Arhats Pratyekabuddhas and Bodhisattvas – Hagiography

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I have a pet theory that the hagiography of all religions exaggerates and glosses. From knowledge of human behaviour and Chinese whispers, things passed down get embellished so as to confer kudos on the teller, the raconteur. Rarely are things made greyer and more boring. This means that taking things with a pinch of salt might offer some balance.

To the faithful there is nothing quite like a miracle to prove truth and religious figures are given, in narrative, super-human abilities and qualities. These days they would be told with enhanced computer CGI and special effects on a big budget. Bigging up martyrs and buddhas is good PR for the various churches. Who in the past had control of the proles as a raison d’être. The Sacerdotes have always had ritual magic and theatre in their playbook. Simplifying the message to an all fire-consuming hell and blissful pearly-gated paradise could be writ large on the side of big red double decker “Brexit” bus. Nobody could come back to provide a TripAdvisor rating for either holiday destination.

What if all that exaggeration has gotten completely out of hand?

Christianity, depending on flavour has a host of saints. Jesus’ crew, his disciples, are sanctified and portrayed. That depiction has taken place over two millennia. They are represented as holy. When if you think about it, they were learners, disciples, in the act of being taught and trained. Similarly, Buddha’s sixteen {18} arhats are seen as holy, saintly. When they were hanging out listening to Buddha and learning his ideas. It is said they achieved enlightenment. Lessening of burden is enlightenment, full liberation may not be the same as the partial enlightenment.

People pray to the saints and the arhats.

The canon’s of both Buddhism and Christianity were/are written by human beings and therefore by logic are coloured with bias and wishful thinking. There may well be some idealising.

Mahayana promotes the bodhisattva ideal where enlightened or near enlightened beings come back to teach out of the kindness of their hearts for the benefit of all sentient beings. This is seen by some as more worthy. Whereas the haughty arhats are too arrogant to teach, the pratyekabuddhas who do it all by themselves are not sufficiently omniscient to teach. They leave no legacy. They shun the sangha; they are not one of the gang. They are too arrogant, snobby, aloof, to be with normal people. The arhats, perhaps at one with the awesome and austere nature of reality and universe, lack the cosy human compassion are biased against and not as “nice” and the smiling friendly bodhisattva. They cannot be arsed to come back time and time again, the bastards.

People who do not know what these states of consciousness are like, make judgments thereupon. This {scholarly?} interpretation gets incorporated into the ongoing cannon, the creed, the gospel. People like definitions and will roll out comparison between, all knowing, earning bragging rights about something which they do not know. One could look it up in “Buddhism for Dummies”.

Religious thinking likes its “signs”. A rainbow appearing when someone achieves Parinirvana.

What if all these processes are entirely natural, relatively low key and nothing to shout about?

The hagiography diverges from reality…what is natural becomes miraculous. Which may inhibit application. The idea of a miracle is out of reach; the idea of continuous improvement and stepwise attainment is less daunting. Toning it down might increase genuine uptake of practice.,

Status pissing contests are a common human practice and are to be found in religion and science. People like to bullshit each other and pretend to know shed loads.

I have a pet theory that the hagiography of all religions exaggerates and glosses.

Karma and End of Life

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In my opinion it is very unwise to discount the effects of karma both as an individual, as a group or as a nation. Karma suggests that behavioural causes have inevitable effects. Our actions create our future. There are consequences.

Of course, there is no compelling reason why you should pay heed to my opinion. I am not some big cheese new-age book-selling guru, nor have I been recommended by hosts of followers {paid or otherwise}. I am not famous and I have no introduction written by a senior religious figure, a lama with a throne. My provenance if unknown and/or dodgy.  I am a retired person living in the countryside without cult or church. Perhaps a lone eccentric in a quiet by-way of a vast internet.

In the philosophy of karma, what you sow you reap.

It is not a great step to imagine that harvest comes towards the end of life. That harvest might be of a dual kind, material financial to retire on and spiritual karmic to set up the next evolutionary step, the next life. By the time you reach the autumn of life one might speculate that one has learned good from bad. One may have acquired a modicum of wisdom and life experience. In the light of that knowledge what you do towards end of life is more important because you can no longer plead inexperience or ignorance. As knowledge increases so does karmic import, karmic impact. You know better. You may not behave consistently with this knowledge.

The time in and around your {natural} death is the harvest of karma from this life and the others which precede. One might die well or cling on to the starboard bow with all your energy, afraid of letting go of the ship of life. In order to die “well” it is perhaps wise to pay off any residual karmic debt {if possible} before passing. This is because karmic debt accrues interest. One might wish an enabling birth subsequent.

