The Collected Works of Chögyam Trungpa: Volume Seven (24 page)

The basic principle of photography from that point of view is viewing things as they are in their own ordinary nature. It is very simple and direct. We should be prepared to see how we can present a picture or concept in our minds. Can we do it or not? The obvious answer is that we can do it. However, we actually should be willing to see a particular vision without expectation or conceptualization. We should have the perspective of being willing to take any kind of good old, bad old shot. The whole point is that we should be extremely careful and inquisitive about what we see in our world: what we see with our eyes, what we actually perceive, both how we see and what we see. This is very important.

There’s an old saying, “Seeing’s not believing.” That’s true. When we see something, we don’t have to believe in it, but we do have to see it properly. We have to
look
at it—then it might be true. The interesting point here is that in sharpening our perception completely and properly, we don’t have to put philosophical or metaphysical jargon into it. We are just dealing precisely and directly with how our perception or vision works as we look at an object and how our mind changes by looking at it.

In discussing symbolism or iconography, we have to consider everything in absolute detail. We have to think slowly, to slow down. It is not so much getting ideas and information as fast as we can, but as
slowly
as we can, so that we have an understanding of the basic setup. For instance, we could examine a very high quality Tibetan thangka executed by a great Tibetan art master. There’s blue paint ground from lapis lazuli; white from some kind of chalk; the red is vermilion; the yellow is pure gold; and the green is a kind of vegetable paint. If you take such a thangka and divide it into small sections, you might get some idea as to how things can proceed by paying more attention to details. Everything in that thangka was carefully chosen by an individual person who was actually interested in such works of art. Likewise, we need to see how much effort and understanding we have to put into our lives to live properly and completely. Otherwise, we may have a problem, because we want to do it all right away. For instance, we feel we could paint the whole thangka tomorrow, make an exact replica of it. But this is not an art course on how to paint pictures; we are training you how to see things as they are.

When you see a thangka, you could just look—not in terms of it being a fantastic work of art, but as a simple visual object. Just look at it. Feel the difference between seeing a thangka and seeing someone have a car crash. See the stillness and the movement. This is not regarded as a fantastic contrast of metaphysical worlds, but as a simple visual perception. You can actually do it, you can see it. If you look too long, you will get bored, because you would like to see the next goodie; at this point it would be better to go very slowly. [See illustration “Vajrahara” after the chapter “Coloring Our World.”]

Usually, we are restless with our visual perception. Even when we see something fantastically beautiful, we are shy in actually relating with it. That shyness is connected with aggression. We are unable to see things properly, as they really are. If we see beautiful things, we are so fascinated and interested: we would like to touch and handle them; we would like to smell them and hear them. On the other hand, when we see something ugly or terrible, such as dogshit on the street, we don’t want to touch it, we don’t want to see it, and we try to avoid the whole thing—“Yuck!”

It is very interesting how our mind and our psychology work, how perception conducts our life. But we really don’t give in to it, we don’t let go completely. That doesn’t mean we have to eat dogshit or abandon beautiful things, but it’s interesting how we reject things that have the slightest offensiveness to us. We don’t like it at all. And if we do like something, if there’s a slight suggestion of promise, we like it so much that we want to get right into it. The result is that usually we don’t really
look
at anything at all. Particularly if we have lots of money, if we see a beautiful fabric, beautiful painting, or any beautiful item, we just want to buy it. That’s our first impulse. Then we become afraid of it. We wonder whether it’s worth buying, how much it costs, whether it’s the real thing or not. We get panicky, step back a little, and get completely confused. By then, we have no idea whether we want it or not, our minds are so confused.

The problem comes from not being able to spend enough time looking at things as they are, directly, properly, clearly. That seems to be one of the basic points in how to view symbolism. It is a question of reality, how we view reality. You have an idea that when you begin to experience reality you are going to be entertained, that you won’t have any more pain. But quite possibly seeing reality may be more painful. Ultimate reality may be more painful than any pain you experience in your life. That seems to be an important point. Although you would like to see things changing—not working out as they were, but reshuffling themselves—at the same time, the world remains as it is.

The Process of Perception

There is a kind of standing-still quality, or stalemate, in which comments and remarks become unimportant, and seeing things as they are becomes the real thing. It’s like a frog sitting in the middle of a big puddle, with rain constantly falling on it. The frog simply winks its eyes at each raindrop that falls on it, but it doesn’t change its posture
.

T
HE QUESTION OF REALITY
is a very confusing one. Nobody knows, but everybody knows that somebody knows. That seems to be the problem we are facing: maybe nobody knows at all or maybe everybody knows. So we should not purely trust the information, suggestions, and ideas that come to us from external sources, but actually work with ourselves and try to develop our own personal understanding and appreciation of reality. Reality seems to be the basic space in which we operate in our ordinary, everyday life. It brings some sense of comfort and, at the same time, some sense of confusion. There seems to be a basic play between the two.

When we begin to perceive our phenomenal world, we do not perceive it as purely gray and nondescript, as though it were camouflaged. In fact, we see highlights of all kinds. For example, when we perceive an ordinary object—when we take a look at an egg or a cup of tea—there’s a sense of boredom, because such a thing is so ordinary and domestic. We already know what an egg is like, and we know what a cup of tea is like. But when we are presented with something extraordinary, we begin to feel we are being treated to a special show. So in either the ordinary or the excited state of mind, whether we find the world extremely boring or extraordinarily entertaining, there’s always a sense of confusion and aggression.

