Moving from Stability to Ego-Crashing Insanity

Reggie Ray in Buddhadharma:
In the Vajrayana, there are many stages the practitioner goes through in relating to the world. One of the stages is that your meditation is stable, your virtue is impeccable, and you basically can handle whatever comes up in your practice. When things are stable like that, your teacher is very likely to ask you to go to a foreign city or to a place you're very afraid of, or to go to your own village and act as if you've become insane. You need to leave behind your conventional and well-ordered Buddhist self and be in situations where emotions that you can't handle and situations that make you feel insecure provoke in you a new level of clinging and expose the nakedness of your ego-clinging.
This offers rich opportunities to meditate on whatever comes up, whether it's anger or fear or paranoia or jealousy or humiliation. The Vajrayana is not interested in your attaining an even and relatively confident presence within the Buddhist world but in going into the very depths of samsara and seeing what your level of understanding and realization is. It's heroic and outrageous. Many of the stories you hear about the great tantric practitioners are ones that from a conventional Buddhist point of view would be outlandish and very disturbing.

Bad Buddhist vs. The Eighth Precept

Great little blogpost from the Diary of a Bad Buddhist about the challenge of being too busy to practice ... yet not busy enough.

There is a version of this precept floating around in our culture, and does not have the same legitimizing foundation in wisdom or the goal of human happiness. I'm talking about the Busy Rule. This rule says that you have to be busy all the time; you have to be so busy doing stuff you have to do that you don't have time to do the stuff you want to do; you have to be so busy that you're acutely aware of how your busy-ness exhausts and frustrates you; you have to be so busy that there is no possibility of unscheduled, unresearched, unmultitasked leisure or social activity. And the only acceptable reason for turning down any invitation or request for your time is that you're just way too crazy busy.

Well, screw that. I can't live as a crazy-busy person for more than a week without completely falling apart. I know my limit of busy, and I protect myself from being pushed too far past it — even when it means turning down invitations or requests for my time not because I'm actually too busy, but because I don't want to be.

Read the rest here: http://www.badbuddhistblog.com/2007/09/bad-buddhist-vs-eighth-precept.html

East-West, West-East

ik - Wow! Quite a scathic analysis really of recent developments in Tibetan Buddhism.

By Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche

A friend of mine from New York recently sent me an e-mail article titled 'Is Tibetan Buddhism working in the west?' Although my immediate reaction was somewhat defensive, I have to admit that the author made several worthwhile points. It might appear futile for me to add yet another point of view to this seemingly endless debate, but long before modern civilization celebrated free speech, the Buddha stressed respect for reasoning, and emphasized that we should examine a path rather than following it blindly. Yet, one can’t help noticing that even in this so called "modern" age, blind faith is not only alive but kicking, even to the extent of people giving up their lives just because some priest has guaranteed their passage to heaven. It is not only important for us to exercise this freedom to examine the path and its authority, but we must also watch out for the cultural baggage that accompanies it. How much of this culture does one have to buy into? Does being a westerner mean that one lacks the attributes to be a Buddhist?

Or is it the case that the "gurus" have to compromise their teachings to fit in to the west?

For years, Tibetan lamas have won the hearts and minds of many in the west, mainly because of the sophisticated wisdom of the Buddha that they embody, but also because many of them appear gentle and easily amused. The fact that they are an endangered species helps too, and there is always a handful of genuine masters that can always be put up as window dressing. But the initial infatuation is coming to an end; moreover, some westerners are beginning to realize that there is a big difference between Buddhism and Tibetan culture.

As societal attitudes change, aided by modern media, the scrutiny of public figures and scepticism towards so-called spiritual paths has intensified. For the first time, Tibetans in general and lamas in particular have been forced to savour the bittersweet taste of free society.

For some, it’s becoming a painful realization that popularity and success come at a price. Also, reluctantly, Tibetans are accepting that attempts to impose what they see as a superior way of living are not working. But like many in the East, Tibetans still clutch firmly to all of their culture as the ultimate answer to everything, including some of it that they could beneficially do without.

As if that were not enough, many have insisted that their western followers adopt the whole cultural package along with Buddhism. It is this hotchpotch of Tibetan culture and Buddhism that many are having a hard time digesting.

Even basic Buddhist teachings such as refuge are now being taken theistically because of inadequate explanation. When we chant prayers like "I take refuge in the Buddha," we barely mention – and we therefore ignore - its essential meanings such as knowing that one’s ultimate nature is the Buddha. Given this, it is little wonder that the author of the article refers to the Gurus and Sangha as her "captors" instead of her liberators. Because lamas have the role of bringing the Dharma to West, they have a bigger responsibility for the teachings than western students who are interested but unfamiliar with them. However, instead of making the teachings accessible, the Tibetans have created a huge divide with westerners through a combination of their superiority complex, their fundamental lack of "respect" towards Westerners and an inadequate interest in western thinking. The classic Buddhist analogy of patient, doctor and treatment states that for different patients with different problems, doctors should apply the appropriate cures. Yet if Tibetan lamas ridicule the culture and habits of their western students as a "total waste of time," how will the remedy ever take effect? Are they really suggesting that westerners should be given the same teachings as illiterate Tibetan nomads? This lack of respect towards westerners by Tibetans is not something recent; they have a long-held assumption that westerners are barbaric. Even before 1959, many visitors to Tibet were denied entry simply because they were foreigners. One could even argue that Tibetans themselves are mostly to blame for the loss of their country because of their extreme xenophobia, and their disdain and rejection of everything foreign as unholy. Despite this, many westerners are charmed by Tibetan hospitality, politeness and friendliness, little knowing that they originate more from social obligation than sincerity. Behind most of those smiling faces, there is still the underlying reality that you are a westerner. The few smiles that are sincere could well originate with the hope that you could be a sponsor or, more recently, to help obtain a green card.

Read the rest of the article here.

The End of the Affair - Sidd Finch

by George Plimpton
Sports Illustrated
April 8, 1985

The curious case of Sidd Finch, as revealed by George Plimpton in last week's issue, came to resolution Monday in St. Petersburg. The eccentric flame-thrower, whose pitches reportedly had been clocked at 168 mph, kept t his promise to tell the baseball world on April 1 whether he'd join the New York Mets or concentrate on the French horn.

The Mets called a 12:30 p.m. press conference at Al Lang Stadium and formally unveiled Finch to the media. Reading from a statement written in a stilted, anachronistic style (he referred to the Mets as the Metropolitans and to Mel Stottelmyer and Davey Johnson as Melvin and David, respectively), Finch explained that the pinpoint accuracy required to harness his astonishing fastball had deserted him. "The Perfect Pitch," said the Mystic Met, "once a thing of harmony, is now an instrument of Chaos and Cruelty."

Finch thanked the team for allowing him to try out, in particular "Melvin" for showing him the slide (a phenomenon, he said, unknown in the Himalayas), and apologized to catcher Ronn Reynolds for brutalizing his glove hand.

He then gave a gallant wave and walked away, very much alone.

The Curious Case of Sidd Finch

by George Plimpton
Sports Illustrated
April 1, 1985

The secret cannot be kept much longer. Questions are being asked, and sooner rather than later the New York Mets management will have to produce a statement. It may have started unraveling in St. Petersburg, Florida two weeks ago, on March 14th, to be exact, when Mel Stottelmyre, the Met pitching coach, walked over to the 40-odd Met players doing their morning calisthenics at the Payson Field Complex not far from the golf of Mexico, a solitary figure among the pulsation of jumping jacks, and motioned three Mets to step out of the exercise. The three, all good prospects, were John Christensen, a 24-year-old outfielder; Dave Cochrane, a square but muscular switch-hitting third baseman; and Lenny Dykstra, a swift centerfielder who may be the Mets' leading man of the future.

Ordering the three to collect their bats and batting helmets, Stottelmyer led the players to the north end of the complex where a large canvas enclosure had been constructed two weeks before. The rumor was that some irrigation machinery was being installed in an underground pit.

Standing outside the enclosure, Stottelmyer explained what he wanted. "First of all," the coach said, "the club's got kind of a delicate situation here, and it would help if you keep reasonably quiet about it, O.K.?" The three nodded. Stottelmyer said, "We've got a young pitcher we're looking at. We want to see what he'll do with a batter standing in the box. We'll do this alphabetically. John, go on in there, stand at the plate and gave the pitcher a target. That's all you have to do."

