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Venerable Ajahn Medhanandi -
Chariot to Nibbana
Reflections from a retreat in Wellington, New Zealand
A chariot
of faith and wisdom
forever evenly-yoked.
Moral shame, its brake, mind, the reins; mindfulness as watchful
charioteer.
Adorned by virtue, renunciation as chassis, its axle meditation,
Energy its wheels, equanimity balancing the chariots load.
Its weaponry loving-kindness, harmlessness and seclusion,
With forbearance as armour and shield, it rolls towards security from
bondage.
This divine vehicle, unsurpassed, originates from within oneself.
In it, the wise depart from the world victorious.
Mahavagga, Maggasamyutta, SN 45.4
Venerable Ananda saw the brahmin Janussoni riding out of Savatthi in a
magnificently ornamented white chariot. Later, reporting what he had
seen to the Buddha, he asked what was the most divine vehicle according
to the Dhamma-Vinaya. The Blessed One named the chariot to
Nibbana as unsurpassed among vehicles, likening its components to
the qualities we need for spiritual awakening.
As a nun I am a passenger in this noble chariot. Ancient and
well-proven, its chassis is the Vinaya, our monastic code of
precepts which serve as guide and guardian of my life. I climb into this
chariot trusting that I leave behind the metropolis of greed, hatred,
and confusion as I head towards sanctity and peace.
Setting out on pilgrimage in such a vehicle requires special provisions
including a map of the teaching as well as faith and wise insight, our
sturdy white mares, to support our passage. Through the most forbidding
terrain, moral responsibility and mindfulness are compass and charioteer
while remorse and conscience serve as brakes. Ever mindful in daily
life, we must repeatedly ask: "Have I caused harm? Am I causing harm?
Will I cause harm to myself or anyone? If so, how?" And, more
importantly, "How can I stop myself from going astray again?"
What stirs the spiritual traveller to contemplate in this way? Knowing
the hazards of addictive desire, malice, and all that cloud and confuse
us, we practise virtue. Just as we tug on the reins of our horses to
control their pace and direction, we choose to speak and act with
scrupulous care and attention.
The first verses of the Dhammapada tell us that everything we say and do
is coloured by our state of mind just as the wheels of the cart follow
the ox that pulls it. Virtue protects us not only from the seductive
influence of sights, sounds, smells, and tastes but also the subtle
undertow of craving, memory, obsessive thought, and idle musing that
brew in consciousness.
Whatever ethical code we espouse, whether five, eight, ten precepts or
more than two hundred monastic training rules consistency and single-pointedness
from beginning to end are essential. Any slack in these may hinder and
cause us to turn back or go astray.
However sincere our commitment to mindful and harmless living, it does
not preclude human error. There will be times when our choices are
unwise and we unwittingly cause distress. Yet we learn from this: seeing
the root of pain, how to avoid it, and the peril even of minor neglect
or transgression. Now, more than ever, we resolve not to risk the
slightest harm to anyone.
Still, merely conforming to ethical rules and conventions, sitting in
meditative postures, notching up attendance at retreats, and appearing
calm and composed will not make us immune to dark thoughts and feelings
and their paralyzing effects. We must practise reining in the
wandering mind to uproot unskilful tendencies. To discard such mental
habits is not loss. As with moral commitment, its restraining action
bears fruit. Less free to dissipate our energy in following desire, we
nurse a pure and steadfast awareness.
In this silence of the mind, concentration, rightly called the axle of
our vehicle, and wisdom deepen. Such a mind open and still is also
stable, tolerant, and resilient and no pawn to desire, aggression,
weariness, or doubt. Armed with equanimity, it steers us safely through
the perils of our pilgrimage. We know and see reality as it is not
just when we meditate but in everything we do.
Ajahn Chah gave a graphic image of a spider that builds a web and then
sits very still in its centre. When an insect flies into the web, he
catches it, covers it in a silky thread, and tucks it away in the corner
for dinner. Then another insect lands and he does the same thing. He
wraps it up and piles it in his little stash of frozen meals.
With extreme emotions such as anger, it is from the still centre of a
silent mind that we can learn from the spider wrap it with
mindfulness, know and reflect on its inherent nature, and penetrate to
the truth of that feeling in a way that frees us. If you are distraught
with grief, smouldering with resentment, or crippled by worry, just drop
each one like a red hot stone. Stop making a meal of your misery
believing that it defines who you are. Put it down!
In the increasingly narcissistic culture of our times, this is hard to
do. Seeking recognition, we mulishly indulge in, and identify with, our
hurts and pains to our detriment. Endlessly recounting our grief and
our wounds to the tired ears of friend or therapist, we wallow and
luxuriate in them publicly as if such morbid excesses were in some way
heroic.
Masked in this protracted suffering is the fear of letting go and the
belief that our pain gives us legitimacy. It certainly buys us
attention, however desperate. We nurture it, unaware that it enslaves
us. Yet, if we hope to honour the past and minister to accumulated
traumas, we must live authentically NOW and accept the transitory nature
of all things. We never forget the heartache for it enriches us. And the
moment we open to it is the blossoming of true compassion and
understanding.
Like the splendid steeds evenly harnessed to our chariot, we carry
ourselves and our life's burden so that our vehicle does not tilt
precariously to either side or flip over. Even with such a degree of
skill and awareness, should we become lost in yearning for what was once
ours, make detours to the shopping mall or meditate just to 'bliss
out' we will surely forget our original aim.
