Nothing to Do

It has been a long time since I thought it prudent to put anything down here. Life has brought interesting times. As in the Chinese curse, "[m]ay you live in interesting times." Interesting times, indeed.

One of the hardest things about Soto Zen meditation, or zazen, is that it requires one to put aside the samsaric mind completely. The samsaric mind, the wandering mind, is constantly looking for something. A thought. An experience. A state of mind called enlightenment.

Like a stubborn Zen master, zazen gives this mind nothing to eat. When sitting, one merely sits, although silently and with attention. But beyond a few basic pointers on form and some rudimentary attention, we are left with nothing to do.

It can infuriate the mind conditioned to doing. The mind likes to pick and choose. In zazen, nothing is picked and nothing is chosen. Things are allowed to be, exactly as they are. No more, no less.

The good news is that the burden is lifted. Because there really is nothing to do, there is nothing to gain. Without gain, there is no loss. Without gain and loss, there is no stress. And without stress... well, that must really be tasted to be believed.

Kyoto Dreams

Even in Kyoto—


hearing the cuckoo's cry—

I long for Kyoto.

--- Basho



Ancient Buddhist teaching has taught that consciousness (vijnana) is a story making machine. It connects the dots, makes patterns, and turns wiggly black letters into fully formed words and sentences.

Think about it. We have a steady stream of sensations coming in. Colors come in through the eyes. Sounds come in through the ears. Internal and external sensations light up the body in vary shades of light and dark, pain and joy. Yet we do not experience a series of drips and drops. We experience a smooth, continuous flow of experience that appears to carry from one moment to the next.

Consciousness, or the mind, creates a story. In fact, this is its job. It can help us. If we were confronted with a confusing jumble of sights, sounds, and sensations, it would be hard to avoid the attacking tigers and find the right types of plant to eat.

The problem is that we mistake the story for the reality. The story is a dream that consciousness creates from the bare facts of what we experience. Over time, we begin to believe the dream. We think in terms of self and other, good and bad, this and that. We create a separation between ourselves and what is happening. This leads to suffering.

To undo this process, it is important to look at the bare facts. When we are sitting, we are often tempted to dream our time away thinking about what happened to us yesterday or what we're going to do later. We tell ourselves stories instead of developing insight.

The same thing happens at night when we dream. We get so caught up in the story, even if it is completely bizarre. We believe the dream is real. We may try to change or manipulate the dream to make it more pleasant. But spirituality isn't about changing or manipulating the dream. It is about waking up. One way to wake up in a dream is to examine the dream closely. For example, in a dream if you see an oak door with a brass handle, and you look away, and look back, the door will often change. Maybe now it is a white plywood door with a different handle. When this happens, we are often "jarred" into realizing we are in a dream.

The same goes for waking life.

One meditation secret is stop feeding into the story. Look at the thoughts. Shift away from the narrative and to the alphabet. What is a thought? Where does it begin? Where does it end? Is it permanent? Is it satisfying? Is it really me?

I've heard from too many people who spend all their mediation time dreaming up stories. This can go on for months and even years. A little actual practice goes a long way.

Full emptiness, empty emptiness, and an empty mind

The word emptiness is often thrown around in spiritual circles, in different contexts, leading to confusion.  For purposes of this post, I will distinguish between three types of emptiness:

1.  Emptiness as the source.  This is the root in Taoism, represented by the character wu.  It is an emptiness that is potential, but is unrealized.  Without attributes, it gives rise to all things. 

2.  Emptiness as openess.  This is more of emptiness is the Buddhist sense.  In Chinese, it is represented by the character kong, which also means open.  In Madhyamaka philosophy, it is emptiness of self nature, i.e. and independent and enduring subtance.  Another way to put this is that things depend on each other and are open to change.

3.  A blank mind.  Many people when they hear about meditation think of a blank mind. 

The Taoist may state that all things arise from wu.  The Buddhist may state that all things are kong.  However, it is important not to confuse the two.  Under traditional Taoist cosmology, Tao gives rise to wu chi, wu chi to tai chi, and tai chi to the universe.  According to the Book of Balance and Harmony, arising goes from subtle to gross.  The physical world arises from the energetic world, which arises from the spirit world, which arises from the uncreated.  Contrary to materialism, which says that the mind arises from physical processes, the physical processes arise from more subtle energies. 

An astute observer will think here of Huang Po and other Chinese Chan masters and their teachings of the pure or original mind. 

However, when a Buddhist says that the mind is empty, they are referring to the lack of a closed, independent, unchanging nature.  Here, emptiness is a lack.  It exists only as a mental concept.  So when a Buddhist says a table is empty, it doesn't mean that the table is not there in some way.  It just means that there is no "table" substance--- there are only parts of a table.  And looking in these parts, there is no table nature there either.  The table is nothing more than an arrangement of parts. 

Some people, when they hear of emptiness think that they must make their minds blank.  Some masters have stated that a cultivated mind is empty of thought.  I can attest from experience that as one cultivates ethics, mediation, and right living, thoughts tend to become quiet and less in number.  Patanjali starts his yoga sutras by stating that the aim of yoga is ending the modification of the mind. 

Accordingly, people wish to jump to the end. 

Because of this, people think that if they make their mind empty, they will achieve the same thing the masters are talking about.  However, they are mistaking the outer appearance for the inner nature.  A mind becomes empty of thoughts naturally when it stops clinging to things.  This is why Hui Neng said that no mind means freedom from thought in the midst of thought, not a lack of thought.

