Skillfully Responding to Aggression

     Fear, anger, & impatience to achieve a goal, which upon deep reflection is usually seen to be self-serving rather than altruistic, seem to cause violence.
     The ego is, according to Buddhist understanding, the very last thing we release before full awakening. The Buddha, Jesus, Gandhi, Mandela, Martin-Luther King Jr. etc all seemed to have been consistently nonviolent, despite severe provocation. 
     A couple of old stories:

     “Once upon a time there was a conquering army going through villages, killing and pillaging as it went. The soldiers caused terror in the hearts of the people in the countryside, and were especially harsh with the monks they found in the monasteries, not only humiliating them but often subjecting them to terrible physical torture.
     There was one particularly harsh army captain who was infamous for his cruelty, and when he arrived in a certain town, he asked his adjutant for a report about the people who lived there. His inferior reported: ‘All the people are very frightened of you and are bowing down to you.’ This gave the captain great pleasure, of course. Then the adjutant continued, ‘In the local monastery all the monks have fled to the mountains in terror. Except for one monk.’
     Hearing this, the captain became furious and rushed to the monastery in search of the monk who dared defy him. When he pushed open the gates, there in the middle of the courtyard stood the monk, watching him without fear. The captain walked up to him and asked in his haughtiest voice, ‘Don’t you know who I am? Why, I could take my sword and run it through your belly without blinking an eye!’
     ‘And don’t you know who I am?’ replied the monk, gently. ‘I could have your sword run through my belly without blinking an eye.’ It is said that the captain, recognizing the greater truth of the moment, sheathed his sword, bowed, and left.”

~

     “A big burly samurai comes to the roshi (Zen priest) and says, ‘Tell me the nature of heaven and hell.’ 
     And the roshi looks him in the face and says; ‘Why should I tell a scruffy, disgusting, miserable slob like you?’ The samurai starts to get purple in the face, his hair starts to stand up, but the roshi won't stop, he keeps saying, ‘A miserable worm like you, do you think I should tell you anything?’ Consumed by rage, the samurai draws his sword, and he's just about to cut off the head of the roshi. Then the roshi says, ‘That's hell.’ 
     The samurai, who is in fact a sensitive person, instantly gets it, that he just created his own hell; he was deep in hell. It was black and hot, filled with hatred, self-protection, anger, and resentment, so much so that he was going to kill this man. Tears fill his eyes and he starts to cry and he puts his palms together and the roshi says, ‘That's heaven’."

     A skillful, evolved person may be able to disarm an aggressor, causing minimal harm, and ultimately even bring about benefit. If indeed "I am that" - how else are we to respond? If your left arm went into a spasm, wouldn't your able right arm treat it kindly?
     Coming from deep inner peace, awareness, silence, stillness, timelessness, patience, equanimity, and compassion, will result in a radically, qualitatively distinct response to aggression than when we were reacting from a fearful self-preservation reflex against "the other".

     An exceptional true story about the wise use of true power: http://www.johnlovas.com/2014/03/power-its-origin-how-to-use-it.html

Thus shall ye look on all this fleeting world:
A star at dawn, a bubble in the stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream.
Gautama the Buddha

Freedom at Hand

     "When we encounter tragic events [we see on the news almost daily], we ... recognize that the root of hatred is very difficult to identify. It comes from deep inside of our karmic consciousness [DNA if you will]. We live our lives based on emotions and feelings of love and hatred. This is the source of our daily actions.
     But there is a true and real realm beyond love and hatred. This is ... the realm of Enlightenment [open & available to all of us]. Through this realization, we are able to see one another as fellow travelers on a journey of the world to true equality. Regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation, we should live our lives with respect and kindness." Bishop Kodo Umezu, Lion's Roar, September 2016 issue

     We CAN relax & release our fearful, rigidly held positions, and bravely open our heart-minds.

