The way we think.

Now that the Buddhist conception of the mind has been thoroughly delineated we turn our attention to something we do continuously and determines the nature of our world—what the mind produces: thoughts. 

Given the critical nature of thinking, it’s imperative to properly grasp what thinking is all about and how thinking (properly understood) leads us all to our true nature or perpetuates misery. So let’s take a stroll together down the reality road and examine the goal of seeing things as they are, without distortion or delusions. For our stroll, we need to begin with an agreement—to remove customary lenses, with which we are habitually comfortable. For the duration of our stroll, we make a pledge to set aside all preconceived views and be open to a new way of seeing.

First, let’s describe the terrain in Buddhist terms. What we are going to see in our minds-eye must be considered from within the framework of how Buddhists define reality, and once we establish this framework we’ll accept this definition until the end of our stroll. Following our stroll you may, if you wish, return to your ordinary way of looking at life. And in taking our stroll we will use an analytical tool called dependent origination (in Sanskrit, Pratītyasamutpāda) to pin together logic of a special kind.

Buddhists don’t accept the notion that conditional things exist separate and apart from an unconditional basis. To imagine that they do exist in such a manner is considered a delusion. All conditional things are dual in nature; they are clearly mutually discrete. That said, conditional duality exists within a non-dual, unconditional framework—the ground of all being. Neither conditional nor unconditional aspects have any independent reality. They are glued together, irrevocably. 

This beginning premise has vast repercussions. The correct view is that nothing has an independent nature which is exclusive and uncaused. Another way of saying this is that things arise together—are originated interdependently and are caused by other things or events. Thus a thinker only has meaning in terms of what a thinker produces (thoughts) and the converse—thoughts require one who thinks. Thoughts have no independent nature and neither do thinkers. These two arise together simultaneously. Thoughts are causally linked to perceptions, which in turn are causally linked to consciousness. Without consciousness, there would be no perceptions, without perceptions, there would be no thoughts and without thoughts, a thinker could not exist.

But words are devices which themselves have no independent nature. They too arise together with one who writes, speaks or hears. Words are mere devices used to extract and communicate about something. All of the words you are now reading only exist in your mind where they will bear the fruit of imagination. They are not the something itself. Words are reflections or abstractions which join my mind with your mind. Words have no intrinsic self-nature. They too are causally linked to thoughts. Instead of using a word like “thinker” we could easily substitute another name like “subject” and instead of using a name like “thoughts” we could substitute another name like “objects.” 

The relationship between thinker/thoughts is the same as between an ineffable subject and a perceptible object, the point is that it takes a subject to perceive an object just as it takes a thinker to perceive thoughts, and perception depends upon consciousness.

So we could then say that since one-half of these relationships (e.g., thinker apart from thoughts, or subject apart from object) is an impossibility, that such a split is “empty” of independent existence. It would be nonsensical to speak of a thinker without thoughts and in the same way, it would be nonsensical to speak of a subject without an object. None of these halves possess a self-nature except conceptually. And all of the foregoing pertains to our stroll down reality lane. Why? Because such conceptual distinctions are not real, only imagined.

This manner of speaking has a name. It is called dependent origination and occurs within the conditional realm, which itself has no self-nature. Just as a thinker has no meaning without thoughts, conditional reality has no meaning without unconditional reality. Everything is subject to this interdependent framework.

So given this, what would happen if we did away with one of these sides? For example, let’s say that we did away with thoughts. If that happened, by definition, the thinker should cease to exist. But wait a moment. Where does this relationship of thinker/thoughts exist, except in our minds? Outside of mind, there are no thoughts and therefore no thinkers. Both thinkers and thoughts are manifestations of mind and mind exists within our bodies. So if we stop thinking (and the thinker disappears) what does that suggest about our identity? 

Is it possible for us to disappear when thinking/thoughts disappear? Obviously not. So it is clear that the real us can’t be the thinker, otherwise, we would disappear when thoughts cease, which is the whole point. In fact, this non-thinking entity is how Bodhidharma defined Zen: Not thinking about anything is Zen, and that is who we truly are: A non-thinking ineffable entity that thinks thoughts, or no-thoughts. Sounds strange but when we cease conceptual thought what we are left with is The One Reality: Our True Nature.

So obviously the real us is independent of this thinker/thought arrangement. But if so, then this real us must exist outside the framework of conditional existence since a thinker/thought arrangement is a condition. Where does this stroll then lead us? It leads us into the unconditional realm which is known as the realm of the tathagatakaya (body of the Buddha Lankavatara Sutra) and accessed when we leave conceptual thinking behind...beyond thought and non-thought. 

