A Rock in the River

I’ve been sitting for extended periods every morning this week. Nothing too demanding, I’m actually on my own at the beach for a few days to work and grab a last chance at relaxation before the school year starts, but I sit down after breakfast and practice zazen and kinhin until lunch.

So what have I achieved? Unfortunately, no special insights. I’ve spent more time fighting drowsiness and back pains than grappling with emotional problems.

Am I getting anywhere? As a friend recently asked me, “where does this [meditation] lead?”

I don’t know, but I take comfort and encouragement in these words of John Daido Loori Roshi,

“The spiritual maturation resulting from this kind of practice [zazen] is as subtle as it is profound. It shapes our spiritual character the way a river shapes the rocks it encounters on its journey to the sea. The resulting form has as much to do with the rock as with the action of the water, and the changes that take place are gradual and almost invisible.”

[Preface, "The Art of Just Sitting", J.D. Loori ed.]

I think I can accept this. While I’m sure that I could justify meditation more easily if I knew it would make me a more humble, compassionate, generous, empathetic, happier and serene person, not knowing is a good alternative.

The rock sits and the river flows over it. That’s my practice.

Bringing a human Buddha to life

Who sits on my cushion, the confused individual reaching out for a spot of clarity, confidence, and serenity in his life, or the bundle of mental habits/neuroses that chased me to the cushion in the first place? Both, of course. I take a clear breath, hear a bird chirping in the trees, and then, unbidden, expectation, desire, and aversion all leap in to pilot my thoughts. Is this the path to Awakening? Am I doing this right? What would it be like to be free of these poisons?

My teachers and sangha friends are pretty quiet on these topics. Just keep sitting, they say. But what makes them confident that this road is the right one? Clearly, someone must have traveled it already, must have said, “follow me”, and persuaded his or her followers that this path is a good one. What was his or her life like after Awakening?

There are numerous stories of monks leading awakened lives in caves or forests. These do not interest me. If I have to move to a cave or forest, this path is of no use to me, so I was surprised to learn that Siddhatta Gotama, the Buddha, the Awakened One, didn’t spend his life in this way. After he awoke, he spent the rest of his life traveling from city to city, seeking and attracting followers, and speaking, sometimes debating, with whomever he met. He traveled the road of meditation and awakening and then came back to show others the way. Those who studied with him had the example of a living Buddha right in front of them. I have no doubt that they studied him, the way he looked, the way he spoke, and the way he acted, just as much as they studied his teachings.

Sadly, the Buddha lived and died over 2,000 years ago. All we know about him today are an unsystematic assortment of story fragments that, we are told, were originally preserved through an oral tradition (or, more likely, multiple traditions) and then eventually converted into written texts in Pali. These texts, the so-called Pali Canon, are considered the most authentic record of the Buddha’s life and teaching. Of course, given the large displacements (spatial, temporal, lingual, and cultural) that occurred between the Buddha’s lifetime and the writing of the Pali Canon, one must read the Pali account with a substantial grain of salt. But perhaps skepticism is unwarranted? Maybe what matters more is not the historical accuracy of the Pali Canon, but the reverence in which it has been held? If people have been able to use the signposts saying “this way to awakening” that are contained in this ancient record, maybe that’s good enough for me?

The next section summarizes three different sources I have examined regarding the life of the Buddha. Of these, I particularly recommend Buddha for general readers and The Life and Death of Siddhattha Gotama for Buddhist practitioners.

1. The Biography of the Buddha by Dr. K.D.P. Wickremesinghe
2. Buddha by Karen Armstrong
3. The Life and Death of Siddhattha Gotama, a series of eight talks by Stephen Batchelor

How to (not) Think, Say, or Do the Worst Thing

Daniel Wegner’s review article (Science, 325, 48-50, 3 July 2009) of “ironic behavior”, thinking-saying-doing-feeling exactly the opposite of what we intend, sheds light on a host of mental and behavioral problems.

To begin with, why do I drive my bike directly into a fallen tree branch when I have already decided to go around the branch? Why do cheering baseball fans make it harder for me to avoid swinging at a wild pitch? Why do I kick a soccer ball directly into the goalie’s outstretched arms when the entire net is available? These are all “ironic” behaviors and Wegner describes a multitude of situations where ironic behavior appears.

As I understand it, the current theory of ironic behavior postulates two competing mental processes. When we are instructed “don’t do/think/say/feel X”, we begin a conscious mental process of distraction, looking for something “not X” to do/think/say/feel. At the same time, we also initiate an unconscious “monitor” process that begins looking for potential mistakes. This monitor checks to make sure we aren’t doing/thinking/saying X and it keeps the idea of X alive in our subconscious rather than letting it dissipate. Normally these two processes work well together, but things can go wrong, and since the monitor keeps the notion of X alive, X is ready to pop out whenever a suitable trigger arises.

