Ornoth

I’ve been burnt out on dhamma books for a number of years, feeling – justifiably – that after a certain point, reading about dhamma has diminishing returns, and what’s truly important is putting what you’ve learned into practice. But circumstances ensured that these five titles made my reading list. Here’s some capsule reviews of my dhamma reading from earlier this year.

Richard Shankman’s “The Experience of Samadhi”

The jhanas — esoteric states of heightened concentration – have perplexed me since my 2007 reading of the Buddha’s Middle Length Discourses. Although they are emphasized in a huge number of Buddhist suttas, there’s lots of disagreement about what they are, how to achieve them in meditation practice, and how important they are. Shankman’s book was recommended to me by Mariposa Sangha teacher Carolyn Kelley. The first half summarizes what the original Pali texts say about jhana, contrasting that with the radically different reformulations that derive from the Visuddhimagga, a commentary written 900 years later.

The latter half of the book contains statements — also frequently at odds with one another – from well-respected modern teachers, both lay and monastic, including Jack Kornfield, Bhante G, and Ajahn Brahm.

My takeaway is that it’s futile to strive to find a “real answer” to those questions about the jhanas, because the disagreements have persisted for centuries. The best thing to do is to concentrate (pun intended) on your own practice, ignoring all the furor over what the jhanas are, whether they actually exist, how important they are, and how to achieve them. From Shankman’s introduction:

“Dharma practice is not a matter of finding the one ‘true and correct’ interpretation of the doctrine and practice that is out there waiting for us to discover, if only we could find it, but instead, it’s the ability to examine ourselves honestly, recognizing our strengths and limitations so that we may apply our efforts in the most fruitful directions.”

Robert Pantano’s “The Art of Living a Meaningless Existence”

I’m a sucker for these kinds of brutally honest titles: this one by the creator of the philosophical “Pursuit of Wonder” YouTube video series. This book is basically an encapsulation of the author’s version of the quest I undertook 25 years ago: to revisit the philosophical and ethical alternatives to religion, as well as my own personal beliefs. Then – given those beliefs – how to find the best way I can to live in accordance with my values.

Pantano pulls from all the major Western superstars, including Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Jung, Emerson, Bukowski, as well as my biggest influences: Sartre, Camus, and Alan Watts. He doesn’t spend much time evaluating Buddhism, but — like many kids these days – gets positively juicy about Seneca and Stoicism.

Ironically, when alphabetized by author, this book sits on my shelf directly adjacent to the “Philosophy For Dummies” book that I kicked off my inquiry with back in 2002 (blogpo)! I found it enjoyable going back over some of the intellectual paths I trod over two decades ago and hearing what someone in a similar situation made of it. From his summary of Ernest Becker’s work:

“What’s worse than living a life knowing that one will die is living a life knowing that one will die without having lived as many moments as one can properly relishing in the fact that they have not yet died.”

CIMC’s “Teachings to Live By”

I received this privately self-published book as a benefit for being a longtime member and supporter of the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center. It is a compilation of reflections that were sent out by email during the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown, authored by several CIMC teachers, including Larry Rosenberg, Narayan Liebenson, the late Ron Denhardt, Madeline Klyne, and longtime dhamma friends Zeenat Potia and Matthew Hepburn.

This book reminded me of so many things about CIMC that I hold precious, even a decade after last setting foot in that building. One of those treasures is the center’s unwavering dedication to ensuring that practice isn’t an esoteric, intellectual exercise, but visibly transforms our mundane, everyday lives.

I think that’s summed up best in the following citation from one of Narayan’s sections, entitled “Begin Again”. I’ve already read this in one of my dhamma talks, and will no doubt continue to share it with other practitioners.

Remember that meditation is not sitting. Sitting is a form and meditation is the love of awareness (whatever posture the body may be in). And sitting is an invaluable form in which to cultivate the love of awareness and the capacity to bring our practice to the entirety of our lives, not just to the cushion.

Larry Rosenberg’s “Three Steps to Awakening”

Cambridge Insight’s eminently practical view of meditation practice derives largely from CIMC’s founder, Larry Rosenberg. I studied with Larry for twelve years, and nowhere is his understanding of the dhamma more compellingly articulated than in this book, plainly subtitled “A Practice for Bringing Mindfulness to Life”. I heartily recommend it to anyone interested in meditation’s value in learning how to live.

Larry has distilled a lifetime of dhamma practice into three steps that anyone can perform. In my own words, those are: finding calm by maintaining awareness of the sensations throughout the body that arise with breathing (shamatha); using awareness of the breath to identify less with habitual discursive thought (vipassana); and transitioning awareness from the breath to the silence that underlies all the happenings in our daily lives (choiceless awareness).

That sounds pretty esoteric, but Larry is always practical, down-to-earth, and immediate.

Don’t put your faith in a “future you” who will evolve over a number of retreats and sittings. Of course you will reap byproducts down the road. But you do not have to wait, because meditation is a never-ending process of learning how to skillfully relate to everything daily life presents. Confirmation and verification occur right here and now!

