Doug Bruns

Archive for the ‘Wisdom’ Category

5.8.2018

In Life, Memoir, Nature, The Examined Life, Wisdom on May 9, 2018 at 8:00 am

Moleskine notes

Three weeks ago I left southern Virginia, west-bound. Today I entered Mountain Time. And I saw a Western Kingbird. I must be heading in the right direction.

* * *

I’ve spent a lot of time, years even, contemplating how to best live. But the real question is not How to Live, but How to Think. Everything follows our thinking, including our happiness.

“A man is as miserable as he things he is.” ~ Seneca.

Conversely, is a person as happy as he or she thinks they are?

* * *

“At the break of day, when you are reluctant to get up, have this thought ready to mind: ‘I am getting up for a human being’s work…I am going out to do what I was born for…plants, birds, ants, spiders, bees all doing their own work, each helping in their own work, each helping in their own way to order the world…do you not want to do the work of a human being…to follow the demands of your own nature?” ~ Marcus Aureluis

* * *

Man in restaurant behind me just returned his water because it had a lemon in it. “Oh my god,” said the waitress. “I’m so sorry. And I totally brag about our water too,” she said.

I must be in California.

* * *

It is late in the afternoon and the sun is low. Lucy is asleep beside the river. I am thinking about something Seneca said: plunging oneself into the totality of the world. What does that mean, I wonder? I don’t know precisely, but it must have something to do with the flight of the terns over the lake this evening. It must have something to do with the way the bark of the willow over there is gnarled. And yes, it must have something to do with that fish who just pierced the surface and the rings that are radiating toward me. Yes, that must be it. The totality of the world.

 

Advertisements

3.22.2018

In Happiness, Life, Wisdom on March 23, 2018 at 8:04 am

I don’t do New Year resolutions, but this year I did something similar. I selected a word I wanted to focus on for 2018. It’s a touchstone* of sorts, something one turns to for guidance and direction. My word is Harmony.

I can’t directly say how harmony presented itself. I suspect it was the result of current social conditions. I cannot recall a time of such discord previously. I was born in 1955 so I was a young person in the sixties and seventies. I remember the cultural upheavals of those times. Indeed, I vividly recall my frustration at not being old enough to truly participate in what was going on, the war protests, the “Summer of Love,” and such. Those were tumultuous times certainly. But they didn’t seem to carry the personal import these heavy days do. Regardless, I wanted to do something to counter discord as best I could, in my own little personal way. Consequently, Harmony.

We’re only a third of the way into the year. Is it proper to take an assessment of my personal contribution to harmony? That itself is a big assumption. Have I, in some fashion, contributed to world/personal/social harmony?

Well yes, I think so.

In my world an action can take three forms, or a combination of: body, speech, or mind.

Body. Speech. Mind.

Actions of the body, related to harmony, might be manifested by a hug, a handshake, a smile. Hold the door for someone, wave to a neighbor, let the car merge in front of you.

Actions of speech–that gets a little trickier. We all know words can hurt. Don’t use hurtful words. It sounds simple enough. Hello. You’re welcome. Good morning. These are words we like hearing. But how many times do we make a snide comment, use a rude description, say something disparaging under our breath? For me, in my attempt to train in harmony, I am daily growing more aware of such usage. Being aware of it, I can better modify my actions of speech. But that’s the trick–awareness, which takes me to actions of mind.

Actions of Mind–thoughts, essentially. If you truly want to make a positive contribution you want to get a handle on what’s going on between your ears. A teacher said to me once, “What’s your practice? We all practice something.” We might meditate, go for a run, read poetry, write, pray, clean the house, make the bed, change a diaper. What is your practice and do you understand that it first manifests as a thought? Your practice, do you pay attention to it? I wrote here once about seeing runners having a phone conversation while they ran. I wanted to stop them and say, Be a runner. Be just that one thing right now, be that one thing truly. Be that thing with all your heart and concentration. Pay attention.

My personal assessment, a quarter way into the year, is that my teeny-tiny contribution to harmony has taken root, albeit ever so modestly, close to home. I realized early into this project that there is little I can do about world politics, about discord between countries, about hatred in the world at large. Instead, I decided to be more thoughtful toward my neighbors. I decided to do the dishes when they stacked up. I will make the bed. I will pick up litter in the dog field. I said they were teeny-tiny things–but harmony spreads beyond family. Courtesy gets passed around. A smile is contagious. Civility counts. These are things I can think about, I can talk about, I can do. Mind, body, speech.

