On Smile Lines and loving-kindness

A few mental ramblings that came to me while wandering through the woods today. As is so often the case, it began with a song...



Smile Lines or, High School Never Ends

Met my match today
Felt the blood rushing and mingling
A curious and enigmatic thing
Now spiders in my dreams...
Synchronicity weaves like a web when
You were meant to be a meal!

I want you bad!
I want you bad!
I understand why they say,
"High school never ends"

I'll never act my age
But you can tell by the lines in my smile
That I have been around for awhile
So, insecurities
Are about as useful as trying
To put the pin back in the grenade

I want you bad!
I want you bad!
I understand why they say,
"High school never ends"

This isn't coincidence
There's no such thing
This isn't coincidence, no
This isn't coincidence
It's no such thing.
This isn't, no...

I want you bad!
I want you bad!
I understand why they say,
"High school never ends"

My interpretation of these lyrics is that Brandon's speaking to some woman he's met and to whom he's intensely attracted. And that's fine. As such, it's a perfectly respectable boy-meets-girl type of rock song, with the typical Boyd-esque twist that Incubus fans know and love. But disregard the chorus and there's so much more to it. Looking between the lines of lust to those references to synchronicity and insecurity is a great jumping off point for mental meanderings.

I've discussed synchronicity a bit recently with various friends, and it's something that I wonder about often. But what exactly is it?

Synchronicity, since Jung's introduction of the concept in 1951, has remained among the most original and controversial ideas in analytical psychology and, at times, one of the most difficult to grasp. The title of Jung's work on the subject, Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle, provides the term's definition: Synchronicity is a principle that links events acausally, that is, in terms of the subjective meaningfulness of the coincidence, rather than by cause and effect. Thus, understanding synchronicity and synchronistic events requires a way of thinking almost entirely foreign to Western culture, a way of thinking that does not separate the physical world from interior psychic events. The phrase that often occurs with regard to Jung's concept of synchronicity is unus mundus, Latin for "one world". Synchronicity requires that one consider the world a unified field in which subject and object are fundamentally one, two different manifestations of the same reality.
(A Guided Tour of the Collected Works of C.G. Jung, Robert H. Hopcke)

So, where do we draw the line between coincidence and synchronicity? How do we know when something's truly synchronous and when it's just chance? Is it ever really just chance? I've come to the conclusion that coincidences are what's left of those "curious and enigmatic" moments that we notice yet do nothing with. If we take something from it, if we use the moment as a springboard of some kind, then it's synchronicity. You just have to be aware enough to realise it.

Did you ever observe to whom the accidents happen? Chance favors only the prepared mind. -- Louis Pasteur

"I'll never act my age..." Every now and again, I stop to think about the fact that I'm addicted to a band made up of people significantly younger than me, the majority of whose fanbase is even younger than them, and I wonder whether I should feel weird about that. There are times when it does feel curious to be so inspired by the wisdom of someone younger. Aren't I supposed to be the wiser? And I often feel a definite generation gap when reading posts at the Incubus forum. I frequently sense that many of the people who post there are going through that "I'm cooler than thou (and I'm working so hard to maintain that cool!)" phase that I know I went through in my 20's. At this point, I just don't worry anymore about being cool or accepted. "Insecurities are about as useful as trying / to put the pin back in the grenade" If I post something there that brands me as a dork, if I'm too eager in expressing my appreciation for the band, so what? "You can tell by the lines in my smile / that I have been around for a while" and I've earned the right to be a doofus when I wanna be. I'd like to think that I'm too busy watching out for synchronous events to bother with trying to be cool.

