The Producer

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”—William Shakespeare.

Once there lived a person of enormous wealth in the land of everywhere: a producer with great ideas for making movies. But he knew that making movies was an involved process, and he would need talented people with different functions to turn his ideas into a film. Since he was very wise, he knew he would need to hire the best talent for each function, give them all clear and adequate direction, equip them with the right tools, empower them with responsibility, and then not micro-manage the filmmaking process. He understood that to micro-manage the production would be futile and could clearly see that he’d need to pay big bucks to hire the best talent. He also knew that making movies was quite an involved process and didn’t want to manage just producing movies since he had many other demanding projects for which to care. He thought about this challenge and decided he first needed to hire a top-flight general manager.

Having given some thought to finding such a person, he realized that what he wanted most in that position was someone cast in his own image. If he could locate the right person, then his life would be much more comfortable because such a manager would be able to anticipate his needs without looking over his shoulder every few minutes. After some trial and error, interviewing various candidates, he found the person he was convinced was just right. Of course, the person didn’t come cheap, but in the long run, he reasoned it would be better to pay the price than to hire the wrong person, fire him when he didn’t work out, lose time and money and then need to start again from scratch.

After extensive contract negotiations, he hired the ideal General Manager. Now the two sat down and talked about the producer’s ideas and the need to find the rest of the crew. He told his new GM that money was no object; hire the best talent and get moving. The GM was excited, and off he went to scout and hire the crew. Let’s see, there was a need for someone to write the screenplay, and that person must have a vivid imagination and wordsmithing skills. An art director to work with the writer would also be needed, a camera crew, an editor, someone to write a musical score, arrange and orchestrate the music, a customer, someone to scout locations, another person to find and cast the actors, a director, and of course someone to put together the work of all those people. Oh, and one more pressing matter—a theater would be needed where the film would be projected onto a screen. Better yet, he wanted a theater enabled by a virtual reality where the viewers could watch, smell, and feel the production.

After what seemed a long time, everyone needed was found, hired, equipped, and given direction by the GM, and finally, the shooting began. From time to time, the wealthy producer would check in and review where the project stood. He watched the dailies and talked with the GM about appropriate adjustments, but this was a delicate matter. People with the skill and expertise of the GM were not terribly comfortable with heavy-handed direction, and they were generally somewhat of a prima donna. So he needed finely crafted people skills to get what he envisioned without alienating the GM.

All went well for a while, but slowly and surely, the GM started to resent the wealthy producer. Of course, he thought the producer was not aware of this developing attitude because the GM was a crafty fellow. The GM had decided to plan a coup d'état, intended to steal the entire production and take all of the glory for himself. He reasoned: Why should I have a boss? I am the one doing the work, so I should make all of the money. Being a wily person, he pulled off the coup. But he didn’t know that the producer knew this all along and intended for the GM to carry off the coup. Why would he allow such a thing? Because he knew that an arrogant GM was like a wild stallion and needed to be broken to be of much long-term usefulness. 

Talent seemed to come along with a big ego, and he knew the project would flop under the exclusive reign of the arrogant GM. And when it did, it would be abundantly clear to everyone (most importantly to the GM) that it flopped because the wealthy producer was no longer running matters behind the scenes. The producer didn’t care if the project failed since his wealth was vast, and he had a whole lineup of better film ideas awaiting production if a trustworthy and proven GM could take charge. 

So the producer allowed the coup to unfold with no resistance. And what was predicted happened: The show flopped, and with anger in his heart and hat in hand, the GM had no choice but to see that he needed the producer after all. Before it wasn’t clear, the GM had a big head and imagined his independent greatness; he had to learn the hard way, by failure. Now the real show could begin. Now the pompous, self-righteous GM had been broken like a wild stallion, and Now the two could make some really great films together. 

Are you wondering why I’ve spun this allegorical tale? The reason is that this story is what happens in our minds. All of us need to know that we are people of great wealth already, tell stories, and make movies. Real wealth is what we think we would buy one day once we have earned enough. So we spend our entire lives working to obtain that distant goal. We chase the rabbit for more, only to discover that there is never enough, and the harder we run, the faster the goal moves away. Then one day, if we’re extraordinarily fortunate, we stop to catch our breath long enough to realize an invaluable truth: the prize is already closer to us than our own breath.

Real wealth is not on the horizon for several reasons. First, there will never be a distant goal. That’s an illusion that shimmers like heat dancing on the pavement as we race across the desert toward the mirage of an imaginary oasis. It only looks real. There is no tomorrow and, thus, no distant goal. There will never be anything other than now. That’s the first reason. The second reason is that we need to think more clearly about the nature of what we seek. What we all desire is to love and be loved, health, emotional and spiritual abundance, a sense of joy and amazement, happiness that arises like effervescent bubbles from our depth, quality relationships, having our basic needs provided, a lack of stress and fear, and a bone-deep knowledge that we are beautiful just as we are. These qualities constitute genuine wealth; they can’t be purchased at any price and will always be here and now because they exist within us all. They are the worth beneath our mistaken notions that more of the stuff that passes away moment-by-moment will ever be enough.

