(43) Both his weapon and my body
Are the causes of my suffering.
Since he drew out a weapon and I a body,
Toward which should I get enraged?
(44) Blinded by craving, I’ve grabbed hold of a painful boil
That’s shaped like a human and can’t bear to be touched,
And so when it’s bruised,
Toward what should I get enraged?
(45) Childish me, I don’t wish to suffer
And yet I’m obsessed with the cause of my suffering.
Since it’s my own fault that I get hurt,
Why have a grudge toward anyone (else)?
(46) It’s like, for example, the guards of the joyless realms
And the forest of razor-sharp leaves:
This (suffering too) is produced by my impulsive karmic behavior;
So toward what should I be enraged?
(47) Incited by my own karmic behavior,
Those who hurt me come my way,
And if, by their (actions), these limited beings should fall
to the joyless realms,
Surely, wasn’t it I who have ruined them?
(48) Based on them, my negative karmic force
Is greatly cleansed, because of my patience;
But, based on me, they fall
To the joyless realms, with long-lasting pain.
(49) Since I’m, in fact, causing harm to them,
And they’re the ones who are benefiting me,
Why, unreasonable mind, do you make it the reverse
And get into a rage?
– Shantideva – Engaging in Bodhisattva Behavior (chapter 6)
Category: Orient (Page 1 of 4)
“Our schoolmaster used to take a nap every afternoon,” related a disciple of Soyen Shaku. “We children asked him why he did it and he told us: ‘I go to dreamland to meet the old sages just as Confucius did.’ When Confucius slept, he would dream of ancient sages and later tell his followers about them.
It was extremely hot one day so some of us took a nap. Our schoolmaster scolded us. ‘We went to dreamland to meet the ancient sages the same as Confucius did,’ we explained. ‘What was the message from those sages?’ our schoolmaster demanded. One of us replied: ‘We went to dreamland and met the sages and asked them if our schoolmaster came there every afternoon, but they said they had never seen any such fellow!'”
O povestire izvorâtă din una dintre cele mai longevive tradiţii scrise din lume.
Zi-lu said, ‘If the Prince of Wei were awaiting you, Sir, to take control of his administration, what would be the Master’s priority?’
‘The one thing needed is the correction of names!’ the Master replied.
‘Are you as wide of the mark as that, Sir?’ said Zi-lu. ‘Why this correction?’
‘How uncultivated you are, Yu!’ responsed the Master. ‘A wise man, in regards to what he does not understand, maintains an attitude of reserve. If names are not correct then statements do not accord with facts. And when statements and facts do not accord, then business cannot be properly executed. When business is not properly executed, order and harmony do not flourish. When order and harmony do not flourish, then justice becomes arbitrary. And when justice becomes arbitrary, people do not know how to move hand or foot. Hence whatever a wise man states he can always define, and what he so defines he can always carry into practice; for the wise man will on no account have anything remiss in his definitions.’
“Sacred knowledge and, by extension, wisdom are conceived as the fruit of an initiation, and it is significant that obstetric symbolism is found connected with the awakening of consciousness both in ancient India and in Greece. Socrates had good reason to compare himself to a midwife, for in fact he helped men to be born to consciousness of self; he delivered the “new man”. The same symbolism is found in the Buddhist tradition. The monk abandoned his family name and became a “son of the Buddha” (sakyarpidto), for he was “born among the saints” (ariya). So Kassapa said of himself: “Natural Son of the Blessed One, born of his mouth, horn of the Dhamma. This initiatiory birth implied death to profane existence. The schema was maintained in Hinduism as well as in Buddhism.”
“When Eastern teachers first encounter Western students, one aspect of our character must become immediately prominent: we are determinedly individualistic. In the West we pride ourselves on our individuality. From the moment we begin to engage in the world, there are expectations and pressures on us to be able to express our own particular personal character and capacities. During our education this tendency is deepened as we are compared to others, measured, and encouraged. Self-expression and creativity are generally rewarded and applauded. As children we rapidly grow to understand that as we move from the family out into the world around, we are expected to become increasingly self-reliant.
Ultimately there will be little help in the fiercely competitive environment of work and relationships. As Erich Fromm so clearly expressed in his book Fear of Freedom, we may be free to do with our lives pretty much as we wish, but the cost to our emotional security is very great. To grow up in the West we must become psychologically robust enough to cope with the alienation that accompanies our independence. We must be able to cope with the demands of a relatively hostile, competitive, and insecure world. Individuality is a way of living, and it is also a way of trying to be visible and different in a culture that seems to delight in those who are different, special, or famous.
There is a strong cultural demand that we each try to express ourselves in a uniquely individual way. In the creative world, the arts that are valued are those that offer radical, fresh expression that breaks free of the old order. Innovation is everything. This approach stands in marked contrast to the prevailing disposition within Eastern cultures. In Indian dance and music, for example, expertise is measured in terms of the adherence to the subtle principles of the art, not by innovation. As a painter of thangkas, or Tibetan religious images, I encountered a similar view. In Tibetan the term rang so wa, meaning “self-created” or “innovation”, is derogatory expression implying that you just made it up and, therefore, it has no authenticity or authority. As is true of many other aspects of Tibetan Buddhism, the thangka reflects a lineage of tradition where creative innovation is considered entirely inappropriate.”
Ciclul vieţii în hinduism, budism şi jainism implică dukha (suferinţă) iar singura modalitate de-a ne elibera de suferinţă este să ne deconectăm de la toate planurile, dorinţele, gândurile şi luptele de zi cu zi. Nu pot fi susuri fără josuri. Urcuşuri fără coborâşuri. Bucurii fără suferinţe. Îs la pachet. Dar ce poate fi e nirvana sau moksha, la hinduşi. Eliberare, orice ar vrea să însemne asta.