At such times I’m content to sit and listen. And this is what I was doing last week when Ajahn Sudanto looked right at me and asked, “How’s your practice going, Paul? Do you have any questions?”

I replied that even though I may have questions that arise during the week, they never come to mind when I have an opportunity to ask.

Then he said, “I have a question for you. Why are you still suffering?”

Instantly the thought arose: Who let you in my head? But I realized it was question he could have asked of anyone in the room, so I didn’t take it personally. Yet he did ask the question. I did not dare speak the answer forming in my mind. Instead I rambled on about my practice, how last week it seemed as though I’d reached some new level of understanding, but this week I’d had a big setback. It seemed, I’d said, that I go through these cycles of progress and setbacks. Only in retrospect did I realize how evasive I’d been, trying to be philosophical rather than truthful. I’m good at that. Or so I think.

The simple answer to the question “Why are you still suffering?” is this: It’s because of all those other people out there! Those people who don’t understand me, who are inconsiderate, who are irresponsible, who think my ways of doing things are inferior to theirs, who don’t appreciate me, who expect more of me than I’m able to provide, who cannot see the obvious truth about things, who send text messages while driving, who think Sarah Palin is a great American, who think Barak Obama is a Muslim, who… stop. That’s enough. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.

Buddhism has its own paradox of the heap. One of the renderings of the Pali word “khandha” (the Sanskrit is “skandha”) is “heap.” Another rendering is “aggregate.” The Buddha taught that a person is comprised of five heaps, or aggregates: form, feelings, perceptions, mental formations, and consciousness.

Form is the heap of things that make up the body. The other four come together in the shape of the mind.

Feelings describe a how we feel about something that has come into our sphere of awareness. That is, we have a pleasant feeling, an unpleasant feeling, or a neutral feeling. I hear a warbling sound that feels pleasant to my ear.

Perceptions are the labels we apply to things that come into our sphere of awareness. A warbling sound comes to my ear. I gives me a pleasant feeling. I immediately label it “birdsong,” or even “robin.”

Mental formations are those things we are constantly creating in that little workshop of the mind. They are the thoughts and emotions which become the seeds of action. I hear the pleasant sound of a robin and begin to think about spring, cutting the grass, cleaning up the lawnmower, getting gas for the mower, what about fertilizer for the lawn?… and on, and on.

Consciousness is the quality of awareness. Without consciousness we are not aware of the other four aggregates.

So where is the paradox? All these heaps together make a person. And each of us identifies with the five parts and the myriad parts of the parts: my eyes, my hair, my toenails, my mind, my thoughts, my opinions, my knowledge, my worries. This is who I am. This is what makes me me. Or is it?

These heaps of things are inconstant, insubstantial, always changing. Take the body, for example. And let’s leave aside the millions of subtle physiological changes the body goes through day to day and look at a drastic way the body can change. I worked once with a man named Bill. He was a happy-go-lucky average guy, good-looking and always whistling. One day he said, “I didn’t always look like this.” This surprised me, because there was no indication he’d ever looked different. No scars or anything I could see. He went on to tell me about the car crash he’d been in years before. It killed his wife and the two others in the car and left him hospitalized for a year. His face, he’d said, had been completely reconstructed. He had become, by appearances, a different person. But was he really?

And what of someone with Alzheimer’s disease, or memory loss? If I don’t remember who I am, am I not me?

It doesn’t take much effort to come up with dozens and dozens of examples of how people can change either physically or mentally: the beauty queen who has become old and flabby, the high-powered CEO who can no longer remember how to tie his shoes, the athlete bound for the rest of his life to a wheelchair. Imagine yourself suddenly different from who you were yesterday. Are you still you? Or not you?

Day to day we identify with the shape of our bodies and landscape of our minds. This identification is a significant source of tension and stress.

Much of Buddhist practice is toward dis-identifying with the five aggregates – piece by piece, grain by grain. That doesn’t mean striving to not exist or becoming a nobody. It means seeing your body for what it is: a conglomeration of things that are subject to instability and change and not something permanent and forever reliable. Same with the mind: unstable, inconstant, changing moment to moment. In some ways it seems rather silly to try to hold on to and defend and justify something so slippery. Yet we do hang on with vigorous determination.

There is the paradox.

