Abhayagiri Dhamma Teachings http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/news Dhamma Teachings Abhayagiri Dhamma Teachings http://www.abhayagiri.org/images/logo/logo.gif http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/news 144 86 en Abhayagiri Monastery Copyright 2010 2010-08-24T16:39:45+00:00 The Kalama Sutta (AN 3.65) http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/the_kalama_sutta/ The Kālāma Sutta

(a condensed version from translations by Vens. Bodhi, Thanissaro, Soma and Buddhadāsa)

Anguttara Nikāya 3.65

Thus have I heard. On one occasion the Buddha was wandering on tour among the Kosalans with a large community of monks when he arrived at a town of the Kālāmas named Kesaputta. The Kālāmas of Kesaputta had heard it said, “The ascetic Gotama is fully enlightened,” and therefore they decided to see him.

So the Kālāmas of Kesaputta went out to visit the Buddha. On arrival, some bowed down to him, some exchanged courteous greetings with him, some saluted him reverentially, some announced their name and clan, and some remained silent. They all sat down to one side of him.

Then the Kālāmas of Kesaputta said to the Buddha, “Sir, there are some priests and contemplatives who come to Kesaputta. They explain and extol their own doctrines, but they disparage, debunk, revile and vilify the doctrines of others. And then other priests and contemplatives come to Kesaputta. They explain and extol their own doctrines, but they disparage, debunk, revile and vilify the doctrines of the others. For us there is perplexity and doubt as to which of these venerable priests and contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying.”

“Of course you are perplexed, Kālāmas. Of course you are in doubt. When the causes for doubt are present, perplexity arises. So, Kālāmas, don’t go by oral traditions, by lineage of teaching, by reports and hearsay, by scriptures, by logic, by inference, by appearance and analogy, by accordance with opinions, by the seeming competence of the speaker, or by the thought, ‘This person is our teacher.’ But when you know for yourselves, ‘These things are unskillful; these things are blameworthy; these things are criticized by the wise; these things, when adopted and carried out, lead to harm and suffering’ – then you should abandon them.

“What do you think, Kālāmas? When greed, hatred and confusion arise in a person, do they arise for welfare or for harm?”

“For harm.”

“Kālāmas, a greedy, hating, confused person, overcome by greed, hatred, and confusion, his mind possessed by greed, hatred, and confusion, will destroy life, take what is not given, commit sexual misconduct, and tell lies, and will also encourage others to do likewise. Will that lead to harm and suffering for him for a long time?”

“Yes.”

“So what do you think, Kālāmas: Are these things skillful or unskillful, blameworthy or blameless, criticized by the wise or praised by the wise? When adopted and carried out, do they lead to harm and suffering, or not, or how do you see it in this case?”

“They are unskillful, blameworthy and criticized by the wise. When adopted and carried out, they lead to harm and suffering. That is how we see it in this case.”

“So, as I said, Kālāmas: don’t go by oral traditions, by lineage of teaching, by reports and hearsay, by scriptures, by logic, by inference, by appearance and analogy, by accordance with opinions, by the seeming competence of the speaker, or by the thought, ‘This person is our teacher.’ But when you know for yourselves, ‘These things are skillful; these things are blameless; these things are praised by the wise; these things, when adopted and carried out, lead to welfare and happiness’ – then you should engage in them.

“What do you think, Kālāmas? When non-greed (generosity), non-hatred (kindness), and non-confusion (clarity) arise in a person, do they arise for welfare or for harm?”

“For welfare.”

“And an ungreedy, unhating, unconfused person, not overcome by greed, hatred and confusion, his mind not possessed by greed, hatred, and confusion, will not destroy life, will not take what is not given, will not commit sexual misconduct, and will not tell lies, nor will he encourage others to do likewise. Will that lead to his welfare and happiness for a long time?”

“Yes.”

“So what do you think, Kālāmas: Are these things skillful or unskillful, blameworthy or blameless, criticized or praised by the wise? When adopted and carried out, do they lead to welfare and happiness, or not, or how do you see it in this case?”

“They are skillful, blameless and praised by the wise. When adopted and carried out, they lead to welfare and happiness. That is how we see it in this case.”

“Now, Kālāmas, a noble disciple – free from greed, free from hatred, unconfused, alert, clearly comprehending and ever mindful – pervades one quarter of the world with a mind imbued with loving-kindness, likewise the second quarter, the third, and the fourth. Thus above, below, all around and everywhere he keeps pervading the entire world with a mind imbued with loving-kindness, abundant, exalted, immeasurable, without hostility, without ill will. In the same way he pervades the entire world with a mind imbued with compassion, with appreciation, and with equanimity.

“When, Kālāmas, a noble disciple has made his mind free of hatred, free of ill will, undefiled, and pure in this way, he wins four assurances here and now:

“The first assurance he wins is this: ‘Suppose there is a world after death, and rightly and wrongly done actions bear fruit and yield results. In that case it is possible that, with the breakup of the body, after death, I will reappear in a good destination, a heavenly world.’
“The second assurance is this: ‘But suppose there is no world after death, and rightly and wrongly done actions do not bear fruit or yield results. Still, right here in this very life I live happily, free from hostility, free from ill will.’

“The third assurance is this: ‘Suppose evil happens to one who does evil. Then, as I have willed no evil for anyone and have done no evil action, from where will suffering touch me?’

“The fourth assurance is this: ‘But suppose evil does not happen to one as a result of his evil actions. In that case I am pure in both respects.’

“One who is a disciple of the noble ones – his mind thus free from hostility, free from ill will, undefiled, and pure – acquires these four assurances in the here-and-now.”

And the Kālāmas delighted and rejoiced in the words of the Buddha.
]]> Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings 2010-04-30T15:53:14+00:00 Mangala Chapter Fifteen: War in Heaven http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/mangala_chapter_fifteen/ Author's Note

This story is intended to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same web-site at www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/.

This book is being published here as a ‘serial novel,’ which is to say that it that it will appear one chapter at a time, on the first day of every month, over the next couple of years. The plan is that, after the entire twenty-six chapters of the story have been released, a pdf file of the complete book will be posted, and available for free download.

Finally, gentle reader, please note that the original author (Karl Gjellerup) switched freely between using Sanskrit (the language of the Northern Buddhist and Hindu scriptures) and Pali (the language of the Southern Buddhist scriptures) during the course of his tale. In our efforts to be true to his original style we have maintained this mixture of usage.

Amaro Bhikkhu
Abhayagiri Monastery
December 2008

* * * * * * * * * * * *

imagendlessly, and mostly patiently, Dusaka responded to Krishna’s questions. Although it seemed that, for every perplexity he cleared up, along with each answer came another dozen mysteries.

The current hottest area of interest had, ironically, been stirred up by Rama. While he had ironically been named after one of the deified heroes of legend – the husband of the virtuous and beautiful Sita, after whom Kamanita’s first wife had also been named – he was the most ardent of scientific types within the group of youths and he vigorously opposed the idea that people such as his namesake had ever existed. He was even more keen to launch into argument if anyone even so much as mentioned the names of any gods or goddesses, or spoke of devas, spirits or other invisible realms of any kind.

“For example,” he began one day, when warming to his theme after Govinda, who tended to be the big joker of the group, had remarked that Ajjuna when nursing his most recent hangover, was as grumpy as an asura who’d been trussed up after losing a fight with the devas. “People say that in ages past there was a great war between the so-called devas and the so-called asuras – right?”

The cluster of boys lounging in the spacious reception hall overlooking the garden grunted their assent to this or wagged their heads in agreement. “Well, I’ve listened to the story-tellers who come from the far west with the carpet traders and gold merchants and, in their stories, it’s quite the other way around!”

“What’s the other way round?” Hari was doing his best to follow but thought he’d lost the drift.

“Good and evil – their tales, their ‘religion,’ ” and he let the word out as if it tasted sour and slimy, “has goodness being represented by ‘Ahura-mazda’ and it’s the ‘devi’ who are evil – you see?!”

“See what?” Hari still wasn’t getting it.

“That these so-called ‘deities’ are just random inventions, yagu-brain! Look, here in Jambudipa ‘deva’ equals good, ‘asura’ equals bad; in the west ‘devi’ equals bad, ‘asura’ equals good. All this, if you ask me, is the result of some half-remembered war between the Devi tribe and the Ahura tribe, or Deva and Asura, and the tradition of who’s called good and who’s bad just depends on which side of the Kirthar mountain range you happened to be born on. Isn’t it obvious?”

“What’s that funny thing up there?” Govinda pointed over Rama’s head with a shocked expression on his face. All the boys looked at the space above their friend but nothing was immediately apparent.

“Sorry, for a moment it looked like Vajrapani there, with a thunderbolt, ready to break Ram’s head into seven pieces.”

* * *

As was his habit Krishna had stored up this debate and then brought it to Dusaka to hear his take on things. He had kept his friendship with the gardener to himself and, as most of the boys had many other things to be occupying their minds these days – now that they had almost completed their studies and family duties were beginning to press more and more – it was not difficult to find time alone with his eccentric mentor.

“Rama’s talking rubbish, isn’t he?” Krishna offered, having just recounted their earlier talk.

“I wouldn’t say he’s so far off the mark, in some ways.”

“You can’t mean that! After all you’ve told me – that long history of the world, and the strange karma of my family – how can you say that there are no gods and spirits, no other worlds? Was that all just made up to keep me quiet?”

“If so, it didn’t work, did it?” Dusaka smiled at him; they both recalled the blizzard of questions that had followed Dusaka’s recital. “No, he’s close to the mark in that he only wants to believe in what he can see and hear and sense. Don’t you think that that’s worthwhile, to try not to be too credulous? Sounds wise to me. He’s just doubting that which should be doubted.

“Where he goes too far is to assume that, just because he’s never seen something, it therefore cannot exist, eh?” He fixed his eye on Krishna and held his attention, quietly waiting while this sank in.

“But everyone knows there’re gods and demons, ghosts and spirits; people go to the temples all the time. Not everyone who visits there can be wrong, surely?”

“And just because the jar is clearly labeled ‘SALT,’ it will make the soup taste good, even if it’s only sand that’s in there, eh? I don’t think so.”

“How can anyone know what’s true about the gods and spirits if nobody can see them anyway? If it’s wrong to believe in what you can’t see… what can you do?” Krishna was really knotted up now. Dusaka seemed to have carefully led him into the corner of a maze and then, as he often did, blithely abandoned him there.

“What can you do, indeed?” He then said a few words to Tingri at his knee-side and, as usual, the dog seemed to snuffle and bark some response as the two of them shared a private joke at Krishna’s expense.

He now noticed, when the wave of indignation had subsided, that Dusaka was looking at him a little strangely. He was familiar with a variety of odd facial expressions his mentor used. The network of folds and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth seemed to be able to display four or five distinct moods and messages simultaneously, but at this moment he seemed to be both glaring and staring into his eyes with a pronounced this-is-a-hint flavour to the mixture.

Looking… watching… seeing… what does he mean?...? Krishna searched and racked his brain, “Seeing! We can learn how to see! Beings in other realms…?! Is that right?” He had already guessed he’d hit the mark as Tingri barked sharply a couple of times as soon as he spoke.

“Very good. We don’t have to believe blindly, if we can learn to see for ourselves.”

Krishna was proud that he’d solved this particular puzzle so quickly, and he decided to not make anything of Dusaka’s tone that made it sound as if he had been addressing a four-year-old rather than a near-grown man of almost sixteen.

* * *

“Twilight is best, at dusk or the hour just before dawn. Here in Ujjeni the light changes fast – from day to night and vice versa – but still that window works best for beginners.”

Right now it was sunset and, rather than going to bathe at this usual time, Krishna and Dusaka were down at the far eastern end of the gardens. They were well-sheltered from the house by the large banyan tree that Krishna used to climb and by the thick shrubbery nearby. There were a few glades in that area that contained votive shrines for local spirits. He and Dusaka found their way through the paths to one of these – it was an open space, ringed about with trees and with the stone shrine set at the foot of a tall kapok.

“Have you ever noticed how,” Dusaka began, “when the air is quite still, sometimes you’ll see just a handful of leaves rustling on a branch? Just a few twigfuls astir when all about them nothing moves – you ever noticed that?”

“For sure. I’ve always just assumed it was a small current of air moving because,” he added pointedly, “I can’t see anything else going on.”

“‘Assumed’ being the operative word,” Dusaka put in his own footnote. “Of course, sometimes it is a mere twisting of the air – although that too is a small miracle in its own right but that can be a lesson for another day – at other times it is not.

“Look over there by the shrine, to the left of the monument – what do you see?”

“A bush – I don’t know, an azalea?”

“This is not a botany lesson today. Don’t look at the bush but don’t look away. Let your vision relax so that you’re trying but not trying, focusing but not focusing, directed but undirected. Don’t think about it, but be undistracted. What do you see?” Krishna looked as instructed.

“It was blurry, but then things got luminous around the edges for a moment.”

“Stay with that luminous quality – as the light of evening comes, that will get easier for a while.” Dusaka was staring himself at the same spot, his eyes flicking from side to side or up into the branches now and then.

“Oh! What…?”

“What did you see?”

“Just for a moment where the leaves rustled, there seemed to be something moving at the edges of my vision but when I tried to look right at it, there was nothing. It was a faint blur of a pinkish colour. I think.”

“Don’t think. Relax your eyes again and look back at the same spot.” Dusaka shifted his staff and rested his leg while he too brought his gaze to bear on the space by the small stone shrine, covered with the floral offerings of the last few months and wrapped with orange and red cloths that had been consecrated to the guardian devas of that grove.

Krishna was trying his hardest not to try but his keenness to succeed in the task kept creating a stress, an edge that made his mind too sharp. Despair and annoyance at failure would then well up and he felt his mood go flat.

“Oh well, I just don’t think I…” Krishna’s voice petered out. He had been paying attention but he had just resolved that it was not working, and that he might as well rest, when for a moment – at the very moment he gave up, in fact – he saw the distinct forms of three young female beings of a pure and delicate beauty. Their clothing had the opalescent sheen and texture of flower petals; one was very tall and stern-looking while the other two were smaller and benign. They were a blurred shimmering presence of magentas and salmon pink, of ruby-red and garnet and – for the instant he beheld them – they seemed to be waving vigorously and smiling at him. As if they had been trying to attract his attention for a while.

“Look! Oh… They’re gone.” His excitement at the vision had had the effect of immediately dispelling what he’d seen. For a few minutes he tried with intense effort to relax and be effortless again but he couldn’t quite seem to find the balance.

“Dammit, how do I…?” He remembered Dusaka was at his side and, as he turned to look for aid from him, he felt his teacher receiving his frustration, taking it gently into his hands, rolling it up into a small ball and then tossing it into the air, for Tingri to play with.

“Very good, for a first try – I shouldn’t say it but you probably have something of a talent for this.” His complete non-reference to Krishna’s inability to refocus and his having been thwarted, coupled with the words of praise and affirmation, switched his mood from dark to light in an instant.

“Now you’ve got the basic knack it’s just a matter of refining it. The more you get the hang of it, the more you’ll see.

“Shall we give him the tour, Tingri?” The lame monk leaned down and tousled the dog’s head. The light was fading fast now and the noisy ringing of crickets was rising.

He leaned his staff over his left shoulder and eased the weight off his weaker foot. Reaching out his right hand, he took hold of Krishna’s left. His palm and fingers were calloused but his grip was gentle.

“Ready?”

“For wh…”

As if matching the rhythm of his breathing, a pulsing succession of images appeared before the boy: at first the three rosy-coloured devas were all he saw; they were then seen to be accompanied by a rich array of taller, shorter, frail and thick, gnarly, dew- bedecked and wider beings that seemed the very stuff of green- and tree-life, bloom and berry, of rock and river-water; then stately folk of brawny arms and steady eye, armour-clad women and men, yet bright and cool and strong; then spreading round on every side and up above him too, a multi-coloured grand array of faces shining, diadems and rings and bells with ribbons of every hue; the forms of trees and garden-earth fell into dim display as once again the host increased, the light yet brighter still; now human forms began to be quite lost in the parade of radiant lights and fragrances, the ringing songs, the dance; rank upon rank in tiers of light, diamond-hued and bold, the numbers grew, the space thrown wide; and grew and grew again; a radiance that would have burned an eye of flesh now filled his heart, infinities of infinities burst forth on every side; dimensions within dimensions; light multiplying light, celebrating itself lushly until all form was lost to him, his body and the garden – all was gone – for in that breath, now beyond the realm of space, well beyond no-thingness, beyond infinity of mind and beyond perception, he was light of light, the stuff of life, he was the universe itself.

Dusaka released his hand. “So, now you’ve met some of the family.”

* * *

During the following weeks Krishna was indeed able to develop the knack and slowly became more adept at seeing and engaging with the various families of celestial beings in the vicinity.

The earth-spirits, being of the coarsest realm above the human, were the easiest to see. Once he had learned how to stabilize his attention he sought out the three devas whom he had first seen in the glade. When he returned to the shrine where he had spotted them he saw that they were in deep conversation with the rukkha-deva of the kapok tree in whose boughs they were all settled. He did not know why but there seemed to be an anxious tension in the air.

Despite this disquieting feeling, the three companions and their dryad friend all dropped from the branches and came to him wreathed in smiles – the air filled with a subtle mixture of earthy perfumes, as if Krishna was smelling for the first time ever what the fragrance of a flower truly was.

“You’re Amba’s brother, aren’t you?” Maggot chirped excitedly, at exactly the same time as Ant and Bee spoke too. “We’re so glad to see you, and now to talk…”

“Hang on, hang on. I’m very glad to meet you too. I’m not very experienced in seeing… er…. What exactly are you? Anyway, please speak at little slower and one by one, then I’ll be able to follow.” Krishna was grinning and absurdly happy to be having this conversation. This was not just some strange creation of Dusaka’s; this was he, by himself, talking with beings of other realms. This meant that, for absolutely sure, there was more to life than had met his eye so far. The world suddenly felt so much bigger once again.

“We are kinnaris, earth spirits who live close to the flower realm. We are not as solid as humans, but we are substantial enough to touch.” Bee then reached out and pressed her fist into Krishna’s chest, firmly but gently so he could feel the pressure.

“It also means we can be harmed by material things and are nourished by them too – so…” continued Bee, giving her kinnari-life-in-a-nutshell speech, “…on a bad day we can be shot with an arrow but on a good one we can scoff bags of pollen and drink our fill of honey-dew and nips of nectar-mead.”

“Bee!” Maggot chimed in, “don’t put him off already. We’ve hardly said hello yet.”

“We know your sister Amba; at least that was her name when we met her. She’s now Queen Samavati of Vamsa, and a very fine lady too.”

“A queen! My sister? How did she manage that? And what about my other sister Tamba and my second mother?”

The kinnaris brought Krishna up to date with what they knew, how they had had a lot of contact with his elder sister but that they had sad news for him about Tamba; both she and Sita had died on the road to Kosambi. The mother had never managed to reach the city and find out if his father, Kamanita, had resettled there.

“I’ve heard myself,” said Krishna, “that my father will never come back here but I also don’t know if he ever went to Kosambi again; as far as I’m aware he’s still a wandering monk someplace. The gardener here – he’s actually a monk too, of some sort – he knows a bit about what’s happened to us all…” His voice tailed off.

“So they died…” He could not say that he felt a great sense of loss for his second mother, Sita, she had always been nasty to him as a small child, forever making some minor slight or a gesture of disfavour whenever she was able to, but to know he had lost Tamba forever brought tears into his eyes.

“I would have thought it would have been the other way round – Amba was always a bit on the weak side and Tamba – I just remember her as being so daring, but I suppose you can never tell.”

“So,” he wanted to change the subject, “what brings you all the way to Ujjeni?”

