A few days ago, in meditation, I had a clear understanding of another concept: noticing what isn’t there. It began with the pain growing in my left hip. I’ve focussed on various pains before, but that method usually seemed to intensify the pain rather than alleviate it.

This time I tried something else. I looked to where there wasn’t pain. My right hip felt very comfortable, so I focussed my attention there. After a few moments I noticed that the pain in the left side had diminished. But as I shifted my attention to the left side, the pain returned. So I wen’t back to the right. And once again, the pain on the left subsided.

It reminded me of a phenomenon I’d played with as a kid. One day I was lying in the grass, looking up at the blue sky. Overhead were a cluster of electric wires and such. I noticed as I looked past the wires to the sky beyond, the wires seemed to disappear. Then, when I looked at the wires, there they were. And I could make them disappear again at will. I was sure I’d developed some sort of super power, but I was disappointed when I could not perform this optical trick with anything else.

Back to meditation. Relocating my attention from a painful spot to a pain-free area had the effect of making the pain disappear. I knew it was still there, the pain. I just wasn’t perceiving it. Or was I just perceiving the sensations as something different? Either way, I was able to meditate comfortably and without the anxiety and fear that often accompanies pain.

That’s when I realized the importance of noticing what’s not present and it’s direct relationship to the five hindrances to productive meditation (or to any other practice). The five hindrances are:

• Sensual desire
• Ill will
• Restlessness & remorse (or worry)
• Sloth & torpor (reluctance to make effort & lethargy)
• Doubt (in the practice)

A definition of rapture is the absence of the five hindrances. Indeed, it’s necessary to overcome the hindrances entirely in order to attain full awakening. But how do you know when you’re in a state of rapture as opposed to a common, every-day state of happiness? It’s when you notice, upon careful examination, that the mind is free of the five hindrances. It’s noticing what’s not there.

The sutta begins as the Kalamas, a group of people who live in Kesaputta, approach the Buddha and say:

Lord, there are some priests & contemplatives who come to Kesaputta. They expound & glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, & disparage them. And then other priests & contemplatives come to Kesaputta. They expound & glorify their own doctrines, but as for the doctrines of others, they deprecate them, revile them, show contempt for them, & disparage them. They leave us absolutely uncertain & in doubt: Which of these venerable priests & contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying?

The Buddha replies, “Of course you are uncertain, Kalamas. Of course you are in doubt. When there are reasons for doubt, uncertainty is born.”

The Buddha proceeds with a lengthy answer that begins with a series of questions focusing on greed, hatred, and delusion. Is this teacher or that one governed by these three ignoble motivators? Does what they teach lead to harm or long-lasting happiness? The Buddha ends with some good advice on what qualities to look for in a good and noble teacher or disciple.

With this as background, I travel now from the small world of Kesaputta to the infinitely larger World Wide Web. It’s not a physical place, but a place nonetheless. Many of its inhabitants are like the Kalamas, full of questions and confusion. Many others are like the priests and contemplatives, full of knowledge and opinions and ideas about everything. Some of these “priests and contemplatives” are worth following, others, well…

Anyone with a net-connected computer has access to this world of seekers and sages and charlatans and crooks. Fifteen years ago – when the Web was not more than a few threads – I wanted to learn about meditation. I’d read that meditation may be helpful with managing depression. I wanted to find out if it were true. But I didn’t want to mess around with too much experimenting. I didn’t want to go down any blind alleys. I wanted to know the right way to meditate right now. I discovered, though, that there was a lot of nonsense out there and many blind alleys. A particular bit of nonsense involved sitting with my eyes closed, but moving my eyeballs up, down, right, left over and over and over. I tried it. Really. What did I know? Maybe it was the right way. It wasn’t.

I realized I was not going to find what I was looking through my explorations of the Web. I went to a bookstore and bought Mindfulness in Plain English instead. Even then I worried about getting the right advice.

