Category: attention

I used to be a very private person, some would say secretive. I rarely shared my feelings and kept my opinions largely to myself. Today, my family would laugh at this self-assessment because I was pretty argumentative at home; but even then, the only stuff I let out was what was under too much pressure to keep in; the rest simmered beneath the surface. I spent my childhood and early adulthood in a state of suppressed rage. When I lived the withdrawn lifestyle of a monk, my buttons were pushed less often and I managed to portray an illusion of tranquility that, for a while, seemed real. Only after many years of psychotherapy and mindful reflection did I internalize some of that calm. There’s no quick way around mind training; it takes practice.

My quest for privacy ended nine years ago when I moved to small-town Hudson, hung out my shingle and became part of the community. Here I wrote—and last year published—a pretty revealing memoir. Now, here I am blogging my heart out to the world at large. Nobody’s been more surprised than I to discover that I’m a naturally sociable person, even though I’m still hopeless at small-talk. I admit it: I’ve become a happier person.

There’s a price to pay for my public life, however; not all attention is welcome. Don’t get me wrong, I love a critical debate. What makes me sigh despairingly is being accused of impurity. I get this from people who identify themselves as ‘Buddhists’ or ‘spiritual’ in some sense or another. Let me make it clear—as if it wasn’t already obvious from my websites, blog and biography—I really don’t care for purity, don’t believe in it, and consider the very notion of it inimical to mindful reflection.

For example, a couple of months ago, while comenting on a journalist’s site, I was assailed by a third party called ‘GnosticMind.’ He was interested in The Novice, but horrified that I was trying to sell it, as if there’s something unBuddhist about making a living. He then discovered that I charge a fee for my mindful reflection workshops and hit the roof, quoting vinaya (community rules) at me and threatening me with aeons of horrible rebirths. When I pointed out that Buddhist ethics are designed for self-reflection and not for judging others, his response was an endless, accusing rant.

And then just yesterday I received a webmail message via schettini.com advising me to “leave endless debate to younger souls” and entreating me to devote my “remaining hours, days and months to the proven accomplishments of the great masters of our lineage.” I politely pointed out that I was not a member of any lineage and suggested he must have mistaken me for someone else.

And people ask me why I no longer call myself a Buddhist! Please understand, some of my best friends are Buddhists; I have the greatest respect for them and wouldn’t dream of trying to talk them out of it. I also go to the Buddha with my toughest questions. What saddens me, after having fled the hypocrisy by which I was surrounded at birth, is to see the same sanctimony couched in the guise of good Buddhism. It brings to mind the Church Lady character of vintage Saturday Night Live comedy.

Nevertheless, the word ‘purity’ comes up time and again in the Buddhist scriptures. With perhaps a little too much freedom of interpretation for most believers, I take it to mean “doing one’s best,” or having achieved something to the extent that it’s achievable—but no more.

The Buddha himself built an inescapable caveat into the very structure of his teachings with the insistence that the dharma, the path and even awakening itself are not absolute in any way, shape or form, and that clinging to them, just as much as clinging to chocolate, fame or a loved one, binds you most certainly and unceremoniously to the vicious cycle of samsara. Yes, you have to be good, but you also have to be balanced. In my case, that means making a living from what I do in order to maintain my independence from the institutes and chattering classes of the Buddhist establishment, and I’m fine with that. Yes, I can sleep at night and yes, I am fiendishly compelled to challenge commonly held truths. I always tired my elders by insisting that nothing should be beyond question.

Chandrakīrti, the foremost student of Nāgārjuna (aka the Second Buddha) made the following observation about Buddhism’s key concept:
“Emptiness is not a property, or universal mark, of entities … it is a mere medicine, a means of escape from all fixed convictions.” (Prasannapadā 12)

One commonly accepted take on this thought (not just my opinion) is that the path (i.e the Buddha’s Eightfold Noble Path) is just a means to an end (awakening) that, once completed should be discarded. There are times in life when it’s fitting to take a new direction and turn your back on old ways, even though they may have served you well. This is a question of personal discernment—a decision no one can make for you. Those who presume in all piety to do just that should be resisted at all costs.

And once again I turn to the Buddha on this one: “Wander forth, O monks. Let no two go the same way.”

“Can you believe this Stephen? I’m moving in space. It’s mind-blowing.”

No, this isn’t a memory from some long-ago acid trip; it’s Caroline last night appreciating the fact that she can stand up and look around without falling over. For ten days she lay completely still in a dark bedroom while her world spun crazily around her. Finally, after refusing it for seventeen years, she agreed to a two-week megadose of prednisone. Her body’s beginning to work again—at the cost of some intense side-effects; still, she’s not complaining.

Over the years she’s also avoided the various cocktails put together by pharmaceutical companies. They may be approved for human consumption, but they’re barely more than experimental shots in the dark. Their effectiveness is measured in arcane statistics that spin meagre facts: they may help in some cases for some people—if the side effects don’t get you first. Researchers, pharma companies, patients and their loved ones have one thing in common—all they have to grasp at is straws. Welcome to the MS community.

I write this to help you see why a brand new take on MS has stirred up some pretty intense feelings. Dr. Paolo Zamboni from Ferrara, Italy, has associated multiple sclerosis with CCSVI (chronic cerebrospinal venous insufficiency)—a narrowing of veins in the neck. He says that simple angioplasty has significantly relieved the symptoms of sixty-five MS patients (abstract here). From a medical researcher’s point of view, that’s not a statistically convincing number; to make matters worse, Dr Zamboni is no neurologist—he’s a vascular surgeon.