But “there” is a bit misleading. Nibbana is not a place nor is it a thing to be acquired. The Buddha himself describes it this way:

There is an island, an island which you cannot go beyond. It is a place of nothingness, a place of non-possession and of non-attachment. It is the total end of death and decay, and this is why I call it Nibbana.

The Buddha lived and died in India during a specific time of history. India is more than a physical location, though. It is a culture as well that incorporates thousands of years of Hindu mythology and cosmology that influenced how the people of the day viewed their physical and spiritual worlds.

Nibbana, during the time of the Buddha, was a term that had less to do with a spiritual goal than to explain a common occurrence. It was a matter of fact in those days that fire was bound to its fuel. One of the constituents of wood, for example, was heat. As a piece of wood burned, the two – fire and fuel – were bound together in an agitated state. When the fire went out, both were liberated from the struggle. The extinguishing of fire, which allowed for cooling, was nibbana.

Relative to Buddhism, the fuel that is in a constant state of burning agitation are the five aggregates that make up a human being: the body, feelings, perception, mental formations, and consciousness. The intention of Buddhist practice is to extinguish the bonfire of the aggregates, thus liberating the individual from all the interent pain and suffering.

Another example of the Buddha’s use of analogy regards his teachings on Three Fires. The causes of all suffering are fires of greed, hatred, and delusion (clinging, aversion, and ignorance, or a number of other synonyms). Suffering is ended and liberation realized when the Three Fires are extinguished through the practice and perfection of generosity, kindness, and wisdom.

One of the Ten Fetters that binds a person to samsara – the ongoing cycle suffering – is adherence to rites and rituals as a means to spiritual achievement. As explained in The Island, the ancient Vedic texts dictated that the brahmin householder keep three ritualistic fires burning day and night. The brahmin’s maintenance of the three fires was one of those rites and rituals that prevented spiritual growth. “Put out the the three fires,” the iconoclastic Buddha said. “By keeping them burning, you bind yourselves to infinite lifetimes of suffering.”

To the modern, liberal-minded person the imperative to keep three fires burning to ensure salvation may seem quaint and easily put aside. But the ever-present suffering of life is not so easily dismissed. Snuffing the fires of greed, hatred, and delusion is no easy task.

In a comment to my previous post, my friend James embedded a link to this Newsweek article about the so-called health care debate. Author Sharon Begley states:

As politicians and strategists (at least the successful ones) have finally learned, appeals to emotion leave appeals to logic in the dust. And no emotion moves people more powerfully than fear.

The body of the article lays out how the general and field officers of the opposition to President Obama’s health care reform are using psychological weapons to fan the flames of what the Buddha referred to as the three fires of greed, hatred, and delusion. The article gives several examples of what many of us already know: There is a lot of dirty fighting in this ideological battle, and it is very one-sided.

The politicians and strategists in question, of course, are equally deluded as they are equally filled with greed and hatred – just as all of us are to one degree or another. But there is something fundamentally wrong with a system where people in leadership roles in the United States can intentionally mislead people down a path to deeper delusion, increasing greed, and deeper hatred.

Not very good leadership, if you ask me. Effective, maybe, but not good. But the purpose is winning. And, for some, the only way to win is to fight dirty. History is filled with examples of dirty-fighting leaders. But mangling history – for example, equating Obama with Hitler – is just another weapon handed to the deluded protester just as rifle is handed to the hapless infantryman. Both go off to the front lines to do the dirty work of the rich and powerful.

Ajahns Pasanno, Amaro and Jayasaro at Abhayagiri Monastery

My visit to Abhayagiri Monastery last week – and the 13-hour drive to and from – is in the past. So too is the feeling that overcame me shortly after arriving early Friday evening. The Buddha speaks of three kinds of feeling: pleasant, unpleasant and neither pleasant nor unpleasant. What I experienced during the initial hours of my stay was inwardly unpleasant.

I and my two traveling companions arrived a few minutes after 5:00. We briefly greeted several others from Portland already there, then pitched our tents in a field – the guest lodgings were full. Then we joined the monks in the shrine room for tea. That’s when the mental nagging began.

There are five hindrances to one’s practice: desire, ill will, restlessness and remorse, sloth and torpor, and doubt. Yes, that’s seven, but two of them are paired. No matter. The hindrance weighing on me was doubt.

