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Venerable
Ajahn
Karuniko
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Dwelling on
Conditions along the Way
Ajahn
Karuniko shares some memories from the Winter retreat at Cittaviveka
March 1999.
In recent mornings we've heard readings of some of the statements of the
enlightened monks and nuns. Now, one of the things that we contemplate,
is the enlightenment of the Buddha - and in the same spirit, the
enlightenment of the disciples of the Buddha - for faith: as a way of
giving us that energy and aspiration towards realising enlightenment
ourselves. When we read how life is for those enlightened beings, does
that really speak to us? Is that something that we would like to aspire
towards and experience for ourselves?
We've read these stories in the morning, and we've heard of the story of
a monk who used to be a ruler - he retired to be a monk - and he kept on
saying, 'Oh, what bliss! What bliss!' People thought that he was
thinking about the old days when he was a king in a palace. But he was
talking about the bliss of the present moment: not having all the fears
and complications of being a ruler, and having the simplicity of life in
the forest, under trees. And then, Adhimutta, who met the bandits on the
road. Usually when people meet bandits on roads, they shiver and quake
and tremble. But when the bandits met Adhimutta, he was all bright and
smiley. And they asked him why: 'Aren't you afraid that we're going to
chop you up?' But Adhimutta said, 'Well, if you want to do that, it's up
to you.'
Enlightenment is to live without hassle, to live peacefully; to live
without fear in all situations - not accumulating material things, or
having romantic episodes, or having power and status: but being totally
at peace - clear and wise to the way things are. Now, that's really what
my heart leaps towards.
So when I read about these things and bring them to mind - even in the
midst of things, when I'm walking or sitting; or going through lustful
times, or anxious times, or deluded times - I find this is something
that gives me the strength to bear with these things: to try not to get
caught up in them, and to let go of them. And I understand that this is
what the Buddha and his disciples went through themselves before they
realised enlightenment. I find these statements very different from the
success statements of the people of the world - the people who have fame
and fortune - and I wonder if, at the end of the day, they have the same
peace of mind: the same bliss and happiness.
In the Buddha's teaching, faith is something we cultivate to balance
against wisdom. The path unfolds in a more smooth and meaningful way
when both faith and wisdom are balanced. Now, when I consider people in
the West - maybe we don't tend to have such a strong faith orientation
(and when I think of it, before I came to Buddhism I didn't have a lot
of faith in anything) - we have a more thinking, reflective approach to
the practice. This is good for contemplating Dhamma; but one has to also
realise its limitations, and be careful our practice doesn't become what
one might call a head-trip, where we just sit there all day, thinking
and trying to figure it out. Because, in our life, that's what we're
taught to do. If there's a problem - if you want to solve anything - you
think it out: figure it out on a more rational, logical, thinking level.
We try and work out all our problems. But those who've tried to work out
enlightenment on a thinking level have been pretty disappointed, because
it involves more than just the rational understanding of the teachings.
When we go through difficulties in the practice, we have a desire to
know - What's the cause of all this? How has all this come about? We
look for the thoughts and ideas that will get rid of this difficulty for
us.
But when we're confused, and we think about it, do we get less confused?
Or when we're caught in doubt, and we try to figure it out, does that
allay our doubt? Does a lot of thinking and trying to work things out
lead us to a sense of tranquillity or peace of mind? We can see that it
has its limitations. The analogy that I find quite meaningful, that the
Buddha gave, was of the man being hit by the poisoned arrow. As a doctor
came to take out the arrow, the man asked, who fired the arrow; where
did it come from; 'who made the flints; what type of wood was it?' When
the man asked all those questions, he wasn't allowing the arrow to come
out. And with that preoccupation with wanting to know - wanting to
figure it out - you get sucked into what you're experiencing, and don't
actually let go. Faith is something to balance our tendency to get too
caught into this approach. Like: when I'm on the walking path - maybe I
feel anxious about something - I'm saying, 'Why am I feeling anxious?'
