Doing and Thinking

  Lately, I have been learning the importance of doing things, not just getting caught up in thoughts.  I have often fallen into the chosen trap of using my thoughts to gauge actions. But I realize that this way of doing things is really limiting. For one thing, it makes 'thoughts' the measure of a person's values and actions rather than looking at behaviors. For another it lets the action be the key way to look at the behavior rather than how we feel prior to doing the actions. This is a hard lesson to learn, and I wanted to explore it from two perspectives. One of them is something I just learned about recently called Morita Therapy, while the other is a Buddhist perspective.
    I learned about Morita Therapy through Caroline Brazier's book Buddhist Psychology. I believe the principal behind this practice is using journals to document actions that need to be done, rather than looking only at feelings. I have found a lot of times in the past, I have relied on my present emotion (whether fear or anxiety or desire) to determine how and when I do something. But the interesting thing about Morita therapy is that it asks that clients (or practitioners) focus on the details of the actions themselves rather than on our initial feelings about those actions. Brazier remarks:

In particular, Moritist method focuses on moving a person into purposeful action and away from a state where they are at the mercy of crippling emotions. It places a lot of emphasis on the distinction between action, which is under the control of the person, and feelings, which are not. Unlike many western approaches which emphasize waiting until something feels right before acting, the Morita approach emphasizes putting the attention into whatever activity needs to be done and allowing feelings to flow in their own way. The aim is not to eliminate feelings, but to accept that they are just part of our experience. We do not need to become fixated on them. (p.265)

I found this account of Morita therapy quite interesting, and would consider trying Morita journaling technique for a while to see how it unfolds for me. I think it's especially interesting when it comes to doing things I am not used to doing or might not yet have embarked upon. I recall also reading in David Burns' book Feeling Good a similar exercise, where he gets participants to write down what they do on a daily basis and rate their feelings about the action before and after doing it. Burns focuses on the feelings and how they change from 'thinking about' doing something to actually doing it. But nonetheless the key catalyst seems to be getting depressed people to see what they can do and how good they feel once they finally get to doing it.
   I am especially prone to getting more caught up in thoughts (and attendant fears) rather than just buckling down to do something. And it happens all so often that if I get stuck in a thought, I will not see the possibility of action. In Buddhism, I think this has to do with habit energy. When I am in the habit of taking my thoughts to be what is happening in the present, I will fail to really act spontaneously from the heart, because my thoughts are all I can see in the moment. And those thoughts are the result of previous clinging to objects and comfortable ways of seeing the world. For example, if I am going to a movie theatre and I only want to see certain kinds of movies, that becomes an expectation which prevents me from venturing to enjoy other movies. It's not that I am attached necessarily to the actual movie, but it's more a general feeling of familiarity that constellates around my memories of similar movies from the past.
    What Morita or similar therapies try to do, it would appear, is put action first so that people don't fixate on feelings so much. In this way, I am not letting my previous impressions or emotions around something get in the way of the present experience of the actions. By emphasizing action over emotions, it can allow people to stop attaching their identity to emotions, and toward a more action-based approach to being and living. But it also gets away from the 'mystique' of believing that emotions are signs of divine fate or providence. Actually, such is not the case, because how a person feels does not often determine whether things are actually accomplished or not. Though I might believe that some job was 'meant for me', I cannot really tell whether it's going to work or not unless I put my full efforts into the job itself and plan to succeed in it as much as I can.
        

Brazier, Caroline (2003) Buddhist Psychology: Liberate your mind, embrace life. London: Constable

Letting Go of Self-Importance

   After the meditation this morning, I had a feeling of insignificance. In a sense, it was a good feeling. I thought: who am I to facilitate the meditation when I am so fragile and often worthless?  Even though it was harsh, the thought opened up a space for myself to reflect. I was able to understand, at least for a moment, that I didn't need to be or even feel significant to survive and function in the world.
   All human beings have some kind of responsibility to others, coming from previous lifetimes and seeds. To fulfill those duties, people need to work and serve others. But this doesn't necessarily mean that a person will be significant to others. In Master Sheng Yen's commentary on the Surangama Sutra, Until We Reach Buddhahood, he describes the way one of his practitioners felt he could never raise a family or marry, because he felt that he couldn't do anything right. Master Sheng Yen suggests that the practitioner take responsibility precisely because he feels worthless, rather than withdraw from it altogether. Afterward, the practitioner comes back to Master Sheng Yen and reports that he feels much better, having decided to commit to a marriage. The practitioner reports that he still considers himself useless but he nonetheless is able to feel a sense of  responsibility in a committed life (see pages 134 to 145 for the full story).
   Master Sheng Yen's point is to suggest that what a person can contribute to a greater community shapes the way she or he sees the world. When I do something for the volunteer organization at DDM, my view of the world changes, because there is no longer just an isolated "I". I am part of the greater world, and what I can contribute in a small way makes a difference to that community. However, it's notable that none of this changes how I see myself. I am still insignificant, in the sense that there is nothing outstanding about me. But even if I  am not who I wish I could be, I am still part of something bigger than me, and that motivates me to contribute to society.
    I think that this lesson is important for me because it teaches me to try to let go of the sense of self,  or at least the self  I wish I could be in others' eyes. I might evaluate myself as a good student, a good writer, a good friend or person, but this self-evaluation can be so deceiving. I can never know who I am or how I am doing to others, because I cannot see through their eyes. And even if I could, it is bound to change from one moment to the next. If that is the case, I should not look to anyone else to motivate me. I need to look to a more general sense of what needs doing, and volunteer myself as much as possible. Otherwise, I will only deceive myself into thinking I am doing well, when maybe my contribution is insignificant to others. In other words, I have to keep in the present and work hard, and not rely on what was done in the past.
    But another aspect of this teaching, is that I think I can relate to the person who sees himself as useless. I have struggled with those feelings all my life: not doing enough, not being enough, not going far enough. It is was keeps pushing me to do more and more. Maybe it is the way that humans are motivated to do their best in society. But if I keep worrying about how I am seen to others, this is also missing the point. Even if everyone disliked me or didn't think I have a value, I still need to contribute. So there is a sense that even if I am not valued to others, I still need to contribute in as best a way as I can. This means that I need to learn to be comfortable with being useless in other people's eyes, so that I can still function with others and get along with them. Otherwise, I will feel depressed and unable to function. This insight is also about letting go of attachment to self, and realizing impermanence.

Master Sheng Yen, Until We Reach Buddhahood: Lectures on the Surangama Sutra Volume One. Elmhurst: Dharma Drum Publications

Self and The Impossible Goal

   I want to elaborate a bit on the theme of trying to perfect the self as an impediment to living. In my previous entry, I had explored the idea of attachment to emptiness, and how it can often create an isolating situation. This is especially so if a practitioner tries to use meditation to isolate themselves from the chaotic and often messy world. I want to elaborate on some ways of looking at this situation or reframing it in helpful ways so that practitioners can engage in a world that is fraught with impermanence.
    I think it's important to realize that there is no permanent self to perfect. Conditions are constantly changing, goals are changing, and there are  always new problems to solve. When I look at my own life so far, it often seems like a shifting array of challenges and problems, almost like waves in an ocean. I might have a problem that I think it unsurmountable and so difficult, only to realize later that this is not the case at all. It's just that conditions were not ripe yet for a solution to arise. This happened to me in my last semester in my degree program, where I struggled with trying to come up with a good assignment for my teaching writing course. There was a point where the professor suggested that I completely reframe my assignment, and I remember feeling the frustration of simply being up against a brick wall--not knowing what to do. And I generalized it to mean that "I" was simply not able to surmount that problem. This created quite a bit of despair for me. But in reality, there is no static 'container' that has all the answers. There isn't this static 'self' who is an expert at everything all the time. Sometimes, I might actually get stuck on a problem, then abandon it for a while (at least consciously) only to find later that a solution will arrive in mind. But there are other times when I might discover something from someone else or from a book that might reframe how I see a problem. Sometimes it just takes re-orientation to allow me to reframe the problem in a different way.
      Sometimes it's important to persist in trying to find resources and ideas, while waiting for solutions to arise or plans to develop. This waiting is not necessarily about doing nothing, but it might involve stopping for a while and, as Joan Halifax is fond of saying, 'just showing up' for an experience and all its complexity. There is nothing wrong with stopping and observing what is, even if it means seeing that one is in a painful and unknowable transition. And again, I emphasize that this does not mean stagnating. But it might mean taking a break from routine to gather new information or learn something from others that is different from what one knows. It might involve taking a break from a familiar pattern of learning to integrate some new learning or insight in a different field.
    Sometimes, when I try very hard to do well in one thing (such as a spiritual practice), I only end up reinforcing the self that wants to perfect itself. As Caroline Brazier remarks in Buddhist Psychology:

