This is very loosely based on verses by Aryadeva on the subject of abandoning belief in hedonism. There is an arc to the argument as the imagined author of the haikus gradually changes perspective.
Six years before the Matrix, there was the Japanese anime Ghost in the Shell which inspired it. Set in Hong Kong in the year 2029, old parts of the city are flooded, the sky is a dirty orange, humans have invented cynoptic camouflage, weapons and armoured protection are more powerful than ever, and most importantly, everything is digitized. Technology has entered into the human body, to the extent that whilst most humans are still only slightly modified, the elite units are mostly cyborg with the exception of brain matter, enabling them with capabilities of enhanced metabolism, sensory perception, speed, memory, processing capacity, communication and of course toughness. The cost of such progress is the need for occasional maintenance, as well as a gnawing unease at the insignificance of the self beneath all these government-loaned enhancements. There is also the fear that the organic brain might wither away or else be hacked into and controlled, and how would one ever know?
Among these elite forces is Major Kusanagi, a female crime-fighter of the highest calibre. Along with her cyborg-friend Bateau, who is equipped with enhanced vision, and her crime-fighting partner ex-police officer Togusa, she is on the hunt for the infamous Puppet Master, about whom almost nothing is known except for the numerous high-level crimes he has perpetrated through mind-control. All memory is just data, so how could a potential victim of mind-control distinguish reality from fantasy? When one starts to question what you put your trust in, who certifies someone as trustworthy, and who certifies them, The line of questioning never ends. We are only human, which makes all the more disquieting the news of the Puppet Master’s hacking of human brains, their contents having been wiped and replaced with his criminal commands. And who’s to say that the Puppet Master is not himself a puppet?
As well as having an excellent plot, and brilliant animation, with the exception of walking (cyborgs don’t seem to be able to walk properly), the most memorable aspect of the movie is the great central character of the Major herself. All other characters mirror her in a glass darkly, her strong will, toughness and cool reserve. The atmosphere of the film is haunting, a little film-noir in its tone, the palette very grey and sombre, the music ghostly and futuristic.
Another great strength of the movie, already touched on, is the realism of the philosophical issues raised. What does it mean to be human in this world of ever-advancing technology. What happens when a robot claims personhood? How can we prove that while we are life-forms, a robot isn’t? Scientifically, we cannot do it, but one way we are unlike robots is that instead of making copies of ourselves, we die and reproduce. We merge our differences with another, thus protecting ourselves against a single virus that could wipe us all out. When the mostly-human Togusa asks the Major why she chose him to be her crime-fighting partner, it is the difference she saw in him that she gives as the reason for her choice. But when the Major asks the same question of another at the end of the movie, she gets a different answer, one of similarity. Though the story is told from the point of view of Section 9, the nefarious rivals in Section 6 are not so different except in the methods they use.
This review would not be complete without mention of the arguably gratuitous displays of nudity and violence, especially in the opening sequences. Designed no doubt to get the attention of adolescent audiences as “adult" manga, it acts as a superficial cover for the film’s deeper ideas. Cyborgs are not self-conscious of their nudity because they do not identify with it. A cyborg’s body is just a matter of taste, not biology, and for robot shells this extends to a certain ambiguity of gender.
We identify ourselves with our memories. But the real self is not even that. It is the ghost in the shell of a titanium skull. It is the whisper of female intuition. It is the seat of emotions that makes the Major love to go diving despite the dangers. The fear, anxiety, loneliness, darkness… even Hope, that she experiences in the depths, are what makes her feel human. When the red lasers of death caress her in the closing sequences, merging in her forehead, they represent the forces of love also, which in the form of Bateau’s replaceable arm and subsequent care, ultimately save her in a kind of enlightened union with all, as she becomes one with the ether yet in physical form. In words reminiscent of the character Jane, in Orson Scott Card’s “Speaker for the Dead” (and subsequent novels), the movie concludes with Major Kusanagi transformed and full of promise, “the net is vast and limitless”.
The film is begging for a sequel. In 2004, after three years of gruelling work, director Mamoru Oshii released “Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence”. This is a tremendously impressive display of anime artistry with more vibrant colour than the original, and not short of philosophical bite either, the focus shifting to robots being used as household dolls and the ethical implications. However, without Major Kusanagi as the central driving character, it couldn’t live up to the simple charm of the original.
