Tag Archives: mindfulness

two aspects of western buddhism

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These are selected excerpts from “The Island: An Anthology of the Buddha’s Teachings on Nibbana” by Ajahn Pasano and Ajahn Amaro

1. Is Buddhism a negative teaching?

The word: ‘nothingness’ can sound like annihilation, like nihilism. But you can also emphasize the ‘thingness’ so that it becomes ‘no-thingness.’ So Nibbana is not a thing that you can find. It is the place of ‘no-thingness,’ a place of non-possession, a place of non-attachment. It is a place, as Ajahn Chah said, where you experience “the reality of non-grasping.”

In contemplating Buddhist terms, and many of the ways of speech employed in the text, it is important to bear a couple of things in mind. Firstly, it is a feature of the Buddha’s teaching, particularly in the Theravada scriptures, that the Truth and the way leading to it are often indicated by talking about what they are not rather than what they are. This mode of expression has a rough parallel in the classical Indian philosophy of the Upanisads, in what is known as the principle of ‘neti… neti,’ meaning ‘not this… not this,’ – it is the phrase through which the reality of appearances is rejected. In Christian theological language this approach, of referring to what things are not, is called an ‘apophatic method’, it is also known as the via negativa and has been used by a number of eminent Christians over the centuries. The Pali Canon posesses much of the same via negativa flavour and because of this, readers have often mistaken it for a nihilistic view on life. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it’s easy to see how the mistake could be made, particularly if one comes from a culture commited to life-affirmation, such as is commonly found in the West. The story has it that shortly after the Buddha’s enlightenment he was walking along a road through the Magadhan countryside, in the Ganges Valley, on his way to meet up with the five companions with whom he had practised austerities before going off alone, to seek the Truth in his own way. Along the road a wandering ascetic, Upaka by name, saw him approaching and was greatly struck by the Buddha’s appearance. Not only was he a warrior-noble prince with the regal bearing that came from his upbringing, he was also unusually tall, extraordinarily handsome, was dressed in the rag robes of the ascetic wanderers and he shone with a dazzling radiance. Upaka was moved to enquire: “Who are you friend? Your face is so clear and bright, your manner is awesome and serene. Surely you must have discovered some great truth – who is your teacher, friend and what is it that you have discovered?” The newly-awakened Buddha replied: “I am an Alltranscender, an All-knower. I have no teacher. In all the world I alone am fully enlightened. There is none who taught me this – I came to it through my own efforts.” “Do you mean to say that you claim to have won victory over birth and death?” “Indeed, friend I am a Victorious One; and now, in this world of the spiritually blind, I go to Benares to beat the drum of Deathlessness.” “Well, good for you friend,” said Upaka and, shaking his head as he went, he left by a different path.

The Buddha realized from Upaka’s departure that mere declaration of the Truth did not necessarily arouse faith, and was not effective in communicating it to others. So, by the time he reached the Deer Park outside of Benares and had met up with his former companions, he had adopted a much more analytical method (vibhajjavada). He began his first systematic teaching, the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (The Discourse on the Setting in Motion of the Wheel of Truth), by explaining the raw truth of the spiritual disease (dukkha, ‘unsatisfactoriness, discontent, suffering’) and then worked through the cause of the disease (tanha, ‘craving’), the prognosis (yes, dukkha can indeed cease – nirodha), and finally outlined the medicine (the Noble Eightfold Path – magga).

This via negativa method is most clearly displayed in the Buddha’s second discourse, the Anattalakkhana Sutta (MV 1.6), also given in the Deer Park at Benares and the teaching which caused the five companions all to realize enlightenment, the liberation of the heart from all delusion and defilement. In this discourse the Buddha uses the search for the self (atta in Pali, atman in Skt) as his theme, and by using an analytical method he demonstrates that a ‘self cannot be found in relation to any of the factors of body or mind; he then states: “the wise noble disciple becomes dispassionate towards the body, feelings, perceptions, mental formations and consciousness.”

In this way, he states, the heart is liberated. This explanation implies that once we let go of what we’re not, the nature of what is Real becomes apparent – this was the realization that the Buddha had tried to communicate to Upaka when they met on the high road. And as that Reality is beyond description, it is most appropriate, and least misleading, to let it remain undescribed. This is the essence of the ‘way of negation’ and will be a repetitive theme throughout (this text).

 Secondly, throughout the Buddha’s teaching career of forty-five years, most of his attention was placed on offering descriptions of the path. If the goal was spoken of, it was usually in simple, general terms (e.g. at §1.5). However, one of the effects of having placed so much emphasis on the path, is that the Theravada tradition has tended to speak very little about the nature of the goal – thus often causing that goal, Nibbana, to disappear from view, or become impossibly vague in concept, or even to be denied as being realizable in this day and age. One of the aims of the book “The Island” is to collect many of the passages of the Pali Canon where the Buddha does indeed speak about the nature of the goal, elucidating this profound Truth and encouraging its realization.

2. No-self or not-self?

One of the first stumbling blocks in understanding Buddhism is the teaching on anatta, often translated as no-self. This teaching is a stumbling block for two reasons. First, the idea of there being no self doesn’t fit well with other Buddhist teachings, such as the doctrine of karma and rebirth: If there’s no self, what experiences the results of karma and takes rebirth?

Second, it seems to negate the whole reason for the Buddha’s teachings to begin with: If there’s no self to benefit from the practice, then why bother? Many books try to answer these questions, but if you look at the Pali Canon you won’t find them addressed at all. In fact, the one place where the Buddha was asked point-blank whether or not there was a self, he refused to answer [i.e. §5.14].

When later asked why, he said that to answer either yes, there is a self, or no, there isn’t, would be to fall into extreme forms of wrong view that make the path of Buddhist practice impossible. Thus, the question should be put aside. To understand what his silence on this question says about the meaning of anatta, we first have to look at his teachings on how questions should be asked and answered, and how to interpret his answers.

The Buddha divided all questions into four classes: those that deserve a categorical (straight yes or no) answer; those that deserve an analytical answer, defining and qualifying the terms of the question; those that deserve a counter-question, putting the ball back in the questioner’s court; and those that deserve to be put aside. The last class of question consists of those that don’t lead to the end of suffering and stress. The Buddha advised paying no attention to such questions as “Do I exist?” or “Don’t I exist?” for however you answer them, they lead to suffering and stress.

To avoid the suffering implicit in questions of ‘self and ‘other,’ he offered an alternative way of dividing up experience: the four Noble Truths of stress, its cause, its cessation, and the path to its cessation. These truths aren’t assertions; they’re categories of experience. Rather than viewing these categories as pertaining to self or other, he said, we should recognize them simply for what they are, in and of themselves, as they are directly experienced, and then perform the duty appropriate to each. Stress should be comprehended, its cause abandoned, its cessation realized, and the path to its cessation developed. These duties form the context in which the anatta doctrine is best understood.

If you develop the path of virtue, concentration, and discernment to a state of calm well-being and use that calm state to look at experience in terms of the Noble Truths, the questions that occur to the mind are not “Is there a self? What is my self?” but rather “Does holding onto this particular phenomenon cause stress and suffering? Is it really me, myself, or mine? If it’s stressful but not really me or mine, why hold on?” These last questions merit straightforward answers, as they then help you to comprehend stress and to chip away at the attachment and clinging – the residual sense of self-identification – that cause stress, until ultimately all traces of self- identification are gone and all that remains is limitless freedom.

“In this sense, the anatta teaching is not a doctrine of no-self, but a not-self strategy for shedding suffering by letting go of its cause, leading to the highest, undying happiness. At that point, questions of self, no-self, and not-self fall aside. Once there’s the experience of such total freedom, where would there be any concern about what’s experiencing it, or about whether or not it’s a self? ~ Thanissaro Bhikkhu, ‘Noble Strategy,’ pp 71-4

This explanation clearly points out that the anatta teaching is simply a means to an end. On a practical level it points to the root delusion, and what to do about it. Here are some of the Buddha’s words which both underscore the necessary process and also point out the joyful result of following that process to its completion.