Buddhism encourages us to aspire higher. The object of aspiration may be far beyond our grasp. In accepting this, we experience the failure of effort. We recognize how impotent we really are to effect what we set ourselves to do. This experience is an important part of preparing ourselves for the inspirational encounter. We have to recognize the limitations of the self....Secretly, the self wants perfection; so, in making perfection our aim, we test ourselves. There is always a part of us that believes itself to be omnipotent. This primitive self is constantly ambitious and seeking aggrandizement. In setting impossible targets, this self strives to accomplish the impossible and inevitably fails (p.202-303).

Brazier distinguishes between 'aspiration' and 'inspiration' in spiritual practice. Aspiration means trying to use self-power (such as through meditation or reading sutras) to attain a personal awakening and fulfill the potentials to discover one's own enlightened nature. "Inspiration", on the other hand, entails finding spiritual insight in an encounter with others (such as relationships, teachers or Dharma friends) which helps people along the way. I believe Brazier is suggesting that both are in balance with each other. If I am only relying on self-power, I end up feeding the delusion that the self is the true mind, and is all that is needed for enlightenment. This inevitably ends up in failure. But, as Brazier intimates, this failure is valuable because it opens people up to two insights. The first is that the self is a temporary  illusion that has no permanence or power of its very own. The second is that all being is interconnected, and that life is the balance of this interconnection. To be enlightened is to fully be with this interconnection and to know that the interconnection is true mind, not something that only exists in this body. When  I act in this  understanding, I don't need to cling to concepts of self or other, as though these were static and unchanging givens. But making an 'impossible vow' is an important part of realizing the reality of no-self. Without impossible vows, it would be hard to shatter the sense of self.

Brazier, Caroline (2003),Buddhist Psychology: Liberate your mind, embrace life. London: Robinson.

attachment to emptiness

  I think one of the most important elements of Lotus Sutra that interests me is this idea that attachment to the 'concept' or the incorrect view of emptiness can be harmful to one's practice and to one's being in general. Buddha is even suggesting, in some regards, that it is harder for a person to be saved from attaching to emptiness than it is to save them from attachment to existence. I wonder what are the implications of this view, and how does it allow a person to be socially engaged? I am really asking the question: how does a person move from attachment to emptiness (or at least a false, distorted view of it) to real engagement in the world? And how is this achieved without 'reattaching' to existence?
    I think the answer to this is to recognize that the six sense objects are neither bad nor desirable. They are not to be avoided altogether, since it is through the whole mind that people can reach enlightenment (eg. by way of practice). But at the same time, I do begin to wonder how it's possible for a person to truly live and be human if one falls into the nihilistic trap of seeing all things as coming and going --by nature, full of impermanence. More importantly, how is it that people can muster enthusiasm for things  which are fundamentally impermanent?
    The point is that avoidance of existence becomes an obstruction because that concept of emptiness becomes a kind of craving for 'non being'. But if a person truly realizes that she or he is never detached from the world (or that world and mind are one), there is no such confusion that  says that all things are to be escaped or avoided because they are impermanent. In fact, nothing is really to be feared anymore, since it is all happening in the realm of phenomena. In this way, even socializing can be a way of practicing not attaching to views or to particular preferences.
    I  think the mistake that perhaps those who attach to emptiness make is that they are attaching to a partial view--the view that emptiness is a 'relief' from existence. Such isn't the case, since emptiness and existence go  together and are inseparable from each other. To see emptiness in existence is to know that there is no need to escape from this moment. It is part of us and not something that needs to be avoided. It's like the hand and foot: why would I want to cut these off from my body, unless I had the deluded view that I am separate from them? When I relax in this moment, I am no longer trying to resist painful sensations, and I can be clear about the totality of the experience as inseparable from mind itself.

