The Answer to Anger & Aggression is Patience

By Pema Chödrön

We can suppress anger and aggression or act it out, either way making things worse for ourselves and others. Or we can practice patience: wait, experience the anger and investigate its nature. Pema Chödrön takes us step by step through this powerful practice.

The Buddhist teachings tell us that patience is the antidote to anger and aggression. When we feel aggression in all its many forms—resentment, bitterness, being very critical, complaining and so forth—we can apply the different practices we’ve been given and all the good advice we’ve heard and given to other people. But those often don’t seem to help us. That’s why this teaching about patience caught my interest a few years ago, because it’s so hard to know what to do when one feels anger and aggression.

I thought, if patience is the antidote to aggression, maybe I’ll just try that. In the process I learned a lot about what patience is and about what it isn’t. I would like to share with you what I’ve learned, to encourage you to find out for yourself how patience works with aggression.

To begin with, I learned about patience and the cessation of suffering. It’s said that patience is a way to de-escalate aggression. I’m thinking here of aggression as synonymous with pain. When we’re feeling aggressive—and in some sense this would apply to any strong feeling—there’s an enormous pregnant quality that pulls us in the direction of wanting to get some resolution. It hurts so much to feel the aggression that we want it to be resolved.

So what do we usually do? We do exactly what is going to escalate the aggression and the suffering. We strike out; we hit back. Something hurts our feelings, and initially there is some softness there—if you’re fast, you can catch it—but usually you don’t even realize there is any softness. You find yourself in the middle of a hot, noisy, pulsating, wanting-to-just-get-even-with-someone state of mind: it has a very hard quality to it. With your words or your actions, in order to escape the pain of aggression, you create more aggression and pain.

At that point, patience means getting smart: you stop and wait. You also have to shut up, because if you say anything it’s going to come out aggressive, even if you say, “I love you.”

Once, when I was very angry at a colleague of mine, I called him on the telephone. I can’t even remember now what I was angry about, but at the time I couldn’t sleep because I was so furious. I tried meditating with my anger and working with it and doing practices with it, but nothing helped, so I just got up in the middle of the night and called him. When he answered the phone, all I said was, “Hi, Yeshe.” But he immediately asked, “Did I do something wrong?” I thought I would very sweetly cover over what I was really feeling and say something pleasant about all the bad things he had done, whatever they were. But just by the tone of my greeting to him, he knew. That’s what it’s like with aggression: you can’t speak because everyone will feel the vibes. No matter what is coming out of your mouth, it’s like you’re sitting on top of a keg of dynamite and it’s vibrating.

Patience has a lot to do with getting smart at that point and just waiting: not speaking or doing anything. On the other hand, it also means being completely and totally honest with yourself about the fact that you’re furious. You’re not suppressing anything—patience has nothing to do with suppression. In fact, it has everything to do with a gentle, honest relationship with yourself. If you wait and don’t feed your discursive thought, you can be honest about the fact that you’re angry. But at the same time you can continue to let go of the internal dialogue. In that dialogue you are blaming and criticizing, and then probably feeling guilty and beating yourself up for doing that. It’s torturous, because you feel bad about being so angry at the same time that you really are extremely angry, and you can’t drop it. It’s painful to experience such awful confusion. Still, you just wait and remain patient with your confusion and the pain that comes with it.

Patience has a quality of enormous honesty in it, but it also has a quality of not escalating things, allowing a lot of space for the other person to speak, for the other person to express themselves, while you don’t react, even though inside you are reacting. You let the words go and just be there.

This suggests the fearlessness that goes with patience. If you practice the kind of patience that leads to the de-escalation of aggression and the cessation of suffering, you will be cultivating enormous courage. You will really get to know anger and how it breeds violent words and actions. You will see the whole thing without acting it out. When you practice patience, you’re not repressing anger, you’re just sitting there with it—going cold turkey with the aggression. As a result, you really get to know the energy of anger and you also get to know where it leads, even without going there. You’ve expressed your anger so many times, you know where it will lead. The desire to say something mean, to gossip or slander, to complain—to just somehow get rid of that aggression—is like a tidal wave. But you realize that such actions don’t get rid of the aggression; they escalate it. So instead you’re patient, patient with yourself.

Developing patience and fearlessness means learning to sit still with the edginess of the energy. It’s like sitting on a wild horse, or on a wild tiger that could eat you up. There’s a limerick to that effect: “There was a young lady of Niger, who smiled as she rode on a tiger. They came back from the ride with the lady inside and the smile on the face of the tiger.” Sitting with your discomfort feels like riding on that tiger, because it’s so frightening.

When we examine this process we learn something very interesting: there is no resolution. The resolution that human beings seek comes from a tremendous misunderstanding. We think we can resolve everything! When we human beings feel powerful energy, we tend to be extremely uncomfortable until things are resolved in some kind of secure and comforting way, either on the side of yes or the side of no. Or the side of right or the side of wrong. Or the side of anything at all that we can hold on to.

But the practice we’re doing gives us nothing to hold on to. Actually, the teachings themselves give us nothing to hold on to. In working with patience and fearlessness, we learn to be patient with the fact that we’re human beings, that everyone who is born and dies from the beginning of time until the end of time is naturally going to want some kind of resolution to this edgy, moody energy. And there isn’t any. The only resolution is temporary and just causes more suffering. We discover that as a matter of fact joy and happiness, peace, harmony and being at home with yourself and your world come from sitting still with the moodiness of the energy until it rises, dwells and passes away. The energy never resolves itself into something solid.

So all the while, we stay in the middle of the energy. The path of touching in on the inherent softness of the genuine heart is to sit still and be patient with that kind of energy. We don’t have to criticize ourselves when we fail, even for a moment, because we’re just completely typical human beings; the only thing that’s unique about us is that we’re brave enough to go into these things more deeply and explore beneath our surface reaction of trying to get solid ground under our feet.

Patience is an enormously wonderful and supportive and even magical practice. It’s a way of completely changing the fundamental human habit of trying to resolve things by going either to the right or the left, calling things right or calling things wrong. It’s the way to develop courage, the way to find out what life is really about.

Patience is also not ignoring. In fact, patience and curiosity go together. You wonder, Who am I? Who am I at the level of my neurotic patterns? Who am I at the level beyond birth and death? If you wish to look into the nature of your own being, you need to be inquisitive. The path is a journey of investigation, beginning to look more deeply at what’s going on. The teachings give us a lot of suggestions about what we can look for, and the practices give us a lot of suggestions on how to look. Patience is one extremely helpful suggestion. Aggression, on the other hand, prevents us from looking: it puts a tight lid on our curiosity. Aggression is an energy that is determined to resolve the situation into a hard, solid, fixed pattern in which somebody wins and somebody loses.
When you begin to investigate, you notice, for one thing, that whenever there is pain of any kind—the pain of aggression, grieving, loss, irritation, resentment, jealousy, indigestion, physical pain—if you really look into that, you can find out for yourself that behind the pain there is always something we are attached to. There is always something we’re holding on to.

I say that with such confidence, but you have to find out for yourself whether this is really true. You can read about it: the first thing the Buddha ever taught was the truth that suffering comes from attachment. That’s in the books. But when you discover it yourself, it goes a little deeper right away.

As soon as you discover that behind your pain is something you’re holding on to, you are at a place that you will frequently experience on the spiritual path. After a while it seems like almost every moment of your life you’re there, at a point where you realize you actually have a choice. You have a choice whether to open or close, whether to hold on or let go, whether to harden or soften.

That choice is presented to you again and again and again. For instance, you’re feeling pain, you look deeply into it, and you notice that there’s something very hard you’re holding on to. And then you have a choice: you can let go of it, which basically means you connect with the softness behind all that hardness. Perhaps each one of us has made the discovery that behind all the hardness of resistance, stress, aggression and jealousy, there is enormous softness that we’re trying to cover over. Aggression usually begins when someone hurts our feelings. The first response is very soft, but before we even notice what we’re doing, we harden. So we can either let go and connect with that softness or we can continue to hold on, which means that the suffering will continue.

It requires enormous patience even to be curious enough to look, to investigate. And then when you realize you have a choice, and that there’s actually something there that you’re attached to, it requires great patience to keep going into it. Because you will want to go into denial, to shut down. You’re going to say to yourself, “I don’t want to see this.” You’ll be afraid, because even if you’re starting to get close to it, the thought of letting go is usually very frightening. You may feel that you’re going to die, or that something is going to die. And you will be right. If you let go, something will die. But it’s something that needs to die and you will benefit greatly from its death.

On the other hand, sometimes it’s easy to let go. If you make this journey of looking to see if there’s something you’re holding on to, often it’s going to be just a little thing. Once when I was stuck with something huge, Trungpa Rinpoche gave me some advice. He said, “It’s too big; you can’t let go of it yet, so practice with the little ones. Just start noticing all the little ways you hold when it’s actually pretty easy and just get the hang of letting go.”

That was extremely good advice. You don’t have to do the big one, because usually you can’t. It’s too threatening. It may even be too harsh to let go right then and there, on the spot. But even with small things, you may—perhaps just intellectually—begin to see that letting go can bring a sense of enormous relief, relaxation and connection with the softness and tenderness of the genuine heart. True joy comes from that.

