A typical Northwest Coast Raven Rattle, Tlingit, 19th century. You can find this rattle here, and check this great site for more information and other fine examples.The trouble with nature is, somebody always gets eaten.
That's what entered my head, anyway, as I enjoyed a fine walk down my sunny lane this Easter weekend. The weather was glorious, though admittedly it worried me some (...Global Warming, and all that.). Crocus and forsythia created a riot of Easter-egg color everywhere I looked. And directly above me, two yellow-tail hawks circled effortlessly, with wings outstretched.
We talk a lot about "Original Nature" in Zen, which in quick shorthand you might find defined as "oneness with all things", or our point of origination. One thing I've written about in the past is how there's a tendency to think that a mind's reunion with this Original Nature-- Enlightenment, if you like-- is a blissful one. As my teacher once put it, "you're not necessarily going to like it."
Original Nature. Buddha-Nature. Human nature. nature. I thought a bit about the choice of the English word "nature" as it relates to our sloppy correspondence of the (more elegant) Sanskrit Buddha-dhatu or tathagata-garbha. "Nature" in this respect is pointing to an inherent quality that lives within us; but what interests me is the assignment, in general, of the word nature to describe potentiality itself.
For nature is happening all the time, just as Zen teaches Enlightenment is happening all the time. One instant carries into the next, and as such, each instant lives within the current "instant", making past, present and future utterly inseparable. And so goes my own interpretation of the Zen teaching, we are already enlightened, there is nothing to strive for, or become. Potentiality realized. Just like those circling hawks carry the potentiality of a mouse-lunch in one fell swoop. Which brings me back to my original idea.
... somebody always gets eaten. This could be metaphorical as well as literal; at that moment, aside from the hawks, I was thinking about my last post, and more to the point the heartbreak that friendship can be, especially when we disagree with our friends.
The Eastertime story of the Crucifixion and Resurrection really provides a fine illustration of this point-- and probably it's the root reason for the way my thinking meandered along my walk that day. Just think of it: Judas' betrayal of Jesus, and out of that friendship's flaw? Look what happened next! The very miracle that sparked the hopeful redemption of the Christian religion.
Somebody always gets eaten. Fluffy bunnies and pastel flowers aside, nature is not so sugary as we hope; a fox is always around the corner, or a strong wind to knock off new blossoms. Buddhism has often been called the pessimist's religion because of our faith in the constancy of suffering... but here is where I call upon my Pagan elders for a little clarification.
The Raven rattle I've chosen offers a great visual aid to a concept that can feel a little out of reach. In it, you'll notice a man seems to be riding on the back of a raven, and his tongue is protruding to meet the tongue of a frog which happens to be, presumably, the intended lunch of the kingfisher riding the rear of the rattle.
This is how I have been taught that interconnection is not a weaving of unrelated separates. More than "the big fish eat the little one" Circle-of-Life generalized narrative we follow, this portrayal points to something a bit less linear and a lot more powerful: for the truth behind this ingestion is the huge energy of creation itself. Beyond judgment or explanation, nature is potentiality constantly delivering. The shaman who has shape-shifted to land himself in a situation that will lend him the "power" of the frog, he understands this; he will transfer this "creative spark" as lent by the frog into a means of healing a patient, or winning a war, or granting a wish.
There is suffering; some consider this hell. There is no self; some consider this hell. So what then is the bright aspect of this Original Nature?
The shaman consuming his power animal, he knows.
It is the spark before a single word is uttered.
That's what entered my head, anyway, as I enjoyed a fine walk down my sunny lane this Easter weekend. The weather was glorious, though admittedly it worried me some (...Global Warming, and all that.). Crocus and forsythia created a riot of Easter-egg color everywhere I looked. And directly above me, two yellow-tail hawks circled effortlessly, with wings outstretched.
We talk a lot about "Original Nature" in Zen, which in quick shorthand you might find defined as "oneness with all things", or our point of origination. One thing I've written about in the past is how there's a tendency to think that a mind's reunion with this Original Nature-- Enlightenment, if you like-- is a blissful one. As my teacher once put it, "you're not necessarily going to like it."