Contemplation of unattractiveness of the body should be cultivated for the overcoming of sexual desire; loving-kindness should be cultivated for the overcoming of ill will; mindfulness of breathing should be cultivated for the cutting off of discursive thinking; contemplation of impermanence should be cultivated for the dispelling of the conceit ‘I am’ (asmi-mana). For when one perceives impermanence, Meghiya, the perception of not-self is established. With the perception of not-self, the conceit ‘I am’ is eliminated, and that is Nibbana here and now.” ~Ud4.1, A9.3 5.18) “Seclusion is happiness for one content, who knows the Dhamma, who has seen; “Friendship with the world is happiness for those restrained toward al beings; “beings; “Dispassion amidst the world is happiness for those who have let go of sense desires; “But the end of the conceit ‘I am’ that’s the greatest happiness of all.” ~ Ud 2.1

This text ends with a few words on the closely related area of attachment to ‘being’ and ‘non-being.’ The average reader might well believe that such issues are not the burning concerns of an average day, and only of tangential or academic interest. However, there are numerous subtle ways in which our hearts incline towards the longing to be someone, something, and then towards the longing not to be, not to feel, not to experience.

Does this sound at all familiar? Probably thousands of times a day the heart of the average person tilts towards bhava-tanha or vibhava-tanha (the former is defined as the yearning to be, to become; the latter embodying the yearning to switch off, to annihilate experience). It is in the light of this reality that these teachings take on great meaning and practical value – they describe the habits of the heart which are deeply ingrained and which continually drive the wheel of birth and death: enthusiasm and disappointment, the return of the nemesis we have tried to escape, union and bereavement, the results of impulses to “Just get rid of this…” If we use the reflective capacity of the mind, we begin to see how these teachings map the terrain of such habits quite precisely, and point the way to attitudes which will break the imprisoning spell such habits have woven.

This is a free Dhamma publication, available as PDF, ePUB or MOBI:

https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/451-the-island-an-anthology-of-the-buddhas-teachings-on-nibbana

consciousness is our real home

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Ajahn Sumedho
[The second part of last week’s post titled ‘Consciousness’ taken from a chapter in ‘Intuitive Awareness’ by Ajahn Sumedho]

Buddha-Dhamma, when you look at it, is not a cultural teaching. It’s not about Indian culture or civilization. It’s about the natural laws we live with, the arising and ceasing of phenomena. Dhamma teachings are pointing to the way things are – things that aren’t bound by cultural limitations. We talk about anicca, dukkha, anattā. That’s not Indian philosophy or culture; these are things to be realized. You are not operating from some basic belief system that’s cultural. The Buddha’s emphasis is on waking up, on paying attention rather than on grasping some doctrinal position. This is why many of us can relate to it, because we’re not trying to become Indians or convert to some religious doctrine that came out of India.

The Buddha awakened to the way it is, to the natural law. So, when we are exploring consciousness, these teachings like the five khandhas are skilful or expedient means in order to explore and examine our experience. They are not, ‘You have got to believe in the five khandhas and believe that there is no self. You cannot believe in God any more. To be a Buddhist you have to believe that there is no God.’ There are Buddhists who do have this mentality. They want to make doctrinal positions about being Buddhist. To me that teaching is not based on a doctrine, but on this encouragement to awaken. You are starting from here and now, from awakened attention rather than from trying to prove that the Buddha actually lived. Somebody might say, ‘Maybe there was never any Buddha; maybe it was just a myth,’ but it doesn’t matter because we don’t need to prove that Gotama Buddha actually lived; that’s not the issue. We are not trying to prove historical facts, but to recognize that what we are actually experiencing now is like this.

When we allow ourselves just to rest in conscious awareness, this is a natural state; it’s not created. It’s not a refined conditioning that we are after, where we are moving from coarser conditions to increasingly more refined ones, where we experience a bliss and tranquillity that comes from refining conscious experience. That is very dependent. This world, this conscious realm that we are a part of, includes the coarse and the refined.

This is not a refined realm that we are experiencing. In terms of human or planetary life, this is not a devaloka or a brahmaloka, those divine or highest celestial realms which are more refined. This is a coarse realm where we run the gamut from that which is coarse to that which is refined. We have got to deal with the realities of a physical body, which is quite a coarse condition. In deva realms they do not have physical bodies, they have ethereal ones. We would all like to have ethereal bodies, made out of ether rather than all these slimy things that go on inside our bodies – bones, pus and blood, all of these yucky conditions that we have to live with. To defecate every day – devatās don’t have to do things like that. Sometimes we like to create the illusion that we are devatās. We don’t like these functions; we like privacy. We don’t want people to notice, because the physical conditions that we are living with are actually pretty coarse. But consciousness includes all that, all the gradations from the coarse to the most refined.

Another thing to notice is compulsive feelings of having to do something, having to get something that you don’t have, having to attain something or get rid of your defilements. When you’re trusting in ‘your real home’, then you can have perspective on this conditioning of the emotions. For example, we come from competitive goal-oriented societies, so we’re very much programmed to always feel that there is something that we have got to do. That we’re always lacking something and we have got to find out what it is, and we’ve got to get it. Or that we have got to get rid of our weaknesses, faults and bad habits. Notice that this attitude is just something that arises and ceases. It’s the competitive world, the world of a self.

We can always see ourselves in terms of what’s wrong with us as a person. As a person there are always so many flaws and inadequacies. There is no perfect personality that I have ever noticed. Personality is all over the place; some of it is all right and some of it is really wacky. There is no personality you can take refuge in. You are never going to make yourself into a perfect personality. So, when you are judging yourself on a personal level, there seem to be so many problems, inadequacies, flaws and weaknesses. Maybe you are comparing yourself to some ideal person, some unselfish and superlative personality. That which is aware of personality is not personal. You can be aware of the personality as a mental object. The conditions for personality arise and cease. Suddenly you can find yourself feeling very insecure or acting very childish because the conditions for that personality have arisen.

When my parents were alive, I went to stay with them for about three weeks, because they were really sick. I was abbot of Amaravati, a fifty-five-year-old Ajahn Sumedho going home and living in the same little house with my mother and father. It brought up all kinds of childish emotions, because the conditions were there for that. We were all born through our parents, and our memories and connections are from infancy onwards. A lot of the conditions that arise in families are conditions for feeling like a child again – even when you’re a fifty-five-year-old Buddhist monk and abbot of a monastery! [Note, at the time of publication Ajahn Sumedho is 89.] My mother and father would easily go back to seeing me as a child. Rationally they could see, ‘He’s a middle-aged man,’ but they would still sometimes act like I was their child. Then I would feel this rebelliousness and adolescent kind of resentment about being treated like a child. So don’t be surprised at some of the emotional states that arise. Throughout your life, as you get old, kamma ripens and then these conditions appear in consciousness. Don’t despair if you find yourself feeling very childish at fifty years old. Just be aware of that for what it is. It is what it is. The conditions for that particular emotion are present, so then it becomes conscious. Your refuge is in this awareness rather than in trying to make yourself into an ideal man or woman – mature, responsible, capable, successful, ‘normal’ and all the rest – these are the ideals.

Here at Amaravati, I am not looked at as a child. I’m the oldest person here! You may see me in terms of a father figure, because an old man like me brings out the sense of authority. I’m an authority figure, a patriarch, a father figure, a male figure – a grandfatherly figure to some of you. It’s interesting to see this state when the conditions are there. Rationally you can say, ‘He’s not my father,’ but emotionally you may feel like that, acting towards me like I’m a father. It’s an emotional habit. When the conditions for that kind of male authority figure are present, then this is what you are feeling, it’s like this. There is nothing wrong with it, just notice it’s the way it is. Trust your refuge in this awareness, not in some idea that you shouldn’t project fatherly images onto me, or that you shouldn’t feel disempowered by a male authority figure and things like this. If you feel disempowered by me, then simply recognize it as a condition that has arisen, rather than blaming me or blaming yourself, because then you are back into the world you are creating – your personal world – and believing in that as your reality.

