Today is marked with a combination of snow and rain. It's a family day. Lots of parents with their kids are on the subways, heading to different places to celebrate the meaning and joy of family. Quite a few stores remain closed throughout the day, giving some parts of Mississauga an eerily deserted feel. It certainly feels like a Sunday, but a very sleepy one.
In the Lotus Sutra, there are many stories of family to convey Buddhist concepts, as well as the relationship between humans and Buddha nature. One of the most famous of these stories is the parable of a father who tries to save his children from a burning house. The children are so preoccupied and unable to understand that they are in danger, so the father devises these colorful carts to lure his children out of the fire. In W.E. Soothill's version, I read the following admonishment from Buddha to Sariputra:
Sariputra! Even as that elder, though with strength in body and arms, yet does not use it, but only by diligent tact, resolutely saves his children from the calamity of the burning house, and then gives each of them great carts adorned with precious things, so it is with the Tathagata (p.91)
As I am reading this text, I wonder, what is it that the parable is intended to correct in the way the arhats were practicing? I believe that what Buddha may be suggesting is that all teachings are expedient means which are done in a spirit of wisdom to help awaken beings according to their own causes and conditions. To extend the analogy a bit further, the carts in this parable are never final answers: they are more like tactful ways to awaken the children from their lack of understanding. But no matter how fancy the cart is, it can never 'stand in' for the truth. It is literally an attractive 'vehicle' which leads the children out of danger. As long as I see the teachings as expedient means, I don't confuse them with any absolute truth. So, what Buddha might have been addressing is the confusion between a method and what the method is pointing to. He is admonishing the arhats not to get too attached with their method of seeing into the emptiness of the self, since this is only a skilful means to help free them from attachment to a sense of self. Yet this too is not quite true mind because there is still a subtle discrimination between 'self' and the phenomena around the self.
I can think of other, more commonplace, examples of how this teaching might be useful. In daily life, there seem to be two main types of discrimination that occur. One is between that which we find 'pleasant' and that which is 'unpleasant'. When I like to do something, I engage in it more out of desire, while avoiding what I dislike. Another sort of discrimination is that between what we think is 'good' and 'bad'. I might decide, for example, to go on a special diet because I was told that eating certain foods are good for me, while others are not. Or I might decide to associate with people who 'make me a better person', while avoiding those whom I deem might corrupt my character. But while these distinctions might (supposedly) help me to live a wholesome life and live longer, there is still a discrimination between self and not-self, "me" and "world" embedded in that judgment. That discrimination might lead to all sorts of confusing ideas, such as deciding to go on a fad diet to maintain a desired weight, or deciding to avoid certain experiences for fear that they will 'corrupt' me. It's just another kind of 'self' even though it is packaged as 'pure or wholesome self'.
But what I believe is taught in Buddhism is that all phenomena are created by the mind. There isn't really a good or bad phenomena at all. It is only one's judgments that make it so. While Buddha taught methods to 'still' the mind or 'quiet' the mind, that teaching is a skillful means to help people realize that mind isn't really an object that can be 'calmed'. As long as I get stuck on a fixed or rigid notion of who I need to be, vexations are bound to arise in mind, and that creates a ripple effect into the whole experience of being. As long as there is any kind of discrimination, there is bound to be this vexation, as a person tries to seek 'good' experiences and influences and avoid 'bad' influences. However, if I see that the teachings are only a guideline and not a strict rule, I can relax my tendency to try to control the experience itself. I then have the space to be able to see what is unfolding for me, and not be so quick to say that one way is better than another. One can work within a variety of different settings with different kinds of beings, and not be afraid of 'losing the path' or becoming 'corrupted' by external events.
Soothill. W.E (1987), The Lotus of the Wonderful Law or The Lotus Gospel. London: Curzon Press.
Monday, February 15, 2016
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Sense of Accomplishment in Spiritual Practice
We had a very beautiful ceremony today in the Chan center to commemorate the passing of Master Sheng Yen. The day was cold, but people inside the center kept warm.