A forced emptiness is sterile.  I believe this is what the masters criticized as dead tree zen.  A mind in a forced state of stillness is not responsive.  The Taoist virtue of natural spontaneity is lost.

A mind that does not cling is ready for anything, on the other hand, can respond to everything.  This sort of mind attains the best of wu and kong.  It is open and pregnant with possibilities. 

E = mc2

Matter is frozen energy.
--- Einstein

All beings by nature are Buddha,

As ice by nature is water.
Apart from water there is no ice;
Apart from beings, no Buddha.

--- Hakuin

Paul Brunton drew the connection between modern physics and ancient wisdom many years ago.

It can be hard to see the relationship between matter, which is solid, and energy, which is free flowing.  Yet the ancient sages, and modern physicists, do just this.  In fact, modern physics tells us the entire material universe can be drawn back to a single point of intense energy.  The solid world we see around is is simply caused by the repuslive fields around particles--- since atoms are mostly empty space. 

So why is hard to accept that all things are consciousness, as the Hindu masters have taught?    And not just Hindu masters.  Taoist sages have already drawn the ascension from the material to ethereal, converting jing to chi to shen to Void.   

In fact, one might think that the modern temperment, freed from the past prejudices toward form, would be uniquely prepared to understand this truth.  Perhaps we are too close to the truth.  The Vedantins often say that the only reason we know impermanence is that there is a part of that stands apart from change. 

Indeed, changelessness guides us toward the real.  If I saw a person for an instant, I would write that person off as a hallucination.  Not real.  It is only when a person lasts, through time, that I am to believe that such a person exists. 

Yet, taking a larger view, is there really so much of a difference between a mental image that lasts for a flash, or a human being who lasts for eighty years?  Not in the span of billions of years.  In such a span, each of us is but a flash.  Unreal.

Chaos, Beginnings, and Energy

Lately, I've been facing  a lot of changes.  A new job at work, new interests.  When I was in college, there was a poster in a coffee shop that had a Chinese pictogram on it.  It said:

Chaos.  In the beginning of something new, there is chaos.  Before a wise person becomes great, they must first look foolish to the crowd.

I have found this to be true.  Often, the spiritual life is about cultivating sattvic qualities: a clear, undisturbed mind.  This is fine for the monk or the swami, but not for those of us making our way in the world.  For us, we need to learn to pay attention during intense times of activity, or rajas.

For me, these new beginnings have brought a lot of energy.  It is good, in that this energy has spurred a lot of creative activity.  But it has also made my mind-body restless.  This is not a bad thing, for it allows me to remember what it's like to have such a mind-body.  And it also remind me that the elements of experience are still the same.  It doesn't matter whether you are calm or agitated, all things are empty.

Path to Heaven

Know that which has form to be unreal and the formless to be permanent.  Through this spiritual instruction, you will escape the possibility of rebirth.

--- Astavakra Samhita (trans. Swami Nityaswarupananda)

The scripture here gives us a key. Whatever has form is unreal. Finding the formless is the path to the real.

So what is form? Form is something that has qualities: colors, sounds, scents, tastes, or feeling. Physical objects have form.

Throughout history and cultures, sages have often directed our attention to formless things as pointers to the truth. In Taoism, there is much talk about water. In Christianity, there is light. Tibetan Buddhists often talk about space. 

In Hindu thought, the spectrum of existence is arranged from the absolute formless (nirguna Brahman) to absolute form or matter (prakriti). It is said that the formless gives rise to the form. This happens in a series of stages from the most subtle to the gross. The more subtle a thing is, the higher up on the spiritual hierarchy. Why? Because it is more like the highest.

The same goes for Taoism. The highest, the Tao, is without form. The lower end of creation is the 10,000 things. Creation goes from the Tao, to the one, to yin and yang, to the five elements, to all things. Returning to the Tao is ascending the ladder from form to formlessness.

In Christianity, the first thing that is created is light. Light on the first day, whereas the bodies of light (sun and moon) are created on the fourth day. The heaven and earth start out “formless”.

Accordingly, physical matter being mostly form is at the bottom. Thoughts are higher because they are less substantial. Awareness is higher because it even more formless than thought. Intuition is ranked higher than intellectual knowledge because it has less form.

Seen in this light, one can clearly see the pathway to return to the source.

The Brain and the Mind

The brain and the mind is an interesting subject and a great personal question for me.  The question is:  does physical brain create the mind?

Obviously, the brain and the mind are linked.  Damage to the brain can effect the functioning of the mind.  Meditation can impact the brain.  The materialist conclusion is that the brain produces the mind.  However, others have pointed out that correlation does not mean causation, as we have explored in the posts on dependent origination.  The most we can say is there is a correlation between the brain and the mind.

An intriguing, alternate suggestion is that the brain is a receptor for the mind.  Under this theory, the brain is essential to the full functioning of the mind, and damage to the brain can affect this functioning.  The analogy is between a radio and the music.  The radio does not create the music, it transmits it.  However, damage to the radio can impair transmission.  This theory can be traced back to William James, the famous pragmatist.