But this is not about me or my practice. This is about information – particularly information about Buddhism that can be found on the Web. If I’m new to Buddhism, and I’m searching for information and answers about it, how do I know what’s reliable and what isn’t? Being ignorant of all things Buddhist, and I find myself on this blog or that website, for example, how do I know “Which of these venerable priests & contemplatives are speaking the truth, and which ones are lying?” How do I separate fact from truth from opinion from…

The answer, of course, is the same as the Buddha gave the Kalamas: study the teacher and the message in terms of greed, hatred, and delusion. But it’s not so easy, and may take a long time. Patience, after all, is an aspect of Buddhist practice. When the Buddha addressed the Kalamas he was talking about discernment. That is, seeing the difference between what is good and what is not, what is skillful and what is not, what is truth and what is not. Discernment is yet another important aspect of Buddhist practice. But I wouldn’t know that until I was well into it. It’s a quality worth cultivating, because without it wisdom is impossible.

NOAA photo courtesy WikiCommons

On Saturday, just a couple of days ago now, I was in a bad mood. Not my occasionally cranky self, but the worst mood I’d been in for perhaps 15 years. It had been building all week, like a storm on the horizon.

In contrast I had spent the previous weekend – Thursday evening through Monday morning – at Abhayagiri Monastery. It was not a retreat, per se, but an annual gathering called Upasika Renewal. It’s where individuals can formally renew their commitment to the Three Refuges and the Five Precepts. It was a positive experience with lots of meditation time as well as time for some physical labor, relaxation, and discussion.

I dreaded leaving for Abhayagiri, though, because of my work load. I’d spent the week prior trying to get as much accomplished as possible, but I never felt satisfied that I was actually ready to go. I dreaded coming home, too, because what awaited me were three full days packed with immediate day-long activities and responsibilities. I had no time for reintegration or to catch up on what I was unable to accomplish during the five days away.

It wasn’t until Friday that I had a chance to sit back and sort through the paperwork, as it were, and to begin to get caught up on what was actually eight days of “missed work,” so to speak. But there were a few things from the various compartments of my life that had been vexing me since my return – something someone said, a look someone gave. Just a few small things, but you know how the mind likes to jumble things up and slap on layers and then tug and pull and churn.

On Saturday, the first if the month, I did what I usually do: bookkeeping. Reconciling checking accounts and deciding which bills I can pay and which I can put aside until later have never been activities that lead to calm. Then throw in a software problem…

Frustration gathered into clouds of despair and hopelessness. I’d thought I’d left these story emotions long behind in the distant past, but here they were, ready to unleash a deluge.

Fortunately, I had a couple of hours to myself Saturday evening. Fortunately, too, I decided to give meditation one more chance. I focused on the first noble truth of suffering. Yep, this is it, all right. This is dukkha. And the cause. Yes, there is a cause, that pesky second noble truth: clinging. It was my inability to let go of the attachment to that which bothered me. “Letting go.” Such a trite phrase. Easy for you to say. You don’t have my grip of steel.

Suddenly, my mind went back to Abhayagiri. We had been treated to two documentaries about Ajahn Chah. I’d heard the virtues of Ajahn Chah extolled many times, but only then at the monastery did I get an idea of why he was – and still is – revered by those who spent any time with him.

Ajahn Pasanno, co-abbot (and soon to be sole abbot) of Abhayagiri, was one of Ajahn Chah’s long-time students and attendants. In his introductory remarks to the 1977 documentary “The Mindful Way,” he said Ajahn Chah had lots of doubt. I’ve heard too he’d had lots of anger and other mental trials as well. But, Ajahn Pasanno said, he had determined that he would live each day of his life as though it would be his last and each day he would practice Dhamma with every ounce of effort. As I understand it, for Ajahn Chah practicing Dhamma meant “letting go.” There must be something to this. Ajahn Amaro, the other co-abbot of Abhayagiri (and soon to be abbot of Amaravati in England) said that what he saw in Ajahn Chah those long years ago in Thailand was “the happiest man in the world,” and he wanted to be like that too.

