VIPASSANA MEDITATION. A REFLECTION

 

he widely quoted saying, "Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is not here, pay attention to today," is a modern summary of Buddhist teachings on mindfulness, heavily popularized by contemporary teachers like Thich Nhat Hanh, rather than a direct, word-for-word quote from the ancient Pali Canon. 

However, it perfectly reflects the core Buddhist philosophy found in the Bhaddekaratta Sutta (The Sutra on Knowing the Better Way to Live Alone). 

Here are the authentic teachings of the Buddha and modern interpretations of this wisdom:

1. The Core Teaching (Bhaddekaratta Sutta)

In the Bhaddekaratta Sutta (Majjhima Nikaya 131), the Buddha says: 

"Do not pursue the past.
Do not lose yourself in the future.
The past no longer is.
The future has not yet come.
Looking deeply at life as it is
In the very here and now,
The practitioner dwells in stability and freedom."

2. "Pay Attention to Today" (Heedfulness)

The Buddha emphasized that today is the only time we can act, cultivating what is known as appamāda (heedfulness or diligence). 

• The urgency of now: "Only try the hardest what needs to be done today. Who knows what death will bring tomorrow?"
• Not ignoring the future: Being present does not mean ignoring future needs, but rather doing today's work—including planning—with total awareness and attention, rather than anxiety. 

3. Why Dwell in the Present?

• Regret and Worry: The Buddha taught that dwelling on the past brings regret, while obsessing over the future creates anxiety.
• True Life: Life is only available in the present moment.
• Actionable Change: The only place where we can change our karma and make positive choices is the present. 

4. Popularized Interpretations

While often attributed simply to "Buddha" on social media, the specific phrasing is frequently associated with Thich Nhat Hanh and sometimes modern Tibetan teacher Tulku Lobsang Rinpoche, who taught that "life is just one day"—today is our whole life, from birth to death.

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VIPASSANA MEDITATION — A Reflection

I was drawn to Vipassana meditation after learning how much time Yuval Noah Harari dedicates to the practice. His teacher, S. N. Goenka, a Burmese practitioner in the lineage of Sayagyi U Ba Khin of Mandalay, brought this ancient technique into modern global consciousness.

The opening verses of the Bhaddekaratta Sutta (Majjhima Nikaya 131) express its essence:

Atītaṃ nānvāgameyya,
Nappaṭikaṅkhe anāgataṃ;
Yadatītaṃ pahīnaṃ taṃ,
Appattañca anāgataṃ.
Paccuppannañca yo dhammaṃ,
Tattha tattha vipassati;
Asaṃhīraṃ asaṅkuppaṃ,
Taṃ vidvā manubrūhaye.

“Do not pursue the past.
Do not lose yourself in the future.
The past no longer is.
The future has not yet come.
Looking deeply at life as it is,
In the very here and now,
The practitioner dwells in stability and freedom.”

For an admirer of Omar Khayyam of Nishapur, this teaching resonates deeply. His famous quatrain echoes the same wisdom:

Original Persian:
ای دوست بیا تا غم فردا نخوریم
وین یکدم عمر را غنیمت شمریم
فردا که ازین دیر کهن درگذریم
با هفت‌هزارسالگان هم‌سفریم

Transliteration:
Ey dūst biyā tā gham-e fardā nakhorīm
Vīn yek-dam-e omr rā ghanīmat shemarīm
Fardā ke azīn deyr-e kohan dargozerīm
Bā haft-hezār-sālegān ham-safarīm

FitzGerald’s rendering:
“Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand Years.”

Across centuries and cultures, a shared insight emerges:

• Past regrets weigh us down — both the Buddha and Khayyam urge release.
• Future anxieties distract and distort — both counsel against their grip.
• The present moment is the only true field of experience — what Khayyam calls ghanīmat, a gift to be seized.

Another quatrain captures this succinctly:

“Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet?”

In Vipassana, this is not merely philosophy but practice: the disciplined observation of reality as it unfolds, breath by breath, sensation by sensation. In Khayyam, it becomes poetry—lyrical, intoxicating, yet grounded in the same existential clarity.

