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In the teachings of the Dharma, and in particular, the Four Noble Truths, there is a lot of airtime given to the releasing of attachment, and opening the tight fist of grasping. The Buddha knew, somehow, that this tendency to hold tight to things is an inherent part of being human. In fact, it is called the "grasp reflex," and we are born with it.
If you put an object across an infant's palm, they will often grab hold of it with their tiny fingers. A newborn's grip can be so strong, they can even support their own weight for brief periods. Studies have shown that, when infants hold onto their mothers, the infant's heartbeat tends to slow down. This implies that we must get a lot of soothing and a sense of security from holding in this way.
From the standpoint of evolution, the grasp reflex would be a necessary survival trait in primates, both for clinging to the mother, but also for moving through the trees from branch to branch at the earliest age possible. Obviously, then, clinging in itself is not necessarily a bad thing.
Where we get into trouble is when we cling to things that are impermanent. This kind of clinging results in what Joseph Goldstein calls "rope burn" as the thing we are clinging to slides through our hands. Clinging to a sense pleasure, to a world view or belief, or to a sense of self, can all result in this rope burn.
So how do we manage this existential human predicament? Letting go of clinging appears to be a very counter-intuitive move, which could result in a fatal plunge from a great height. (Carl Sagan wrote that fear of falling is one of the only fears that we are actually born with.)
If you remember the stories of the monkey traps from the November 16 and 17 blogs, you will know the answer. Releasing the grip on something does not mean that we have to let go of it completely and lose it. It means that we can still have whatever is in our hand, but we hold it with more space, making it easier to deal with its comings and goings.
This holds true for unpleasant experiences, as well. When we relax the tight fist, we give the unpleasant experience more space in which to move. By giving the thing more space, we actually decrease the size of the unpleasant experience by increasing the size of the space around it.
Here's a metaphor that may help with this concept. If you take a tablespoon of salt, and stir it into a small cup of water, the water will taste salty. If you take that same amount of salt and mix it in a bucket full of water, the water is much less salty tasting. Put that tablespoon of salt in a bathtub of water, and the taste would be hardly noticeable, if at all. Put it in a lake, and... well you can see where this is going. The size of the object that we are clinging to does not change, but the space around it expands, and therefore the unpleasant thing is much easier to manage.
I am told that one of my grandteachers, the Venerable Ajahn Chah Subhaddo, used to sidle up next to the monks at his monastary during walking meditation and ask them, "Are you suffering today?" If they said yes, he would reply, "Hmm... Must be very attached!" and then he would just kind of chuckle and walk away, leaving the monk to contemplate this teaching. Here is what Ajahn Chah said about letting go of the tight fist:
If you let go a little, you'll have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you'll have a lot of peace. If you let go completely, you'll have complete peace.
Blessings,
Roger
It seems that most of us are rarely satisfied with what we have. We live in a familiar state of "if/then" mind that goes something like, "If I could only have this thing or that thing, then I will be happy." We can literally waste a lifetime living in this kind of mind-trap.
There is a whimsical folk character in the Sufi tradition named Mullah Nasrudin, who is a combination wise man, holy man, philosopher, and fool. There are many humorous anecdotes that have been told about him over hundreds of years, and here is one that illustrates how the "if/then" mind works.
One day, Mullah Nasrudin was walking down a forest path, when he came upon a man sitting nearby who was sobbing. "What seems to be the problem?" asked the Mullah, who was always eager to help those in distress.
"My house in the village burned to the ground last night, and all I could salvage from it were these few possessions," wailed the man, pointing to a knapsack sitting next to him.
Mullah Nasrudin considered the man's predicament for a moment, and then seized upon an idea. He quickly snatched the man's satchel, and ran off down the road with it, ignoring the pleas and curses from the traveler, who now gave chase behind him.
The Mullah was fleet of foot, and soon the pursuer surrendered to the inevitable and quit running after him. When Nasrudin saw that the coast was clear, he carefully placed the man's possessions in the middle of the path, and then hid amongst the trees and bushes nearby.
In a short while, the refugee came trudging dejectedly down the path. "How could this have happened?" he lamented. "All I owned in the world has been taken from me!" Just then, he saw his knapsack sitting in the middle of the path where Mullah Nasrudin had placed it. His expression turned instantly from abject sorrow and grief, to joy and ecstasy. The man rushed to the pack, opened it, and found that all his possessions were still there. His eyes were now filled with tears of happiness and gratitude as he thanked the Divine for returning his things to him safely.
From his observation post, Mullah Nasrudin took all of this in, and then scratched his head and chuckled in amazement. "Hmmph" he grunted to himself. "It's funny what it takes to make some people happy!"
Blessings,
Roger
My thesis adviser in graduate school, Alan Koehn, once said something very intriguing: "There are no nouns, only verbs." Looking at life this way, we can cultivate an interesting and insightful perspective on the subject of the previous three postings regarding interdependent co-arising and the doctrine of anatta (the absence of a "self" in everything). In addition, we can also see the world in a new way.
