Welcome back! Sorry if this moment seems a bit rushed, job hunting this week has seized much of my time, leaving little to write; so let's chat about time for a moment. But first, let's watch these metronomes, a classic Western symbol of time; they might not act the way you suspect:
This makes for a good classroom physics demonstration, just remember to suspend the platform, or the phenomenon is slower (but not gone, remember the Earth itself is, in some respects, a suspended platform). Got some time to join me under the flip?
Disclaimer
Let me preface this post with a disclaimer, regular readers have seen similar disclaimers before, but I find it worth repeating, not only for new readers, but to help keep this writing in context for myself and those who read it.
I am not a Zen master (formally speaking, I'm not even a Zen Student yet, but I hope to change that later this month), and the voice I speak with is not the voice of enlightenment. This isn't a teisho, a formal dharma talk, an expression of my realized understanding of dharma. I am a Zen Buddhist practitioner, and this diary is a description of my incomplete and flawed understanding of the world around me, the teachings before me. I share these not to tell you what is our how you should act, but because people expressed a desire to learn more about Buddhism, and perhaps it can help start a dialog to better connect us, to learn to live together in the world around us...
Dharma Chat — Being Present
Buddhism teaches us not to waste our attention rehashing the past, or fantasizing about the future, but instead to keep our attention centered on the present, on where we are right here, right now. I find this is an easy teaching to misunderstand, as some people use it to discount the relevance of the past, or avoid planning for the future (they even take a moment to mock this view in Disney's Lion King).
So let's take a deeper look at what we mean by the present.
The present takes place in the context of "uppada vaya dhammino", of arising and passing away. Sitting in front of me right now is (unsurprisingly) a computer screen. Encapsulated in its role before me in the present is its arising, how it was designed, built, sold, moved, used, given as a gift, moved some more, used some more, eventually settling in before me here and now (with bright red stickers not of my choosing upon it). If it weren't for its arising, it wouldn't be present; and by arising I don't just mean it's birth, but everything along the path bringing it here.
Also encapsulated in the present of this monitor is its passing away, at some point it will be moved from this spot, it will change in appearance, it might be given away, it will become more damaged, parts will fail, it will be broken apart; eventually every atom in this monitor will be scattered. If it weren't for its passing, it wouldn't be present, and by passing I don't mean merely its ultimate demise, but everything along the path taking it from here.
The same goes for that computer screen (or what have you) before you, for the text you're reading now, for you and I. Embedded in the present we find the past and future, there's no removing them. So if we're not supposed to dwell in the past or future, we're supposed to dwell in the present, but the present contains the past and future, where does that leave us?
Dharma Chat — Aversion to The Present
Many of us (myself certainly included) have difficulty attending to the present. Numbing our view of the present with alcohol or other drugs is a tradition older than history; sex and food also can be used as tools to distract, to escape having to attend to the present. Modern life has added things like radio, television, movies, internet and video games (and countless others, even books) as potential distractions, means of escape for someone who finds the present hard to bear.
All of these potential distractions have real value, none are worthless when used responsibly. However, all of them pose some risk to a person who is trying to remain present, but is having difficulty.
Likewise, attending to the past can have real value, to remember the context behind what you encounter here and now, to recall mistakes made in the past so we can act differently in the present, to recall successes made in the past so we can use that skill to inform our actions now. The past is embedded within the present. However, dwelling in the past, indulging our tendency to leave our attention fixated on the past, fond memories of glory days, speculation on bygone mysteries, troubled memories of past suffering, that's what gets us in trouble, keeps us from attending to here and now.
Similarly with the future. If we don't have some idea of our plans for the future, of the risks we might encounter in the future, it makes it difficult to make skillful decisions in the present. Life can be surprising, we might never realize these plans (don't get too attached to them), or get hit by those risks (don't be too afraid of them), but giving them some attention is an important part of navigating the present, figuring out where we intend to place our foot and take the next step. However, dwelling in our dreams (and nightmares) of what might be coming, that gets us in trouble too, keeps us from being present.
Our victories, our defeats, our hopes, our fears, we shall practice letting them happen, but refraining from dwelling in them, thus returning to the path.
And that's really the bottom line. We don't seek to avoid the past and future, put blinders on to narrow our focus to only what is right in front of our face. Instead, we practice taking a middle path, attending to the here and now in its full context, refraining from running away from the here and now to indulge in distractions, memories and dreams (and, of course, sometimes we realize we've screwed up and lost our way, so return our attention to the present, where we are, what we're doing, and move on).
An Abrupt End
I had another section for here, but it had problems, and I didn't have time to fix it, so I amputated it instead. I warned you this moment was somewhat rushed.
In its place, I leave a poem by Cold Mountain, translated by Red Pine.
storied cliffs were the fortune I cast
bird trails beyond human tracks
what surrounds my yard
white clouds nesting dark rocks
I've lived here quite a few years
and always seen the spring-water change
tell those people with tripods and bells
empty names are no damn good
So it goes...
How about you? Difficulty keeping present? Other questions, concerns, poems?