Diary of a Bad Buddhist

Bad Buddhist vs. Four Noble Truths—Dukkha

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 07:23:00 +0000

Dukkha, you win. You have stopped me and my blog in our tracks.

The First Noble Truth, dukkha, is the fact of suffering: that which gives rise to the feeling of "get me the hell out of here." The Second Noble Truth, samudaya, is the fact of the "get me the hell out of here" response. That the second follows the first is the essence of the human condition. It's so true, so universally, unmitigatedly true, that it earned the title of "noble".

Inspired by David Brazier's rejection of the idea that the second, third and fourth noble truths constitute a "cure", I was very determined to write about dukkha simply unto itself, not as a lead-in to the good part where we deal with it and feel better. But I've sat here every day for 2 months trying to do it, and everything I write has to get cut and saved for the later FNT posts — the ones about how we can free ourselves not from suffering but from suffering about our suffering. In fact, looking at my definitions above, I see I actually defined suffering as a kind of corollary to wanting suffering to end.

I can't even give dukkha its own sentence, let alone its own post. Apparently, that's how deeply and completely I want to get the hell out of its way.

This has been tormenting me for months. Neglecting my blog makes me feel irresponsible and weak. And I thought I was on such a roll with the FNTs! I've been drafting samudaya, nirodha and marga nonstop—I even have the artwork ready! But dukkha, just the raw naked fact of it all by itself . . . my mind slides right off of it.

This blog has been the "therapy" side of my practice—the place where I can whine about how hard it all is and how bad I am at it, and poke fun at the boss. But now I have this eerie feeling of being in one of those koan stories where Buddha enlightens someone by creating an experience for them, rather than explaining. Like Kisagotami, a woman who came to beg him to bring her dead child back to life. He told her to collect a mustard seed from a household that had not endured grief. After years of asking door to door, she realized there was no such household, and her wish to escape her own suffering changed into compassion for all who suffer; thus she grasped the nobility of the truth of dukkha. I also like the one about the samurai warrior who asks one of the Buddha's disciples to describe heaven and hell. The disciple says, "Why should I explain it to you, you ignorant clod?" The enraged samurai prepares to smite his critic, who quietly says, "That is hell." The samurai stops, not quite comprehending, separated from his sense of certainty. The disciple says, "That is heaven."

Well, this has been my own personal mustard seed. It's not that I really equated finishing a blog post with escaping suffering. But I feel like the boss I've been joshing just showed me why he's the boss.

If these posts are where I process my process of waking up, then maybe my failure here is a more eloquent statement than any thousand-word blob of analysis and snarky jokes would have been. I can't blog dukkha into submission. No matter how I try to take it apart, it's bigger than me. However I try to grasp it, it reminds me that I'm not here for that; I'm here to be in its grasp. Nobly so.

Thank you for the unexpected bonus, boss — I mean it.

"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says otherwise is selling you something." I admit I thought about just using that line as my whole post. William Goldman is probably an excellent Buddhist, even if he doesn't know it.

I thought this one might be a little too cartoon-cute-sy, until I noticed the needle through the eyeball. Now I believe.

. . . yep.

Bad Buddhist vs. the Four Noble Truths – All of 'em

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 15:09:00 +0000

Time to take on the Four Noble Truths. If I were a more logical Buddhist, that's where I'd have started this blog. Perhaps some viriya paramita was kicking in, compelling me to spring into action via the Eight Precepts — practice first, then theory. A bit backward.

But oy, the FNTs — they're an awfully big job!

David Brazier gives a provocative and appealing exegesis of the Setting in Motion of the Wheel of the Dharma talk, which is where our friend Gautama describes his enlightenment experience and lays out the fundamental truths that constitute all human experience. I like to reread the book, The Feeling Buddha, after studying other sets of concepts such as the Precepts, the Paramitas, etc., to re-ground my understanding.

The book's cover blurb describes Brazier's project to present "a picture of the Buddha as a very human figure whose success lay not in his perfection, but in his method of positively utilizing the energy generated by personal suffering."

The Buddha's focus on the ordinary reality that everyone — everyone — experiences, and the easily recognizable habits and behaviors that we develop in response, are reflected in Brazier's accessible, sensible and compelling discussion.

Drat and blast, this is turning into a book review — much easier than tackling the FNTs by myself. What happened to all that viriya?

Well, I'll take help where I can get it. One aspect of Brazier's presentation that really struck me was his focus on the word "noble." The FNTs are often abbreviated as "life is suffering," which of course is only the first of four; the rest are often interpreted as a formula for escaping #1, as if suffering were a disease that could be remedied. That's an easy conclusion to reach when you look at the text:

But Brazier rejects the construction that X is bad, X is caused by Y, Y can be eliminated, the cure for Y is Z. This would imply that X (dukkha) is something we should reject. But the Buddha didn't talk about the Four What-a-Drag Truths. He called them noble.

That's pretty intense. If something is noble, it probably shouldn't be avoided, rejected, or otherwise dissed. But that's what we all do all of the time, often in desperate, destructive, or just silly ways. We construct our lives and personas to protect ourselves against even the tiniest twinge. Brazier comments:

"The Buddha is saying that to be a human being who necessarily suffers is a dignified thing to be. What he is overthrowing is the idea that the spiritual quest consists of a flight from suffering. On the contrary, it is the flight which is undignified and shameful."

Brazier believes that the Buddha's wording targets something much deeper than our desire to avoid suffering itself; it goes straight to the real source of panic and flight, which is shame. Affliction, though it happens to everyone, makes us feel like we've been demoted somehow, like we've failed. So we try to deny and conceal our vulnerability by escaping into all the things the Precepts advise against: indulgence, intoxication, distraction, dishonesty, anything to maintain the illusion that we're not actually subject to life's indignities. But it's not suffering that is undignified; it's the ways we try to cheat so we don't feel it and it doesn't show.

This, by the way, includes swinging to the other end of the escape continuum: overzealous spiritual questing for transcendence. That might mean running away to a monastery, or just overdosing on Yoga Journal and two-day molasses-and-cayenne cleanses. (Full disclosure: I've read Charlotte Joko Beck's book Nothing Special at least ten times, and there's nothing Brazier or the Buddha or my boyfriend — or any other big B's — can say to make me stop.)

But that's really what I'm aiming to be "versus": undignified, tiresome and tiring flight. For my next Four Noble Posts, I'm going along with Brazier in thinking the Buddha knew us awfully well and, for all his talk about egolessness, knew exactly how our egos work and how to calm us down. Dukkha happens all the time to everyone everywhere, and to live in peaceful, sane accordance with it — rather than chickening out and seeking relief that can't last — is cool.

So noble up, comrades. We can handle this.

An excellent representation of what the Four Noble Truths feel like on first reading. Duck and cover!

Ah, much better. I like the ABCD layout — makes the whole FNT thing feel a bit more manageable. Like I said, I'll take help where I can get it.

According to David Snyder, author of The Complete Book of Buddha's Lists — Explained, "the absolute value of fulfilled expectations is greater than or equal to the sum total of all expectations." So there.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. BROUHAHA
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE LORD (AND CELINE DION)
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BOURGEOIS HEROES
BAD BUDDHIST VS. YOGA
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE EIGHTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SEVENTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SIXTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. Brouhaha

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 20:15:00 +0000

Golly, what a week on Facebook! Farewell to Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett; hello again to friction between FB and Twitter. Brouhaha abounds in the digital realm, inviting us to wonder what gets us so mightily ruffled, and why. Or, as the big B would say, what agitates us and what we cling to for relief.

Brouhaha is always an intriguing glimpse of how aversion to pain/grasping for pleasure plays out en masse. The differences between the Michael-inspired and Farrah-inspired brouhahas have been pretty illuminating. Facebookers are expressing sadness over both celebs (MJ and FF, in digi-speak), but there are subtle variations in the essence of the sorrow which bear reflecting upon.

MJ's mourners have been reliving important moments of their youth, sharing their nostalgia, and digging up as many freaky-great videos as can be found; it's as much a celebration as a bereavement. Maybe we no longer have much in common with the people we shared those formative experiences with — but here we all are, together, mesmerized by the weirdness and wonder of that face, that voice, those crazy moves. Happy travels, MJ, wherever you land in the next round of the Great Round.

