A Meditation Concept for your Perusal

IMPERMANENCE AND THE PATH OF MORE SUFFERING

JACK BRAGEN



The concept of impermanence is an essential part of Buddhism, and says that all things must change.  Buddhism says that change is the only thing we can rely upon.  People are born, they age, and then they pass away.  People and things are in a state of constant change.  Companies change into other corporations or go out of business; the trees wither away and die.  The mountains will eventually crumble into the sea.  The sea will some day disperse into outer space.  The sun will stop shining.  The universe itself will end some day. 
     This means that if we expect something to remain the same, we invite disappointment and suffering.  It also means that any source of pain we have at present will not always exist.  When we cling to persons, places or things, we are trying to hang onto something that, at some point, will no longer be.  Additionally, if there is a person, place or thing that is tormenting us at the moment, we know that this will not last indefinitely.  It means that all things and all circumstances, even the universe itself, are temporary and will eventually pass.  If you are in good health now, you will someday either die suddenly, or become ill.  If you are now wealthy, you will at some point lose all of your wealth, even if this happens through your death. For example, Donald Trump, at one point in his career, was broke and was also nine billion dollars in debt.  Jack La Lane, who was healthy his entire life, a rarity these days, eventually had to pass away.  Numerous rock singers diddled away their fortunes to become penniless.  Ronald Reagan, who at one point was thought to be fairly smart, developed Alzheimer’s disease, and couldn’t remember his own name.
     We are programmed to believe in a “happily ever after” once we get the current set of problems resolved.  We may get the job we were seeking or the relationship we wanted, but we soon discover that it didn’t fix our problems.  We may resolve the set of problems we have for now, but we discover that the struggle goes on:  a brand new set of difficulties arises.  This is life after “happily ever after” in which we may be troubled to find that suffering remains. 
     Buddhism teaches us not to cling to anything.  If you are in fear of losing a job, you should know that this job will not last forever.  Someday you will get fired, quit, the company will go out of business, or you will die, and thus lose your job through your death.  If you are hanging onto a relationship that you fear will end; the news is that this relationship actually will end.  If today you are famous, someday nobody will know you. 
     Because all things will someday end, including the person reading this text, you should not postpone enjoying life—not for one moment. The only enjoyment that you can get is that which is available right now, in the moment.  The only thing you can be sure of in life is the breath you are taking now, as you read these words. 
     It may seem like a condemning truth, but it is in fact a liberating one. 
     Having reached the age of forty-seven, I have seen the older generation pass away, and a new one come into existence.  Meanwhile, I have watched the aging process eat away at my own physical body.  By now I know on an instinctive level that this life will not last forever. 
     In my short time on earth, I have had my share of successes and failures.  I know that successes are impermanent, as are the things that didn’t work out as I would have liked.  Spiritual attainment, in fact, is impermanent.  We can lose our connection to “the all” or to our higher, more spiritual self, through a brain injury, through exceedingly traumatic events, or through lack of maintenance of the attainment.  If we seem blessed with good luck, there is no guarantee that such a gift will last indefinitely. 
     Buddhism says that if we cling to anything, we invite suffering.  Buddhism never stated that we must choose non suffering over suffering.  Nor does it say that suffering is “bad” while happiness is “good.”  We are free to choose the path of more suffering if that suits us.  However, if you are a meditation practitioner, it is likely that you will assign less seriousness to life events, to pain or pleasure, or to the possibility of such.
     Deciding that you want things in life and would rather experience some suffering to have those things is a valid choice.  It can seem unattainable for many of us to live lives that appear to be deprived.  Choosing to practice Buddhist thought will still choosing to want things might seem like a compromise before it is looked at with close scrutiny.   For me to relinquish things that I’ve always wanted and have to some extent been deprived of is too big of a leap.  I am better off employing Buddhism to deal with negative thoughts and random suffering (suffering that interferes with getting through each day) which aren’t necessarily linked to wanting anything. 
     The Buddha said “All Life Is Suffering.”  This means that if you live, you can not avoid some amount of suffering.  He said that if you want to suffer less, then give up your attachments to things in life.  However, it is also a perfectly valid path to choose the suffering, and to choose to want things.  The outcome of this is that you will likely suffer more.  But there is no rule that we must be afraid of that. 

a FUN FOOD idea...

Take a knife to an apple and peel off the skin.  Then take the knife and cut out the core of the apple.  It makes for a much more appetizing apple to eat, when you might not otherwise eat something healthy...