I got up from my cushion and searched for the documentary on YouTube, where I found it in three parts. After watching it again, I went back to the cushion for 30 more minutes. The slight parting of the clouds was palpable, and I sensed of the possibility of sunshine – not immediately, but soon. Sunday was a good day. And I’m also getting of sense of ease at getting back into my routine.

In a previous post I wrote about The Island: An Anthology of the Buddha’s Teachings on Nibbana, by Ajanhs Pasanno and Amaro. Nibbana/nirvana is a state of being that is often described as the deathless or the unconditioned. It is a state where there is no more suffering of any kind. It is the cessation of becoming.

As I understand it, the Buddha woke up to Nibbana, making a transition between one state to another just as a person transitions between sleep and wakefulness each day. The Buddha, however, remained in Nibbana until his death, and he was not born again into the cycle of life and death known as samsara. The Buddha’s awakening took six years of focused preparation (not to mention many lifetimes of perfecting the virtues necessary to making the transition from a bodhisatta to a buddha). The conventional expression of the Buddha’s experience is “enlightenment.”

There are two kinds of enlightenment: spiritual and intellectual. Spiritual enlightenment is what happened to the Buddha on the night of his awakening. Intellectual, or secular, enlightenment is what The Age of Enlightenment was all about. Ajahn Punnadhammo, abbot of Arrow River Hermitage, writes about the difference here.

Patrick Kearney, in his essay “Still Crazy after all these Years: Why Meditation Isn’t Psychotherapy,”* suggests that were it not for The Enlightenment, we would not be using “enlightenment” to describe the Buddha’s awakening.

“I have never been able to find any Pali or Sanskrit word which corresponds to the English word “enlightenment.” This word was selected some time late last [19th] century by English translators as a label for the goal of Buddhist practice because of its resonance with the 18th century ideal of the Enlightenment. The European Enlightenment was a movement which idealised progress, science and reason – the “light” in “Enlightenment” refers to the light of reason. In Victorian Britain, sympathetic English scholars wanted to present Buddhism in as favourable a light as possible, and they did so by portraying the Buddha as the perfect Victorian gentleman. He was presented as rejecting the priestly mumbo-jumbo of the brahmins (who for the Victorian English corresponded to the Roman Catholic clergy) in favour of a religion of reason and morality (Almond: 70-4**). The only thing that spoiled this picture was undeniable evidence in the Buddhist texts that the Buddha taught and practiced some kind of bizarre self-hypnosis or cultivation of trance states – what we today call meditation. The word “enlightenment” referred to a state of enlightened reason attained by the Buddha which, however, existed only in the imagination of Victorian scholars. Unfortunately the word has stuck, and with it the confusion.”

Assuming it’s true that the use of the word “enlightenment” grew from a desire to make Buddhism more palatable to the Western mind, it presents three problems. First, it shows how easily words can be used to manipulate public opinion. This is nothing new, of course. It happens every day in advertising, politics, and religion.

Second, it shows how words evolve and how, over time, they can come to mean something other than what they meant initially.

Third, it suggests that Buddhism is changeable, something that can be molded to fit the circumstances of its surroundings.

A teacher I know has said many times that Buddhism changes every culture it touches, and Buddhism is changed by every culture that touches it. This is undeniably true on the surface, but it’s not a justification for the manufacturing of a new kind of Buddhism, a “Western” Buddhism – which is what the teacher was endorsing.

Certainly there are cultural differences in the ways Buddhism is practiced in, say, Sri Lanka and Japan, because each of these forms developed in different cultures separated by space and time. So to assume there is just one kind of Buddhism is a mistake. To assume there is just one kind of Japanese Buddhism also is a mistake. “Zen” and “Buddhist” are not synonymous.

Even though people have found many different ways to practice Buddhism, there remain four inescapable truths regarding this human world we all are a part of. Without each one of these truths, Buddhism is meaningless. The fourth truth – a very precise path of practice – is not something that can be changed to fit our varied lifestyles and beliefs.

If it’s a mistake to assume there is only one kind of Buddhism, it’s also a mistake to assume there are many different means to realizing the goal.

