The Witness

Why do we crave—to the point where it causes physical stress—a witness? Why do we want to walk side-by-side with another person, preferably one perceived as an equal partner, as an intimate witness to our lives, twenty-four hours a day? We don’t want to be alone—isolation has been shown to be emotionally and physically damaging—we want a sympathetic witness: an impartial but understanding reflection of our view.

Buddhist Music Manifesto

The importance of music as a vital part of spiritual practice and religious culture is acknowledged by all the major religions of the world. However, of the great religions Buddhism alone seems to have trouble finding a place for music. The contemplative sage requires the nourishment of silence as much as the nourishment of food. In fact, sometimes a monk deliberately will go without food to take refuge in a lonely place where he may be certain his meditations will not be disturbed.

For an advanced meditator, a world of silence without music or social chitchat might be a beautiful thing, indeed even a requisite. However the majority of human beings would feel that something important, even essential is missing from their lives. By popular demand, music is not going away any time soon. How can Buddhist society find a proper place for it?

Stages of the Path

In the beginning of spiritual life, so many things seem arbitrary. The instructions of the greatest sages like the Buddha seem indistinguishable from the opinions of ordinary religionists. Why are the stages of the Path arranged in a certain order? It seems arbitrary, authoritarian. We feel like rebelling against this imposition, and so we wind up cheating ourselves by doing nothing.

After one gains some experience and has made some advancement, however, we begin to see a certain pattern: when we follow the instructions, do things in the proper way and order, we make progress. If we try it our own way, we fail and stagnate.

The Influential Sage

The Buddha teaches by his personal example that to obtain influence—inspire the spontaneous agreement and aid of others—we ourselves must first practice following: “The best student makes the best teacher.” The consummate student observes what is good and correct in the character and conduct of his teacher. In other words, whether or not he is explicitly taught, he learns by observation and verifies it in his own practice.

We open the possibility for others to be loyal and helpful to us by remaining open and observant, trusting our teacher but testing and confirming the teaching for ourselves. This initiative is the integrity of the student, and it opens the path to attaining influence.

Music Lessons

What can we play that we never played before and never will again?

Happenings: everyone switches instruments. Anything goes; let go of form and let the energy take you to new places.

Play one note—just one note. Play it again and again—long, short, soft, loud. How much can you say with one note? How much can you express with tone alone?

Listen to the birds. Can you play like that? Can you have a musical conversation with them?

Enduring Progress

Everyone who is sane wants to make progress on the path of self-realization. Unfortunately, we live in a time when inferior influences and people prevail. Even a great personality who acts now will be undermined by the time. However, there is no need to resist this situation; indeed, it’s natural that inferior elements periodically come to the fore. Adversity often stimulates our spiritual growth; the attitude and intention with which we meet it make all the difference.

When challenging situations arise, we are often overwhelmed with anxiety, doubt and fear. We fear we will be ruined if we do not act immediately and vigorously. We doubt whether we possess sufficient mastery to resolve the situation favorably with the inner creative power of becoming. If we act on those inferior feelings, we split apart from the spiritual path, our devotion to the creative power of higher consciousness, and the wisdom of patient nonaction in the face of difficulty. If we insist on following the course of action now, we unnecessarily increase our own misfortune by preventing fulfillment of the creative process.

The ancient guides gave the image of the sage as “mountain over earth.” By keeping as still and quiet as a mountain, by resting firmly on a foundation of proper principles, accepting the nature of the time and not resisting it, you can weather any storm. By trusting in nonaction, acceptance and patience, you gain the strength of the earth itself.

Within us are both superior wisdom and inferior foolishness. We have to choose between them every moment. Remain devoted to the superior wisdom of integrity and conscience. Although others may oppose you, no harm results because by refusing to take action you have disconnected from the karma of this negative time.

It can be difficult in times like this to see the wisdom of internal detachment and external inaction. We want immediate results, but the actual solution is in patient cultivation of wisdom. One person mature in internal cultivation can facilitate a great change, like a vast school of fish instantly reversing its direction, through acceptance and self-correction. The secret of this influence is gradual progress in internal cultivation.

Those who persevere in the principles of wisdom make continuous progress, like a tree growing high on a mountain. If the tree grows too fast without first properly rooting itself, it becomes exposed to being torn up and destroyed by the winds. However, if it establishes a strong foundation and is content to grow gradually, it will enjoy long life and a lofty view. Its growth and establishment are not visible day-to-day, but over time it achieves majestic size.

Human beings are similar. We often desire rapid progress—we want to change someone’s mind today, obtain an apology now, achieve our goals immediately. But sooner or later we must understand that the only lasting progress is gradual progress; otherwise going against the nature of the time wears us out. It’s best to accept that as the Buddha was fond of saying, yathā bhūtām, “That’s just the way it is,” and manage your thoughts, attitudes and actions accordingly.

