Where Our True Life Begins. by Shayla Wright.

Many years ago, when I was living in the Himalayas, a beautiful young woman named Pingala would come and wash my dishes every morning. She sang as she washed–it was one of the loveliest parts of my day, hearing the clattering of dishes down below my house, mixed with her chirping little songs, as she lit the fire to heat up the water. She washed my dishes for so many years that she began to feel like part of our family.

One day I dropped a cup on the floor and it broke into about fifteen pieces. I put it in the garbage, thinking that Pingala would throw it away. The next morning, all of those pieces came back to me, washed and carefully piled up in one corner of the dish bin. I didn’t understand what she was doing, so I put the clean pieces back in the garbage the next morning.

The next day I found the cup in my dishes. Pingala had glued all of the pieces back together again, with great precision and exquisite care. The cup spoke of that care when I looked at it, when I poured my tea into it and drank from it. It didn’t leak a single drop.

A few days later I saw Pingala and thanked her for my cup. I told her I thought it was beautiful. She laughed, with the teasing attitude that many of the mountain people had for those of us from the West. I realized that our tendency to throw things away felt childish to her, disrespectful and careless. I discarded that cup as something worthless, and she spent time and energy repairing it. In doing so, she began repairing something in me.

I left India very suddenly many years later, without time to go back and pack up my home and all of my belongings. All of my possessions were given to the victims of an earthquake in the next state. I was surprised at how easy it was to let go of everything I owned. But I often think of that little cup and wish I had it with me. That cup is the Indian version of kintsukori: the Japanese art of repairing pottery with gold or silver, understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

One essay on the subject says that the true life of the bowl or cup began the moment it was dropped. That sentence pierces my heart and helps me understand what Pingala gave to me: that which has been mended radiates the truth of both its fragility and its resilience.

Cups shatter–so do dreams and human hearts. Our broken dreams and hearts carry their own hidden resilience, waiting for a moment in which we are willing to turn back towards them again, to stop discarding them as hopeless. We can breathe life into them if we have faith that they will be more beautiful now, than they were before they were broken.

To know this we have to walk through our self pity, our resentment, our bitterness, into the clear sweet place where our body takes the shape again of a ‘yes’ to life as it is. This life in which so many things are broken, and in which new life, resurrection, is possible.

"Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in" Leonard Cohen

with love, Shayla.
www.wideawakeheart.net. 

first world problems.

or: mental hygeine.

the high point of the day was a trip to the dollar store to buy a new tooth-brush. i know that sounds pretty pathetic but you gotta understand, well, ok.

be that as it may, there were several to choose from of all different shapes and sizes hangin in a neat row for my viewing pleasure. the one i chose looked cool: blue and white hard plastic, kinda thick handle with a rubber pick on one end, a slightly larger than normal brush on the other. it even had a small extra brush behind it, for those hard to get at places.

once i got home, i immediately and unceremoniously peeled away the packaging and trundled joyously off to my salle de bain... but the thing did not fit in my mouth! at first i couldn't bend my head around the fact that the brush couldn't bend its head into my mouth. i mean, who would make a tooth-brush too big for a mouth (?) and, just like donald trump's hands, the size of my mouth is "normal, good size, fine, slightly large actually." needless to say, i immediately returned the thing to the store. no, of course i didn't. i took my teeth out, some of 'em anyway, and brushed them over the sink. but, it aint right.

i know that sounds terribly pathetic, and i ask myself: how did i end up like this: living alone, away from all the action, in a tiny house in the back-woods of cold, wintery west quebec, with an oversized dental instrument (?) and the answer jumps immediately to my mind: i musta got pretty darn lucky, that's how.

as i sit in my favourite chair, shrouded in peace, a fire in the stove filling the room with its glow and warmth, a cup of coffee on the table beside me, i know i'm almost unreasonably fortunate. as i watch the snow gently falling, eyeing my heavy coat and boots waiting by the door, listening to a report about refugees unwelcome everywhere, i feel like i should really go buy a small toothbrush before the store closes for the night.

"too bad all the people who know how to run the country are driving taxi cabs or cutting hair." george burns. 

sleep on it.