To explain: The idea of thought is a thought. The idea of a non-thought is a thought about not-thinking. Both are thoughts and all thoughts are ideas about something but not the something which is thought about.

Why does this matter? It matters because when we become attached to what we perceive and think, and empower these images with notions (other thoughts) as being real we are subject to clinging to ephemeral and fleeting phantoms which produce suffering. Both things (and particularly thoughts about things) are fleeting. But the distinction between things and thoughts about things, is that things are just things (neither good nor bad—just what they are—suchness) but thoughts about things become judgments of good and bad. We like the good things (and try to grasp and retain them) and dislike the bad things (and try to resist them). Both grasping and resisting are forms of attachment to fleeting existence and attachment causes suffering.

Now let’s shift gears somewhat and come at this from a different perspective by thoroughly considering what is meant by unconditional. The obvious starting point is to understand that something which is unconditional is not dependent upon anything for existence. Anything would include (but not be limited by) time, space, circumstances, birth, death, form, emptiness—everything and nothing. Unconditional means transcendent to all conditions. No beginning, no ending, no circumstances, no form, no right or wrong. Every aspect or defining characteristic would have no place in a realm of unconditional reality, yet unconditional reality must be said to be empty of intrinsic existence since it is a form of complete emptiness and depends (yet it doesn’t depend) upon conditions through dependent origination. 

Unconditional reality is a profound enigma. For it to exist, conditional reality must exist, but in itself, it is dependent upon nothing. Thus it is said to exist and yet not exist. It neither has a self (intrinsic, independent nature) yet it does. In Buddhist cosmology this unconditional realm is know as Tathagatagarbha which means Buddha Womb/Buddha Matrix and is explained by The Buddha in the Mahāyāna Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra to refer to the True Self or Essence of the Self within all sentient beings—the unconditioned, boundless, nurturing, sustaining, deathless and diamond-like Self of The Buddha, which is indiscernible to worldly, unawakened vision, as a result of conceptual obscurations (e.g., thoughts), inappropriate mental and behavioral tendencies and unclear perception.

Such a composite can only be understood as both conditioned and unconditioned, which means the unified source of both: an aspect with defining characteristics and an aspect without defining characteristic which arises simultaneously just as a thinker arises with thoughts. The aspects of Buddha-Nature with defining characteristics is the nirmanakaya—Buddhist vernacular for our physical being... (Incarnate Buddha) and the saṃbhogakāya—subtle body of the limitless form: link to the Dharmakaya. Both of these (e.g., nirmanakaya and sambhogakaya) are said to be subject to birth, death, and other conditions, yet Dharmakaya is subject to none.  The physical and psychic aspects of Buddha-Nature come and go. These aspects have form, but form and emptiness are a single riveted together matter. Form can’t exist without the context of emptiness. They arise together. An object (form) can only exist in space/time (emptiness). That form may be either physical or psychic. A thought is a psychic form—an abstraction, whereas physical forms appear to have substance and intrinsic/independent existence, but from a Buddhist point of view, not even physical form is real (meaning independent from emptiness).

From this point of view, all forms (physical and psychic) are manifestations of mind and lack intrinsic existence. The aspect which is without form is called the Dharmakaya (the true nature of the Buddha, which is identical with reality). This aspect can only be seen by a Buddha and those who have advanced to the highest state of consciousness since it is unconditional. What is conditional (anything with form) can’t see what is unconditional (emptiness—like space can’t be seen). 

This articulation is an attempt to understand the trikaya—the three aspects of Buddha-Nature. But this is a provisional attempt using form (words) to speak of something beyond all form so the attempt is flawed from the outset. As Lao Tzu stated, “The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.” 

The nameless is the Dharmakaya or Mind-essence. In truth, these aspects are a single, indivisible reality but for convenience sake, we speak of them as separate. The Dharmakaya goes by many names. Often times the name One Mind is used. It is always present yet never found. The mind has no conditions nor limiting qualities yet is always present and functioning. 

