One could rightfully ask why the hell am I buying almost 6000 € of photographic equipment, on top of 2000 € of stuff I’ve already bought recently, if I expect serious disasters that will end the world as we know it.
One could ask with equal right why I’m mowing my lawn, or brushing my teeth, or servicing the car. It all assumes the kind of continuity I don’t, in fact, believe in. However, I don’t know the timing, which means I have to behave as if the things are going to outlive me, and on the other hand be ready to leave today if God calls. This means that I function in a way that is both detached, and involved. I’m performing all kinds of duties on a daily basis, and yet I’m ready to leave every single second.
The reason why I ordered the equipment is actually detached from any expectation to use it; I merely decided to pay respect to my photographic art and skill. It is more of a sacrificial offering than anything else, because in this world one needs to support things that he sees as valuable, because what you don’t support dies of neglect by default. So, it’s a matter of philosophical consistency, rather than some investment in the future or what not. No; rather, it’s a respect to what is and was. Biljana got new stuff for the same reason. It is important to pay respect to that which is good and valuable, the same way it’s important to keep uprooting the weeds.
Regarding disasters, last night when I went downstairs I saw the vase with flowers and had a strong urge to move it down from the table and to the floor, so that it doesn't break when the earthquake starts. I shrugged it off and went back upstairs and started perceiving all the things that are breakable and placed high – lenses, cameras, laptops etc. Then I said "wait a fucking minute", decided it doesn't matter if it's a premonition of something that's about to happen here, or I'm reading it from the global astral, I'm going to abide by it and then Biljana and I went around the place and moved everything breakable to lower gravity potential. The feeling I had was that it would be the strength of those two in Zagreb when things were flying across rooms. So, I'm making cheap precautions.
If nothing happens over the weekend, I'm lowering the alert level to normal. The global astral is a lunatic asylum and all senses and feelings are contaminated by feedback loops of all kinds.
"Because in this world, one needs to support things that he sees as valuable." (Danijel Turina)
Buddhism is known for the concept of Śūnyatā. It differs from other philosophical and religious systems in this regard because it explicitly recognizes and affirms it.
There is a spiritual experience that transcends human experiences because it does not represent a reflection of the relationships that govern this material world. A close and well-articulated description of this perspective is given in the book Finding Rest in Illusion by Longchenpa, particularly in the chapter: The Eighth Vajra Point: Emanated Apparition.
Buddhists are meticulous, especially when they know what they are doing and when dealing with the subject matter they write about. As a result, they also know how to formulate a meaningful question within a given category of discourse. In this specific case, they express it as follows: "By what means then, it may be asked, can emptiness be realized?"
The matter of Śūnyatā is not an intellectual one for a specific reason: Buddhists recognize something they call the four elements – earth, water, fire, wind. These are not concepts to be taken literally in the way an ordinary person might understand them. However, these four elements, in their interaction, represent—or are the cause of—the movement of mental substance. When a yogi, through contemplation and received blessings, attains a state where these four elements have no footing, the state described in Longchenpa’s aforementioned work occurs. Interestingly, Buddhism maps this state. When other systems that know yoga do not recognize it, Buddhism remains unique in its explicit affirmation of it.
When the four elements have no footing, mind and awareness enter into a distinct relationship. https://spiritwiki.org/images/7/7c/Vajradhara01.jpg
https://www.flickr.com/photos/wonderlane/2606972334
At that point, a state arises in which:
"All phenomena are seamlessly equal and yet vividly distinct, just like emanated apparitions."
Now, returning to the quote by Danijel Turina:
"… because in this world, one needs to support things that he sees as valuable."
What Danijel stated is precisely characteristic of a being that is an emanation of Rigpa. Śūnyatā is not nihilism, as the intellect might conceptualize it. A being of Rigpa discerns what constitutes an obstacle to Rigpa and, out of compassion for sentient beings in this material world, supports certain activities that lead toward Rigpa. Since it clearly perceives all movements along the gradient of harm toward Rigpa, it—depending on the circumstances of this world—deters such activities whenever possible.
Thus:
"It is more of a sacrificial offering than anything else, because in this world one needs to support things that he sees as valuable, because what you don’t support dies of neglect by default."
Are Buddhist deities real? Yes, they are.
Because they embody transcendence over the illusions to which the mind is subject in the various realities of the cycle of birth and death.
There was a "heretical" religious group in medieval Europe called the Cathari. Their theological system was far more accurate than the Catholic one. However, what they produced was a living nightmare of chaos and villainy, and that was because their ethical system was a disaster.
Essentially, they divided people into two groups – those who aspire to achieve perfection, and the others. Those who aspire to perfection should, basically, completely detach themselves from all worldly things, including food and water, and thus commit suicide. The rest – basically, they told them it doesn't matter what they do. This world is an evil illusory place, created by an evil god, and whatever they do here doesn't matter. As expected, the people proceeded to murder, rape, steal and lie, making the realm of the Cathari a hell on Earth, and forcing the Catholics to launch a crusade to re-introduce order.