I used to get really angry when women would get bossy. When any woman would show any kind of bossiness, I would feel rage. I wondered why even a tone of voice would make me so upset, why I could get so enraged over a bossy attitude. I could see it was like when I was a boy, trying to get my way against my mother. If that has not yet been fully resolved, if the conditions for that rage are present, then this is what will arise. It’s through “awareness of it that you resolve it. As you understand it and see it in terms of what it is, then you can resolve it or let it go, so that you are not just stuck with the same old reactions all the time.

Our refuge is in this awareness, rather than in trying to sustain refined experiences in consciousness as our refuge, because you can’t do that. Maybe you can learn to increase your experience of refinement through developing skilful means, but inevitably you have to allow the coarse to manifest, to be a part of your conscious experience. Resting in this conscious awareness is referred to as ‘coming home’ or ‘our real home.’ It’s a place to rest, a home. The idea of a home is a place where you belong. You are no longer a foreigner or an alien. You begin to recognize this through a sense of relief, of just being home at last, of not being a stranger, a wanderer out in the wilderness. Then the world of Ajahn Sumedho arises and it’s like I’m not at home anymore, because Ajahn Sumedho is an alien, a stranger. He never feels quite at home anywhere. Am I American now? Am I British or am I Thai? Where do I feel at home as Ajahn Sumedho? I don’t even know what nationality I am anymore, or where I feel most at home. I feel more at home here than in America because I’ve lived here for so long. In Thailand I feel at home because it’s a paradise for Buddhist monks and they treat you so well, but still you have to get visas and you’re always a phra farang (foreign monk). Here in England, no matter how many years I have lived here, to most people I am still an American. But when I go back to America, I don’t know what I am; people say: ‘You don’t look like an American anymore. You’ve got a funny accent; we don’t know where you are from!’ That’s the world that is created. When all that drops away, what’s left is our real home.

Source:

https://www.abhayagiri.org/media/books/Intuitive_Awareness_web-edition_1.2_2017.pdf

consciousness

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Ajahn Sumedho

In terms of this moment, right now, this is consciousness. We are reading words on a page – pure consciousness before you start thinking. Just make a note of this: consciousness is like this. I am reading, I am with this present moment, being present, being here now. I’m taking the word consciousness and making a mental note: ‘consciousness is like this.’ It’s where thought, feeling and emotion arise. When we are unconscious, we don’t feel, we don’t think. Consciousness, then, is like the field that allows thought, memory, emotion and feeling to appear and disappear.

Consciousness is not personal. For something to become personal you have to make a claim to it: ‘I am a conscious person.’ But there’s just awareness, this entrance into noting the present, and at this moment consciousness is like this. Then one can notice the sound of silence, the sense of sustaining, being able to rest in a natural state of consciousness that is non-personal and non-attached. Noting this is like informing or educating oneself to the way it is. When we are born, consciousness within this separate form starts operating. A new-born baby is conscious, yet it doesn’t have a concept of itself being male or female or anything like that. Those are conditions we acquire after birth.

This is a conscious realm. We might think of a universal consciousness, and consciousness as it is used in the five khandhas: rūpa (form), vedanā (feeling), saññā (perception), saṅkhārā (mental formations), and viññāṇa (sense-consciousness). But there is also this consciousness which is unattached, unlimited, Deathless. In two places in the Tipiṭaka, there is reference to viññāṇaṁ anidassanaṁ anantaṁ sabbato pabhaṁ – a mouthful of words that point to this state of natural consciousness, this reality. For myself, I find it very useful to clearly note: ‘Consciousness is like this.’ If I start thinking about it, then I want to define it: ‘Is there an immortal consciousness?’ Or we want to make it into a metaphysical doctrine or just deny it, saying, ‘Consciousness is anicca, dukkha, anattā.’ We want to pin it down or define it either as impermanent, unsatisfactory and not-self, or raise it up as something we hold to as a metaphysical position. But we are not interested in proclaiming metaphysical doctrines, or in limiting ourselves to an interpretation that we may have acquired through this tradition. Instead, we are trying to explore consciousness in terms of experience. This is Ajahn Chah’s pen paccattaṁ – that is, ‘something that you realize for yourself.’ What I am saying now is an exploration. I’m not trying to convince you or convert you to ‘my viewpoint.’

Consciousness is like this. Right now, there is definitely consciousness. There is alertness and awareness. Then conditions arise and cease. If you sustain and rest in consciousness, unattached, not trying to do anything, find anything or become anything, but just relax and trust, then things arise. Suddenly you may be aware of a physical feeling, a memory or an emotion. That memory or sensation becomes conscious, then it ceases. Consciousness is like a vehicle; it’s the way things are.

Is consciousness something to do with the brain? We tend to think of it as some kind of mental state that depends on the brain. The attitude of Western scientists is that consciousness is in the brain. But the more you explore it with sati-sampajañña, you see that the brain, the nervous system, the whole psychophysical formation arises in this consciousness; it is imbued with this consciousness. That is why we can be aware of the body and reflect on the four postures – sitting, standing, walking and lying down. Being aware of sitting as it is being experienced now, you are not limited to something that is in the brain, but the body is in consciousness. You are aware of the whole body in the experience of sitting.

This consciousness is not personal. It’s not consciousness in my head and then consciousness in your head. Each of us has our own conscious experience going on. But is this consciousness the thing that unites us? Is it our ‘oneness’? I’m just questioning; there are different ways of looking at it. When we let go of the differences – ‘I am Ajahn Sumedho and you are this person’ – when we let go of these identities and attachments, then consciousness is still functioning. It’s pure. It has no quality of being personal, and no condition of being male or female. You can’t put a quality into it. It’s like this.

When we begin to recognize that which binds us together, that our common ground is consciousness, then we see this is universal. When we spread mettā to a billion Chinese over in China, maybe it’s not just sentimentality and nice thoughts, maybe there is power there. I don’t know myself; I am questioning. I am not going to limit myself to a particular viewpoint that has been conditioned by my cultural background, because most of that is pretty flawed anyway. I do not find my cultural conditioning very dependable.

Sometimes Theravada Buddhism can come across as annihilationism. You get into this ‘no soul, no God, no self’ fixation, this attachment to a view. Or are the Buddha’s teachings there to be investigated and explored? We are not trying to confirm somebody’s view about the Pali Canon, but rather we use the Pali Canon to explore our own experience. It’s a different way of looking at it. If we investigate this a lot, we begin to see the difference between pure consciousness and when self arises. It’s not hazy or fuzzy, ‘Is there Self now?’ It’s a clear knowing.

So, then the self arises. I start thinking about myself, my feelings, my memories, my past, my fears and desires, and the whole world arises around ‘Ajahn Sumedho.’ It takes off into orbit – my views, my feelings and my opinions. I can get caught into that world, that view of ‘me’ that arises in consciousness. But if I know that, then my refuge is no longer in being a person, I’m not taking refuge in being a personality or my views and opinions. Then I can let go; the world of Ajahn Sumedho ends. When the world ends, what remains is the anidassana viññāṇa – this primal, non-discriminative consciousness. It’s still operating. It doesn’t mean Ajahn Sumedho dies and the world ends, or that I’m unconscious.

Talking about the end of the world, I remember somebody getting very frightened by this, saying, ‘Buddhists are just practising meditation to see the end of the world. They really want to destroy the world. They hate the world and they want to see it end’ – this kind of panic reaction. To us the world is seen in physical terms – this planet, the world of continents and oceans, North Pole and South Pole. But in Buddha-Dhamma, the ‘world’ is the world we create in consciousness. That’s why we can be living in different worlds. The world of Ajahn Sumedho is not going to be the same as the world you create, but that world arises and ceases. That which is aware of the world arising and ceasing transcends the world. It’s lokuttara, transcendent, rather than lokiya, worldly.

