Worries Buddhist Quotes

She said, "It's not life or death, the labyrinth." "Um, okay. So what is it?" "Suffering," she said. "Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?... Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.

Suffering is universal. it’s the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.

There is a saying in Korea: “Lengthy deliberation often leads to a terrible decision.” If you think and worry too much before doing something, “your boat goes to the mountain instead of the ocean.

Each minute we spend worrying about the future and regretting the past is a minute we miss in our appointment with life- a missed opportunity to engage life and to see that each moment gives us the chance to change for the better, to experience peace and joy.

One in All All in One-- If only this is realized, No more worry about your not being perfect (175)

One of my practices comes from an ancient Indian teacher. He taught that when you experience some tragic situation, think about it. If there’s no way to overcome the tragedy, then there is no use worrying too much. So I practice that. (The Dalai Lama was referring to the eighth-century Buddhist master Shantideva, who wrote, “If something can be done about the situation, what need is there for dejection? And if nothing can be done about it, what use is there for being dejected?”)

As a Buddhist, I view death as a normal process, a reality that I accept will occur as long as I remain in this earthly existence. Knowing that I cannot escape it, I see no point in worrying about it. I tend to think of death as being like changing your clothes when they are old and worn out, rather than as some final end. Yet death is unpredictable: We do not know when or how it will take place. So it is only sensible to take certain precautions before it actually happens.

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses. Flood waters await us in our avenues. Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche Over unprotected villages. The sky slips low and grey and threatening. We question ourselves. What have we done to so affront nature? We worry God. Are you there? Are you there really? Does the covenant you made with us still hold? Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters, Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air. The world is encouraged to come away from rancor, Come the way of friendship. It is the Glad Season. Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner. Flood waters recede into memory. Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us As we make our way to higher ground. Hope is born again in the faces of children It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets. Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things, Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors. In our joy, we think we hear a whisper. At first it is too soft. Then only half heard. We listen carefully as it gathers strength. We hear a sweetness. The word is Peace. It is loud now. It is louder. Louder than the explosion of bombs. We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence. It is what we have hungered for. Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace. A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies. Security for our beloveds and their beloveds. We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas. We beckon this good season to wait a while with us. We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come. Peace. Come and fill us and our world with your majesty. We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian, Implore you, to stay a while with us. So we may learn by your shimmering light How to look beyond complexion and see community. It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time. On this platform of peace, we can create a language To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other. At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ Into the great religions of the world. We jubilate the precious advent of trust. We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope. All the earth's tribes loosen their voices To celebrate the promise of Peace. We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers, Look heavenward and speak the word aloud. Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud. Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation. Peace, My Brother. Peace, My Sister. Peace, My Soul.

But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.

I have been thinking that the crux of happiness matter for me is whether or not I am in the moment, in the flow, at one with what is happening and I am doing. Otherwise, I'm lost in worry, and anxiety about past and future, plagued by what Buddhist meditators call "comparing mind," comparing what is to other so-called possibilities.

Sir, if someone took a Buddhist holy book and flushed it down my toilet, the first thing I would do is call a plumber!

Each person is born with an unencumbered spot, free of expectation and regret, free of ambition and embarrassment, free of fear and worry; an umbilical spot of grace where we were each first touched by God. It is this spot of grace that issues peace. Psychologists call this spot the Psyche, Theologians call it the Soul, Jung calls it the Seat of the Unconscious, Hindu masters call it Atman, Buddhists call it Dharma, Rilke calls it Inwardness, Sufis call it Qalb, and Jesus calls it the Center of our Love. To know this spot of Inwardness is to know who we are, not by surface markers of identity, not by where we work or what we wear or how we like to be addressed, but by feeling our place in relation to the Infinite and by inhabiting it. This is a hard lifelong task, for the nature of becoming is a constant filming over of where we begin, while the nature of being is a constant erosion of what is not essential. Each of us lives in the midst of this ongoing tension, growing tarnished or covered over, only to be worn back to that incorruptible spot of grace at our core. When the film is worn through, we have moments of enlightenment, moments of wholeness, moments of Satori as the Zen sages term it, moments of clear living when inner meets outer, moments of full integrity of being, moments of complete Oneness. And whether the film is a veil of culture, of memory, of mental or religious training, of trauma or sophistication, the removal of that film and the restoration of that timeless spot of grace is the goal of all therapy and education. Regardless of subject matter, this is the only thing worth teaching: how to uncover that original center and how to live there once it is restored. We call the filming over a deadening of heart, and the process of return, whether brought about through suffering or love, is how we unlearn our way back to God

They had a term, too, for that thing I did where something would bother me and I would immediately project forward to an unpleasant future (e.g., Balding → Unemployment → Flophouse). The Buddhists called this prapañca (pronounced pra-PUN-cha), which roughly translates to “proliferation,” or “the imperialistic tendency of mind.” That captured it beautifully, I thought: something happens, I worry, and that concern instantaneously colonizes my future.

I read of a Buddhist teacher who developed Alzheimer's. He had retired from teaching because his memory was unreliable, but he made one exception for a reunion of his former students. When he walked onto the stage, he forgot everything, even where he was and why. However, he was a skilled Buddhist and he simply began sharing his feelings with the crowd. He said, "I am anxious. I feel stupid. I feel scared and dumb. I am worried that I am wasting everyone's time. I am fearful. I am embarrassing myself." After a few minutes of this, he remembered his talk and proceeded without apology. The students were deeply moved, not only by his wise teachings, but also by how he handled his failings. There is a Buddhist saying, "No resistance, no demons.

Like most humanoids, I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the "monkey mind"--the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl. From the distant past to the unknowable future, my mind swings wildly through time, touching on dozens of ideas a minute, unharnessed and undisciplined. This in itself is not necessarily a problem; the problem is the emotional attachment that goes along with the thinking. Happy thoughts make me happy, but-whoop!-how quickly I swing again into obsessive worry, blowing the mood; and then it's all over again; and then my mind decides it might be a good time to start feeling sorry for itself, and loneliness follows promptly. You are, after all, what you think. Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.

I’m not sure what I feel. All I know is that I’m tired of being the innocent bystander who gets punched in the gut. It’s their fight—Mom and Dad’s. But how come Heath and I are the ones who end up bruised?” He rearranged one of my braids and wound the loose tail around the tip of his index finger. “Because everything we do in life affects someone else. Buddhists say that inside and outside are basically the same thing. It’s like we’re all trapped together in a small room. If someone pisses in the corner, we all have to worry about it trickling across the floor and getting our shoes wet.

Shift your focus to what’s occurring right now. This is why Buddhist monks and yogis practice nonjudgmental awareness—the process of being aware of the present, without attaching emotional reactivity to it. This mindfulness practice cuts off worry and anxiety at the source.

