Through a glass, darkly.

5. I undertake the precept to refrain from intoxicants which lead to heedlessness.

My response when I first read this precept was a bitterly muttered, brow knitted ‘fuck that’.

It hasn’t really changed much since then.

This could be the one, the big one. More challenging than the lying and the stealing and the killing and the lusting that I have already quite openly admitted I indulge in. Those, push come to shove, I am prepared to forsake in the name of enlightenment and release from samsara. However, turning my back forever on a glass of Shiraz over a home cooked meal, or a crisp, ice cold bottled larger in the beer garden of my beloved local, I am not. At least not right now, anyway. And yes I know how lame that sounds.

I am not a booze hound but I like a drink. I would say I get fairly sloshed at least once or twice a week. If it was up to me I would drink something most nights. Especially wine, but I love most alcohol from stout to asti to whiskey to just plain run of the mill 3.99 bottles of plonk that are on offer at sainsburies. It’s the taste, yes, but not only that, it’s the intoxication. Definitely the intoxication. I like the numbness that spreads from the tips of your fingers and loosens your muscles and your tongue. I love the feeling of detachedness, I adore the way it makes me want to laugh and laugh and talk and talk and even, scarily, (at least for observers) dance. I am less into the whole vomiting- crying- arguing- depression vibe that sometimes comes along with it. But I, over the years and many bad trips have basically got to the point where I can control my drinking so I hardly ever get bummed out.

The catalogue of strict rules I have created to govern my drinking is quite impressive: I don’t drink when I’m having a bad day. I don’t drink when I’m depressed, or, god forbid, because I’m depressed. I don’t drink when I’m nervous or in a crowd of people I don’t feel comfortable with. I don’t drink in very busy places, I usually only drink with food. I don’t drink alone, unless it has been specifically cleared that I can and even then this is a very rare indulgence. I don’t drink neat spirits and treat spirits full stop with great caution. I don’t drink the day before something important. I don’t ever, ever, drink in the middle of an argument. I don’t drink on antibiotics or painkillers. I don’t mix my drugs; Valium and booze is a big no no. I very rarely mix my drinks, either, I tend to have a wine night or a beer night or whatever; I’ve just found it works better that way. I don’t drink and watch horror films. I don’t drink and listen to sad songs for hours on end. I don’t get sloshed in places I don’t know very well unless I’m with people I trust who do. I do drink a pint of water before I go to sleep. I fetch a bucket to keep by the bed; just in case. I do sleep on my stomach. I usually eat something before unconsciousness hits me. I do sleep straight through. I do set an alarm. I do eat breakfast. I don’t let the hangover wreck the next day, however bad I feel.

Each of these rules (of which I am sure there are many more) has a history and have been devised over many years of mistakes and practice. They may seem strict and not very rebellious, but I don’t mind keeping them, as they in turn keep me safe.

More importantly, they keep me drinking.

The beauty of booze to me in a nutshell is lubrication. I can do without the giggling, without the double vision and the crazy stupid dancing. But the systematic destruction of inhibition glass by glass, the way it turns an awkward group of strangers into a dancing, hugging, swaying rowdy crowd is just magic. Talking as someone who sometimes finds speech very difficult, alcohol has saved the day on many occasions. Even amongst close friends, I find there’s nothing better than the sensation of an alcohol induced revelation; the more shocking the better. The times when you confide, push boundaries, deepen friendships, delve deep into your psyche and your relationship and talk straight from the heart you are proudly wearing on your sleeve. It makes people closer and gets people talking. It kick starts an evening that otherwise may have collapsed from nerves and tension.

I totally know it’s a crutch that I am leaning on here. From a Buddhist point of view this reliance on alcohol is a massive hindrance to my happiness; taking me regularly away from the virtues of seeing true reality, clarity, and awakening. Hopefully I will do without it one day. The long term plan, in my own mind at least, is that I will get so strong in my meditation practice my personality will become properly integrated and I will become so self assured that the very idea of having to pour chemicals down my throat to cope with a night out seems ridiculous. But for now doing without it is beyond the realm of possibility. I have always turned to chemical assistance to avoid reality or at the very least to blur it. Alcohol and intoxicants to me have always been the mental version of taking my glasses off; in drunkenness everything seems that less bit dangerous, less intense as the edges blur and swirl into each other. Inside, the damn inner monologue shuts the hell up for a couple of hours. I usually pass out in a state of happy oblivion. It is bliss. Is that a sad admission?

