Category Archives: Quotes

Don’t Be In A Hurry

So don’t be in a hurry and try to push or rush your practice. Do your meditation gently and gradually step by step. In regard to peacefulness, if you become peaceful, then accept it; if you don’t become peaceful, then accept that also. That’s the nature of the mind. We must find our own practice and persistently keep at it.

–Ajahn Chah, “Bodhinyana”

Meditation Unto Death

I read about sallekhana in a magazine, and I was curious to learn more.

In this article the author considers the grounds for a voluntary death vis-a-vis an act of suicide as it is understood in the Jain religion. The author argues that there are conditions and expectations which must be in place if a voluntary death is an acceptable practice. There are also references to the positions of other religious traditions.

Read the article here.

Just One More…

From Cup of Chicha:

My moods, their ups and downs, become obvious when I look at my changing relationship to books. At my best, I’m reading them. At my worst, I’m avoiding them. Usually, depressed but optimistic, I’m buying them; I can easily mistake buying them for possessing them, assign their physical presence intellectual effects. It’s a parody of consumerism, or maybe consumerism perfected: I’ve turned the self-as-art of dandyism into a self-as-acquisitions. And, of course, this is the fake change that depressives love best.

Someone commented on Chicha’s post, “Omigod. You are terrifying. 12 years of therapy in two sentences. Where should I send the check?” I chuckled over that. Chicha has eerily summed up my own relationship to books. Over the years I’ve tried to manage my soft addiction to acquiring and reading books. They represent potential, knowledge, the illusion of finding the answer. I once kept a cartoon taped to my desk which depicted a man reading urgently in a library, sweating and looking stressed, while the books in the stacks whispered and mocked, “Haha! You’ll never read us all!” “There are too many of us. Hurry! Read faster!” I kept it to remind myself of the futility of trying to learn everything and to laugh at myself a bit.

When I moved to Austin from Syracuse, I owned six bookcases, each six feet tall, all double-shelved with books. (It probably didn’t help that I worked in a library for ten years.) It wasn’t feasible to ship them all, so I selected the ones most important to me (favored authors, childhood gifts, etc.) and sold the rest for a song to a bookseller (it was a crime, that). In the first three years here, I was judicious about purchases. Then Amazon.com arrived on the scene in 1997. It took just one puff purchase. Since I was in graduate school, though, I only bought what I could keep up with in addition to the required reading.

However, that tune changed after graduation, when I began purchasing books to “build my professional library” with rapidity. I own slightly over 700 books. Last year I read 50 books; at that rate, without acquiring another book, I’ve got enough reading for three years. In fact, it wasn’t until I downloaded a program to catalog my collection that I realized this. That, plus auditing my expenditures in the past year and noting how much I’d spent on books and magazines, told me I need to curtail this habit.

What struck me most was Chicha’s observation that self-as-acquisitions, for book owners, provides the false sense that one is changing, growing. I know it’s far easier for me to buy book after book on a topic of interest than it is to immerse myself in them. Time is wasted in the pursuit, and I end up learning nothing. I become a person who has books about religion, psychology, etc., rather than a person who has knowledge about them.

Word Fog

Words, even if they come from
the soul, hide the soul, as fog

rising off the sea covers the sea,
the coast, the fish, the pearls.

It’s noble work to build coherent
philosophical discourses, but

they block out the sun of truth.
See God’s qualities as an ocean,

this world as foam on the purity
of that. Brush away and look

through the alphabet to essence,
as you do the hair covering your

beloved’s eyes. Here’s the mystery:
this intricate, astonishing world

is proof of God’s presence even as
it covers the beauty. One flake

from the wall of a gold mine does
not give much idea what it’s like

when the sun shines in and turns
the air and the workers golden.

— Ghazal (Ode) 921
Version by Coleman Barks, with Nevit Ergin
“The Glance”
Viking-Penguin, 1999

Life Is As Thin As The Wind

Men drop to the earth like leaves
Lives as brief as footprints in snow.
Bristlecones enthroned on top of the world
Watch civilizations come and go.
They seek our secret, immortality,
But search in vain, for it is vanity.
If truth be known I would rather
be a flower, or a leaf that lives
and breathes with brief intensity.
My life is as thin as the wind
And I am done with counting stars.
On the side of this mountain
I might live forever,
Could you imagine anything worse?
My name is Methuselah and this is my curse.

–Roger McGough

This poem is from the NOVA program on the Methuselah Tree, the oldest tree on earth.

A Quality of Time

As a place becomes known, people start
to flock there. Some come in a sacred manner.
Others are boisterous and unconscious, as if they feared
the knowledge of themselves which the place invites.

When you come to a place honor its rhythm and its voice.
We think that our small talk has some importance, but
All our noise is like a twig breaking in a redwood forest.
A tree breathes once a year.
A great rock’s heart beats in mellenia.

The land has a quality of time which steadies us.