You can also see that holding on increases the pain, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be able to let go, because there’s a lot at stake. What’s at stake is your whole sense of who you are, your whole identity. You’re beginning to move into the territory of egolessness, the insubstantial nature of oneself—and of everything, for that matter. Theoretical, philosophical, distant-sounding teachings can get pretty real when you’re beginning to have an inkling of what they’re actually talking about.

It takes a lot of patience not to beat up on yourself for being a failure at letting go. But if you apply patience to the fact that you can’t let go, somehow that helps you to do it. Patience with the fact that you can’t let go helps you to get to the point of letting go gradually—at a very sane and loving speed, at the speed that your basic wisdom allows you to move. It’s a big moment even to get to the point where you realize you have a choice. Patience is what you need at that point to just wait and soften, to sit with the restlessness and edginess and discomfort of the energy.
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I’ve come to find that patience has a lot of humor and playfulness in it. It’s a misunderstanding to think of it as endurance, as in, “Just grin and bear it.” Endurance involves some kind of repression or trying to live up to somebody else’s standards of perfection. Instead, you find you have to be pretty patient with what you see as your own imperfections. Patience is a kind of synonym for loving-kindness, because the speed of loving-kindness can be extremely slow. You are developing patience and loving-kindness for your own imperfections, for your own limitations, for not living up to your own high ideals. There’s a slogan someone once came up with that I like: “Lower your standards and relax as it is.” That’s patience.

One of the Indian Buddhist teacher Atisha’s slogans says, “Whichever of the two occurs, be patient.” It means that if a painful situation occurs, be patient, and if a pleasant situation occurs, be patient. This is an interesting point in terms of patience and the cessation of suffering, patience and fearlessness, and patience and curiosity. We are actually jumping all the time: whether it’s pain or pleasure, we want resolution. So if we’re really happy and something is great, we could also be patient then, in terms of not just filling up the space, going a million miles an hour—impulse buying, impulse speaking, impulse acting.

I’d like to stress that one of the things you most have to be patient with is, “Oops, I did it again!” There’s a slogan that says, “One at the beginning and one at the end.” That means that when you wake up in the morning you make your resolve, and at the end of the day you review, with a caring and gentle attitude, how you have done. Our normal resolve is to say something like, “I am going to be patient today,” or some other such set-up (as someone put it, we plan our next failure). Instead of setting yourself up, you can say, “Today, I’m going to try to the best of my ability to be patient.” And then in the evening you can look back over the whole day with loving-kindness and not beat yourself up. You’re patient with the fact that when you review your day, or even the last forty minutes, you discover, “I’ve talked and filled up all the space, just like I’ve done all my life, as long as I can remember. I was aggressive with the same style of aggression that I’ve used as long as I can remember. I got carried away with irritation exactly the same way that I have for the last...” If you’re twenty years old, it’s been twenty years that you’ve been doing it that way; if you’re seventy-five years old, it’s seventy-five years that you’ve been doing it that way. You see this and you say, “Give me a break!”

The path of developing loving-kindness and compassion is to be patientwith the fact that you’re human and that you make these mistakes. That’s more important than getting it right. It seems to work only if you’re aspiring to give yourself a break, to lighten up, as you practice developing patience and other qualities such as generosity, discipline and insight. As with the rest of the teachings, you can’t win and you can’t lose. You don’t get to just say, “Well, since I am never able to do it, I’m not going to try.” You are never able to do it and still you try. And, interestingly enough, that adds up to something; it adds up to loving-kindness for yourself and for others. You look out your eyes and you see yourself wherever you go. You see all these people who are losing it, just like you do. Then, you see all these people who catch themselves and give you the gift of fearlessness. You say, “Oh wow, what a brave one—he or she caught themselves.” You begin to appreciate even the slightest gesture of bravery on the part of others because you know it’s not easy, and that inspires you tremendously. That’s how we can really help each other.


                                        
Pema Chödrön was ordained in 1974 as a nun in the Kagyu lineage of Tibetan Buddhism and in 1985 became director or Gampo Abbey, the first Tibetan Buddhist monastery in the West. She has gone on to become one of the West's most prominent teachers of the Mahayana path. Her many popular books include The Places That Scare You, When Things Fall Apart, and Start Where You Are.

The Answer to Anger & Aggression is Patience, Pema Chödrön, copyright Shambhala Sun, March 2005.

Buddha Dhamma Sangha

by Ven. Ajahn Sumedho

When people ask 'What do you have to do to become a Buddhist?' we say that we take refuge in Buddha Dhamma Sangha and to take refuge we recite a Pali formula:

Buddham saranam gacchami (I go to the Buddha for refuge)
Dhammam saranam gacchami (I go to the Dhamma for refuge)
Sangham saranam gacchami (I go to the Sangha for refuge)

As we practise more and more and begin to realise the profundity of the Buddhist Teachings it becomes a real joy to take these refuges and even just their recitation inspires the mind. After sixteen years as a monk I still like to chant 'Buddham saranam gacchami', in fact I like it more than I did fifteen years ago because then it didn't really mean anything to me, I just chanted it because I had to, because it was part of the tradition. Merely taking refuge in the Buddha verbally doesn't mean you take refuge in anything, a parrot could be trained to say 'Buddham saranam gacchami', and it would probably be as meaningful to a parrot as it is to many Buddhists. These words are for reflection, looking at them and actually investigating what they mean: what 'refuge' means, what 'Buddha' means. When we say 'I take refuge in the Buddha' what do we mean by that? How can we use that so that it is not just a repetition of nonsense syllables but something that really helps to remind us, gives us direction and increases our devotion, our dedication to the path of the Buddha.

The word Buddha is a lovely word, it means 'the one who knows', and the first refuge is in Buddha as the personification of wisdom. Unpersonified wisdom remains too abstract for us, we can't conceive a bodiless, soulless wisdom, and so as wisdom always seems to have a personal quality to it, using Buddha as its symbol is very useful.

We can use the word Buddha to refer to Gotama, the founder of what is now known as Buddhism, the historical sage who attained Parinibbana[*] in India 2500 years ago, the teacher of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path, teachings from which we today still benefit. But when we take refuge in the Buddha it doesn't mean that we take refuge in some historical prophet but in that which is wise in the universe, in our minds, that which is not separate from us but is more real than anything we can conceive with the mind or experience through the senses. Without any Buddha-wisdom in the universe life for any length of time would be totally impossible, it is the Buddha-wisdom that protects. We call it Buddha-wisdom, other people can call it other things if they want, these are just words.We happen to use the words of our tradition. We're not going to argue about Pali words, Sanskrit words, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, English or any other, we're just using the term Buddha-wisdom as a conventional symbol to help remind us to be wise, to be alert, to be awake.

Many forest bhikkhus in the North-East of Thailand use the word 'Buddho' as their meditation object. They use it as a kind of koan, firstly they calm the mind by following the inhalations and exhalations using the syllables 'Bud-dho' and then begin to contemplate 'What is Buddho, the "one who knows"?' 'What is the knowing?' When I used to travel around the North-East of Thailand on 'tudong' I liked to go and stay at the monastery of Ajahn Fun. Ajahn Fun was a much-loved and deeply respected monk, the teacher of the Royal Family, and he was so popular that he was constantly receiving guests. I would sit at his kuti and hear him give the most amazing kind of Dhamma talks all on the subject of Buddho, as far as I could see it was all that he taught. He could make it into a really profound meditation whether for an illiterate farmer or an elegant Western-educated Thai aristocrat. The main part of his teaching was to not just mechanically repeat 'Buddho' but to reflect and investigate, to awaken the mind to really look into the 'Buddho', the 'one who knows', really investigate its beginning, its end, above and below, so that one's whole attention was stuck onto it. When one did that, 'Buddho' became something that echoed through the mind. One would investigate it, look at it, examine it before it was said, after it was said and eventually one would start listening to it and hear beyond the sound until one heard the silence.

A refuge is a place of safety and so when superstitious people would come to my teacher Ajahn Chah, wanting charmed medallions or little talismans to protect them from bullets and knives, ghosts and so on he would say 'Why do you want things like that? The only real protection is taking refuge in the Buddha. Taking refuge in the Buddha is enough.' But their faith in Buddha usually wasn't quite as much as their faith in those silly little medallions. They wanted something made out of bronze and clay, stamped and blessed. This is what is called taking refuge in bronze and clay, taking refuge in superstition, taking refuge in that which is truly unsafe and cannot really help us. Today in modern Britain we find that generally people are more sophisticated. They don't take refuge in magic charms, they take refuge in things like the Westminster Bank, but that is still taking refuge in something that offers no safety. Taking refuge in the Buddha, in wisdom, means that we have a place of safety. When there is wisdom, when we act wisely and live wisely we are truly safe. The conditions around us might change. We can't guarantee what will happen to the material standard of living or that the Westminster Bank will survive the decade, the future remains unknown and mysterious, but in the present taking refuge in the Buddha we have that presence of mind now to reflect on and learn from life as we live it.

