Aryadeva was a 3rd century Buddhist monk who believed that our attachments to eternal existence, to pleasure, and to possessing the things we love, obstruct us from realising transcendent truth. Therefore, as for his previous warnings against belief in permanence and pleasure, so he tries to fob off the initiate monk from an obsession for beauty and cleanliness. He speaks merely relative truths in these introductory verses, so that we may awaken to the absolute, and experience life, happiness and beauty as they are in themselves, empty of all conceptual attachment. However, unlike for death and pleasure, the present subject makes for some awful haikus and I have been loathe to share them. Indeed, the very essence of the haiku is beauty which makes the form unsuitable, not to mention that Aryadeva seems overly concerned with the foulness of the (mostly female) body.
Days and nights I spend
On bodily attractions,
Futile in the end.
Subsisting on earth,
One craves earth, thus sense desires
Grow with indulgence.
A woman’s beauty
Is common to all, her sex
Is the same as all.
It’s not her beauty,
But how she appeals to me,
That makes me love her.
How lovely each part!
Isn’t it astonishing
What she means to me?
How virtuous she is!
Touch wood, for though I loathe sin,
No-one is perfect.
Love springs from goodness
Or else it’s a fool’s desire
For false paradise.
“Quarantine woman,”
Some say, “from sin’s temptation,
Or regret love lost.”
Old age brings remorse;
Those careless flings of youth make
Even the wise sad.
One without desires
Needs no pleasures; one caught up
Heeds not life’s pleasures.
My girl isn’t mine
To hide from others when I’m
Not romancing her.
Desire for woman
Ensures pleasure only in
Its consummation.
In a woman’s arms,
Would a man of sense say that
Pleasure came from her?
Scrabbling in the dark,
The sexual act brings relief
Like a bloody itch.
And so it goes on, but I aborted my translation at this point, and have turned all my poetic efforts since to writing praises of beauty to compensate! If you want to read the rest, you will have to look up Chapter 3 of Aryadeva's "Four Hundred Stanzas".
Showing posts with label aryadeva. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aryadeva. Show all posts
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Monday, 23 January 2012
Aryadeva on Pleasure
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.
The image is "Diana's Maidens" by Edward Robert Hughes.
The image is "Diana's Maidens" by Edward Robert Hughes.
Directions:
Though impermanent,
Sustained discipline and care
Keep the body well.
The body’s pleasure
Is transient like a hot wind
Across a river.
Pleasure’s time is short.
Like a burst of summer rain,
Soon no trace remains.
Hunger, cold and pain
Afflict the poor, whilst the high
Suffer from their minds.
Joy cannot withstand
This body subject to pain,
This mind to suffering.
Not really my foe,
The body aches by nature.
Joy comes from elsewhere.
A hull of suffering
Beset by woe, am I still
Devoted to flesh?
Joy’s balm cannot cure
Yet I keep chasing after,
So the wheel goes round.
Joy is ruled by thoughts,
Thoughts are ruled by fear and pain
And nothing rules pain.
Pain’s a cruel master,
Its power ever increasing
With age and sickness.
Causes of pleasure
Are few, and when amplified
Their symptoms painful.
Causes of suffering
Too many, they overwhelm
Joy’s little respite.
Pleasure like a dream
Treads delicate on life’s sands
Footsteps of longing.
When the tide rolls in,
Pathless, which way should I go?
Night’s footsteps effaced.
Life’s little comforts
Mean but death, languishing in
Epicurean sighs.
How can I find ease
When this abode of earth is
Slowly burning up.
In rising waters,
Trapped, alone and breathing death,
Who could find joy then?
The five elements
Find harmonious rhapsody
Through fitful struggle.
I take no pleasure
In my own or others’ pain.
Ill deeds make ill births.
Who would feel delight
Retching in a pot of gold
Rather than of clay?
It seems pleasurable
To ride instead of walking
Since the effort’s less.
To act gives me joy,
Yet acts requires exertion,
Even lying down.
Relief from trouble
Seems to bring joy, yet joy’s source
Never existed.
If joy were so good
At disguising my suffering,
Why not completely?
Seeing my attachment
To things which last not ever,
I’m done with pleasure.
Sustained discipline and care
Keep the body well.
The body’s pleasure
Is transient like a hot wind
Across a river.
Pleasure’s time is short.
Like a burst of summer rain,
Soon no trace remains.
Hunger, cold and pain
Afflict the poor, whilst the high
Suffer from their minds.
Joy cannot withstand
This body subject to pain,
This mind to suffering.
Not really my foe,
The body aches by nature.
Joy comes from elsewhere.
A hull of suffering
Beset by woe, am I still
Devoted to flesh?
Joy’s balm cannot cure
Yet I keep chasing after,
So the wheel goes round.
Joy is ruled by thoughts,
Thoughts are ruled by fear and pain
And nothing rules pain.
Pain’s a cruel master,
Its power ever increasing
With age and sickness.