Actually, this seeming passive activity sets in motion a dynamic energy that does move you in a wonderful direction. But don’t divide your attention with a preoccupation to improve. In our approach, you’re not attaining specific stages of wakefulness, or life goals, but rather taking care of each moment, whether on the cushion or at home or in school. This is why you are encouraged to not separate practice and daily life.

The Buddha is considered a fully awakened human being. He is offering you help to join him. Each moment of awareness is a small moment of Buddha mind. As the wakefulness matures by applying it to every occurrence in life, off and on the cushion, you will see the by-products of the learning that comes from this enhanced awareness. You are learning how to live skillfully in every moment, whether on retreat or at home with your family, at work with colleagues, or with strangers on the bus.

Narayan Liebenson’s “The Magnanimous Heart”

Narayan is a co-founder of Cambridge Insight and Larry’s longtime partner in teaching at CIMC. I also received her new (well, 2018) book as a thank-you gift for my support of the center. Amusingly, it was the first work selected by the new book club at Mariposa Sangha, my new meditation center in Austin.

The book is her very personal response following a period of tremendous loss, grief, and trauma in her life, and she confronts these topics head-on, without denial, distraction, or avoidance. It’s an unvarnished sharing of how an experienced meditator met some of life’s most painful challenges, which may be of value to others going through similar difficulties.

Fortunately, my life has been largely free of trauma, so for me the book was more like an evocative, frank, heart-opening account from a dear friend.

Is there any moment other than now that is more worth being awake in? We would have to answer no to the question, given that now is the only moment in which life can be lived. There is nothing to be gained by looking forward to future events that seem better than this boring moment right now. This boring moment right now is our life, and everything else is just thought. When we make contact with the sparkling nature of right now, the specific content we encounter in this moment matters less. Ultimately, being present for whatever is going on is more important than whatever is going on.

In their recent marketing communications, the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center has published brief interviews with some of their regular practitioners as a kind of “get to know you” feature.

Although I haven’t made an appearance at CIMC in years, I thought it’d be fun to answer some of those questions myself, especially since today marks the 15th anniversary of my first visit to CIMC (or any meditation center).

CIMC meditation hall

CIMC: Tell us about yourself.

I discovered Buddhism around age 40, while seeking a way to live in closer accord with my inner values after a divorce, moving, and changing jobs. The teachings resonated with me, and I found CIMC’s non-sectarian method pleasantly approachable.

I was a CIMC regular and volunteer for eleven years, during which time my practice matured rapidly. In 2015 I moved to Pittsburgh, where I now support and occasionally teach two vipassana sitting groups.

CIMC: How did you learn about CIMC? When did you come to CIMC for the first time? And what program did you attend?

I first checked out a Tuesday night Beginners’ Drop-In sitting in April 2004, and followed up with a two-day Beginners’ Workshop with Maddy Klyne the following month. After that, I started going to all the Wednesday evening sitting & dhamma talks—enthusiastically absorbing everything I could—then joined some standing practice groups; formed a kalyana mitta “spiritual friends” group; and undertook retreats at CIMC, IMS, and the Bhavana Society to begin putting all those teachings into practice.

CIMC: How has CIMC or a teacher transformed or benefitted your life?

More than any single teacher, I benefited from the unbelievable diversity and expertise of the guest teachers CIMC brought in to lead weekly Wednesday night sittings and dhamma talks. In addition to our own esteemed guiding teachers, CIMC provided a rare and precious opportunity to learn from many of the most respected teachers in the world.

I knew almost nothing about Buddhism when I arrived at CIMC. The teachings I received there—combined with my own meditation practice and independent study—have transformed how I relate to every element of my life, thereby addressing my original desire to live in harmony with my values, and gave me the confidence and depth of knowledge to begin advising and teaching others.

CIMC: Are you a member? If yes, why?

Although I left Boston in 2015, I am still a member at CIMC. The urban center has immense capability to bring the Buddhist mindset to a mainstream audience who would never engage with this path of wisdom otherwise. Having received so much benefit from CIMC, maintaining my membership is how I continue to support the center, the teachers, and the mission of offering the dhamma to others.

CIMC: What’s your favorite way of supporting or engaging with the CIMC community?

I always used to stay for tea after the Wednesday evening dhamma talks, having detailed discussions about practice in the dining room with other attendees right up to (and sometimes well beyond) the center’s official 10pm closing time. The conversations were always thought-provoking, and helped me feel like an integral part of the center and supported by a community of engaged, like-minded practitioners.

For more than a decade, CIMC was one of the most important elements of my life, and I continue to benefit from the time I spent there, even though I’m no longer a familiar face at the center.

Beyond that, there isn’t a lot for me to say in observance of today’s 15th anniversary of practice; I covered most of it in my 10th anniversary blogpost.

In the five years since I wrote that post, there have been two major developments in my practice.

The most obvious has been establishing my practice here in Pittsburgh, where I have been fortunate to find two local sitting groups, and was able to sit a retreat with venerable Bhante G. at the Bhavana Society in nearby West Virginia. These have provided regular prompting for my sitting practice, as well as the continued support of like-minded practitioners.

