Hologram Thoughts

There is a kingdom called Sukhavati, the Realm of Bliss, it is land of light and magic, prayer and chanting, knowledge and compassion.  Within it there dwells a young prince.  His wears regal bejeweled gowns, but they are no more distinguished than the next prince’s gown.  His crown shines in the light of the butter lamps, but no brighter than any one of his brother’s crowns.  He feels simple, he feels unremarkable.

Tonight he sits, quietly watching his tea steep.  Steam rises off the decorated clay pot, and the tea leaves slowly fall into the boiled water. His cup is ornately painted with a scene of bamboo and wind.  He closes his eyes, clears his mind.  Focusing on nothing he realizes that he is not alone.  From across the cavernous temple echoes the sound of an old monk,  slowly chanting to himself.  His tones are careful and sure, he has practiced for an eternity to learn the correct intonation, to make a true and correct offering.

Is that my lot in life? The young prince wonders to himself.  Am I destined to be an old man, alone, chanting to the empty temple in the middle hours of the night?

The chanting echoes one last moment, and a deafening silence encroaches upon the young prince’s ears.

“Sit tall, my young prince,” the old monk says quietly sitting directly before the young prince.  “Breathe a full, deep breath into your chest.  Within your chest beats a heart that has the energy of a million suns at its call.  In your veins there is a liquid flowing that is more precious than any molten metal, any stream or river.  Why do you not know your worth?”

Ashamed, the young prince looks down to the tea.  A second cup now sits besides his.  The second cup is a simple bamboo cup; no gilding, no paint, no jewels. Plain in every way.

“My cup is simple, you are right.” The monk closes his eyes and pulls his hands into his thick winter robes, protection from the night’s chill.  “But does it not hold the tea as well as yours?  Does it not serve me as well as your cup?  And if it is lost to me, or if it were to lay broken on the ground at my feet, could I not find another to take the place of this cup?”

The young prince watches the monk for a timeless moment.  He is familiar, he is known to the young prince, but he doesn’t know who he is.

“Does your cup not long to be adorned, monk?  Does it not wish to sparkle in the light, with jewels and metals?  Does it not want to be noticed?”

The monk pours tea in to the prince’s cup, and then in to his own.  He lifts his cup to his mouth, and breathes in the aroma of the tea.

“Does the lily wish to be a rose?  Does the lion wish to be a snow leopard?  What if I told you that there was once a flower that grew strong and tall out over a running stream, and that this flower wished to be a fish swimming in the water?”

The prince closes his eyes, seeing this flower in his head, and realizes that the flower is the fish.  The fish eats the flower and so then the flower becomes one with the fish.

The young prince opens his eyes to tell the monk, only to find himself sitting alone in the temple.  He looks down and sees his cup is gone, and in its place there is only a simple bamboo cup.

I found this while looking at other videos by Glenn Marshall and I simply fell in love with it. Simply amazing, a demonstration of Everyday Magic.

The Jewel in the Heart of the Lotus from Glenn Marshall on Vimeo.

A short animated guide to Buddhist breath meditation, using the metaphor of an opening lotus. The narration was adapted from a talk given by Ajahn Brahm, a popular Buddhist teacher, author and abbot of Serpentine monastery, Perth.

We are all connected in surprising ways.  There are times when a simple smile can change someones day, perhaps their life.  We need to remember that somehow.  Just yesterday I was at the a hospital, visiting my grandfather, I was leaning in an elevator, eyes closed, barely breathing – my body tight with worry.  The elevator doors open on a floor before my destination and in walks a slight little woman.  She was close to her 70s if I had to guess, and she was holding a small bag.  She smiled at me, and I returned the smile without thinking.  (I do that a lot actually, someone smiles and I smile back, someone winks and I wink back, not rational – but true.)

In that smile she must have seen that I was worried and so she reached out and her tiny hand clasped my forearm.  I looked down at her hand on my arm and it was a study in contrast.  My arm is thick and strong, I am not a small man, my skin has a Mediterranean tint to it, my hair dark.  Her hand was whiter than normal, the kind of white skin that the elderly get – thin skin and liver spots; but her grasp was strong and true.

“Everything will be alright son,” she said without sounding condescending.  I somehow knew she wasn’t talking about what my grandfather is going through, or the trials I face in life; somehow I heard her tell me that all of this will make sense one day.  With that the elevator stopped on the 6th floor and she got off without looking back.

I have been thinking about that little woman this morning.  She had never seen me before, will likely never lay eyes on me again, but she reached out to me nonetheless, and she affected my life in a small way, but a meaningful way.

We are all related, we are all the same energy, we need the same exact things to live.  Food, water, shelter, and a chance to live outside of suffering.  I want you to take a few moments from your life, from your busy day and night, and watch this movie.  It is only about 20 minutes long, but it is worth it.

What Would It Look Like?