The Buddha and His Teaching

It's been quite a while since I've written here. Sorry about that. I think it has been a combination of lack of inspiration / focusing on my studies that caused me to take a break. In any case, at the moment I am taking a political science course which, oddly enough, starts out very much like a philosophy course. We are reading Plato's The Last Days of Socrates at the moment which consists of Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo. They are all very interesting reads, however it is Phaedo that I wish to talk about today.

The passage which I found so fascinating starts at around 81e and continues on until around 84b. Located on pages 151-153 of the Penguin edition translated by Tredennick and Tarrant. In this section Socrates (or rather Plato using Socrates' voice) talks about the corporeal nature of the body and how it can "weigh the soul down," making it base and physical rather than divine and pure. I was absolutely astounded by the parallelisms between what Socrates was saying and the Truths discussed by the Buddha. Although Socrates came much later than the Buddha, to my knowledge, Socrates was never directly influenced by his teachings.

One of the basic things that needs to be understood about Platonic thought is that Plato considered there to be these sort of divine Truths / Forms that exist outside of the physical realm. What he was talking about here were the pure essences of elements that make up our daily lives. For example, pure Justice, or Beauty, or even something as mundane as "Tallness" or "Fastness". In his mind, our physical world consists of imperfect copies of these divine forms. I say imperfect because all physical representations of these Ideas are inherently imperfect. We may be able to conceptualize "Justice" in it's true form but in practice perfect justice can never be found. The same goes for the ideas of beauty or tallness. Beauty can only exist in relation to ugliness and tallness can only exist in relation to shortness. Beauty in its "divine form" can not be found on Earth.

Because of this Plato argued for the fact that our senses deceive us. Whatever we "saw" or "heard"or "felt" was inherently imperfect and distorted by our physicality. For this reason, he argued, we should "[abstain] as far as possible from pleasures and desires and griefs". He also argued that the soul should isolate itself from the body by practicing Philosophy in "the right way". Only through this practice could the soul become unfettered from the body and slip into the realm of the divine free from the taint of the physical.

As I read this I was struck by the unshakable feeling that I had heard these words before. Then it occurred to me that, although the language was different, the essence of what Plato was saying was eerily similar to that of the Buddha. Did he not also teach us that we should avoid our senses as much as possible? Did he not teach us to shun them and not react to them?

I was amazed. Here were two people separated by vast distances and times in an era when the world was a LOT bigger and access to information was greatly more restricted than it is today basically saying the same thing! It really made me think that perhaps they were on to something. Maybe there is some greater "Truth" to be understood.

Plato also argues the fact that the "invisible" is inherently unchanging in nature whereas the "visible" is, in his terms, "variable." His proof for this is the fact that the Idea of equality, that being the concept of equality, never changes. Same with the concept of beauty, and truth etc. Whereas the many instances of beauty, for example, in the physical world are never the same. Beauty in clothes, horses, people...these things are forever changing. Therefore, he comes to the conclusion that that which we can not see must be part of this divine realm of constants. And, since the soul is not visible it too must be part of this realm. However, the soul is in the predicament of being drawn towards the body which IS visible and never free from change. Again this leads him to believe that the soul must try to free itself from the body.

Plato also talks about reincarnation. He discusses how the souls of "inferior people," which in his mind would be those who are not practicing philosophy in the "right" way, or indeed, those not practicing philosophy at all are compelled to wander until, through a craving for the corporeal they are once again trapped in a body. The type of body would depend on the actions it previously cultivated in its last incarnation. The examples Plato provides here are those of animals. The souls of the inferior will come back in the form of some "perverse animal" such as a donkey or an ant whereas the souls of the pure would come back as some animal like a wolf or a hawk.

Obviously Plato's definition of a preferable animal may be different from that of the Buddha, but in concept they are still saying the same essential thing. Do good things, cultivate good actions and you will be reborn into a more pleasant form. Do bad things, or cultivate bad actions and you shall come back in an unpleasant form. In my opinion I should not wish to be reborn as any animal. Especially not one that makes its life central to killing other beings.

Plato also eludes to the attainment of Enlightenment through right actions, although he of course uses different language. In his own words, "[N]o soul which has not practiced philosophy, and is not absolutely pure when it leaves the body, may attain to the divine nature [...]". Now if you exchange the word philosophy with meditation and divine nature with Enlightenment you have the basis for Buddhist thought!!

I am at the moment in search of authors who have thought about this link in more depth. I found one promising book entitled 21st Century: The Age of Sophia by Seiyu Kiriyama, the Chief Abbot of the Agon Sect of Buddhism. Incidentally, it sent chills down my spine when i realized that this course which I took as a last resort because there was NOTHING else i was even remotely interested in put me on to this topic. Furthermore the ONE book which I find initially is written by a Japanese author! Japan, of course, being one of the major parts of my life at the moment. It may seem like grasping at straws to others, but to me it was the voice of Fate whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

Once I have done a bit more research on the topic and if I find anything interesting I will post more. And if you can suggest any authors to me please contact me at mapleleafteacher {} gmail (you will have to translate that into a real address...but im sure you can manage)

Collaborative Poem

A Thing the Size of a Playing Field?