In addition, on several occasions I have led sittings and dhamma talks for these two groups, which has been a major change from how I practiced in Boston. After a decade and a half, I now find my practice transitioning from absorbing and practicing the dhamma to sharing it with others and offering instruction. This has been a major shift, and—as I mentioned above—one I would not have undertaken without the confidence and depth of knowledge I gained during my time at CIMC.

On my recent trip to North Carolina, I was able to sit with two large, thriving groups: the Triangle Insight Meditation Community in Durham and the Insight Meditation Community of Charlotte. Unexpectedly, the leaders of both sittings claim CIMC’s founders as their primary teachers.

That experience prompted me to drop a note to CIMC’s guiding teachers, wherein I shared the following. Speaking about the teachers I met during my trip:

They provided very visible examples of how important CIMC’s teachers have been in spreading vipassana practice throughout the US. It’s a noble legacy that will persist for decades and impact thousands of lives.

This experience was an unexpected reminder of how indebted I am and how much I miss CIMC. Now, as my practice transitions from absorbing the dhamma to sharing it with others, I realize how blessed I was to have spent so many years at CIMC and learned so much from such eminent teachers.

Ten years ago today I took what turned out to be one of the most important steps of my life: I attended a Tuesday night beginners’ drop-in session at the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center.

The story actually begins two years earlier, in 2002. I was in my late thirties, and had achieved great successes only to discover that they weren’t very fulfilling, and experienced immense joys only to learn that they were surprisingly ephemeral.

I remembered how French Existentialist philosophy had given my life a context as a teen; I still agreed with many Existentialist assumptions, but I wondered if I could find a way to lead an ethical and fulfilling life based on those assumptions.

Twenty years after high school, most of my understanding of Existentialism had faded, and I wasn’t even sure that Existentialism was right for me anymore. So I very consciously embarked on a general overview of philosophy and Existentialism in particular.

That was in early 2002, which was also when I began this blog, which has served from the start as a repository for my philosophical meanderings.

About a year into the philosophy project, I came across William Barrett’s “Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy” which contained a passage that described Buddhism as having a similar starting point as Existentialism, but promoting a more compassionate and loving way of being, rather than a jaded and pessimistic one. That sounded like exactly what I was looking for.

Mere days after finishing Barrett, I was in a bookshop and fortuitously stumbled across Alan Watts’ “The Wisdom of Insecurity”, which is an incomparable introduction to Buddhist philosophy for westerners. Where Barrett had planted a seed of curiosity, Watts nurtured it into a thriving line of exploration.

I spent another year reading about Buddhism, before April 27 2004, when I found myself entering a meditation center (CIMC) for the first time in my life. That short Tuesday night drop-in group—led by Madeline Klyne -- was interesting enough to convince me to sign up for her six-hour beginners’ workshop the following month.

From there, I started downloading dharma talks from well-known teachers and attending CIMC’s Wednesday evening sittings and talks. Surprisingly, it all made really good sense. I took the Buddhist refuges and precepts for the first time, sat my first retreats, began hanging out with other like-minded folks, and so on… for ten years now!

It would be easy for me to celebrate this anniversary as a personal accomplishment: I have ten years of meditation practice under my belt, wow! But like any title or medal one receives, the award isn’t what’s important; it’s merely a symbol, pointing to the real actions that were taken and the results that were produced. In my case, the results are to be found in the emotionally fulfilling and ethically-aligned life that I’ve enjoyed in recent years.

I don’t think I can overstate the value of the fundamental changes I have benefited from. I’ve gone from a very selfish, reactive, immature person who was unconscious of the harm he was causing to a more compassionate, thoughtful, fatherly person who is much more aware and in control of his thoughts, speech, and actions.

I am deeply amazed by this transformation. Yes I’m proud of it, but also very grateful for the essential assistance of the people who have guided and encouraged me. I couldn’t possibly be more thankful for my ten-year association with CIMC and the constellation of amazing teachers and fellow practitioners I have met along the path. I will always be in their debt, and this is a good opportunity to acknowledge that.

This spring, my Experienced Practitioners practice group finally closed the book on their interminable preoccupation with metta. Next fall we will take up a new topic which I’m particularly excited about: renunciation!

In our final sitting of the spring “semester”, Narayan gave us a new homework exercise to practice with over the summer break: “What would it mean to me to renounce suffering?” So I’ve been sitting with that question for a few weeks.

“Suffering” is an important but somewhat ambiguous term in Buddhism. The similie of the two arrows, which I’ve mentioned before, is key. If you stub your toe, that’s simple, objective, factual, unavoidable suffering. That’s the first arrow.

The second arrow is all the optional, unnecessary mental proliferation that we add on top of that: “I’m such a klutz! I’m always stubbing my toe. I hate my body. I’m a worthless person and unlovable and everybody hates me and I should just be taken out behind a barn and shot rather than continue to be a burden on the rest of the universe!”

