Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Supper in Samsara

“Ever since I was a pup, deal was I’d sing before I’d sup, this silver spoons my beggar’s cup, and when it’s empty I fill up, all I have to do is just show up” Two Djinn

A silver sky bares tidings of rain as summer lingers on in Samsara. This place feels close to home but I haven’t found home yet, that’s because home is the present moment a place I rarely dwell in. When you’re truly home the past and future have no bearing on the soul. I love this mountaintop but it isn’t home yet and for a person with my anxieties this TRUE HOME can seem unobtainable. Thus the work begins and Buddhism offers the best map HOME. Even my vague Bon Mountain Worship is merely a fabricated link. Mindfulness is the hardest task a human can undertake a proposition so frightening that I rather wallow in fear than take the steps necessary to find that true paradise.  Awareness of every movement, breath, and thought without the aid of stimulus (sex drugs or rock n roll) is the path to enlightenment, a trail fraught with peril that one must follow eternally until they break the bonds and find HOME. Even attachment or possession can be a backslide into suffering so what’s left,  Some wayfarer standing on a hill with no family except everything that has ever existed or will ever exist? The whole universe is his home nothing more or less than that. Every molecule flowing through his being until each blade of grass is his child. Makes me want to run away and attach myself to anything I can like a barnacle on the haul of FORM. FORMLESS is the ONLY salvation and that perturbs me. Unmask GOD, DESIRE, and sensuality leaving only awareness. Peel off the labels and go where even Jesus or Buddha cannot follow because wherever you go there you are. WE ARE MORE THAN THE SUM OF OUR COLLECTIVE PARTS. The oneness that binds us all together in this lurid life force that manifests as the roar of silence thundering through the void, misunderstood or misconstrued it can drive a person insane. The schizophrenic hears all the voices in his consciousness, the obsessive compulsive clings relentlessly to form doomed to repeat history, and the vapid ignores it altogether. Perhaps you can only find IT out when there is nothing left to lose. In my finer moments I am the wealthiest man alive owning all that I see. Chief Seattle wisely stated one cannot own the land but what if everyone owned everything together?  I guess that is called sharing.

Rain patted on the tin roof of the classroom as students read their journals aloud. It has helped me this year knowing the names and preferences of all my class seven students. There are a few names in class nine I mix up but I have been focusing on struggling students and defiant boys this week. I have noted that the extra care has yielded good results.

 Being a teacher is intense since every thought deed or action directly relates to the wellness of a student, a symbiotic relationship whose origin is the teacher’s essence NO PREASURE RIGHT. I love my students but realize how much I need to improve for their sake. Every one of my actions garners a reaction in the classroom and this career requires immense focus. So basically it challenges all the holes in my being constantly begging me to pony up and ride.  Giddy up! Last night I was on duty for class ten night study supervising 120 teenagers. The VP came in and seemed annoyed at the noise level but I was fine with it since most of the kids were assisting one another while I helped individuals. In class nine I was impressed with my student’s responses to mock exam questions for Dawa. I am stressing citing examples from the text and making concrete connections to their own lives within their answers.  Critical thinking can be like squeezing blood from a stone.

At times I feel the antonym of mindfulness which creates a Shangri Blah sensation. (More Bhutanese doldrums)I have put in more energy into this endeavour than I give myself credit for and have built a solid foundation.  Its morning so I rummage in my messy drawer to find a pair of clean socks, slacks, and the corduroy shirt Morgan gave me before I shipped out. Karlos knocks on my door to lug off a burlap sack full of empty plastic coke bottles to recycle down South for cash. Its 8:13 A.M and I am drinking milk tea my bag is packed and I’m heading to morning assembly. Tsenkharla in socked in with fog after a night of substantial rain. Lately I have been dreaming of wild animals including tigers and bears. In one dream I touched a tranquilized tiger whose fur was like silk, GRRRRRRR. You know a tigress is considered the most fearsome huntress on earth, but this male tiger hasn’t made any kills for awhile (A HUNGRY MAN IS AN ANGRY MAN)

The fog never lifted today with intermittent showers while I delivered lessons enjoying the interaction with the kids. We have finished Dawa the Dog and they seem to comprehend the story well connecting the content to their own lives exhibiting critical thinking and analyses. For lunch I had ginger snaps (generic but mom you’d enjoy them) and tonight I’m scheduled to sup at Karlos and Sonam’s where i will settle my 7,000 NU shopping tab. I hope YOU are well and enjoying life AS IT IS!

Over and out

1 comment:

  1. This is a particularly good and insightful posting, Timmers. Kathy's husband gave me a great suggestion for a book you and I could write, detailing the generational differences on themes such as home, love, spiritual quest--whatever. It piqued my interest. Come home and we'll begin. The reunion was FABULOUS. Good friends are the gold of life. I love you....