We are all geese who lay golden eggs. Only we don’t know because we get into such a rush chasing that rabbit that we never pause long enough to find our roots. When we stop, we can see this never-eroding treasure buried beneath the race to oblivion by our arrogant egos. We were, and always have been, home, living in a castle of enormous wealth: our mind. That is our true nature, our only true life. Everything else is an illusion, a dance of insanity. Nothing is lacking, and the race to obtain what is already ours is sheer madness.

But then there are those who will read this and say, He just doesn’t get it. If he only knew what I have gone through, he wouldn’t be such a Pollyanna. Indeed, I don’t see what you have gone through, but I do know what I’ve gone through. We all bear the rigors. We all suffer. Everyone experiences terrible tragedies. None of us can escape the consequences of karmic adversity or simple living. 

I’ve had my own tragedies and suffered much to the point of utter despair. I stood at the edge of death several times. First, in war, and later when I saw no reason for hope, I was ready to take my own life, but I was spared. I stepped away, found that producer, and discovered my own treasure within, buried deep down beneath my own corruption. So don’t delude yourself with this idea; this victim excuse that mine is terrible, and others aren’t. Suffering goes with the territory of mortal living. Nobody escapes, and everyone is already wealthy beyond the boundaries of our rational imaginations. That is why the true Self is known as being transcendent. Conceptual vision is not our friend. It is a prison of our rational mind. And the not-to-be-found mind moves us away from fantasy and back to reality. 

The wealthy producer in the story is behind the scenes running the show, but nobody knows he’s there except the GM. The GM is our ego, a self-image—self-righteous, talented, with a big head and of very little worth without being broken. And how does an ego get crushed? By trial and error. Give it enough rope, and it’ll hang itself. Try to force its hand, and it’ll resist. It’s a crafty creature and up to no good until it learns how inadequate it is by itself. We are the real power behind our own throne—the wizard of the Oz we create, and our ego has to learn the hard way that the producer and our ego are an inseparable team. Until that lesson is learned, there is only chaos.

The rest of the crew are our various functions that collaborate to produce what appears to be a seamless rendition of reality. When the film is in the can, and the audience is assembled, the film is projected, but the screen is not out there―it is being projected in the theater of the mind. It is such a stunning movie that it is almost like being in the film. We don’t realize that we are actually in the film we produce. We will never be outside of the movie since the movie is us, only we don’t call it a movie. We call it our relative and the conditional world, which, we imagine, is not us. We are the movie, the crew who produced it, the audience who watches, the GM, and the producer. It is all produced within a virtual realm, which we imagine is the real world. Everything produced is a virtual reality—all conditional and based on causes and effects. Even the unconditional producer is a virtual being. The entire assemblage is an illusion—a story we tell ourselves. This is our mind at work, which can’t be found. 

As the movie (movement) unfolds, our mind comes into being. When the video stops, our mind likewise ceases to exist. Our minds and movies are one and the same thing. The only function of the mind is movement. When the mind moves, the world appears. When the mind stops, the world disappears. Zen masters and sages, even before The Buddha, said this is an accurate rendition, and now the science of neurology confirms it.

Is this just a fantastic allegory? Perhaps an interesting story, but no more? Granted, creative liberties have been taken, but fundamentally the story is an accurate portrayal of the way it is. This is the Dharma of real life. This is what The Buddha saw when he woke up. It may seem strange, incredible, and fantastic, but it is accurate.

So how must we understand this? Awakening can be confirmed only through personal experience.  We—our only substantial and pure nature—are the unchanging and already complete producer who lacks nothing but can’t be seen. Nothing can be added to, nor subtracted from, a perfect mind since the mind is everything (yet nothing). To try to do either (add to or subtract from) is an exercise in utter futility. Nothing is lacking. Everything is already present. Clinging to anything adds nothing to who we truly are. Our true identity is no identity, yet it is secure, and the rush to add to something that is already complete is a fool’s journey. The vector of wholeness does not come through addition. It comes through subtraction, and that is what we must do when we meditate: allow the virtual to vanish into the void, and when it dissolves, we find we’re home, right where we’ve always been. We are Buddhas, waiting to wake up from a virtual dream.

“The mind is the root from which all things grow. If you can understand the mind, everything else is included. It’s like a tree. All of its fruit and flowers, its branches and leaves, depend on its root. If you nourish its root, a tree multiplies. If you cut its root, it dies. Those who understand the mind reach enlightenment with minimal effort. Those who don’t understand the mind practice in vain. Everything, good and bad, comes from your own mind. To find something beyond the mind is impossible.”—Bodhidharma; The Breakthrough Sermon

Tick, tick, tick.

The invisible connected links.

Observation—seeing clearly—should not be confused with making judgments. It is simply seeing what’s present, right now and acting appropriately. What was present in times past is now gone and what may have been an appropriate action then, is no longer. 

Why is it that we cling to yesterday’s decisions and feel compelled to justify, or even apologize, for those past, now-gone conditions? Then was then and it is now today, replete with a brand new set of circumstances—opportunities to make choices based on what is now present. We can release ourselves from both errors (which may not have been errors) and victories (which in hindsight could be seen as errors) by noticing the tick, tick, tick of changing space/time.