I was touched by Master Sheng Yen's Dharma talk, "Laughing and Weeping in a Dream." This was Shifu's first retreat talk in New York, and he shares how the retreat is similar to a dream: people coming and people going, not permanently fixed to the place, and free to travel in the way they wish. And each person takes something different from that retreat experience. In a way, all of our encounters are like this, as we see each other and ourselves through fleeting and impermanent thoughts and impressions. Not only this, but even our evaluations are bound to change through subtle nuances of our experiences. While some might feel that they have accomplished something in their practice, others might not feel as such and lack a sense of grounding. Master Sheng Yen cautions those who feel they have accomplished a lot, by suggesting that perhaps this is only an idea they cherish, or a false view about themselves. On the other hand, those who feel they have accomplished very little are on the path without even realizing it.
As I listened to this part and tried to understand Shifu's works. I wondered: does this mean that one's pride or sense of self gets in the way of accomplishing anything in the Buddha path? Or is there a deeper meaning that makes it impossible to even speak of 'accomplishment' in practice? Why would those who don't think they are doing well turn out to be faring 'well' compared to those who believe they accomplished something?
I believe that there is accomplishment in practice, but it is always a step away. Even the notion of 'accomplishment' is likely just a skilful means to maintain practice, for certain kinds of people. It is a way of reminding a person: there is something you didn't quite get, and it's not graspable by intellectual thinking.. "Accomplishment" or "sense of accomplishment" may not be a real measure of a person's success or even a real, permanent thing. For example, I remember how one of the student's I tutored had a mother was concerned with the Western education system compared to that in China. According to the mom, if a person is told they are doing excellently, that statement will cause the person to become too relaxed, or to loosen their hold on studies. The mom suggested that the education system be more sparing with compliments, and more critical of how the students are doing as a way to motivate them to always improve. For example, if a person is told they are 40%, would this not motivate and inspire them to do better in the future? The method is questionable, and I would have to say that a student would need to see the 40% as just an arbitrary measure and not a measure of themselves. But the point is that this kind of grading might seem to be a way to inspire people to do their best.
In Chan (and with meditation in general) it seems a little different, because the practice is not about accomplishing states of being or even something called "inner peace". I think it's more about letting go of the "I" that's said to accomplish anything. As long as I don't attach a "me" to what I do (or don't do, or do poorly), there isn't all this struggle or effort to save face. It is just going back to make the conditions better to perhaps attain better results, if the conditions are ripe for that to happen. But even 'better' or 'worse' is not related to a self. It is just about changing conditions so that people can function better in community with others. Furthermore, it's with a grain of salt that I can even speak of 'better' or 'worse' actions, since they are relative to shifting perspectives. So while it's okay to work for others benefit, it's also okay to take it with a grain of salt and know that the conditions are bound to change.
I was touched by Master Sheng Yen's Dharma talk, "Laughing and Weeping in a Dream." This was Shifu's first retreat talk in New York, and he shares how the retreat is similar to a dream: people coming and people going, not permanently fixed to the place, and free to travel in the way they wish. And each person takes something different from that retreat experience. In a way, all of our encounters are like this, as we see each other and ourselves through fleeting and impermanent thoughts and impressions. Not only this, but even our evaluations are bound to change through subtle nuances of our experiences. While some might feel that they have accomplished something in their practice, others might not feel as such and lack a sense of grounding. Master Sheng Yen cautions those who feel they have accomplished a lot, by suggesting that perhaps this is only an idea they cherish, or a false view about themselves. On the other hand, those who feel they have accomplished very little are on the path without even realizing it.
As I listened to this part and tried to understand Shifu's works. I wondered: does this mean that one's pride or sense of self gets in the way of accomplishing anything in the Buddha path? Or is there a deeper meaning that makes it impossible to even speak of 'accomplishment' in practice? Why would those who don't think they are doing well turn out to be faring 'well' compared to those who believe they accomplished something?
I believe that there is accomplishment in practice, but it is always a step away. Even the notion of 'accomplishment' is likely just a skilful means to maintain practice, for certain kinds of people. It is a way of reminding a person: there is something you didn't quite get, and it's not graspable by intellectual thinking.. "Accomplishment" or "sense of accomplishment" may not be a real measure of a person's success or even a real, permanent thing. For example, I remember how one of the student's I tutored had a mother was concerned with the Western education system compared to that in China. According to the mom, if a person is told they are doing excellently, that statement will cause the person to become too relaxed, or to loosen their hold on studies. The mom suggested that the education system be more sparing with compliments, and more critical of how the students are doing as a way to motivate them to always improve. For example, if a person is told they are 40%, would this not motivate and inspire them to do better in the future? The method is questionable, and I would have to say that a student would need to see the 40% as just an arbitrary measure and not a measure of themselves. But the point is that this kind of grading might seem to be a way to inspire people to do their best.
In Chan (and with meditation in general) it seems a little different, because the practice is not about accomplishing states of being or even something called "inner peace". I think it's more about letting go of the "I" that's said to accomplish anything. As long as I don't attach a "me" to what I do (or don't do, or do poorly), there isn't all this struggle or effort to save face. It is just going back to make the conditions better to perhaps attain better results, if the conditions are ripe for that to happen. But even 'better' or 'worse' is not related to a self. It is just about changing conditions so that people can function better in community with others. Furthermore, it's with a grain of salt that I can even speak of 'better' or 'worse' actions, since they are relative to shifting perspectives. So while it's okay to work for others benefit, it's also okay to take it with a grain of salt and know that the conditions are bound to change.
Friday, February 12, 2016
Engaged Mind
Whenever I attend the Buddhist study group on the second Friday evening of the month, I come to have very new perspectives on things. The chapter we are reading from Chan and Enlightenment is talking about how the Mahayana schools of Buddhism emphasize engagement in the world of humans, as well as living up to human standards and morals. And as I was describing my sense of puzzlement over the word 'engagement', many new thoughts came to mind. One of the thoughts I had is: why is it that so often I associate the practice of meditation with feelings of being calm and isolated from human experience? And what does it mean to suggest that true Chan is just the opposite-- a very deeply engaged practice that happens in the midst of all situations? I started to reflect on how my understanding of Chan practice fluctuates: at times leaning toward a solitary reflective calm, and other times as 'being in the midst' of life's bustle. Perhaps this reflects more of an inner conflict than anything else--a struggle not to be too loose or too tight in my approach.
Recently, I have been thinking that there is really no need to look for an ideal form of practice, since practice just shapes the present situation. For example, tomorrow, I will MC an event for the meditation center. I am sure to be nervous and not entirely certain on what I will need to do or say in the exact moment. And unless I have a teleprompter to show me what to say, I will likely be improvising on certain things to say. But somehow, I can trust that at least I won't be knitting a sweater or doing something else that's not related to that function. And it's that way with everything as well. When I follow what is needed in the moment or what seems required, my mind can be light, and I needn't add anything weighty to that situation. I can also trust that with a relaxed mind, I will be able to find the appropriate words to say and actions to do, so that the experience can run fairly smoothly.
When I think in this way, I don't limit my understanding of meditative practice to sitting on a cushion or even being silent. For example, whilst talking, one only need to say the words that might suit that current moment. It's not an attached or clinging kind of talk: not the kind of talk that tries to cram everything into five minutes of conversation. And it's not the kind of talk that desperately needs attention or affirmation. In this way, I maintain the relaxed principle of 'doing what is needed'. And that doing does not need to impress, it just ''does with" other things and fits in to the other things of the moment.
My struggle is that I want to be able to cover all the bases by knowing everything there is to know about a certain subject. This is how I understand what it is to 'know' something deeply. Yet, there is something inexhaustible about mind, because it is always this now moment that can't be reproduced. And all one can do is marvel at its inexhaustible nature, keep curious, and never feel that one has known even a tiny percentage of it.
Recently, I have been thinking that there is really no need to look for an ideal form of practice, since practice just shapes the present situation. For example, tomorrow, I will MC an event for the meditation center. I am sure to be nervous and not entirely certain on what I will need to do or say in the exact moment. And unless I have a teleprompter to show me what to say, I will likely be improvising on certain things to say. But somehow, I can trust that at least I won't be knitting a sweater or doing something else that's not related to that function. And it's that way with everything as well. When I follow what is needed in the moment or what seems required, my mind can be light, and I needn't add anything weighty to that situation. I can also trust that with a relaxed mind, I will be able to find the appropriate words to say and actions to do, so that the experience can run fairly smoothly.
When I think in this way, I don't limit my understanding of meditative practice to sitting on a cushion or even being silent. For example, whilst talking, one only need to say the words that might suit that current moment. It's not an attached or clinging kind of talk: not the kind of talk that tries to cram everything into five minutes of conversation. And it's not the kind of talk that desperately needs attention or affirmation. In this way, I maintain the relaxed principle of 'doing what is needed'. And that doing does not need to impress, it just ''does with" other things and fits in to the other things of the moment.
My struggle is that I want to be able to cover all the bases by knowing everything there is to know about a certain subject. This is how I understand what it is to 'know' something deeply. Yet, there is something inexhaustible about mind, because it is always this now moment that can't be reproduced. And all one can do is marvel at its inexhaustible nature, keep curious, and never feel that one has known even a tiny percentage of it.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
No Point of Reference
During meditation tonight, a sense came up to me that I could not really locate where my point of reference is. It's the sense that all things are equal, and there is no central point where they all converge. But whenever the sense of self returned, the question came to mind: who is returning? And from where? As long as there is no clear reference point, all the sensations and thoughts seem to have an equal status. Even the body has no 'central' reference, so it begins to feel soft and light. Could the pain that I sometimes feel perhaps be coming from this excessive investment in a central 'self' that is in the body? I leave this question for anyone to ponder it
Curiously, when I am doing the instructions on how to relax prior to meditation, I seem to rely heavily on a point of reference, particularly the breath and the body. I will say things like 'come back to your breathing', or 'use your body sensation to anchor the mind.' All of these frames of reference are somehow false, and only provisional. For example, is the mind ever 'away' from the body? Is it truly necessary to 'anchor' the mind anywhere when the mind has no location? These kinds of questions lead me to wonder how else to describe meditation except through some language references that often contain an implied self. In particular, many mindfulness practices are focused on using the body as a 'tool' for being present and dealing with pain. But in a subtle sense, this instruction ends up centralizing things to the body. It is no wonder that, at times, the feelings of pain intensify when I give myself this kind of instruction. Whatever my mind instructs becomes my point of reference. And there is always that hidden danger that it becomes an attachment, or that people locate awareness entirely within the body--as though it were dependent on the state of the body.
When I stop attaching to what's happening in my body and transform or channel that attachment into asking "who is reciting Buddha's name?", I stop getting annoyed when the body is not feeling how I want it to feel. And I stop believing that mind begins and ends in the body. But it seems to take this kind of strong questioning to break through my strong sense of 'I', even just for a moment. And after this practice, I am humbled to know that the illusion of being 'in this body' alone is so powerful. In fact, what meditation practice shows is that even the sense of one's body changes from moment to moment, based on state of mind, orientation and attitude. In that way, I stop thinking that the body determines who I am.
Curiously, when I am doing the instructions on how to relax prior to meditation, I seem to rely heavily on a point of reference, particularly the breath and the body. I will say things like 'come back to your breathing', or 'use your body sensation to anchor the mind.' All of these frames of reference are somehow false, and only provisional. For example, is the mind ever 'away' from the body? Is it truly necessary to 'anchor' the mind anywhere when the mind has no location? These kinds of questions lead me to wonder how else to describe meditation except through some language references that often contain an implied self. In particular, many mindfulness practices are focused on using the body as a 'tool' for being present and dealing with pain. But in a subtle sense, this instruction ends up centralizing things to the body. It is no wonder that, at times, the feelings of pain intensify when I give myself this kind of instruction. Whatever my mind instructs becomes my point of reference. And there is always that hidden danger that it becomes an attachment, or that people locate awareness entirely within the body--as though it were dependent on the state of the body.
When I stop attaching to what's happening in my body and transform or channel that attachment into asking "who is reciting Buddha's name?", I stop getting annoyed when the body is not feeling how I want it to feel. And I stop believing that mind begins and ends in the body. But it seems to take this kind of strong questioning to break through my strong sense of 'I', even just for a moment. And after this practice, I am humbled to know that the illusion of being 'in this body' alone is so powerful. In fact, what meditation practice shows is that even the sense of one's body changes from moment to moment, based on state of mind, orientation and attitude. In that way, I stop thinking that the body determines who I am.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Pure Land and Pure Mind
After the meditation session tonight, we had a chance to view Master Sheng Yen's video, "Pure Land is Pure Mind" (www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYlIqjDPO18). And this video talked about the difference between ''quiet"(静) and "pure" ( 淨)., both designated by the Chinese phonetic sound "jing". Sheng Yen explains in this video that while 'quietening' the mind refers to making the mind calmer through meditative or other stilling practices, 'purity' does not necessarily equate with 'quiet'. Shifu uses the example of the Pure Land, which is described in Buddhist traditions as a place where even the leaves on the trees make sounds which remind people of the original pure mind. Thus, no one can say that Pure Land is a completely quiet place. Furthermore, enlightened beings are able to abide in the greatest noise without attaching to those sounds. From the deepest level, the 'pure' mind does not cling to notions of 'quiet' or 'noise', 'pure' or 'impure'.
When I relate this concept to practice, I personally feel that quietening the mind and realizing its inherent purity are two vital parts of the practice. On the one hand, one has to often find a place to allow the mind to settle, and this often requires a quiet and simple environment, such as the quiet of a meditation hall. Over time, however, if one gets too attached to the sense of 'quiet', one generates another self, which becomes a source of vexation. I originally go to a retreat with the intention of 'purifying' my thoughts and life, only to find that I am attaching to the idea of 'quiet' as an ultimate or desirable state of mind. Then, when a disturbance arises in life, I have the desire to get back to the cushion. For this reason, I feel that one cannot assign a particular quality to mind, whether pure/impure, quiet/loud, still/moving. Doing so only creates yet another opposition, and one ends up see sawing between the two poles.
So what to do? I think faith in mind is so important here. Looking for or grasping a specific condition of mind is like jumping off a ship in order to hold onto a stick in the ocean. So while I use the quieting practice (watching the breath, chanting, etc.) to settle the mind, I don't take that practice itself to be 'my mind'. As soon as I confuse the method with the mind, I start to attach to that method and reject all other phenomena. But the method is only there to reveal the presence of mind in all phenomena and situations. There is just no need to run away from the arising phenomena, as long as I am aware that it has the same fundamental source. But if I find that there is no way to be aware in this fashion, I use the method of stilling the thoughts in order to open a space for mind to realize its own inherent nature.
When I relate this concept to practice, I personally feel that quietening the mind and realizing its inherent purity are two vital parts of the practice. On the one hand, one has to often find a place to allow the mind to settle, and this often requires a quiet and simple environment, such as the quiet of a meditation hall. Over time, however, if one gets too attached to the sense of 'quiet', one generates another self, which becomes a source of vexation. I originally go to a retreat with the intention of 'purifying' my thoughts and life, only to find that I am attaching to the idea of 'quiet' as an ultimate or desirable state of mind. Then, when a disturbance arises in life, I have the desire to get back to the cushion. For this reason, I feel that one cannot assign a particular quality to mind, whether pure/impure, quiet/loud, still/moving. Doing so only creates yet another opposition, and one ends up see sawing between the two poles.
So what to do? I think faith in mind is so important here. Looking for or grasping a specific condition of mind is like jumping off a ship in order to hold onto a stick in the ocean. So while I use the quieting practice (watching the breath, chanting, etc.) to settle the mind, I don't take that practice itself to be 'my mind'. As soon as I confuse the method with the mind, I start to attach to that method and reject all other phenomena. But the method is only there to reveal the presence of mind in all phenomena and situations. There is just no need to run away from the arising phenomena, as long as I am aware that it has the same fundamental source. But if I find that there is no way to be aware in this fashion, I use the method of stilling the thoughts in order to open a space for mind to realize its own inherent nature.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Six Realms
I have been writing many entries lately about Dzogchen Ponlop's wonderful text, Mind Beyond Death. I think part of my fascination with this book initially came from wanting to understand a narrative of death that seems meaningful from the perspective of Buddhist philosophy. Before I can even think about how palliative care is done in Buddhist settings, it seems that I have a lot of reading to do to know all the ways that Buddhists understand death and its stages. But the other driving reason is that Dzogchen Ponlop has given me many reasons to invest my energies more into practice, with a view to what could go on when a person journeys to another life.