"Do you want me to take a cut?" Christensen asked."

Stottelmyre produced a dry chuckle. "You can do anything you want."

Christensen pulled aside a canvas flap and found himself inside a rectangular area about 90 feet long and 30 feet wide, open to the sky, with a home plate set in the ground just in front of him, and down at the far end a pitcher's mound, with a small group of Met front-office personnel standing behind it, facing home plate.

Christensen recognized Nelson Doubleday, the owner of the Mets, and Frank Cashen, wearing a long-billed fishing cap. He had never seen Doubleday at the training facility before.

Christensen bats right-handed. As he stepped around the plate he nodded to Ronn Reynolds, the stocky reserve catcher who had been with the Mets organization since 1980. Reynolds whispered up to him from his crouch, "Kid, you won't believe what you're about to see."

A second flap down by the pitcher's end was drawn open, and a tall, gawky player walked in and stepped up onto the pitcher's mound. He was wearing a small, black fielder's glove on his left hand and was holding a baseball in his right. Christensen had never seen him before. He had blue eyes, Christensen remembers, and a pale, youthful face, with facial muscles that were motionless, like a mask. "You notice it," Christensen explained later, "when a pitcher's jaw isn't working on a chaw or a piece of gum." Then to Christensen's astonishment he saw that the pitcher, pawing at the dirt of the mound to get it smoothed out properly and to his liking, was wearing a heavy hiking boot on his right foot.

Christensen had since been persuaded to describe that first confrontation:

"I'm standing in there to give this guy a target, just waving the bat once or twice out over the plate. He starts his windup. He sways way back, like Juan Marichal, this hiking boot comes clomping over–I thought maybe he was wearing it for balance or something–and he suddenly rears upright like a catapult. The ball is launched from an arm completely straight up and stiff. Before you can blink, the ball is in the catcher's mitt. You hear it crack, and then there's this little bleat from Reynolds."

Christensen said the motion reminded him of the extraordinary contortions that he remembered of Goofy's pitching in one of Walt Disney's cartoon classics.

:I never dreamed a baseball could be thrown that fast. The wrist must have a lot to do with it, and all that leverage. You can hardly see the blur of it as it goes by. As for hitting the thing, frankly, I just don't think it's humanly possible. You could send a blind man up there, and maybe he'd do better hitting at the sound of the thing."

Christensen's opinion was echoed by both Cochrane and Dykstra, who followed him into the enclosure. When each had done his stint, he emerged started and awestruck.

Especially Dykstra. Offering a comparison for Sports Illustrated, he reported that out of curiosity he had once turned up the dials that control the motors of the pitching machine to maximum velocity, thus producing a pitch that went approximately 106 miles per hour. "What I looked at in there," he said motioning toward the enclosure, "was whistling by another third as fast, I swear."

The phenomenon the three young batters faced, and about whom only Reynolds, Stottelmyer, and a few members of the Mets' front office know, is a 28-year-old, somewhat eccentric mystic named Hayden (Sidd) Finch. He may well change the course of baseball history, On St. Patrick's Day, to make sure they were not all victims of crazy hallucinations, the Mets brought in a radar gun to measure the speed of Finch's fastball. The model used was a JUGS Supergun II. It looks like a black space gun with a big snout, weighs about five pounds, and is usually pointed at the pitcher from behind the catcher. A glass plate in the back of the gun shows the pitch's velocity–accurate, so the manufacturer claims, to within plus or minus 1 mph. The figure at the top of the gauge is 200 mph. The fastest projectile ever measured by the JUGS (which is named after the old-timer's descriptive–the "jug-handled" curveball was a Roscoe Tanner serve that registered 153 mph. The highest number that the JUGS had ever turned for a baseball was 103 mph, which it did curiously, twice on one day, July 11, at the 1978 All-Star game when both Goose Gossage and Nolan Ryan threw the ball at that speed. On March 17th, the gun was handled by Stottelmyer. He heard the pop of the ball in Reynolds mitt and the little squeak of pain from the catcher. The astonishing figure 168 appeared on the glass plate. Stottelmyer remembers whistling in amazement, and then he heard Reynolds say, "Don't tell me, Mel. I don't want to know...."

The Met front office is reluctant to talk about Finch. The fact is, they know very little about him. He has had no baseball career. Most of his life has been spent abroad, except for a short period at Harvard University.

The registrar's office at Harvard will release no information about Finch except that in the Spring of 1976 he withdrew from the college in midterm. The alumni records in Harvard's Holyoke Center indicate slightly more. Finch spent his early childhood in an orphanage in Leicester, England and was adopted by a foster parent, the eminent archaeologist Francis Whyte-Finch, who was killed in an airplane crash while on an expedition in the Dhaulagiri mountain area of Nepal. At the time of the tragedy, Finch was in his last year at the Stowe School in Buckingham, England, from which he had been excepted into Harvard. Apparently, though, the boy decide to spend a year in the general of the plane crash in the Himalayas (the plane was never actually found) before he returned to the West and entered Harvard in 1975, dropping for unknown reasons the "Whyte" from his name. Hayden Finch's picture is not in the freshman yearbook. Nor, of course, did he play baseball at Harvard, having departed before the start of the spring season.

His assigned roommate was Henry W. Peterson, class of 1979, now a stockbroker in New York with Dean Witter, who saw very little of Finch. "He was almost never there," Peterson told Sports Illustrated. "I'd wake up morning after morning and look across at his bed, which had a native woven carpet of some sort on it–I have an idea he told me it was made of yak fur–and never had the sense it had been slept in. Maybe he slept on the floor. Actually, my assumption was that he had a girl in Somerville or something, and stayed out there. He had almost no belongings. A knapsack. A bowl he kept on the corner on the floor. A couple of wool shirts, always very clean, and maybe a pair or so of blue jeans. One pair of hiking boots. I always had the feeling he was very bright. He had a French horn in an old case. I don't know much about French-horn music, but he played beautifully. Sometimes he'd play it in the bath. He knew any number of languages. He was so adapt at them that he'd be talking in English, which he spoke in this distinctive singsong way, quite Oriental, and he'd use a phrase like "pied-à-terre" and without it he'd sail along in French for a while until he'd drop in a German word like "angst" and he'd shift to that language. For any kind of sustained conversation you had to hope he wasn't going to use a foreign buzz word–especially out of the Eastern languages he knew, like Sanskrit–because that was the end of it as far as I was concerned."

When Peterson was asked why he felt Finch had left Harvard, he shrugged his shoulder. "I came back one afternoon and everything was gone–the little rug, the horn, the staff....Did I tell you that he had this long kind of shepherd's crook standing in the corner? Actually, there was so little stuff to begin with that it was hard to tell he wasn't there anymore. He left a curious note on the floor. It turned out to be a Zen koan, which is one of those puzzles which cannot be solved by the intellect. It's the famous one about the live goose in the bottle. How do you get the goose out of the bottle without hurting it or breaking the glass? The answer is, 'There, it's out!' I heard from him once, from Egypt. He sent pictures. He was on his way to Tibet to study."

Finch's entry into the world of baseball occurred last July in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, where the Mets' AAA farm club, the Tidewater Tides, was in town playing the Guides. After the first game of the series, Bob Schaefer, the Tides' manager, was strolling back to the hotel. He has very distinct memories of his first meeting with Finch: "I was walking by a park when suddenly this guy–nice-looking kid, clean-shaven, blue jeans, big boots–appears alongside. At first, I think maybe he wants an autograph or to chat about the game, but no, he scrabbles around in a kind of knapsack, gets out a scuffed-up baseball and a small, black leather fielder's mitt that looks like it came out of the back of some Little League kid's closet. This guy says to me, 'I have learned the art of the pitch....' Some odd phrase like that, delivered in a singsong voice, like a chant, kind of what you hear in a Chinese restaurant if there are some Chinese in there.
"I am about to hurry on to the hotel when this kid points out a soda bottle on top of a fence post about the same distance home plate is from the pitcher's rubber. He rears way back, comes around and pops the ball at it. Out there on that fence post the soda bottle explodes. It disintegrates like a rifle bullet hit it–just little specks of vaporized glass in a puff. Beyond the post I could see the ball bouncing across the grass of the park until it stopped about as far away as I can hit a three-wood on a good day.