–Frederick Lerhman, The Sacred Landscape

Postpartum Depression

The post just preceding this was written by the husband of the woman who writes Dooce. Heather is knee-slappingly funny at times; she expresses herself with an artful blend of sarcasm and sweetness that makes her writing fresh and taut. She’s immensely enjoyable. Since I’ve been pondering the prospect of motherhood, I was referred to her blog and instructed to start reading in February 2004, when Heather became a mother. Because her writing is stellar, I was almost certain she had The Perfect Life. And then I read a post titled “Surrender”:

There are many things about parenthood that I understand intellectually. I know that this period of her life is only temporary and that things will eventually get better. I know that I am a good mother and that I am meeting her needs as a baby. But depression isn’t about understanding things intellectually. It’s about an overshadowing emotional spiral that makes coping with anything nearly impossible.

I can’t cope with the screaming. I can’t cope with her not eating. I can’t cope with the constant pacing and rocking back and forth to make sure she doesn’t start crying. I am sick with anxiety. I want to throw up all day long. There are moments during her screaming when I have to set her down and walk away and regain perspective on life, because in those very dark moments of screaming I feel like I have destroyed mine.

In this post, Heather examined her decision whether or not to take medicine while breastfeeding. As one who copes with major depression via prescription medication (in addition to therapy), I have grappled with the question: should I stop medications through pregnancy?

She wrote:

Most of the literature I have read about depression medication and the breastfeeding mother indicates that the benefits of breastfeeding far outweigh the possibility of the baby receiving small amounts of the medication through the breast milk. I also think that it’s more important that my daughter have a mother who can cope — a mother who isn’t sobbing uncontrollably during diaper changes — than it is for her to have a mother who is too proud to admit defeat.

I am throwing up my hands here. I cannot do this unmedicated.

This is not a decision I have made lightly. I’ve read everything I can get my hands on concerning postpartum depression in the mother and how it affects the development of the baby. I’ve talked with my doctor and friends who have experienced the same debilitating feelings. Going off depression medication a year and a half ago was so awful that I didn’t ever want to have to face that nightmare again. For the past several weeks I have been silently whispering to myself Fight this! Fight this! But I lost the fight about seven days ago.

I’m posting these excerpts to help disseminate information. Such decisions are difficult; in addition to reading medical research, a woman needs to know other women who grapple with this decision and that she is not a bad mother if she elects to take medicine. I admire and respect Heather’s willingness to reveal. My other reason for posting is that Dooce is just plain good reading. Go check it out.

A Father Chimes In

There was a time in my life when I thought I wouldn’t have children. The reasons were many, and made a great deal of sense to me then. I’m glad that I didn’t have children. But I’m so glad that we have Leta now. Yes, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. When she cries and I’m watching her so Heather can sleep, there are those moments when the beauty fades and it’s like holding the most raw, unstable element (probably Lawrencium) without any protection from the long half-life of the isotope. It’s scary. The emotions of love and wonder have their opposites. Fury and rancor. I haven’t yet yelled at Leta, but I’ve come close. It’s a miracle that Heather can still love this baby after all the screaming she’s done while I’m at work (I hear it on the phone when Heather calls. Pretty much during every call).

—blurbomat

Poof Positive

Here’s a brain snack from MacRaven, written by my buddy Dave Haxton. He often makes interesting points.

This is the ultimate statement of faith: ‘God said it, I beleive it, that settles it.’ The complete and utter refusal to believe the evidence of your own mind or eyes against the ramblings of an ancient (or, in some cases, modern) ‘revelation’. Every argument, debate or disagreement between anyone who holds to reason and someone who holds to faith will ultimately end up at the ‘Poof Point’.

Heathens don’t have much use for the Poof Factor: one of the defining characteristics of any polytheistic faith is the acceptance of other, alternate world views as equally valid and ‘true’ (small ‘T’). We recognize that our sacred texts are not ‘revelations’, but rather myths, designed to explain the natural world and our relationship to it in a context that can be easily understood. Lacking the ‘One True Way’, and without the absolute commandments of the Powers That Be, we tend to be a tolerant and discerning folk, given to questioning and testing our path.

Unfortunately, there are very few of “us” (tolerant heathens or atheists) and a whole lot of “them” (loony fundies of every stripe). The consequences of this demographic imbalance loom large in many areas.

The Big Questions

I’ve happened across a new-to-me blog called seeking clarity, and I’m drawn to the writer’s style. She is sincere, candid, and asks important questions.

I can’t even get to Ellensburg without a confidence crisis; how the hell am I supposed to choose at this fork? Left or right? East or west? And what if I think I’m turning one way and I suddenly realize that I’m going the wrong way? What if I’ve been going the wrong way all along?

In the entry, Diana explores the versions of her life. This is always fascinating — we are complex, and our lives can be viewed from numerous vantage points. Her post reminded me of the concept of metaphors of the self.

Such an important question: is there a right way through life, and if so, how am I supposed to know? I’m interested in your opinions.