Bodhidharma called it mind-essence which may be a better expression since essence has a connotation of infused transcendence. But names and handles are not important. What is important is the essence to which names and handles point; like a finger pointing to the moon. To transcend all names and thoughts (abstractions) and access directly what is, without condition is what tathagatakaya means. Tatha means thusness or suchness—things as they are in their fullness (both conditional and unconditional). Tathagata is an alternative name given a Buddha: one who sees things as they are without delusion

There is a story about the second Zen patriarch (Hui-k'o) who asked Bodhidharma to help him make his mind stop. Bodhidharma said, “Show me this mind of yours, and I’ll make it stop.” Hui-k'o responded, “I’ve looked everywhere for my mind but can’t find it.” Bodhidharma said, “There. I’ve stopped it for you.” The point is that mind/Dharmakaya is not to be found. The idea or thought of mind must be stopped to access Mind. When we look at objects (a thought is an object) we see just objects: the perceptible form; the abstraction, but we don’t see essence because it can’t be seen. 

The purity of mind is what sees, not the organs we call eyes. Objects are containers of the essence but not essence itself and our eyes see objective things (but not essence). Meister Eckhart (famous Christian mystic) made this same point in distinguishing ideas from essence.

Each of us exists in fullness. We are not just decaying form. Fullness includes the essential dimension of Buddha-Nature—the Dharmakaya. Without this, no form could exist (because of dependent origination). When this is understood we see that we are both transient and eternal. We are both subject to beginning/ending and we are not. We are both subject to suffering and we are not. We both have no self/intrinsic nature and we do. Both subject and object fuse into a single thing. SELF and self are different yet the same. We and all of nature are the great mystery of life.

So now, if you wish, return to your ordinary way of understanding. Our stroll is completed.

I can’t find myself.

Reaching toward difference.

One of life’s most enduring themes has been to find ourselves. The quest begins early, reaches a peak during adolescence and tails off afterward, largely because of frustration. 

Defining our identities is thus a universal pursuit that rarely culminates in anything real. If it reaches a conclusion, at all, it travels down the road of ego construction and maintenance. More times than not nothing beyond ever occurs and we process what we think of ourselves in terms of how others see us, from moment to endless changing moment. 

One moment a “good” self-image, the next a “bad” one. Our sense of who we are dances on the end of a tether like a boat anchored in a turbulent sea. Rather than finding our true, united nature, the quest is driven to enhance our differences. In the words Asvaghosa: “In the all-conserving mind (âlaya-vijñâna) ignorance obtains; and from the non-enlightenment starts that which sees, that which represents, that which apprehends an objective world, and that which constantly particularises. This is called the ego (manas).” In contemporary terminology, we lust for individuating ourselves at the expense of uniting ourselves.

Scottish poet Robert Burns phrased the dance thusly: “O wad some power the giftie gie us to see oursels as ithers see us!” (Modern English: “Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us.”) But poetic as it may be, that seeing is looking in the wrong direction. The “ourselves” expressed here is an exterior view when the true “us” lies within beneath any perceptible view. What few ever realize is the perceptible dance of the self-image of us is tethered to that immovable anchor of the real unimagined us, yet it remains in our depths, unknown to all, awaiting discovery. 

Consequently, our sense of self remains fixed to the cause of all suffering: ego. The late, great Indian Buddhist philosopher and practitioner (e.g., Shantideva) noted: “All the harm, fear, and suffering in the world are caused by attachment to the self: Why should I hold on to this great demon?” Importantly, he also said, “Without contacting the entity that is imputed, you will not apprehend the absence of that entity”—Bodhicaryavatara. 

Translation: In order to be able to deny something, we first of all need to know what it is that we are denying. And that profound observation points us in the direction of emancipation from the “great demon.” Nothing is more motivating toward a solution than to personally experience the results of egotism. Nobody wishes to be associated with a person who is angry, greedy and ignorant (but believes they are the personification of majesty). And those character traits define egotism.

Not only does the great demon create suffering, but it is also the pathway out of suffering…“Every suffering is a buddha-seed because suffering impels mortals to seek wisdom. But you can only say that suffering gives rise to buddhahood. You can’t say that suffering is buddhahood. Your body and mind are the field. Suffering is the seed, wisdom the sprout, and buddhahood the grain.”―Bodhidharma. 

Suffering is, in essence, the driving force that compels us toward the solution of genuine Self-discovery, where the opposite characteristics of compassion, generosity, and wisdom reside. A thorough and honest examination of which characteristics dominate contemporary life ought to tell us how to solve the misery of the world—Finding our true immaculate selves.