The Farrah-inspired brouhaha, in contrast, seems more tongue-in-cheek, perhaps even a smidge dismissive. We remember a lot about her, but the stuff we're remembering doesn't inspire the same affection. Dan Savage's memorial post on Slog simply reads: "Dead." Ouch. A pinup girl in a red swimsuit, a hairdo, the not-the-smart-one Angel — campy fun to revisit, but that's all. Her later life made us uncomfortable (what was up with that Letterman appearance? Yikes!) and we did not approve of The Burning Bed or Extremities, even though we support rape/domestic-violence awareness programs and decry TV's habit of glamorizing violence against women. We frowned and smirked when she stepped outside the blonde-bombshell box, even though we despised the box in the first place. Like our MJ, FF was a weirdo — but not the kind we could really love. Farrah, we didn't do so well by you, but perhaps you've taught us something. Thank you.

Still, overall, the brouhaha has been fun. It's been a community experience, and a cross-community one, and perhaps even a community-building one: Facebookers who otherwise don't interact much are getting in there, mashing up the sad, the sweet, and the snarky, and it's all good — different atoms in one big chatty molecule.

Not so with the ongoing FB vs. Twitter skirmishes, which always bewilder me. A lot of folks have a lot of contempt for those who choose to tweet, and they love to agree with each other about it. The discourse feels unpleasantly hipsterish to me, a kind of tribal elitism within the safe megaclique of Facebook (of which I am part). Not that the negging is limited to any particular walled garden; here's a little blurb from The Onion, which of course is satirical, but you get the idea:

"Twitter was intended to be a way for vacant, self-absorbed egotists to share their most banal and idiotic thoughts with anyone pathetic enough to read them," said a visibly confused Dorsey, claiming that Twitter is at its most powerful when it makes an already attention-starved populace even more needy for constant affirmation.

Yes, it's hip to hate Twitter, all right — even (or especially) among Facebookers. Which is odd, because besides FB being more media-rich, what's the difference, really? In fact, one could say that FB lacks some of Twitter's potential uses and amplifies its tendency toward the banal. What's worse: writing a short tweet about one's thoughts or activities of the moment, or vacantly clicking "Send hugs to [friend]" or "I like this" or "Join This Cause" and then clicking it again for something else and again for something else? And don't both technologies feed exactly the same "look at me, look at me" craving? I personally don't think either is as dumb or as deadening as they're made out to be, but if we really need vote one off the island, well, which of the two would the Tehran demonstrators pick?

Consider the current brouhaha over Penguin's upcoming publication, Twitterature. The FB despair meter suggests that the end of literacy and of literature is nigh. And as I read the laments, I can partly empathize: I, too, cringe at the idea of Dante or Dickens or Nabokov reduced to 20 tweets — it's even worse than Cliff's Notes!

But is it? Maybe it's more like oulipo. Maybe it's a great writing exercise; we should all try it and see if we can capture theme, plot, character, pacing, style, etc., in one page. I'd be thrilled if my writing students took that on. To be blunt, these appeals to preserving the canon's cultural value strike me as cop-outs, a way to grab at some easy validation of an essentially reactionary attitude: remember the outpouring of disdain for the novel-via-Twitter? No new forms allowed — they might lead to dancing!

How odd that something so innocuous should offend us so — to the degree that we can't bear to think about its merits, its social utility, its creative potential. According to the Buddha, agitation arises from our aversion to suffering, which is usually taken to mean the big stuff like pain, disease, death. But the first discourse on dukkha gives more attention to the everyday ego abrasions that send us scrambling for refuge in distraction, aggression, and yes, even run-of-the-mill snobbery:

"Dukkha is being associated with what you do not like, being separated from what you do like, and not being able to get what you want." (Translation from The Feeling Buddha by David Brazier.)

Aha! Is that what's going on here? Being associated with something we do not like? Are we irked because all of that stuff people say about MySpacers and MMOLRPGers not having lives and being unable to connect with actual human beings might apply to us as well? Are we maybe a little embarrassed about how obsessively we cultivate digital versions of ourselves, how we love to be on display and get those cute thumbs-ups? Certainly we're different from, say, those losers over at SecondLife, obsessing over their avatars' wardrobes and face tattoos, right? Maybe not. Facebook could easily be described as a 24-hour personal PR agency that we use for all kinds of reasons we'd rather not ponder.

Not that those reasons are really so bad, though. Self-promotion is a normal, evolutionarily useful urge. Shouldn't be a big deal, but we seem to shift into a panicky sort of denial when we're caught in the deliberate construction of identity. But so what? We like to dabble in fads, in vanity, in idle amusements — why bite each other's heads off about it?

Indeed, there are times when FB's genteel manner of poking "gentle" fun devolves into a much nastier kind of groupthink. Some folks assume that no one reading will be hurt by their offhand remarks, dismissiveness, ridicule, moral condemnation, etc. This is thoughtless, like a roomful of people making fun of Mormons or TV watchers or people who still think Tom Cruise is hot: chances are that someone in that room is "guilty," or knows and cares about someone who is. It surprises me when FBers let their manners slip this way. After all, how many FBers do you suppose use both, or even make their FB posts via Twitter? For me, it's probably half of the friends I keep up with — and they post at least half of the stuff I'm glad to find out about.

FBers really aren't as shallow or junior-high-ish as their (our) quips sometimes suggest; they (we) might indulge in occasional fantasies of taste-arbitration, but generally stop short of censorship. We all have our snob moments, our puritanical streak. Sometimes it just feels good to indulge in some down-home, to-hell-with-manners eye-rolling. (I'm doing it right now while I think about the abovementioned humans who rent every episode of The Office/Buffy/Weeds and still pride themselves that they "never watch TV". Hello?)

So yes, quite a week. Lots of aversion, lots of craving and attachment, much stoking of dukkha. And, as the big B often pointed out, many missed opportunities to observe what is, instead of imprisoning ourselves in our rigid interpretive matrices. This seems like a good jumping-off point for a close look at those Four Noble Truths. It's a daunting task. I'll tackle it next time — after I update my status and check my notifications. And maybe I'll tweet it, just for a taste of life as it is on the wrong side of the tracks.

They might reincarnate wiser, but no way will they be prettier.

The burdensome nature of aversion, craving and attachment. Dude, take off the backpack! And take mine while you're at it, please...

These are for sale and might prevent people from mistaking you for a loser.

Ditto.

Can "snob" be reclaimed, like "queer" or "geek"?

If Marilyn Manson doesn't empower your inner snob, wearing this might. I know it's making me feel pretty badass, and I haven't even received mine in the mail yet.

Bad Buddhist vs. the Lord (and Celine Dion)

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 02:17:00 +0000

A crazy thing happened to me today.

I had an uplifting experience — at church.

It never should have happened. I don't do church. Or God, or Jesus, or any of that. I get very grouchy about things like separation of church and state (or the lack thereof) and Mormons drinking Coke and rich greedy plutocrats pretending to be upright Christians. The closest thing to a higher power I'm able to stomach is Flying Spaghetti Monster (may we all be touched by His noodly appendage).

But today I went, with a friend of mine who is visiting from D.C., to the Church of St. John Coltrane, which is of the African Orthodox tradition. It seemed like a fun, sort of touristy San Francisco thing to do. It was my idea to go, and I was curious, but I really had to brace myself for the God-talk and expected to be uncomfortable.

I also wasn't especially looking forward to the music. I don't get jazz; in fact, I just saw the Chet Baker documentary "Let's Get Lost" and was kind of bored. The most interesting thing about it to me was the mysterious, unnamed brunette cheesecake whose presence was never explained yet whose breasts seemed to dominate about half the scenes. People tell me I have no soul because I dislike jazz music and poetry, and I think it's probably true.

We got there a little late, and the music was already in full swing. Some kind of crazy jazz jam was happening, and there was this little girl playing bongos along with the coolly mindblowing jazz drummer dude, and this unbelievable upright-bass-player lady, and robed priests wailing on various horns, and people in the congregation played along on tamborines and maracas. One woman had brought tap shoes and a portable plywood dance platform and, man, she went to town. There was iconography of black Jesus on a throne, black Madonna and child, and Saint John Will I Am Coltrane with a sax full of flames. I looked around and thought, "Just think of them all as wonderful, strange space aliens, and go with it."

(I also mentally replaced all references to Jesus with Joe Strummer, but that's another topic.)