Ferdinand Schiller proposed that the purpose of the physical brain was to limit consciousness, to focus it on on the physical realm.  According to Schiller, "Matter is not that which produces consciousness, but that which limits it and confines its intensity within certain limits."  Simple and course machinery allows simple and course manifestations of consciousness, i.e. animals and insects. In this way, matter is like a circuit that conducts the energy of consciousness in a certain way.

This is very much in line with the concept of upadhi in Advaita.  Upadhi limits infinite consciousness.  This is a type of creation by limitation, and may at first sound counter-intuitive.  But consider water.  Water in its raw, pure form is too much for us to use.  We need to limit it, through dams or canals, or with hoses.  Then we can use it in a specific way.   

Of course, this is just something to ponder.

Dependent Origination Revisited

In an online discussion forum, some one wrote: 

So for you Buddhists, could you please fill in the blank:

Humanity is dependently originated from the Earth.
The Earth is dependently originated from the Universe.
The Universe is dependently originated from _______________________.

I took issue with the phrasing, and wrote:  

Humanity is dependently originated with the Universe.
The Earth is dependently originated with the Universe.
The Universe is dependently originated with earth and humanity.

When asked to explain, I wrote:

The simplest phrasing of dependent origination is:

When this is, that is.

From the arising of this comes the arising of that.

When this isn't, that isn't.

From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that.

Imasmiṃ sati, idaṃ hoti.

Imass’ uppādā, idaṃ uppajjati.

Imasmiṃ asati, idaṃ na hoti.

Imassa nirodhā, idhaṃ nirujjhati.

In simple terms:

When x arises, y arises.

When x does not arise, y does not arise.

What the Buddha is pointing to, in my opinion, is not that things cause one another, put that things arise together.  "Causation" is the tag we place between two events, x and y.   Now this is not a random arising, as you can see by the formulation: when there is no x, there is no y.  And when there is x, there is y.  Without this, the world would be random.   (One could say, this is because of the Tao!)

Second, there are no solid objects.  Boundaries are fuzzy.  We cannot draw a clear line between one thing and another.  So to say the earth is one thing, and the universe is another doesn’t make sense.  The earth is a part of the universe, and there is no clear dividing line. 

So let’s take a seed and a tree.  The seed arises, and the tree arises.  Without the seed, there is no tree.  But the seed did not cause the tree, did it?  No, there was also the sunshine, the soil, the water, the nutrients.  You also need space, time, a universe for all this to take place in.  And there is no clear distinction between the tree, the soil, and the sunshine.  The sunshine becomes the tree. The tree is linked to the sun.   Further, at what point does the seed stop being a seed, and become a tree?  With the first tendril?  The first part of the tendril? 

Likewise, with all things. 

Instead of earth and universe, let’s use finger and hand.  The finger is a part of the hand.  But it is wrong to say the hand causes the finger.  But without the hand, there is no finger.  However, the hand can exist without the finger.  But let’s say we take away all the fingers, is there still a hand?  At what point does it not become a hand?  They depend on one another. 

No Thoughts or No Added Thoughts

There is a sense in the spiritual community that spiritual practice is opposed to thought.  In fact, some believe that the purpose of meditation is to eliminate thought.

Both Zen and Tao, perhaps drawing from the same source, cast a certain suspicion on thoughts.  Zen literature is full of masters telling their students to cut off thinking.  Some take this to mean that one should sit in a mental blankness.

James Swartz has pointed out the problem with this.  There are spaces between thoughts, natural spaces that occur without any sort of practice.  If the split moment of no thought between thoughts doesn't bring enlightenment, then why would we think that hours or no thought will bring enlightenment?

There is another way to approach no thought.  The warning against thinking doesn't mean we should cultivate a mental blank, but that we should not add thoughts onto what is already arising.  For example, if I am drinking a cup of coffee, I might be thinking about something else, like what I have to do today.  I might be thinking about whether I like the cup of coffee or not.  I might be thinking about the meaning of coffee generally.  In a sense, I am suffering when I do this, because I am running away from the moment.  The feel and taste of coffee is a mystery.  Once we try to capture it with words and phrases, it loses the mystery.

As we know from the opening of the Tao Te Ching, the Tao that can be named is not the enduring Tao.

The world presents itself as it is, in all of its wonderful glory.  We take this world, and then we add a layer of thoughts, concepts, and representations to it.  This is the descent into the word of form, the world of limitation, the world of suffering.

Yet to say that thinking itself is bad is taking thinking and adding another thought to it.  I would say, in the language of Zen, you are adding a head on top of your head.  Thought, like everything else, is a present forming mystery.  

So perhaps the Zen master's admonition to "cut off thinking" is not to stop the thinking process, but to stop the adding process, which is adding thoughts to things as they are. 

Original Sin, Original Ignorance

Buddhism is different from Christianity in how sin is defined.  In Christianity, sin is doing something wrong.  There is a rule, and you break that rule, it is a sin.  In fact, Christianity teaches that people are already born into sin, with original sin inherited from our parents.

Buddhism takes a different approach.  It teaches that we are born in ignorance.  We just don’t know.  When we do something wrong, it is because we are ignorant.  If we knew better, we wouldn’t have done it. 

Most crimes depend on us being ignorant of ourselves and of others.  Sin can be its own punishment.  If we are cold and cruel toward another, we become cold and cruel.  Our mind narrows, our emotions weaken, and we are worse off.  We are ignorant of others because we don’t consider their feelings, their inner states.  I don’t consider your suffering when I do something to you, because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to hurt you.