Negotiating Mother Identity

Becoming a mother is a complicated thing. Not only am I trying to negotiate a relationship with my child, a relationship that defines itself as it becomes defined, I am trying to negotiate a relationship with myself as I attempt to determine how I mother, how I feel about mothering, how I want to mother and how I wish I was mothered. Having become a mother, I have also become a part of something larger than the maternal dyad of myself and my daughter: I am now a member of a new society, a new demographic, a new cultural category, with all the weight of our society’s ideas of motherhood upon me. I am sorting out how I mother my child, how my mother mothered me and how I fit in with the world’s idea of what a mother should be, and that is no small task. It’s also not something I can do without ambivalence, conflict, or emotion.

As I try to navigate this new terrain, I’m slowly learning that feeling conflicted does not mean that I don’t love my child. I’m coming to realize that the ubiquitous magazine and media portrayal of the ever-loving, always-happy &#252ber mom is an expression of that childish hope we all harbor for the perfect parent rather than a prescriptive formula I must follow. I’m slowly convincing myself that experiencing what I’m really feeling is better than forcing myself to “love every minute,” which only breeds resentment toward this tiny person who somehow rules my life and refuses me the complexity of human emotion. It’s still difficult to admit to myself that I don’t actually love every minute of what I do from day to day without immediately wanting to take it all back and try to be the Good Mom, the perfect blank slate onto which others can write their own impressions. I try to remember that I was psychologically complex pre-motherhood and that no one thought I was a bad person because of it.

–Andrea Buchanan, Mother Shock: Loving Every (Other) Minute of It

I’ll Bear This In Mind

All the books tell you that if the grizzly comes for you, on no account should you run. This is the sort of advice you get from someone who is sitting at a keyboard when he gives it. Take it from me, if you are in an open space with no weapons and a grizzly comes for you, run. You may as well. If nothing else, it will give you something to do with the last seven seconds of your life. However, when the grizzly overtakes you, as it most assuredly will, you should fall to the ground and play dead. A grizzly may chew on a limp form for a minute or two but generally will lose interest and shuffle off. With black bears, however, playing dead is futile, since they will continue chewing on you until you are considerably beyond caring.

–Bill Bryson, A Walk in the Woods

Bear this in mind, get it?! *snicker* *heh heh* Ah, some days I amuse myself. (Go on, don’t tell me you don’t laugh at your own silly jokes and puns.)

Smack Dab

Halfway Down

Halfway down the stairs
is a stair
where i sit.
there isn’t any
other stair
quite like
it.
i’m not at the bottom,
i’m not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn’t up
And it isn’t down.
It isn’t in the nursery,
It isn’t in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn’t really
Anywhere!
It’s somewhere else
Instead!

–A.A. Milne

A Great Idea

You’ve been here before: It’s the bazaar next door to the sanctuary, the place all the Unitarian Universalists go after a Sunday morning service to grab a cup of fairly-traded coffee, find a friend, navigate around the card tables strewn with social-action petitions, groan about (or praise!) the choir, amend the sermon, buy a book, look for brunch partners, or lurk hoping to overhear something really interesting. The walls of the parish hall are covered with bulletins and posters for this or that committee; the brochure rack invites you to “Meet the Unitarian Universalists” and hear the voices of UU theists, humanists, Christians, feminists, and on and on. It’s a lively place — so lively, in fact, that although ministers might not want to admit it, some people in the congregation show up only for Coffee Hour.

Surely you’re thinking: What a great model for a group blog! Thanks to My Irony’s Chutney, a group of us UU bloggers have been talking for the last month about ways to expand and enrich the on-line conversation about Unitarian Universalism, liberal religion, and the UUA. Today we’re debuting Coffee Hour, an interactive group blog.

—Coffee Hour

[via Across, Beyond, Through]

I identified as and attended a UU church for several years before moving to Austin; since moving here I’ve visited Live Oak Unitarian Universalist and First UU. While I don’t attend or formally identify myself as such, if I were to be categorized religiously, this would be the most likely spot for me. I’m pleased to see an online community blog established!

A Poem As Lovely As…

Sometimes I come across a tree which seems like Buddha or Jesus: loving, compassionate, still, unambitious, enlightened, in eternal meditation, giving pleasure to a pilgrim, shade to a cow, berries to a bird, beauty to its surroundings, health to its neighbors, branches for the fire, leaves for the soil, asking nothing in return, in total harmony with the wind and the rain. How much can I learn from a tree? The tree is my church, the tree is my temple, the tree is my mantra, the tree is my poem and my prayer.

–Satish Kumar, editor Resurgence magazine

[via Luminous Heart]

This quote reminds me of a poem I grew up with:

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

–Joyce Kilmer

A Mistake

The conception that the physical body is made of sin and that this is the lowest aspect of being will very often prove to be a mistake, for it is through this physical body that the highest and the greatest purpose of life is to be achieved.

–Pir-o-Murshid Hazrat Inayat Khan
From: A Meditation Theme for Each Day
Selected and arranged by Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan