Learning to settle the mind can be very difficult. It’s not always easy to find a way of stopping the mind from chasing things, or to shake off a grudge or obsession. How can we calm down, and feel a sense of balanced well-being in ourselves? Can we make the mind attend to itself, and be fit for wise reflection and realization; are we capable of contemplating what is happening to us, what our weaknesses are in terms of moods and emotions, and how we can allay them? Do we have some say over whether we are needy, sorrowful or joyful – or is it something that just happens? The path of liberation is about having a free choice to experience what we would like to experience in terms of goodness, harmony and happiness.

Freedom begins with the freedom to choose the Path, it’s not a compulsion. It’s the Buddha’s invitation: ‘You’re welcome to pick this up.’ So the very beginnings of the Path are offerings and possibilities. This freedom to choose causes faith and interest to arise. We always have to remember that to put a teaching into practice requires these because of the nature of mind. The mind cannot operate properly unless there is freedom: the ‘heart’ of the mind (citta) does not follow orders.

The problem is that we are often in a situation where the mind is not allowed to be unoccupied for very much of the time: it is thrown around by sensory stimulation, and there are all kinds of social pressures to engage and act in certain ways. The mind is grabbed and thrown from this point to that point: to this sound, to this mood, to this urgent duty. For many people the mind is something that is activated by these forces and pressures that are outside it, rather than something that freely acts – like a dead fish in a washing machine, it may be moving around a lot, but that doesn’t mean it’s alive. The mind can be like this, acting and reacting to circumstances that it is carried along by – so we think it’s really active, but we can’t get it to act upon itself. We can’t get it to abide in a peaceful state or to let go of an agitated one. We can’t, purely by will-power, cause a state of well-being to arise. And we don’t even fully understand why – the mind is too caught to know what it’s caught by. Just as someone dragged along in a state of fear by a gang of pirates may not be able to describe them very well or where they came from, so a mind when it’s hijacked can hardly see what it’s captured by. We may just get the general feeling of sadness or stress. So we can’t establish authority in our lives.

We may consider that this process is dependent upon external forces, such as money or work; one can get gripped by getting this or that done, eager for achievement, fearful of failure. If there is a personal emotional bondage to worldly forces then the mind will be always caught in them. So there’s a lot to be said for learning to recollect what we already do have and being content with that; renunciation, just living modestly, loosens the hold of materialism. We also have to practise with our own anxiety by coming to terms with the insecurity of the world. The world of social and economic forces is really beyond our control. We have to see its growth and decline as not essentially ours. Even this body, its shape, its health and vigour are things we have little say over: we can adjust it within a certain range, but its nature is to be other. It declines, you can’t stop it. You can douse it with scents and perfumes, but its odours break though. Its hungers, its tiredness, its hurtness comes through. Just notice how much one’s attention is caught in this phenomenal world – trying to make it comfortable and convenient, then getting irritated and despairing when it won’t be what we want it to be – often in ways that cause pain and distress for ourselves and others.

To establish authority we have to know what is ours, and get in touch with a more fundamental reality. Where do we start? People who look for freedom within themselves always go toward mind, consciousness, heart or soul. These are some of the terms that are used – but, while there is still unknowing, we only have a partial idea of what heart or soul or mind actually is. We think of an ‘inner path’ and so get the feeling that mind is inside something, so it must be inside our bodies, and everything else which is not mind and therefore of a lesser, non-spiritual, nature is ‘out there.’ That way of looking at things certainly gives us something to work on in terms of being more aware of our psychological and emotional processes, but it leads to the idea that one is an entity dwelling apart from everything else. It brings around an uncertainty as to how to relate this mind to the everything that it’s apart from. The dualistic effect continues: the mind is inside the body, so the mind is separate from the body; the mind can watch thoughts and feelings, so it’s separate from them. So what do we do with the stuff on the other side of the fence? Does it not matter any more? There’s a solipsism there: nothing else exists but my mind, I’m in here, everything out there is just a dream. With that view we dissociate; there can be a patronising attitude towards the phenomenal world which taints the experience with the quality of dislike or self-centredness. And what about other people? If we relate to them in this way, then this is not going to give rise to much mutual understanding.

Also, imagining that the mind is inside something makes the focus of meditation very tight. One tries to shut things out, the mind becomes dull and cramped. It can also be the case that this gesture of moving inwards brings around a very strong self-consciousness. And there can be various attitudes associated with that: one may feel threatened or feel the need to put on a front, as in the case of being pointed at in a group. So self-consciousness is separative; it doesn’t stimulate benevolence or trust, so it makes it difficult to acknowledge one’s weaknesses. Meditation when it is done like that can be very difficult; the mind doesn't want to open, it won’t settle.