This might surprise some of you, but all that additional “stuff” actually didn’t come from your big toe or from other people or from the rest of the universe; it came from your head, and you piled all that on yourself. The second arrow only ever comes from one place: your head.

Unfortunately, when a Buddhist says “suffering”, it’s usually not clear whether she means only the first arrow, only the second arrow, or both. That’s why, when I was doing my year of karuna (compassion) practice, I specifically differentiated between those basic life experiences that we can’t avoid (the first arrow, which I call “pain”), and the unnecessary mental suffering we manufacture ourselves (the second arrow, which I call “angst”).

Having said all that… My navelgazing with respect to renouncing suffering pivots on understanding what the questioner means by “suffering”: pain, angst, or both? Between these two poles, I see five different ways to respond, but only one real answer.

Let’s begin by working with “suffering” as unavoidable pain, with or without the optional angst.

The first (and by far most popular) way to respond to pain is avoidance. If this is how you renounce suffering, you believe that life would be grand if only you could avoid everything that might be unpleasant. Or at least minimize it.

How’s that project going for you? That’s nothing more than reactively hiding from the unavoidable, just like any other unenlightened, pleasure-seeking slob out there glued to his recliner with a fistful of Doritos and a Bud. I think you’ll find lots of examples who’ll tell you that’s not a particularly effective method of “renouncing suffering”.

The second way to escape suffering is to deny that it even exists, which is a surprisingly popular option, especially among people younger than age 50. “Death isn’t going to happen to me, nor will I ever get sick. I’ll never be in pain, or grow old and frail, and I’ll never owe the government any taxes, either. When I look back on my life, it’s been one long series of easy but emotionally fulfilling victories.” A Buddhist would call this delusion, one of the three poisons, rather than any effective method of renouncing suffering.

Both of these strategies fail because there is no way to get through life without experiencing some form of pain and discomfort and dissatisfaction. A really smart guy once expounded a theory along those lines; he called it the First Noble Truth.

There is, however, one obvious way to avoid pain. Most discomfort (like all pleasure) comes through our sense doors: the familiar five senses plus the mental sense that encompasses thought and emotion. So one could theoretically escape pain by permanently closing all one’s sense doors, so that one never again receives any unpleasant (or pleasant) sensory input. The only catch is that you can only reach that state if you’re clinically dead. That seems like a suboptimal strategy for renouncing suffering.

Okay, so we can’t eliminate all pain, because it’s unavoidable in this lifetime. What if we accept that fact and limit the definition of “suffering” to only refer to the second arrow: that additional angsty proliferation that we cause ourselves? That sounds like something we might actually be able to control. That would be a much more achievable goal, right?

The question hinges entirely on whether you believe that we can truly eliminate all forms of self-loathing, anger, and greed. Sad to say, but so far human history doesn’t provide many practical examples. How many people do you know who never get angry, upset, or down, even under the most unfair or difficult circumstances? Any?

That same smart dude (above) said that the suffering we create for ourselves is the product of just three things: our compulsive desires, our consuming dislikes, and our confusion and delusion about how the world (and particularly our hearts and minds) work. He called that Noble Truth Number Two (this guy was really into making lists).

If you’re like me, getting rid of desire, aversion, and delusion sounds like a gargantuan task. How do you get rid of something that appears just as inherent to life as breathing or digestion? The only obvious alternative is acceptance; learn to live with it. But giving in to our ignorant emotional impulses is totally contrary to the idea of renouncing suffering.

There’s only one option left. We’ve already agreed that we can’t get rid of the pain inherent in living, and our only hope is to eliminate the angst that we make for ourselves in how we respond to that pain.

We can’t do anything about the first arrow, but as for that second arrow… That smart dude had something to say about that. Yeah, it’s his big Third Noble Truth, which states that it is absolutely possible to uproot and remove the causes and manifestations of suffering. That is, after all, the base philosophy that the whole Buddhist project derives from.

So for a Buddhist, there’s no question: of course you can eliminate those self-destructive negative mind states! Your whole life is built around both the premise and the practice of renouncing suffering. There is no more vital task for a Buddhist than abandoning all that unnecessary, self-generated angst.

So when asked “What would it mean to me to renounce suffering?”, my answer is immediate, unambiguous, and obvious. It means having an active practice, as expounded in the Buddha’s Fourth Noble Truth: the eight-step path (another of his lists) that describes how it’s done in detail.

Whatever my teacher intended with this question, for me there’s no need for a lot of intense inquiry about it. As a Buddhist, I have already renounced suffering, and while I have hardly defeated it, I have a pretty good idea what renunciation of suffering looks like.

QED, done, case closed. Next question please.

I find myself in the mood to record a brief rundown of the major events of 2011.

In terms of my Buddhist practice, a few nice things happened. I completed a year of dedicated compassion practice, I became a paying member of CIMC for the first time, I began volunteering to read announcements at Wednesday evening dhamma talks, I continued attending CIMC’s Long-Term Yogis practice group, did another sandwich retreat, and attended our kalyana mitta group’s first weekend retreat. My daily practice thrived, partially due to finding time to sit during my lunch hour at work, and partially thanks to the mild competition fostered by the Insight Timer Android app, which allows one to earn badges and see how often one’s Facebook friends are sitting. Overall, I am comfortable with my meditation practice and happy with the results.