I could sit here in front of this screen and relate the stages of death according to Tibetan Buddhist practice, but perhaps this would not be valuable when I die. It might or it might not be, but one can never know what kinds of situations one is going to face in that journey. Although Dzogchen Ponlop has superbly traced out a road map for this journey, many such as Joan Halifax have pointed out that each journey from life to after-life is going to be unique. What I am trying to say is: a map is precious, but it doesn't predict exactly what response will happen when the moment of death arrives. That gives me a certain kind of humility to realize that I may be quite helpless when faced with this situation. However, at least, I would like to describe some things I learned from Dzogchen Ponlop which has had an impact on me.
Dzogchen Ponlop describes how, if consciousness is unable to return back to original mind at the time of death, it incarnates into one of 6 forms: God, Jealous God (asuras), human, animal, hungry ghost and hell being. Each of the realms that these beings inhabit correspond to dazzling circles of light which the being is said to experience at the end of life, each with a different color: white (God realm), pale red (jealous god), blue (human), green (animal), yellow (hungry ghost) and a foggy grey (hell realm) (For further description see p.210-217, Mind Beyond Death). Dzogchen Ponlop describes how each realm corresponds to a particular mental taint: pride, jealousy, attachment, ignorance, greed and hatred respectively. And where consciousness is most attracted via the 'winds of karma' depends on their proclivities in this life. For instance, if I cultivate the seeds of extreme desire, I may be born either in a hungry ghost realm or a human realm, depending on where I place my energies in this life. If I am extremely self-attached and protective, I may be reborn in the Hell realm. If I have achieved high merit, I may be reborn in the heaven realm, etc. But please note that this "I" is not literal, because in fact there is no consistent, permanent identity that is moving between these states of being. Nor is there a strictly linear classification among the different realms. Dzogchen Ponlop notes that one can instantly be transported to a hell realm just by planting seeds of hatred in one's mind.
From what I understand of this text, much of what Dzogchen Ponlop relates is about psychological states more than physically tangible realms. For instance, although I might associate the animal realm with a physical form such as a cat or a snake, the real mind that goes through these forms is the same as Buddha nature. It is just Buddha nature that is hidden behind the form itself.
Reading the descriptions from this text, I have to say that many emotions arise from it. The first initial emotion is a kind of fear: I have no idea where consciousness will go after this life, and what kinds of projections will arise from it. There is a sense that, with all these 6 possibilities, I could potentially enter into any one of them, knowing that all these propensities exist equally inside me. I have pretty much known intimately all the states that Dzogchen Ponlop describes. The other feeling that arises is a strange sort of tenderness, almost like a solicitude. I don't quite know why it is, but when I reflect that I might not have so much control over my birth, I begin to think that all beings undergo the same sort of confusion as they journey across lifetimes. That tenderness is the feeling that even though beings appear to be different, they are all interwoven in a kind of enmeshed place. For example, an animal may have such a consciousness that it lives in continual fear, without much capacity for self awareness (at least, according to Dzogchen Ponlop). Yet, what creates the fear but a kind of shared existential struggle to survive? The sense of death lifts the sense of struggle a bit, for me. It reminds me that even if a creature is spared through the death of another, not one being can escape from death, and very few escape from rebirth in samsara.
I believe the third aspect that comes to mind is that as long as other being suffer in many lifetimes, I too am part of that suffering. It is not enough for me to find a way to know my true nature. In fact, 'my' is only an illusion, and to say "my nature" is already off the mark. When I start to see that all beings suffer equally as part of this inseparable interbeing, it makes sense to me that I would only seek relief in order to train myself better to help all beings. This is really the only way to stop the round of suffering that comes from attachment.
I could sit here in front of this screen and relate the stages of death according to Tibetan Buddhist practice, but perhaps this would not be valuable when I die. It might or it might not be, but one can never know what kinds of situations one is going to face in that journey. Although Dzogchen Ponlop has superbly traced out a road map for this journey, many such as Joan Halifax have pointed out that each journey from life to after-life is going to be unique. What I am trying to say is: a map is precious, but it doesn't predict exactly what response will happen when the moment of death arrives. That gives me a certain kind of humility to realize that I may be quite helpless when faced with this situation. However, at least, I would like to describe some things I learned from Dzogchen Ponlop which has had an impact on me.