Within nothingness there is infinite potential.” It means that human beings are born possessing nothing. Yet within all of us lies infinite potential. For this reason, there is nothing to fear. There is nothing to worry about. This is truth.

the Dalai Lama suggests, “With worry and anxiety, repeatedly cultivate the following thought. ‘If the problem can be remedied then there is no need to worry about it. And if there is no solution, there is no point in being worried, because nothing can be done about it anyway.’ Remind yourself of these facts repeatedly.

Restlessness and worry are always connected to desire, and when we recognize this and let go of the desire, the heart is purified and the mind is calmed.

when we find ourselves in the present, the past is already dead while the future is about to be born

The most important (and difficult) aspect of ANY job is to focus on the task at hand, and to not worry whether someone else is doing her or his part.

Everyone is blessed with the power to start over

there's no use rethinking the past that is dead and gone, nor should we think about future that has yet to be born until it arrives

If what happened cannot be changed, why worry? If it can be changed, why worry?

Don’t spend your life worrying about what you are missing out on. Not to be Buddhist about it—okay, to be a little Buddhist about it—life isn’t about being pleased with what you are doing, but about what you are being.

Most of people have little perspectives of delution. Delusion in Zen has deeper meaning. Envy of others, feeling of self doubt-there are also delutions. Meanwhile, existence of every thing and every person is absolute, unto itself -- there is no comparison.

There’s a Buddhist saying that peace is like a sun that’s always shining in your heart. It’s just hidden behind clouds of fear, doubt, worry, and desire that continually orient you toward the past or the future. The sun comes out only when you’re in the present moment.

It’s not life or death, the labyrinth.” “Um, okay. So what is it?” “Suffering,” she said. “Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That’s the problem. Bolívar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?” “What’s wrong?” I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me. “Nothing’s wrong. But there’s always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there’s a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It’s the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.

If you take the negative as absolute and definitive, however, you increase your worries and anxiety, whereas by broadening the way you look at a problem, you understand what is bad about it, but you accept it. This attitude comes to me, I think, from my practice and from Buddhist philosophy, which help me enormously.

A child grows up to be a man of sixty. Certainly the man of sixty is not the same as the child of sixty years ago, nor is he another person. Similarly, a person who dies here and is reborn elsewhere is neither the same person, nor another. It is the continuity of the same series. The difference between death and birth is only a thought-moment: the last thought-moment in this life conditions the first thought-moment in the so-called next life. … During this life itself, too, one thought-moment conditions the next thought-moment. So from the Buddhist point of view, the question of life after death is not a great mystery, and a Buddhist is never worried by this problem.

When you’re worried about something,” said Henry abruptly, “have you ever tried thinking in a different language?” “What?” “It slows you down. Keeps your thoughts from running wild. A good discipline in any circumstance. Or you might try doing what the Buddhists do.” “What?” “In the practice of Zen there is an exercise called zazen—similar, I think, to the Theravadic practice of vipassana. One sits facing a blank wall. No matter the emotion one feels, no matter how strong or violent, one remains motionless. Facing the wall. The discipline, of course, is in continuing to sit.” There was a silence, during which I struggled for language to adequately express what I thought of this goofball advice.

Without a memory, EP has fallen completely out of time. He has no stream of consciousness, just droplets that immediately evaporate. If you were to take the watch off his wrist—or, more cruelly, change the time—he’d be completely lost. Trapped in this limbo of an eternal present, between a past he can’t remember and a future he can’t contemplate, he lives a sedentary life, completely free from worry. “He’s happy all the time. Very happy. I guess it’s because he doesn’t have any stress in his life,” says his daughter Carol, who lives nearby. In his chronic forgetfulness, EP has achieved a kind of pathological enlightenment, a perverted vision of the Buddhist ideal of living entirely in the present.

At the beginning of each meditation, we ask ourselves: “Am I having thoughts of ill-will? Doubt? Restlessness and worry? Am I feeling lazy and sleepy? Is my mind filled with desires?” If so, we try to drop these obstacles, using the antidotes of loving-kindness and of calming the mind, remembering that there is nothing to gain and everything to get rid of.

The Dalai Lama was referring to the eighth-century Buddhist master Shantideva, who wrote, "If something can be done about the situation, what need is there for dejection? And if nothing can be done about it, what use is there for being dejected?" The Archbishop cackled, perhaps because it seemed almost too incredible that someone could stop worrying just because it was pointless.

According to the Buddhist teachings, human beings have a distorted view of reality that leads them to suffer unnecessarily. We grasp at transitory pleasures. We brood about the past and worry about the future. We continually seek to prop up and defend an egoic self that doesn’t exist. This is stressful—and spiritual life is a process of gradually unraveling our confusion and bringing this stress to an end.

According to Buddhist tradition, Gautama was heir to a small Himalayan kingdom, sometime around 500 BC. The young prince was deeply affected by the suffering evident all around him. He saw that men and women, children and old people, all suffer not just from occasional calamities such as war and plague, but also from anxiety, frustration and discontent, all of which seem to be an inseparable part of the human condition. People pursue wealth and power, acquire knowledge and possessions, beget sons and daughters, and build houses and palaces. Yet no matter what they achieve, they are never content. Those who live in poverty dream of riches. Those who have a million want two million. Those who have two million want 10 million. Even the rich and famous are rarely satisfied. They too are haunted by ceaseless cares and worries, until sickness, old age and death put a bitter end to them. Everything that one has accumulated vanishes like smoke. Life is a pointless rat race. But how to escape it?

The Buddhists say, "Of the two witnesses, hold the principle one." Meaning: You're the only one who knows your experience. As imperfect as our analyses may be--as clouded as they are by judgments, worries, and fantasies--they're still the best we have. It's great to have loved ones who give us advice, feedback, brownies, alcohol. But we can't expect them to tell us who we are. It's not fair to them and greatly underestimates our own natural intelligence. You are the only one who knows. You are the constant.

They are not concerned with the need to enforce negative consequences on others. They are not worried about making sure that others get what they deserve. As practitioners of lojong, we must be extremely pragmatic. Allowing others to experience the natural consequences of their actions is something that we will have to accept if we are to find peace of mind. Concerning ourselves with the consequences of others’ actions gives rise to a state of mind that is resentful, angry, or wishes negativity on others, and that will only harm us in the end.

According to the Buddhist teachings, human beings have a distorted view of reality that leads them to suffer unnecessarily. We grasp at transitory pleasures. We brood about the past and worry about the future. We continually seek to prop up and defend an egoic self that doesn’t exist. This is stressful—and spiritual life is a process of gradually unraveling our confusion and bringing this stress to an end. According to the Buddhist view, by seeing things as they are, we cease to suffer in the usual ways, and our minds can open to states of well-being that are intrinsic to the nature of consciousness.

