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Venerable Ajahn Sundara -
Why Did I
Become a Nun?
The
following is taken from a talk given by Sister Sundara at the 'Joys of
Monastic Life' conference, held at The Spirit Rock Center in Northern
California in May 1990.
I studied the programme of this conference when I arrived in America and
looked at the different issues - which is a word I have never heard used
so often before as in the last few days! - and I discovered that
actually as a Buddhist nun, I probably would cover all of them just by
talking about the life that I lead. It is about monasticism, and issues
of men and women, and issues about the lay community's relationship with
the monastery, and so forth.
One of the first things that led me to the possibility of awakening the
mind - and being in a wakeful state rather than a dull one - was the
need I had to understand. To see clearly what my life was about - what
our lives are about, I suppose - and I wanted to find the tool that
could help. So I read and I listened to people, but somehow it never
really did much to my understanding. I could memorise what was said, but
I never felt any sort of transformation. And at the time I wasn't aware
of the process of transformation, but I felt the need for finding some
place within, that would help me understand. I think this is the case
for all of us.
There are many tools, many paths, many teachers that are available to
us, but in my case I felt that my mind was already cluttered with many
views and opinions about things and issues and, really, the most urgent
thing to do was to empty it all out. I didn't know how to do it, though.
When I heard Ajahn Sumedho for the first time, he talked about
simplicity - and this really spoke to my heart. In out society,
simplifying our lives isn't an easy thing to do even if we want to. We
tend to clutter our minds and our houses with all sorts of things. So,
when I went to Chithurst Monastery for the first time, it wasn't to
become something; in fact, I was yearning to not be anything at all. It
was difficult because, in the world, we all train to become something,
usually something very special. To become nobody in a dignified way was
very appealing!
I went to Chithurst to see how Ajahn Sumedho and the monks were doing -
they had moved out of a flat in London to the countryside, and I was
keen to keep in touch with the Sangha. I really didn't know very much
about Buddhism; neither had I seen monks before I met them in London. I
had little knowledge of the tradition - which I'm grateful for; I really
didn't like tradition very much. As an independent character I had very
structured ideas about how I should live and didn't want to be told what
to do. The only authority I followed was my own, so I was relieved to
find that the teaching was pointing to self-realisation through one's
own experience. We didn't even have to be our own authority, we just had
to look clearly, and see distinctly, and focus our attention.
The questioning, or the inquiring mind, must be recognised; in Buddhism,
this is what the practice is about. Then, through attentiveness and
mindfulness, you begin to explore things in a different way. You
question things and see they are not always as they appear. Before we
argue what is right or wrong, we must question: who is looking, who is
thinking, who has these views? Is it my view? Who is this 'my'? This is
something I found very important to come to terms with. Inquiring about
the human mind seemed a very important thing. We have to discover that
we have a mind, a heart, intellect, feeling, within this wonderful tool
called a human being. Do we want to find out if it is working properly
or not?
One of the first things one becomes aware of by exploring this is; No,
the human tool is not working very well. Before entering the monastery,
I thought I had trained myself to be a smiling and attractive, socially
acceptable personality. I had convinced myself of this. Before entering
the monastery, I thought I was a nice person - I had no doubts about it.
Then I joined the community ...
In the community, one recognises the strong views one possesses about
oneself and others, especially under this sort of restraint, when you
cannot do what you would like to do and your habits become frustrated.
There is a lot of boredom in a monastery due to the lack of
distractions. You see the mind desperately trying to be fed on
something. You find the slightest things irritating and annoying,
whereas before you were really tolerant and accepting of others.
Encountering the same people on a day-to-day basis, you find even the
nicest people can become annoying. Why does this happen? Why do you
harbour grudges or criticism about someone you previously liked very
much? Is it me? It's worth investigating; otherwise, we would believe
everything we thought and felt.
Actually, I really like to have fun, so I began to take my fun
seriously. I didn't want to go on suffering forever. The mind has its
way of following the path it should take - when you really want
something, you find it. It became clear that the only way of enjoying
life was to live it the way that felt right, and we must all discover
this for ourselves. Whatever gives one a sense of fulfilment and joy,
and respect for others, as well as a sense of freedom -- that's what
most people want to do. However, one doesn't usually think of finding
joy and fulfillment in an environment where distraction and
entertainment seem absent. So I didn't want to become a nun - I didn't
think women did that until they were really old and no-one really wanted
them any more.
