Unreal Imagination Exists - Andrew Olendzki

Unreal Imagination Exists

Understanding the Buddha's paradoxical view of reality

-by Andrew Olendzki

One of my favorite expressions from Buddhist literature is the three-word opening line of theMadhyantavibhaga, a late Sanskrit text attributed to Maitreya, the Buddha to come. The phrase, which nicely captures the subtle, paradoxical view of reality so unique to Buddhist thought, is abhutaparikalpo'sti, and translates as something like "unreal imagination exists."

The middle word, parikalpa, is the noun and is based on a term that most immediately means "capability" or "feasibility." With the prefix parithis word takes on the sense of something contrived, determined, or invented. Here it refers to the understanding that the mind and body are constructing a world of experience--each moment--out of the raw data of sensory input. Others might see this as the functioning of a conscious spiritual essence, but Buddhists regard every moment of consciousness as a synthetic event that is cobbled together out of presenting conditions, only to pass away as those conditions change to make way for the creation of a new configuration. The name given to this process in the opening line isparikalpa, a constructed, arranged, worked-out fabrication of some feasible or appropriate version of things that we can take as a plausible semblance of reality for the purposes of stumbling from one moment to another. Such is the nature of human experience, all wishful thinking or projected hopes aside. It is an illusion, the outcome of a potent imagination.

The first word of the phrase is an adjective, describing this product of our imagination as unreal, not truly existing, not grounded upon any ontological foundation. The verbal root,bhu, simply means "to be," so the negative form of that, abhuta, quite strongly says that it does not really exist. This is a remarkable insight, one that pulls the ground out from under almost all other forms of human understanding of the ultimate. Existence is one of the primary definitions of God and soul in Hinduism (along with consciousness and bliss), and for the Buddhists to say that such a reassuring reality does not underlie the functioning of the mind and body was as challenging to the Buddha's contemporaries as it is to us today. Yet this is what he saw on the night of his awakening: the world has no abiding essence.

The third word is a verb, asti, another form of "to be," and simply declares that this imaginative act we call ourselves and our world, which ultimately has no basis, nevertheless "exists." That is to say it appears, it is an event that occurs, it arises again after it passes away, it is present to experience, it serves as an object of awareness. This third word takes us away from the theoretical and into the practical realm of meditation and daily life. Even thoughthe mind is synthesizing a virtual world, andeven though this imaginative connivance is ultimately ungrounded in anything "out there," it nevertheless is phenomenologically present. We have the option of paying careful attention to the flow of experience, and thereby of participating intimately in the manifestations of consciousness. When such conscious engagement is tempered by the first and second words--the insubstantiality and imperfection of it all--we gain back at least as much as we have lost. The bird in hand is a rich unfolding of phenomenological texture and nuance; the two in the bush, not worth pursuing, are merely conceptual and emotional urges to feel grounded in something transcendent.

It is often taken for granted that all religion points beyond the here and now to something wholly other, and that the value of this is entirely derived from the value of that. I think the Buddha had a very different view, one that is particularly suited to the post-modern world we are beginning to inhabit. The ontological ground has been pulled out from under us by every discovery of the new sciences over the last century, and increasingly isolated islands of religious bedrock are surrounded by shifting currents of diversity. The conventional wisdom has always been that we would be lost without some kind of transcendent grounding, and that human values, aspirations, and responsibilities would flounder without divine guidance.

The Buddha appears to have seen it the other way around. Clinging to a rock while being battered by waves only causes damage, while letting go and learning to swim freely in the changing waters can result in a great sense of meaning and well-being. We can accept the fact that our world-building apparatus is imperfect (parikalpa, and even that our world and our selves are not ultimately real (abhuta), while at the same time learning to pay ever closer attention to the flow of experience that is presenting itself to awareness (asti). We can rely upon the self-organizing principles of nature to build for ourselves a meaningful world, as long as we take care to do so in healthy rather than unhealthy ways. Having seen the empty nature of it all a long time ago, Buddhists went on to organize a way of life around such qualities as kindness, compassion, truthfulness, understanding, and, above all, around practices of heightened awareness. These factors are inherently valuable because they contribute to skillful living.

I understand that everything I know and do is a product of imagination; and I can accept without difficulty that it is ultimately unreal; but I'm glad it exists, and will engage that existence with as much conscious awareness as I can possibly muster. This is plenty to work with, and it inspires me to make the very best of what is present for myself, those around me, and for the collective whole. The future well-being of us all, said the Buddha a long time ago, lies in the direction of less conceptual attachment to views and more mindful awareness of phenomena. The simple opening line from the Madhyantavibhaga can serve as a good reminder of that.