Dzogchen Ponlop describes how, if consciousness is unable to return back to original mind at the time of death, it incarnates into one of 6 forms: God, Jealous God (asuras), human, animal, hungry ghost and hell being. Each of the realms that these beings inhabit correspond to dazzling circles of light which the being is said to experience at the end of life, each with a different color: white (God realm), pale red (jealous god), blue (human), green (animal), yellow (hungry ghost) and a foggy grey (hell realm) (For further description see p.210-217, Mind Beyond Death). Dzogchen Ponlop describes how each realm corresponds to a particular mental taint: pride, jealousy, attachment, ignorance, greed and hatred respectively. And where consciousness is most attracted via the 'winds of karma' depends on their proclivities in this life. For instance, if I cultivate the seeds of extreme desire, I may be born either in a hungry ghost realm or a human realm, depending on where I place my energies in this life. If I am extremely self-attached and protective, I may be reborn in the Hell realm. If I have achieved high merit, I may be reborn in the heaven realm, etc. But please note that this "I" is not literal, because in fact there is no consistent, permanent identity that is moving between these states of being. Nor is there a strictly linear classification among the different realms. Dzogchen Ponlop notes that one can instantly be transported to a hell realm just by planting seeds of hatred in one's mind.
From what I understand of this text, much of what Dzogchen Ponlop relates is about psychological states more than physically tangible realms. For instance, although I might associate the animal realm with a physical form such as a cat or a snake, the real mind that goes through these forms is the same as Buddha nature. It is just Buddha nature that is hidden behind the form itself.
Reading the descriptions from this text, I have to say that many emotions arise from it. The first initial emotion is a kind of fear: I have no idea where consciousness will go after this life, and what kinds of projections will arise from it. There is a sense that, with all these 6 possibilities, I could potentially enter into any one of them, knowing that all these propensities exist equally inside me. I have pretty much known intimately all the states that Dzogchen Ponlop describes. The other feeling that arises is a strange sort of tenderness, almost like a solicitude. I don't quite know why it is, but when I reflect that I might not have so much control over my birth, I begin to think that all beings undergo the same sort of confusion as they journey across lifetimes. That tenderness is the feeling that even though beings appear to be different, they are all interwoven in a kind of enmeshed place. For example, an animal may have such a consciousness that it lives in continual fear, without much capacity for self awareness (at least, according to Dzogchen Ponlop). Yet, what creates the fear but a kind of shared existential struggle to survive? The sense of death lifts the sense of struggle a bit, for me. It reminds me that even if a creature is spared through the death of another, not one being can escape from death, and very few escape from rebirth in samsara.
I believe the third aspect that comes to mind is that as long as other being suffer in many lifetimes, I too am part of that suffering. It is not enough for me to find a way to know my true nature. In fact, 'my' is only an illusion, and to say "my nature" is already off the mark. When I start to see that all beings suffer equally as part of this inseparable interbeing, it makes sense to me that I would only seek relief in order to train myself better to help all beings. This is really the only way to stop the round of suffering that comes from attachment.
Monday, February 8, 2016
"Poverty" Mentality
I have heard the expression 'poverty' mentality in many contexts, and recently, I found a very curious example of it while reading Dzogchen Ponlop's Mind Beyond Death. Dzogchen Ponlop observes how easily spiritual practitioners can get caught up in the idea that they have to keep accumulating various levels of experience in order to achieve a certain state in their practice, particularly around the time of death. He remarks, "Poverty mentality results in our mind becoming distracted and neurotic. The whole point of this spiritual journey is to develop a sense of sanity and to have a clear, one-pointed mind as opposed to having a mind that is split into many directions due to our narrow understanding." (p.154-155)
When I read this passage, I am thinking how important it is not to attach a self to what we know. When I believe that some piece of knowledge leads me to 'progress' or to build my understanding, that building already prevents other kinds of understanding from arising. It also inadvertently contributes to the idea that there is something permanent to be striven for in the world. For example, those who believe that the world is slowly 'progressing' toward a more liberal or enlightened viewpoint, have already pre-determined the direction that society must go to get to that point. Though the theory sounds quite good on paper, I wonder if history will reach that static point in the end. And it also somehow contributes to the notion that one's mind and experience needs to be added to in order to reach some perfection in the future. This only makes the present seem to be a stepping stone for something else.