"to die, to sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come…” shakespeare. (hamlet.)

q: you recently referred to our diminished ability to make the experience of our lives pleasant. the question begs asking: how would you suggest one access those so-called innate feelings of pleasantness without booze and other funny stuff?

a: firstly, i didn't say that. i heard that, or maybe i read it. be that as it may, i've been meditating a whole heckuva long time. so i kinda push that 'cause it's worked for me. i'm very well-adjusted and continuously in a state of rapture. ok, well, at least i'm able to truck on without all that crap, a reasonably contented creature moving inexorably toward an unknowable whatever, which just maybe i do know a little about. maybe we all do. i'll come back to that. consider it, if you will, like this:

in its purest sense meditation is not something we do. it's actually something we stop doing. for example, when we crawl into bed at night we know we won't be in a waking state or even always in a dream state. we're pretty sure we'll reach a state of deep sleep, which seems to be kind of a cessation of all states. do we really even exist at that time? surely not as a fully functioning individual. where were we? yet afterward we say the whole sleep experience was refreshing, rejuvenating. it was very pleasant. and that sense lingers on and sustains us until next night.

so, one way to think about meditation is as a conscious training we undertake to access the incredible pleasantness of sleep, only better, and ultimately even deep sleep. in that regard, perhaps we do sort of experience meditation every night. there's the wonderful feeling of getting into bed, the finishing with the day, the letting go. that's the same as when we decide it's time to sit down and take a few minutes to meditate. the slipping into a lovely semi-sleep state each night is not so different from what evolves in meditation after a while. then, there's the dream state. well, in meditation we still think. we still have a steady stream of mental projections not unlike a dream. in fact, that eventually takes on a distinctly dream-like quality. and, of course eventually we slip into a deep sleep, which i'll refer to again.

now, within this process something very special happens. every step of the way, little by little, more and more, it just works. little by little, more and more, something within us gets activated or released, flooding us with a sense of wonder, well-being, relaxation and, for lack of a better word, bliss. i would even go so far as to call it intoxicating: not the shxt-faced kind that leaves one with a headache and a std. it's more the natural, subtle, high-on-life kind. and, btw, it's less and less subtle over time. and of course the process is not just like sleep, although eventually there's no distinction to be made. suffice it to say, meditation has deeply transformative qualities leading to profound insights.

which brings me back to the deep-sleep part: there comes a time in meditation when one may actually dissolve entirely, become fully absorbed, for a moment, or longer, and it's incredible. in sanskrit that's referred to as 'samadhi.' and in sanskrit ancient sages referred to death as 'maha-samadhi,' the ultimate sleep, the ultimate meditation. that's interesting.

(editor's note: for a further in-depth description of mindfulness meditation, including theory and techniques, refer to the blog posting entitled: 'i'm not a teacher, you're not a student.')

chicken or fish?

during the last few years of dad's life, my job was driving to toronto so i could simply take him out for dinner, which was not so simple. we had a pretty definite and somewhat complicated routine.

firstly, he'd check the weather. he wouldn't look outside or step out onto his balcony. he'd check on the computer. then the process of getting his coat on would begin. the zipper was always an issue. but once he was all bundled up in his big old coat, favourite fur hat and leather gloves, we'd take the elevator down to the heated garage, get in the car and drive to the mall. we'd park in the heated garage and then, lastly, take the elevator up. we would never actually go outside.

we'd always go to the same restaurant and, while he carefully looked the menu over, he'd ask: "you eat chicken don't you?" "no dad," i'd say. "i've been vegetarian for 30 years - as you know." then he'd look up over top of the menu and say: "fish?" "no dad. don't worry about me. plenty of choices here." he'd send the waiter away because he wasn't finished reading the menu and then, eventually, he'd order the same meal he odered every time.