And I can be thinking like this, and it's easy to get caught into it:
get caught into the momentum of thinking about things that will happen
in the future, and all that. But, when I consider the idea of
enlightenment - going beyond these anxieties - somehow it brings me out
of that. I'm still very much aware of the anxiety, but it expands one's
awareness, and the anxiety doesn't seem so heavy anymore. So, that's why
I see faith as something that puts the brakes on trying to work it out
on a rational level.
How much do we need to know? Do we have to know everything about
everything? In all our experiences, in all the mind states that we
experience, do we have to know all the causes: are they from our
childhood, from our relationship with our parents; from this or from
that - from past lives - due to our astrological predicament? When I
consider the Buddha's teaching, he talked about right understanding, and
he talked in terms of suffering and how to end suffering. So, we're
experiencing something, and we feel suffering. What's the cause of that
suffering? The cause of that suffering is that we're clinging to that
experience. And if we don't cling to that experience it will go. How
much do we have to know about experience to let it go? Do we have to
know everything about the causes of something before we can let go of
that thing? I don't find that you have to. In fact, if one just turns to
the thing itself and doesn't think about it I find it goes, because I'm
not getting involved in it; I'm not making any more out of it; I'm not
reacting to it. I can appreciate that sometimes some sort of
understanding of something does help us to find peace with it. But there
are some things we can't understand. So, can we find peace with
something even if we don't know why we're experiencing it? Sometimes
people tell us things that are quite meaningful about something we're
experiencing and it helps us to understand it and find more peace with
it. Sometimes people say, 'why can't I get on with that person?'
'Oh, it's because his Venus is in Aries, and your Jupiter's in Scorpio.'
And even with those sort of explanations you sometimes find peace with
the way things are. But some things we don't initially understand. And
what can help us find peace with that?
Another aspect of what the Buddha called Right Understanding, is to
contemplate impermanence, unsatisfactoriness and not-self. These are the
tools the Buddha gave to help us to find peace with our experience: it
won't last (it's not permanent); it doesn't really belong to you; and
it's not satisfactory (it's suffering to hold on to it). Not trying to
understand all the things that have brought this about: but just seeing
it and understanding it in the present moment, for what it is. These are
the reflections offered by the Buddha.
And in terms of understanding the mind, when you consider the
Satipatthana Sutta, what does the Buddha say concerning cittanupassana -
concerning the mind? Know the mind that is lustful; know the mind that
is not lustful. Know the mind that is hateful; know the mind that is not
hateful. Know the mind that is confused, as confused; know the mind that
is not confused, as not confused. He's not saying know all the causes of
all these things. Just know them for what they are. And this, to me, is
about knowing impermanence: knowing that the mind is not always like
this.
Another thing that comes under right understanding is the reflection on
kamma. Kamma is the law of cause and effect, and one might think the
Buddha says you've got to find out what the cause is. But when you look
at the teachings, the Buddha actually discourages people from trying to
work out all the causes. In one Sutta, about what the Buddha called the
Four Unthinkables - the things not to try to work out on a rational
level - one of these things is all the intricacies of kamma. But the
Buddha encourages us to cultivate good kamma: to cultivate skilful
things. And, in many instances, the Buddha talked about cultivating good
kamma to allay bad kamma. On this meditation retreat we're cultivating
virtuous behaviour: skilful behaviour; cultivating the brahmaviharas of
kindness, compassion, joy and equanimity; cultivating more mindfulness
and awareness and cultivating more calm. This is something it's good to
contemplate. We might feel quite despairing sometimes when we dwell on
the difficulties we have to go through. But it's good to bring to mind
the good things that we're developing at present, and see this
cultivation as a way of allaying the bad things; rather than trying to
allay the bad things by figuring it all out.