I hope I have not sounded too high-handed here. I don’t want to be preachy, nor do I have any reason to call myself out as being better than anyone else. I’m just a guy trying to be a better person, a better citizen of the world, a better father, husband, friend. Harmony, yep, a good focus word for me this year. I encourage you to find your own personal project at making the world a better place. We need it. Pass it on.

————————————-

*The origin of touchstone is interesting. The first known use of the word takes us back to 1530. A physical touchstone was a stone related to flint. By rubbing it on gold or silver one could determine the purity of the ore by the streaks left behind. Metaphorically speaking, a touchstone might be used to point us toward authenticity and genuineness.

 

11.24.2017

In Life, Memoir, Wisdom on November 24, 2017 at 7:56 am

Red Feather Lakes, CO., el 8800

Did you hear the one about Jesus Christ, Moses, and the Zen Master?

Jesus Christ, Moses, and a Zen Master were out on pilgrimage. They were trekking through a remote valley when they came to a river. The bridge they hoped to cross had been washed away in a storm. They stood looking. Jesus shrugged his shoulders and stepped onto the river and walked across. On the other side, he turned and waited. Moses then moved to the river’s edge. He raised and spread his arms wide. The water parted. He walked across and stood next to Jesus, the two of them looking across the river at the Zen Master. The Zen Master shrugged his shoulders, hiked up his robe, took a firm grasp on his staff and waded into the current. He struggled across and eventually joined his friends, Jesus and Moses. They continued on their way.

You have to do the work.

I was recently reminded of this little parable while noticing the warmth of a rising sun on my face. The meditation hall had expansive windows and as the sun crested the mountain ridge to the east, the morning rays poured in. My mind was not particularly stable on this morning, despite seven straight days of meditation. I guess I was too excited to return home. But I took a moment to be satisfied. Like the Zen Master I have no special powers. I simply have to do the work. On this occasion I did what I set out to do. I did the work, for now. There can be great joy in work well done. At least there should be. No work, no eat, they say.

I’d not been to an extended meditation retreat before. As you might expect, at times my joints hurt and many times my mind wandered. But just as often I was disappointed when the bell rang and we had to rise from our cushions. Doing work with great concentration can be extremely satisfying. We too often exist in a state of digression and discursive thinking. We are encouraged to do many things at the same time, applauded for our ability to multitask. But the mind can only do one thing at a time truly. Sure, it can flit about, go here and there, touch this and that, but such a rapid-fire process is many breaths short of concentration, of pure focus. Such a thing takes work. It takes practice. Watch a concert musician, a world-class athlete. It is writ large on their face. They’ve gone to that place. They’ve done the work.

I began meditating in 2004. I’ve gone through periods of consistency, day after day, week after week. I’ve also had many spans of not practicing.  I’m now enjoying in a long run of daily sittings, months strung together, such that the work is becoming the life and vice versa. At some point the musician stops being a student and becomes a pianist. It is then, in that turning, that you become the work you were previously practicing. That itself seems an awakening.

 

 

9.5.2017 (p.m.)

In Family, Memoir, Wisdom on September 6, 2017 at 12:40 pm

Two days ago my two-year old granddaughter said something that I’ve been thinking a lot about. We were walking to the park. Her little hand was wrapped around my extended finger. She was looking straight ahead and it was a sunny afternoon. “I’m having a good day,” she said, apropos of nothing. Imagine that. I’m having a good day, said the little two-year old.

Today it has been raining and I’m out in the woods, up on the Appalation plateau, the only participant in a two-week self-designed retreat. I’m in my Airstream so it’s not too much of a hardship. Still, it has been pouring from dawn to dusk. But never is a day bad. It might be a day of bad weather, but the day, well, the day itself is always just that, the day. I try not to categorize by labeling it good or bad. It’s part of a practice, to experience a thing without either latching on to it or being put off by it. Just recognize it for what it is directly, without stamping a value on it.

My granddaughter did not say it was a good day. She said she was having a good day. There is a difference. Picasso said it took him a lifetime to draw like a child. I wish to have a day like a child, to have a day that is simply good and call it out as such, like it is the most natural thing in the world. That is a fashion of drawing like a child, to breathe the air and feel the sun and hold someone’s hand and know it is good.

So here I am out in the woods. It is night and I’m listening to a little music, sipping some bourbon, Lucy asleep on my bed while the rain dances on the roof of my little aluminum abode. I took some long walks today, between storms. This afternoon the wind picked up and I noticed a few amber and orange leaves skittering across the field. Fall is on the way, my favorite season. I spent a good amount of the day in meditation and a good amount of the day with my guitar. I’ve been working on Carcassi’s Allegro No. 1 and am getting better at the transition from the third to eighth position. I made myself two simple meals and didn’t watch any TV. I only have 1X data coverage, so I didn’t stream any videos, hell, I couldn’t even load a web page, which is perfect, given my designs for this retreat.

