Peter Clothier's Blog, page 13
May 8, 2020
DEFERENCE
I have been thinking about deference. It is a quality I learned as a very young child in my native England, when it was made clear to good little boys like me that "children should be seen and not heard"--an ancient adage (first recorded in the 15th century!) that was seized on and amplified, I have no doubt, by Victorian paterfamilias. It was the unspoken rule that I should always put others first, that I should never make an exhibition of myself or think of myself as in any way more important than those around me.
In many ways it is an admirable, even endearing characteristic. Deference is at the heart of being a "gentleman"--which is what I was brought up to be and in part what others, I believe, found appealing about me as a person as I navigated my way through, now, more than eighty years of life. I joke, quite seriously, about my lifelong inability to walk through a door ahead of any other living being, whether man, woman, child, or dog. I stand back. Even today, at my painfully respectable age, I will insist on everyone going on ahead of me. It is that deeply ingrained.
So there is an obvious disadvantage to this characteristic. At some point I do actually need to get through that door. Besides, my age alone qualifies me to precede the young--particularly young men, who stand aside in vain as I insist on ushering them through. Worse, though, as I can attest through personal experience, deference can breed a secret, seething rage at the heart of even the mostly gentlemanly of gentlemen. It's not a pretty sight when it erupts, as it is prone to do when the repressed ego feels abused.
My upbringing notwithstanding, however, I have learned from the dharma (of all places!) that taking care of myself first is not a reprehensible act of selfishness but rather an essential step on the way to being good to others. As I have learned to practice it at the start of my daily meditation, metta requires me to send out goodwill to myself before even those closest to me, those I love; and only then to a an ever-expanding circle that reaches out to all living beings. As for deference, no one, I've learned from no less an authority than Thanissaro Bhikkhu, is required to be a doormat. Not even an incorrigible doorman.
Still, the quality of deference--or at least a sense of responsibility to one's fellow world citizens and an appropriately modest assessment of one's place amongst other living beings--is one that I miss in my fellow Americans today. Well, okay, let's admit it: I judge them. Us, In this dire situation in which we find ourselves, in the context of a frighteningly contagious and increasingly fatal disease, it pains me to see how little they... we--yes, I am one now, have been for nearly 50 years!--are concerned for the rights and safety of those with whom we share our country, let alone our planet.
The rights of the individual were an essential part of the founding ethos of still-young America as it made its "declaration of independence" from the tyrannies of the past. No more fealties, except to oneself. All well and good, at a time when space seemed as boundless as the prospect of material well-being and possessions, and rights--if one happened to be masculine, and white--subject to no discernible limitation.
But we live in a very different world today--a crowded world of diminishing opportunity and resources, where we are constrained to vie with each other, to push and shove to satisfy what we perceive to be our needs and assert our rights. It's a time, in my view, when a measure of deference to others would serve the interests of all, but that quality is no longer understood or respected. The unexpected benefit of pandemic that currently afflicts us is to have opened a window onto our mutual dependency, our kindness to each other, our deference to others' needs.
In view of this, it seems to me that we are now approaching a moment of decision about who we are. Will we crush each other in the stampede to reassert our rights and regain such privilege and wealth as we possess? This seems to be one direction--the one embraced, unfortunately, by our leadership. Or will we find the strength to continue down the path of common interest, of mutual responsibility and respect, of deference, in a word, to the needs of those with whom we share this country and this planet? I fear for the former, but still hold out hope for the latter. We are offered the choice, and our survival as a species depends on which choice we make.
In many ways it is an admirable, even endearing characteristic. Deference is at the heart of being a "gentleman"--which is what I was brought up to be and in part what others, I believe, found appealing about me as a person as I navigated my way through, now, more than eighty years of life. I joke, quite seriously, about my lifelong inability to walk through a door ahead of any other living being, whether man, woman, child, or dog. I stand back. Even today, at my painfully respectable age, I will insist on everyone going on ahead of me. It is that deeply ingrained.