When I went to Chithurst to live I was asked to take the Eight Precepts
and wear white. I didn't mind too much, as long as I could stay with
people I respected and who lived a joyous life. Taking precepts was
really what I had been looking for all of my life, and there wasn't any
sense of being bound by them; it was just an awareness and focus of
attention on what I said and did and thought. I couldn't dance or go to
the theatre, watch television or indulge in entertainments. The precepts
became really good friends to me. I was able to stop acting unskillfully,
and then remorse over my behaviour ceased. This is because I was living
in a place where the precepts were upheld and I could cultivate trust.
The beginning of my monastic life was very new for everyone, including
my teacher. He had just established a new monastery in the West with
monks trained in Thailand - and then four women turned up. The women
didn't know each other, you couldn't have put together more different
characters. We had an interesting time together living in an environment
where everything was experimental.
The house itself was falling apart. In lay life I had always lived in
comfortable situations, where cooking and cleaning for myself just
weren't part of my lifestyle. I had never lived with monks before,
either. It was cold and damp; I had to cook every day, and do many
things that were new and unusual. A kind of joy began to develop that
took away many obstacles.
When we arrived, none of the four of us had any idea about anything,
other than being there to practise and live the life as everyone was
leading it - not to be anything special or have any particular
privileges. I just wanted to be as ordinary as possible. to be a nobody;
I had insight into being a nobody, and realised it was the best way to
be. It's not something many people can relate to, and at the time I
didn't see this with a Buddhist perspective. I didn't know what a nobody
was or how to become one. It really came home when I took refuge in
mindfulness and clear awareness, whilst looking for the one who knows.
You can ask the question, but you can't ever find anyone who is constant
through the impermanent mind-states -- there's just a silence, a space.
At the beginning there was no space in my mind at all. It was full of
miseries, ups and downs, me, you, the others, the world, life,
yesterday, tomorrow, etc. This was the conditioned mind, conditioned by
time and memory, thought and feeling. This was the only perspective I
had then and I soon began to see that this conditioned mind was not
really a satisfactory tool. It seemed to create problems about
everything. One can take problems very seriously and believe, 'Yes, this
is MY prohlem'! But you practise, you see that discontentment and
dissatisfaction are the nature of the conditioned mind. I used to worry
about everything. I could spend an entire lifetime describing my worry.
And then I began to understand worry: it is like a boomerang - you throw
it, and it comes back to you. If you believe in it, this is what worry
does to you.
Living in this situation, you just can't get away from yourself -
wherever you are. You can't get rid of yourself. Living in the
monastery, you begin to really see very clearly what this means. You
have this person, 'yourself' who creates these problems and you are
allowed to be with it. The catch is learning the results of the way you
think, feel and act. The absolute and the relative world are not
separate. The relative world is only your mind, and it seems as though
it's 'out there', because that's where you believe your mind to be. This
is where the confusion arises.
The absolute and the relative world come together, like confusion and
liberation. If you weren't really confused, there would be no need for
liberation; there would be no problems, then, would there? How could you
let go without knowing that you were attached to something? It's
paradoxical. I remember thinking, 'Must I really suffer just to be able
to let go of suffering?' it seemed an unbearable process to be free of
ignorance by being truly ignorant. It's painful, as many of us don't
want to question that.
Do we want to question what ignorance is about? How do we find a
solution from a mind that can't even think clearly? For me, this is an
important issue. Can we find clear answers from a place that is
confused? Feeling unloved and rejected, frustrated with the sense of not
getting anywhere made me think I wasn't practising - but something in me
knew that I didn't have to believe that. Even if I was confused, I
didn't have to believe it, because ultimately I knew it was not really
'me' - my ultimate nature. I could see these problems end, and realise
there was no need to try and solve them. They would just go.