The One for whom we search.

artwork created by Hsiao-Yen Jones

Identity is something the entire human race seeks for their entire life, only to end disappointed in what they find. Traveling to the ends of time and space we hope to find springs of self-knowledge, thinking that by drinking the elixir that bubbles forth, a dawning of unique personhood will quench our thirsty souls and change us into someone of unique self-worth. 

We are, in large part, shaped mostly by matters in childhood that send us on journeys trying to understand or validate those early messages in ways that resemble the game of pick-up sticks; the art of arranging pieces of wood into complete constructions without removing the very stick that brings the construction crashing down into a pile of ash. So we begin once more only to be forced to discard the initial elements and start with nothing but the ever-flowing river of life: fluid and morphing moment by moment into shadows and phantoms.

In our quest, we often allow ourselves to reduce the work by depending on others whom we assume must have done the heavy lifting. So we form shared identities that belong to those who radiate semblances of authenticity and seem to have earned what we long for. Yet after a time, we fall short of our desires, for senses of peace, tranquility, and fulfillment. But finding instead a belt too tight that squeezes out what constitutes our hidden internal truth. Thus we become as birds sitting side by side on telephone wires sharing common habits and shallow skins, never feeling real or satisfied.

Time after time we try and fail to discover the one we are truly so we can claim self-assurance as solid and immovable as the granite shaping the mountains that grow mere inches over the span of eternities. But instead, we often resign and become as dictated by initial configurations that belong to someone but not us. And there we remain precarious and fearful of what we imagine lurks in the depths of unknowing.

The fortunate, only after failures too vast to recount, realize that at the core is a nothingness around which is shaped, without any effort or attempt, the true person we are. There is no true identity that defines with limitations; only one that unites. For to be a fabricated somebody, simply results in isolation from others not like us, and means we will live forever in bondage as fabricated beings we invent to feel at home with others who likewise invent themselves as other beings, just as artificial and hollow as we ourselves have become.

Things are not what they seem.

Baobab Tree 

One of the most challenging spiritual matters to comprehend is the relationship between matter—which is clearly discriminately conditional, governed by the law of discernment, and karma, with a beginning and an ending—and spirit which is unified, whole without a beginning or an end, and not subject to karma. 

How we wonder, are these two dimensions not dual? Obviously, one is conditional, and the other is unconditional. Two very different natures that are somehow joined into an inseparable, single reality of unity.

 
The Gita helps us to understand by grasping the philosophy and language of the time when it was written. From that frame of reference, two words/concepts are essential: Purusha (spirit) and Prakriti (everything else). Prakriti is the field of what can be known objectively, the field of phenomena (perceived through the senses), the world of whatever has “name and form:” that is, not only of matter and energy but also of the mind.

Purusha, on the other hand, permeates and infuses Prakriti. It is everywhere present but unseen. From that perspective, the notion of duality disappears since Prakriti emanates (grows from) Purusha. Think of the relationship between the two as the perception and functioning of the strange giant Baobab Tree from Madagascar. If ever there was an odd part of Prakriti that illustrated the relationship, this tree would be the perfect example. The trunk is clearly not divided yet the branches are, and they grow inseparable from a unified trunk. Obviously, neither could exist alone, both grow out of an unseen subterranean root system, hidden beneath the ground, and the spirit of the tree (sap) flows freely throughout.

The illustrated example is close except for one thing: both are phenomenal versions of Prakriti. To complete the picture (still only approximate), we need to add a dimension of reflection. In the same way that the Lotus reaches upward, originating from beneath the mud of the unconscious, and emerges into the light from the shimmering waters as discriminate form, so too, we can add the streams of graduating clarity. 

While we can’t see into the mud of the unconscious, we know it is still a version of consciousness, and by penetrating into the depths, we can release the spirit until it enters the world of Prakriti. And how exactly would that penetration be accomplished? 

Here again, the Gita guides the way: Samadhi. Two schools of thought exist, sudden and gradual enlightenment. Ordinarily, samadhi can be entered only following a long period of meditation, and after many years of ardent endeavor. But in one verse of The Gita (5:28), a significant word sada, “always” is portrayed. Once this state of deep concentration becomes established, the person lives in spiritual freedom, or moksha, permanently. 

The enlightenment experience is a singularly intense experience which tells one his or her place in the scheme of things. This is more often than not a once and for all experience, which will cause the experiencer never again to doubt his or her relationship with or to the Self, others, the world, and whatever one may believe is beyond the world. This experience is enormously validating or empowering and is unlike any other experience one can have. 

