'Do not speak- unless it improves on silence'

I was blown away by this Buddhist quote today. Why is it so hard to remember in class, though? More practice, more patience...

On new beginnings...

'The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are born and secrets sleep, a mystical refuge of darkness and light, fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while we are alive. Listen... as the whispering beat repeats: be...gin, be...gin, be...gin...'

Royce Addington

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I'm utterly delighted for the new beginnings of a dear friend, thankful for the shining beam of light at the end of what's been a long tunnel for him and pray that these new beginnings be blessed generously.

On death and detachment...

An evening out to watch a movie triggered much reflection on death and attachment to life and all things mortal. There was nothing unusual about many aspects of the plot- (I hardly expect readers of this blog to be upset about a movie spoiler, so I will proceed to spoil)- the protagonist (let's call him M) discovers in the course of some routine medical test that he is terminally ill. And this turns his world upside down. A chance encounter with a child whose playfulness was still intact and who appeared untouched by grief or fury upon the death of his father, serves as an eyeopener to M. It is M's sole purpose in life thereafter to live every moment to the fullest, to be a source of service and joy to everyone he meets and to make a difference in any way he can.

All this seemed wonderful, except for one nagging detail. M had run away from his wife, unable to bear the grief his condition was causing her; his attachment to her was so immense, that he could not cope with the stress of seeing her wilt with every passing day as she counted down to his demise. At any rate, the movie ends after M makes an attempt to return home, and is once again seized by the same feeling of losing control of everything he loves and knows. In the end, he decides to stay away.

I suppose I just could not accept his decision as being either rational or necessarily considerate. Particularly, in light of the revelation he'd had with the child, his final action seemed at odds with the rest. It also begs the question: does being detached mean shunning the source of attachment? I invite you to share your thoughts.

Just as I was pondering these questions, I received the weekly email from InnerNet Weekly, addressing just the topic on top of my mind! A godsend :) Hence, I share...

Death is an important ally for appreciating life. I am not referring to a morbid preoccupation with death. Rather, I mean the felt awareness of our finitude as physical beings -- an honest recognition of the short time we have to love and to learn on this earth. The knowledge that our bodies will inevitably die burns through our attachments to the dignified madness of our socially constructed existence. Death is a friend that helps us to release our clinging to social position and material possessions as a source of ultimate security and identity. An awareness of death forces us to confront the purpose and meaning of our existence, here and now.
Those who have had near-death experiences confirm that awareness of death can be an uncompromising friend, putting us back in touch with what is most important. A common sentiment expressed by many near-death survivors is a decreased emphasis on money and material things and a heightened appreciation for nature and loving other people. Dr. Kenneth Ring, a researcher of near-death experiences, quotes a young man who had a near-death experience after a serious automobile accident. As a result the young man found that he developed an "awareness that something more was going on in life than just the physical part of it... It was just a total awareness of not just the material and how much we can buy -- in the way of cars and stuff, or food or anything. There's more than just consuming life. There's a point where you have to give to it and that's real important."

Gandhi once said, "Just as one must learn the art of killing in the training for violence, so one must learn the art of dying in the training for non-violence." If we are to lead nonviolent and loving lives, then we can begin by coming to terms with our own death. An appreciation that we must die awakens us from our social sleep and to the reality of our situation. Death is an unyielding partner in life -- an inescapable certainty to push against as we sort out the significant from the trivial in our daily lives. In this regard, consider the words of Nadine Stair of Louisville, Kentucky, who was 85-years-old when she wrote, "If I Had My Life to Live Over":

"I'd like to make more mistakes next time. I'd relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones. . . . I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute. If I had to do it again, I would travel lighter than I have."

We cannot hide from death. Its embrace will consume our social existence entirely. Job titles, social position, material possessions, sexual roles and images--all must yield to death. This does not mean that we should abandon our material and social existence. Rather, it means that in consciously honoring the fact of our physical death, we are thereby empowered to penetrate through the social pretense, ostentation, and confusion that normally obscure our sense of what is truly significant. An awareness of death is an ally for infusing our lives with a sense of immediacy, perspective, and proportion. In acknowledging the reality of death, we can more fully appreciate our gift of life.

If you were to choose death as an ally (as a reminder of the preciousness of each moment), and if you were to choose the universe as your home (as a reminder of the awesome dimensions of our existence), would a quality of aliveness, immediacy, and poignancy naturally infuse your moment-to-moment living? If you knew that you would die within several hours or days, would the simplest things acquire a luminous and penetrating significance? Would each moment become precious beyond all previous measure? Would each flower, each person, each crack in the sidewalk, each tree become a fleeting and never-to-be-repeated miracle? Simplicity of living helps brings this kind of clarity and appreciation into our lives

--Duane Elgin, in Make Death Your Ally

'I view science as nothing more than an understanding of the way the world is and why it is that way. At any givem time our scientific knowledge is simply the current state of the art of our understanding. I do not believe in absolute truths. I fear such beliefs because they block the search for better understanding. Whenever we think we have final answers progress, science, and better understanding ceases. Understanding of our world is not something to be pursued for its own sake, however. Knowledge should be pursued, I believe, to make our world better- to make life more fulfilling.'
- Taken from the Introduction to the 'The Goal' by Eliyahu M. Goldratt

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This seems to be as true of religion as it of science :)