"I said, very calm, 'Son, would you mind showing me that again?'

"And he did. He disappeared across the park to find the ball–it had gone so far, he was after it for what seemed like 15 minutes. In the meantime I found a tin can from a trash container and set it up for him. He did it again–just kicked that can off the fence like it was hit with a baseball bat. It wasn't the accuracy of the pitch so much that got to me but the speed. It was like the tin can got belted as soon as the ball left the guy's fingertips. Instantaneous. I thought to myself, 'My god, that kid's thrown the ball about 150 mph. Nolan Ryan's fastball is a change-up compared to what this kid just threw.'

"Well, what happens next is that we sit and talk, this kid and I, out there on the grass of the park. He sits with the big boots tucked under his legs, like one of those yoga guys, and he tells me he's not sure he wants to play big league baseball, but he'd like to give it a try. He's never played before, but he knows the rules, even the infield-fly rule, he tells me with a smile, and he knows he can throw a ball with complete accuracy and enormous velocity. He won't tell me how he's done this except that he 'learned it in the mountains, in a place called Po, in Tibet.' That is where he said he had learned to pitch...up in the mountains, flinging rocks and meditating. He told me his name was Hayden Finch, but he wanted to be called Sidd Finch. I said that most of the Sids we had in baseball came from Brooklyn. Or the Bronx. He said his Sidd came from 'Siddhartha,' which means 'Aim Attained' or 'The Perfect Pitch.' That's what he had learned, how to throw the perfect pitch. O.K. by me, I told him, and that's what I put on the scouting report, 'Sidd Finch.' And I mailed it in to the front office."

The reaction in New York once the report arrived was one of complete disbelief. The assumption was that Schaefer was either playing a joke on his superiors or was sending in the figment of a very powerful wish-fulfillment dream. But Schaefer is one of the most respected men in the Met organization. Over the past seven years, the clubs he has managed have one six championships. Dave Johnson, the Met manager, phoned him. Schaefer verified what he had seen in Old Orchard Beach. He told Johnson that sometimes, he too, though he'd had a dream, but he hoped the Mets would send Finch an invitation so that, at the very least, his own mind would be put at rest.

When a rookie is invited to training camp, he gets a packet of instructions in late January. The Mets sent off the usual literature to the address Schaefer had supplied them. To their surprise, Finch wrote back with a number of stipulations. He insisted that he would report to St. Petersburg only with the understanding that: 1) there were no contractual commitments; 2) during off-hours he be allowed to keep completely to himself; 3) he did not wish to be involved in any of the team drills or activities; 4) he would show the Mets his pitching prowess in privacy; 5) the whole operation in St. Petersburg was to be kept as secret as possible, with no press or photographs.

The reason for these requirements–he stated in a letter written (according to a source in the Met front office) in slightly stilted, formal and very polite terminology–was that he had not decided whether he actually wanted to play baseball. He wrote apologetically that there were mental adjustments to be made. He did not want to raise the Mets' expectations, much less those of the fans, and then dash them. Therefore it was best if everything was carried on in secret or, as he put it in his letter, "in camera."

At first, the inclination of the Met front office was to disregard this nonsense out of hand and tell Finch either to apply, himself, through normal procedures or forget it. But the extraordinary statistics in the scouting report and Schaefer's verification of them were too intriguing to ignore. On Feb. 2, Finch's terms were agreed to by letter. Mick McFadyen, the Mets' groundskeeper in St. Petersburg, was ordered to build the canvas enclosure in a far corner of the Payson complex, complete with a pitcher's mound and plate. Reynold's order was about to start.

Reynolds is a sturdy, hardworking catcher (he has been described as looking like a high school football tackle). He has tried to be closed-lipped about Finch but his experiences inside the canvas enclosure have made it difficult for him to resist answering a few questions. He first heard about Finch from the Mets' general manager. "Mr. Cashen called me into his office one day in early March," Reynolds disclosed. "I was nervous because I thought I'd be traded. He was wearing a blue bow tie. He leaned across the desk and whispered to me that it was very likely that I was going to part of baseball history. Big doings! The Mets had this rookie coming to camp and I was going to be his special catcher. All very hush-hush.

"Well, I hope nothing like that guy ever comes down the pike again. The first time I see him is inside the canvas coop, out there on the pitcher's mound, a thin kind getting ready to throw, and I'm thinking he'll want to toss a couple of warm-up pitches. So I'm standing behind the plate without a mask, chest protector, pads or anything, holding my glove up, sort of half-assed, to give him a target to throw at...and suddenly I see this windup like a pretzel going loony, and the next thing, I've been blown two or three feet back, and I'm sitting on the ground with the ball in my glove. My catching hand feels like it's been hit with a sledgehammer."

He was asked: "Does he throw a curveball? A slider? Or a sinker?"

Reynolds grinned and shook his head. "Good questions! Don't ask me."

"Does it make a sound?"

"Yeah, a little pft, pft-boom!"

Stottelmyer has been in direct charge of Finch's pitching regiment. His own playing career ended in the spring of 1975 with a rotator-cuff injury, which makes him especially sensitive to the strain that a pitching motion can put on the arm. Although as closed-lipped as the rest of the staff, Stottelmyer does admit that Finch has developed a completely evolutionary pitching style. He told Sports Illustrated: "I don't understand the mechanics of it. Anyone who tries to throw the ball that way should fall flat on his back. But I've seen it. I've seen it a hundred times. It's the most awesome thing that has ever happened in baseball."

Asked what influences might have contributed to Finch's style and speed, Stottelmyer said, "Well, cricket may have something to do with it. Finch has taken the power and speed of the running throw of the cricket bowler and has somehow harnessed all that energy to the pitching rubber. The wrist snap off that stiff arm is incredible. I haven't talked to him but once or twice. I asked him if he ever thought of snapping the arm, like baseball pitchers, rather than the wrist; It would increase the velocity.

"He replied, very polite, you know, with a little bob of the head: 'I undertake as a rule of training to refrain from injury of living things.'

"He's right of course. It's Ronn Reynolds I feel sorry for. Every time that ball comes in, first you hear this smack sound of the ball driving into the pocket of the mitt, and then you hear this little gasp, this ai yee!–the catcher, poor guy, his whole body shaking like an angina's hit it. It's the most piteous thing I've ever heard, short of a trapped rabbit."

Hayden (Sidd) Finch arrived in St. Petersburg on Feb. 7. Most of the rookies and minor-leaguers stay at the Bridgewater Beach Inn. Assuming that Finch would check in with the rest of the early arrivals, the Mets were surprised when he telephoned and announced that he had leased a room in a small boarding house just off Florida Avenue near a body of water on the bay side called Big Bayou. Because his private pitching compound had been constructed across the city and Finch does not drive, the Mets assigned him a driver, a young Tampa Bay resident, Eliot Posner, who picks him up in the morning and returns him to Florida Avenue or, more often, to a beach on the gulf where, Posner reports, Finch, still in his baseball outfit and carrying his decrepit glove, walks down to the water's edge and, motionless, stares out at the windsurfers. Inevitably, he dismisses Posner and gets back to his boarding house on his own.

The Met management has found out very little about his life in St. Petersburg. Mrs. Roy Butterfield, his landlady reports (as one might expect) that "he lives very simply. Sometimes he comes in the front door, sometimes the back. Sometimes I'm not even sure he spends the night. I think he sleeps on the floor–his bed is always as neat as a pin. He has his own rug, a small little thing. I never have had a boarder who had his own rug. He has a soup bowl. Not much, is what I say. Of course, he plays the French horn. He plays it very beautifully and, thank goodness, softly. The notes fill the house. Sometimes I think the notes are coming out of my television set."

Probably the member of the Met staff who has gotten the closest to Finch is Posner. When Posner returns to the Payson Complex, inevitably someone rushes out from the Mets' offices asking, "Did he say anything? What did he say?"

Posner takes out a notebook.

"Today he said, 'When your mind is empty like a canyon you will know the power of the Way,'"

"Anything else?"

"No."

