Breath/Death

When meditate, I sometimes imagine the rising and falling of my breath in the form of a sign wave, with the in and out moving a line up and down over time.

Going up the slope of the wave, I am breathing in; going down, I am exhaling.  This graphic representation of my breathing has often come in handy to keep my awareness focused on my breath.

After much practice with this meditation aid (or mantra), I have been able to contemplate the various parts of this living, breathing graph.  And the parts of the wave that have intrigued me most recently are the peaks and troughs.

The peak of a wave is when the lungs are full to capacity--in a sense, one is holding one's breath for a slight moment--I reach the zenith of the track and am still, lungs bursting with life-giving oxygen, before the  roller coaster plunges down the slope and my lungs involuntarily, with the help of gravity, begin to deflate. I exhale.

But when the cart of the breath reaches the nadir, things get much more interesting and perhaps a bit scary.  At the bottom, it seems that I am out of life-blooming oxygen, as if I had floated to the bottom of the ocean.  Again, I am still.  Of course, the lungs are not exactly empty--we normally breath in a very small range compared with our total lung capacity, as the following chart shows:

Source: U of Miami 

Surprisingly though, in a normal breath (the darker blue band in the middle) we only use about 500ml of air and leave approximately 1800-2200ml in our lungs, far from being completely out.  Voluntarily with a little effort, we can only force another 1000ml out, leaving almost a liter we'll never be able to get out.  In fact, our total lung capacity is almost 6000ml for men and about 4200ml for women.  So as you can see, we are full of a lot of hot air.

But tell all of that to a drowning man or a person suffocating in a fire.  When we have exhaled our last breath, we are out of usable oxygen, regardless of our lung capacity.  So too when meditating.  When the sine wave reaches the bottom, I can't really get any more oxygen out of that breath.  Only the availability of fresh air around me allows my involuntary respiration to draw me again back to the surface of life.

During meditation, I contemplate the symbolic significance of the bottom of the sine wave more than I do the scientific, literal measurement of the capacity of our lungs.

If the top of the wave is life, then the bottom is death. Both are connect and contained within the elegant symmetry of the sine wave.

When I exhale and reach the bottom of the trough, it is only wishful thinking that my cerebellum will kick in and automatically contract my diaphragm and draw more air into my lungs.  But in fact, I really don't know for certain if I will draw a next breath:  I could have a heart attack, a meteor could hit the earth, a tree limb could crash in on my head, or the kid dreaming our world could wake up.  I have no way of knowing.

Although this kind of reflection may sound morbid, it is a stark reminder to stay in the moment.  Because I never know if this breath may be my last, I try to pay attention to what is happening now and to make the most of my life as it is.  Because this breath could be my last, it reminds me of my inevitable fate and offers me the opportunity to practice accepting my destiny.

Committed Buddhism

Marx and the Dali Lama.  Tricycle magazine.

I’ve been practicing Zen meditation for over 13 years, and have sat with various groups in all the towns I’ve lived in, groups from Zen to Mahayana to eclectic Buddhist-inspired meditation.  For the most part, practicing Zen fits almost perfectly with my spirituality and world view, and daily sitting has become an important part of my life.  I said 'almost perfectly' because I've had some problems with Zen and Buddhism in general that I've been thinking about for a long time.

My main resistance to Zen (and Buddhism at large) as a practice is its relation to politics and power.  The principle of karma, in which all is connected, and the principle of samsara, that the universe is a continual cycle of birth and death, seem to both prevent what I, as a Westerner, think of as political commitment.

Let me explain why.

Zen and other kinds of Buddhism give us what I call “the longest view” possible of time and eternity.  This view derives from the concept of “samsara.”  Samsara is ancient Sanskrit that translates literally as “continual wandering.” In the Assu Sutta, the Buddha says, “"From an inconstruable beginning comes transmigration. A beginning point is not evident, though beings hindered by ignorance and fettered by craving are transmigrating & wandering on.”  This last phrase is the translation of the word samsara. 