As I write these words I suddenly hear the imaginary voice of my teacher ringing in my ear. He is as pesky as a gnat sometimes that man!

He sits down beside me, smiles that peaceful smile, adjusts his robes slightly, and speaks:

“Jen, there is a better way to seek bliss than at the bottom of a glass. You know that deep down or you wouldn’t have sought me out in the first place. Stop fighting, stop struggling. Just learn to let go. Through meditation I have taught you a way to still your thoughts and bring you release in a gentle way that will not rot your brain and your liver. Use it.

You know that the peace and confidence you seek can not be bought at an off license, but already lies within you. You know that the heart of this precept deals not with outlawing the odd glass of Chardonnay in the summer sun but eliminating the dependence and desperation you still feel when you are sober and a night of socializing stretches ahead of you.

You know where it is to be found; the real deal, not a chemical band aid. Strive for enlightenment in all you do, through that process you will find the peace you so desperately seek. ”

It is then that I realise that the root of this clinging to the bottle is not a love of a harmless beer with my chicken drumsticks at the family BBQ, it is much darker than that; it is my deep yearning for oblivion that I can’t relinquish. This is something that is hard for me to dwell on and is tricky to explain. It is a difficult thing for people to grasp that right now I am extremely happy, leading a fulfilled life with a loving partner and lots of friends and family. I have a very happy life and have no complaints. Yet for as long as I can remember; day in, day out, I have battled deep suicidal urges. Even when I have been incredibly happy I have had the visual image of myself as a dog chasing its own tail, going round and round in circles and a lot of the time I just think ‘enough’. I’ve had enough.

When I discovered Buddhism it was mind-blowing because here was a group of people who had this same image in their heads. Here was a religion that wasn’t demanding I rejoice in the splendor of all God’s glorious creation. Buddha said the first noble truth is that life is suffering. I can relate to those words more than anything. Not in a really miserable eeyore kind of way, I do laugh a lot and go outside and walk with the birds and in the mountains; I do so often enjoy a rich fulfilling life. Not either because I have a hard life. Yes I have a few health problems and I don’t lead the regular life of an average 25 year old. But I have, in many ways, had a very easy, comfortable existence. I was blessed with many talents, a wonderful family and now a fantastic husband. I am not materialistic, I think I have my priorities right in terms of how to be happy. I may be on speaking terms with despair, it is true, but in my life so far I have also experienced genuine joy and love. But it has always been there; even in the happy times this dull voice that says ‘enough’. It is not, actually, me or my life I have a problem with. It is the act of living itself I find so difficult. The process of birth, growth, decay, death. The suffering I see all around. The corrupt society. The miserable people. The madness. The greed. The lies. The disease. The eating, the shitting, the washing, the dressing, the walking, the endless endless talking. Even the laughter, sometimes, when it often rings so hollow. The act of breathing is so difficult, sometimes I just feel like I don’t ever want to take another one. The empty futileness of it all often weighs heavily on my heart.

Anyway, happy thoughts.

But that is why I drink I guess. That’s the root of it. It’s my own way of saying ‘enough’, of hovering for a couple of hours in the exit without actually going the whole hog and jumping off the Ouse bridge. If I didn’t have the release of alcohol then I’m scared where it would end up. Getting trashed is like a valve being released in a pressure cooker, at least sometimes, anyway. Not that I’m trying to paint a bleak picture, its not like I consciously think ‘oh I must get wasted tonight or I’ll kill myself’. It’s not like that at all. But I think the drinking does act as a release of these negative feelings and allow me to take a break from reality for a while, a reality that sometimes I find difficult to exist in.

