delighting in another’s happiness

Buddhist meditation practice is designed to cultivate a number of virtues, including loving-kindness or benevolence, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity. I’ve mentioned the first two before and would like to tell you about the third. 

Mudita (a Sanskrit term) can be translated as “sympathetic” or “altruistic” joy, the pleasure that comes from delighting in other people’s well-being rather than begrudging it. The more deeply one drinks of this spring, the more secure one becomes in one’s own happiness, and the easier it becomes to relish the joy of other people as well.   

“As we undertake sympathetic joy as a formal meditation practice,” writes Sharon Salzberg, “we begin with someone whom we care about; someone it is easy to rejoice for. It may be somewhat difficult even then, but we tend to more easily feel joy for someone on the basis of our love and friendship.” 

When you’d like to try this practice, find a quiet place and at least ten minutes. Sit and turn your attention to your breath. Notice the in- and out-breath as it passes through your nostrils, your throat, upper chest, or abdomen. Place a hand a few inches above your navel and notice the “rising” and “falling” as breaths come and go. Follow them for a while, even saying the words in silence: Rising … falling; rising … falling. 

Sharon Salzberg: “Choose a friend and focus on a particular gain or source of joy in their life. Don’t look for absolute, perfect happiness ion their life, because you may not find it. 

Whatever good fortune or happiness of your friend comes to mind, take delight in it with this phrase ‘May your happiness and good fortune not leave you’ or ‘May your happiness not diminish’ or ‘May your good fortune continue.’”   

Notice thoughts and feelings arising as you do this. Are you finding it relatively easy or difficult to do? What, if any, resistance or critical voices arises? It’s not uncommon for the the ”enemies” of mudita to make themselves known, among them jealousy, envy, judgment, comparing, prejudice, and avarice. By themselves they are just what they are: voices fabricated by a busy mind. Be sure not to feed them but to return your attention to your breath.  

 

Also notice physical sensations: where in your body do these voices reside? What is their feeling tone: sadness perhaps, or fear. Be curious and, above all, be gentle with yourself. Notice … and return your attention to your breath. Again and again. Do it they way a mother might gather up a meandering child: with love and patience. Thank you.

 

source: Salzberg, S. (2002). Lovingkindness: the revolutionary art of happiness. Boston: Shambala, p. 134.

hello again!

Just in the door after two flights from Portland to Seattle to Victoria. Feeling just a bit disoriented after five rich days of silent life at the monastery, sleeping in a dormitory (replete with farts, snoring, and narrow beds), hours regulated by bells, drums, gongs, and clappers. Forty-plus people meditating, eating, chanting, working, and resting en group. The focus of the retreat was to develop the skill of metta.

“The Pali* word metta is a term meaning loving-kindness, friendliness, goodwill, benevolence, fellowship, amity, concord, inoffensiveness and non-violence. The Pali commentators define metta as the strong wish for the welfare and happiness of others. Essentially metta is an altruistic attitude of love and friendliness as distinguished from mere amiability based on self-interest. Through metta one … renounces bitterness, resentment and animosity of every kind, developing instead a mind of friendliness and benevolence which seeks the well-being and happiness of others. True metta is devoid of self-interest. It evokes within a warm-hearted feeling of fellowship, sympathy and love, which grows boundless with practice and overcomes all social, religious, racial, political and economic barriers.”

Wow … quite an undertaking, running counter to the ways I’ve viewed myself and others. Spending a week in intensive practice was merely a first step–well, a second. First, to acknowledge that the habitual ways are competitive, judgmental, and self-centred; that they cause suffering in self, others, and the world at large; and that gentler ways are essential. Then one sets out to unlearn and to relearn. In that sense, last week was basic training, a boot camp on becoming a kinder creature.

I’d best not burble on right now as thoughts and emotions are swirling in my heart-mind … my body, too, is sore (yet refreshed) from endless hours of sitting in meditation. One way to ground in the ‘ordinary’ is to make my way to the hospice and see who’s there and who isn’t (any more).

