Vergankelijkheid en zelfloosheid zijn geen schaduwzijden van het leven, maar de eigenlijke fundering waarop het leven wordt gebouwd.
Vergankelijkheid is de voortdurende omvorming of transformatie van dingen. Zonder vergankelijkheid kan er geen leven zijn. Zelfloosheid is de natuur van onderlinge afhankelijkheid, die het kenmerk is van alle dingen. Zonder onderlinge afhankelijkheid zou niets kunnen bestaan.
In zitmeditatie gaat het er in de eerste plaats om dat je je ervan bewust bent dat je zit. Daarna kun je zo gaan zitten dat er kalmte, stevigte en een gevoel van welzijn kan ontstaan. Probeer je lichaamshouding elk moment bewust gewaar te zijn – of je nu aan het zitten of lopen bent, staat of ligt. Volg elke handeling bewust, of je nu opstaat, vooroverbuigt of een jas aantrekt. Bewust gewaar zijn brengt je terug bij jezelf. En wanneer je voluit aanwezig bent bij je lichaam en in het hier en nu leeft, ben je helemaal bij jezelf thuis.
Wij hebben de neiging om ons vast te klampen aan het leven en de dood uit de weg te gaan. Maar, volgens de leer van de Boeddha, is alles altijd al nirvana – de ultieme werkelijkheid of God – geweest. Dus waarom het ene beetgrijpen en het andere uit de weg gaan? In de ultieme dimensie is er geen begin en geen einde. We denken dat er iets te bereiken valt, iets buiten onszelf, maar alles is al hier.
He had good reason to be. For several years the doctor had been known what is vulgarly known as an “adventurer”. He had been a smuggler of antiques, an exploiter of labor on the Upper Nile, and had at times sunk so low as to participate in the forbidden “black goods trade” that flourished at certain ports along the Red Sea. He had come out to Egypt many years ago as an attache on an archeological expedition, from which he had been summarily dismissed. The reason for his dismissal is not known, but it was rumored that he had been caught trying to appropriate certain of the expeditionary trophies. After his exposure and subsequent disgrace, he had disappeared for a while. Several years later he had come back to Cairo and set up an establishment in the native quarter. It was here that he fell into the unscrupulous habits of business which had earned him a dubious reputation and a sizable profit. He seemed well satisfied with both.
At the present time he was a man of perhaps forty-five years of age, short and heavy-set, with a bullet-shaped head that rested on broad, ape-like shoulders. His thick torso and bulging paunch were supported by a pair of spindly legs that contrasted oddly with the upper portions of his beefy body. Despite his Falstaffian appearance he was a hard and ruthless man. His piggish eyes were filled with greed; his fleshly mouth was lustful, his orily natural smile was one of avarice.
It was his covetous nature that had let him to his present adventure. Ordinarily he was not a credulous man. The usual tales of lost pyramids, buried treasure and stolen mummies did not impress him. He preferred something more substantial. A contraband consignment of rugs; a bit of smuggled opium; something in the line of illicit human merchandise – these were the things he could appreciate and understand.
But this case was different. Extraordinary as it sounded, it meant big money. Stugatche was smart enough to know that many of the great discoveries of Egyptology had been prompted by just such wild rumors as the one he had heard. He also knew the difference between improbable truth and spurious invention. This story sounded like the truth.
In brief, it ran as follows. A certain party of nomads, while engaged in a secret journey with a cargo of illegitimately obtained goods, were traversing a special route of their own. They did not feel that the regular caravan lanes were healthful for them to follow. While traveling near a certain spot they had accidentally espied a curious rock of stone in the sands. The thing had evidently been buried, but long years of shifting and swirling among the dunes above it had served to uncover a portion of the object. They had stopped to inspect it at closer range, and thereby made a startling discovery. The thing projecting from the sand was the head of a statue; an ancient Egyptian statue, with the triple crown of a god! Its black body was still submerged, but the head seemed to be in perfect preservation. It was a peculiar thing, that head, and none of the natives could or would recognize the deity, though the caravan leaders questioned them closely. The whole thing was an unfathomable mystery. A perfectly preserved statue of an unknown god buried all alone in the southern desert, a long way from any oasis, and two hundred miles from the smallest village!
