Compassionate Balance

 I am reading a book called Mindful Compassion by Paul Gilbert and Choden, which talks about the notion that compassion is not about trying to be calm and serene in the face of difficulties, but more so about facing difficulties squarely and with honesty. This requires a keen mindfulness of "difficult" or problematic emotions that we might wish to best leave behind.The authors poignantly note:

If we set out to get rid of our rage, vengeance, sexual desires, anxiety, and all the other stuff that goes on in our heads, then we will be constantly monitoring if we've been successful or not, and this will undermine our mindfulness practice. Moreover, how can we understand or relate to humanity? (p.173)

The difficulty in relating to this excerpt, for me, is that there is a fine line between beholding pain and suffering and "giving into it" or "reacting to it". I think this is the tricky aspect of compassion practice. On the one hand, there are those who regard aforesaid emotions as "impure" (Buddhists included), and therefore as karmic obstructions that need to be somehow purged. While I think this is an important aspect of Buddhist practice, in fact, there is nothing in mind that is truly impure, if we are able to behold it with a certain detachment that is not self-involved. This is the level of seeing emotions as energies rather than as qualities belonging to the self. It's only when I add the second thought of "this is my emotion" that I start to feed into the sense of self, and therefore start to feel the compulsion to act on those feelings and thoughts.

    On the other hand, spiritual practitioners might also fall into the error of believing that, because phenomenon are "empty" in nature, one does not need to worry about the consequences of acting on those emotions. This is to deny the rule of karma and to get deeper into enmeshment. So I think an important practice is to try to see all emotions with a certain kind of loving presence that does not attach to one feeling or the other, thinking it is "mine". This way of thinking might also include wallowing in emotions: saying, for instance, "this is who I am and there's no way to change me". One has already fallen into the unfortunate trap of confusing emotions for the self.

   Reading novels can sometimes help us practice this art of beholding. Have you ever read a novel and became so identified with one particular character, story, or narrative, that you essentially cut out the rest of the characters as "worthy" of identification? When reading books, one can observe the ways in which some characters stand to represent 'ourselves' while others are marginalized or seen as "others". This mirrors the experience of everyday life, moment to moment. So in those instances, we need to step back and ask ourselves: which one of these phenomena is truly "me', and which are the "others"? Then we can practice somehow not making a hard boundary between self and others: to behold different permutations in how the text might be experienced depending on the reader's identity or the character's identity. But overall, again, the idea is not to judge one character or prefer one over the other, but to try to look at the whole situation with a sort of loving detachment: seeing "this is it" and observing the intricate dynamics without attaching to one particular scene or another.

Gilbert, P. & Choden (2014). Mindful Compassion. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger

Understanding forms

 “Monks, understanding form, having knowledge regarding it, eradicating [desire for] it,21 being free from desire for it, one is able to go beyond the dread of birth, old age, disease and death.22 Monks, understanding it, having knowledge regarding it, being free from desire and lust for it, one will liberate the mind and be able to go beyond the dread of birth, old age, disease and death.23 In the same way understanding feeling ... perception ... formations ... consciousness, having knowledge regarding it, eradicating [desire for] it, being free from desire and lust for it, one will liberate the mind and be able to go beyond the dread of birth, old age, disease and death." (4. [Second Discourse on Not Understanding]19)

On the Five Aggregates (1) — A Translation of Saṃyukta-āgama Discourses 1 to 32

sa01.pdf (uni-hamburg.de)

This passage reminds me of Spinoza, who also attributed passive emotions (like being drawn into something, or desire, or a passion) to a lack of understanding or knowledge. To be drawn emotionally is to be drawn into a specific view of the world that is locked in, or somehow fixed. Liberation from that view often requires stepping away from desire to embrace it in a more distant way.

How does this work? Perhaps what it means is that understanding the impermanent nature of form allows us to feel less desire for forms. Forms, after all, are like images that make impressions on the mind briefly, only to be replaced with other forms. It's when I am less attached to forms that I am also less fearful toward death as well as life itself. If a person is truly in vexation, it means that they are wrapped up in forms: in likes, dislikes, wanting this, not wanting that, and also wanting to protect my body from things I don't want or deem as unpleasant. If I can contemplate all these forms as ever-changing and in a dream, would I be so attached to them? 

To put it in a more practical way, whenever I am suffering or in distress (or anxious) about something, I might ask the questions: what forms am I attached to? What sensations arise as a result of those forms? What do I perceive as happening, and how might these forms relate back to a sense of self that is being impacted by these very same forms?