Since non-dual reality cannot be divided into incremental parts, it cannot be grasped little by little as the gradual enlightenment approach implies. The non-dual must be realized all at once (suddenly) as a whole or not at all. As sada is always present, once Purusha is experienced, it can never again come and go, as Prakriti surely does. The right vs. wrong of Prakriti becomes right and wrong of Purusha.

“Things are not what they seem; nor are they otherwise.”

Hindsight is 20/20.

Looking in the rear-view mirror appears to be advantageous to looking ahead. The past tells you from where you’ve come, but it doesn’t necessarily tell you where you’re going. It may, however, enable you to see a vector pointing forward. But what if that backward view says, you’re on the wrong road and heading for an abyss? Robert Frost best conveyed this dilemma in his poem The Road Not Taken.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both,
And be one traveler, long I stood,
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay,
In leaves, no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

Frost’s poetic journey into the unknown could be seen as foolhardy unless that vector was fraught with doubts about your life and where it suggested you were going next. That was certainly true in my case. As I looked back over 40 years, I could see abundant evidence that I was on the wrong path and had come to the inescapable conclusion that something was seriously wrong. But what? At that critical juncture—the dividing of ways forward, I felt without value and was in a state of existential crisis. When every indicator says to continue with fear and tribulation, leaping into the unknown isn’t as foolhardy as it might otherwise seem.

Without a clue, I was a ripe candidate for what I later learned was called the Southern School of Chan (sudden enlightenment)—The way began by Shenhui, a disciple of Zen Master Huineng back in China during the 7th century CE and developed into what is now Rinzai Zen. As I look back, taking the right fork in the road, seems providential, and maybe even coincidental. At that time, I didn’t even know about the roots of Rinzai or how it was different from Soto. It has taken me almost that long to become educated about that leap. All I knew then was what lay behind me was self-destructive, and unless I found a better path forward, my goose was cooked.

As it turned out, my teacher was the blend of both Soto and Rinzai, and his dharma name was Eido (the combination of Eisai/Yōsai Zenji and Dōgen Zenji)—The two Zen masters responsible for fostering Soto and Rinzai Zen in Japan. I can say, without any hesitation, that under his guidance, my life was transformed, and I came to experience my complete worth. 

It took me the first 40 to reach the point of sensing utter worthlessness, an instance to realize transformation, and the next 40 to mature. If there was ever proof of dependent arising, I would be it. 

In the 8th century CE, an Indian Buddhist philosopher by the name of Śhāntideva said that to be able to deny something, we first have to know what it is we’re denying. The logic of that statement is peerless. He went on to say, 

“Without contacting the entity that is imputed, you will not apprehend the absence of the entity.” The value of first knowing vacillating despair made it possible to see the firmness of fulfillment.

During the years following our meeting, Eido Roshi fell into disrepute for sexual misconduct. I can’t condone what he did in that respect, but I will be forever grateful for what he did for me. The founder of the Rinzai Zen (Lin Chi) used the idiom “True Man of no rank” because, within our ineffable, transcendent sphere, there is no conditional right nor wrong. Eido lived, as he taught—on two levels at the same time. The level that erred is the same level we all endure. That level is flawed, but Eido’s “True Man of no rank” was without blemish. And this is true for us all.

It is not up to me or anyone to judge and condemn his actions. The Buddha said, “Do not be the judge of people; do not make assumptions about others. A person is destroyed by holding judgments about others.”  Sage advise we should all take to heart.

Eido Roshi died February 18, 2018, at Shōgen-ji, Minokamo, in Gifu Prefecture, Japan, and will be buried at Dai Bosatsu Zendo (where we met so many years ago, and the place of my transformation) on Tuesday, April 24, 2081. Gassho Eido!

Pearls of Wisdom

Arjuna and Krisha

The Bhagavad Gita is considered, unquestionably, one of Eastern spiritual literature’s most profound masterpieces. According to Mahatma Gandhi, The Bhagavad Gita is a spiritual poem with deep philosophy and divinity. There is a wide range of views on the exact time of writing, authorship (traditionally ascribed to the Sage Vyasa), and historical occurrence. Upon reading, these differences in opinion fade from understanding the human mind and relationship to the divine. 

For those preoccupied with such details, they may explore here and beyond. I leave these matters to the scholars and other “experts.” My interest is how the wisdom expressed in The Gita impacts all humankind's lives, any time, anywhere.

