The Place of No Answers

 There is something magical about those moments when, no matter how many people I might consult, no answer is given. We see a lot of stories about this in Chan Buddhist interactions between the Master and student. I would like to quote Master Sheng Yen's example in Tea Words Volume II (2013) at some length:

A story from the Tang dynasty tells of a disciple who asked his master, “How can I calm my mind?” The master said, “I’m too busy right now, why not consult your first Dharma brother?” The disciple did as he was told. The first Dharma brother said, “I have a headache, I can’t talk now. Why not talk to second Dharma brother?” But the second Dharma brother said, “I have a stomach ache, why don’t you talk to Master?” So the disciple went back to his master and complained, “Nobody told me how to calm my mind; nobody told me anything.” The master said, “You really are a stupid fool. Everybody has been telling you how to calm your mind.” Upon hearing this, the disciple realized enlightenment. (p.16)

What resonates with me about this passage is not the part about "enlightenment", but more so the part about not having anyone to tell the answer to how to calm one's mind. This story reminds me that ultimately, people are not guided to their own mind by way of words or explanations. In fact, sometimes the opposite might be the case, wherein too many concepts cloud the mind, creating a confused sense that we have already accomplished something that we have not actually experienced directly. More so, it tends to reinforce a kind of craving mindset, where we wander from one idea or book to the next in search of an idea that will provide us with bliss. In fact, this seeking after explanations only upholds a mind that is agitated and filled with desires. It doesn't help a person see the clarity that is beneath the thoughts.

The other aspect of this story that appeals to me is how this disciple eventually realizes that his teachers refusals are actually revealing his own mind. When I have exhausted this desire to know through others, I am no longer clinging to them for answers, and then I am able to see that it's letting go of this appeal that leads one to the true mind. As I suggested in another blog entry, sometimes the simple mundane life, with all its thrown-ness (to borrow from Heidegger) can help disillusion people of the idea that they can find themselves in the explanations provided by others, be it authorities, books, "experts" or other respected peers.

Sheng Yen (2013) Tea Words Volume II Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Change as the only constant

 Change is the only constant, or so the cliche goes. I have been writing this blog since 2015, when I was consistently applying myself almost daily. I would like to believe that part of my rationale in doing this is that quite simply I am in my 40s, and I want to be able to chronicle the entire life of the 40 something person: his philosophy, his goals, and his ideas. I don't know how long I will sustain such a journey, but this chronicle should also reveal something about my trajectory of thought.
  Is there any idea that one ultimately "arrives" at that tells the entire truth? This is perhaps what I dreamed would happen when I was engaged in philosophy studies. I don't think that this is the way things go. I am inclined to suspect that the journey at my age is to consolidate what I know and understand that this too is in a state of continual flux. There is no "security" in knowing, only a letting go of the fear of disapproval by others.
   

Role of Reason in Spiritual Practice

 In Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen continues to explore the idea that Chan cannot be communicated through words alone. Sometimes as Master Sheng Yen notes, a practitioner with a question will be given an "indirect" answer such as a shout, in order to get the student to move beyond words and reason in arriving at an awareness of true mind. As Master Sheng Yen notes: "These methods are designed to help students to drop the habit of reasoning themselves to true mind. Reasoning will not free you from mind, thought, or consciousness." (p.15)
   I believe that life itself is always pointing to the mind, and it does this by always defying the supposed rules of reason. Often, reason boxes people in: it gives thinkers the impression that the world can be predicted by thought alone, and this gives an illusion of a fixed essence that can be controlled. People even seek fortune tellers under the implicit belief that consulting a seer will allow them to trace the exact path of their life. Why is this so compelling? Again, I think it's because people want to be able to read their life in a predictable manner, when in fact what life points to is something that cannot be seen or reasoned.
    One of the compelling ideas that comes to mind while reading this passage is that Chan indeed has to take us out of our heads, to know that there is no separation between what is "up here" and "out there". Is it possible that life, when engaged openly, can do what Chan masters set out to do as well, only in a more gradual way that twists and turns? I leave it to the reader to contemplate to what extent their lives are their "teachers" who open them to their true mind.

Sheng Yen (2013), Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications.

"Carried Away" by Thoughts or "Choosing" Thoughts?

 During my lunch break today, I had a reflection about to what extent I believe that I am a "prisoner" to my thoughts. I think that one of my weaknesses in life is that I get carried away in negative thoughts, such as "I can't manage all these responsibilities", and these thoughts have a tendency to bring my energy down or lead me to stop reflecting altogether. It's as though my mind has already bought into a view that I am not able to go beyond a certain capacity...when in fact this too is nothing more than a thought! The inertia that people sometimes feel when they have many responsibilities at work may itself just be another creation of the mind. In telling myself that I have a lot to take care of, I give myself the false impression of a limitation, when in fact, I am not really that limited in what I can imagine myself doing or in setting goals for myself.
  I think one of the most important skills that one can acquire is not being emotionally involved in stress: that is, to "keep one's head" and to be present when one feels burdened by thoughts and heavy emotions in the body, particularly tightness and tension. It's helpful to recognize that everything is just a thought, and nothing more. On my way to work this morning, for example, I had a worrisome thought about whether or not I would have enough experience to tackle the work related project testing. Am I enough? the thought seemed to say to me. But then I paused to consider whether there is ever a point where a person simply says, "well, that's it, I have nothing new to learn here...I might as well go home and curl up in a ball". Sometimes this is what a person might want to do in certain circumstances, but does it happen all that much in real life? The point is that sometimes what appears to be a logical response to an uncertain situation might actually be an unlikely scenario. This is one of the problems that comes with "overthinking"; the tendency to imagine extreme scenarios, similar to the donkey who can decide whether to eat or drink because it is partway between food on one side and water on the other in a desert. What if there are times when I know what I am doing, and in another second I simply don't? Am I able to be both knowing and unknowing in the same situation, and be able to bear those in one moment?
   This comes to the topic of my entry: is it possible that thoughts control us, or are we actively choosing our thoughts at every moment? While I tend to agree that thoughts are a choice, I also believe that changing thought habit patterns is not easy. There is a certain inertia there, similar to when a person chooses a path that is already trodden in the snow rather than creating one's own path. It's simply easier to do what one has been doing all along; and it's equally easy to settle for a glib view that I can change my mind simply by adopting a new sentence in my mind. This is hardly convincing because changing one's mind is a project: it's something that requires a lot of passion and curiosity to explore what works and doesn't work. It's not likely to discover that one's mind is programmable like a computer, but it seems possible to treat thinking as a kind of adventure in beholding new possibilities.