Fortunately for me Buddha’s four noble truths do not end with the fact that life is suffering. In the rest of the truths and in fact in the whole body of his teachings he details a ‘cure’. It is the fact that Buddhism provides a practical system for finding genuine happiness (and eventually genuine oblivion, I suppose) detailing a way of escaping the cycle of suffering that makes it so appealing to me. I have already learnt so much from its teachings and found so many of them to be sound. I am already, since discovering the Buddhist path, that bit less desperate on a Friday night to get off my face. I am finding my teachers words to be the truth; through my meditation I am more peaceful, more satisfied and most importantly, now I have the goal of nirvana in my life, it makes the notion of suicide seem inferior and unappealing. My steps might be small, like those of an infant, but I am making progress all the time.

So one day maybe I will be writing this not with a vodka lemonade in my hand, as I am so accustomed to but a cup of green tea. Maybe I will take this precept or maybe I won’t. What I would like to live without though is the need to escape. I would like to face reality and myself without the crutch that alcohol gives me. Maybe one day I will actually listen to my wise, wise teacher and seek my release in more constructive ways than drinking. But for now I am drawn to the allure of the booze: Tom Waits is on the radio and Bukowski is in my bookshelf. I realise that for the time being, at least just yet, I’m not quite ready to hop on the wagon and ride into the sunset.

Pants on Fire

4. I undertake the precept to refrain from false speech (lying).

{OK, I admit it. This is the big one. The one I was nervous about facing, the one I’m a bit reluctant to delve into. Not only because I have friends who read this thing and I’d hate for this to affect their trust of me, but because sometimes there are things about yourself that you don’t like to dwell on. But, I decided to write this blog in the spirit of honesty, and on a subject like this it would be irony of ironies that it was now that I shied away from the truth.}

I’ll start by saying this:

I was instantly attracted to my husband for three main reasons.

1) He had long hair, a big brain and a nice, kind face.
2) I could talk to him about anything and felt immediately that I could trust him.
3) He didn’t tolerate my bullshit, and my lies.

Of course, as time went on, the list of ‘things that are great about O’ got larger and larger, but these initial three were the reasons that I went on when I decided to ask him out. In some ways, Owens’ love and devotion to facts, truth and honesty can mean he is a difficult man to talk to and get on with. He is rubbish at sycophantic smalltalk or polite niceties for their own sake. But in those first few days of the relationship, it was the thing I fell head over heals in love with and the thing I knew I needed to be a central guiding influence in my life were I ever to be a happy, well adjusted person again.

Back then, my head was more concerned with fantasy than facts. For many of my teenage years I had been best friends with a pathologically compulsive liar, and some of her behaviour had, over the years, gradually rubbed off on me. Although, unlike my friend, I don’t think my lying ever got to the stage of illness, I was certainly not grounded in reality. I was deeply in love with melodrama, exaggeration, daydreams, fiction. I was not into the hard hitting truth, I was not into mundane existence, as I saw it. Unlike my friend, I would rarely invent things that were totally not true but I was very fond of embellishing things, polishing them, editing them to my favour. I am a perceptive, imaginative woman and was generally pretty good at doing this realistically without getting caught (although like many liars I could have been delusional that I was fooling everyone).

I had been a very honest child, and I think I am fairly honest by nature, but during my teenage years I somehow lost the spirit of telling the truth. At the end of the day, it was just more interesting, more exciting to say you had drank ten pints than two, told your teacher to fuck off rather than ‘yes sir’, to say you had kissed five boys, rather than none. I’m not saying I had a serious problem, and I know that many teenagers do the same thing. It’s just that for me, I have always prized honesty so highly in my life, my family and other friends are very honest people, in fact most of the people I have been close to over the years have had painfully honest, self aware streaks. Yet I developed an unhealthy habit of deviating from the truth and each time I did so, I got a bit further away from myself. After a few years of this, it got to the stage where realised I would need serious help in breaking the habit and finding my way back.