Original Nature. Buddha-Nature. Human nature. nature. I thought a bit about the choice of the English word "nature" as it relates to our sloppy correspondence of the (more elegant) Sanskrit Buddha-dhatu or tathagata-garbha. "Nature" in this respect is pointing to an inherent quality that lives within us; but what interests me is the assignment, in general, of the word nature to describe potentiality itself.
For nature is happening all the time, just as Zen teaches Enlightenment is happening all the time. One instant carries into the next, and as such, each instant lives within the current "instant", making past, present and future utterly inseparable. And so goes my own interpretation of the Zen teaching, we are already enlightened, there is nothing to strive for, or become. Potentiality realized. Just like those circling hawks carry the potentiality of a mouse-lunch in one fell swoop. Which brings me back to my original idea.
... somebody always gets eaten. This could be metaphorical as well as literal; at that moment, aside from the hawks, I was thinking about my last post, and more to the point the heartbreak that friendship can be, especially when we disagree with our friends.
The Eastertime story of the Crucifixion and Resurrection really provides a fine illustration of this point-- and probably it's the root reason for the way my thinking meandered along my walk that day. Just think of it: Judas' betrayal of Jesus, and out of that friendship's flaw? Look what happened next! The very miracle that sparked the hopeful redemption of the Christian religion.
Somebody always gets eaten. Fluffy bunnies and pastel flowers aside, nature is not so sugary as we hope; a fox is always around the corner, or a strong wind to knock off new blossoms. Buddhism has often been called the pessimist's religion because of our faith in the constancy of suffering... but here is where I call upon my Pagan elders for a little clarification.
The Raven rattle I've chosen offers a great visual aid to a concept that can feel a little out of reach. In it, you'll notice a man seems to be riding on the back of a raven, and his tongue is protruding to meet the tongue of a frog which happens to be, presumably, the intended lunch of the kingfisher riding the rear of the rattle.
This is how I have been taught that interconnection is not a weaving of unrelated separates. More than "the big fish eat the little one" Circle-of-Life generalized narrative we follow, this portrayal points to something a bit less linear and a lot more powerful: for the truth behind this ingestion is the huge energy of creation itself. Beyond judgment or explanation, nature is potentiality constantly delivering. The shaman who has shape-shifted to land himself in a situation that will lend him the "power" of the frog, he understands this; he will transfer this "creative spark" as lent by the frog into a means of healing a patient, or winning a war, or granting a wish.
There is suffering; some consider this hell. There is no self; some consider this hell. So what then is the bright aspect of this Original Nature?
The shaman consuming his power animal, he knows.
It is the spark before a single word is uttered.
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3 comments:
You ask, "So what then is the bright aspect of this Original Nature?"
Perhaps it's only *digestion.*
The hawk digests the mouse. The worms digest the leaves. The squirrel digests the nut.
But what of human digestion. We certainly digest the things of this world, food and fiber, and also pollution and poison.
If we're fortunate enough to encounter the dharma in some form, we might also digest our karma inheritances. Then we might use these gifts from former times in some beneficial way.
Not without churning, though...
sorry Barry- had a problem with Blogger "eating" your comment (ha, no pun intended), so i re-posted it under my name, only to find that it posted your orig comment only after i posted it in my own posting...
So, on to my comment about your comment then!
I've gotten some interesting "words" for this point "at the tip of the shaman's tongue", including "tolerance" and "inspiration". It struck me as a reminder of the spinning Mayan plate in the movie "Chocolat": Vienne spins it an asks her customer, "tell me, what do you see? There are no wrong answers," in order to guess at that person's favorite chocolate confection.
So there are no wrong answers, as ultimately there is no word for what I was seeking, only the very actual minute point of interconnection. The words I've heard seem to point to our primary focus of practice-- perhaps yours is something like "digestion", and for another friend, "inspiration". A fun experiment on this end!
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