Refraining from Words and Speech

      In Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen remarks, "Whichever Chan method you use please refrain from relying on words or speech. Words represent ideas, concepts, and images, and only by leaving these things behind can you begin to understand true mind" (p.15). Typically, Chan emphasizes a direct pointing to the mind, rather than clinging to concepts, ideas or images. Why is this so? Part of the problem is that clinging to anything quickly becomes a source of suffering and vexation. I have observed in myself that whenever I like a particular idea I have, that same idea will lose its flavor over time, because the conditions have changed. Have you ever had situations in your life where you come up with a "brilliant" idea at 11 in the evening, only to find that it doesn't hold much appeal at 6 in the morning, when you wake up? I am sure that many psychologists have different explanations for this phenomenon (such as the "right brain" adding a different element during sleep or dreaming), but one reason is that thoughts are conditioned. What seems a good idea in some circumstance or condition is likely to change with new sets of information or even bodily conditions. It's sometimes troubling to recognize how delusive thoughts can be when they make us believe that we have "got it!" only to yield to a questioning of what exactly we "got" in the first place. This is perhaps one of the reasons why Master Sheng Yen remarks that whatever we think or say is always going to be "off the mark" (ibid). Thoughts and expressions only speak to the current conditions of mind, and they can never capture the essence of mind.
   While Chan practice is not said to rely on words or concepts, there is certainly a lot of explanation in Chan Buddhist philosophy. Why so? Master Sheng Yen poignantly reflects, "But the point of what we talk or write about is to convey that whatever you think or say is erroneous." (ibid) That is, I think the point of attending Dharma talks is not to get caught up in words or explanations but, rather, to recognize that such explanations always fall short of the proverbial mark. They never can point to the true mind.
  Sometimes getting too involved in thinking can have a similar effect of having us spinning in our own thoughts. I find it's helpful to remind myself that thoughts can never be solutions to life's problems in themselves, and that sometimes the only way we can approach a situation is to be with it, no matter how unpredictable it is. When I try to "think ahead" to predict how a situation will unfold, I am often subconsciously trying to exert control over whatever it is that happens to be arising. What would it be like to be vulnerable to the way life itself is simply not subject to easy labeling or categorization? How would I feel to recognize that there is no way to even know what kinds of situations we will encounter in the course of life? It's helpful to make a space for anxiety and vulnerability, because this is where the rawness and tenderness of sentience meets the present moment and its conditions. It's not always helpful to come into anything with any presumption of knowing.

Sheng Yen (2013) Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst: Dharma Drum Publications

Responsibility and Karma

In her book Good Karma, Tibetan nun Thubten Chodron talks about the idea that karma is not "a ticket to punishment. Rather, it meant I could no longer blame my misery on others." (p.2). Thubten Chodron had an experience back in 1976 when she contracted Hepatitis A after eating vegetables that had not been fully cleaned by the kitchen staff. Feeling very weak and angry, she was given a book called The Wheel of Sharp Weapons, where she achieved the insight that her illness is the result of causes and conditions she created in prior lifetimes. Rather than blaming people around her for her illness, she learned to take a kind of total responsibility for everything that has happened to her up to this point in time.
  How is it possible to develop the capacity to take total responsibility for one's current state of body and mind? What is the starting point for this kind of practice? I am reflecting that even the notion of "self" responsibility might be a bit misleading, since even the self is conditioned by all sorts of things, and it is not a permanent state of being. I think self-responsibility needs to begin with a clear awareness that suffering is coming from the mind. It is not something I attribute to something outside of me, but it's related to where I am at right now in terms of my motivations and attitudes. If I am not checking and aware of these motivations and attitudes, then I am unable to really appreciate the mind sufficiently to take responsibility.
  Quite simply, unless one is aware that they are not identified with this body, they will not feel the gravity or the depth of the responsibility that Thubten Chodron talks about. If I am only thinking for this body and taking care of the appetites, I might have a sense of responsibility for the beings who provide for me and take care of this body, but beyond that, what can responsibility include? If I don't have the basic insight that the mind is not limited to this body (and even goes beyond all bodies) then my responsibility will be defined by this narrow sense of identity: my clothes, my job, my food, my preferences, and so on.
   I think that the most important thing is to see that one is not one's body: to see that even this body is a kind of dream, and that the mind is never limited to this body in this life. It would be a pity if one's life were only focused on making this body feel relaxed and comfortable, when in fact the body is impermanent and is subject to all sorts of discomforts. What is it that is witnessing all that discomfort? Is that witness subject to discomfort? This is a kind of practice that goes beyond even the notion of responsibility.

Chodron, Thubten, (2016). Good Karma: How to Create the Causes of Happiness and Avoid the Causes of Suffering.