Multiple sclerosis patients and their families are aching to believe in this, and the press has already trumpeted it as a cure. That’s a loaded word that didn’t come from Zamboni, but it has drawn considerable scorn on him. All he’s suggesting is that a routine, drug-free procedure might bring some relief to an incurable disease that affects millions. Neurologists around the world are advising caution. Fair enough, scepticism’s in the job description. However, when Dr Zamboni suggested in Ontario this week that there’d be no harm in patients finding out whether they’d even be candidates for surgery, Canadian doctors accused him of being “irresponsible.” Sounds pompous to me, but then I have issues with establishments.

Who ever thought there might be such a thing as the politics of hope? Some say you must have hope, but Caroline and I have learned from bitter experience that hope isn’t a free gift. The disappointment of misplaced hope more than negates its temporary advantages; the return to hopelessness is devastating. And yet, how do we not have hope?

A second study in Buffalo NY has sort of corroborated some of Zamboni’s findings, though not as convincingly. The story continues to unfold, both up there in the medical establishment and down here in millions of MS-afflicted homes. I think if we’re going to call on anyone for restraint, it should be the press. Get the facts, stick to them and please, have a bit of respect and leave out the hype.

Meanwhile, we’ll just have to wait and see—and hope.

Back in the 1970s hundreds of backpackers turned up in Dharamsala, North-West India to be near the Dalai Lama and to sit in on Geshe Ngawang Dhargyey’s daily Dharma classes at the Library of Tibetan Works & Archives. A couple of years ago one of the long-term residents, Gavin Kilty, had the bright idea of starting a ning social networking site for those of us who spent time there over the years. We’re now spread across the globe, from New Zealand to Mongolia to Europe to the Americas, and the lines of connection are multiplying like a neural network. On the surface, it’s just chat and photos, mostly of our crazy young selves and the strangely respectable middle-aged lot we’ve turned into. Under the surface, however, something new is emerging. It has to do with all those people whose time there didn’t intersect with mine, but with whom I’m now friends! You see, technology isn’t so bad after all. In fact, today’s rising generations are using technology to connect. Back in the day, one of my big concerns was privacy, which was hard to find in India, and especially in monastic life.

Old Dharamsala Wallahs, as it’s called, is a private  network, and yet it’s breaking down old walls of privacy as people share their lives in surprisingly unabashed ways. By the way, ‘Wallah’ is a Hindi word  for tradesman, as in chai wallah, who sells hot tea, or rickshaw wallah, who pulls you around on a cycle-carriage. Gavin’s now initiated an actual reunion, and the Dalai Lama’s agreed to set aside two afternoons for us. It’ll be all warm and cosy and just like the old days, except that most of us will probably stay in the comfortable new hotels that have sprung up since we all left, not in the familiar old cowsheds and tumbledown huts. And, of course His Holiness, as most of the old wallahs like to call him, is now an international celebrity. Might be fun. It’ll certainly be interesting.

Julie Caouette is a social psychologist who’s attending my current mindful reflection workshop, and she’s begun an interesting discussion of meditation as studied in the scientific community. She found 231 published studies since 2008. Before that there are another 3,309! The most recent list, with abstracts, is here, for anyone who’d like to peruse them. She also just pointed me to the study of terror management.

This all has lots to do with the things we discuss in the Quiet Mind, so if you’re scientifically inclined, why not take a look? As the Dalai Lama has said, there are three important points of contact between Buddhism and science; both:
1) depend heavily on empirical method,
2) accept a-priori that the universe operates through cause and effect
3) maintain a deep distrust of absolutes.

Even the darkest doom and the deepest gloom sooner or later evaporate. In my last blog I was hurtling towards oblivion, but today’s a new day filled with bright sunshine. I shovel snow from my driveway and inhale the crisp air. Ah, to be alive!

What happened? Yesterday as I wrapped up a big job, a client presented me with two bottles of lovely wine. Now don’t get me wrong—I enjoy a fine wine, but that’s not the point. It was her simple appreciation. After handing over a hefty cheque—which most people do with demonstrable reluctance—she pulled the bag from behind her back, lit up her eyes and she said, “These are my favourites; I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.”

Being appreciated blows the dark clouds from your mind. We should all experience it—and pass it around. It doesn’t have to be wine. The same feeling comes from simply being heard. What counts is that people see and accept you as a human being. It doesn’t just make life more pleasant, it lightens up the mind, and that‘s a gift to us all.

Mindful reflection’s great; and profound, paradoxical, elegant Buddhism is worth a lifetime of study and practice—but none of this replaces human kindness. Without it, as all my teachers endlessly repeated, even years of intense concentration and insight will come to nothing. Now I  see why.

I’ve been working towards my dream for years now. What dream? To teach Quiet Mind Seminars and to write. But haven’t I been doing that? Yes, but unfortunately it doesn’t pay the bills, and I have to keep up my computer and website business. The price of chasing my dream is long hours immersed in this highly focused, mentally taxing work.

My clients call me the computer expert. I find that description a bit of a stretch, but it’s true that I do tricks and escape from traps that drive normal people crazy. They don’t want to lose their minds, so they hire me to lose it for them. You laugh? Hey … a little compassion please.

Several times a week something goes awry; several times a year a whole week goes awry. This is shaping up to be one such week. I’ve been wrestling with printed circuits and hexadecimal code for hour after long hour, falling behind on both my day job and my labors of love. This blog is now two days late; my revamped website is six months overdue. My next book is…okay, now I’m starting to choke up.

In my mindful reflection workshops I talk about how expectations set us up for disappointment. I preach detachment. I encourage my students to let go. I take the moments of silence to sit quietly and practice what I preach. Next morning, though, I’m back bending computers to my will—or having my will bent to theirs. It’s poetic justice, I suppose. A reminder of real life. How easy it is to maintain peace of mind when the circumstances are just right, but how about when they’re not? 

The thing is, to dream a good dream and stay on track. Wish wisely, and never give up.