But if you are of the “phew I got away with it” mentality under no circumstances, might you feel it necessary to settle accounts. You might take your smugness to the crematorium. You may remain stubbornly convinced, entitled even. As the crem gas burners light, you may look on and still think, “I told you so, there is no life after death!”

Even if you do not believe in karma, in the philosophy of karma, your words, deeds and bile add up. Karmically, you deny karma until such time as karma makes itself irrevocably obvious to you. You can struggle but karma is “bigger” than any petty human. Sooner or later “you” learn and your dogmatic adamant insistence to the contrary is shown to be flawed and inaccurate. This can come as quite a shock!!

For example, if you had unresolved karma with me, once divested of your stubborn personality vehicle, we might meet on the cusp of the dream, in the in between of worlds after physical plane death. There you cannot pretend not to have seen me or make an excuse because you are busy. I, still living, would not be surprised to see you but sure as hell you might be. What might you say?

At one time I briefly considered working with end of life care. But when I thought about it, I might go down like a lead balloon with friends and family.

From a Buddhist perspective having a “good” death gains karmic merit, it is a stepping stone, to the other shore of liberation. Being awake and conscious at withdrawal eases the transfer of emotive unpleasantness and thereby lessens the ongoing karmic burden. Panic and fear are not helpful; resistance is ultimately futile. Because of modern medicine I have had six more years. In the old days I would have died when I broke my femur.

I have a pet theory that modern medicine has complicated the workings of karma. That makes sense because karma too must evolve. Human choices are more nuanced than they once were. The temptation to strive to have life on you own terms and to try to dictate to the universe is strong.

In my dreams I have foreseen meetings {after their death} with a number of individuals with whom I was once acquainted. To my knowledge most of them still breathe earth air. If my dreams are predictive, we shall meet again in a “place” with which I am the more familiar.

What I am hinting here is that karma does not cease on “dying” but persists into the in-between experience on going. The slate is not wiped clean. How you live your life at and towards the end matters.

As I suggested at the beginning it is unwise to discount the notion of karma.

Memories – Alzheimer’s – Still Alice

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The other night we watched a film “Still Alice” the purpose of which was to get the viewers to empathise with the Columbia University professor Alice who develops early onset Alzheimer’s disease. It portrayed the impact on her and her family as she lost cognitive function and recall. There was no CGI, sex or violence in the film and it was engaging, well written and well-acted. A nice change from the glitzy, violent and insubstantial. It was a bit sentimental drawing on the American idealism of family and career. It showed how when someone devotes all life to career it can be taken away. Where value is placed can be fragile.

It is pretty easy to prematurely self-diagnose Alzheimer’s as one moves towards dotage. In our case the need for linguistic engagement outside of our proximal relationship is minimal. One could say that I am out of practice talking shite.

Modern psychology is very normative in its approach and there are a series of behavioural norms which, if there is divergence from, evokes a label of illness or syndrome. I don’t know where the set of societal norms are garnered from, what the statistical evidence is or whether the ultimate arbiter of “they” decrees what is normal. I don’t know who drew up and populated the Venn diagrams.

In the film there was mention of “memory makes us who we are”, there was thumbing of family photo albums and old holiday film footage was played in the narrative.

Human perception is never 100% objective and any recall of past events is subject to selective perception and selective memory. Humans are biased. We have selective recall. The memories, the bedrock upon which we build our re-collection of life are not entirely sound. In the film the protagonist identified as a clever university professor. That identity was removed when she started to lecture poorly. Her entire personal legend fell into question. The film suggested she suffered during this process, trying to cling on to her faculties and her legend.

A saccharin rose-tinted view of the past is perhaps the tearful key to enjoy the twilight years according to many. Looking back wistfully sustains as incapacity and incontinence sets in. Our past “glories” provide a nice warm feeling which is not a leaking catheter. The ability to live partially in the past is seen good as the quantity of future available fades.

I am certain that how I hold memories of the past differs from many because I have recapitulated my life numerous times and worked hard at erasing my personal history {not in a browser}. I’ll speculate that were a psychologist to investigate my recall of life memory they might note a difference to norm.

I am not beholden to past nor do I cling on to it. Nevertheless, it has a causal relationship in how I interact in the now. I have a decent scientific training and could, if pushed, sustain a scientific conversation or persona.

One could argue that I have forgotten who or what I once was and have morphed into an anti-social bumpkin. Look how far he has sunken! What a fall from intellectual grace! How sad, what a shame!