Transcending Thoughts

 The second method that Master Sheng Yen describes in dealing with adversity is a method he calls "transcending thoughts" (2013, p.15). What does it mean to transcend thoughts, and how is it different from "contemplating mind"? Master Sheng Yen defines transcending thoughts as "having the attitude of non-attachment to yourself or others" (ibid), which means that there is no particular anchoring to a method, an object or a particular point of reference. This doesn't necessarily mean that one is completely void of thoughts, but rather that one is simply not being lead by thoughts. And note also how Master Sheng Yen describes this approach more as an attitude than a method. When I read it in this way, I have more of a way of seeing things that is not caught up in methods themselves, but is more interested in the spirit of being non-attached. When my attitude is not to get lost in methods themselves (or attach to them), I am able to take a similar non-attached approach to other thoughts and methods as well.
  I don't think that these two methods (contemplating mind and transcending thoughts) are by nature mutually exclusive. For example, having an object of contemplation can be a way of stabilizing the mind and allowing an honest reflection of the mind state. On the other hand, too strong a grip on the method can lead to a controlling or forceful mindset. Yesterday during the meditation group sharing, a participant raised the point that when she is being too focused on the method of watching the breath, she feels a desire to force the breath to arise. This naturally seems to happen when the mindset is to suppress all other thoughts when concentrating on the method. But with the method of transcending thoughts, the opposite approach is emphasized, where one is openly aware without attaching to thoughts. In this way, the mind can recognize the thoughts in a way that sees them in the context of a totality, rather than being absorbed or attached in one thing or another.
  Seeing things clearly, one needs an anchor-- a sense of joy in being present that comes from having a method to practice. But it also requires a sense of leniency to know when one is subconsciously judging themselves while engaging in this sort of practice.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words, Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Contemplating Mind

 I have been dwelling for some time on distinctions between Chan and therapy approaches. What does Chan itself contribute to the alleviation of difficulties and problems? Master Sheng Yen remarks, "Chan recognizes that suffering, vexation, and confusion are mostly created within the mind rather than from the external world" (p.13). What this means is that we should not try to look outside of mind for answers. Quick fixes or ways of "controlling" the world around me so that I don't suffer vexation is not the right approach, and nor is indulging in all sorts of external stimulation. Master Sheng Yen also notes that there are two different paths of practice, "contemplating mind" and "transcending thoughts". I will look at Contemplating Mind in this section, based on Master Sheng Yen's remarks.
    What is the practice of "contemplating mind" and what does it entail? Master Sheng Yen refers to it as "to keep your attention on the present moment and focus on some external object, a feeling or part of the body, or simply a thought or an idea"  (p.14). An example of contemplating mind method might be that of watching the breath. When I am watching the breath, I am aware of all my previous thoughts, but I am able to observe such thoughts from the perspective of the current attention to breath. The way I described it during the group sitting practice tonight is that, by having a single thought to return to, I can really see how my other thoughts are running around in the mind. If I don't have such a method, it's nearly impossible for me to objectively know how I am doing in mind. Sheng Yen also notes that this method "helps to overcome the mind’s disorganization—the usual state where thoughts come and go in a disorderly, random manner" (ibid). Thus, not only does this method calm the mind, but it also allows one's thoughts to come out in a more clear way.
    Single methods are quite frequently prescribed on meditation retreats, but can such a contemplative approach also apply to daily actions? I believe that this is the case. It requires a certain relaxed but clear dedication to what a person is doing from moment to moment. For example, as I am writing these words, I can either decide that they are frivolous and unimportant---there are more "exciting" things out there to watch and read on the Internet---or I might tell myself that it's important to stay here with what I am writing. These two attitudes make a world of difference, because the latter approach is a decision to treat what I am doing now as important. You might think that things are granted importance by their inherent qualities, and the media world certainly reinforces that point by making things seem very attractive and hard to resist. However, have you ever taken this moment, right now, and decided that what you are doing right now is of supreme importance? We hardly do this, instead opting to keep looking for the brightest and the best. In meditation practice, on the other hand, we inherently acknowledge that whatever is arising through our method is of utmost importance; it is the best thing we are doing, the only thing we are doing, in fact.
  The point is that regardless of the method, it is sometimes the earnestness of the vow that gives meaning to what we are doing. If I look at my own work from a long view, I might say that in 200 years, none of the people I am currently serving will be alive, so there is not much point in trying. But this is an attachment to the idea of emptiness. It is not considering that what I am doing is important because of the attention I give to it, not because of what it does for me. If I am not mistaken, this approach is an attitude that we can derive from the methods of contemplating mind.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Meditation and Psychotherapy

When describing the differences between meditation and psychotherapy, Jack Kornfield has remarked, “the best of modern therapy is much like a process of shared meditation, where therapist and client sit together, learning to pay close attention to those aspects and dimensions of the self that the client may be unable to touch on his or her own” (p.245). I also believe that the practice of group meditation, while not necessarily therapeutic, is pointing to the intricacies of the self. Many times, I sense that my stay in the Buddhist group is a kind of unearthing of “unfinished business”. While mindfulness helps me to expose sources of vexation and to stay with them, analysis of these areas show me the places where I am “stuck” or unable to go forward. This leads me to wonder, with the exception of those who have no serious childhood or existential issues, is meditation in itself ever “enough” to deal with one’s emotional difficulties? Kornfield warns that “many students of Eastern and Western spirituality have been led to believe that if they experience difficulties, it is simply because they haven’t practiced long enough or somehow have not been practicing according to the teachings” (p.248).

I see meditation as a process of inquiry, not a kind of blanket “solution” to the problems faced when one is practicing mindfulness. When I am inquiring into vexations, I am seeing them for what they are and attempting to hold them long enough that I am not trying to explain them away. By refusing to short-cut to any easily defined solution, I am respecting the conditions of the mind: not forcing them to go away or be replaced by an easy thought, and not indulging those conditions at the same time. But I am also susceptible to receiving help from different sources, as well as being open to different ways of approaching difficulties. “Sitting with” one’s difficulties is indeed an important and crucial step, but this does not mean that I only sit with them and they will magically go away! They need to be seen as coming from the mind, for sure, but this also necessitates a sensitive examination of the sources of suffering. Otherwise, how can I be able to compassionately care for the situations of others, if I am simply telling them that “everything is created by the mind?” Something more is often needed to bridge a person’s felt experiences with Buddhist ideas and concepts.

Kornfield, J. (1993). A Path with a Heart: A Guide Through the Promises and Perils of Spiritual Life. Toronto: Bantam Books.