Wisdom doesn't mean having a lot of knowledge about the world, we don't have to go to university and collect information about the world to be wise. Wisdom means knowing the nature of conditions as we're experiencing them. It is not just being caught up in reacting to and absorbing into the conditions of our bodies and minds out of habit, out of fear, worry, doubt, greed and so on, but using that 'Buddho', that 'one who knows', to observe that these conditions are changing. It is the knowing of that change that we call Buddha and in which we take refuge. We make no claims to Buddha as being 'me' or 'mine'. We don't say 'I am Buddha' but rather 'I take refuge in Buddha'. It is a way of humbly submitting to that wisdom, being aware, being awake.

Although in one sense taking refuge is something we are doing all the time, the Pali formula we use is a reminder because we forget, because we habitually take refuge in worry, doubt, fear, anger, greed and so on. The Buddha-image is similar, when we bow to it we don't imagine that it is anything other than a bronze image, a symbol. It is a reflection and makes us a little more aware of Buddha, of our refuge in Buddha Dhamma Sangha. The Buddha image sits in great dignity and calm, not in a trance but fully alert, with a look of wakefulness and kindness, not being caught in the changing conditions around it. Though the image is made of brass and we have these flesh-and-blood bodies and it is much more difficult for us, still it is a reminder. Some people get very puritanical about Buddha-images, but here in the West I haven't found them to be a danger. The real idols that we believe in and worship and that constantly delude us are our thoughts, views and opinions, our loves and hates, our self-conceit and pride.

The second refuge is in the Dhamma, in ultimate truth or ultimate reality. Dhamma is impersonal, we don't in any way try to personify it to make it any kind of personal deity. When we chant in Pali the verse on Dhamma we say it is 'sanditthiko akaliko ehipassiko opanayiko paccattam veditabbo viññuhi'. As Dhamma has no personal attributes we can't even say it is good or bad or anything that has any superlative or comparative quality, it is beyond the dualistic conceptions of mind. So when we describe Dhamma or give an impression of it we do it through words such as 'sanditthiko' which means immanent, here-and-now. That brings us back into the present, we feel a sense of immediacy, of now. You may think that Dhamma is some kind of thing that is out there, something you have to find elsewhere, but sanditthiko dhamma means that it is immanent, here and now.

Akalikodhamma means that Dhamma is not bound by any time condition, the word akala means timeless. Our conceptual mind can't conceive of anything that is timeless because our conceptions and perceptions are time-based conditions, but what we can say is that Dhamma is akala, not bound by time.

Ehipassikodhamma means to come and see, to turn towards or go to the Dhamma. It means to look, to be aware. It is not that we pray to the Dhamma to come, or wait for it to tap us on the shoulder, we have to put forth effort. It is like Christ's saying 'knock on the door and it shall be opened'. Ehipassiko means that we have to put forward that effort, to turn towards that truth.

Opanayiko means leading inwards towards the peace within the mind. Dhamma doesn't take us into fascination, into excitement, romance and adventure, but leads to Nibbana, to calm, to silence.

Paccattam veditabbo viññuhi means that we can only know Dhamma through direct experience. It is like the taste of honey, if someone else tastes it we still don't know its flavour. We may know the chemical formula or be able to recite all the great poetry ever written about honey but only when we taste it for ourselves do we really know what it is like. It is the same with Dhamma, we have to taste it, we have to know it directly.

Taking refuge in Dhamma is taking another safe refuge. It is not taking refuge in philosophy or intellectual concepts, in theories, in ideas, in doctrines or beliefs of any sort. It is not taking refuge in a belief in Dhamma, or a belief in God or in some kind of force in outer space or something beyond or something separate, something that we have to find sometime later. The descriptions of the Dhamma keep us in the present, in the here and now, unbound by time. Taking refuge is an immediate, immanent reflection in the mind, it is not just repeating 'Dhammam saranam gacchami' like a parrot, thinking 'Buddhists say this so I have to say it'. We turn towards the Dhamma, we are aware now, take refuge in Dhamma, now as an immediate action, an immediate reflection of being the Dhamma, being that very truth.

Because our conceiving mind tends always to delude us it takes us into becoming. We think 'I'll practise meditation so that I'll become enlightened in the future. I will take the Three Refuges in order to become a Buddhist. I want to become wise. I want to get away from suffering and ignorance and become something else.' This is the conceiving mind, the desire mind, the mind that always deludes us. Rather than constantly thinking in terms of becoming something we take refuge in being Dhamma in the present.

The impersonality of Dhamma bothers many people because devotional religion tends to personify everything and people coming from such traditions don't feel right if they can't have some sort of personal relationship with it. I remember one time a French Catholic missionary came to stay in our monastery and practise meditation. He felt at something of a loss with Buddhism because he said it was like 'cold surgery', there was no personal relationship with God. One cannot have a personal relationship with Dhamma, one cannot say ' Love the Dhamma!' or 'The Dhamma loves me!' -- there is no need for that. We only need a personal relationship with something we are not yet, like our mother, father, husband or wife, something separate from us. We don't need to take refuge in mother or father again, someone to protect us and love us and say 'l love you no matter what you do. Everything is going to be alright' and pat us on the head. The Buddhadhamma is a very maturing refuge, it is a religious practice that is a complete sanity or maturity, in which we are no longer seeking a mother or father, because we don't need to become anything anymore. We don't need to be loved or protected by anyone anymore because we can love and protect others and that is all that is important. We no longer have to ask or demand things from others, whether it is from other people or even some deity or force that we feel is separate from us and has to be prayed to and asked for guidance.

We give up all our attempts to conceive Dhamma as being this or that or anything at all and let go of our desire to have a personal relationship with the truth. We have to be that truth here and now. Being that truth, taking that refuge, calls for an immediate awakening, for being wise now, being Buddha, being Dhamma in the present.

The Third refuge is Sangha, which means a group. 'Sangha' may be the bhikkhu-Sangha or the ariya-Sangha, the group of the Noble Beings, those who live virtuously, doing good and refraining from evil with bodily action and speech. Here taking refuge in the Sangha with 'Sangham saranam gacchami' means we take refuge in virtue, in that which is good, virtuous, kind, compassionate and generous. We don't take refuge in those things in our minds that are mean, nasty, cruel, selfish, jealous, hateful, angry, even though admittedly that is what we often tend to do out of heedlessness, out of not reflecting, not being awake, but just reacting to conditions. Taking refuge in the Sangha means on the conventional level doing good and refraining from evil with bodily action and speech.

All of us have both good thoughts and intentions and bad ones. Sankharas (conditioned phenomena) are that way, some are good and some aren't, some are indifferent, some are wonderful and some are nasty. Conditions in the world are changing conditions, we can't just think the best, the most refined thoughts and feel only the best and the kindest feelings: both good and bad thoughts and feelings come and go, but we take refuge in virtue rather than in hatred. We take refuge in that in all of us that intends to do good, which is compassionate and kind and loving towards ourselves and others. So the refuge of Sangha is a very practical refuge for day-to-day living within the human form, within this body, in relation to the bodies of other beings and the physical world that we live in. When we take this refuge we do not act in any way that causes division, disharmony, cruelty, meanness or unkindness to any living being including ourself, our own body and mind. This is being 'supatipanno', one who practises well.

When we are aware and mindful, when we reflect and observe, we begin to see that acting on impulses that are cruel and selfish only brings harm and misery to ourself as well as to others, it doesn't take any great powers of observation to see that. If you've met any criminals in your life, people who have acted selfishly and evilly, you'll find them constantly frightened, obsessed, paranoid, suspicious, having to drink a lot, take drugs, keep busy, do all kinds of things because living with themselves is so horrible. Five minutes alone with themselves without any dope or drink or anything would seem to them like eternal hell, because the kammic result of evil is so appalling mentally. Even if they're never caught by the police or sent to prison don't think they're going to get away with anything. In fact sometimes that is the kindest thing, to put them in prison and punish them, it makes them feel better. I was never a criminal but I have managed to tell a few lies and do a few mean and nasty things in my lifetime and the results were always unpleasant. Even today when I think of those things it is not a pleasant memory, it is not something that I want to go to announce to everybody, not something that I feel joy when I think about.

When we are meditating we realise that we have to be completely responsible for how we live. In no way can we blame anyone else for anything at all. Before I started to meditate I used to blame people and society, 'If only my parents had been completely wise,enlightened arahants I would be alright. If only the United States of America had a truly wise compassionate government that never made any mistakes, supported me completely and appreciated me fully. If only my friends were wise and encouraging and the teachers truly wise, generous and kind. If everyone around me was perfect, if the society was perfect, if the world wise, perfect, then I wouldn't have any of these problems. But all have failed me.'

My parents had a few flaws and they did make a few mistakes but now when I look back on it they didn't make very many. At the time when I was looking to blame others and I was desperately trying to think of the faults of my parents, I really had to work at it. My generation was very good at blaming everything on the United States and that is a really easy one because the United States makes a lot of mistakes. But when we meditate it means we can no longer get away with that kind of lying to ourselves. We suddenly realise that no matter what anyone else has done or how unjust the society might be or what our parents might have been like we can in no way spend the rest of our lives blaming anyone else, that is a complete waste of time. We have to accept complete responsibility for our life and live it. Even if we did have miserable parents, were raised in a terrible society with no opportunities, it still doesn't matter. There is no one else to blame for our suffering now but ourselves, our own ignorance, selfishness and conceit.