Whenever I feel a negative emotion such as anger, another desire immediately comes up: I want to project it outward or make the feeling more relieving and pleasant. Or I want to change anger into something else. It's possible to do these things, but Dzogchen Ponlop suggests that through meditative practice, one can also become aware that anger is just one of many manifestations of the mind. He remarks, Whether we are elated by happiness or dejected by sadness, we are experiencing mind.(p.171-172), When I realize that fully, I don't reject the anger in favor of a more 'enlightening' feeling. In fact,I don't attach any particular feelings to being enlightened at all. With this mentality, I am no longer seeking some emotions which I favor over others.
It seems that poverty mentality is not just limited to how we view emotions, although Dzogchen Ponlop explores the role of emotion a great deal in his book. In his book Think Better, Tim Hurson notes that the psychological testing industry in North America is a 3 billion dollar industry (as of 2008, the time of his writing, see p. 61). What do psychological tests do? I agree with Hurson that they provide a temporary sense of 'this is who I am', rather than considering that people change their thinking patterns quite frequently , depending on their situation, motivation and interests. The longing for a fixed personality seems also to stem from the desire for security. If I don't have some specific thing that I can be 'known for' that makes me stand out in a group, then I consider myself as having no value. But over the longer view, it seems that people are no so straightforward, and nor do they need to be. But only when I let go of measuring myself in these stringent ways will I see that the mind has a greater pasture in which to roam.
Hurson, Tim (2008), Think Better: Your Company's Future Depends on it..and so does yours. Toronto: McGraw Hill
Ponlop, Dzogchen (2006, 2008), Mind Beyond Death Ithaka: Snow Lion.
When I read this passage, I am thinking how important it is not to attach a self to what we know. When I believe that some piece of knowledge leads me to 'progress' or to build my understanding, that building already prevents other kinds of understanding from arising. It also inadvertently contributes to the idea that there is something permanent to be striven for in the world. For example, those who believe that the world is slowly 'progressing' toward a more liberal or enlightened viewpoint, have already pre-determined the direction that society must go to get to that point. Though the theory sounds quite good on paper, I wonder if history will reach that static point in the end. And it also somehow contributes to the notion that one's mind and experience needs to be added to in order to reach some perfection in the future. This only makes the present seem to be a stepping stone for something else.
Whenever I feel a negative emotion such as anger, another desire immediately comes up: I want to project it outward or make the feeling more relieving and pleasant. Or I want to change anger into something else. It's possible to do these things, but Dzogchen Ponlop suggests that through meditative practice, one can also become aware that anger is just one of many manifestations of the mind. He remarks, Whether we are elated by happiness or dejected by sadness, we are experiencing mind.(p.171-172), When I realize that fully, I don't reject the anger in favor of a more 'enlightening' feeling. In fact,I don't attach any particular feelings to being enlightened at all. With this mentality, I am no longer seeking some emotions which I favor over others.
It seems that poverty mentality is not just limited to how we view emotions, although Dzogchen Ponlop explores the role of emotion a great deal in his book. In his book Think Better, Tim Hurson notes that the psychological testing industry in North America is a 3 billion dollar industry (as of 2008, the time of his writing, see p. 61). What do psychological tests do? I agree with Hurson that they provide a temporary sense of 'this is who I am', rather than considering that people change their thinking patterns quite frequently , depending on their situation, motivation and interests. The longing for a fixed personality seems also to stem from the desire for security. If I don't have some specific thing that I can be 'known for' that makes me stand out in a group, then I consider myself as having no value. But over the longer view, it seems that people are no so straightforward, and nor do they need to be. But only when I let go of measuring myself in these stringent ways will I see that the mind has a greater pasture in which to roam.
Hurson, Tim (2008), Think Better: Your Company's Future Depends on it..and so does yours. Toronto: McGraw Hill
Ponlop, Dzogchen (2006, 2008), Mind Beyond Death Ithaka: Snow Lion.
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