While sitting my last 10 day meditation course, I 'wrote' 5 haiku. As we are not supposed to have pen and paper, I composed them in my head and, in order to remember them, I recited them in my head during my breaks. I composed them mostly while walking in the woods. Afterwards, when I wrote them down, I found that they can explain quite well some of the teachings and practices that are part of this tradition. Usually I would leave readers to form their own understanding of poems but, in this case, I will attempt to explain some of the meaning behind them.
For those who don't know, a haiku is a Japanese style of poetry, one characteristic of which is the syllable pattern of each line: they often have 3 lines with the syllable pattern 5, 7, 5. My friends Jamie and Tara reminded me of these poems and pointed out that in fact the pattern is much more flexible than I thought- some famous Japanese poets use many different patterns. I have tried to follow the most well-known pattern in mine. It helped me to remember them.
In the woods I found
fourteen types of mushroom. Wow!
Nature is so full.
I never realised that Autumn in this country produced so many toadstools. I found so many of different shapes, colours and sizes. Even some blue ones! Dhamma is the law of nature and, by observing my own body-mind phenomenon so closely, I am often shown how nature works within this body. Dhamma centres are located in beautiful places, surrounded by natural beauty. This is no coincidence. Also it is not only to give meditators a quiet place to practice. We are reminded how much a part of nature we are, how much we rely on the natural world. I have come to see nature with new eyes after these courses, seeing more detail and feeling much closer to my natural environment. I am often overcome by feelings of gratitude, love and wonder for the animals and plants I see in just a small area of woodland. The wonders of evolution. Once, watching a tiny spider build its web, I understood how some people think that the only power capable of creating such a magnificent thing could be a God.
Copper. Amber. Gold.
All changing, changing, dying.
So full of promise.
Central to the practice of Vipassana is the concept of Anicca, which is change. Autumn is a good time to observe change. It is also a good time to observe death. Change and death are realities but they are two of the greatest miseries we face because we don'twant to accept reality. We cling to life and reject the idea of death.
The autumn leaves are beautiful. We like to see them but they wither, lose their beauty and die. Because we have become attached to the beauty and cling to it, when the leaves die and the trees are left dark and bare, we grieve and feel sad. Attachment is one reason for our misery. The other is aversion: winter comes, cold and dark and we don't like it. We push it away, we find ways to distract ourselves from it. We feel miserable.
Meditating lets us experience these concepts through the observation of our own body-mind. Through watching the sensations on our body (pleasant and unpleasant) we practise remaining equanimous, not reacting with attachment or aversion (even if we are suffering real pain sitting for one hour without moving). This also helps us to understand the Buddha's first noble truth which is the truth of suffering:
There is suffering. Everybody in this world suffers. If we can accept this, it is the first step to overcoming our expectations of a painfree life and the inevitable disappointment and misery when our expectations are shattered.
Understanding that everything (animate and inanimate) sooner or later changes (including the pleasant and unpleasant sensations on the body) helps us not to react with craving/clinging or aversion. Through this technique, we can start to reverse these habit patterns of our minds and face the vicissitudes of life in a more balanced way.
Watching the steam rise
from a cup. It's November.
Outside cold winds blow.
This one makes me think of what I understand of zen, which isn't a lot. Having crystal-clear awareness of everyday things. I never really noticed how the steam rising from a cup looks. I'd never taken the time to notice. With greater awareness what have seemed like mundane everyday things, become facinating, mysterious and often very beautiful. Things worth living for.
Outside, wind whistling
Gusting, pushing to enter.
Inside, all is still.
In the next 2 haiku I am trying to describe the process in which the mind, starting off very distracted, randomly jumping from one thought to another, one emotion to another, slowly calms until it seems that it is floating on a quiet, still pool anchored to the breath and the body. For much of the hour-long sitting the 'monkey mind' clutches at distractions and reacts undiscerningly to thoughts and sensations, whether they be pleasant or unpleasant. It is rarely equanimous and we often feel overwhelmed by the suffering of just sitting still for an hour. But in between these periods of desperation, wanting it all to be over, when our mind quietens and stops rolling in memories of the past or fantasies of the future, we seem to become slightly distanced from our bodies, our minds and our emotions and we can just observe the sensations however uncomfortable they seem. These periods of calm become longer the more we practice and this reminds me of a couple of metaphors I have heard used to describe the harnessing of the mind: it is an wild elepant trained by a mahout (so powerful, potentially dangerous but when trained so useful and loyal) or it is a wild horse being tamed.
Tick, tock, tick, tock make
it stop. Tick, tock make it stop!
Tick, tock make it stop!
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick
Make it stop! Tick, tock, tick, tock
Tick, make it, tick, tock
If you have any questions about vipassana meditation visit http://www.dhamma.org/
May all beings be peaceful.