This story arises out of contemplations on love, and how we love different things. I would be grateful if we could go deeper and share thoughts on this subject, and hopefully this story can help provide inspiration to think about. :^) The image is The Princess out of School by Edward Robert Hughes (1851-1914), and following the story is a short poem O Gather Me the Rose by William Ernest Henley(1849-1903).
A Love Story
Once upon a time there was a mayor who loved his city very much, and he ordered that in the centre of his city a beautiful garden to be built.
The gardener to whom this task was assigned did exactly as he was bid, and the garden was filled with the most exquisite flowers and soon butterflies and birds took up their abode in its surrounding hedges and trees to make the place just perfect. The mayor was very pleased, but for just one thing. He was slightly sad that the garden was so carefully contained, with only a little gate at either end. And he would have rather if the garden sprawled beyond its bounds and gathered the city into it, instead of hiding secretly within it.
But the gardener did not mean to hide his work, and spread the word and put up a plaque upon each gate, inviting all to come and walk and stay a little while among the flowers, a peaceful moment of secluded solitude away from the bustle of the city. But not invited were bicycles or skaters, or children playing football, for there were other places in the city where these could be done. The mayor was very pleased but still he knew within his heart that the gardener loved the garden more than the city. Was he right?
A fair lady came walking in the garden with her little white dog, and the most beautiful flower she saw. She desired to capture it, its sight, its fragrance. She went home that evening and began to draw. She had always been good at drawing, ever since she was a little child, but the image of her brush strokes paled beside the image in her head. When she came back the following day, the flower was more beautiful than ever, and though she was sorry to deprive the garden of its beauty, she could not help but pluck it and take it back home to display for all her family and friends. The gardener had noticed the flower too. He liked the lady very much and was pleased it gave her so much joy, but still he knew within his heart that the fair lady loved the rose more than the garden, or she would have left it. Was he right?
In time the flower's beauty faded, but not before it had caught the eye of a little boy who had come to visit the lady's daughter whom he fancied very much. He marvelled at its shape and structure, and when the lady saw him so enthralled, she gave it to him to make up for his melancholy air because the daughter was not there. He took it up to his room and began examining it more closely. Holding it firmly by the stem, he removed the petals, letting them fall. Five filaments remained and a central stalk. Then his mother called and he quickly hid its remnants under the leaves of a potted plant and went down to meet her. But in his playful investigation, he had brushed a little pollen from one of the filaments quite by accident onto the sticky central lobe, and over time this grew downwards and began to seed the ovary. In his room, another flower was born. When he discovered it, and seeing how it had come about, he came to know how flowers could be pollinated by hand, and this knowledge excited him very greatly. He gave the flower at once as a present to his sweetheart, still in the soil in which he had found it, and told the whole story. And the young daughter knew in her heart that he loved the knowledge that the flower had given him more than he loved the flower itself. Was she right?
But the daughter knew also in her heart that most of all the little boy loved her. And she was very pleased at that thought, because she loved him too. But to put that love into words, or art, or music, was impossible, for that was to restrict it. The love she felt for words or art or music, or anything else, could not replace that love she felt for him. So, leaning in towards him, she gave him a kiss.
O Gather Me the Rose by William Ernest Henley O GATHER me the rose, the rose, While yet in flower we find it, For summer smiles, but summer goes, And winter waits behind it.
For with the dream foregone, foregone, The deed foreborn forever, The worm Regret will canker on, And time will turn him never.
So were it well to love, my love, And cheat of any laughter The fate beneath us, and above, The dark before and after.
The myrtle and the rose, the rose, The sunshine and the swallow, The dream that comes, the wish that goes The memories that follow!
This is based on chapter one of the 400 stanzas of Aryadeva. The 400 stanzas looks like something very valuable to meditate on, but not necessarily easy.
The following haiku version is written instead from the point of view of the initiate being led to contemplate death and impermanence, and thus give up unwarranted fearlessness and certainty that things are permanent. There is therefore a trajectory to the argument. This contemplation and acceptance of Death is a powerful foundation, and reminiscent of the realization that must dawn on the Fool when stepping out into the abyss.
This was not easy to write, not easy to read, and not easy to contemplate on either which I am yet to fully do, so I might need to edit things and I'm open to suggestions of what might need editing.
There is no other way To heaven but through love No faster way to hell Than fearing love is lost.