I was on a ten-day silent vipassana retreat at Spirit Rock a number of years ago, and in the middle of it I remembered Alan's words. I began to look at everything around me, not as a thing, but as a verb; an action; a process. The trees were "tree-ing," the birds were "bird-ing," the sky was "sky-ing," and so on. I turned that lens toward myself and discovered that I was no longer Roger but a thing that was "Roger-ing."
By making that adjustment in my conscious awareness, I was able to see clearly that everything in the perceivable world is a process, without any content whatsoever. The concept of interdependent co-arising shone crystal clear before me. The process of countless causes and conditions were giving rise to everything in my field of vision, and I could find no content in any of it.
From this perspective of process instead of content, the dharma of "no self" is more easily understood and penetrated. We can look and look, and never find a self in any of it. Our existence becomes like the metaphor of peeling an onion: eventually, we reach its center, but even that, too, disappears under scrutiny. As Gertrude Stein said when she returned to Oakland to visit her childhood home, and found that it had been replaced by a parking lot, "There was no 'there' there."
As you go through your day today, take some time to look at the objects around you and see them as process only; as verbs instead of nouns. Simply add "-ing" to what you see, turning the noun into a verb, and you will understand this concept immediately. Notice as well that, not only is this a fresh and interesting way of looking at the world, but it can add a lightheartedness to your day, kind of like becoming a child again and learning how to name the objects around you.
And lest you fear that, by making this adjustment in consciousness, life will lose its specialness, paradoxically you will find that observing the world in this way only serves to make it all more miraculous and sacred.
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. ~ Marcel Proust
Blessings,
Roger
Continuing to deepen into the Dharma of anatta (the absence of self), I would like to present what I have found to be the most easy to understand description of this doctrine. It comes from Old Path, White Clouds: Walking In the Footsteps of the Buddha, by the Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh.
In this passage, the Buddha is discussing the doctrines of anatta and interdependent co-arising (see the previous two blogs for more information on this) with a Hindu brahman named Master Kassapa, one of the most revered teachers of his time.
"Master Kassapa, all things depend on all other things for their existence. Take, for example, this leaf in my hand. Earth, water, heat, tree, clouds, sun, time, space - all these elements have enabled this leaf to come into existence. If just one of these elements was missing, the leaf could not exist. All beings, organic and inorganic, rely on the law of [inter]dependent co-arising. The source of one thing is all things. Please consider this carefully. Don't you see that this leaf I am now holding in my hand is only hear thanks to the interpenetration of all the phenomena in the universe, including your own awareness?"
[This discussion continued into the next day, when Master Kassapa said,] "Yesterday you said that the presence of a leaf resulted from the coming together of many different conditions. You said that humans, too, exist only because of the coming to together of many other conditions. But when all these conditions cease to be, where does the self go?"
The Buddha answered, "For a long time humans have been trapped by the concept of atman, the concept of a separate and eternal self. We have believed that when our body dies, this self continues to exist and seeks union with its source, which is Brahma. But, friend Kassapa, that is a fundamental misunderstanding which has caused countless generations to go astray.
"You should know, friend Kassapa, that all things exist because of interdependence, and all things cease to be because of interdependence. This is because that is. This is not because that is not. This is born because that is born. This dies because that dies. This is the wonderful law of dependent co-arising which I have discovered in my meditation. In truth, there is nothing which is separate and eternal. There is no self, whether a higher or lower self. Kassapa, have you ever meditated on your body, feelings, perceptions, mental formations, and consciousness? A person is made up of these five aggregates. They are continuously changing rivers in which one cannot find even one permanent element."
Uruvela Kassapa remained silent for a long moment. [Then he] lifted his head and looked into the Buddha's eyes. "If there is no self, no atman, why should one practice a spiritual path in order to attain liberation? Who will be liberated?"
The Buddha looked deeply into the eyes of his brahmana friend. His gaze was as radiant as the sun and as gentle as the soft moonlight. He smiled and said, "Kassapa, look for the answer within yourself." (p. 169 - 173)
A few days after their discussions, Master Kassapa was ordained as a monk in the Buddha's sangha. After the Buddha's death, the Venerable Kassapa played a vital role in recording and categorizing the Buddha's teachings.
Blessings,
Roger
Yesterday I touched upon the important teaching of the Dharma known as interdependent co-arising. I will continue this discussion in today's posting, and take this teaching to a deeper level by introducing the concept of anatta, or no-self. Since this doctrine not an easy one to understand, I will be presenting it in small portions over the next few days.
First, here are the words of the Buddha, adapted from the Visuddhimagga, and translated by Henry Clarke Warren:
When body and mind dissolve, they do not exist anywhere, any more than musical notes lay heaped up anywhere. When a lute is played upon, there is no previous store of sound; and when the music ceases, it does not go anywhere in space. It came into being on account of the structure and stem of the lute and the exertions of the performer; and as it came into existence, so it passes away.
In exactly the same way, all the elements of being, both corporeal and non-corporeal, come into existence after having been non-existent; and having come into existence, pass away.