Direct and Expedient Approaches

    It's been said that Chan is a much more direct approach toward managing and dealing with one's vexations, in the sense that it does not try to analyze the objects that "bother" or "vex" a person, let alone attempt to uproot those objects from the mind. To reiterate, this latter approach tends to be what Western psychologists prefer. For example, if I am wanting to approach a particular phobia or fixation that I want to overcome, I will go to a psychologist who might suggest that I expose myself repeatedly to the object of my phobia to form new associations (perhaps more pleasant than before), or "couple" things that I am fixated to with "disgusting" images so that I start to cool off my emotional attachments to these things. To a certain extent, Buddhism has upheld these approaches; for example, in early sutras and Vinayas, the Buddha exhorts the monks to contemplate the impurity of the body in order to help them overcome their attachment to the body, which could be seen as an early form of "operant conditioning".
   The Chan approach, on the other hand, is not to categorize any kind of phenomena as either "good" or "bad" ---not even so-called "addictive" or "aversive" stimuli. Instead, its approach is to question the actual mind itself so that we start to loosen our belief that there is a solid, permanent "self" experiencing these conditions around us. The less convinced I am that there is a solid enduring self that "craves" or "avoids", the more likely these cravings and aversions will start to disappear on their own, because I am no longer believing that they "refer" to a self. This is a much more direct, albeit somewhat harder to experience or practice, approach, as opposed to one in which certain phenomena are being challenged or uprooted.
  It's a little bit like the difference between seeing one's mind as the character in a movie and seeing the entire experience of the movie (including the screen and background elements) as one's mind. In the former case, I attach to the idea that there is a single protagonist who sees the movie from a single view that it is enduring, and is not the objects that are around it. This idea gives rise to the fear of being annihilated by powerful and averse elements, as well as the craving for beautiful or appealing ones, as though they existed outside the self and were "buffeting" the self from all directions. If one is able to see that the entire movie and the background screen is the mind, one does not attach to a particular view or character as being "me" or "mine" and does not even root for one character or another.
  In Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen refers to differences between Chan and therapy when he remarks, "In general, psychotherapy is more analytical while Chan is more direct. It is also important to add that unless the Chan master is very expert, it will be difficult for him or her to effectively help people. By contrast some types of therapy can be learned in a reasonable amount of time, so that a therapist can provide his or her patients with some relief. But in the beginning it is not easy to combine the two approaches." (p.13). This is very important to know. Although I might think that Chan methods are more direct and therefore less time consuming than therapeutic ones, in fact the opposite might be the case as well. Someone with a very severe personal issue might not have the time to directly address that issue and reach a point of mental stability by going on long retreats or cultivating Chan practice and theories for extended periods of time. In those cases, it might not hurt to learn some therapeutic approaches as ways to allow a person to think along multiple lines of inquiry into their suffering. Again, my tendency and preference is to see these two approaches as complementary to one another.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Bodhi Mind

    What is Bodhi mind? In Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen explores bodhi mind in the context of what is often referred to as "beginner's mind". Master Sheng Yen defines beginner's mind as "the mind of an ordinary sentient being that has taken the first steps in turning his or her mind toward illumination". He then remarks how "this step is sometimes called, “the first arising of bodhi-mind.” But what is bodhi? In Sanskrit, “bodhi”means awakening, or enlightenment" (p.12).
  I have often heard of the term beginner's mind, such as in situations where a person is just relaxing into doing something with wholehearted attention. For Master Sheng Yen, this entails something more specific, which means going beyond the self to embrace other beings. Hence, "To develop bodhi-mind, you begin to engage in activities that are not centered on yourself, dealing with all problems in an objective way. Ironically, this can be the way that you will resolve your own problems" (ibid).
   It's only when one is of service to others that one can get out of a mind that dwells on past pain or memories. The more that I think about it, the more this seems to me to distinguish Chan from Western therapies, particularly early forms of psychoanalysis. A lot of the underlying ideas behind psychoanalysis is that it't one's thinking and underlying ideas that cause one's present behavior. But what if, as Chan practice suggests, the real work is to engage in activities that go beyond the self, and thus deal with problems more "objectively" from the perspective of others? This is admittedly a very different view, and it challenges the belief that we are determined by our thoughts. In fact, as meditation practice suggests, we are not the same as our thoughts. We can create spaces around our thinking and ideas that allow us to see ourselves as more than our thoughts. In fact, we are even more than the sum of our own thinking.
   I am not sure how this translates into my life, because I don't feel that I have yet awakened true bodhi mind. What I do feel is that when a person makes a space for their heart's wish to connect, they can lay aside past sorrows and feelings of rejection (as well as thoughts of not being worthy of love from others or loving others). It is then that the thoughts are revealed as only the traces of what has long since been gone, at which point a person can truly start all over again in their relations to others. This "starting over again" is truly the heart of Bodhi mind.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications.

Putting Aside My "Problems"

 From the previous blog entry, I mentioned how Master Sheng Yen has distinguished between psychotherapy, which is intended to "root out" problems by understanding and analyzing their core elements, and Chan, which simply re-frames situations as not having "problems". It might be interesting to ask at this stage, how can this be done, particularly if a person has not cultivated meditative practice deeply, or for a very long time? Secondly, does this entail that Chan and psychotherapy are somehow incompatible with each other?
   Part of the answer to these questions has to do with the emphasis in both disciplines. Since psychotherapy aims at self-understanding, it has a tendency to focus around issues of the self and inner life. Even when one's family complexes and situations are identified and surfaced, they are couched in terms of internal dynamics that happen to an individual. Often, little concern may be given to the social dynamics of the problem itself. For Chan practitioners, on the other hand, the emphasis is away from self-analysis and toward acting in the interests of others. Notes Sheng Yen, "When you see the vexation and suffering that torments others, you can try to help them resolve their problems and end their suffering. In this process it will be easier to put your own problems aside for the sake of others" (p.12). This means that we can sometimes (if not always) be able to see our own suffering as a window to understand the suffering and vexation that plagues others. For example, if I am a person prone to irritation or impatience, I can use this emotion to better understand (yes, even be patient) toward people who have similar tendencies or experiences. I don't come to them with an attitude of judgment or superiority. Rather, I am able to express a solidarity with their suffering, which is more akin to empathy.
     I don't necessarily at all feel that these two approaches (Chan and psychotherapy) are incompatible. They seem to be like two wings on a bird. Without the Chan view of seeing all problems not as problems, it's easy for psychotherapy to go to a place of proliferating "solutions" or "fixes", without considering that the framing of the problem itself as a problem is a desire that becomes part of the suffering itself. It's easy for this to become a game of "looking for the root cause" when in fact there can be many interlocking conditions that manifest and even change in a small period of time. On the other hand, a Chan approach that lacks an analytic component (or a psychoanalytic one) might end up bypassing emotions that one must necessarily go through in order to transcend clinging to those emotions. Without the analysis or ability to reflect on one's patterns of vexations, Chan practice can become a convenient way to avoid deeper or subconscious patterns of the mind. For this reason, I consider the psychoanalytic approach to neatly complement Chan.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Not Seeing Things As Problems

