttered those words to my sister, a bird pooped on my journal. I laughed and thought “Ok, if that is not a clear omen I don’t know what is”. In Italy it is considered good luck to have a bird poop on you and although I don’t think anyone who has ever worked on a chicken farm puts much stock in this superstition, I like to think it is not completely random – there is no such ting as coincidence, right? If nothing else, perhaps such events prompt us to direct the energy of our subconscious towards manifesting our goals. I’m not sure. It doesn’t always work. Maybe not all bird poop has the same potency. Going on blind faith, I locked in my plans that day and have worked towards my decision.

Over the months of sorting out a myriad of papers and research and maps and such, I felt an uneasiness. No others birds made any deposits on my journal. In fact, no birds deposited on my car, my shirt, or anything else. I began to wonder if I had made an erroneous choice based on a completely silly wives tale. However, not being one to upset old wives, I persevered despite an overwhelming absence of omens. Then, the other day after buying my plane ticket the cosmos winked and grinned at me.

I was sitting in a different café sipping my morning coffee when I looked up to see a sight very unusual here in North America, but all too common in Asia. A young puppy who had been tied to a table leg while its owner was inside getting coffee had managed to climb up on the table to get a better view of the goings on inside the coffee shop. During my last trip to Thailand, I noted the how frequently I saw dogs resting on the orange concrete table outside of homes and I noticed when I returned to Canada that the dogs all slept underneath tables. I don’t think it really means anything yet at the same time it means everything.

I suppose my point is that sometimes when I am wondering if I am completely off in outer space it takes something like that to assure me that outer space is really not so bad. It’s actually sort of exciting, at least for me and the dogs.

Resuming My Quest for Samosa

Although my last post mentions closing the door on my travels in Southeast Asia, it turns out I will be starting another chapter in this journey. In 48 hours I will be heading off to the airport to return to a land where time stands still. I am both excited and frightened by the prospect of another 3 months in the land of smiles, a million of elephants and the rest of the domino playing field. As I said to my lovely niece, I’m sure once I sit down for a big bowl of Tom Ka Gai at Panee Restaurant, I’m certain my nervousness will yield to self-reliance and the thrill of a different perspective.

In my preparations for this trip, I often questioned my choice of destination. Why return to a place which I have already been? Are there no other destinations which pique my interest? What happened to Tibet and Argentina and Hungary and Tanzania? Am I so embedded in one thought that I have no room for another? It’s a mixed bag – as are all choices in life – that I carry. In short, my decision to return to Southeast Asia, and more specifically, Laos, is based on my pursuit of a novel (and some other writing endeavors) which takes place there. That is the practical side of it. However, on a more philosophical level, my return to Asia is peppered with a thought which has returned to mind again and again over the past months.

People ask me ‘Where (or what) is Samosa?’ Samosa is the snow leopard looking down from its perch on the tiny village and Shangri La with Atlantis and Lemuria off in the distance. Samosa is the flavour of childhood beckoning from the back of our tongue to be re-tasted both familiar and queer. Samosa is both place and sound and touch and thought and emotion. Samosa is the fountain of satisfaction – the satisfaction of facing your demons and recognizing one’s achievements with absolute detachment. In this context, my return to Southeast Asia is a pursuit of something which only exists in my heart and fantasies. And therefore, it really does not matter where I go. Again, it is not so much that we start in the “right” place, but that we start at all.

Conquering my biggest fear – the fear of never trying – seems to be well on its way. Resisting my second biggest fear – submitting my application to Dunder Mifflin – is too far in the distance to worry about today. And so, with limited funding, a few ideas and a passion beyond all imagination I cast myself back into the fray.