So there is an obvious disadvantage to this characteristic. At some point I do actually need to get through that door. Besides, my age alone qualifies me to precede the young--particularly young men, who stand aside in vain as I insist on ushering them through. Worse, though, as I can attest through personal experience, deference can breed a secret, seething rage at the heart of even the mostly gentlemanly of gentlemen. It's not a pretty sight when it erupts, as it is prone to do when the repressed ego feels abused.
My upbringing notwithstanding, however, I have learned from the dharma (of all places!) that taking care of myself first is not a reprehensible act of selfishness but rather an essential step on the way to being good to others. As I have learned to practice it at the start of my daily meditation, metta requires me to send out goodwill to myself before even those closest to me, those I love; and only then to a an ever-expanding circle that reaches out to all living beings. As for deference, no one, I've learned from no less an authority than Thanissaro Bhikkhu, is required to be a doormat. Not even an incorrigible doorman.
Still, the quality of deference--or at least a sense of responsibility to one's fellow world citizens and an appropriately modest assessment of one's place amongst other living beings--is one that I miss in my fellow Americans today. Well, okay, let's admit it: I judge them. Us, In this dire situation in which we find ourselves, in the context of a frighteningly contagious and increasingly fatal disease, it pains me to see how little they... we--yes, I am one now, have been for nearly 50 years!--are concerned for the rights and safety of those with whom we share our country, let alone our planet.
The rights of the individual were an essential part of the founding ethos of still-young America as it made its "declaration of independence" from the tyrannies of the past. No more fealties, except to oneself. All well and good, at a time when space seemed as boundless as the prospect of material well-being and possessions, and rights--if one happened to be masculine, and white--subject to no discernible limitation.
But we live in a very different world today--a crowded world of diminishing opportunity and resources, where we are constrained to vie with each other, to push and shove to satisfy what we perceive to be our needs and assert our rights. It's a time, in my view, when a measure of deference to others would serve the interests of all, but that quality is no longer understood or respected. The unexpected benefit of pandemic that currently afflicts us is to have opened a window onto our mutual dependency, our kindness to each other, our deference to others' needs.
In view of this, it seems to me that we are now approaching a moment of decision about who we are. Will we crush each other in the stampede to reassert our rights and regain such privilege and wealth as we possess? This seems to be one direction--the one embraced, unfortunately, by our leadership. Or will we find the strength to continue down the path of common interest, of mutual responsibility and respect, of deference, in a word, to the needs of those with whom we share this country and this planet? I fear for the former, but still hold out hope for the latter. We are offered the choice, and our survival as a species depends on which choice we make.
May 4, 2020
LIGHT
I am in awe of the amazing, infinitely varied qualities of... LIGHT!
May 2, 2020
April 29, 2020
STRANGE DAYS
I notice that it has been nearly a week since I last made an entry in The Buddha Diaries. So strange! I had not thought it was so long. My mind has been on other things. The coronavirus, of course, is an ubiquitous concern; and there has been virus-related illness in the family. I have chosen not to write about it because there are privacy considerations other than my own.
I have also been more than a bit preoccupied with an invitation to write the introduction for a book about the notoriously enigmatic Heart Sutra. I'm not ready to post any details yet, except to say that I feel honored by the invitation... and somewhat afflicted by what I can only describe as performance anxiety. Can I do a good job? Will I manage to put together some thoughts that are worthy of a challenging text?
It has been a strange week. There have been very hot days, including last Sunday when Ellie and went out too late in the morning for a walk with Jake and it turned out to be much longer than we had planned: a familiar shortcut that we normally take was inaccessible, the path chained off by city authorities due to the virus fears. The unplanned extension proved to be quite exhausting in the heat, and since then I have been less than assiduous with my exercise. Today I had arranged for a workout date on Zoom, but that feel through--and I have little motivation, at this point, to set out on the hilly streets around our home.