More tomorrow. Thank you for visiting. 

source: Buddhist Publication Society, Sri Lanka. *Pali is the ancient language spoken at the time of the historical Buddha. 

the sounds of silence

By the time you read this, I’ll have arrived at Great Vow Zen Monastery in Clatskanie, Oregon … a 90-minute drive to the north of Portland. I’ll have joined a gathering of Zen practitioners for a week-long silent retreat called sesshin in Japanese,  攝心 “gathering the heart and mind.”

Silence will mean no reading, writing, eye contact, and of course no Internet. Perhaps you’ll join us over the next days by setting aside a few moments in your busy life … to sit quietly, turning inwards, observing your breath through its natural rising and falling. In those rare moments we’ll be sitting together, individually and collectively, as one. Nothing special, and yet …

 

Japanese Zen Master Dogen Zenji (1200-1256): “Do not follow the ideas of others, but learn to listen to the voice within yourself. Your body and mind will become clear and you will realize the unity of all things.”

p.s. back on the 30th

what the dying teach me

I have the privilege to observe how different people approach death. Many dwell in what used to be: pastimes, job, family, places of residence, the ups and downs of their lives. They also speak of hopes of going home, beating that tumour, seeing their grandchild graduate, and so on. Listening fills me with sadness because their charts indicate deteriorating health and death just around the corner.

 

Their stories remind me of my own habit of living in the past and future, replete with old mind-movies and various embellishments of my own fabrication. Gradually—and this takes effort and doesn’t always work—I am learning to catch my tripping into fantasy land. I am learning to see old stories for what they are … and to let them be. Not suppress or dismiss them and not giving them fresh energy.

 

What works for me is speaking to them directly: “Thank you for reminding me. Perhaps you have something to teach me. But you are from the past (or future), kept alive in my imagination. I prefer to open myself to whats right in front and ahead of me.” I don’t actually say all that but instead use short-hand whever I catch myself being absent. I say something like “thank you” or label what’s going on as “thinking,” “reminiscing,” or “fantasizing.” I then direct my attention to my breath. It helps when I place a hand just above the navel and silently note the natural rhythm of “rising … falling; rising … falling.” My attention—for a few moments at least—begins to rest in being alive: each out-breath an ending, each in-breath a beginning. Zen master Dogen Zenji (1200-1253) put it this way: 

“This life of one day is a life to rejoice in. Because of this, even through you live for just one day, if you can be awakened to the truth, that one day is vastly superior to an eternal life. … If this one day in the lifetime of a hundred years is lost, will you ever get your hands on it again?”

zen and the body

Body/mind practice is at the very root of Zen. Here’s a synopsis of the historical and doctrinal background by Prof. Steve Heine, a respected authority in the West:

“Zen does not appear to put an emphasis on the body, as it is generally referred to as the ‘mind’ school of traditional East Asian philosophy. In its early development in Tang China, Zen was closely associated with textual studies … which asserted the inseparability of mind and reality, or of subjective response and external phenomena. Later Zen thought, especially in medieval Japan, developed the doctrine of the One Mind, which encompasses all aspects of existence, including humans and nature, being and time, and truth and illusion ….

“However, the very emphasis on the unity or nonduality of mind and reality indicates a focus on the role of the body. In that regard, Zen can be considered a ‘body’ school — or a ‘mind/body’ school — because it maintains that mind and body do not exist in opposition but are interrelated on every level.

“Zen maintains the inseparability, identity, and equalization of mind and body, which invariably and inextricably interact and interpenetrate one another.  … The Zen doctrine of identity is … firmly rooted in a life of religious praxis in which a specific bodily posture — sitting in meditation (zazen) — takes priority over and serves as the basis of philosophical reflection. The word zazen refers to ‘sitting meditation’ with an emphasis on the somatic component or on composure of the body that fosters the ability to discipline and concentrate the mind.