Tommy told me about it mum,
Its larger than you or me.
He told me that it's scary mum
With teeth and horns, you'll see.

Its breath is super gross, he said
Like garbage from last week.
And a face so truly ugly that
It could make a lion squeak!

It's called a Super-Jerak mum,
With long and purple fur
Eight feet the size of houses mum
The biggest that ever were!

Don't worry if you see one mum,
I know what to do!
It's really scared of kittens see
So make a tiny mew.

Aren't you glad you have me here
Keeping you alive?
Now should you see a Jerak mum
You'll probably survive.

This poem is part of a collaborative book created by our class. We were each given one line of a poem and were asked to use this as a title to write a new poem. Our teacher will then take all of these poems and create a book from them. It should be interesting at the very least.

A Minander Over the Evergarb

This week was also the week for our nonsense poems. There weren't really any guidelines. "Just write some nonsense," were the directions we were given I believe. Here is my piece.

A Minander Over the Evergrab

sender minander fulinder and june
delibacker soodlenacker sembe and prune
eyes for a felendram mister and blam
soodle dock soodle dock brick brick zoom

hay for the heresy big toe spoon
i saw what you did half past noon
meandering mimbleese bumblebee broom
don’t stop the fire truck headed for doom

watch tower watch tower fire and froom
glooming glooming sender me shroom

rightly respecting regale remarks
fully festering fissure-esk farts
helepran hidokay heedenight free
dismembered adamstocks cantering glee 

In this poem I was trying to create something fun and carefree while experimenting with rhyme, rhythm, and repetition. I also wanted the poem to tell a story of sorts, but one that might not be immediately recognizable to those unwilling to look beyond the mere words on the page and find the energy behind them.

During our workshop class I got some comments that said the poem reminded them of the scene in Macbeth with the witches around the cauldron (Act 4 Scene 1). Although that was not my original intent it is certainly an interpretation that works. I would prefer not to confine the imagination of the reader, especially not on a piece like this where there is much room for the reader to develop their own story regardless of what my intents may or may not have been.

The Trader

This week we were required to write a narrative poem. In short, a poem that tells a story. Here was my submission.

The Trader

The red door opened heralded by a chiming bell.
The man behind the counter shuddered as the
cold, rainy, west-coast weather that had been
sputtering angrily outside his window for more than an hour now
bled in.
How he hated the damp wind that seemed to seep into his clothing
like a dog’s wet, burrowing nose
forever trying to steal his hoarded warmth.

He greeted the scraggly face before him with his
regular smile.

The bearded mouth mumbled something and pointed
to a box of .17 gauge Remington ammunition.
Danielson exchanged the ammo for the proffered money
and accepted the grunt
as thanks.

Eyebrows furrowed, the whiskers donned a sou’wester
and headed back into the storm.

Danielson sighed and slumped back onto his
knot filled stool,
shoulders sagging slightly as though they
were hung with fretful weights.
His eyes wandered from the rusty can of peaches to the keg of
water-logged gun powder and back to the peaches.
He suddenly realized the absolute hate he harboured
towards those peaches.
“No, I am not fucking peachy.” he said in their general direction.
“Excuse me?”
He hadn’t noticed the set of large muddy boots before him
whose eyes held a surprised and questioning look.
“Not you, the peaches.”
This only seemed to increase the boots look of concern
as they piled pelts onto the counter.
It didn’t, however, prevent the mire filled mukluks from
accepting the fat wad of bills
and sloshing back across the swamp.


Alone once again Danielson melted back onto his stool,
unconsciously mimicking the solitary candle sputtering
in silent protest to the drafty cabin.
“You’re trying to hard” he said to it.
“…almost as bad as those damn peaches.
Always trying to be happy despite the odds.”
“You’re just going to burn yourself into non-existence anyway.
Why even bother?”

The candle sputtered on indignantly.

Danielson continued to berate the candle for another 20 minutes
before it summoned a wind and snuffed itself out
in angry deference.
“That’s the spirit.” he thought to himself.

With its sole source of light gone
and its lonely grease covered window putting up little fight,
the cabin readily accepted the intrusive storm-gloom.
The heavy darkness seemed to push Danielson
a little deeper into his stool.

Suddenly, his fur-lined jacket called out to him
And his boots wagged their laces eagerly at the door,
tongues lolling in excitement.
“Good idea.” he said sullenly.
He turned to the peaches,
“I’m going for a walk and I don’t want to hear anything about it!”
He departed hastily,
content to leave the cabin door banging in the wind.