But alas we are not noticing that tick, tick, tick except when we pause, look inward, and track the dots that lead us all to where we are today. Disparaging our, perhaps, poor choices, of the past with thoughts about, “If I had it all to do over again” is somewhat delusional and a waste of time, since such a thing is an impossibility. We can’t return to the past, and even if we could who can say we’d take with us the wisdom acquired by making past choices and learning the lessons that can only be learned within constantly changing circumstances.

If you haven’t yet watched the movie “The Butterfly Effect” you may want to come up to speed with this idea of If I had it all to do over again. It is a story about a young man who could do it all over again and every time he made a different choice the result made things worse. The movie was based on chaos theory, a branch of mathematics focusing on the behavior of dynamic systems that are highly sensitive to initial conditions. The theory was first put forth by American mathematician and meteorologist Edward Norton Lorenz. 

The documentary about this is available on Prime Video and the movie, based on the theory, is available on Netflix. I suppose you could label this by another name called “The domino theory” which was the political justification for many wars fought to ensure the dominos fell in a chosen direction. Of course, they never did, since eventually one decision led to an unpredictable set of other conditions such as those illustrated at the designated link—The War to end all wars. It’s the same principle with a different label. Furthermore, we have a rather dismal historical record of forecasting the most significant waves of change, as pointed out by Nassim Nicholas Taleb in his book “The Black Swan.” Our crystal ball of significant future events is without doubt, cloudy.

Many years ago, when I first stepped onto the path of Zen, I read a book about this constantly changing landscape. It was called The Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts. At the time it seemed a shocking idea, simply because I too had not been noticing the tick, tick, tick. And after reading his book, it wasn’t so shocking. I then began to notice, and the path of Zen became deeper and deeper until it ultimately led me to the state of immanent Self-discovery. 

All that time I thought I knew who I was. The world was telling me. I was making error upon error (or so I thought at the time) and getting the expected feedback. The dominos kept falling and eventually the world summed up their evaluations and I bought their feedback hook, line, and sinker. I had been trapped, without knowing, in a state of clinging to all of those judgments which led me to a point of crisis and that in turn led me an implosion of my sense of self (ego), which in turn led me to the discovery of the indefinable state of my true Self-nature—the source or capacity of perception we know as pure, undefiled consciousness, completely lacking description, but is the same in every sentient being. From that moment on, I knew precisely what (who?) I was, and I also then knew what I was not—the ego formation we all fabricate out of whatever we perceive and bounded within the framework of what can be perceived, and never the one who perceives.

Like everyone else I could not return to my past (nor can I now) and reconstruct anything, but what I could do was construct a future (only for me) based on two fundamental matters: Choices that arose from that core awareness (e.g., who I was and who I was not) plus accepting the constant flow of change. I can assure you that the same is within reach of every living being. It sounds easy in words but is incredibly difficult in the doing. Learning how to not think—How Bodhidharma defined Zen—is most difficult but is the pathway leading from intuition: The state beyond rational thought—the motherload of all wisdom.

The Four Horses of Zen

In the Samyutta Agama sutra, the Buddha told a parable of four horses. There is an excellent one, a couple of lesser horses and a bad one. He said the best horse runs before it sees the shadow of the whip.  The second best will run just before the whip reaches his skin. The third one will run when it feels pain on his body, and the “bad” one will run after the pain penetrates into the marrow of his bones.

I was an unfortunate and stubborn horse, a glutton for punishment, as the saying goes. My ego was huge, and it took a long time and much beating before I was broken. Zen has many aphorisms. One fits this beating process. The saying is, “No suffering. No enlightenment. Little suffering. Little enlightenment. Great suffering. Great enlightenment.” 

The point of this aphorism is that there is a relationship between the depths of suffering and motivation. We, humans, are problem solvers par excellence, but we are also pragmatists with big egos. If we don’t acknowledge problems, there seems nothing to solve, and we don’t fix things we think are not broken. Our egos hate this idea of brokenness, but it’s the key that unlocks the mystery of awakening. Winston Churchill apparently said of Americans, “You can always count on Americans to do the right thing—after they’ve tried everything else.” 

Bodhidharma said that without suffering, there is no awakening, and he is quite right. When life is sailing along, and all is rosy, why bother fixing what’s not broken? In such a state, the last thing we want is to rock the boat and “see the shadow of the whip.” All of us want to preserve the good and avoid the bad, and while life is good, who needs to think about everything turning south? We’re not so wise in such moments. We imagine our state of prosperity will last forever and, consequently, rarely plan for the rainy day. Instead, we wait until we’re underwater and hoping for the Queen Mary to come sailing along.

In psychological terms, we are swayed by what’s known as The Normalcy Bias. We get used to what we assume are fixed norms and resist change. This is a particular problem in our world today and has led us all into political tribes, unwilling to even listen to others. 

The problem is, everything is in a state of change, norms included. A wise person will acknowledge change, learn about pulling up anchors, sense approaching tsunamis, and riding waves. Few of us have the foresight to anticipate coming catastrophes, but the truth is physical life doesn’t last forever. Sooner or later, we all end up broken and become fertilizer. By then, the opportunity to awaken this time around is gone.

When enough is enough? And the tragedy of perfection.

