This Too, Will Pass ~ MUST WE SPELL
EVERYTHING?
ONCE, AFTER GIVING
several Dharma-talks somewhere in Malacca, I was asked
for a further talk, and requested to speak on the
subject of Compassion, as—so the person said—the
people who would be there had attended the previous
talks and wanted to hear "something different."
This took me somewhat by surprise because,
although I had not actually mentioned it by name during
the previous talks, I had spoken quite a lot about
Compassion, seeing that it forms a major part of the
practical application of the Dharma. It indicated
that some of the people attending my talks had not
really heard much at all; maybe their minds were already
full to begin with, so couldn't take in any more.
I recall beginning one of those talks by explaining
the importance of knowing how to listen to a Dharma-talk:
by disregarding the physical appearance and personality
of the speaker, but paying close attention to what
he says, so that the listener may find out, for himself,
whether what the speaker is saying is true and relevant
or not. Obviously, they had not heard this, nor what
I had said about Vegetarianism. Did they only want
words, theories and ideas, which they could then repeat
to and impress others by?
Is Dharma only something to talk about,
an intellectual toy? Obviously, to many people, it
is. But Dharma can never be understood by such an
approach. It must be applied in such a way that it
expresses our Buddha-nature or Enlightenment-principle;
it is not—or shouldn't be— something apart
from daily life. But it seems that we can listen to
too many Dharma-talks and read too many books, and
become dull and intellectually-constipated thereby,
stuck at the level of words and ideas, unable to get
off the sand-bank of conceptual thought. This state
might continue for a long time. Not being inspired
upon first hearing the Dharma—which is the most
crucial time—we fall into the habit of listening
either as if they've heard it all before, or in expectation
of hearing something marvelous and mystical, extraordinary
and hitherto not thought of. This, of course, is the
wrong way to listen to a talk and inevitably brings
disappointment. Everything, every moment, is new;
nothing remains the same as it was, neither is anything
ever repeated. Even if we were to hear exactly the
same words, or to read a book over and over, it would
still not be the same, for we—our minds more
than our bodies—have changed, and we see things
differently because of that. Thus, although we might
have heard a thing before, we have never heard it
before; each time—every moment, everything—is
new, including you. That is why subsequent readings
of a book reveal things we didn't notice the first
or second time. So, to listen with minds already fixed
and made up is a guarantee of missing many things.
Actually, the success or failure of a Dharma-talk
depends more upon the listeners than upon the speaker,
because even if the speaker is dull and boring and
has not much to say, an alert and sensitive listener
might still extract something of value therefrom.
And not only that, but just as neither the match nor
the box contains fire, fire may be produced by striking
the match against the box, so contact between the
minds of the speaker and the listener, via words,
might kindle the flame of understanding. Nor need
it be anything special, of deep philosophical meaning,
but just a meeting of minds in a needle-point of time,
and flash!—"Yes, I know!"
Once, while I was living in Bataan Refugee
Camp in the Philippines, a photographer gave a slide-show
of shots he had taken around the Camp, including some
of the sunset, and I recall surprised exclamations
of "Beautiful," "Lovely," "Where
is it?" from the refugees. The scenes shown were
all around them, but they had not noticed them! Isn't
it strange how we will see things and say: "Oh,
how beautiful!" only when they are pointed out
to us by someone else? Where are our eyes? Seldom
in the present, seeing what is, that's for sure!
In the same Camp, I met a young man at the
departure-area one day, and he said to me: "I
have been here for seven months, dreaming of the day
of my departure, but now that it's here, I'm sad and
don't want to leave, because I see—for the first
time, it seems—that the hills around the Camp
are green."
Vincent Van Gogh committed suicide in poverty,
but his paintings sell today in record, mind-boggling
prices. Is it because people really appreciate his
art or do they buy his paintings more for the prestige
of owning them or as a business-investment? Have they,
one wonders, ever closely looked at a real sunflower
or an iris—such as he painted—to discover
the wonder of life? We don't have to go far to find
beauty, nor spend anything to possess it; it is all
around us in abundance and we don't need to take out
policies to insure it against fire or theft. The whole
world is a public art-gallery for those with eyes
to see; the changing seasons and weather-types provide
us with constantly-renewed exhibitions. But to appreciate
it all, we must first have a beauty-base within us,
for truly it is said that "Beauty is in the eye
of the beholder." If there is no beauty inside
us, it will be hard to see and appreciate the beauty
outside and around us. This is why it is so important
to try to instill or inspire a sense of appreciation
of beauty, a spirit of creativity and art, in our
children; if such a spirit can be awoken and nurtured
in them, they will be hard to influence into turning
to violence, vandalism, destruction and crime. We
can, I am sure, be brought to a wonderment of life;
some people have it by nature, without having to be
shown or guided into it by others, but they are comparatively
rare. Those few, however, might help others to understand
something of it, so that they come to discover the
same thing in themselves. But we must attempt, by
any means possible, to awaken this essential faculty
in people; we are so much in need of this Love of
Life today.
One time, during lunch at a temple in Sri
Lanka, the monk next to me at the dining-table noticed
that I didn't partake of a fish-dish, and asked me
if I didn't like fish. "Oh, I like fish,"
I replied, "but when it's alive, not dead."
Certainly, being vegetarian is not everything;
far from it. But if, as a regular eater-of-meat, a
person takes the step of becoming vegetarian—which
may be a little difficult at first, as it takes a
while for the body and mind to adjust to the change
of diet—it is some measure of her/his willingness
to make some personal sacrifice for the sake of the
Way. Is it too much to do? Many people will shyly
smile and mutter, "I can't do that," meaning,
of course, they won't do it. And so they continue
to turn the Killing Wheel instead of trying to slow
it down.
Often quoted, by way of justifying meat-eating,
are words of the Buddha like these from the Amaganda
Sutta: "Destroying living creatures, murder,
wounding, theft, false-witness, treachery and deception—this,
and not the mere eating of flesh, is impure."
Yes, this is so, but we must know the context of those
words: They were spoken to people who believed they
would be defiled by eating meat and, as Jesus later
said: it is what comes out of a person which defiles
him, not what goes into him. But we are not talking
about defilement of people; we are talking about the
killing of animals; let us not evade the issue. The
animals are slaughtered so people may eat their flesh;
this is very clear, is it not? And if it is not clear,
I would ask you to consider it. If no-one ate meat,
the animals would not be killed for it. Why are we
so reluctant to see this? Why are people so unwilling
to give up the loathsome habit of eating dead bodies,
which begin to putrefy at the moment of death? Why
are they so attached to the taste of flesh? If taste
is so important to them they should be reminded that
vegetables can be prepared in very appetizing ways;
in fact, they can be made to look and taste so much
like meat that it is sometimes hard to tell the difference,
but this is merely as a concession to those who find
it hard to break the habit of eating meat.
Whatever we undertake, however, we should
do it through understanding and not through force
or compulsion; if we use our intelligence, we will
know what to do without needing lots of rules or commandments.
So, when—as sometimes happens—people ask
me to "Tell us what to do," I refuse, saying:
"If I told you what to do—don't smoke,
drink alcohol, etc.— you wouldn't do it, so
I'm not going to tell you. Instead, I want to try
to help you to find out for yourselves what you should
do." This is harder than to be told by someone
else what to do, but if you can do it, you will not
need to rely upon second-hand information or an external
authority. I am saying nothing less than:
THINK FOR YOURSELF!
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