“To meet you, of course,” Bee refrained from adding ‘dummy.’ “Or at least to see how you have been doing. We’ve come out this way a couple of times before but you could never see us until now. We want to keep Samavati up on how you are, so we make the journey. It’s a bit more risky nowadays so I’m not sure…” Ant looked anxiously into Bee’s face as she said this.

“What’s risky? If most people can’t see you, they can’t do you any harm, surely?” Krishna asked. For, although this whole domain was new to him, he had a habit of trying to seem authoritative regardless.

“It’s not the people,” said Maggot.

“It’s the asuras, and a band of rebel yakkhas who have joined them, at least that’s what every deva seems to think,” the tree-spirit joined in. “Rumours have been spreading about attacks in recent times – the word is out that a new war in heaven might be brewing.”

“The rukkha-deva was just telling us,” Maggot came closer to Krishna and he could see the traces of a genuine fear within her eyes. “We’d noticed that things were quieter, less folk around, but there were tales of random killings and destruction as well. We didn’t see anything between Kosambi and here ourselves, but there was tension in the air and many bhumma-devas of all kinds were lying low.”

“It’s been the same here around Ujjeni,” the rukkha-deva added, stepping closer to the group. She was a tall, elegant being adorned in strange filmy garments of grey-green, with edges and corners that bore spiky nubbins, just like the kapok tree’s trunk, and mysterious ridged traceries worked from the fluffy white interior of her tree’s fruit-pods. She picked up the story and continued:

“There were only rumours until we heard the news from the royal naga who lives here in the palace lake. She goes by the name of Samuddaja, she is the younger sister of Irandati; they were both born as naga princesses although she is now a queen, married to King Virupakkha, lord of the nagas himself. Princess Irandati is the beloved of General Punnaka, a mighty yakkha and the nephew of King Vessavana, you know, Kuvera, king of the yakkhas and the Northern Quarter. Both the General and the King saw the wreckage for themselves.

“In the Heaven of the Thirty-three, above the realm of Guardian Kings, mighty Indra holds the throne. The capital of that beauteous land is named Masakkasara. Within the bounds of its vast and wide protective walls there are four parks: Nanadana in the east, Pharusaka in the south, Cittalata in the west and Missaka to the north; all these are places of great beauty with lakes and jeweled halls; gem-studded turrets stand upon the gates.

“There is yet one other, known just as The Great Park, and it lies outside the city walls, to the north-east. It has a gold wall surrounding it, with gem turrets atop its gates, 250 leagues it is around; in this park there are one thousand golden mansions and pavilions decorated with the seven kinds of gems – rubies, emeralds and sapphires, diamonds and pearls, amethysts and blood-red carnelians. Between this park and the city walls of Masakkasara, there lies a lake both vast and pure, its floor is all bejeweled. Or, at least, ’til recently it was so.

“Not one moon back Lord Indra went off travelling while his son, Prince Suvira was, as customary, busy at his pleasure through the night. The devas of the Thirty-three awoke that day to find The Great Park thrown to ruin – the gates destroyed, the jewels purloined, the lake all filled with filth; the thousand towered mansions and pavilions burned and smashed, the ground was strewn with dead and broken bodies.

“A cry went up – a wail of grief was heard throughout the land. The perpetrator of the raid was Vepacitti and his band.”

The dryad Alambusa finished her account and a dense uncomfortable silence filled the grove.

“At least,” Maggot began, “they think it was Vepacitti but no one is absolutely sure. An old supanna, one of the giant garuda eagles, came here to Ujjeni by the same way as us – at least we crossed paths when she spent the hours of darkness on a crag above where we rested, as we travelled here. She had just come down from the mountains’ foot, north of Uttarakuru and word there was that King Rahu, lord of the asuras and the most powerful of them all, denied any knowledge of the deed.

“‘I have no ready sympathies for the deva horde,’ he said, ‘nevertheless, by my word and surely as Yugandhara Mountain sits upon the Earth, I tell you I have had no part in this – and an evil bourn awaits all those who lie. Nevertheless,’ and she recounted that he had apparently chuckled nastily as he said it, ‘Pubbavideha in the east is a sovereign realm and its ruler, Lord Vepacitti, can do as he likes, can he not?’”


* * *

“Surely Indra would be strong enough to capture the asura Vepacitti – isn’t he the king of the whole Heaven of the Thirty-three Gods? How could they not raise and army that was capable of that? Aren’t they a lot more powerful than the asuras? Don’t they have the Buddha and the arahants on their side?” Krishna was pummeling his mentor with questions once again.

“The Buddha, and all other wanderers,” Dusaka spread his arms slightly and bowed his head to indicate that he was including himself in this, “do not take sides, when it comes to fights. Even if someone wants to pick an argument with us: ‘I do not dispute with the world,’ the Master once said, ‘it is the world that disputes with me’; that is,” he added with a grin, “if there’s any contention going on in the first place.” Thunder rolled and grumbled in the distance, somewhere off above the Vindhaya Mountains to their south; it was that season of occasional storms just before the monsoon proper began.

“It’s not because the Buddha is weak-willed either, or that he never learned how to fight – if that’s what you’re thinking” – he cocked his head and Krishna cast his eyes down as that was exactly what had popped into his mind. “He is a warrior-noble by birth; he grew up learning how to fight, to lead an army, he knows much more about weapons, combat and strategy than you could ever hope to.

“It’s because he knows, and all of us monks and nuns of various types know too, that he can serve best by being a promoter of peace to all.

“One year there was a drought up in the north and, by the month of Jetthamula, the Rohini River was very low. The Koliyans on the one side and the Sakyans on the other both came to the conclusion that there might be enough water for one set of crops, but not enough for two so each had sent out work-parties to re-direct the flow.

“‘Our crops will ripen with a single watering,’ said the Koliyans, ‘let us have the water.’ The Sakyans replied, ‘So what do you expect us to do; go from house to house in Koliya begging for food from you? We don’t think so…’ And the dispute waxed hot, as they say. Soon the rival groups who wanted to divert the river came to blows and ugly insults were hurled back and forth: ‘You bunch of lepers!’ ‘You gormless yokels!’ – well, you get the general idea.

“Word reached the ministers who had commissioned the irrigation dams, they informed the royals and, next thing, both have armies lined up facing each other over the river’s diminishing waters: ‘We’ll show you what “lepers” can do!’ “Yeah right! Are you ready to get it from the “yokels”?’ And on and on.

“The Buddha got wind of the dispute and realized, ‘If I don’t go to them, these misguided people will destroy each other,’ and so he made his way to that very place at the river.

“Now, even though he was a Sakyan by birth and he could easily have wielded his psychic powers to guarantee success for his kin in a battle, he saw it was more important for both sides to appreciate that the welfare and happiness of all concerned would best be served by learning how to abandon hatred.

“He used his psychic powers anyway, just to get the mob to listen, since it’s easier to get the attention of a bunch of angry soldiers by floating up into the air than by trying to start a reasonable conversation. Cross-legged he lifted off and then hovered over the centre of the Rohini River.

“‘What is this dispute about, my friends?’

“‘Water, Venerable Sir.’

“‘How much is a barrel of water worth?’

“‘Not much,’ replied both sides at once.

“‘And a barrel of the blood of warrior-nobles?’

“‘Every drop is precious!’

“The Master then let them digest what they had all just said, the foot-soldiers, the kings and generals that were ready for the fight, then he said:

“‘Is it fitting that, because of a little water, you should shed the blood of kshatriyas, warrior-nobles, which you agree is beyond price?’ They were all silent.

“‘Great Kings,’ he continued, ‘were I not here today you would have set flowing a river of blood. You oppress yourselves by living in such enmity. Please use the memory of this day to guide your hearts:

“‘While in the midst of hate,
To dwell free from hatred
Is happiness indeed.’

“To their surprise, the Sakyans and the Koliyans soon found that by the careful use of what water was there and by sharing all they had, both clans were able to make it through that hot season unscathed. Nobody starved and nobody was killed.”

* * *

Dusaka was tending some of the ornamental flower-beds, clipping dead or overgrown limbs of various bushes and tugging out the abundant weeds; each time he took hold of a plant he briefly bowed his head and muttered some verse under his breath that Krishna never could quite catch.

The Rains were upon them and the dry periods in daylight, when Dusaka could do his ‘actual’ work at the palace, were few and far between. He kept up a brisk pace while Krishna hung at his elbow. During these times Krishna had managed to convince his mother that he’d become fascinated with the arts of the garden and needed to study with Dusaka on a daily basis to absorb all he could. His classmates were also absent these days as the rain kept most people indoors and the brahmin pundit, his instructor in arms and the music master habitually took this time of the year off to attend to other duties. It was also hard to speak, or sing and play against the roaring wall of noise that came with the frequent downpours, while combat training outdoors in the wet was impossible.

“You remember,” Krishna was doing his best to keep up, weed-basket in hand. “Years ago you told me about a mangala that could defeat Death. Would that be a good weapon? You know, something the devas could use to beat the asuras if a big war was to break out?”

“How do you think that might help?” Dusaka stopped to spread the fronds of a bush that had just finished flowering and, reciting his verse, clipped a couple of dying branchlets at the base.

“Well, if Death was defeated then…” Krishna realized he wasn’t quite sure what he thought might happen. “Well it’s bound to be good for the devas somehow, isn’t it? To have some kind of all powerful weapon, that must put them on top.” He was on uncertain ground here, but such concerns rarely if ever caused his flow to slow.

“Death must be on the side of the asuras, eh?” Dusaka stood up and stretched his back, dropping a handful of plants and twigs into the basket Krishna held for him.

“They’re the bad guys… aren’t they? And he’s the embodiment of evil, the Lord of Lies, and so on, so he… must… well you’d think…”

Dusaka was giving him a sample of one of his look-in-here-and-it-goes-on-forever expressions.

“’Fell Namuci,’ ‘King Maradhiraja,’ ‘The Dark One’ – he goes by many names, many guises, he moves in many modes. Whose side is he on?

“The Evil One is glad of any conflict and will stir up both sides – like a swordsmith who will sell to either faction for the sake of turning a profit – the more that beings fight, then the more firmly they are embedded, imprisoned in his realm. He helps turn the devas’ sufferings, their tortures into violent reaction against the torturers. Then they all become his subjects.

“Generally he does favour the asuras – you were right there – but he’s delighted to help the devas too if it means that, thereby, they remain committed to the values of samsara, the endlessly spinning wheel of birth and death.

“Either way he wins.”

“So,” Krishna probed carefully, “if there were such a mangala that could defeat Death, would it be any use in such a war?”

“Oh yes!”

“But how? If Death is on both sides how can he be defeated? And who would win then? I’m confused.”

“Yes, it is confusing, isn’t it!?”

Dusaka now struck out across the lawn with his purposeful limping gait; Tingri ran by in pursuit of a batch of interesting smells in the trees ahead while Krishna followed, chasing after the train of ideas as vainly as the tailing of his teacher.

“So, if you had a mangala that defeated Death, would it mean that, if he tried to kill you, he couldn’t.”

“That’s right, in a way.”

“So, this mangala, what exactly is it? I’ve heard they can be all kinds of things: a mantra, an animal appearing at a certain time, a diagram, an amulet and all sorts of other things – is it something like that?”

“Yes, in its own way.”

“So if I wore that or recited it or whatever, then if someone, Death included, tried to kill me, they couldn’t?”

“In a manner of speaking, that’s absolutely right.”

“Well, that would be great! A guaranteed life-protector… but it must take years of practice, right, before anyone could find such a thing or it must be something that you won at the end of a gruesome set of trials – something that would always protect the body from harm.”

“Not at all.” At this the gardener leaned his scabby head forward and rummaged around at the back of his neck. Krishna thought he was going after an irksome visitor that was causing an itch, or just scratching a patch of scurf. Instead he untangled a particular cord from the knotted agglomeration of beads and chains and strings that always hung there.

“There you go.” He had brought the sweat-stained and discoloured band over his head and he now held it out to Krishna. A small rectangular block of an indeterminate material – maybe stone, maybe clay, maybe even some kind of metal – dangled from it. On its front was etched an oddly-shaped human figure or perhaps it was the image of some deity.

“What is it?” asked Krishna.

“Just what you were asking about. It’s a mangala that will never let you be physically harmed.”

“Just like that?! You just happen to have a spare one on you?”

Krishna was deeply suspicious. This had all the marks of a practical joke or a tease that Govinda might pull on him – and he was prone to being easily duped.

“What kind of a wally do you take me for?”

“You don’t want it?”

“You can’t be serious,” for, even though he doubted it, Krishna saw the unmistakable you-are-now-being-tested look very clearly on Dusaka’s face.

“I’ll withdraw the offer if you don’t want it.”

“No! I mean… is it the real thing? You’re serious?”

“Serious as life and death – but if you want to know if it’s the real thing perhaps you should test it first.” He drew the long machete that he used for the heavier pruning from a scabbard at his side; taking it carefully by the blade he pointed the handle toward Krishna. The boy received it, wrapping his fingers around the hemp-bound grip, although he was not quite sure what he should do next.

Dusaka held the amulet in his hand and then, stepping back half a pace, he tilted his head to the left, then to the right as if to offer Krishna whichever side of his neck would suit him best.

The blade was in his right hand and his palm began to sweat.

“Go on then, don’t be a wally, try to cut me.”

“But…” Krishna’s felt a mixture of excitement that this might be a real magical charm, fear that he might wound his dear friend inadvertently by doing something wrong – like losing concentration at the fatal moment – but the dominant feeling was the irrational dread that Dusaka had been a raving nutcase all along and was now pulling Krishna into a swamp of his crazed delusions.

The steady look in Dusaka’s eyes and the wave of comforting friendliness that emanated from him eventually put Krishna somewhat at ease. He slowly raised the long knife and rested its edge on the man’s bared neck.

“We haven’t got all day, Krishna, there’s a shower coming. Try to cut me, or do you want to give it up?”

Pressed by Dusaka’s chirpy calm he leaned the blade against the sun-darkened wrinkles and folds of his neck. Gingerly he drew the blade along the surface but it made no mark and certainly drew no blood.

“If that’s what you call a sword cut, you’ll be dog-meat in any real fight. Come on – make a proper slice, if you can.” Spurred on by his taunt Krishna tried harder, and then harder and… not a mark.

“Take a swing and see if you can make a dent.” Dusaka was enjoying this.

Krishna tested the edge of the blade with his thumb and it was keen; bloody drops welled forth along the cut immediately. He felt compelled to go on.

“Okay, you asked for it.” He then felt the notion forming within him to surprise Dusaka with a real taste of his power. A fierce light burned up through his body and a murderous glee took over. “It would just serve the arrogant old git right if I took his head clean off his shoulders,” he thought. “Wouldn’t that surprise him?! That would teach him a lesson for a change.”

He whipped the blade round and swung with every ounce of strength he had at the exposed flesh. The handle of the machete jarred in Krishna’s fist and the steel reverberated like a bell – it was just as if he had struck an iron pillar.

“Yaiy!!!” The blade dropped from his numbed fingers. The wave of deadly hatred fell away.

Dusaka cricked his head from side to side, popping a joint or two for effect.

“That’s better – good try,” he smiled at the shocked look on Krishna’s face.

“And I think you just had a visit from our friend, the Evil One.” He reached his hand forward with the amulet in his palm.

“You’ll be wanting to hang on to this, you know, to keep you safe.”

Krishna reached forward with his left hand as his right was temporarily out of action. In a state of startled wonderment he took hold of the charm and its scraggy cord. His right arm still tingled and seemed feeble, but he slowly raised it and bent the fingers until the mangala was nestled between both palms.

“Pick up your stuff,” said Dusaka, “come on, it’s about to rain.”


≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡

Notes and References:

Chapter 15

1. Page 202 —War in Heaven … The title of this chapter comes from ‘Paradise Lost,’ Book I, l. 43.

2. Page 202 — an asura who’d been trussed up after losing a fight... As is described at S 11.4 and at S 35.248.

3. Page 202 — the story tellers who come from the far west… In this instance, Persia/Iran.

4. Page 203 — these so-called ‘deities’ are just random inventions, yagu-brain… Yāgu is a form of rice-gruel or porridge.

5. Page 203 — the Kirthar mountain range… These are the mountains between India and Iran. These reflections come courtesy of Carl Sagan, from his novel, ‘Contact,’ p. 199.

6. Page 203 — Vajrapani with a thunderbolt… As is described at M35.14: “Now on that occasion a thunderbolt-wielding spirit holding an iron thunderbolt that burned, blazed and glowed, appeared in the air above Saccaka the Nigantha’s son, thinking: ‘If this Saccaka the Nigantha’s son, when asked a reasonable question up to the third time by the Blessed One, still does not answer, I shall split his head into seven pieces here and now.’
‘Vajrapani’ literally means ‘lightning-fist.’ See also Ch. 14, note §13.

7. Page 204 — no gods and spirits, no other worlds… The faith in the existence of other realms, past or future lives etc. is part of ‘mundane Right View,’ in the Buddha’s teaching. This is outlined, for example, at M 117.7 “…there is this world and the other world.”

8. Page 204 — He’s just doubting that which should be doubted… This is an important feature of the Buddhist approach to understanding how things work. It is well described in the Kālāma Sutta, A 3.65.

9. Page 206 — made his mind too sharp... felt his mind go flat… At S1.1 the Buddha describes his own efforts at trying to find the right balance: “When I struggled I got swept away when I halted, I sank…by not halting and not straining, I crossed the flood.”
The Buddha also encouraged the former lutanist Sona Kolivisa by reminding him of how he used to tune his instrument – this story is to be found at A 6.55 & Vin. MV 5.1.

10. Page 206 — at the very moment he gave up… It was also at the moment of giving up that Ven. Ānanda’s awakening occurred, just before the First Council; see CV 11.1.

11. Pages 207-8 — The succession of beings described here (roughly) matches traditional Buddhist cosmology from the earth spirits up to the formless deities.

the very stuff of green- and tree-life… Bhumma-deva, the earth spirits
then stately folk of brawny arms and steady eye… Retinue of the Four Great Kings
multi-coloured grand array… Heaven of the Thirty-three Gods.
as once again the host increased… Yāma-deva, the ‘Devas of the Hours’
radiant lights and fragrances… Tusita-deva, the ‘Contented’
tiers of light… ‘The Heaven of Those who Delight in Creating’
and grew again… ‘The Heaven of Those Who Delight in Other’s Creations’
radiance that would have burned… Brahma-realms of Form
all form was lost… Formless brahma-realms
beyond the realm of space… The highest of the formless brahma-realms.

At D 20.6 it also highlights how different beings experience things in different ways:
“With superhuman vision thus arising
some saw a hundred gods, a thousand some.
While some saw 70,000, others saw
Gods innumerable, all around
And He-Who-Knows-With-Insight was aware
Of all that they could see and understand.”


12. Page 208 — he was the universe itself… This is a delusion, albeit an understandable one, of Krishna’s. The Buddha describes this kind of error at M 1.25: “He conceives himself as All, why? Because he has not understood it, I say.”

13. Page 209 — On a bad day we can be shot with an arrow… For example, in Jat. §485, when the Bodhisattva was just such a kinnari, it is recounted that a king out hunting “…shot the fairy Canda… ‘my blood is flowing, flowing’…” (‘The Jātaka, Vol. IV,’ p. 180). Other kinnaris are kidnapped and imprisoned in Jat. §481, with the king who captures them ordering: “Kill these creatures and cook them, and serve them up to me.”

14. Page 210— the royal naga who lives here in the palace lake… Samuddaja This dragon-princess appears in Jat. §543; her father was a human prince, her mother a nāgi.

15. Page 210— Princess Irandati is the beloved of General Punnaka… The story of Princess Irandatī and General Punnaka is found in Jat. §545.