As alluded to, I also went back to work after a 2-year hiatus. Like any job, the new gig has its ebb and flow of both rewards and annoyances, but the influx of cash is certainly welcome. And despite having to overcome frequent outbreaks of stupid amongst my coworkers, I am getting to do the frontend design and development work that I enjoy. Unfortunately, it’s the longest commute I’ve had in a long time, but during the summer that gives me the opportunity to get some weekday bike rides in.

On the cycling front, the miles I gained by commuting didn’t quite offset the fact that working for a living meant I couldn’t spend summer days riding, so this year my mileage dropped from 5,000 to 3,000. But the income gave me the opportunity to do a long-needed complete overhaul of my bike and buy a new mapping GPS cyclo-computer. And I still did all my major events, racking up seven centuries, only one less than I rode in 2010. Notable rides included a rainy Jay Peak in Vermont with my buddy Jay, and a rainy three-state century with Paul and Noah. And I even had a training question published in the online magazine RoadBikeRider.

This year’s Pan-Mass Challenge was very memorable, as well. I began the season by attending my first PMC Heavy Hitter banquet and also the dedication of the PMC Plaza that comprises the entrance to Dana-Farber’s brand-new Yawkey Center for Cancer Care. I shared the ride itself with Jay, who enjoyed his first PMC. And despite riding on a loaner wheel because I discovered cracks in mine at the last minute, I still did my fastest Saturday ride ever. After the ride, I was delighted to find that a photo of me leading a paceline occupied the PMC Home Page for more than three months, and then was used again in a thank-you advertisement that Dana-Farber placed in 105 local newspapers throughout Massachusetts. Being the PMC’s poster boy and attending the dedication of the PMC Plaza both made me immensely proud of the years of work I’ve dedicated to the PMC and the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

Despite all that, I have to say that I was frustrated by this year’s cycling season. This was the first time that I had clearly lost ground against my riding buddies, who admittedly are 20 years younger than I am. I don’t know whether that fall-off was because my competitive spirit has lessened, because work prevented me from training more, because of the natural fall-off due to aging, or whether there might be something more serious going on. All I know is that some of my rides (especially the Climb to the Clouds and the Flattest Century) were really painful, unpleasant slogs this year.

In the same vein, this was the first year where I felt that my health had declined. I found myself fighting frequent intense headaches that often included nausea and vomiting, especially when I traveled (which turned the Flattest Century and Jay’s Labor Day ride around Mt. Wachusett into terrible experiences). I also noticed that I sometimes experience cardiac issues when riding flat-out, where I feel a sharp, intense pain in my chest and my heart rate drops by about 15 bpm for 30 to 60 seconds. These have, of course, been added to the list of things that I need to bring to my PCP, but they’re also the first indications that my body is starting to decline. Which brings me right back around to my spiritual practice!

In other noteworthy events, I observed my tenth anniversary of buying my condo, and remain extremely pleased with that. I got to see the Cars perform live, which was truly a once-in-a-lifetime event. I got around to making ice cream flavored with Pixy Stix candy with SweeTarts bits mixed in, which was fun but not quite the confectionery orgasm that I was hoping for. And I decided to punt on my planned trip to California for the second year in a row; the good news being that I am more committed than ever to making it happen in 2012.

Speaking of which, I’m not making too many plans for 2012, but there are already some themes emerging. I’m going to spend a week on the Riviera Maya (outside Cancun) with Inna. I’m finally doing my first residential meditation retreat at IMS (5 days). I’m once again going to try to make California happen in September. Of course I’ll be doing my 12th Pan-Mass Challenge and probably Outriders, but I also hope to do some new cycling events, such as the Mt. Washington Century, the Eastern Trail Maine Lighthouse Ride, and/or the Buzzards Bay Watershed Ride.

So if things work out, 2012 will be an interesting year, too. With just nine hours until it begins, here’s hoping!

Back in December, one of the teachers at the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center sent me an email, inquiring whether I would be willing to volunteer to periodically read the announcements before their Wednesday evening dhamma talks.

This was ironic and fitting, after something I’d done the month before. During the feedback go-round at the end of the 9-day “Sandwich Retreat”, when I got the mic, I made a joke by reciting the familiar (and grammatically flawed) opening lines of the standard Wednesday night announcements. Since all the teachers had been watching, I suppose it was a manifestation of kamma that they’d soon single me out to “volunteer” to be an announcer when the need came up.

You might ask why I chose to do it, rather than tell them no. Over the past year I’ve really stopped going to the Wednesday night programs, and with my new job a 45-minute train ride from the center, I had a ready excuse.

On the other hand, it’s an easy way for me to give back to a center that has helped me quite significantly. Plus, after 15 years in consulting and 10+ years running DargonZine Summits, facilitating and speaking in front of a group are things I am very comfortable with.

