Ajahn Amaro
The Buddha, I’m told, gave some 84,000 talks during his 45 years of teaching. Also, I’m told, he had an uncanny ability to tailor his words to fit the minds and experiences of his listeners. One of the Buddha’s disciples, Ajahn Amaro, the co-abbot of Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery, also seems to have this ability. This was true at least for me, who heard him speak this weekend at the meditation center Robin and I frequent.
In my previous post, I asked the question: What is Happiness? I described the sadness in our household that surrounded the discovery of a large abscess on the shoulder of Robin’s dog, Metta. Although he is healing, post surgery, we still don’t know whether or not he has cancer. Getting an answer to that question, which at this moment isn’t necessary, will require an outlay of an additional $150.
The question of happiness in the preceding post centers around our attachment to the people and things we love – in this case, a pet. Bluntly, without having the pets that bring so much happiness, one would not suffer the unhappiness of losing a pet. The temporary happiness we may perceive is not real happiness, but the beginnings of suffering. True happiness comes only when we’ve abandoned all that brings unhappiness.
On Friday, Ajahn Amaro looked around the crowded and sweltering room and said he would set the theme for the evening on the Piyajatika Sutta. The English title is “Born from Those Who Are Dear.”
In the story, a householder’s son has died. The man goes to the the Buddha. The story does not say why the man seeks out the Buddha, but the Enlightened One notices right away that the man is one “not in control of his own mind. Your faculties are deranged.”
The householder tells the Buddha, “How could my faculties not be deranged? Since he has died I have no more desire to work or to eat. I keep going to the charnel ground and crying: ‘My only son, where are you? My only son, where are you?’”
The Buddha responds heartily: “So it is, householder, so it is! Sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair are born from those who are dear, arise from those who are dear.”
The man is irritated. “Venerable sir, who would ever think that sorrow, lamentation pain, grief and despair are born from those who are dear, arise from those who are dear? Venerable sir,” he argues, “happiness and joy are born from those who are dear, arise from those who are dear.” Displeased, he left the Buddha to find others who would agree with him that happiness – not suffering – comes from those who are dear.
The king and queen, having heard of the the man’s encounter with the Buddha, also are drawn into the story. The king agrees with the householder, the queen with her teacher, the Buddha. To make sure she understands the Buddha’s words correctly, she sends a brahmin to the Buddha to confirm that – indeed – pain, grief, lamentation, and despair are born from those who are dear to us.
To the brahmin the Buddha lays out many examples of how this is so. When the information is relayed to the queen, she convinces the king, who has to agree that if any of his own loved ones would die, he would suffer in many ways.
On Saturday afternoon, Robin told Ajahn about her dog, the prospect he may have cancer, and the decision she will have to make were that the case. “What can you say about this?” she asked.
Ajahn’s answer was not what one may expect. He made no judgments. He offered no guidance about what is “right” or what is “wrong.” He offered no advice on what course of action we could or should take. Instead, he said to be attuned to what is happening within each moment. Leave spaciousness for the answers to come, without interjecting concepts of “I, me, or mine.” See what happens then reassess. He explained that so often people hope that some authority will solve our problems by telling us what to do. Not so, he said. He pointed to his heart, saying, “The real authority is here.”
His answer, much longer than I’ve related here, was reassuring to me. Reassuring because of the affirmation that I can trust my own judgment about what is right and what is wrong. Of course, I knew that already.
Maybe.
4 Comments
Great post, Paul. What a paradox the Buddha points to! And how hard to watch our loved ones suffering, even the four-legged ones, who give so much and ask for so little in return. My heart is with you and Robin as you live through this unwanted experience. Blessings…
It’s a paradox indeed. It’s also worth noting how events like this one can point to some of the greater lessons of Buddhism: All things are impermanent, anything impermanent is by its very nature unsatisfactory, and dissatisfaction is nothing but suffering.
Thanks for your comment, Peter.
But it is not just the death of a loved one that can bring pain and suffering.
We so often become disappointed in loved ones because they don’t turn out the way that we had hoped: We are dissatisfied when they don’t grow up to be doctors, lawyers and presidents. We feel hurt when they take advantage of our kindness and trust.
When we see the stories on TV of those who have acted without care for the feelings of others, it does not affect us the same way as when one acts this way with us.
I can only suggest what my personal opinion is, as being born and raised a Thai Buddhist, is that we become attached to the idealized person we have created in our hearts:
That our children are somehow not susceptible to the laws of Karma. That our loved ones are not susceptible to Kilesa and therefore will not disappoint us. We hold on to these illusions because to be constantly aware of the mortality and defilements of our loved ones would be overwhelming to the unenlightened mind.
And when these illusions become shattered, we are finally forced to face the true nature of existence. It is like when you have a bill that you know you need to pay, but you conveniently forgot it in some corner of the house, pleasantly gone from memory until the collections agency calls.
Again, I am just a lay person, but have great respect for the Dharma, so this is just one woman’s opinion.
P.S. Being in Northern California, we are not too far away from Abhayagiri Temple and we are blessed to know so many people who have gone there for meditation and Dharma instruction.
Thanks for the thought-provoking comment. Sometimes people say things like: “It’s all an illusion,” but don’t have any idea why. But you say “…we become attached to the idealized person we have created in our hearts.” So true, so true.