The place of peaceful attention is ultimately neither external nor internal. We can get caught on the external or internal level. If we get caught on the external, the attention span is erratic: there is the feeling of being tugged around by social, sensory or economic forces. Focussed on an internal state, our intentions can get twisted into self-conscious patterns such as conceit, doubt, and fear. Both of these failings are associated with an inability to stabilise, comprehend or empathise with experience. There is a sense of separation which infers two substantial realities. So: the mind is held as an immaterial thing, and the body is a material thing – they are different. Then again, the mind itself has separate rational and irrational modes that don’t dialogue with each other. In all instances of division, the result is one aspect attempts to dominate and control the other. But mind can’t control or suppress the body’s feelings, sickness, and ageing. Rationality can’t skip over grief, loneliness and passion; and without happiness we wither away. So, with division, there’s inadequacy and conflict.

This dissonant experience is what our language and culture is based upon, but the experience which the Buddha taught and encouraged is of a different and comprehensive reality, which co-dependently arises. Co-dependent arising means that what is experienced is not objectively real, nor subjectively induced. It’s not ‘out there’ nor is it ‘just stuff in my head.’ Nor can it be attributed to any single agent – god, self, or demon – or single agency – fate, kamma, ignorance, etc. ‘Inwards’, and ‘outwards’ are just modes of attention; and all agents, forces and affects are variable. We can’t categorically deny the effect of kamma, or the existence of self, gods and the rest of it, but their effects depend on the attention and authority that we give them. If they were ultimate or absolute truths, liberation would be depend on them rather than on the way that they are handled. In other words the experience of Ultimate Truth or Freedom would be depend on forces greater than itself – which would thereby deny ultimacy to that Truth – and there would be no practice-path in the present. Conversely, to deny the relative existence of gods, selves, demons, kamma, ignorance, virtue and the rest would be to nullify the need for, and features of, the Path.

So co-dependent arising is the Middle Way. It allows relative existence and discernable effects to whatever arises, thereby locating the Path in the manifest world of experience. Consequently this very context of life requires careful attention and mindful participation if we are to follow a Path and avoid the extremes of ‘existence’ (things are independently real) and ‘non-existence’ (things are a complete illusion).

Therefore, when we approach the arena of the mind, we should not make the mind into a demon, a god, or a self. Mind is not a thing, but not nothing: it is a knowing wherein relating factors arise and cease. Mind is more like a resonance, an empathetic vibration than a thing. Each moment the resonance depends upon and expresses itself in terms of forms, feeling, perceptions, mental activities and the process of consciousness – which is of sensory and mental discrimination. This experienced stuff occurs through a process in which consciousness, sensory impression and volition play key roles – and these factors them-selves affect and determine each other.

Form is the initial impression that we detect and gives us the inference of physical matter. We understand that there is a physical lump ‘out there’ but what is experienced is a form, ‘here.’ Visual consciousness discriminates a form from a background; mental consciousness discriminates an ‘out there’ from an ‘in here.’ The consciousnesses work together through perception: through this, we understand that a sound comes from a string when it's plucked because the movement of the string and the sound arise together with the acquired knowledge that sound is made that way.

Look clearly at what you experience: form only implies matter. That implication is the moment of recognition when the form is known as red or as a man or as a car, and a feeling arises which is pleasant, unpleasant or neutral. Then the mental activities are: the impression that this perception gives rise to, and the inclinations that come up from those impressions – how the focus of attention is going to swing. There is interest or not, an inclination towards something, or away from it. This is the nature of what is experienced; and that’s not ‘in here’ or ‘out there.’ Understanding this, you don’t have to point forwards or outwards or inwards because the focus is always on that which is arising. So that means that the quality of attention is upright and settled. You’re not straining to perceive something or to feel something because the point where the mind settles is the touchstone of actuality at this time. Of course the kind of acceptance that settledness (samatha) requires itself takes cultivation; there is so much programming in terms of not settling, not receiving things as they are.

Hence the practice of devotion. In order to meditate we have to begin with settling or opening into a place where we can receive what impressions arise. So, devotion is a vital factor. Shrines and chanting help to support this initial invitation, the initial beckoning to the present moment. They provide the context within which we can open the heart to what we hold as sacred. This opening is then supported by what we hold with respect, and that allows us the strength to be touched by what's occurring – whether it’s pleasant or painful, or whatever it brings up. At this point the techniques and systems of meditation provide the skills to stabilise and guide ourselves, but those techniques can only be handled properly if we have trained in morality, generosity and benevolence.