Causes of pleasure
Are few, and when amplified
Their symptoms painful.
Causes of suffering
Too many, they overwhelm
Joy’s little respite.
Pleasure like a dream
Treads delicate on life’s sands
Footsteps of longing.
When the tide rolls in,
Pathless, which way should I go?
Night’s footsteps effaced.
Life’s little comforts
Mean but death, languishing in
Epicurean sighs.
How can I find ease
When this abode of earth is
Slowly burning up.
In rising waters,
Trapped, alone and breathing death,
Who could find joy then?
The five elements
Find harmonious rhapsody
Through fitful struggle.
I take no pleasure
In my own or others’ pain.
Ill deeds make ill births.
Who would feel delight
Retching in a pot of gold
Rather than of clay?
It seems pleasurable
To ride instead of walking
Since the effort’s less.
To act gives me joy,
Yet acts requires exertion,
Even lying down.
Relief from trouble
Seems to bring joy, yet joy’s source
Never existed.
If joy were so good
At disguising my suffering,
Why not completely?
Seeing my attachment
To things which last not ever,
I’m done with pleasure.
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Aryadeva on Death
Ingredients:
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.
The image is "The Angel of Death" (1880) by Evelyn Pickering de Morgan.
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.
The image is "The Angel of Death" (1880) by Evelyn Pickering de Morgan.
Directions:
Living in Death’s realm,
Unaware and unafraid,
Sleeping like a star…
I don’t like to think
Of that far off place and time
When my life will end.
Should Death come too soon,
I would face him unperturbed,
Knowing I have lived.
If among my kin,
I alone should suffer Death,
That I would regret.
Though jealous of youth,
Sickness heals, age matures, just
Death I can’t outsmart.
That Death is common
Does not make its suffering less,
That I should bear it.
That Death’s uncertain,
Does not mean I should forget
Like cows for slaughter.
Let me live and love,
Each fibre of existence,
Each fleeting moment.
Should I fix my goal
On wealth or honour — then die,
All to what avail?
I shall not exchange
This short life for future gain,
Nor sin to guard it.
Like a passing stream,
This life, this thought, this haiku
Dies, each instant new.
Though I’m not attached
To this fragile earthen frame
May my line live on.
I grieve that one day
Son and daughter pass away,
I forget myself!
A child does not choose
To bear this heavy burden
Of my life and death.
Fathers love their sons
More than sons love their fathers,
Hard then to succeed.
Mother’s love for child
Is supreme, yet does it not
Desire obedience?
Were love absolute,
The suffering of parting
Would last forever.
What good love’s longing?
Knowing it but harms oneself,
Why languish in it?
What hypocrisy
To grieve in false sympathy
For affection's sake.
Meeting and parting,
Friendship and loss, joy and pain,
All come together.
Times we had seem long.
Eternity is longer.
I break attachment.
Time is not my friend.
I marvel at the moment
And life slips away.
Afraid, I delay,
But Death’s punishment is sure.
Time will force my hand.
Things gnaw at my mind
That first I do, yet what's done
Must be left behind.
The forest beckons.
Contemplating this life’s end,
I die to Death’s realm.
Unaware and unafraid,
Sleeping like a star…
I don’t like to think
Of that far off place and time
When my life will end.
Should Death come too soon,
I would face him unperturbed,
Knowing I have lived.
If among my kin,
I alone should suffer Death,
That I would regret.
Though jealous of youth,
Sickness heals, age matures, just
Death I can’t outsmart.
That Death is common
Does not make its suffering less,
That I should bear it.
That Death’s uncertain,
Does not mean I should forget
Like cows for slaughter.
Let me live and love,
Each fibre of existence,
Each fleeting moment.
Should I fix my goal
On wealth or honour — then die,
All to what avail?
I shall not exchange
This short life for future gain,
Nor sin to guard it.
Like a passing stream,
This life, this thought, this haiku
Dies, each instant new.
Though I’m not attached
To this fragile earthen frame
May my line live on.
I grieve that one day
Son and daughter pass away,
I forget myself!
A child does not choose
To bear this heavy burden
Of my life and death.
Fathers love their sons
More than sons love their fathers,
Hard then to succeed.
Mother’s love for child
Is supreme, yet does it not
Desire obedience?
Were love absolute,
The suffering of parting
Would last forever.
What good love’s longing?
Knowing it but harms oneself,
Why languish in it?
What hypocrisy
To grieve in false sympathy
For affection's sake.
Meeting and parting,
Friendship and loss, joy and pain,
All come together.
Times we had seem long.
Eternity is longer.
I break attachment.
Time is not my friend.
I marvel at the moment
And life slips away.
Afraid, I delay,
But Death’s punishment is sure.
Time will force my hand.
Things gnaw at my mind
That first I do, yet what's done
Must be left behind.
The forest beckons.
Contemplating this life’s end,
I die to Death’s realm.
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