In the crucifixion of Jesus we can see a brilliant example of a man in pain, stripped naked, made fun of, completely humiliated and then publicly executed in the most horrible, excruciating way, yet without blaming anyone: 'Forgive them for they know not what they do.' This is a sign of wisdom, it means that even if people are crucifying us, nailing us to the cross, scourging us, humiliating us in every way it is our aversion, self-pity, pettiness and selfishness that is the problem, the suffering. It is not even the physical pain that is the suffering, it is the aversion. Now if Jesus Christ had said 'Curse you for treating me like this!' he would have been just another criminal and would have been forgotten a few days later. Reflect on this because we tend to easily blame others for our suffering and we can justify it because maybe other people are mistreating us or exploiting us or don't understand us or are doing dreadful things to us. We're not denying that but we make nothing of it any more. We forgive, we let go of those memories because taking refuge in Sangha means here and now doing good and refraining from doing evil with bodily action and speech.

So may you reflect on this and see Buddha Dhamma Sangha as really a refuge. Look on them as opportunities for reflection and consideration. It is not a matter of believing in Buddha Dhamma Sangha, not a faith in concepts but a using of symbols for mindfulness, for awakening the mind here-and-now, being here-and-now.



Footnote

[*] The dissolution of the Five Aggregates, in common parlance the 'death', of an enlightened one.



[Taken from Now Is The Knowing]

For more from Ajahn Sumedho and other teachers in the Thai Forest Sangha tradition, including audio talks, visit: forestsanghapublications.org

All of Us: Beset by birth, decay, and death

by Sister Ayya Khema


I. The Dhamma of the Blessed One is Perfectly Expounded  

The Dhamma of the Blessed One
is perfectly expounded,
to be seen here and now,
not a matter of time.

The first line of this chant proclaims real faith in the Dhamma. Not believing everything without inquiring, but an inner relationship of trust. When one is faithful to someone, then one also trusts that person, one gives oneself into his or her hands, has a deep connection and an inner opening. How much more is this true of the faith in the teaching of the Buddha. Those aspects of the Dhamma which we don't understand yet can be left in abeyance. Yet that doesn't shake our faith and trust.

If we feel that it is "perfectly expounded," then we are very fortunate, for we know one thing in this universe which is perfect. There's nothing else to be found that's without blemish, nor is there anything that is becoming perfect. If we have that trust, faithfulness and love towards the Dhamma and believe it to be perfectly expounded, then we have found something beyond compare. We are blessed with an inner wealth.

"To be seen here and now," is up to each of us. the Dhamma has been made clear by the Enlightened One who taught it out of compassion, but we have to see it ourselves with an inner vision.

"Here and now," needs to be stressed, because it means not forgetting but being aware of the Dhamma in each moment. This awareness helps us to watch our reactions before they result in unskillful words or actions. Seeing the positive within us and cultivating it, seeing the negative and substituting it. When we believe all our thoughts and claim justification for them, we're not seeing the Dhamma. There are no justifications, there are only arising phenomena which cease again.

"Not a matter of time," means that we are not dependent upon a Buddha being alive in order to practice the Dhamma; though this is a wide-spread belief, it is quite possible to practice now. Some people think there has to be a perfect situation or a perfect teacher or perfect meditation. None of that is true. Mental and physical phenomena (dhammas) are constantly coming and going, changing without pause. When we hang onto them and consider them ours, then we will believe any story our mind will tell us, without discrimination. We consist of body, feelings, perceptions, mental formations and consciousness, which we grip tightly and believe them to be "me" and "mine." We need to take a step back and be a neutral observer of the whole process.

Inviting one to come and see,
leading inwards.
The understanding of the Dhamma leads us into our inner depth. We are not invited to come and see a meditation hall or a Buddha statue, a dagoba or a shrine. We are invited to come and see the phenomena (dhammas) arising within us. The defilements as well as the purifications are to be found inside one's own heart and mind.

Our minds are very busy, always remembering, planning, hoping or judging. This body could also be very busy picking up little stones and throwing them into the water all day long. But we would consider that a foolish expenditure of energy, and we direct the body towards something useful. We need to do the same with the mind. Instead of thinking about this and that, allowing the defilements to arise, we could also direct the mind towards something beneficial such as investigating our likes and dislikes, our desires and rejections, our ideas and views.

When the mind inquires, it doesn't get involved in its own creations. It can't do both at the same time. As it becomes more and more observant, it remains objective for longer periods of time. That's why the Buddha taught that mindfulness is the one way for the purification of beings. The clear and lucid observation of all arising phenomena eventually shows that there are only phenomena manifesting as mind and body, which are constantly expanding and contracting in the same way as the universe does. Unless we become very diligent observers, we will not see that aspect of mind and body and will not know the Dhamma "here and now," even though we have been "invited to come and see."


To be known by the wise,
each for themselves.
No one can know the Dhamma for another. We can chant, read, discuss and listen, but unless we watch all that arises, we will not know the Dhamma by ourselves. There's only one place where Dhamma can be known, in one's own heart and mind. It has to be a personal experience which comes about through constant observation of oneself. Meditation helps. Unless one inquires into one's own reactions and knows why one wants one thing and rejects another, one hasn't seen Dhamma. Then the mind will also get a clear perception of impermanence (anicca) because our desires and dislikes are constantly changing. We'll see that the mind which is thinking and the body which is breathing are both painful (dukkha).

When the mind doesn't operate with an uplifted, transcending awareness, it creates suffering (dukkha). Only a measureless, illumined mind is free from that. The body certainly produces dukkha in many ways through its inability to remain steady. Seeing this clearly will give us a strong determination to know Dhamma by ourselves.

Wisdom arises within and comes from an understood experience. Neither knowledge nor listening can bring it about. Wisdom also means maturity, which has nothing to do with age. Sometimes aging may help, but it doesn't always do that either. Wisdom is an inner knowing which creates self-confidence. We need not look for somebody else's confirmation and good-will, we know with certainty.

When we chant anything at all, it is vital that we know the meaning of the words and inquire whether they have any connection to ourselves.

pamadamulako lobho, lobho vivadamulako,
dasabyakarako lobho, lobho paramhi petiko,
tam lobham parijanantam vande'ham vitalobhakam
Greed's the root of negligence, greed's the root of strife,
Greed enslavement brings about, and in the future ghostly birth;

vihaññamulako doso, doso virupakarako.
vinasakarako doso, doso paramhi nerayo,
tam dosam parijanantam vande'ham vitadosakam
Hate's the root of turbulence, of ugliness the cause,
Hate causes much destruction and in the future hellish birth;
That One who's known hate to the end, I honor Him who's free of hate.

sabbaghamulako moho, moho sabbitikarako,
sabbandhakarako moho, moho paramhi
svadiko tam moham parijanantam vande'ham vitamohakam
Delusion's root of every ill, delusion's a troublemaker,
All blinding from delusion comes and in the future birth as beast;
That One who's known delusion's end, I honor Him, delusion-free.
The Buddha said:

Though a thousand speeches
are made of meaningless lines,
better the single meaningful line
by hearing which one is at peace.
[Dhp. 100; Khantipalo, trans.]

If we can practice one line of Dhamma, it's so much more valuable than knowing the whole chanting book by heart.

The arising and ceasing phenomena, which are our teachers, never take a rest. Dhamma is being taught to us constantly. All our waking moments are Dhamma teachers, if we make them so. The Dhamma is the truth expounded by the Enlightened One, which is the law of nature surrounding us and imbedded within us.

Once the Buddha said: "Ananda, it is owing to my being a good friend to them that living beings subject to birth are freed from birth." (S. III, 18, XLV, 2).

Everyone needs a good friend, who has enough selflessness, not only to be helpful, but also to point out when one is slipping. Treading the Dhamma path is like walking a tightrope. It leads along one straight line and every time one slips, one hurts. If we have a painful feeling inside, we're no longer on the tightrope of the Dhamma. Our good friend (kalyana mitta) might say to us then: "You stepped too far to the right, or to the left, (whatever the case may be). You weren't careful, that's why you fell into depression and pain. I'll point out to you when you're slipping next time." We can only accept this from someone whom we trust and have confidence in.

One can be fooled by a person's beautiful words or splendid appearance. The character of a person is shown not only in words, but in the small day-to-day activities. One of the very important guidelines to a person's character is how they react when things go wrong. It's easy to be loving, helpful and friendly when everything goes well, but when difficulties arise our endurance and patience are being tested as well as our equanimity and determination. The less ego-consciousness one has, the easier one can handle all situations.

At first, when one starts to walk on the tightrope of the Dhamma path, it may feel uncomfortable. One isn't used to balancing oneself, but rather to swaying all over the place, going in all directions, wherever it's most comfortable. One may feel restricted and coerced, not being allowed to live according to one's natural instincts. Yet in order to walk on a tightrope, one has to restrict oneself in many ways with mindfulness. These restrictions may at first feel irksome, like fetters or bonds, later they turn out to be the liberating factors.