The surface and the deep

The idea of life as a journey has merit and deserves thoughtful consideration. A journey begins and proceeds step by step: one step begins, ends, and is followed by the next, which likewise leads to the next until the journey ends. 

Each moment proceeds in the same fashion. With foresight, patience, and endurance achievement is possible. The great tragedy is expecting perfection with each and every step. In a way each step is perfect; it is enough (for that moment).

The Buddha said, “There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.”  The starting has much to say about the motivation to go at all. Many have no hope. Others become complacent with their bird in hand. Some expect magic of the divine, and still, others lack confidence and fear the risk of the unknown.

It is indeed somewhat terrifying to leap into the unknown when all seems well; when we have ours and others don’t. It is human nature (unfortunately) to take the unexpected treasure we’ve found and run, leaving others to find their own. However, if we are the one who lives in misery and have not yet found that treasure, the story is different. Then the motivation changes from satisfaction to a desire for the hidden treasure others have found, and we have not. 

For most of human history the masses have lived in misery without ever having leaped into the great sea of the unknown; the sea where “things” morph into “no-things:” the only realm where true satisfaction exists, ultimate wisdom and truth reside. The two realms of things and no-things coexist, one upon the other, yet the misery of conditional life remains the province of the known, where truth is a variable bouncing like a ball on the waves of that great ocean. Beneath; deep beneath the waves of adversity is the calm, the tranquil, the root of all that exists above.

“All mortal things have a beginning, and an ending.” Each step, each moment, every-thing; All things are enough; all things are perfect, and yet all things exist together, resting upon the deep of a nothing, which is no mere nothing; It is everything.

To see ourselves truly.

The Scottish poet Robert Burns coined the phrase, “Ahh, to see ourselves as others see us...” and this way of seeing is indeed valuable. However, there is a more valuable way: To see ourselves as we truly are beyond the ordinary lens of perception. What is this strange way?

The Lankavatara was allegedly the sutra most revered by Bodhidharma: the father of Zen. Among the myriad sutras, the Lankavatara lays out the essential challenge inherent in the human dilemma. Here we see how the matter of perception leads us into error. The problem is that the world (including our thoughts) is perceived by-way-of discriminate forms, and we remain oblivious to the one doing the perceiving (ourselves). 

We see shapes and forms configured in different ways before us. We hear sounds tinkling or loud. We smell different aromas, and through this manner of distinguishing differences, we form judgments of like and dislike, clinging to the first and resisting the latter.

This process is essential and can’t be avoided, but unless we become aware—deeply aware—of the indiscriminate perceiver (who is beyond all color and form), we become mesmerized and enslaved by the dance of differentiation, all the while creating havoc for ourselves and others. The sutra says the result of this ignorance are minds which “burn with the fires of greed, anger and folly, finding delight in a world of multitudinous forms, their thoughts obsessed with ideas of birth, growth, and destruction, not well understanding what is meant by existence and non-existence, and being impressed by erroneous discriminations and speculations since beginningless time, fall into the habit of grasping this and that and thereby becoming attached to them.”

This unavoidable process leads to clinging to an evanescent world of objects. And as we cling, we oppose the truth of our unknowing and therefore are trapped in karma born of greed, anger and folly. The accumulation of karma then goes on and we become imprisoned in a cocoon of discrimination and are unable to free ourselves from the rounds of birth and death.

The Buddha said that it is like seeing one’s own image in a mirror and taking the image as real, or seeing the moon reflected on the surface of water and taking it to be the actual moon. To see in this way is dualistic whereas to see truly is a matter of Oneness revealed within innermost consciousness. 

The unavoidable conclusion of seeing beyond the biased lens of perception is all of us are the same at the deepest level, none better or worse. It is all too easy to become trapped by the constant flow of tidal forces and forget that each of us is the master of our very own sea.

The Deep

The easiest thing in the world is to get swept up in the waves of adversity. During such times it is nearly impossible to keep your cool and not panic. 

Over time it is quite possible to learn how to use these waves like a surfer uses a surfboard. It is unreasonable to think we’ll ever find times without waves—It is the nature of life that they come.

Even during tumultuous times, there is calm and tranquility just a few meters beneath the surface. In fact, waves are just the result of the ocean calm being pulled by external forces and without being connected to the deep there could be no waves. The deep and waves are two aspects of what makes the ocean what it is.

Our human challenge is to find that deep place of calm so that during the storms of life we won’t be swept away.

Simple complexity.

I’ve been a student of Zen for more than 40 years. During that time I must have read hundreds of Buddhist and Zen books. To be honest nearly all of them were profound yet abstruse. 

Transcendent truths can be perplexing for a number of reasons. Since language is limited and reading is language-centered, this constrains understanding of changing time and cultures. It’s an oil and water conundrum. Additionally, what is considered truth is a variable depending on a host of changing conditions. Mining profound treasures involve a lot of digging and dirt tossing. And after the mining, you still have a problem: How to transmit the gold to others.

Long ago Lao Tzu addressed this problem when he said, “The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name.” That is indeed a perplexing communication challenge. As I’ve worked through this challenge I have struggled to distill and shift out the dirt so that I could speak simply of matters that are anything but simple and obvious.

