Don't Think About It

DON'T THINK ABOUT IT.

Bardo Thodol in comic format

A Comic Book Guide to the Tibetan Afterlife

The Gift

We are not going to let them down. We will live up to the gift we've been given.

Nine years ago, Harry dog joined our family after our old Sally girl lost the last of her siblings. Nine months later, Luigi joined our family. Sally was nine when Harry arrived, and with his caregiving, that big dog lived to 15.

Luigi had bad seizures all his life and Harry was always there for him. Harry would tell us when a seizure was happening and then stay by his boy until Luigi was back with us. When it took a while, Harry rested his head on Luigi. Luigi often lost his sight (and other senses) and Harry would be his guide dog. There were many times when Harry was ready to come back inside, but Luigi wasn't and so Harry stayed out. For his boy.

After Luigi died last month, Harry turned into an old dog before our eyes. A mass developed on his neck and grew quickly. His job was done. And he made sure his job was done. He made sure Luigi was taken care of before his own self. Luigi moved on. And now Harry has. They're back together, with Sally. The pack is back together.

The gift they gave was this: My wife and I have been having troubles. Outside stresses of life-- the usual stuff-- but troubles. Our hearts are now broken so wide open, with both our boys gone, being dogless for the first time in our 35+ years, that our troubles have been washed away by our tears. Our boys' last gift to us: each other. We won't let them down.

Here and There

The interactions between the living and those passed beyond is interesting to me. The times I see it most often are with our long line of the cats and dogs that have shared our lives. The recent example was with our dog Luigi, who entered our house as #3 dog to grande dame Sally and bridge dog Harry. Luigi and Sally had a special bond: Sally would bark and bark at Luigi, who would cock his head back and forth as he listened. Then he would talk back to her with modulated whines. Sally loved that Luigi respected her without kowtowing.

When Sally passed on three years ago, Luigi stopped talking.

Luigi had seizures all his life, generally a major one each week, possibly multiples. Little seizures would ripple through his body regularly. His senses came and went. He was often blind, though sometimes could see. His big Spinone Italiano nose didn't work sometimes. His hearing would come and go. But he was a spunky dude: fall down seven, stand up eight, though often with help.

We just put Luigi down. His seizures were getting worse. In the last two weeks, he had only hours between seizures, three major ones on his last day.

With all the seizuring at the end, he was very blind and a bit addled. Yet instead of walking broad-legged as a blind dog would do, Luigi single-tracked, like his beloved Tibetan Mastiff Sally. In his last days, he looked the spitting image of Sally as he moved toward me: head low, single-tracking, with a determined look.

I have no doubt Sally helped Luigi cross over. She's been here through so much of his dying process.

"Want to know your future life? Look at your present actions."

Go toward the bright light, Luigi. Feel the unconditional love. I know you'll have a great next life.

Listening to within

I'm getting back to sitting and now when I sit, I work through a loop of meditation beads to keep my monkey brain busy. I'm learning to simply listen to within, rather than try to achieve emptiness or blankness. Today I relaxed into a feeling of heading into a tube going down. I fell out of it too quickly to find out where it went. Begin again.

The Bardo

Bardo is a Tibetan word meaning "intermediate state" or "in between." The book known as the Tibetan Book of the Dead is also known as Liberation through Hearing in the Between or in the Bardo.

Many in the Buddhist world consider the time after death and before the next incarnation to be a bardo. The book of Liberation through Hearing exhorts the soul in bardo to be aware of its true mind and to not fall prey to false illusions.

Buddhism stresses the centrality and primacy of the mind. As stated in Stephen Hodge's translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead,

The mind is the source of all things; it contains within it the possibility of enlightenment or else continued repetition of the dreary miserable round of lives in the cycle of existence. Indeed, it is the view of these teachings that the mind in its purest form, shorn of all ignorance and negativity, is inherently enlightened and replete with all the qualities one normally associates with enlightened beings such as the Buddhas. This pure primorial mind that precedes any manifestation of our own egocentric lives is said to be the very substance of reality. (pp. 8–9)

The true mind sees reality as it is, without the distortions of psychological filters or expectations. A crude analogy might be vision versus perception. Look at the following image. What do you see?

You see lines and circles. But you perceive a cat. The mind puts its filters and expectations to work to make meaning out of the lines and circles. The book of Liberation through Hearing in the Bardo keeps telling the soul in bardo to ignore what it's perceiving and just see with a true mind.

Stephen Hodge's translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead discusses the bardo, the transitional phase, in his introductory material:

The state called here "the transitional phase" (Tibetan: "bardo") is the actual moment of change, occurring at the end of one phase and the beginning of the next. It is the state of flux itself, the only state that can really be called "real." It is a condition of great power and potential within which anything could happen. It is the moment between moments. It may seem to span an entire lifetime, like the moment between being born and dying, or it may be imperceptibly short and fleeting, like the moment between one thought and the next. Whatever its duration, however, it is a moment of great opportunity for those who perceive it. Anyone who can do this is called a yogin. Such a person has the power of destiny in their hands. He or she has no need of a priest to guide him towards the clear light of truth, for he sees already the clear light of truth in the intermediate phases that occur between all other states. Refusing to become trapped in the false belief that all about him is fixed and solid, the yogin moves with calm and graceful ease through life, confident that changes are now under his own direction. He becomes the master of change instead of slave.

To one who understands this and develops some skill in its application, the difficult uncertainties of life become no more troublesome than the bardo of getting dressed in the morning. Between waking up and getting dressed, one must decide what clothes to wear. That is all. It should not be a problem. Similarly, between any encounter and one's reaction to it, there is an intermediate space that offers choice to those who can see it. One is not obliged to react on the basis of habit or prejudice. The opportunity for a fresh approach is always there in the intermediate state for those who have learned to recognize it. Such recognition is the essential message of this ancient and profound book. (pp. 10–11)

As Robert Thurman says in his introductory material to his translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Buddha taught that the psychological habit of assuming a fixed subjectivity, an unchanging identity, was a key obstacle to a good life. He insisted on the changeable, fluid soul's reality, vulnerability, responsibility, and evolutionary potential (p.16).

Being aware of each bardo as I walk through my day provides the opportunities for me to stretch toward my evolutionary potential.

Listening

Real Life is settling in, and I am again able to spend moments practicing.

I rediscovered my bone-conducting headphones. I clamped them onto my skull and it was as though music was somewhere up there in my head.

When I sat today, I made the connection of putting my visualizations somewhere up there in my head.

It's about listening, and responding to what you hear.