during our meal, during one of those last dinners, during those last few years, old dad remarked out of the blue: "you know, there's still one thing that bothers me about you." "oh yeah?," i said smiling. 'here we go,' i thought. "and what would that be?" "it bothers me that you believe in reincarnation." i was a bit taken aback by that. "dad, i don't recall ever saying a word about that concept and i know nothing about it." "no," he continued. "but YOU PEOPLE all believe in reincarnation." i just kinda shook my head and said: "well, all i know is, if there is such a thing as reincarnation, i hope to be born again as your son." then, as he waved to the waiter to complain about something or other, he remarked matter-of-factly: "you think you're so smart."

it may not have been during that particular meal, perhaps another, that i asked the old guy what his idea of god was. but, i do recall his answer very clearly. after a few moments' thought he said: "the best i've ever come up with is that god is the power that makes the grass grow."

dancing on the spot.

i've lost russia and the ukraine. i don't know why, but i'm kinda bummed. it's one of those moments in life when one realizes that what one has envisioned, anticipated, dreamed of, is not gonna happen after all. i thought they loved me over there. the tool that tracks readership on my blog was clearly indicating that i had become a rockstar over there. i started studying the language, writing a speech, planning a trip. then, poof, gone. why, and now what(?)

i've heard it said that our ability to make the experience of our lives pleasant, just as it actually is, has diminished. i personally don't know that, can't say, although i just did. people certainly seem to ingest ship-loads of booze and chemicals to help in that regard these days. i'm pretty sure 'bout that. fame and fortune, of course, that's all a dream, an illusion. in a hundred short years nobody'll be around who are here now. it all simply doesn't matter. and that sense of pleasantness, satisfaction, fulfillment? according to great men and women through the ages, that stuff's always been right here, right now, innate, our very birth-right. so, what was i thinking?

there's an old atory about a lady who was having a dream. in her dream a man was approaching on a dank, dark street. she became increasingly nervous. he kept getting closer and closer, and she kept getting more and more agitated until he was right up behind her. the lady wheeled around and exclaimed: "what are you going to do to me!?" to which the man responded: "how should i know? it's your dream."

well, i don't wanna russia to any conclusions, but i sorta think maybe they never were there. i mean, maybe those thousands of ukrainian and russian proletariat never were pouring over my blog after all. maybe it was all just some sort of electronic, computer, internet x-file dream. but, that's ok, i guess, cause i've got you.

"when you dance, your purpose is not to get to a certain place on the floor. it's simply to enjoy each step along the way." wayne dyer.

i'm not the only one.

"every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired is in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and who are not fed, from those who are cold and not clothed." dwight d. eisenhower.

folks in the united states are widely, wildly and i dare say wierdly obsessed with the 2nd amendment to their constitution, which was adopted in 1791. i looked it up.

clearly, the right to bare arms is very important for many many people down there and i actually have no problem with that. i have no problem with bare arms. in fact, i think the amendment should be expanded to include legs as well. i think guns, however, should be covered up, taken away and destroyed.

it may all be a terrible tragic and totally tsupid misunderstanding. the amendment is over two-hundred years old, peeps! the language needs tweaking. they need an amendment to the amendment, as it were, to clear up the confusion. nobody has ever died after an encounter with bare arms or legs. at worst, it'd be a shock. i once saw my 86-year-old mom in a nighty. that was disturbing, the image has remained and i probably could use some therapy. but i'm still here. fifteen thousand americans, on the other arm, died as a result of gun violence last year, and over double that number were injured. why? i believe they misunderstood the damn amendment.

if the russian government ever helped me become president of the united states, i'd get rid of all guns and maybe some sharp instruments. obviously, that's ridiculous. i'm canadian. and simple folk like me and perhaps you don't really know what's what anyway. maybe the russian government didn't help old man trump. but, we do know he aint gonna try controlling the sale of guns. and yet we also know guns are bad. guns kill people. yeah, yeah, people kill people. all i'm sayin is if people wanna kill people they should have to get their hands dirty. i don't think anyone should have a gun, not even police, military or anyone anywhere, in any country, at all. that would be my main party platform, along with support for free education and health-care.

unfortunately, i'm not a party animal, hardly get out much, although many will probably say i've actually gone too far. many will feel my standpoint is impossible, impractical. you may say i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one. i hope one day you'll join us. then the world will live as one.*

*imagine, by john lennon.