The path in Buddhism is to discover how our mind-bodies work, and what they are like.  Because the more we learn about ourselves, the more we learn about others.  Other people are just like us, only the content is different.  You and I both have thoughts, feelings, and bodily sensations; we are both aware and have hopes and dreams, loves and losses.  They are different thoughts and feelings, but essentially we are the same.  As I learn about my pain and suffering, and then I see you in pain and suffering, I can easily put myself in your place.  I’ve felt your suffering.  If I know myself well enough, I can project myself into your situation and know exactly how I would feel.

This is the birth of compassion.  This may be why in Buddhism, wisdom and compassion and developed at the same time. 

True Self and No Self

Anyone familiar with the spiritual writings of India will notice two distinct lines of thought.  There is the Vedanta line, which says that there is a true, unchanging, permanent self.  Then there is the Buddhist camp, which says there is in fact no self.  I once asked Shinzen Young, a meditation teacher, and his answer was they had the same experience, but half the holy seers called it the true self and half called it the no self. 

The key to fully understanding this mystery lies in long practice, and a close look at the teachings of Buddhism and Vedanta.  Here is an excerpt from Huang Po, which is part of his brilliant summation of Buddha nature:

All the Buddhas and all sentient beings are nothing but the One Mind, beside which nothing exists. This Mind, which is without beginning, is unborn and indestructible. It is not green nor yellow, and has neither form nor appearance. It does not belong to the categories of things which exist or do not exist, nor can it be thought of in terms of new or old. It is neither long nor short, big nor small, for it transcends all limits, measures, names, traces and comparisons. It is that which you see before you - begin to reason about it and you at once fall into error. It is like the boundless void which cannot be fathomed or measured. The One Mind alone is the Buddha, and there is no distinction between the Buddha and sentient things, but that sentient beings are attached to forms and so seek externally for Buddhahood.  

Now compare this excerpt from a modern Vedanta teacher, Ananda Wood:

Each Advaita prakriya (method) goes through this reflective and dissolving process, including
the witness and the consciousness prakriyas that we have been discussing. The witness prakriya is like ‘using a thorn to get rid of a thorn’. The ‘witness’ concept is like a big thorn, used to remove the little thorn of petty ego. The big thorn must come out as well, to achieve its purpose. But the same applies to the concept of ‘consciousness’ and to any other idea. ‘Consciousness’is also a big thorn, even bigger than the ‘witness’. It is not just the witness concept that must get utterly dissolved, in order to reach truth. So must the idea of consciousness – appearing in any form, signified by any name, intuited through any quality. In truth itself, not the slightest trace of ideation can remain.

Vedanta teaches that there are two types of Brahman, or ultimate reality: saguna Brahman and nirguna Brahman.  Sa- means with and nir- means without.  The gunas are the fundamental threads of reality--- sattva, rajas, and tamas.  Saguna means with attributes, and nirguna means without attributes.  Nirguna Brahman is real Brahman, and in Vedanta, Atman, or the individual soul, is Brahman.  So the true self, or atman, is nirguna Brahman, or Brahman without attributes.  Compare this to Huang Po’s one mind which is without form.

Now this is a fine intellectual theory, how can it help our practice? 

All the wise seers of India agree that the end of suffering, or happiness, is not found in the world of names or forms, or material objects.  Discovering this is the first Noble Truth: there is suffering.  In the experience of spiritual seekers, this often comes as a great disappointment or dark night of the soul.  As Huang Po says, ordinary people seek externally (in the world of objects and things, including mental objects and things) for Buddha.  

Any object is impermanent, unsatisfying, and not self.  This means that anything we can see, hear, feel, taste, smell, think about or feel is an object and will not provide us with what we are looking for.  This includes any and all states of mind, no matter how profound: bliss, feelings of oneness, feelings of peace and contentment, these are all objects (thoughts/feelings) that cannot last or provide lasting happiness.  Knowing this, we can immediately avoid many traps that seekers fall in, the largest trap being the idea that we can achieve a certain experience or mind state that will solve all our problems. 

Nowhere to Dwell

I've been thinking and meditating lately on the concept of anatta, or no self.  This seems counter-intuitive to Westerners like me, unless you seriously consider it.

Let's say I'm angry.  Alright, where is the anger exactly?  There it is, it is a hot sensation in my body, my vision is clear and focused, and my thoughts are repeating what made me angry to begin with.  But more properly, isn't it the body and the mind that are angry, where "I" am actually watching it all?

Simply put, there is nowhere to hang anything on.  There is no hook to hang labels such as "angry", "human," or even "Buddhist."

Let's say I'm holding a golden lion in my palm.  I reach my arm out to you so you can see it.  There is the lion, it is on my palm.  We can try to say it is like this, the palm is the self and the lion is whatever we want to attach to it.  But let's examine this more closely.  The lion is on the palm, the palm is on the arm.  The arm is on the body.  The body is on the ground.

All this hangs is in consciousness.  But consciousness, if you look closely, has no name or form.  It is not red or blue, it doesn't make any sounds, it is not sweet or sour.  Where is there then to hang any labels, or an idea of self?