Naturally enough, I’d like the mind to be happy or at least co-operative, and may assume that that necessitates being in a good mood. There’s attachment to pleasant contact, or contact with things that we understand and feel familiar with. There is a powerful inclination to just contact that which is stable and secure. There is a middle way here: it’s not that one should be choiceless and unguarded, but one’s choice should be based on inclination towards what is wholesome, rather than desirable on other counts. There is a kind of ease that arises from being blameless or at least ‘facing up to the music’: provided that one is ‘in tune’ and can contemplate uncomfortable states in terms of Dhamma. So we guard ourselves from greed, jealousy and spite, but not from insecurity or uncertainty. The variability that occurs in terms of situations, people, moods and states is a sign of Dhamma. It provides the right focus for the heart. There can be a lot of seeking to find stability or permanence in an idea or a system or a group or a community, a job, a position – or a meditation practice. We can try to mould ourselves upon it and then try to bend life around to fit. This is a hindrance to the path, although quite a subtle one. It’s only when we realize that all security is really taking away freedom and purity of presence that relinquishment comes about and we enter the Dhamma at a deep level.

Consider how much of one’s thinking is about trying to establish permanence. How much of one’s planning sees a future with certainty? How many activities are supposed to sort things out so that we never have to deal with them again – and how much of our disappointment is because we thought we had something solid and then it changed? All that breeds an unwillingness to enter into something unknown, even a fear of it. The immediate emotional reaction can be that we will be unable to cope with something unknown. This is why so much of our lives can be taken up with the need for reassurance and security – and this takes away the authority that would give us authentic stability. We seek stability in something that can never be stable, security in something that can never be secure, permanence in something that can never be permanent.

Recognising that, establish yourself in terms of virtue, to not intentionally do things that are harmful. Look for stability or permanence in this. This is something that you have to be actively engaged for; you do not do this passively, you have to keep re-establishing yourself in this responsive relationship. This is what you should seek permanence in if you seek it in anything, because it is not something that is substantially out there or in here; it is a response – something that is continually engaged and activated. Rather than looking to perfect the conditions around you by finding perfect places to live in, perfect people to be with, and an end of problems on this level, you should perfect this kind of response. Then there is energy, brightness, sensitivity and clarity. Otherwise, there will always be the needing and the complaining and the unhappiness and the depression because things have gone wrong again – as if they were going to do anything else but go wrong. The word ‘wrong’ is redundant: things follow their nature. When a light-bulb blows its not gone wrong, it gets old, then it blows – that’s just its nature, its gone right, it’s involved in a pattern and a process of change, doing what it perfectly does.

When we understand things with Right View then we can engage with these things actively, out of compassion, to help bring goodness, comfort and well-being to creatures and to the planet. This is the great heart, the good heart. This is what all our requisites and duties are about really, from a spiritual point of view, so we have the means and occasion to do good, enjoy doing good, and bring that across. The mind can then be a sensitivity arising from the plane of goodness, rather than a thing seeking a nest. The mind is not a thing that sits or hides somewhere – or will get anywhere. It is a resonance dependent on the kind of activity and engagement that we bring into life. When we engage clearly, the resonance is clarity; when we engage generously or fearfully, the resonance corresponds. If we engage carelessly there is a dull, discordant twanging.

Can we do this in our lives? How does this create a field of action? There will be times when the response gives rise to action in the world, times when it gives rise to action in the mind. In this way the fixed dualism of the mind and the world can be dissolved by understanding. When they do seem separated we can explore – is there fear? or conceit? – and remember what we need to do to return to a state of balance.

Understand: form is something that arises dependent on consciousness, and perception; and vice versa. Feelings are fluctuating and variable. What is of core significance are the mental activities of intention and attention: how we incline or divert and how we focus. We are our intention: that’s what forms us; and the world is the span and quality of our attention. Thus arises the experience we are a a part of. But the process of training the mind gives us a choice. When we enter into this interweave of the mind and the world, the place of release, the place of truth, is intention and focus. We can choose to focus on the good, on the bright, in a way of self-relinquishment. This is our freedom, our possibility is there.

This is what we develop in meditation. Nothing else that is done in it will bear great fruit.

CONTENTS