Evidently the caravan men realized something of its uniqueness; for they ordered that two boulders which lay near by be placed on top of the idol as a marker in case they ever returned. The men did as they were ordered, though they were obviously reluctant, and kept muttering prayers beneath their breath. They seemed very much afraid of the buried image, but only reiterated their ignorance when questioned further concerning it.
After the boulders had been placed, the expedition was forced to journey on, for time did not permit them to unearth the curious figure in its entirety, or attempt to carry it with them. When they returned to the north they told their story, and as most tales were in the habit of doing, it came to the ears of Doctor Stugatche. Stugatche thought fast. It was quite evident that the original discoverers of the idols did not attach any great importance to their find. For this reason the doctor might easily return to the spot and unearth the statue without any trouble, once he knew exactly where it was located.
Stugatche felt that it was worth finding. If it had been a treasure yarn, now, he would have scoffed and unhesitatingly put it down as a cock-and-bull story of the usual variety. But an idol – that was different. He could understand why an ignorant band of Arab smugglers might ignore such a discovery. He could also realize that such a discovery might prove more valuable to him than all the treasures in Egypt. It was easy for him to remember the vague clues and wild hints that had prompted the findings of early explorers. They had followed up many blind leads when first they plumbed the pyramids and racked the Temple ruins. All of them were tomb-looters at heart, but their ravishings had made them rich and famous. Why not him, then? If the tale were true, and this idol not only buried, but totally unknown as a deity; in perfect condition, and in such out-of-the-way locality – these facts would create a furor when he exhibited his find. He would be famous! Who knew what hitherto untrodden fields he might open up in archeology? It was well worth chancing.
But he must not arouse any suspicion. He dared not inquire about the place from any Arabs who had been there. That would immediately cause talk. No, he must get his directions from a native in the band. Accordingly, two of his servants picked up Hassan, the old camel-driver, and brought him before Stugatche in his house. But Hassan, when questioned, looked very much afraid. He refused to talk. So Stugatche, as we have seen, conducted him into his little reception room in the cellar, where he had been wont to entertain certain recalcitrant guests in the past. Here the doctor, whose knowledge of anatomy stood him in good stead, was able to cajole his visitor into speaking, by the methods we have just witnessed.
So Doctor Stugatche emerged from the cellar in a very pleasant frame of mind. He was rubbing his fat hands when he looked at the map to verify his information, and he went out to dinner with a smiling face.
Two days later he was ready to start. He had hired a small number of natives, so as not to excite undue investigation, and given out to his business acquaintances that he was about to embark on a special trip. He engaged a strange dragoman, and made sure that the fellow would keep his mouth shut. There were several swift camels in the train, and a number of extra donkeys harnessed to a large empty cart. He took food and water for six days, for he intended to return via river-boat. After the arrangements were completed, the party assembled one morning at a certain spot unknown to official eyes, and the expedition began.
The thing on the torture-rack began to moan. There was a grating sound as the lever stretched the iron bed still one more space in length. The moaning grew to a piercing shriek of utter agony.
“Ah,” said Doctor Stugatche, “we have him at last.”
He bent over the tortured man on the iron grille and smiled tenderly into the anguished face. His eyes, tinged with delicate amusement, took in every detail of the body before him – the swollen legs, raw and angry from the embrace of the fiery boot, the lacerated back and shoulders, still crimson from the kiss of the lash, the bloody, mangled remnants of a chest crushed by the caress of the Spiked Coffin. With gentle solicitude he surveyed the finishing touches applied by the rack itself – the dislocated shoulders and twisted torso, the crushed and broken fingers, and the dangling tendons in the lower limbs. Then he turned his attention to the old man’s tormented countenance once again. He laughed, softly, in a voice like the tinkling of a bell. Then he spoke.