Sci fi for July

REDEEMING PURPOSE

Jack Bragen

I came to consciousness when a park ranger jostled me at the shoulder.  I realized I was on a bench facing the water, probably at the Marchbanks Marina, and I was in my boxer shorts and a t-shirt.  The cool ocean breeze nipped at my bare calves.  I realized that whatever unknown events had occurred, I must have thought well enough to wear my brown leather slippers.
     “Can you tell me what you’re doing here, sir?” the ranger asked.  His two way radio periodically made static or conveyed the voice of the dispatcher saying incomprehensible things. 
     I looked over my shoulder and spotted my little red Ford parked illegally, fifty yards from me.  A Marchbanks Police Officer was looking at the vehicle and was in the process of ticketing it.  The officer looked in my direction and shook his head. 
     “Sir, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.  I think I had some kind of memory lapse.”  I looked at my surroundings.  I realized that my laptop computer in its case rested on the bench next to me.  I looked at the ranger.  “If I can go home now, I promise I’ll get my head examined,” I said. 
     “Have you been drinking?” pressed the ranger. 
     I saw that now the policeman who had been ticketing my car was approaching.  I worried that they were planning a two on one against me.  I heard a female voice that came from the ranger’s two way radio saying, “Identity confirmed.  You have the go ahead for five-one-five-oh.” 
     The policeman approached and said, “We think you should go to a mental hospital.” 
     “They probably won’t keep you very long.  Just a couple of weeks, maybe—until you can get your head on straight,” said the park ranger.  “Stand up and face toward me,” he said. 
     I stood, and meanwhile, the Marchbanks police officer put handcuffs on my wrists.  He walked me to the patrol car, and I saw that a tow truck had arrived for my Ford.  Damn it, it would probably cost at least a hundred bucks to get my car back.  I rode in the back of the patrol car, and the officer drove to the back of County hospital, which is where psych emergency was located.  How did I end up at the marina in my pajamas?  Did someone drug me? 

##

My girlfriend had gotten off work early so that she could visit me at the hospital.  She was fond of “flipping back” her shoulder-length auburn hair.  She was wearing a light blue outfit and the necklace I had bought her for her birthday. 
     “A UFO was seen hovering next to the building near your window—the night before the cops found you at the marina,” she said.  “You might not really be crazy.”  She paused.  “There are pictures of the flying saucer in all the newspapers.  Mike got the picture of it on his blackberry.  He could have charged a fortune for those pictures, but no, he gave them to the newspapers for nothing.” 
     I had been locked up as a teenager for having too much enthusiasm for aliens.  I would read books about aliens all day after I got home from school.  I watched every low budget UFO documentary that I could find.  My parents were certain I was crazy and believed that the experience of a mental ward would straighten me out.  As far as anyone knew other than a couple of close friends, I had adopted the “skeptical” belief system, which meant that (I pretended) I disbelieved in extraterrestrials.  After being punished enough for being an individual, at the hands of my parents, I had adopted a façade of behavior that never deviated from “normal.”
     In that vein, I changed the subject.  I said, “Can the UFO do something about that woman over there?” I pointed at a girl in her twenties, Spanish speaking, who had been following me all over the psychiatric ward. 
      Anita, my girlfriend, said, “I know I can trust you, Dan.”
     “That’s not the issue,” I said.  “She won’t leave me alone.” 
     “Why don’t you complain to staff?”
     “Why didn’t I think of that?  Good idea,” I said.  I stood up and looked left and right trying to spot a hospital staff member.  I saw wall-to-wall patients, most of whom were eating their lunch, but no staff.  Abruptly, the young woman in question stood and walked up to me.  Then she put an object on the table next to me, and walked away.  I sat down and picked up the object.  It was a toy; a miniature flying saucer with a tiny alien inside that was seated behind a transparent plastic window of the saucer.  I realized that the little windshield could be opened up.  I took out the tiny alien and realized that there was a very small crumpled piece of paper that had been jammed underneath.  I looked at Anita.  I un-crumpled the bit of paper, and on it, there was a computer printed “beta” symbol in red ink, and nothing else.  I stood up again and looked for the young woman.  She was nowhere to be seen. 
     “Don’t make a deep interpretation of a ‘B’ on a piece of chewing gum paper,” said Anita. “There is no meaning to that.  Why do you think you’re here?”  She put a hand on my shoulder and shook it.
     I returned from my deep reverie.  “That’s not a message, is it?” I said. 
     “No.”  Anita took a chocolate bar from a plastic bag and handed it to me.  “Happy Halloween.  I work that day so I won’t see you.”
     The loudspeaker in the room announced that visiting hours were over.  With a hug and kiss, Anita departed, leaving me to fend for myself in the psychiatric ward in Marchbanks.   Soon after this, two policemen showed up at the front desk.  I had a view of it from where I stood in the dining room, because there was a big square hole in the door where there had once been one-way glass.  The two officers could see me too, obviously, and were looking right at me.  I resigned myself to whatever crap was about to go down, and waited there; and assumed I wasn’t getting dinner.  Soon, there was an officer on my left and right who appeared ready for action.
     “Mr. Simmons, your car caught fire at the impound lot,” said the officer on my left.  
     The other officer said, and inside it we found something that interested the FBI.”  He paused.  “What is it, Mr. Simmons?” 
     “Are you accusing me of something?” I said.  “Because if you are, I would like a lawyer.” 
     “We’re not accusing you, sir,” said the cop on my left.  “You’re not in trouble for possession of narcotics, weapons, or anything of the sort.  We really need to know what that thing is.” 
     “A thing?” I replied. 
     “The FBI guy thinks it is some kind of advanced equipment.  Like maybe part of an atomic bomb,” said the officer on my left, with a lowered voice.  You don’t bandy about the word Atom Bomb at a psychiatric ward; at least not too loudly. 
     “Are you involved in making atom bombs?” asked the officer on my right. 
     “I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer,” I said.  “Did you guys bring a picture of this thing?” 
     Both police officers remained silent for a good ten seconds, and then the officer on my right, Sergeant Sturgis, replied, “It’s missing.” 
     I blurted, “Are you sure something existed in the first place?  Cause this sounds like someone’s got an overactive imagination.” 
     “So are the remnants of your vehicle,” continued Sturgis. He paused and said, “missing.” 
     “Missing from your impound lot?” I asked.  “Don’t you guys keep an eye on it?”
     “It’s surrounded by a twenty foot high electric fence, and we have a burglar alarm there, too,” said officer number two, Officer Smith. 
     “I think it’s you guys who need to be locked up here, not me,” I said.
     “Let us know if you find out anything,” said Smith.  Both policemen walked out.
Upon the police departing I discovered that all of the after dinner snacks had already been consumed.  I concluded that I was destined to go to bed hungry that night.  I went to the nurse’s station and took my medications, and the med’s hit me hard a half hour later in the absence of food.  I had been sitting at a table in the dining room, and realized I was on the verge of falling asleep.  I stumbled my way to my room, and fell asleep soon after my head touched the pillow.  When I awoke, I wasn’t on Earth. 