Besides, after several straight days of heat, it is curiously cloudy and cool. I'll probably stay home and read a book.
I have also been more than a bit preoccupied with an invitation to write the introduction for a book about the notoriously enigmatic Heart Sutra. I'm not ready to post any details yet, except to say that I feel honored by the invitation... and somewhat afflicted by what I can only describe as performance anxiety. Can I do a good job? Will I manage to put together some thoughts that are worthy of a challenging text?
It has been a strange week. There have been very hot days, including last Sunday when Ellie and went out too late in the morning for a walk with Jake and it turned out to be much longer than we had planned: a familiar shortcut that we normally take was inaccessible, the path chained off by city authorities due to the virus fears. The unplanned extension proved to be quite exhausting in the heat, and since then I have been less than assiduous with my exercise. Today I had arranged for a workout date on Zoom, but that feel through--and I have little motivation, at this point, to set out on the hilly streets around our home.
Besides, after several straight days of heat, it is curiously cloudy and cool. I'll probably stay home and read a book.
April 23, 2020
SITTING
It's a special pleasure to sit with friends in meditation. TBD readers will know tat I have assembled a group of people in the neighborhood where I live to sit with me for an hour on Wednesday evenings. I send out a reminder via email every week and we gather at 6:30 prompt--these days not in person, of course, but online, via Zoom. It's not the same as sitting in one room together, but it's a handy substitute and it works reasonably well. It feels, to me at least, like we're "in touch."
It's an essentially lay practice. We share no religious pretensions, and I would not feel qualified to act as a teacher in any way other than teaching what I know through long years of daily practice: the art of sitting quietly with the breath and bringing the mind to rest in a state of restful attention. I feel confident in my ability to "guide" a meditation, and it brings me great pleasure to be able to help others find a path to a place that, today particularly, provides a much-needed respite from the fear and the pervasive sense of isolation in which we find ourselves.
What a blessing, to have stumbled into this practice all these years ago! I don't know where I'd be, without it--but certainly less able to cope with the strange, disorienting circumstance of a malignant virus whose ubiquitous, unseen presence affects the entire world.
It's an essentially lay practice. We share no religious pretensions, and I would not feel qualified to act as a teacher in any way other than teaching what I know through long years of daily practice: the art of sitting quietly with the breath and bringing the mind to rest in a state of restful attention. I feel confident in my ability to "guide" a meditation, and it brings me great pleasure to be able to help others find a path to a place that, today particularly, provides a much-needed respite from the fear and the pervasive sense of isolation in which we find ourselves.
What a blessing, to have stumbled into this practice all these years ago! I don't know where I'd be, without it--but certainly less able to cope with the strange, disorienting circumstance of a malignant virus whose ubiquitous, unseen presence affects the entire world.
April 22, 2020
NUMBERS
I watch the news. Perhaps I should watch less, but it seems important to me to know what is happening in the world outside the little bubble in which we are required live, and to which we have now grown accustomed. The truth of the matter is that the news is much the same, morning, noon and night, from day to day, from week to week. And now, sadly, from month to month. It's all about the coronavirus.
The trustworthy sources, in my view, are the medical practitioners and the epidemiologists, whose words are tempered by scientific knowledge and factual data. When the President of the United States speaks, it's politics and narcissistic self preservation first; trust flies out the window. There are other political figures--I think of Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York--who manage to blend a note of optimism and compassion with the difficult truths about our current predicament, and to transcend the contingencies of political advantage. I have acquired a new respect for many of the nation's governors, as well as for those thousands of other public servants who work tirelessly for the benefit of those they serve.
If the news does seem repetitive with its insistent, almost exclusive focus on the coronavirus, it's the numbers that change. We have all watched as the number of infections has been growing, in our country and throughout the world; and as the numbers of deaths climb. It's not hard to remember the occasion of the first reported death in America, a mere two months ago--though there are reports today of unrecognized deaths far earlier than that. The number or reported deaths in America this morning approaches 45,000, and infections total over 800,000. If the suspicions of many experts turn out to be true, the actual numbers are far higher.