Basically, if you have a system that tells you that the world is a problem, and it doesn't tell you that you need to be the light that overcomes darkness, it is very easy to create a nightmare and to karmically destroy yourself. In Buddhism, there are three basic principles. The first is that the world is an illusory nightmare that promotes attachment and is financed by your own investment of energy, and you thus need to let go. The second principle is that of detachment, avoiding re-investment of energy and projection into the world. The third principle is that of compassion and metta, loving-kindness. It is the third principle that, in practice, becomes the first principle, because this prevents the whole system from becoming a navel-gazing exercise of mental illness, for all but the extreme few who actually figure it out.
I would thus make a conclusion that might be counterintuitive and startling.
Intellectual accuracy of a system contributes almost nothing to its outcomes in reality. However, the practical ethics of a system – whether to treat others with respect or contempt, whether to work diligently or to ignore the worldly things, whether to love or be indifferent, that seems to be all that matters. A kind person with only a vague theology will have better outcomes than a buddhist scholar who treats everything like it doesn't matter.
Because everything matters. It's all important. Yes, the world is an illusion, however at the same time we are in the mind of God. The actual reality is that of utmost holiness.
Also, my problem with Buddhism used to be that its scripture is basically stupid. There's a combination of reliance on the intellect and, simultaneously, trivial dogmatic conclusions that intellect is supposed to lead to – oh, things of the world produce suffering, you need to remove yourself from that. That's just stupid, not to mention weak. Sure, suffering is bad, but there are worse things. What kind of a eunuch would avoid suffering that leads to some magnificent goal – for instance, the evolutionary vipassana method implies suffering as a method of transforming karma and growing one's spiritual body. Should one avoid suffering implicit in the process and thus choose spiritual stagnation?
Sacrifice of Jesus is said to have produced great spiritual outcomes. It included a great deal of suffering. Should this suffering have been avoided as well? So Buddhism has that fundamental problem that it expects everybody to shit themselves at the mention of suffering like abject cowards, and yet expects disciples to patiently and calmly face and endure suffering in the process of karmic purification and evolution. To me, the argument that there's suffering and one should thus renounce the world always looked idiotic, which it in fact is. Suffering is not the problem, it's the symptom, the way pain is not the problem, but symptom. The problem is the design of the world which inhibits the perception of God's presence, and removes all kinds of normal states of spiritual sovereignty and autonomy of the soul. It also introduces ignorance, by blocking spiritual insight which is otherwise normal, and so on. So, let's see why the beings suffer. Some suffer because they are separated from God by the world. Some suffer because they are separated from their loved ones by death. Some suffer because the world makes them feel powerless and ignorant. And, also, all suffer because their body in this world is prone to sickness, injury and degradation. However, the true question is that of a worthy goal. If there's no worthy goal to be achieved here, then the suffering is meaningless and pointless. If there's a false perception of a worthy goal, then suffering is propagated by voluntary decision to partake in this. So there are all kinds of valid questions, and one could attack this problem from those positions, but buddhist texts as a rule don't, and instead they endlessly spam you with "oh, the suffering; I better renounce the world".
From my early childhood onward, we always had dogs in our home.
Having a relaxed, cheerful, mentally stable, intelligent dog with integrity in your surroundings is one of the most beautiful things in life.
When I chose my first dog myself, I took him to training for several reasons, one of them being that we used to ride a bicycle through the city to the forest by the river. It was immediately clear to me, intuitively, that I did not want to change the dog's nature—that since he enjoyed our outings, he wanted to do everything and understand everything, that to him, his owner was like a kind of deity, and that all that was needed was to find a way to communicate with him.
The other participants in the course at the cynology club, as well as the course instructor himself, did not understand or grasp this perspective. The course turned into a nightmare for about fifteen young dogs and their owners. Most of the work with the dogs was done outside the course in free time, but overall, everything seemed to revolve around those agonizing one-hour sessions at the cynology club's training ground.
The whole thing ended after three months, and all the participants went their separate ways. Soon after, I received a call from the cynology club explaining that they had an upcoming club competition where professional trainers from two cities would participate according to the competition calendar. One of their team members had fallen ill, and without him, they did not have a full team for the event.
These professionals were obsessed with extremely tough, handpicked German Shepherds, and they simply mocked and ignored all other breeds. They worked with the dogs harshly, following their own principles, which they also promoted during the training course. Their dogs were indestructible, but…
I no longer remember how many competitors participated—six, eight, or ten. To avoid a total disgrace for the professional trainers—since they had all known each other for years, along with the national judge—they declared that my dog and I had ranked second.
I had an elegant brown Doberman, and I spent about ten years with him, taking daily trips to the forest by the river. It was a beautiful period of time.
Regardless of the fact that this Doberman was superior and that on the day of the competition he was the only one to demonstrate speed, determination, and elegance, at the dinner that followed, everyone projected what they had seen during the event onto me, ignored the dog, and promised to get me a German Shepherd.