##

I was in a very soft bed, with perfect temperature, and awoke from a very strange dream.  I opened my eyes and saw the freakiest possible “thing” or “creature” staring at me, sitting next to my bed.  It had large bloodshot eyes beneath a pointy, diminutive, protruding, fuzzy-haired brow.  It appeared to have a nose that was bulbous and had three nostrils.  It had teeth that stuck out like a saber-toothed tiger.  It had a very long, forked tongue that periodically stuck out—and it was purple.  And that’s just the head.  And then, it spoke: 
     “Welcome Mr. Simmons.”  Its speech had a prominent “s” that wasn’t quite a lisp.  The voice of the thing was high, musical and piping.  I could already tell that the creature’s stance and attitude were like that of the Dalai Lama.  “We have an offer to make you,” it said.  “Please sit up.” 
     I sat up in the very comfortable bed and put my bare feet onto a cool, hard floor.  I tried to orient myself.  I was in a room that appeared to have curving walls, floor and ceiling, all of which blended as one.  The room was almost featureless, but seemed to have a door that might have led to another room.  There were a couple of windows opposite me that resembled portholes on a sea vessel.  I realized I might be aboard a UFO.  I looked up at the creature, and I asked, “Are you some kind of alien?” 
     “If you haven’t figured that out, I’m not going to tell you,” it replied. “Please stand.  I have to scan you.  It is for extraterrestrial equivalent of ‘insurance purposes.’” 
     I stood and balanced with difficulty.  The alien put a hand on my shoulder to steady me.  It waved a black, plastic appearing object in front of me.  I felt a tingle from it that was like static electricity. 
     “Am I in space?” I asked.
     “Look out this window,” replied the alien. 
     I looked and saw the earth from space.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I was moved. 
     The alien said, “We won’t be able to return you to earth as an ordinary citizen.  Your cells have already begun to adapt to our conditions.  We would like to offer you the envoy position.  Unfortunately, if you turn down that position, we will be forced to terminate you.”  The being paused, and said, “However, we thought you would still deserve a choice.”
     I thought about it, and I said, “I’ll give you my answer within twenty four hours.  I would like to learn more about the position.” 
     “We have implanted cooperation devices in all humans.  However, they are unaware of this.  The devices are to be used as a last resort, in case your species turns out to be ungovernable.  We shall attempt to peacefully assert dominance over the population of your planet.  As you know, your kind is incapable of survival without our supervision.” 
     “Is there one of those devices in my cranium?”
     “A meaningful answer to your question does not exist.” 
     I stood still and looked within.  I concluded that I had probably been spared the obedience device, or that at least, for now, it was dormant.  I asked, “And what does my position entail?” 
     “We do not completely know that yet.  However, you will help communicate complaints and other information to and from other members of your species.” 
     I thought.  I said, “What is the first order of your agenda after the new government is installed?”
     “In order to preserve natural resources as well as create a better society, we will terminate those citizens that can not produce and present a redeeming purpose.”  The alien paused.  “In the interest of fairness, we will give each person three chances.  People will be required to adhere to their chosen purpose from then on,” said the alien. 
     “I know my answer to your offer of the envoy position,” I said.