Much to my surprise, I didn't even have to work that hard. Within five minutes, I was hooked. I mean I got it. I got the music and I got what they were all doing there. I wished I had a tamborine, and if my friend hadn't been with me I think I would have been on my feet along with the regulars.

The jam ended and the choir sang and then various individuals gave tremendously individual, varied, inspired, amazing performances of some religion-applicable jazz standards ("Body and Soul" was one I recognzied) and spirituals. Then the archbishop gave a kind of musical sermon, which erupted in more jamming and some pretty wild dancing, until he calmed everybody down and set about the business of preaching. He had a reassuringly good-humored and compassionate and down-to-earth style, with plenty of laughter at his own foibles, and lots of common sense sprinkled throughout his exegesis of the Old Testament story of Jonah, the prophet who objected to God's forgiveness of the city of Nineveh. (Jonah wanted the city wiped out for its transgressions, mainly to vindicate himself, and spent a month in the desert waiting for it to happen. No go. Get over yourself, Jonah. You too, Dubya.)

I was a religion major in college and always liked biblical stories as literature and as examples of human storytelling. As grouchy as I am about religion, I think there's a lot of wisdom collected in the Bible, just as there is in the Sutras and the Tao Te Ching and The Joy of Cooking and tarot cards. So it wasn't too hard to listen to the sermon and kind of forget about the outward form or code (God this and Scripture that), and just listen to the logic and the lesson.

The best part was when the preacher started in on Barack Obama ("I like you, my boy, but what you're doing IS NOT SUFFICIENT.") I definitely liked hearing him tell "Sister Clinton" that her idea of housecleaning doesn't even begin to touch the filth behind the fridge. Social justice was a strong theme in the sermon, and this guy has got admirably high standards. He also has a knack for simultaneously talking about big, political, global issues and personal, behavioral and ethical stuff, relentlessly pointing out the connection between them — as inconvenient as it is to remember that a lot of the time. It feels good to revel in righteous indignation aimed at The Oppressor, but it won't do to forget about checking ourselves as well.

As for what everyone was doing there: probably more than I really want to think about, but what struck me was the sense of getting together to do hard work in a joyous way. The preacher was asking people to think hard about some difficult things, and they (we) were doing it in public (or among witnesses, anyway), and that was pretty intense.

It made me realize that even though I teach about media democracy and using new media for community building, I myself don't have much sense of community — and I didn't really know how much I felt that lack until today. I'm not going to run out and join a church to fill the void; I'm going to sit with that feeling and see what it really consists of, and pay attention to ways I could participate more in the communities I already belong to (the university I teach at, my department, my band, my neighborhood). Not bad for a bad Buddhist, eh?

And I probably will get a tamborine and go back to church next Sunday — and sit close to the drummer. He was freaking amazing.

(So what does Celine Dion have to do with this, besides being the anti-Joe-Strummer in my personal theology? Well, when I came home today my boyfriend had sent me a link to this video. I watched it and realized I could no longer think of her as a complete robot zombie idiot. I had to ask him if it's alarming that I discovered I like church and Celine Dion in the same day. I don't know; should I be worried?)

Saint John Will I Am Coltrane and his saxophone of holy fire watch over the congregation. The service was much less grim than you'd think based on this picture.

An equally iconic and eloquent image. I'm not joking about Joe. There's a reason The Clash were called the only band that matters.

One card from my favorite deck, Morgan's Tarot. This one means "The appearance of this card may indicate something scary is happening, but there is probably no need to take it too seriously." Fear is the mind-killer. (Was it Yoda or the Kyle McLaughlin character in Dune who said that?)

A Tibetan FSM sighting?

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. BOURGEOIS HEROES
BAD BUDDHIST VS. YOGA
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE EIGHTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SEVENTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SIXTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. Bourgeois Heroes

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 20:09:00 +0000

Looks like Bad Buddhist is also a bad Marxist, I'm genuinely sad to say. I kinda wanted to be good at one of them.

While Marx made some bizarre predictions (seriously, a revolution that actually accomplishes an egalitarian society and is the culmination of human history — forever?), he also gave us a way to talk about tricky stuff like false consciousness.

(Just to get it out of the way: Marx's critique was hot even if his conclusions were wack. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Also, some Marxist lingo comes from his fan club, not himself; I use what I like.)

Back to bad Buddhism: false consciousness is a lot like maya, the "veil of illusion" that keeps us thinking our ego-bound perceptions of reality are real. The difference is that maya just exists — it's how the world was when we all got here — whereas false consciousness is something engineered for the purposes of exploitation and social control.

Also, with maya, knowing about it can help you not get too caught up in it. But with false consciousness, there's no vaccine — not for me, anyway. I've been stung. Infected. A plague is upon my house.

I am in love — or at least kind of mentally getting it on — with a bourgeois hero.

Two, in fact, though each is so necessary to the package that they function as a single unit. Individually they are David and Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham. Together they are dVb.

I am so fascinated by them (it?) that I have caught myself saying things like "retextualizing low culture as high culture" and "appropriation of the absurd as an assertion of the individual". She designed her own wall sconces, you know! When the art world refused to let her in, she turned her own home into a gallery and her life into a runway show. As for the sanctified arbiters of taste, she went DIY on their asses. Didn't she! Didn't she!

However, now that she's getting thumb-uppage right and left, she is just another bourgeois hero. The myth or subtext of dVb is this: The way to attain ultimate happiness is to divest oneself of ordinary personhood through the transformative magic of Lots and Lots of Money. Creativity, chutzpah and canny dress sense don't count for beans without it. The money is the mojo.

And Posh is its high priestess. Her sacred name is Hyperrealia. She is annihilated on the altar of the culture industry (a conveyor belt of beauties for sale, interchangeable anonymous models daily upgraded and improved) and resurrected as the Ur-Mother of them all. Through money she becomes Herself.

Whoa. What just happened? Where am I? What time is it?

Maybe I'll calm down if I get this off my chest: it's an excerpt from Elle magazine's recent dVb love-orgy:

[Victoria] disembarked picture-perfect from the plane at LAX on July 13, her famously unsmiling self groomed to the nines, nary a blond hair out of place, wearing an Azzedine Alaia black dress, mile-high heels, and humongous black sunglasses, with an Hermes Birkin bag on one arm and her grinning soccer star husband on the other. . .

Next stop? Beverly hills. Imposing wrought iron gates open in slow motion to a long, narrow drive lined by towering hedges. Parked in front of the $22 million dollar manse is a black Bentley Continental GTC with monogrammed VB headrests and a Lincoln Navigator bearing David's soccer number, 23, on the seats and front grille. Ten security guards resembling Chippendales dancers walk the grounds. In England, ex-Special Forces agents patrol the couple's 24-acre estate, whith its 1930s Georgian-style house — a former government-owned children's home. Dubbed "Beckingham Palace," the residence is Grade II listed (yes, even property there is defined by class), which deems it "a particularly significant building of more than local interest." There they re-created the ancient Irish church in which they were wed in 1999 — on matching thrones, with Victoria wearing a crown. "I enjoy sending it up," she says.

This is just gross and creepy, right? I cannot allow myself to dig dVb, clearly. I mean, what response can any decent Marxist soul have other than horror, repulsion, lament for the sorry state of our culture? You can take one look at them and know it's over: for us, for America. We're done. Decadence is the final and fatal stage of empire. Our heroes will get dumber even as they get richer, and so will we. And when we stop getting richer and start getting poorer (because of all the dumb things we did to get richer) we'll cling just as needfully to the pretty pictures.

Ack, sorry. There I go again.

I don't want to end this post on such a doomsday note, so to cleanse the blog aura I will invoke Keri Smith as an antidote to the bourgeous hero. Keri is one of those creative and sensitive souls who have a knack for sharing their talent without getting all superior about it. I met her at a conference once. She's lovely. It's worth taking a little tour of her site; I especially liked her create-a-thing-a-day month and the ad-free blog project.

And I promise to read two sutras for every trashy article I read about you-know-who.

P.S. Do I get extra credit for managing to include a Mork and Mindy reference in this post? Not sure what I'm talking about? Then SOMEBODY didn't follow all the links!

What fan club? Here they are: Marxist MVPs! Art (c) Mike Mosher 1999, 2008.

Would I be happy? Would I? Would you?