I like going to sleep to the sound rain falling. I have had a good day.

 

7.23.2017

In Travel, Wisdom on July 23, 2017 at 8:00 am

A Lesson in Three Wishes

I learned a few things while living on the road these last fifteen months. They are simple things that I think I’d learned previously but had forgotten. That is one thing travel does well, it shifts the course of things if you let it, revealing both old and new.

The sun comes up in the morning and goes down in the evening. Likewise, the day will pass of its own accord. These things occur naturally regardless of one’s plans. While traveling, I found myself frequently summarizing, “Well, another day that took care of itself.” Travel without an agenda is liberating this way. It is less an experience of managing a day and more a realization of the day’s flow.  I wish to make my life more flow, less managing.

Do less. I borrow from Marcus Aurelius on this one:

“If you seek tranquility, do less. Do what’s essential. Do less, better.”

Travel days were best when we did something, but not everything. We did less, but we did it better. It falls into the realm of better understanding one’s nature. If you have some insight into your nature, exploit it. You don’t have to swing for the fences every time, but nurture what works for you. We fell into a natural rhythm on this trip, a gentle flow of following our curiosity. I wish to make my life less wide, but deeper in this way.

We spent a good bit of time in rural America, on back roads and in little towns. The people we met were for the most part kind and warm. But rural America is a hard place. Too often I found myself in judgement, in judgement of the powerful forces at work that make for such hardship; and, honestly, too often in judgement of the people subjected to such challenges. I was a blue traveler in a red country. And what to make of that? Smile. Say thank you. Be pleasant. Listen well. Look a person in the eye. The web of existence links us all. I wish to remember and better practice that.

 

 

2.11.2017

In Memoir, The Examined Life, Travel, Uncategorized, Wisdom on February 11, 2017 at 1:20 pm

We’d been camping in the Laguna Mountains for a few days and had the place to ourselves. We had no internet and no cell coverage. Our days were lazy and we filled them with books, walks, and the occasional nap. Breaking the habit of connectivity is difficult and a thing probably best experienced only when forced on you. Like many habits, it takes time to break the back of it but is worth it if you can manage. I spent a good bit of time photographing the Acorn Woodpecker. Sibley says to “Note clownish face pattern, red crown…” and so on. Clownish indeed, with a bold yellow cheek, a bright eye ring, and a white forehead patch. They were in abundance in the field in front of us, a field of less than a dozen trees, half of which were dead.

I took a biology class in college, the final project of which was to write a report of long-term observation on a patch of ground we’d chosen, a spit of earth three feet square. We had to log so many hours–I don’t recall exactly how many–and share what we observed. The project taught me many things, all of them unexpected, the greatest of which was the power of simply being still. Being still is not a thing we often experience, nor does it warrant much currency in modern society. Yet the simple action of no action can be quite something, boarding on profound even.

There was perhaps an hour before the sun would set behind the ridge. (A fist held to the horizon represents about an hour, two fists between horizon and the sun and you’re looking at about two hours before sunset.) Once the sun disappeared the temperatures dropped and darkness spread across the valley faster than you could out walk it–at lease it seemed that way. I had been standing for perhaps an hour, not moving. I focused on the birds and attempted to better hear the sounds surrounding me. I concentrated on simply being still and observing. Once years ago while meditating in a woods, seated on a stump, a white-tail deer approached, sniffing the air curiously, nostrils flaring. Closer and closer she drew, then, with a shift of wind, she leaped as if suddenly released by gravity and bolted off across a meadow. When you sit in a forest things happen. On this afternoon, camera resting on my tripod in front of me, my hearing turned ever so effortlessly into listening. It is a subtile difference, hearing and listening, and I cannot say when it directly turned. You can’t really pinpoint such a thing. There was a chirping in the tree in front of me. It had been there but I’d not listened to it. I lifted my eyes and from a bore-hole the head of a fledgling appeared. It looked around, up and down, then hopped from the hole to a branch. Suddenly mom and dad woodpecker dropped from the sky screaming. They reprimanded the youngster and ushered him back into the nest. I could only imagine the discussion over dinner that night.

Despite my well documented appreciation of Thoreau and his fellow Transcendentalists, I have never been able to truly nurture an appreciation for things metaphysical, spiritual, or transcendental. Yet, as I grow older and as my stubbornness yields to experience, I find peace in considering such things. There is no conclusion to draw from that, other than the lesson of stillness and the woodpecker.