There is no self residing in body and mind, but the cooperation of the conformations produces what people call a person. Paradoxical though it may seem: There is a path to walk on, there is walking being done, but there is no traveler. There are deeds being done, but there is no doer. There is blowing of the air, but there is no wind that does the blowing. The thought of self is an error, and all existences are as hollow as the plantain tree, and as empty as twirling water bubbles.
(From Teachings of the Buddha, edited by Jack Kornfield)
What we will find as we deepen into the doctrine of anatta is that, although all things are empty of self, they are full of Dharma. In this case, I am referring to the Dharma of interdependent co-arising. As we saw yesterday, just as my teacup is made up of countless interconnected things, so too am I. What the concept of no-self teaches us is that there is no "cup" or "Roger" that can be found in any of these interdependent causes and conditions. There are merely the co-arising events themselves that gave rise to these objects that we call "cup" and "Roger."
Tomorrow, I will present another dimension of this teaching that may help to clarify some of the questions you might have. Again, this is a deep teaching, and needs to be lived with for awhile to be fully understood. Have patience, keep an open mind, and you will begin to penetrate this Dharma.
Blessings,
Roger
One of the cornerstones of the Buddha's teachings is the concept of interdependent co-arising. The Buddha himself explained it very simply:
This is, because that is. This is not, because that is not. This comes to be, because that comes to be. This ceases to be, because that ceases to be. (From The Heart of the Buddha's Teachings by Thich Nhat Hanh, p. 221)
I look at my teacup, and I can see the countless causes and conditions that gave rise to it. There are the elements of earth (the clay), fire (the kiln in which the cup was baked), air (necessary to produce the fire), and water (needed to fashion the clay into its shape). For the earth to be created, there were infinite events that had to occur in the solar system. For the heat to be produced there were countless causes and conditions that gave rise to the fuel that made the fire. Clouds and air and sun produced the rain that gave us the water.
There is also the person who made the cup to be considered. Thousands of interconnecting events had to occur to bring together his or her parents so that this one being could be created, so that they could learn to become a potter, and so they could make this vessel. On and on it goes, and soon we realize that the entire universe is present in this one little cup.
If we were able to take away just one element from any of these interdependent causes and conditions - if you took the clay and returned it to the earth, returned the water to the clouds, or if the potter had not been born - this particular cup could not exist. But because all these things happened - and many, many more - the cup holding my tea sits next me right now.
The final element that must exist is my awareness of the cup, and so I, too, am part of this endless chain of interdependent co-arising. Just as the cup cannot exist independent of the causes and conditions that gave rise to it, neither can I exist without the interdependence of the events that gave rise to me.
In some ways, this teaching is like the time travel paradox from a science fiction story. Time travelers journey to the prehistoric past, and through some unskillful action (stepping on a single flower, for example), cause a chain reaction through time that results in an altering of the present day that they discover when they return.
Some time today, take a moment to reflect upon the miraculous nature of life, as viewed through the lens of interdependent co-arising. Look around you right now and contemplate a single object, or even just the words on your computer screen (remember a fellow named Gutenberg?). Everywhere you look you will find the dharma of interdependent co-arising at work.
From Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake:
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
Blessings,
Roger
One of my teachers, Phillip Moffitt, likes to say about anything that arises during meditation practice, "...it's like this." "Shoulder pain is like this," for example. Or "Boredom is like this." Or "Feeling peaceful is like this."
"Like this" gives us the opportunity to be with anything that happens. Using this phrase, we can acknowledge whatever is present right now and allow it to be, without changing, fixing, or getting rid of whatever "this" is. This kind of perspective gives us a chance to hold any experience in a spacious and non-judgmental awareness (see 11/13/09 posting).
Many times during the day, you will have the opportunity to use this phrase. There will be moments in which you would like things to be other than the way they are, or when you would like the mind to be thinking thoughts other than what it is churning out in that moment. That's when you can deploy "like this" to your advantage.
Acknowledging that something is already present is always the first step. "Anger is here, and anger is like this," will go a long way to decreasing levels of ill-will. This simple adjustment can open up a lot of space, where before there was just the tightly closed fist.
When a strong feeling, such as anger, has space instead of constriction, we can then breathe. Feeling the breath can help ground us in a present-moment sensory reality so we are not trapped by the habitual thoughts produced by the reactive mind (see yesterday's posting).
Throughout your day, keep the mantra "It's like this" close at hand. At first, use it constantly with everything that happens. "My tea tastes like this." "The shower feels like this." "Walking out my door feels like this." "The sky looks like this." Over and over with each conscious experience. Later on, you can just utilize "like this" whenever there is some pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral experience that you particularly want to acknowledge.
If you have a meditation practice, use "like this" for any event that arises during your practice. This repetition will help to gently train the mind to acknowledge anything that happens, and then to just allow it to be.
In doing "like this" practice, you will find that you are able to be present with many difficult or upsetting events a little easier, and that you will be more aware when positive and pleasant things happen, as well.
Blessings,
Roger