A nice example of this, and the simplicity of ironic triggers (of which there are many), is shown in Figure 3, which shows the tracings a handheld pendulum makes on a piece of paper in four experimental scenarios. The scenarios are generated by telling the person with the pendulum to “hold it steady” or “keep it from swinging up and down”, and their ability to follow each of these instructions is tested first, without competing distractions, and second, by asking them to count backwards from 1000 by threes. The images graphically demonstrate our inability to follow instructions when overloaded with a second, unrelated task.

So how can we avoid ironic behavior and thoughts? One way “we can stop thinking of things” is to make “time to devote to the project [of not X] and become absorbed in our self-distractions”. In other words, we have to give the conscious project of distraction, of following instructions, a chance. Multi-tasking is not helpful. Another helpful approach may be to relax. Striving for tight control of our thoughts, etc., may keep the unwanted thought alive to a greater extent than simply accepting an unwanted thought’s existence whenever it appears. Does this sound like vipassana?

Institutional Zen & Me

Blogs are meant to be confessional, right? So here goes: the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh, these guys are my heroes. I want to be like them.

OK, not all that stunning as confessions go. But I did start meditating as a result. And I’m also reading an endless string of books about Buddhism. So where has this taken me?

First, I should say that I hardly knew where to start. The Dalai Lama is a Tibetan Buddhist, but Tibetan deities aren’t for me so that ruled out a Tibetan practice. Thich Nhat Hanh practices a Vietnamese version of Zen. He has written an enormous amount (several books sit on my shelf) and there are plenty of affiliated meditation groups in my town so I gave a couple of them a chance, but something didn’t quite mesh. I needed something else, but what?

The Quiet Mind

This is a tiny little book, just large enough to hold a CD (there is one taped to the back cover) and just long enough to give several teachers room to write short descriptions of their respective Buddhist approaches to the quiet mind. (The guided meditations are equally short – none of them last even 10 minutes.)

The subtitle of The Quiet Mind says, “A Beginner’s Guide to Meditation” and a beginner might, on the one hand, be pleased to find samples of several meditation paths in one place, but a beginner might also be confused by the diverse approaches and wonder where to start, which path to pursue, and where each path will lead. A beginner might also wonder whether these paths are sequential, complementary, or competing.

So, perhaps a nice book for a true beginner wanting to get a tiny taste of meditation practice, but not enough here for a snack, much less a meal.

Zen

Zen, the form of Buddhism that developed in China, Korea, Japan, and beyond, revolutionized Buddhist practice. But what distinguishes Zen from other forms of Buddhism?

Zen, by Martine Batchelor (who practiced as a Zen Buddhist nun in Korea for 10 years and continues to practice and teach from her home in France), delivers short answers to many beginner questions. In just 100 small pages (including many beautiful illustrations), short, revealing descriptions are provided for a wide range of Zen topics: basic ideas & principles, history, 10 oxherding pictures (metaphors for practice and awakening), instructions for sitting & walking meditation, and descriptions of typical Zen retreats.

The book is so short and logical that I was able to complete it in a single afternoon, but by the time I was ready to close the book I found myself with more questions than I had when I started. I feel like I could study this book for a long time. On the other hand, there is something about the process of reading that can make short descriptions harder to ponder than long ones. Reading, like practice, has an experiential dimension. It is not purely intellectual. A short session can be more puzzling than a long one.

As for my original question about the distinction between Zen and other Buddhist traditions, let me quote some selections from the book:

“Zen actually means meditation. It comes from the Sanskrit word Dhyana, which means meditative state in the Buddhist tradition. Zen is a school of Buddhism that emphasizes the practice of meditation as the key to awakening one’s true nature and uncovering one’s innate wisdom and compassion. In Buddhism, there are various schools of thought about Buddha-nature. Some traditions see it as a seed to develop in practice over aeons and some see it as a natural state that is covered by our delusions and can be uncovered at any time. Zen belongs to the latter approach. Zen reacted against the idea that enlightenment and Buddhahood were remote conditions; so far away that one might not even get started, being too discouraged by the lengthy process. The Zen tradition was very much influenced by the Avatamsaka sutra which states that all sentient beings are Buddhas and all Buddhas are sentient beings. Zen is not about becoming an idealized person but more about living who we are and can be in our more spacious moments.”

And also a quote from Dogen, founder of Soto Zen:

The way of the Buddha
Is to know yourself,
To know yourself
Is to forget yourself,
To forget yourself
Is to be enlightened by all things.

My Stroke of Insight

Jill Bolte Taylor’s story of stroke and recovery jumped out at me from the pages of the NY Times several months ago. As the left hemisphere of her brain shut down due to a brain hemorrhage, the egocentric verbal -chatter part of her personality quieted and she was able to experience herself as a fluid, serene, at one with the universe. The quieting of mental chatter, the experience of oneness, these descriptions seemed to fit perfectly with what I was learning about Buddhist meditation.