Then Owen came along. We met on the first day of university and from the word go he would just call me on my bullshit. He stamped it out as soon as he saw it, whenever he recognised it. He both encouraged and praised the times when I was honest and chastised my deceitfulness with great force. He was acutely perceptive at telling the difference. He shaped me; he was both firm and plain speaking in his demands; ‘if you want to be with me, if you want this relationship to go the distance then you are going to have to put love of truth, rather than excitement and drama, at the centre of your world. I just can’t be with someone who has it any other way.’ I am not used to ultimatums and God, it sent shivers down my spine (the good kind). It made me sit up and listen.

He claimed, and stands by this claim to this day, that despite what I might think, I am actually ten times more interesting when I’m sweating it out and wrestling with the truth of a matter than when I’m off in fantasy land. He said that he loved me more when I was just being myself and hanging out with him; even when life was humdrum, rest assured he didn’t find me boring in any way. That to seek truth and love honesty might not always be the easiest path, but was always the right, more fulfilling way. That my own personal truths when I discovered them would be more thought provoking and impressive than any half cooked exaggeration or tall tale I could come up with.

That was pretty much the nicest, most inspiring vote of confidence that anyone has ever said to me and I took his words on board. I did this, not because of his ultimatum, although by then I wanted to be his lifelong partner more than anything I have ever wanted, but because I recognised that following his guidance would make me a better, happier person. Because more than anything I was terrified of winding up like my friend, who was getting more delusional by the day. I would speak to her on the phone and she didn’t even know who she was anymore, and her lies had escalated to the extent that she was claiming ridiculous and scary things: that she was giving blowjobs to serial killers in prison, had a heroin addict stalker and was working for the government as a spy. It sounds strange to say this now, but Owen’s upfront truthfulness was the antidote to what could have been seriously dangerous territory. It was like the lighthouse beacon warning me off the rocks, a guiding light to save me from the course I was set on. His integrity was to me back then the most important and challenging thing I had ever witnessed, and to this day, it is the thing I treasure and value most about my husband.

His plan to make an ‘honest woman’ out of me has (mostly) been successful, and despite the odd setback I continue to grow in truthfulness and integrity everyday, but the path hasn’t always been easy. I still fall into old ways sometimes. I find myself saying the silliest of things, like the bus fare was four pounds instead of three pounds fifty. Or saying I’ve done things when I haven’t. It’s stupid, petty, and basically a bad habit that I am still working on.

Like I say, I very rarely out and out lie these days but one of the remaining problems I have with false speech revolves around the way I handle my health. As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I have suffered mental health problems for years and until very recently I’ve dealt with them, basically, by lying my ass off. “I’m fine” was my mantra, chanted to everyone I met in the street, to my friends, to my family… even to Owen. Unless I was drunk and banging my head against a wall, or so depressed I could hardly breathe, I would basically try and put on a smiley front. I think a lot of people who know me think of me as a ‘happy depressive’ and that, my friends, is because I lie. I’m not saying I always succeed in convincing people. But I always try. This ‘coping’ method that I would halfheartedly defend (who wants to hear all my fucked up twisted thoughts? I’ll have no friends left) was exposed for the sham it really was last year.

When I attempted suicide in October, ten minutes previously I had been on the phone to my own father, saying the same hollow phrase; ‘I’m fine’. My head was in pieces, I was literally tearing my hair out, but I simultaneously laughed at all his jokes and the conversation was light-hearted and normal. We talked about the Sheffield Wednesday scores, what I was having for lunch and the relative merits of crackerbread over ricecakes. Then I put the phone down and emptied the contents of my lithium bottle down my throat. That, right there, is the danger of false speech. That is because when you are not honest about your feelings, when you lie, when you do the whole bottling/ stiffupperlip/ braveface/ bullshit, it always ends up badly. Maybe not always as dramatically as that, but always badly. After that incident my relationships with those closest to me were damaged hugely, as none of them really knew anymore whether what I was saying was anywhere near the truth. It is only now, months later, that the wounds are even starting to heal and I think in the case of my father the trust between us has been damaged almost irreparably. I should have just faced the truth, and confided in those around me; the many friends and family who love me dearly rather than relying on my acting skills and my lies in a vain attempt to cover up the truth. Painful as it is to admit you’re not coping, it is more painful to die of liver failure, surely?