When we are born into physical birth, we have consciousness within a separate form. This point of consciousness starts operating, and then we acquire the sense of ourselves through our mothers and fathers and cultural background. We acquire different values or sense of ourself as a person that’s based on avijjā, not on Dhamma – based on views, opinions and preferences that cultures have. That’s why there can be endless problems around different cultural attitudes. As with living in a multicultural community like this, it’s easy to misunderstand each other because we’re conditioned in different ways of looking at ourselves and the world around us. But remember that cultural conditioning comes out of avijjā, ignorance of Dhamma. So, what we are doing now is informing consciousness with paññā – which is a universal wisdom rather than a cultural philosophy.

[Continued next week 14 March 2024]
Excerpts from “Intuitive Awareness,” by Ajahn Sumedho, the Chapter titled Consciousness. This is a free Dhamma publication available as PDF EPUB MOBI. Link below:

https://archive.org/details/intuitiveaware00sumearch


wise kindness

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Ajahn Amaro

Excerpts from “Small Boat, Great Mountain,” Chapter 5, a free Dhamma publication available as PDF EPUB MOBI. Link at the end of the text.

I don’t like to teach loving-kindness meditation as a separate feature of spiritual practice. I find that it’s far more skilful to cultivate loving-kindness as a background theme, as a kind and loving presence that informs and infuses every effort that is made in our spiritual training. The way that we pick up any aspect of the training needs to have this quality of loving-kindness in it. As a preface to that, it’s also important to understand that loving everything doesn’t mean we have to like everything. Sometimes it’s misunderstood that to have lovingkindness we need to attempt to make ourselves like everything. For instance, we may try to convince ourselves that we like pain, grief, unrequited love, an overdraft, decaying sense faculties, or an ex who continues to haunt us. This is a misguided way of practicing loving-kindness.

It is better understood as “the heart that does not dwell in aversion.” Not dwelling in aversion towards anything, even our enemies. Someone quoted me a passage in one of the Dalai Lama’s recent books where he was talking about the Chinese. He referred to them as “my friends, the enemy.” So loving-kindness is that quality whereby we are able to refrain from piling on aversion, even toward that which is bitter, painful, ugly, cruel, and harmful. It’s a matter of realising that place in our hearts where we know that this too has its role in nature. Yes, including the whole spectrum of the seemingly unlikable, the repulsive, and the utterly despicable.

Loving-kindness is the quality of allowing and accepting these things as part of the whole picture. It’s not about saying we approve of everything or we think things like torture, deceit, and malice are good. It’s about accepting that they exist and fully acknowledging that they are a part of life’s panorama. Here they are. When we establish loving acceptance as a basis for practice, then whatever we’re dealing with in terms of our own minds and our world, there’s the fundamental quality of accord. And for myself, I find that that needs to be there whether I’m doing concentration practice, insight practice, or the nonduality practice of Dzogchen—completely letting go of everything in the subjective and the objective realms. We need to recognise that there is no enemy. There is Dharma. There is no them or that or it. It all belongs. Fundamentally, everything belongs and has its place in nature.

The brahma-vihāras chant that we do in English appears in the Buddha’s teaching called “The Simile of the Saw.” What he teaches there is that, “If you were captured by bandits and they were sawing your body into pieces, limb by limb with a twohanded saw, anyone who gave rise to a thought of aversion towards them on account of that would not be practicing my teaching.” (M 21.20)

I realize that some people find this an incredibly daunting and unrealistic teaching. But to me it is actually extremely helpful and skilful. It’s saying that hatred cannot be in accord with Dharma and is therefore never justified.

The Buddha used an extreme, almost absurd example where it would seem utterly reasonable to feel some aversion toward those sawing you up bit by bit. One would think a little irritation, just a snippet of negativity here or there, would be quite allowable. But the Buddha didn’t say that, did he? He said, “Not one hair’s tip of aversion is appropriate.” As soon as the heart lurches into, “No, this doesn’t belong, this shouldn’t be. You are evil. Why me?” then the Dharma has been obscured, lost. That’s the fact. Something in us may revolt, but the heart knows it’s true. Any dwelling in aversion points it out very clearly, and because of that, the aversion is a unambiguous sign that “the Dharma has been lost.”

As soon as we find ourselves judging our own minds or the people around us with harshness, cultivating justifiable hatred for the government or our thinking minds or our erratic emotions or our damaged lives, there’s no vision of reality; it’s obscured. The attitude is not in accord with truth. So that hatred, that aversion becomes a sign for us that we’ve lost the Path. This standard of training described by the Buddha may seem totally impractical, but it is doable. I think it’s helpful to recognise this because what we think we’re capable of is very different from what we actually are capable of. We might think, “I could never do that. That’s impossible for me.” Yet I tell you, it is possible. That potential is there for all of us. And when we find that quality of total acceptance and absolute non-aversion, where there’s kindness and compassion, then there’s a tremendous quality of ease and release, a real non-discrimination at last. For what kind of wisdom are we developing if it packs up and departs as soon as the going gets rough—as soon as the weather gets too hot, the “wrong” person is put in charge, or the body gets sick and uncomfortable?

A sincere spirit of loving-kindness is the most challenging thing to establish in the face of extreme bitterness and pain because to do so requires finding spaciousness around these experiences. This is where the heart most easily contracts and impacts itself. But we can pick up that quality and say, “Yes, this too is part of nature. This too is just the way it is.” Then, at that moment, there’s an expansion around it. We feel the space of emptiness that surrounds and pervades it and we see the whole thing is transparent. No matter how dense and real the feeling of “I and me and mine” is in that holding, we see in that spaciousness that not only is there space around it, but there is also light coming through.

Link to the source:

https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountain

cessation (part 2)

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By Ajahn Amaro
The concept of cessation is sometimes put forth as some event that we’re all seeking, where all experience will vanish and then we’ll be fine. A story from the time of the Buddha might help to expand our understanding of what cessation means. One night while the Buddha was meditating, a brilliant and beautiful devatā named Rohitassa appeared in front of him. He told the Buddha, “When I was a human being, I was a spiritual seeker of great psychic power, a sky walker. Even though I journeyed for 100 years to reach the end of the world, with great determination and resolution, I could not come to the end of the world. I died on the journey before I had found it. So, can you tell me, is it possible to journey to the end of the world?

And the Buddha replied, “It is not possible to reach the end of the world by walking, but I also tell you that unless you reach the end of the world, you will not reach the end of suffering.” Rohitassa was a bit puzzled and said, “Please explain this to me, Venerable Sir.” The Buddha replied, “In this very fathomlong body is the world, the origin of the world, the cessation of the world, and the way leading to the cessation of the world.” (A 4.45, S 2.26) The world, “loka,” means the world as we experience it through sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, thought, emotion, feeling. That’s what “the world” is—my world, your world. It’s not the abstracted, geographical planet, universe-type world. It’s the direct experience of the planet, the people, and the cosmos. Here is the origin of the world, the cessation of the world, and the way leading to the cessation of the world.

He said that as long as we create “me and my experience”— “me in here” and “the world out there”—we’re stuck in the world of subject and object. Then there is dukkha. And the way leading to the cessation of that duality is the way leading to the cessation of suffering. Geographically, it is impossible to journey to the end of the world. It’s only when we come to the cessation of the world, which literally means the cessation of its otherness, its thingness, will we reach the end of dukkha, unsatisfactoriness. When we stop creating sense objects as absolute realities and stop seeing thoughts and feelings as solid things, there is cessation.

To see that the world is within our minds is one way of working with these principles. The whole universe is embraced when we realize that it’s happening within our minds. And in that moment when we recognise that it all happens here, it ceases. Its thingness ceases, its otherness ceases. Its substantiality ceases.

This is just one way of talking and thinking about it. But I find this brings us much closer to the truth, because in that respect, it’s held in check. It’s known. But there’s also the quality of its emptiness. Its insubstantiality is known. We’re not imputing solidity to it, a reality that it doesn’t possess. We’re just looking directly at the world, knowing it fully and completely.

So, what happens when the world ceases? I remember one time Ajahn Sumedho was giving a talk about this same subject. He said, “Now I’m going to make the world completely disappear. I’m going to make the world come to an end.” He just sat there and said: “Okay, are you ready? . . . The world just ended. . . Do you want me to bring it back? Okay. . . welcome back.”