From time to time, I will post excerpts from The Gita, as translated by Eknath Easwaran. In his words, “The Gita’s subject is ‘the war within,’ the struggle for self-mastery that every human being must wage if he or she is to emerge from life victorious, and that ‘The language of battle is often found in the scriptures, for it conveys the strenuous, long, drawn-out campaign we must wage to free ourselves from the tyranny of the ego, the cause of all our suffering and sorrow.’”

The setting of The Gita in a battlefield has been interpreted as an allegory for the ethical and moral struggles of human life.

“In profound meditation, they (e.g., the ancients) found, when consciousness is so acutely focused that it is utterly withdrawn from the body and mind, it enters a kind of singularity (Throughout Eastern spirituality this is known as Samadhi) in which the sense of a separate ego disappears. In this state, the supreme climax of meditation, the seers discovered a core of consciousness beyond time and change. They called it simply Atman, the Self.”

Love and suffering.

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.

Already, not yet

The culmination of every spiritual journey is the realization of completion and unity. Many religions claim we are incomplete and must find the road to a far distant heavenly home. 

Johnny Cash made famous the song In the by and by there’ll be pie in the sky, meaning there will be a reward waiting for us in heaven if we do God’s will here on earth. Because we imagine incompletion we seek completion. Because we misunderstand our source and ourselves, we desire fulfillment even though we are from beginning to the end already full. Our cup runs over with goodness and we remain thirsty for what is already ours.

Acceptance of the already and not yet is a seeming paradox. How can both be true at the same time? The answer as Pierre Teilhard de Chardin pointed out, is, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Our true nature is spiritual, complete and there is nowhere to go. Our mortal nature is phenomenal, in a process, and we search for the already. We are like the man who looks through lenses, searching for the eyeglasses that sit upon his nose.

It was Zen Master Huang Po who expressed the doctrine of One Mind: “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.”

Thus the idea of mind over matter is absurd. The mind is the matter in the exact same way that Emptiness is form (The Heart of Perfect Wisdom Sūtra). Every atom of our material body is nothing other than the perfect integration of the One Mind and looking elsewhere for what is already ours is a fools journey.

The parable of the Prodigal Son is a story that reveals this truth.  The message of the Prodigal is the same as contained in the Song of Zazen written by one of the Zen giants (17th-century Hakuin Ekaku). Here are his words: 

“How near the truth, yet how far we seek. Like one in water crying, ‘I thirst!’ Like the son of a rich man wandering poor on this earth we endlessly circle the six worlds. The cause of our sorrow is ego delusion.”  

What can be seen blinds us and keeps us ignorant of what is unseen. So, on the one hand, we are deceived by the conditional, discriminate nature of what we can perceive and on the other hand, our true nature is unconditionally indiscriminate, ineffable but full. And out of our sense of incompletion, we are consumed by desire, not realizing that we already possess what we seek.

The noble winning poet Rabindranath Tagore captured the journey beautifully when he wrote, “The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.” 

So on this spring day, reflect on the labor of your life. Are you laboring for becoming complete? Or are you laboring to accept your never-ending completion? It makes a difference.

Our overturned world.

Artwork by Jim Sturgess

Along the way of becoming educated about spiritual matters, I was graced with the writings of Patañjali who wrote sometime in India during the era spanning 500 BCE to 3rd century CE. He is credited with being the compiler of the Yoga Sūtras, an important collection of aphorisms on Yoga practice. Patañjali wrote about what he called kleshas (afflictions: causes of suffering) and maintained that there are only five of these. According to him, the five are:

Ignorance of the true nature of reality (avidya): The primal ignorance, which pervades all of creation. This ignorance is experiential, not conceptual, in nature. This is what Nagarjuna later referred to as the flip side of conventional truth (e.g., sublime truth) that could only be experienced, not rationally understood, but essential to awakening and being set free.

Misidentification (asmita): As individuals, we also have what is called an ahamkara or “I-maker” (ego). It is a single thought form, the delusional image of individualized existence.

Attachment (raga): Because the identification with the ego was false, to begin with, and because what is me is relatively small compared to the large surrounding universe (mostly composed of not me) a sort of existential terror and insecurity results.

Anger following loss (dvesha): In experiencing an object that gives us pleasure, we become attached and desire to continue the experience. When the experience becomes lost to us, we feel anguish and emotional distress. We blame the not-me for our predicament and lash out with a spirit of retribution.

Misunderstanding life and death (abhinivesha): Because of ego and attachment, a tremendous, continual, and habitual outflowing of our energy and attention occurs through our senses to the objects of the external world has been created. We imagine these objects as having a time existence governed by a beginning and an ending.

