I'm sorry for not posting much these past years.  I've been working on other ways to help people understand and incorporate Buddhist philosophy and practices. 

My most recent is just out today - A new lecture series, Buddhism 101: How to Walk Easily over Rough Ground, is now available on @Applebooksofficial: https://books.apple.com/us/audiobook/buddhism-101-how-to-walk-easily-over-rough-ground/id1511813375

This is my third audiobook with @LearnTwentyFive, and it’s the result of many years of hard work. Thanks to my colleagues, teachers, students, and loved ones for supporting me. I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope you’ll all enjoy it.

Anxiety - Who can help you out of this mess?

Modern life is anxiety-ridden.  A surprising number of my students have diagnosed anxiety disorders.  Things don’t always go our way, and often it feels like they never do.  We spend inordinate amounts of time planning and strategizing to try to get things just as we want them, only to have the balance upset easily.  I have a friend who has caring parents, went to a good private school through high school, went to a good college, got good grades, got into graduate school, successfully received masters and Ph.D. degrees, and now has a job teaching college, which is what she always said she wanted.  Yet daily she complains bitterly about how she has it so much tougher than everyone else and never gets a break.  If you try to point out that things are really pretty good, her response is how you “just don’t understand.”  I wish I could say that this view of the world was unique to her, but I hear it from both of my equally privileged teenage daughters, I hear it on reality TV shows, and I hear it from presidential candidates. I believe I even heard it come out of my mouth during my miserable divorce.  So this seems to be “the Human Condition.”

But does it have to be?

If we examine what is underneath the complaining, self-pity, blaming, and anxiety, it’s the truth of dukkha.  We don’t get what we want.  We get what we don’t want.  We get what we want only to lose it.  We don’t feel the way we want to.  Want want want.  Get, don’t get – it doesn’t matter.  We are discontent soon, no matter what the external circumstances.  This is good news. 

If we are discontent no matter what the external circumstances, why do we keep believing that the solution is something external? Pema Chödrön says you can always ask yourself “Have I felt this before?  Have I done this before?”  If the answer to either of these questions is “yes,” then it’s a clue that it’s time to try something different.

This is not new.  In 1930, Bertrand Russell wrote:

We are all familiar with the type of person, man or woman, who, according to his own account, is perpetually the victim of ingratitude, unkindness, and treachery.  People of this kind are often extraordinarily plausible, and secure warm sympathy from those who have not known them long. There is, as a rule, nothing inherently improbable about each separate story that they relate. The kind of ill-treatment of which they complain does undoubtedly occur.  What in the end rouses the hearer’s suspicions is the multiplicity of villains it has been the sufferer’s ill fortune to meet with.  In accordance with the doctrine of probability, different people living in a given society are likely in the course of their lives to meet with about the same amount of bad treatment.  If one person in a given set receives, according to his own account, universal ill-treatment, the likelihood is that the cause lies in himself, and that he either imagines injuries from which in fact he has not suffered, or unconsciously behaves in such a way as to arouse uncontrollable irritation. (The Conquest of Happiness, pp. 89-90)

From a Buddhist point of view, this conclusion is much too harsh.  The perpetual victim is not particularly different from anyone else – he just makes the same mistake we do more often.  What is the mistake?  It is ignorance of at least six types.  First, we don’t see the multiple causes and conditions of our situation, so it looks like things just “happen to” us.  Second, we see ourselves as separate from the situation, rather than an integral part of the situation.  Third, we see the situation as a series of endpoints, rather than an ongoing organic process. Fourth, we maintain the illusion that we should have more control over our experiences than is actually possible. Fifth, we try to hold ourselves apart from our experiences, as if we need to constantly be defensive, perhaps because we secretly know we can’t control life. Finally, we prefer to blame the situation and others so that we have an overly simplistic story to tell ourselves and others.

There isn’t anything terribly wrong with this pattern, other than that it will continually repeat.  Some people seem so enamored of their stories of suffering that they actively resist doing anything that might truly make themselves happier.  That would be much scarier than continuing to fail and be able to blame others for the failures.

Does this resonate for you?  You aren't actually stuck.  There is tremendous freedom available to you in this next moment.

Inner and Outer Commitments

After many years of training and many more years of personal practice, I crossed a new threshold recently by taking formal precepts and becoming a novice priest in the Five Mountain Zen Order.  This is quite a change for me, because I assiduously refrained from being affiliated with any one lineage for years. So what changed?

I don't know.  

As my practice matured, I kept feeling like I needed more depth, which ultimately ended in my entering seminary to become a priest.  The precepts ceremony was last week. Being a fairly traditional boy, I shaved my head.  Tonight I for the first time go to lead my local sangha and should wear my robes.  I'm really uncomfortable with this idea.  Why?