Nothing was apparent from the outside. It all happens internally. When we stop creating the world, we stop creating each other. We stop imputing the sense of solidity that creates a sense of separation. Yet we do not shut off the senses in any way. Actually, we shed the veneer, the films of confusion, of opinion, of judgment, of our conditioning, so that we can see the way things really are. At that moment, dukkha ceases. This is what we can call the experience of rigpa. There is knowing. There is liberation and freedom. There is no dukkha.


Continued next week: 22 February 2024

Excerpts from Chapter 4, “Small Boat, Great Mountain,” a free Dhamma publication available as PDF EPUB MOBI. Link below:

https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountain

cessation (part 1)

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By Ajahn Amaro

The translation of terms can be very interesting, especially out on the borders where words expire. I remember years ago looking in the glossary of a collection of Vedanta teachings. Where the Sanskrit had a one-word term, the English explanation was a paragraph long. In refined areas of consciousness, English is pretty impoverished. Our language is great at emotions. We’ve got scads of words for every shade of feeling. But for the fine details of the inner reaches of consciousness, it’s hard to find words that really give an accurate and complete picture and that do not cause us to lose our way.”

Attending to the Deathless

In the Theravāda teachings, one of the ways the Buddha talked about how to be liberated is very similar to a central principle of Dzogchen. As far as I can gather, both traditions emphasise that at a certain point we need to let go of everything and awaken to the presence of the Dharma. Even the most skilful states must not be clung to. This principle is translated in various ways, but the one that feels most accurate is “attending to the deathless.” In Pali, that last word is “amatadhātu.”

A great passage in the suttas (A 3.128) presents an exchange between two of the Buddha’s elder monks. Venerable Sāriputta is the Buddha’s chief disciple, the one most eminent in wisdom and also in meditative accomplishments. Although he had no psychic powers whatsoever, he was the grand master of meditators. The other elder disciple of the Buddha, Venerable Anuruddha, had spectacular psychic powers. He was the one most blessed with “the divine eye”; he could see into all different realms.

The two disciples were an interesting mix. Sāriputta’s weakness was Anuruddha’s great gift. Anyway, shortly before his enlightenment, Anuruddha came to Sāriputta and said, “With the divine eye purified and perfected I can see the entire 10,000- fold universal system. My meditation is firmly established; my mindfulness is steady as a rock. I have unremitting energy, and the body is totally relaxed and calm. And yet still my heart is not free from the outflows and confusions. What am I getting wrong?”

Sāriputta replied, “Friend, your ability to see into the 10,000- fold universal system is connected to your conceit. Your persistent energy, your sharp mindfulness, your physical calm and “your one-pointedness of mind have to do with your restlessness. And the fact that you still have not released the heart from the āsavas and defilements is tied up with your anxiety. It would be good, friend, if rather than occupying yourself with these concerns, you turned your attention to the deathless element.” (By the way, the Pali Canon has a lot of humor in it like this, although it’s rather similar to English humor and sometimes is easy to miss.) So, of course, Anuruddha said, “Thank you very much,” and off he went. Shortly thereafter, he realised complete enlightenment. This was very understated humor.

The point of their discussion, however, is really quite serious. As long as we are saying, “Look at how complicated my problems are” or “Look at my powers of concentration,” we will stay stuck in samsāra. In essence, Sāriputta told his colleague, “You’re so busy with all of the doingness and the effects that come from that, so busy with all of these proliferations, you’ll never be free. You’re looking in the wrong direction. You’re heading out, looking at the meditation object out there, the 10,000-fold universal system out there. Just shift your view to the context of experience and attend to the deathless element instead.”

All it took was a slight shift of focus for Anuruddha to realize: “It’s not just a matter of all the fascinating objects or all the noble stuff I have been doing—that’s all conditioned, born, compounded, and deathbound. The timeless Dharma is being missed. Look within, look more broadly. Attend to the deathless.”

There are also a few places in the suttas (e.g., M 64.9 and A 9.36) where the Buddha talked about the same process with respect to development of concentration and meditative absorption. He even made the point that, when the mind is in first jhāna, second jhāna, third jhāna, all the way out to the higher formless jhānas, we can look at those states and recognise all of them as being conditioned and dependent. This, he said, is the true development of wisdom: the mindfulness to recognise the conditioned nature of a state, to turn away from it, and to attend to the deathless, even while the state is still around. When the mind is concentrated and very pure and bright, we can recognise that state as conditioned, dependent, alien, or something that is void, empty. There is the presence of mind to reflect on the truth that: All of this is conditioned and thus gross, but there is the deathless element. And in inclining toward the deathless element, the heart is released.

In a way it is like looking at a picture. Normally the attention goes to the figure in a picture and not the background. Or imagine being in a room with someone who is sitting in a chair. When you look across the room you would probably not attend to the space in front of or beside that person. Your attention would go to the figure in the chair, right? Similarly, if you’ve ever painted a picture or a wall, there’s usually one spot where there’s a glitch or a smudge. So where does the eye go when you look at the wall? It beams straight in on the flaw. In exactly the same way, our perceptual systems are geared to aim for the figure, not the ground. Even if an object looks like the ground—such as limitless light, for example—we still need to know how to turn back from that object.

Incidentally, this is why in Buddhist meditation circles there’s often a warning about deep states of absorption. When one is in one, it can be very difficult to develop insight—much more so than when the mind is somewhat less intensely concentrated. The absorption state is such a good facsimile of liberation that it feels like the real gold. So, we think: “It’s here, why bother going any further? This is really good.” We get tricked and, as a result, we miss the opportunity to turn away and attend to the deathless.

In cosmological terms, the best place for liberation is in the human realm. There’s a good mixture of suffering and bliss, happiness and unhappiness here. If we are off in the deva realms, it’s difficult to become liberated because it’s like being at an ongoing party. And we don’t even have to clean up afterwards. We just hang out in the Nandana Grove. Devas drop grapes in our mouths as we waft around with flocks of adoring beings of our favorite gender floating in close proximity. And, of course, there’s not much competition; you’re always the star of the show in those places. Up in the brahma realms it’s even worse. Who is going to come back down to grubby old earth and deal with tax returns and building permits?

This cosmology is a reflection of our internal world. Thus, the brahma realms are the equivalent of formless states of absorption. One of the great meditation masters of Thailand, Venerable Ajahn Tate, was such an adept at concentration that, as soon as he sat down to meditate, he would go straight into arūpa-jhāna, formless states of absorption. It took him 12 years after he met his teacher, Venerable Ajahn Mun, to train himself not to do that and to keep his concentration at a level where he could develop insight. In those formless states, it is just so nice. It’s easy to ask: “What’s the point of cultivating wise reflection or investigating the nature of experience? The experience itself is so seamlessly delicious, why bother?” The reason we bother is that those are not dependable states. They are unreliable and they are not ours. Probably not many people have the problem of getting stuck in arūpa-jhāna. Nonetheless, it is helpful to understand why these principles are discussed and emphasised.

This gesture of attending to the deathless is thus a core spiritual practice but not a complicated one. We simply withdraw our attention from the objects of the mind and incline the attention towards the deathless, the unborn. This is not a massive reconstruction program. It’s not like we have to do a whole lot. It’s very simple and natural. We relax and notice that which has been here all along, like noticing the space in a room. We don’t notice space, because it doesn’t grab our attention, it isn’t exciting. Similarly, nibbāna has no feature, no color, no taste, and no form, so we don’t realize it’s right here. The perceptual systems and the naming activity of the mind work on forms; that’s what they go to first. Therefore, we tend to miss what’s always here. Actually, because it has no living quality to it, space is the worst as well as the best example, but sometimes it is reasonable to use it.