Still, it would give me some interesting material to practice with, from nervousness and perfectionism to vanity and the ego. Plus it would earn me some respect as a leader, both by other practitioners as well as by the teachers. And it would certainly provide food for thought regarding my relationship to myself and the social environment, since I’ve always had a dualistic relationship with receiving attention and praise.

So given that the only material loss I’d face is some “me time”, I think the benefits of doing the announcements are worth pursuing, at least for the time being.

Once I made that decision, it surprised me that the people at the center didn’t schedule a training session for three months, until mid-March. But when they got in touch with me I blocked off a Friday night and left work early to get to Cambridge in time for the orientation session…

… which never happened. The guy who was supposed to train the two of us simply brain-farted and blew us off, not even remembering the meeting until more than an hour later, despite having called the other attendee the day before to ensure she’d show up. This is a person who has also either flaked or simply ignored my previous attempts to volunteer for the center’s tech committee.

I was ripped, but I had the presence of mind to examine the reasons why, rather than simply let my emotions run unchecked. When I tried to map my reaction to the needs, desires, and assumptions underlying it, I came up with several elements.

The two expectations I had of the administrator were competence and consideration. In the former case, I expected him to do something he committed to. In the latter, I expected that he wouldn’t waste my time, since I’d blocked off one of my rare free nights for this training. Of course, I often have to remind myself that I cannot expect other people to have the same zeal for competence and consideration that I do, and this was one of those instances.

However, lest you conclude that my passion for competence is completely positive, I have to admit that not only did my perfectionism cause me to have unmet expectations of someone else, but my high expectations for myself magnified my frustration a whole lot more…

You see, while the training was scheduled for Friday, I was already signed up to do the announcements by myself the following Wednesday. So by blowing off our training, the administrator had triggered my own concern over doing a good job the following week. And I generally don’t take well to anything that comes between me and an audience’s perception of me as a fully competent individual. So underlying my anger was my own anxiety, since his bungling might make me look like a fool a few days later. And that was the real issue.

For the next few days, my mind continually returned to how I was going to respond when I finally saw that administrator, mentally practicing a cutting response to an expected apology. Ironically, our homework for Narayan’s Long-Term Yogis group was exactly that: to observe repeating thoughts and try to let them go. Thanks to that homework, I had the presence of mind to avoid picking those thoughts up and running with them, which was very beneficial.

At the same time, when I did think about it, I realized that it was an opportunity to examine my reaction to being owed an apology by someone. My default reaction to an apology normally is to minimize and dismiss the offense, even though I’d remain angry internally. My usual preference would be to avoid bringing it up at all, to avoid any possible confrontation or unpleasantness. It’s an interesting thing for me to work with, since it’s one of the few situations where I have difficulty being my normally assertive self.

In the end, as I walked into the center for a rescheduled training session on Tuesday (the day before my premiere performance), I decided to throw away all my rehearsed lines and just respond to his apology with whatever response came to me at the moment. That was great, although it still wound up producing my usual self-effacing dismissal of the problem. Oh well!

So running the Wednesday evening talks involves a bit more than just reading the announcements. The announcer is also responsible for audio, which includes the mic for the teacher, as well as hearing-assist devices and their base station. We also record the talks live onto CD, so the recorder must be manned and media capture and levels properly set and monitored. And at the end of the night, one has to set up the room for the following morning’s sit.

So how did my first session go? For the most part, everything went off flawlessly. I only made a couple minor hiccups while getting through the announcements. On one hand, I was a little self-conscious about having to wear my reading glasses in front of the crowd, but on the other hand, it blurred everyone’s faces out when I looked up, so although it looked like I was making proper speaker eye contact, I didn’t have to actually register people’s faces, which made things a bit easier for me!

The biggest challenge I faced was when one of the attendees (a woman I know, actually), laid down in an aisle and closed her eyes while listening to the talk. It wasn’t long before the inevitable happened and she began snoring loud enough to distract the people sitting around her. Since she was (thankfully) right near me, I coughed loudly a couple times to try to keep her from dozing, and a couple times she snorted uncomfortably enough to wake herself. In the end, we were saved by the bell, but next time I’ll be sure to bring my keys, so that I can accidentally “drop” them in such a situation to startle the person into wakefulness!

The night included one final irony… The speaker that night was Winnie Nazarko, and the title of her talk was “Perfectionism”. Kind of appropriate, since perfectionism was the topic of our most recent Kalyana Mitta meeting; it has been the subject of my own recent contemplation of late (something for a future post); and it was the foundation of my desire to do a perfect job on my first night running the Wednesday evening dhamma talks!

So that’s how it went. I’ll probably do 3-4 more Wednesdays between now and September. While I’m pretty comfortable with the idea of running the show on Wednesday nights, I’m still pretty stunned to find myself in the position of being one of the primary public faces of the center. But it’s gratifying that they feel comfortable that I would do a creditable job in that capacity.