Look back at a situation that was based on a very unstructured form
(though it was based on the Dhamma and the Vinaya) I can see that most
of the things that have since evolved for the Sangha happened when the
community was able to let go. Development has come not from creating
issues and problems but from purifying the heart and seeing clearly.
Looking for personal clarity within the monastic situation, we realise
that letting go was the only freedom from the conditioned mind. There is
a sense of trust that our limited view of self is not what we are.
This is the continuation of a talk (originally given at 'The Joys of
Monastic Life' conference last year) that appeared in the lost issue.
Unfortunately, this concluding section was not printed because of an
editorial oversight. Here, Sister Sundara is reflecting on her
experiences as a nun durine the early days of her monastic life.
I have found a wonderful sense of gratitude has developed over the years
that was not apparent at the beginning. At the beginning, whenever I
would hear the word 'gratitude' I could say to myself that it was a
wonderful thing to feel, but it never dawned on me that it was supposed
to be a constant practice. It was not a practice of becoming somebody
who is grateful but a matter of recognising when gratitude was present -
and it was, most of the time. The thing that kept me going through the
difficulties, the trials and errors, the desert plateaux and valleys of
despair was this lovely sense of gratitude. We can't always acknowledge
that gratitude because we believe so much in the stuff that is going on
at the surface level; we forget that we have a heart right here that is
peaceful, grateful and compassionate. We need to tune into it. Sometimes
this is painful because we have to die to a lot of ideas; and dying is
not the most easy thing to do.
Sometimes I would be so resentful of people and of situations, even of
my teacher and the reaching . . . I could be really horrible. At first I
felt that I should not be a resentful person. It was a struggle because
although I knew how to practise, my mind was so identified with the idea
that I should not be a bad person who has nasty and awful thoughts about
life that I automatically believed what I was thinking.
To recognise the feeling of gratitude and peace in the heart, I would
question myself: 'What do you want to do, Sundara, carry on living
resentfully - or die to yourself in a dignified and beautiful way?' It
was for me a real existential question. Ajahn Sumedho named me Sundara
('the beauti- ful'). It is fortunate he gave me that name: I had such
horrible mind states sometimes that I had to attune to my name and
remember: 'Yes, I do want to live in a beautiful way and to die to
myself gracefully.' This sense of gracefulness arose from devotion, from
bowing, from gratitude and being thankful for what had been given. I
knew that the only way to lead this life was not because 'I' decided it.
This 'me' that was always screaming away had some restful time too.
Nature balances itself harmoniously and you begin to know its flow. You
don't mind going up and down because you know that is how Nature works.
It is important to recognise that the mind and body have a life of their
own. To feel good or bad, to have what you like or dislike, is nor a
problem anymore. To be with the way things are is to be with the
enlightened mind.
To come to that place of 'not knowing', I would ask myself: 'What am I
going to do? I don't know what's going to happen to me.' People would
ask me: 'What about the bhikkhuni order?' And I would say: 'I don't
know.' I did not know; and that felt very peaceful. I did not come to
the monastic order to become anything anyway, so it was not a problem.
To be free is what is important. It is not important to become somebody,
because becoming is suffering, and it is clearly stated in the teaching:
becoming anything - becoming happy or unhappy, becoming a monk or a nun
- is suffering.
So you bow, and feel a real sense of devotion towards a teaching that
speaks directly to you and to the truth that you know from your own
experience. You do not have to believe the Buddha or what he taught. He
himself said: 'Inquire, find our for yourself.'
When you go beyond doubt, it's because you see the suffering of
ignorance, and of holding onto ideas, views and opinions. Even when I
could justify and feel right about what I thought - 'It should not be
like this. It is not right' -I could surrender to that reality. I would
be really frustrated because I knew that the teaching did not give me
the space to be ignorant or stupid any more. I could hear these voices
and feel really hot. . . . I had a real issue, a real problem that
needed to be solved.
Yet I knew that I could bow to what I had heard and trust what would
happen when it had ceased. Trusting the heart, the silent mind that does
not know, brings us to the point where things are transformed and
renewed. Then we are freed from the idea that we are endlessly bound by
our fears, desires and insecurities.
Forest Sangha Newsletter:
April 1991, Number 16
July 1991, Number 17
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