As pilgrims, our perseverance develops in two ways: with heroic
diligence and measured effort. Just as the smooth and continuous turning
of the wheels propels the chariot all the way to Nibbana, so too,
through frustration and inhospitable conditions, we sustain our momentum
and commitment undeterred.
Especially at the outset, we may falter or grow dispirited. Just as when
you take up yoga, at first, all your muscles hurt you feel clumsy and
tentative. But gradually, if you keep working out, the aches and pains
disappear and you savour a new freedom of movement and wholeness.
To stay in the middle, we avoid the extremes of over-indulgence and
asceticism. Our grasp of the reins must be neither too loose nor too
tight giving our equine friends the space they need to canter freely
without choking while, at the same time, keeping them on course. So with
meditation practice; if we exert too little effort, our concentration
fails to stabilize. But if we are overzealous, our focus and energy
dissipate like a fire of straw quickly dying out.
How many of us try to beat ourselves into enlightenment only to despair
and give up? If we take care not to force the mind to be still, or try
too hard, we will make better progress. Learn what works for you and
what doesn't. Go gently, respecting your limits and pressing the
boundaries just enough to be challenged. Living on the edge can draw out
the best in us. Compelled by a sense of urgency, we act as "one whose
hair is burning seeks a pond".
The weapons of a spiritual pilgrim are loving-kindness and compassion.
Recall the pithy verse in the Dhammapada: "Hatred cannot be conquered by
hatred but by love alone. This is an eternal law." To what extent can we
live by this principle when we are in conflict with ourselves?
A loving heart is harmless. It is not passive but poised and open to
forgive. Realizing that we are all capable of acting from ignorance, we
can respond not with aversion or aggression but tender composure. We
acknowledge our interconnectedness in harming any living being, we
bring harm to ourselves. As the mind is purified, it inclines towards
non-harming at the deepest level.
There we can know ourselves intimately. Polishing the inner mirror, we
dispel delusion and come face to face with ourselves in the solitude of
the heart. This is more than physical seclusion and non-engagement in
worldly affairs. Neither guarantees spiritual insight. But
cittaviveka, real seclusion of the mind, is the place where wisdom
is refined.
Through that purification, we find no 'one' and no single condition to
blame for our suffering. Instead of investing in excuses and believing
Mara's many guises, we expose the source of our pain. Finally, seeing
through loneliness, we no longer depend on others to define who we are
so that we can feel whole.
With such an awakening, a genuine connection to family and friends can
evolve. We stop meeting through empty form and convention, competing
with, or demanding anything from each other. Only then is it possible to
really love one another. We're not saying, "You be something for me, and
I'll be something for you." That's a business deal, a ransom of love for
security, acceptance, power, wealth, or sense-pleasure.
Many relationships disintegrate in this flawed dynamic. It follows us
into monastic life too. As long as the mind is beset by selfishness and
unresolved negativity, we may look 'good' but under the veneer of
calm, we long for approval, ooze with self-pity, or bristle with disdain
for our companions.
Inquire into your true nature and plant the seed of loving-kindness.
Love yourself and others not in a controlling or dependent way but
with an understanding of the fleeting quality of the conditioned world
and our unquestionable interdependence.
When I lived as a hermit nun, I scrabbled up steep summits and was
sometimes jolted off my seat in the chariot to Nibbana. Six years
of seclusion both from the mainstream of life as well as from my peers
particularly in times of trial left me vulnerable and worn.
During the last winter retreat, there were frequent gaps between the
daily meal that was offered some planned and some not. On the two days
a week when no meal was scheduled, I grazed on offerings of fruit,
bread, and hot drinks. This only intensified my anticipation for cooked
food on the remaining days. But not knowing whether my supporters would
arrive too late or forget and fail to come altogether compounded an
anxiety that sabotaged my well-being.
One morning, after a day of fasting, I awaited my meal. It didn't come.
This was not an intentional test of my resilience, but by nightfall,
alone with the waves pummelling the shore, I sat by the diminutive light
of a candle my faith in shambles. "Can I survive this way?" Shrouded
in my woollen robe, I looked hard at the face of the Buddha on my
shrine.
I felt like the spider sitting in his web and realised that I had been
nibbling for years on long-expired frozen meals of fear, self-pity, and
habitual anxiety. Then I remembered my lifetime vow to practise as a
nun. Would I allow hunger to be the yardstick of my faith? Or fear and
insecurity to jeopardize what was most precious to me?
Pondering how the Buddha himself had overcome much suffering in his long
years of ministry, I rekindled my resolve. Chanting, I called on my
refuge in the Triple Gem. I would summon every shred of courage and
patience to persevere one moment at a time through uncertainty, hunger,
and every other hardship.
To be a noble charioteer, we must recognise how the mind's deceptions
veer us from the path. Determined not to abandon it, we endure
discomfort, sickness and the decrepitude of an aging body every
imaginable impediment to our practice.
Radically patient, resolute, even surrounded by the fires of samsara,
we honour this purification to free our hearts. That intention of
honouring is in itself peace, and our very breathing with pure awareness
is ground enough for our last breath. At that moment, we leave behind
only the body, knowing that no 'one' dies.
For Nibbana is not the chariot it is the sacredness where this
path ends.
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