And then Patañjali said a remarkable thing—There is really only a single cause: the first klesha, ignorance of the true nature of reality and from this ignorance flows the other four. Thus by resolving this single klesha we see without spiritual blindness, realize that all before had been like a bad dream and awaken to an unbelievable realm of freedom.

I first began my spiritual journey many years ago when I reached a serious outgrowth of a lifetime of suffering. At first, I started with Hatha Yoga and later combined Hatha with Raja Yoga, also known as Aṣṭānga. Raja, or Aṣṭānga Yoga, is principally concerned with the cultivation of the practitioner’s mind using a succession of steps, such as meditation (dhyāna) and contemplation (samādhi). I was living in New York City at the time and began my practice at the Himalayan Institute of Yoga Science and Philosophy, established by Śrī Swāmī Rāma, with headquarters in Honesdale, Pennsylvania, and a branch in New York.

For three years I continued at the Institute and eventually learned that dhyāna was the Sanskrit name for Zen. I was amazed that for that long I had been practicing Zen without knowing! I then switched over and joined a local Zen group. At that critical juncture, I was disgusted with my life and threw away what had taken 40 years to construct. 

Later I left New York City to live at a Zen monastery located in the Catskill Mountains, upstate New York. Frankly, I was exceedingly naïve and spiritually uneducated, but I was in emotional trouble and consequently put myself in the hands of the abbot of the monastery. After nine months of near-continuous dhyāna, I experienced a radical transformation, which turned my world on its head. 

What I had thought to be true of the world and myself was suddenly blown away and I was left in a state of mind completely unknown before. It was very much like becoming a child at the age of 40, which was both fantastic yet terrifying at the same time. What I knew well by then was how to live within what was essentially unreal (but I didn’t suspect that it was) and I had no idea how to live in this new world that suddenly came upon me. 

It is very difficult to describe this new vision but perhaps the best way is to say that I was the entirety of the universe: there was no essential difference between me and everything else, including all people. Everything was unified!

The few years following that turned out to be magical as one (dare I say) miracle after another took over my life and ever so slowly I began to know how to live in this new world. It took me many years to adequately grasp what had happened but I became consumed with understanding, in order to pass on what had occurred. It was during this extended period that I read about Patañjali and started to know what had happened. I discovered that his vision was true for me.

Having experienced the turnover of my own primal ignorance, all four remaining kleshas fell into place and what had previously been so known, changed forever. Then I realized something most extraordinary: Had it not been for that lifetime of adversity there would have been nothing to motivate me to move to this better place. To make the choice of throwing away my previous life I had to know in my own bones how vacuous it was. And there was another thing: While in a state of ignorance, nobody has any idea they are ignorant or that there is an alternative. Instead, while in a state of ignorance, we all think it is just the way things are. We suffer but have no idea that we don’t need to. All of us are that way.

In his Two Truth Doctrine, Nagarjuna, said we live with two truths: the conventional and the ultimate, which we must be able to distinguish between, and unless we experience the ultimate we will never be free. What we all know as the conventional truth is our ordinary, conditional lives of right vs. wrong. That way leads through suffering to an awareness of the other truth. Until we know there is another way, it is impossible to experience it, unless we first completely give up the conventional. In that case, all we are left with is the ultimate.

In his commentary on the Sutra of Complete Enlightenment, Chan Master Sheng Yen said that nobody having good dreams wants to wake up. Only when we have nightmares are we eager to do so. None of us wants to suffer yet none of us can avoid it, and this desire to not suffer is what brings us all to the place where we say to ourselves, I’m not going to take this anymore. 

The wisdom of this link between suffering and freedom is essential, yet counter-intuitive. The man credited with starting the current practice of Zen (Bodhidharma) pointed out the connection. He said: “Every suffering is a buddha-seed, because suffering impels mortals to seek wisdom. But you can only say that suffering gives rise to buddhahood. You can’t say that suffering is buddhahood. Your body and mind are the field. Suffering is the seed, wisdom the sprout, and buddhahood the grain.”

“People will only change when they have suffered enough.”—Winston Churchill

Where’s your mind?

Where is it?

A few days ago, I started this series of posts with a challenge: to find your mind, and since then, I have led you through a new way of seeing. Tomorrow I’ll conclude this series by sharing the Buddhist perspective of what the mind produces. 