     "... any concepts we have about the basic nature of reality are incomplete, inaccurate, and in fact block our direct experience of things as they really are. ... any assertions about the nature of reality are self-defeating. ... [we CAN] cut through conceptualization and [open ourselves] ... directly to the true nature of reality." Lion's Roar, September 2016 issue

Sculptor: Marcel Gagnon, Sainte-Flavie en Gaspe, Quebec, Canada

Power, its Origin, & How to Use it

     An exceptional true story about authentic power:

     “The train clanked and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a drowsy spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty – a few housewives with their kids in tow; some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab houses and dusty hedgerows.
     At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into the car. He wore laborer’s clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that the baby was unharmed. 
     Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of its stanchion. I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up. 
     I was young then, some twenty years ago, and in pretty good shape. I had been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training every day for the past three years. I liked to throw and grapple. I thought I was tough. Trouble was, my martial arts skill was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight. 
     ‘Aikido,’ my teacher had said again and again, ‘is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection to the universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.’ 
     I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the chimpara, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forebearance exalted me. I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legitimate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty. 
     This is it! I said to myself as I got to my feet. People are in danger. If I don’t do something fast, somebody will probably get hurt. 
     Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage. ‘Aha!’ he roared. ‘A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!’ 
     I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so I pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss. 
     ‘All right!’ he hollered. ‘You’re gonna get a lesson.’ He gathered himself for a rush at me. 
     A split second before he could move, somebody shouted, ‘Hey!’ It was earsplitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it – as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something and he had suddenly stumbled upon it. ‘Hey!’ 
     I wheeled to my left; the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share. 
     ‘C’mere,’ the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. ‘C’mere and talk with me.’ He waved his hand lightly. 
     The big man followed, as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman, and roared above the clacking wheels. ‘Why the hell should I talk to you?’ The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I’d drop him in his socks. 
     The old man continued to beam at the laborer. ‘What’cha been drinkin’?’ he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest. ‘I’ve been drinking sake,’ the laborer bellowed back, ‘and it’s none of your business!’ Flecks of spittle spattered the old man. 
     ‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ the old man said, ‘absolutely wonderful! You see, I love sake too. Every night me and my wife (she’s 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing. My great-grandfather planted that tree, and we worry about whether it will recover from those ice storms we had last winter. Our tree has done better than I expected, though, especially when you consider the poor quality of the soil. It is gratifying to watch when we take our sake and go out to enjoy the evening – even when it rains!’ He looked up at the laborer, eyes twinkling. 
     As he struggled to follow the old man’s conversation, the drunk’s face began to soften. His fists slowly unclenched. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I love persimmons too….’ His voice trailed off. 
     ‘Yes,’ said the old man, smiling, ‘and I’m sure you have a wonderful wife.’ 
     ‘No,’ replied the laborer. ‘My wife died.’ Very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. ‘I don’t got no wife, I don’t got no home, I don’t got no job. I’m so ashamed of myself.’ Tears rolled down his cheeks; a spasm of despair rippled through his body. 
     Now it was my turn. Standing there in my well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. 
     Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically. ‘My, my,’ he said, ‘that is a difficult predicament, indeed. Sit down here and tell me about it.’ 
     I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled on the seat, his head in the old man’s lap. The old man was softly stroking the filthy, matted hair. 
     As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirit. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.” 

     Dobson T. “A soft answer.” From: Nelson RF ed. “The overlook martial arts reader. Classic writings on philosophy and technique.” The Overlook Press, Woodstock NY, 1989. 
     More about the author: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Dobson

 

Persimmon   gardening.ktsa.com

Buddhanature - like the Sun, Lotus, and Gold

     "Sun, lotus, and gold - three traditional Buddhist symbols for buddhanature, our unchanging wakefulness.
     Like the sun, our buddhanature always shines, even if the clouds temporarily obscure our view of it.
     Like the lotus, it grows pure and unsullied from the mud of our passion, aggression, and ignorance.
     And like gold, we need only purify the dross of our obscurations to experience the beauty and brilliance of our true nature."

       John Tarrant, Shambhala Sun, September 2013