And the numbers are appalling. It's hard not to be fascinated by the way they multiply, by the daily increases. It's a cliché to say they are "just numbers"--which is what people like to say about old age: it's just a number. But every number has meaning. Each number aggregated in the news is an individual human life, and each life lost a source of grief to countless others. Our compassion needs to grow in proportion to those numbers, but the natural, self-protective impulse is to allow ourselves to be numbed by them. Numbed by numbers.
Here's a curious etymological alignment. The derivation of "numb," in the online etymological dictionary dates it from c. 1400, nome"deprived of motion or feeling, powerless to feel or act," literally "taken, seized," from past participle of nimen"to take, seize," from Old English niman,"to take, catch, grasp" (from Proto-Indian-European root *nem* "assign, allot; take"). "Number" is, strangely enough, related, dating back to c. 1300, "sum, aggregate of a collection," from Anglo-French noumbre, old French nombre and directly from Latin numerus"a number, quantity," from Proto-Indian-Eurpoean root "nem"--"assign, allot, take."
I was struck by the word "take" in both derivations. "Assign, allot, take..." Numbness is deprivation. Numbers account for what is taken from us. Confronted this, the mind is prone to err, in both senses of the word: to wander, and to suffer in delusion.
The trustworthy sources, in my view, are the medical practitioners and the epidemiologists, whose words are tempered by scientific knowledge and factual data. When the President of the United States speaks, it's politics and narcissistic self preservation first; trust flies out the window. There are other political figures--I think of Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York--who manage to blend a note of optimism and compassion with the difficult truths about our current predicament, and to transcend the contingencies of political advantage. I have acquired a new respect for many of the nation's governors, as well as for those thousands of other public servants who work tirelessly for the benefit of those they serve.
If the news does seem repetitive with its insistent, almost exclusive focus on the coronavirus, it's the numbers that change. We have all watched as the number of infections has been growing, in our country and throughout the world; and as the numbers of deaths climb. It's not hard to remember the occasion of the first reported death in America, a mere two months ago--though there are reports today of unrecognized deaths far earlier than that. The number or reported deaths in America this morning approaches 45,000, and infections total over 800,000. If the suspicions of many experts turn out to be true, the actual numbers are far higher.
And the numbers are appalling. It's hard not to be fascinated by the way they multiply, by the daily increases. It's a cliché to say they are "just numbers"--which is what people like to say about old age: it's just a number. But every number has meaning. Each number aggregated in the news is an individual human life, and each life lost a source of grief to countless others. Our compassion needs to grow in proportion to those numbers, but the natural, self-protective impulse is to allow ourselves to be numbed by them. Numbed by numbers.
Here's a curious etymological alignment. The derivation of "numb," in the online etymological dictionary dates it from c. 1400, nome"deprived of motion or feeling, powerless to feel or act," literally "taken, seized," from past participle of nimen"to take, seize," from Old English niman,"to take, catch, grasp" (from Proto-Indian-European root *nem* "assign, allot; take"). "Number" is, strangely enough, related, dating back to c. 1300, "sum, aggregate of a collection," from Anglo-French noumbre, old French nombre and directly from Latin numerus"a number, quantity," from Proto-Indian-Eurpoean root "nem"--"assign, allot, take."
I was struck by the word "take" in both derivations. "Assign, allot, take..." Numbness is deprivation. Numbers account for what is taken from us. Confronted this, the mind is prone to err, in both senses of the word: to wander, and to suffer in delusion.
April 20, 2020
WORKOUT
Important to work the body as well as the mind in this strange circumstance in which we find ourselves. We have been walking almost daily, up to a mile-and-a-half, two miles. Living in the hills, as we do, adds to the physical effort involved, and we enjoy both the neighboring streets and, far off, the vista of the still snow-capped San Bernardino Mountains. We also enjoy running into neighbors--some we know, some we are still getting to know--often with their dogs in tow, or towed along by their dogs. Almost everyone has at least a friendly wave, or stops to chat from the regulation six-foot distance.