Two voices—one from the forests of ancient India, the other from the gardens of Persia—converge on a single truth:
the art of living lies in inhabiting the present, fully and without illusion.

GOOD BYE RAGHU RAI THE GREAT PHOTOJOURNALIST FROM INDIA

 

Today, in the brief and indifferent cadence of BBC news, I read of the death of Raghu Rai. And yet, what stirred in me was not sorrow, but a quiet, almost private smile—like recognizing a passerby in a dream one had forgotten.

It was before the time when the world would come to name its fragility as COVID-19. I had gone, without urgency, to the Kadavumbagam Synagogue in Ernakulam—that patient structure which has outlived the certainties of those who built it. Since the 13th century, it has received prayers that no longer belong to anyone, and lamentations that no longer need to be understood.

Elias, the caretaker—custodian not only of walls but of time itself—said simply, “We have visitors today.”

They entered without ceremony. A tall man, slightly bent into himself, his glasses resting uncertainly above his brow, as though vision itself were a negotiable act. His eyes did not look—they gathered. Beside him, a woman of equal height and composed presence, as if she existed not beside him but in parallel.

Recognition came to me not as a fact, but as a hesitation. I had seen his books, yes—but more than that, I had seen the way he saw. And so I approached him not as one meets a man, but as one acknowledges a way of looking at the world.

We shook hands. It was an ordinary gesture, and therefore complete.

Now he is gone, and yet the moment remains, suspended somewhere between the visible and the remembered—like a photograph that was never taken, and therefore never fades.

ALAIN DE BOTTON. ON LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP AND FINDING ONESELF , THE LAST ONE MOST IMPORTANT

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRMcimuuk0Q.

In this talk, de Botton challenges the deeply ingrained romantic belief that successful relationships depend on finding the “right person.” Instead, he argues that this idea is a cultural illusion—one reinforced by films, songs, and modern dating culture—which overvalues instant compatibility and chemistry.

He proposes a more sober, almost therapeutic view: love is not a feeling we stumble into, but a skill we must learn. Compatibility is not the starting point of a relationship, but something that is gradually created through patience, effort, and mutual education.  

A central idea is that we are all psychologically “imperfect,” shaped by childhood patterns that influence whom we are drawn to. We often choose partners not because they are objectively ideal, but because they feel familiar—even when that familiarity includes difficulty or conflict.  

De Botton also critiques the romantic expectation that a partner should intuitively understand us. This, he argues, leads to disappointment and silent resentment. Instead, good relationships depend on explicit communication, tolerance, and a willingness to explain one’s needs.

Drawing on an older philosophical tradition, he suggests that love is inherently pedagogical—a process in which two people gently help each other grow into better versions of themselves.  

Ultimately, his message is quietly radical:

• There is no perfect partner waiting to be discovered.
• Every partner will be “wrong” in some ways.
• The success of love depends less on luck and more on psychological insight, generosity, and sustained effort.

Love, in this view, is not destiny—it is craftsmanship.

A CGM CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITORING, ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENE AND THE LIMITS OF CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING

 

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A CGM, Artificial Intelligence, and the Limits of Cultural Understanding

For the past week, I have been wearing a continuous glucose monitor, a device largely designed and marketed for the United States. During this time, I have been in France.

Two observations have become strikingly clear.

First, the artificial intelligence embedded within these systems—useful as it is—does not yet understand culture. It issued repeated warnings, almost alarmist in tone, predicting adverse glucose responses based on the foods I was consuming. Yet it has no capacity to distinguish where and how that food is prepared: whether industrially processed or carefully crafted within a French home or kitchen.

Not once did these predictions materialize.

( the above recording is over 12 hours ...lunch and dinner and you can see how consistent it is )

After one evening meal—champagne, a glass of Douro wine, a kosher croque monsieur (without ham), vegetable soup, steamed vegetables, and a slice of apple pie—my glucose levels remained remarkably stable. There was no meaningful excursion.