The Rule of Identity

Logically speaking, the East and West can be seen as follows:

West: A = A
East: A does not = A

The Rule of Identity is the basis for Western logic, along with the Rule of the Excluded Middle and the Law of Non-contradiction.  In terms of math and science, they work.  Using this logic, the West has harnessed the awesome power of nature to create modern lives which would rival the splendor of the highest ancient emperor.  Unfortunately, it has also allowed a level of environmental impact previously unseen. 

This rule does not exist in certain Eastern thought.  In Buddhist thought, A does not = A.  In the Diamond Sutra, for instance, you hear things along the lines of “Minds are not minds and that is why they are called minds.”  In Buddhist logic, there is no self, either in persons or in things.  This is due to the observation that nothing has an unchanging, independent nature. 

One classic way to demonstrate this is to take something into the sum of its parts.  A person’s body, for instance, isn’t a body but two arms, two legs, a torso and a head.  A head is actually a skull, skin, eyes, ears, and so on.  You will not find a head or a body in any one or even all of its parts. 

A second classic way to consider multiple points of view.  A person is too small to see if you see it from the moon, but huge from the view of the ant.  A person is one thing to his or her mother, another to the enemy, another to the song bird outside the window.

A third is the consider all the factors that shade into one another.  A person needs the earth, with the proper mix of air, soil, and sunshine in order to live.  A person cannot exist apart from a habitable environment, so how can one say that there is a person apart from that environment?

I’ve gone through many of these in my prior posts.

This isn’t to say that A = A should be discarded.  This is simply one view of things.  When an infinite number of variables are ignored, it does appear that A = A.  In a certain, limited, singular realm, this can lead fantastic results: airplanes, atomic bombs, and computers. 

This Buddhist view, one could say, is the rule of totality.  This rule also applies to practice.  In Zen, it is said that the dharma gates are infinite, yet I vow to enter them all.  This is totality.  How can I then say that one dharma gate is superior to another?  Yet on the other hand, one needs to consider also the limited view.  One needs to apply the right remedy to the right sickness.

The Presence of God

One thing I've noticed about the nature of mind is that it likes variety.  It wants to keep experiencing different things, never quite content with what it has.  Always moving from one thing to the next, it is rare to have a moment of pure presence. 

Let us think a moment about the Western idea of God.  In a sense, God is the perfect being.  All present, all knowing, God simply rests in the moment.  The classic western idea of God is as this great being who we turn to to change things, to make them better.  A Holy Santa Claus waiting to grant wishes on the deserving.

When I was younger, I had an incredibly powerful experience of God.  God was not, as I had been led to believe, a person, but rather a presence.  A constant, steady, unyielding presence.  This was not a God of wishes and miracles, but a God of being.  I knew instantly that this was the true God of the mystics. 

Strange as it may seem, the true name of God implies this.  In Exodus, Moses asks God his name, so that he can tell the others.  God says his name is I AM.  In Hebrew, the sense is I Am, I was, and I will be, a sense of being that transcends all time.  Of course, the people, unsatisfied with this God of presence, constantly turn to man-made idols to worship.  They wanted a god they could see and talk to. 

A true mystic seeks to become like God.  It is taught in Western religions that all humans have a spark of the divine within, a godlike part of them.  Most people, in an idolatrous fashion, imagine some sort of subtle soul.  Yet to me, this spark of God is actually our inner presence.  This presence is formless yet existent, a complete paradox.

The idea of God will lead to different forms of religion.  If you imagine God as a powerful judge, then the religion will be narrow and judgmental.  If you imagine God as love, then religion will be one devoted to compassion and service.  The God of presence, however, neither judges nor serves.  The God of presence simply Is, and Is available always to those who seek Him.

How, then, to be like God?  Develop a sense of presence that is open and aware.  God does not interfere with our everyday lives.  God does not seek to destroy or suppress people.  Likewise, we should not seek to destroy or suppress our inner thoughts and energies, but rather bring a sense of presence to them.  This presence, in itself, is transformative.  Like the Tao, it does nothing yet leaves no thing undone.  

In the words of a Tibetan Buddhist, Jamgon Kantrul Rinpoche:

With constant, vigilant mindfulness, sustain this recognition of empty, open, brilliant awareness.
Cultivate nothing else.
There is nothing else to do, or to undo.
Let it remain naturally.
Don't spoil it by manipulating, by controlling, by tampering with it, and worrying about whether you are right or wrong, or having a good meditation or a bad meditation.
Leave it as it is, and rest your weary heart and mind.

Quote from http://freddieyam.com/p/jamgon.html

Vijnana and Prajna

Vijnana, or disciminating consciousness, is the third link of the chain of dependent origination that binds us all to the wheel of life, death, and rebirth.  I've written much about this in prior posts.  As always, where there is yin there is yang, and the other side of the vijnana coin is prajna. 

In Buddhist language, prajna is usually translated as wisdom, or "greater knowing."  Another translation, which unlocks many mysteries of wisdom itself, it to translate the pra- as "bubbling forth". This is spontaneous, unconditioned knowing that springs forth from the Void fully formed. 

Vijnana, then, contains the goal oriented, logical, patterned, organized system of thinking that we associate with wordly intelligence.  Prajna is none of that.  Prajna is free from all patterns, conditions, and organized systems.

It might be tempting to think that the goal of spiritual practice is to go from vijnana to prajna.  In Taoist teachings, this sort of one over the other is imbalanced.  Prajna may be spontaneous and creative, but vijnana has its place.  If one were to undergo surgery, one would likely prefer the surgeon act according to logic and reason, based on her experience and medical learning rather than "just doing."  Vijnana is useful, even essential for dealing with the world.   