Sublime contemporary translation of Canto I of Dante's Inferno by Mary Jo Bang

Stopped mid-motion in the middle
Of what we call a life, I looked up and saw no sky—
Only a dense cage of leaf, tree, and twig. I was lost.

It's difficult to describe a forest:
Savage, arduous, extreme in its extremity.
I think and the facts come back, then the fear comes back.

Death, I think, can only be slightly more bitter.
Good comes from bad but before getting there,
I have to describe in detail what else I saw.

I can't say for certain how I entered it;
I must have become so tired
I ended up following a bad path.

The wooded valley I'd just plodded through
heart-rending terror,
Dead-ended at the foot of a hill.

I looked up and saw the sun
Was on the body of the hill's high spot:
torch for the path to the lost.

The lake of fear that had filled my heart
In the night I had passed in such sadness,
Calmed somewhat when I saw it.

Like someone breathless after an escape
From deep water who stands at the side of the pool
And looks back on the danger and trail of close calls,

That's how I looked back—my mind a stopped top
In the middle of a turn—for a glimpse of where I'd been,
A place no one has ever survived alive.

I rested for a while and then
Started up the sandy slope. My willful left foot rose
While the right foot trailed behind.

Suddenly, at the foot of a rise, just where the hill begins
Its steep incline— I saw a mottled leopard,
Light, agile, and very fast.

It shadowed the future so closely, that it kept blocking the way
And time and again I thought I should go back
And retrace my steps to where I'd been.

It was daybreak, the sun in the sign of Aries, the same
As it was when the first clock started, the spring
Set by the hand of a love supreme

Who set in motion all beautiful things. All this
Disarmed my fear of the beast with the freckled coat.
I was reassured by the fact of morning

And the hint of spring—
But the promise hollowed
When I caught sight of nothing less than a lion.

He seemed to be dead-set against me, head high
And ravished with hunger. It made not only me
But even the air around him seem nervous.

And after him, a she-wolf appeared, her frame so emaciated
Her body seemed defined by the cravings
That had caused so many to live in misery.

Looking at her bitch-kitty face,
I felt a sense of solid defeat, and lost sight of the hope
Of climbing any higher.

Like one who at a casino wheel whispers sweet nothings
To his winnings but when it's his turn to lose whimpers,
"How did we come to this?" and wrings his hands,

So was I, just like that sad sack, as the impossible beast
Inch by inch, drove me back into the shadows
Where the sun keeps a stopper in its mouth.

I was rushing backward into ruin
When I saw one whom, given I'd been alone for so long,
Seemed no more than a mirage.

There on that waste land, I called out,
"Take pity on me, please, whatever you are,
Ghost-man or tangible man."

"I was once a man," he said, "but now I'm not.
Both my parents, both Lombardi, were born
In Mantua. I was born late in the day

Of Julio Caesar and lived in Rome under the sword
Of good Augustus, back when the gods were false
And told sweet-talking lies.

I was a poet, singing songs of Aeneus—son
Of honest Anchises—who found his way back by boat
From Troy after vain Ilium had been burned to black ash.

But you, why are you returning to this tedious plain?
Why not climb the peaked mountain
Ahead of you. It's the ultimate end and means of all pleasure."

I said, "You're Virgil, aren't you? You're that rainmaker
Who creates a torrent of speech that turns into a riptide."
Then I felt bashful and hung my head.

"The best and the brightest in the class
Of poets, a far-famed bell, I read you and loved you and hope
That what I learned from you then will now serve me well.

First of all the authors and Master of me, I borrowed from you
And to you I owe any inkling of the passing success
I've been lucky enough to accrue.

Can you see the beast I had to flee? Can you save me
From her? You, Mr. Ubermensch, you Mr. Man
Of the World. I'm trembling with fear."

When he saw that I was now in tears, he said,
"In that case, you must leave this rock
And no water and the sandy road.

The cat that drove you back and made you cry
Ends the life to any who try
To pass her on their way through.

She's insane and insatiable. She eats more
And that just makes her more malignant with craving.
She kills all she comes in contact with. All with whom she comes.

She takes many to her bed and many more are coming
Until the day the big dog comes
And tracks her down and dastardly does her in.

The dog doesn't need property or money but lives on
Knowledge, love, and truth. He'll come at the end of the year
When Castor and Pollux arrive dressed in matching felt caps.

He'll save a once-regal country, glimpsed in the distance
Of time, and once fought for by those who died
Displaying great gallantry, and those who were gorgeously loyal.

He'll search for her in this city and that, chasing the bitch
Back to the hole where Envy first undid her chain and choker
And pointed her to the brick road that beelines into the world.