Smiling at Life

After the meditation period yesterday, the facilitator had remarked about one of the participants, who was always smiling during meditation. He was saying that at times, even when we don’t feel like smiling, the act of simply smiling can be a radical way of transforming one’s experience. I started to reflect on what it means to just smile at a particular experience. What is the radical idea behind that, and how does it relate to meditation?

                There seem to be two distinct orientations toward meditation that I have experienced in my own sitting practice. The first has to do with somehow deploying these expedient sort of means to arouse specific energies. This is similar to the idea of ‘do something, and something else will follow.’ There is a second approach to meditation, and that involves seeing the totality of where one is and gently inquiring into it. What is that space, and what am I doing to resist that mental space? How do I judge it, detach from it, or even try to separate from it? I suppose the first approach is about being unsatisfied, feeling off the mark, while the second is about asking the opposite: what am I not letting go of to see that I am already on the mark? What stops me from being with the mind in this moment? The first approach suggests that practitioners need to add something that is lacking in themselves, while the second approach suggests that practitioners simply need to let go of their sense of lack or separation, to see the richness in themselves.

                In the early part of the 20^th century, there was some kind of big movement in psychology, and it was based on the idea that one should act first, then feelings will follow. This psychological theory emphasized acting before feelings and attitudes, to the point where it even ignored feelings altogether as motivators of action. Pretty soon, however, people started to see that the idea subtly disempowers people, because it suggests that people are blank slates who can be programmed in a variety of ways to perform in certain capacities. I don’t need to ‘feel’ that I am the President, only act like I am one, and then I will become how I act. But it even seemed to get to the point where feelings didn’t even factor into the equation, much less introspection. This is similar to treating the mind like a computer which can be fixed, upgraded or even replaced with new programs.

                But with meditation, I am not sure if the goal is to make the mind a blank slate in this way, so that it could be filled with more positive or uplifting things. I tend to think quite the opposite, which is that meditation reveals the process of mind that is always present and from which we can never be alienated. Even if I use a method to arouse myself into a particular state (such as more alert, or light, or carefree), I soon realize that those methods are temporary means, and they are no substitute for the mind to which they point. Without that sense of ‘awe in the ordinary’, meditation could end up being another exercise in a futile striving for self-improvement. But the more a person meditates, the more she or he realizes the infinite abundance of the experience, but also the fact that expedient means are always temporary and they don’t speak of this infinite essence of mind..

The Laboratory of Relaxation

    During meditation tonight, I had started out with many wandering thoughts. I couldn't believe how many there were in fact, but this was simply an indicator of how much I had missed the meditation process. And during the space of the practice, I kept trying to look into the source of those thoughts. Eventually, my body relaxed, but how did it do so? Admittedly, it was only during the second period, almost toward the end of the meditation, that I had really allowed my body to relax and release. There are many approaches, it seems, not just one, to relaxation, and I have almost found meditation to be a sort of ''laboratory" where I learn what relaxation principles tend to work well. I will mention a few here.
   Perhaps the easiest way I have found to relax is not to even think about relaxing at all. If a person's focus is on the method of meditation practice, there is no need to try to arrange the body into a particular state of being. When a person is reciting loving kindness, for example, they simply use the intention to extend wellness to create a relaxing and peaceful situation. The important thing here is to cultivate the correct attitude of not trying too hard  to relax or even to attain relaxation. If it so happens that my body and mind state are agitated, then I can make space to allow that agitation to arise, without getting caught up in its particulars. It is like simply observing the energy of the agitation rather than trying to look for the root causes and get rid of them.
     There is another way I have found helpful and that is to observe tension with bare awareness. I found that when I was sitting today, I became acutely aware of a general feeling of tension in my forehead, neck and shoulders. As I truly embodied and beheld the force of that tension, something inside me released, and I was able to let go of it to a great extent. I recall reading about ''progressive relaxation", a technique where a person gets muscles to be as tight as possible and then releases them, in order to get a sense of what 'release' is really about. The release almost comes from fully acknowledging the pain of that situation rather than trying to rationalize it. It is like seeing how hard it is by really and fully accepting that it's hard or painful, thus in some way merging with it.
     The third visualization that I found most effective is to imagine a  compassionate being whose love is so vast that they share the pain with you. I found this approach to be very relaxing as well, especially because there is no longer an isolated self that is feeling the suffering.
   I have also come to have great confidence in the ability for just sitting in simple silence to calm the body. Radical silence and being present, still and not engaged in anything is also a way to stop the thoughts from stirring up, and it's often taken for granted. As long as I am in an observational awareness. I no longer live in my thoughts, and this practice can be very rejuvenating even if it is not hooked up to any particular method of practice.
    