Vijnana and prajna can correlate to yuan shen and shi shen.  As seen there, the problem is generally that vijnana has outgrown prajna and must be brought into a harmonious balance. 

Dual and Non-dual

Perhaps the greatest yin-yang is duality and non-duality. David Loy, in his book Nonduality presents the following translation of the Tao Te Ching Chapter 1:

The Tao that can be Tao'd is not the constant Tao
The name that can be named is not the constant name
Having-no-name is the source of heaven and earth
Having-names is the mother of the ten thousand things
Therefore, always have no intention in order to see the wonder
Always have intention in order to see the forms
These two things have the same origin
Although different in name
Their sameness is called the mystery
From mystery to mystery: the gate of all wonder!

According to David Loy, this alternates the dual and non-dual view. There is the nameless source, and the diverse named things. There is a state beyond labeling and intention, and there is a state full of things. Together, they make up the one Tao.

To connect this to personal experience, imagine sitting in meditation listening to a dog bark. There will be a bare sensation of the barking, generally followed by thoughts and feelings. There may appear in the mind an image of a dog, memories of dogs, emotional impulses of irritation or fear. Thinking "there is a dog barking and it is annoying me" is from the point of view of the ten thousand things. Having a field of awareness in which things arise and pass is from the point of view of unity, of non-dualism.

One important thing that this points out is that there is nowhere to go. The non-dual state is not something else. It is not full of light and bliss and angels singing sweet songs of divine delight. It is not on a different dimension or plane of existence. The ten thousand things and the nameless source are the same.

The difference between the two is the overlay of thoughts, feelings, perceptions, associations: the naming and labeling we generally impose on experience. In Buddhism, we would start with rupa, form. Form doesn't mean anything. It's not good or bad. It just is what it is. There is a sound of the dog bark, the sight of the moon shining, the feel of the wind blowing. To this would be added vedana, or feeling. I like the wind, but I don't like the dog. Then comes perception. There's that dog bark, that moon. Then come the reactions: the dog barking colors my mood, my thoughts turn to how I hate the dog barking, how I wish it would stop, to ceaseless talking about the dog. Then comes vijnana, discriminating consciousness.

This shows the progression in Buddhist terms from the nameless to the named.

With the Tao, we don't try to elevate one or the other. It does not say we should always remain without intention, without the mental and emotional overlay we place on things. It says to see the wonder, be without intention. To see the forms, be with intention. In true non-clinging fashion, we can move between both worlds.

As the Tao Te Ching says later:

Without going out the door, know the world
Without peering out the window, see the Heavenly Tao
The further one goes
The less one knows

Therefore the sage
Knows without going
Names without seeing
Achieves without striving

Radical Acceptance

毫釐有差
天地懸隔
欲得現前
莫存順逆

The next four lines of the Xin Xin Ming continue the thread of non-duality. I translate it as follows:

If there is one hundredth of a hair difference
Heaven and earth hang apart, separated by a barrier
Wanting reality to appear presently
Do not settle for following or going against

There are a few things to highlight in this segment. Discriminating, or creating difference itself imposes a barrier between heaven and earth, mind and body, subject and object. It is not that discrimination causes duality, rather, discrimination is duality.

Compare this to Zhuang Zi:

The knowledge of the ancients was perfect. How perfect? At first, they did not know that there were things. This is the most perfect knowledge; nothing can be added. Next, they knew that there were things, but did not yet make distinctions between them. Next they made distinctions among them, but they did not yet pass judgments upon them. When judgments were passed, Tao was destroyed.

As noted before, in Taoist writings the path of decent and ascent are the same path with different directions. Accordingly, if one wanted to obtain perfect knowledge, one would stop passing judgments, then stop making distinctions, than stop making things into object.

The Chinese character for wanting, 欲, is a bent, open mouthed figure. The idea is that this figure is empty, wanting to be filled. This is the perfect image of desire. There is an open space, our own inherent emptiness. Rather than accepting this, we seek to fill it, to solidify it, to become something. The rest of this couplet implies that reality will appear before our very face out of concealment. Again, it is not that we are gaining something, but that we are losing our discriminations, and from this reality appears naturally.

The next lines can be puzzling. It says not to follow or go against, to neither go with nor oppose. There is a lot of talk in ancient writings about following the Tao, or going with the flow or current of the Tao. The Xin Xin Ming takes an unusual stance here. We should not follow the Tao, or go against it. This itself is a discrimination, and therefore a barrier. As we learned from Lao Zi, dualities create one another, and apart from one another have no meaning. To follow the Tao, to oppose the Tao is another set of dualities.

This does not need to remain an abstract, philosophical idea. When we see something, initially we just see. When we hear, there is just sound. There is no view in the seeing or the hearing. The view comes after. I see the ocean, I am here it is there. I hear a bird. The bird is there and I am here. But if we look to raw experience, there is none of this. Reality just is. We impose a screen over it with our discriminating minds. Removing this screen, it appears as it appears.

Some people claim that non-duality is a form of nihilism, or believing in nothing. This is not what the Xin Xin Ming is proposing. Rather, it is proposing a radical acceptance of things as they are. Why radical? Because it goes against commonsense perceptions. People tend to think in terms of this and that, subject and object. Accepting both as they are, there is no subject and object, but rather a continuous subject-object.