It's not life or death, the labyrinth.” “Urn, okay. So what is it?” “Suffering,” she said. “Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?” “What's wrong?” I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me. “Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.

Padampa stayed for a long time in the high valley of Tingri, on the frontier between Tibet and Nepal. Among his innumerable disciples, four were particularly close to his heart. One day, one of these close students arrived in Tingri after a long absence and was so saddened to see how much the master had aged that he asked, “Sublime being, when you leave this world, you yourself, without doubt, will go from bliss to bliss; but what will become of us, the people of Tingri? In whom can we place our trust?” For Padampa, dying would indeed be no more than passing from one Buddha-field to another. But for his disciples, his death would mean never again seeing his face or hearing his voice. “In a year’s time,” he said, “here you will find the corpse of an old Indian hermit.” Their eyes filled with tears, and it was for them that Padampa taught these Hundred Verses of Advice. A year went by, and Padampa began to show signs of illness. When his disciples worried about his health, he told them laconically, “My mind is sick.” To their perplexity, he added, “My mind has blended with the phenomenal world.” He thus demonstrated that all dualistic perception had disappeared from his mind. “I do not know how to describe this type of disease,” he added with a serene sense of humor. “Bodily ills can be treated, but this is incurable.” He then fixed his gaze on the sky and passed away.

Thich Nhat Hanh. a venerated Vietnamese Buddhist, speaks of a solution that is so utterly simple it seems profane. Be, body and mind, exactly where you are. That is, practice a mindfulness that makes you aware of each moment. Think to yourself, "I am breathing" when you're breathing; "I am anxious" when you're anxious; even, "I am washing the dishes" when you're washing the dishes. To be totally into this moment is the goal of mindfulness. Right now is precious and shall never pass this way again. A wave is a precious moment, amplified: a dynamic natural sculpture that shall never pass this way again. Out interaction with waves - to be fully in the moment, without relationship troubles, bills, or worries - is what frees us. Each moment that we are fully with waves is evidence of our ability to live in the here and now. There is nothing else in the universe when you're making that elegant bottom turn. Here. Now. Simple, but so elusive. A wave demands your attention. It is very difficult to be somewhere else, in your mind, when there is such a gorgeous creation of nature moving your way. Just being close to a wave brings us closer to being mindful. To surf them is the training ground for mindfulness. The ocean can seem chaotic, like the world we live in. But somehow we're forced to slice through the noise - to paddle around and through the adversities of life and get directly to the joy. This is what we need for liberation.

Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk who has been called the “world’s calmest man,” has spent a lifetime exploring how to live in kairos, albeit by a different name. He has taught it as mindfulness or maintaining “beginner’s mind.” He has written: “Mindfulness helps you go home to the present. And every time you go there and recognize a condition of happiness that you have, happiness comes.”2 This focus on being in the moment affects the way he does everything. He takes a full hour to drink a cup of tea with the other monks every day. He explains: “Suppose you are drinking a cup of tea. When you hold your cup, you may like to breathe in, to bring your mind back to your body, and you become fully present. And when you are truly there, something else is also there—life, represented by the cup of tea. In that moment you are real, and the cup of tea is real. You are not lost in the past, in the future, in your projects, in your worries. You are free from all of these afflictions. And in that state of being free, you enjoy your tea. That is the moment of happiness, and of peace.” Pay attention through the day for your own kairos moments. Write them down in your journal. Think about what triggered that moment and what brought you out of it. Now that you know what triggers the moment, try to re-create it. Training yourself to tune into kairos will not only enable you to achieve a higher level of contribution but also make you happier.

The central figure of Buddhism is not a god but a human being, Siddhartha Gautama. According to Buddhist tradition, Gautama was heir to a small Himalayan kingdom, sometime around 500 BC. The young prince was deeply affected by the suffering evident all around him. He saw that men and women, children and old people, all suffer not just from occasional calamities such as war and plague, but also from anxiety, frustration and discontent, all of which seem to be an inseparable part of the human condition. People pursue wealth and power, acquire knowledge and possessions, beget sons and daughters, and build houses and palaces. Yet no matter what they achieve, they are never content. Those who live in poverty dream of riches. Those who have a million want two million. Those who have two million want 10 million. Even the rich and famous are rarely satisfied. They too are haunted by ceaseless cares and worries, until sickness, old age and death put a bitter end to them. Everything that one has accumulated vanishes like smoke. Life is a pointless rat race. But how to escape it? At the age of twenty-nine Gautama slipped away from his palace in the middle of the night, leaving behind his family and possessions. He travelled as a homeless vagabond throughout northern India, searching for a way out of suffering. He visited ashrams and sat at the feet of gurus but nothing liberated him entirely – some dissatisfaction always remained. He did not despair. He resolved to investigate suffering on his own until he found a method for complete liberation. He spent six years meditating on the essence, causes and cures for human anguish. In the end he came to the realisation that suffering is not caused by ill fortune, by social injustice, or by divine whims. Rather, suffering is caused by the behaviour patterns of one’s own mind. Gautama’s insight was that no matter what the mind experiences, it usually reacts with craving, and craving always involves dissatisfaction. When the mind experiences something distasteful it craves to be rid of the irritation. When the mind experiences something pleasant, it craves that the pleasure will remain and will intensify. Therefore, the mind is always dissatisfied and restless. This is very clear when we experience unpleasant things, such as pain. As long as the pain continues, we are dissatisfied and do all we can to avoid it. Yet even when we experience pleasant things we are never content. We either fear that the pleasure might disappear, or we hope that it will intensify. People dream for years about finding love but are rarely satisfied when they find it. Some become anxious that their partner will leave; others feel that they have settled cheaply, and could have found someone better. And we all know people who manage to do both.

Her hand just above my knee, the palm flat and soft against my jeans and her index finger making slow, lazy circles that crept toward the inside of my thigh, and with one layer between us, God I wanted her. And lying there, amid the tall, still grass and beneath the star-drunk sky, listening to the just-this-side-of-inaudible sound of her rhythmic breathing and the noisy silence of the bullfrogs, the grasshoppers, the distant cars rushing endlessly on I-65, I thought it might be a fine time to say the Three Little Words. And I steeled myself to say them as I stared up at that starriest night, convinced myself that she felt it, too, that her hand so alive and vivid against my leg was more than playful, and fuck Lara and fuck Jake because I do, Alaska Young, I do love you and what else matters but that and my lips parted to speak and before I could even begin to breathe out the words, she said, “It’s not life or death, the labyrinth.” “Um, okay. So what is it?” “Suffering,” she said. “Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That’s the problem. Bolívar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?” “What’s wrong?” I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me. “Nothing’s wrong. But there’s always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there’s a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It’s the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.” I turned to her. “Oh, so maybe Dr. Hyde’s class isn’t total bullshit.” And both of us lying on our sides, she smiled, our noses almost touching, my unblinking eyes on hers, her face blushing from the wine, and I opened my mouth again but this time not to speak, and she reached up and put a finger to my lips and said, “Shh. Shh. Don’t ruin it.