16. Page 210— the capital of that beauteous land is named Masakkasara… The description of Masakkasāra and its parks can be found in Jat. §545, and in ‘Three Worlds According to King Ruang,’ pp. 224-5.

17. Page 211— the Prince Suvira… was busy at his pleasure… He was well-known as a distractible and pleasure-seeking character – see, for example S 11.1.

18. Page 211— Vepacitti and his band… Vepacitti is an asura who appears a number of times in the scriptures, for example in the Sakkasamyutta, at S 11.4, .5, .7, & .23.

19. Page 211— The dryad Alambusa… Her name comes from that of an aspara of great beauty, mentioned in Jat. §523.

20. Page 211— King Rahu… Yugandhara Mountain The asura king and the great mountain are described in ‘Three Worlds According to King Ruang,’ pp. 109-10

21. Page 211— an evil bourn awaits all those who lie… On one occasion Vepacitti also makes this observation to Indra:
“Whatever evil comes to a liar
…that same evil touches the one
who transgress against you, Sujā’s husband.” S 11.7


22. Page 212 — I do not dispute with the world… This famous statement was made by the Buddha at S 22.94.

23. Page 212 — One year there was a drought… This account comes from the Dhammapada Commentary to Dhp. verses 197-9, see ‘Buddhist Legends, Vol III,’ pp. 70-2; also see the introduction to Jat. §536.

24. Page 213 — While in the midst of hate… This is Dhp. 197.

25. Page 215 — He helps turn… their tortures into violent reaction against the torturers “...turning our Tortures into horrid arms against the Torturer.” ‘Paradise Lost’ Bk. II, ll. 63-4.

26. Page 215 — delighted to help the devas… As King Mārādhirāja, Māra is the ruler of The Heaven of Those Who Delight in Other’s Creations; that is to say, he’s the brightest deva of the Sensual Realms (kāma-loka), thus a figure highly comparable to the biblical Lucifer, ‘The Light-bringer,’ formerly the brightest of archangels.

27. Page 218 — a murderous glee took him over… As in M 50.21—“Then the Māra Dūsi took possession of a certain boy and, picking up a stone, he struck the Venerable Vidhura on the head…” Vidhura was the chief disciple of the Buddha Kakusandha.
]]> Teachings, Teachers, Ajahn Amaro, Books & Print, Dhamma Teachings, Articles, Format, PDF 2010-03-01T14:00:41+00:00 Das Vergnügen an Dana (auf Deutsch) http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/reflexionen_zum_thema_grosszuegigkeit_von_ajahn_pasanno/ Reflexionen zum Thema Großzügigkeit von Ajahn Pasanno, Seniormönch des Klosters Abhayagiri im Redwood Valley, Kalifornien

“Immer wenn ich über mich selbst nachdenke, fange ich an mich deprimiert zu fühlen”, sagte einmal Ajahn Sumedho, der Seniormönch des Klosters Amaravati in England.

Wenn Dana - Großzügigkeit, Geben, Teilen - ins Zentrum unseres Lebens rückt, anstelle von ICH und MEIN, dann gibt es keinen Grund mehr deprimiert zu sein. Man spürt Erleichterung und Erlösung anstatt Anspannung und Obsession. Dana verschafft uns einen radikal anderen Fokus. Die Perspektive verändert sich von “was kann ich bekommen?” zu “was kann ich geben?”

In den späten 80-ger Jahren lehrte der thailändische Mönch Ajahn Suwat einen 10-Tageskurs in der Insight Meditation Society in den USA. Ajahn Suwat war nicht zum ersten Mal in Amerika, aber er hatte westlichen Menschen noch nie ein Meditationsretreat angeboten. Nach ein paar Tagen fragte er seinen Übersetzer Ajahn Thanissaro: ”Warum sehen die Leute hier so unglücklich aus? Sie meditieren zwar und scheinen ganz dabei zu sein, aber sie sehen so grimmig aus, nicht so, als würden sie dieses Retreat genießen.“ Er bekam zur Antwort: “Diese Leute wissen zwar wie man meditiert, aber nicht wie man Dana praktiziert.” Er sah die direkte Beziehung zwischen dem Mangel an Glück und dem Mangel an einer Grundlage basierend auf Dana.

In Thailand, wo ich viele Jahre gelebt habe, bestehen die ersten religiösen Anleitungen für ein Kind aus Großzügigkeit und Geben. Schwangere Frauen gehen dort ins Kloster, offerieren Lebensmittel und sprechen eine Widmung aus: “Möge mein Kind gesund und glücklich sein.” Sogar wenn die Kinder noch klein sind, stehen sie morgens früh gemeinsam mit ihrer Familie auf, um den Mönchen auf ihrer Almosenrunde etwas anzubieten. Allen Kindern wird dabei geholfen, einen Löffel voll Reis in eine Almosenschale zu geben. Und alle klatschen dabei begeistert in die Hände und sagen: ”Großartig!” Die Kinder verstehen schnell: Hey, Geben ist gut. Sie wachsen heran, indem sie Großzügigkeit mit angenehmen Gefühlen assoziieren, denn es handelt sich dabei um ihr kulturelles Erbe.
Es gibt viele verschiedene Übersetzungen für das Wort Dana. Grundsätzlich handelt es sich um die Qualität der Großzügigkeit, bei der wir physisch etwas geben, und zwar vom Herzen her. Mit Dana angefüllte Herzen sind großzügig und freigebig, und machen eine offene Geste bezüglich ihrer Bereitschaft zu geben, zu teilen, präsent zu sein und Anderen zu helfen. Alle diese Qualitäten führen uns eher weg von: ICH und meine Bedürfnisse, ICH und meine Vorlieben, ICH und meine Forderungen, ICH und meine Erwartungen, ICH und meine Wünsche, ICH und mein fester Platz im Zentrum des Universums.

An der Wurzel von Großzügigkeit ist die Wahrnehmung, dass es immer etwas zu teilen gibt. Man braucht tatsächlich nicht besonders viel um zu geben. Während der Almosenrunde im Nordosten Thailands teilen die Menschen was sie besitzen, obwohl die meisten sehr arm sind. Einer der Dorfbewohner, der mithalf Wat Pah Nanachat - Ajahn Chahs Kloster für Menschen aus der westlichen Welt - aufzubauen, sagte einmal: “Ich habe wirklich kaum Geld, aber ich bin nicht arm” Manchmal besitzen wir viele Dinge, aber wir haben das Gefühl, dass es nicht genug sei und dass wir unseren Besitz ständig schützen müssen. Wir denken nicht mal daran, das zu teilen was wir haben. Das ist ein Zustand des Mangels, man ist dann wirklich arm. Auf der anderen Seite entstehen Geben und Teilen aus einer Haltung des Reichtums in uns selbst.

Es gibt da eine alte Geschichte über den Unterschied zwischen Himmel und Hölle. Die Höllen sind voller Leute, die an langen Büffettischen sitzen, worauf alle möglichen köstlichen Speisen aufgestapelt sind. Aber alle Anwesenden sind todunglücklich und hungrig, da die Essensutensilien zu lang sind, um sie sich in den Mund zu führen. Im Himmel dagegen sieht es ähnlich aus: Auf den Tischen sind genau die gleichen köstlichen Speisen und Getränke, und man verfügt über die gleichen, überlangen Löffel und Gabeln. Aber die Wesen dort sind glücklich und froh, denn sie benutzen die Essenswerkzeuge, um sich gegenseitig zu füttern. Es gibt keinen Hunger und keine Frustration, nur Gefühle des Wohlbefindens und der Fülle innerhalb genau identischer Bedingungen. Geben und Teilen verwandeln eine Hölle in ein Himmelreich.

Eine der Ausgänge aus dem Leiden heraus besteht aus Großzügigkeit. Es ist wichtig dabei zu erkennen, dass es sich bei Dana nicht nur um materielles Geben handelt. Es bezieht auch den Dienst am Mitmenschen mit ein, und dass man seine Augen für das offen hält, was getan werden muss. Wie kann ich helfen? Wer braucht gerade Unterstützung? Damit uns die Hilfeleistung an anderen Menschen behagt müssen wir über die Hürde von ICH, MIR und MEIN springen. Handlungen des Dienstes am Mitmenschen laden uns dazu ein, aus den konditionierten Beschränkungen auszusteigen, die wir für unser imaginäres Ich geschaffen haben.

Bei Abhayadana handelt es sich um eine höhere Form der Danapraxis. Im thailändischen wird abhaya normalerweise als Vergebung übersetzt. Wir bieten Vergebung an, indem wir keinen Groll und keine Aversionen mehr hegen. Viel Freude kommt in unser Herz wenn Vergebung entwickelt wird. Die höchste Form von Dana ist Dhammadana. Das bedeutet das Geben von Dhamma, den Lehren des Buddha. Im traditionellen Sinn besteht eine der höchsten Formen von Dana darin, die Buddhalehre anderen Menschen zugänglich zu machen, indem man z.B. den Druck von Dhammabüchern unterstützt. Aber es gibt viele andere Möglichkeiten, wie man Dhammadana im täglichen Leben praktizieren kann. Viele Leute glauben, man müsse im Kloster leben oder ein Dhammalehrer sein, um so etwas weitergeben zu können. Aber dem ist nicht so. Jeder Ratschlag, der seine Basis in Rechter Anschauung hat und mit offenem Herzen und guten Absichten gegeben wird, ist Dhammadana.

Ajahn Chah bemerkte einmal, dass man gar nicht groß irgendetwas zu lehren oder zu sagen bräuchte, um Dhammadana zu praktizieren: “ Es reicht völlig aus, ein gutes Beispiel zu geben und den ethischen Empfehlungen zu folgen.” Er erzählte oft, auf welche Weise Sariputta - einer der zwei Hauptschüler des Buddha - zum ersten Mal am Mönchsleben Interesse bekam. Er beobachtete Mönche, die sich auf der Almosenrunde befanden. Die Würde, Gelassenheit und Klarheit dieser schlichten Aktivität des Almosengehens inspirierte viel Vertrauen in Sariputta.

Wenn manche Eltern Ajahn Chah fragten, was sie ihren Kindern beibringen sollten, dann antwortete er oft: ”Es spielt überhaupt keine Rolle, was ich darüber sage. Was sagt ihr? Was macht ihr?” Wenn es einen Baum in der Nähe gibt und einen weiter weg, an welchem Baum wird die Ranke empor klettern? Natürlich an dem, der am nächsten steht. Das Gleiche trifft auch auf Eltern zu. Deren Beispiel hat einen größeren Einfluss als irgend etwas anders. Die Beispiele die wir in den Klöstern geben, innerhalb der Gesellschaft und in den Familien sind alle Aspekte von Dhammadana. Die Geschenke des Gebens, des ethisch orientierten Verhaltens und eines Lebens, dessen Zentrum aus Dhamma besteht, haben eine außerordentlich kraftvolle Wirkung.

Wenn wir über die Menschen nachdenken, die den größten positiven Effekt auf unser Leben ausgeübt haben, dann schätzen wir sie vor allem deswegen, weil sie sich als vertrauenswürdig, freundlich und geduldig uns gegenüber erwiesen haben. Sie erzeugen in uns ein gutes Gefühl, egal wie schlecht wir uns jeweils fühlen mögen. Diese Art des Gebens ist nicht jenseits unserer Fähigkeiten. Wohlbefinden zu vermehren und Leidvolles zu vermindern stellen gleichermaßen Geschenke dar, die wir alle geben können.

Wir können sogar die Haltung des Teilens in unsere Meditationspraxis einbringen, während wir ganz allein auf unserem Kissen sitzen. Bei der Meditation geht es nämlich nicht nur um mich selbst. Wenn wir sie mit denen teilen, die uns nahe stehen und sogar mit allen anderen Wesen, dann hat das einen völlig anderen Effekt. Diese Art des Gebens transformiert das Herz, indem es uns aus der Abkapselung der Ich vorstellung herausholt. Wir realisieren sehr schnell, dass das ICH und MEIN Universum furchtbar beengend und übervölkert ist. Wenn wir dann unsere Aufmerksamkeit auf die Welt um uns herum richten, dann realisieren wir, dass sie sehr ausgedehnt und weitläufig ist.

Es spielt wirklich keine Rolle, wann oder wie wir mit der Danapraxis beginnen. Es geht vielmehr darum zu erkennen, dass Großzügigkeit die Grundlage eines Herzens formt, welches frei und unbelastet ist und uns für den Weg öffnet, die Dinge so zu erkennen wie sie wirklich sind.

Dieser Artikel wurde der Zeitschrift „Inquiring Mind“ entnommen: http://www.inquiringmind.com]]> Teachings, Teachers, Ajahn Pasanno, Dhamma Teachings, Articles 2008-09-14T18:16:56+00:00 The Challenge of the Future - by Ven. Bhikkhu Bodhi http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/the_challenge_of_the_future/ I will begin with some questions: If Buddhism is to be successfully transplanted in the U.S., does it need a monastic Sangha as its cornerstone? Must there be a monastic Sangha at all, or is Buddhist monasticism an outdated institution? Can the teachings flow entirely through a “lay Sangha,” through lay teachers and communities of lay practitioners? If monastics are necessary, what should their role be? What their duties? What changes in lifestyle and orientation, if any, are required by the new conditions imposed by the Western culture in which Buddhism has taken root?

My personal belief is that for Buddhism to successfully flourish in the West, a monastic Sangha is necessary. At the same time, I think it almost inevitable that as Buddhism evolves here, monasticism will change in many ways, that it will adapt to the peculiar environment impressed upon it by Western culture and modes of understanding, which differ so much from the culture and worldview of traditional Asian Buddhism. As a result, I believe, the role monastics play in Western Buddhism will also differ in important ways from the role they play in Asia. I do not think this is something that we need lament or look upon with dread. In some respects, I believe, such a development is not only inevitable but also wholesome, that it can be seen as a sign of Buddhism’s ability to adapt to different cultural conditions, which is also a sign of spiritual strength. At the same time, I also think we need to exercise caution about making adaptation. It would certainly be counterproductive to be in a hurry to make changes uncritically, without taking the long-standing pillars of our Buddhist heritage as our reference point. If we are too hasty, we might also be careless, and then we might discard fundamental principles of the Dharma along with the adventitious cultural dressing in which it is wrapped.

I first want to examine the traditionalist understanding of this issue, even though--and I stress this--the position to which I incline is not a strictly traditionalist one. From a traditionalist point of view, the monastic Sangha is necessary for the successful transmission of Buddhism to occur because the monastic Sangha sustains the continuity of the Triple Gem. We can briefly consider how this is so with regard to each of the Three Jewels individually.

(1) The Buddha: When the Buddha decided to embark on the quest for enlightenment, his first step was to become a samana, an ascetic. On the one hand, by adopting the lifestyle of an ascetic, the future Buddha was conforming to an ancient Indian paradigm of the spiritual life, a paradigm that might well have gone back centuries before his own time. But by taking up this mode of life, and continuing to adhere to it even after his enlightenment, the Buddha did something more than simply conform to the prevailing Indian convention. He conveyed a message, namely, that the renunciant way of life was an essential step on the path to the ultimate goal, to the state of transcendent liberation from birth and death, the ideal shared by many of the old Indian schools of spiritual culture. Even more: he indicated that renunciation is itself an aspect of the goal. Renunciation of sensual pleasures and cyclic existence is not merely a means to liberation; it is also integral to the goal itself. The goal is renunciation, and thus the act of renunciation with which the monastic life begins is not simply a step in the direction of the goal but also partly the realization of the goal, an embodiment of liberation, even if only symbolically so.

After his enlightenment, the Buddha created a monastic Sangha on the model of the lifestyle that he had adopted during his quest for enlightenment. The monks (and later nuns) were to live in a state of voluntary poverty, without personal wealth and with minimal possessions. They were to shave their heads and wear simple dyed robes, to gather their meals by going on alms round, to live out in the open, in caves, or in simple huts. They were governed by a disciplinary code that minutely regulated their behavior, and were to undertake a training that directed their energies towards the same path that the Buddha had embarked on when he discovered the way to enlightenment.

Even though aspects of the monastic lifestyle have changed over the ages, in Asian Buddhist tradition the figure of the monk (and less often, I have to say, reluctantly but candidly, the nun) has functioned as the symbol for the Buddha’s continuing presence in the world. By his robes, deportment, and lifestyle, the monk represents the Buddha. He enables the Buddha, vanished from the stage of human events, to continue to shed his blessing power upon the earth. He draws down the Buddha’s past historical reality and sends it out into the world, so that the Buddha can continue to serve the world as a teacher, an image of human perfection, and a spiritual force—a force of grace that acts within and upon those who go to him for refuge.

(2) The Dharma. In a well-known passage in the Mahaparinibbana Sutta, the Buddha tells Mara, the Evil One, that his followers comprise monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen who are “capable, well trained, confident, learned, and upholders of the Dhamma.” These four groups are known as the four assemblies. If we take this passage in isolation, it might seem as if the Buddha is assigning the four groups to a level of parity with respect to the Dharma, for they are described in the same way. However, another sutta in the Samyutta Nikaya (42:7), sheds a different light on their relationship. Here the Buddha illustrates the three kinds of recipients of his teaching with a simile of three fields: the superior field, the middling field, and the inferior field. The three kinds of recipients—compared respectively to the superior, middling, and inferior fields—are the bhikkhus and bhikkhunis (taken jointly), the male and female lay disciples (taken jointly), and the monks and ascetics of other schools. This statement doesn't imply that monks and nuns, individually, are invariably superior to lay disciples. Often sincere lay disciples are more serious and diligent in practice and more knowledgeable about the Dharma than many monastics. But the Buddha’s statement does suggest that, as a group, monastics constitute a more fertile field for the Dharma to flourish than lay persons, and that is so because they have adopted the lifestyle that the Buddha designed for those who wish to fully devote themselves to the practice and advance thereby towards the goal of the spiritual life.

Traditionally, monastics have not only been charged with the intensive practice of the Dharma, but also with the responsibility of preserving it and teaching it to others. This implies that there must be monastics who have thoroughly learned the Buddhist scriptures and mastered the body of Buddhist doctrine. In all Buddhist traditions, parallel with the exemplary practitioner, there stands the figure of the learned monk, the pandita, the dharma-master, the geshe—those who have acquired expertise in the doctrine and can skillfully teach others. In this way, too, the monastic person becomes a channel for the preservation and transmission of the Dharma.

(3) The Sangha. The monastic Sangha also serves as a conduit for the transmission of the third Jewel, the Sangha itself, in the world. The Buddha did not merely confer monastic ordination on his disciples, permitting them to “go forth” from the home life. Going beyond this, he created a monastic order, a community of monks and nuns bound together by a common code of discipline, the Vinaya, and by other guidelines intended to ensure that they serve the well-being of the community that they have joined. He also established a number of communal monastic observances that bind the members of the Sangha together, the most important being the ceremonies of ordination, recitation of the monastic code, the rains retreat, and the ending of the rains retreat: upasampada, uposatha, vassa, and pavarana. Buddhist tradition—at least Theravada tradition—says that the performance of these ceremonies is the criterion for the continued existence of the Sasana, that is, for Buddhism to survive as a social and historical institution. I’m not sure whether there is any canonical basis for this idea; it might come from the commentaries or later tradition, but it is a well-established belief.

Thus, to sum up: From a traditional point of view, a monastic Sangha is essential for the continuing presence of all three Jewels in the world. The renunciant monks and nuns symbolically represent the Buddha; they learn, practice, and teach the Dharma; they observe the guidelines, regulations, and rites of the Sangha; and they practice in such a way that they themselves might become enlightened beings themselves, fulfilling the ultimate intention of the Buddha.

