Afternoon high: 86F
Tonight's projected low: 59F
Humidity: 73%
Wind: N at 0mph
Moon: Waxing, 90%+
Corrections.
On yesterday's post, I have a photo of the Cucumber Patch where a photo of the Beet Patch should be. When I attempt to correct it, a cascade of coding errors ensues. So, here are the correct shots.1. A Beet Leaf close-up...
2. A thriving Beet Patch!
This Morning.
1. It's a warm Sunday morning, about 70F, though there's a cool breeze blowing through every now and again. After a long session on the Betar (a table using resonant sound for deep relaxation and healing that I use with clients regularly but, for some reason, often forget to use on myself; you can read more about it in my earlier posts or at http://www.kellyresearchtech.com/) last night, I'm finally able to slow down, enjoy my coffee on the back porch overlooking the Garden. I've been thinking about how "busy" I've felt lately, how for a week or more now I've been fighting back a hurriedness, which of course entails an impatience and frustration at "not getting enough done". Sadly, I've felt this way even when I'm getting things done!
At the same time, I've been drawn back to Benjamin Hoff's charming book, The Tao of Pooh. This book was inspired by the overlap Hoff thought he saw in the American classic "Winnie the Pooh" stories and one of the Three Teachings that make up the complex web of indigenous Chinese religion some Western scholars conveniently label "Taoism" (the other two being Buddhism & Confucianism). "Taoist" teachings and practices - as Hoff points out - are themselves quite diverse, encompassing a wide range of philosophical, monastic and folk traditions. Put differently, there are many different ways one might live and still consider oneself a "Taoist", e.g.., practicing Tai Chi, reading sections from the Tao Te Ching each day, studying acupuncture, using Chinese herbs, and so forth. This morning it's the highly practical teachings of both Pooh and many of the Taoist philosophical traditions I'm concerned with. In the Tao of Pooh, Huff includes the venerable parable, "The Gorge of Lu", which will start us off in the right direction, I think. It goes as such:
"At the Gorge of Lu, the great waterfall plunges for thousands of feet, its spray visible for miles. In the churning waters below, no living creature can be seen. One day, Confucius was standing at a distance from the pool's edge, when he saw an old man being tossed about in the turbulent water. He called to his disciples, and together they ran to rescue the victim. But by the time they reached the water, the old man had climbed out onto the bank and was walking alone, singing to himself. Confucius hurried up to him. 'You would have to be a ghost to survive that;, Confucius said, 'but you seem to be a man, instead. What secret power do you possess?' 'Nothing special,' the old man replied. 'I began to learn while very young, and grew up practicing it. Now I am certain of success. I go down with the water and come up with the water. I follow it and forget myself. I survive because I don't struggle against the water's superior power. That's all'.
How does the old man survive the raging currents of the pool ("in which no living thing can - ordinarily - be seen")? He doesn't fight against the powerful tides and forces he feels pulling him this way and that, but flows with them. He practices what is called Wu Wei, literally "not-striving" against the natural (and sometimes the social) world. How does he accomplish this, when his natural instincts upon being plunged into deep water and strong currents would surely be to gain control of the situation by swimming to the top? Of course, striving against the pool's fierce current would have quickly worn him out and ended his life. Clearly, the old man had achieved a profound level letting go of the need to control. It's interesting that the story implies that both (i) the old man did not fall into the pool accidentally, but chose to extend his practice of Wu Wei (pronounced "Wu Way") to this ultimate level (ii) Confucius did not understand anything the old man was about, suggesting of course a significant difference in philosophy and practice between these two schools, "Taoist" and "Confucian". What's the point of the story? No doubt that living well in the world requires Wu Wei, learning to let of of our deep-seated need to control the forces around us, and to develop the corresponding ability to flow harmoniously with the way the world is. This does not mean, necessarily, that we can't work and hope to change things for the better, but that in so doing we should not find ourselves in the position of "striving", pushing, forcing, fighting and so on. The best tailor, the Tao Te Ching teaches, does little cutting.
So, we have the parable, some sense of what it means, now we must apply it to our 21st century lives. I've no plans for leaping into dangerous tidal pools. It would be both arrogant and foolhardy to think I could accomplish in one day what Taoist sages took years, even decades, to achieve. In our "I must have everything I desire immediately (and I don't want to know about the toll it places on the environment or on other human beings who worked to bring it to me)" culture, this is a point forgotten and, when pointed out, resisted or even resented in many communities: some aspects of spiritual growth take decades of discipline and practice and there's no way around this, so we may have to "put in dollars and get back nickles" for considerable time. My friend E represents a refreshing counter-example to this trend. Her elegant and inspiring book, The Four Spiritual Laws of Prosperity, took her twenty years of teaching and practice to write, and it was worth the wait!
So, can I apply these teachings to simpler, more mundane matters? Perhaps my persistent worries that "I'm not getting enough done" represent my own attempt to control the flow of work each day. To live more healthily and more happily, I'll need to practice setting this habit aside. It's quite well established in me, this urge to achieve the maximum amount of work each day. But every day can't be a mid-summer harvest. If so, the Earth would all too quickly wear out.
When I first went to college I studied classical guitar with a brilliant and internationally known teacher, John Sutherland. I was fortunate to be accepted into the program, as John was considered a Master Teacher by the world's best players, and was regularly sent the best students by them. I had only begun to study the guitar some six months prior to applying for entrance into the program. Many days I practiced 8 hours or more and just barely was admitted (or so it seemed to me). One day in a private lesson, I said to John, "I'm worried that I'm falling behind in my playing." "Behind what?", John asked. "Behind where I should be," I answered. "That's ridiculous," he laughed, "you are where you are. There's no ahead or behind." I'm not sure how, but this story seems to be connected to the above discussion. Perhaps it's another example of needing to control the flow of work. I think I have a great many of such stories, and that it's time to take seriously the Gorge of Lu.
This is a point that I think sometimes gets lost in academic discussion of comparative religion. Whether or not "all religions are paths to the same destination," and whether or not the claims various religions make are true or false, our religious and spiritual traditions can be, at times, "wisdom traditions", that is, repositories for insights that are fantastically useful in living life well, rather than less well.
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