As Ajahn Pasanno writes in The Island:

“There are many ways of practice but some of them may, in actuality, not accord with the teachings or the true Way. They may be popular or comfortable, but yet not be Dhamma [emphasis mine]. For practice to yield results, it must conform to truth or correct principle.” (p. 288)

The eightfold path – the Middle Way – is very specific. You either practice Dhamma or you don’t. The law of conditionality can’t be skirted. Living in a cloud of delusion has a major drawback: delusion. It’s not easy to discern what’s skillful, especially when people – teachers and students alike – tinker with meanings and practices to suit themselves.

“Enlightened” was used to (incompletely) describe the Buddha to Victorian England as one who behaved with reason, logic, and morality. But the Age of Enlightenment is no longer part of our social psyche. We – as a culture – are as far removed from reason, logic, and morality as social guides as those enlightened 18th century Europeans were from the Dark Ages of the 15th century. Instead, we use “enlightened” to refer to (among many other things) all manner of blissed-out states that incorporate – in the spirit of diversity – anything and everything spiritual.

And now, from the entertainment realm, we have the new sit-com, “Enlightened”. The situation evoking the comedy is where “a self-destructive woman…who has a spiritual awakening and resolves to live an enlightened life – which causes chaos at home and at work – after suffering a serious meltdown.” Entertaining, maybe, but hardly enlightening.

I avoid using “enlightenment” as the goal of spiritual practice (my spiritual practice, anyway) because it connotes gaining something magical and mystical (something so Zen) instead of achieving the simple end of suffering. This is my goal. I’ve had enough suffering. I am willing to work for it – I do work for it – but my effort is toward getting rid of rather than gaining something. Unless that “something” is understanding what’s really going on.

Coming to the understanding of reality, however, takes more than reason and logic, says Ajahn Pasanno. It “is direct and intuitive, rather than intellectual or rational, learned from books, memorized from others, or arrived at through speculative thinking.” (p. 296)

It’s not so simple as turning on a light.

*As its title suggests, this lengthy paper attempts to sever any imposed connection between Buddhism and psychotherapy. I don’t recommend it to anyone enamored with the idea of  a Western Buddhism. Kearney isn’t kind to a few high-profile teachers who seem to embody the idea.

**Almond, Philip. The British discovery of Buddhism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988.

Just the same, I think this is a good time to reflect on the second factor of the eightfold path, Right Intention, or Resolve.

With the intention toward renunciation, I resolve to keep my needs to a minimum and to strive to hold in check sensual desires (with a special emphasis on the desire for things to eat).

With the intention toward harmlessness, I resolve to do as little harm as possible to anyone or anything.

With the intention toward goodwill, I resolve to avoid thoughts of ill will toward anyone, instead offering thoughts of kindness.

To see what others may be resolving (or not) to do this year take a look at the Top Ten New Year’s Resolutions and advice about how to keep them (even mentions meditation). Here’s a blog dedicated to the topic, but it seems the author gave up in mid-January of last year.

Understanding the law of cause and effect is central to – critical to – Buddhist practice. In the external world it’s easy to see how this may play out. If I smile at you when we meet, then I am much more likely to get a positive response from you than if I scowl. One could come up with thousands of examples. The point here is that I have a choice in my actions. That is, if I choose my actions wisely, I can influence what happens next. This is not speculation or something I take on faith. I have direct experience with this phenomenon in my own life. Therefore, I know it to be true.

Still, despite what I know to be true, I sometimes work myself into certain unwholesome mind states. Most often it’s because of something someone has said to me or something I have said to myself in the form of a thought. Either way, the result is a bad mood. Sometimes the mood builds gradually, other times it’s instant. Sometimes I can stop it before it gets too far. Other times the mental state gets to the point of no return as the negative, self-critical thoughts churn over and over, reinforcing themselves. Until the mood lifts I’m not very good company.