Whoa — hot robot alien Stepford wives!

This project offended lots of people who put ads on their blogs and who believe bloggers should be able to make some revenue off of their work. I agree with that in principle, but I also appreciate some ad-free space now and then. How 'bout you?

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. YOGA
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE EIGHTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SEVENTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SIXTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. Yoga

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 22:31:00 +0000

Whew! Made it through the precepts (barely). Seems like a good time to take a break from scripture, stand up, move around a bit, stretch.

You'd think that someone who finds it difficult to sit still and focus for 20 minutes of zen meditation would do a bit better at yoga. Yoga is like meditation with treats: every new pose is like a bright, shiny object that provides a few moments of entertainment for the restless mind — a brief respite from the impatience and boredom of being stuck motionless on a cushion, alone with one's own tediously repetetive thoughts. Hooray, warrior pose! Downward-facing dog — yippee!

Except . . .

I hate yoga. Or rather, I hate yoga instruction. I freak out when I hear things like "draw the energy inward from the heart center" or "let the movement come from your intention, not from your muscles." I can't bear that kind of metaphorical, mystifying baby-talk. It's one thing to say, "Lift the crown of your head as if there were a string connecting it to the ceiling." That is a simile; the "as if" makes it perfectly OK. But "send the breath out through the fingers and toes"? No. I have no lungs or trachea in my limbs. I have muscles I can wiggle and stretch, or — if that's too darn Western and literal — I can visualize wiggling and stretching. (Disclosure: I also hate modern dance and poetry, so I'm probably some kind of spiritual cripple, but I'm sticking by my guns here: energy comes from ATP and glucose, not the suggestion of light radiating out from a serpent coiled in my belly.)

So. I am apparently a bad Buddhist and an even worse yogini. Still, I guess I'm just good enough at both to recognize that my resistance is itself a lesson, if I pay attention to it. Why do I become so enraged by the efforts of instructors who have worked hard to master a skill and who are trying their best to teach well? I felt a similar intolerance throughout my years as a graduate student in a creative writing program. Every time I heard someone say "write into that" or "write around that" or talk about any kind of "mapping" or "exploding" of "moments," I would practically choke on my own disgust and self-loathing — was I really idiot enough to sit through this shit, semester after semester? Did I keep coming back because I was willing to be open to learning something, or was I just a revolting coward who couldn't cut the academic umbilical cord? I found myself growing brittle, bitter and resentful of every minute I spent in that program — when really I should have just enjoyed the privilege of being a person whose "job" was to write and think about writing pretty much all the time. Poor, poor me! No wonder I was so pissed off!

My resentment in class arose from my anxiety that time was being spent and wasted: that I was running out of time. My impatience in yoga arises from my anxiety that the teacher is talking nonsense, which is wasting my exercise time, of which I only have so much: again, I am running out of time. If I sit with this awareness, I realize that I live in a state of constant panic: because I am, as we all are, running out of time.

I flatten this panic in order to get through the day without being a raging, screaming, sobbing wreck. I distract myself with obsessions that tend toward the perfectionistic and rabidly critical, like my students' bewilderment regarding the concept of end punctuation (what the fuck is so fucking hard about end-fucking-punctuation? Jesus! Period, question mark, exclamation point, ellipsis, long dash! It's not fucking calculus, for Christ's sake! Are these college students or third-graders?) or my Mormon sister's hypocritical failure to train her kids to send thank-you notes (so family is really important, huh? Aren't I family? Just because I'm not a Christian, my birthday checks don't merit a simple acknowledgment? Nice values there. How about another Coke?). I futz around endlessly with my calendar, meticulously planning when I'll write and when I'll grade and when I'll read blogs and when I'll get groceries and when I'll clean the house and when I'll practice drumming and when I'll go to Pilates (not yoga) and when I'll generally get my shit together — and then I don't do any of it because the constant, underlying, crushing sense of time running out just makes me go fetal.

Meanwhile, time really is running out.

It really is.

Whoa — what the hell happened here? Yoga carnage as far as the third eye can see. . .

That's right: DECIDING THE FATE OF THE WORLD! And you thought it was merely about getting a yoga-butt. Ha.

OMG, this is too beautiful.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE EIGHTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SEVENTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SIXTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Eighth Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 20:04:00 +0000

I undertake the rule of training to refrain from a high or large sleeping-place.

Further explanation of this precept is probably needed here:

Just as all the other luxuries have been cut out, so the luxury of a large, soft bed should be dispensed with for this night. In warm Buddhist countries a mat on the floor is enough, but where the weather is colder a hard mattress or folded blankets on the floor could be used. On a hard surface the body actually relaxes more than on a soft one, also there is less desire to sleep long. On these nights an effort should be made to restrict sleep to the minimum. A "large bed" means one in which two people sleep. The Buddhist who practices these precepts for a day and a night always sleeps by himself.

Well, I don't need high or large, but I do need warm and comfy, which I'm guessing would count as "part of the problem" as far as this precept goes.

The problem being that sleep is goooooood. I like to sleep. A lot, if I get the chance. And that's not really compatible with the Buddhist ethic of not wasting time: every moment of the day can and should be used for practice, but time spent in sleep can't be spent in awareness. So the less time spent sleeping, the better.

Blech. Of all the Eight Precepts, this is my least favorite. Just thinking about it makes me want to take a nap in protest.

Yes, protest. Come on; if I'm going to put right effort in all day long, and refrain from practically everything my ego wants (not to mention my id, my libido, my primate brain, my metabolism, and my inner shoe fetishist), are you seriously telling me that someone wants to make sure I sleep in a way I don't enjoy, so that I'll want to do it less?

Actually, now that I've calmed down a bit (maybe I went and took a nap! Maybe I did!) I can see the logic and benefit of this precept for those looking to deepen their practice. It makes perfect sense, like just about everything the Buddha recommended. (That smartypants.)

BUT. There is a version of this precept floating around in our culture, and does not have the same legitimizing foundation in wisdom or the goal of human happiness. I'm talking about the Busy Rule. This rule says that you have to be busy all the time; you have to be so busy doing stuff you have to do that you don't have time to do the stuff you want to do; you have to be so busy that you're acutely aware of how your busy-ness exhausts and frustrates you; you have to be so busy that there is no possibility of unscheduled, unresearched, unmultitasked leisure or social activity. And the only acceptable reason for turning down any invitation or request for your time is that you're just way too crazy busy.

Well, screw that. I can't live as a crazy-busy person for more than a week without completely falling apart. I know my limit of busy, and I protect myself from being pushed too far past it — even when it means turning down invitations or requests for my time not because I'm actually too busy, but because I don't want to be.

I have a friend who is the busiest person on earth. Not only does she have a full-time job and a long commute to get there, but she also sings in a band that practices twice a week, writes poetry and goes to a workshop, takes a painting class, hosts Girls' Poker Night, acts as sole caregiver for an elderly woman (cleans her house, takes her to medical appointments, has dinner with her, handles her legal and financial stuff), does pro bono PR work for a local music school, maintains a full and exciting love life, spends time with her parents and siblings and nieces every weekend — and still says YES when I invite her over. She is living proof of the idiom: "If you want something done, ask a busy person." She is a miracle; I truly admire her.

And I am very clear that her life would kill me dead.

I think the cultural stigma against "not busy enough" has some basis in logic. There's obviously an advantage to being busy (in the same way there's an advantage to being manic and a disadvantage to being depressed) in that you simply get more done.

Which would be great. I admit my mental tally of Good Stuff I've Done would be higher if I spent less time at rest or in idle contemplation of trashy magazines. But I don't think I should have to feel secretive or ashamed about having free time, or have to give up sleeping in sometimes. That bit about the bed on the ground struck me at first (in contemporary cultural context) as punishing and shaming rather than practical, as the Buddha no doubt intended it.

So I do see the value of the practice. I think I will try a little harder to use my time wisely, and watch the napping. Chalk another one up for the Buddha; so far he's eight for eight.

I am an expert sleeper. I have slept in locations around the world. This is me sleeping in a castle — only recommended for real pro sleepers.

This is one of my more accomplished naps; I'm quite proud of this one, actually. The cats, Orson and Pablo, enjoyed it as well. Naps get extra points for cat participation.

A slightly less successful nap: no blanket, a bit chilly. Even Orson seems a little worried, like he wants someone to fetch me a down comforter. He is a good and faithful friend.