While somewhat taxed by Finch's obvious eccentricities, and with the exception of the obvious burden on the catchers, the Mets, it seems, have an extraordinary property in their camp. But the problem is no one is sure if Finch really wants to play. He has yet to make up his mind; his only appearances are in the canvas enclosure. Reynolds moans in despair when he is told Finch has arrived. Sometimes his ordeal is short-lived. After Finch nods politely at Reynolds and calls down "Namas-te!" (which means "greetings" in Sanskrit), he throws only four or five of the terrifying pitches before, with a gentle smile, he announces "Namas-te!" (it also means "farewell") and gets into the car to be driven away.

One curious manifestation of Finch's reluctance to commit himself entirely to baseball has been his refusal to wear a complete baseball uniform. Because he changes in his rooming house, no one is quite sure what he will be wearing when he steps through the canvas flap into the enclosure. One afternoon he turned up sporting a tie hanging down over the logo on his jersey, and occasionally–as Christensen noticed–he wears a hiking boot on his right foot. Always, he wears his baseball cap back to front–the conjecture among the Met officials is that this sartorial behavior is an indication of his ambivalence about baseball.

In hopes of understanding more about him, in early March the Mets called in a specialist in Eastern religion, Dr. Timothy Burns, the author of, among other treatises, Satori, or Four Years in a Tibetan Lamasery. Not allowed to speak personally with Finch for fear of "Spooking him," Burns was able only to speculate about the Mets' newest player.

According to sources from within the Met organization, Burns told a meeting of the cub's top brass that the strange ballplayer in their midst was very likely a trapas, or aspirant monk.

A groan is said to have gone up from Nelson Doubleday. Burns said that Finch was almost surely a disciple of Tibet's great poet-saint Lama Milaraspa, who was born in the 11th century and died in the shadow of Mount Everest. Burns told them that Milaraspa was a great yogi who could manifest an astonishing phenomenon: He could produce "internal heat," which allowed him to survive snowstorms in the intense cold, wearing only a thin robe of white cotton. Finch does something similar–an apparent deflection of the huge forces of the universe into throwing a baseball with bewildering accuracy and speed through the process and siddhi, namely the yogic mastery of mind-body. He mentioned that The Book of Changes, the 1 Ching, suggests that all acts (even throwing a baseball) are connected with the highest spiritual yearnings. Utilizing the Tantric principle of body and mind, Finch has decide to pitch baseballs–at least for a while.

The Mets pressed Burns. Was there any chance that Finch would come to his sense and commit himself to baseball?

"There's a chance," Burns told them. "You will remember that the Buddha himself, after what is called the Great Renunciation, finally realized that even in the most severe austerities–though he conquered lust and fear and acquired a great deal of self-knowledge–truth itself could not necessarily be found. So after fasting for six years he decided to eat again."

Reached by Sports Illustrated at the University of Maryland, where he was lecturing last week, Burns was less sanguine. "The biggest problem Finch has with baseball," he said over the phone, "is that nirvana, which is the state all Buddhists wish to reach, means literally 'the blowing out'–specifically the purifying of oneself of greed, hatred, and delusion. Baseball," Burns went on, "is symbolized to a remarkable degree by those very three aspects: greed (huge money contracts, stealing second base, robbing a guy of a base hit, charging for a seat behind an iron pillar, etc.), hatred (players dispising management, pitchers hating hitters, the Cubs detesting the Mets, etc.) and delusion (the slider, the pitchout, the hidden-ball trick and so forth). So you can see why it is not easy for Finch to give himself up to a way of life so opposite to what he has been led to cherish."

Burns is more puzzled by Finch's absorption with the French horn. He suspects that in Tibet Finch may have learned to play the rkang-gling, a Tibetan horn made of human thighbones, or perhaps even the Tibetan long trumpet, the dung-chen, whose sonorous bellowing in those vast Himalayan defiles is somewhat echoed in the lower registers of the French horn.

The Met inner circle believes that Finch's problem may be that he cannot decide between baseball and a career as a horn player. In early March the club contacted Bob Johnson, who plays the horn and is the artistic director of the distinguished New York Philomusica ensemble, and asked him to come to St. Petersburg. Johnson was asked to make a clandestine assessment of Finch's ability as a horn player and, even more important, to make contact with him. The idea was that, while praising him for the quality of his horn playing, Johnson should try to persuade him that the lot of a French horn player (even a very fine one) was not a very gainful one. Perhaps that would tip the scales in favor of baseball.

Johnson came down to St. Petersburg and hung around Florida Avenue for a week. He reported later to Sports Illustrated: "I was being paid for it, so it wasn't bad. I spent a lot of time looking up, so I'd get a nice suntan. Every once in a while I saw Finch coming in and out of the rooming house, dressed to play baseball and carrying the funny-looking black glove. Then one night I heard the French horn. He was playing it in his room. I have heard many great horn players in my career–Bruno Jaenicke, who played for Toscanini; Dennis Brain, the great British virtuoso; Anton Horner of the Philadelphia Orchestra–and I would say Finch was on a par with them. He was playing Benjamine Breitten's Serenade, for tenor horn and strings–a haunting, tender piece that provides great space for the player–when suddenly he produces a big, evocative bwong sound that seemed to shiver the leaves of the trees. Then he shifted to the rondo theme from the trio for violin, piano and horn by Brahms–just sensational. It may have had something to do with the Florida evening and a mild wind coming in over Big Bayou and tree frogs, but it was remarkable. I told this to the Mets, and they immediately sent me home–presuming, I guess, that I was going to hire the guy. That's not far fetched. He can play for the Philomusica anytime."

Meanwhile, the Mets are trying other ways to get Finch into a more positive frame of mind about baseball. Inquiries among American lamaseries (there are more than 100 Buddhist societies in the U.S.) have been quietly initiated in the hope of finding monks or priests who are serious baseball fans and who might persuade Finch that the two religions (Buddhism and baseball) are compatible. One plan is to get him into a movie theater to watch The Natural, the mystical film about baseball, starring Robert Redford. Another film suggested is the baseball classic It Happens Every Spring, starring Ray Milland as a chemist who, by chance, discovers a compound that avoids wood; when applied to a baseball in the film, it makes Milland as effective a pitcher as Finch is in real life.

Conversations with Finch himself have apparently been exercises if futility. All conventional inducements–huge contracts, advertising tie-ins, the banquet circuit, ticker-tape parades, having his picture on a Topps bubble-gum card, chatting on Kiner's Korner (The Mets' postgame TV show) and so forth–mean little to him. As do the perks ("You are very kind to offer me a Suzuki motorcycle, but I cannot drive"). He has very politely declined whatever opportunities the Mets have offered. The struggle is an absolutely internal one. He will resolve it. Last week he announced that he would let the management know what he was going to do on or around April 1.

Met manager Davey Johnson has seen Finch throw about half a dozen pitches. He was impressed ("If he didn't have this great control, he'd be like the Terminator out there. Hell, that fastball, if off-target on the inside, would carry a batters kneecap back into the catcher's mitt"), but he is leaving the situation to the front office. "I can handle the pitching rotation; let them handle the monk." He has had one last meeting with Finch. "I was going to ask him if we could at least give him a decent fielder's mitt. I asked him why he was so attached to the piece of rag he was using. 'It is,' the guy told me, 'the only one I have.' Actually, I don't see why he needs a better one. All he will ever need it for is to catch the ball for next pitch. So then I said to him, 'There's only one thing I can offer you, Finch, and that's a fair shake."

According to Jay Horwitz, the Mets' public relations man, Finch smiled at the offer of the fair shake and nodded his head politely–perhaps because it was the only nonmaterial offer made. It did not encroach on Finch's ideas about the renunciation of worldly goods. It was an ingenious, if perhaps unintentional, move on the manager's part.

Nelson Doubleday is especially hopeful about Finch's ultimate decision. "I think we'll bring him around," he said a few days ago. "After all, the guy's not a nut, he's a Harvard man."

