Thoughts

Just as the plum blossom buds must endure the chill of another storm, so too must we weather the unexpected events that life presents. Especially because I’m feeling exhausted from a couple of stressful weeks of emergencies and activities, I must remind myself to call for quiet confidence — a faith that spring will certainly arrive before I know it, and life will keep unfolding.

Needless to say, I feel quite overwhelmed dealing with these challenges. In the grand scheme of things, they’re just life happening. My life isn’t falling apart even if it does bring some fear up in my consciousness. Again, I have to remember this, too, shall pass one way or the other. Gotta keep going back to gratitude for all that I do have today.

Mind is supposed to think. So there’s nothing wrong with thinking in meditation. By being aware of our thinking process, hopefully we reach a point where we get some clear insights. Some thoughts are quite compelling and capable of engulfing my mind during the meditation. Then there’s a moment I realize that I’m “engaging” in whatever the topic that’s actively participating in my mind, there’s a momentary “emptiness.” If I don’t react to my own thoughts and allow them to just take their course of thinking process — kind of like letting the flu bug work itself through our physical body — I find that there’s often a sense of relief: “Thank God, I don’t have to think about this right now!”

Sometimes I forget about the “life” and get so preoccupied with whatever the situations and circumstances that are presenting themselves to me whether it’s the work, relationships, health or whatever, for which I may be in illusion of having control. Yet there’s a way in which life happens under the perfect conditions between cause and effect like these organisms growing and dying even when nobody’s looking.

One afternoon in the meditation hall where about 40 or so of us sat as we did several times a day, the stillness and silence were so exquisite. Then it started raining outside gently.  While I was sheltered indoors, it felt like my soul was being cleansed as the sound of the rain crescendoed and just as gently faded away.  Whatever was hindering me from trusting completely in the process and whatever was making me feel attached were washed away in those moments.  Dharma teaches us the truth about life; how we all have some sort of dissatisfaction in life that causes some kinds of pains yet nothing stays the same. Everything is constantly evolving.  And for the most part we don’t have control other than how we deal with what happens. 

When the clouds are hanging over for an extended period, it’s tough to believe the sun will come out eventually. There might be rain, snow, or storms before the sun returns. Change is inevitable, for better or worse, and things keep evolving. Despite feeling like I’m not always giving my best effort, my 20+ years of practice have helped me through ups and downs. Learning to be present moment by moment is challenging but allows me to appreciate occasional showers and even storms, knowing each experience makes me stronger and wiser.

While we have some modicum of “disaster preparedness” here both personally and community-wide, the reality is that perfect preparedness is elusive.The recent earthquake in Japan serves as a poignant example, highlighting the challenges posed by nature’s ferocity, unforgiving weather conditions, and the vulnerability of even well-prepared regions.

During times like this, we like having friends over for no particular reason than just to hang out and be cozy by the fire, sharing food, watching movies, or just chatting. It reminds me of the Danish word, “hygge (hoo-ga).” It means “creating a warm atmosphere and enjoying the good things in life with good people.” (Source: visitdenmark.com) I’m sure there’s so many more layers to the word, but I love the feeling this concept evokes.

I had the privilege of spending my New Year’s Day peacefully, and most importantly stayed safe and comfortable. I must keep reminding myself not to take this life for granted realizing the delicate nature of existence. If anything else, I am determined to stay grateful.

There’s a word in Japanese, “danshari (断捨離)” which describes this process. I’m sure this resonates with the Marie Kondo method as well. “Dan (断)” means to refuse to accept unnecessary items; “sha (捨)” means to rid of unnecessary items; and “ri (離)” is to detach. For me as a photographer, it’s always been difficult to let go of photos both the personal memories as well as the photographs I’ve created. But I’ve managed to reduce the files of my photographs to two binders and a box from a whole shelf full of them.

I reveled in the hallowed embrace of friendship—the kind that dances with raindrops and kindles flames of shared stories. To tread the path with companions who seek solace in the company of trees and honor the rhythm of seasons is a blessing beyond measure.  I offered my gratitude for the gift of friends, for the joy of rain-soaked trails, and for the timeless tradition of honoring the passage of time.