Impermanence and "Sense of Security"

   I truly feel that, in a world of impermanence, the only security one can truly find is within. Chang Wu Fashi was sharing tonight about how one way that one can be mindful in their day to day life is by always anchoring themselves in the sense of the body, and knowing whether the body is truly relaxed or not. A person may tell themselves that they are "relaxed", but how do they really and truly feel in that moment? Fashi's point is that the body is very honest--it will always tell us what is true of an experience, and does not advertise itself falsely. When you drop a hammer on your foot, you can't "pretend" that the pain is simply not there. One of the greatest sources of security that one can seek is within their heartfelt sense of the body, unadulterated by the swirl of thoughts and imaginary scenarios. No matter where my mind goes and what it thinks, the body is always indelibly here in this moment.

   Another point is that happiness and "security" are not from outside. I have often subconsciously sought out reassurance that I am okay from those around me, leading me to wonder if I am "not okay" when I don't receive such kinds of external assurances. The truth is, this desire for assurance itself is a source of suffering and pain. Even when I do feel secure and reassured that things in my job are okay, this is not a guarantee that I will find that same reassurance tomorrow. I think there's a certain value here in analyzing just what that feeling of reassurance is, and whether or not we can mimic it through a kind of self-talk.

   Reassurance, to me, comes from being grounded. We have all experienced at some point or another, a person who grounded us, by not going along with our anxious thoughts. Instead, that person pointed the path where their feet were firmly pointed. When I am aware that there is no need to entertain every possibility or be a prisoner to reacting to my thoughts, then I am naturally reassured: I am here, and there is nowhere else that I need to be, and no "fire" to put out or fan out. Of course, it may not be as simple as "feeling my body", but this reassurance might take the form of deciding to take things one step at a time rather than entertaining every panic scenario under the sun. It also might mean being happy for the small things. Even if I lose my job tomorrow, I am able-bodied enough now that I can take a new one. Even if I am not able-bodied now, there is no such thing as disabled: all humans are enables in some way or another. So, the point is that there is no point where we cannot hold hope for something or at least find comfort in some simple matter of life.

Form as Impermanent

 “You should contemplate form as impermanent. One who contemplates like this has right insight. One who has right insight arouses disenchantment. One who has disenchantment eradicates delight and lust. One who eradicates delight and lust, I say, liberates the mind" (source : Samyukta-agama, sa01.pdf (uni-hamburg.de)

   What does it mean to contemplate "form" as impermanent? What, indeed, is form? When I think about this question from a Western mindset, I reflect on the difference between form and matter--form being what "shapes" matter into a discernable identity. I am sure that most students have at some time or another come across the metaphor of a potter or sculptor: just as the clay is "formless" unless I actively shape it into a pot or other form, so also form is the requirement of identity. 

   Form is in fact the marker of identity. So what does "contemplate form as impermanent" entail? First of all, forms do not have an underlying, enduring substance. They change from one moment to the next. The "essence", if anything, is mind. This is different from what a materialist might think. For example, I see a chair, and I assume that the form it takes is reflective of some underlying substance that endures, even when I don't look at the chair. From a Buddhist perspective, this is not the case: if there is no mind to contemplate or recognize "the chair", then how might the chair be said to have an independent existence? Here, the form itself is impermanent because it appears in mind when the right conditions emerge. 

Agama Sutra also mentions that the insight into no form "arouses disenchantment" which in turn "eradicates delight and lust". I think this means that when a person recognizes that the forms are arising in mind, there is nothing to hold onto or to chase. In fact, the images don't relate to an enduring external reality or "thing", any more than a chair is thought to have an independent existence. This creates a natural sense of disenchantment, but I don't think this translates to the disenchantment of turning away from things. Rather it is a more grounded and realistic idea that appearances constantly change, and there is nothing graspable within those appearances. If I keep thinking about an earlier thought that has passed, I fail to see that it's already gone.

The Importance of "Awareness"

  When I am thinking about the idea of awareness, I think about the Zen analogy of birds in the sky. In order to see birds as "birds", a person must also see the sky as the background upon which they fly. Without that background, one will get caught up in the details of the birds without properly contextualizing the bird as part of an unfolding background.

   What's the "background" of each thought? It relates to the idea that all of one's thoughts are created by mind, and sustained by mind. In essence, what I think about the world is a reflection of my self and the way I think. I am fond of the idea that no two people see the same painting, the same food, the same television program, etc. in the same way, because what one sees is a projection of all the complex memories and experiences they have had. In essence, not to recognize this is to confuse the phenomena and think that it is entirely external. This also leads to an attitude of taking things to be "truth" without examining the extent to which they are cultural or socially-mediated representations. 

