Originally posted April 17, 2012 by remingtoncooney | Back in the days when I was living in Melbourne, I used to attend Kadampa Buddhism classes down on St. Kilda Boulevard. It was a once a week affair where we would listen to the resident monk speak on a topic based on the Kadampa scriptures. He would recite passages and then interpret them in layman’s terms so that we, the students, could best understand them. Although I did not completely align to Kadampa Buddhism itself, I learnt some truly amazing things from Raptin and Dornyin, the two monks who led the weekly procession. One teaching I recall most vividly was on desire and the ego. Dornyin used the analogy of one being tempted by a large dessert (I believe it was a chocolate cake) to portray the workings of the ego mind. Upon seeing the chocolate cake we immediately think “I want to eat that.” We have that impulse desire, and so, we follow through. We begin eating the cake: first one slice, then two. All the while, the desire continues and we think, “I want more!” Before we know it, we’ve eaten 5 slices and we feel ill. Then we come out of our trance of desire and think, “I feel sick. I really shouldn’t have eaten all that. I never want chocolate cake again.” The transition from really wanting something to never wanting it again is an interesting one. It was also at the core of what Dornyin was highlighting; that is, these are things we never really wanted to begin with; these are things we could have done without, and therefore, after having them, we come to the conclusion that we never want them again. The catch here is that the ego’s appetite can only be temporarily satiated. Because of this, we will soon find ourselves indulging in more cake, despite our claim that we never wanted it again. Dornyin’s message was that one needs to learn to control the desire of the ego. He recommended taking a step back before acting on an impulse desire and asking yourself the question, “is this what I really want?” He was suggesting that if you have enough self-control to take that step back before eating another slice of chocolate cake, you would realize another slice would make you sick; therefore, you would refrain from eating it. On an off-hand note, I find desserts are a little passé. At least I don’t have many friends who indulge, as many of them appear to be quite disciplined with their dessert desires. So, I feel this analogy is a little flawed. I believe an appropriate replacement for the chocolate cake would be alcohol. It is something my peers yield to more commonly and from what I have observed, I have not witnessed the same discipline of desire with alcohol. So, please review Dornyin’s analogy but replace all ‘chocolate cake’s’ with alcohol… Great, now everyone can relate. Since we’re all on the same page (so to speak), I will proceed. While Dornyin’s analogy was good, I believe it is also far too simplified. I’m sure he recognized this as well, but because he was introducing us to much more complex Buddhist teachings, I feel he intentionally simplified it so that we could come to terms with the basics of desire and ego. After all, he was an incredibly wise man who taught me countless new things and spurred me along my quest to learn about eastern spirituality. Nevertheless, if we were to always be taking a step back and questioning whether we really want something, we would never be acting spontaneously. I often feel that acting on an impulse desire is one of the greatest things we can do. I myself find it very difficult to do so, but when I do, I am always amazed at what fresh events spontaneity brings into my life. If we were to always be taking a step back and questioning before we act, it would create a staggering effect, which would obstruct the ‘jedi-flow’ that results from working with the Tao. In my opinion, there are two kinds of desires: the first being a desire of the ego, the second being a desire of the heart. Ego desires are the attachment desires. The “I need’s” and “I must have’s” and when we do finally get what the ego desires, we realize we don’t want it anymore. You can tell what an ego desire is because after you acquire it, you no longer feel very good. It is only the process of desire that made you feel good, because the rush abounds in the method of acquiring. Common examples of ego desires are money, lust, McDonalds at the end of a night of drinking… As I mentioned, the second kind of desire is the heart desire. When I refer to ‘heart’ I’m referring to soul, or intuition which is the part of us that is connected with our higher selves. The heart desire is much softer. It does not say “I must have this or that,” it says, “could I please have that? I would really appreciate it.” When we feel and act on our heart’s desire we feel a great sense of certainty. Like what we are doing is truly what we want. We just know somewhere deep inside of us that we are doing something that is ‘right’ by ourselves. It is a beautiful, magical feeling of attunement and it is at the very essence of working with the Tao. The heart desire exists within Love energy. The greatest depiction of us experiencing true heart desire, is when we fall in love with someone – true, selfless love, where we feel the person is so beautiful that it doesn’t matter whether we are with them or not, we just desire to give them Love energy. It could be romantic love, family love, friendship love. I’m sure many would agree that