This morning I chose a shorter walk--seven tenths of a mile, according to my iPhone--in anticipation of a half hour session with Charles, the friend I work out with at the gym in normal times. He guides me through a fairly rigorous program on Zoom--more rigorous than I can manage by myself--using a set of weights left over from younger years and unearthed from the back of a closet where they had long remained neglected. The sessions are a welcome respite from the days' other routines, and they do help me to maintain the physical strength I need to stay fit in older years.
The exercise is an important complement to meditation. It is, indeed, a kind of meditation in itself, because it requires full attention to both breath and body. I try to work out at least three times a week, in addition to the daily walks; but I have to confess that there are times when it's the last thing I want to do. The body proposes, instead, a nice day of rest. And sometimes I succumb. And sometimes not.
This morning I chose a shorter walk--seven tenths of a mile, according to my iPhone--in anticipation of a half hour session with Charles, the friend I work out with at the gym in normal times. He guides me through a fairly rigorous program on Zoom--more rigorous than I can manage by myself--using a set of weights left over from younger years and unearthed from the back of a closet where they had long remained neglected. The sessions are a welcome respite from the days' other routines, and they do help me to maintain the physical strength I need to stay fit in older years.
The exercise is an important complement to meditation. It is, indeed, a kind of meditation in itself, because it requires full attention to both breath and body. I try to work out at least three times a week, in addition to the daily walks; but I have to confess that there are times when it's the last thing I want to do. The body proposes, instead, a nice day of rest. And sometimes I succumb. And sometimes not.
April 16, 2020
SYNCHRONICITY
Well, this is strange. Readers of The Buddha Diaries will know that a couple of days ago I used a long quotation about the "human realm" of wanting, not-wanting and indifference. I had borrowed it from a recent newsletter from Ken McLeod, a long-time mentor, teacher, guide--and, dare I say, friend--whom I first met after reviewing his book "Wake Up to Your Life" for the Los Angeles Times. The book was a life-changer for me, a profound, exhaustive analysis and practical teaching about meditation at a time when I was still fairly new to the practice and in some turmoil in my personal life.
It has been a good number of years since I was last in touch with Ken, but I remain a regular reader of the newsletter he sends out from his home base at Unfettered Mind. The passage I quoted had made a particular impression on me at this moment, and spoke to me in a way I felt demanded further exploration. Not only did I write about the meditation it proposes in my blog, I set a part of it aside to read it to participants in the small sitting group I invite to join me regularly in my home (and now on Zoom!), thinking it might prove as stimulating to them as it had been to me. (It did. I read it to the group last night, to enthusiastic response).
Given this context, it was with huge surprise--and a great deal of pleasure--that I opened my incoming email file yesterday afternoon, shortly before the session I had planned, to find a totally unexpected letter from Ken awaiting me. Talk about synchronicity! I'm no believer in coincidence, but obviously have no explanation beyond what another old friend would dismiss as "woo-woo" thinking. Woo-woo or not, I happen to believe that things happen for a reason, that there are forces at work in our universe for which we have no rational explanation, and that human beings can reach out to each other in other than normal modes of communication.
So I take it there is something to be learned from this strange circumstance. My first take-away is to see it as a confirmation that I'm on the right path, that whatever led me to read the passage in question and follow up in the way I have done is something to be taken seriously. In my sit this morning, I continued to follow Ken's instructions for Week 1 of his meditation on the Human Realm. I am finding it to be a timely and rewarding process.
It has been a good number of years since I was last in touch with Ken, but I remain a regular reader of the newsletter he sends out from his home base at Unfettered Mind. The passage I quoted had made a particular impression on me at this moment, and spoke to me in a way I felt demanded further exploration. Not only did I write about the meditation it proposes in my blog, I set a part of it aside to read it to participants in the small sitting group I invite to join me regularly in my home (and now on Zoom!), thinking it might prove as stimulating to them as it had been to me. (It did. I read it to the group last night, to enthusiastic response).
