A Leaf on a Stream: Difference between revisions

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The concept of "choice" can be very stressful. I didn't choose to be born, I didn't chose to be human, I didn't choose my genetic makeup, I didn't choose my gender, I didn't choose what I look like, I didn't choose the color of my skin, etc. The scope of things that we can actually choose is very small, yet we live within the tiny realm of choice thinking ourselves so important because we can make these tiny choices.
<poem>
The concept of "choice" can be very stressful.  
I didn't choose to be born, I didn't chose to be human,  
I didn't choose my genetic makeup, I didn't choose my gender,  
I didn't choose what I look like,
I didn't choose the color of my skin, etc.  
The scope of things that we can actually choose is very small,  
yet we live within the tiny realm of choice thinking ourselves so important because we can make these tiny choices.


These stories we create for ourselves are always ones of assigning credit and placing blame. We strive for the credit and avoid the blame. As kids, if we behave ourselves we will be rewarded, then if we clean our room and get good grades, we will be rewarded, then if we train ourselves well, we get jobs which pay well (pay is our reward), if we are skilled in the game of attraction and pursuit we will gain a beautiful and well-regarded life partner (or partners), then if we are rewarded well enough in life we can retire in comfort. These, of course are all the rewards, however when we are on the receiving end of blame, our lives are not so pleasant we could end up in jail, poor and destitute and generally scorned. Of course that is a rough outline of the stories we create for ourselves, the actual details vary infinitely, but the constant is that they are all stories we create with our own thoughts. These stories bring us a lot of stress and perhaps even psychosis. But they drive us forward seeking with anticipation.... the reward.
These stories we create for ourselves are always ones of assigning credit and placing blame.
We strive for the credit and avoid the blame.
As kids, if we behave ourselves we will be rewarded;
if we clean our room and get good grades, we will be rewarded,  
if we train ourselves well, we get jobs which pay well (pay is our reward),
if we are skilled in the game of attraction and pursuit we will gain a beautiful and well-regarded life partner (or partners),
if we are rewarded well enough in life we can retire in comfort.
Of course are all the rewards, however when we are on the receiving end of blame, our lives are not so pleasant:
we could end up in jail, poor and destitute and generally scorned.
That is only a rough outline of the stories we create for ourselves, the actual details vary infinitely,
but the constant is that they are all stories we create with our own thoughts.
These stories bring us a lot of stress and perhaps even psychosis,
but they drive us forward seeking with anticipation.... of the reward.


Our stories of reward and blame remind me of the Zen story about the farmer and his son. The farmer owns a horse which runs away, all his neighbors tell him that is such bad luck, but he only says “maybe, maybe not” Then the horse returns with 3 wild horses and his neighbors all tell him that is such good luck, he only replies, “maybe, maybe not”. Soon his son is riding one of the wild horses and it throws him and breaks his leg, of course his neighbors are there to console him about his bad luck, but he only replies, “maybe, maybe not”. Next the state militia come through the village and conscript all the young men for war, but his son has a broken leg so he is passed over. His neighbors are of the opinion that this is good luck, but the farmer has no opinion.
Our stories of reward and blame remind me of the Zen story about the farmer and his son. The farmer owns a horse which runs away, all his neighbors tell him that is such bad luck, but he only says “maybe, maybe not” Then the horse returns with 3 wild horses and his neighbors all tell him that is such good luck, he only replies, “maybe, maybe not”. Soon his son is riding one of the wild horses and it throws him and breaks his leg, of course his neighbors are there to console him about his bad luck, but he only replies, “maybe, maybe not”. Next the state militia come through the village and conscript all the young men for war, but his son has a broken leg so he is passed over. His neighbors are of the opinion that this is good luck, but the farmer has no opinion.
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Once again we are presented with the limitations of thought- or should I say the stories we weave in our heads. That is why I just like to imagine myself as a tiny leaf floating down a stream, sometimes getting caught up in small eddies, sometimes moving rapidly in the middle of the current, sometimes bumping into other leaves, clinging and moving together but then being separated by the current again.
Once again we are presented with the limitations of thought- or should I say the stories we weave in our heads. That is why I just like to imagine myself as a tiny leaf floating down a stream, sometimes getting caught up in small eddies, sometimes moving rapidly in the middle of the current, sometimes bumping into other leaves, clinging and moving together but then being separated by the current again.
</poem>
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<h5><strong>The best donation is a [[Talk:A Leaf on a Stream|comment]]. If you've read all the way through please post a comment.</strong></h5>
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