Joy again
Only it’s never—
again.
Joy-in-being doesn’t come and go,
it is never in comparison to anything, including in time.
And it’s never what I think it will be,
there isn’t something that I can find to label joy.
All the same, when I stop scratching around in habitual consciousness for a moment,
there is an undeniable and normal experience that doesn’t insist on being noticed.
The nature of being does have to be respected, loved—to be realized.
And in realizing joy-of-being, there’s no trace left of something realized.
It is as unassertive as it is undeniable and cannot be manipulated by perception.
You have to say something,
and sometimes there is nothing that can be said.
And still…
The way of Buddha practice,
is the way of joyful exertion.
Throughout birth, old age, disease and death,
unhindered—
and so not concerned with conditions at all.
The ceaseless joyful exertion of true nature,
uses words even as it forgets them.
Joy is giving away body and mind,
giving away body and mind is joy.
See for yourself how the illusory self is always getting this wrong.
For one thing—
joy-of-being has no need for validation.
I heard that in cases of sudden and unexpected end-of-life occurrences,
common concerns of the dying are;
Will I be remembered?
Did I lead a meaningful life?
Will I be forgiven for my mistakes?
The Buddha showed us how to face the appearances of these symptoms of disease in ourselves. When we do turn around, body and mind are released from the imposition of suffering. Taken seriously, the way of meditation goes deep. It’s no surprise that what is defending against the depths shows itself in catastrophic or critical situations, what about the normal day to day? The source of suffering isn’t just appearing in critical moments, it will be introducing unease into the smallest instances of familiar life. Ultimately, what is a critical moment and what is a normal moment?
The poignant everyday suffering of a rootless self, seemingly dislocated from it’s true home, has no substance after all and there is no core that needs protecting either.
How back to front the imagined self keeps getting this.
Who is there to judge the value of your life?
Where are they?
While living practice-experience, you’d never think it is easy to address those questions of the dying in yourself, it’s not something you could be glib about. Yet thoroughness of being is always accessible, so you couldn’t say it is hard, even when there are tears of pain. The subtle joy-of-being does not concern itself with ease or difficulty, its unforced strength is not comparable to any state.
Those questions of the dying cannot effectively be addressed by having ideas about things. Playing around with thoughts ‘ain’t gonna cut it. Bondage to dependence on thought is a more serious problem than it might appear. It can never lead to, or be, what practice-being is. Thinking cannot be used to grasp what we are always very close to, the unrestrained activity of the pervasive nature of being-existence, a function of which is thought.
Being-practice forgets words even as it uses them.
Sometimes it’s good to speak.
Sometimes it’s better not to say anything and go on.
The secretive self appears to offer nourishment in reward for indulging it. While the image is being fed, it is like a parasite fooling the host into thinking that this is fulfilment. This illusory self though, has no independence at all, it is only allowed to run on while there is ignoring of the whole, which is how the illusion is kept fed. Both host and illusion are the same nature, there is no invasive enemy to begin with and no host either. Both must be forgotten for joy to be joy, otherwise joy becomes yet another delusive idea.
Joy-in-being is what practice is, the practice of a fulfilling nature which doesn’t exclude anything. However it comes about, the pointing to ignorance is not a personal affront when being-joy welcomes its revelation (no matter that it may smart a bit). Suffering is not a self, and ignorance cannot be instructed or eliminated. These are not faults that can be corrected, their natures are as unstained as any other. So it is possible to allow any condition to unfold completely and as it does, the problematic element is unfolding too. All is forgotten, and there is nothing more needed to be done with something.
Joy-of-being is useless, joy has no utility that I can stick onto it.
Yet joy-in-being functions in the world appropriately with no trace of indifference. Nothing I can put a name to is excluded as far as I can see, including the varying landscapes of mind, including the clay feet of my own self-image. This function of joy manifests with the giving away of myself, the giving away of life, indivisibly, individually and distinctly along with everything. It’s not something that I can get right to my own satisfaction, never the less, it is entirely sufficient.
Using words, then not.
Sometimes there is nothing that need be said.
To answer those questions of the dying in yourself,
live thoroughly now without a trace of a need to see—
or to be seen.
Give your life away continuously.
Really; what else is there?
Who can live like this
and say nothing?
Willard Lee, 29 January 2025