Continued next week: 15 February 2024

Excerpts from Chapter 4, “Small Boat, Great Mountain,” a free Dhamma publication available as PDF EPUB MOBI. Link below:

https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountainhttps://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountain

overlooking this to get to that (part 2)

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By Ajahn Amaro

[Excerpts from Chapter 3 in “Small Boat, Great Mountain,” a free Dhamma publication available as PDF EPUB MOBI. Look for the link at the end of this text.]
Fear of Freedom
The Buddha said that the letting go of the sense of “I” is the supreme happiness (e.g., in UD. 2.1, and 4.1). But over the years we have become very fond of this character, haven’t we? As Ajahn Chah once said, “It is like having a dear friend whom you’ve known your whole life. You’ve been inseparable. Then the Buddha comes along and says that you and your friend have got to split up.” It’s heartbreaking. The ego is bereft. There is the feeling of diminution and loss. Then comes the sinking feeling of desperation.

To the sense of self, being is always defined in terms of being some thing. But the practice and teachings clearly emphasise undefined being, an awareness: edgeless, colourless, infinite, omnipresent—you name it. When being is undefined in this way, it seems like death to the ego. And death is the worst thing. The ego-based habits kick in with a vengeance and search for something to fill up the space. Anything will do: “Quick, give me a problem, a meditation practice… or how about some kind of memory, a hope, a responsibility I haven’t fulfilled, something to anguish over or feel guilty about, anything!” 

I have experienced this many times. In that spaciousness, it is as if there’s a hungry dog at the door desperately trying to get in: “C’mon, lemme in, lemme in.” The hungry dog wants to know: “When is that guy going to pay attention to me? He’s been sitting there for hours like some goddamn Buddha. Doesn’t he know I’m hungry out here? Doesn’t he know it’s cold and wet? Doesn’t he care about me?”

“All saṅkhāras as are impermanent. All dharmas are such and empty. There is no other. . . .” [makes forlorn hungry-dog noises]. These experiences have provided some of the most revealing “moments in my own spiritual practice and exploration. They contain such a rabid hungering to be. Anything will do, anything, in order just to be something: a failure, a success, a messiah, a blight upon the world, a mass murderer. “Just let me be something, please, God, Buddha, anybody.”

To which Buddha wisdom responds, “No.”

It takes incredible internal resources and strength to be able to say “no” in this way. The pathetic pleading of the ego becomes phenomenally intense, visceral. The body may shake and our legs start twitching to run. “Get me out of this place!” Perhaps our feet even begin moving to get to the door because that urge is so strong.

At this point, we are shining the light of wisdom right at the root of separate existence. That root is a tough one. It takes a lot of work to get to that root and to cut through it. So, we should expect a great deal of friction and difficulty in engaging in this kind of work.

Intense anxiety does arise. Don’t be intimidated by it. Leave the urge alone. It’s normal to experience grief and strong feelings of bereavement. There’s a little being that just died here. The heart feels a wave of loss. Stay with that and let it pass through. The feeling that “something is going to be lost if I don’t follow this urge” is the deceptive message of desire. Whether it’s a subtle little flicker of restlessness or a grand declaration—“I am going to die of heartbreak if I don’t follow this!”—know them all as desire’s deceptive allure.

“There is a wonderful line in a poem by Rumi where he says, “When were you ever made any the less by dying?” Let that surge of the ego be born, and let it die. Then, lo and behold, not only is the heart not diminished, it is actually more radiant, vast, and joyful than ever before. There’s spaciousness, contentment, and an infinite ease that cannot be attained through grasping or identifying with any attribute of life whatsoever. No matter how genuine the problems, the responsibilities, the passions, the experiences seem to be, we don’t have to be that. There is no identity that we have to be. Nothing whatsoever should be grasped at.

Link to text source:

https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountain

overlooking this to get to that

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By Ajahn Amaro

[Excerpts from Chapter 3 in “Small Boat, Great Mountain,” a free Dhamma publication available as PDF EPUB MOBI. Look for the link at the end of this text.]

All Buddhist practitioners, regardless of tradition, are familiar with the three characteristics of existence—anicca, dukkha, anattā (impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, selflessness). These are “chapter one, page one” Buddhism. But the Theravādins also talk about another three characteristics of existence, at a more refined level: suññatā, tathatā, and atammayatā. Suññatā is emptiness. The term derives from saying “no” to the phenomenal world: “I’m not going to believe in this. This is not entirely real.” Tathatā means suchness. It is a quality very similar to suññatā but derives from saying “yes” to the universe. There is nothing, yet there is something. The quality of suchness is like the texture of ultimate reality. Suññatā and tathatā—emptiness and suchness—the teachings talk in these ways.

This third quality, atammayatā, is not well known. In Theravāda, atammayatā has been referred to as the ultimate concept. It literally means “not made of that.” But atammayatā can be rendered in many different ways, giving it a variety of subtle shades of meaning. Bhikkhu Bodhi and Bhikkhu Ñāṇamoli (in their translation of the Majjhima Nikaya) render it as “nonidentification”— picking up on the “subject” side of the equation. Other translators call it “nonfashioning” or “unconcoctability,” thus pointing more to the “object” element of it. Either way, it refers primarily to the quality of awareness prior to or without a subject-object duality.

The ancient Indian origins of this term seem to lie in a theory of sense perception in which the grasping hand supplies the dominant analogy: the hand takes the shape of what it apprehends. The process of vision, for example, is explained as the eye sending out some kind of ray, which then takes the shape of what we see and comes back with it. Similarly with thought: mental energy conforms to its object (e.g., a thought) and then returns to the subject. This idea is encapsulated in the term “tan-mayatā,” “consisting of that.” The mental energy of the experiencer (subject) becomes consubstantial with the thing (object) being realised.

The opposite quality, atammayatā, refers to a state in which the mind’s energy does not “go out” to the object and occupy it. It makes neither an objective “thing” nor a subjective “observer” knowing it. Hence, nonidentification refers to the subjective aspect and nonfabrication to the objective.

The way emptiness is usually discussed in Dzogchen circles makes it very clear that it is a characteristic of ultimate reality. But in other usages of emptiness or suchness, there still can be a sense of an agent (a subject) which is a ‘this’ looking at a that, and the that is empty. Or the that is such, thus. Atammayatā is the realisation that, in truth, there cannot be anything other than ultimate reality. There is no that. In letting go, in the complete abandonment of that, the whole relative subject-object world, even at its subtlest level, is broken apart and dissolved.

I particularly like the word “atammayatā” because of the message it conveys. Among its other qualities, this concept deeply addresses that persistent sense of always wondering, “What is that over there?” There’s that hint that something over there might be a little more interesting than what is here. Even the subtlest sense of overlooking this to get to that, not being content with this and wanting to become that, is an error. Atammayatā is that quality in us that knows, “There is no that. There is only this.” Then even this-ness becomes meaningless. Atammayatā helps the heart break the subtlest habits of restlessness as “well as still the reverberations of the root duality of subject and object. That abandonment brings the heart to a realisation: there is only the wholeness of the Dharma, complete spaciousness, and fulfilment. The apparent dualities of this and that, subject and object are seen to be essentially meaningless.

One way that we can use this on a practical level is with a technique Ajahn Sumedho has often suggested. Thinking the mind is in the body, we say, “my mind” [points at head] or “my mind” [points at chest]. Right? “It’s all in my mind.” Actually we’ve got it wrong. The body is in our mind rather than the mind in the body, right?

What do we know about our body? We can see it. We can hear it. We can smell it. We can touch it. Where does seeing happen? In the mind. Where do we experience touch? In the mind. Where do we experience smelling? Where does that happen? In the mind. Everything that we know about the body, now and at any previous time, has been known through the agency of our mind. We have never known anything about our body except through our mind. So, our entire life, ever since infancy, everything we have ever known about our body and the world has happened in our mind. So, where is our body?

It doesn’t mean to say there isn’t a physical world, but what we can say is that the experience of the body, and the experience of the world, happens within our mind. It doesn’t happen anywhere else. It’s all happening here. And in that here-ness, the world’s externality, its separateness has ceased. The word “cessation,” (nirodha), may also be used here. Along with its more familiar rendition, the word also means “to hold in check,” so it can mean that the separateness has ceased. When we realize that we hold the whole world within us, its thing-ness, its other-ness has been checked. We are better able to recognise its true nature.

