Tag Archive | jack kornfield

So, A Buddhist and A Taoist Walk Into A Bar…

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I often write about Buddhist ideas and refer to authors and Buddhist scholars like Jack Kornfield but I have to admit I’m just not a nice enough person to be a Buddhist. Really. Quietly and patiently putting up with jive? I think not. Sitting quietly under the bodhi tree awaiting enlightenment like the bodhidarma? Ain’t gonna happen.

Which is why I’m so much more drawn to Taoism. As a Taoist, my indignation at social injustice can feel fully legit, my tendency to meet the bs of the world with smiling snark just a part of living all experience fully–but not to excess–as taoists would.

One of my favorite stories is one told by Ken Cohen about the difference between Buddhists, confucionists, and taoists:
3 people, one of each philosophy, are sitting on a bench, the Taoist in the middle. A soldier approaches. The Confucionist begins to rise but the soldier growls roughly “sit down.” And because Confucianism prizes social order and respect for governance, he sits. Then the Buddhist begins to rise and the soldier once again snarls “sit.” And the Buddhist, believing in being peaceful and not stirring up trouble if it can be avoided thinks, “what the heck. Not worth disturbing peace. Accept what is” and sits. The the Taoist stands and when the soldier barks “Sit. Sit.” the Taoist, feeling that the soldier is being arbitrary and mean just to show off his power does not sit. Instead, she continues to stand and reaches over to each side and gently helps the Confucionist and the Buddhist to their feet, knowing that sometimes acting for social justice in the face of tyranny is more important than peace and good behavior.

“There is my way and there is your way and there is The Way,” Lao Tzu

When The Cushion Doesn’t Call

Meditating CatWhen the zabuton is stretched out on the floor, the zafu cushion sitting atop, Mario comes in and takes his place, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. At times, he will stay for an hour or more seeming barely to move, content as a cat. Of course, Mario has an advantage in this: Mario is a cat.

Despite knowing that not much ever passes through his brain to distract him from the now, I envy him. Perhaps not “envy.” That suggests ill will which I certainly don’t feel: rather I wish I could channel his ability to stay in the present. Because I, instead, find the “now” almost indecipherable and indistinguishable from the “yesterday,” “tomorrow,” and “forty years ago when I didn’t get invited to the prom.”

Although I love meditation time and my retreat from work and the world, I love it only sporadically. The rest of the time, it’s a struggle and sometimes even a bore. Days go by when I walk into my meditation room–which doubles as computer room–and instead of lighting incense and settling onto the cushion, I slop into the computer chair and meditate only on whether moving the Queen of Spades will give me a win in Solitaire. This I can do for hours.

Boredom leads to frustration which leads to guilt which leads to “Why the hell did I ever think I could meditate, anyway?” And so the cushion sits for days used only by Mario while I try to ignore its presence. Then one day, I’ll walk in the room, laugh at my own presumption as the thought changes to “Who the hell am I to think I can’t meditate? How much better than the Buddha do I think I am? Why, he could beat me at Solitaire, too, I bet.”

Back to the cushion I go, not displacing Mario but joining him and if I start to feel, as I inevitably will at some time, boredom or restlessness, I remember what Jack Kornfield said about naming the feeling and then “If you feel you’re so restless , you could die, well, just go ahead and do it! Look to the sky and say ‘Just take me now I’m so bored.’. . . And then go back to the breath.”