Apech

Not sure why he wavered on this. As far as I have experienced all practices have a hinayana/mahayana/vajrayana construction ... I thought it was obvious that this is how it is and how it should be.

You have a good day too.

No peace for the wicked. ... its not a link its a pic.

I cannot tell how many days or weeks I wandered with a heavy heart and an empty belly, moving south inland and then down the coast. Eventually I was taken in by a village priest in Hoa Vang district. He was, he told me from a tribe of the Mon-Khmer far from his true home. He taught me how to fish and we would weekly take the long hike down to the sea, to where his brother's boat was moored. One day when waiting for his brother to return we were surprised by the appearance of a huge flotilla of vast grey ships over the horizon. Smaller craft emerged from those ships and raced to shore crashing into the sand. Men waving rifles, packets of chewing gum and chocolate bars ran up the beach towards us as we stood dumbstruck. A tall officer loomed over my master and in a loud voice asked: "Excuse me Sir could you direct us to the strategically vital Air Base at Da Nang?" "Sorry me humble fisherman," replied my master adopting a strangely distorted syntax. "Oh! Well we are the 9th Marine Expeditionary brigade of the Younited States of America come to save you from the red oppressor." My master bowed deeply. "Most welcome. If I had known I would have changed from these simple black pyjamas and hat in the shape of a lamp shade which I customarily wear, into something more fitting for this great occasion." The smiling officer waved away my masters apology. "And how," continued my master, "will you go about saving us from this red peril." "We thought we would fly around in helicopters playing the Doors greatest hits, Jefferson Airplane and also some R&B soul music, even though as this is 1965 much of this music has not yet been recorded." Bowing again my master said. "This is indeed a great day for my country, now if you will excuse us we must go to dig tunnels …" "Dig tunnels?" "Excuse me my English is so poor what I meant to say is we must go to gather in the harvest." And so we departed, my master muttering to himself - 'we must leave and go to my cousin in Cambodia as I am sure the forthcoming war will never spread to there even though there may be Vietnamese supply lines passing through that country and the American President may seek to justify this as a means of containment rather than military expansionism. In any case he will probably end up being impeached for an unrelated but similar act of mendacity'. Sometimes I wondered if perhaps my master was too fond of those special mushrooms, his talk was so strangely affected and yet weirdly prophetic.

My birds.

This is a composite picture of the typical modern day Frenchman:

Ok maybe I shouldn't have said average ... it was just for contrast.

stay tuned for more cliches.

I feel there's a lot of love on this thread.

Envy!!!!!! I want one!!!!!

yep that's me ... cheap.

Me too

Yes this is kind of what worries me - if people rely on sites like this for information, ideas or opinion. I think if your practice is already well embedded then its not a problem. Of corse the origin of Tibetan Buddhism is different to other forms as it arises from the Buddhism practiced in India from maybe 800 - 1200 (mainly) which was a combination of monasticism (through teachers like Atisha) and tantric Buddhism from the mahasiddhis (and also you could add mahamudra/dzogchen also from certain mahasiddhis). Also quite early they rejected the sudden ch'an style for the gradual approach thus creating a broad church approach which more or less encompasses any extant style. I think it is a very attractive school because of this ... coupled with the very positive approach of the Tibetan mentality and the attractive nature of Tibetan art and culture. I guess you are right about the US. I really don't know. I know theraveda is quite strong in the UK too. The way I am taught is that apart from generalist reading around the subject all text which are studied seriously as practice are accompanied by the 'lung' and an empowerment where appropriate. Sure you are right about western psychology. We have the benefits of science and industry - and the resultant wealth - but the violence inherent in the industrial revolution two major world wars and countless other wars, social upheaval, colonialism and so on have their price in mental instability and emotional insecurity. The dharma has the answers to these problems but it will take time for realised beings who really understand the west to emerge (I think). Its not easy ... a thousand time true

From my point of view I think that you would get a very distorted view of Buddhism from reading what is here. I don't quite follow you about the emphasis on Tibetan Buddhism being a western bias. In fact I would say that the Buddhism which first came west was particularly dualist and Hinayana (if I can use that phrase without offending anyone). The big, big problem is that a) the texts are not yet properly translated into English (or other western tongues) so extracting quotes and using them can be very misleading and b ) Buddhism seems to attract a lot of people who prefer a distorted view based on their own emotional conditioning (as proof just look at the average Tibetan - happy, relaxed, smiling, open and the average western Buddhist neurotic, anxious, self absorbed, often just plain daft). So I think it is clear that although many people are attracted to Tibetan Buddhism, for instance because of the engaging personality of HHDL and others ... they need years of study and practice to get the basics right (I include myself in this by the way).

Well as a cat (obviously) I was there so no need to study. However my present owner likes to read some military history and also has watched endless documentaries on the BBC.