To have this perfect jewel of the Dhamma in our hearts, we need to be awake and aware. Then we can prove by our own watchfulness that "the Dhamma of the Blessed One is perfectly expounded." There is no worldly jewel that can match the value of the Dhamma. Each one of us can become the owner of this priceless gem. We can call ourselves most fortunate to have such an opportunity. When we wake up in the morning, let that be our first thought: "What good fortune it is for me to practice the Dhamma."

II. Accepting Oneself  

It's a strange phenomenon how difficult people find it to love themselves. One would think it is the easiest thing in the world, because we're constantly concerned with ourselves. We're always interested in how much we can get, how well we can perform, how comfortable we can be. The Buddha mentioned in a discourse that "oneself is dearest to oneself." So with all that, why is it so difficult to actually love oneself?

Loving oneself certainly doesn't mean indulging oneself. Really loving is an attitude towards oneself that most people don't have, because they know quite a few things about themselves which are not desirable. Everybody has innumerable attitudes, reactions, likes and dislikes which they'd be better off without. Judgment is made and while one likes one's positive attitudes, one dislikes the others. With that comes suppression of those aspects of oneself that one is not pleased with. One doesn't want to know about them and doesn't acknowledge them. That's one way of dealing with oneself, which is detrimental to growth.

Another unskillful way is to dislike that part of oneself which appears negative and every time it arises one blames oneself, which makes matters twice as bad as they were before. With that comes fear and very often aggression. If one wants to deal with oneself in a balanced way, it's not useful to pretend that the unpleasant part doesn't exist, those aggressive, irritable, sensual, conceited tendencies. If we pretend we are far from reality and put a split into ourselves. Even though such a person may be totally sane, the appearance given is that of not being quite real. We've all come across people like that, who are too sweet to be true, as a result of pretense and suppression.

Blaming oneself doesn't work either. In both instances one transfers one's own reactions to other people. One blames others for their deficiencies, real or imagined, or one doesn't see them as ordinary human beings. Everyone lives in an unreal world, because it's ego-deluded, but this one is particularly unreal, because everything is considered either as perfectly wonderful or absolutely terrible.

The only thing that is real is that we have six roots within us. Three roots of good and three roots of evil. The latter are greed, hate and delusion, but we also have their opposites: generosity, loving-kindness and wisdom. Take an interest in this matter. If one investigates this and doesn't get anxious about it, then one can easily accept these six roots in everybody. No difficulty at all, when one has seen them in oneself. They are the underlying roots of everyone's behavior. Then we can look at ourselves a little more realistically, namely not blaming ourselves for the unwholesome roots, not patting ourselves on the back for the wholesome ones, but rather accepting their existence within us. We can also accept others more clear-sightedly and have a much easier time relating to them.

We will not suffer from disappointments and we won't blame, because we won't live in a world where only black or white exists, either the three roots of unwholesomeness or their opposites. Such a world doesn't exist anywhere, and the only person to be like that is an arahant. It's largely a matter of degree in everyone else. These degrees of good and evil are so finely tuned, there's so little difference within the degrees in each one of us, that it really doesn't matter. Everybody has the same job to do, to cultivate the wholesome tendencies and uproot the unwholesome ones.

Apparently we're all very different. That too is an illusion. We're all having the same problems and also the same faculties to deal with them. The only difference is the length of training that one has had. Training which may have been going on for a number of lifetimes has brought about a little more clarity, that's all.

Clarity of thinking comes from purification of one's emotions, which is a difficult job that needs to be done. But it can only be done successfully when it isn't an emotional upheaval, but clearcut, straightforward work that one does on oneself. When it is considered to be just that, it takes the sting out of it. The charge of "I'm so wonderful" or "I'm so terrible" is defused. We are neither wonderful nor terrible. Everyone is a human being with all the potential and all the obstructions. If one can love that human being, the one that is "me" with all its faculties and tendencies, then one can love others realistically, usefully and helpfully. But if one makes a break in the middle and loves the part which is nice and dislikes the part which isn't nice enough, one's never going to come to grips with reality. One day we'll have to see it, for what it is. It's a "working ground," a kammatthana. It's a straightforward and interesting affair of one's own heart.

If we look at ourselves in that manner, we will learn to love ourselves in a wholesome way. "Just as a mother at the risk of life, loves and protects her child..." Become your own mother! If we want to have a relationship with ourselves that is realistic and conducive to growth, then we need to become our own mother. A sensible mother can distinguish between that which is useful for her child and that which is detrimental. But she doesn't stop loving the child when it misbehaves. This may be the most important aspect to look at in ourselves. Everyone, at one time or another, misbehaves in thought or speech or action. Most frequently in thought, fairly frequently in speech and not so often in action. So what do we do with that? What does a mother do? She tells the child not to do it again, loves the child as much as she's always loved it and just gets on with the job of bringing up her child. Maybe we can start to bring up ourselves.

The whole of this training is a matter of maturing. Maturity is wisdom, which is unfortunately not connected to age. If it were, it would be very easy. One would have a guarantee. Since it isn't it's hard work, a job to be done. First comes recognition, then learning not to condemn, but to understand: "This is the way it is." the third step is change. Recognition may be the hardest part for most people, it's not easy to see what goes on inside of oneself. This is the most important and the most interesting aspect of contemplation.

We lead a contemplative life, but that does not mean we sit in meditation all day long. A contemplative life means that one considers every aspect of what happens as part of a learning experience. One remains introspective under all circumstances. When one becomes outgoing, with what the Buddha termed "exuberance of youth," one goes to the world with one's thoughts, speech and action. One needs to recollect oneself and return within. A contemplative life in some orders is a life of prayer. In our way it's a combination of meditation and life-style. The contemplative life goes on inside of oneself. One can do the same thing with or without recollection. Contemplation is the most important aspect of introspection. It isn't necessary to sit still all day and watch one's breath. Every move, every thought, every word can give rise to understanding oneself.

This kind of work on oneself will bring about deep inner security, which is rooted in reality. Most people are wishing and hoping for this kind of security, but are not even able to voice their longing. Living in a myth, constantly hoping or being afraid is opposed to having inner strength. The feeling of security arises when one sees reality inside of oneself and thereby the reality in everyone else and comes to terms with it.

Let us accept the fact that the Buddha knew the truth when he said everybody had seven underlying tendencies: sensual desire, ill-will, speculative views, sceptical doubt, conceit, craving for continued existence, ignorance. Find them in yourself. Smile at them, do not burst into tears because of them. Smile and say: "Well, there you are. I'll do something about you."

The contemplative life is often lived heavy-handedly. A certain lack of joy is compensated for by being outgoing. This doesn't work. One should cultivate a certain light-heartedness, but stay within oneself. There's nothing to be worried or fearful about, nothing that is too difficult. Dhamma means the law of nature and we are manifesting this law of nature all the time. What can there be to get away from? We cannot escape the law of nature. Wherever we are, we are the Dhamma, we are impermanent (anicca), unfulfilled (dukkha), of no core-substance (anatta). It doesn't matter whether we sit here or on the moon. It's always the same. So we need a light-hearted approach to our own difficulties and those of everyone else, but not exuberance and outpouring. Rather a constant inwardness, which contains a bit of amusement. This works best. If one has a sense of humor about oneself, it is much easier to love oneself properly. It's also much easier to love everybody else.

There used to be a television show in America, called "People are Funny." We do have the oddest reactions. When they are analyzed and taken apart, they are often found to be absurd. We have very strange desires and wishes and unrealistic images of ourselves. It's quite true, "people are funny," so why not see that side of oneself? It makes it easier to accept that which we find so unacceptable in ourselves and others.

There is one aspect of human life which we cannot change, namely, that it keeps on happening moment after moment. We've all been meditating here for some time. What does the world care? It just keeps on going. The only one who cares, who gets perturbed, is our own heart and mind. When there is perturbance, upheaval, unreality and absurdity, then there is also unhappiness. This is quite unnecessary. Everything just is. If we learn to approach all happenings with more equanimity by being accepting, then the work of purification is much easier. This is our work, our own purification, and it can only be done by each one for himself.

One of the best aspects about it is that if one remembers what one is doing, keeps at it day after day without forgetting and continues to meditate, not expecting great results, little by little it does happen. That, too, just is. As one keeps working at it, there is a constant chipping away at the defilements and at the unreal thinking, because there is no happiness in that and few want to hang on to unhappiness. Eventually one runs out of things to do outside of oneself. The books are all saying the same things, the letters have all been written, the flowers have all been watered, there's nothing left except to look inside. As this happens again and again, a change takes place. It may be slow, but when we have been here so many lifetimes, what's a day, a month, a year, ten years? They're all just happening.

There's nothing else to do and there's nowhere else to go. The earth is moving in a circle, life is moving from birth to death without us having to move at all. It's all happening without our help. The only thing we need to do is to get to reality. Then when we do, we will find that loving ourselves and loving others is a natural outcome of that. Because we are concerned with reality and that is the heart's real work — to love. But only if we've also seen the other side of the coin in ourselves and have done the work of purification. Then it is no longer an effort or a deliberate attempt, but it becomes a natural function of our inner feelings, inward directed but shining outward.

The inward direction is an important aspect of our contemplative life. Whatever happens inwardly has direct repercussions on what takes place outwardly. The inner light and purity cannot be hidden, nor can the defilements.