Through Ajahn Jayasaro’s words I got a clear understanding of the purpose behind practicing the Brahma Viharas – the four sublime mind states of loving kindness, compassion, appreciative joy, and equanimity. These create the mental conditions for spiritual transformation. All that is necessary is training the mind to overcome decades of unskillful practices. This takes place through the combined and ongoing practices of acting forthrightly in the external world of society and the inner world of the mind.

We plan to arrive by 5:30, in time to share tea and conversation with the monks. Saturday morning will be given to working around the monastery, taking care of whatever needs doing. The afternoon will provide lots of time for meditation.

On Sunday morning, I, as a new upasaka, will formally take the Three Refuges and Five Precepts. Those who have gone before will take them as a group.

The rest of the day will be devoted to meditation and talks on the Dhamma by guest teacher Ajahn Jayasaro. He will speak on Education in Buddhism, exploring how Dhamma teachings can be used educational settings from the home to schools to professional training.

An upasaka (male) or upasika (female) is a lay person who commits to the Three Refuges and Five Precepts, and joins with monastics in practice of the Dhamma. Read more about the Upasika Program here.

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Something that intrigues me about religion and spiritual practice is the tension between two points of view. On the one hand there is the “one and only way” view of salvation. On the other hand we have the “many ways to the top of the mountain” approach.

The one-and-only-way position seems dogmatic and intolerant and, from the outside, alarming (you’re either with us or with the enemy). The many-ways school is by definition tolerant of the choices others make regarding their spirituality. We’re one big happy family even if we don’t agree. What’s more, this diversity is worthy of celebration.

The intriguing part comes when I examine Buddhism in the light of both these extremes. Gentle acceptance of, kindness toward, and compassion for everyone equally and with a loving heart are fundamental to Buddhist practice. But nowhere in the Pali Canon (that I know of) does the Buddha say that his Middle Way is one of many ways to reach the goal. Rather, he says, cultivation of the Middle Way is the only way leading to the release from suffering.

It seems to me this would rankle members of both the aforementioned schools of thought. Buddhism does not fit with either model. One reason it doesn’t fit with the one-way school is Buddhism’s rejection of the idea of a supreme being with no beginning or end and who initiated a first cause (a beginning of something made out of nothing). So the way in itself (Buddhism) is wrong. It doesn’t fit with the many-ways school for the obvious reason: There is only one way, not many.

The loaded word in the first paragraph is “salvation.” There is an assumption that it means the same to everyone, but it doesn’t. Salvation to a Christian won’t mean quite the same as it does to a Muslim, Jew, or Hindu. And adherents to each viewpoint will have their own idea of how to get there, that is, their own one and only way.

Although I’ve heard “salvation” used within a Buddhist context, it really doesn’t fit. The Judeo-Christian view states one is saved by an external agent, namely Jesus or God. Buddhism doesn’t hold to an external agent, however. Instead, one brings about “liberation” from suffering through one’s own effort to understand the nature and causes of suffering and to stop doing all the things that bring suffering about. Cause and effect at work.

Of course those of the Judeo-Christian faiths could make the same argument: Rejection of God is the cause of all suffering in the world. Conversely, salvation is possible only through absolute faith in God. Again, cause and effect at work.

It depends, really, on the goal. When there are many goals, there are as many ways to reach them. The story of the “Three Little Pigs” is an example. If what you want is shade, a house of sticks or straw will suffice. But when protection from the wolf is necessary, bricks are the better choice of building materials.

There are many ways for one to lead a spiritual life because, as a goal, the “spiritual life” is vague and not well defined. But when we start defining and refining the goal, the choices on how to achieve it grow slim. The Pali Canon makes this point: Before his awakening, the Buddha-to-be mastered the practices of two teachers to the extent that each one offered him a place of leadership. He turned them both down because what he had mastered was not what he sought: liberation from the endless cycle of pain and suffering. On the night of his awakening, however,  he saw the whole of the problem and its solution unfold. He became the Buddha not only because he saw and understood the factors of the Eightfold Path, he fully developed them. When that happened realized that “Birth is ended, the holy life fulfilled, the task done. There is nothing further for this world.”*

*The Buddha makes this statement many times in the Pali Canon to describe one who realizes the goal. For various references, see Access to Insight.