“According to the Zen approach, zazen is the fundamental, all-encompassing spiritual activity that vitiates the need for following precepts, prayers, ritual, iconography, and so forth, although many of these elements of religious life are incorporated into the monastic routine. Zazen is not merely the act of sitting but is associated with the practice of walking, standing, sitting, lying, whereby all gestures and postures of the body throughout the 24-hour daily cycle are considered a form of meditation.

“Eating is an opportunity for contemplation and the hours of sleep are referred to as ‘reclining meditation’. The discipline of zazen serves as the basis for the composition of poetry, the actor’s performance in Noh theatre, the training of the samurai warrior, or the ceremonial etiquette of the tea and flower ritual.”

source: Dr. Heine is Professor of History and Asian Studies at Florida International Univerity.

meeting ourselves

Norman Fischer writes:

“Our life is really nothing more than a series of moment-by-moment meetings. When we meditate, we can see this. Slowing down and focusing the mind, we meet what’s inside us. Sitting quietly, paying close attention, we meet thoughts, we meet feelings. We meet our breath, we meet sensations in our body. We meet fear, memory, desire, aversion, the oddly taken-for-granted experience of identity. Every moment  brings a new opportunity for meeting; every moment is a challenge to remain awake enough, soft and persistent enough, to be present with what comes forth.”

Norman Zoketsu Fischer is a Zen priest, teacher, poet, former abbot of the San Francisco Zen Center and founder of The Everyday Zen Foundation. source: Fischer, N. (2003). Taking our places: the buddhist path to truly growing up. HarperSanFrancisco, p.186. image: www.thousandsketches.com.

overflowing

Well, how did you do? Did you have occasion to sit still, to observe your breath rising and falling, being present for a moment? If you didn’t, no worry. That’s in the past. Perhaps you take a moment right now … or later today? The point is to make time as often as you can, regularly once a day if possible. to turn inward. To look in on yourself; to witness what is, as it occurs.

I’m still elated and somewhat disoriented from the time with the Mayne Island group (see previous post). Elated because we worked so diligently from early morning to late afternoon: sitting, walking, standing meditation, eating in silence, working in the rain moving firewood and raking the grounds, listening to my teacher’s recorded talk, having tea. Disoriented because I set out immediately after the retreat to catch a ferry, sleep on a bench for an hour, then drive another 20-odd KM to my temporary home in Victoria. Driving and paying attention to other drivers requires extra effort. Probably not a recommended activity so soon after meditating all day. But I’m home now, the resident cat’s sniffing the pile of meditation cushions, and a long sleep ahead till tomorrow’s 10 am start at the hospice.

My gratitude to the 13 women and one man who invited me to Mayne Islands and supported each other in this practice of awakening. Deep bows to you all!

into the silence

 

It has long been the custom in Zen monasteries and meditation centres to set aside several days each month for a silent retreat. In Japan such occasions are called sesshin 攝心 which means “gathering the heart/mind.”

 

For the next two days I’ll be on Mayne Island (just across Active Pass from where I live) to guide a stalwart group of meditators in a mini-sesshin. We’ll practice sitting, walking, and standing meditation, eat communal bag luncheons, work in our host’s garden and woods, and listen to recorded talks (Jap. teisho) by Chozen Bays Roshi, my teacher at Great Vow Zen Monastery. And all that in silence.

 

I won’t be able to write during that time and invite you to visit again after Tuesday evening. You’re welcome to set aside some time, however short or long, to sit in silence as well. This way we sit together, to benefit ourselves and all beings.

 

May your life go well.

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the ‘eye’ is extra

Shunryo Suzuki 鈴木 俊隆 was founder and for many years spiritual leader of the Zen Center of San Francisco. In his book Zen mind, beginner’s mind (chapter on breathing) he offers these instructions:

“When we practice [meditation] our mind always follows our breathing. When we inhale, the air comes into the inner world. When we exhale, the air goes out to the outer world. The inner world is limitless, and the outer world is also limitless. We say ‘inner world’ or ‘outer world’, but actually there is just one whole world. In this limitless world, our throat is like a swinging door. The air comes in and goes out like someone passing through a swinging door.