We sometimes think we can portray something we are not. That is not possible. The Buddha said that one only knows a person after having heard him speak many times and having lived with him for a long time. People generally try to show themselves off as something better than they really are. Then, of course, they become disappointed in themselves when they fail, and equally disappointed in others. To realistically know oneself makes it possible to truly love. That kind of feeling gives the light-heartedness to this job in which we're engaged, which is needed. By accepting ourselves and others as we truly are, our job of purification, chipping away at the defilements, is made much easier.

III. To Control One's Mind  

Our old friend, dukkha, arises in the mind as dissatisfaction caused by all sorts of triggers. It can be triggered by bodily discomfort, but more often it is caused by the mind's own aberrations and convolutions. The mind creates dukkha, and that's why we must really watch and guard our minds.

Our own mind can make us happy, our own mind can make us unhappy. There is no person or thing in the whole world that will do this for us. All happenings act as triggers for us, which constantly catch us unawares. Therefore we need to develop strong awareness of our own mind-moments.

We have a good chance to do that in meditation. There are two directions in meditation, calm (samatha) and insight (vipassana). If we can achieve some calm, that indicates that concentration is improving. But unless that valuable skill is used for insight, it's a waste of time. If the mind becomes calm, joy often arises, but we must observe how fleeting and impermanent that joy is, and how even bliss is essentially still only a condition which can be easily lost. Only insight is irreversible. The stronger the calm is established, the better it will withstand disturbances. In the beginning any noise, discomfort or thought will break it up, especially if the mind has not been calm during the day.

Impermanence (anicca) needs to be seen quite clearly in everything that happens, whether it is in or out of meditation. The fact of constant change should and must be used for gaining insight into reality. Mindfulness is the heart of Buddhist meditation and insight is its goal. We're spending our time in many different ways and some portion of it in meditation, but all our time can be used to gain some insight into our own mind. That's where the whole world is happening for us. Nothing, except what we are thinking, exists for us.

The more we watch our mind and see what it does to us and for us, the more we will be inclined to take good care of it and treat it with respect. One of the biggest mistakes we can make is taking the mind for granted. The mind has the capacity to create good and also evil for us, and only when we are able to remain happy and even-minded no matter what conditions are arising, only then can we say that we have gained a little control. Until then we are out of control and our thoughts are our master.

Whatever harm a foe may do to foe,
or hater unto one he hates,
the ill-directed mind indeed
can do one greater harm.

What neither mother, nor father too,
nor any other relative can do,
the well-directed mind indeed
can do one greater good.

[Dhp. 42, 43; Khantipalo, trans.]

The above words of the Buddha show quite clearly that there is nothing more valuable than a controlled and skillfully directed mind. To tame one's mind does not happen only in meditation, that is just one specific training. It can be likened to learning to play tennis. One works out with a trainer, again and again, until one has found one's balance and aptitude, and can actually play in a tennis match. Our match for taming the mind happens in day-to-day living, in all situations we encounter.
The greatest support we can have is mindfulness, which means being totally present in each moment. If the mind remains centered then it can't make up stories about the injustice of the world or one's friends, or about one's desires, or one's lamentations. All these mind-made stories would fill many volumes, but we are mindful such verbalizations stop. "Mindful" is being fully absorbed in the moment, leaving no room for anything else. We are filled with the momentary happening, whether that may be standing or sitting or lying down, being comfortable or uncomfortable, feeling pleasant or unpleasant. Whichever it may be, it is a non-judgmental awareness, "knowing only," without evaluation.

Clear comprehension brings evaluation. We comprehend the purpose of our thought, speech or action, whether we are using skillful means or not and whether we have actually achieved the required results. One needs some distance to oneself in order to be able to evaluate dispassionately. If one is right in the middle, it's very difficult to get an objective view. Mindfulness coupled with clear comprehension provides one with the necessary distance, the objectivity, the dispassion.

Any dukkha that one has, small, medium or large, continuous or intermittent, is all created by one's mind. We are the creators of all that happens to us, forming our own destiny, nobody else is involved. Everybody else is playing his own role, we just happen to be near some people and farther away at other times. But whatever we are doing, all is done to our own mind-moments.

The more we watch our thoughts in meditation, the more insight can arise, if there is an objective viewing of what is happening. When we watch mind-moments arising, staying and ceasing, detachment from our thinking process will result, which brings dispassion. Thoughts are coming and going all the time, just like the breath. If we hang on to them, try to keep them, that's when all the trouble starts. We want to own them and really do something with them, especially of they are negative, which is bound to create dukkha.

The Buddha's formula for the highest effort is worth remembering: "Not to let an unwholesome thought arise, which has not yet arisen. Not to sustain an unwholesome thought which has already arisen. To arouse a wholesome thought which has not yet arisen. To sustain a wholesome thought which has already arisen."

The quicker we can become a master of this effort, the better. This is part of the training we undergo in meditation. When we have learned to quickly drop whatever is arising in meditation, then we can do the same with unwholesome thoughts in daily living. When we are alert to an unwholesome thought in meditation, we can use the same skill to protect our mind at all times. The more we learn to shut our mind-door to all negativities which disturb our inner peace, the easier our life becomes. Peace of mind is not indifference. A peaceful mind is a compassionate mind. Recognizing and letting go is not suppression.

Dukkha is self-made and self-perpetuated. If we are sincere in wanting to get rid of it, we have to watch the mind carefully, to get an insight into what's really happening within. What is triggering us? There are innumerable triggers, but there are only two reactions. One is equanimity and one is craving.

We can learn from everything. Today some anagarikas had to wait quite a long time in the bank, which was an exercise in patience. Whether the exercise was successful or not, doesn't matter as much as that it was a learning experience. Everything we do is an exercise, this is our purpose as human beings. It's the only reason for being here, namely to use the time on our little planet for learning and growing. It can be called an adult education class. Everything else we can think of as the purpose of life, is a mistaken view.

We're guests here, giving a limited guest performance. If we use our time to gain insight into ourselves utilizing our likes and dislikes, our resistances, our rejections, our worries, our fears, then we're spending this lifetime to the best advantage. It's a great skill to live in such a way. The Buddha called it "urgency' (samvega), a sense of having to work on ourselves now and not leave it for some future unspecified date, when one may have more time. Everything can be a learning experience and the only time is now.

When we meet our old friend dukkha, we would ask: "Where did you come from?" When we get an answer, we should inquire again, getting deeper into the subject. There's only one true answer, but we won't get it immediately. We have to go through several answers until we get to the bottom line, which is "ego." When we've come to that one, we know we have come to the end of the questioning and to the beginning of insight. We can then try to see how the ego has produced dukkha again. What did it do, how did it react? When we see the cause, it may be possible to let go of that particular wrong view. Having seen cause and effect by ourselves, we'll never forget it again. Single drops fill a bucket, little by little we purify. Every moment is worthwhile.

The more we experience every moment as worthwhile, the more energy there is. There are no useless moments, every single one is important, if we use it skillfully. Enormous energy arises from that, because all of it adds up to a life which is lived in the best possible way.

IV. Be Nobody  

Being happy also means being peaceful, but quite often people don't really want to direct their attention to that. There is the connotation of "not interesting" about it, or "not enough happening." Obviously there would be no proliferations (papañca) or excitement. Peace is thought of as an absolute in this world, from a political, social and personal angle.

Yet peace is very hard to find anywhere. One of the reasons must be, not only that it's difficult to attain, but also that very few people work for such an achievement. It seems as if it were a negation of life, of one's own supremacy. Only those who practice a spiritual discipline would care to direct their minds towards peace.

A natural tendency is to cultivate one's own superiority which also often falls into the other extreme, one's own inferiority. When one has one's own superiority in mind, it's impossible to find peace. The only thing that one can find is a power game, "Anything you can do, I can do better." Or, at times, when it's quite obvious that this isn't so then "anything you can do I can't do as well." There are moments of truth in everyone's life, when one sees quite clearly that one can't do everything as well as the next person, whether it's sweeping a path or writing a book.

This kind of stance, which is very common, is the opposite of peacefulness. A display of either one's own abilities or the lack of them, will produce restlessness rather than peace. There's always the reaching out, the craving for a result in the form of other people's admittance of one's own superiority or their denial of it. When they deny it, there is warfare. When they admit it, there is victory.

Victory over other people has as its underlying cause a battle. In war there is never a winner, there are only losers. No matter who signs the peace-treaty first, both sides lose. The same applies to this kind of attitude. There are only losers, even though one may have a momentary victory, having been accepted as the one who knows better, or is stronger or cleverer. Battle and peace do not go well together.

One wonders in the end, does anybody really want peace? Nobody seems to have it. Is anybody really trying to get it? One does get in life what one strongly determines. It is important to inquire into our innermost heart whether peace is really what we want. The inquiry into one's heart is a difficult thing to do. Most people have a steel door of thick dimensions which is covering the opening of their heart. They can't get in to find out what's going on inside. But everyone needs to try to get in as far as possible and check one's priorities.

In moments of turmoil, when one is either not getting the supremacy one wants or one feels really inferior, then all one desires is peace. Let it all subside again and neither the superiority nor the inferiority is very distinct, then what happens? Is it really peace one wants? Or does one want to be somebody special, somebody important or lovable?