 During the morning meditation, ChangYuan Fashi had talked about the real function of meditation as being about uplifting one's character and bettering themselves. Part of this means realizing that happiness is not something that comes from outside of me, but is rather something that I create through my own reactions to things. To use a simple example: for me, eating a meal after a long day of walking outdoors feels so much more satisfying than the same meal that has been consumed after sitting in an office all day. Why is that? I think it has a lot to do with the state of one's mind in the process of eating, and whether they have taken steps to prepare their mind to enjoy what they are doing.
   Fashi had also mentioned that method should not be approached in meditation with a rushed or forced attitude. Instead, the important aspect is to build the foundation of one's practice by way of a relaxed, unperturbed mindset. Whatever is arising in this moment is totally fine, regardless of whether one is generating blissful states through meditation or drowsiness and vexations. Vexations themselves can become the foundation upon which one can know themselves and truly practice awareness. Most importantly, however, is to always allow the mind to stay on whatever it is doing in this moment, without being perturbed by the world's events. If I am able to maintain a positive mindset and not give any vexations to others, in this way, I begin to cultivate merits with others.
   In distinguishing Chan from psychoanalytic approaches, Master Sheng Yen (2013) puts it in this way:

The Chan approach to resolving one’s problems is quite different from the psychological approach where the person’s problems are the centerpiece of analysis. In psychotherapy one’s problems are analyzed, themes and motifs are suggested, and the patient is urged to recognize patterns from early childhood, and to break the hold they have upon him. The approach of Chan is different: practitioners learn to simply put down their vexations and leave them behind. This does not mean that you should ignore what you have to do in life; it simply means that you abandon the idea that what confronts you constitutes a problem. You continue to deal with situations but you no longer see them as problems. In this way, the problems cease to exist. (p.11-12)

The difference is that whereas psychotherapy might try to analyze things as problems, the Chan approach goes beyond seeing them as "problems". This is a different orientation, in the sense that it asks that a person reconsider the idea that something needs to absolutely change due to one's judgments about it. For example, if I am plagued by a disturbing childhood memory, I might try to figure out what that memory is, label it as bad, and then do everything in my power to alter it or get rid of it. Chan, on the other hand, proceeds from the awareness that problems are only as such when we define them in ways that contribute to vexations. If I am able to see that all of these assessments, judgments, labels and evaluations are only thoughts in mind, then I am no longer determined to eliminate thoughts that bother me. I see that it is the judgment itself that becomes the source of the problems. Chan's approach is to develop a mindset that is not seeking, grasping or rejecting any thoughts or experiences, opting instead to know deeply the sources of the thoughts and phenomena themselves. In this way, everything starts to be seen as good, okay, manageable, and not needing to be altered to suit my passing mood or thought.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

The Glass in Muddy Water

 In Buddhism there is often a term used to explain the mind as having a lot of agitation. The mind is sometimes compared to a kind of jar of muddy water, where all the contents of that water are frequently stirred up or agitated. Once the mind is fully settled, such as through the practice of stillness, it is able to see itself and its environment much more clearly. Master Sheng Yen thus remarks, in the practice of samatha, "The goal is to bring the mind to a standstill. This process can also be thought of as clarifying and settling the mind. One can use the analogy of a glass of muddy water that becomes clear once the water is still and the dirt sinks to the bottom" (p.11)

As in much of this first talk in Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen is not creating any needless duality between the "true" and "false" mind. Rather, he is pointing out the ways that the mind can be harmonized so that it can see that both true and false are just creations of the mind. In meditation, I am thus not trying to sort my "good" from "bad" thoughts. More so, by allowing all the thoughts to settle and thus lose their capacity to captivate the mind, one can see the nature of all thoughts. Delusion is not the result of the thoughts themselves, but rather my tendency to cling to these thoughts and excessively identify with them.

Samatha is only one part of meditation, but it often seems necessary in this busy time to allow the mind to be like that muddy water that gradually sinks all its contents. When cleaning my apartment, can I think of all the things around me as settling thoughts that have their own place in mind, and which don't need to be fretted with? If I am clinging to everything I do and think, then all my chores become heavy demands. On the other hand, if I adopt the attitude that mind is only this clear and natural space, then all the contents in it are not so relevant. And I can put them away smoothly.

Sheng Yen, Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

True and False again

 What is the difference between true and false mind then? Again, I circle back to this point. During the group meditation this evening, the participant described her process as trying to figure out that this "self" that is aware is not separate in any way from the surrounding environment. In fact, any attempt to create a separate "mind" from the body and environment is yet another delusion. Do we not need to separate from realms of ignorance to establish what "true" really means? According to Chan Buddhism, this process of separating "true" and "false" mind is not all that straightforward.
   In Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen remarks:

If we attempt to use the concept of consciousness to explain true mind, there will be quite a bit of confusion. It might be possible to say that true mind represents a kind of pure, undefiled mental activity while false mind represents impure mental activity, but this would still lack clarity. To avoid confusion Chan masters simply refer to “mind.” (p.10) 

True mind is not something that is separate from false, because if that were the case then there would be something "false" that is not included as part of the true mind. in fact, true mind is simply "mind" itself. It's the very same mind that we use to generate both pure and impure concepts and mental activity. By trying to separate a true mind from a false, I am only feeding my tendency to assume that there is a separate self that exists independently of the world or other phenomena. This is also like saying that the villain in the dream needs to be caught and thrown in prison in order to set "me" free-when in fact both the villain and myself are both in the same dream, and therefore cannot be separated.
   Master Sheng Yen furthermore remarks "buddhamind and the mind of sentient beings are not fundamentally different; we can look at false mind as the process of practice and true mind as the goal of practice." (ibid) This entails that the process of knowing false mind is needed for true mind to be revealed. This is quite fascinating because it points to a more inclusive way of looking at phenomena as part of one's practice (an integral part, in fact) rather than as being separate. It also suggests that even the most incorrect view contains true mind beneath it, and is in fact embedded in it.