In the meantime, the Mets can only wait. Finch periodically turns up at the enclosure. Reynolds is summoned. There are no drills. Sometimes Finch throws for five minutes, instantly at top speed, often for half an hour. Then he leaves. Security around the enclosure has been tight. Since Finch has not signed with the Mets, he is technically a free agent and a potential find for another club. The curious, even Met players, are politely shooed away from the Payson Field enclosure. So far Finch's only association with Met players (other than Reynolds) has been a brief confrontation with Christensen, Cochrane and Dykstra when the front office nervously decided to test his control with a batter standing in the box. If he decides to play baseball, he will leave his private world of the canvas enclosure and join Johnson and the rest of the squad. For the first time Gary Carter, the Mets' regular catcher, will face the smoke of the Finch pitch, and the other pitchers will stand around and gawk. The press will have a field day ("How do you spell Siddhartha? How do you grip the ball? How do you keep your balance on the mound?"). The Mets will try to protect him from the glare and help him through the most dramatic of culture shocks, praying that in the process he will not revert and one day disappear.

Actually, the presence of Hayden (Sidd) Finch in the Mets' training camp raises a number of interesting questions. Suppose the Mets (and Finch himself) can assuage and resolve his mental reservations about playing baseball; supposed he is signed to a contract (one wonders what an ascetic whose major possessions are a bowl, small rug, a long stick and a French horn might demand); and suppose he comes to New York's Shea stadium to open up the season against the St. Louis Cardinals on April 9. It does not matter that he has never taken a fielding drill with his teammates. Presumably he will mow down the opposition in a perfect game. Perhaps Willie McGee will get a foul tip. Suppose Johnson discovers that the extraordinary symbiotic relationship of mind and matter is indefatigable–that Finch can pitch day after day at this blinding, unhittable speed. What will happen to Dwight Gooden? Will Gary Carter and the backup catchers last the season? What will it do to major league baseball as it is known today?

Peter Ueberroth, baseball's new commissioner, was contacted by Sports Illustrated in his New York office. He was asked if he had heard anything about the Mets' new phenomenon.

No, he had not. He had heard some rumors about the Mets' camp this spring, but nothing specific.

Did the name Hayden (Sidd) Finch mean anything to him?

Nope.

The commissioner was told that the Mets had a kid who could throw the ball over 150 mph. Unhittable.

Ueberroth took a minute before he asked, "Roll that by me again?"

He was told in as much detail as could be provided about what was going on within the canvas enclosure of the Payson compound. It was possible that an absolute superpitcher was coming into baseball–so remarkable that the delicate balance between pitcher and batter could be turned into disarray. What was baseball going to do about it?

"Well, before any decisions. I'll tell you something," the commissioner finally said, echoing what may very well be a nationwide sentiment this coming season. "I'll have to see it to believe it!"

My Racing Mind

Sakyong sends message to entire mandala on the golden path of Shambhala in the dark age

This is a very difficult time. The upheavals in the financial world are causing widespread distress, as are fears about climate change, intensified political polarization, and rising aggression. It is what the Shambhala teachings call a dark age. We experience the darkness as confusion, unhappiness, and lack of purpose.

It was for times like these that the Buddha gave the teachings on enlightened society to King Dawa Sango, the first sovereign of Shambhala. At present, the truth of those teachings is very clear. For a society to be truly harmonious, it cannot be based on greed and anger. When we understand this, we see that what is happening around us is literally caused by the absence of Shambhala vision.

Uplifting our minds and increasing our life-force energy begins with that
vision. So I am asking all of you, as citizens of Shambhala, to rise to this occasion.

First, take these precious teachings to heart and practice them. That includes meditating for a short period every day to stabilize your mind and generate compassion. Contemplate your unshakeable karmic connection to the Shambhala lineage and reflect on your nature as the profound, brilliant Rigden.

Second, see fear for what it is: a lack of trust in your genuine being, which naturally radiates compassion and kindness. Take the big view of what is most important in this and future lifetimes: to become stronger and more realized in order to help others. Take care of yourselves, but don't hide behind the false security of self-protection. From the ground of basic goodness, open your heart and serve others.

Third, be generous. This is not a time to close down or hold on, but to offer from the natural well-spring of generosity. Be generous with those you love, but also with those you are tempted to blame or dislike. Be generous, too, within our mandala, which needs your support more than ever to proclaim the glory of Shambhala.

Practicing, serving, and giving: this is the path of the warrior bodhisattva. It is both transcendent and earthy. When we orient our minds this way, we are creating a sustainable environment. The wealth that it generates is inexhaustible.

I love you and am with you as we tread this golden path together.

The Sakyong, Jamgon Mipham Rinpoche

(This announcement was from the Shambhala News Service)

Compassionate leadership dialogues draw large audiences in New York and Boston

ik - a relevant bite from the Shambhala 'wire'

Oct 4, 2008

Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, Queen Noor of Jordan and Rabbi Irwin Kula took their message of compassionate leadership to packed audiences in New York and Boston last week, in the midst of growing turmoil in the financial world.

They began in the headquarters of Goldman Sachs, one of the most prominent New York-based financial investment companies, addressing some 250 executives and staff.

"We are meeting here at a very poignant time," the Sakyong told a capacity audience in the Goldman Sachs offices which filmed the event for broadcast to their other locations worldwide. "The world right now is becoming more aggressive, more self-centred. Everyone thinks an aggressive leader will accomplish what they want in the short term. But I believe leadership is something that is much more long term, and that is where peace and non-aggression come in."

Rabbi Kula, described by Newsweek magazine as one of the top 50 influential rabbis in America, challenged the notion that the leader is "someone else in the room". "What leadership does," he said, "is create an environment in which we face up to our problems and recognize our own role in having constructed the very falling apart we are experiencing."

Queen Noor of Jordan, known for her international humanitarian activities and for speaking out for human rights, spoke of peace efforts in the Middle East and Northern Ireland. She said concern for the next generation had inspired those searching for peace. "What are we doing for the next generation?" she asked. "What are we going to leave the next generation?"

Describing a ground-breaking gesture by her late husband, King Hussein, she said, "By leading from his heart, he opened up cracks among the most hardliners. They saw his humanity at a time when both sides were polarized."

"What kind of future are we going to build if we cannot feel each other's grief", she asked, "and one day, God willing, share each other's victory?"

The three also spoke to more than 900 students, faculty and members of the public at New York University that evening and went on to a third large event at Tufts University in Boston. Both gatherings were hosted by the presidents of the universities.

To view the webcast of the The New York University event, please click here or go to http://www.vivapeace.org/.

To view a selection of photos from the events, please click here.

These public dialogues also inaugurated a new website, vivapeace.org, which reflects the Sakyong's wish to engage a wider youth audience in the search for peace. To visit, please click here.

A short film of the three events, made for Shambhala, will be posted soon.

(This announcement was from the Shambhala News Service)

Stream of Thoughts

Another great quote from Tricycle's Daily Dharma

We tend to be particularly unaware that we are thinking virtually all the time. The incessant stream of thoughts flowing through our minds leaves us very little respite for inner quiet. And we leave precious little room for ourselves anyway just to be, without having to run around doing things all the time. Our actions are all too frequently driven rather than undertaken in awareness, driven by those perfectly ordinary thoughts and impulses that run through the mind like a coursing river, if not a waterfall. We get caught up in the torrent and it winds up submerging our lives as it carries us to places we may not wish to go and may not even realize we are headed for.

Meditation means learning how to get out of this current, sit by its bank and listen to it, learn from it, and then use its energies to guide us rather than to tyrannize us. This process doesn’t magically happen by itself. It takes energy. We call the effort to cultivate our ability to be in the present moment “practice” or “meditation practice.”

-- Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are

From Everyday Mind, a Tricycle book edited by Jean Smith

I'm No Good at This...

From Tricycle's Daily Dharma

When you dwell in stillness, the judging mind can come through like a foghorn. "I don't like the pain in my knee... This is boring...I like this feeling of stillness; I had a good meditation yesterday, but today I'm having a bad meditation... It's not working for me. I'm no good at this. I'm no good, period..."

This type of thinking dominates the mind and weighs it down. It's like carrying around a suitcase full of rocks on your head. It feels good to put it down. Imagine how it might feel to suspend all your judging and instead to let each moment be just as it is, without attempting to evaluate it as "good" or "bad." This would be a true stillness, a true liberation. Meditation means cultivating a non-judging attitude toward what comes up in the mind, come what may.

--Jon Kabat-Zinn, from Wherever You Go, There You Are

Vajrasattva

No Room For Compromise

Wow!