“Well, Hassan, I do not think you will prove stubborn any longer in the face of such – ah – eloquent persuasion. Come now, tell me where I can find this idol of which you speak.”
The butchered victim began to sob, and the doctor was forced to kneel beside the bed of pain in order to understand his incoherent mumblings. For perhaps twenty minutes the creature groaned on, and then at last fell silent. Doctor Stugatche rose to his feet once more, a satisfied twinkle in his genial eyes. He made a brief motion to one of the blacks operating the rack machinery. The fellow nodded, and went over to the living horror on the instrument. It was crying now – its tears were blood. The black drew his sword. It swished upward, then cleaved down once again. There was a dull sound of crunching impact, and then a tiny fountain spurted upward, spreading a scarlet blot upon the wall behind…
Doctor Stugatche went out of the room, bolted the door behind him, and climbed the steps to the house above. As he raised the barred trap-door he saw that the sun was shining. The doctor began to whistle. He was very pleased.
Leven in aandacht is een kunst. Je hoeft geen monnik te zijn of in een klooster te wonen om mindfulness – aandachtig aanwezig zijn – te kunnen beoefenen. Dat is elk moment van de dag mogelijk, onder het autorijden of onder het huishouden. Wanneer je helemaal met je aandacht bij het autorijden bent, is het prettig toeven in je auto en maak je ook veel minder gauw ongelukken. Het rode stoplicht is voor jou het sein dat je mindful moet zijn, het herinnert je eraan stil te staan en te genieten van je ademhaling. Op dezelfde manier kun je na het eten bij de afwas met je hele aandacht naar je ademhaling gaan, zodat het fijn en zinvol is om af te wassen. Schiet niet in de haast. Als je het haastje-repje doet, verknoei je de tijd die je met de afwas bezig bent. De tijd die je aan dit soort dagelijkse taken besteedt, is kostbaar. Het is een tijd om voluit te leven. Wanneer je leven in aandacht beoefent, zal er vrede opbloeien terwijl je de gewone dagelijkse dingen doet.
Of we wel of geen geluk hebben is afhankelijk van de zaden in ons bewustzijn. Als onze zaden van mededogen, begrip en liefde sterk zijn, zullen juist die kwaliteiten in ons bovenkomen. Als de zaden van boosheid, vijandigheid en verdriet in ons sterk zijn, zullen we het heel moeilijk hebben.
Om iemand te begrijpen, moet je de kwaliteit van de zaden in zijn of haar opslagbewustzijn gewaar zijn. En je moet beseffen dat die kwaliteit niet uitsluitend aan die persoon zelf te wijten is.
Voorouders, ouders en samenleving zijn medeverantwoordelijk voor de kwaliteit van de zaden in iemands bewustzijn. Wanneer je dat inziet, begin je mededogen te voelen voor die ander. Met begrip en liefde weet je hoe je je eigen mooie zaden en die van anderen water kunt geven. En je herkent de zaden van lijden en vindt manieren om deze te transformeren.
Er zijn mensen die voorspellen dat de eenentwintigste eeuw er één van spiritualiteit zal zijn.
Persoonlijk denk ik dat het hoe dan ook een eeuw van spiritualiteit moet zijn als wij met z’n allen willen overleven. In onze samenleving is er zoveel lijden, geweld, wanhoop en verwarring. Er is zoveel angst. Hoe zouden we kunnen overleven zonder spiritualiteit?
Ieder van ons is soeverein binnen het domein van ons eigen wezen en de vijf elementen waaruit we zijn opgebouwd. Deze elementen zijn vorm ( lichaam), gevoelens, waarnemingen, mentale formaties en bewustzijn. Het gaat er in je beoefening om om deze alle vijf onder de loep te nemen en de ware natuur van je wezen – de ware aard van je lijden, je geluk, je vrede en je onbevreesdheid – op het spoor te komen.