When we allow ourselves to be pulled off balance by some event or another person, the ego tries to influence the situation through forceful behavior. But actions of the ego inevitably complicate our difficulties. A foolish man may try to escape his problems by drunkenness, but the next morning the same problems remain—plus a hangover.

The greatest possible influence always comes through patient and steady refinement of one’s inner self. If you devote yourself to the path of the sage, every step along that path—no matter how small—strengthens you, and progress comes automatically in time. It will be gradual, but it will last.

Karuna (Compassion)

I weep for those who are in fear, in pain,
for those who are angry or in blame.

I weep for those who work hard day and night,
trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it.

I weep for the parents, caring for kids
who never appreciate or thank them.

I weep for those who think they have to struggle,
argue and fight to get by in this world,
for those who lie and deceive to earn their daily bread.

I weep for those who cannot hear the enlightened Sage,
for those trapped by this awful age.

I weep for those who asked me for the answer
and when I gave it to them, rejected me.

I weep for those who rot in prisons without walls
made of their own thoughts, and think they’re free.

I weep for those who fill their emptiness
with food, drugs, sex and other addictions.

I weep for those foolish passionate boys
who fill the neighborhood with noise.

I weep for those constrained by form,
who cannot think beyond the norm.

I weep for those so blinded by desire,
they cannot see anything higher.

And I weep for the clerics, priests and monks
drunk with obstinacy, pride and hate.

I weep for those who don’t know they are sick,
who suffer but cannot stop to heal.

I weep for those whose hearts are made of sharpened steel.

I weep for those who think the cure is to end it all,
not knowing that life goes on beyond the pall.

I weep for those around me who suffer,
but no one can help because they can’t hear from a brother.

I weep for your pain.
I weep for your suffering.
I weep for your blindness.
I weep for your ignorance.
I weep for your weakness.

And most of all I weep for those who pass before me
thinking I am just like them, so ordinary.

Not recognizing the golden opportunity
to learn the one small thing that sets us free.

Miles Davis—Emptiness

This is the third in a series of posts about Miles Davis’ realization of Nothingness. Here are links to the first and second posts; you should read them before this one.

The realization of Nothingness, the seventh jhāna or state of concentration discovered by the Buddha, is very profound. I don’t know exactly how or when Miles ‘got it’; but as soon as I did, I could hear it clearly in his music.

Nothingness is formless, timeless and limitless. It is the absence of, well, everything. One peculiar thing about it is how it undermines the familiar world of form. Once perceiving and realizing Nothingness, you cannot ascribe the same value to form, beingness or thingness.

In fact, you see very clearly that form is empty of value because it is empty of real Being: eternality and unconditioned freedom. In the mind of an artist, this realization is devastating. At first it leads to an outpouring of creative insight as one deconstructs the consensus forms used in one’s art.

But ultimately one comes to see the illusory nature of all form, and that is the death of art. There is no longer any qualitative difference between ‘good’ and ‘bad’, ‘beauty’ and ‘ugliness’. They are all seen as conditioned responses, consensus reality. There is no such thing as an absolute within form, within ordinary being.

Real Being is Nothingness: unconditioned, unlimited, without qualities, without beginning or end. One who realizes this sees clearly that all forms, all artistic values are arbitrary and culturally conditioned. At this point, the only meaningful art is silence, a blank canvas. John Cage got that right before anybody else.

But the realization crept up on Davis. You can hear it sneaking in from the wings on Birth of the Cool and Kind of Blue. By In a Silent Way, it has taken center stage. And on later sides like Live/Evil, Emptiness has become the bandleader, and Davis the sideman.

Coltrane played with Emptiness in A Love Supreme. He let it out of the bag in Ascension. But even with the struggle and primal venting of Interstellar Space, he died before he was able to fully embrace it. He remained wedded to form.

Miles, on the other hand, let the wave hit him and take him all the way. The cover to Doo-Wop, pictured above, reveals his mood just before his death. I know that look; I’ve had it and felt it myself. It means, “This is bullshit. I know it—do you?”

Even a highly realized being finds it difficult to fully let go of the ego. It is especially difficult when one is prominent in some field of endeavor, and others are depending on maintaining that identity.

Miles drifted into drug addiction as an attempt to postpone the ultimate entry into silence and full realization of the Emptiness he had invoked. This is fairly common occurrence in modern times. But he could not stop the corrosive effect of his realization on his ego. He became much less the elder statesman of jazz and more the esoteric realized sage.

There is a lesson in this story, one that was not lost on the great sages of the past. If one is going to approach the ultimate, the unconditioned silence and emptiness, it is best not to have the conflicting interests of a public life or prominent identity. Better to disappear into the forest or monastery, renounce the pretense of ego, give up the conventional roles and expectations of society.