So consider the tools, the wisdom tools, of the Buddha - they're not
highly complex - in terms of the Four Noble Truths; in terms of the
three characteristics, of impermanence, not-self and unsatisfactoriness;
and in terms of kamma: cultivating good kamma. And consider the path of
meditation: it's guiding us towards awareness of what's going on in the
present without a lot of thinking; to see things as they are in their
bareness, not coloured by opinions and ideas. The silence of the mind is
something that's productive of a greater wisdom than a lot of figuring
out. When the mind becomes more calm and clear, insights - the deeper
understandings - just come by nature.
But our mind is so quick - isn't it? - to go into ideas. Just for an
example: as you sit here listening to me, are you thinking? When I say
something, does your mind run to try and think it out? Can we just
listen to the words without the mind going anywhere: without adding
anything of our own opinion, or trying to work it out? People listen to
talks, and sometimes listen to them again on a tape, and realise how
much they've missed. Why is that? Because the mind runs off, and then
you're not actually with the moment, with what's happening: not actually
listening to what's going on in the present. So, silence - inner silence
- really gives us the opportunity to be fully receptive to what's going
on in the present. I think in therapeutic circles now, they have these
group meetings where they have to practise to learn to listen to each
other. Because people find it difficult to listen to each other.
Somebody starts to speak, and while they're still speaking, the other
person's trying to figure something out about the first thing they said
and not listening to the rest.
How much do we trust our own opinions? Do we think they're always wise?
Sometimes when I see some of the ideas that go through my mind I
consider it's a bit like a newspaper report on an event. I don't know if
you believe what you read in the newspapers, but sometimes you get the
impression that they're biased in some way. I remember reading an
article about when the Karmapa was instated in Tibet. I read two
newspaper reports from two different newspapers. One said it was a
wonderful occasion; and the other was very critical about it all: the
same event but different ways of reporting, because they were seeing it
through their own bias and their own responses.
I'd like to finish with a simile. This simile is one of a journey. It's
a journey through the countryside, and the journey is to a place called
Nibbana. And this place called Nibbana is a place of great safety. But
as we go along the way, there are many interesting things: many things
that, maybe, we want to know about. Have you ever walked along the Downs
with a botanist? He walks four yards, and, 'Wow! Look at this!' If you
ever walk along the Downs with a botanist, you make very slow progress.
And you make very slow progress, because he gets so much caught up in
the beautiful flowers along the way: he knows so much about them. This
is what I call, dwelling on conditions.
The Buddha says, it's a nice walk, but actually there's three bandits
along the way. Two of them could strike at any time: Sickness and Death.
Who's to know when they will come? And if they don't get you, there's
Old Age. Unless you find and realise the security of Nibbana, one of
these three bandits will get you. So, don't dwell on the flowers. Then
again, we might meet something not nice along the path: a corpse of some
animal, something unpleasant to see, and we get afraid - 'Ugh! I'm not
going to go any further!' But, don't dwell on that either. There are
many things along the way. But faith is saying, keep your heart set on
Nibbana. The Buddha said: a person has to give up the smaller happiness
for a greater happiness. And, you know, there is a happiness of dwelling
on the nice things along the way, and looking at a pretty orchid, or
something of the like; but, are we going to stop there, or are we going
to aspire towards a greater happiness?
Have you ever walked through nature without dwelling on anything?
Without getting caught up in any particular tree or plant? Actually,
it's quite wonderful. Because it's like opening up to all the
experiences of that present moment, without getting limited by anything.
You won't miss out on anything because you don't get distracted by
anything. It makes the walks in nature a very uplifting, very open-heart
experience, with less a feeling of separation, because one's not caught
up in being the one who knows what everything is. And if one doesn't
dwell on the way, maybe these three bandits won't get one. So,
contemplate faith, and not dwelling on things and getting caught up in
trying to know everything. Trust that what you need to know, you'll
know.
I wish you all a safe journey, and may you all reach that place of
safety, of Nibbana.
Forest Sangha Newsletter: January 2000, Number 51
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