This year’s birthday wasn’t the greatest piece of work I’ve ever experienced. Woke up with a sore throat that presaged the cold I’d deal with for the following weeks. Made the usual pilgrimage to Foxwoods (where I lost for the first time in three years) and visit to Purgatory Chasm, which was cold and grey but pleasant enough, then a big grocery run, since I had free time and a rental car. Got myself Thai takeout from Montien, which was nice, but it outta be, at $21 for an app and one entree. Then watched some anime on Hulu. Woo-hoo.

The following morning I was in full-on head cold, and off at 8am for the first day of my annual “Sandwich Retreat” at CIMC. The “sandwich” means 12-hour meditation sessions on both Saturday and Sunday of two consecutive weekends, with 3-hour evening sessions on the five weekdays “sandwiched” in-between.

Sudafed FTW, baby. That’s the only way I got through those nine days of head cold hell. I was a coughing, drooling, snotting, sneezing, gagging, nose-blowing, mouth-breathing ball of unhappy. Highly recommended way to spend a long meditation retreat.

In the middle of the week I somehow managed to convince myself that it’d be a good idea if I biked 20 miles out to the Pan-Mass Challenge office to pick up the sneakers that were this year’s premium for people who reached the $6,300 Heavy Hitter fundraising level. The next day (Thursday) I had such a massive relapse of sinus pressure and headache that I skipped that evening’s retreat session, which was actually okay, since there were no group discussions that night, only sittings.

This was my fourth Sandwich Retreat, but it was the first time I stayed at CIMC the whole time. In previous years, I spent periods of walking meditation roaming the streets near the center, whereas this year I stayed indoors and stuck with the formal walking practice. I also spent this year’s 90-minute lunch breaks napping in CIMC’s lower meditation hall, rather than going out and sitting on the steps of Cambridge City Hall.

In fact, the only time I went outside I just sat on a bench in the yard, captivated by the bizarre moire patterns made by passing cars’ hubcaps, viewed through the gaps in CIMC’s slatted wooden fence.

And unlike prior years, when I’d pick up food from outside, this year I actually stayed and ate the vegetarian meals CIMC provided. Depressingly, all four lunches were some form of vegetarian stew, but they were paired with brown rice and bread, which I was able to fill up on. And please, people: raw green beans aren’t tasty or elegant; for chrissake cook those suckers!

The biggest challenge I had was with my “yogi job”. This year I was again assigned to end of day cleanup. It’s a two-person job, and my good buddy Mark signed up to be my parter. Except on the first day, he didn’t show up for it. And the second day, he left early. Then he didn’t even show up for the second Saturday and Sunday. I was kind of stunned that he’d stiff me like that, but some of it was misunderstandings that were later clarified, and thankfully other yogis stepped up and helped me out.

One of the things that makes the Sandwich Retreat unique is the “homework” we are given: something to practice with throughout our regular weekdays, which we can then share with others during the evening sessions. This year we were asked to notice when we were feeling resistance to life as it is, note what conditions caused it, what emotions and mind states it manifested as, and how it evolved and changed once we noticed it.

What almost no one (including me) realized was that this was the exact same homework as last year’s Sandwich Retreat! Ironically, I think a lot of what I observed during the week this year was nearly the same as things I’d observed last year!

Being unemployed and living alone, I wasn’t interacting with a lot of other people, which limited the number of opportunities I had for resistance to come up. The ones I did notice were subtle and ephemeral, like the briefest irritation when I had to wait for a line of cars to pass before I could walk across the street. Such irritations arose and disappeared so fast that I couldn’t really examine them. In the end, I decided that the source of my irritation was some kind of unmet expectation, followed by an immediate reset of my expectations. “Oh! There’s a line of cars. I guess I have to wait.” As soon as I adjusted my expectations, the resistance passed and I was much more patient with the situations.

Naturally, my cold provided me with an opportunity to practice with resistance. On Monday, when I described how acknowledging my irritation lessened its power over me, Larry commented that stopping those problematic mental proliferations actually leaves more energy for the body to fight off infection (or other maladies). Sadly, that didn’t help me during Thursday’s relapse, when mindfulness of my irritation did absolutely nothing to alleviate my physical symptoms and the misery that came with them.

During our sitting meditation periods, I spent most of my time doing karuna practice: the compassion work that I began last month and plan to continue for a full year, similar to the metta practice I did last year. I feel like it is both more meaningful to me and a more productive practice than metta, so I’m really enjoying it so far.

As if exploring resistance and developing compassion weren’t enough to work with, I spent my two teacher interviews grilling Narayan and Michael about my felt sense of anatta (non-self), free will, and the nature of the observer.

I think a lot of it revolves around whether the act of observing life as it plays out is something undertaken by some independent entity within, or whether it’s just another thought process. Because that determines who is in control.

Basically, if everything (including my feelings, thoughts, and actions) is purely conditioned, then I don’t see myself as having the western idea of free will. And that, in turn, causes the Buddhist concept of “non-self” to make more sense to me. If there’s no free will, there’s no independent actor making choices, and if there’s no independent actor making choices, how can there be such a thing as free will?

That was my basic thought process, and I wanted to run it by our guiding teachers to see if they thought it was (a) a useful line of inquiry, and (b) a reasonable understanding of the Buddhist view of reality. However, as is typical in these situations, their responses left me with many more questions than answers.

