Author: Ciska

My father was a philosopher who loved art. When I was fifteen, I had a boyfriend (R.) who was also very philosophical, so the two started having long conversations. Usually I preferred playing basketball, but sometimes I listened in for a while.  R. was in the final year of VWO (college) and receiving tutoring in math. I overheard him and my father together analysing the moment when a mathematical problem was solved, when everything could be reduced to zero. This feeling of satisfaction and peace, when nothing remained. They both seemed delighted about this recognition. My father also applied it to the experience of art: how paintings (or other forms of art) that are initially provocative, leave a sense of balance if only you keep watching long enough. A natural harmony arises. Many years later, I myself got engaged in long and fiery discussions with my father. It always started around some philosophical subject that we (seemingly) disagreed on. For example, the statement that one should not have principles (he said) or one definitely should (I said). We would keep talking until we had clearly put into words and understood what we really meant with our statements. Finally, we ended up fully agreeing. It had just been a matter of words and definitions. (Principles should not be blind dogmas.) What mainly happened in a discussion like that, was listening, nuancing, defining and refining, and a lot of slowing down in order to really be open. In the end, what remained was a sense of connectedness and satisfaction. I was always so moved by my father's love of purity and truth, his commitment to clear it all up to the core. Very inspiring. He would never leave it unfinished, it had to become crystal clear.So we ended up at zero. The mathematical problem was naturally solved and what was left was…

Is it really yours?A zen student approached her teacher: 'Master, I have a terrible temper, please can you help me?' 'Hmmm, strange,' the master said. 'Can you show it to me?''Not now...''Why not?''It arises quite unexpectedly!''In that case, it cannot be part of your true nature,' the master replied. 'If it would, you could show it to me any time! Why worry about something that is not yours?' From then on, the student remembered the words of the master every time she felt her temper rise. Soon enough she learned to abandon her anger and developed a serene character. The power of mindfulnessMaybe, reading this story makes you wonder: is this about Ciska herself? And actually, in a way, yes. I used to have a rather quick temper! I could get really upset about things, feel very agitated and go into a rage. But fortunately, the practice of Zen and mindfulness have helped me tremendously. Nowadays I am much calmer. (That did not happen in one night.) Mindfulness means: observing consciously - taking some distance from what is happening, within and without. This means a quintessential shift in perspective. Instead of fully indulging in all kinds of suspicions, fears, judgments, now you start to label them as 'thoughts' and 'feelings'. And you begin to realise it is the inner experience that is burdening you. You are not so much suffering the circumstances, but rather your reactions to them. It is so helpful to note them like this: 'Here comes a sad thought.' (Or a happy, proud or funny one, for that matter.) Implicitly, you are now realising that you are just the observer of the feelings and thoughts - they are not 'I' nor 'mine' - they are just visitors. You will begin to realise your innate freedom. Your thoughts…

In June one 'Buddhist talk' in The Conscious Club was on mudita, altruistic joy, one of the four Brahmaviharas (literally meaning 'divine abode', just like metta, compassion and equanimity).  First, let me explain about 'mana' and the common disease of comparing ourselves to others. Mana is a Buddhist term meaning arrogance or pride. Naturally, we prefer to imagine ourselves better than others. Our mind knows how to interpret things in such a way that it makes us look good.Our thoughts are continuously creating some self-image, some idea of who and what we are. But because nothing in us is static, this self-image is falling short all the time. A lot of thought-effort goes into adapting the picture. (Very tiring.) This self-image is subsequently compared to the image we have of others: we consider ourselves superior, inferior or equal. Whatever our assessment, with all of this we have to live in constant anxiety, a sense of competition and separation. Moojibaba sometimes ironically remarks: 'Comparing the best in yourself with the worst in others.' When we ourselves are making mistakes, we can find numerous excuses for it. Basically, it wasn't our fault, really... But when someone else is making an error, we are quick to judge and even feel justified to reject them entirely. Let's say for example, a colleague never cleans up after themselves, and you are deeply annoyed; probably you yourself also have some bad habit in another area. Still you will say: 'What an idiot, I could never behave that way!' Thus a sense of superiority arises, and with it separation, distance, tension. If only we could place ourselves in the other's shoes, we wouldn't judge so harshly. A mildness would most likely arise. This limited perspective also happens, by the way, when you enter the traffic. As a pedestrian I am annoyed by…

It is not the outer objects that entangle us. It is the inner clinging that entangles us. – Tilopa There is an ancient Buddhist story about a an who is traveling the world without shoes. To protect his feet, that are bleeding and hurting, he collects pieces of skin to cover the road that is stony and uneven. On the day that he decides to cover his own feet with leather, he finds the whole world becomes accessible and pleasant to walk on. When we see through the projections of our own minds and let go of the cause of suffering in our own minds, we no longer need to control the world in order to feel happy and safe.