I’ve studied the writing of the great sages and seers to understand their wisdom. Jesus chose to speak in parables. The New Testament is full of his parables. The Buddha chose similar methods. Both were so erudite their own disciples rarely grasped their insight. And while these methods worked with some, the vast majority still didn’t understand. Life’s greatest truths are not so evident. I’m no sage but I use their communications methods since I am persuaded that if I can find ways to share the wealth of my own mining then a lot of people can begin to find their own treasure. 

One of the most valuable communication tools used by The Buddha is known as “Upaya” — expedient means. The principle is simple: Teach people at their level rather than your own. This method is extraordinarily wise. Imagine what would happen in a Kindergarten class if the Ph.D. teacher tried to teach nuclear physics by employing high-level jargon. It doesn’t mean that young people one day won’t be capable of becoming nuclear physicists. But there is a huge difference between knowing something and being an effective teacher. All of us have experienced both and all of us prefer good teachers.

What I have chosen to do is adapt. I use, as much as possible, simple language with graphics and other devices that aid in the learning process so that matters of great profundity can be grasped by people not yet schooled. They know precisely the nature of their own dilemma but they don’t know the nature of the solutions. Transcendent truths provide the solutions they seek. It is my job to speak simply of these truths. All I do is haul water to thirsty horses. The horses decide if they want to drink.

The Key to Fulfillment

What you’re about the read now is the result of having lived through extreme adversity, finding victory, and then looking back to find a rational explanation. 

What I write about here is that rational, rearview perspective. I never saw this view from the other side, which is to say while in the midst of anxiety. The vision presented here is a retrospective.

If you study Yoga or Buddhism you’ll learn a lot about a unique perspective about why people suffer and you can sum up the entirety of this perspective in one statement: “We suffer because we don’t have a proper grasp of what genuine reality is.” 

Usually the response to that summation is MEGO (My eyes glaze over). Everyone who has ever lived, or will ever live, begins with the unchallenged assumption that they know precisely what reality is. They can’t explain it. They just know in some unexplained way. If pressed we can come up with a few dimensions to frame our understanding. Such dimensions as tangibility, mutual discretion and measurement are ordinarily candidates for a definition. In other words if we can perceive stuff, that measured stuff is real. But hardly anyone thoroughly examines the relationship between that understanding and suffering. We measure stuff and people suffer—two observations, and these appear to have nothing to do with each other.

There was a man who devoted his life to a thorough examination of this matter and the world has never been the same since, at least for those who take the time to consider what he discovered. The man lived a long time ago (more than 2,500 years ago) and his name was Siddhartha, who became Gautama Buddha. What he discovered changed my life and the lives of millions since he lived. His understanding is contained in the first of eight steps which he identified to enable anyone to find a way to solve their own suffering problem, and that first step revolves around the interrelated matters of emptiness and dependent origination—my topics for this post.

To the ordinary eye, these two matters are obscure and foreign, but when looked at carefully the way forward becomes clear. The first of these—emptiness—challenges the premise of mutual discretion: that things are different and independent from other things. For example, we regard “up” as different from “down” and are persuaded that these two are independent matters. The same goes for in/out, forwards/backwards, or anything else, which have two opposing dimensions (everything does). 

To the ordinary eye these are always separate and opposite, just as Republicans and Democrats are—separate and opposed to one another. Emptiness says simply that this observation is both true and not true at the same time. It is not true that any pair can be divided. Instead these exist only as pairs. Without up, there could be no down. Without an “in” where would “out” be located? Each half of these pairs is not real by themselves but real only as pairs. To acknowledge the validity of one half you must accept the validity of the other half, otherwise neither is valid. Here the rule of discrimination governs all. It’s an either/or world of compromised choices with clear winners and clear losers. In a nutshell that’s emptiness. It goes much deeper than the nut but for the moment just stay with that.

Then we come to a kissing cousin of emptiness—dependent origination. This principle says that everything is linked together (just as the pairs are) and one thing causes another, which then cascades onto other things. The water cycle is a perfect example. Every aspect of this cycle is created by what came before and then creates the next step in the cycle, in a circular feedback that never ends. So long as we remain in the sphere of relative and conditional life none of these feedback cycles can ever be avoided because everything is in constant motion. When one dimension comes into existence what follows also comes into existence. Rising, heated water vapor ultimately cools and turns into rain. Birth ultimately turns into death. These cycles repeat endlessly without a beginning and without an ending. In a nutshell that’s dependent origination.

In our physical and conditional world, these two matters—emptiness and dependent origination point to why we suffer. We do so because we try to retain the good parts of these changing cycles and avoid the bad parts, but this is impossible to orchestrate. What brings us joy in one moment brings us sadness in the next. Nobody can stop the tides of anything, thus the conclusion that “life sucks.” And if that were the end of the matter then that conclusion would be correct. Fortunately that is not the end of the matter because emptiness and dependent origination are deeper matters.

The law of these two principles, if valid, would have to apply to everything including conditional life. Just as up can only exist with the partner of down, conditional life can only exist with the partner of unconditional life. Conditional life is empty by itself and real only with a partner. We can perceive anything and everything of conditional life because of the perceptible nature of objects, and these objects are always in opposition and in motion. The first and preliminary part of solving the suffering problem is thus to not cling but rather to savor each passing moment with the awareness that soon the savor will turn into the sour. Be here now is a familiar code for one form of Zen, but frankly, that premise sucks. Who truly looks forward to eventual sadness? It helps but it is insufficient.