LOVING-KINDNESS MEDITATION PLEASE PUT THE ATTENTION on the breath for just a moment to become centered. Take a look into your heart and see whether there is any worry, fear, grief, dislike, resentment, rejection, uneasiness, anxiety. If you find any of those, let them float away like the black clouds that they are… Then let warmth and friendship arise in your heart for yourself, realizing that you have to be your own best friend. Surround yourself with loving thoughts for yourself and a feeling of contentment within you… Now surround the person nearest to you in the room with loving thoughts and fill that person with peace and wish for that person’s happiness… Now surround everyone here with loving thoughts… Let the feeling of peacefulness extend to everyone here, and think of yourself as everyone’s good friend… Think of your parents, whether they are still alive or not. Surround them with love. Fill them with peace and gratitude for what they have done for you, be their good friend… Think of those people who are nearest and dearest to you. Embrace them with love, fill them with peace as a gift from you, without expecting them to return it to you… Think of your friends. Open up your heart to them, to show them your friendship, your concern, your love, giving it to them without expecting anything in return… Think of your neighbors who live near you, the people you meet at work, on the street, in the shops, make them all your friends; let them enter into your heart without any reservation. Show them love… Think of anyone for whom you have dislike or with whom you may have had an argument, who has made difficulties for you, whom you do not consider your friend. Think of that person with gratitude, as your teacher, teaching you about your own reactions. Let your heart go out to that person because he or she too has difficulties. Forgive and forget. Make him or her your friend…

Take the common Buddhist practice of “noting,” for example: practitioners learn to label their worries and feelings with a simple tag like “thinking” or “anger,” taking note of them mindfully without engaging them directly. In a 2007 study, the UCLA psychologist Matthew Lieberman showed thirty volunteers fear-provoking images and then asked them to note their feelings (“I feel afraid”) as he monitored their brain activity. Upon seeing the unpleasant images, the subjects’ amygdalae lit up at first, but the labeling process soon sparked activity in the right ventrolateral prefrontal cortex, damping activity in the amygdala. Lieberman believes this mindful noting—the simple act of putting our feelings into words—helps the brain disambiguate our emotions and provide a level of detachment from them. “One of the ways labeling is useful is in talking with other people,” he told me. “If you can get someone to talk about their feelings, it’ll end up being beneficial to them in ways they may not realize.” (Writing about how we feel in a journal serves the same purpose; it helps us sort out emotions, like anxiety, on a deeper subconscious level.)

They say that if you feel you don’t have fifteen minutes to meditate each day, then you need to do an hour. I’m sure it would do me no harm at all, but I’ve never been much of a man for sitting cross-legged, focusing on my breath. Instead, I prefer to whittle. Whittling is a form of practical meditation, which pre-dates the Buddhist and Hindu civilisations. It’s as simple as it gets. To make a tablespoon you take a branch – I prefer green birch, but holly, beech, maple and cherry can work well. Avoid softwoods. Saw it to length, axe it in half, draw out the shape of the spoon you’re aiming for, and start whittling it away with a small carving knife. Your knife, along with your sense of awareness, needs to be sharp. Drift away in your thoughts, worries or daydreams for one moment and, if you’re lucky, you’ll shave off a sliver of wood that may take you twenty minutes to correct; in the final stages you may not be able to correct it at all. If you’re unlucky, you may shave off a sliver of flesh from your finger that may take a week or two to correct itself. Nothing focuses the mind better than blood, or the thought of showing the woman you love an ugly, impractical spoon.

It is the postscript to the war that offers the most revelatory and startling commentary on Dutugemunu's life. Despite his newfound wealth and his peactime luxuries, Dutugemunu wanders gloomily about his palace, too often remembering the carnage he wrought on the battlefield and worried over the deep karmic deficits he has incurred. The elders of the Sangha, the Buddhist clergy, notice this and send a delegation of eight monks to minister to his anguish. 'In truth, venerable sirs,' Dutugemunu tells the monks when they arrive, 'how can there be comfort to me in that I caused the destruction of a great army of myriads of men?' 'There is no hindrance on the way to heaven because of your acts,' one of the monks assures his king. Slaughtering Tamils is no moral mistake. Only the equivalent of one and a half men died at Dutugemunu's hands, according to the Sangha's official arithmetic, because the Tamils 'were heretical and evil and dies as though they were animals. You will make the Buddha's faith shine in many ways. Therefore, Lord of Men, cast away your mental confusion.' Being thus exhorted, the great king was comforted; his kill rate would never disturb him again. He does, however, recall that, once upon a breakfast, he ate a red-pepper pod without consciously setting aside a portion of it for the Sangha, as was the royal practice. 'For this,' he decides, 'penance must be done by me.' A hierarchy of sin springs into being, in which dishonouring the Sangha by denying it a due share of a red-pepper pod counts as a graver transgression, worthier of penance, than massacring thousands of Tamils on the battlefield.

The greatness of America does not lie in its ability to kill. But rather in the hearts and minds of its citizens. It lies in the brilliant ideas and ingenuity of the average man and woman. It lies within the ideas that feed families and opens doors for strangers. The greatness of America will never stand on the backs of those who are broken and hunched over. The greatness of America is found in the warm hug of those who will never be willing to let others starve and die alone. Do not worry about your history. Let go of your cultural identity. It’s spotty at best. Concern yourself with today. The willingness to share is the greatness of America. It will never lie in the green hands that strangle single mothers and desperate fathers. Your wealth will not define this country. America will be defined by love.

Like most humanoids, I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the “monkey mind”—the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl. From the distant past to the unknowable future, my mind swings wildly through time, touching on dozens of ideas a minute, unharnessed and undisciplined. This in itself is not necessarily a problem; the problem is the emotional attachment that goes along with the thinking. Happy thoughts make me happy, but—whoop!—how quickly I swing again into obsessive worry, blowing the mood; and then it’s the remembrance of an angry moment and I start to get hot and pissed off all over again; and then my mind decides it might be a good time to start feeling sorry for itself, and loneliness follows promptly. You are, after all, what you think. Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.

The Chosun Dynasty adopted Confucianism in all walks of civil and personal life at the beginning of the fifteenth century. The nation’s kings were worried about losing power and sought a drastic solution to obliterate the two biggest threats: chaotic class warfare and the increasingly influential Buddhist clerics. Since the system favored those already in power, it was a no-lose proposition for the monarchs. Several

The eighth-century Indian Buddhist scholar Shantideva said, “If you can solve your problem, then what is the need of worrying: If you can’t solve your problem, what is the use of worrying.

