We arrive in a rush. Body fluids, limbs testing out boundaries. Taste, smell, feel, hear, see–all in a rush to apprehend reality. Deep within the cave of our being, we seek out the gold. And there it is!
When my children were little, they dreaded going to the doctor’s, especially when they knew they would be getting a shot. Maybe some of us adults still fear it? But always, that pre-suffering suffering far eclipsed that instant prick on the arm! And yet, how captivating (how apt a term) it is to imagine what the pain will be like.
Just think of the way the news is broadcast to us in a daily dose of “what if’s”. There is excitement in fear, energy stirred up in projected visions of doom – after all, that what sells the news. That’s what sells the tickets to the Big Top Show of not knowing. So what’s the difference between the dread of not knowing, and the awakened grace of not knowing? Should we simply disregard our concern for the future?
Of course we do need to prepare, in a practical sense. We need to consider the effects our actions have on the planet so that we can heal its wounds. We might well consider the possible repercussions of a political leader’s bad speech so that we do not become infected by it. But we also need to distinguish between when our minds get held “captive” by the hook of fear as opposed to a spacious wonder at the wild ride that is unfolding before our very eyes.
May we always, all of us together, be the ride and the life of the dharma.
I wonder how many of us filled with awe as the moon passed in front of the sun. While the trees, birds, animals, people and clear blue skies were the familiar objects that they had always seemed to be, for a brief space of time, all of that altered. Suddenly everything was different, and we looked a little differently at each other. We were in it, as one, together. What a wonder!
Just a day later, at a rally in Phoenix, Arizona, opposing sides converged. Slogans, diatribes and tear gas filled clear blue skies. Suddenly everything was different, and in that place, people looked at each other as us and them, as right and wrong. What despair, anger and fear!
The temptation to prophesize and fortify our fabricated points of view is strong. But we can take a giant step back from that kind of confrontation, and instead, see, hear and taste with courageous attention.
A monk once asked Zen Master Yung-ming, “What is the great perfect mirror?”
The Master replied, “A broken earthen pot.”
May we, all together, find wonder and truth, and the wisdom to make amends!
As a naturally creative type of sentient being, we humans seem to thrive on hope and imagination. What if? What if I wrote a novel about ______? What if I began my next sculpture in just this way____? We reach out and extend ourselves into wondrous possibilities.
I don’t know if this would be considered blasphemy among creative types or not, but after a lifetime in the arts, both as a writer and sculptor, I am compelled to say that hopefulness and imagination are useful to some degree. And then they are not.
What is it about these two thorny words, “hope” and “imagination”, so alluring for their blossoms, but oh so difficult to handle without getting hurt? For some reason I think of that quintessential old Hollywood image of the tango dancer with a rose between her teeth. Oh so thrilling in the moment, in part because of the delicately delicious moment and in part, because of the understanding that the dance will end, and no doubt end differently than planned.
The usefulness, or to use a less pragmatic term, the lovely thrills of hope and imagination are that they set us in motion, and they set us off with a question, What if?
However, the benefits are brief. I’ve heard it said about tango dancing that it is an absolutely perfect two-and-a-half-minute love affair. So too with Hope and Imagination. They provide that oh-so-vital spark, but then it’s time to get down….and just do it. To engage in the business of craft.
In other words, the question “What if?” needs to transform into the question “What is this?” From then on, we are immersed in the doing, making, being of our artistry. As we write, sculpt, live, all that transpires feeds into the creative work. If we spin out (so to speak) into too many “What ifs?” we will never “do” anything at all. And therein lies the essential risk.
To access hope and imagination is wonderful, but it is also wonderful when we know how to let them go, thank them for the dance and then go ahead and make the most glorious work of our lives.
He’s one of my all-time favorite musicians from Mali. And his face is so intriguing to me, I had to try my hand at sculpting it.
So much is written into a face….
but, we are a captive audience of standardized icons and story lines! What to do? Tell it new. Show it fresh. What else could we ever authentically do? Tricky parts: trusting that, trusting that, trusting that.
I’m reminded of drawings that my daughters did in their early childhood. Such conviction and surety (and purity!) in those portraits.
I’m reminded of a few of the earliest raku Buddhas I made and realize now, that it might be a good idea to revisit that squishy, likeness-free realm!
I love using the “naked raku” technique of firing. The surface of the raw clay is coated with a thin layer of slip (known as terra sigillatta), which is then burnished smooth with a soft cloth. The surface is glowing but not shiny; truly reminiscent of a skin-like quality that I love. Lately I’ve been experimenting with colorations added to the terra sig. And I especially love this blue. Though light in shade , it’s no baby blue, but rather something smoked and crackled and lined just as any aged face ought to reveal.
I always have to hold my opinions in check after a piece has been glazed and before it’s fired. It’s raw, monochromatic, somehow very flat-looking.