While sitting in the woods scribbling my thoughts on the song above, I found some notes for another blog I'd planned to post a while back that never came to fruition. But now's as good a time as any. On another rambling day, I did post that I'd begun reading Brad Warner's book Sit Down and Shut Up and that I couldn't wait to find out his take on the Buddhist concept of metta, or loving-kindness. Most of the descriptions of metta that I've read have given me serious pause. This one particular concept has been the hardest thing for me to grasp about Buddhism. The traditional Western translation, "loving-kindness" is the stumbling block. It reminds me of that bumper sticker that reads "Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty." I think of folks with that bumper sticker as 'random senseless' people, and I don't really wanna be one of them. I want to be able to maintain my off-beat, sometimes cynical, sense of humor and my curmudgeonliness. I also, though, want to be able to treat other people with respect, occasionally even graciousness. So, when I got to the chapter in SD/SU in which Brad addresses metta, he blew me away.

Up until reading SD/SU, I had apparently only been exposed to a small part of the Metta Suttra. There are entire meditation practices devoted to this particular suttra, and the recommended mantra goes along these lines:

"May all beings be happy,
may all beings be secure,
may all beings be happy minded and
may their hearts be wholesome."

But Warner took it one step further. Reading his chapter on metta was the first time I'd ever seen the entire suttra:

This is what should be accomplished by the one who is wise,
who seeks the good and has obtained peace:
Let one be strenuous, upright and sincere, without pride,
easily contented and joyous;
Let one not be submerged by the things of the world;
Let one not take upon oneself the burden of riches;
Let one's senses be controlled;
Let one be wise but not puffed up;
Let one not desire great posessions even for one's family;
Let one do nothing that is mean or that the wise would reprove.
May all beings be happy.
May they be joyous and live in safety.
All living beings, whether weak or strong, in high or middle or low realms of existence, small or great, visible or invisible, near or far, born or to be born, may all beings be happy.
Let no one deceive another, nor despise any being in any state; let none by anger or hatred wish harm to another.
Even as a mother at the risk of her life watches over and protects her only child, so with a boundless mind should one cherish all living things, suffusing love over the entire world, above, below and all around without limit; so let one cultivate an infinite goodwill toward the whole world.
Standing or walking, sitting or lying down, during all one's waking hours let one cherish the thought that this way of living is best in the world.
Abandoning vain discussion, having a clear vision, freed from sense appetites, one who is made perfect will never again know rebirth in the cycle of creation of suffering for ourselves or for others.

Ok, so I can kind of understand why most books and magazine articles don't usually print the entire thing. It's freaking long. But focusing only on the brief wish that "may all beings be happy, etc" leaves out all that great stuff about how you get to the point of being able to wish such a thing for all those beings who, basically, act like assholes much of the time. And Warner uses a different translation for metta:

The word metta is hard to translate and is usually given as "loving-kindness". "Benevolence" may be a better translation, since it's a little less drippy sounding.

Thank you, Brad, oh so much. And, since the book is basically an explanation of the Zen Buddhism taught by the 13th century monk Dogen, he goes on to mention that, in all of Dogen's writing, the Metta Suttra is never mentioned. Apparently, Dogen preferred to teach compassion instead of love, and boiled that practice down to four basic elements: free giving, kind speech, helpful conduct, and cooperation. The trick to following these prescriptions is, of course, to remember that we're all here trying to accomplish the same thing-- a happy life. In that sense, we're all one, as in Jung's unus mundus. Like synchronicity, metta "requires that one consider the world a unified field in which subject and object are fundamentally one, two different manifestations of the same reality".

There's a lot to strive for in living according to the Metta Sutra, but goodwill and benevolence are way easier for me to reach towards than "loving-kindness". So, to anyone who's bothered to read this far: May you be happy, secure, and wholesome (even if you are one of those 'random senseless' goofballs).

More Sunday afternoon ramblings

Very lazy day today. I'll backtrack a bit to explain why, then move on: Friday evening, I drove straight from work in DC up to King of Prussia, PA, to spend the night at a friend's house, then we left her place early Saturday morning to head to NY for a day of adventure-- A visit to Alex Grey's Chapel of Sacred Mirrors, then a reading by another friend of ours from her memoire-in-progress at the Bowery Poetry Club, then a bunch of us from the reading headed to Chinatown for a tasty dinner of vegetarian dim sum. And then, seven hours, three trains, and 154 miles driven at 80+mph later, I ended up back home in Maryland at 3:00am Sunday morning. Needless to say, I was a bit tired today. So, I headed out for a late lunch and a brief, easy meander through the woods at Monocacy National Battlefield Park.