I don't know.

I've been a member of this sangha for 11 years and stepped up into one of the joint leadership roles several years ago.  But walking in wearing robes feels really different, as if I'm trying to signal that something important has changed. I worry about whether people will act differently, or worse, that I will. 

Yet, all that has really changed is that I've made some vows more formally than I had previously. The robes are an outward sign of a commitment made, just as my wedding ring is. What is the value of making a commitment outwardly visible?

Sometimes in Buddhism it is said that that "human consciousness is composed of three parts: emotions, intellect, and will" (Seung Sahn, The Compass of Zen, p. 25).  We can have a strong feeling about a teaching, but not follow it.  We can even examine it carefully intellectually and discover that it is accurate, but still not follow it.  To follow a path requires more than a feeling and a belief, it requires that we set an intention to follow it - it requires will.  Within a Buddhist framework, we might say that making a commitment to follow the teachings requires both correct intention and correct effort (two of the limbs of the Eightfold Path). If I make a commitment internally, then I have to remember it myself.  If I make it externally, then I have reminders of it I can see, and others can see it so that they help support my following it.  An attractive woman seeing my wedding ring will usually help me maintain my commitments.  The American Zen Association says, about wearing the robes, "During the day it should be worn as often as possible, so that the practice of the Way is always present in our minds." 

Knowing this, perhaps I can be less nervous walking into my local Mindfulness and Meditation group tonight, but I probably still will be; in which case, I'll just have to be aware of my discomfort and that alone will help make everything more comfortable.

Photo credit: Patrick Bender

The Three Truths

I was recently in Australia and heard an aboriginal D'harawal people's dreaming story that discussed what are known to them as the Three Truths.  Gawaian Bodkins-Andrews defined the Three Truths as:

• Midan Yewing:  What you see
• Barkolo Yewing:  What others see
• Duragai Yewing:  What is

I find this to be a profound teaching, quite in line with Buddhist teachings on emptiness (shunyata) and nirvana.  We are often captured by what we think we are seeing and then hold it to be the whole truth. We usually go further than this, though, and tell ourselves stories about what is and what has happened, and we make ourselves the hero (or heroic victim) of the story. Yet, what we see is only one part of what is constantly unfolding, and once we label it we take away its vibrancy and vitality. 

Most of us have had the good fortune to realize that what others see can often be very very different from what we saw. If we're lucky, we used those occasions to undermine the certainty of our own position. We probably remained somewhat skeptical that their position was more accurate, because we also have a sense that there is a greater view that could include both views (and other views of which we aren't yet aware). That is, we sense that "what is" must be bigger than our limited views.

What I find to be so profound is that this teaching calls all three of these viewpoints "truths."  What you see, even though it's deeply limited, is still your truth.  What others see is their truth. What is is still another truth.  This teaching does not say that only what is can be the Truth.  This is similar to how Buddhism considers both relative and absolute truths. Absolute truth isn't more "true" than relative truth, even when they may appear to conflict. One goal of training is to learn to hold more than one truth at a time, and to be skeptical of all of our interpretations of them. This is why some Buddhist practices focus on keeping "Don't Know" Mind. Can we remember in each moment that there are more truths than ours, and none of them is as all-encompassing as What Is?

Image source: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/04/Menura_superba_-_Thomas_Davies.jpg

Finding Balance in an Unstable World

Like many people, I have been wishing for more balance in my life recently.  The political and social worlds seem chaotic and heartbreaking.  I spend many days chasing after deadlines that I am not sure I care much about.  I would like to spend my time in other ways, ways that feel more refreshing and energizing rather than draining and worrisome.  For the first time I'm beginning to miss deadlines, which is a clear indication that I've taken on more projects than I can accomplish.  I need to learn to say "no" to some things, but that is not a skill I have ever had.  How can I put things back into balance?

There are several difficulties on the path to achieving balance, but I'd like to consider two.  We often don't know where to start and we also don't know how it should end, because our vision about what balance would look like is often incorrect.  Let's look at the second problem first - what does balance look like?

If you are able, I'd like you to stand on one foot for 10 seconds.  What you will notice is that balance is not achieved by a lack of movement.  It is not stable, but is dynamic.  You are constantly shifting, moving this way and that.  This is balance.  We often incorrectly believe that balance should be stable and unchanging, but in truth, that isn't balance, that's death.  You will only stop moving after death.  As long as you are alive, balance is only able to be achieved by swinging between different poles.  Your breath goes in and out, and is balanced.  Your emotions go up and down, and are balanced.  If your emotions are only down, for example, then this may be depression and is an indication of an imbalance of certain brain chemicals.