this is the most powerful thing an individual can experience. Coming back to impulsive desires, when acting impulsively from the heart, one never has to step back and question their decision because one will always be acting in accordance with their higher self. This is that feeling of ‘jedi-flow’ or ‘surfer’s-flow,’ where no act that you undertake is obstructed. Our higher selves are assimilated to the Tao, so by tapping into them and acting alongside them, we are constantly in free-form flow acting in Wu-wei. For this reason, the Taoist sages would never have to take Dornyin’s advice and step back before acting. They were working with the Tao and hence, their desires were always aligned with heart desires. That being said, Taoist sages, much like Buddhist Monks, spend years overcoming their ego desires through disciplined practices such as meditation, Qi-gong, and abstinence. So, in this sense, perhaps this is their way of taking a step back to discover what they really want, as opposed to what their ego’s want. As the end of this post draws near I’ve come to realize one thing: the question – ‘what we want and what we really want’ – is one of the most difficult questions we can ask ourselves. By no means have I even come close to answering it within this post, and even then, I could never answer it for anyone else, only myself. Rather, what I truly intended to do in this post was provide some food for thought. Within it, you can find my belief system, where I have defined the two base desires that I consider to exist within us. I myself follow both Buddhist and Taoist belief that ego desires are there to be overcome, and through disciplined practice we can do so. I, however, do not believe in eradicating the ego because the ego is still very much a part of our self. My feeling is that the ego is to be overcome through acceptance rather than rejection. Like a troubled child, the only way the ego can behave itself is by us choosing to love it unconditionally, so that it does not have a reason to fight us any longer. All of the problems that exist within our world are a direct result of mankind acting on ego desire. If we all took a step back from the chocolate cake and listened to our heart’s desire, healing the world would be a very easy process indeed. I try to avoid making such grandiose, ideological statements, but in this case, I believe it’s complete and utter truth. If this ruffles your feathers (or anything else I’ve said in this post for that matter), please challenge me. It is through discussions on such things that the greatest outcomes are reached. In the meantime, try and see if you can distinguish ego desires from heart desires. Observe what events in your life are analogous to the chocolate cake scenario. Observe events that make you feel selfless love. Which desires do you think you enjoy acting on, and which desires do you really enjoy acting on?
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Originally published: March 26, 2012 by remingtoncooney | Edit As an Australian who grew up overseas, I always felt dislocated from the place where my true identity lay; a place defined by its sporting culture and searing hot beach days. Growing up in Singapore, I always felt my roots were still stuck in the red, earthy, Aussie soil, and that moving countries had somehow stretched me across the ocean, pulling me between two places; my heart in Australia, the remainder of my body in Singapore. So, when I finally moved to Melbourne in early 2009, it wasn’t long before I decided to consolidate my reunion with my homeland through one of Australia’s favorite past-times: surfing. Finally, I could bring out the true Aussie in me. At the beginning of our freshman year, my best friend Kevin and I signed up for university surf camp. Days later, we were driving down to one of Victoria’s best surfing beaches – Tourquay – with boards in the back, sunnies on and the harsh rays pouring through the wound down windows, burning our delighted faces. Oh, what fun this would be! Cut to the first day of surfing: splashing through the waves, smiles on our faces, ready to take on the white breakers. Cut to my first wave: there I am, rolling around off my board like a drowning rat. No big deal. Happens to the best of us. “No worries mate, just get back up on your board and you’ll come good.” That’s what I would tell myself. And it was reassuring…for the first 20 attempts. Then I started to get a little aggravated. At the end of the first day, I maybe got up and rode (in a very wobbly sort of a way) 2 waves out of 50 attempts. I was a little put off to say the least. The next day went fairly much the same way. Maybe I caught 3 this time and my aggro levels were steadily rising. Everytime I fell, I would paddle back into the wave twice as hard. Then I was trying 3 times as hard, 4 times as hard. What I learnt quickly from this was that the harder I tried, the more tired I grew, and the less I achieved. Rememeber our good friend Han Solo? Put him on a surfboard and that was me: flailing like a mad man, completely out of breath, as I put in every ounce of strength and effort into paddling through the waves, hardly making ground. You know what the most frustrating thing was? I would lie there panting and bobbing on the water and see these tanned, 10-year-olds come gliding past me; zinc on their little smiling faces, laughing as their skinny little arms pushed them along like dolphins