A "somebody" never has peace. There is an interesting simile about a mango tree: a king went riding in the forest and encountered a mango tree laden with fruit. He said to his servants: "Go back in the evening and collect the mangoes," because he wanted them for the royal dinner table. The servants went back to the forest and returned to the palace empty-handed and told the king: "Sorry, sir, the mangoes were all gone, there wasn't a single mango left on the tree." the king thought the servants had been too lazy to go back to the forest, so he rode out himself. What he saw instead of the beautiful mango tree laden with fruit, was a pitiful, bedraggled tree, that had been beaten and robbed of its fruit and leaves. Someone, unable to reach all the branches, had broken them and had taken all the fruit. As the king rode a little farther, he came upon another mango tree, beautiful in all its green splendor, but not a single fruit on it. Nobody had wanted to go near it, since there were no fruits, and so it was left in peace. The king went back to his palace, gave his royal crown and scepter to his ministers and said: "You may now have the kingdom, I am going to live in a hut in the forest."

When one is nobody and has nothing, then there is no danger of warfare or attack, then there's peace. The mango tree laden with fruit didn't have a moment's peace: everybody wanted its fruit. If we really want peace, we have to be nobody. Neither important, nor clever, nor beautiful, nor famous, nor right, nor in charge of anything. We need to be unobtrusive and with as few attributes as possible. The mango tree which didn't have any fruit was standing peacefully in all its splendor giving shade. To be nobody doesn't mean never to do anything again. It just means to act without self-display and without craving for results. The mango tree had shade to give, but it didn't display its wares or fret whether anyone wanted its shade. This kind of ability allows for inner peace. It is a rare ability, because most people vacillate from one extreme to another, either doing nothing and thinking "let them see how they get along without me" or being in charge and projecting their views and ideas.

It seems to be so much more ingrained in us and so much more important to be "somebody," than to have peace. So we need to inquire with great care what we are truly looking for. What is it that we want out of life? If we want to be important, appreciated, loved, then we have to take their opposites in stride also. Every positive brings with it a negative, just as the sun throws shadows. If we want one, we must accept the other, without moaning about it.

But if we really want a peaceful heart and mind, inner security and solidity, then we have to give up wanting to be somebody, anybody at all. Body and mind will not disappear because of that, what disappears is the urge and the reaching out and the affirmation of the importance and supremacy of this particular person, called "me."

Every human being considers himself or herself important. There are billions of people on this globe, how many will mourn us? Count them for a moment. Six, or eight, or twelve or fifteen out of all these billions? This consideration may show us that we have a vastly exaggerated idea of our own importance. The more we can get that into the proper perspective, the easier life is.

Wanting to be somebody is dangerous. It's like playing with a burning fire into which one puts one's hands all the time and it hurts constantly. Nobody will play that game according to our own rules. People who really manage to be somebody, like heads of state, invariably need a solid bodyguard around them because they are in danger of their lives. Nobody likes to admit that someone else is more important. One of the major deterrents to peace of mind is the "somebody" of our own creation.

In the world we live in, we can find people, animals, nature and man-made things. Within all that, if we want to be in charge of anything, the only thing we have any jurisdiction over, is our own heart and mind. If we really want to be somebody, we could try to be that rare person, the one who is in charge of his own heart and mind. To be somebody like that is not only very rare, but also brings with it the most beneficial results. Such a person does not fall into the trap of the defilements. Although the defilements may not be uprooted yet, he won't commit the error of displaying them and getting involved with them.

There is a story about Tan Achaan Cha, a famous meditation master in North-East Thailand. He was accused by someone of having a lot of hatred. Tan Achaan Cha replied: "That may be so but I don't make any use of it." An answer like this comes from a deep understanding of one's own nature, that's why we are impressed with such a reply. It's a rare person who will not allow himself to be defiled by thought, speech or action. That one is really somebody, and doesn't have to prove it to anyone else, mainly because it is quite obvious. In any case, such a person has no desire to prove anything. There's only one abiding interest and that's one's own peace of mind.

When we have peace of mind as our priority, everything that is in the mind and comes out in speech or action is directed towards it. Anything that does not create peace of mind is discarded, yet we must not confuse this with being right or having the last word. Others need not agree. Peace of mind is one's own, everyone has to find his through his own efforts.

V. War and Peace  

War and peace are the epic saga of humanity. They are all that our history books contain because they are what our hearts contain.

If you have ever read Don Quixote, you'll remember that he was fighting windmills. Everybody is doing just that, fighting windmills. Don Quixote was the figment of a writer's imagination, a man who believed himself to be a great warrior. He thought that every windmill he met was an enemy and started battling with it. That's exactly what we are doing within our own hearts and that's why this story has such an everlasting appeal. It tells us about ourselves. Writers and poets who have survived their own lifetimes have always told human beings about themselves. Mostly people don't listen, because it doesn't help when somebody else tells us what's wrong with us and few care to hear it. One has to find out for oneself and most people don't want to do that either.

What does it really mean to fight windmills? It means fighting nothing important or real, just imaginary enemies and battles. All quite trifling matters, which we build into something solid and formidable in our minds. We say: "I can't stand that," so we start fighting, and "I don't like him," and a battle ensues, and "I feel so unhappy," and the inner war is raging. We hardly ever know what we're so unhappy about. The weather, the food, the people, the work, the leisure, the country, anything at all will usually do. Why does this happen to us? Because of the resistance to actually letting go and becoming what we really are, namely nothing. Nobody cares to be that.

Everybody wants to be something or somebody even if it's only Don Quixote fighting windmills. Somebody who knows and acts and will become something else, someone who has certain attributes, views, opinions and ideas. Even patently wrong views are held onto tightly, because it makes the "me" more solid. It seems negative and depressing to be nobody and have nothing. We have to find out for ourselves that it is the most exhilarating and liberating feeling we can ever have. But because we fear that windmills might attach, we don't want to let go.

Why can't we have peace in the world? Because nobody wants to disarm. Not a single country is ready to sign a disarmament pact, which all of us bemoan. But have we ever looked to see whether we, ourselves, have actually disarmed? When we haven't done so, why wonder that nobody else is ready for it either? Nobody wants to be the first one without weapons; others might win. Does it really matter? If there is nobody there, who can be conquered? How can there be a victory over nobody? Let those who fight win every war, all that matters is to have peace in one's own heart. As long as we are resisting and rejecting and continue to find all sorts of rational excuses to keep on doing that there has to be warfare.

War manifests externally in violence, aggression and killing. But how does it reveal itself internally? We have an arsenal within us, not of guns and atomic bombs, but having the same effect. And the one who gets hurt is always the one who is shooting, namely oneself. Sometimes another person comes within firing range and if he or she isn't careful enough, he or she is wounded. That's a regrettable accident. The main blasts are the bombs which go off in one's own heart. Where they are detonated, that's the disaster area.

The arsenal which we carry around within ourselves consists of our ill will and anger, our desires and cravings. The only criterion is that we don't feel peaceful inside. We need not believe in anything, we can just find out whether there is peace and joy in our heart. If they are lacking, most people try to find them outside of themselves. That's how all wars start. It is always the other country's fault and if one can't find anyone to blame then one needs more "Lebensraum," more room for expansion, more territorial sovereignty. In personal terms, one needs more entertainment, more pleasure, more comfort, more distractions for the mind. If one can't find anyone else to blame for one's lack of peace, then one believes it to be an unfulfilled need.

Who is that person, who needs more? A figment of our own imagination, fighting windmills. That "more" is never ending. One can go from country to country, from person to person. There are billions of people on this globe; it's hardly likely that we will want to see every one of them, or even one-hundredth, a lifetime wouldn't be enough to do so. We may choose twenty or thirty people and then go from one to the next and back again, moving from one activity to another, from one idea to another. We are fighting against our own dukkha and don't want to admit that the windmills in our heart are self-generated. We believe somebody put them up against us, and by moving we can escape from them.

Few people come to the final conclusion that these windmills are imaginary, that one can remove them by not endowing them with strength and importance. That we can open our hearts without fear and gently, gradually let go of our preconceived notions and opinions, views and ideas, suppressions and conditioned responses. When all that is removed, what does one have left? A large, open space, which one can fill with whatever one likes. If one has good sense, one will fill it with love, compassion and equanimity. Then there is nothing left to fight. Only joy and peacefulness remain, which cannot be found outside of oneself. It is quite impossible to take anything from outside and put it into oneself. There is no opening in us through which peace can enter. We have to start within and work outward. Unless that becomes clear to us, we will always find another crusade.

Imagine what it was like in the days of the crusades! There were those noble knights who spent all their wealth on equipping themselves with the most modern and advanced weapons, outfitting horses and followers, and then setting off to bring religion to the infidels. They died on the way because of hardships and battles and those who reached the end of the journey, the Holy Land, still did not get any results, only more warfare. When we look at this today, it seems utterly foolish, to the extent of being ridiculous.