Sheng Yen (2013) Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst: Dharma Drum Publications.

Can True Mind Be Measured?

In Tea Words Volume II, Master Sheng Yen continues his discussion of consciousness when he remarks:

By now we can see that the Western understanding of consciousness does not cover all of the meanings of consciousness in Buddhism. In Western science, mental activities are researched, analyzed, and recorded, but is true mind, the mind of wisdom, a mental activity that can be scrutinized? (p.10)

I found this to be a very interesting remark. So much of Western science and research is now trying to focus on the psychological and emotional benefits of meditation, using traditional measurements such as brain scans and MRI imaging to see what areas of the brain are most affected by meditation practice. Is there in fact a mental activity that cannot be scrutinized at all? This "true mind" is unobservable by methods precisely because it is always present; it doesn't fluctuate over time or based on phenomena. I think this is one of the reasons why Master Sheng Yen suggests that this true mind may not be analyzable in the way that moods, thoughts or stream of consciousness might be evaluated.
  Put it in this way: everything that can be measured is essentially a phenomena. To try to reduce mind to phenomena is to say that the mind actually fluctuates, when in fact, mind is the very basis for phenomena itself. Without mind, is phenomena at all possible? Similarly, it's impossible to measure true mind for exactly the reason that it is always present in the midst of all phenomena. Whether I am feeling ecstatic or depressed, angry or content, that mind is always the true mind, and it doesn't suddenly fade due to these ups and downs in moods. This is why we cannot say that the true mind "comes and goes" with phenomena since it is always with every phenomena. In meditation practice, we say that the true mind is always with the present, regardless of what is arising in mind. I need not seek such a mind nor try to capture it in any way since that very "thing" which seeks is still the true mind; there is simply no getting around it.
   If I could take such a mind and measure it, where would I most likely be able to see the true mind? Is it more prevalent in my happy thoughts, sad thoughts or no thoughts at all? Even trying to measure something so present as the mind requires a reference point for comparison, but can such a comparison be found for the mind? This is why science can certainly find advantages to meditation in terms of observable traits (such as blood pressure, serotonin levels, and so on), but it cannot measure the actual mind itself.

Sheng Yen Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications

St Neot's Margin

 I read a very interesting book when I was a teenager called The Outsider by Colin Wilson (1956). In many ways, I enjoyed reading this book because it spoke to my own desire for a higher experience than what I had at the time: a kind of expanded field of consciousness that would lift me out of the boredom or the despair of suburban existence. One of the more complex ideas that Wilson relates is that of St. Neot's Margin.
  I don't quite remember the gist of the story of St. Neot, but Wilson was apparently travelling through a town called St Neots when he suddenly became lost, and panicked over the fact that he didn't know how to get back to a familiar town or road. When Wilson approached a stranger there and was confirmed that he was in the right place, he suddenly felt a veil lifted from him-- what has sometimes been described as "peak experiences" by psychologists such as Maslow and William James. Wilson theorized that by enforcing a kind of mini-crisis, a person can induce a peak experience. Many of his writings were devoted to figuring out how to do this, and how the mind can get out of its self-induced rut of staying too close to things that it becomes easily irritated or frustrated by trivialities.
    I would have to say that one example of a St. Neot experience I had was related to a foot problem I had last year. At that time, I literally panicked over the fact that I might not be able to walk properly, knowing how much I value walking in my life. It was only after the foot gradually began to heal that there was this strange feeling: not only of gratitude toward not having a problem with the foot, but over what having the problem did for me. What having a crisis does is that it forces a person to realize that so many things they take for granted are so precious: walking, being pain-free, being able to move one's body without having to strategize about it, socializing with loved ones, and so on. All of these things were suddenly clear to me when the crisis of "losing" them was imminent. What this experience also did for me was to erase all the minor irritants that might have consumed my life had the problem not been present. There are so many vexations that a person has in a day to day life that, when looked at from a distance, don't mean very much. But if a person does not have a sufficient focusing device such as a challenge to resolve or even a deep regret those little things will just get into a person's skin, like an itch that cannot be fully scratched or removed.
   The question then becomes, how can one retain this state of being without having to go through an anxiety-inducing crisis? I think that part of the answer is maintaining a spiritual practice that keeps a person awake rather than becoming a mechanical recitation. The practice of slowing down and really appreciating what one has, as well as being able to do one thing fully and with a full heart, are ways to let go of trivial thoughts and desires, as well as settle into what is truly important to a person, including their physical and mental states of being. At the end of the day, one can have a whole rack full of trophies on their bookshelves, but what do these trophies mean if one is not content in their own present mind and body?
    Master Sheng Yen's explanation about Chan and its distinction from Buddhism in general is very similar to the mind that is always present and is not clinging to vexations. In Tea Words Volume II, he remarks:

 One important phrase used in Chan can be translated as “to illuminate the mind and perceive buddha-nature." Why does the mind need illumination? It is because the mind of sentient beings is clouded in darkness, and this darkness must be lifted to see the true nature of reality. Thus, to illuminate the mind and perceive buddha-nature means leaving behind the mind of vexation in order to attain wisdom. So the goal of Chan practice is identical to the goal of Buddhism. (p.10)

The lifting of the darkness of attachments is part of what Wilson must have experienced when a crisis brought him to a state of this moment attention. Being lost in an unfamiliar place suddenly jolted him awake, thus giving him the impetus to let go of the small details that might have consumed his moment to moment existence (such as "getting somewhere on time" or "completing everything I want to do"). However important these things might be, there is a habit of clinging to these things as though they were really the only reality that there is. This is a pity; as Master Sheng Yen remarks, lifting the veil of vexations, self, desires, etc., one can behold a mind that is luminous, and that sees the whole world itself as contained in its own light. This mind is wisdom mind, not the mind of karma (fundamental mind) or vexations (discriminating mind). It is also a mind that can really feel the relief of just being, not having to become something for anyone or anything.