Ah Marblehead you who know so much of soldiery ... perhaps you will understand what happened next ..... I don't know how many weeks I wandered those dusty roads clogged with old people fleeing the cities, pursued by gangs of youths waving their red books. Suddenly the world seemed full of wizened Taoist trying sell their magic juju balls. So many times I had to show my claws and scowl 'get out of my way granddad'. But one evening I came across a group of soldiers sat around a camp fire. They shared their canned meat with me and seemed quite friendly until one grabbed me saying "General Ho needs a mascot!" If being a mascot means being bounced around in the back of truck driven at 100 mph on the un-made roads of South East Asia I want nothing of it, I thought. But the next day I heard talk that warmed my heart. We were off to somewhere called Dien Bien Phu to see the French. The French! At the sound of that name tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered that day when we danced at the Eagles Nest and mein Fuhrer had said, laughing, "this morning we dance and this evening we dine in Paris!". So packed in a little plane we had flown all the way. We gazed from the windows at all Europe spread before us, while Adolf bent over his newspaper muttering. "I cannot finish this crossword," he said, " all I need is the final solution!", "I think I can help you there," joked Herr Himmler. And we all roared with laughter. And Paris! So full of ladies with petticoats and no underwear. But when we arrived at Dien Bien Phu it was a different story. The hills bristled with the fighting Viet Minh, armed to the teeth and eager for war. Below them were the French, totally surrounded. Surrounded and yet it seems, oblivious. In the centre of their camp was a long trestle table covered with a spotless white cloth. Around it sat the soldiers eating fresh bread and duck pate, and sipping a delightful Pinot Noir. At the head of the table the commander in chief stood upon a crate, a glass of claret in one hand and a gauloise in the other, reciting Baudelaire. There is nothing so sweet and musical, so sensuous or dramatic, so mellifluous as the French mother tongue, spoken aloud under an open sky … especially when it is punctuated by the rippling crack, bang and thud of 81 mm mortar shells landing all about. As the Viet Minh surged forward as if lured on by the smell of ripe camembert, I can tell you I wept. It was not just that I was witnessing the slaughter of a majestic foe, it was that I was seeing the victory of modernity over art, efficiency over style and brute force over charm. Never again, I thought, would tousle haired existentialists dressed in white linen ferry their wives and mistresses through the misty back waters of the Mekong Delta while a nectarine sun set over distant smoke blue hills. It was the end of French Indo-China, the end of an imperial dream, which like an antique palace was slowly collapsing into the sea of history. As the last battle cries rang out, I sloped quietly away into the undergrowth, I wanted none of it.

The tale of how I came to leave the People Republic of NK is long and complex but suffice to say that it involved major international political pressure from Korea's big neighbour China. Some joker from Beijing bought me and put a sign round my neck which said "Chairman Miaow" … needless to say the secret police had a long talk with him, so long in fact that I didn't see him again, just heard him screaming from behind a wall. Not a Great Wall just an ordinary wall. And right then the big boss walked in. He looked at me and said "What's this cat doing here?" … then when he was told he just pursed his lips, shook his head and said "You know its just not right, not right at all… what we need in this country is a new revolution … this time a cultural revolution. I'm going to write a little book on that very subject … oh and get rid of that moggy before it wees on the carpet." So they threw me out and I wandered lost for days along the high roads and low roads of China.

I'm glad you asked me that because as it happens the friend of Runch who had carried me along was hit by a stray round from an M1 carbine, fired no doubt by a member of the US Marine Corps. His backpack burst and I was sent scurrying into the muddy battlefield where I hid in a shell hole. When the fighting had died down I was rescued from the dirt by my new owner Mr. Kim. Mr. Kim kept me for many years in great splendour, saying that as he was the beloved leader of his people, then I was the beloved cat of the people. I remember the smiling faces of the peasants as we toured the countryside, they waved and smiled and cheered - or otherwise were shot in the head by Mr. Kim's uniformed friends. It was wonderful to be adored and it still gives me a warm feeling inside to think how Mr. Kim's social, economic and agrarian reforms transformed the lives of those simple yet grateful people, leading them from simple poverty to ignorance and starvation.

Hey lagartixa! You'll look nasty with no tail.

Sure it was cold. But I survived. Eating rats and dodging shells from the UNO forces up the hill. One day about a million Chinese soldiers came up the slope and that was that. I think they were looking for presents for their friends or something ... cos one of them grabbed me by the back legs and shouted "look what I got for Runch" ... I assume he had a buddy called Runch back home or something. He stuck me in his backpack till we got to some place called Onjong. All hell broke loose when we got there. Bullets flying, people shouting, MIGs overhead ... I've never seen anything like it.

anyone for chat?

Unluckily for me one of Mr. Bitler's far eastern servants sold me to his cousin and I ended up living in a fox hole in some god forsaken spot near the Yalu River in North Korea.

After that I was shipped in a crate to Argentina with my new owner a Mr. A. Bitler ... he seemed very familiar somehow.

It was better when they shipped me off to the Ardennes forest and let me ride around in tanks.

It was Stalingrad did that to me ... I was never the same afterwards.