This is the traditionalist perspective, but I question whether this traditionalist view of the Sangha’s role is completely viable in today’s world. Is it sufficient simply to insist on the traditional understanding of the Sangha’s task and mission, or are there forces at work compelling us to stake out new ways of understanding the role of the Sangha? Do we face new challenges, never foreseen by the tradition, that compel us to renew our understanding of Buddhism and revitalize our monastic lifestyle in order to ensure greater durability for monasticism as an institution and a way of life? Are there forces at work that might actually undermine the survival of Buddhist monasticism?

Interestingly, while the Buddha speaks of forces threatening the future long life of the Dharma, we find nothing to indicate that he foresaw the kind of transformations that are taking place today. When the early texts speak about the future, they generally predict decline and degeneration—what they call future perils (anagatabhaya)—and the remedy they propose is simply to strive diligently in the present, so that one attains liberation before the dark ages arrive. The oldest collections of texts, the Nikayas and Agamas, consistently set the factors making for decline against the background of the social order that prevailed in the Buddha’s time. There is no recognition that society might undergo major social, cultural, and intellectual transformations that could stimulate the emergence of positive developments within Buddhism. There is no recognition that Buddhism might migrate to countries and continents remote from ancient India, lands where different material conditions and modes of thinking might allow the Dharma to develop in different directions from that it was to take in its Indian homeland. In general, from the standpoint of the early texts, the revolving Wheel of Time draws us ever closer to the end of the proper Dharma, and the best we can do is resist the tide sweeping over us. Change is subversive, and we must preserve the proper Dharma against its corrosive influence.

I do not like to take issue with the early Buddhist canon, but I have often asked myself whether it is necessary to take such a dark view of change or to see it as inevitable that Buddhism slides ever more rapidly down a slippery slope. I wonder whether we might not instead adopt an evolutionary perspective on the development of Buddhism, a perspective that does not oblige us to regard change in the doctrinal and institutional expressions of Buddhism as invariably a sign of degeneration. Perhaps we can see such change instead as a catalyst able to bring about a process of natural, organic growth in Buddhism. Perhaps we can consider changing social, intellectual, and cultural conditions as providing an opportunity for Buddhism to respond creatively, and thus to re-envision and re-embody the Dharma in the world, bringing to manifestation many aspects implicit in the original teaching but unable to appear until the requisite conditions bring them forth.

The history of Buddhism might be viewed as the record of an interplay between two factors, challenge and response. Time and again, change takes place—a seismic shift in cultural or intellectual conditions—that strikes at the core of Buddhist tradition, setting off a crisis. Initially, the new development might seem threatening. But often there will arise Buddhist thinkers who are acute enough to understand the challenge and resourceful enough to respond in creative ways that tap into hidden potentials of the Dharma. Their responses lead to adaptations that not only enable the Sasana to weather the storm, but which embody new insights, new ways of understanding the Dharma, that could never have appeared until the appropriate conditions called them forth, until unforeseen historical, social, cultural, and philosophical challenges made them possible and even necessary. At times these responses may veer off the proper track into the wilderness of subjective interpretations and deviant practices; but often enough they reveal the creative viability of Buddhism, its ability to adapt and assume new expressions in response to new needs and new modes of understanding implanted in people by new social and cultural conditions.

In facing the new challenges, creative adaptation has to be balanced by an effort to maintain continuity with the roots and past legacy of Buddhism. This double task points to a certain struggle between two factors in the unfolding of Buddhist history: one is the need to respond effectively to the challenges presented by new circumstances, new ways of thinking, new standards of behavior; the other is the need to remain faithful to the original insights at the heart of the Dharma, to its long heritage of practice and experience. The weight that is assigned to these two competing forces establishes a tension between conservative and innovative tendencies within Buddhism. Inevitably, different people will gravitate towards one or another of these poles, and such differences often bring conflict between those who wish to preserve familiar forms and those who think change and reformulation are necessary to maintain the vitality and relevance of the Dharma. This same tension is still very much with us today, as we will see.

In the early centuries of Buddhist history, the architects of the evolving Buddhist tradition preferred to ascribe these newly emergent dimensions of the Dharma to the Buddha himself. This, however, was just a mythical way of conferring the mantle of authority upon new formulations of the teaching. Such is the characteristic Indian way of thinking. It is an open question whether these masters actually believed that these new teachings had sprung from the Buddha himself or instead used this device as a symbolic way of indicating that such teachings brought to light previously unexpressed aspects of the enlightenment realized by the Buddha.

Let us take a few examples of this: Several generations after the passing of the Buddha, the Vedic philosophical schools took to compiling complex, systematized lists of all the components of the universe. This tendency is particularly evident in the Sankhya school, which may have already arisen before the time of the Buddha and must have been evolving parallel with early Buddhism. This fashion of the age presented the Buddhists with the challenge of applying the same style of fine analysis to their own heritage. Consequently, Buddhist thinkers set out to systematize the various groups of elements recorded in the Buddha’s discourses, and over time what emerged from this exercise was the body of learning known as the Abhidharma. This trend cut clear across the early Buddhist schools, and the result was the creation of at least three different (but related) schools of Abhidharma: the Theravada, the Sarvastivada, and the Dharmaguptaka. Perhaps to give a competitive edge to their own system, the Theravadin commentators ascribed their Abhidharma to the Buddha, claiming that he taught it to the deities in a deva world; all the evidence, however, indicates that the Abhidharma resulted from a process of historical evolution extending over several centuries.

On this basis, one who adheres to a strict conservative stance, a position that I call “sutta purism,” might reject the value of the Abhidharma, holding that the only teachings worth studying are those that can be ascribed, with a fair degree of accuracy, to the Buddha himself. This position assumes that because the Abhidharma treatises were not actually taught by the Buddha, they are useless and fruitless, a lamentable deviation from the proper Dharma. However, by taking an evolutionary perspective, we can view the Abhidharma schools as responses to intellectual challenges faced by the Buddhist community in an early stage of Buddhist intellectual history. From this point of view, they then appear as impressive attempts to incorporate all the elements of the teaching into a systematic structure governed by the broad principles of the original teaching. The Abhidharma then emerges as a bold project that proposed to establish nothing less than a comprehensive inventory of all known phenomena and their relations, subordinated to the governing concepts of the Dharma and the project of transcendent liberation.

Similar considerations apply to the Mahayana sutras, which introduce far more radical re-assessments of Buddhist doctrine and spiritual ideals than the Abhidharma. Again, if one takes the conservative stance of “sutta purism,” one might dismiss these texts as deviations from the true Dharma and even as marking a step towards the decline of the Sasana. This, in fact, is a view that many conservative monks in Theravada countries take of the Mahayana sutras, even when they are completely unfamiliar with them. However, by looking at the history of Buddhism as a process governed by the law of “challenge-and-response,” we can see the emergence of the Mahayana sutras as a result of new challenges faced by Buddhism beginning in the post-Asokan landscape. Some of these challenges might have been internal to the Buddhist community, such as a disenchantment with the rigidity of the Abhidharma systems and a narrow interpretation of the arahant ideal; also, an interest in elaborating upon the path that a bodhisattva must travel over countless eons to arrive at Buddhahood. Other challenges may have been external, particularly the mingling in the Indian subcontinent of new peoples of different ethnicities, speaking different languages, and holding different worldviews. This would have challenged Buddhism to break out of the mold imposed upon it by its Indian origins and draw out, from its own inner resources, a new conception of the universal ethical ideal already articulated in archaic Buddhism.

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At this point I want to consider some of the peculiar challenges that Buddhist monasticism is facing today, in our contemporary world, especially those that arise out of the unique intellectual, cultural, and social landscape of modern Western culture. Such challenges, I have to emphasize, are already at work; they have brought about remarkable changes in the contemporary manifestation of Buddhism as a whole. It is likely, too, that they will accelerate in the future and have a significant impact on Buddhist monasticism over the next few decades.

I believe the present era confronts us with far different challenges than any Buddhism has ever faced before. These challenges are more radical, more profound, and more difficult to address using traditional modes of understanding. Yet for Buddhist monasticism to survive and thrive, they demand fitting responses—responses, I believe, that do not merely echo positions coming down from the past, but tackle the new challenges on their own terms while remaining faithful to the spirit of the teaching. In particular, we have to deal with them in ways that are meaningful against the background of our own epoch and our own culture, offering creative, perceptive, innovative solutions to the problems they pose.

On what grounds do I say that the present era confronts Buddhist monasticism with far different challenges than any it has faced in the past? I believe there are two broad reasons why our present-day situation is so different from anything Buddhist monasticism has encountered in the past. The first is simply that Buddhist monasticism has taken root in North America, and most of us involved in the project of establishing Buddhist monasticism here are Westerners. When, as Westerners, we take up Buddhism as our spiritual path, we inevitably bring along the deep background of our Western cultural and intellectual conditioning. I don’t think we can reject this background or put it in brackets, nor do I think doing so would be a healthy approach. We cannot alienate ourselves from our Western heritage, for that heritage is what we are and thus determines how we assimilate Buddhism, just as much as a brain that processes objects in terms of three dimensions determines the way we see them.

The second reason is partly related to the first, namely, that we are living not in fifth century B.C. India, or in Tang dynasty China, or in fourteenth century Japan or Tibet, but in 21st century America, and thus we are denizens of the modern age, perhaps the postmodern age. As people of the 21st century, whether we are indigenous Americans or Asians, we are heirs to the entire experience of modernity, and as such we inevitably approach the Dharma, understand it, practice it, and embody it in the light of the intellectual and cultural achievements of the modern era. In particular, we inherit not only the heritage of enlightenment stemming from the Buddha and the wisdom of the Buddhist tradition, but also another heritage deriving from the 18th century European Enlightenment. The 18th century cut a sharp dividing line between traditional culture and modernity, a dividing line that cannot be erased; it marked a turning point that cannot be reversed.

The transformations in thought ushered in by the great thinkers of the Western Enlightenment—including the Founding Fathers of the U.S.—dramatically revolutionized our understanding of what it means to be a human being existing in a world community. The concept of universal human rights, of the inherent dignity of humankind; the ideals of liberty and equality, of the brotherhood of man; the demand for equal justice under the law and comprehensive economic security; the rejection of external authorities and trust in the capacity of human reason to arrive at truth; the critical attitude towards dogmatism, the stress on direct experience—all derive from this period and all influence the way we appropriate Buddhism. I have seen some Western Buddhists take a dismissive attitude towards this heritage (and I include with them myself during my first years as a monk), devaluing it against the standards of traditional pre-modern Asian Buddhism. But in my opinion, such an attitude could become psychologically divisive, alienating us from what is of most value in our own heritage. I believe a more wholesome approach would aim at a “fusion of horizons,” a merging of our Western, modernist modes of understanding with the wisdom of the Buddhist tradition.

I would now like to briefly sketch several intellectual and cultural issues with which Buddhism has to grapple here in the U.S. I won’t presume to lay down in categorical terms fixed ways that we should respond to this situation; for the plain fact is that I don’t have definitive solutions to these problems. I believe the problems have to be faced and discussed honestly, but I don’t pretend to be one who has the answers. In the end, the shape Buddhist monasticism takes might not be determined so much by decisions we make through discussion and deliberation as by a gradual process of experimentation, by trial and error. In fact, it seems to me unlikely that there will be any simple uniform solutions. Rather, I foresee a wide spectrum of responses, leading to an increasing diversification in modern American/Western Buddhism, including monasticism. I don’t see this diversity as problematic. But I also believe it is helpful to bring the challenges we face out into the light, so that we can explore them in detail and weigh different solutions.

I will briefly sketch four major challenges that we, as Buddhist monastics, face in shaping the development of Buddhism in this country.

1. “The leveling of distinctions”: One important contemporary premise rooted in our democratic heritage might be called “the leveling of distinctions.” This holds that in all matters relating to fundamental rights, everyone has an equal claim: everyone is entitled to participate in any worthy projects; all opinions are worthy of consideration; no one has an intrinsic claim to privilege and entitlement. This attitude is staunchly opposed to the governing principle of traditionalist culture, namely, that there are natural gradations among people based on family background, social class, wealth, race, education, and so on, which confer privileges on some that do not accrue to others. In the traditionalist understanding, monastics and laity are stratified as to their positions and duties. Lay people provide monks and nuns with their material requisites, undertake precepts, engage in devotional practices to acquire merit, and occasionally practice meditation, usually under the guidance of monks; monastic persons practice intensive meditation, study the texts, conduct blessing ceremonies, and provide the lay community with teachings and examples of a dedicated life. This stratification of the Buddhist community is typical of most traditional Buddhist cultures. The distinction presupposes that the Buddhist lay devotee is not yet ready for deep Dharma study and intensive meditation practice but still needs gradual maturation based on faith, devotion, and good deeds.

In modern Western Buddhism, such a dichotomy has hardly even been challenged; rather, it has simply been disregarded. There are two ways that the classical monastic-lay distinction has been quietly overturned. First, lay people are not prepared to accept the traditionalist understanding of a lay person’s limitations but seek access to the Dharma in its full depth and range. They study Buddhist texts, even the most abstruse philosophical works that traditional Buddhism regards as the domain of monastics. They take up intensive meditation, seeking the higher stages of samadhi and insight and even the ranks of the ariyans, the noble ones.

The second way the monastic-lay distinction is being erased is in the elevation of lay people to the position of Dharma teachers who can teach with an authority normally reserved for monks. Some of the most gifted teachers of Buddhism today, whether of theory or meditation, are lay people. Thus, when lay people want to learn the Dharma, they are no longer dependent on monastics. Whether or not a lay person seeks teachings from a monastic or a lay teacher has become largely a matter of circumstance and preference. Some will want to study with monks; others will prefer to study with lay teachers. Whatever their choice, they can easily fulfill it. To study under a monk is not, as is mostly the case in traditional Buddhism, a matter of necessity. There are already training programs in the hands of lay Buddhists, and lineages of teachers consisting entirely of lay people.

Indeed, in some circles there is even a distrust of the monk. Some months ago I saw an ad in Buddhadharma magazine for a Zen lineage called “Open Mind Zen.” Its catch phrase was: “No monks, no magic, no mumbo-jumbo.” The three are called “crutches” that the real Zen student must discard in order to succeed in the practice. I was struck by the cavalier way that the monks are grouped with magic and mumbo-jumbo and all three together banished to the dugout.

I think it likely there will always be laypeople who look to the monastic Sangha for guidance, and thus there is little chance that our monasteries and Dharma centers will become empty. For another, the fact that many laypeople have been establishing independent, non-monastic communities with their own centers and teachers may have a partly liberating effect on the Sangha. Relieved to some extent of the need to serve as “fields of merit” and teachers for the laity, we will have more time for our own personal practice and spiritual growth. In this respect, we might actually be able to recapture the original function of the homeless person in archaic Buddhist monasticism, before popular, devotional Buddhism pushed monastics into a largely priestly role in relation to the wider Buddhist community. Of course, if the size of the lay congregation attached to a given monastery tapers off, there is some risk that the donations that sustain the monastery will also decline, and that could threaten the survival of the monastery. Thus the loss of material support can become a serious challenge to the sustainability of institutional monasticism.

2. The secularization of life. Since the late eighteenth century we have been living in an increasingly secularized world; in the U.S. and Western Europe, this process of secularization is quite close to completion. Religion is certainly not dead. In mainstream America, particularly the “heartland,” it may be more alive today than it was forty years ago. But a secularist outlook now shapes almost all aspects of our lives, including our religious lives.

Before I go further, I should clarify what I mean by the secularization of life. By this expression, I do not mean that people today have become non-religious, fully engulfed by worldly concerns. Of course, many people today invest all their interest in the things of this world—in family, personal relations, work, politics, sports, the enjoyment of the arts. But that is not what I mean by “the secularization of life.” The meaning of this phrase is best understood by contrasting a traditionalist culture with modern Western culture. In a traditionalist culture, religion provides people with their fundamental sense of identity; it colors almost every aspect of their lives and serves as their deepest source of values. In present-day Western culture, our sense of personal identity is determined largely by mundane points of reference, and the things we value most tend to be rooted in this visible, present world rather than in our hopes and fears regarding some future life. Once the traditional supports of faith have eroded, religion in the West has also undergone a drastic change in orientation. Its primary purpose now is no longer to direct our gaze towards some future life, towards some transcendent realm beyond the here and now. Its primary function, rather, is to guide us in the proper conduct of life, to direct our steps in this present world rather than to point us towards some other world.

Just about every religion has had to grapple with the challenge of agnosticism, atheism, humanism, as well as simple indifference to religion due to the easy availability of sensual pleasures. Some religions have reacted to this by falling back upon a claim to dogmatic certainty. Thus we witness the rise of fundamentalism, which does not necessarily espouse religious violence; that is only an incidental feature of some kinds of fundamentalism. Its basic characteristic is a quest for absolute certainty, freedom from doubt and ambiguity, to be achieved through unquestioning faith in teachers taken to be divinely inspired and in scriptures taken to be unerring even when interpreted as literally true.

But fundamentalism is not the only religious response to the modernist critique of religion. An alternative response accepts the constructive criticisms of the agnostics, skeptics, and humanists, and admits that religion in the past has been deeply flawed. But rather than reject religion, it seeks a new understanding of what it means to be religious. Those who take this route, the liberal religious wing, come to understand religion as primarily a way to find a proper orientation in life, as a guide in our struggles with the crises, conflicts, and insecurities that haunt our lives, including our awareness of our inevitable mortality. We undertake the religious quest, not to pass from this world to a transcendent realm beyond, but to discover a transcendent dimension of life—a superior light, a platform of ultimate meaning—amidst the turmoil of everyday existence.

One way that religion has responded to the secularist challenge is by seeking a rapprochement with its old nemesis that might be called “spiritual secularity” or “secular spirituality.” From this perspective, the secular becomes charged with a deep spiritual potential, and the spiritual finds its fulfillment in the low lands of the secular. The apparently mundane events of our everyday lives—both at a personal and communal level—are no longer seen as bland and ordinary but as the field in which we encounter divine reality. The aim of religious life is then to help us discover this spiritual meaning, to extract it from the mine of the ordinary. Our everyday life becomes a means to encounter the divine, to catch a glimpse of ultimate goodness and beauty. We too partake of this divine potential. With all our human frailties, we are capable of indomitable spiritual strength; our confusion is the basis for recovering a basic sanity; ever-available within us there is a deep core of wisdom.

This secularization of life of which I have been speaking has already affected the way Buddhism is being presented today. For one thing, we can note that there is a de-emphasis on the teachings of karma, rebirth, and samsara, and on nirvana as liberation from the round of rebirths. Buddhism is taught as a pragmatic, existential therapy, with the four noble truths construed as a spiritual medical formula guiding us to psychological health. The path leads not so much to release from the round of rebirths as to perfect peace and happiness. Some teachers say they teach “buddhism with a small ‘b’,” a Buddhism that does not make any claims to the exalted status of religion. Other teachers, after long training in classical Buddhism, even renounce the label of “Buddhism” altogether, preferring to think of themselves as following a non-religious practice.

Mindfulness meditation is understood to be a means of “being here and now,” “of coming to our senses,” of acquiring a fresh sense of wonder. We practice the Dharma to better understand our own minds, to find greater happiness and peace in the moment, to tap our creativity, to be more efficient in work, more loving in our relationships, more compassionate in our dealings with others. We practice not to leave this world behind but to participate in the world more joyfully, with greater spontaneity. We stand back from life in order to plunge into life, to dance with the ever-shifting flow of events.

