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Venerable Ajahn Sucitto -
Supporting Practice
Taken from a Dhamma talk given by Ajahn Sucitto to
the community at Cittaviveka on Asalha Puja 1998.
Tonight is Asalha puja, the day we celebrate and bring into
consciousness the first turning of the wheel of The Law: the Four Noble
Truths, and the Eightfold Path. While hearing this teaching one of the
five ascetics, Venerable Kondañño, realised what is called the spotless
realisation of Dhamma: 'All that is subject to arising is subject to
cessation.' He recognised that dukkha, or dissatisfaction, originates
from a particular mental activity of wanting or not wanting; a pressure
to push, to get away, to make things otherwise. He realised that this
particular energy, tanha, this thirstiness, is something that can be
relinquished; we don't have to repress it, we don't have to act upon it,
we can simply open to it let it run through us and pass away.
Kondañño was the person who had predicted that the baby Siddhattha was
going to become the Buddha. So there was something particular about him;
he had some clarity, some insight. He and the other ascetics were
probably a pretty rag -- bag bunch of characters, but they had
definitely made a profound commitment to some kind of a spiritual path,
and were putting everything they had into it. They didn't have much of a
wisdom teaching but they certainly had a lot of chanda -- a willingness
to practise with patience, persistence and determination; so they had
accumulated some good kamma, good skills. This is why the Buddha felt,
of all the people in the world, these were the people who could probably
understand what he was talking about. Also, they knew him, which is
another kind of skilful kamma -- the kamma of association. We can
immediately be more open and trusting of somebody we know than of
somebody we don't know.
These Four Noble Truths are deceptively simple to say, but we need to
have a fair bit of skill already to get this kind of immediate
realisation. We might recognise suffering and see that this is something
that we want to stop doing; the problem is that most of us approach it
from the position of: '"I" want to stop suffering. How can "I" get out
of it?' rather than: 'There is suffering.'
There is an enormous step between, 'I am...' and, 'There is...' This
difference involves the giving up and discarding of the sense of self,
which is what normally snags us.
So the experience of realisation goes beyond 'I' was, or wasn't -- which
is the way the conventional personality conceives things. Instead wisdom
guides the mind and knows that a thought or a feeling has the nature to
arise and cease.
When this is a realisation, it is a supramundane right view. It doesn't
have any position; it doesn't reject things or partake of things. It
sees: 'This is dukkha; this is the arising of it; this is the cessation
of it; this is the Path.' But to the people who hadn't made such a
strong commitment as those ascetics, the Buddha would normally teach the
path of mundane right view which, in a sense, is about becoming a better
person. This begins to incline a person towards developing the kind of
faculties that will lead towards supramundane right view, towards the
capacity for that particular transformation to occur.
Generally, when we get depressed, angry, upset, frightened, hurt,
irritated -- when we experience suffering -- the mind doesn't just go
into a kind of spacious state of letting things arise and cease. It
snags, it hangs on like crazy. It blames, fights, feels guilty and tries
to run away. If somebody comes along and says: 'There is suffering', it
says: 'Thanks a lot, so what! What are you going to do about it?...' The
mind isn't capable of letting go. So the Buddha in his compassion saw
that, first of all, we need to develop the capacity to let go, and he
gave a graduated discourse which begins with giving and generosity.
We can notice how we enjoy receiving generosity -- not just material
goods, it could be time or a kind word; being bestowed upon is a heart
warming feeling. As we reflect on that, we recognise that to do this to
another person is perhaps an even lovelier feeling. When we give from a
very good place in ourselves, not just so that we'll be liked but a
magnanimous giving, and the person is capable of receiving that in an
open and straight way, the quality of giving is most enhanced. Sometimes
people can feel guilty or disempowered by being given things, or
embarrassed or that they have to give something back. When it's like
that, it feels sad, doesn't it..? But we can focus on what happens when
there is a pure quality of bestowing that is fully and openly received.
We feel a calm and a strengthening, a gladness and a trust. So whenever
we can fully give to people who can fully receive, this is the highest
kind of giving.
One of the basic things in Sangha life is to be worthy of gifts and to
properly receive, so that people feel they can bestow; can feel good
about giving. We don't say: 'Oh well you shouldn't bother really...' or,
'I don't really need it, thank you very much.' Instead, we chant an
anumodana which is a ritualised way of reminding people of the blessings
that come from wholesome action: 'ayu vanno sukham balam' -- vitality,
composure, happiness and strength.
Next the Buddha talked about morality or virtue, sila. He'd say things
like: 'You don't like pain, do you? You fear death, don't you? Other
creatures fear death, don't they? -- therefore don't kill or harm
creatures,' rather than simply: 'Don't do this or that.' This gives a
feeling of connectedness with other beings instead of just, 'me' -- very
separate from every creature in the world. For example, if we see an ant
in the bathroom sink we reflect that the ant doesn't want to die
(although it might not be thinking about it or even worried about it) so
we don't just turn the tap on, we try to get it out of the way. In fact
whether the ant cares or not, or is grateful or not, is not the point.
If we are dwelling in the realm of sila we see things in that particular
light, because the mind has established a certain kind of immaterial or
mental realm -- the realm of goodness.
When the heart is dwelling in a sense of empathy and tenderness, this is
what is called heaven. We begin to see the disadvantage in living from
the purely sensual perspective; we see how it sets up greed, jealousy,
passion, fear. We see the inadequacy of the sensual aspect of things.
From this, there is the ability, willingness and eagerness to cultivate
relinquishment.
So consider: 'Do I want the realm which is steady, happy and contented,
or the realm which is fearful, grasping and needy? Which do I want..?'
