Vihara Quotes

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These four qualities are among the most beautiful and powerful states of consciousness we can experience. Together they are called in Pali, the language spoken by the Buddha, the brahma-viharas. Brahma means “heavenly.” Vihara means “abode” or “home.” By practicing these meditations, we establish love (Pali, metta), compassion (karuna), sympathetic joy (mudita), and equanimity (upekkha) as our home.
Sharon Salzberg (Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness (Shambhala Classics))
Mother,’ said the Mahatma, ‘this is the temple, the mosque, the vihara and the gurdwara of Mother India. Cast aside all fear from your heart.
Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay (Anandamath (Library of South Asian Literature))
This vision is always available to us; it doesn’t matter how long we may have been stuck in a sense of our limitations. If we go into a darkened room and turn on the light, it doesn’t matter if the room has been dark for a day, or a week, or ten thousand years—we turn on the light and it is illumined. Once we contact our capacity for love and happiness—the good—the light has been turned on. Practicing the brahma-viharas is a way of turning on the light and then tending it. It is a process of deep spiritual transformation.
Sharon Salzberg (Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness (Shambhala Classics))
Meminta bantuan bukan menunjukkan kamu lemah. Tapi menunjukkan bahwa kamu berani. Berani mengakui bahwa kamu bukan manusia super. Alesha
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
For physical issues, we have an entire pharmacopoeia of pain medicine. For the actual pain of grief, we have . . . nothing. It’s always seemed so bizarre to me that we have an answer for almost every physical pain, but for this—some of the most intense pain we can experience—there is no medicine. You’re just supposed to feel it. And in a way, that’s true. The answer to pain is simply to feel it. Some traditions speak of practicing compassion in the face of pain, rather than trying to fix it. As I understand the Buddhist teaching, the fourth form of compassion in the Brahma Viharas, or the four immeasurables, describes an approach to the kinds of pain that cannot be fixed: upekkha, or equanimity. Upekkha is the practice of staying emotionally open and bearing witness to the pain while dwelling in equanimity around one’s limited ability to effect change. This form of compassion—for self, for others—is about remaining calm enough to feel everything, to remain calm while feeling everything, knowing that it can’t be changed. Equanimity (upekkha) is said to be the hardest form of compassion to teach, and the hardest to practice. It’s not, as is commonly understood, equanimity in the way of being unaffected by what’s happened, but more a quality of clear, calm attention in the face of immoveable truth. When something cannot be changed, the “enlightened” response is to pay attention. To feel it. To turn toward it and say, “I see you.” That’s the big secret of grief: the answer to the pain is in the pain. Or, as e. e. cummings wrote, healing of the wound is to be sought in the blood of the wound itself. It seems too intangible to be of use, but by allowing your pain to exist, you change it somehow. There’s power in witnessing your own pain. The challenge is to stay present in your heart, to your heart, to your own deep self, even, and especially, when that self is broken. Pain wants to be heard. It deserves to be heard. Denying or minimizing the reality of pain makes it worse. Telling the truth about the immensity of your pain—which is another way of paying attention—makes things different, if not better. It’s important to find those places where your grief gets to be as bad as it is, where it gets to suck as much as it does. Let your pain stretch out. Take up all the space it needs. When so many others tell you that your grief has to be cleaned up or contained, hearing that there is enough room for your pain to spread out, to unfurl—it’s healing. It’s a relief. The more you open to your pain, the more you can just be with it, the more you can give yourself the tenderness and care you need to survive this. Your pain needs space. Room to unfold. I think this is why we seek out natural landscapes that are larger than us. Not just in grief, but often in grief. The expanding horizon line, the sense of limitless space, a landscape wide and deep and vast enough to hold what is—we need those places. Sometimes grief like yours cannot be held by the universe itself. True. Sometimes grief needs more than an endless galaxy. Maybe your pain could wrap around the axle of the universe several times. Only the stars are large enough to take it on. With enough room to breathe, to expand, to be itself, pain softens. No longer confined and cramped, it can stop thrashing at the bars of its cage, can stop defending itself against its right to exist. There isn’t anything you need to do with your pain. Nothing you need to do about your pain. It simply is. Give it your attention, your care. Find ways to let it stretch out, let it exist. Tend to yourself inside it. That’s so different from trying to get yourself out of it. The way to come to pain is with open eyes, and an open heart, committed to bearing witness to your own broken place. It won’t fix anything. And it changes everything.