“If you think, ‘I breathe’, the ‘I’ is extra. There is no you to say ‘I’. What we call ‘I’ is just a swinging door which moves when we inhale and when we exhale. It just moves; that is all. When your mind is pure and calm enough to follow this movement, there is nothing: no ‘I’, no world, no mind nor body; just a swinging door.”

learn to love the question

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Shunryu Suzuki Roshi (1904-1971), founder and long-time teacher at San Francisco Zen Center, told us that ”in the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities but in the expert’s there are few.” With that line–by now a classic–the teacher throws us back to the question that underlies everything: Who am I? He points to the fact that we’re beginners always (how nice if I were to remember that more often). Each time I breathe, a new beginning. Each time I shave my head, for the first time. Each time I think of the one I love, a fresh kiss. Each loaf of bread I bake, the first. Each moment, unknown.

 

With this I sit quietly, scanning my body for physical sensations. Within seconds, monkey mind takes off, going here and there, jumping from thought to thought. Gently I refocus, notice breath rising and falling. Notice also cravings and aversions—what I wish for and what I dislike. Somewhere between polarities, so I imagine, resides Beginner’s Mind … flush with possibilities. 

 

“Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart,” offers Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) in his Notes to a young poet, “and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.” Not something I’m good at, I want to say … resorting to the familiar dualistic worldview: that good/bad view of things, that habit of seeing the world in opposites. Seek the middle way, the Buddha taught, see things as containing aspects of right and wrong, happy and sad, old and young. Each item, be it thought, feeling, fear, hope, etc, contains aspects of the extremes.

 

Rilke again: “Don’t search for answers, which could not be given now … the point is, to live everything. Live the question now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

 

sources: Rilke, R.M. (1984). Notes to a young poet. (trans. S. Mitchell). New York: Random House, p.34; Suzuki, S. (1970). Zen mind, beginner’s mind. New York: Weatherhill. 

day retreat on mayne island

Zen monasteries and practice centres customarily set aside a week each month for silent meditating, eating, chanting, and working. In Japan such intensive practice periods are called sesshin 攝心 which means “to gather the heart and mind.”

The Mayne Island Meditation Group will be holding a mini-sesshin on Tuesday, May 13, from 8:45 am to 4:00 pm. Maintaining silence for the day, we’ll meditate in 25-minute intervals of sitting, standing, and walking. Weather permitting, we’ll take the practice outdoors for walking meditation and work practice. (I’ll again be guide, time-keeper, and frequent bell-ringer.)

Cost: a $10 registration fee covers space rental and ferry fare. As meditation teachers traditionally don’t ask for a fee, retreatants are free to make a cash donation (dana) which in Peter’s case will benefit the food bank.

What to bring: clothes suitable for (a) indoor sitting and (b) outdoor walking and working; also a bag lunch so we can eat communally. Water and tea will be provided. Bring a sitting cushion or bench if you have it; chairs and cushions are available.

What not to bring: cell phones, pagers, journals, note pads, reading matter—in short anything that could distract you or others from giving mindful attention to each moment.

Contact Nancy Schneider at nandidasi11-at-gmail-dot-com or leave a message at 250-539-3413. There are only a few spaces still available.

what is important?

Jon Kabat-Zinn is the driving force behind the “mindfulness-based stress reduction” (MBSR) program which originated at the University of Massachusetts Medical School and has spread world-wide. His popular books include Full catastrophe living: using the wisdom of your body and mind to face stress, pain and illness (Delta, 1991), and Wherever you go there you are: mindfulness meditation in everyday life (Hyperion, 1994). He writes:

“When you come right down to it, what else is there to do? If we are not grounded in our being, if we are not grounded in wakefulness, are we not actually missing out on the gift of our very livesand the opportunity to be of any real benefit to others?

It does help if I remind myself to ask my heart from time to time what is most imortant right now, in this moment, and listen very carefully for the response.

