In our FBA Dharmabyte today, and#8220;Writing as Spiritual Practice,and#8221; Srivati guides us through a beautiful path of poetry, love and awareness, following the golden thread to get out of the way and just let go.
From the talk and#8220;Becoming a Citizen of the Present,and#8221; a thoughtful, sympathetic talk by Srivati on the most delicate of tasks in any life and#8211; how to live in the present moment.
Talk given to the Western Buddhist Order national Order weekend, 2001
[music] Dharma Bites is brought to you by Free Buddhist Audio, the Dharma for your life. Our work is funded entirely by donations from our generous listeners. If you would like to help us keep this free, make a contribution at freebuddhistaudio.com/donate. Thank you, and happy listening. For speaking of verses, I'd like to turn now to writing as practice. For me, writing poetry is an extension of the practice of mindfulness and meta. It's a key way for me to live more in the moment. Writing poetry may sweep us back and forward in time, remembering and imagining, but it happens in the moment. The past taps us on our shoulder with memories to share, leading us to rummage in the cellars and attics of our history. Or even trips us up, insisting that we pay attention and make good our neglect. But meanwhile, up ahead, is a future. A confusing array of dreams and fears that seduces us into stumbling forward with its sweet promises. Or drags us unwilling towards our obligations and destiny. Yet if we choose to write or make other kinds of art, we can find ourselves standing or sitting still, and the present moment offers itself like a gift. Everything starts now, but we forget, spinning forwards and back in our vortex of time. Making art, we can sit undisturbed in the eye of the hurricane. What's needed to write is not so different from what is required for a meditation practice. I have found that by trying to develop a writing practice, I often need the same conditions and tools, including receptive or balanced effort, and the willingness to sit with tension, self and other, and other inner and outer dilemmas of various kinds. And it's a practice both on and off the chair. It's important to practice poetry at all times, not just when sitting with a notebook in a cafe pretending to be Natalie Goldberg. Writing poetry is about seeing more clearly, and it's also about love. Writing poetry is about appreciation, trying to see things as they are, in and for themselves. While at the same time because of where I'm at, noticing what is I want or don't want from them, it's about opening my eyes and ears, about attending to the world closely, and about asking questions. It's a means of reflection. It's often the most effective way for me to really think. Where does a poem start? Here and now. That's why it's an awareness practice. Because poetry is there all the time, like enlightenment and reality, it's there all the time. We just need to pick up the end of the thread in front of us and wind it into a ball to draw us close. Some of you will be familiar with this idea of the golden thread that the poet William Stafford talks about, borrowing the image from William Blake. You can find this written about in Robert Bly's introduction to the Weatherlight edition of Stafford's poetry, "Holding on to the Grass". A poem is the thread, the ball and where it leads you. And the end of the thread may give no inkling as to where you will end up. The secret is to just follow the thread and to not hold it too tightly or too loosely. So the end of the thread can be any detail of our experience in the scene, only the scene. I may notice the ring I'm wearing and write about the experience of amber and silver. I may start with the noises I hear out on the street, or it may be that the end of the thread is a memory or a dream or a thought that comes to mind. We can start anywhere finding the flavour of the moment. My senses are reading the world, noting the signs, smells, sounds, touch and taste of the endless moments. I can begin to record these, and in so doing, other impressions, thoughts or feelings arise, and then become the next part of the thread. Of course what I'm usually aware of first is my response to these impressions, my likes, my dislikes, my views. But the act of trying to record my first impressions means that I move closer to my initial contact with the world through my senses, and that in turn gives me great opportunity for choosing what happens next. Writing, describing, recollecting, slow down the process of experience, which means that it trains me to approach life more directly. Like after a meditation retreat, as a result of attempting to look with a poet's eye, I have a more vivid experience of life. Colors are brighter, people seem more interesting. And what follows from that enhanced awareness is a greater appreciation. That's why I say writing poetry is about love. Choosing to describe the world and some of its inhabitants can be like doing the metabhavna. By giving my attention to a garden, or my great-aunt sis, or my step-dad, I find my heart opens just because I'm holding them there. And I suppose that what makes a big difference is that when I try and write poetry, I do see myself engaged in a kind of authentic communication, which is informed by the ten precepts. But the result is that I feel that writing poetry is about appreciation, because I'm describing how things are, at least in my perception, and trying not to be clever or unkind. This means that sometimes, at least, I get out of the way. This is of course connected to what Bante calls the Greater Mander of Uselessness. Butters and Bodhisattvas experience everything in and for itself. They're not driven or stressed by the job in hand, that is saving all beings. It's a joy to them. Their work is their play. They have this light touch because they see things for themselves, rather than what they can get out of them. When I'm not wanting something from someone I meet, when I don't feel the need to push away something because I don't like it, when I'm free of these usual pushes and pulls, the world can stand in itself and I don't get in the way. As Singh Sam says, "The perfect life is only difficult for those who pick and choose." If I don't pick and choose, I can simply appreciate. This appreciation is at the heart of wisdom. Bante, in wisdom beyond words, refers to Gunther's definition of Pranyar as analytical appreciative understanding. In other words, when we don't get in the way, when our prima donna egos don't get to come onto the stage, we see things as they are. When our experience is in the scene, merely the scene, and there, there is delight. The artist Odeon Redon said, "With my eyes more widely opened upon things, I learnt how the life that we unfold can also reveal joy. Note to the life we unfold, stand to us." And William Blake talks about kissing the joy as it flies, which is a beautiful image for letting go. It's the old message, "We need to love and let go." We hope you enjoyed today's Dharma Bite. Please help us keep this screen. Make a contribution at freebuddhistaudio.com/donnie. And thank you. [music fades out] [music fades out]