I’m not insisting that we be brimming with hope — it’s OK not to be optimistic. Buddhist teachings say, you know, feeling that you have to maintain hope can wear you out, so just be present… The biggest gift you can give is to be absolutely present, and when you’re worrying about whether you’re hopeful or hopeless or pessimistic or optimistic, who cares? The main thing is that you’re showing up, that you’re here, and that you’re finding ever more capacity to love this world — because it will not be healed without that. That [is] what is going to unleash our intelligence and our ingenuity and our solidarity for the healing of our world. […] How is the story going to end? And that seems almost orchestrated to bring forth from us the biggest moral strength, courage, and creativity. I feel because when things are this unstable, a person’s determination, how they choose to invest their energy and their heart and mind can have much more effect on the larger picture than we’re accustomed to think. So I find it a very exciting time to be alive, if somewhat wearing emotionally.

No, emptiness is not nothingness. Emptiness is a type of existence. You must use this existential emptiness to fill yourself.” His words were very enlightening to me. Later, after I thought about it a bit, I realized that it wasn’t Buddhist philosophy at all, but was more akin to some modern physics theories. The abbot also told me he wasn’t going to discuss Buddhism with me. His reason was the same as my high school teacher’s: With my sort, he’d just be wasting his time. That first night, I couldn’t sleep in the tiny room in the temple. I didn’t realize that this refuge from the world would be so uncomfortable. My blanket and sheet both became damp in the mountain fog, and the bed was so hard. In order to make myself sleep, I tried to follow the abbot’s advice and fill myself with “emptiness.” In my mind, the first “emptiness” I created was the infinity of space. There was nothing in it, not even light. But soon I knew that this empty universe could not make me feel peace. Instead, it filled me with a nameless anxiety, like a drowning man wanting to grab on to anything at hand. So I created a sphere in this infinite space for myself: not too big, though possessing mass. My mental state didn’t improve, however. The sphere floated in the middle of “emptiness”—in infinite space, anywhere could be the middle. The universe had nothing that could act on it, and it could act on nothing. It hung there, never moving, never changing, like a perfect interpretation for death. I created a second sphere whose mass was equal to the first one’s. Both had perfectly reflective surfaces. They reflected each other’s images, displaying the only existence in the universe other than itself. But the situation didn’t improve much. If the spheres had no initial movement—that is, if I didn’t push them at first—they would be quickly pulled together by their own gravitational attraction. Then the two spheres would stay together and hang there without moving, a symbol for death. If they did have initial movement and didn’t collide, then they would revolve around each other under the influence of gravity. No matter what the initial conditions, the revolutions would eventually stabilize and become unchanging: the dance of death. I then introduced a third sphere, and to my astonishment, the situation changed completely. Like I said, any geometric figure turns into numbers in the depths of my mind. The sphereless, one-sphere, and two-sphere universes all showed up as a single equation or a few equations, like a few lonesome leaves in late fall. But this third sphere gave “emptiness” life. The three spheres, given initial movements, went through complex, seemingly never-repeating movements. The descriptive equations rained down in a thunderstorm without end. Just like that, I fell asleep. The three spheres continued to dance in my dream, a patternless, never-repeating dance. Yet, in the depths of my mind, the dance did possess a rhythm; it was just that its period of repetition was infinitely long. This mesmerized me. I wanted to describe the whole period, or at least a part of it. The next day I kept on thinking about the three spheres dancing in “emptiness.” My attention had never been so completely engaged. It got to the point where one of the monks asked the abbot whether I was having mental health issues. The abbot laughed and said, “Don’t worry. He has found emptiness.” Yes, I had found emptiness. Now I could be at peace in a bustling city. Even in the midst of a noisy crowd, my heart would be completely tranquil.

Despite worries about idolatry, images have been important in multiple traditions. For Hindus, worship includes darśan (pronounced dar-shan), which means seeing and being seen by a deity at a temple, and followers of other traditions have venerated many gods. To glimpse the astonishing variety of supernatural beings imaged in material form you might tour a museum near you, or search a museum's online collection for keywords like "religion" "god," or "goddess." At the British Museum, for example, you can find images from Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, and Christian traditions, as well as everything from a bronze Egyptian cat representing the goddess Bastet made about 30 BCE to a fifteenth-century Aztec eagle from Central America carved in volcanic rock and associated with the solar god Tonatiuh.

Your circumstances should have no influence on the way you live your life. The way you live your life will affect how you perceive your circumstances.

The female official was full of praises. "The empress dowager is someone who adheres to Buddhist teaching. She is benevolent and kind, Miss does not have to worry." Aiya, the fact that she practiced Buddhist teaching scared me even more! I secretly sighed. The female official was so dim-witted. In order to be able to sit in the esteemed position of an empress dowager, she must have committed a lot of atrocities in her younger days. That was why she had been practicing Buddhist lifestyle, to put her heart at ease.

The psychologist Steven Hayes, who helped develop what is known as acceptance and commitment therapy, takes a quite Buddhist approach to meeting the full spectrum of human emotions. He encourages people to stop mentally suppressing uncomfortable feelings, which leads to psychological inflexibility--a factor that, alongside loneliness, leaves us more vulnerable to stress. In the face of overwhelming global social, political, and economic upheavals and nagging worries about health, safety, financial security, childcare, and so much more, it's both harder and more important than ever to be mentally flexible.

such as “comparing mind,” and “wanting mind.” They had a term, too, for that thing I did where something would bother me and I would immediately project forward to an unpleasant future (e.g., Balding → Unemployment → Flophouse). The Buddhists called this prapañca (pronounced pra-PUN-cha), which roughly translates to “proliferation,” or “the imperialistic tendency of mind.” That captured it beautifully, I thought: something happens, I worry, and that concern instantaneously colonizes my future. My favorite Buddhist catchphrase, however, was the one they used to describe the churning of the ego: “monkey mind.” I’ve always been a sucker for animal metaphors, and I thought this one was perfect. Our minds are like furry little gibbons: always agitated, never at rest.

I decided to stop worrying about what "might happen," and concentrate on what "was happening." What a magical moment of Buddhist insight!

In a nutshell, Buddhists understand that all negative memories are associated with problems from the past, even if only a few seconds into the past, and they understand that all negative worries are associated with problems of the future, even if only a few seconds into the future. So, by taking note of what’s occurring right now, in real time, people can escape from negative memories and worries.

Buddhists believe that we should live in the present moment, and the past is nothing but a set of interpretations and memories. We have not yet entered the future, and so worrying and obsessing that things should turn out a certain way will only lead to unnecessary suffering. Next up are some examples from everyday life to help you put it into context.