Life is Suffering

One pointed criticism of the Buddhist path is that the first Noble Truth states that “life is suffering.” There is a classic picture of the three vinegar tasters where three individuals representing Lao Zi, the Buddha, and Confucius stick their finger into the pot of life. The Buddha tasted life as bitter, full of suffering. Confucius tasted life as sour, in need to rules and discipline. Only Lao Zi tasted the pot of life, and smiled.

However, this is a misinterpretation of the First Noble Truth. The Buddha didn’t say that life is suffering. The first Noble Truth is the Existence of Suffering. It is acknowledging that there is suffering in the world. This is followed by the Origin, the Cessation, and the Way to End Suffering.

Joy is a large part of the Buddhist teaching. In fact, it is one of the Seven Factors of Enlightenment (the others being mindfulness, investigation, energy, joy, tranquility, concentration, and equanimity). I’ve learned these factors are also a sequence: mindfulness leads to investigation, which leads to energy, which leads to joy, which stabilizes the mind in concentration, which creates equanimity, in which the truth can be seen. Without joy, there would be no motivation to practice.

It should be noted that the First Noble truth is not “There is suffering and suffering is bad.” It is simply the bare existence of suffering. In fact, if we can live according to the opening lines of the Xin Xin Ming, and accept life as it comes without picking and choosing, then this may be the whole of the path. There is suffering. Not, there is suffering which leads to a whole host of other actions. Just this, just “there is suffering.”

The poor reaction to this statement is to think that suffering is bad and we need to get rid of it. This is an unbalanced approach. The Tao is about harmony of yin and yang, not the promotion of one at the expense of the other. The Tao takes from the full and gives to the empty. When something rises to its peak, it begins to wane. This is the natural ebb and flow of the universe. Yet, still, we think we need to create a one-sided life that is full of joy and without pain. Yet joy and pain define each other.

The Second Noble Truth then traces the origin of suffering, to tanha, or craving. Again, keeping the Tao in mind, we do not eliminate craving by craving joy. This just creates more craving, and sets into motion the whole wheel of life and death. Instead, we are encouraged to eliminate craving by eliminating craving.

One way to do this is through radical acceptance, which brings us back to the first line in the Xin Xin Ming: Arriving at the Great Way is not difficult, if only there are no preferences. If we are able to accept everything as it is, then there is no craving. No craving, no suffering.

In my mind, this is the smile of Lao Zi. By accepting the vinegar of life for what it is, he can smile.

Patience

There is an old Chinese story about a new farmer. The farmer has just planted his first field of crops, and was very excited. Day after day, he would go out to the field, and see… dirt. Where were the crops? As one day passed into another, he grew more and more impatient. Finally, one day, he came in from the field covered in soil, his fingers muddy, with tiny shoots covering his clothing. When he was asked what had happened, this farmer replied: “My crops were taking too long, so I was helping them grow.”

One important value in spiritual life is patience. For me, it is probably the hardest value to master. In our modern times, it is a cliché that we want everything NOW. We have the greatest power in this day and age than in any time before. From washers and driers, to dishwashers, to cars, to computers, we have the ability to get what we want fairly quickly. It is no surprise that this attitude finds its way into spiritual practice.

The ancient sages have told us that we have been living our lives incorrectly. For many years. Perhaps for many lifetimes. Eons. We have formed habits of thinking and acting that have cut us off from our true natures. What we need to do is to cut through these habits, dissolve these blocks, be free of our past actions. So what we do is plant these seeds in our spiritual practice. But these seeds need time to grow. They need to be tended to. They need to be nurtured and cared for. So we practice. Perhaps we dedicate time to meditate, to practice yoga or chi kung, to be mindfully aware. We read spiritual books, have talks with spiritual friends. Over time, these seeds will develop and sprout of their own accord.
The human body takes time to grow and develop. Kids don’t grow taller faster by hanging weights from their ankles. Flowers need time to blossom. You cannot cook a cake by doubling the heat and cutting the time in half. We need patience.

The Bhagavad Gita says: No effort on this path is ever wasted.

So why is it so hard to be patient?

I remember the first time I met real spiritual teachers. At the time, my body and mind were on fire. I smoked. I drank. I cursed and swore. I was on an emotional cycle of high highs and depressive lows. My body was full of tension and aches. I felt desperate, as desperate as I would have felt had I just spend a week in the desert with nothing to drink. I wanted it all to stop, right NOW.
I was told at the first meeting: You can’t skip steps. This was so disappointing to me. After years of soul searching, I was ready for spiritual practice. I was eager to dedicate the necessary month or two, a year perhaps, to master the teaching!

Of course, it didn’t work like that. Patience is hard because it requires us to face the fact that we are absolutely powerless. At a certain point, there is nothing we can do. The universe operates according to its own laws, not on ours. Things manifest in cosmic time, not according to our personal schedule. The ego with its thoughts about how things should be is frustrated when it meets the way things actually are.

It is said that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert in something. That requires a lot of dedication, a lot of time, a lot of patience. We tend to understand this in the material world. It takes a long time to become a doctor or lawyer, to grow a business or raise a child. Yet, suddenly, we think the spiritual world should be an exception.