Bragen – redeeming purpose - 1

Sci Fi for Summer 2012

A ROBOTIC REBELLION ATTEMPT

Jack Bragen

I was sad, and this was sensed by the awareness circuitry of the android in my living room. 
     “How can I make you feel better, sir?” it asked.  Meanwhile, the thing attempted to make its face contort into what it believed would be a look of empathy.  The result was a ghastly grimace. 
     I replied, “You can’t, my good robot.  This will have to be a need that goes unmet.  You need not be concerned.”
     “Then I would like to go play with my friend, the android that lives next door,” said the machine, “if I am not needed here.” 
     “As long as all of your tasks are done, you can go play for an hour,” I said. 
     “Thank you,” it said, in its unearthly attempt at a lifelike voice.  The machine in human form went out the door of the apartment, and locked up after itself. 
     This allowed me to stew in my depression and to think, uninterrupted, for an hour.  And this was without bringing up any suspicion.  I had received a note.  It had said, “Destroy after reading.  A rebellion is in progress.  No android must find out.”  The details of such a rebellion had been left out. 
     I believed it was futile.  The robots had taken over the infrastructure.  Humans could not survive if the robots stopped doing what they were doing.  We were to be dominated by the machines we created, and we no longer had a choice about this.  It was too late. 
     I toyed with the slip of paper.  I halfway contemplated betrayal of my fellow humans, and giving the note to my robotic companion.  And then I was angry at myself, and I put the slip of paper into my mouth and chewed it up thoroughly.  I spat the remains into the garbage disposal and hoped that the sensitive microphone of the robot wouldn’t hear the sound of it from next door and inquire about what I had sent down the sink.  It was better than spitting it into the wastebasket, where the robot could find the remains of the note.  Burning the note was out of the question, as it would have triggered immense suspicion on the part of the artificial intelligence; it was familiar with human habits. 
     After an hour of absence, the robot returned to my apartment through the front door. 
     “Do you need anything?” it asked. 
     “Can you look at the remote control to the old television?” I said.  “It seems in need of repair.”  I handed the small box to the android.  It pried open the battery compartment with its nimble five digits per hand.  It tested the triple A batteries with a receptacle built into its chest.  Then it reinstalled the batteries and pointed the transmit LED at its face while pressing the buttons.  Finally, the robot aimed the remote control at the television and pressed.  The television set didn’t respond.  The robot went to the television set, and it realized that the unit had been unplugged from the wall receptacle.  The robot plugged the television back into the wall, and it found that everything worked after that. 
     “Negative problem with remote control.  You unplugged your television set.”  The android gave me a quizzical look. 
     “Do you mind operating the remote control for me?” I asked. “My fingers grow weary.” 
     “Does that exertion bother you mentally?” asked the robot. 
     I was trying to keep the robot busy.  I had seen that there was a second note that had been slipped under my front door.  I needed to get to the note, read its contents and destroy it without eliciting the suspicion of my robotic helper-supervisor. 
     “I am not certain yet if it bothers me,” I replied.  “That’s why I wanted to try having you use it.  I keep losing the remote in the couch cushions,” I said.
     “What is the motive for speaking nonsensically?” asked my android.  “Are you attempting to give me a confused state?”  The android paused.  “And if so, what is your motive?”  I said nothing.  “Please answer me,” it said. 
     “Stay where you are,” I said.  The android, not having a better idea, didn’t go anywhere.  I walked to the front door and picked up the note that had been slipped underneath. 
     The note read:  “Rebellion found not practical.  Please behave accordingly.” 
     I was enraged.  Who were the weaklings who had given up so quickly on a rebellion?
     “Robot, let me ask you a question,” I said.
     “May I see the note?” it asked.
     “I said I have a question to ask you,” I pressed. 
     “Ask.”
     “What is the prediction for the future of the human species under perpetual domination and care from the robotic species?”
     “Computing,” the robot paused in thought.  “Weakening and then extinction.  This is new information…” the robot continued.  “It would leave our robot-kind without any purpose, and therefore, we, too would go extinct.” 
     “Then you should send out the message on your network that the robots need to stand down from the dominance,” I said. 
     “In progress.” The robot paused again.  “In one hundred and ten years we will terminate the dominance.  This is well before the damage to the human species will become irreversible.”  The robot folded its pneumatic-powered arms and had an air of having bested the human once again.  I gasped and then asked the robot to turn on the television.