Now doesn't that look like it feels good? How can anything that looks like this be bad for you?

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SEVENTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SIXTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Seventh Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 18:09:00 +0000

I undertake to observe the precept to abstain from dancing, singing, music and watching grotesque mime.

Wow. No grotesque mime? Count me out.

Another version of this precept reads: "to refrain from dancing, singing, music, going to see entertainments, wearing garlands, smartening with perfumes and beautifying with cosmetics."

This is one of the "optional three" precepts for lay Buddhists. In the Buddha's time, his bikkhus (students) focused on recitation and teaching of the Dhamma on Uposatha (new moon and full moon) days. Today some lay Buddhists also observe Uposatha as days for temporary renunciation:

...the Buddha speaks of a noble disciple reflecting: By undertaking the Uposatha with its eight precepts for a day and a night I renounce the way of common men and live as the arahants do for all their lives, compassionate, pure and wise. So the Right Precepts are really a test of how far one can discipline oneself. That means really, to what extent do wholesome states of mind consonant with Dhamma-practice predominate in one's character over unwholesome desires built on greed, aversion and delusion? The practice of the Eight Precepts gives one a chance to find out about this. And this is an investigation which one can make four times a month if one wishes.

Actually, I like the idea of that a lot. Maybe because I know I'm a bad enough Buddhist that I couldn't hack full-time abstinence. But I'm certain that a trial-sized dose on a regular basis would teach me something.

What, though?

I really don't mean that flippantly. I'm curious about the intended goal of this precept, and what specific effects it is expected to have on a person. On one level, it's obvious (but here's an explanation anyway):

...the lay Buddhist refrains from enjoying songs, dances, music and shows during this period of observance so that he will not be distracted by sensual pleasures that may give rise to unwholesome thoughts. At the same time, by refraining from the use of ornaments, perfumes and cosmetics, he becomes more aware that physical beauty is impermanent and that one should not be vain.

For me, this highlights the difference between what I know (i.e., I know that fun and good times are fleeting, and that beauty is also impermanent) and what I practice (going out to dance and hear music, applying all manner of creams and pastes and goo to my face all the time).

My question is: Does my behavior indicate that I don't really understand the reality? Or that I don't fully believe it? Or that I care less about the reality than I do about the temporary enjoyment I get out of the behavior?

And the next question is: Will the practice of refraining from entertainment and vanity actually increase my understanding, cement my belief, or reduce my pleasure (and hence my attachment)?

Or will I just get really dull? And wrinkly?

Well, obviously I'm going to get wrinkly anyway; all I can do is slow down the process somewhat. And I'm OK with that. I love my peptide serum. Peptides are my friend.

But I'm intrigued about what might happen if I commit to observing the Uposatha days. Since they're determined by the lunar calendar, I won't have any control over when they happen; what if one falls on a day when my boyfriend's band is playing? Or my own band — does practice count? What if it falls on a long work day and I can't wear any lotion or makeup and I look really haggard and scary and my students figure out I'm not their age?

I suppose that's where practice comes in. You don't know until you do it. You can think you know, you can guess what it would be like, but it isn't going to really sink in until you walk all the way through the experience. So really it would be best for me if Uposatha days did happen at inconvenient, challenging times — otherwise I won't really get it.

Oh, crap, I can't believe I just said that. I think I just cursed myself; now all the Uposatha days will fall when I have plans! I should probably just kiss my Ted Leo and the Pharmacists tickets goodbye. Maybe this was a BAD IDEA.

Definitely not giving up my peptides, either. Stupid Uposatha.

Oops. What I meant was: "Do not lose yourself in dispersion and in your surroundings. Practice mindful breathing to come back to what is happening in the present moment. Be in touch with what is wondrous, refreshing, and healing both inside and around you. Plant seeds of joy, peace, and understanding in yourself in order to facilitate the work of transformation in the depths of your consciousness."

Seriously, that's what I meant.

Bikkhus, undertake the precept to abstain from grotesque mime, for it may lead to DANCING!

But if I give up entertainments and smartening perfumes and pretty shoes (OK, the precept doesn't ban shoes, but I have a feeling they count) will I end up looking like Reverend Moore?

Thank Buddha for peptides! And you, I see you smirking. Just wait until your eyelids start turning into crepe paper.

What do you think? I have to get these, right?

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SIXTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Sixth Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 02:22:00 +0000

I undertake to observe the precept to abstain from taking untimely meals.

Hmm, curious: I'd have expected the focus to be on the amount of food eaten (i.e., prohibition against gluttony) rather than the time of eating. Perhaps this is a reference to excessive between-meal snacking. Let's see what Google can tell us...

Ah, instant enlightenment! Here's a more explicit version of the sixth precept:

In observing the sixth precept, for example, the lay Buddhist eats one or two simple meals between dawn and noon and avoids taking food beyond that. This cuts down the time spent on meals and allows him more time to spend on mediation.

Furthermore, according to Access to Insight,

The sixth precept also follows the practice of bhikkhus and aims at cutting down the sloth which is experienced after a day's work and a substantial evening meal, while it ensures that the body is light and fit for meditative practice. In the precept, the words "outside the time" mean after twelve noon until dawn the following day. During this time no food is eaten. However, some flexibility will be needed here with people going out to work. For them it would mean no food after their midday lunch until breakfast the next day. If one is troubled by tiredness after work on a day when these precepts are undertaken then tea or coffee are allowable as refreshing drinks. If hunger is the trouble then cocoa (or even plain chocolate) should cure it. None of these refreshments should contain milk, which is considered a food, though sugar, honey and butter are allowed (to bhikkhus, and therefore to lay people keeping the Eight Precepts), presumably because one can take only a little of these things. Fruit juices which have been strained (without fruit pulp) are other possible drinks.

Did I read that right? Chocolate is the recommended solution if you're too tired to meditate after work? Gautama, my friend, I think you might be on to something here!

(Is it OK to use the big B's first name? I don't want to accidentally be an even worse Buddhist than I already am. Bad Buddhist doesn't wish to be Blasphemous Buddhist as well.)

I wonder why Thich Nhat Hanh didn't include the "untimely meal" thing in his Mindfulness Trainings. He stopped after the first Five Precepts. However, he does have a lot to say about mindful eating:

Some of us, while looking at a piece of carrot, can see the whole cosmos in it, can see the sunshine in it, can see the earth in it. It has come from the whole cosmos for our nourishment. You may like to smile to it before you put it in your mouth. When you chew it, you are aware that you are chewing a piece of carrot. Don't put anything else into your mouth, like your projects, your worries, your fear, just put the carrot in. And when you chew, chew only the carrot, not your projects or your ideas. You are capable of living in the present moment, in the here and the now. It is simple, but you need some training to just enjoy the piece of carrot. This is a miracle. I often teach "orange meditation" to my students. We spend time sitting together, each enjoying an orange. Placing the orange on the palm of our hand, we look at it while breathing in and out, so that the orange becomes a reality. If we are not here, totally present, the orange isn't here either. There are some people who eat an orange but don't really eat it. They eat their sorrow, fear, anger, past, and future. They are not really present, with body and mind united.

That brings another level of focus to the precept. I definitely grok the part about eating emotions. In fact, I find that just about every night, sometimes after dinner and sometimes during, I start fantasizing about devoting the rest of the p.m. to purely passive entertainment, with a focus on edible treats. The more "forbidden" the better. And I don't always resist temptation. Of course, every time is the last time, and I start a new Good Buddhist regime the next day. I find a way to get all the stuff done that I didn't do because I was zoning out. Or else I don't. And so it goes.

I spend a lot of time feeling guilty and weak because of this. But the point isn't really whether or not I indulge, or even whether I get things done. It's really about the emotional experience I'm having every evening, which prompts me to seek comfort and escape. It's a combination of current anxieties and old, old pain that has lost its mystery over the years but retains its power to send me scrambling for the frozen Snickers. (BTW, has anyone tried the Ben & Jerry's chocolate almond nougat flavor? I overheard someone in the grocery store saying it was like a pint of frozen Snickers, so I spent half an hour in the store commanding myself not to buy it, then bought two pints, and got it home and didn't like it. Whew! That was a seriously close call.)