Given this context, it was with huge surprise--and a great deal of pleasure--that I opened my incoming email file yesterday afternoon, shortly before the session I had planned, to find a totally unexpected letter from Ken awaiting me. Talk about synchronicity! I'm no believer in coincidence, but obviously have no explanation beyond what another old friend would dismiss as "woo-woo" thinking. Woo-woo or not, I happen to believe that things happen for a reason, that there are forces at work in our universe for which we have no rational explanation, and that human beings can reach out to each other in other than normal modes of communication.
So I take it there is something to be learned from this strange circumstance. My first take-away is to see it as a confirmation that I'm on the right path, that whatever led me to read the passage in question and follow up in the way I have done is something to be taken seriously. In my sit this morning, I continued to follow Ken's instructions for Week 1 of his meditation on the Human Realm. I am finding it to be a timely and rewarding process.
April 14, 2020
WHERE DOES ALL THE TIME GO?
Just when I thought I'd have time on my hands... it runs through my fingers like water. (Or, as that old idiom has it, sand. The sands of time. From the hourglass, I suppose).
We are all embarked on this involuntary retreat, thanks to the pernicious virus that is threatening not only human lives but every personal and social structure we have built to organize them. And like the voluntary retreats I have joined from time to time, it is proving to have some surprising effects on the workings of the mind--some of them, as usual, as unwelcome as they are annoyingly beneficial.
My perception of time is one example. Yesterday was far from the restful expanse of undisturbed time I had expected. From morning to late afternoon, I felt the crush of time bearing down on me, from one unexpected activity or event to the next--and not a moment, it seemed, to stop to take a breath. Instead of reverting to what I have learned from my meditation practice--to take a step back, breathe in, breathe out, and simply observe the phenomena as they occur--I allowed myself to get engaged in them. I fretted. Got angry and upset. Started worrying about time being "wasted." Wished for "more time" to "get things done." And wished the day over so that I could finally relax.
I'm working to observe my wants and not-wants in my meditation this week--my likes and dislikes, as well as my don't cares. My attractions, aversions, and indifferences. Plenty of opportunity yesterday. And much of it not put to advantage, because my mind was swept up in the passage of time.
We are all embarked on this involuntary retreat, thanks to the pernicious virus that is threatening not only human lives but every personal and social structure we have built to organize them. And like the voluntary retreats I have joined from time to time, it is proving to have some surprising effects on the workings of the mind--some of them, as usual, as unwelcome as they are annoyingly beneficial.
My perception of time is one example. Yesterday was far from the restful expanse of undisturbed time I had expected. From morning to late afternoon, I felt the crush of time bearing down on me, from one unexpected activity or event to the next--and not a moment, it seemed, to stop to take a breath. Instead of reverting to what I have learned from my meditation practice--to take a step back, breathe in, breathe out, and simply observe the phenomena as they occur--I allowed myself to get engaged in them. I fretted. Got angry and upset. Started worrying about time being "wasted." Wished for "more time" to "get things done." And wished the day over so that I could finally relax.
I'm working to observe my wants and not-wants in my meditation this week--my likes and dislikes, as well as my don't cares. My attractions, aversions, and indifferences. Plenty of opportunity yesterday. And much of it not put to advantage, because my mind was swept up in the passage of time.
April 13, 2020
WANTING
The following is taken from a recent newsletter in Ken McLeod's "Unfettered Mind":
"The human realm is about wanting. You want this, you want that. You seek enjoyment, the feeling of fulfillment, warmth and relaxation that arises when your desires are satisfied. Without it, there is a sense that something is missing. Whether it's sexual desire, hunger, or thirst, that enjoyment does not last very long. When you buy something that you have wanted for a long time, enjoyment typically lasts three days. Three days! Maybe you enjoy status or recognition. Maybe you enjoy the feeling of safety, security, or fulfillment. The story is always the same—if I had this, I would be happy. But it's not true. You always want more of something, and if not more, then something different. There are many kinds of wanting, but there is no end to it."