But that would be facile.

This addiction to creating “memories” or “Insta-stories” is counterproductive to the pursuit of liberation. The concretising enhances the urge for rebirth. The constant re-telling of “family means everything” is often a lie and something we are encouraged to provide in our PR stories for public consumption. There is a big illusion concerning “family”. To err from ideal is seen as bad even when the ideal itself is an illusory construct. We are complicit in the propagation and recounting of this illusion.

This means that although I can appear approximately normal, the underlying psyche in my case differs markedly in that a shared basis is not there. I do not think the way I am “supposed” to.

About a decade ago I had cause to re-learn university level physical chemistry. It took a while. I had big difficulty because some of the so-called proofs which I once accepted without question no longer seemed adequate to me. They seemed short-cut. Yet thousands of undergraduates receive degrees every year by correctly reproducing them and applying them mathematically to exercises generated by faculty. I have no doubt in the physical applicability of much science, because we can build rockets that work. I am not entirely convinced that the methodology is as perfect as we imagine and profess. There may be some element of kidding of self along the way.

Maybe I have lost my science ability, my science faculties.

The film touched briefly on the notion of identity, or self, and hence self-perception. Something which Alzheimer’s gradually erases, if I understand correctly. In some ways my notions of self are gone already even though I maintain some cognitive function and have near zero resident social-event memory. There is nothing which I cling to and not very much which keeps me here, incarnate, on earth.

This notion of self, seen as good, is also behind war and conflict. The gist of the film was that maintaining the sense of self and still being the same person underneath despite all the loss of function and memory was a good thing. I am still…despite…

I am not sure that it is, from the point of view of liberation. Karmically if you place a lot of stock in intellect and its application, then to have it withdrawn is a major challenge. One which could set you up well for the next life. Sometimes our worst fears manifest and that is not necessarily a bad thing. Our challenges at end of life can be the most profound and the most enabling for our onward evolution.

In the end, for all of us, our current notion of self must dissolve and pass whether quickly or otherwise.

Self is impermanent.

Getting Psyched Up for Hip Replacement

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It seems that the bulk of the next year will encompass bilateral hip replacement surgery. That is with one big proviso, namely that someone is kindly willing to go ahead with the knife and the drill. I have already had pseudo-emergency hip surgery to mend a fracture in the neck and ball of my left femur. I had to wait three days morphed out of my head for the operation. There was an innate knowing that each day I waited the outcomes would be worse. To get prepped for operation in the morning and then to be told it is not going ahead is not the greatest of tidings to hear. In September 2019 I started my 55th year post-op with a titanium prothesis. I was awake during the operation which felt that someone was at my skeleton with an industrial grade civil engineering jack-hammer. Your whole skeleton resonates. I have an inkling and would prefer a general anaesthetic next time.

As can be seen from my April X-rays the situation with my left hip is complex.

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There has been a bony growth {blue arrow} over the top of the implant. This will need to be chiselled off to enable the pin to be unscrewed.

We could be talking three operations. One to remove the metallic pin, one to fit the right hip and one to fit the left hip. It will be up to the surgeon to decide what to do. You can see from the X-ray images that I am bone on bone, so to speak, on both sides. My range of movement is very limited. My arthritis is classified as severe or to use a lovely turn of phrase, end stage.

In my mind it is not clear how easy or otherwise it will be to have a successful complete hip replacement on the left hand side. The right hand side seems more common or garden.

At the time of the accident, a fall from standing in the kitchen, I was not checked for any bone weakness such as osteoporosis. There was a lot going on. The age at which the major fracture occurred for a male was young given a relatively minor trauma. The GP has kindly prescribed a bone density scan just to check if there are any bone strength anomalies we need to consider. If there is weakness there are some further blood tests including testosterone and calcium levels etc. A weakened bone has implications for hip replacement.

If you search for hip replacement personal stories on Dr Google you are confronted with masses of marketing and PR from various outfits offering butchery and repair. They are nearly always upbeat and scant in detail on the downsides. There must be some horror stories out there but these are not easily found. Why not? Without being overly macabre I would like to read some to get more balance. They have been somehow redacted. I get it that in most cases the surgery is transformative. I am always a little wary of one-sided reporting. It irks and poses the question.

I have no idea as to how well I tolerate pain compared to most. My speculation is that I can tolerate and endure better than average. Thus, my arthritis has progressed this far without me whinging and moaning too much. At the moment the pain levels are boring and wearing. They do grind you down a bit just as the joints grind away. Movement can feel like a pepper mill at the end of the day or a long walk. The 3 AM pain and subsequent medication is a tad intrusive. We have a supply of mid-to-high level analgesia in the pantry {given to the wife} which I have not touched yet. The possibility of a “trainspotting” red carpet moment exists.