    The value of Buddhist teachings, for me, lies in the reminder that what triggers thoughts are often previous thinking about something--patterns, in essence. I will use the example of someone who is preparing a wedding. When a person typically prepares for a wedding, they are not just shopping for clothes or a dress, or a ring. Instead, they are sifting their thoughts for a particular experience they want to have that they can remember for life. I remember someone telling me that her friend had already prepared her wedding--what it would look like, what dress she would wear, etc.--and all she needed was the person to marry! This is a fitting analogy in essence, for how people might think about their present experiences. I already bring to the present moment my previous expectations and assumptions. The present experience is often simply fit into the past expectations, as a hand would fit into a glove. If those expectations are left unexamined or unexposed, a person will end up imposing a particular view or idea onto something or someone that has nothing to do with it. And these ideas are often connected to one's desires.

   Awareness is the important context to remind oneself: 

a. One's experiences are often colored by previous learning, assumptions, etc. which in turn give rise to expectations

b. One often projects things within themselves which have very little to do with the forms they are observing. In fact, human beings are more complicated than this and cannot be reduced to a person's thoughts or impressions of them.

c. Being aware also means that the thoughts are seen as transient and always changing. I don't cling to thoughts like they are the be all and end all. I practice simply letting go of whatever thoughts come to the imagination, to really get a direct experience that they are always flowing in and out of the mind.

The importance of meditation as a practice of observing the flow of thoughts cannot be overstressed!

Gratitude Mindset 2: Radical Trust

  A second aspect of gratitude that I mentioned yesterday was the idea of radical trust; trust even when there are no more handrails to hold us or sustain us. I feel that this is a vulnerable place, in the sense that it means dying to the ways that a person feels more secure in their identity. However, radical trust seems to be necessary in order for a person to be open to receiving the universe as a gift.

   If a person is always using their hands to grasp onto something that is familiar to them--such as a sense of inner authority, of knowing, or even of being confident--they are not necessarily able to embrace new things. For this reason, it's sometimes necessary to let go of what one thinks they know to be close to what is not known. This is also a test of dying: how far can a person die to the familiar in order to embrace unfamiliarity? This is a test of radical faith. And I believe that life challenges people to slowly become more practiced in an art of letting go, by providing them with moments of uncertainty and doubt to see how they embrace these experiences. 

    What allows radical trust to happen? I think that it's trust that there is some higher cosmos that holds all sentient beings, even in the midst of the direst of situations. It holds sentient beings and guides them in their own particular stations in life. No sentient being is "left behind" as all are on a special journey of learning that is unique to their own struggles and conflicts.  When thought in this way, a person truly needn't attach to a specific identity: they can see themselves as fellow learners on a journey that is definitely going somewhere in a certain direction, even if they don't happen to know where it's going to lead at this point. And what happens when one embraces this idea is that one sees that life is a gift to them. They are receiving life as a gift in this now moment, and there is nothing else that is needed to qualify it as a gift because this moment has been made specifically for our own growth and learning.

Gratitude Mindset 1: The Best of All Possible Worlds?

 I have been exploring gratitude throughout my doctoral thesis, and I am beginning to wonder indeed how this practice can really penetrate into a daily philosophy. Some have talked about "growth" mindset, but what would a "gratitude" mindset look like? One principle I can think of is that, no matter what our situation happens to be, there is always a hidden good side to it, even in the face of confusion or disasters. Some have called this a "silver lining" in the cloud, but I think more can be said of it than simply having a positive attitude.

    Contemporary society, particularly advertising, seems to prime people to think of their lives as an evolution that proceeds from "bad" to "better" and, finally, to "best". Few people are able to, under these circumstances, frame their current situation as the best that it could be. In fact, I think that this attitude of seeing that this is the best of all possible worlds, must have fallen out of fashion since Voltaire satirized it in Candide. But there is merit in seeing that the position one is in now is the best of all possible positions. For one, it eliminates wishful thinking, wherein a person imagines all manner of possibilities yet does not reconcile themselves to the present one. Second, it allows a person to stop and really reflect on what is going well, and what can actually improve in and of itself, given time, without having to make enormous changes to one's lifestyle or situation. Thirdly, it allows for a fully and unequivocal trust that one is exactly where one needs to be in life, to receive life's lessons. This might be the beginning of a gratitude mindset, which I will describe in subsequent entries.