Hey,” Arethusa said from my right, just past Sally. “What’s wrong with pacifists? Look at Buddhists: they’re nice people.” I gave her my best smile, and got a much better one in trade. Arethusa can smile like a long-distance kiss. I poured her two plastic cups of peach juice from the flask on my bedside table. Lady Sally started to adjust her chair so she could see us both… then left it as it was and spoke past me, to Arethusa’s other body, which opened its eyes politely. “They’re different,” Lady Sally conceded. “They’re honest pacifists. You don’t have to worry about them fighting dirty, because they never fight: they don’t have Jihads or Crusades. The strongest weapon they use is reason; the strongest protest they allow themselves is suicide, and they’re always careful not to let the flames spread. Pacifism of that sort is no more objectionable than belief in astrology or membership in the Flat Earth Society. I was speaking of the kind of pacifists we grew like hothouse flowers in this country fifteen or twenty years ago, and still have all too many of. Pacifist terrorists. The kind who want all wars everywhere to cease and everyone to live in peace… and are prepared to keep blowing up wealthier and less enlightened fellow citizens until that day comes. There’s nothing wrong with wanting wars to stop—but the moment a pacifist uses any weapon but calm speech, he’s a hypocrite. If he’s willing to kill, he’s a psychotic. The only good thing about them as opponents is that it isn’t murder to kill one.

According to Buddhist understanding, being born human results from virtuous actions in our past lives. Take a moment to think about how rare it is in today’s world to work for the welfare of others, or to practice patience in the face of aggression, or to give money or food during tough economic times. When compared with all the actions motivated by self-interest and aggression, those that arise from altruism and sacrifice are few and far between. This relates to karma, which is the third thought that turns the mind toward dharma. We will discuss this in detail later. For the moment, just appreciate that you were born in this rare form and that this did not happen by chance. Appreciate that much, and don’t worry about anything else.

We rarely see that “past” and “future” are happening right now. All that there is, is an unfolding of present moments. We have created these concepts to serve a useful purpose, but by taking the ideas to be the reality, by not understanding that they are merely the product of our own thought processes, we find ourselves burdened by worries and regrets about the past and anxieties of anticipation about what has not yet happened.

Many of us have become refugees,” the Dalai Lama tried to explain, “and there are a lot of difficulties in my own country. When I look only at that,” he said, cupping his hands into a small circle, “then I worry.” He widened his hands, breaking the circle open. “But when I look at the world, there are a lot of problems, even within the People’s Republic of China. For example, the Hui Muslim community in China has a lot of problems and suffering. And then outside China, there are many more problems and more suffering. When we see these things, we realize that not only do we suffer, but so do many of our human brothers and sisters. So when we look at the same event from a wider perspective, we will reduce the worrying and our own suffering.” I was struck by the simplicity and profundity of what the Dalai Lama was saying. This was far from “don’t worry, be happy,” as the popular Bobby McFerrin song says. This was not a denial of pain and suffering, but a shift in perspective—from oneself and toward others, from anguish to compassion—seeing that others are suffering as well. The remarkable thing about what the Dalai Lama was describing is that as we recognize others’ suffering and realize that we are not alone, our pain is lessened. Often we hear about another’s tragedy, and it makes us feel better about our own situation. This is quite different from what the Dalai Lama was doing. He was not contrasting his situation with others, but uniting his situation with others, enlarging his identity and seeing that he and the Tibetan people were not alone in their suffering. This recognition that we are all connected—whether Tibetan Buddhists or Hui Muslims—is the birth of empathy and compassion. I

Shad Darshan And finally, Buddhism. Buddha says everything is going to end. Do not worry about disease, because disease is going to end. H ave patience. Buddhist philosophy says there is suffering and a simple way to go beyond suffering is to have patience, to give time for samprapti to eradicate itself. That is what Buddhism has given to Ayurveda.

The next time you experience suffering or distress, instead of saying, “Life’s not fair” or, “Why is this happening to me?” tell yourself, “I was aware that this could happen. I’m not alone. Others are also experiencing this same thing.” Once you know that suffering is an unavoidable part of the experience, you can embrace the fact that it will happen at some point, worry less about it, and be prepared to recover more quickly when it comes.

Suffering, if it is accepted together, borne together, is joy.

All sentient beings, without exception, have Buddha nature.” It means that we all have the capacity for the inherent purity and perfection of the mind that is Buddha nature.

Ajahn Chah, the Thai Forest monk and teacher, asked his students one day when they passed a big boulder, “Do you think that boulder is heavy?” His students said, “Yes, it’s extremely heavy.” Then Ajahn Chah said, “Only if you try to pick it up!” So, we can avoid unnecessarily picking up boulders when we let go of fighting the challenges in our lives. If we can change something, we should do it, without complaining, judging, or blaming. But if we can’t do anything to change it, we can learn to accept it. Shantideva, the eighth-century Indian Buddhist monk and scholar, says it this way: “Why worry if you can do something about it? And why worry if you cannot do anything about it?

There’s a growing sophistication in the neurosciences. We do not simply speak of the brain; now we can study the relationships of many structures, areas, and dimensions of the brain and its activity. In parallel to that, what we need in this conversation is a growing sophistication relative to meditation. I want to underscore that there is no such thing as “meditation.” There are many distinct meditative mental trainings. That’s a better phrase, because there is no single meditative state. There are dozens of trainings of mindfulness—mindfulness of body; of physical elements; of senses; of feelings, thoughts, identity, and relationships—and trainings of directed and undirected mindfulness. There are hundreds of forms of concentration practices: visualizations, mantras, development of positive emotions, contemplations, and so forth. For our science to develop, it has to become very clear which particular mental training we’re studying, and whether we are studying the states it produces or the long-term traits. In Buddhist psychology, mental health is simply defined as a decrease of unhealthy states of mind and an increase of healthy states of mind. The Abhidharma elucidates fifty-two mental states. Some are unhealthy qualities, including hatred, grasping, jealousy, confusion, rigidity, addiction, and worry. On the other side are qualities that define human health, among which mindfulness is key and which include flexibility, clarity, love, fearlessness, and ease. The Buddhist psychological training, or treatment, if you will, shifts us from what is suboptimal—the entanglement in confusion, addiction, rigidity, and so forth—toward what is normal, with a greater increase of healthy states and, finally, to extraordinary mental health, well-being, and inner freedom. What we need to do is to study the specific ways of training for each of these different capacities, and how human beings can help one another to train in them. In addition to inner training, another of the principles of Buddhist psychology is the use of collective practices that are communicated from one being to another in a supportive web of relationship. My friend, the writer Anne Lamott, once said to me, “My mind is like a bad neighborhood. I try not to go there alone.” Mental health is not possible in isolation. Connection with sangha, or community, and the collective aspects of human transformation is part of what makes mental health possible and sustainable.

