The Perishables

Observing everything in this world is pretty much threatening, especially if you come closer to the truth: nothing is static or fixed, everything is changing, everything is impermanent. To realize this is a sweeping dilemma, and I have observed this in many instance. Like a small toddler I saw a few years ago who is now an almost six-footer teenager. Or seeing a very different appearance of a place that I haven't visited for years, being shocked of contrasting it to the past image imprinted in my mind. Or some new stuff that I bought, like a shirt, a pair of shoes or sandals; after several months, what used to be a new, shining stuff with a resin-like aromatic scent has worn down bit by bit, fraying and chipping in many corners, and its glowing quality has been heavily scratched. I have seen this reality in spending my money, or going to a certain place, or experiencing a new situation. They are all gone and the only trace that remains is my memory of them. All these things are known as the Perishables.

It seems that we need to edit what the Buddha has taught. Life is not suffering at all. Life becomes a suffering because of the truth that every thing in life is actually a Perishable. Nothing is not a perishable. Every thing that has begun will about to end. This is the cycle of truth. We all suffer because we have always thought that Perishables won't expire at all. Whenever we cling to this idea, our lives become a chain of miseries, because we tend to regret to the time that has passed, cling to the realities that have long gone in our midst, and fix the things, and even people, the way we see them. And we will find out that doing these are futile ways to live, wasting our precious life in making sure that whatever we want to stay must stay the way we want. And, ironically, we often choose to do this than to let go, and continue to suffer, despite the desire to break free and be happy. Running after the Perishables will soon cause us to perish with them.

"Running after the Perishables will soon cause us to perish with them."

There is a profound wisdom in understanding the Perishables that I have noticed in my contemplations. The soon I get worried, I automatically sense that I am worrying of fixing the Perishable, of grasping its slippery texture, and find it easing out from my grip. It makes me feel sick, tired, wasted, and anxious, and soon I lose my control over the situation, especially over my mental composure. This experience has led me to see what I worry about is a Perishable. The sooner I see this I immediately engage myself to a timeless retrospection, imagining what my emotional and mental state would be like after 2 years of recalling this very moment. Would I still be anxious? Or would I laugh out loud, or simply smile for seeing that those Perishables have long gone perished? And I would come to my senses that I have nothing to worry about. I relax and accept things and events as they are, even if they are my inner anxieties or my outer worries.

Whatever perishes returns to the cycle of creation and re-creation, and it means I have to let them go to that process. Any people, material things or situation that comes across my path are all Perishables in one way or the other. It is not that they are unimportant, but to see them as Perishables is to honor their once role in our Soul, and as they return to the source of creation, we also honor their process of renewing the energy of the source. If we keep the Perishables in our heart, we will clutter our attention and limit our movement on our sacred space. They will appear to be junk that rusts and stinks in our consciousness. This is the call to clean our space, and let the Perishables perish in their own natural way. As they perish, we cultivate a new growth in our awareness. We allow the growth of Love.

I keep on reminding myself that if I am beginning to worry on the Perishable, I must stop, and let Love fill my heart. For I know that Love is the only stable and bedrock state that I can trust and cling to, that I can firmly grasp and grip. Despite the irony that Love is an essence and its nature is intangible, it is the most tangible truth I can ever hold on to. Love, and the Perishables that grow from its fertile ground remains ever-changing, but will never, ever perish.

Wordless Koan

One thing in my wish list is to experience zazen or sitting meditation in the Zen tradition. Although I have my share of meditation experience using other techniques, I am still wondering how a zazen takes place, especially if a koan would exhaust my mind. But even if I really do not meditate the way koan meditators do, my questions on why the world today exists are already koans that wrestle me, and make me exasperated of finding answers. Perhaps the most confounding koan I asked was the absence of God, whom all believed to be an all-powerful being yet remained cold towards the suffering of the world. Those were the old days when I had bouts of maddening angst and outburst of frustrations towards the grueling questions that almost ruined my sanity.

Koans are riddles used by Zen monks to meditate upon so they can arrive on a certain insight. These riddles break their ingrained logical assumptions by putting them in a mode of paradoxical thinking, where every reasoning seems to be absurd. Some of the famous koans are: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" and "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him!" Other koans are told as anecdotes, and these are interesting stories with lessons implied, even if they appear puzzling at the end. Like the famous two monks who one day helped a young woman cross a muddy river. Or the story of a goose that grew in a bottle and eventually escaped without breaking the bottle or being harmed. At first, these koans might be unanswerable, since they do not fit any sensible and realistic experience. To answer them seems nerve-racking for an ordinary person, but they can be answered through meditation. There's only a thing that leads to clarity: never take koans literally. Something is being said beyond the words and narratives. Like a nice-sounding familiar idiom, koans jump-start a one's mind to gain a perspective of what is literally seen towards what must be really seen.

Legend has it that when the Buddha delivered his Flower Sermon, he only showed a golden lotus flower to his disciples. Without any word, he remained composed and quiet, with the flower in his hands. His disciples were bewildered of what the Buddha did, except Mahakasyapa, who smiled quietly and got the Buddha's message. Both the lotus and the smile, without a single word, appears to be the first koan, a legendary puzzle that leads to enlightenment. Wordless, yet profound in meaning, like a face that launched a thousand ships, or a picture that paints a thousand words.

I barely have my own zazen experience, yet the truth of koan unfolds in me like a golden lotus. As I explore the world of symbols, I have intuited more through what Caroline Myss, author of the Anatomy of the Spirit, is referring to as the "symbolic sight". Through this gift of symbolic sight, I am able to see the meaning of symbols through every day life, seeing the archetypes that underlie and operate as a reality beyond the limitation of our physical senses. I was able to connect the dots, from what the ancient sages taught, to those that are practically learned wisdom, or those phenomena being discovered by modern science. The experience is like traveling through different dimensions of understanding that cannot be hampered by any single dogma that claims to monopolize the truth. And at the end of this roller coaster adventure is the beginning of an enigmatic silence, which can only grasp the symbolic message what words cannot.

Whenever I am caught flat-footed by a question "How do I Love?", silence appears not just an only option left, but a response that is most appropriate. The question is in itself a profound koan. How I live my life and reveal my inner presence remain both the only indefinable answers that are wrapped perfectly as wordless koans. Among overwhelming questions that are infinitely generated by this curious and baffled society, all the more we are called to answer them not through explanations, but through silence. When Christ told us to lock ourselves inside our rooms to pray - a teaching that is another koan - he asks us to pray inside our hearts. Just as what the Sufis told us that we can only find God when we go into the deepest chambers of our hearts. I have deeply learned that silence is the voice of God that speaks to us. The only job we need to do is to listen.

Yes, in this very time, we all need silence. After many worst events that made noise in our world, being silent does not mean being indifferent, coward or aloof. This is not a silence like just being quiet and never speak. The soul needs silence in order to listen to its own whisper. The great wordless koan calls for our attention, and it can only be read or heard the moment we stop seeking answers outside. This koan, the wordless koan of Love, will remain paradoxical until the time we allow ourselves to understand it. Love, that which cannot be defined by any word, is enough to transform the puzzles of our minds into clarity of our hearts.