lostitude wrote:Luca123 wrote:
Spitting hatred against whom?
I just said I do not like him, this is it
Em, not really... You have been flinging dozens of more or less flimsy accusations against him in your last few postings, all this in reply to someone who expressed the wish to ordain with him. If that's not hatred I don't know what hatred is.
But again, if you don't want to know what he has to say about meditation techniques, it's your own loss and no one else's so...
I think you are misunderstanding objections with accusations, maybe as you are not that used to constructive criticism
As for what I care, the person can ordain with whomever monk he may choose
As for Ajahn Brahm "wise" words
Let me ask you what you find as wise in this passage
buddhist temples in japan are renowned for their
gardens. Many years ago, there was one temple that was said to
have the most beautiful garden of all. Travelers would come from
all over the country just to admire its exquisite arrangement, so
rich in simplicity.
An old monk once came to visit. He arrived very early, just after
dawn. He wanted to discover why this garden was considered the
most inspiring, so he concealed himself behind a large bush with
a good view of the rest of the garden.
He saw a young gardening monk emerge from the temple carrying
two wicker baskets. For the next three hours, he watched the
young monk carefully pick up every leaf and twig that had fallen
from the spreading plum tree in the center of the garden. As he
picked up each leaf and twig, the young monk would turn it over
in his soft hand, examine it, ponder over it; and if it was to his liking
he would delicately place it in one of the baskets. If it wasn’t
to be of use to him, he would drop it in the second basket, the
rubbish basket. Having collected and thought over every leaf and
twig, having emptied the rubbish basket on the pile at the rear of
the temple, he paused to take tea and compose his mind for the
next crucial stage.
The young monk spent another three hours, mindfully, carefully,
skillfully, placing each leaf and twig just in the right place in
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the garden. If he wasn’t satisfied with the position of a twig, he
would turn it slightly or move it forwards a little until, with a light
smile of satisfaction, he would move on to the next leaf, choosing
just the right shape and color for its place in the garden. His attention
to detail was unparalleled. His mastery over the arrangement
of color and shape was superb. His understanding of natural
beauty was sublime. When he was finished, the garden looked
immaculate.
Then the old monk stepped out from behind his bush. Wearing
a broken-toothed smile, he congratulated the young gardening
monk, “Well done! Well done indeed, Venerable! I’ve been observing
you all morning. Your diligence is worthy of the highest of
praise. And your garden… Well! Your garden is almost perfect.”
The young monk’s face went white. His body stiffened as if he
had been stung by a scorpion. His smile of self-satisfaction slipped
from his face and tumbled into the great chasm of the void. In
Japan, you can never be sure of old grinning monks!
“What d…do…you mean?” he stuttered through his fear.
“What do y…you mean, almost perfect?” and he prostrated himself
at the old monk’s feet. “Oh master! Oh teacher! Please release your
compassion on me. You have surely been sent by the Buddha to
show me how to make my garden really perfect. Teach me, Oh
Wise One! Show me the way!”
“Do you really want me to show you?” asked the old monk, his
ancient face creasing with mischief.
“Oh yes. Please do. Oh please master!”
So the old monk strode into the center of the garden. He put his
old but still strong arms around the leafy plum tree. Then with the
laugh of a saint, he shook the hell out of that poor tree! Leaves,
twigs, and bark fell everywhere, and still the old monk shook that
tree. When no more leaves would fall, he stopped.
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The young monk was horrified. The garden was ruined. The
whole morning’s work was wasted. He wanted to kill the old monk.
But the old monk merely looked around him admiring his work.
Then with a smile that melts anger, he said gently to the young
monk, “Now your garden is really perfect.”