In just a few short weeks, I was able to listen to Dr. Taylor on Science Friday (June 27, ‘08) and Fresh Air (June 25, ‘08) and watch her video on TED Talks (Feb 08). It was all quite interesting, but basically the same story over and over again, so I was naturally interested in reading her book and getting a more detailed description of what happened.

The book (recently arrived at the local public library) is an easy read. Less than 200 pages and written in a slightly breathless style (which very closely mimics the way Dr. Taylor talks) that sweeps a reader along very quickly. But if it isn’t wonderful literature, it is an interesting read. The early pages on how the brain works didn’t captivate me, and she makes some common mistakes regarding what is an atom and what is a molecule, and some more serious ones concerning energy waves, but these are just quibbles. The descriptions of the stroke itself, and the days immediately following it, are riveting. When G.G. (Dr. Taylor’s mother) shows up at the hospital, sweeps past the assembled medical personnel, and crawls into bed with her daughter (who has no way of recognizing her own mother at this point), well, that says something incredible about mothers.

A good deal of the book is devoted to advice: how to recover from a stroke, how to help someone recover, how to tap into the serenity-generating power of the right hemisphere. You can take this advice or leave it, but it is offered with goodwill and humor. I believe that I will keep meditating, but I will probably skip the scented candles. It is good to know that the portion of the brain that generates all those negative voices is no larger than a peanut (smaller than my dog’s brain!). And I have been encouraged to take a different look at people that I previously would have dismissed as “brain damaged.” Their minds and their thoughts deserve to be respected and valued even if we can’t easily interact or share a common reality.

The Way of Zen

What encourages a person to practice Buddhism? Is it to relieve human suffering? Or is it to become an enlightened human and attain nirvana?

The two outcomes may not really different. Attaining enlightenment frees a person from suffering. Still, it is not unusual to read a book on Buddhism that employs language loaded on one side or the other. This is especially true of two authors that I have been reading this summer. Thich Nhat Hanh writes lyrically on the theme of mindfulness and the relief of suffering. Alan Watts, on the other hand, writes incisively on Zen mind and Zen enlightenment, while almost completely ignoring suffering, compassion, loving kindness, and so on.

Watts’ view of Zen (and Buddhism in general) is intriguing, but it feels lopsided. In The Way of Zen, he rarely quotes from the Buddha’s teachings, but refers repeatedly to Taoist verses and the sayings and doings of Zen masters, particularly when they achieve satori. He also posits (and repeats) a number of analogies and metaphors that suggest what enlightenment might be and how it might arise. (Since he cannot get beyond the metaphorical stage, these metaphors are both suggestive and vaguely frustrating.) Enlightenment, and how an enlightened person views the self and the world, seem to be the only things that interest him. How enlightenment reduces suffering or changes one’s dealings with one’s fellows is hardly mentioned.

This approach makes the book intellectually stimulating, but strangely cold-hearted. Ignoring the emotional, moral, and ethical dimensions of Buddhism limits the book’s appeal for me. I want to bring a “good heart” (compassion, loving kindness, etc.) to my daily affairs and I am more interested in learning how I might do this through Buddhist practice than I am in piercing the secrets of Zen word games. That said, I confess that I enjoyed the book’s description of the historical development of Buddhism, its migration from India through China and Japan, and its emergence in the form of Zen in China and Japan, the metaphors regarding satori and the discussion of koan, and the (short) description of pre-1960 Zen practice in Japan. If these are sound, then this is a worthwhile, if unbalanced, introduction to Zen.

Turning the Mind into An Ally

When I started studying Buddhism some months ago, I naturally assumed that I would do a lot of reading. From what I’ve learned so far, there are other ways to learn that are just as effective, but I’ll make no apologies. I’m an academic. We read.

But which book (or books) to read? By that time, I already owned a few books by Thich Nhat Hanh, but I also wanted some other perspectives. The Portland bookstores contain shelves upon shelves of books on Buddhism. Where should I start?

I decided cheap was best, so I left the bookstore for the local library. This led me to A Path With Heart, a wonderful, but rather lengthy, book on “the perils and promises of spiritual life.” I could see that it would take some time to work my way through this book, so checking out more books from the library was out of the question. Then it dawned on me – visit my college library! I can check these books out for, well, practically forever – [faculty] membership has its privileges.

My first read was Turning the Mind into An Ally by Sakyong Mipham. This is a short, elegant book about the practice of meditation. Although the author is a spiritual leader/teacher in the Shambhala lineage, the book’s message struck me as universal. It was quite straightforward to fit Sakyong Mipham’s ideas together with those of Thich Nhat Hanh and Jack Kornfield. I was especially struck by the last section, Warrior in the World, which espouses an especially beautiful and inspirational message on how to express the benefits of meditation practice in daily life.