skimming the water. And there was me; old aquatic Han Solo, breathless and mesmerized as I watched them pop up on these 6 footers and ride down them like it was nothing at all. The same 6 footers that were bouldering me back to the beach. Oh the humanity! I wouldn’t say surf camp was my fondest experience. That night, after my failed surfing attempts, I had the pleasure of listening to my tent roomie (“bilby” they called him) lullaby me to sleep with noises of late night chundering, outside our tent. A result of a few too many hits of the infamous surf camp ‘beer bong’ (there was a song that went along with it, but it’s more of a ‘you had to be there’ moment). There were a few more occasions when I ventured down to the beaches outside Melbourne with buddies and gave surfing the same full-hearted attempt. Each time the results were fairly similar. I got a little better and caught a few more waves, but by the end of each session I would always be extremely frustrated, spluttering, and completely exhausted after giving it my all. I kind of gave up with surfing and thought of it as something that just wasn’t for me. Looking back on it now, I have realized that surfing is the perfect depiction of the Taoist term Wu-Wei. As described in previous posts, Wu-Wei can be translated into non-action; a sort of effortless effort where you empty yourself of all resistance so that you can be filled with the Tao, which then guides you. It’s not so much the Tao acting for you, but rather, it’s more of a team effort where you are working with the Tao rather than against it. I am convinced that the reason I was struggling so much with surfing time and time again, is not so much my inexperience, but rather, it was more to do with my resistance, which resulted from my stubbornness; my unwillingness to just ‘let go.’ It is rather typical of me when trying to achieve something, to plough into it with sheer determination and stubbornness with only the end result in mind. It doesn’t matter about the journey along the way, I just want to get to the end and be good at whatever I’m doing, and the harder I try, the faster I’ll get there. It is this kind of mentality that causes one to slip out of the living poetry that is the result of working with the Tao. We cling to the end goal and become so focused on the future that we really forget about the importance of the present journey. When you forget about the present journey and the present moment, you detune yourself from the Tao. For example, with surfing you really have to just sit back and listen to nature, just like the old Taoist Sages used to. You have to read the ocean, feel the waves, and adjust yourself to their rhythm. One who conditions themselves to the Tao must remain protean at all times for you never can truly know when the current will change or the waves will grow. An experienced surfer demonstrates this perfectly. They will sit there and bob up and down, just feeling the ocean for an hour, maybe even two, before catching their first wave. A very different approach to ol’ aquatic Han Solo, smashing through the waves, trying to catch any one that comes his way, right from the get-go. What’s more, the smooth, languid paddling that superior surfers display, is definitive of how more effort does not necessarily equate to more speed. They take their time with each stroke, allowing themselves to work with the ocean rather than against it. These days I’ve taken up surfing again. However, I no longer have to go down to the ocean to practice it. Instead I’m surfing in the city, on the buses on my way to work, through the supermarket. I even surf at work! And you know what? It really makes a difference. But it does take that sense of awareness. That sense of waking up each day and taking the time out to bob on your board for a while and assess the set of waves that are rolling your way. I allow myself to really feel the ocean under me and I breathe into it as best I can. Waiting, patiently, and when that perfect wave arrives, I just mount my board and ride into the day. Too easy, mate. Obviously, I still have those days where I don’t quite make it up onto my board and a wave hits me like a freight train, but they have become fewer and farther between. It took me a long while to realize that life doesn’t have to be a struggle. That’s old news, you know? That’s old energy. For some reason, so many of us are under that impression that life is about working against the grain, and to make it in this so called big, bad, ‘real’ world you have to push and shove and force your way through. Balderdash, I say! Life is really about learning how to surf. And the best way to learn how to surf is to become non-resistant. To just let go with that same awareness and respect that a good surfer has for the ocean. Any experienced surfer is very aware that the ocean is infinitely more powerful than man. So, why bother being at loggerheads with it? It’s frivolous and my own surfing experience is a case in point. So, stop paddling at a thousand paddles per minute, and instead reassess your technique. Use those same effective, languid strokes that the pro’s use. Breathe at the start of every session and get a sense of which waves you want to catch. Observe the difference it makes. We all have those days every now and again where everything just works. Everything just falls into place so effortlessly. This is what it feels like to be in union with the Tao. This is what it’s like to be riding the wave of life, and I’m here to say that this is something we can gain control of. We can shape each and everyday to be like that. It just takes time and practice and the willingness to let go; just like surfing: you can’t rush it, you just have to work with what’s at hand. For me, one of the best ways to feel the ocean and to condition myself to the oncoming waves, is through breath meditation. In my next post, I will go into detail about meditation, and how we can make it an accessible part of everyday, modern-living. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves and mount our board too soon. For now, just practice the paddling. Fair dinkem, mate. Have a good one. Originally posted: March 5, 2012 by remingtoncooney | Taoist, you are. I would recommend visiting the House-keeping post before reading this, in order to come to terms with the fundamentals of Taoist thought. That being said, the House-keeping section focuses on dealing with the Tao of ‘then’. Let’s now bring it out of medieval China and into modern-day America, circa 1977. As I said, The Tao is all encompassing; even Hollywood is not able to escape it. This brings me to the modern-day analogy that I feel best demonstrates the Tao: Star Wars. In Star Wars, the Jedi knights refer to something known as ‘the force’. Well, as far as I’m concerned, the force is an accurate representation of the Tao at work, and the Jedi Knight parallels the Taoist sage. Pop on your favorite one: The Empire Strikes Back, A New Hope, or (God forbid) Attack Of The Clones. Observe how Obi-Wan never runs around or panics during battle. He is methodical, meticulous, calm, and eloquent at all times. He remains entirely present by trusting the force to guide him, and as a result, he does not have to project himself into the past or the future. By trusting ‘the force’ he becomes a vessel for the force to fill and, when confronted, the force allows him to fight with minimal action or effort on his part. Rarely do we see him sweat, lose rhythm, lose breath, trip up, or lose direction. He is the epitome of a grounded and centered being. Or take everyone’s favourite, green pocket-rocket: Master Yoda. Yes, despite being vertically challenged, and suffering from a severe case of dyslexia, he still manages to lift objects a hundred times his size, and to speak profound (jumbled) words of wisdom. Quite a feat! He is able to do this because he is a vessel of ‘the force’, much like that body of water in the riverbed is a vessel of the Tao (refer to House-keeping for further insight.) Now we turn to Han Solo. Love him or hate him, he is a messy man; constantly falling over, getting himself into trouble, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, sweating profusely, out of breath, bumping into his hairy, growling partner as they vigorously attempt to repair their various man-made inventions that repetitively breakdown…. You catch my drift. Obi Wan is aligned with the Tao. Han Solo is not. Time for a role play: Tomorrow, the minute you wake up and step out of bed, look into the mirror and envisage yourself as Obi Wan Kanobi (or if you’re a lady…Obi Wan Kanobina….Kanobessy….you know what I mean.) Have that moment with yourself where you reaffirm your status; say, “I am a Jedi Knight, I am aligned with force (Tao).” You are the vessel. Allow the force (Tao) to fill you as you turn on the shower, brush your teeth, have your morning bowel movement. Everything is so much easier! You are using minimal action to undertake every activity and every activity you undertake is done so with a sense of complete presence and grounding. In other words, you are not thinking about the future and you are not recollecting on the past. You are simply in the moment, in union with the force (Tao), trusting that it will guide you each step of the way throughout your day. When you come to a decision-making crossroad, instead of rationalizing, listen to your gut-feeling; to your intuition, to your heart, and go with that decision without questioning it. You are a Jedi for God’s sake! Do not be tied down by silly common-man making decision skills. Use the force! Get creative! Wave your arms about and attempt to telekinetically lift objects, for all I care. (Yes, you may lose a couple of friends along the way, but think of what you are gaining!) Still having a hard time making that intuitive decision? Turn to your surroundings. Look to nature. Which way is the wind blowing? How does the bird-song sound? Tune yourself to the Tao like the Jedi tunes himself to the force. They are essentially one and the same after all. So, you have reached the end of your day. Your Jedi role is now over. Hang up your light saber, Skype with Yoda, and get to bed. The next day, try Han Solo on for size. Shoot a gun, get angry and shout a lot, trip over things, become wooed by random women (or men for all the Han Solina’s out there), find a friend who suffers from Hypertrichosis… Make sure you get a feel of both characters, take some notes, and let me know how it goes. Personally, I much prefer being Obi-Wan. May the Tao be with you. Originally Published: March 5, 2012 by remingtoncooney | Okay, time for some House-keeping. Since many of my entries will be focused loosely around Taoist teachings, I feel it is important to lay down the fundamentals of Taoism. This is just so you have a reference point if I start name-dropping or giving