Ultimate victory comes by moving beyond the conditional and into the unconditional where discrimination and sadness cease to exist. What brought me enduring grief was this cycle of destruction. I was trapped in one cycle after another and could find no relief. I never realized until I reached the end there was an alternative. Only when I ran out of gas did I say to myself, “To hell with this,” if I can’t find a better way I don’t want to live. 

Then I just sat down and refused to get up until I found the key. Only when I let go, completely, of the bargain of hope did I find the other side—the unconditional side, which I never knew existed. When it happened I was dumb-founded and wholly disoriented, but I was also in a state of mind without suffering! I had no idea what had transpired but I loved it. Before it happened I was full of despair. Afterwards I was whole and pure. But since I had experienced nothing but the cycles for my entire life, I kept waiting and expecting that blissful experience to pass away. It never passed and has remained a constant presence. It’s now been more than 40 years and it is still here.

Having said that, it is important to say that I’m still just as much affected by the swings as before. But no longer do the swings affect my stability. My true sense of being is now rock solid. Nothing causes it to waver. And this is what dependent origination means at the deeper level. Both sides are true together and neither side is true separately. And at a deeper level yet, is the ultimate value of Gautama’s understanding—his first step (Right View): while all of us are different, we are also the same, and neither of these truths is real separately. Conditionally we are apart. Unconditionally we are united.

Mind

“He’s lost his mind.” “She changed her mind.” “I can’t make up

my mind.” We use the term “mind” in such an off-handed way that it’s rare to look at the concept closely, but it is impossible to be a serious student of Zen without considering how it is understood. So today I want to devote some attention to a thorough look at the “mind” from a Zen perspective.

We fail to consider that this conclusion results from a collaboration between the object and a process in our brain. In Buddhism, this collaboration has a designation called the Five Skāndhas—“Skāndhas” is a Sanskrit word which means aggregate or heap, and the five are (1) form, (2) sensation, (3) perceptions, (4) mental formations and (5) consciousness. None of these singularly is adequate to produce the conclusion of “rock.” And this is true for all objects, whether internal or external. This collaboration amongst these Skāndhas fabricates the illusion of solidity, and this illusion is the basis of “mind.” Consequently, Buddhism says that forms (objects) are “empty,” meaning that a form has no substantial existence, and if there are no forms to see, then a mind is not produced since “mind” is the result of this collaboration.

Because of the incredible advances made in neurological detection, it is now possible to validate what Buddhism has been saying for centuries. When we examine the brain with today's neurological tools, we can see that this Skāndhas view of fabrication is correct. Given this, it now makes sense that there is no substantial, independent objective anything, including the mental formation of a self (otherwise known as a “self-image”). Since everything is impermanent and in flux, when any one of these Skāndhas changes (which is all of the time), our “mind” reflects these changes. Thus the expressions above: (“He’s lost his mind.” “She changed her mind.” “I can’t make up my mind.” ) take on an entirely different meaning. In fact, the notion of a “mind” sitting between our ears is simply a convenient way of referring to our thoughts, which are in constant motion.

So the next step along this exploration is how this understanding affects the practice of Zen meditation. When we sit, we “see” mental formations and sense feelings wafting across our consciousness. When these formations cease, our mind goes away as well, and this cessation reveals MIND (which has no dimension or distinguishing characteristics)—the ground from which everything arises. 

The capacity of seeing must entail separation and life. An object, such as a mental image, may have separation but not life. Only a subject has life, but it too must have separation for seeing to occur (or hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, and thinking).

If it were possible for one person to completely merge with another person, there would be no sense of self and other—Only unity. At the manifestation level, there is what appears as duality—me vs. other, this vs. that, a thought vs. a thinker, etc. This level of reality (the level of manifestation) is the ordinary level where we notice ourselves versus our world. But this level is only possible if there is a separate level of unity, the ground from which manifestations arise. 

Because we only notice forms/objects, our subjective nature (Buddha-Nature) is never seen, yet this source ground is who we truly are. Through the process of Zen meditation, we couple this understanding together with our practice to experience both the illusions (e.g., images) and the ground from which they arise. This noticing, separated from what is noticed, allows the emergence of our true nature.

Nagarjuna—the founder of the Madhyamaka school of Mahayana Buddhism, referred to these two levels as “two truths” (Partial/conventional truths and sublime truths) and said that we learn about the sublime truths (which set us free) by way of the conventional/partial truths. In other words, we are forced to use the mental formations (which admittedly are empty) produced by the Skāndhas to fathom sublime reality. And until that happens, we are trapped in the illusion that what we experience is the totality of our existence.

Seeing you Seeing me.

The amount of energy and consideration which routinely goes into the notion of personal identity is huge. It’s taken as a given that we know ourselves but even though the matter is of paramount importance it is questionable that anyone really “knows” themself. And if nobody knows themself how is it possible to truly know someone else?

