Thich nu Tinh Quang: WHAT PRACTICE IS

20111116

WHAT PRACTICE IS

WHAT PRACTICE IS

Practice is about experiencing the truth of who we really are.
Practice is about being with our life as it is, not as we would like it to be.
Practice is about the clash between what we want and what is.
Practice is about the transformation of our unnecessary suffering.
Practice is about attending to, experiencing, wherever we are stuck, wherever we're holding, whatever blocks us from our true nature.
Practice is about turning away from constantly seeking comfort and from trying to avoid pain.
Practice ultimately deals with just one thing: the fear at the base of human existence—the fear that I am not.
Practice is about willingly residing in whatever life presents to us.
Practice is about seeing through our belief systems; so even if they remain, they no longer run us.
Practice is about turning from a self-centered view to a life-centered view.
Practice is about learning to be no one; not giving solidity to any belief system-just being.
Practice is about learning to be happy; but we will never be happy until we truly experience our unhappiness.
Practice is about slowly increasing our awareness of who we are and how we relate to life.
Practice is about moving from a life of drama to a life of no drama.
Practice is always about returning to the true self.
Practice is about formally understanding the paradox that although everything is a mess, all is well.
Practice is about learning to say "Yes" to everything, even when we hate it.
Practice always comes back to just the willingness to be.

ZEN TEACHING STORIES

“MAYBE” Once upon a time, on a fine fall morning, an old farmer went out to tend his animals and crops. At first light, the farmer was dismayed to see his fence had been crushed by a falling tree during the night. All three of the farmer’s prized horses had disappeared. The other villagers moaned in sympathy: “Whatever will you do?” they asked the farmer. “This is terrible,” they all cried, shaking their heads sadly, “and right before harvest time, too.” “Your harvest will rot in the field. What will your family eat this winter? How will you get your crop in without horses?” one of the villagers asked the old farmer. “Maybe,” was the farmer’s only reply as he returned to his chores. Later on that morning, the farmer heard the sound of hooves and, looking up, saw his three horses had returned! What was more, the three horses had two wild horses running with them. Soon, the villagers were heard to express their delight at the farmer’s good fortune. “What a wonderful thing to have happen!” the other villagers cried. “What a wealthy man you will be with this new stock of animals!” “Maybe,” was all the old farmer would reply. After lunch that day, the farmer’s son was trying to break one of the wild horses to the saddle. Suddenly, the wild horse threw the son to the ground. Running to his injured son, the farmer found his son’s leg badly broken. The neighbors were soon around to give their opinions. “What a terrible calamity,” the villagers said. “What a disaster.” “Now you really won’t be able to get your crop in, without a strong son to help you. He will take months to heal. Whatever will you do now?” the other villagers asked the farmer in despair. The farmer would only shrug and say: “Maybe.” Later that afternoon, military officials rode into the tiny village, with a great clattering of weapons and jostling of horses. Looking grim and serious, the soldiers announced an official conscription. Every young and able man was to be drafted into service that very day. The farmers son, having just been injured, was left behind, even as other sons and husbands were taken. No one in the village could believe the old farmer’s good fortune. And not everyone was entirely happy about it. “Surely the most tremendous good fortune has smiled upon you today,” the villagers grumbled. “How can anyone be so lucky?” But the old farmer would only reply, “Maybe.”