–okei
Merry Christmas everyone!
In thoughts for those who are apart from loved ones over the holidays — a video offering: two love letters by the Tang dynasty poetess Yu Xuanji. I'm really hoping this bout of melancholia doesn't make people sad, but on the contrary grateful and happy... But if it does dampen the Christmas party spirit, then that wasn't the intention and I'm very sorry!
Spring Love to Zian
The stone paths up the mountain are treacherous and steep.
I climb them without fear or strain, missing you so deep. Ice melts and in far streams I hear music from your lips. In snowy peaks I see the jade contours of your hips. Don't listen to gitana songs nor drink unripe wine, Give up idle company and playing chess all night. We shall hold firm in our union as the rock the pine, Two wings of the same bird, no-one else could give us flight. Though sad I am to walk alone, this last winter day, When the moon is full, my love, we'll meet again I pray. Parted, what gift of mine could I offer up more true? Fallen tears in the spring light upon a poem... to you.
—Yu Xuanji a courtesan-poet-nun from 9th century China who died at 25 on charges (possibly trumped up) of beating a maid to death.
Gazing into Jiang-Ling Horizon Longing for Zian
Maple leaves, by thousands branching, ten thousand each tree, Under yonder bridge, dusk falls, the last sails slowly leave. Love! my heart is rushing like the flow of river Xi, Day and night, it eastwards scrawls, longing you without reprieve.
This is a sonnet for children (and children-at-heart). :^)
The painting is "Child's Talk in April" (1914) by Emma Florence Harrison, originally an illustration for a poem by Christina Rossetti of the same name, which you can read here.
A Friend's Delight
Wake up!, rise up!, little starling, The world is waiting for your song. Do you know I love you darling, So do not dream the whole day long. Sun peers through your leafy shutters, The sky, arms open, beckons flight. Round and round, your old friend flutters, The roses fragrant look so bright. Won't you come out and play with me On such a lovely day as this? There's things to do and things to see, So idle not in sleepy bliss. My friend, you wake!, by heaven's might, What joy to sing in shared delight!
This is the eighth in the series of posts based on Pema Chödrön and accompanied by Chopin. It completes the first half of her book on living fearlessly. Previous posts in reverse order discussed equanimity,empathetic joy, practicing compassion,loving-kindness & compassion,learning to stay, three lords of materialism andbodhicitta. We build further on the four immeasurable qualities of the kind heart: (1) loving-kindness (maitri), (2) compassion (karuna), (3) joy in the joy of others (mudita), and (4) equanimity (upekkha). I would like to challenge you to take this quiz before reading on. Please share your own answers in the comments.
1. What is the opposite of love, kindness and friendship? What resembles love, kindness and friendship, but is not love?
2. What is the opposite of compassion, warmth and support for one who is suffering? What resembles compassion, warmth and support for one suffering, but is not compassion?
3. What is the opposite of joy in the joy of others? What resembles joy, but is not joy?
4. What is the opposite of equanimity? What resembles equanimity, but is not equanimity?
The music is Chopin's Nocturne Op. 48 No. 1 recorded on piano rolls at the beginning of the twentieth century by the best of her generation, the American Fanny Bloomfield.
Later, I will leave you with Chopin's Waltz No. 2 Op. 64 played by the enchanting young Chinese-American pianist Yuja Wang of the current generation, but now it's over to Pema Chödrön:
~*~
The essence of bravery is being without self-deception. A warrior takes responsibility for the direction of her life. Our training encourages us to open and see any baggage we might be carrying. There is a traditional teaching that helps us in this process: the near and far enemies of the four limitless qualities.
1. The near enemy or misunderstanding of loving-kindness is attachment. There's a Tibetan word lhenchak that describes this well. Lhenchak points at how free-flowing love can get stuck. It is taught that the strongest lhenchak occurs in the following relationships: between parents and children, between lovers, and between spiritual teachers and their students. Lhenchak is characterised by clinging and self-involvement. Loving-kindness is different. It is not based on need, but a genuine appreciation and care for the well-being of another person and a respect for their value. Loving even a flower without lhenchak means we see it more clearly and feel more tenderness for its inherent perfection.
The far enemy or opposite of loving-kindness is hatred or aversion. Aversion isolates us from others. It strengthens the illusion that we are separate. However, in the tightness and heat of hatred is the soft spot of bodhicitta.