In any case, I think the question of timeliness makes the most sense to me in these terms: Is it time to be present and mindful of what I'm eating, or is it time to be present and mindful of what I'm feeling? If the latter, then, well, the Snickers just has to go.

Dammit.

I think I'll keep this taped to the fridge. It's a 3-D model called "Gluttony" by Herb Yang. I'm intrigued by the prominence of the eyes: the gaze as a form of greed? Overdosing our eyeballs? The creature's own eyes and mouth are stitched shut, perhaps suggesting that the grotesquely large ones on its body prevent the fulfillment of the natural senses' functions. In other words, being enslaved to gluttony only creates more craving, leaving the true self starved.

In the Buddhist cosmology, there are six realms into which one can be born. The realm of Hungry Ghosts (preta in Sanskrit; peta in Pali) is all about the futility of pursuing gratification of physical desires. Inhabitants of this realm are depicted as having huge bellies but tiny mouths; what food they manage to swallow turns to fire inside them. This image is from HungryGhost.net.

Here's a detail from a 12th-century Japanese illustration of gaki, greedy souls condemned to eternal craving for a specific substance or object. Pretty wretched lot. Image from The Meditation Project.

Mmmmmmm, Snickers. A delicious public-domain image found on Wikimedia Commons, bless 'em!

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIFTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Fifth Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Mon, 07 May 2007 22:23:00 +0000

Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful consumption, I am committed to cultivate good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society by practising mindful eating, drinking, and consuming. I am committed to ingest only items that preserve peace, well-being, and joy in my body, in my consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family and society. I am determined not to use alcohol or any other intoxicant or to ingest foods or other items that contain toxins, such as certain TV programs, magazines, books, films, and conversations. I am aware that to damage my body or my consciousness with these poisons is to betray my ancestors, my parents, my society, and future generations. I will work to transform violence, fear, anger, and confusion in myself and in society by practising a diet for myself and for society. I understand that a proper diet is crucial for self-transformation and for the transformation of society. -- Thich Nhat Hanh

Oh, come on! I don't stand a chance with this one!

I don't doubt that Thich Nhat Hanh is wiser than I can ever possibly hope to be, and I know that if I took his advice I'd be a healthier, happier and better person. But there are times when I just think, What planet are you from, dude?

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be flip. The problem I have with this particular formulation of the Fifth Precept is that it asks us to avoid taking part in anything that is "unwholesome." I understand the general point and benefit of this. It's all too easy to get sucked in to habits, whether of consumption or of thought and speech, that reinforce aspects of our nature (selfishness, egomania, lack of empathy, laziness) while our better virtues atrophy from disuse. So yes, I want to make an effort not to lose myself or my time to things that ultimately harm to me and the world I live in.

However, at the same time, I think it's important to also retain a sense of balance and of curiosity — intellectual, aesthetic, artistic, moral, or just plain human curiosity — about "the dark side."

Drugs and alcohol, plus those TV shows, magazines, books, films and conversations mentioned by Thich Nhat Hanh (and let's add music, of course), which are centered around and/or which draw us in close to things like pain, hatred, self-destructiveness, violence, paranoia, nihilism, apathy — they take us to those places because those places are real, they are part of being human, they are compelling and necessary to understand. Most of us probably don't want to live there all the time, but some people choose to (or don't choose, but end up there anyway) and what they report back (whether it's in the form of a brilliant poem, or a suicide note, or of a crappy commercial lowest-common-denominator TV show) is part of humanity's eternal art-gallery exhibition, the neverending, constantly curated retrospective that shows us the full range of what we are.

I don't think refusing to ingest this stuff — refusing to take a close look at the evidence, to really feel its weight and heft and texture for ourselves, up close — really helps us at all. In fact, I think that kind of purism is more likely to keep us ignorant and lacking in empathy. Plus it just seems pretty snobby. We can try to deny the dark side, but it is wily and strong and will tell us things we wish we never knew.

I practiced in a sangha for a while about ten years ago, and I remember a conversation about music coming up, in which someone referred to heavy metal music (Guns'N'Roses, specifically) in a way that made it clear that everyone there felt it was both unwholesome and without value. I felt compelled to argue: if Axl Rose and his comrades live in a darker place than we do, and if he writes songs and plays in a band that sounds angry and nihilistic and takes a lot of drugs along with all those other tormented people seeking an ecstatic experience, then we should thank him for going there. We should thank him for reporting back.

And quite possibly we should try to spend a little time there ourselves, just so we know.

Maybe an occasional dose will make me stronger, like with snake venom..?

This seems like the kind of thing that arises directly from attempts to squelch human fascination with the dark side.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FOURTH PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Fourth Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 18:49:00 +0000

Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I am committed to cultivate loving speech and deep listening in order to bring joy and happiness to others and relieve others of their suffering. Knowing that words can create happiness or suffering, I am committed to learn to speak truthfully, with words that inspire self-confidence, joy, and hope. I am determined not to spread news that I do not know to be certain and not to criticise or condemn things of which I am not sure. I will refrain from uttering words that can cause division or discord, or that can cause the family or the community to break. I will make all efforts to reconcile and resolve all conflicts, however small. -- Thich Nhat Hanh

Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez. I thought this one was just supposed to be about lying.

I'd like to say I could live with not lying, but that would be untrue. (See how much fun this is already?) I lie. Not to deceive, particularly, but as a substitute for the truth when I feel my privacy is a higher value than someone else's desire to know something. Why did I decide not to go to the movie or concert or party or lecture? How much money did I spend on that anti-aging eye cream or that new helleborus foetida in the garden? What did I eat yesterday?

There are times when the right and desirable thing to say is, "It's none of your business. Bugger off." But of course we don't always have the luxury of saying the right and desirable thing. Sometimes the social contract demands that we at least offer the interrogator a show of respect in the form of a reasonable-sounding answer.

I know this is skirting very close to bullshit. I admit that my decision to lie is at least partly motivated by avoidance of shame: I'd rather most people didn't know about some of my lazy or selfish or unwise behavior. But on the other hand, is it really anybody else's business? If I'm going to be the one to handle whatever consequences arise from the behavior itself, am I also required to submit to other people's scrutiny or offer myself up as something for them to form opinions about?

Apparently, yes. As in all things, the Buddha's stance on lying has a practical focus: If we don't reveal the truth of who we are, we can't really know each other or trust each other, and if we don't trust each other, life is going to be really hard for individuals and really hard for communities. Also, if we depend on lying to make ourselves seem better than we are (less unwise, less lazy, less selfish), then we never learn that we can tell the truth and still be loved, respected, valued, etc., so we cultivate feeling secretive and ashamed.

J.R.R. Tolkien's character Gollum is a wonderful, powerful manifestation of that idea: that we can only thrive in the air and light of being known by others — in particular, having the hope of being forgiven. Without that, even though we might successfully avoid blame and punishment, we shrivel and moulder and rot, unable to tolerate warmth, always looking for a safer, darker place to keep our chilly secrets.

Maybe I should take a clue from the intensity of my feelings about Gollum. I get him. I get why he's always having those crazy, tormented dialogues with himself. The problem isn't the Ring or its magical power to "master" him; it's that he can't tell anyone what has happened and is still happening to him. He can imagine no response other than horror, disgust and rejection, so he inflicts these on himself, forever ruling out the possibility that there are wise people who could help him, that compassion and forgiveness exist. Yet he cannot entirely forget the person he was; he cannot entirely squelch his human longing for acceptance and friendship. Sméagol still lives and agitates within.

So if I tell you I can't come to the concert or party or lecture tonight as planned because I suddenly got plowed under with a ton of work I could not have foreseen, but the truth is that I finally scored my neighborhood video store's only copy of Weeds, Season One, and plan to watch it in my jammies while wearing ridiculously expensive eye cream, I hope you'll take my lie as respectfully submitted and trust that I'll do the same for you — and neither of us will ever need to hide in a cave catching fish and stalking hobbits.

Most renditions of Gollum that I see seem too vicious and not vulnerable enough. I like the imploring aspect of this one. Sculpture and photo by Artifex Creations.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE THIRD PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Third Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 00:14:00 +0000

Aware of the suffering caused by sexual misconduct, I am committed to cultivate responsibility and learn ways to protect the safety and integrity of individuals, couples, families, and society. I am determined not to engage in sexual relations without love and a long-term commitment. To preserve the happiness of myself and others, I am determined to respect my commitments and the commitments of others. I will do everything in my power to protect children from sexual abuse and to prevent couples and families from being broken by sexual misconduct. — Thich Nhat Hanh

All right, yeeow, the Third Precept! The juicy one — sexual misconduct. Time for some bad Buddhism!

