Last night, during my weekly formal meditation practice with Portland Friends of the Dhamma, I took part in a revealing exercise in acceptance of the way things are.
Next week Ajahn Thanissaro, abbot of Metta Forest Monastery in Southern California, will be teaching at Friends of the Dhamma. His topic will be on the importance of developing a strong practice in concentration. Ajahn will base his discussion on parts of the Pali Canon which he has compiled in his book, A Meditator’s Tools: A Study Guide on the Ten Recollections.
In preparation, Sakula, PFOD’s spiritual director, read some passages from Ajahn Thanissaro’s book. She then gathered all five available copies and said to the 20 or so people in the room, “Who would like one?”
My mental response to the question went something like this: I want the book. I know I have the PDF on my computer, but I’d rather read it in book form. I want the book, but there are only five copies, and someone else is certainly more deserving than me. I want the book, but I don’t need it. Let it go. I let it go.
Meanwhile, Sakula was busy passing books around to those with a hand up. Apparently, there were several others who must have had similar thoughts to mine because only four people raised a hand.
“One left,” Sakula said. “Who wants it?”
After what seemed a very long time, I realized it was my duty (okay, I want the book) to take it. She slid it across the carpet in my direction.
“Now,” she said. “Just sit back and close your eyes. “Those of you with the book, how does it feel? Those of you without a book, how does it feel? If you have a book, can you just be happy with that without feeling that you got something that someone else didn’t? If you don’t have one, can you be happy that someone else got a copy without having any feelings of resentment or loss?”
Of course we’re all sitting in a room filled with people of goodwill. And, this is obviously an experiment. Don’t we all want to feel good about our participation, regardless of our response? Under such conditions, it’s difficult to harbor any feelings of resentment on the one hand or guilt on the other.
But Sakula wasn’t finished. “Those of you who didn’t get a book, raise your hand if you really wanted one. Those of you with a book, find someone to give it to.”
Meg, to my left, raised her hand. Without hesitating I passed my copy to her. Easy come, easy go.
Isn’t this the way life is all the time? Sometimes you get things, sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes someone else gets what you want. And sometimes you get what someone else wants. Regardless of the situation, we’re conditioned to have the same subjective responses: I feel great when I gain something, bad when I lose something. If I get something you want (and I know you and like you) I may feel a bit guilty (but, hey, that’s life). If you get something I want, I’m bound to have feelings of resentment or envy.
This exercise clearly demonstrated to me that the conditioned responses are not the only ones available. I can find contentment and even happiness in the acts of giving, receiving, and letting go. As easy as it sounds, it’s not always that easy. The conditioned responses are deep indeed.
But, as one of our group so aptly put it last night, not objecting to the way things are is the basis of equanimity. With equanimity, conditioned responses don’t have a chance.
Incidentally, there is one more episode in the story of gained and lost book. Meg was the happy recipient of two books, one of which she passed back to me.
Finding equanimity and joy in giving, receiving, and letting go
Last night, during my weekly formal meditation practice with Portland Friends of the Dhamma, I took part in a revealing exercise in acceptance of the way things are.
Next week Ajahn Thanissaro, abbot of Metta Forest Monastery in Southern California, will be teaching at Friends of the Dhamma. His topic will be on the importance of developing a strong practice in concentration. Ajahn will base his discussion on parts of the Pali Canon which he has compiled in his book, A Meditator’s Tools: A Study Guide on the Ten Recollections.
In preparation, Sakula, PFOD’s spiritual director, read some passages from Ajahn Thanissaro’s book. She then gathered all five available copies and said to the 20 or so people in the room, “Who would like one?”
My mental response to the question went something like this: I want the book. I know I have the PDF on my computer, but I’d rather read it in book form. I want the book, but there are only five copies, and someone else is certainly more deserving than me. I want the book, but I don’t need it. Let it go. I let it go.
Meanwhile, Sakula was busy passing books around to those with a hand up. Apparently, there were several others who must have had similar thoughts to mine because only four people raised a hand.
“One left,” Sakula said. “Who wants it?”
After what seemed a very long time, I realized it was my duty (okay, I want the book) to take it. She slid it across the carpet in my direction.
“Now,” she said. “Just sit back and close your eyes. “Those of you with the book, how does it feel? Those of you without a book, how does it feel? If you have a book, can you just be happy with that without feeling that you got something that someone else didn’t? If you don’t have one, can you be happy that someone else got a copy without having any feelings of resentment or loss?”
Of course we’re all sitting in a room filled with people of goodwill. And, this is obviously an experiment. Don’t we all want to feel good about our participation, regardless of our response? Under such conditions, it’s difficult to harbor any feelings of resentment on the one hand or guilt on the other.
But Sakula wasn’t finished. “Those of you who didn’t get a book, raise your hand if you really wanted one. Those of you with a book, find someone to give it to.”
Meg, to my left, raised her hand. Without hesitating I passed my copy to her. Easy come, easy go.
Isn’t this the way life is all the time? Sometimes you get things, sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes someone else gets what you want. And sometimes you get what someone else wants. Regardless of the situation, we’re conditioned to have the same subjective responses: I feel great when I gain something, bad when I lose something. If I get something you want (and I know you and like you) I may feel a bit guilty (but, hey, that’s life). If you get something I want, I’m bound to have feelings of resentment or envy.
This exercise clearly demonstrated to me that the conditioned responses are not the only ones available. I can find contentment and even happiness in the acts of giving, receiving, and letting go. As easy as it sounds, it’s not always that easy. The conditioned responses are deep indeed.
But, as one of our group so aptly put it last night, not objecting to the way things are is the basis of equanimity. With equanimity, conditioned responses don’t have a chance.
Incidentally, there is one more episode in the story of gained and lost book. Meg was the happy recipient of two books, one of which she passed back to me.