Once we see it like that, it becomes very obvious; it is not obvious
when we don't see it like that. This is why these things have to be
dwelt in and encouraged. Rather than simply negating what is wrong, we
make fully conscious what is good -- because if we are not fully
conscious of that, relinquishment is impossible. It is just aversion,
idealism or repression.
These social realities -- virtue, morality, generosity -- are aspects of
what we call meditation or bhavana, which is cultivation of the mind.
The qualities of self -- worth, of dignity, honour and nobility that
come from these are the basis for bhavana; they are what enable and lift
us up, so that we can develop other aspects of meditation. Without them,
meditation is pretty fragile. We may have our good days and bad days but
the foundation is rickety.
So I really encourage people who come and make offerings to allow the
mind to dwell in the feeling of generosity. Similarly, for the Sangha
there is the sense of: 'Let's enter into this together'; it's as though
the givingness is really pressed right into the heart. At the time of
the meal offering we try to arrive early, sit down and reflect on what's
really going on. Together we offer incense to the Buddha with a feeling
of gratitude that he established something which enables us to live in
this very beautiful way. Then we give the anumodana, and before eating
we contemplate the almsfood -- really making something out of the
occasion to cultivate. It's not just the time we hang around wasting
until we can get our food down!
Then we all have our training precepts. Those who have gone forth recite
them each fortnight; for this we have to sit within forearm's distance
of each other, so we all cluster around and somebody has to recite it
all by heart, it's quite an effort. But there's a tremendous bonding
that occurs around that. We're always at our best after our respective
recitations, because of just having sat and been through it together.
Then people might start to talk about things like Right Speech, and
someone might admit to having been a bit negative about somebody,
actually acknowledging: 'It doesn't feel very good to complain about
somebody; I don't want to do this.' And we all might consider: 'Why do
we do this? How do we stop doing it?' This is an amazing thing to do.
It's the sign of sila; realising that something is stained, not because
of being blamed or criticised but because of feeling it in oneself.
There is the renunciation of the need for a self-affirming position, and
we can acknowledge: 'There is desire; it's like this...' Renunciation
has made this possible. Whereas ordinarily, without such a foundation to
stand on, we'd probably think: 'I didn't do that' or, 'Well, so what if
I did anyway. You deserved it!'
The Buddha said that a stream-enterer is someone who, having made a
transgression, would quickly seek out a fellow samana and say: 'I've
made a transgression, help me to set this straight.' This helps us and
also touches into the realm of sîla for others. We begin to transmit a
foundation for realisation through our skills and relinquishments, just
by being able to acknowledge and recognise suffering, blemishes and
imperfections. It can be around very small things, embarrassingly small
things.
So when the Buddha taught his close disciples -- people who'd really
made a full commitment to the holy life, he would talk to them on the
joys of renunciation and non-attachment. They would be roused,
delighted, really fired-up by this: 'Letting go! Renunciation!
Contentment with little! -- Wonderful, great stuff!' rather than: 'Oh,
no! I don't want to do this...' If such talk just makes us feel cold and
frightened, then we need to keep cultivating generosity and sila,
because we haven't actually got to the point where renunciation feels
good for us. The fruition of renunciation hasn't occurred yet.
So the Going Forth is much more than an outward thing. It's not like:
'After I've done a year or two years, then I can become a nun or a
bhikkhu...' It's not the years that count, it's when the idea of
renunciation makes us feel happy rather than nervous. But if it is not
like that, don't worry about it -- then it's time to cultivate the
mundane: generosity, goodness -- and to enjoy them. The Path is right
there. We can do the good; and if we dwell in it, live in it, it will
always lead us step by step towards the stream.
When we cultivate, we can stay with the experience and perception of
'mind' as a realm or object, rather than associating with its chaotic
voices. Even when they are there, we can just watch, detecting their
particular patterns. This is different from being in the midst of them
muttering and thinking and wailing and gnashing. Instead, we stop, wait
a minute and just get back to the experience of: 'This is mind.' We're
not fiddling around with the objects in it, we're getting to that right
view of mind. If we can stay with it, the stuff begins to ease up and
relax.
But there is always the temptation to get involved with the thoughts,
feelings and emotions. We try to make them like this or to pretend they
are not like that -- this whole ghastly scenario of wrong view. Instead,
however, I've found that I can be the receiver of it all, the listener
-- simply by realising: 'This is mind...' And I can do that now; I don't
always do it, but I can see that direction in practice.
We can cultivate like this in moments when there is nothing particularly
going on. Maybe we're sitting in a room and somebody's talking about
something we haven't the slightest interest in. We could sit there
wondering: 'Oh why doesn't he shut up...' or: 'I wonder what's for
dinner...' or be tugged into a position with the words or ideas, wanting
to comment on it or make fun of it, or thinking that it's all a waste of
time... but instead we stop that and recognise: 'This is mind. This is
happening in my own mind now.' We can compose ourselves upon that,
seeing that it arises and ceases.
This is the realm of Dhamma, and there's no problem here, is there?
Similarly with perceptions of people: what happens in the mind when we
see somebody happy and laughing, or someone we feel slightly mistrustful
of? What happens when there are lots of things happening and six people
talking all at once..? We might think: 'Oh what's going on, why is it
like this? This is driving me nuts!' or we can see simply: 'This is the
mind.' That's relinquishment.
So tonight as we cultivate, we can reflect and consider those who have
been kind to us, or who inspire us; we can reflect on the Buddha
himself, or on the qualities of realised beings and the good fortune
that we have. We can remember these things, rather than thinking about
other things that depress us or agitate us. Through thought, we form
something that we can actually use for our welfare, rather than
something that just tugs us down. Then we focus on the breath, body,
feelings, mind, seeing that everything which arises has the nature to
cease.
Forest Sangha Newsletter: July 1999, Number 49
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