So, taking this precept is of vital importance to me, in fact I would take it tomorrow. I have already made gigantic strides in this area, and I work hard every day to become a more truthful person. I would say, out of all the precepts, this is the one that makes the most sense, speaks to me most powerfully and is ethically not much of a dilemma. I have learnt the hard way that lying is damaging, that your own false speech hurts both yourself and those around you. The ones you love the most are always at the epicentre. I have witnessed that those who tell lies, even white lies, lose the trust of those around them and this eventually brings them great pain; the loss of a friendship, or even a partner. Lies are corrosive and manipulative by nature, and even when they are well intentioned often do more harm than good in the long run. Personally, I am proud to say that I am more truthful than I have ever been, but I seriously have to learn to tell the truth about the shit that’s going on in my head, my mental state. I have to stop trying to protect those around me by telling cushioning lies and be open about my feelings and my thoughts. I guess you could even say my life depends on it.

Buddhing Sexuality

Warning, friends of Jen, I am going to talk frankly about sex in the following article. If you think you might find this disturbing, look away now!

3. I undertake the precept to refrain from sexual misconduct (adultery, rape, exploitation, etc).

Number three, the way I interpret it is simple, and will, I think, be easy to keep. Buddha, if he was teaching now, however, might disagree. The way I see it though, I do refrain from sexual misconduct; I am a married woman and even when temptation has sometimes come along, I have never cheated on O and hopefully never will. I define cheating as sleeping with somebody else, or doing anything sexually (even kissing) with somebody else behind his back. As for the heavy stuff, I have never raped anyone, sold someone in to sex slavery, prostitution or supported someone who did. Just to clear that up! I don’t even watch porn very often, hardly at all. I think, sexually, I am reasonably ethical. I try to be a caring, considerate lover, in the bedroom and out. I put O's needs first, and am enthusiastic about making sure he is satisfied. Sure, there’s the whole lust thing. I have a (very) dirty mind and sometimes get the occasional crush on people other than O, and once or twice I’ve, hand on heart, got a bit too carried away; started wondering if I should propose a threesome to get it out of my system! But, at least so far, its all been strictly mental activity only. To be fair, I have always told O honestly about how I’m feeling and never tried to conceal anything from him. And he tells me when he has a silly crush himself, and I have always been understanding about that in return.

After all, we’re human, we have human urges, and I believe that a lot of problems happen in relationships when you start lying about those urges or pretending to yourself that they’re not happening. Even in the past when those urges have got a bit out of hand, I’m glad that I was honest about them rather than covering them up. So I guess that if I’m going to have a problem with any of this precept, it’s going to be if people start demanding that I’m mentally pure. Fuck that. I love O more than myself, he knows that, and we are going to be together forever, but, newsflash, it’s not only men who have problems keeping their eyes to themselves. I can’t help but notice the fit Rastafarian businessman who uses the pool at the same time as me. I can’t stop my eyes lingering over his body and pausing in certain interesting places. Call it weakness, call it nature, call it what you will, sometimes I simply can’t help myself.

As well as a wonderful, loving and exciting sex life with O, I also have a healthy relationship with my vibrator, and if Buddha is going to have a problem with that, then I might have a problem with him. Fantasy and imagination are a big part of my sexual drive, and masturbation plays a big role in that, and always has. And guess what? My sexual fantasies aren’t all big bunches of flowers and running through long grass being kissed under the old Oak tree by a tall dark stranger like Mills and Boon writers would have you believe. I do not, either, as Ann Summers suggests, fantasise about a stripper with an oiled chest, a 13” cock and an even bigger ego. These, in my experience are not what most women fantasise about. In reality we’re often a lot darker, a lot more twisted than that. As the title of a certain best selling book goes: ‘screw the roses, send me the thorns’, and I think a lot of women can relate to that.

