The Minoan Bull

And, being of an age when one’s thoughts turn naturally to last things (though to tell the truth I have always been incorrigibly given to thinking of last things), it seems an appropriate time to seize this graceful Minoan bull by the horns and address the question: “well, if you’re not a Buddhist, then what the hell are you?” And the fact remained that (up until the last couple weeks) I sat down to meditate and recited prayers that affirmed that what I was doing all this for was to become enlightened, in some distant future life: despite the fact that I never much believed in enlightenment or its magical powers, and I never believed in reincarnation at all.

Since the full installation of a post-truth government I find my tolerance for useful fictions has vanished. I fully understand that one is never fully undeceived: but I’m not in the mood to render aid and comfort to the Prince of Lies. He has plenty of friends in high places; he doesn’t need my help. So sitting down to meditate with a stated intention founded on fiction – just wasn’t working for me any more. No. Can’t do it. And yet the need to practice, the need to slow down, to work towards clarity, is as pressing as ever.

My first thought was to try to figure it out rationally and systematically: what needs to be in a refuge prayer? What could I mean by “sealing the merit” at the end? What after all am I actually aiming at in my shamatha practice?

But these questions have murky answers when they have answers at all. And much of what I am trying to discover, in meditation, is what the answers to those questions really might be: the least useful thing I could do would be to come up with prayers that foreclosed the inquiry. No. I decided that I needed to ask my heart, not my head. And my heart promptly said, “say the prayers that have always resonated for you: you can edit them later if you have to. But just say the ones that come, for now.” The only piece I knew was missing was the explicit invocation of beauty. Maybe if you’re in the breathtaking landscapes of high Tibet it goes without saying, but in East Portland you can lose track.