Wise Heart Way

Principle #4: Recognize the mental states that fill consciousness. Shift from unhealthy states to healthy ones.

Practice: Recognizing Mental States

Valentine Musings

Mary Ann, I loved your vulture vs. eagle blog and wonderful photo.  I read once about Tibetan Buddhist monks who perform sky burials in the mountain tops.  They hack up a dead body, including crushing the skull and digging out the brain, and offer the body parts up to the vultures.  The vultures hold an honored and sacred position, taking the deceased back to nature and their essence up into the sky, so, the vulture is a marvelous creature---

 

which brings me to turn towards our essence and…

                          

Chapter Three, Who Looks in the Mirror, has me lost in recollections of those moments of pure consciousness, of knowing:  the moment the nurse gently slipped my daughter, Holly, fresh, new, just bathed, silent, into my arms, as I lay on the delivery table, her eyes, full of wisdom, penetrated mine.  I looked into her eyes and wondered, “Who is this marvelous creature?”

 

Principle #3: When we shift attention from experience to the spacious consciousness that knows, wisdom arises.

Practice: The River of Sound

Compassion of Community

Along with my daughters I went to our local women's theater the Brava to see a play "Song for Coretta."  It featured five women of different generations and their individual reasons for coming to ta funeral. On the program was a quote from Coretta King, "the greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members."  Thank you Wise Heart Way members, I love being part of our little community. 

In a larger community of Catholics, I joined a weekly retreat at the Jesuit high school.  I felt a kinship with the others who said they came to figure out just what it is they do believe.  I can see that mindfulness is the holy spirit, shining the light. (The audience sang along with the cast of the play "This Little Light of Mine" which very much moved me). I see that acting with compassion  and the interconnectedness of all beings is related to what St Ignatius says in doing everything for "the greater glory of God."   We are at week two of the retreat, and I still don't like reading  passages from the old testament.  I think I'll stick to St Ignatius and Buddhism. 

vulture or eagle?

The other day, as I drove home through the asphalt parking lot that surrounds my condo association, I saw a huge turkey vulture standing in my path. Even though I drove close, he didn't budge. He was tearing at something with his beak. Finally, I had to drive around another way to avoid hitting him. After I parked, I walked over to investigate. I wanted to see what this vulture had scavenged that was so precious it  would cause him to disregard his own safety.

As I drew closer, what I saw couldn't even be described as carrion. He was tearing at a squirrel that had already been opened, picked clean, and flattened by traffic. Only the dry husk of squirrel remained, his fur. And yet the vulture remained anchored to the ground, guarding and picking at this empty shell as if it still held something worth risking his life for.

the beauty and nobility of crowds

I know I'm a beat behind here, but I must share a "beauty and nobility" insight that fell upon me the other day. It was at a funeral. I sat near the back of the Chapel. It's hard to explain, but the crowd of mourners, gathered in their dark clothing, suddenly appeared to me "noble." I saw a collective nobility. It was akin to a group innocence. And the husband, tears running down his face, was in a state of noble suffering. And we all suffered with him, if just for a moment. I'm not much of a joiner, have always noticed that groups are so often weaker than its singular members. But it struck me how powerful this is, to gather, to care together about something. I once attended a Mass in Rome, sung in Russian, that held that same innocence. And the Washington gathering on the Mall! How could we not be moved by the collective beauty and nobility there? The crowd seen on this post (local Obama supporters) reflect that sort of joy and dignity and beauty and nobility. This may be obvious to most of you, but it was a sort of new thing for me. And BTW, I love your post, Lezlie---I have so much of that in me, that sort of "bottom line" rushing to get somewhere.  And somewhere is nowhere. Somewhere is right here. Remember (I know I told you this) what our dear Arthur said when I admonished him about striving.  He stopped in his tracks and looked at me: "I know, I know, there's really no where to go and nothing to do." And he said it slowly and he meant it.

Reading Ahead (revised)

I’ve been reading ahead.  I can’t help it.  I am absolutely loving The Wise Heart, and every morning during my reading period, I find myself greedily rushing forward into the chapters.  I so appreciate Jack Kornfield’s skill and gift for presenting the underpinnings of Buddhist psychology and Buddhist practice so clearly and accessibly.  Each chapter is filled with learning and insight.  So I rush ahead—almost every morning.  When I started this project, I thought it would be a good exercise to read a book very slowly.  Two chapters a month.  Slow down.  Dawdle.  Really think about the ideas.  Really focus on the practices at the end of each chapter.  And then write about the experience.   It would be an experiment in going deep with a text and really becoming familiar with its ideas. But, I rush ahead.  I want more, and I want it faster.  I tumble into the chapters.  The insights come fast and furiously, and I pursue them like a runner in the back of the race.  Racing after something, I’m not even quite sure what. But surely I’m losing ground (I’m always losing ground).  So I rush ahead.

This morning, instead of chastising myself for this pattern, I just noted it. I just watched myself and wondered, what is this all about, Lezlie?  I watched myself hungrily gobbling up the pages.  Felt the need for some unspoken result or conclusion.  I literally felt it in my stomach.  And there it was, in this quiet, peaceful Sunday morning of reading and mediation--my need to rush ahead, to stretch for the finish line, to grasp for the prize.  

Slow down, I told myself.  You’re already there.