Sheng Yen, (2013) Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Wilson, C. (1956). The Outsider.  London: Golansz

Vexation and the Self

In Tea Words Volume 2, Master Sheng Yen asks, "how can we truly tell when we have overcome vexation and reached wisdom?" He then continues thus: "Vexation and wisdom are both mental activities, but the crucial difference is that vexation is centered on the self; it is this centering on the self that causes suffering. However, with wisdom one sees things as they are, unconcerned with the self, untainted by personal subjectivity" (p.9).

According to Master Sheng Yen, vexation is always marked by self-attachment. It's not the phenomena themselves that are "vexations", as one might suggest, but rather the self that attaches or clings to these vexations as pertaining or referring to a self. If I see a swarm of flies, for example, am I going to see them with reference to how I feel around them, or am I going to instead see them for what they really are (namely, flies)?  A wise perspective is to gradually rid oneself of the perceptions that surround a particular object and to see it for what it really is, without the reactions of the self.

This practice is admittedly not easy to do. Has anyone ever seen something they really love, such as a chocolate cake, and seen it as a cake rather than giving into their mental associations of craving and desire? I am sure that many people do try to do this, but deep down inside, have they attained the mind of wisdom? As long as there is even a subtle attachment, then there is no true wisdom there...and nor, for that matter, is there compassion, since the associations one has are entirely centered on one's own feelings about the cake. As soon as I get into that habit of craving something, I then come to falsely conclude that others crave the same thing as well. I assume that everyone in the world must like chocolate, just like me! This is hardly very wise either.

Quite often, what appears to be wisdom is really a kind of self-centered form of knowledge gathering or seeking. Watching the movie Three Identical Strangers the other day, I came to realize that (as I suspected from my early years of reading), many so-called "scientific" experiments in the 50s and 60s were using the debate of nature vs. nurture to bolster all sorts of "absolute" claims about the way people raised in totally different families might be determined by their genes. By separating the triplets at birth, the researchers intended to create controlled experiments which focused on the way family parenting styles influence the children's future behavior. In none of these experiments was there any recognition of the damage it would do to the children to be experimented in this way, as well as the families. In this way, what looks like valuable knowledge lacks wisdom and compassion. There is an "ulterior motive" behind the research that relates to particular interests, such as governments who might want to cut back on education that is designed to give children equal access to resources. After all, if we are determined by our genes, why bother investing in education that helps all students equally?

Sheng Yen (2013) Tea Words. Elmhurst. NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Defusing Karma

 During the 1 day meditation retreat today, I started to contemplate on how life often gets in the way of one's practice, and there can be all kinds of conditions that prevent one from being truly on one's practice. Illness is one that I have been contending with recently, as well as the spate of assignments that have come my way. I am fortunate to have the blog as a way for me to settle my mind and really think about the right view of practice.
  Continuing the reading of Tea Words, Volume II, Master Sheng Yen further clarifies what he means by the "fundamental" mind as opposed to the "discriminating mind". He remarks:

     The goal of Buddhist practice is to free living beings from the vexations that arise out of the habit       of making discriminations. To attain true mind we must also be freed from fundamental          consciousness because our karma is centered there; in other words, the seeds of our previous actions and the forces that they exert upon us are “stored”there. [This is the reason why fundamental consciousness is sometimes called “the storehouse consciousness.”] Put another way, to attain the true mind of wisdom, sentient beings must liberate themselves from discriminating consciousness, and they must defuse the karmic force of fundamental consciousness. This is the ultimate direction of Buddhist practice (p.8-9)

Most practitioners that I know are familiar with discriminating mind, which at times I have heard has been referred to as the Seventh consciousness. However, are practitioners as familiar with this fundamental consciousness? I think of it as perhaps the difference between the individual will to live in daily life and a more diffuse sort of will that makes existence take on a particular shape and form. Many people rely on making discriminations to help them to decide a course of action, but most people are not able to see the wider patterns of living that are stored in the eighth consciousness, ready to be activated in lifetime after lifetime. "Defusing the karmic force" is a very interesting remark as well, because it suggests that karma is not influenced by the will. For example,I can be born with a long-standing aversion toward something (spiders, for instance) and this may be due to a previous karmic encounter with a spider that did not turn out well. In this life, my aversion toward spiders is unrealistic and not founded on anything I have experienced using discriminating consciousness, but because it is planted as a seed in the eighth consciousness, it's hard to defuse the habit of having an aversion toward spiders. In this case, what can we do? Buddhist practice, from what I know, does not advocate trying to actively eliminate karmic seeds. Rather, the idea is often to plant new karmic seeds in the mind, such as cultivating a wholesome attitude even toward those creatures that we would rather avoid. Even though such karmic seeds might not reverse the previous negative karma, they can make a difference in terms of the direction that a person takes across different lifetimes, having a better connection with other beings in particular.
   Ultimately according to Sheng Yen, the goal of Buddhist practice is not just to "liberate from discriminating consciousness" but also to "defuse the karmic force of fundamental consciousness". Are these processes co-terminus with each other or are they distinct processes? I believe that the more a person can reduce their tendency to make discriminations, the less severe the karmic force will be, and this leaves a kind of light "footprint" on one's existence. In this way, defusing karma is likened to not watering seeds that are impure or unhealthy, while watering the ones which will produce less vexations.