Megan Devine
The path dips down to Gal Vihara: a wide, quiet, hollow, surrounded with trees. A low outcrop of rock, with a cave cut into it, and beside the cave a big seated Buddha on the left, a reclining Buddha on the right, and Ananda, I guess, standing by the head of the reclining Buddha. In the cave, another seated Buddha. The vicar general, shying away from "paganism." hangs back and sits under a tree reading the guidebook. I am able to approach the Buddhas barefoot and undisturbed, my feet in wet grass, wet sand. Then the silence of the extraordinary faces. The great smiles. Huge and yet subtle. Filled with every possibility, questioning nothing, knowing everything, rejecting nothing, the peace not of emotional resignation but of Madhyamika, of sunyata, that has seen through every question without trying to discredit anyone or anything - without refutation - without establishing some other argument. For the doctrinaire, the mind that needs well-established positions, such peace, such silence, can be frightening. I was knocked over with a rush of relief and thankfulness at the obvious clarity of the figures, the clarity and fluidity of shape and line, the design of the monumental bodies composed into the rock shape and landscape, figure, rock and tree. And the sweep of bare rock sloping away on the other side of the hollow, where you can go back and see different aspects of the figures. Looking at these figures I was suddenly, almost forcibly, jerked clean out of the habitual, half-tied vision of things, and an inner clearness, clarity, as if exploding from the rocks themselves, became evident and obvious. The queer evidence of the reclining figure, the smile, the sad smile of Ananda standing with arms folded (much more "imperative" than Da Vinci's Mona Lisa because completely simple and straightforward). The thing about all this is that there is no puzzle, no problem, and really no "mystery." All problems are resolved and everything is clear, simply because what matters is clear. The rock, all matter, all life, is charged with dharmakaya... everything is emptiness and everything is compassion. I don't know when in my life I have ever had such a sense of beauty and spiritual validity running together in one aesthetic illumination. Surely, with Mahabalipuram and Polonnaruwa my Asian pilgrimage has come clear and purified itself. I mean, I know and have seen what I was obscurely looking for. I don't know what else remains but I have now seen and have pierced through the surface and have got beyond the shadow and the disguise. This is Asia in its purity, not covered over with garbage, Asian or European or American, and it is clear, pure, complete. It says everything: it needs nothing. And because it needs nothing it can afford to be silent, unnoticed, undiscovered. It does not need to be discovered. It is we, Asians included, who need to discover it. The whole thing is very much a Zen Garden, a span of bareness and openness and evidence, and the great figures, motionless, yet with the lines in full movement, waves of vesture and bodily form, a beautiful and holy vision. The rest of the "city", the old palace complex, I had no time for. We just drove around the roads and saw the ruined shapes, and started on the long drive home to Kandy.
Thomas Merton (The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton)
Kesaktian seorang ibu tidak hilang seiring bertambahnya usia. Memang tangan ibu semakin lemah dan keriput. Tetapi kehangatan dan kehebatannya sama sekali tidak berkurang.
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Pada kedua telapak tangan ibu, yang selalu terangkat setiap kali mengucap doa, nama anak-anaknya akan selalu ada pada urutan pertama. Selalu lebih dulu disebut sebelum mengatakan harap untuk dirinya sendiri. Semua keberhasilan dan kebahagiaan dalam hidup kita tidak akan terjadi tanpa doa ibu.
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
The four brahma viharas are: Metta—loving-kindness; wishing well to others and to ourselves Karuna—compassion; reaching out to those who are suffering, including ourselves Mudita—sympathetic joy; joy in the joy of others Upekkha—equanimity; a mind that is at peace in all circumstances.