Tea time at the monastery is an opportunity for open discussion with the monks. It’s a casual affair, but there are certain formalities that the serious practitioner will follow. I had a strong sense of uncertainty about what to do. But it was more than that. I didn’t trust that I could just be with what was happening without concern about what was to happen next or what I was supposed to do.

When interacting with monastics, reverence and respect are the most important qualities to cultivate. Protocols – which can be learned over time through instruction and careful observation – are of less importance. But this mind of mine had begun to question everything about this visit. All the bowing and deference seemed so pointless. Why was I here? Why are these monks here? What do they get out of it? What’s the point of any of this? Later that night, exhausted after having been up since 3:15, I fell asleep with these questions going through my mind in the form of a doubtful mush.

The next morning I awoke at 6:00 – late by monastic standards. At 6:30 we were assigned light duties, followed by a breakfast of oatmeal at 7:00. Then we gathered in the shrine room where, after chanting and meditation, we were assigned various duties for the morning work session. Much of what needed to be done involved clearing brush and trail maintenance. I volunteered to mend some tools, something I’m suited to do. Besides, it kept me away from any exposure to the ubiquitous poison oak.

Before sending us off to work, Ajahn Pasanno advised us not to get caught up in our chores or in what others were doing. “Just watch your mind,” he said. This is standard Buddhist stuff, and I’ve heard it and done it for years. But this morning, at this very moment, it made more sense than ever before. Of course, this is why I was here. This is why the monks are here.

Monastic life is one of discipline. So too, is any spiritual life. But it’s not discipline for the sake of it. The discipline creates the conditions for training the mind. To train the mind is to watch it carefully and bring it back in before it romps away into the poison oak of ill will, desire, remorse, sluggishness and doubt. Only then can one cultivate the more wholesome qualities of kindness, joy, equanimity and tranquility.

That’s the point.

As I watched them, knowing that one day they too may take full ordination, I knew also they would miss out on many, many, many of the of experiences we worldly people enjoy. They would not have wives. They would not have children or grandchildren or loving pets. They would not have fulfilling occupations, new cars, or well-appointed homes. They would not take delight in music, theater, or dance. In other words, they would have none of the things that bring happiness.

Lucky them.

From a Buddhist view, all those things mentioned above and more – the things that most people consider the sources of happiness – always lead to suffering. That’s because all these things come to an end. They wear out, get lost, die. And when these inevitable things happen, sadness and sorrow and many other afflictive emotions are the result.

On Saturday morning Robin discovered on her dog – a miniature Australian shepherd named Metta – a weeping mass on his shoulder. Most likely, we thought, it was an infection caused by a bee sting or bite from from our other dog, Mollie. The two of them play rough at times. Robin figured some antibiotics would take care of it. This being the Memorial Day holiday weekend, our regular veterinarian’s office was closed. So off they went to the animal hospital.

It’s not so simple as antibiotics. Whereas it could be a puncture wound, a scratch, or something so simple as a single grass seed that worked its way under the skin, the surgeon found abnormal tissue. We’ll have to wait and see. If the infection doesn’t heal on its own, we’ll have a biopsy done on the tissue sample the surgeon took while he was at it. All day Saturday the mood was somber here at home. Robin’s dog may have cancer. Already she’d spent nearly $1,000 of very scarce money. What next?

Seven years ago a furry puppy brought happiness to a family. But what is happiness? The Buddha teaches that happiness cannot be found in people, places, or things. It can be found only in the absence of anything and everything that brings suffering, regardless of form.

As a householder I have the inevitable and necessary attachments that go with the occupation. And I am happy in the conventional sense because I do have much to be grateful for. Yet I can see – so easily see – how a renunciant’s life is a happy one because of what one doesn’t have, not the other way around.

It all depends on your point of view.

We went to a dance performance at my step-daughter’s high school. It’s a magnet school for the arts, and the performance was first-rate. The environment, though, was uncomfortable throughout. What was troublesome for me was the perfume the girls around me wore. The cloud of competing scents was so thick at times, I felt I could see it as I would a fog rolling in off the ocean. It’s a mystifying behavior.

It’s not that I’m mystified only by the use of perfume by some females. Humans in general display a lot of baffling behaviors (car stereos that create minor earthquakes come to mind). But I do wonder why some girls – and grown women, too – believe that dousing themselves with unpleasant odors makes them more attractive. Attractive to whom, I’m not sure. Of course, I know, unpleasant is a judgment on my part. But it’s not a unique judgment.