Sheng Yen Tea Words Volume II. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Mind in Animals

Continuing the discussion of Tea Words Volume Two, Master Sheng Yen remarks: "We speak of consciousness in human beings but do we recognize such a faculty in animals? In Western thought this question is usually answered in terms of the species in question." (p.8). However, Master Sheng Yen goes on to relate that when we differentiate between animals with and without consciousness, we are usually referring to the discriminating consciousness rather than the fundamental consciousness. Hence, he further remarks:

In the Buddhist view, lower life forms may lack discriminating consciousness but they still have fundamental consciousness. In other words, all living beings have consciousness. For this reason Buddhist compassion is directed to all living beings—human or otherwise, that all can evolve to buddhahood. (ibid)

This is a very remarkable statement to reflect on, and it makes me wonder, do people normally view compassion in this way? I have a feeling that when people practice "compassion" toward animals, they are often looking at the ways that animals might behave similarly to humans. Apes are one example of a species which often appears to have human capabilities and gestures; in fact, humans have even tried to communicate with such species for this very reason. But Master Sheng Yen goes even further than this, suggesting that because all life forms have "fundamental" consciousness, they are therefore to be objects of compassion. It seems, however, that in order for a person to practice this kind of fundamental compassion, they would have to stop discriminating between animals "with" and "without" the ability to discriminate.

Today, I saw a cat who was in the mid-town area who frequently sits on the steps. This cat is very beautiful and likes to meow whenever he is pet by people. What do those communications mean? I can only tell from the wag of the cat's tail that perhaps he is happy to be pet. However, can I ever know how that cat thinks and feels from my own limited perspective as a person? Using my discriminating mind, I might try to infer that the cat has certain thoughts or feelings about things, but in fact, I am not able to know what this cat is conscious about. Does this mean that I cannot practice compassion on the cat? If I am only compassionate to those I deem as having the same consciousness as myself, then I am limiting the scope of what compassion can and does do. In fact, when petting a cat, perhaps the best thing to do is to meditate, and stop trying to figure out what the cat is thinking! In this way, just interacting with the cat, one can have some glimpse into a fundamental consciousness that is beyond the intellectual thoughts of discriminating consciousness.

Sheng Yen (2013) Tea Words Volume Two. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications

Not Assigning Value to the Mind

    I am reflecting on the identification that people have with various kinds of work. The very first thing that people normally ask when you go to a party is "what do you do for a living" or "what is your work?" And I have experienced many times in life where I became so caught up in a particular project that the work becomes "me" or an image of who I am. In fact, everything I do models the work itself, and I start to base my value on it.
    It's interesting to reflect this back on the discussion on Master Sheng Yen's Tea Words. Throughout history, even in spiritual life, there is a tendency to try to reify one's existence; to attach some solid sense of value to it, whether it's a work of art or some project that one has worked on for many years. Even among spiritual seekers, there is a tendency to see the mind or soul as some tangible thing that moves from one lifetime to the next. Hence, Master Sheng Yen remarks:

"According to the Yogachara school, fundamental consciousness makes a person what he or she is; it is tempting to say that this fundamental consciousness is the core, essence, or true identity of someone, but these terms are misleading, since they make one think of substance, of something material, and this is not the understanding of Buddhism." (p.8)

I am thinking that what would it be like not to assign any value to this existence: to simply observe it as a witness, yet confident that this observer is indeed real?  Better still, perhaps there is neither real nor unreal about this observer or witness, which isn't even considered "valued" or "unvalued". It's hard to get this point because we always have in mind this consciousness that is moving from one work to another work, and so on down through time.
   Can work be done in this way? Yes, I believe that it can, but it takes a long time to let go of the sense that I am doing something to gain something else or to maintain a certain sense of oneself. In a way, people who are just starting a new job are often gifted with the opportunity not to make any assumptions. For example, when I first started my job, I had no expectations of even surviving one week, and I was only glad to have a paycheque at the end of the week. Why is it that years later, one's inclination is to protect what they have at all costs? This is because one no longer is working in faith  in the moment, but is resting on their previous works and taking those to be one's self.

Sheng Yen (2013) Tea Words Volume II Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications

True in False

Continuing Master Sheng Yen's discussion of "True" and "False" mind in Tea Words Volume Two, we read the following:

It is important to understand that false mind is really what we call ordinary human consciousness. Consciousness itself has two aspects: discriminating consciousness and fundamental consciousness. Discriminating consciousness includes cognition, apprehension, and discrimination (commonly what we take to be memory, judgment, and reasoning). However, there is an aspect of consciousness which does not make discriminations; for the sake of discussion we will call this fundamental consciousness (p.7-8)

I have always been fascinated by the idea that the "true" mind is hidden in the "false" mind, and I have tried to grasp an example of this happening. The closest I can come to understanding this is to talk about the water and waves. If a person gets really caught up in the shapes of waves, they will think that truly they are the waves. Think of the example: I start to get more and more involved in a particular course I am taking, only to find myself identifying "me" with the ups and downs of the course. When I am submitting good posts and assignments, I am "up"; when I am not inspired to submit assignments, I am "down". These "ups" and "downs" become a drama that I play out, with me playing all the characters. All the while, what happens is that I build a kind of collection of actions around this course. Then, when the course finishes, what happens? I typically go "now what?" and then either get sick or become down, because I have become hooked on the ups and downs. The course has infiltrated and conditioned me to the point where I can't imagine myself as functioning without it.

The true mind, then: what is it? First of all, Master Sheng Yen notes "there is an aspect of consciousness which does not make discriminations". This seems to mean, from my limited understanding, that this true mind is even there when there is false mind. After all, you can't separate the waves from the water. This means that even in the midst of my ups and downs, I am never separate from this mind. I only believe I am separate, because I have attached myself to narrow patterns of being. If I apply the analogy to taking a course: course materials are always limited to one special topic, but if I am deeply involved in that course, I have to clear my mind of all other topics or ways of thinking that don't accord with that topic. Soon, I start to see the world through the methodological lens of the course itself. If the course is about critical pedagogy, I will start to look at everything through that lens; if Marxist, everything becomes "Marxist", etc. But what I forget is that all of these ways of seeing are only one of many potential forms. I can adopt any one of these forms, but what I can't change is the underlying mind that engages those forms. If I am overly attached to the form itself, I will suffer when that form disappears. But if I remind myself that the true mind is already in the false, discriminating mind, then I can interact with all the forms of false consciousness without attachment.

Sheng Yen (2013). Tea Words Volume Two. Elmhurst, NY: Dharma Drum Publications.