Ken suggests a meditation practice in which we "observe and note how wanting and the struggle to be satisfied arises in you, and in others. In particularly, note the arising of like, dislike, and don't care in you. Note how they translate into attraction (wanting), aversion (wanting something else), and indifference (can't be bothered)."
I have embarked on this practice. I was surprised initially to find myself, so I thought, devoid of wants. I deemed myself above all that. Until the wants started to come flooding in: I want security and safety; I want reassurance that my life has been worth living; I want to feel atonement for the unskillful actions of my youth; I want food and shelter, warmth and material comfort; I want the sexual gratification I had as a young man, but which is now harder, sometimes impossible to achieve; I want to be loved, respected for my work and know that it is valued; I want my family to be safe at this time of crisis and rescued from life-threatening disease; I want to be spared the annoyance and discomfort of household chores; I want to be taken care of.
Adds Ken McLeod: "If you dig a little deeper, you may find that a sense of missing something pervades everything you experience, except for those brief moments when you find enjoyment. But if and when you find a respite from that missing, how long would you or could you stay there?"Thus, most painfully, after much searching, somewhere hidden deep inside beneath all those other layers of want, even now at the age of 83, I still found the voice of a little boy sent away from home who wants his mummy and his daddy.
I am discovering this is not an easy practice. It confronts me with sources of suffering that I am unaware of as I go about my daily life. Once I find them, though, and observe them with as much equanimity as I can muster, I find that I am able to return to that "resting in attention" to the breath that salves the otherwise bewildered and disquieted mind...
"The human realm is about wanting. You want this, you want that. You seek enjoyment, the feeling of fulfillment, warmth and relaxation that arises when your desires are satisfied. Without it, there is a sense that something is missing. Whether it's sexual desire, hunger, or thirst, that enjoyment does not last very long. When you buy something that you have wanted for a long time, enjoyment typically lasts three days. Three days! Maybe you enjoy status or recognition. Maybe you enjoy the feeling of safety, security, or fulfillment. The story is always the same—if I had this, I would be happy. But it's not true. You always want more of something, and if not more, then something different. There are many kinds of wanting, but there is no end to it."
Ken suggests a meditation practice in which we "observe and note how wanting and the struggle to be satisfied arises in you, and in others. In particularly, note the arising of like, dislike, and don't care in you. Note how they translate into attraction (wanting), aversion (wanting something else), and indifference (can't be bothered)."
I have embarked on this practice. I was surprised initially to find myself, so I thought, devoid of wants. I deemed myself above all that. Until the wants started to come flooding in: I want security and safety; I want reassurance that my life has been worth living; I want to feel atonement for the unskillful actions of my youth; I want food and shelter, warmth and material comfort; I want the sexual gratification I had as a young man, but which is now harder, sometimes impossible to achieve; I want to be loved, respected for my work and know that it is valued; I want my family to be safe at this time of crisis and rescued from life-threatening disease; I want to be spared the annoyance and discomfort of household chores; I want to be taken care of.
Adds Ken McLeod: "If you dig a little deeper, you may find that a sense of missing something pervades everything you experience, except for those brief moments when you find enjoyment. But if and when you find a respite from that missing, how long would you or could you stay there?"Thus, most painfully, after much searching, somewhere hidden deep inside beneath all those other layers of want, even now at the age of 83, I still found the voice of a little boy sent away from home who wants his mummy and his daddy.
I am discovering this is not an easy practice. It confronts me with sources of suffering that I am unaware of as I go about my daily life. Once I find them, though, and observe them with as much equanimity as I can muster, I find that I am able to return to that "resting in attention" to the breath that salves the otherwise bewildered and disquieted mind...