As we go forward from here, stay at all times behind me,
And I'll play the part of your guide. It's my plan
To lead you through a place never-ending, i.e., eternal

Hell, where you'll hear the worst kind of wailing,
See the ageless shades writhing in pain,
Sense their vain request for a second death.

After that, you'll see those who are happy
In the heat of the fire because they hope at some point
To pursue the path to Purgatory and so achieve a Bible clerk's bliss.

To those, if that's where you would go, up and farther up,
You'll need another escort, one more honored
Than I am. When I leave you, I'll leave you

With her. I can't enter the city of the Emperor,
So says He, since I was pagan and outside His unbending laws. He says
I'm smudged by Adam's ink and ergo must live in Limbo.

He reigns in all parts of the empire.
His city is there; so is His chair, poised at the edge of heaven.
Happy are those He asks in."

And I said to him, "Poet, I beg of you,
By the God you never knew, help me out of this Denmark
Which threatens to go from bad to worse. Lead me

To where you just mentioned, so I can see the door
Of Purgatory and meet the angel at the Gate and, along the way,
See the dolorous souls who are designated DAMNED."

Then he set out, and I at his back.

http://www.thepresentparticiple.blogspot.com

Robert Sapolsky on Faith

http://www.thepresentparticiple.blogspot.com

George Hardwell on Avoidant Attachment Pathologies

As you might have noticed from some of my posts either on this blog or on Facebook, I've been besotted with the insight of attachment theory recently. Apart from the obvious clinical upsides of solidly grounding my new career in this discipline, it has had strong breakthrough implications for my worldview, therapy and insight into the trials of the relationships i've had through my life. In particular, i've been able to see deeply into the ways that my secure approaches have been frustrated resulting in anxious and, at times, disorganised patterns. Simply having knowledge of the interactions of these constructs has given me a tremendous grounding anchor in times where the chaos of life and relationship has been too strong. I've also been able to notice the predominance of avoidant strategies in those I've shared relational settings with. This excerpt from George Hardwell in particular has spoken to me at great depth, allowing for legitimacy of the projections which have silently pervaded many of my interpersonal and intrapsychic relations. I post it here both in the hope that someone else may one day also find it useful, and also as a symbolic gift to myself marking the boundaries which I have improperly allowed to be breached in the past and should never breach again.

What does the avoidant personality look like, and why does this result in silent divorce?

There is a personality type that is associated with avoidance of risk. Such persons are basically in flight from life and use manipulation and control to consolidate this flight.

One rule of life is that the greater our fear of life the greater we need to control. Frightened and insecure, such people will control in order to remove the risk of living. They will control appearances to ensure approval. They will control their family members to reduce risk.

A less extreme Avoidant Personality brings death to the marriage relationship, and their partner's self-confidence and identity, over longer time with less obvious abuse. This person may be male or female. Female patterns are often more subtle; not in the open, harder to detect. Husband may not know what is going on. She can quite easily keep up appearances while avoiding intimacy, undermining the individuality of her partner and escaping true marriage into silent divorce - a pretend marriage.

Silent divorce is fine with the Avoidant Personality. In silent divorce they have the emotional stability they desire - without intimacy. They have the status and safety of being married. If her partner stays in this silent divorce it could become the death of him. He will be trained to avoid expressing emotions, confronting issues head on, talking about 'negatives,' raising any objections to their life style and her increasing control of their life. This could manifest in him with emotional problems such as depression and 'an anger problem'. It may manifest as physical disease - some sickness. It might increase any tendencies in him to find escape in drinking, drugs, gambling or sexual addictions.

In a marriage with an Avoidant Partner both of the partners begin to deaden within, the heart sickens, the spirit languishes, one lives with constant residual depression and a search for life outside of the marriage becomes as search for life, love at the emotional and spiritual level. One strongly hungers and thirsts for that which will lift one spirits, heal one's heart, rekindle one's passion and bring the experience of community and intimacy to one's soul.

Go back to bed...

"True wisdom gives the only possible answer at any given moment, and, that night, going back to bed was the only possible answer. Go back to bed, said this omniscient interior voice, because you don't need to know the final answer right now, at 3 o'clock in the morning on a Thursday in November. Go back to bed, because I love you. Go back to bed, because the only thing you need to do for now is rest and take good care of yourself until you do know the answer. Go back to bed, so that, when the tempest comes, you'll be strong enough to deal with it. And the tempest is coming, dear one. Very soon. But not tonight. Therefore: Go back to bed..."

Elizabeth Gilbert taking a moment to rest in Eat Pray Love.

Map of Dante's Hell

http://www.thepresentparticiple.blogspot.com

Jenny Owen Youngs - Fuck Was I

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