The basic Buddhist ( and quintessentially Japanese ) idea that the person closest to a subject can never really see it. Sometimes it is the person passing through and at a remove who has the clearest view. This is the heady sensation that most travelers relish, the freedom that comes from feeling unaccounted for and unaccountable in a foreign country. Life is order and order emanates from an authority figure. In a collective, communitarian culture, order is essential. A one-hour bath has the same physiological effect as four hours of sleep. One thing I've learned to love about Japan is its freedom from the classic Western notion that a person is a stable, unchanging, continuous entity, some essential self. In Japan, behavior and even personality depend on context. In most contexts, it's impolite to reveal your emotions in Japan, not because emotion is bad but because emotions matter. It is not right to burden someone else with your feelings, especially with your sorrow. To tell your problems is to demand attention. One of the deepest fears of the Japanese is the fear of being identified as the Other, outside the group. Japanese culture is metonymic by design - an association stands for the real thing, a part for the whole. Like most forms of nostalgia, it pays homage to a place we never really knew. Such popular Japanese psychotherapies as Naikan and Morita emphasize meditation, gratitude and humility. In Morita therapy feelings are considered less significant than will. Indeed, one can will a change in behavior regardless of one's feelings. Both Naikan and Morita are based on the Buddhist principle that selflessness is the goal one should strive for. Traditionally in Japan one does not show a visitor one's home. That would be presumptuous and prideful, as well as an invasion of one's privacy. To have so much and to worry, to complain, is to invite punishment from the kami, the ever-watchful Japanese gods.

You must try your best on the work that you have before you. Doing so will naturally bring about good connections. Other people will take notice of you if you’re working conscientiously on a project that might be undervalued or neglected.

If you set your mind to accept that we have only now, that we have only here, you may learn a trick to spiritual improvement that will enable you to get serious about your work and about enjoying life.

as long as you are satisfied, you will be able to accept the outcome with serenity, no matter what it is. You’ll be able to maintain a state of contentment, no matter which winds blow.

If you bemoan the fact that your present self is nothing more than a chipped bowl (or a dead-end job or  .  .  .), that will only magnify your unhappiness. Even a chipped bowl can be a vessel for delicious soup to warm someone’s soul.

Every object that brings us pleasure can also bring us suffering and anxiety. The more we value an object, the more we worry that it will be broken or taken from us. That is the nature of our mind and of our relationship with objects.

Be good to everyone who becomes attached to us; cherish every friend who is by our side; 카톡►ppt33◄ 〓 라인►pxp32◄ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 네노마정판매,네노마정파는곳,네노마정구입방법,네노마정구매방법,네노마정구입사이트,네노마정구매사이트,네노마정판매사이트,네노마정약효 사정지연제판매,조루제판매,비맥스판매,비그알엑스판매,비아그라판매,시알리스판매,레비트라판매 love everyone who walks into our life.It must be fate to get acquainted in a huge crowd of people... I feel, the love that Osho talks about, maybe is a kind of pure love beyond the mundane world, which is full of divinity and caritas, and overflows with Buddhist allegorical words and gestures, but, it seems that I cannot see through its true meaning forever... Maybe, I do not just “absorb” your love; but because the love overpowers me and I am unable to dispute and refuse it... I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was strained and the sofa faded. I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth. I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed. I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage. I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains. I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life. I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding patter if I were not there for the day. I would never have bought anything just because it was practical，would not show soil or was guaranteed to last a life time. There would have been more“I love you”……more“I‘m sorry”……but mostly，given another shots at life，I would seize every minute……look at it and really see it……live it……and never give it back.

Through the Woods Imagine you’re going on a hike through the woods. You’re enjoying the sights and sounds, maybe stopping occasionally to admire a bit of birdsong or take a picture of a particularly lovely flower. Then, suddenly, as you’re strolling serenely along, a bear jumps out of the bushes directly at you, roaring loudly. You’re probably screaming in fear for your very life, trying desperately to think of a way to save yourself, bitterly regretting the decision to go on this hike, wondering what will happen to your children. “Why me?” you may think. “Why this?” But then, let’s say the bear stands up and takes off its head. It isn’t really a bear; it‘s just a guy in a bear costume trying to scare hikers. Now imagine taking that hike again, but this time, before you go, I warn you that someone is hiding along the path, dressed in a bear costume and jumping out to scare people. Now that you know, you’ll be on the lookout. Of course, the hike is long, and at times you forget. The moment the guy in the bear costume jumps out to scare you, you’ll still be startled. You might even jump or scream. But you won’t be completely terrorized, and you’ll recover from the shock more quickly, because you were forewarned and had some time to accept the idea that someone was going to jump out at you. You’ll say to yourself, “I knew this was going to happen at some point. It’s happened to lots of other hikers.” This is essentially what Buddhism teaches us about suffering. It’s there, and it’s scary, and at some point it’s going to jump out and startle you, but it doesn’t have to utterly terrify you. Try this: The next time you experience suffering or distress, instead of saying, “Life’s not fair” or, “Why is this happening to me?” tell yourself, “I was aware that this could happen. I’m not alone. Others are also experiencing this same thing.” Once you know that suffering is an unavoidable part of the experience, you can embrace the fact that it will happen at some point, worry less about it, and be prepared to recover more quickly when it comes.

Joy overcomes worry because it produces confidence, optimism, and the certainty one can handle whatever challenges life may present.

Don't spend your life worrying about what you are missing out on. Not to be Buddhist about it- okay, to be a little Buddhist about it- life isn't about being pleased with what you are doing, but about what you are being.

Driving a hearse didn’t worry him, Robin explained (although nobody had asked him to), because being a Buddhist he was phlegmatic about death, ‘Because I know I’ll come back.’ ‘What as?’ Terri asked. ‘A protozoa?’ ‘I think you’ll find,’ Robin said, ‘that protozoa is a plural form, it would have to be protozoon.’ Perhaps Robin was on such a tedious karmic journey that he would just come back as himself. I’m sure it was no coincidence that his name was almost an anagram of ‘boring’. ‘Reincarnation,

According to existential psychotherapist Irvin Yalom: ‘Death … itches all the time; it is always with us, scratching at some inner door, whirring softly, barely audibly, just under the membrane of consciousness. Hidden and disguised, leaking out in a variety of symptoms, it is the wellspring of many of our worries, stresses, and conflicts’.

Buddhists believe that we should live in the present moment, and the past is nothing but a set of interpretations and memories. We have not yet entered the future, and so worrying and obsessing that things should turn out a certain way will only lead to unnecessary suffering.