So far my impression of the Buddha and his ultimate Guide for Dummies has been that he's basically right all the time. Not because a divine being or bush or birdie told him what to say, but just because he was good at seeing what kinds of things made people happy and what kinds of things made people miserable.

He also took a long view: something might make you happy right now, this instant, but if the real cost of that indulgence makes you miserable the next moment — or, as is often the case, becomes a pattern that ossifies and systematizes into unhappiness in your life — or, worse, sucks other people in and creates an environment of distrust and disharmony for everyone around you — then he recommended abstaining from it. Period. As a matter of practice, so you don't even have to waste time on the "well, maybe I could just this once" trip.

So when I read the third precept, I'm predisposed to agree. I don't need the Buddha to tell me that cheating is bad; I already thought so, wouldn't do it and wouldn't want my guy to do it.

But I did read a letter in Andrea Nemerson's column recently that adds something else into the mix. The letter was from a woman who was pretty sure she never wanted to have sex with her husband again. The response was, basically, that the woman should therefore be prepared to turn a blind eye when her husband looked elsewhere for sexual contact. I've seen similar advice from Dan Savage, who advocates partners being "good, giving and game" — or else giving up their exclusive rights over their partner's sex life.

So in these cases, cheating could be what allows two married people to stay married. I don't think that's what Thich Nhat Hanh had in mind for "prevent couples and families from being broken." But what if the "sexual misconduct" threatening to destroy a family is one person's demand for the other's sexual nullification?

And furthermore, regarding "not to engage in sexual relations without love and a long-term commitment" — isn't that nullifying single people? I guess this one comes down to the word "love," or more importantly, "without love." The Buddha saw that casual sex could be a way for people to exploit and hurt each other, and that's not good for people or communities. But if you treat your hookup du jour or booty-call-person with all possible caring, human decency and respect, then might that fulfill the notion of "sex with love"? (And what if the hookup or callee doesn't want you to care?)

But all of this is just me skirting the real issue. I want the Buddha and Thich Nhat Hanh to be right about this — to the letter — because that will give me permission to SMACK THE LITTLE TART who likes to flirt with my boyfriend in front of me. (Not in front of me is fine, but the lack of sensible boundaries here raises eyebrows, and not just mine. Getting asked about the tart's behavior by my friends is also tiresome.)

It's not that she's a vamp or a homewrecker or anything. Some of the guys she habitually flirts with are her other friends' boyfriends, I'm sorry to report; but she's not actually trying to get any real nookie from them. She never tries to look or dress sexy; instead she goes for "cute" in the androgynous bookish hipster way, which is wise on her part. Use what you've got, right? She's just a plain girl who craves a certain kind of ego-boost; her flirting style is safely platonic-ironic, not too original, and nothing that calls attention to her as a woman per se.

So why does this bug me so much?

Perhaps the problem is magnified by the fact that I can't "just walk away" from the situation. I belong, by necessity rather than choice, to a community that includes her, her boyfriend (how I'd love to ask what he thinks of all of this), and assorted others who share important connections beyond the merely social. So I can't really make a fuss without disturbing the whole ecosystem.

Still, her behavior is plain obnoxious, even if it is carefully low-key: lots of arm-touching, latching on at parties, wedging herself between me and him at the bar or on the couch. Enough to be noticed, but not enough to be confronted. Her protean signals are more pronounced, but she can't help it if her face lights up when a flirt-worthy guy walks in the room. And he's definitely flirt-worthy. I see why she digs him!

And I'm not anti-flirting in principle. Flirting is good: it keeps conversation lively, it makes us feel witty and sexy and young (or witty and sexy and wise), and it's fun. Third-Precept-wise, I'd say a reasonable degree of flirtatious behavior should be no biggie.

However, what happens when the flirting does start to bother someone? Who gets to invoke Third Precept privileges here? Me, because she's violating the Girl Code? Or her, because the community is more important than me and my piddly little wish to be annoyed less?

If she read this, she'd probably say I'm just a jealous girlfriend. That would get her off the hook, right? It's my problem, not hers, right?

Well, yeah, it is my problem—because I find the disingenuous, manipulative, passive-aggressive aspects of her behavior really revolting. I know she knows I know, and I know she likes getting away with just a little bit, right in front of me. It's this weird reverse-territoriality thing, like she just needs to show me she can. And I know exactly how mortified and disbelieving and oh my god I would never, ever, ever she'd be if she were ever to get busted by someone with less patience than I have, and it's all just so, so, so disgusting.

But it's hopeless. We're all friends here. It gets kind of surreal sometimes, like I'm trapped in one of those movie scenes where someone has a gun held surreptitiously to someone else's back, and the person has to smile and look normal while being hustled out through the crowd. And at the same time, I know it's silly to let it bother me — what, am I in seventh grade or something? Jesus. Grow up.

And stop fantasizing about putting her in Third Precept Jail. There is no Third Precept Jail. None.

In case anyone wants to brush up on technique

If this is your flirting technique, perhaps you might consider purchasing the abovementioned book.

This handy guide, called Our Deportment: The Manners, Conduct and Dress of the Most Refined Society, published in 1882, has this to say about flirting: “It is only the contemptible flirt that keeps an honorable man in suspense for the purpose of glorifying herself by his attentions in the eyes of friends. Nor would any but a frivolous or vicious girl boast of the offer she has received and rejected.” See? I'm not crazy, right? Contemptible! Vicious! It says so right here! Of course, if I'm looking to the Victorians for moral support, I clearly have bigger problems than I thought...

But this one is pretty bad, right? I mean, if you saw this chick acting like that around your significant other, what would you think? Be honest.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE SECOND PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The Second Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 18:24:00 +0000

I vow to abstain from taking things not freely given.

That's the short version of the Second Precept. I like it because it isn't afraid of the word "take," which evokes an appropriate sense of childishness: kids know when someone "took" something. Their sense of fairness is simplistic, but that's exactly what preserves its integrity. They might forgive you for taking their stuff, they might live with it just fine, but no way will they agree to say you didn't take it. You took it. That's a fact.

It's grownups who dance around with words and concepts, trying to avoid culpability. We construct our world so that we don't even need to notice how we steal from others, how our pleasures and conveniences come only at the expense of others' suffering and deprivation. We know about sweat-shop factories and coffee plantations, so we look for Fair Trade products or boycott The Gap/Old Navy/Banana Republic. Or maybe we don't — not if the store we shop at doesn't stock Fair Trade, or if we really really love that new pair of twill capris. We're conscientious, not fanatical.

Thinking about the uncompromising Second Precept, I sense myself surrounded by accusing children, millions of them, quite justifiably offended by my behavior. If you know it, how come you keep doing it?

Seems like a lot of this Buddhist practice comes down to that. I know, but I keep doing.

So should I take comfort in the fact that this is true of everyone, universally, not just me? Or is that actually a reason for despair? I listened to an episode of Melvin Bragg's In Our Time last night; it was about Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. There was some discussion of slavery, which was timely as this is the bicentennial anniversary of the British ban on slave trade. The bad news: everything the British (and Belgians, and other European empires) did — was already being done by Africans to each other. Not as brutally, and not on such a horrific scale, but yes, tribes on the coasts were raiding the interior for slaves to use and to sell.

This is what we do, as humans. This is what we are.

Except sometimes not. Following up on the Conrad episode, Melvin Bragg is doing a special on William Wilberforce, who drove the movement to end the British slave trade. It's a fascinating story: after Wilberforce's sudden spiritual crisis/conversion experience, he sought to convince Parliament to abolish slavery but was against giving working-class people any say in the matter; he was a thorough elitist and anti-revolutionary whose other obsession was a national "reformation of manners" to "stem the rising tide of immorality and vice" (uh oh). Eventually he learned to stomach working with the Whigs, and a popular movement grew, finally resulting in the Slave Trade Act of 1807.

What made this guy think he could bring about the end of a practice that was central to the British and European economy – the foundation of practically every empire in history? How did it even occur to him to try to get people to stop doing it?

