#badbuddhist

Can you tell me some of my traits, view on love, and how I am in bed? lol I'm a Capricorn female, Gemini moon, Libra rising, Aquarius Venus, and Capricorn Mars?

I sure can! And I have! :D

You can read alllllll about yourself by following all the links on these pages. -> http://astraltwelve.tumblr.com/natalchart -> http://astraltwelve.tumblr.com/capricorn -> http://astraltwelve.tumblr.com/links

If you want a personalized Natal Chart report, you can attain one here: -> http://callisnatalchartreports.tumblr.com/natalchartreport

When I told my Dad that I wanted to explore Buddhism, maybe even become a Buddhist, he said, “Don’t tell me you’re going to wear those red and yellow robes and walk around SoHo asking people to give you money.” I realized he had no clue what Buddhism was. And in trying to figure out exactly how I could correct his mistaken view, I realized that I didn’t have any idea what Buddhism really was, either.  My mother asked, "So, do you denounce God now?  Have you converted?"  And, truthfully, I had no idea. Do I have to? I wondered.  

My exposure to Buddhism began in college with a broad introductory class covering scholars writing about the tenets of Buddhism, to more elusive teachings from the Dalai Lama.  We read scriptures based in a variety of Buddhist schools, from Zen, to Chinese, to Tibetan.  Slowly, I noticed, my desire for an "easy A" became a passion for enduring.  Not only enduring the endless hours of college lectures, but enduring the ceaseless discontentment that pervaded even the most thrilling moment in life. 

Continuing the progression from broad Buddhist theories into strictly Tibetan Buddhism the next semester, I began to pick up a lot of the practices that were talked about in what I now realize were staple Buddhist scriptures.  Essentially, meditation.  Everyone has had some exposure to meditation.  Whether in yoga one was told to breath and "clear the mind", or one aspired to "think before he speaks", we have all experienced meditation.  Meditation is adding distance.  Between thoughts, emotions, and actions.  

As a beginner to formal meditation, I decided to buy an album of Tibetan monks chanting.  I downloaded the songs from iTunes, clicked "play", rested my body down on my bed, closed my eyes, and began to breath.  A few moments later, I realized that I was no longer in my physical body.  My consciousness had lifted itself out of my physical body and now floated above it, staring down at it, watching my chest rise and fall and my eyes wander back and forth underneath my eyelids.  The longer my consciousness hovered over my physical body, the more hysterical I became, thrashing, crying, and feeling completely stuck.

I woke up some time later to silence, the album had played itself through.  Scared, I got up and began to do mundane house chores, washing dishes, cleaning the toilet, anything to close up what felt like a gaping wound.  As I washed dishes, I felt a tingling sensation all over my back and kept turning around to address what felt like stray energies all vying for my attention.  An hour or so later, the skeleton of energies surrounding us every day, subsided back to its place underneath the flesh of normal everyday life, into the walls of our subconscious.

Not satisfied with leaving mystery be, I tried meditating to the same soundtrack again a few days later.  I clicked "play", rested my body, closed my eyes, and began to breath mindfully again.  Again, my consciousness exited my physical body and hovered just a foot above, thrashing and crying.  This time, after what felt like a few minutes, my emotional consciousness began to move within my apartment.  From my bedroom, it glided into my living room, where it sat on my couch and began to pet my cat.  

Again I woke up to silence, able to feel the atoms making up my body, vibrating.  I felt, as the cliche goes, "alive".  A few moments later, as I emerged from my bedroom feeling the energies swirling around me, my roommate told me that "the most bizarre happened" when she came home.  She walked into the apartment, and Lucy, my cat, was on the couch purring and rolling around as though someone had been petting her.  

That was when I realized that I must have had some karmic connection to Buddhism.  Something in one of my past lives, in some past incarnation of myself, or in some ancestor before me, had come into contact with Buddhism, and the seeds had begun to grow in me.  Since then, I haven't dared meditate to that album again, and have begun practicing Buddhism more formally and more regularly in hopes of figuring out how to harness the intense power of the experience I had.

So, now, when someone comes into my apartment and sees my Buddhist shrine, or sees my tattoos of Sanskrit words or the Eyes of Bodhnath, their first question is, simply, "Are you a Buddhist?" The answer, not so simply, has always been, "Sort of.  A terrible one, if I am."

I'm well aware of how pretentious it may sound, but I don't mean it to be some elusive and mysterious Buddhist-proper answer.  I really mean it. I'm a terrible Buddhist.  I'm anxious.  I'm selfish, most of the time. I have a pretty big ego.  And I have about as much control over my emotions as I do over my abysmal finances.  Yet somehow, the worse and worse I feel I'm getting at it, the more and more determined I become to find enlightenment.  The more I realize just how bad of a Buddhist I am, the more of a compassionate warrior I find myself becoming.  

It has led me to make a huge discovery that has permeated my entire life: the worse you feel you're getting at something you love, the closer you are to a breakthrough.  When you think you've created that piece of art that will end your short-lived creative career, you're stepping on the tail of your masterpiece.  I know that the day I think to myself, "Boy, you've really come a long way in your Buddhist practice.  You're getting really good at this!" is the day I will not actually be a Buddhist.  The day I discover the key to making perfect art, is the day I won't actually be an artist anymore.  Nor would I want to be.

No one has ever known they were about to reach nirvana, achieve perfection.  The Buddha had to meditate for years before he found enlightenment.  He fucked up a lot, too.  He starved himself.  He studied with teachers who, at some point, told him they could take him no further.  He was back on his own.

Some things are mysterious because without them inspiration would have no place to hide.