Be good to everyone who becomes attached to us; cherish every friend who is by our side; 바오메이판매,바오메이파는곳,바오메이구매,바오메이구입,바오메이팝니다,바오메이구입방법,바오메이구매방법,바오메이지속시간,바오메이약효 love everyone who walks into our life.It must be fate to get acquainted in a huge crowd of people... 발기부족으로 삽입시 조루증상 그리고 여성분 오르가즘늦기지 못한다 또한 페니션이 작다고 느끼는분들 이쪽으로 보세요 팔팔정,구구정,비닉스,센트립,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스 등 아주 많은 좋은제품들 취급하고 단골님 모시고 있는곳입니다.원하실경우 언제든 연락주세요 I feel, the love that Osho talks about, maybe is a kind of pure love beyond the mundane world, which is full of divinity and caritas, and overflows with Buddhist allegorical words and gestures, but, it seems that I cannot see through its true meaning forever... Maybe, I do not just “absorb” your love; but because the love overpowers me and I am unable to dispute and refuse it... I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was strained and the sofa faded. I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth. I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed. I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage. I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains. I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life. I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding patter if I were not there for the day. I would never have bought anything just because it was practical，would not show soil or was guaranteed to last a life time. There would have been more“I love you”……more“I‘m sorry”……but mostly，given another shots at life，I would seize every minute……look at it and really see it……live it……and never give it back.

There is a saying in Korea: “Lengthy deliberation often leads to a terrible decision.” If you think and worry too much before doing something, “your boat goes to the mountain instead of the ocean.” Now and then it is necessary to trust your intuition and push ahead in the direction you feel is appropriate.

Many people think that meditation simply means sitting and closing your eyes,” the Dalai Lama continued, closing his eyes and taking a stiff posture. “That kind of meditation even my cat can do. He sits there very calmly purring. If a rat comes by, it has nothing to worry about. We Tibetans often recite mantras so much, like Om Mani Padme Hum, a mantra invoking the name of the Buddha of Compassion, that we forget to really investigate the root causes of our suffering. Maybe my purring cat is actually reciting Om Mani Padme Hum.” The Dalai Lama laughed hard at the thought of his devout Tibetan Buddhist cat.

It seems that it is the shameless, the boastful, the sly, the abusive, the insolent and the idle who have it easy in this life; and that it is the meek, sensible, and selfless, those who are constantly looking for virtue, who find things difficult. But this only seems to be the case. The first kind of people are always worried, the second always at peace with themselves. Buddhist wisdom

philosopher Joanna Macy has put it: It’s okay not to be optimistic. Buddhist teachings say feeling that you have to maintain hope can wear you out. So just be present…And when you’re worrying about whether you’re hopeful or hopeless or pessimistic or optimistic, who cares? The main thing is that you’re showing up, that you’re here, and that you’re finding ever more capacity to love this world because it will not be healed without that.

In Buddhist psychology this part of our mind is called store consciousness. It has the function of storing our memories and all the various mind states we can experience in latent, sleeping form. (I will share more about this in Chapter 5.) For example, maybe you’ve experienced trying to solve a problem or find an answer to something that perplexes you. You think hard and circle round and round in your mind, but you feel you don’t get anywhere. Then you let the question go, and suddenly when you least expect it, inspiration or helpful ideas come to you in a time of rest, and you just know what to do. That is store consciousness operating. It is working on the problem for you while your day-to-day consciousness rests. Store consciousness works in a very natural and easeful way and is much more efficient than our thinking mind. When wisdom arises from store consciousness, it feels right in the body and we no longer have doubts. But waiting for the answer to arise can be challenging at times because we may really want to know the answer. We may find ourselves feeling deeply insecure and fearful if we don’t know what to do, which path to choose. We worry we will make the wrong choice and we catastrophize about what will happen if we take this or that direction. It’s hard to find our way if we continue to feed this worry and fear. We can recognize that we are not helping the situation and stop. Returning to this moment, anchoring ourselves in our body, we will find the solidity of the home inside of us, which is capable of helping us find our way, if only we let it, and if we can let go of trying to figure out the future in our heads.

If a Problem can be solved, No use of worrying about it. If cant be solved worrying is no good. So Stop worrying

If a problem can be solved, No use of worrying about it. If can't be solved, worrying is no good. So STOP worrying,

DON’T WASTE TIME WORRYING ABOUT THINGS YOU CANNOT CONTROL.

Does this mean that the person who is dead to self is without feeling? Does Christ commend the famous "apathy" of the Stoic or the Buddhist elimination of desire? Far from it. The issue is not just feeling or desire, but right feeling or desire, or being controlled by feeling and desire. Apprentices of Jesus will be deeply disturbed about many things and will passionately desire many things, but they will be largely indifferent to the fulfillment of their own desires as such. Merely getting their way has no significance for them, does not disturb them. They know that "God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). They do not have to look out for themselves because God - and not they - is in charge of their lives. They appropriately look after things that concern them, but they do not worry about outcomes that merely affect adversely their own desires and feelings. They are free to focus their efforts on the service of God and others and the furthering of good generally, and to be as passionate about such things as may be appropriate to such efforts.

You need to make sure you always have a reserve of willpower available for the on-the-fly decision making and controlling your reactions. If you run your willpower tank too low, you’ll end up making poor choices or exploding at people. The following are some ways of making more willpower available to you: --Reduce the number of tasks you attempt to get done each day to a very small number. Always identify what your most important task is, and make sure you get that single task done. You can group together your trivial tasks, like replying to emails or paying bills online, and count those as just one item. --Refresh your available willpower by doing tasks slowly. My friend Toni Bernhard, author of How to Wake Up: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide to Navigating Joy and Sorrow, recommends doing a task 25% slower than your usual speed. I’m not saying you need to do this all the time, just when you feel scattered or overwhelmed. Slowing down in this way is considered a form of mindfulness practice. --Another way to refresh your willpower is by taking some slow breaths or doing any of the mindfulness practices from Chapter 5. Think of using mindfulness as running a cleanup on background processes that haven’t shut down correctly. By using mindfulness to do a cognitive cleanup, you’re not leaking mental energy to background worries and rumination. --Reduce decision making. For many people, especially those in management positions or raising kids, life involves constant decision making. Decision making leeches willpower. Find whatever ways you can to reduce decision making without it feeling like a sacrifice. Set up routines (like which meals you cook on particular nights of the week) that prevent you from needing to remake the same decisions over and over. Alternatively, outsource decision making to someone else whenever possible. Let other people make decisions to take them off your plate. --Reduce excess sensory stimulation. For example, close the door or put on some dorky giant headphones to block out noise. This will mean your mental processing power isn’t getting used up by having to filter out excess stimulation. This tip is especially important if you are a highly sensitive person.