You know what else? I’m unapologetic for this. I don’t feel guilt or shame, that’s one of the reasons I can post this on such a public forum. I think its part of a healthy, natural sexual life and part of being a liberated woman is allowing yourself to come to terms with these desires. I can’t imagine anything worse than the bland, missionary focused orgasm faking sex life that frankly, so many women in Britain have to endure on a daily basis. By having a sexual relationship with myself, as well as with my husband I am able to be more explorative, mentally and physically, and more satisfied as I know my own body better and how it works so well. I don’t know where Buddhism really stands on issues like this, but if he is foolish enough to attempt it, Buddha is going to have one hell of a time trying to separate me from my rabbit! So yes, precept three is very much a matter of interpretation. I suspect my concepts of sexuality may differ somewhat from the Buddha’s who did not live in an age of sex toys and pornography. However, I hope that if I were in conversation with him today, he could see that, in my sexual conduct, I do try to be ethical, loving, and respectful even if it’s not the way things have traditionally been done.

Love and Theft

I undertake the precept to refrain from stealing. (lit. "taking what is not offered")

When I first read this Buddhist precept my reaction was: “That’s easy peasy. I’m not a thief. “

Then I started thinking.

The first thing that sprang to mind is that I have stolen things, at least in my early life, mostly shoplifting when I was a teenager. This was mostly due to the peer pressure of some rebellious ‘friends’ I was trying to impress at the time who thought that kind of thing was cool. I didn’t, but was sick of being bullied and needed some allies so I went along with the crowd. This lack of conviction and deep suspicion that what I was doing was wrong meant that I was never very good at it. During our illicit sprees at Meadowhall shopping centre I would turn bright red and shake when I was doing it (always very clumsily), look incredibly suspicious when I was leaving the shop (looking over my shoulder every two seconds with a look of blind panic on my face then stumbling towards the exit). Afterwards, I would feel so guilty I would worry all the way home on bus and then go straight up to my bedroom and cry myself to sleep. Once I actually went back the next day and put the thing back on the shelf.

Then there’s the stealing from my parents. As I have mentioned before, I smoked for many years of my life. I mostly funded this by part time work, but when my own money ran out it was not unknown for me to, in the midst of a morning craving, dip into my parent’s money pot. They trustingly left it on the table for transport, food and essential things but I would often help myself to a couple of quid for a packet of Marlborough reds. I felt guilty about this too, very guilty, but I would justify it by telling myself that I would put the money back, one day, when I was richer. It was just a loan, a secret loan, granted, but it wasn’t stealing, not from my own parents. Anyway, I thought, if the bastards hadn’t have stopped my allowance (when they discovered I was smoking) then I wouldn’t have had to borrow the money. Needless to say, to this day I haven’t put the money (which probably amounts to several hundred pounds) back, although I fully intend to, when I am rich. Who knows if I will though. I haven’t stolen from my parents since I left home, nearly eight years ago. However, I still feel bad about this betrayal of trust. I know its something that most teenagers do at some point or other, especially if they have a semi serious nicotine and pot habit to feed, but still, I feel bad.

In more recent times I have stopped such blatant stealing, in such black and white terms but there are still instances I can think of where I frequently take what’s not offered. Recently me and O had a huge argument because he discovered I was eating chocolate bars and pasties when I was out in town, despite an agreement we had that junk food is off limits for both of us. It was made doubly bad because it’s him who is earning all the money and working hard paying for things like my gym membership so I can lose this damn weight. Hardly ethical living there, Jen.

Then you get onto the very, very, very difficult issue of downloading and copyright. A lot of our music is pirated and to some extent I agree with O’s strong views on the stupidity and unjustness of the copyright laws. Downloading has made me way more knowledgeable about the music industry than I could have ever afforded to be if I was actually paying for my tunes. I know more artists, am more experimental with my tastes and less taken in by hype and packaging. Still, I have never felt that easy about doing it. It is technically theft, even though nearly all of my generation do it at some point in their lives. It is undoubtedly, from a Buddhist point of view, taking what is not offered, therefore if I were to take the precepts, I guess I would have to stop.
This is where it all gets a bit tricky in my head.

1. I like music and don’t want to have no access to it. Especially since I have no money to pay for it.

2. I believe that by buying music from major record labels you are supporting a corporation rather than an artist. I also believe that most of the major corporate record labels have actually done more harm than good to the music industry. It’s better, if you want to actually support the artist, to go and see them live as much more of your money will go straight to their pocket.