I do not imagine myself doing a pogo to the Sex Pistols post op. It remains to be seen to what extent movement returns and pain diminishes. If you read the glossy bigged-up articles and watch the videos my career at the Bolshoi can restart, soon enough.

I have enough upper body strength to use a Zimmer frame with ease whilst sporting my Crips gang colours. This strength is on the one hand enabling and on the other limits my need to do recovery leg exercises. A mixed blessing.

We will need to pay for a gardener to do the hard labour I once did. It looks like we will stay here for the next year. To attempt to move house in the middle of getting sliced would be lunacy.

On the one hand there could be enhanced movement and a “new life” or at least a better few years. More likely the improvement will not be step function but an obvious improvement.

I know that I can hack lying around post-op with sexy compression stockings and daily anti-clotting injections. I will lose weight because muscle mass will go. I will not eat much at the hospital. The biggest worry would be a Myeloma relapse for the wife. That would make things very tricky. Two ill and disabled people in the same house. We already have a well-used loyalty card at the local hospitals. We could write a “Michelin” guide to French health services.

I don’t really have fear, yet. I have had general aesthetics near half a dozen times. In a weird way I quite enjoy the coming to process.

Again, the district nurses are likely to be regular visitors chez nous.

Yup it looks like close on a year for two {three} operations and the recoveries therefrom.

Life will kind of be on hold…

Revisiting the “Thai” Incarnation – Ong Bak

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I mentioned earlier in the blog that around 2003 I started having visions of myself as Buddhist priest / monk with om mane padme hum tattooed on my forearms in Sanskrit. This tattooing suggested the Sak Yant of Thai, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia / Burma, I could not see the colour of the robes in those visions but was certain that the calligraphy was not Tibetan.

More recently I had an “Indochina” dream, a link is below.

One could say that the Buddhist Muay Thai dream resulted from me watching Tony Jaa in the early Ong Bak films. But I don’t think so.

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As a regular user of Watkins books where one can find much on “spirituality” I frequented Cecil Court near Trafalgar Square, London. There was an artefact shop opposite. There I purchased this Buddha / Avalokiteśvara. He is sitting in our hallway to this day.

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At the time I was talking with a chemistry student during her final year research project on statute patinas joint with The Royal College of Art. The shop has moved probably to Camden. I had a long conversation with proprietor about how the village from which he sourced the statuettes used special techniques to create ancient looking patinas.

Many years later following on from a dream I visited a Thai Forest Buddhist centre, Cittaviveka, also known as Chithurst Buddhist Monastery. This was not far from where we lived in the UK.

When I had the “Thai” dream in 2023 I was genuinely quite surprised because I had mentally ruled out Indochina. But today that notion has again resurfaced. The hair-do on the statute is very Indochina – style. I have said “Thai” but it could be elsewhere on the peninsula.

The Buddhist thread is linked to the pen-pal of the wife’s mother who was the daughter of a Sri Lankan ambassador and a Pali Scholar, the author of a Pali dictionary and important to the spread of Buddhism to London. This is the Theravada link.

The monk I spoke with at Cittaviveka had looked after Christmas Humphreys. A key figure in bringing Buddhism and meditation to London.

In that dream for the first time, “I am wearing only some saffron-yellow trousers.” I am clearly Asian.

Hmnn…

A Bit of a Nodal Point…

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It has been an observable in my life that when life trajectory is approaching a nodal point for change, where different paths might offer, that things tend to stack up like London buses running behind schedule. Events converge, apparent available time runs out and a number of crises manifest. Things start to get hectic and it is difficult to keep clarity.

At the moment we have the selling up house and buying a smaller one choice. That might be in France or UK. In any case a move. I could do science “A” level tutoring in the UK for a few extra quid a month.

Also, there is an increasingly pressing need for me to get replacement hip surgery, which adds to the mix. Unfortunately, I could not find contact details for a traditional Fairy Godmother on the internet. Hence, the joints are only going to get worse and the pain is unlikely to diminish.

We have the Myeloma sword of Damocles hanging over as per usual.

The feasibility of a nanna-flat in the UK looks OK. There are less bungalow type houses here. The cost of living in the UK is a lot higher. We are in the administrative system here and could qualify for a 10 year right to live card next year.