One striking indication of this secularized transformation of Buddhism is the shift away from the traditional nucleus of the Buddhist community towards a new institutional form. The “traditional nucleus of the Buddhist community” is the monastery or temple, a sacred place where monks or nuns reside, a place under the management of monastics. The monastery or temple is a place set apart from the everyday world where laypeople come to pay respects to the ordained, to make offerings, to hear them preach, to participate in rituals led by monks or practice meditation guided by nuns. In contrast, the institutional heart of contemporary secularized Buddhism is the Dharma center: a place often established by lay people, run by lay people, with lay teachers. If the resident teachers are monastic persons, they live there at the request of lay people, and the programs and administration are often managed by lay people. In the monastery or temple, the focus of attention is the Buddha image or shrine containing sacred relics, which are worshipped and regarded as the body of the Buddha himself. The monks sit on an elevated platform, near the Buddha image. The modern Dharma center may not even have a Buddha image. If it does, the image will usually not be worshipped but serve simply as a reminder of the source of the teaching. The lay teachers will generally sit at the same level as the students and apart from their teaching role will relate to them largely as friends.

These are some of the features of the Western—or specifically American—appropriation of Buddhism that give it a distinctly “secularized” flavor. Though such an approach to Buddhism is not traditional, I do not think it can be easily dismissed as a trivialization of the Dharma. Nor should we regard those drawn to this way of “doing Buddhism” as settling for “Dharma lite” in place of the real thing. Many of the people who follow the secularized version of Buddhism have practiced with great earnestness and persistency; some have studied the Dharma deeply under traditional teachers and have a keen understanding of classical Buddhist doctrine. They are drawn to such an approach to Buddhism precisely because it squares best with the secularization of life pervasive in Western culture, and because it addresses concerns that arise out of this situation—how to find happiness, peace, and meaning in a confused and congested world. However, since classical Buddhism is basically directed towards a world-transcendent goal—however differently understood, whether as in Early Buddhism or in Mahayana Buddhism—this becomes another challenge facing Buddhist monasticism in our country today. Looking to what lies beyond the stars, beyond life and death, rather than at the ground before our feet, we can cut a somewhat strange figure.

3. The challenge of social engagement. The third characteristic of contemporary spirituality that presents a challenge to traditional Buddhist monasticism is its focus on social engagement. In theory, traditional Buddhism tends to encourage aloofness from the mundane problems that confront humanity as a whole: such problems as crushing poverty, the specter of war, the denial of human rights, widening class distinctions, economic and racial oppression. I use the word “in theory,” because in practice Buddhist temples in Asia have often functioned as communal centers where people gather to resolve their social and economic problems. For centuries Buddhist monks in southern Asia have been at the vanguard of social action movements, serving as the voice of the people in their confrontation with oppressive government authorities. We saw this recently in Burma, when the monks led the protests against the military dictatorship there. However, such activities subsist in a certain tension with classical Buddhist doctrine, which emphasizes withdrawal from the concerns of the world, inward purification, a quest for non-attachment, equanimity towards the flux of worldly events, a kind of passive acceptance of the flaws of samsara. In my early life as a monk in Sri Lanka, I was sometimes told by senior monks that concern with social, political, and economic problems is a distraction from “what really matters,” the quest for personal liberation from the dukkha of worldly existence. Even the elder monks who served as social and political advisors were guided more by the idea of preserving Sinhalese Buddhist culture than of striving for social justice and equity.

However, an attitude of detached neutrality towards social injustice does not square well with the Western religious conscience. Beginning in the late nineteenth century, Christianity underwent a profound change in response to the widespread social ills of the time. It gave birth to a “social gospel,” a movement that applied Christian ethics of love and responsibility to such problems as poverty, inequality, crime, racial tensions, poor schools, and the danger of war. The social gospel proposed not merely the doing of deeds of charity in line with the original teachings of Jesus, but a systematic attempt to reform the oppressive power structures that sustained economic inequality, social injustice, exploitation, and the debasement of the poor and powerless. This radically new dimension of social concern brought deep-seated changes among Christians in their understanding of their own religion. Virtually all the major denominations of Christianity, Protestant and Catholic alike, came to subscribe to some version of the social gospel. Often, priests and ministers were at the forefront, preaching social change, leading demonstrations, spurring their congregations on to socially transformative action. Perhaps in our own time the person who best symbolizes this social dimension of modern Christianity is Rev. Martin Luther King, who, during his life, came to be known as “the moral voice of America”— not merely for his civil-rights campaigns but also because of his eloquent opposition to the Vietnam War and his commitment to the abolition of poverty.

The advocates of engaged spirituality understand the test of our moral integrity to be our willingness to respond compassionately and effectively to the sufferings of humanity. True morality is not simply a matter of inward purification, a personal and private affair, but of decisive action inspired by compassion and motivated by a keen desire to deliver others from the oppressive conditions that stifle their humanity. Those of true religious faith might look inward and upward for divine guidance; but the voice that speaks to them, the voice of conscience, says that the divine is to be found in loving one’s fellow human beings, and in demonstrating this love by an unflinching commitment to ameliorate their misery and restore their hope and dignity.

The prominence of the social gospel in contemporary Christianity has already had a far-reaching impact on Buddhism. It has been one catalyst behind the rise of “Engaged Buddhism,” which has become an integral part of the Western Buddhist scene. But behind both lies the European Enlightenment emphasis upon righting social wrongs and establishing a reign of justice. In the West, Engaged Buddhism has taken on a life of its own, assuming many new expressions. It deliberately sets itself against the common image of Buddhism as a religion of withdrawal and quiescence, looking on at the plight of suffering beings with merely passive pity. For Engaged Buddhism, compassion is not just a matter of cultivating sublime emotions but of engaging in transformative action. Since classical Buddhist monasticism does in fact begin with an act of withdrawal and aims at detachment, the rise of Engaged Buddhism constitutes a new challenge to Buddhist monasticism with the potential to redefine the shape of our monastic life.

4. Religious pluralism. A fourth factor working to change the shape of Buddhism in the West is the rise of what has been called “religious pluralism.” For the most part, traditional religions claim, implicitly or explicitly, to possess exclusive access to the ultimate means of salvation, to the liberating truth, to the supreme goal. For orthodox Christians, Christ is the truth, the way, and the life, and no one comes to God the Father except through him. For Muslims, Muhammad is the last of the prophets, who offers the final revelation of the divine will for humanity. Hindus appear more tolerant because of their capacity for syncretism, but almost all the classical Hindu schools claim final status for their own distinctive teachings. Buddhism too claims to have the unique path to the sole imperishable state of liberation and ultimate bliss, nirvana. Not only do traditional religions make such claims for their own creeds and practices, but their relations are competitive and often bitter if not aggressive. Usually, at the mildest, they propose negative evaluations of other faiths.

Within Buddhism, too, the relations between the different schools have not always been cordial. Theravadin traditionalists often regard Mahayanists as apostates from the proper Dharma; Mahayanist texts describe the followers of the early schools with the derogatory term “Hinayana,” though this has gone out of fashion. Even within the Theravada, followers of one approach to meditation might dispute the validity of different approaches. Within the Mahayana, despite the doctrine of “skillful means,” proponents of different schools might devalue the teachings of other schools, so that the “skillful means” are all within one’s own school, while the means adopted in other schools are decidedly “unskillful.”

In the present-day world, an alternative has appeared to this competitive way in which different religions relate to one another. This alternative is religious pluralism. It is based on two parallel convictions. One relates to a subjective factor: as human beings we have an ingrained tendency to take our own viewpoint to be uniquely correct and then use it to dismiss and devalue alternative viewpoints. Recognizing this disposition, religious pluralists say that we have to be humble regarding any claims to possess privileged access to spiritual truth. When we make such audacious claims, they hold, this is more indicative of our self-inflation than of genuine insight into spiritual truth.

The second conviction on which religious pluralism is based is that the different views and practices possessed by the different religious traditions need not be seen as mutually exclusive. They can instead be considered partly as complementary, as mutually illuminating; they may be regarded as giving us different perspectives on the ultimate reality, on the goal of the spiritual quest, on methods of approaching that goal. Thus, their differences can be seen to highlight aspects of the goal, of the human situation, of spiritual practice, etc., that are valid but unknown or under-emphasized in one’s own religion or school of affiliation.

Perhaps the most curious sign of religious pluralism in the Buddhist fold is the attempt made by some people to adopt two religions at the same time. We hear of people who consider themselves Jewish Buddhists, who claim to be able to practice both Judaism and Buddhism, assigning each to a different sphere of their lives. I have also heard of Christian Buddhists; perhaps too there are Muslim Buddhists, though I have not heard of any. To accept religious pluralism, however, one need not go to this extreme, which to me seems dubious. A religious pluralist will generally remain uniquely committed to a single religion, yet at the same time be ready to admit the possibility that different religions can give access to spiritual truth. Such a person would be disposed to enter into respectful and friendly dialogue with those of other faiths. They have no intention of engaging in a contest aimed at proving the superiority of their own spiritual path, but want to learn from the other, to enrich their understanding of human existence by tentatively adopting an alternative point of view and even a different practice.

The religious pluralist can be deeply devoted to his or her own religion, yet be willing to temporarily suspend their familiar perspective in order to adopt another frame of reference. Such attempts might then allow one to discover counterparts of this different view within one’s own religious tradition. This tendency has already had a strong impact on Buddhism. There have been numerous Christian-Buddhist dialogues, seminars at which Christians and Buddhist thinkers come together to explore common themes, and there is a journal of Christian and Buddhist studies. Monasticism too has been affected by this trend. Journals are published on inter-monastic dialogue, and Tibetan Buddhist monks have even gone to live at Christian monasteries and Christian monks gone to live at Buddhist monasteries.

Among Buddhists it is not unusual, here in the West, for followers of one Buddhist tradition to study under a master of another tradition and to take courses and retreats in meditation systems different from the one with which they are primarily affiliated. As Westerners, this seems quite natural and normal to us. However, until recent times, for an Asian Buddhist, at least for a traditionalist, it would have been almost unthinkable, a reckless experiment.

***

Let me now sum up the territory I have covered. I have briefly sketched four characteristics of contemporary spirituality, ushered in by the transformation from a traditional to a modern or even post-modern culture. These characteristics have had a profound influence on mainstream religion in the West and have already started to alter the shape of Buddhist spirituality. The four are:

(1) The “leveling of distinctions,” so that the sharp distinctions between the ordained religious person and the lay person are being blurred or even abolished.

(2) The rise of “secular spirituality” or “spiritual secularity,” marked by a shift in the orientation of religion away from the quest for some transcendent state, a dimension beyond life in the world, towards a deep, enriching experience of the human condition and a transformative way of living within the world.

(3) The conviction that the mark of authentic religious faith is a readiness to engage in compassionate action, especially to challenge social and political structures that sustain injustice, inequality, violence, and environmental despoliation.

(4) Religious pluralism: abandoning the claim to exclusive religious truth and adopting a pluralistic outlook that can allow the possibility of complementary, mutually illuminating perspectives on religious truth and practice. This applies both to the relations of Buddhists with followers of other religions, and to the internal relations between followers of different Buddhist schools and traditions..

I now want to suggest that all four of these factors are going to present powerful challenges to Buddhist monasticism in the future, forcing us to rethink and re-evaluate traditional attitudes and structures that have sustained monastic life for centuries right up to the present. Indeed, these challenges have already been recognized in many quarters and the task of reshaping monasticism in response to them has already started.

As I said at the beginning of my talk, I am not going to advocate a fixed response to these challenges which I think is uniquely correct; for, as I said, I don’t have an unambiguous conviction about the best response. But to help us grapple with them, I want to posit, in relation to each of these four challenges, a spectrum of possible responses. These range from the conservative and traditionalist at one end to the liberal and accommodative on the other.

(1) Thus, with respect to “the leveling of distinctions,” we have at one end the traditionalist insistence on the sharp stratification of monastics and lay person. The monastic person is a field of merits, an object of veneration, alone entitled to claim the position of Dharma teacher; the lay person is essentially a supporter and devotee, a practitioner and perhaps an assistant in teaching activities, but always in a subordinate role. At the other end, the distinction between the two is almost erased: the monk and lay person are simply friends; the lay person might teach meditation and give Dharma talks, perhaps even conduct religious rites. Towards the middle we would have a situation in which the distinction between monastic and lay person is preserved, in which lay people accord the monastics traditional forms of respect, but the capacity for lay people to study and practice the Dharma extensively and in depth is well acknowledged. From this point of view, those who have fulfilled the requisite training, whether monastics or laypeople, can function as Dharma teachers, and independent lineages of lay teachers, not dependent on monastics, can be accepted and honored.

(2) Again, among the responses to the secularist challenge, we can see a spectrum. At one end is a traditionalist monasticism that emphasizes the classical teachings of karma, rebirth, the different realms of existence, etc., and sees the goal of monastic life to be the total ending of cyclic existence and the attainment of transcendent liberation. At the other end is a monasticism influenced by secularizing tendencies, which emphasizes the enrichment and deepening of immediate experience as sufficient in itself, perhaps even as “nibbana here and now” or the actualization of our Buddha-nature. Such an approach, it seems to me, is already found among some Western presentations of Soto Zen, and also seems to have gained currency in the way Vipassana meditation is taught in lay meditation circles. Between these two extremes, a centrist approach might recognize the mundane benefits of the Dharma and stress the value of acquiring a richer, deeper experience of the present, but still uphold the classical Buddhist framework of karma, rebirth, renunciation, etc., and the ideal of liberation from rebirth and attainment of world-transcendent realization. Again, whether this be understood from a Theravadin or Mahayanist point of view, a common stratum unites them and supports their respective monastic projects.

(3) With regard to engaged spirituality, at the conservative end of the sprectrum we find those who look critically at engaged Buddhist practices for monastics, holding that a proper monastic life requires a radical withdrawal from mundane activities, including all direct involvement in social, political, and economic action. The monastic can teach lay people the ethical values that conduce to greater social justice but should not become tainted by involvement with projects aimed at social and political transformations. At the other end are those who believe that monastics should be actively engaged in such activities, indeed that they should be at the forefront of the struggle for peace and social, economic, and political justice. A middle position might recognize the importance of developing a Buddhism that engages more fully with the world, but holds that monastics should serve as guides, sources of inspiration, and educators in programs of social engagement, while the hands-on work of dealing with governments, policy makers, and institutions should generally be entrusted to lay Buddhists.

(4) Finally, with respect to religious pluralism, we find, at the conservative end of the spectrum, monastics who believe that Buddhism alone has the ultimate truth and the unique path to spiritual liberation. Since those following other religions are immersed in wrong views, we have nothing to learn from them and would do best to avoid religious discussions with them except to persuade them of their errors. We can cooperate on projects aimed at worthy ends, such as world peace and environmental awareness, but there is no point exploring our religious differences, for such discussions lead nowhere. Conservative followers of a particular school of Buddhism might bring forth similar considerations in relation to Buddhists belonging to other schools. At the liberal end of the spectrum are monastics who believe that all religions teach essentially the same thing, and that it does not particularly matter which path one follows, for they all lead to the same goal. In the middle, we might find those who, while upholding the uniqueness of the Buddha’s teaching, also believe in the value of inter-religious dialogue, who recognize elements of truth and value in other religions, and who might be willing to live for periods in monasteries of another religion, or in monasteries belonging to a school of Buddhism different from that in which they have been trained.

It should be noted that while I designate certain positions as conservative and others as liberal, it is not necessary that the four conservative positions constitute an inseparable cluster and the four liberal and four middling positions other inseparable clusters. It is well possible for one who takes a conservative position on one, two, or three of these issues to take a liberal or middling position on the fourth. Someone might take a conservative position on two issues and a middling or liberal stance on the other two. And conversely, taking the liberal and middling position as our basis, we can posit numerous combinations between them and conservative positions on the four issues. Thus a great number of permutations is possible.

In considering the different positions, the approach that seems to me most wholesome is one that conforms to the spirit of the middle way: on the one hand, avoiding rigidly clinging to long-established conventions and attitudes simply because they are familiar to us and give us a sense of security; on the other hand, exercising care not to lose sight of the basic principles of the Dharma, especially those that derive from the Buddha himself, just to accommodate new social and cultural conditions. In the end, it might be best that new forms evolve gradually in response to the new conditions we meet here in the West rather than through hasty decisions. Monasticism is, in any case, generally a fairly conservative force. This may be partly due to the temperament of those who ordain, partly due to the fact that Buddhist monasticism is an ancient institution—older than all the empires and kingdoms that have risen upon the face of the earth--and thus has acquired a weight that discourages random experimentation. In any case, the good Dharma flourishes to the extent that we remain firm in our commitment to the core principles of Buddhism as a whole and those that define our respective traditions while at the same time remaining open to the challenges, insights, and values of contemporary civilization.

But one point is certain: To preserve relevance, the Sangha must allow the forms and expressions of Buddhist monasticism to respond effectively to the new and unique challenges we face today. Our response should be marked by faith, flexibility and resiliency. Faith roots us in the Dharma, but it should not stiffen us. Flexibility allows us to adapt and thereby to keep in touch with the concerns of ordinary people; it is not a mark of weakness. To the contrary, with firm roots, we can bend with the wind without breaking and collapsing.

The challenges we face today can be seen, not as threats and dangers, but as calls to discover more deeply and authentically what it means to be a monastic in the contemporary world, which is so different from the world in which Buddhism was born. Changes in forms and structures, in roles and ways of conducting our monastic lives, can be positive and healthy, a sign of the inner vitality of Buddhism and of our own confidence in the spiritual quest. We can look upon the changes that occur in response to the new challenges as the next step in the onward evolution of Buddhist monasticism, as the next bend in the river of the Dharma as it flows onwards from its ancient Asian homelands into the unchartered frontiers of the global 21st century.]]> Featured, Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings 2008-09-08T14:00:43+00:00 Why I walk http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/why_i_walk/
Why I walk

The trail uphill past the bell-tower
through the madrone and manzanita scrub

four-wheel drives can climb it
but today isn't about getting there

or getting the work over and done with…
Sure it's not easy to live without achievement

and keep heading uphill
but it carries a because

that maybe the deer would pick up
with those ears that swivel like sails

or the black bear would sniff and claw out
as something luscious, full of grubs...

Maybe the bell that was a bomb-case
could ring out, now that it too is empty,

how we can be lifted out of our story,
with each step, each breath, one at a time

that draws purely from what is given
and wrapped in brief flowers and earth-music…

Today that sense is resounding
among the ladders, pulleys and precarious scaffolding

of who we say we are. That lost cause.
And I need no sky or crumbling valley.

December 2, 2007

]]> Featured, Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings 2008-09-05T14:00:01+00:00 Boys Will Be Boys http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/boys_will_be_boys/ Two years ago Tatcha Tansuhaj, fondly remembered as Todd, passed away after a long struggle with thalassemia. We return to Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery where Todd ordained as a novice monk before he went into treatment for the disease. This has become an annual pilgrimage for Todd's parents, my Aunt Patriya and Uncle Chusak. They invite family and friends to gather in remembrance of Todd and all the things he brought to our lives. Todd's friends Bennett, Sunny, and Steven flew down with us this year. Another of Todd's friends, Brandon, drove down with his mother and little sister and met us there. Flying down to Abhayagiri with three young boys, two of whom had just arrived in Seattle after a long plane trip from Pullman, was much easier than I had first suspected. Little did I know at the time that this calm was merely a dastardly ploy to lure me into a false sense of security and to leave me unready for their plans once we touched down in California. The boys clearly had a strong love and appreciation of life, which they did not hesitate for a moment to express vocally. Unfortunately Uncle Chusak, who was driving at the time, did not quite appreciate the youth and vitality there boys were instilled with. Aunt Patriya assigned me to be the “Big Brother” of the group and to help keep the boys calm and quite. However, as history has proven time and time again, this method of keeping order lasts only till a coup brings down the current leader and instills a new more “capable” one in its place. I breathed a sigh of relief as we pulled into the monastery driveway. I had put down several rebellions and knew that I had neither the men nor munitions to last through another one.