So this was a much needed opportunity for me to get still and go within.  I would have liked it to be a much longer retreat, but I’m deeply grateful to have what I had.  As is usually the case, it took me a few days for my mind to calm down as I meditated. By the 4th day, I noticed my mind was still churning with thoughts, but there was this rather peaceful flow of awareness underneath the thinking mind.  I realized then that my mind was wanting a “quiet and calm” state while my mind was just slowing down.  The difference between how my mind was and how I wanted it to be was the cause of discontent.

The shedding leaves and the bare aspens outside my window are not just symbols of the changing seasons but tangible reminders of the impermanence inherent in the fabric of existence. In the face of uncertainty about the upcoming winter and the unpredictability of weather patterns, the wisdom of impermanence encourages acceptance and mindfulness, fostering a deeper connection with the flowing currents of nature and time.

'Tis the holiday season, and my inbox is flooded with thankful messages. Now, I know this might sound like just another one of those, but I genuinely want to express my gratitude. As I cultivate my awareness of my own thoughts and feelings, it’'s surprising how much easier it becomes to notice the little things, especially when I'm feeling down about people and the state of the world. Shifting my focus to find something positive never fails to lift my spirits.

In my 30s, I began contemplating the nature of this higher power, a concept I had loosely referred to as “God.” While I cannot articulate it precisely, I sensed a journey of self-discovery unfolding, intertwined with an exploration of something greater than myself. Despite engaging in Buddhist meditation for many years, I hesitate to label myself as a Buddhist because such labels feel confining. The simplicity and practicality of Buddhist teachings initially drew me in, evolving into a deeper appreciation as I delved into their profound intricacies, which seems like more of a philosophical exploration.

More than 2500 years later, while his teachings are spread worldwide, we are still facing so much suffering at every level of our existence. I find solace in practicing meditation and learning the teachings although nothing shields me from the pains and sorrows completely while joy and happiness are more appreciated when they’re present in day to day life. Yet I heard one of my teachers, Gil Fronsdal, recently say, “if you can just remember one thing about Buddhist teaching, it is about ‘no harm’.” No harm, first to ourselves, then to others including other beings. It sounds simple, but apparently it’s not so if we still find the world to be so full of harm.

I closed my eyes and opened my heart to the wisdom of nature. In that moment, a gentle breeze rustled through the cedar’s branches, and it felt as though the tree itself was communicating with me on a deep, spiritual level. The message was clear and powerful: to grow and flourish, sometimes we must be broken down. This message resonated deeply with me. It was a reminder of the resilience of nature and the enduring spirit of life. The Deodar Cedar urged me to let go of fear and embrace the transformative power of adversity. It reminded me that, like the cedar’s branches that may suffer in a storm but regrow stronger, I too can find strength and growth in life’s challenges.

Yet, rather than dwelling on an uncertain tomorrow, I am doing my best to enjoy the autumn foliage while it lasts embracing the present moment. The autumn leaves are a poignant reminder of impermanence. However, even after years of practice, staying rooted in the present moment is not a task easily mastered. The mind has a penchant for wandering, for veering off into the past or future. Yet, it is in this very struggle that the beauty of mindfulness lies. The practice isn’t about achieving perfection but rather about the journey toward it. It’s about acknowledging our wandering thoughts and gently guiding them back to the here and now. And while it may not always be easy, it’s a practice worth pursuing, for it is in the present that we find the true essence of our lives.

In fact, for some time, I have been grappling with a subtle sensation, which I hesitate to label as “anxiety,” as it feels elusive and transient, lurking just beneath the surface of my consciousness.

So I make an attempt to investigate the emotional undercurrent when I have the mindspace to do so. When those voices of despair or hopelessness arise, I try to watch and witness the thoughts impartially. More often than not; however, I find myself engaging in those thoughts which then trigger certain emotions, which then possibly lead me to act rather unskillfully.

I’m so lucky to have spent a lot of time outdoors this week. First, it was a 7-mile hike with a bunch of friends from the community on what we call, “Peak to Peak.” The trail connects Mt. Pinos, the highest peak (8,847 ft) in Ventura County with Cerro Noroeste at 8,283 ft. They are two of the highest peaks in Los Padres National Forest. It is a well-covered walk under many ancient pine and fir tree species with some ups and downs but not too difficult to traverse. We took time foraging the wild currants, learning that some of the ground covering buckwheat flowers were edible, and of course, taking pictures and snacking along the way.