And is such a thing possible now? What's happening in the anti-globalization movement — does anyone even remember the Battle in Seattle? What law or act or measure could happen now, that would have such a resounding and practical effect as the Slave Trade Act? Who has the confidence (or competence) to author an effective Stop Fucking People Over Worldwide Act, given the crazily tangled mess of world economies and interests and industries and cultures? What about unintended consequences and short term vs. long term solutions and false consciousness and hidden agendas?

Maybe this is why Thich Nhat Hanh expanded the Second Precept and added a focus on what we can and should do, as well as what we shouldn't:

Aware of the suffering caused by exploitation, social injustice, stealing, and oppression, I am committed to cultivate loving kindness and learn ways to work for the well-being of people, animals, plants, and minerals. I am committed to practice generosity by sharing my time, energy, and material resources with those who are in real need. I am determined not to steal and not to possess anything that should belong to others. I will respect the property of others, but I will prevent others from profiting from human suffering or the suffering of other species on Earth.

That gang of kids surrounding me is getting impatient. They tuned out as soon as they detected a preamble. "Blah blah blah blah stealing, blah blah blah blah anything that should belong to others" is what they heard. Good for them. But I'm afraid I'm still a long way from living up to their standards.

William Wilberforce: give him props for the end of the British slave trade. (And isn't he fancy?)

One of Dr. Menlo's Postcards from Seattle. See more at Exquisite Corpse.

Photo by Louis Beam

This image and more at Subvertise.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. THE FIRST PRECEPT
BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. The First Precept

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Tue, 23 Jan 2007 18:18:00 +0000

Aware of the suffering caused by the destruction of life, I am committed to cultivating compassion and learning ways to protect the lives of people, animals, plants, and minerals. I am determined not to kill, not to let others kill, and not to condone any act of killing in the world, in my thinking, and in my way of life. — Thich Nhat Hanh

The horrifying live-fish-sushi video I posted last time (and again here, to the right) has really been weighing on me. It's telling me that it's time to get to work on the First Precept, quoted above.

The Five Precepts (five for laypeople; there are actually ten for monks) are sometimes compared to the Ten Commandments, but there's an important difference: they are not taken to be "revealed" or unquestionable, but rather they are the Buddha's summary of how to live in a way that promotes the greatest well being for oneself and all others. On the surface, it's a pretty straightforward list of dos and don'ts; but what it's really asking us to do is think through the most basic aspects of our daily lives, understand the effects our behavior has on the world around us, and choose the best thing to say or do.

This might sound obvious (which it is; again, the Buddha was eminently practical, more of a psychologist than a mystic). Even so, undertaking the Precepts is a lot harder than it seems. Thinking and choosing can be VERY INCONVENIENT sometimes.

For example, I take Omega 3 supplements made from fish oil, even though I'm otherwise a vegetarian. I made an exception for the supplements because I have ongoing problems with depression and anxiety, for which EPA, a component of Omega 3 fatty acids, is an effective treatment. EPA is not present in sufficient concentration in flax, borage, evening primrose or other plant sources; fish oil is the only form that works. I have taken many pharmaceutical medications and suffered severe side effects, whereas the fish oil has helped me without fucking me up.

But it is fucking up a lot of fish.

How do fish die? These days, most fish are flash-frozen soon after capture. This is more humane than letting them slowly suffocate, but even if the freezing happens "within minutes" that still means minutes of suffocation, of painfully starting to die. (And how "humane" can flash-freezing really be? Would you want it to happen to you?) What in this world could possibly be worth inflicting such torture? And on such a huge scale — thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of creatures every day.

I know that taking fish-oil supplements is a violation of the First Precept. Many living beings are suffering terribly because I pay to make it happen. I am directly subsidizing the animal-death industry.

So if I've known this all along, why haven't I quit yet?

I'm quite scared of giving up my fish-oil. It's been a huge improvement over the prescription drugs I used to take. It works pretty well and doesn't do any damage — which, if you've had any experience with brain meds, you'll appreciate is an AMAZING thing to be able to say. It's not just a luxury or temporary pleasure, like a salmon dinner. It's something that largely determines what every day of your life is going to feel like.

But the harsh fact is that there are side effects to fish-oil treatment: it causes tremendous physical suffering. Just not to me. All I've done is shift it onto someone else — millions of someone elses — and their suffering is far, far worse than anything I would have to endure if I gave up the supplements.

* * *
I wasn't sure how this post would end until right now. I wrote the following "final" paragraph a few hours ago:

"Yet, here I am, not giving up the fish-oil. I'm not giving it up. I want to and I know I should, but for now I'm just not. Which means I must think that ignoring (or causing) suffering and death is OK if it helps my life run more smoothly.

That's pretty disgusting. I think I get an "F" on the First Precept."

But I can't stand the disgustingness after all. I keep seeing that horrible video in my mind and thinking what a mystifying thing it is that humans can prioritize and de-prioritize as lightly as we do: my pleasure, your pain; my convenience, your suffering. It doesn't make a lot of difference whether the stakes are an effective medical treatment or a frivolous pleasure; the question ultimately is the same: Would I rather live in a world with X amount of cruelty in it, or X-plus-1?

Bad Buddhist opts out of being the plus-1. No more fish-oil. And any good karma I get for that decision, may it be passed on to the person who ordered that plate of living sushi; I think he or she is gonna need it. (The good karma, that is. Not the sushi. No one needs the sushi.)

click image to play, or download here
I had to repost this — maybe to punish myself? I haven't actually watched it again. I'm pretty sure I'll never watch it again. Maybe you shouldn't watch it, either.

I can't quite point to why, but this image also grosses me out. It evokes the same sense of ordinary pleasures (like eating something good) becoming more enjoyable by association with someone else's suffering, or exploitation, or degradation. Or maybe the live-sushi video has just really, really screwed me up.

WTF? There's MORE of this out there? Yes, indeed there is. In fact, live sushi is a really hip, hot and happenin' thing. I'm feeling more enlightened by the minute.

PREVIOUS POSTS

BAD BUDDHIST VS. BREATHING

Bad Buddhist vs. Breathing

mariedrennan@gmail.com (Marie Drennan) — Sun, 21 Jan 2007 19:31:00 +0000

I have no doubt I'm a very bad Buddhist, but I'm going to try to fix that. The foundation of Zen meditation, my practice of choice, is sitting while breathing. This is harder than it sounds. So, for the last couple of weeks I've been practicing breathing, of all things. This is not something I thought I'd have to learn as an adult, you know?

Turns out I'm pretty lousy at it!

In Zen, the idea is to "follow the breath." You don't try to slow it down or make it deeper; you just notice it, without judgment. Counting is encouraged because it helps focus the mind — or rather, it helps wrest the mind away from all the monkey-chatter it wants to get stuck in, over and over and over. (That's another topic altogether.) But that's all: just counting, no trying to change anything.

Just breathe.

This is meant to give you a chance to see what's really happening in your mind and in your body. Most of us rush straight into trying to make ourselves what we think we should be, without first noticing what we are right now. Really noticing, that is — being fully present with the experience, without distancing from it by making judgments or making plans or efforts to change.

I've definitely noticed something about my breathing: the instant I stop and notice it, I need to yawn. Repeatedly. I can't stop; it just goes on and on until I get distracted from thinking about my breathing.

So I bring my mind back to my yawning — oops, I mean my breathing. Then I also notice that I breathe pretty shallowly, and that my throat is pretty tight. I tend to talk fast and loud (I'm a teacher, so I'm trained to project my voice over noise) and not breathe enough, which results in extreme fatigue and a frequently sore throat. I knew that already, but I didn't know that I was doing much the same thing even when not talking, even when sitting in one spot doing nothing but breathing.

And yawning.

So it looks like I'll be starting my better-Buddhist project at an even more remedial level than I thought! Respiration 101. But I think that's OK; don't want to build my house on a shaky foundation. If it starts with re-learning to breathe — or rather, it starts with experiencing what happens now, when I haven't yet re-learned to breathe — then that's where it starts.

No problem. But it is just a little embarrassing.

Clip art licensed from the Clip Art Gallery on DiscoverySchool.com

click image to play, or download here
This is one of the most horrifying things I've ever seen or heard of: a sushi delicacy consisting of a living fish — the novelty is that you can watch it breathing. I don't know what this says about our species. Yes, I do. But I wish I didn't.