After our first night of trying to get a group of boys to quite down and go to sleep—not an easy task while they are busy playing video games—I was starting to wonder what I had gotten myself into when I had agreed to be responsible for the boys. However, as the boys grew accustom to the monastery, I could see that these initial fears weren't really all that bad. All of the boys had a very good understanding of what was expected of them in a monastery and were very respectful to the sacred space as well as the monks who live there. While they were at the Abhayagiri the boys were actually quite calm--as calm as a group of young boys can be anyways. They had inquisitive minds and had no end of questions for the monks. I was pleasantly surprised when they asked me a few questions and sat through my long winded explanations and stories on various topics. By this time I had grown quite fond of all of the boys (Faith, Brandon's sister, too of cores) and was thrilled that they showed such interest, regardless of whether or not this carries on with them later in life. However, a question still lingered in my mind. Why was it that while most people my age, much less their age, show much interest in monks and monasteries they could be so fascinated by this world they currently found themselves marooned in? The answer came later that night during Ajahn Pasanno's Dhamma talk.

Ajahn Pasanno spoke to us about Kalyana Mitta or Spiritual Friendship. Spiritual or noble friends are people who encourage us to do and seek good things through leading that life of good themselves and being an example for others. It seems to me, that for these boys, Todd was a spiritual friend whose example leads us all to this day on a path towards good things and away from bad. He is a reminder to take each day we are given and make the most of it, smiling the whole time. As Todd himself once came to this monastery, in his memory, his family has given many the chances to experience this fearless mountain and the monks who live on it. They have sponsored many of my trips here and have always encouraged me to delve deeper into those sacred teachings that these monks dedicate their lives too. I am always grateful for all Todd and my aunt and uncle have done for me. Todd's life full of both happiness and hardship has taught me many things about the nature of this life. I feel that, like a hand-print on one's heart, Todd has left a lasting impression on all of us.

It is unfortunate that Todd passed away as young as he was. While many of us reminisce about our childhood friends, those are they only friends he had. I’m glad that those friends of his would come back to remember him. I hope that in the years to come and later into their lives they will continue to remember him. We will all remember him with that childlike wonder and innocence that many long for. However because he was still quite young, I would not be at all surprised that, when Todd left this life for his next one where he is one step closer to realizing the deathless he absentmindedly left the door open behind him.

]]> Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings 2008-09-04T19:22:14+00:00 Meditation: A Way of Awakening - Chapter Twelve (end of series) http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/meditation_a_way_of_awakening_chapter_twelve_end_of_series/ Ajahn Sucitto, an elder western disciple of Ajahn Chah and abbot of Cittaviveka Buddhist Monastery in England, has written a new book entitled Meditation: A Way of Awakening. This book is still in its production phase, and is yet to be printed. However, Abhayagiri Monastery is glad to be able to make this new text available via our website. We will be posting one chapter at a time, each Monday and Friday for six weeks.

The other chapters of this book that have already been published, are available at http://www.abhayagiri.org/index.php/main/teacher_other/C24

Kindness

Centre your awareness in your body, being aware of the general form of the posture, and the textures of the body. Acknowledge the spine and the structures that support the body's mass. Imagine you are sitting in an armchair, or in a warm bright place that makes you feel good. Give yourself time to take that in. Let the steady rhythm of your breathing come to your attention... Sense how that is maintaining your life, with each in-breath and out-breath washing energy through the body. Feel the pulses in the body, governing the warm blood flow through the tissues. Take in the sense of all this as carrying and supervising your life force.

Draw your attention steadily from the most central core of your body out through the mass that surrounds it… the firm or soft tissues. Consider the vitality and sensitivity of all this. Pick up the sense of wishing it well, the inclination towards its health. Move that warm sense around the body, including places that feel unwell or neutral as well as vigorous.

Draw your attention out to the surface of your body; to how you sense the skin. Be aware of it like a sheet or a blanket enclosing your person. Be aware of it as a protective boundary; and also acknowledge it as something that connects inner to outer and is porous. Feel the energies at this boundary tingling and pulsing as your body senses the outer world. Move between what is inside the skin – any sense of being ‘in here’ – and the sense of ‘out there.’ Acknowledge the alertness at this periphery; settle and calm there, keeping one's sense of ‘out there’ to be the space just a few centimetres in front of the body. Complete this space, sensing it wrapping the entire body like a second skin – above, below, in front, behind. Let your awareness move into this in this way, just as it has moved from the core to the surrounding tissues in the body. Sense this space as a further, subtle layer, a finer skin that can also enclose, protect and connect in a suffusive way. Acknowledge the benevolence, the inclination to nurture.

Contemplate the energy of connection, that which attunes to balance and harmony between inner and outer. Sit, stand, walk or recline in that, letting the awareness take in the benevolence of the connected space.

Imagine the space itself sensing your body. Let the energy in the space radiate back over your skin... rather like a warm sun. First from the forward direction, over the general bodily form, then a zone at a time. Begin with the abdomen, letting the space receive the breathing movement there and take that in... then up over the chest... and any held or stiff places... and then over the throat, keeping a spacious sense that allows full, easy breathing. Finally let the energy wash over the face – the mouth, cheeks, eyes and brow – bathing each area and organ with kindness. If there are difficulties with this, try to recollect an occasion when one received some kindness from another person. Recall how that felt, return to that feeling, and try to sit within that in the present. Work kindness into the tissues, moving around the entire body.

Come back to the sensed space and acknowledge that this extends further out. Get a sense of the boundlessness, without going out. Stay connected to the body, from its core through to its periphery and into the immediate space, but let your sensing go out as if you were feeling out the space around you. Let the sense of benevolence extend with that awareness, aiming at nothing in particular, while maintaining the connection to the body. Settle into that sense of extended, unhindered openness with no object.

Imagine someone you are fond of or someone you respect is going to move into that extended space. Notice if the energy changes, and stay connected to your bodily presence. Let the imagination rest. Bring up that impression of a friend several times, acknowledging any effects in terms of mood, and to what extent that affects your energy. Integrate the energy into the entire body, especially the back of the body. Don't lose parts of your body, or switch off parts of your extended awareness. With the exercise of staying centred and whole, allow the friend to come nearer and be at a comfortable distance in front of you. Take in and send out the energy of well-being and kindness. Then let them move away, and maintain the energy and inclination of kindness.

Practise like this with a known person towards whom one has mixed feelings. Then with a neutral acquaintance. Don't attach to the mood changes. Keep the sense of connected space, your own bodily presence and the sense of exchanging energy: receive what is out there, and send forth what is in here. If what is out there seems unbalanced or overwhelming, consolidate your own presence by sensing the bodily core, then the surrounding mass, then the skin and the space immediately around. Let what is received wash over the periphery and be assimilated there, allowing it in as feels appropriate. You can conclude the practice there, or take it further.

If you choose to go further, practise like this with someone whose presence brings up negative states: perhaps of a milder degree at first, beginning with someone whom you caricature or make fun of – that lack of graciousness, that removal of dignity. Invite them into a connected space where you acknowledge the shared dilemmas and joys of existence. Then practise with the perception of someone whom you think does not respect or like you – that lack of warmth. Then maybe someone who brings up anxiety. At first as if they were distant... and then coming closer at a pace and to a
proximity with which you feel comfortable.

Keep your own presence clear. Whatever is received or comes up, keep your own conscious sending-forth free from the wish to harm or blame. Keep your awareness connected to your own presence, to the impression of the other and to the space between you. Align your intentions to holding and letting the energy in that connection be free from ill-will. Allow moods, perceptions and reactions to arise within that connected space. Staying open allows them to subside within that kindly space.
You can conclude the practice there, or take it further.

Practise this with perceptions of people whom you think lowly of or despise, then those that bring up stronger aversion. Then pick up the less pleasing aspects of someone whom you generally like; and the worthy aspects of someone you dislike. The practice is to receive these perceptions and moods in a warm space, relaxing any contractions of ill-will.

Then practise in this way with perceptions of yourself: from the favoured and successful and competent to the unfavourable, flawed, and inadequate. ‘I have to carry all this, may I be well. May I hold this in an extended and kindly awareness.’

After an appropriate period of time, let the imagination rest, and wrap the kindness around and within your bodily presence.

Difficulties

You may assume that you have to bring up a positive loving attitude before it begins by itself. Part of the skill of the practice is to sense where a non-averse, at ease, state can be felt already and tuning in to that. Another part is to stay out of, or put aside, topics and impressions that generate ill-will, resentment, or depression, until you have the resources to heal those states. The sense of dwelling in kindness, rather than having to feel it, will then gradually grow by itself.

I choose beginning with the body because it doesn’t carry negativity in terms of topics; and also because tuning into the body brings the mind out of its topics and also out of its agitated or depressed energies. However, you may also begin the practice by recollecting good people, or kind actions that have been done to you in your life. And further, good actions that you have done (or unskilful behaviour that you have put aside).

Sometimes we don’t detect kindness. Consider it as an ‘at home, no pressure’ feeling.

Sometimes we don’t detect ill-will. Consider people whom you assume to be less intelligent, less caring, less physically capable than yourself. How would you feel about being with them, talking with them, dining with them, or working together? How do you feel about people of different ethnicity, gender, or social status? If you detect a shrinking away sense, can you be with that and relax that boundary? Outside of meditation, what would help you to do that?

If this form doesn’t help you…

Focus your practice on an animal that you feel warmed or delighted by.

Try talking about your life or your concerns with a sympathetic listener. If you don’t feel that you have one, try helping other people and listening to them.

Further

Focus on the experience of goodwill as a mental phenomenon. Sense the energy of it spreading out, and letting go of the images and impressions that support it, use it as a base for concentration.]]> Featured, Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings, Articles 2008-09-01T14:00:22+00:00 Meditation: A Way of Awakening - Chapter Eleven http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/meditation_a_way_of_awakening_chapter_eleven/ Ajahn Sucitto, an elder western disciple of Ajahn Chah and abbot of Cittaviveka Buddhist Monastery in England, has written a new book entitled Meditation: A Way of Awakening. This book is still in its production phase, and is yet to be printed. However, Abhayagiri Monastery is glad to be able to make this new text available via our website. We will be posting one chapter at a time, each Monday and Friday for six weeks.

The other chapters of this book that have already been published, are available at http://www.abhayagiri.org/index.php/main/teacher_other/C24
Theory: The Sublime States

This is how you should train yourself: ‘Kindness…compassion…empathic joy…equanimity
as my release of awareness, will be developed, pursued, made into a vehicle, given a grounding, steadied, consolidated, and well-undertaken.' [Ang Eights, 63]

There are four mind-states that sustain the practice of Buddhism in relationship both to others and to ourselves. These four – kindness (metta), compassion (karuna), empathic joy (mudita) and equanimity (upekkha) – are called ‘sublime states’ (brahmavihara). They are ways of directing awareness with an intent that is amply endowed, uplifted, without boundaries, free from hatred and ill-will – to others as to oneself.

Lofty as they may sound, these sublime states are based on our ability to relate to other beings and ourselves in a healthy way in the changing circumstances that make up our world. If we don't develop these basic attitudes, we can't meet the world in an adequate way. The way that we relate becomes marked with mistrust and frustrated needs – syndromes that hinder the true potential of the heart. In the worst instances, we eventually close the heart and assume it's impossible to meet the world at all.

We may recognize that we have limitations in this respect: ‘I'm fine with you on a good day in a low-pressure situation’; ‘I respect myself when I'm doing well and getting some positive attention.’ So there are limitations, and these form boundaries within which I feel alive and receptive, and outside of which I start to go numb, or seek to escape. I escape from the hurt of feeling left out or of failing by shutting down sensitivity and turning my attention elsewhere....These sublime states are therefore not just about being nice to other people; they are about freeing ourselves from deadening reactions. Ill-will is a kind of sickness.

If we can extend goodwill more constantly, independent of circumstance, our ability to be free from underlying states of guilt, anxiety, bitterness, cynicism and depression increases. All such states are products of ill-will. Other more prominent aspects of ill-will are hatred, spite and abuse; even when it is the act of belittling another being in one's own mind. Such thinking may have serious consequences: the prejudice that justifies violence is based on the bias that other beings don't count for much. And thinking in such abusive ways also undermines the well-being of the thinker.

Correct cultivation of the sublime states can go deeply into any ‘life-statement’ we may have and bring around a shift: we can come out of being the victim (who has to put up with feeling abused and second-rate) the renegade (who has to fight against their world) or the survivor (who endures the mess they experience their world as being). All this semi-anaesthetised ill-will stems from being unable to release fear or grief or anger. If we don't use benevolence and compassion to acknowledge a hurt state and heal it, we are forced to manage it by shrugging it off, blaming others, or assuming that somehow we shouldn't expect anything better.

The truth of the heart is that these ‘sublime’ states are innate; they get sealed off by curtailing the very process whereby painful feelings heal themselves. That is, if the heart is open, it can be fully with the hurt, and give it the energy that allows it to heal. Just as the body does to its wounds. The sense of feeling hurt is a natural effect, like a bruise, that redresses itself when we stay with it in an open and clear way. But when the heart is not able or willing to be with its hurts, the process is cut short. Shortcuts include lashing out at whatever has triggered that pain, or criticising the sense of hurt as weak or foolish, or not acknowledging the painful feeling. We may even dismiss sensitivity altogether. Then instead of a temporary retraction, we get a long-term contraction. We give up on love and compassion as natural states and get tough or indifferent instead. The heart contracts out of openness to avoid getting hurt – but a contracted awareness can't experience joy and trust. So we become anxious, and feel that we have to be something, or have something, or be approved of in order to feel OK. Living with this kind of management is a dismal actuality for many of us – for some or all of the time: our life can feel intrinsically flawed, despite our best efforts.

The practices of kindness, compassion etc. don’t rest upon manufacturing emotional states. They are based upon ways of adjusting our impressions to allow a natural relational health to come forth. We practise the sublime states not just for someone else's sake, but for releasing our own awareness from the cramp of cynicism or bitterness. So the cultivation of metta isn't about imposing an ideal of liking or loving everyone all the time, but a specific practice of meeting the mood of the moment without aversion: ‘I can be with, not add to, and let go of the jealousy or resentment that has just arisen.’ This non-aversion frees up the intent of the mind and allows a return to the natural state of kindness and compassion.

If we can prevent disappointment and conflict from cramping into ill-will, we don't have to dump our ill-will onto others to find some relief. We can stop complaining about the way other people are. If we can stop complaining about others, we may also release ourselves from complaining about how we ourselves are. So the two aspects of the practice – towards ourselves and towards others – support each other. We may still feel the pang of losing contact with something pleasant, or of being touched by something unpleasant, and yet be able to curtail the contraction into bitterness or depression. We can support ourselves in feeling the feeling and letting it flow through. We may still feel some hurt, but we don't get damaged by it. As always, mindfulness is the key.

We enter the practice by first establishing a mind-state that is not at this time affected by ill-will. Then we reflect and linger on that state. The very fact of bringing attention onto a state of well-being, or basic OK-ness, amplifies it. Further practice entails extending that awareness over our whole state of being. Often we are divided: there are aspects that we can acknowledge, are comfortable with, or accept and aspects that we are half-aware of, feel ill at ease with, or dread. The divisions form inner boundaries. These boundaries are often marked by being ashamed of or trying to control the unacceptable mood that we sense beyond them. We may for example, feel intimidated or irritated by other people’s behaviour, and not know how to handle that feeling. So we close that uncomfortable feeling off behind a boundary. Another boundary may separate what I am to myself from how I appear to others: I dread others seeing, even sympathetically, some of my emotions and moods. These boundaries then inform how I sense others. For example, how I sense others may be characterised as ‘that which I cannot relax or feel trust with; those whom I'm inferior to.’ But you can’t really be good-hearted to people if you see them through the fence of mistrust. The priority therefore is to first unlock the relational process by clearing the internal ill-will when one is alone, and then when one is with others. This is the case whether the state is kindness, compassion, empathic joy or equanimity.

The four states differ in their character and also in terms of the illness that they are applied to. Kindness has a nourishing quality; it has the intent to touch into the good and then to extend it. Compassion is the protective intent: to sense the afflicted, shield it from further damage and heal it. Empathic joy senses and participates in others’ goodness and good fortune; equanimity serenely stays with the good and the bad, understanding them both to be kamma – processes rather than personal belongings.

These practices are to be extended to others. We may feel ourselves unwilling to be in someone's presence or give them much attention; even when we think of them, there is a retraction of heart with irritation or fear. So this would call for kindness: an inclination that senses the lovability of another person and moves towards providing welfare and nourishment. When we are aware of the limitations or disabilities of others, compassion is the response that counteracts the intention to abuse, belittle or dismiss them: we acknowledge their vulnerability and pain, their need for shelter and protection, and empathize with that. Empathic joy counteracts jealousy and apathy towards others: wanting them to enjoy their good fortune means that we share in that happiness. Equanimity counteracts the tendency to get excited or depressed over events in the world or in the lives of other people. How we actually proceed from these states into action depends on what a situation allows: the general advice is to relax, stay present, and act naturally....

As mentioned above, the sublime states help us to cross over the boundaries that create divisions. So we need first of all to find the boundary that is present by investigating the particular source of the division – whether it's because at this time and place ‘I don't regard you as acceptable to me’ or ‘I don't regard myself as acceptable to you’ or even ‘I'm not acceptable to myself.’ Maybe in some situations you intimidate me, and I feel out-of-empathy with you. There is a boundary within which the awareness contracts and starts piling up states of fear, shame and irritation like sandbags. The first part of the practice is to curtail that piling up. So we separate the state from what has evoked it: here is my sense of being intimidated by you; can I be with that emotion and leave ‘you’ and ‘me’ out of it? I put aside blaming you and despising myself. Then we can keep handling the state until we are no longer caught in it: it's a conditioned thing, it's not somebody's fault. After this, we can extend awareness in that same vein: I can imagine you outside of this particular relationship,
as in the same predicament as myself – subject to birth, infirmity and death, not wanting pain, wanting happiness, needing to eat and sleep, and feel safe. Recollecting our shared and obvious needs can restore the empathy that is the basis of a healthy relationship.

Now when I don't react to or affirm a negative mood: isn't there a possibility to feel the sadness of this habit; and doesn't that arouse some wish for my own welfare? And what comes up when I imagine you as also subject to moods and conditioning? These are the positions that allow our brahmavihara potential to unfold naturally.

If we have a positive mood that arises with the perception of a person, or ourselves, the practice has the same approach: acknowledge the mood as distinct from the perception, and allow it to settle. The result is that the positive mood gathers mindfulness and full awareness. Then, rather than swapping the changing reality of agreeable feeling or impression for some gratifying image, we can relate clearly to the feeling and the impression without hanging on to it and making it into a person who has to be that way all the time. (And will probably not be like that all the time…and thus the disappointment begins…) The fulfilment of kindness is also the end of romance. This is not a misty process. We have to be able to let each other be changeable. Otherwise, adulation causes attachment and disappointment.

So the practice of the brahmavihara is very direct. Eventually it’s not even about me and you, but more about how we relate. It refers to the activation that occurs in the mind when it contacts a thought an impression or a feeling. Right here, before self and other begin, is the place to bring up the intent: ‘may there be no blame, no fear, no regret, no wavering.’ Then in fact one of the major sources of suffering and agitation, and of the positions that self-view gets founded on, has no room to grow. It is for this reason that the Buddha highlighted the brahmavihara as a deliverance of the heart to be fully cultivated. Their relevance and benefits are available to us all.