So we need to stop thinking of balance as stablity, as something achieveable in one moment - it is only observed across time.  For example, work-life balance is not something that will look the same every day.  Some days you will need to work more, and others you will skip work to do something important for your family.  This is balance.

Recognizing the dynamic nature of balance can help to answer the first question - where should we start?  Many times we think we need to give something up or gain something special before we can balance our lives, but that thinking stems from the idea that balance is stability.  We are thinking about a physical balance, like a see-saw.  We need to move something off of our side to make it balance in the middle, or we need to get something on the other side.  Yet, even if we did give something up to make this side lighter, we would never achieve stability where the see-saw didn't move.  

To stay with the playground equipment as a metaphor, consider how you can make a swing go back and forth.  You first have to set an intention to shift your weight in one direction, and then the other.  Most of us don't actually even know what we're doing...an outside observer might just think we were sitting there not doing much, but setting the intention to move in one direction can help us to align multiple muscles and then we begin moving. 

This is one way to start.  What might help you to feel balanced?  Is it more exercise, more time for reading, eating better, etc?  Then set the intention to start moving in that direction.  Just going to the gym once won't make you feel balanced.  Even doing it daily for a month probably won't.  Because here's the secret - you're already in balance.  There is probably never going to be a day where you all of a sudden feel like everything is in perfect balance, and even if you do have a day like that, tomorrow will likely feel different because everything is in motion.  The balance point is you in the middle, and you're already there. You aren't out at the end of the see-saw - you're the point in the middle feeling the pulls this way and that.

We often believe that our ability to remain balanced is influenced by external situations.  In feudal Japan, a warlord and his army were attacking and conquering towns.  As they menaced a particular town, the townsfolk fled before the approaching army, with only the Zen master staying behind.  The warlord went to the temple to see what kind of man this master was.  The master was seated in the main temple.  When the warlord was not shown the fear and submissiveness which he was expected, he became angry and drew his sword, saying, "You fool!  Don't you realize that you are standing before a man who could run you through without blinking an eye?"  The master replied calmly, "Don't you realize that you are standing before a man who can be run through without blinking an eye?"

How did the master achieve such balance in the face of an external threat?  Here is where mindfulness practice is so useful, and this is a second place to start.  On the cushion we practice being less captured by our thoughts and feelings.  We are often pushed around by our feelings, believing that we must do something! in response to each of them.  Yet with practice, we begin to see that each feeling arises, abides, and passes gracefully.  We can sit with a sense of balance even when our emotions assail us.  With sufficient practice (such as the master had), we can learn to be balanced even when external events are turbulent and stressful.  From this place of balance, we will be much more able to respond in a skillful manner to all of the external situations (and also begin to realize that the "external" and "internal" situations are not separate).

Image sources:  A, B, and C

The Strikingly Optimistic Agency of the Doctrine of Buddha Nature

A modern koan -- Question:  Do you have Buddha Nature?  Answer:  Well, duh.

The concept of "Buddha Nature" is often difficult to understand, but it is a radically optimistic doctrine.  It says that not only are we responsible for our lives, but that we already have everything we need to liberate ourselves from suffering.  If we compare it to many other religions, it is surprising how much agency this doctrine grants each of us individually. 

For example, consider the doctrine of original sin in Christianity – we somehow personally are separated from Grace because of something we didn’t do (eating the “apple” in the Garden of Eden).  Unfortunately we are also unable to heal this separation by ourselves.  We need an intermediary (Jesus) or two (and a priest) to bridge the gap for us.  That is, we had no agency over our own fall, nor do we have it over our salvation.  In contrast, Buddhism agrees that we fall from grace, but it’s because of something we did. In fact, we fall from grace regularly every time we do something harmful.  More importantly, however, we have the agency to fix the problems we create.  Indeed, we are really the only ones who can.

The great poet Ann Onymous once said, “A lot of growing up takes place between ‘it fell’ and ‘I broke it.’”  I personally believe that a mark of spiritual maturity is taking responsibility for one’s mind and actions.  The Buddhist project to me, therefore, is one of growing up – learning to see clearly the connected causes and conditions and to take responsibility for what we can when we can.  If “enlightenment” is some mystical state, then we are not granted agency over our own lives.  The Pali texts do not describe enlightenment as paranormal or external, but that enlightenment rises up in the individual, “as though he recognized it – had always known it” (Armstrong, 2001, p. 104).  That is, our own natures are sufficient, and we have full agency over our own salvation. 