2. There are three near enemies of compassion: pity, overwhelm and idiot compassion. True compassion does not debilitate us with the emotion of sadness, but opens us up to the possibilities of what we can do.
Pity or professional warmth is easily mistaken for true compassion. When we identify ourselves as the helper, it means we see others as helpless. Instead of feeling the pain of others, we set ourselves apart. If we've ever been on the receiving end of pity, we know how it feels. Instead of warmth and support, all we feel is distance.
Overwhelm is a sense of helplessness. We feel that there is so much suffering — whatever we do is to no avail. We've become discouraged. There are two ways I've found effective in working with overwhelm. One is to train with a less challenging subject. Starting with something workable can be powerful magic. When we find the place where our heart stays engaged, the compassion begins to spread by itself. The second is to keep our attention on the other person. This takes more courage. Sometimes we should trust our sense of panic, but sometimes instead of turning inwards and closing down, we might let the storyline go and feel the energy of the pain in our body for a second. If this is not possible, we engender compassion for our current limitations.
The third near enemy of compassion is idiot compassion, when we try to avoid conflict and protect our good image, being kind when we should say a definite "no". In order not to break our vow of compassion, we have to learn when to stop aggression and draw the line, how to set boundaries and not allow our ideals to justify self-abasement.
The far enemy of compassion is cruelty. Brooker T. Washington was right when he said, "Let no man pull you so low as to make you hate him." Cruelty when rationalised or unacknowledged destroys us.
3. The near enemy of joyfulness is over-excitement. We can mistake riding high above the sorrows of the world for unconditional joy. Instead of connecting us with others, this separates us. Authentic joy is not a euphoric state. Rather, it is a state of appreciation that allows us to participate fully in our lives.
The far enemy of joy is envy. Some say it is also cynicism, despair or boredom. It is amazing to see how frequently we can react to others' success with resentment. The realisation is humbling. It is because these practices expose our hidden flaws that we are sometimes reluctant to do them. But that's why we must do them: it takes practice to stick with ourselves as we are, in our totality.
4. The near enemy of equanimity is detachment or indifference. Emotional upheaval is where the warrior learns compassion. It's where we learn to stop struggling with ourselves. It's only when we can dwell in these places that scare us that equanimity becomes unshakeable.
The far enemy of equanimity is prejudice. We get self-righteous about our beliefs and set ourselves solidly for or against. Taking sides, we become closed-minded. As we start training in opening our hearts, we get a close look at prejudice and indifference. The enemies are good teachers. They show us we can accept ourselves and others complete with imperfections.
aspara121: Many thanks for your quality posts. I look forward to savoring each one. :)
_()_
satshanti: I thought there was no "enemy". I thought Pema and Tantra Buddhism
taught the acceptance experiencing of everything to attain the Whole.
Why not experience "attachment" as a "friend" coming to show where we
are stuck? Why present the experience as a dualistic us-vs-them
me-and-"enemy" dichotomy? That seems like a continuing of the dualistic
problem rather than accepting accepting accepting experiencing
experiencing experiencing - and watching the energy attachment relax
dissipate fatigue let go - and then seeing false confused assumptions
under the energies. Freedom acceptance presence mindfulness peace...
okei: From the section about the far enemy of equanimity: "Taking sides, we
become closed-minded. As we start training in opening our hearts, we get
a close look at prejudice and indifference..." There is no enemy. Sorry if I didn't stress that.
The
"near enemy" she describes as the misunderstanding of... and the "far
enemy" as the opposite of... they are our friends and teachers, so long
as we recognize them for what they are. We are not trying to get rid of
them as you say, but let their storylines go and rest with the energy.
Well said, Peter. satshanti: _()_ irishgall13:okei said: What is the opposite of love, kindness and friendship? What resembles love, kindness and friendship, but is not love?
Fear. Fear of trusting your heart of love to another.
Fear of the vulnerability.
Just fear.
okei: Good point Marie!
I was looking through all the opposites, and
the root of every single one is fear. Hatred, cruelty, envy/cynicism and
prejudice all come from a feeling of a relationship to the outside
world based on fear of the other...
The near enemies: attachment,
pity, over-excitement and indifference could also be related to fear,
but fear of oneself, of fulfilling our true nature.
The blog & comments originally appeared on Buddhist Travelers