Toni Bernhard (How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and Their Caregivers)
Cintailah dirimu sebagaimana dirimu berhak dicintai. Jangan terlalu keras menghukum diri jika melakukan kesalahan atau menemui kegagalan. Beri selamat atau penghargaan kepada dirimu, sekecil apa pun pencapaian yang kamu raih hari ini. Memang pada akhir hari, ketika kamu kembali ke rumah, kamu akan bertemu kembali dengan orang-orang yang mencintaimu dan membuatmu bahagia. Tetapi, bukankah lebih baik jika salah satu dari orang tersebut adalah dirimu sendiri?
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Kamu tidak boleh memandangnya sebagai seorang ibu, ibu yang baik, meski kamu tahu itu adalah kenyataan. Dalam dirimu, pikiranmu dan hatimu, selalu tanamkan pemahaman bahwa dia adalah istrimu. Cintailah dia sebagaimana seorang kekasih harus dicintai. Suatu hari nanti anak-anakmu akan dewasa, keluar dari rumah, dan punya hidup sendiri-sendiri. Sedangkan istrimu akan selalu bersamamu. Melewati sisa hidup bersamamu. Hingga usia kita habis. Papa
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Memang manusia harus berusaha untuk membelokkan atau mengubah jalan cerita, supaya mendapat hasil berbeda. Tetapi kalau sudah melakukan dan tidak melihat hasil yang diharapkan, manusia harus bisa menerima bahwa itulah yang paling baik untuk dirinya.
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Kalau kita nggak bisa menghadapi ketidaknyamanan itu, Elmar, kita nggak akan jadi apa-apa. Nggak lulus kuliah, nggak punya karier. Kita harus melakukan apa yang seharusnya kita lakukan, meskipun itu membuat kita nggak nyaman. Karena hanya dengan melewati ketidaknyamanan itu kita berubah, kita berkembang. Nggak akan ada hari kedua, hari ketiga, dan seterusnya kalau kita menyerah pada ketidaknyamanan di hari pertama. Alesha
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Seseorang tidak akan bertemu dengan pendamping hidupnya, hingga Tuhan memutuskan keduanya telah siap. Selama masa penantian, sebaiknya gunakan waktu untuk meningkatkan kualitas diri.
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Pernikahan yang sehat akan memberikan keuntungan padamu. Kamu punya teman hidup. Tidak repot lagi telepon sana sini cari teman kalau mau jalan-jalan. Tidak cari barengan saat kondangan atau acara apa, because you have permanent date for all your social occasions. Teman kencanmu tinggal serumah denganmu, apa ada yang lebih menyenangkan daripada itu? Alwin
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Rumah bukan sekadar tempat hidup, melainkan juga tempat belajar dan saling mencintai. Di sinilah banyak kenangan indah tercipta. Bersama pasangan. Bersama anak. Di tempat ini juga mimpi dan harapan ditanam. Lalu tumbuh semakin tinggi hingga mencapai bintang. Atau mencapai dasar lautan.
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Cinta tidak berakhir semudah itu. Hanya karena orang yang kamu cintai pernah membuat keputusan yang tidak menguntungkan bagimu. Mungkin kamu semakin waspada, semakin hati-hati ketika memberinya kesempatan kedua. Tetapi cinta sejati selalu menang pada akhirnya. Alwin
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Pernikahan akan mengubah hidup kita. Semua manusia di dunia ini tidak suka, atau takut, menghadapi perubahan. Kita hanya menginginkan perbaikan dan peningkatan. Alwin
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Ada sebuah nasihat yang mengatakan bahwa kebahagiaan semakin bertambah besar kalau kita membaginya. Tujuan orang menikah, salah satunya, untuk melipatgandakan kebahagiaan. Dengan membaginya bersama suami dan anak-anak. Kalau hidup sendiri saja tidak bahagia, apa yang hendak digandakan?
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
Sayangnya, hidup ini adil. Karena ia tidak adil kepada semua orang.
Ika Vihara (A Wedding Come True)
But where did the Arabs get the idea from? Recent research in Central Asia has made a convincing case that the first Islamic madrasas were modelled on the design of the Buddhist viharas such as the Barmakids’ Naw Bahar that the Arabs came across when they seized Afghanistan and Sindh in the seventh century.
William Dalrymple (The Golden Road: How Ancient India Transformed the World)