3. However, since I have chosen him to be the primary moral guide in my life, based on my knowledge of his actions and his teachings, it is important to ask:

Q: Would Buddha, if teaching now, have used Limewire?

A: Probably not.

Which leads me to:

4. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m a kleptomaniac, but considering I have indulged in stealing, albeit guiltily, for a large part of my life, do I actually believe that all theft is wrong? Am I at one with the Buddha on this, or are we at loggerheads? After all, my absolute childhood hero (apart from Just William) was Robin Hood, who, as the legend goes, ripped off the rich to feed the poor. Part of me still loves that idea. There is so much injustice in the world. Why not take from those who have screwed you and your beloved planet over? Why not get the corporate fatcats where it hurts?

But when I say these words, I get the same feeling I do when I was talking to the rebellious kids in Meadowhall shopping centre. I start to feel uncomfortable, overwhelmed by that sense of over justification and lack of real conviction. Despite it being the so called radical thing to say, this is not what I really believe.

Blame it on a childhood overdose on Jesus if you want, but in my heart of hearts I think theft is wrong. I don’t feel proud of all the stealing I’ve done in my life, in fact, quite the opposite. I can’t simply make myself feel at ease with it all by saying to myself :‘all property is theft’. At the end of the day, I think stealing is a negative action, and when you steal someone always ends up getting hurt. It may not be the person you think and the pain could be financial, emotional, psychological or physical. I believe that inflicting pain is wrong, whoever you inflict it upon. There is no such thing as a person who deserves pain or deserves to suffer. Even if they by their actions have harmed other people, this wrong is not solved by harming them. At the end of the day one of the Buddha’s central guiding teachings is that you should treat all beings equally and do harm to none. In my eyes theft is a harmful action, and so should be avoided.

I also believe in treating other people how I would like to be treated myself, (that old chestnut) and the times I have been stolen from have hurt me. The pain ranged from panic and rage when I had my wallet stolen to just vague annoyance that people in my halls of residence had been at my milk again. Whatever the depth of your reaction though, being stolen from is never a pleasant experience. When I think of my own stealing, of my parents maybe not being able to afford a meal out because I had swiped the last tenner, when talented bands I love lose their record contract because of declining sales, when Owen can’t have that book he wanted because I spent 3 pounds on a bacon and sausage sandwich, I think you selfish selfish bitch. That’s the crux of the matter for me, stealing is a very self centered act where you put your own desires over those of another being. In doing so you are, at least in Buddhist terms, not acting in the spirit of compassion and generosity but in terms of your own ego’s hoarding and selfishness.

Once again though, as with many of these precepts, it’s put your money where your mouth is time. Am I really ready to make the commitment and turn my back on free downloads? Am I really sure I’m sure? Its one thing believing and quite another to do. I am very attached to music and the music scene and the idea of going without it not only scares me but goes against the grain as well.

So you see, thinking about these precepts is really challenging me. O thinks the whole concept of subscribing to a formula of set precepts is outdated and ridiculous, but that’s an entry for another time. For now, its just good to be thinking these things through, and wrestling with moral issues, which, if I’m honest, I had been avoiding doing since leaving the church all those years ago.

(Not) Killing in the Name Of....

Despite my username, I am not a Buddhist. At least, not officially. If anything I would call me more Bud-curious. I am still very much at the exploratory stage of my journey and whilst a lot of my interaction with Buddhist teaching has had a positive effect on my life, constantly challenging me to act with more compassion and wisdom on a daily level, I do not feel ready to commit to the path and take refuge in the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. I especially do not feel ready to undertake the five precepts that all Buddhists must promise to keep. I take these things very seriously and if I made the commitment it would turn my tiny world, as I know it now, upside down. I thought over the next month or so I would like to occasionally do a short blog on each one of the precepts so I can start to work through what they mean to me. So today, here are my reflections on precept number one.

