This morning, while ‘meditating’, I turned on the lamp beside the couch where I sit, not once but twice. Both times, I hoped to snatch something from the passing stream of time.
I realize that a serious meditator would have dismissed these impulses, perhaps with a phrase such as “If it’s that important it will come back and find you,” or “Let these thoughts pass through, like birds darting in and out of an empty barn.”
But I turned on the light, with the feeling that this is why I mediate: to open to new understanding and let creativity flow. When I see water trickling out of a rock at the edge of a mountain path, I want to gather some up in my cup.
The first time I opened my eyes this morning and turned on the lamp next to me, was when dialogue for the final chapter in a novel I have been working on for the past year came into my mind. I simply wasn’t ready to let that fly out of my not so empty barn.
The second time I lit the lamp was when I asked, with my eyes still closed, what is the connection between Buddhism and Christianity that shows up whenever Christian writers draw on Buddhist wisdom and whenever Buddhist writers express a deep devotion toward the great beings who have illuminated a path for the rest of us. This makes me wonder why, whenever one of these Christian writers speaks of their devotion to God, I draw a line in the sand with me on the other side.
I wanted to think about this paradox some more and so—not wanting it to fly out the window on wings beating as fast as my heartbeat–I turned on my lamp that 2nd time.
My connection to Buddhism, as a vision of what is possible for me as a human being, is that whatever vision I am given is for me to understand and to incorporate within the very life I am now living (not deferred to some better time elsewhere); this is the raft on which I am sailing across this great ocean of Being.
Buddhism also evokes feelings of devotion, appreciation and humility towards those who have gone before–and towards those who are still here in our world, shedding a radiant light and inviting us to come along. But in Buddhism, there is no greater being who can take up our pack and walk this journey for us.
A sad but fundamental realization is that we were born and will die alone in this world. But, along the way, in between that arrival and that departure, we may be lucky enough to notice that there are kind-hearted beings in this world who see our unnecessary suffering and whose dearest wish is to lighten our load. When we feel our load resting more lightly on us, it is natural to notice all the other beings around us who are staggering under their loads. In whatever form wisdom and compassion reaches us, we feel gratitude as the sacred waters wash away our anxiety and loneliness. And, less alone and afraid ourselves, we naturally wish we could share those feelings with others.
Thank you for sharing your musings. Reminds me of the work of Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk whose conversations with the Dalai Lama were inspiring.