Such aggression is an obstacle to visual dharma, to hearing and the other sense perceptions, and to understanding reality in its fullest sense. So some kind of fundamental discipline seems to be absolutely important and necessary. Without any actual practice of sitting meditation to enable us to make friends with ourselves, nothing can be heard or seen to its fullest extent; nothing can be perceived as we would like to perceive it. But slowly and naturally, through our discipline, we gradually begin to branch out into the real world, the world of chaos, pain, and anxiety.

When we reach the state of nonaggression, it is not that we cease to perceive anything, but we begin to perceive in a particular way. With the absence of aggression, there is further clarity, because nothing is based on anxiety and nothing is based on ideas or ideals of any kind. Instead, we are beginning to see things without making any demands. We are no longer trying to buy or sell anything to anybody. It is a direct and very personal experience.

Our experience of the state of nonaggression becomes so personal that sometimes it is quite painful. Because all obstacles of any kind have been completely cleared out, for the first time we are seeing things from the point of view of pure vision and clarity. We begin to hear music purely and see colors and visual objects in their fullest purity. When we become more sensitive to experiences in this way, they become more penetrating, and they begin to make more sense. Therefore, there is the possibility of irritation. But at the same time, there is also a lot of humor. We no longer feel that we have to hassle, or try to swim across this ocean of tremendous demands the world makes on us. We don’t have to push against it anymore. There’s a sense of clarity, which is extraordinarily pleasing, and at the same time, there is a sense of overwhelming precision, which makes our experience terribly painful. So we could say that this particular journey of seeing things as they are, experiencing the iconography and sacred art of the world, is a state of mind—as much as Bombay Gin.

In many cases, we try so hard to understand. We are so eager that our eagerness begins to become numbness. We are so eager that we misunderstand things a lot. Sometimes our mind becomes completely blank, and we can’t actually communicate. We forget how to put our sentences together; we forget what to write down; we lose our memories. All kinds of problematic things take place in us as an expression of eagerness, which is a somewhat euphemistic term for mental speediness. But this is a long project. It is important to study and work with this material and to examine our life and our experience. We could learn to experience our world properly, so that our life becomes worth living and further learning takes place. We can perceive the world with lots of space, or we can perceive the world with no space, but that is saying the same thing. The experience of no space at the same time happens to be space. So when we begin to overcrowd the whole thing, the crowdedness becomes space.

Visual perception becomes reality gradually. According to the traditional pattern, beginning to see something visually is a process that has many levels. First we see with our eyes, then we smell with our eyes, then we hear with our eyes, and then we begin to touch the object with our eyes. Each particular sensory perception has those same aspects taking place. For instance, at the auditory level, when we hear something, we see it first, then we hear it, then we smell it, then we touch it. So psychological shifts take place all the time. Perceiving is a gradual process.

Realistically, when we
see
something and experience it personally, our first connection is made abruptly, impulsively. As we perceive further, we can
smell
that visual object: its texture, its setup, and the vibrations it presents to us. Then we begin to
hear
that visual object. We can hear its texture as well as its breath, whether it breathes hard or soft. We can actually hear the heartbeat of that visual object. So we see its heartbeat and hear it at the same time. Finally, because we have gone through this whole process, we begin to take an immense interest in that visual object, and we try to
touch
it visually. We commit ourselves to that particular perception, and we actually begin to relate with whatever goes on in our world. We begin to touch our world, to feel the real texture of it, not just the sound or smell or first visual flash of the texture. In that way, we are able to establish ourselves in total communication.

That process takes place all the time, in whatever we do in our life and at whatever perceptual level we are relating with. Whether it is our hearing system, smelling system, seeing system, or tasting system; whether we are eating food, hearing music, seeing visual things, wearing different types of clothes, or taking a swim, those four categories—sight, smell, hearing, and touch—take place all the time. That is how we actually perceive things as they are. However, sometimes we jump back and forth instead of going through the regular, gradual process of seeing things as they are properly. First we touch some kind of edge, then we bounce back from that edge, and then we return to it again. We begin to have a dialogue with ourselves, to tell ourselves a story: “Maybe this is not right, maybe this is not true, maybe this is the ideal situation. Let’s talk about it, let’s think about it.” We go on and on and on that way, bouncing back and forth all the time. That is the neurotic, or psychotic, tendency in visual perception.

Visual perception does not have anything to do with whether or not we are seeing colors properly. Even if we are color-blind, we can still do it. When we begin to see something, first we have the question of visual perspective: the world we see is framed by our eyes, so it has a sort of oval shape, or egg shape. We can’t see beyond the limitations of our eyes. Then we begin to smell, which goes on in the back of our head. We smell
behind
what we see. Some kind of commentator comes along and says that this object has a smell or odor to it. Not only that, but then we begin to hear that particular object from all around—not behind and in front alone, but underneath us and above us as well. We begin to sense that something is there, and we try to figure out what it might be. And finally, we begin to establish some kind of relationship. We begin to touch, which is a very direct and forward situation. We begin to feel it personally, and we try to make decisions, saying, “I’ll buy it. I like it,” or “I reject it. I don’t like it.” The whole process takes place in a fraction of a second, very fast. Jing! Jing! Jing! Jing! That whole mechanism is very fast and very simple, and it takes place all the time.

As far as dharma art or absolute experience is concerned, along with our experience we begin to see things as they are, touch on things as they are. Then we begin just to
be
with object perceptions, without accepting or rejecting. We simply try to
be
that way. There is a kind of standing-still quality, or stalemate, in which comments and remarks become unimportant, and seeing things as they are becomes the real thing. It’s like a frog sitting in the middle of a big puddle, with rain constantly falling on it. The frog simply winks its eyes at each raindrop that falls on it, but it doesn’t change its posture. It doesn’t try either to jump into the puddle or to get out of the puddle. That quality is what is symbolized by a sitting bull, so the frog becomes a sitting bull.