I Object to Violence

Mahatma Gandhi said "I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary. The evil it does is permanent."

Violence never solves the problem, regardless of how justified it seems to be at the time.

Imagine what the world would be like if the five most prosperous countries had been spending what they have on their military on building schools and hospitals instead.  

Imagine what your city or town would be like if most of your tax dollars went to educating the young and helping the ill.

Imagine what your family would be like if you never again raised your voice in anger but spoke and acted out of love and respect. 

Imagine how you would feel if you never again lost your temper. 

"I object to violence
because when it appears to do good,
the good is only temporary.
The evil it does is permanent."

The thought of "No Thought"

Ignorance is still a form of thought. You still have the thought of “no thought” even though you do not have wandering thoughts. “Free of thoughts” means “no wandering thoughts.” In Mahayana Buddhism, it is referred to as “having correct thought.” But if you still have the discrimination of “correct thought” and are still attached to “correct thought,” then the “correct thought” becomes a wandering thought. This is not easy to understand.

What exactly is no wandering thoughts? What is correct thought? Having no wandering thoughts is being free of all wandering thoughts, all discriminations, and all attachments. Correct thought is a clear and correct understanding of all principles and matters, causes and results, and the noumenon of anything and its phenomenal expressions. Therefore, in correct thought, there is wisdom, and there are virtues and capabilities, and auspicious marks. In correct thought, there are no wandering thoughts, discriminations, and attachments.

~ Based on Ven. Master Chin Kung's 2003 lecture series on the Amitabha Sutra

Five Ways for the Bereaved to Survive the Holidays

The holidays—be they centered around Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa—can be times of sadness, especially for those who have recently lost a loved one.

Last December, the first one after my mother died, I went to New York City for a few weeks at the thoughtful invitation of my cousin Deborah and her husband Bart. For the first time, I celebrated Hanukkah. My parents had always celebrated Christmas, not the religious aspects, but a time of family gatherings, children making presents for parents, building snowmen, and baking pies—from scratch. Mom baked great pies and cakes.

My first Hanukkah focused on the same things—family gatherings, outings to museums (snow would not fall for another month) and many evenings spent reading where the only sound was of pages turning and paper rustling. Deborah prepared wonderful meals for the three of us and for my other cousin, Milton, her children, and some close friends.

So my first “holidays” were spent in a new way for me. Or rather the format and the place was new. The love and closeness of family were the same, even though the faces were different.

This year, I will spend the holidays in Chicago and Toronto, lecturing at retreats and spending time with a different—and larger—family.

This is the way I have found to face the holidays after the death of my mother. There are other ways that may be more helpful for you. The December edition of The Center for Hospice and Palliative Care newsletter gives some good suggestions for the bereaved:

1. Remember that the anticipation of the holidays without your loved one may be more difficult than the actual holidays themselves.
2. Acknowledge that as a grieving person, you are not functioning at full capacity.
3. Realize that you can redefine your expectations and determine what is most meaningful and what you can comfortably handle.
4. Give yourself permission to let go of some traditions for this holiday season. Don’t be afraid to make changes.
5. Don’t be afraid to enjoy the good things.

Those we loved wanted us to be happy. It will take time, but gradually, the regrets and pain will ease, and we will be happy again.

Beyond the Horizon

 

There is a saying in Buddhism that in the first year of practice, the Buddha is right before one's eyes. In the second year, he is in the distance. In the third year, he has disappeared over the horizon.

Upon beginning one's practice, it is fresh and exhilarating. People are enthusiastic about having found a system of learning and practice that makes so much sense. Family members begin to notice a change as the new practitioner becomes more patient and easy-going, and less irritable. 

In the second year, as the newness begins to wear off, even as one becomes more established in learning and practice, and more confident in the teachings, one begins to relax. All too often that relaxing is accompanied by distractions: other ways to meditate, other forms of learning, or often just other interests. The Buddha no longer feels close.

In the third year, for myriad reasons, the Buddha cannot even be seen on the horizon. The person who was so enthusiastic in the first year now rarely practices and has lost the feeling of contentment and accomplishment.   

In reality, the Buddha is always present. It is up to us whether we remain in his presence or turn away.

How are we ever going to change anything?

This leads to a bigger underlying issue for all of us: How are we ever going to change anything? How is there going to be less aggression in the universe rather than more? We can then bring it down to a more personal level: how do I learn to communicate with somebody who is hurting me or someone who is hurting a lot of people? How do I speak to someone so that some change actually occurs? 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? In a potentially violent encounter, how do I communicate so that neither of us becomes increasingly furious and aggressive? How do I communicate to the heart so that a stuck situation can ventilate? 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?  

Well, it starts with being willing to feel what we are going through. It starts with being willing to have a compassionate relationship with the parts of ourselves that we feel are not worthy of existing on the planet. If we are willing through meditation to be mindful not only of what feels comfortable, but also of what pain feels like, if we even aspire to stay awake and open to what we're feeling, to recognize and acknowledge it as best we can in each moment, then something begins to change.

~ Pema Chodron