This shift of vision is an interesting little meditation tool that we can use anytime, as was described before with reference to walking meditation. It is a very useful device because it leads us to the truth of the matter. Whenever we apply it, it flips the world inside out, because we are then able to see that this body is indeed just a set of perceptions. It doesn’t negate our functioning freely, but it puts everything into context. “It’s all happening within the space of rigpa, within the space of the knowing mind.” In holding things in this way, we suddenly find our body, the mind, and the world arriving at a resolution, a strange realisation of perfection. It all happens here. This method may seem a little obscure, but sometimes the most abstruse and subtle tools can bring about the most radical changes of heart.

Reflective Inquiry

Reflective inquiry was another of the methods that Ajahn Chah would use in sustaining the view, or we may say, in sustaining right view. It involves the deliberate use of verbal thought to investigate the teachings as well as particular attachments, fears, and hopes, and especially the feeling of identification itself. He would talk about it almost in terms of having a dialogue with himself.

Oftentimes thinking gets painted as the big villain in meditation circles: “Yeah, my mind. . . . If only I could stop thinking, I’d be happy.” But actually, the thinking mind can be the most wonderful of helpers when it is used in the right way, particularly when investigating the feeling of selfhood. There’s a missed opportunity when we overlook the use of conceptual thought in this way. When you are experiencing, seeing, or doing something, ask a question like: “What is it that’s aware of this feeling? Who owns this moment? What is it that knows rigpa?”

The deliberate use of reflective thought or inquiry can reveal a set of unconscious assumptions, habits, and compulsions that we have set in motion. This can be very helpful and can yield great insight. We establish a steady, open mindfulness and then ask: “What is it that knows this? What is aware of this moment? Who is it that feels pain? Who is it that is having this fantasy? Who is it that is wondering about supper?” At that moment a gap opens up. Milarepa once said something along the lines of, “When the flow of discursive thinking is broken, the doorway to liberation opens.” In exactly the same way, when we pose that kind of question, it is like an awl being worked into a knotted tangle of identification and loosening its strands. It breaks the habit, the pattern of discursive thinking. When we ask “who” or “what,” for a moment the thinking mind trips over its own feet. It fumbles. In that space, before it can piece together an answer or an identity, there is timeless peace and freedom. Through that peaceful space the innate quality of mind, mind-essence, appears. It’s only by frustrating our habitual judgments, the partial realities that we have unconsciously determined into existence, that we are forced to loosen our grip and to let go of our misguided way of thinking.

Continued next week: Jan/25/2024

Link to text source: https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountain

the place of nonabiding

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by Ajahn Amaro

This is the final part of the chapter “The place of Nonabiding” in the book Small Boat, Great Mountain, a free Dhamma publication as PDF EPUB MOBI. Look for the link at the end of this text.  [Note: The first paragraph is a reprint of the closing paragraph at the end of last week’s post]

“The effort to make a clear distinction between the mind that knows and mind-objects is … very important to our practice. Mindfulness of breathing is a good way to work with this insight. Just notice the feeling of the breath as you follow the sensation of it. The breath is moving, but that which knows the breath is not moving.”

Perhaps we first pick this up by catching the space at the end of the out-breath and then at the end of the in-breath. We notice there is a pause, a space there. But, if we extend our vision, we begin to notice that that spaciousness and stillness are actually always there. As the breath flows in and out, there is an eternal spaciousness of the mind that remains unobstructed by the movement of the breath.

We can also extend this practice to walking meditation. If we stand still, with our eyes open or closed, we can notice that all of the sensations of the body are known within our mind. The feeling of the feet on the ground, the body standing, the feeling of the air, and so on are all held and known within the mind. It can take a few minutes to really get to that point, but if we make the effort, soon we will have that sense of mind established. Then we simply let the body start walking.

Usually when we walk, we’re going someplace; this can complicate the picture. Actually, there’s no essential difference in walking somewhere and going nowhere. Walking meditation is very helpful in this way; it simplifies things a lot. We know we’re going absolutely nowhere. It’s deliberately a completely pointless exercise on the level of trying to get someplace.

By working with the moving body in meditation, we can use it as an opportunity to witness the body walking without going anywhere. As the body walks along at a gentle pace, we begin to see that even though the body is moving, the mind that knows the body, is not moving. Movement does not apply to awareness. There are movements of the body, but the mind that knows the movements aren’t moving. There’s stillness, but there’s flow. The body flows, perceptions flow, but there is stillness. As soon as the mind grabs it and we think we are going somewhere, then the oil and water are mixed up. There’s a “me” going some “place.” But in that moment of recognising—“Oh, look, the stillness of the mind is utterly unaffected by the movement in the body”—we know that quality of still, flowing water.

There’s an appreciation of freedom. That which is moving is not-self. That which is moving is the aspect of flow and change. And the heart naturally takes refuge in that quality of spaciousness, stillness, and openness that knows but is unentangled. “I find meditation with the eyes open is also very helpful in this respect. With the eyes open, there’s more of a challenge to exercise the same quality that is normally established only in walking meditation. If we keep our eyes open and hold the space of the room, we see the coming and going of people, the gentle swaying of the bodies in the breeze, the changing light, the waxing and waning of the afternoon sun.

We can let all of this just come and go and be held in that space of knowing, where there is a conscious experience of both the conventional and ultimate truths. There’s the ultimate view of no person, no time, and no space, of timeless knowing and radiance. Then there are the conventions: you and me, here and there, sitting and walking, coming and going. The two truths are totally interfused; one is not obstructing the other. This is a way of directly appreciating that nonabiding is not just some kind of abstruse philosophy but is something we can taste and value.

In the moment we really understand the principle, the heart realizes, “The body is moving, the world is coming and going, but it’s absolutely going nowhere.” Birth and death have ended right there.

And we don’t have to be sitting still or walking in slow motion to awaken to this insight. We can be running, even playing tennis, and still find the same quality. It pertains equally when we are physically motionless and when we are moving at a high speed, even racing along the freeway.

-Link to original source of Ajahn Amaro’s text: https://www.abhayagiri.org/books/423-small-boat-great-mountain

[Note: the text that follows had its origin in an email to my blogging friend Ellen, over the hills and far away. Thanks El]

This is the end of the present series on “The Place of Nonabiding,” and I’d like to close with a particular observation, a glimpse you could say, arrived at through Ajahn Amaro’s teaching. My meditation had come to a standstill… I didn’t quite know how it happened but it was just a kind of ‘nothing’. Then a very specific understanding of what this was came to me through studying the above text. It’s the difference between Mind, on the one hand, and mind + mind objects, one the other. Take walking meditation, when you’re walking, doesn’t matter if it’s walking meditation or walking to get somewhere, as long as you’re mindful of what’s happening; the mind is familiar with the movement of the body walking, the muscles of the leg and the measured pressure of the feet hitting the surface you are walking on. There is an awareness of movement…but the mind that is aware of this is not moving — that Mind is outside time and space, or ‘place’ – it isn’t anywhere.

One other thing Ajahn mentions is why not try having your eyes open in meditation, so I tried that for a few days, and that’s what I was thinking when Jiab and I were walking around the shopping mall last Sunday. There is a particularly long stretch of say, half a mile we have to walk to get to where we’re going. It’s all smooth mall flooring and good lighting and I’ve done this many times so I can forget about my surroundings and focus on what’s happening in the mind. There’s a pattern in my walk these days, now walking with the cane; a regular ‘click’ sound every two steps, as well as Jiab’s small hand holding mine. I’m conscious of the Mind that’s aware of all this happening, while I’m taking care of ordinary things, the act of walking and seeing the shapes of other beings passing by.

Ajahn Amaro made this clear to me, and a memory suddenly came back of an insight into this area of awareness about 12 years ago in Switzerland. I wrote a post about it, and the link is at the end of this text. At that time ,I had only the smallest understanding of what it was and was never able to follow it up. Now after that very long stretch of time, Ajahn Amaro has identified it for me — Gratitude and Respect. I’m convinced now that’s what it is. I’m able to see it because, if you think of it only as one mind, it’s nothing, not interesting and you can’t sustain that sense of mind. If you see it as Mind, it’s not a ‘nothing,’ it becomes a ‘something.’