Since I need to return the book to the library, I have created a brief summary of it.

more …

A Path with Heart

A Path with Heart is a heart-provoking book by Jack Kornfield, psychologist, author, and teacher/co-founder of the Insight Meditation Society and Spirit Rock Center located in Woodacre, Marin Country, California. The book is wise, warm, funny, inspiring, occasionally frustrating, but it can grab hold of your heart and penetrate right to the core. That said, I had to read the book ever-so-slowly over several months (fortunately, my public library let me renew it several times) and I was tempted more than once to put the book aside and return it to the library unfinished.

Finding the book. I started the book almost by accident. I toyed around with meditation last summer and slowly getting more serious with the encouragement of close friends. One conversation led me to say, half-jokingly, that I didn’t need to get involved with Buddhism (or any other religion) if the main outcome was simply to replace the rituals and constraints of Judaism (which I was comfortable with, but no longer interested in) with another set of rituals and constraints. To which my friend replied, check out Jack Kornfield.

That advice was enough to send me over to Buddhist shelf at the New Renaissance Bookshop. Sitting on the shelf was a copy of Meditation for Beginners with CD inside containing several guided meditations. I took this home, opened the CD right away, and started listening/practicing. Less than one minute into the first session, Kornfield had his group convulsing with laughter over the difference (there is a difference!) between sleeping and meditating. I was hooked. I’ve practiced with the help of this CD on many occasions, but I still haven’t read the book.

So, persuaded that Kornfield might be worthy of a deeper look, I found myself a week or two later looking up his books at the local library. They had several, but A Path with Heart seemed like the one that was best suited for me. After all, here I am trying to practice meditation without a teacher, without a clear sense of my goals, and without any genuine understanding of what returns I could expect. A book that subtitle’s itself A Guide through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life should be just the ticket, right?

Getting started. The preface, A Beginning, pulled me right in. Kornfield tells how, after becoming a Buddhist monk in southeast Asia, he returns to the US in 1972 and, wearing full monk regalia, he meets up with his sister-in-law at an upscale beauty salon in Manhattan. Mr. Shaved Head, please meet Mrs. Curlers.

The next set of chapters, The Fundamentals, explores how meditation can unlock many of the emotional problems that we carry, either knowingly or unknowingly, and how skillful understanding of these problems can free us so that we may experience more love, understanding, and compassion, into our lives.

Losing interest. After racing through the first section, I started getting bogged down in the two lengthy sections that followed, Promises and Perils and Widening Our Circle. I think much of this material deals with promises/perils that arise only after one had been meditating for a fairly long time (or intensively). I don’t think my daily 20 minute sessions will get me into either of these realms any time soon. Faced with 200 pages of this material, I began to slow down, leave the book on the shelf, and find other things to do.

I should also mention another problem that I encountered at this point. Many (but certainly not all) of the Promises and Perils involved esoteric spiritual phenomena like “dissolving the body into light”, “experiencing past lives”, and “telekinesis”. Since I am by nature, and by training, hyperskeptical of such claims, I began to think that Buddhist meditation was not the right direction for me after all. Why sit each day if the only goal is to become transformed into something that I consider delusional?

Interest restored. Fortunately, just when all seemed lost and I was on the verge of returning the book to the library, Kornfield turned the wheel again. The ultimate goal of meditation, if I understand him correctly, is not to hunt for esoteric experience but to move one’s awareness of love, compassion, and understanding from the meditation cushion into the world. Many of the chapters in Widening the Circle, and the final section, Spiritual Maturity, deal with this topic, and I would have happily read more material in this vein.

One of the truly lovely things in the book are the instructions for meditations that are inserted throughout the book. They usually appear at the end of a chapter, and they remind me of the end-of-chapter exercises one finds in a science textbook.

Although Kornfield provides many references to Buddhism, its teachers, its writings, and its legends, this is not a book about Buddhism. In fact, there is no formal presentation of religion at all. Kornfield dips frequently into the writings of non-Buddhists: Gandhi, Rumi, various poets and politicians, Mullah Nasrudin, Thomas Merton, Hasidic sages, and on and on. Kornfield insists that every religion, at its best, enables its followers to discover their ability to understand, show compassion, and ultimately love, others. Every religion provides a spiritual path. Two quotes from the final page:

To live a path with heart, a life committed to awakening, we, too, must care for whatever we encounter, however difficult or beautiful, and bring to it our presence, our heart, in a great intimacy.

I hope that this book and the practice of wakefulness, compassion, and intimacy in it will bring blessings to your life, that you will have silence as a blessing, understanding as a blessing, forgiveness as a blessing, and that you, too, will bring your heart and your hands to bless all around you.