I am not seeing anything new that I want to do in our garden of two acres, so the time to move is now or around now. That is also the feeling. There are a few before sale internal DIY tasks which I/we can hack. All of this is very normal and mundane.

I know from what I am picking up subjectively that there is a small finite possibility that events could transpire which would markedly change the trajectories. They are related to my Tibetan Buddhist dreams. They hint at a trajectory far away from nanna-flats, Zimmer frames and secateurs.

That febrile trajectory is not close to taking shape, though inquiries may have been made today. It is a lot quicker to ask me direct than to speculate.

A simple small win on the lottery would enable. It would buy room to manoeuvre on the house move front. It would not have to be much…

I have had some more titanium put in today. I have an implant fitted in my jaw into which a false tooth will be screwed at a later date. So, yippee, antibiotics for a week.

Stuff continues to stack up…

Train Journeys – Freak Show – Dream 18-05-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream which I had difficulty naming. To note – travel tends to interrupt the dreaming, and we are not long back from Jersey. Trains re-present a socially conditioned state of awareness in that you are complied by the tracks.

The dream starts on a very long French train with a modern looking white/grey aerodynamic locomotive. The train is extensive. We are stopped in the middle of the countryside for no apparent reason. There is no station or level crossing. Just to the side of the tracks and underneath it there is a municipal child’s playground, fenced off at the edge of a camping ground. A road leads via a tunnel under the tracks which are on an embankment.

Several children are playing in the park. They are accompanied by a man wearing a Freddy Krueger style hat and striped Denis the Menace red and black jumper. He also has a white formed facial mask. The wife goes down to investigate and play with the children. The man is rude to her in French and leads the children off. I can see that he has a large, near machete style knife dangling from his belt.

The wife comes back to the train mildly upset. I say what did you expect from the look of him with that horror mask. As she does this, looking upset, I take from my pocket a white tissue in which is the point of the blade from the man’s knife. I have broken it off at a distance and it has shattered into my tissue. I have disarmed him. I throw the contents of my tissue into a rubbish bin, and it makes a metallic clatter.

We then proceed towards the baggage handling car. The train is now moving towards Caen – Ouistreham a destination which we did not book, nor do we have a need to be there. In the baggage car there is a conveyor belt, like baggage reclaim in an airport. A couple, a woman and her husband, start to talk with us in English. They are not “all there” and are making no sense. They split up and head to opposite ends of the train.

Next a being walks into the car. It is a tall female with long dark hair roughly our age dressed in a long green dress. Out of her stomach protrudes the head and shoulders of a balding middle-aged man with a partial comb over. His complexion is ruddy. She is looking one way and he the other. She starts talking to us and he gesticulates with arms that are now visible. They look conjoined and not really of this world. We look on and they exit. We can see that there is a large vintage bustle to her dress as she leaves. The wife and I turn to each other and think/know the words “freak show”.

There is now an officious woman belonging to the train company who insists that we must book through her to get the best deal. I say to her that this is exactly what we tried and have ended up being on entirely the wrong train. The next time we will book through an online broker. She is insistent that we MUST book through her. I think to myself that she has no idea and there is no way I will use her again.

The train pulls up and we exit it. Our mobile home / truck is sat at a weighbridge before boarding. A man is heading at speed with a key to try to unlock a locker behind the driver’s cab. I know that he cannot possibly unlock it but that nevertheless I must beat him to the locker because it is extraordinarily dangerous for him to even try to unlock what he does not know, to open something he does not understand. He is in very deep peril especially if he gets there before me. I hasten to the mobile home and taking a key on the end of a chain around the neck, I insert it into the lock just as the man approaches. He looks disheartened. I do not turn the key simply stand there warding off. Under no circumstance should he try.

Next, I am at a country crossroads in which there is a level crossing barrier across railway tracks. The “road” is dusty and without tarmac. Several of us are stood at the barrier. A train is being pulled by a royal blue steam locomotive it approaches and passes. It is pulling high class vintage pullman carriages with people in period costume inside. The steam train is magnificent. I did not know they had such things still. The train passes and people lift the barrier manually. We are clearly in rural India. There are people with large cattle like animals now crossing the tracks.

I pick up a stick on the end of which Dick Wittington style is a piece of cloth containing my belongings and clothes. I am bare-footed and wearing loose blue cotton trousers. My feet are tanned and accustomed to walking bare foot. I start to walk along the tracks standing on the wooden cross boards. Two young Indian men are whispering. They are going to follow me and attempt to rob me. I know this. They are conspiring. They do not know how long or how fast I can walk. I say to them, “If you want to try to rob me, please feel free to try!”

The dream ends.