Samsara is the source of all desire and thus all suffering we humans face in the world.  What is more, because of samsara, we are continually reincarnated into new lives in which we continue the cycle of suffering (until we reach Nirvana, or enlightenment). 

But samsara isn’t just a view of human nature; it’s a cosmology.  Through the notion of samsara, there is no beginning or end to the universe.  In fact, there may not just be one universe, and new ones could be born out of the death of the old.  Not incidentally, theoretical physicists such as Paul Steinhardt & Neil Turok are revising the Big Bang theory in ways that sound, to me, much like the ancient Hindu worldview of samsara.  There is according to them no one single moment that begins the universe because our universe is just one manifestation of universes that keep being born through a bang and then collapsing into a bang and starting again on to infinity.  This cosmology could be referred to as "the Big Rubber Band" theory of the universe, and it is a karmic view.

If this worldview is true—that our universe will die and be born again infinitely—then why should we be concerned with petty, everyday problems like gun control, abortion, global warming, poverty, war, or any political issue?  If the universe is cyclical and infinite, as samsara implies, we will all be back here sitting together in this room again someday and again and again infinitely. 

From that “longest perspective”, even the largest human catastrophes seem insignificant.  And that’s an understatement.  Buddhism from this vantage, teaches us to not worry and suffer in our political desire to solve humanities problems.  Thic Nat Hahn writes that he reminds people who are worried about current events or personal problems to ask themselves, “Where will you be in 300 years?”  The answer always makes me loosen my grip on my political kvetching and self-pity, but the answer does not help me to address this gnawing doubt I have about Buddhism’s ability to help us with our social and global problems. 

The way I have addressed this issue in my thinking is to focus on the compassion component of Buddhism.  The point of the Buddha’s teachings is to relieve the suffering of others.  In fact, in some strands of Buddhism, there are special “saints”, called Bodhisattvas, who must continue wandering in samsara until all souls have achieved Nirvana.

Herein lies my hope for a politically committed Buddhism.  It’s not that I hope a Zen-minded politics will be liberal or conservative or be for some policies and against others.  I don’t think something as grand as Buddhism can be reduced to these narrow notions of politics as decisions of power and resources.

Instead, I think Zen practice, as a practice of patience and compassion (and its 5 precepts), can keep us mindful of what politics is really about, and that is to relieve the suffering of others.  Committed Buddhism is kind of faith, when it comes down to it, but one that we can practice everyday:

by following the precepts: (all are about others; the Buddha calls them “five great gifts”)

1. right living (no murder)
2. right action (no stealing)
3. right speaking (honesty) and listening (active, empathic)
4. right sexuality (safe sex, keeping promises)
5.  right consumption (intoxication, eating) 

by putting a person over a principle  

by sitting with a group, or sangha  

by sometimes fighting (??)--I'm not certain about this one, but the Dali Llama’s guards fought the Chinese invaders  

by being for things (peace) rather than against something (war)  

by opening the door for someone, and other little, daily signs of generosity and compassion.

I believe, I have to believe, that these actions and others like them can increase compassion in the world.  If we practice, the politics of power will take care of themselves.

Tao of Parenting

This mp3 of a Dharma talk from May 8, 2012 titled The Zen of Parenting considers parenting as Zen and Zen as a kind of parenting, both for self and others.  Non-parents included! 28 min with discussion.

Outline:

1. Why is parenting Zen and Zen parenting?
2. The ingredients of parenting
3. Modeling, the Tao
4. Unconditional Positive Regard
5. Empathy and compassion
6. Congruence
7. Discipline not punish
8. Consistence and persistence

Purpose

The purpose of this blog is to post my Dharma talks, whether in text or audio format, to share with others, particularly those in my Sangha at the Open Mind Zen Center in Tulsa, OK.  But I welcome anyone to peruse and comment on its contents.  As a lay person and member, I give the Dharma talk approximately once a month at the OMZ Center and have been doing it since 2011.  So, I have some backlog that I hope to bring forth over the next several postings, as I post new material.