I once worked in an environment where the receptionist wore heavy perfume. Many on the staff complained among themselves about it, but never took it up with the woman. A supervisor from another department said it should be addressed directly. “Wouldn’t you tell her if she had a bit of food stuck between her teeth?” Everyone agreed, but people don’t generally stick food between their teeth in the belief that it makes them more attractive.

On these spring mornings, I awaken to pleasant yet competing sounds of birds singing. Birds, I think, are communicating with others of their own species, staking out their territories for the day. Last evening I had the impression these girls were saying with their scents, “Smell me!” “No, smell me!” No, me! My smell is better!”

People generally are repelled by others with offensive body odor, a result of poor on nonexistent hygiene. Yet there is something odd about the practice of putting on odors that others find offensive. It’s obviously just fine for the girls trying to make a statement or attract someone’s attention. I know it’s not my attention they are trying to attract, but, too me, perfume is people repellent.

]]> http://paulgerhards.com/blog_thisisthatis/2009/05/15/people-repellent/feed/ 0 http://paulgerhards.com/blog_thisisthatis/2009/05/08/one-way-or-one-of-many-ways-it-depends-on-the-goal/ http://paulgerhards.com/blog_thisisthatis/2009/05/08/one-way-or-one-of-many-ways-it-depends-on-the-goal/#comments Fri, 08 May 2009 15:10:01 +0000 Paul http://paulgerhards.com/blog_thisisthatis/?p=1154

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.

I am self employed. In fact I am self employed at more than one job. I create, or try to create, what I think of as income streams. A little here, a little there. Whether this way of life, this way of earning a living, is good or bad is not important. What’s important is that over the past several months the outflow of money has outpaced the inflow by a considerable amount. Savings dwindle, and it’s just time that stands between being able to make the mortgage payment today but not in thirty days. I’m beginning to feel the pinch of desperation.

I have the uneasy feeling of “the calm before the storm.” The weather is beautiful. It’s warm and clear. The air is still. An hour later, shingles are flying off the roof.

In the 20′s, before the Great Depression, most people lived much closer to the street than we do today. Everyday life wasn’t filled with all the luxuries we now take for granted as necessities. When the stock market fell in October of 1929, relatively difficult lives became more difficult. A lot has changed over the past 80 years. The middle-class standard of living has improved tremendously. Today, however, those improvements are beginning to feel like liabilities. When you’re accustomed to working, traveling, and communicating with so much high-tech stuff, making do without it would be difficult. Especially if you have a family.

A couple of weeks ago, Robin and I discussed where we could cut spending. Well, let’s see, we could eliminate our Netflix subscription. We could combine our separate Verizon accounts to save a few dollars. That’s about it. We’re careful with the food we buy. Most of our clothing comes from the Goodwill store. We keep the temperature of the house at 67 or below, often accompanied by complaints that “it’s freezing in here!” It seems so pointless to try to save a few cents a month by not leaving the porch lights on all night, which sometimes happens, compared to the enormous price we pay just for the privilege and relative necessity of having a steady stream of electricity to keep our cell phones charged and the lights blinking happily on the cable modem.

Thankfully, things have not hit bottom yet. My ability to maintain this blog is evidence of that. But what will we do if and when we – as one family or as one nation – must give up much or all of what we have been sold as necessary? What will happen if we must awaken from the dream we all have bought into as being real? The American Dream really is just a dream. I feel as though I’ve been asleep for 50 years. Now I’m stumbling around groggily, uncertain about what to do.

I realize these thoughts may appear pessimistic, but I don’t see it that way. I am hopeful I will not have to live in my car or under a bridge. I am optimistic about my future and that of my children. Optimism anytime is preferable to pessimism. But optimism and seeing the truth of things are not the same. Pretending the truth is other than it is, is delusive. The truth is, I have no idea what is coming or how I will survive. My uncertainty is textured with dread, because I know banks will foreclose, the power company will turn off the lights, and the car will run out of gas when there is no money left. What’s more, aging, sickness, and death will occur whether I accept them or not. This is the law of cause and effect. What I do next is important, because I do have some capacity to influence the outcome of the law, even if only slightly. At the moment, though, I have no idea what to do next other than take another breath.