Perhaps even more strikingly positive is the reason for the fall from grace/awakening/Nirvana/union with God.  In Christianity the reason is the inherent sinfulness of man (actually, since the Biblical texts were written by men, most of the blame is shifted to women).  In Buddhism, the reason for our bad behaviors is because of ignorance and confusion covering over our inherently good nature (Buddha Nature or Basic Goodness).  Thus we do not need an external agent or savior – we just need to see through the confusion and uncover our basic nature.  This is a powerfully optimistic doctrine.  We already have everything we need to awaken.  As noted by Thich Thien-An (p. 146), “Zen holds that reality is to be gotten hold of, not externally, but inwardly.  The truth is to be found in our own nature and nowhere else.  Every living being has within himself the Buddha nature, the principle of enlightenment.”

References:

                Armstrong, K. (2001).  Buddha. New York: Penguin Group.

           Thien-An, T. (1975). Zen philosophy, Zen practice. Berkeley, CA: Dharma Publishing.

Painting: Adam and Eve by Tintoretto; Originally published on the Interdependence Project blog

What is Mindfulness of Breath When You Can't Breathe?

Warning – I describe in some graphic detail the recuperation from a surgery.

I wake up slowly in the recovery room, blood beginning to drain from my nose.  The next 36 hours will become an intriguing study of mindfulness, compassion, self-pity, and watching mind’s neurotic habits.  First thing I notice – I’m not blind.  They said there was 5% chance of blindness from this operation.  That did not seem like a small and comforting number to me.

It started about six months ago – I noticed that my lower left sinus cavity was beginning to feel blocked.  Three different courses of antibiotics over three months didn’t help.  The CAT scan showed that there was no space left in my left sinuses.  There were many nights where I became completely congested and couldn’t breathe, or could only with very strenuous pulling.  Doing mindfulness of breath meditation when one can’t breathe gives a new appreciation for it. 

I often liken mindfulness of breath meditation to working out with very heavy weights.  If you want to build muscle quickly, you do as many repetitions as you can with the heaviest weight you can.  Mindfulness of breath is like the heavy weight, precisely because it is boring as hell.  The breath is with us so constantly and effortlessly that it is very difficult to maintain attention on it.  This makes it easy to drop, and once dropped, easier to notice that we’ve lost focus.  This is why we don’t call watching television “meditating” – it takes no effort. 

When simple breathing takes effort, however, then meditating on it gets much easier.  It stops being boring when you feel like your lungs will never get the oxygen they need.  It stops being boring when you can’t sleep because you can’t breathe.

The surgery was supposed to fix all this.  Unfortunately, by 5 hours after the operation the packing they had inserted into my sinuses has filled with blood completely closing off all air.  This makes swallowing impossible, as the suction needed to swallow creates tremendous pressure and pain in my sinus cavity.  I stop eating and drinking.  It hurts too much and I seem to be immune to the high-powered pain medicine they gave me.

I arrange the easy chair to try to sleep while allowing draining.  The problem is that although I can breathe a little from one nostril when awake, as soon as I fall asleep and relax the soft palate at the back of the throat, it closes down what little air passage I have and I wake up because I can’t breathe.  This means that I sleep in one-second intervals all night.  I do a lot of meditating on the breath, or lack thereof.

What is more annoying, however, is watching what my mind does.  Rather than simply note what is, it pays attention to every little change that seems worse and makes me worry.  Any time things ease up, it ignores that.  I have been told that I should take my narcotics before getting the packing removed the next day because the process is so painful.  Thinking of that keeps me awake.  I keep changing the blood-soaked bandages under my nose, not being particularly grateful that one side is clearly getting better.  By 4 am I am draining so little that I believe I can transfer from the chair to a bed.  I’ve never been able to sleep sitting up, so I am hopeful that I will finally get some of the sleep I desperately need.  Unfortunately, I still can’t breathe at all once I relax control over my throat.  I am not good at mouth breathing, and that seems especially unpleasant given that I had a tube stuck down my throat for the three-hour surgery.  So I continue to drift between daydreaming, resting, and focusing on every tiny change, generously remembering to wake myself up with regular thoughts of not only how much the packing hurts now, but how much it will hurt to remove.  Doing tonglen does little to settle me.  Feeling grateful that I am privileged to have medical care of this quality helps more.

By the afternoon of the next day, I am getting seriously dehydrated because I still can’t swallow.  The pain is reduced but I’m pretty shaky.  Having the packing removed hurts less than I expect.  Nonetheless, the nurse kindly wipes the tears off of my cheek with gauze.  After all the cleaning out is complete, I can feel so much air going through my sinuses that it almost hurts.  I haven’t breathed like this in months.

Unfortunately, within minutes (really, only minutes!) I am already ignoring the breath.  Once it has become easy again, it disappeared.  No more am I aware that I am breathing in long, or short, or laboriously.  Mind is a fickle a**hole.  It is already off wondering whether the lab tests will come back next week showing cancer.

Image sources: HERE and HERE - This was first posted on the Interdependence Project blog.