]]> Featured, Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings, Articles 2008-08-29T14:00:00+00:00 Meditation: A Way of Awakening - Chapter Ten http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/meditation_a_way_of_awakening_chapter_ten/ Ajahn Sucitto, an elder western disciple of Ajahn Chah and abbot of Cittaviveka Buddhist Monastery in England, has written a new book entitled Meditation: A Way of Awakening. This book is still in its production phase, and is yet to be printed. However, Abhayagiri Monastery is glad to be able to make this new text available via our website. We will be posting one chapter at a time, each Monday and Friday for six weeks.

The other chapters of this book that have already been published, are available at http://www.abhayagiri.org/index.php/main/teacher_other/C24

Theory: Meditation and the Path to Awakening

I have seen an ancient path, an ancient road traversed by the rightly enlightened ones of former times. And what is this ancient path, that ancient road? It is this Noble Eightfold Path, that is: right views, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration. Along that I have gone, and going along it I have fully come to know decay-and-death, I have fully come to know the arising of decay-and-death, I have fully come to know the ceasing of decay-and-death, I have fully come to know the way going to the ceasing of decay-and-death. [Sam 12, 65]

What is Awakening?

The short-term aim of meditation is to bring calm and stability to the mind/heart, and through that provide a basis for insight into the issues that govern our lives. Such fundamental life-topics as pain and pleasure, wanting and resisting, identity and relationship – are all food for insight when we have the skills to contemplate and handle them wisely. This long-term process is summarised in the Buddha's Eightfold Path – which comprises overall perspective, aims, moral development and meditation. It is both a comprehensive way out of causing conflict and pain for each individual and a way to bring the fruits of cultivation into the world in which we live. To fully comprehend and integrate this Path is called ‘Awakening.’

Any path has to have a sense of direction or purpose: a going from and a going to. The Buddha did teach an end to the Path – called ‘Nibbāna’, or sometimes ‘the Deathless.’ At which point the notion of Path ceases to be useful, because Nibbāna is the end of coming and going. This experience is impossible to define in words, except to say the Path doesn’t create it, but reveals this freedom as our fullest potential. More often than talking about Nibbāna, the Buddha focused on what are called the Four Noble Truths as the understanding that leads there. These Truths are: that in our lives there is suffering and stress (dukkha), which can range from dissatisfaction to anguish; that it has an origination; that through abandoning the origination there can be a stopping of suffering and stress; and that there is a Path that leads to that stopping. In this formulation, the sense of Path, a sense of direction or purpose fits well.

These Four Noble Truths have to be worked on; they aren’t always apparent. A lot of the time we don’t abandon the origin of suffering and stress, but rather shift the topic that is triggering it. Just as we scratch an itch, or fidget in a chair rather than let go of irritability, we commonly turn the mind away from its edginess and onto a source of pleasure. Alternatively we may react to getting hurt or frustrated by losing our temper, blaming someone or getting depressed. This reactivity isn’t always something we have much say over: lose someone you’re fond of and it’s likely that you’ll feel down for quite a while. We all respond in that way, but these responses don’t get to the roots of the problem, which is the reactivity in our hearts. Cultivation of the Path, in its eight aspects, is the Buddha's remedy for clearing the heart from both these afflictive strategies and the underlying Unknowing from which they originate. It is through this Unknowing that we want what we can't keep, fight with the way things are, and ignore the full fruition which our systems are capable of.

The process of Awakening entails holding the potential for liberation in mind and strengthening the Path in terms of outer action and meditation. It also means waking up to and dismantling the source of suffering in terms of how our inner mental action. Some heart/mind responses are impaired with what are called defilements (kilesa); so called because they defile the brightness which we are capable of. Defilements occur as specific incidents: jealousy over someone else's success; hankering after a particular food; irritation over delay, etc. So instead of experiencing empathy, contentment or patience, we suffer instead. However through reflection and training we can realign ourselves to see that other people’s happiness doesn’t do us any harm, so why not feel some gladness on their behalf. This means we tune in to empathy: I feel good when I can wish others well, feel compassion for them and so on. On another count, rather than get irritated and angry over what life is doing to us, we can turn it around by reflecting some warmth to ourselves and just weathering through. After all, when you’re getting a rough deal, why make it worse by burning up inside over it? Furthermore, we can learn to let go of the neediness that keeps us running after the bait of material things. With some work on the mind, you get to know your own value and you don’t need all that stuff. It cuts out a lot of stress.

When we cultivate like this, we begin to appreciate the clearer, more easeful and agile mind that is revealed. So as a result of adjusting our behaviour and attitude, we get to know our innate balance and well-being. That’s the way the Path works: suffering and the way out; problems are a spur to cultivation. This ability to lessen the confusion and turmoil in our lives gives us the confidence and skill to develop meditation.

Meditation also reveals ingrained flaws of the heart called hindrances (nīvarana); so called because they hinder the enjoyment of a pure mental awareness. These are listed as covetousness (abhijja) or sense-desire (kāma-chanda); ill will; dullness and lethargy (thina-middha); worry and agitation (uddhaca-kukuccha) and doubt (vicikiccha). The last of these is not doubt over an external fact, (what is the capital of Mauretania anyway?), but the doubt about one's presence and value. It amounts to loss of confidence, despair and depression. The first goal of meditation is to free the mind from the effect of these hindrances, even temporarily. Even more than with the freedom from defilements, the mind gets to feel really good, and that makes the work of tackling the hindrances well worthwhile. The hindrances go down in proportion to the arising and strengthening of spiritual qualities that eradicate them, and the overall effect is to make one’s mental awareness steady, agile, penetrative and peaceful.

Until these factors are present, most of us wouldn’t recognize that there are subtler and more deep-rooted biases in the mind. These are so ingrained that we take them for granted, but they also support suffering. Take for example the notion that there’s something that we should be, or have that isn’t here right now. Conditions change, from good days to bad days, but with this bias, the basic message continues that we should get somewhere, get something, experience something that lasts and belongs to us. The tempo may slow down, but the push goes on. Such biases (asava) occur around the hunger for sense-input or ‘sensuality’ (kāmasava) ‘being or becoming something’ (bhavasava) and plain old ‘missing the point’ or ‘Unknowing’ (avijjasava). They are also called 'influxes' because they flow into the way the mind operates, and therefore influence the way it apprehends and relates to experience.

We all might agree, for example, that a rose is beautiful, without pausing to acknowledge that the labelling ‘beautiful’ occurs in our minds: dogs and toads don't experience roses as beautiful. Not that they're ‘ugly’ either. This influx is a problem because it sets up a mentality that clings to sense-objects, may get obsessed and possessive about them, and fears and grieves over their inevitable change and demise. Exchange 'roses' for ‘my body’ and the analogy probably becomes clearer. This influx of sensuality is a basis for suffering. It tells us that the only things that are around, including a lot of what we take ourselves to be, are sensory objects – but we can't retain the pleasant ones, nor can we avoid the unpleasant ones. Things keep changing. However we can't bear and dwell in that recognition unless the mind has its own stability and resources. Hence meditative training is to bring spiritual support in terms of ‘factors of Awakening’ to the fore. These, which represent the resources and the way to the Awakened awareness are: mindfulness, investigation, energy, rapture/uplift, calm/tranquillity, concentration, and equanimity.

The influx of ‘becoming’ is the temporal sense that our identity is based upon: I am a being in time with a past, who has arrived at this present and will persist into this future. The clarity of meditation allows one to experience in the present that all the past is a memory occurring now, the future is an expectation occurring now, and what one is in the present is an awareness of senses, ideas, impressions and reactions that come and go. This present awareness can't be found in any object or process of consciousness. So if this most essential quality isn’t locatable in terms of what we normally assume is what we are…why do we base so much of our lives on it?

Well, we miss the point. This is the main obstacle, the major influx: that of Unknowing, of not being in touch with this present awareness. If we’re not in touch with that, we can’t train it to integrate into our lives.

Unknowing is the absence, or the covering-up of full unbiased awareness. In specific instances it may mean that a person has a very restricted access to qualities such as trust, self-respect, or empathy. At times this Unknowing flares up for all of us: we may feel stressed at addressing a large number of people; we may feel miserable at being on our own; we are subject to paranoia and feeling of pointlessness unless we are with something that reassures or uplifts us. We’ve missed our own value and present freedom. This is the effect of Unknowing: we get lost in a trance of what we should, might, and maybe aren’t and then lock into these constricted states of being.

Meditative training can clear these influxes. It is only then that we can live in an unbiased and unafflicted way. But of course, the more thoroughly we can work on dispelling afflicted mental states in our daily lives, the easier our access to the factors of Awakening will be. And when we understand meditation and its peaceful states to be a means and not an end in their own right, the less we're going to get caught in the influx of trying to become calmer and calmer. There can be a lot of suffering in that!

What is the Path?

At first approach, meditation can appear to be a series of techniques that stand apart from the other activities of life. This notion has some truth in it: meditation certainly gets well-established and thrives in a situation where we can be alone, or sitting quietly with friends, in a place that is free from disturbances. It's good to set aside a time every day when we change gear and let go of how we normally operate and even who we assume ourselves to be. However, this idea can put us out of touch with the cultivation of a Path to Awakening in which how we speak and act have a crucial part to play. Ideally the way we do the things we do in our daily life should feed into the meditation, and the attitudes and understanding that arise out of meditation should feed back into our daily lives. So that, even though we may change gear, we're still riding the same vehicle in the same direction. And the direction is a simple yet profound one: towards the complete release from suffering and stress. This, rather than any esoteric ideal or theory is what Awakening is about.

So of course meditation is supposed to affect how we feel in the long term; and it's probably also obvious this means that it brings around changes in how we act. However it's sometimes not fully understood that how we act is a necessary precondition for meditation. In fact, if meditation doesn't make use of the strength and purpose that we've employed in the wider sphere of our lives, it is like a plant with poor roots. Meditation is going to be positively affected if we have geared our minds in terms of compassion, honesty and clarity. If our speech is harsh, it affects how we think and our awareness has to receive the results of that — not to mention the feedback we get from other people if we act in these ways. To put it simply, what we do has an immediate effect on how we will be. It is also very much the case that if we are generous, responsible and looking towards Awakening in our lives, actions that issue from those roots will have a beneficial effect.

The process whereby actions have effects is called ‘Kamma’. The truth of kamma is an aspect of the truth of mutual conditioning (or interdependence): that is, all states arise dependent on others. Just as ice needs water and a certain temperature in order to manifest, or as our bodies need air, water and physical food to keep going, so our awareness – the ‘heart’ of the mind – can only manifest in terms of the conditions that we have established it in as the daily norm. In ethical terms, this conditionality also means that the good we have done will lay down a residue of brightness and support: it can't be otherwise. If this weren't the case, there would be no real benefit in kindness, generosity or doing good, and no harm in violence and dishonesty. So there would be no sense of right and wrong, and no Path going anywhere. But because we can sense that there is a purpose in doing good, there is a Path – and it leads out of inflicting pain on ourselves and others. The purpose of this Path is to get out of suffering. So the understanding of kamma is the core of Buddhism. It is called Right View, (samma-ditthi) the first factor of the Buddha's Eightfold Path.

The Eightfold Path covers the way we live: right view deals with basic attitudes and norms, right intent relates to our directed intentions, to what we aim to bring forth in our lives. These represent the ‘wisdom’ aspect of the Path. Right speech, right action and right livelihood deal with how we get on with our lives in their changing context – this is about goodness and virtue. Right effort, right mindfulness and right concentration cover the cultivation of awareness – the ‘meditation’ aspect of the Path. To offer a brief overview of the eight factors, I'd like to reflect on the three factors which generate and support all the others – right view, right effort and right mindfulness.

Right view gives personal immediate value to any factor: for example I recognize that if I cultivate right speech, whatever anyone else thinks about me, I can live free from regret and with a clear heart. Right view is therefore regarded as the paramount Path factor because it not only sets up the parameters for the other factors by outlining the truth of kamma, but it also suggests where we need to look for Awakening. That is, we need to access, dwell in and draw from that awareness in us which respects others and ourselves and does not wish to harm others or ourselves; we need to centre ourselves in that heart which inclines towards trusting and being trustworthy, helping and appreciating how we have been helped. This is the sense of 'conscience and concern' (hiri-ottappa) that values all life. Conscience and concern are natural qualities: that is they are present when we are at ease and fully authentic. However, these qualities get buried by abusive or deluded behaviour – and they get acquired through any attitude that gives more value to what we can get and make and have than to goodness of heart. This is wrong view. So if the ability to respect, to love and experience gratitude has been buried under anxiety, mistrust and a sense of meaninglessness, we need to regain that capacity. Otherwise what kind of mind are we going to be meditating with?

The most damaging twist in the conditioning of wrong view is self-denigration. This is because if we don't amount to anything to ourselves, there's no confidence (and no point) in cultivating the mind or Awakening. Wrong view gets stimulated by attitudes which measure us in terms of performance. We acquire these through life in the human world. That is, we are valued by how well we do in terms of the quicksand world of material success and social status – in which there are more losers than winners. The result is that many of us incline at times to viewing ourselves as inadequate or born losers, that 'I'm not much good, so of course I can't expect much; and as I'm of little value, I have to work twice as hard for half the rewards just to be acceptable.' This view, which can linger in an unspoken way in the back of the mind, prevents us from fully appreciating the good that we have done – of which the bottom line is the bad that we could have done and haven't!

So with wrong view, we lose touch with the common ground: that we can all be of benefit to ourselves and others, and we all have the potential for Awakening. Without that confidence, all effort, even in meditation, is an attempt to prove that we are good enough. This never works: whatever good we do is never good enough while wrong view is intact. It distorts and finds fault with everything. So meditation shifts the criteria for self-regard away from performance and becoming something in the future towards one of valuing intrinsic goodness and bringing it forth. Otherwise our practice has no firm foundation and no sense of uplift.

Right Effort, (samma-vāyāmo) the second of the three overriding factors, is described in four ways. Actually the ways are paired: one pair of efforts is that of uplifting and also protecting what is truly worthy in ourselves. What is truly worthy in ourselves gets revealed when, with right view, we come from an attitude of conscience and concern. Then the effort is to bring that intrinsic wisdom and goodness to bear on the mental and emotional afflictions that hold us back.

The other pair of right efforts involves putting aside and protecting the heart and mind from attitudes, thoughts and behaviour that degrade ourselves and others. There are aspects of moral conduct that are quite natural to pick up when we reflect on the pain of abusive behaviour. However, we don't always recognize that the psychology of self-denigration also has to be cleaned from our ongoing awareness: ill will as often spoils our perception of ourselves as it is does that of others. Is it possible to contemplate and check the voice of self-criticism? If we are still and focusing on ourselves, can we feel OK with that? Do we find that part of our need to be busy is to stop the mood swinging back to the default of feeling hopeless and inadequate? It's not that we have no shortcomings, but when these get the exclusive block capital headlines, this is ill- will, an absence of graciousness towards ourselves. And the fruition of this form of ill-will is doubt – the sense that my life has no meaning and no purpose. Between ill-will and doubt are hankering, dullness, and restless worry. So right view on effort is to understand that it's for cleansing the mind, so that we can bring forth our best for ourselves and others.

If there is right view, the hindrances can be approached as habits conditioned into the mind, rather than as something that we really are. Then our practice is both to cut the behaviour attitudes and scenarios that support these afflictive habits, and with mindfulness to see that they’re based on no real identity. So the balance of effort in all aspects of the Path is struck by entering into a fundamental trust and appreciation of one's aware heart. Then because one is worthy, one casts off attitudes and behaviour that are not worthy of oneself. We incline towards curing the sickness rather than punishing the patient.

Right Mindfulness (samma-sāti) is the factor that brings right view and right effort into specific application in any aspect of the Path. It is an attention that is sustained over what is presently arising in our awareness – within ourselves or in the situation around us. It places our focus on present clarity rather than the way it should be, or the way I'm supposed to be, or what you're always like, and what will happen if... So it curtails personal history and the descriptions through which we have grown to regard ourselves and others. This radical simplicity and freedom from bias attends to moods, thoughts, sensations, energies and passions as arising in the present rather than life-journey luggage that we are pleased or disgusted with. When with right view, we understand the nature of afflictions as conditions rather than as self, they can be handled as itinerant blemishes without adding shame and guilt to the pile of stress. This handling is mindfulness. So mindfulness is a 'pure approach' because it sees things purely as they are.

As it is applied to the specific presence of a phenomenon, right mindfulness brings around the realisation of change – that a feeling or a thought moves in a pattern of rising up and subsiding. We don't have to do a whole lot with it. This realisation alleviates the immediate reactivity by which confused habits and hindrances gain power. As we thus weaken the power of those reactions, mindfulness puts us in touch with a purity which they generally obscure. This process is notably (but not exclusively) the case with the formal exercises of mindfulness that constitute meditation. In these, through attending within a prescribed frame of reference (such as breathing in and out) we challenge the habits that get built into our normal activities. That is, in normal life, we attend to something because it promises us well-being, or because we have to: these are habits of expectation or compulsion that are sources of stress. In meditation we attend to how things are in order to strengthen attention itself. If we get bored, we acknowledge the bored state as it is, rather than react to it. If it persists and begins to capture attention, we work with it in various ways. And so on with restlessness, sorrow...and all the mood swings that normally govern our lives; mindfulness keeps the attention from being swayed. In this way, meditation is of supreme importance in living a responsible and free life.

Mindfulness is also a something that connects us to the refreshing ‘rest states’ of Right Concentration (samma-samādhi). For a beginner, an appreciation of what this might be occurs whenever there's an experience of mental stillness – even for a few seconds. The uplift of experiencing this is a special kind of pleasure, that of restful awakeness. This kind of pleasure doesn't cause the attention to jump or contract around it; it is spacious and offers an opportunity for our attention to deepen into it. It is an ease that nourishes and strengthens. This is the calm well-being of right concentration.

As I've explained them, the three main Path factors support each other in a consecutive sense. It's also the case that the support runs the other way. If there's no right effort, no encouraging and abstaining, then how do we clear away wrong view? And if there's no right mindfulness, how do we know where and to what degree to apply effort? Clearing cobwebs with a sledge-hammer is more likely to do harm than good. So the Path is more a circle than a ladder. Mindfulness takes us into the enjoyment of inner purity which is the flowering of right view. We recognize that good kamma makes us feel good; and that insight deepens confidence in the Path as a whole.

So meditation is not a matter of trying to get somewhere or become something, but of Awakening to a purity that is already with us but has been obscured. And as that purity is fully revealed, it is freed from obscuration; being freed it does not depend on this or that. Eventually it doesn't even depend on a Path: the Path leads to its own transcending.

But in terms of where we are now, practice hinges around accessing and using the wisdom and goodness towards which all the eight Path factors contribute. If there's no access to wisdom or goodness, then the meditation is not going to flow. And if meditation has to be forced or supported by beliefs, then, rather than give rise to a natural unfolding, it adds more layers over the purity. Heart and mind don't become peaceful on demand. But they can attune to and settle into an Awakening process: the process that brings peace to our ongoing life.

]]> Featured, Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings, Articles 2008-08-25T14:00:00+00:00 Meditation: A Way of Awakening - Chapter Nine http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/article/meditation_a_way_of_awakening_chapter_nine/ Ajahn Sucitto, an elder western disciple of Ajahn Chah and abbot of Cittaviveka Buddhist Monastery in England, has written a new book entitled Meditation: A Way of Awakening. This book is still in its production phase, and is yet to be printed. However, Abhayagiri Monastery is glad to be able to make this new text available via our website. We will be posting one chapter at a time, each Monday and Friday for six weeks.