Yet we do the same in our own lives. If, for instance, we wrote something in our diary that upset us three or four years ago and were to read it now, it would seem quite absurd. We wouldn't be able to remember for what reason it could possibly have been important. We are constantly engaged in such foolishness with minor and unimportant trifles, and spend our energies trying to work them out to our ego-satisfaction. Wouldn't it be much better to forget such mental formations and attend to what's really important? There is only one thing that's important to every being and that is a peaceful and happy heart. It cannot be bought, nor is it given away. Nobody can hand it to someone else and it cannot be found. Ramana Maharshi, a sage in southern India, said: "Peace and happiness are not our birthright. Whoever has attained them, has done so by continual effort."

Some people have an idea that peace and happiness are synonymous with doing nothing, having no duties or responsibilities, being looked after by others. That's rather a result of laziness. To gain peace and happiness one has to make unrelenting effort in one's own heart. One can't achieve it through proliferation, by trying to get more, only by wanting less. Becoming emptier and emptier, until there is just open space to be filled with peace and happiness. As long as our hearts are full of likes and dislikes, how can peace and happiness find any room?

One can find peace within oneself in any situation, any place, any circumstance, but only through effort, not through distraction. The world offers distractions and sense contacts, and they are often quite tempting. The more action there is, the more distracted the mind can be and the less one has to look at one's own dukkha. When one has the time and opportunity to introspect, one finds one's inner reality different from what one imagined. Many people quickly look away again, they don't want to know about that. It's nobody's fault that there is dukkha. The only cure is letting go. It's really quite simple, but few people believe this to the point of trying it out.

There is a well-known simile about a monkey trap. The kind used in Asia is a wooden funnel with a small opening. At the bigger end lies a sweet. The monkey, attracted by the sweet, puts his paw into the narrow opening and gets hold of the sweet. When he wants to draw his paw out again, he can't get his fist with the sweet through the narrow opening. He is trapped and the hunter will come and capture him. He doesn't realize that all he has to do to be free is to let go of the sweet.

That's what our life is all about. A trap, because we want it nice and sweet. Not being able to let go, we're caught in the ever recurring happiness-unhappiness, up-down, hoping-despairing cycle. Instead of trying it out for ourselves, whether we could let go and be free, we resist and reject such a notion. Yet we all agree that all that matters are peace and happiness, which can only exist in a free mind and heart.

There is a lovely story from Nazrudin, a Sufi Master, who was gifted in telling absurd tales. One day, the story goes, he sent one of his disciples to the market and asked him to buy him a bag of chilies. The disciple did as requested and brought the bag to Nazrudin, who began to eat the chilies, one after another. Soon his face turned red, his nose started running, his eyes began to water and he was choking. The disciple observed this for a while with awe and then said: "Sir, your face is turning red, your eyes are watering and you are choking. Why don't you stop eating these chilies?" Nazrudin replied: "I am waiting for a sweet one."

The teaching aid of chilies! We, too, are waiting for something, somewhere that will create peace and happiness for us. Meanwhile there is nothing but dukkha, the eyes are watering, the nose is running, but we won't stop our own creations. There must be a sweet one at the bottom of the bag! It's no use thinking, hearing or reading about it, the only effective way is to look inside one's own heart and see with understanding. The more the heart is full of wanting and desiring, the harder and more difficult life becomes.

Why fight all these windmills? They are self-built and can also be self-removed. It's a very rewarding experience to check what's cluttering up one's own heart and mind. As one finds emotion after emotion, not to create allowances and justifications for them, but to realize that they constitute the world's battle-grounds and start dismantling the weapons so that disarmament becomes a reality.

VI. Non-duality  

Truth occupies a very important position in the Buddha's teaching. The Four Noble Truths are the hub of the wheel of the Dhamma. Truth (sacca) is one of the ten perfections to be cultivated in order to purify oneself.

Truth can have different aspects. If we want to find an end to suffering, we have to find truth at its deepest level. The moral precepts which include "not lying" are a basic training without which one can't lead a spiritual life.

To get to the bottom of truth, one has to get to the bottom of oneself, and that is not an easy thing to do, aggravated by the problem of not loving oneself. It naturally follows that if one wants to learn to love oneself, there must be hate present, and we are caught in the world of duality.

While we are floating around in the world of duality, we can't get to the bottom of truth, because we are suspended in a wave motion going back and forth. There is an interesting admonition in the Sutta Nipata, mentioning that one should not have associates, which prevents attachments. This would result in neither love nor hate, so that only equanimity remains, even-mindedness towards all that exists. With equanimity one is no longer suspended between good and bad, love and hate, friend and enemy, but has been able to let go, to get to the bottom where truth can be found.

If we want to find the basic, underlying truth of all existence, we must practice "letting go." This includes our weakest and our strongest attachments, many of which aren't even recognized as clinging.

To return to the simile of the truth to be found at the bottom, we can see that if we are clinging to anything, we can't get down to it. We're attached to the things, people, ideas and views, which we consider ours and believe to be right and useful. These attachments will keep us from getting in touch with absolute truth.

Our reactions, the likes and dislikes, hold us in suspense. While it is more pleasant to like something or someone, yet both are due to attachments. This difficulty is closely associated with distraction in meditation. Just as we are attached to the food that we get for the body, we are equally attached to food for the mind, so the thoughts go here and there, picking up tidbits. As we do that, we are again held in suspense, moving from thought to breath and back again, being in the world of duality. When our mind acts in this way, it cannot get to rock bottom.

Depth of understanding enables release from suffering. When one goes deeper and deeper into oneself, one finds no core, and learns to let go of attachments. Whether we find anything within us which is pure, desirable, commendable or whether it's impure and unpleasant, makes no difference. All mental states owned and cherished keep us in duality, where we are hanging in mid-air, feeling very insecure. They cannot bring an end to suffering. One moment all might be well in our world and we love everyone, but five minutes later we might react with hate and rejection.

We might be able to agree with the Buddha's words or regard them as a plausible explanation, but without the certainty of personal experience, this is of limited assistance to us. In order to have direct knowledge, it's as if we were a weight and must not be tied to anything, so that we can sink down to the bottom of all the obstructions, to see the truth shining through. The tool for that is a powerful mind, a weighty mind. As long as the mind is interested in petty concerns, it doesn't have the weightiness that can bring it to the depth of understanding.

For most of us, our mind is not in the heavy-weight class, but more akin to bantam weight. The punch of a heavy-weight really accomplishes something, that of a bantam weight is not too meaningful. The light-weight mind is attached here and there to people and their opinions, to one's own opinions, to the whole duality of pure and impure, right and wrong.

Why do we take it so personal, when it's truly universal? That seems to be the biggest difference between living at ease and being able to let the mind delve into the deepest layer of truth, or living at loggerheads with oneself and others. Neither hate nor greed are a personal manifestation, nobody has a singular claim on them, they belong to humanity. We can learn to let go of that personalized idea about our mind states, which would rid us of a serious impediment. Greed, hate and impurities exist, by the same token non-greed and non-hate also exist. Can we own the whole lot? Or do we own them in succession or five minutes at a time for each? Why own any of them, they just exist and seeing that, it becomes possible to let oneself sink into the depth of the Buddha's vision.

The deepest truth that the Buddha taught was that there is no individual person. This has to be accepted and experienced at a feeling level. As long as one hasn't let go of owning body and mind, one cannot accept that one isn't really this person. This is a gradual process. In meditation one learns to let go of ideas and stories and attend to the meditation subject. If we don't let go, we cannot sink into the meditation. The mind has to be a heavy-weight for that too.

We can compare the ordinary mind to bobbing around on the waves of thoughts and feelings. The same happens in meditation, therefore we need to prepare ourselves for becoming concentrated. We can look at all mind states arising during the day and learn to let go of them. The ease and buoyancy which arises from this process is due to being unattached. If we don't practice throughout the day, our meditation suffers because we have not come to the meditation cushion in a suitable frame of mind. If one has been letting go all day, the mind is ready and can now let go in meditation too. Then it can experience its own happiness and purity.

Sometimes people think of the teaching as a sort of therapy, which it undoubtedly is, but that's not its ultimate aim, only one of its secondary aspects. The Buddha's teaching takes us to the end of suffering, once and for all, not just momentarily when things go wrong.

Having had an experience of letting go, even just once, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that it means getting rid of a great burden. Carrying one's hate and greed around is a heavy load, which, when abandoned, gets us out of the duality of judgment. It's pleasant to be without thinking; mental formations are troublesome.

If we succeed even once or twice during a day to let go of our reactions, we have taken a great step and can more easily do it again. We have realized that a feeling which has arisen can be stopped, it need not be carried around all day. The relief from this will be the proof that a great inner discovery has been made and that the simplicity of non-duality shows us the way towards truth.
                                     
                                          
Ayya Khema (August 25, 1923 - November 2, 1997), a Buddhist teacher, was born as Ilse Kussel in Berlin, Germany, to Jewish parents. Khema escaped Nazis prosecution during World War II. She eventually moved to the United States. After travelling in Asia she decided to become a Buddhist nun in Sri Lanka in 1979. She was very active in providing opportunities for women to practice Buddhism, founding several centers around the world. In 1987 she co-ordinated the first ever International Conference of Buddhist Nuns. Khema wrote over two dozen books in English and German, including her autobiography: I Give You My Life.