I wish I could write about Saturday's experiences, but the day was a bit of a blur so I really don't have many concrete thoughts about it. The Chapel was incredible, but there were too many people there for me to fully absorb it the way I would have liked (which would have been to plop my butt down on the floor in the middle of the room and just sit there quietly for a while). And the memoire reading was funny and moving and stimulating. But, sorry, that's about all I can put together about it. So my thoughts were kind of vague and rambling today as I wandered through the woods along Monocacy River.

On the train(s) home last night, I began reading Brad Warner's latest book, Sit Down and Shut Up. His first book apparently describes his own discovery of Buddhism, specifically the Zen kind, and how he became an ordained monk. SD/SU is an explanation of the teachings of Dogen, an apparently influential 13th century Zen master. So far, Warner's focused on the idea of reality in Zen, and the process of sitting zazen. The guy's incredibly irreverent and even talks about how he pretty much hates being a zen monk and teaching the dharma. It's great stuff, because he explains everything so clearly and meaningfully, yet comes at it with an attitude that I can so easily relate to. I'd really love to know his take on the whole "loving-kindness" aspect of Buddhism, but I'm not sure whether that's a big concept in Zen. Guess I'll find out (or not) as the book progresses. Read this while at lunch and almost cracked up in the middle of the very crowded Golden Corral restaurant:

The truth is always with you at every moment, or as Dogen puts it, "The Buddhist truth exists under the foot of every human being." It's not something far away, abstract, or difficult. It is the uncomplicated and direct truth of what is right here, right now. Truth is not removed from your day-to-day existence. God, way up in heaven on his big gold throne, is just an idea. That itch on your left ass cheek right now is the truth. It's way bigger than God could ever hope to be.
Awesome stuff. Right up my alley.

Found myself at one point while sitting along the river, cursing as I have so many times before that I didn't have my camera with me. I had glanced downstream along the trail and noticed a very pretty interplay of clouds and tree branches, touched with a bit of gold from the late afternoon sun. Had the potential to be a great photo, but the camera was back at home. So I sat and had the debate with myself that I've had all those other times in similar moments: Should I make a point of always bringing the camera with me when I leave the house, or should I only bring it when I'm specifically in the mood to shoot photos? There are pros and cons either way.

With the camera, I can capture and keep a concrete memory of, not to mention share with others, all the gorgeous &/or interesting things that catch my attention. But having the camera with me changes how I move through whatever place I'm in. My vision is narrowed to the perspective of the view finder, and my perceptions become focused on lighting and composition. My other senses may as well just stay at home on those occasions.

Without the camera, though, I can allow the focus of my eyes to soften and my peripheral vision comes into play. I see more. Without the distraction of composing a picturesque shot, I'm able to have a more intimate connection to my surroundings and feel that I'm a part of the place. Which, in it's way, makes scenes such as the rosy-gold clouds behind those bare tree branches just that much more special, because I fully experience, yet can't capture, them. But, as special as those moments are to me, do they become even more meaningful when I'm able to share them with others via my photos?

Nice little circular argument, there.

And (apologies to anyone who's becoming tired of my Incubus obsession, feel free to read the poetry below but skip my babbling), I'm continuing to find inspiration in Brandon Boyd. I recently read a wonderful poem by Jane Hirshfield that made me instantly think of the Incubus song Pantomime (the lyrics of which I posted at the end of this blog). First, here's Hirshfield's piece:

To Speech

This first, this last:
there's nothing you wouldn't say.

Unshockable inclusion your most pure nature,
and so you are like an iron pot---
whatever's put in, it holds.