“Why not teach love?” someone asked during the discussion, adding that love is what Christ taught.

That Christ taught love is indisputable, and I said as much. I added that the Buddha also taught love – along with compassion for and appreciation of others. In fact, central to Buddhism is the understanding that if one wants to be safe and happy and treated with kindness, others must also – therefore one acts accordingly. But getting into a debate where we were comparing Buddhism with Christianity didn’t seem the right thing to do. I let it drop.

When I began my studies of Buddhism I found it helpful to compare it with Catholicism, the faith I was raised in. Comparing and contrasting is, for me anyway, a useful means of sorting through my thoughts and establishing my view of the world. There are some things within the teachings and practice of the two faiths that are similar. (The Vietnamese Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh wrote at two books on the subject – Going Home: Jesus and Buddha as Brothers and Living Buddha, Living Christ.) Yet there are fundamental differences between Christianity and Buddhism. Deep in my mind I’ve covered many of them. But taking my thoughtful comparisons outside to play among others who have different ideas of the way things are or should be may not be beneficial. In fact, it could lead to harm by creating discord and bad feelings.

We all want the same thing: to be happy and safe. How we define happiness and safety and how we achieve them is a matter of opinion. From a Buddhist perspective, though, I think its of value to keep the focus on suffering, its cause, and its end. Wrapped up in the means to the end of suffering is, among other things, love.

Thinking of the body as a bag goes back at least to the Buddha, who sometimes described it as a double-ended sack made of skin and filled with all manner of things, not just bones. He compared the body to an ordinary bag with two ends filled with various grains and beans. Pouring out the contents, a knowledgeable person would be able to distinguish this  grain from that bean. In the same way, a contemplative person would recognize his or her own body as being a collection of things, useful to the whole but undesirable in and of themselves. The Buddha instructed his followers to be mindful that the body was nothing special, just a collection of parts. The parts of the body – 32 of them – become objects of meditation.

Furthermore, the monk reflects on this very body from the soles of the feet on up, from the crown of the head on down, surrounded by skin and full of various kinds of unclean things: ‘In this body there are head hairs, body hairs, nails, teeth, skin, flesh, tendons, bones, bone marrow, kidneys, heart, liver, pleura, spleen, lungs, large intestines, small intestines, gorge, feces, bile, phlegm, pus, blood, sweat, fat, tears, skin-oil, saliva, mucus, fluid in the joints, urine.’ Just as if a sack with openings at both ends were full of various kinds of grain — wheat, rice, mung beans, kidney beans, sesame seeds, husked rice — and a man with good eyesight, pouring it out, were to reflect, ‘This is wheat. This is rice. These are mung beans. These are kidney beans. These are sesame seeds. This is husked rice’; in the same way, the monk reflects on this very body from the soles of the feet on up, from the crown of the head on down, surrounded by skin and full of various kinds of unclean things…

MN 119, Kayagata-sati Sutta

The first five parts of the body – head hair, body hair, nails, teeth, and skin – are the bag and its accessories. The outer parts are what we present to the world. We identify with these parts because they are how we identify ourselves to others. We spend much time and money on these parts, and not always out of necessity. We strive to make ourselves more appealing to others and at the same time distinguish ourselves from them. There are other psycho-social reasons, too, but but I don’t want to wander further into the realm of psychology.

The next 12 parts of the body comprise the solid matter within our double-ended bag of skin. They are seen rarely by anyone except those who would  repair a wound or address an illness. We don’t think too much about these parts unless we are ill or broken. The exception is muscle (flesh), because well-toned muscle enhances the overall appearance of the bag of skin that surrounds it. We give a lot of attention to muscle.

The remaining parts (with the exception of the brain) are produced by the other parts. Most of these parts we take great care to conceal. Sometimes they  come out at unexpected times, often to our great embarrassment.

Note: If you are here for the first time, please take a moment to read the Introduction to the 32-Parts Project in the sidebar for background information.

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