But today, we’ll consider a unique way of understanding your mind. But when this unique way is understood, it explains why we are so oriented toward hostility, violence, and alienation. The ordinary view is that the mind is a private and individual matter somehow associated with what resides between our ears. 

My thoughts are unique to me, and your views are unique to you. From that perspective, difference is the norm. Consequently, opposition is typical, expected, and one ideology stands counter to another. One of us must be right, and that means the “other” must be wrong. But which one is correct? Both of us believe we are right, and neither of us thinks we are wrong, and this model of mind-in-the-head opposition is the commonly accepted view.

The Buddhist view is laid out in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra by the telling of a story, which concerns Ananda (first cousin of The Buddha). Ananda fell under a spell of a prostitute and subsequently is taught by his cousin, The Buddha, about why he fell. The teaching unfolds with The Buddha challenging Ananda to locate his mind. First, Ananda says, like the vast majority of the human race, that his mind is in his head. The Buddha shoots that notion down with an argument that can’t be overturned. Ananda then tries one answer after another, and each time, The Buddha shoots these down as well. In the end, Ananda never answers correctly, and the teaching of the Sutra is that the mind can neither be located nor found since everything perceptible is the not-to-be-found-or-divided mind.

In conjunction with the principle that no individual, uniquely special self exists, this view means that we all live within the commonly shared space of the real mind. This is no different from a quote I shared in a previous post (The road to an imaginary nowhere) spoken by Jesus. In the Gnostic Gospel of Thomas, Jesus is quoted as having said: 

“If those who lead you say unto you: behold, the Kingdom is in heaven, then the birds of the heaven will be before you. If they say unto you: it is in the sea, then the fish will be before you. But the Kingdom is within you, and it is outside of you. When you know yourselves, then shall you be known, and you shall know that you are the sons of the living Father. But if you do not know yourselves, then you are in poverty, and you are poverty.” 

It might be said that we are all virtual beings living in a virtual world, and consequently, it is not possible to indeed be in opposition to one another since we are all one. The opposition we to which cling as right is based on a false perception that we are separated and apart. What we see is a reflection of our mirror mind. It looks real, but we fail to realize that we are in the mirror—all reflections instead of reflected reality. We are like fish swimming through the sea of mind without knowing that there is such a thing as water. We are already in the kingdom. There is nowhere to go except for the sea.

Mirror, mirror on the wall who’s the fairest one of all?

In a mirror, everything is reversed and all that can be seen is a reflection of something. What is right out here is left in there. Reality and an image are reversed and all that can be seen is a reflection of something. We can’t reach into a mirror and pull out anything real, but what we see looks very real. 

What seems incomprehensible is that we have a mirror in us and like any other mirror, everything is a reflection of something real but only discernible as an image.

In our mind’s eye, we see an image of ourselves, and we call that image a “self-image.” It’s a product of our unseen mind. But since this image occurs in our mirror it is reversed and we take it to be real. Our ego is who we imagine our self to be and in our estimation, we are the fairest one of all. But in a mirror what we see as the fairest is reversed. In truth, our ego is our worst enemy. 

Our ego is greedy, vain, vengeful, vindictive, vulnerable, defensive and willing to do anything, however awful to fend off perceived threats. And all the while the real us lies hidden beneath these illusions waiting to be unveiled. 

Our mind is like an iceberg: The visible and tiny tip (ego mind) and what lies at the vast depths of us all is our true, and unseen mind without limits. The real us lies on the other side of that inner mirror and the qualities of the ego are reversed. Whereas our imaginary self is greedy, vain, ignorant, vengeful and possessive, the real us is complete, humble, kind, wise and compassionate, but the real us has no identifying characteristics.

Every means of perception functions internally. There is no such thing as external perception. Perception by every means occurs in our brain and is a reflection, but not the real thing being perceived. In truth, the entire universe exists only as images reflected in our brains. There is no perception of a self, no perception of a being, no perception of a soul and no perception of a person because a perception is only an image, a reflected projection that occurs in our brain. 

We are real and not real at the same time. The images are unreal. Our reality is unseen. The images we see and take to be real are actually just perceptions. The reality upon which these images are based can never be directly accessed, yet we are here. Hermann Hesse, the author of Siddhartha, rightfully stated: 

“There’s no reality except the one contained within us. That’s why so many people live an unreal life. They take images outside them for reality and never allow the world within them to assert itself.” 

We live within the sea of unreality, which we understand as reality and never question this process.