We think it's the fire that cooks the stew,
but, speech, it's also you:
teacher
of fire-making and stew-making,
orator of all our plans and intentions.

We think we think with a self.
That also, it seems, is mostly you---
sometimes a single spider's thread of you,
sometimes a mountain.

The late sun paints orange
the white belly of a hawk overhead---
that wasn't you
though now and here, it is.

If a hungry child says "orange", her taste buds grow larger.

If a person undamaged says "hungry child",
his despondence grows larger.

You are not, of course, omnipotent.
In fact, you do little unaided by muscle, by matter.
And still, present and absent, speech, you change us.

As Issa changed, writing after the death of his daughter,

This world of dew
is a world of dew.
And yet.

How much of you
was left uninvited in those lines.
That silence your shadow, bringing his grieving to me.

For days
I made phone calls to strangers,
the few words repeated over and over,
between the "please, if you have a moment" and "thank you."

I didn't expect to make a difference, and didn't. And yet.

Your vehicles are air and memory,
teeth, tongue, papyrus, woodblocks, iron,
signing fingers, circuits, transistors, and ink.
A wheel is not your vehicle, nor an engine.

Terence was your vehicle,
saying in Latin:
"Whatever is human cannot be foreign to me."

Your own truth as well---
For all of our parts, you are our closest mirror,
growing thin or fat, muscular, clumsy,
speeding or slowing as we do.

The wolf-child without you called wolf-child, not-fully-human.

You are held, in the forms we can know you,
only by creatures
able to pass you to others
living often in sadness and tiredness, sometimes in hope.

A friend, who is sometimes sad, said this:
"To be able to hope means that we can also regret."

You rest, fierce speech, in both.
As well as in bargaining, persuasion, argument, gossip,
flirtation, jokes.

Fear, hunger, rage stammer beyond you:
what lives in words is what words were needed to learn.

And so it is good we sometimes set you down
and walk---
unthinking and peaceful, planning nothing---
by the cold, salt, unobedient, unlistening sea.

Only then, without you, are we able to see you completely,
like those wandering monks
who, calling nowhere home, are everywhere home.

I was struck by the contrast between Boyd's idea of gaining freedom by giving up speech and Hirshfield's concept of it as something that is so much a part of us. "there's nothing you wouldn't say... Unshockable inclusion your most pure nature" vs. "I've found beyond all doubt, we say more by saying nothing at all". There's a romantic irony to Pantomime, that vision of someone whose creative career depends on word and voice choosing to give up speech and communicate by less "messy" methods. Especially considering Hirshfield's contention that "what lives in words is what words were needed to learn".

I'll throw another final contrast into this rambling mess of a blog. I keep finding myself hitting the "repeat" button of the car's cd player for two specific, yet very divergent, Incubus tunes: One is the wacky Azwethinkweiz that I posted the lyrics to a few days ago, and the other is 11am, which is one of the most beautiful of the many gorgeous tunes on Morning View:

7 a.m.
The garbage truck beeps as it backs up
And I start my day thinking about what I've thrown away
Could I push rewind?
The credits traverse, signifying the end
But I missed the best part
Could we please go back to start?
Forgive my indecision

Then again, you're always first when no one's on your side
But then again, a day will come when I want off that ride

11 a.m.
By now you would think that I would be up
But my bedsheets shade the heat of choices I've made
And what did I find?
I never thought I could want someone so much
Cause now you're not here and I'm knee-deep in that old fear
Forgive my indecision
I am only a man

Then again, you're always first when no one's on your side
But then again, a day will come when I want off that ride

12 p.m. and my dusty telephone rings
Heavy head up from my pillow, who could it be?
I hope it's you...

Then again, you're always first when no one's on your side
But then again, the day has come and I want off that ride

To anyone who's read thus far... I'm not sure whether to thank you for your attention, or to think that you're more obsessively weird than I am.