For those of you who don’t know, the five Buddhist precepts are:

1. I undertake the precept to refrain from taking the life (killing) of living beings.

2. I undertake the precept to refrain from stealing. (lit. "taking what is not offered")

3. I undertake the precept to refrain from sexual misconduct (adultery, rape, exploitation, etc).

4. I undertake the precept to refrain from false speech (lying).

5. I undertake the precept to refrain from intoxicants which lead to heedlessness.

They don’t look like a big deal on the surface really, do they? Logical good advice just like the Ten Commandments but actually quite lenient because there are only five to keep! However, the more I think about them the more radical they are and the more a sincere commitment to stick to them, in spirit as well as in letter, would absolutely transform me as a person. Let’s examine the implications of the first precept:

I take this precept to mean I must not intentionally harm, as well as simply kill other creatures. The most significant thing this means to me is that I can no longer kill wasps or snakes or another creature that causes me annoyance or worse, danger. This to me is huge. I couldn’t get through a summer without my fly swat; such is my phobia of wasps and bees. To voluntarily take away that power I have over other creatures, to vow not to kill even if my own life was in danger breaks me out in a cold sweat. It means, in practical terms, that if a wasp lands on my arm I just have to let it be. I have to sit there and let the black and yellow evil fucker clamber all over me, stinging at will. If a spider crawls up my leg I have to be still and calm. If a snake runs over my foot I can’t attack it to protect myself. Man, this is rich panic attack territory, right here. I’d like it put on the record that I think I do at least agree with this precept, in principle at least. I think it goes without saying that a lot of harm has been done to this planet by the whole monotheistic Adam and Eve garden bullshit. Giving us hierarchical superiority over the other animals like that was always a bad idea in my book and it has been used throughout history to justify the most horrific of abuses of power. In taking the vow it’s just the practice that I know I’d really struggle with.

In terms of eating animals, in Buddhist circles opinion is really divided on this one. Some traditions eat meat, some don’t. Personally speaking if I took this precept I probably would become vegetarian. I know killing for food is different ethically than killing for other reasons, but it somehow doesn’t sit right with me to be all serious about compassion for living beings, and then tucking in to my Turkey roast on a Sunday enjoying the crackly skin of a bird that has had a shit life, a horrible death when at the end of the day it is possible to have a healthy vegetarian diet. However, and this is where the selfish part comes in, I love meat. I love its taste and texture, its flavour and smell. I just don’t know if I’m ready to turn my back on spare ribs and king prawns. Is that so bad?

Humans are obviously living beings too, and in reality are much more of a threat than any silly little spider. To me taking this precept would eliminate me from harming another human, even in self defense. Even if that person is doing harmful deeds; like hurting my family or friends. It would involve being absolutely committed to a life of non violence in a violent world. This is massive in its implications. I honestly don’t know if I would be able to stick to it.

As well as avoiding direct harm of people and animals in your own personal actions I think this precept calls implicitly for avoidance of industries and products that cause harm and destruction to people and planet. This is your basic ethical living that is very fashionable to talk about now (less so to actually do, I feel) and includes avoiding investing in or buying from companies that are involved in the arms trade, pillaging of natural world resources, exploitative labour, animal cruelty or anything that causes harm or loss of life to another living being. I try hard now to live as ethically as possible, but if I took this precept I would have to make a lot more changes from where I shop to the bank I’m with to the food I eat. I would have to think a lot more and have a lot more integrity about these kinds of issues, rather than pay lip service to them and then still buy nestle coffee because it’s on 2 for 1 in Sainsbury’s.

There’s much more that could be said about precept number 1, I have no doubt. I am sure books have been written about books on the subject. This is just meant to be a quick sketch from my point of view. If I ever do take these vows, I want to mean them, all of them, and to be clear about the implications that they will have in my life. Thinking about them is a good starting point, but I’m still a long way off from getting up there and making a public commitment to such radical changes in my life and world view. Right now, I’m at the stage of thinking the think and talking the talk. It is going to take a lot of bravery and hefty decisions before I finally get my rucksack on my back, pull my cagool on tight and set off on the rocky winding path of walking the Buddhist walk.