When we meet someone for the first time, we want to know something about them and they want to know something about us. So we say, “Tell me something about yourself.” And then they begin to tell their stories—Name, job, interests, family, etc. And then we tell our story. The question—the only relevant question is: Are we nothing more than a name or a job or any of the other characteristics we share? Names can change. Jobs come and go. Interests shift over time and sadly families die just like we do. All of these objective measures are in a constant state of change. Objects are impermanent. They are like a suit of clothing that gets put on and taken off. Do we in fact have a permanent identity? Something upon which we hang those objective, impermanent clothes?

It isn’t something we think about very much but perhaps we should because if we did we might discover an essential truth which explains the cause of much suffering. There is a beauty that comes with getting old and I’m not talking about impermanent clothes; not even my objective body which is not what would be called “beautiful.” That part of me would be called decrepit but that is Okay because it is not who I am.

A long time ago I studied grammar and learned about such things as subjects and objects. I don’t remember much beyond that but just knowing the difference between a subject and an object is very helpful in nailing down this matter of identity. As I’ve aged I’ve noticed what changes and what hasn’t. Everything has changed except one thing: Me—The subjective me; the me who sees the changes, hears, smells, tastes, touches, and thinks. So I like everyone else who has ever lived identifies with that subjective me—the one inside my changing, objective skin. There is just one little problem with that view: When I objectify my subjective me, and by that I mean when I imagine that me inside and convert it from a subject into an object called an ego or a self-image. When that conversion takes place that too then undergoes change and becomes subject to suffering.

Here is the truth: A subject can’t be seen. Only objects can be seen. We want to be true to ourselves and to others but it is very difficult to be true to what can’t be known, objectively and that applies to ourselves also. So to meet that mental challenge we create an objective surrogate which we then take to be who we are. If you want to conquer suffering you’ll take the time to understand this piece of mental sleight-of-hand. WE SUFFER BECAUSE WE BOTH “REIFY” OBJECTS AND OBJECTIFY WHAT IS REAL. I write these words in capitals because suffering boils down to that. It is just that simple. So what does this word “reify” mean? It means to imagine life where there is none. And of course, to objectify something means to mentally convert life into a stone.

The Buddhist definition of reality is most exact. Accordingly, reality is understood as something which has substantial, intrinsic, independent status and the opposite is true as well. Something is unreal which does not subscribe to that understanding. Therefore “subjects” are considered real and objects are not. An object (any and every object) is dependent and has no intrinsic substance yet we can see objects. So here is where this understanding solves the suffering problem: If you can see (or perceive in any way) something, know that it is unreal and has no power to harm the real subjective you. That true you is beyond harm or suffering since it is eternal and hasn’t changed a whit during your entire life. Yes of course our bodies (the objective us) experience pain, but suffering is not pain. Pain is unavoidable but suffering is a spiritual/mental issue. If we can hold that understanding as our reality then when we see thoughts and feel emotions percolating up from our memories we can see them as objective residue rather than reality.

The essential matter is not who we are subjectively but rather who we aren’t objectively. When we confuse this identity issue not only do we not know ourselves but we mistake our real nature for an objective ghost.

Stuff

To a significant extent, our lives have become defined by “stuff.” The presumption is that the more stuff we possess, the better off we are. That presumption compels us to spend years and vast amounts of money preparing to one day become sufficiently prosperous to buy lots more stuff. 

For some, this day comes, we buy more stuff and discover that the stuff we valued from a distance does not deliver what we anticipated. But like a poker game, we reason that we have too much invested in withdrawing from the game. If our lives are not defined by our acquisitions, what else might work? We don’t know. 

By the time we reach this imaginary pot of gold (and discover the non-pay off), we may think it is too late to change course, so we hunker down and accept a life of emptiness which we try to fill up with minutia, trying desperately to convince ourselves that the diminishing value of our stuff is good enough.

The Buddhist perspective on this dilemma is instructive and begins by understanding the reasons for this compulsive rush to oblivion. The quest to fathom the basis of this flaw starts with recognizing both the nature of stuff and the source from which it arises. “Stuff” could be called “things.” If you look up the definition, you will learn that a thing is an object, an entity, something abstract, or an artifact. In other words, stuff or a thing is something, which can be perceived and measured. It appears to be concrete and containing inherently self-sufficient attributes. And this being the case, we imagine that we can accumulate and retain things, which will bring meaning into our lives.

However, we soon learn that things don’t last, and even if they would, we become disenchanted and bored. So we must constantly upgrade to the new and improved version, which must then once again be upgraded. Why? Because, we reason, surely, the next version will fill the emptiness. The old stuff didn’t, but surely the new stuff will. 

The Buddhist solution is to learn from this pattern of despair, not by repeating the same losing behavior but rather by understanding the difference between things and no-things. Anything and everything must have a source to exist at all. 

Ordinarily, when we contemplate the idea of “nothing,” we think of non-existence. However, there is another way of considering “nothing”—no-thing (not a thing; not an object; not fleeting). In other words, the opposite of objective: lasting and substantial.
And what might be non-objective, lasting, and substantial? If we can fathom this, perhaps we can change our losing behavior and begin building a life of meaning rather than despair and pretense. 