Because once having touched the deathless, the absolute, the real, there is no turning back. The ultimate coda of all tunes is the silence at the end.

The loudest sound in the universe…is silence
— Thelonious Sphere Monk

Action vs. Innocence

The secret of right action is that lasting progress is won not by heroic action but through quiet self-discipline. This principle is the foundation of proper conduct within ourselves, with those with whom we conflict, and within the larger society. It reminds us that genuine gains are made not by showy external effort, but by rooting ourselves firmly in the principles of wisdom.

The world and life are full of hazards, like unknowingly treading on the tail of a tiger. The tiger may be some strong or malevolent force in our personality, or it may be a particularly volatile individual or difficult situation. One avoids the bite of the tiger by treading lightly and carefully: remaining steadfastly innocent and conscientious in our thoughts and actions.

People are on different levels of spiritual understanding. Some are training us in development, while others are far ahead. Our duty is not to condemn or correct others, but simply to continue working on ourselves.

Trying to hasten our progress by aggressive actions toward others just creates more obstacles. Power sought and wielded with pride tends to evaporate just when you need it most. Power arising naturally from steady self-development has lasting influence.

The actual cause of good conditions in our lives is our inner worth, our stock of good karma carefully cultivated over a lifetime. One who perseveres in humility, sincerity and gentleness can go anywhere; even if he treads on the tail of a tiger he will meet with success.

The secret of unexpected good is innocence. The most essential being of each of us is an innocent divine spirit. We can never go wrong if we allow ourselves to be guided by it in every situation.

We obtain the rewards of innocence by actively disengaging our egos. The ego’s desires take us out of the present into an imaginary future. Ambition, anxiety or anticipation are our ego skipping ahead. Anger, judgement and condemnation—whether toward ourselves or others—is our ego clinging to a past that no longer exists. In either case misfortune results, for we miss the clear solution to the present situation.

The guidance of the creative power resides in the present. We become innocent by stilling the ego and accepting life fully as it is. In this state of innocence we are receptive to the help of the creative power and meet with good fortune wherever we go.

Stop looking forward and backward; abandon your ambitions; disengage from judgment and critical thinking. This does not mean becoming passive or dull. The practice of innocence means not indulging a thought, attitude, or action that does not accord with acceptance, equanimity, humility and gentleness.

In other words, because the habit of indulging the ego is strong, you must consciously and actively practice innocence. All of the instructions of the Buddha in his Noble Eightfold Path are aimed at this attainment.

Miles Davis: Formless Form

In a recent post, I talked about my perception that Miles had realized emptiness and how I could hear it in his music. Today I want to discuss some of the consequences of that realization on the form of his recordings.

Miles’ early works in the bop era are extremely competent, but not all that original. His unique voice really began to emerge in his cool or blue period—the comparison with Picasso is impossible to avoid. For like the influential Andalusian artist, Davis went on to pioneer several stylistic innovations.

He was very sensitive to the magical effect of silence in music. In early recordings like Kind of Blue and the iconic Sketches of Spain, you can practically hear the living, breathing space of intense listening he inspired in his sidemen.

But Miles’ compositions from that period are still symmetrical, classic ABA or AABA forms. The solos are still pretty, sometimes precious, even heroic attempts to explore the harmonic and expressive nuances of the tune. The beauty and delicacy of silence is still framed in the structure of the ego.

However, with albums like In a Silent Way and especially Bitches Brew, a more complete and mature realization of silence and emptiness begins to emerge. John McLaughlin sounds exactly like what he was: a kid thrown suddenly into the deep end of the pool. But the interplay between Miles, Chick Corea and veteran soprano saxophonist Wayne Shorter reveals a deep mutual understanding of the space of silence, leading to the realization of the formless form.

The released tracks of In a Silent Way were edited to give a comforting sense of conventional ABA form. You have to listen to the unedited complete recordings to get a sense of the breakthrough here. Just like Corea’s vamp in It’s About Time , it never repeats itself. There is no chorus, no bridge, no reprise. All the formal elements of conventional jazz and classical music are gone. The musicians are relaxed, taking it easy like the successful world-class cats they are.

This formlessness reaches its full expression in Bitches Brew. Like many musicians who grew up on Miles’ early recordings, at first I hated it. It broke every unwritten rule of jazz. And maybe that’s the point: those rules, originally intended to bring jazz to a wider and more respectable audience, had become a stylistic prison. Miles was staging a jailbreak, and it was strong but not necessarily beautiful, at least in the conventional way.

The effect of Bitches Brew on the jazz world was similar in many ways to the effect of Igor Stravinsky’s Sacre du Printemps on the classical world. Violently opposed and condemned at first, it eventually created a new standard against which everything afterward would be measured.

Its message, in retrospect, is clear. If art mirrors life, then there is no need for repetition. Life unfolds ever-new forms, echoing  and sometimes rhyming but never repeating.