The other chapters of this book that have already been published, are available at http://www.abhayagiri.org/index.php/main/teacher_other/C24

Process: Hindrances

When one knows that these five hindrances are cleared, gladness arises...from gladness comes delight, from delight in the mind, the body is calm, with a calm body one feels joy, and with joy, the mind is concentrated. [D 2, 75]

The ‘hindrances’ (nivarana) are mental states that act as obstacles to concentration, clarity and deepening. These are generally listed under five headings: sense-desire (kamacchanda) to which may be appended covetousness (abhijja); ill-will (vyapada); sloth-torpor (thina-middha); restlessness and worry (uddhacca-kukkuccha); and wavering and doubt (vicikiccha).

The hindrances arise as topics – the mind picks up a thought or an image of something to long for or find fault with – and also as energies. That is, there may be agitation (too much energy, not enough centredness); or a stale energy, as in the case of ‘sloth-torpor.’ At times the energy may feel fixated, as when there is obsession and the mind is wrongly centred in ill-will or craving. Sometimes hindrances arise in mixed forms such as boredom, a state which can be a mix of low levels of ill-will, craving for sense contact, and the lack of initiative that characterises the dull mind-state known as ‘sloth-torpor.’

In their mixed and diluted forms hindrances may not be apparent, and may hide behind either attitudes or views. An attitude such as ‘I’m not in the mood for this today’ may be a cover for ill-will or sloth. A view such as ‘I’m not the kind of person who needs to develop awareness’ may again be a mix of hindrances. The world in general bristles with views and attitudes that justify killing as well as other kinds of conduct that lead to conflict and suffering. And these views persist through human history. Therefore one of the founding principles of the Buddha-Dhamma is to investigate the mind; that is, to investigate both the causes and consequences of actions, and the present moment mind-state. This is the process of reflection and ‘deep attention.’ Furthermore, in meditation we are encouraged to investigate the ‘feel’ of any mind-state: is it agreeable, does it feel settled; is it the kind of state that you’d like to continue? Or is it rough, or blurred?

This is a good way to pick out the hindrances: they have a constrictive feel to them. They hinder the brightness, agility and ease of the mind. They create pressure or weigh down on awareness making it fixated or dull. When you investigate beneath the plausible rationale or the glittering attractiveness of a mind-state, you can touch into the feel of the energy of that state. Skilful states, such as compassion or patience, may not be promising you anything; they don’t have a lot of dazzle to them. But beneath the surface they feel strong, clear and bright. Righteousness, on the other hand, can be very convincing, but it feels fixated and harsh and closes the mind down. Sexual desire can have a compelling lustre to it, but beneath the surface of its promises and fantasies it feels hungry and driven. To investigate such phenomena in terms of causes and consequences and in terms of present-moment ‘feel’ leads to great insight. Looking into the underpinnings of what drives, repels and shuts us down shows us how much of this is just assumption and habit. And when we free ourselves from these, there’s a whole new world of potential.

The hindrances are never dispelled by acting on them. So one of the aims of meditation is to clear them, even when they’re just latent tendencies that will flare up sooner or later. To clear them, you have to encounter them – so when you notice a hindrance, that isn’t a disaster, but on par for the course. Nevertheless, until you know how to encounter and clear these hindrances, the mind will always be subject to their contractions, stress and biases. Understanding that makes the meditation keen and important, a sense of ardour (atapi) gets aroused. This quality is a necessary concomitant to Buddhist meditation. It means being keen, alert and ‘on the ball.’ Moreover the experience of how the mind’s awareness feels when it is unhindered (the Buddha likened it to coming out of jail, or recovering from a terrible sickness) ripens that ardour into a mature source of purpose and wisdom.

Even when these hindrances come up, just through tackling them they teach us detachment: they, like our more fortunate states, are events rather than personal possessions.

Below are offered some fronts from which to encounter and clear the hindrances.

Address attention and attitude:

A first step on encountering a hindrance is to check the attention: am I attending to a theme that is useful? To be addressing sources of conflict in one’s life is useful, but only in so far as it doesn’t bed the mind down in ill-will towards others or oneself. Similarly, there’s a time when planning is advisable, but if it serves to overwhelm the mind in restlessness, then stronger mindfulness is necessary. So when there are ‘hot’ topics, topics that carry a lot of charge for us, we need to establish a basis in wise reflection. That is, one considers, in the case of conflict: ‘Conflict is a common part of human experience, not just a personal failing in myself or others. When it occurs, I need to consider what is most important to our well-being – to accept that people see things differently, and to aim to explore our views without creating hurt and harm.’ Or: ‘Uncertainty about the future is a natural state, because the future is the unknown. Rather than try to predict it, or worry about it, the wisest course may be to steady and uplift the mind in the present. Then whatever happens, I’ll be in the optimal state to handle it.’ Reflection like this is called ‘deep attention’ (yoniso manasikara) because while not ignoring the topic, it looks more deeply into causes and consequences around the dynamic within which the topic is held. There may be issues of who has power, of winning and losing self-esteem. We may be berating ourselves because we aren’t living up to the ideal that we’d like to be. We may be lacking in confidence in our capacities. These issues need to be acknowledged so that they don’t add another layer of concern to the topic at hand. But in all of this, deal with one issue at a time, finding out which is the most important one first. Maybe it’s just that we don’t want to deal with conflict! Similarly with craving and ambition: find the time to ask what is really important to you. Could that be found in the present moment by developing a friendlier attitude towards yourself? Skilful inquiry, supported by of mindfulness, and the overriding attitudes of good-will, empathy and letting go can bring around resolution both with others and within ourselves. ( See ‘Deep Attention’ in Chapter 9 for further guidance on this topic).

Sometimes, the wandering mind is just restless and needs simply checking. So as you recognize that it’s drifting, pause, ask ‘Where is my breathing/body/meditation topic right now?’ and let the mind realign its awareness to the theme of meditation. With this, be careful not to add any judgements, impatience or agitation – these will only provide food for further hindrances.

In general, the basic attitude that works best in meditation is to let go of how things should be, and address how things appear to be. Addressing what arises through an attention based on good-will, empathy and letting go helps to lead the mind from a good position, and that in itself can ease the mind out of a hindrance. When we really find value in good-will and letting go, then there’s much less room for hindrances to breed. Regard the mind is a treasure to be guarded, valued and polished: with this attitude one gets to live with the most reliable source of well-being.

Address topics

Sometimes the mind isn’t really interested in the meditation theme, and so it wanders off in all directions. The Buddha recommended that in the same way that a king’s cook watches what food his/her master likes best and then serves them that food, so different themes, or techniques within a theme, work better for different people. The skill is to find what works for you in terms of bringing around an available base for mindfulness.

For example, you may find it better to focus on your spine when sitting, or on the rhythm of breathing, or on the overall sense of the body; or you may find that directing good-will towards your body helps; or a detailed visualisation of the parts…and so on.

Another alternative is one of not having any topic! That is to sustain the overall attitude of good-will, non-forcefulness and letting go, and let the mind wander. Then, wherever the mind’s awareness goes, allow that; wherever it rests or lingers, be light with that and let it pass. Just keep loosening and releasing the mind’s tendency to hold on to a thought or a sensation and make more of it.

When a hindrance has a very strong grip however, it’s not always easy to stay light and let go. Then one may directly address the topic in a way that counters it. This is called ‘patikula’ – ‘countering the affiliation.’

Sensual Desire

In this respect, when the mind is obsessed with sexual desire, or fascination over one’s own or another person’s body, the recommended medicine is to bring to mind and consider the unattractive aspects of the body. Firstly, that the body’s nature is to age and degenerate, and it only looks really attractive through preparation, dressing up, grooming and styling. So one considers the wrinkling and various blemishes that affect the skin, the sagging of the shape of the body, or even what it looks like when one is ill.

Further, one can bring to mind what the body is like under the skin: fluids and membranes and organs that don’t arouse sexual interest, and may even arouse disgust. Playing with the perception of the body in this way helps us to see that desire and fascination isn’t really about the body; it’s more the case that there’s an energy and a view in the mind that projects itself onto the body and dresses it up as something that it really can’t be.

In terms of inanimate objects, ‘covetousness’ – that is hankering after clothes, cars, furnishings, gadgets and so on – the standard countering reflection is to consider how attractive such things will appear in five or ten years’ time. Or to consider them as they deteriorate, break down, or become old-fashioned.

Ill-will

Ill-will takes various forms, but the overall sense is one of contraction. There may be a sense of recoiling with disgust or aversion; or the opposite, a bristling with aggression; or there may be a state of mind that is unresponsive, lacking in empathy or good-will. Admittedly, it’s not sensible to dwell in dangerous situations or be with untrustworthy people, but the withdrawal from those can be through the positive senses of clarity and discernment rather than with a negative attitude. Whenever one feels the absence of willingness to be here or to be with an experience, based on blind reflex, this is ill-will.

It’s surprising, but statistically true, that the greatest percentage of ill-will that we experience is towards ourselves – or, more accurately towards certain perceptions/impressions that we have about ourselves and our behaviour. This is why there is a continual emphasis on establishing good-will and empathy towards oneself as well as towards others, as an overriding attitude. Meditators in general include the practice of loving-kindness/non-aversion (metta) as a meditation theme to return to as a practice in its own right. In brief, this entails checking the blaming, cynical, mean-hearted, or demanding attitude by stopping the flow of the accompanying patterns of thought. After temporarily arresting the line of negative thought, you can then look both at the relief that respite offers, and look for a source of good-will. This may mean acknowledging a good deed, or at least a sincere endeavour of some kind. It may mean recalling an incident in which you felt loved, appreciated or valued. Connecting to that impression and the mood that accompanies it, you then mindfully bear that in mind to allow the mind to fully take in the feeling of non-aversion, non-contraction, or good-will. It’s not a matter of painting everything in rainbow colours, but of acknowledging the damaging effects of ill-will, arresting the flow of thoughts of ill-will, and turning the mind to an impression that encourages it to soften and widen into the health of good-will.

Compassion (karuna) for other people when they are trapped in deluded or abusive behaviour is another way of turning the mind away from blaming and holding grudges. Behaviour is not a person! The way we act is according to inherited programs that we learn or get conditioned into. And although we can cause harm to others, unskilful behaviour is a disease that infects and afflicts our own hearts.

Furthermore, the practice of glad appreciation (mudita) of others’ good fortune, success, or talent combats jealousy and indifference. And finally there is equanimity (upekkha). This is the ability to be present and spacious with any emotional state or personal characteristic – up, down, stuck rigid, or wobbling. Equanimity becomes more readily available as we get to fully understand that mental behaviour is changeable, not an identity, and prone to flaws. Then one doesn’t feel frustrated, impatient or disappointed by the actions of others. Please see the sections on ‘Kindness’ (Chapter 12) and ‘The Sublime States’ (Chapter 11) for detailed instructions on these themes.

Aversion can also be towards inanimate things rather than humans and other creatures – such as towards the flavour of unfamiliar food, or the stain on a carpet. The recommendation here is to regard such things as just what they are, not going in accordance with one’s own preferences. Also things, like excrement, that may fill us with disgust should be regarded as made up of elemental matter. It’s salutary to consider that a morsel of tastefully prepared and garnished food changes from being source of delight to one of disgust within seconds of it being eaten! Which is the true state? Actually, these are just elements and changing impressions.

Sloth-torpor

This manifests as the inability to have a clear focus, or an available source of energy, or a firm attention. The mind is dreamy, resistant to applying any effort, which feels uncomfortable. However, the state of sloth-torpor isn’t comfortable either, and there is an urge to go unconscious, or fall asleep. Here the problem is that the mind doesn’t sustain any topic; the remedy then is to provide simple ones that don’t require a refined focus. Open your eyes to lessen the effect of the dull drifting state. Focus around the eyes and the temples, asking ‘What is felt here?’ Keep the attention active. Check the posture and sweep up the spine, giving energy to supporting a downward push through the tail and the inward curve of the lower back. Straighten out any hunching over in the upper back and neck. Keep attending to the body, slowly and clearly connecting to each part and bringing it to mind. Beware of just reciting the name of the body part that you’re attending to, without bringing to mind an aspect of the sensation or energy that is felt there. If it seems that you’re not feeling anything, note that – how is that? How do you know you have a body? How do you know you’re here?

Restlessness

Restlessness is a prime contender for any available slot in the thinking mind, where it manifests as worry. Worry has an anxious feel to, and is characterised by its inability to arrive at resolution coupled with the compulsion to keep the topic of concern in the spotlight of attention. As far as topics go, it’s good to shift the mind from worrying over details by considering mortality, and also that value and enjoyment are to be found in the present moment. A restless mind is not far from inquiry. The hindrance can be transformed by investigation, so investigate the state to discern the bodily and emotional tones that accompany it. This will turn attention out of the obsession with an unresolvable topic to a place where there is rest: in the simple groundedness of the bones as we sit, stand, walk or recline with mindfulness.

Doubt, wavering

This hindrance flourishes when we expect certainty from the thinking mind. So the overall strategy is to change the mode through which we operate and find definition. For this the inclination has to be towards direct awareness rather than abstract thought.

For example, the topics that arouse doubt may be about one’s worth – but this has to be experienced not as a matter of opinion but through directly acknowledging specific qualities, skilful and unskilful, in the present moment. And what we can know directly is that love or irritation, sadness or joy, form a changing mixture of qualities, and are not a fixed personal possession. All that really rests with us is the awareness of that changeable flux. Of this there is no doubt.

Also, when you have a balanced look into the qualities of mind, that very looking in inclines towards the skilful and feels disturbed by the unskilful. So you also get the sense of your moral intuition, something that your personality may not recognize it has. As long as we don’t recognize our basic goodness, then the mind is uncertain and seeks affirmation through opinions.

Other topical basis for uncertainty is uncertainty about the future, one’s own or that of others. But the future is always unknowable – because it isn’t here yet. And one can’t be what one should or could be and what one is right now at the same time. All that we can directly be aware of is how it is. This may mean that either aspiration or despond is present, but the path is to directly feel out the qualities of those. As we do this, these states tend to transmute into joy, in the case of aspiration, or equanimity in the case of anxiety or despond.

Doubt, or uncertainty, is in many ways a crucial hindrance. It can be the end result of all the others, forming a gulf in our self-confidence or our ability to have access to the Dhamma. It can mount into depression. However, on the other hand, when it is handled skilfully, it can show us the ephemeral nature of what we reach out to, at the same time as revealing an awareness that doesn’t reach forward or back. In this instance it is transmuted from a hindrance that stirs up agitation and gloom, into one of the three signs of release – inconstancy. One of the primary ‘signs’ of Dhamma – inconstancy or change (anicca) – is also that of the uncertainty of the sensory and conceptual world systems that we feel bound to. Then it is a ‘sign’ of insight-wisdom. With this there is release from chasing after certainty in that which is transitory and ephemeral. And also we shift our reliance from thoughts and moods to that of direct mindful awareness. Direct awareness can acknowledge change and uncertainty and stand on its own ground. It is something that is always there, you can depend on it. Uncertainty can then support faith: we can be here with the changeable.

Address Energies

Addressing the energy of a hindrance takes some skill and practice, because the energy I’m referring to is not an area that we are normally familiar with. ‘Energy’ in this instance is not an applied effort, but the involuntary somatic ‘charge,’ like an electric current, that accompanies mental-states. It can be sensed (quite easily with powerful emotions like rage or fear) around the eyes and mouth, in the solar plexus, across the top of the chest, or in the palms of the hands. This somatic energy is the bodily aspect of the energy of the heart, the emotional energy. So when one gets affected, the other does too, and these energies can either bind mental awareness into hindering states, or support the deepening ease of right concentration. Therefore the skill here is to deal with the bodily aspect in a simple mindful way, by spreading a calm and unconstricted awareness over the whole body, bearing the hindrance-energy in mind – rather like smoothing the creases out of a sheet. This ‘smoothing’ of awareness will smooth out and level the energy, and the mind will come out of the hindrance.

Because hindrances may not always be apparent at first, it’s good to check in with the overall state of somatic energy. First of all, get in touch with the sense and sensations of the body and spread awareness over the entirety with the overall attitude of good-will, empathy and letting go. Establish and monitor the upright axis. Then the practice is simply to keep bringing attention to a discernable restrictions or agitation in the energy in parts of the body, steadying attention to receive its changing quality. Explore it, wonder over it: what is it like? This is what resonating is about. It brings a kind of evaluation that has no judgement.

You can then sweep the entire body, a little at a time, and then as a whole, checking for tension or numbness. Massage the body with mental awareness. Mindfulness of breathing is particularly useful because that flow of energy tends to snag or be uneven around unbalanced body energy. It is also the prime means for spreading healthy energy through the body. Breathe through the tightness or the fluttering – with no attempt to change, release or understand anything. Put the attitudes aside, and attend with good-will, empathy and letting go.

With sloth-torpor and restlessness, the need to address the energy in the body and mind is quite obvious.
So when there is restlessness – a tense state in which one feels endlessly busy – how does that express itself in terms of body sensation and energy? What is happening in the chest, back of the head, legs and hands? In this way, restlessness turns into investigative energy needed for insight-wisdom. And the dull low-energy state of sloth-torpor? What helps is not fighting it or trying to generate more energy, but adapting the focus and the pace of the meditation to something that is more compatible. Fighting and struggling just uses more of the limited supply of energy and one gets frustrated and irritable. Drawing attention to the sensations around the eyes, in the neck, the temples, without trying to feel brighter brings around a balance. And in this way, we draw the energy of the hindrances back into the domain of mindfulness of body. Here it adapts, or transmutes, into an equanimous stillness.

With thoughts that depend on and stimulate sense-desire – there is a minor gratification, but the insatiable and restless nature of fantasy is frustrating. And the energy of reaching out is disorienting: we lose where we are. What can help is to acknowledge what the energy is reaching out from: maybe loss, boredom, loneliness....Try keeping the awareness steadily reaching in to the hungry place. Work with suffusing the entire body with the energy that accompanies breathing. Sense-desire is a frustrated wish for comfort. It can turn into warmth and ease if tackled rightly.

Ill-will prevents one’s attention from noticing the place, and the moment where its process begins. Its apparently aggressive energy wants to defend awareness from feeling pain. So don’t fight ill-will! It needs to be understood. Explore the tone of the energy and, breathing into it, relax its agitation. Let the awareness be spacious, and in any pause that occurs, listen in. Be content to do just that; find the right distance, one that doesn’t create pressure. Notice the particular and specific epicentre of the ill-will, rather than the diffusive generalisations. Gather a steady and empathic awareness at a trustable distance around that epicentre. When it isn’t going out into topics, the energy of ill-will adapts to be a source of precise discriminative discernment.

Sometimes doubt and wavering are a chronic habit of not firming up into the present moment. Giving specific attention to the body circumvents the flux of opinions. So get familiar with that, and ask the mind to wait in unknowing…to replace conceptual certainty with a receptivity that uses the steadiness of embodiment for support.

Applying attention to the energies that carry the hindrances is a very thorough process that brings around their transmutation. When you address these energies, really attend to the energy you directly experience, and not the notion of what is causing it. Thus: ‘fast moving, agitated, flushing’ rather than ‘angry,’ or: ‘stiff constriction’ rather than ‘fear’ or ‘control.’ This way of practice is aimed at unfolding the tangled energy of the hindrance (rather than the idea of cutting the hindrance out of the mind); therefore, what counts is that the energy of the awareness with which you approach the hindrance is itself open, easeful and empathic. Any judgemental attitudes, however justified they are in rational terms, will add their energies to the current mind-state; and they are less helpful and healing than the direct non-judgemental energy of open steady awareness. Truly, with this mode of relating to our own blocks, shadows and lost places, we can learn about the power of awareness. It’s a whole domain of the mind that can get sidelined. But in meditation, it’s the main focus for development. And right here in the experience of the hindrances, we can realise the power of awareness to heal and make whole. Then the energies that were hindered become a balanced resource.]]> Featured, Teachings, Teachers, Other Teachers, Dhamma Teachings, Articles 2008-08-22T14:00:02+00:00