Curiously, our own language points to the solution. In grammar school, we learn the difference between a subject and an object. “I see you” implies there is a subject “I,” which sees “you,” an object. However, the conundrum of that statement is that the objective part of a person is the same thing as the subjective part. But what we learn in living is that the objective part of us, just like the objective part of anything, constantly changes, gets decrepit, and erodes. 

Only we can’t trade in our objective body for a new and improved model. And the flip side of this awareness is that the subjective side of us never ages; it lasts and is substantial, yet remains imperceptible. Are we to conclude that our true, substantial nature, albeit unseen, doesn’t exist? Such a notion is ludicrous. We have become lured into an illogical notion that life is singularly defined by stuff (including our objective nature), which constantly passes away yet ignore the non-objective source from which the stuff arises.

Two Realms—One Reality

A prominent scientist and a girl on the edge of becoming a woman seem to have little in common. I know them both intimately and thus see the common ground even though they may not. 

Both are highly intelligent, both creative, both kind, and a pleasure to be with. One is a senior citizen, the other still a teen. Their worlds and concerns are years apart, yet they seek the same thing: Rules and guidance systems to plot a future path. Their chosen paths are very different, but their approach is the same. 

In our phenomenal world, it’s an expedient matter to measure conduct against adopted standards. It keeps us on track and out of the weeds, at least most of the time. Conditional society couldn’t function very well without agreed-to standards that define acceptable behavior and help us chart the road ahead. The problem is that such standards only work when everyone embraces the same standards, but standards that suit one person don’t suit another, which is why we have conflict—No universal agreement. 

One of the central teachings of Buddhism is “Dependent Origination.” The teaching is not difficult to understand, but it seems difficult to fully embrace. The premise is this: All things exist in balance with the opposite. For example, “down” requires “up;” light requires darkness; phenomena require noumena (infinite other examples). These opposites are dependent and arise and cease together. There would be no such thing as a down without an up, which is why the teaching is called what it is—things depending on opposites to originate and cease together. 

Simple to grasp but not so simple when it comes to adopting needed standards. And why is that? Because a standard used to measure light wouldn’t work so well when there isn’t any light. And this observation becomes even more critical when it comes to the edge separating opposites, which is to say, “How do you establish rules and standards on the edge dividing the opposites?” Where neither is there, yet both are there. 

This sounds like an impractical consideration but stay with me. My scientist friend is a brilliant physicist pushing the limits beyond normally acceptable boundaries (into the metaphysical realm). The young lady is likewise exploring the limits beyond normally acceptable boundaries of ethics. She is searching for some spiritual rules and guidance. Both go into the same realm and try to use proven yardsticks from the phenomenal realm applied in the noumenal realm without realizing that the rules must change when you cross that boundary line. What we become accustomed to—perceptible objectivity, becomes worthless when operating in an imperceptible realm. It is like trying to find a new set of glasses which will allow you to see air. 

We commonly make two errors in conducting our phenomenal affairs, and these two haven’t changed since the time of The Buddha. The errors are that we perceive objects as either fixed and lasting or fluid and decaying. In one sense, we conclude with permanence and in the other nihilism. This conundrum is exactly the same as what confronted people in The Buddha’s time, and what he realized upon his enlightenment is that both are true, and neither is true (as separate matters). 

His enlightened resolution came to be known as The Middle Way. But how does that make sense? How can something (anything) be both true and not true at the same time? For that to work, it is necessary to acknowledge this dilemma, which my two friends are wrestling with—The opposites of phenomena and noumena and being willing to stand with one foot in each of those two camps. The Sutra of Complete Enlightenment (Address by the Bodhisattva of Pure Wisdom) said 

“...the intrinsic nature of Complete Enlightenment is devoid of distinct natures, yet all different natures are endowed with this nature, which can accord and give rise to various natures.” 

Elsewhere, it says that enlightenment is not something that comes and goes; it is ever-present. This, too, seems like an irrational statement. It is a perfectly logical question to ask, “If enlightenment is ever-present, then how is it I don’t experience it?” Perhaps the answer to that question is that we are trying to see air with a new set of glasses. Air can’t be seen with any glasses, and “Complete Enlightenment is devoid of distinct natures...” If enlightenment has no defining nature, then it doesn’t matter how sharp our vision—It can’t be seen. 

Yet the Sutra goes on to say that “all different natures are endowed with this nature, which can accord and give rise to various natures.” So what is the pearl of wisdom here? Perhaps the pearl is to stop expecting the impossible and accept that the task is not to invent another set of tools but rather live by the Spirit’s constant infusion. Buddhists might choose to call Spirit “Buddha-Nature.” Christians might choose to call it “The Holy Spirit,” but a name is just a handle. Some people prefer one handle, others prefer another handle, but noumenal truth has no handle or nature. 

We are not comfortable in “flying blind,” but isn’t that the definition of expedient means—Doing what is needed, one moment at a time, as phenomenal life flows and changes? How useful is it to use fixed standards when all of life is shifting and changing? The rules that worked yesterday are yesterday’s rules, and tomorrow’s rules will only work when unknown conditions arise. Circumstances change, and when they do, we need to measure the moment and act appropriately. This flexible way requires only one leap of faith—That enlightenment is a constant reality, and it has no nature.