Not One and Not Two

 I found this interesting quote from Master Sheng Yen in his article "A Second Moon" from Until We Reach Buddhahood", which talks about the question of whether there is one-ness or separation between people. He remarks: "Are the 'I'-that which sees-and the object--that which is seen--one or separate things? If they were one, then there would be no way to distinguish between what sees and what is seen. If they are two separate things, they would exist in and of themselves, and there would be no relation between them. The answer is, then, that what sees and what is seen cannot be said to be one thing and cannot be said to be two." (p.108)

Master Sheng Yen goes on to suggest that deeply contemplating this principle would lead to seeing "how pointless quarrels are between couples, fights between brothers, or the ending of friendships. A husband would consider a quarrel between his wife and himself as his own right foot stepping on his left. It would be like him biting his own tongue." (p.109).

I think there are many layers to unpack in this chapter, which I would like to explore more deeply. The first is the commonplace notion that there is always a division between 'knower' and 'known'. As Sheng Yen suggests, this is a problematic view. After all, people are evolved from both physical and mental aspects. Schools condition people by teaching them specific concepts, while the body itself is evolved to do things in certain ways. It's hard to posit a completely 'objective' knower when even the eye is adapted to fixate on certain kinds of stimulus, such as movement or sharp edges. Yes, whenever a person sees something, they might have this thought, 'I' see 'you', and then divide the experience into these two. But Sheng Yen asks his readers to go deeper than this: to see that the experience of subject and object is a totality. He thus remarks, "That which is seen by the self cannot be separate from the material, from matter. I can only sense or perceive a spiritual existence through interaction with matter." (p.105)

This sounds as though Master Sheng Yen is saying 'we are all one', which echoes a lot of spiritual teachings which describe the unification of mind. But in fact there is another layer to this. If I think there is this 'one reality' that is ultimate, I am only describing what I think to be the 'true moon' (not the reflection), when it too is just an appearance of mind. Similarly, while everything I see and feel is part of my overall experience, paradoxically, this is not an 'ultimate' experience, because it can be seen from endless points of view. And yet, the only view that we can really see is the one that is uniquely one's own. This is such a strange paradox because it admits the diversity of viewpoints while sanctioning the uniqueness of one's experience.

How does this play out in one's life? To give an example: if I think that 'my view' is the only 'right view' among a group of people, who am I to say which is 'mine' and which is ultimate truth? Both 'mine' and 'ultimate truth' are just concepts. On the other hand, it's impossible for me to know anything besides this immediate experience, since nothing is outside of it. For example, I cannot say that what I do 'affects' someone else outside the mind, since the only being I know are coming into my experience. Sheng Yen is referring to two common mistakes that I believe people make. The first is to assume that their view is the 'correct view' and others' views 'less' (thus attaching to self). This view ignores the fact that others are just part of my experience, and are not separate from it. The second mistake is to believe that what I do affects others as separate beings. This also isn't quite true, because again, the only experience I have access to is what is unfolding in this present moment. So it is somewhat pointless to contemplate what is happening to 'someone else' was though they were separate from this experience I am having now.

This is to say that I need to respect that others are just as much a part of me as the 'me' I think I am. But I have to admit that this concept still eludes me. I think that the only way I can describe it is by saying that there is only one mind interacting at any given moment, almost with itself (though this is another subject object split). And when I fully understand this I can start to relax and focus on how things are really known and encountered by mind rather than projecting duality into whatever I experience. This kind of approach would definitely lead to less of a sense of reacting as though there were separate beings around me. But I have to say that there is a long way for me to go to reach depth in this insight.