As he left, the cabin creaked a little sigh of relief
and seemed to brighten a little.
The peaches, however, watched in sorrowful silence
as the trader and his excited boots
tromped across the forest floor
and into the misty haze.

This poem started primarily as a character concept. In my head I had pictured a lonely trader who probably worked for an HBC like company somewhere on the West coast. He is a man that sees so few people day in and day out that he has started to develop personal relationships with the objects around his store. The real people he does see have become little more to him than their prominent features.

It was interesting for me to try and create a story in which most of the characters are nothing more than personified objects that are really only given life by the main characters reaction to them. It still needs some work, but I must say I enjoyed writing it.

To the Reaper - Revised

Here is a revision on the ballad I posted a few days ago.

To the Reaper who comes for me

A coffin has become to me
What I’ve put into it,
The faces from a thousand seas
Caked in grime and grit.

Yet still I sailed and could not quench
My endless thirst for gold.
Dreams of murder and bodies stench
Had robbed me of my soul.

And in the night they haunt me still
These horrors of my past,
“You will not sleep or rest until
Your pain is unsurpassed.”

Now that I’ve drawn my final breath
Lamenting what I’ve done,
I will not beg forgiveness, Death
Deserving what’s to come.

Poetic Advice

This poem was in response to an email sent to me by a friend of mine containing little punctuation and citing concerns about giving a lecture on poetry. This was my advice to him.

On Public Speaking

sorry, but I hate to say
distractions will only provide a fraction
of relief.
beautiful or not the black womans buxom behind
will only allay your fears for so long.
and in the end you must still
speak.

bring the woman to the talk
and watch as the audience balks at your
sexual poetry
then tell the cops that
'Hey! Its art, maan'
as they lock you in the cell and throw away the key
to expression.

Long not for ritalin
perhaps some simple punctuation would do.
It might, at least, get you through to Sunday's end.
and if not, theres always the sweet baby jesus.
that sweet, baby jesus.
licked once more you might find you have been sent
on a religious experience akin to the ecstasy of
psychedelic sin.

fret not my friend
for im sure you'll find the time to unwind
to release the anxieties of your mind and be proud
of your accomplishments.

To the Reaper Who Comes for Me

So we've come to the part of the poetry course I've been dreading, closed form! Ack! When I first started writing poems back in the angst ridden days of my youth (as opposed to the angst ridden days of today) I thought all poetry must rhyme and that being trite was a badge of honour to wear with pride. It took me a long time to be able to break that habit and garner a love for original expression. I have been loathe to return the the prison of confined structure.

That being said, I have a lot of respect for those people who can write well within a closed form. It's definitely a skill. It just happens to be one that I'm not good at. Needless to say I struggled a lot with trying to write my first ballad. For those who dont know, the ballad is the traditional form of song. Each stanza (paragraphs for poetry) is 4 lines long, written in iambic pentameter (poetry bs for a certain rhythm), and has a rhyme scheme of ABAB (a fancy way of saying the 1st and 3rd lines rhyme as do the 2nd and the 4th). I really struggled with this one. There were numerous false starts, half finished poems, and a strong desire to kill the person who invented the ballad. It took me almost a week but I managed somehow to create something that works, even if it's not the best piece I've written. So rather than slag it any further, I'll let you read it and decide for yourself.

To the Reaper Who Comes for Me

A coffin has become to me
What I've put into it.
The faces of a thousand seas,
Covered in grime and grit.

Yet still I sailed and could not rest.
A selfish quest for gold.
Dreams of jewels and gilded chests
Robbed me of my soul.

And in the night they haunt me still,
These horrors of my past.
"You will not sleep or rest until
Your pain has ours surpassed!"

Although I've drawn my final breath
Lamenting what I've done,
I will not beg forgiveness now
Deserving whats to come.

沖縄 - Okinawa

Well I was feeling rather 懐かしい (nostalgic) about my summer and was browsing the net for blogs / movies about Okinawa. I stumbled across this series which gives you nice bite-sized snipits of the islands. I will post the link to my favorite vid in the series, but there are 10 others if you are feeling adventurous.


I didn't see many of the places he talks about and now I kinda wish that I had. But I don't have any regrets. I had an awesome time while I was there and I'm sure I'll go back sooner rather than later.

A Must Read

My Uncle just came out with his first book of poetry recently entitled What We're Left With. The poetry within is is deeply introspective and contains a sense of overpowering emotion. This is a definite "must have" addition to any avid poetry readers collection.

Ben Murray's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of journals including Descant, Event, Prairie Fire, CV2, and the Windsor Review, and has been widely anthologized. The title poem for this collection won the CV2 Poetry Award in 2001. His work has been broadcast on CBC radio, and he is a winner of the Canadian Poetry Association Award for Poetry, and recipient of third place honours in the Petra Kenney International Poetry Prize. This is his first full-length collection of poems.

BrindleandGlass.com

Make sure you check it out!