As Thoreau put it at the end of Walden: ‘Only that day dawns to which we are awake’.”

Take a moment now (or promise yourself to do it within the next few hours) to sit still somewhere, without interruptions or distractions, to sit quietly. Lower your eyes, exhale. Meet your body where it is: notice where your feet touch the ground, your body the chair, your skin your clothes and the air. Pay attention to your breath by placing a hand above your belly-button: inhale, exhale–rising and falling. Be with yourself. Ask your heart: What is important right now, heart? Listen. Listen!

bag of bones department

During sitting meditation yesterday I had a sense, briefly, of not being my body. I felt as if I was witnessing a mechanism (for lack of better word) that gurgled, pumped, creaked, and functioned all on its own. For that moment it wasn’t me or mine at all! My teachers often speak of us not being our bodies, that it’s a construct of the ego, the small-self, which claims to control and know everything. They encourage—such is my limited understanding of all this—to not separate from the body, but to see it for what it is. They urge us to become aware of the body as body in everyday activities.

As a key Buddhist texts points out, ”When the practitioner walks, he knows he is walking. When he stands, he knows he is standing. When he sits, he knows he is sitting. When he lies down, he knows he is lying down. When he wakes up, he knows he is waking up. Awake or asleep, he knows he is awake or asleep. This is how the practitioner is aware of body as body, both inside the body and outside the body, and establishes mindfulness in the body with understanding, insight, clarity, and realization. This is called being aware of body as body.”

Jean-Paul Sartre viewed the human body as “an assembly of sense organs,“ as “flesh.” Reminds me of sitting in the medical clinic, watching the nurse placing a stethoscope against my skin, listening to organs, muscles, blood vessels, etc.  And of times when something is not working properly and I might say that “I have a bad back,” “my teeth hurt,” or “my skin broke out in a rash.” That sort of language suggests that we’re reporting from a separate place, looking at something. Kay Toombs: “My body, like the world in which I live, has its own nature, structure, and biological conditions …”.

I’m not arguing a separation of body and mind (and heart and soul, for that matter). I find myself looking for words to describe what seems a Self (capital S) that is larger than the small-self of this skin and bones object I call “my body.” By experimenting with this “larger” view I begin to see my ageing body as just that, a “bag of bones” (as the ancient teachers called it). In short, I inhabit a body, but I am not my body.

source: S. Kay Toombs. (1992). The meaning of illness. Springer, p.60; Nian Chu Jing. The Sutra on the Four Grounds of Mindfulness at www.purifymind.com/FourGroundsSutra.htm.

post from italy (now with a follow-up)

Photo and caption posted by rutH, a Californian who’s been living in Rome “longer that I’d like to admit.”

 

“a few weeks ago zen master Thich Nhat Hanh came to rome to lead a walking-silent meditation through the centre of rome. as we walked on the cobblestones in silence, many uninformed romans were screaming, complaining and honking their horns. after working through my initial irritation with italians (!), i began to feel that our energy as a group, walking silently, was so DENSE and so lovely that it was actually stronger than the chaos happening around us. 

 

it brought my concentration to that peacefulness, that calm, and as we approached our final destination, i suddenly realized that i was fully in the moment and actually meditating as i walked! it was very powerful. i took a picture of this little simple and amazing man and wanted to share it with you.”

 

 

p.s. “these noisy italians can be very annoying at times, trust me, but here i am after 20 years still amazed every time i walk out the door and glance over my shoulder to see a beautiful bernini statue or that lovely reddish light shining off a building or an old man watching a young gorgeous girl glide across the piazza … it has been a very hospitable place to live. thank YOU for your generosity and sharing your inner world with the outer world!” namaste. rutH

stay where you are

 

You need not leave your room.

Remain seated at your table and listen.

You need not even listen; simply wait.

You need not even wait; just be quiet, still, and solitary.

The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked.

It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

 

–Franz Kafka (1883-1924), German-language fiction writer

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