No Room For Compromise

In spiritual life there is no room for compromise. Awakening is not negotiable; we cannot bargain to hold on to things that please us while relinquishing things that do not matter to us. A lukewarm yearning for awakening is not enough to sustain us through the difficulties involved in letting go. It is important to understand that anything that can be lost was never truly ours, anything that we deeply cling to only imprisons us.

--Christina Feldman and Jack Kornfield, Stories of the Spirit, Stories of the Heart

from Everyday Mind, a Tricycle book edited by Jean Smith

Happy Shambhala Day!

Today marks the first day of the New Year in the Lunar, and thus Tibetan, calendar. Those of us who follow the Shambhala Path are today turning the page from the Year of the Fire Pig to the Year of the Earth Mouse. Today I'll be hanging out with some of the others in the local sangha, listening to a message from the Sakyong and, then, share a meal. Hopefully the meal will be neither pig nor mouse.

Today also marks the official end to the 100 Days of Sitting challenge I took part in. And boy is my butt tired! ;-) All in all, I did well, although there were a few days I missed. Oddly enough, it was most difficult to find the time to sit during the holidays. Does that make sense? I'll probably commit to another 100 days - or even a year - after today. It's a great way to develop discipline.

In any event, to my fellow Shambhalians, Happy Shambhala Day, and to my fellow Buddhists, Happy New Year! And to everyone, what a great way to start fresh!

Radio Interview with Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche

The recent interview with Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche on CBC Radio One's Tapestry can be found here.

Enjoy! It's nice to hear the Sakyong speaking in conversation.

Buddhist Economics

Following the events of September 11, 2001, the E. F. Schumacher Society received requests from around the world to reprint "Buddhist Economics," Fritz Schumacher's classic essay widely understood as a call for an economics of peace. In the essay Schumacher imagines a multitude of vibrant, self-sufficient villages which, from their secure sense of community and place, work together in peace and cooperation.

In December of 2001 Mrs. Vreni Schumacher, who holds the copyright to her late husband's works, kindly extended permission to the E. F. Schumacher Society to make the essay available electronically along with its translations. (See the publication history of "Buddhist Economics.") Since then Schumacher Society staff has worked with translators and publishers to gather material to add to this on-line collection. "Buddhist Economics" is included below in its original English version and in its multiple translations in recognition of the universality of its vision. Please share these translations widely with the courtesy of full credit to their source.

________________________

Buddhist Economics
by E. F. Schumacher

"Right Livelihood" is one of the requirements of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path. It is clear, therefore, that there must be such a thing as Buddhist economics.

Buddhist countries have often stated that they wish to remain faithful to their heritage. So Burma: “The New Burma sees no conflict between religious values and economic progress. Spiritual health and material well-being are not enemies: they are natural allies.” ¹ Or: “We can blend successfully the religious and spiritual values of our heritage with the benefits of modern technology.” ² Or: “We Burmans have a sacred duty to conform both our dreams and our acts to our faith. This we shall ever do.” ³

All the same, such countries invariably assume that they can model their economic development plans in accordance with modern economics, and they call upon modern economists from so-called advanced countries to advise them, to formulate the policies to be pursued, and to construct the grand design for development, the Five-Year Plan or whatever it may be called. No one seems to think that a Buddhist way of life would call for Buddhist economics, just as the modern materialist way of life has brought forth modern economics.

Economists themselves, like most specialists, normally suffer from a kind of metaphysical blindness, assuming that theirs is a science of absolute and invariable truths, without any presuppositions. Some go as far as to claim that economic laws are as free from "metaphysics" or "values" as the law of gravitation. We need not, however, get involved in arguments of methodology. Instead, let us take some fundamentals and see what they look like when viewed by a modern economist and a Buddhist economist.

There is universal agreement that a fundamental source of wealth is human labour. Now, the modern economist has been brought up to consider "labour" or work as little more than a necessary evil. From the point of view of the employer, it is in any case simply an item of cost, to be reduced to a minimum if it can not be eliminated altogether, say, by automation. From the point of view of the workman, it is a "disutility"; to work is to make a sacrifice of one’s leisure and comfort, and wages are a kind of compensation for the sacrifice. Hence the ideal from the point of view of the employer is to have output without employees, and the ideal from the point of view of the employee is to have income without employment.

The consequences of these attitudes both in theory and in practice are, of course, extremely far-reaching. If the ideal with regard to work is to get rid of it, every method that "reduces the work load" is a good thing. The most potent method, short of automation, is the so-called "division of labour" and the classical example is the pin factory eulogised in Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations. ⁴ Here it is not a matter of ordinary specialisation, which mankind has practiced from time immemorial, but of dividing up every complete process of production into minute parts, so that the final product can be produced at great speed without anyone having had to contribute more than a totally insignificant and, in most cases, unskilled movement of his limbs.

The Buddhist point of view takes the function of work to be at least threefold: to give man a chance to utilise and develop his faculties; to enable him to overcome his ego-centredness by joining with other people in a common task; and to bring forth the goods and services needed for a becoming existence. Again, the consequences that flow from this view are endless. To organise work in such a manner that it becomes meaningless, boring, stultifying, or nerve-racking for the worker would be little short of criminal; it would indicate a greater concern with goods than with people, an evil lack of compassion and a soul-destroying degree of attachment to the most primitive side of this worldly existence. Equally, to strive for leisure as an alternative to work would be considered a complete misunderstanding of one of the basic truths of human existence, namely that work and leisure are complementary parts of the same living process and cannot be separated without destroying the joy of work and the bliss of leisure.

From the Buddhist point of view, there are therefore two types of mechanisation which must be clearly distinguished: one that enhances a man’s skill and power and one that turns the work of man over to a mechanical slave, leaving man in a position of having to serve the slave. How to tell the one from the other? “The craftsman himself,” says Ananda Coomaraswamy, a man equally competent to talk about the modern West as the ancient East, “can always, if allowed to, draw the delicate distinction between the machine and the tool. The carpet loom is a tool, a contrivance for holding warp threads at a stretch for the pile to be woven round them by the craftsmen’s fingers; but the power loom is a machine, and its significance as a destroyer of culture lies in the fact that it does the essentially human part of the work.” ⁵ It is clear, therefore, that Buddhist economics must be very different from the economics of modern materialism, since the Buddhist sees the essence of civilisation not in a multiplication of wants but in the purification of human character. Character, at the same time, is formed primarily by a man’s work. And work, properly conducted in conditions of human dignity and freedom, blesses those who do it and equally their products. The Indian philosopher and economist J. C. Kumarappa sums the matter up as follows:

If the nature of the work is properly appreciated and applied, it will stand in the same relation to the higher faculties as food is to the physical body. It nourishes and enlivens the higher man and urges him to produce the best he is capable of. It directs his free will along the proper course and disciplines the animal in him into progressive channels. It furnishes an excellent background for man to display his scale of values and develop his personality. ⁶

If a man has no chance of obtaining work he is in a desperate position, not simply because he lacks an income but because he lacks this nourishing and enlivening factor of disciplined work which nothing can replace. A modern economist may engage in highly sophisticated calculations on whether full employment "pays" or whether it might be more "economic" to run an economy at less than full employment so as to insure a greater mobility of labour, a better stability of wages, and so forth. His fundamental criterion of success is simply the total quantity of goods produced during a given period of time. “If the marginal urgency of goods is low,” says Professor Galbraith in The Affluent Society, “then so is the urgency of employing the last man or the last million men in the labour force.” ⁷And again: “If . . . we can afford some unemployment in the interest of stability—a proposition, incidentally, of impeccably conservative antecedents—then we can afford to give those who are unemployed the goods that enable them to sustain their accustomed standard of living.”

From a Buddhist point of view, this is standing the truth on its head by considering goods as more important than people and consumption as more important than creative activity. It means shifting the emphasis from the worker to the product of work, that is, from the human to the subhuman, a surrender to the forces of evil. The very start of Buddhist economic planning would be a planning for full employment, and the primary purpose of this would in fact be employment for everyone who needs an "outside" job: it would not be the maximisation of employment nor the maximisation of production. Women, on the whole, do not need an "outside" job, and the large-scale employment of women in offices or factories would be considered a sign of serious economic failure. In particular, to let mothers of young children work in factories while the children run wild would be as uneconomic in the eyes of a Buddhist economist as the employment of a skilled worker as a soldier in the eyes of a modern economist.