Like the Taoists before us, let’s look to nature to see what happens when things grow too quickly. In the body, this is known as cancer. In the environment, a plant or animal that reproduces too quickly upsets the whole system. Rapid growth is often a mutation, a deviation, an unnatural occurrence. If you come from dark into light too quickly, you can go blind. If you go from the hot to cold too quickly, your heart can literally stop. The same goes for the spiritual world. Most of the spiritual horror stories I have heard almost ALWAYS begins with someone trying to get ahead quickly.

Sudden rapid growth can burn out the system, producing illness, depression, insanity, or other dark things.

One of my initial teachers, sensing my impatience, did give me one thing to accelerate my progress. “If you want to speed up your development, pay more attention more often.”

Beyond this, sometimes we just have to wait for the seeds to sprout on their own.

No Separation

According to common sense, we and the world are two things. There is us, that is, our bodies, minds, feelings, and sensations, and then there is an external world of hard, solid objects. This is a standard, culturally accepted way of looking at things. In spiritual language, this is the subject-object split, or the gap between ourselves and the universe.

It is also entirely wrong.

Advaita Vedanta is often called “The Direct Path.” I call it the “Direct Experience Path,” since most of its modern techniques rely on how we directly experience the world. The modern sages of Advaita, much like the Zen masters of old, ask “What is this separation?”

Looking in direct experience, we see six basic things: visual colors, sounds, touch sensations, and their internal counterparts, mental images, sounds, and feelings. If you and I are talking, I get a visual of your face and body (along with a blurred image of the room behind you), I get audio of your voice, I may reach out and touch you. If I like you, I will have pleasant inner feelings. If I don’t, I will have unpleasant inner feelings. There may be mental images/sounds that cross my mind when you talk. But this is how I experience you.

What I do not experience, in direct experience, is any separation at all. This is not to say that you and I are identical. In fact, thinking that unity means everything is identical is a mental trap, at least at a certain stage on the path. What I actually experience is a cluster of colors that I say is my body, and a cluster of colors I say is your body.

Take the body. We generally agree that the body is a single unit. This is not to say the hand is equal to the foot, or the arm to the leg. These different parts come together. They are one.

Now let’s examine a few definitions of separation and see if it holds to direct experience:

1. Objects are separated by physical space.

We know this isn’t true due to the body example. The foot and hand and separated by space, but still form a unit in the body.

2. Objects that are out of your attention cannot be a part of you.

The so-called physical world comes and goes. I am in my living room at one point, and in my bedroom at another. Surely, this is due to separation. But let’s examine that. Our thoughts come and go, but we consider them “our” thoughts. My appendix is outside my attention, but is still a part of my body. In fact, different parts of the body come and go into attention: I may forget about my big toe until I stub it, and then there it is in all its painful glory.

3. I cannot control objects, so they must not be a part of me.

This doesn’t work either. Consider your thoughts once again. Anyone who has tried to meditate quickly finds that their thoughts are not under control. If they were, as Francis Lucille points out, then you could fill your mind with happy, pleasant thoughts all the time. Additionally, when I say a word, say “boat”, your mind immediately conjures forth an image. You do not choose the image, you did not make a conscious decision whether it would be a word or a picture. If a word, you do not choose the size, type, or font. If a picture, you don’t draw it from scratch. It pops in, fully formed without any help from you.

Consider parts of your body you don’t control, at least not all the time. Blinking, breathing, the heart, digestion--- all of these proceed without our control as well. Anyone who has tried to learn a new physical skill will also clearly find the limits of their physical control.

4. I can’t feel objects, but I can feel my hand.

You can feel some parts of your body, some of the time. Few people can feel their tailbone without a lot of training. Or your cells. Your hair follicles. Many of our thoughts pass in our minds without arousing a significant feeling tone. On the other hand, if you see a child get injured, you may wince. If you see a dreary house on a rainy day, you may feel a little sad. The external world causes us feelings and sensations all the time.

5. The external world is constantly changing, so it can’t be me. My body changes much slower, and I see it all the time.

This doesn’t hold, either. If you cultivate sufficient attention through the day, you will find that you are always changing. Your mood, thoughts, habits all change. Talk to a spouse, significant other, or person of the opposite sex you are interested in. Now talk to a family member. Talk to a co-worker. You will find that you are much different in these situations.

The body changes, albeit slowly. Anyone who is old enough to read this can think back when their body was smaller. Everything changes. Thoughts change quickly. The body more slowly. The external world may change quickly or slowly. None of this indicates a separation.

6. Unified things share something in common. There is no link between my inner thoughts and a coffee cup.

There is a link. Awareness is the web in which all things exist. The thoughts appear in awareness, as does the coffee cup.

So what, then, is separation? It is an illusion imposed by the mind on your direct experience. In Advaita, they call this a “superimposition.” It is like cartoon cells. On one clear cell, you might draw the background. On a second one that overlays the first, you may draw a fish. The fish is imposed on the background. Likewise, you overlay your direct experience with concepts such as “me” and “you” “body” and “objects” and so forth.

In our lives, we have been told, directly or indirectly, that the world is made up of little independent objects. This is a lie that is placed on our direct experience. In reality, we experience a vast world of color, sounds, feelings and sensations. We just tell ourselves that some of these is an “I” and some of them are a “you.”

Now just realizing this intellectually is not enough. We have to keep seeing it, in direct experience, until the superimposition dissolves. These thought patterns are rooted habits, or sankaras, that can require time to erode.