[A note for regular readers, thank you for following me all these years. As you know I’ve not been able to write my own posts for more than a year now due to AMD (impaired vision) in the right eye. However, my blogging friend Manish helped me activate the microphone in Word which opened the speech-to-text app and now I’m getting used to this new way of writing — it’s a bit like giving a speech in a room with no listeners!]

Link to the post in Switzerland twelve years ago

:https://dhammafootsteps.com/2012/08/24/mindful-alertness/?wref=tp

the present is an infinite ocean

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Ajahn Amaro

[Excerpts from: “The Place of Nonabiding”, a chapter in the book: “Small Boat, Great Mountain”]

“Who” and “What” Do Not Apply

In order to discover the place of nonabiding, we have to find a way of letting go of the conditioned, the world of becoming. We need to recognise the strong identification we have with our bodies and personalities, with all of our credentials, and with how we take it all as inarguable truth: “I am Joe Schmoe; I was born in this place; this is my age; this is what I do for a living; this is who I am.”

It seems so reasonable to think like this, and on one level, it makes total sense. But when we identify with those concepts, there is no freedom. There’s no space for awareness. But then, when we recognise how seriously and absolutely we take this identity, we open ourselves to the possibility of freedom. We taste the sense of self and feel how gritty that is and how real it seems to be. In recognising the feeling of it, we are able to know, “This is just a feeling.” The feelings of I-ness and my-ness are as transparent as any other feelings.

When the mind is calm and steady, I like to ask myself, “Who is watching?” or “Who is aware?” or “Who is knowing this?” I also like asking, “What is knowing?” “What is aware?” “What is practicing non-meditation?” The whole point of posing questions like these is not to find answers. In fact, if you get a verbal answer, it is the wrong one. The point of asking “who” or “what” questions is to puncture our standard presumptions. In the spaciousness of the mind, the words “who” and “what” start sounding ridiculous. There is no real “who” or “what.” There is only the quality of knowing. And, as we work with this in a more and more refined way, we see that feeling of personhood become more and more transparent; its solidity falls away, and the heart is able to open and settle back further and further. Vipassanā and Dzogchen practices are trying to outline very clearly for us how we are constantly making solid that which is inherently not solid. These methods are trying to illuminate the subtler and subtler kinds of clinging that we create around the feelings of self, time, identity, and location.

By framing our world in these ways, we are unconsciously concretising it. Questions like “Who are you?” automatically imply the reality of personhood. Answering with one’s name is a reasonable answer on the relative level. But the trouble comes in when we blindly allow the relative to slide into the absolute. We believe this name is a real thing. “I am a real person; I am Amaro.” Similarly, when we ask, “What day is it?” that question automatically implies the reality of time. If we’re not mindful, we go from acknowledging a human convention—brought about by the passage of our planet around the sun, somewhere in the “middle of this particular galaxy—to creating an absolute, universal truth.

The corollary to this non-creation of solidity in the realm of perceptions and conventions—just in case we’re afraid of losing all forms of reality—is that we don’t have to create or somehow obtain the Dharma to replace the familiar basis we are losing. When we stop creating the obscurations, the Dharma is always here.

As soon as we see where the subtle and coarse forms of clinging are happening, and that stranglehold loosens—when we remind ourselves, “There it is; there’s that grip, the contraction of identity”—there’s an openness and spaciousness. That freedom of heart comes from recognising how we habitually create things and then accept them as real. When that is truly seen and known, the clenching contractedness can’t sustain itself and the Dharma manifests instead.

“When” Does Not Apply

Time is another area in which we should notice subtle clinging. We may experience resting in awareness and have an attendant sense of clarity and spaciousness, but we may also have a firm sensation that this is happening now. When we do, without noticing it, we have turned that now-ness into a solid quality.

The process of letting go happens layer by layer. As one layer falls away, we can get all excited and think, “Oh, great. I’m free now. This open space is wonderful.” But then we start to realize, “Something isn’t quite right here. There is still some stickiness in the system.” We notice the solidification of time and the limitation we have created of the present.

There’s a verse about time by the Sixth Zen Patriarch that I love to quote. It says:

In this moment there is nothing which comes to be.
In this moment there is nothing which ceases to be.
Thus, in this moment, there is no birth and death to be brought to an end.
Thus, the absolute peace is this present moment.
Although it is just this moment, there is no limit to this moment,
And herein is eternal delight.

Birth and death depend on time. Something apparently born in the past, living now, will die in the future. Once we let go of time, and if we also let go of thing-ness, we see there can be no “real “thing” coming into being or dying; there is just the suchness of the present. In this way, there is no birth or death to be brought to an end.

That’s how this moment is absolutely peaceful; it is outside of time, akāliko.

We use such phrases as “this moment,” but they are not quite accurate because they still can give us an impression of the present as a small fragment of time. For even though it is just a moment, the present is limitless. In letting go of the structures of the past and future, we realize that this present is an infinite ocean, and the result of this realisation is living in the eternal, the timeless. We needn’t solidify and conceive the present in contradistinction to a past or future—it is its own self-sustaining vastness

We’re talking here about the abandonment of clinging at a very subtle level, a practice that takes a lot of quick and careful spiritual footwork. When we see our mind getting caught up with something, we can apply the classic vipassanā technique— just hit it with impermanence, not-self, and suffering, the old one, two, three. If we have a good sense of anattā, we chop it with a “not me, not mine” and down it goes. But it is important to remember that clinging is extraordinarily wiley. There we are gloating over our success, but we don’t realize that this is a tag match that’s going on. Another character is bearing down on us from behind while we look at our knockout on the floor. The partner is about to clobber us. We just barely let go of the attachment to time when attachment to opinions starts moving full speed ahead. We drop that, then here-ness takes over. Then it’s the body. . . . Clinging takes shape in many, many different ways and we need to notice them all.

Oil and Water

Up until the point when Ajahn Chah met his teacher Ajahn Mun, he said he never really understood that mind and its objects existed as separate qualities, and that, because of getting the two confused and tangled up, he could never find peace. But what he had got from Ajahn Mun—in the three short days he spent with him—was the clear sense that there is the knowing mind, the poo roo, the one who knows, and then there are the objects of knowing. These are like a mirror and the images that are reflected in it. The mirror is utterly unembellished and uncorrupted by either the beauty or the ugliness of the objects appearing in it. The mirror doesn’t even get bored. Even when there is nothing reflected in it, it is utterly equanimous, serene. This was a key insight for Ajahn Chah, and it became a major theme for his practice and teaching from that time onward.

He would compare the mind and its objects to oil and water contained in the same bottle. The knowing mind is like the oil, and the sense impressions are like the water. Primarily because our minds and lives are very busy and turbulent, the oil and water get shaken up together. It thus appears that the knowing mind and its objects are all one substance. But if we let the system calm down, then the oil and the water separate out; they are essentially immiscible.

There’s the awareness, the Buddha-mind, and the impressions of thought, the sensory world, and all other patterns of consciousness. The two naturally separate out from each other; we don’t have to do a thing to make it happen. Intrinsically they are not mixed. They will separate themselves out if we let them.

At this point, we can truly see that the mind is one thing and the mind-objects are another. We can see the true nature of mind, mind-essence, which knows experience and in which all of life happens; and we can see that that transcendent quality is devoid of relationship to individuality, space, time, and movement. All of the objects of the world—its people, our routines and mind states—appear and disappear within that space.

“Breathing and Walking

The effort to make a clear distinction between the mind that knows and mind-objects is thus very important to our practice. Mindfulness of breathing is a good way to work with this insight. Just notice the feeling of the breath as you follow the sensation of it. The breath is moving, but that which knows the breath is not moving.

Continued next week: Jan/18/2024

Source: https://www.abhayagiri.org/media/books/amaro_small_boat_great_mountain.pdf