analogies that aren’t originally mine. However, I understand most of you are not aspiring Taoists, and, to tell the truth, I’m not either. I do not consider myself a Taoist and I don’t think I’ll will ever become one. Nonetheless, Taoism has an incredibly big influence on the way I conduct my life/day-to-day routine. It is a school of thought that, upon discovery, powerfully resonated with me. I will try to keep things as simplified as possible so that we can get onto the more fun stuff, more quickly. So, what are the fundamentals of Taoist teachings? What is at its core? The Tao (pronounced ‘Dao’) typically translates to ‘the Way’. Alternatively, some may define it as ‘path’ or ‘principle’. What we notice about these definitions is that they don’t really reveal much about the subject, do they? In fact, you’d be hard pressed to get any more vague. Taoism prides itself on its vagueness, its contradictions, and its impracticalities. To me, this sort of makes sense. In my belief, it’s rather egocentric to begin filling boxes and compartmentalizing the world we observe, without ever considering that it may not be like that at all. By all means, fill those boxes! We need some reference after all, especially in this day and age. But do not attach yourself to the labels on those boxes because at the end of the day, it is highly likely that many of them have been mislabeled. Taoism returns to the time-old question: Can we really know anything? I would imagine a sage would answer this by saying, “not really, but we can always try.” This brings me to the Taoist sage. A Taoist sage is someone who has reached a deep and profound understanding of the Tao and is able to communicate his/her understanding to students or other Taoist followers in order to help them reach similar understanding. To say the Taoist sage is enlightened is a little misleading. In Taoism, enlightenment is not really focused upon, for it indicates a certain goal at the end of a journey. Taoism advocates that existence is cyclical and non-linear. Enlightenment may come and go in the form of present epiphanies, but it’s not a transcendental experience at the end of a linear path. How do we interpret ‘The Tao (Way)’? In short, the Tao (Way) can be thought of as the source or essence of everything that exists. Everything is born from the Tao and everything returns to the Tao. There is a cyclical nature inherent of the Tao, whereby it does not have a defined beginning, nor a defined end. The Tao transcends all time and space; it is all encompassing and forever existing. It is at the basis of all existence; however, that is not to say it is the basis of existence. As soon as we start labeling what the Tao is, we are narrowing down and inhibiting its infinite potential. It’s best to never concretely describe the Tao, but rather allude to it through metaphors and analogies. At least this is how it is traditionally spoken of by the Taoist sages. Conclusively, the closest way we can get to describing the Tao, is by describing what it is not. For example: the Tao does not have a shape or form the Tao does not have an ending, nor does it have a beginning Remember: Taoists are skeptical of language because of its restrictions, and, therefore, err on the side of caution when it comes to labels on boxes. The great Taoist sages, like Lao Tzu and Zhuangzi, felt the workings of nature best depicted the Tao. Such things as a river flowing around rocks and other obstacles in its path, never allowing them to obstruct its journey. The body of water in a river maintains flow and eloquence even in the face of its greatest obstacles, and yet, does so without exuding great effort. The movement of water in a river, is thus, a perfect demonstration of the Taoist term Wu-Wei (which roughly translates to) non-action. If you watch how a river flows, you see that the water is moving without actually putting effort into moving itself. It is in action without actually acting. Hence, we say it is acting in Wu-wei (non-action). Another way of saying this is it is in natural action or organic action.Since the body of water is not acting independently, what is the origin of its action? That, my friends, would be The Tao. The Tao is the essence behind the flow of the river. But what is this essence? Well, it is not the current, nor is it the downward sloping of the river bed, and it’s definitely not the waterfall. Perhaps, it is the combination of all of them? We will never know. Once again, we must err on the side of caution and simply ponder… Pondering over. One thing we notice about water is that despite the lack of effort in its movement, it is virtually indestructible. It will destroy or gradually wear down any obstacle in its path without losing its flow, form, or eloquence (one needs only to see the grand canyon in order to realize this). Furthermore, if you block water’s path it will organically find an alternative route without ever having to stop and think about which route to take next. Why? Because it is perfectly aligned with the Tao and, is, for that reason, constantly guided by it. The Taoist Sages believed we should learn to emulate that which is completely aligned with the Tao. In other words, we must be like water (yes, that’s where the cliche comes from). There you have it. The foundations have been laid, the boxes have been cleared, and you’re ready for the next post. |
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