While the materialist is mainly interested in goods, the Buddhist is mainly interested in liberation. But Buddhism is "The Middle Way" and therefore in no way antagonistic to physical well-being. It is not wealth that stands in the way of liberation but the attachment to wealth; not the enjoyment of pleasurable things but the craving for them. The keynote of Buddhist economics, therefore, is simplicity and non-violence. From an economist’s point of view, the marvel of the Buddhist way of life is the utter rationality of its pattern—amazingly small means leading to extraordinarily satisfactory results.

For the modern economist this is very difficult to understand. He is used to measuring the "standard of living" by the amount of annual consumption, assuming all the time that a man who consumes more is "better off" than a man who consumes less. A Buddhist economist would consider this approach excessively irrational: since consumption is merely a means to human well-being, the aim should be to obtain the maximum of well-being with the minimum of consumption. Thus, if the purpose of clothing is a certain amount of temperature comfort and an attractive appearance, the task is to attain this purpose with the smallest possible effort, that is, with the smallest annual destruction of cloth and with the help of designs that involve the smallest possible input of toil. The less toil there is, the more time and strength is left for artistic creativity. It would be highly uneconomic, for instance, to go in for complicated tailoring, like the modern West, when a much more beautiful effect can be achieved by the skillful draping of uncut material. It would be the height of folly to make material so that it should wear out quickly and the height of barbarity to make anything ugly, shabby, or mean. What has just been said about clothing applies equally to all other human requirements. The ownership and the consumption of goods is a means to an end, and Buddhist economics is the systematic study of how to attain given ends with the minimum means.

Modern economics, on the other hand, considers consumption to be the sole end and purpose of all economic activity, taking the factors of production—and, labour, and capital—as the means. The former, in short, tries to maximise human satisfactions by the optimal pattern of consumption, while the latter tries to maximise consumption by the optimal pattern of productive effort. It is easy to see that the effort needed to sustain a way of life which seeks to attain the optimal pattern of consumption is likely to be much smaller than the effort needed to sustain a drive for maximum consumption. We need not be surprised, therefore, that the pressure and strain of living is very much less in say, Burma, than it is in the United States, in spite of the fact that the amount of labour-saving machinery used in the former country is only a minute fraction of the amount used in the latter.

Simplicity and non-violence are obviously closely related. The optimal pattern of consumption, producing a high degree of human satisfaction by means of a relatively low rate of consumption, allows people to live without great pressure and strain and to fulfill the primary injunction of Buddhist teaching: “Cease to do evil; try to do good.” As physical resources are everywhere limited, people satisfying their needs by means of a modest use of resources are obviously less likely to be at each other’s throats than people depending upon a high rate of use. Equally, people who live in highly self-sufficient local communities are less likely to get involved in large-scale violence than people whose existence depends on world-wide systems of trade.

From the point of view of Buddhist economics, therefore, production from local resources for local needs is the most rational way of economic life, while dependence on imports from afar and the consequent need to produce for export to unknown and distant peoples is highly uneconomic and justifiable only in exceptional cases and on a small scale. Just as the modern economist would admit that a high rate of consumption of transport services between a man’s home and his place of work signifies a misfortune and not a high standard of life, so the Buddhist would hold that to satisfy human wants from faraway sources rather than from sources nearby signifies failure rather than success. The former tends to take statistics showing an increase in the number of ton/miles per head of the population carried by a country’s transport system as proof of economic progress, while to the latter—the Buddhist economist—the same statistics would indicate a highly undesirable deterioration in the pattern of consumption.

Another striking difference between modern economics and Buddhist economics arises over the use of natural resources. Bertrand de Jouvenel, the eminent French political philosopher, has characterised "Western man" in words which may be taken as a fair description of the modern economist:

He tends to count nothing as an expenditure, other than human effort; he does not seem to mind how much mineral matter he wastes and, far worse, how much living matter he destroys. He does not seem to realize at all that human life is a dependent part of an ecosystem of many different forms of life. As the world is ruled from towns where men are cut off from any form of life other than human, the feeling of belonging to an ecosystem is not revived. This results in a harsh and improvident treatment of things upon which we ultimately depend, such as water and trees. ⁸

The teaching of the Buddha, on the other hand, enjoins a reverent and non-violent attitude not only to all sentient beings but also, with great emphasis, to trees. Every follower of the Buddha ought to plant a tree every few years and look after it until it is safely established, and the Buddhist economist can demonstrate without difficulty that the universal observation of this rule would result in a high rate of genuine economic development independent of any foreign aid. Much of the economic decay of southeast Asia (as of many other parts of the world) is undoubtedly due to a heedless and shameful neglect of trees.

Modern economics does not distinguish between renewable and non-renewable materials, as its very method is to equalise and quantify everything by means of a money price. Thus, taking various alternative fuels, like coal, oil, wood, or water-power: the only difference between them recognised by modern economics is relative cost per equivalent unit. The cheapest is automatically the one to be preferred, as to do otherwise would be irrational and "uneconomic." From a Buddhist point of view, of course, this will not do; the essential difference between non-renewable fuels like coal and oil on the one hand and renewable fuels like wood and water-power on the other cannot be simply overlooked. Non-renewable goods must be used only if they are indispensable, and then only with the greatest care and the most meticulous concern for conservation. To use them heedlessly or extravagantly is an act of violence, and while complete non-violence may not be attainable on this earth, there is nonetheless an ineluctable duty on man to aim at the ideal of non-violence in all he does.

Just as a modern European economist would not consider it a great achievement if all European art treasures were sold to America at attractive prices, so the Buddhist economist would insist that a population basing its economic life on non-renewable fuels is living parasitically, on capital instead of income. Such a way of life could have no permanence and could therefore be justified only as a purely temporary expedient. As the world’s resources of non-renewable fuels—coal, oil, and natural gas—are exceedingly unevenly distributed over the globe and undoubtedly limited in quantity, it is clear that their exploitation at an ever-increasing rate is an act of violence against nature which must almost inevitably lead to violence between men.

This fact alone might give food for thought even to those people in Buddhist countries who care nothing for the religious and spiritual values of their heritage and ardently desire to embrace the materialism of modern economics at the fastest possible speed. Before they dismiss Buddhist economics as nothing better than a nostalgic dream, they might wish to consider whether the path of economic development outlined by modern economics is likely to lead them to places where they really want to be. Towards the end of his courageous book The Challenge of Man’s Future, Professor Harrison Brown of the California Institute of Technology gives the following appraisal:

Thus we see that, just as industrial society is fundamentally unstable and subject to reversion to agrarian existence, so within it the conditions which offer individual freedom are unstable in their ability to avoid the conditions which impose rigid organisation and totalitarian control. Indeed, when we examine all the foreseeable difficulties which threaten the survival of industrial civilisation, it is difficult to see how the achievement of stability and the maintenance of individual liberty can be made compatible. ⁹

Even if this were dismissed as a long-term view there is the immediate question of whether "modernisation," as currently practised without regard to religious and spiritual values, is actually producing agreeable results. As far as the masses are concerned, the results appear to be disastrous—a collapse of the rural economy, a rising tide of unemployment in town and country, and the growth of a city proletariat without nourishment for either body or soul.

It is in the light of both immediate experience and long term prospects that the study of Buddhist economics could be recommended even to those who believe that economic growth is more important than any spiritual or religious values. For it is not a question of choosing between "modern growth" and "traditional stagnation." It is a question of finding the right path of development, the Middle Way between materialist heedlessness and traditionalist immobility, in short, of finding "Right Livelihood."

Endnotes

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The essay "Buddhist Economics" was first published in Asia: A Handbook, edited by Guy Wint, published by Anthony Blond Ltd., London, 1966. In 1973 it was collected with other essays by Ernest Friedrich Schumacher in Small Is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered. The book has been translated into 27 different languages and in 1995 was named by the London Times Literary Supplement as one of the hundred most influential books written after World War II.

In December of 2001, Mrs. Vreni Schumacher and Hartley and Marks Publishers kindly extended permission to include "Buddhist Economics" in the pamphlet, An Economics of Peace, available from the E. F. Schumacher Society, 140 Jug End Road, Great Barrington, MA 01230 USA, (413) 528-1737, www.smallisbeautiful.org.