This is not an isolated observation, but a pattern.

It reinforces a broader lesson: foods that appear similar across countries are not metabolically equivalent. An apple pie in the United States is not the same as one in France. Regulatory standards, ingredient quality, and culinary traditions differ profoundly. In France, there is closer scrutiny of additives and chemicals, and a relative absence of highly processed foods in everyday life.

There is also an economic paradox. A well-prepared meal, often including wine, can be obtained here for significantly less than what one might pay in Miami—where industrialized food dominates much of the landscape.

One could argue that my observations reflect some peculiarity of absorption. But that explanation is difficult to sustain when the same individual, consuming comparable foods in different environments, demonstrates entirely different glycemic responses.

Bread is a simple example. In the United States, I approach it with caution. Here, fresh baguettes—made with few ingredients and traditional methods—do not produce the glycemic rise that the device confidently predicts.

Perhaps, in time, artificial intelligence will evolve to incorporate such nuances—cultural, agricultural, and culinary. For now, it remains reductionist, interpreting food as a set of macronutrients, rather than as a lived, contextual experience.

I have been eating with freedom, even generosity—and my glucose has remained stable.

There is a lesson here, not only for technology, but for how we understand food itself.

A FRENCH LUNCH. VIVE LA FRANCE !

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A French Lunch — A Nutrition Lesson for the USA, UK, Australia, Canada, and New Zealand

For a complex mix of anthropological, historical, and geopolitical reasons, English-speaking countries and their former colonies have not fared as well as France—or many of its past and present cultural spheres—when it comes to population health.

Obesity rates (%):
USA – 42.64
New Zealand – 32.99
Mexico – 32.22
Australia – 32.05
Ireland – 30.70
Canada – 28.16
UK – 26.94
France – 10.18

Among high-income nations, only Japan has a lower rate (7.63).

Why is France the leanest country in Europe, with over 60 high-income nations recording higher obesity rates?

The answer lies, at least in part, in a deeply embedded culture of food. In France, food is not incidental—it is central. There is care in preparation, respect for ingredients, attention to presentation, moderation in portion size, and, importantly, the social ritual of eating together.

Our lunch today offered a simple illustration.

Three adolescents were spending their school holidays at their grandparents’ home; two of us joined them. The meal unfolded in the traditional French rhythm—unhurried, structured, and varied.

• Oysters, freshly harvested from the nearby bay
• Two salads: grated carrot and beetroot, both delicate and vibrant
• Chicken in a mild curry with a light cream sauce
• A mash of broccoli and potato
• Several varieties of cheese
• Dessert: fresh strawberries with Chantilly cream
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There was no frying, minimal use of oil, and an abundance of fresh vegetables. Wine, often part of dinner, was absent at this midday meal—another example of moderation.

Before this trip, I placed a continuous glucose monitoring sensor on my skin. It tracks post-meal glucose excursions alongside activity and stress—both relevant, as stress hormones can elevate blood sugar.

After this meal, my glucose peaked at 120 mg/dL, entirely within the normal range.

This is revealing.

It is not merely what is eaten, but how it is prepared, structured, and consumed. The French model—fresh ingredients, minimal processing, balanced courses, slower eating, and social context—appears to mitigate excessive glycemic spikes and, over time, the trajectory toward overweight and metabolic disease.

PS: I do not have Diabetes.

By contrast, the industrialization of food—so characteristic of the United States and widely exported to countries such as the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and New Zealand and the petroleum rich countries of the gulf—has been a central driver of the global obesity epidemic. Interesting to observe, in the context of politics, Iranians are leaner than the Arabs of the region.

When I am in Miami, I get very little chance to walk whereas in France, I walk with glee to do my errands, to my cafe, to the supermarche!

PS i arrived in France yesterday. I have walked more in the past 36 hours than the week prior in Miami!  

France offers not perfection, but a compelling alternative: a way of eating that is cultural, deliberate, and, above all, human.

Vive la France.