Pál Farkas 

Teacher at Dharma Gate Buddhist College
(scriptural studies, scriptural translation, monastic regulations – Vinaya, meditation, fundamental  Buddhist teachings)
Fragments of Thought for a Possible Introduction
Right from the start: I have never liked looking in the mirror or standing in front of a camera. Yet, for many years, I examined only myself, barely having time to discover the surrounding world. So, I have reservations about all forms of media.
I am probably a reserved person, considering many things part of the intimate sphere that others do not. For instance, I do not like eating with people I barely know, talking to them about my life, or being physically too close to them.
This does not mean, however, that I have not lost myself in the world, that I have not wandered enough in other countries, that I have not been fascinated by places and people, or that I have not indulged in excesses when they were necessary for understanding. I am a complex being, like anyone else.
Talking about the spiritual path and seeking it feels to me like being asked to make love in public. It is not only that I know I become clumsy under the floodlights, but I also believe that something essential cannot truly be born this way—something that requires the blessing of intimacy.
I find it difficult to talk about it also because every word carries multiple meanings, making it prone to misunderstanding and misinterpretation. And I am reluctant to have anything from my life recorded, because then it is no longer life. Life arises and perishes in every moment, and that is precisely how it should be. At most, I leave traces behind—faint and fleeting, like a swallow’s wing touching the water: the memory of a touch on someone’s skin, the reverberation of a sound in someone’s ear. Whatever continues to live from me will weave itself unnoticed and organically into the colorful fabric of life, indistinguishable from it.
Seeking is the most intimate process of all, for it exposes a person’s poverty, fragility, and vulnerability—and the poor do not like to show themselves. Perhaps they do not even like to speak of this poverty in times of well-being, though they recall it with quiet understanding and compassion.
Life itself is the example—the life fully lived, the attitude, the bearing, the integrity. It is not so much what we do, but how we do it. I do not even know what could or should be said at all.
Of course, I can answer questions. I try to avoid appearing knowledgeable and strive to remain honest in my answers, deceiving neither myself nor others. For a long time now, I have done little or nothing that I would be ashamed of, and I keep my doors wide open to those who are curious—I have nothing to hide. What I dare to do, I dare to take responsibility for.
I care about authenticity—when the whole person stands behind their own life, no matter how well they understand its contingency, changeability, and elusiveness. When they know they must soon let go of it and do so without flinching. I care about the courage that is not frightened by arising and not terrified by passing away, that watches the strange and beautiful play of life with serene tranquility, that sets no conditions and does not worry. I care about how to explain to people that they should appreciate and live with their whole heart the extraordinary opportunity we call life.