Don't Waste Your Time!

“Being human is a precious situation, and we shouldn't waste time
in useless activities.”

— Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche

The Dalai Lama on Religion vs. Spirituality

About once a week, I am confronted in some form or another by the question of whether Buddhism is a religion or not. Lots of people who, I think, assume that it is, and so get nervous and stay away from it and anyone who seems to practice it. My feeling is that Buddhism isn't a religion really, but a spiritual practice of some sort. I should have known that the Dalai Lama would be much more articulate about this than some dude from the Outaouais.

I believe there is an important distinction to be made between religion and spirituality. Religion I take to be concerned with belief in the claims to salvation of one faith tradition or another--an aspect of which is acceptance of some form of meta-physical or philosophical reality, including perhaps an idea of heaven or hell. Connected with this are religious teachings or dogma, ritual, prayers and so on. Spirituality I take to be concerned with those qualities of the human spirit--such as love and compassion, patience, tolerance, forgiveness, contentment, a sense of responsibility, a sense of harmony, which bring happiness to both self and others.

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama

From "The Pocket Dalai Lama," edited by Mary Craig, 2002.

The Sword of Wisdom

	Let go of body and mind, until you reach a state of great rest, like letting go over a cliff ten miles high, being like open space. And don't produce representations of discriminations of random thoughts arising and passing away; the moment a view sticks in your mind, use the sword of wisdom to cut it right off, not letting it continue.

I like this quote....

Burmese monks 'to be sent away'

Thousands of monks detained in Burma's main city of Rangoon will be sent to prisons in the far north of the country, sources have told the BBC. About 4,000 monks have been rounded up in the past week as the military government has tried to stamp out pro-democracy protests. They are being held at a disused race course and a technical college.

Sources from a government-sponsored militia said they would soon be moved away from Rangoon. The monks have been disrobed and shackled, the sources told BBC radio's Burmese service. There are reports that the monks are refusing to eat. The country has seen almost two weeks of sustained popular unrest, in the most serious challenge to the military leadership for more than two decades.

The authorities said 10 people were killed as the protests were dispersed, though diplomats and activists say the number of dead was many times higher. The banned opposition broadcaster Democratic Voice of Burma has issued a picture which they say shows the body of a monk floating near the mouth of the Rangoon river.

Last week several monasteries were raided, and there were reports of monks being beaten and killed. Now, with many monks behind bars, the demonstrations have now died down.

On Monday, the centre of Rangoon was almost back to normal, a reporter, who cannot be identified for security reasons, told the BBC. Most shops and temples have reopened and people appear to be getting on with their lives. But there seemed to be a group of soldiers around every corner, and very few monks about, the reporter said. Their eyes are on the international community, their only hope is that the world will see their plight and help them.

This is notable in a city where monks can usually be spotted going in and out of temples, shopping at street stalls and chatting in tea shops.

The atmosphere in Rangoon is tense, the reporter said. Local people are well aware that the monks have been locked away and are afraid that they will be next. The crackdown, in which unarmed protesters were beaten, tear-gassed, and shot at, has attracted condemnation from abroad, and even from Burma's neighbours in the Association of South East Asian Nations (Asean).

As well as preventing the demonstrations, the military junta has tried to block news of the unrest filtering out. Troops are stopping young men on the streets and in cars, searching for cameras that may be used to smuggle out images.

Most internet links are still down and mobile phone networks disrupted. Official media has been warning Burmese people against co-operating with or using foreign news outlets. A TV message on Monday referred to the BBC, Voice of America and Radio Free Asia as "assassins on air".

UN special envoy Ibrahim Gambari was set to meet Burma's military leader General Than Shwe on Tuesday, officials said. On Saturday, when Mr Gambari travelled to the new capital Naypidaw, he was allowed to meet only more junior members of the government. On Sunday, Mr Gambari held talks with detained opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi in Rangoon - the first foreigner to be permitted to do so for 10 months.

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Naked Buddhism

About David Deida's book Naked Buddhism...


The two become one in Naked Buddhism.

David Deida is not a Buddhist. Although naked awareness is the main practice in the Dzogchen tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. David says this book is more of a deep bow to the bare essence of Buddhism.

He is seeking to build bridges from ancient wisdom to modern thought. Naked Buddhism is more poetic than religious. Luminous prose glides across page after page condensing at times into a subtle truth or vibrant revelation.

Each chapter presents a way to awaken to a bare openness. "Open" is a word used frequently and at first I had trouble understanding exactly what the author was trying to get across. It seemed mysterious and all encompassing.

"Your life is adorned with various gains and losses, pleasures and pains. In the midst of every present moment, you are either opening or closing. You are either feeling all while giving your deepest gifts of love or you are waiting." Pg. 73

Perhaps like being one with God, the universe and all. Maybe an acceptance. To experience instead of running from your fate.

He awakens you with questions and statements which help uncover truth:

-Are you ready for death?
-Fear is the opposite of love.
-Most of your life is out of your control.
-You are love.

"For your life to feel profound and full of love's power, practice opening at all times, including times of hurt. Feel and breathe your heart's deep hurt, and the hurt of others, without closing. Offer the openness of your heart to everyone, and especially to those who are wounding you. The only alternative is to close and live unfulfilled." Pg. 93

Is he not talking about unconditional love here? That amazing love that is so understanding, forgiving, healing, nurturing and at times terribly painful? Is he saying we should embrace the good and bad in our lives with equal passion?

There are 39 Ways to Free Your Heart and Awaken To Now:

1. Love Fully and Die - A short meditation asking you who you love and where are you now? A focus on being in the moment.
2. Feel Before Memory - Helped me realize that at times it is better to forget the present
worry because soon it will be in the past.
3. Give Everything Now - Give up waiting in order to live.
4. Unfold Your Heart - What would you do if you let your deepest gifts flower?
5. Resist Nothing - How to experience true bliss.
6. Breathe Everything - Most of your life is beyond your control.
7. Wear Everyone's Shape - How to give the gift of openness.
8. Offer Yourself As Love - Who are you becoming?
9. Unclench As If Asleep - An underlying feeling of peace.
10. Relax As You Are - How to approach negative emotions.
11. Honor Your Depth - Intention
12. Open While Failing - Potential greater than reality.
13. Appreciate Dissatisfaction - Remind yourself how to open fully.
14. Don't Wait For Perfection - No limits to opening.
15. Do Love Through Your Body - What is your identity? How does this play out in your life?
16. Be Reminded By Jealousy - False hopes of fulfillment. I found this meditation rather enlightening. I never thought of jealousy in that way.
17. Express Who You Really Are - What do you hunger for?
18. Live As Love - Becoming unselfish.
19. Remain Open When Disgusted - Accept
20. Undo All Effort - Worry and how to lose anxiety.
21. Allow Love's Hurt - Opening can involve feeling pain.
22. Recognize Your Refusal - The issue of acceptance.
23. Let Love Live As Anger - Love through anger.
24. Permit Your Heart's Wild Passion - Violence as a form of self-abuse. Pretty intense section which involves a dissolving of boundaries.
25. Live Your Heart's Truth - What to do instead of avoiding the truth.
26. Ravish Beyond Safety - Masculine/Feminine roles. Can the power be shared?
27. Enjoy Flowery Combat - How we are attracted to reciprocal sexual energy.
28. Unguard Your Sex - The layers of fear, hurt and anger.
29. Don't Settle for Fulfillment - What happens when you achieve your wildest dreams?
30. Be Free As Love Now - Does the need for accomplishment define your life?
31. Shine As Love's Light - Light is what love looks like.
32. Play Sexuality As Art - Keeping passion alive.
33. Open Deeper Than Need - What is the deepest desire of the feminine heart?
34. Trust Him More than Yourself - How can you trust?
35. Exaggerate Sex to Liberate Love - Saturating your body in love.
36. Hold Nothing Back - Appreciating gifts
37. Offer Sex for the Sake of All - Shifting energy from tension to passion.
38. Awaken Sexually As Bliss and Emptiness - Is sex now a routine?
39. Be Alive As Gifting - Ungiven gifts hurt. Giving your deepest gifts to the world will free you.