My friend Sister Petra is a Christian nun who also practices Zen Buddhism with our sangha. A few months ago she told me, “During the pandemic, I’ve been praying for everybody who’s sick, in body, mind, or spirit.”
I was moved by this, and it has continued to resonate with me. As I’m not a Christian, my view of prayer is probably different from Sister Petra’s (or maybe not), but I realised this prayer could easily be adapted into one that could be recited by anyone, of any faith or no faith.
So, most days now, using my mala, I chant, 108 times, May all who are sick, in body, mind, or spirit, be well.
At last Sunday’s meeting, I gave a Dharma talk about free will, which I think is a myth, and so it’s a mistake to make too much of our locus of control, though having an external one makes more sense than having an internal one. A couple days later, this article appeared in The Guardian. It brought to mind Shakespeare’s tragedies, in which the inescapable fate that dooms the protagonist is not something written in the stars by gods, but by everything that makes the person who they are.
If our faults are not in our stars, but in ourselves — or, more accurately, our selves — then praise and blame are irrelevant, and the only sane response to anyone, however admirable or heinous their behaviour, is compassion. This doesn’t mean not restraining someone from causing harm, but it means restraining them for everyone’s good, not as punishment.
Because I’m a Buddhist and a socialist, many people assume I’m a humanist, as they think Buddhism and socialism are both humanist. I think the opposite. The Buddhist understanding of interdependence precludes the arrogant view I call “human exceptionalism.” And if socialism is only for humans then it’s not socialism, because it’s still class-based, with bosses and bossed, exploiters and exploited.
Although I have criticisms of the book, I like the subtitle of Timothy Morton’s Humankind: Solidarity With Non-Human People. We need to see not just all clearly-sentient beings as people, but also rocks, walls, pens, machines, as people.
I was talking with my friend and brother monk Jikan Sensei, about the legend of Huike, the Second Ancestor, who went to Bodhidharma’s cave and asked for teaching. Bodhidharma is said to have ignored him, and left him waiting outside in the snow. Finally, Huike cut off his own arm and presented it to Bodhidharma as evidence of his seriousness, and Bodhidharma accepted him as a student. I remarked to Jikan that I hope the story is apocryphal, and that I agree with the poet and great master Ikkyu, who wrote:
You make me happy through and through,
The way the sun lights up the sky
— Wendy Cope
Relationships don’t work… There never was a relationship that worked.
— Charlotte Joko Beck
There is a song by Jackson Browne in which the narrator declares himself to be “caught between the longing for love and the struggle for the legal tender.” This song, like most so-called love songs, misses the point. The longing for love and the longing for money are the same thing. They are both greedy, materialistic desires.