I first talked with Narayan, who said it was a meaningful line of inquiry, because it relates directly to Wise View: the first and foundational element of the Noble Eightfold Path. She also agreed that all thoughts and feelings are conditioned, but disagreed with the idea that the observer is just another thought.

She asserted that there is something within us that allows us to influence our actions, to alter the conditions that are the input to our decisionmaking process, but she described it in terms of a process, an action, a “mystery”, and a way of “be-ing”. She even described it as our innate “Buddha nature”, that seed of the unconditioned within us all.

She also didn’t think that “free will” was necessarily the best way of thinking about it, since there’s no way of definitively knowing whether we have free will or whether it’s just an illusion. Thus, the question of the degree to which we are able to make free and conscious choices is similar to the questions the Buddha described as “not useful” in the Cula-Malunkya Sutta.

Narayan acknowledged that there was a seeming contradiction in the idea that all thought, feeling, and actions are conditioned, while man still has the freedom to influence his thought patterns, make decisions, and take independent action. After the interview, I felt that contradiction was something I would have to sit with and examine at length.

I also felt it might be useful to spend some time trying out the idea that everything is conditioned and there is no such thing as free will, just to see how it differs from our default and predominant world view that we are independent actors.

After that, I really wanted to talk to Michael about it, since Narayan seemed to have directly contradicted something I’d heard from him, that the observer really was just another (conditioned) thought process. So a week later, I talked to him.

Rather than answer my question directly, Michael came back with an alternate question. For him, it isn’t the question that’s important, but what is driving the question. Why does the question need to be answered? Does it tell us something about the person asking the question? As a parting shot, Michael suggested that universal questions like this can tell us a lot about the individual’s relationship with the unknown. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it was definitely more food for thought.

So when the time came for the final day’s feedback session, I talked a little bit about the scattered nature of examining three things at once: the karuna/compassion practice I was doing during the sitting periods; the homework, which concerned itself with resistance and aversion; and my teacher interviews, where I grilled them about non-self, the nature of awareness, and my relationship to it. I didn’t even mention our homework from the Long-Term Yogi group, which has to deal with interpersonal connection and Wise Speech. Still, I felt like I made progress on all those fronts.

Despite being sick, I wasn’t as mentally fatigued this year as in previous years, when I was absolutely exhausted. Part of that is attributable to being unemployed, but I also made a conscious effort to be more relaxed in my practice during the sittings, which I’m sure helped. The only day I felt truly wrung out was the final day, which was okay with me.

I want to share a brief summary of the year-long intensive metta practice that I just completed. Metta is the Pali term for “loving-kindness”. If you need more of a refresher than that, you should go back and read the post I made last year when I kicked off my metta practice.

So yes, I did a whole year of metta. What did I get out of it?

One of the things I was looking for when I began was to change my default reaction to people. I described my habitual way of relating to others as obstacles or semi-animate objects to be manipulated, and my usual response of irritation toward them.

I originally approached metta practice with the idea that it would help me cultivate the empathy and kindness that I felt I lacked. While I didn’t experience any big transformative revelations, as the months of practice wore on, did find it easier to let go of my own need for people to be a certain way, which in turn eased my habitual reaction of anger. So I actually have to admit that yes, my outlook and behavior have definitely changed, even though I can’t point at when or how or why it happened.

As I practiced, I realized that in addition to cultivating a base level of loving-kindness toward everyone, I also needed to develop a greater sense of compassion and caring for people whose suffering is immediate and acute. After all, having put time into cultivating basic friendliness toward people, shouldn’t I be able to invoke stronger feelings for those whose lives are overflowing with suffering?

That was a fitting realization, because compassion (Pali “karuna”) is (like metta) another of the “brahmaviharas”, the four sublime virtues that are actively cultivated in Buddhist practice. So having completed a year of metta practice, I am now committing myself to a year of intensive karuna (compassion) practice.

The phrases I plan to use for compassion practice are “I care about your pain,” and “I care about your angst”. I feel those get to the heart of people’s suffering, whether it is physical or mental/emotional. I have not yet decided how to structure it in terms of progressive categories the way one does with metta (e.g. benefactor, friend, neutral, enemy), but I’m sure it’ll evolve of its own accord.

In a recent teacher interview with Michael, he suggested practicing karuna on the street, directing it toward the people one encounters in daily life, not unlike the way some people work with metta. I think that actually is better, because it’s less intellectual and more immediate, and has a lot more potential to influence my reactions and actions in daily life. He also emphasized the importance of making eye contact as an important way to connect with people’s innate humanity.

I’ll no doubt have more to say about the compassion practice in the future, after I’ve been working with it for a while.

But returning to metta practice, this was really my first attempt at a form of meditation that actively encouraged inner dialog, rather than discouraged it. As such, my perception was that meditation sessions felt much shorter and easier than when I was trying to simply quiesce discursive thought. However, it also felt like it wasn’t “real” meditation, because I still cling to the idea that the only “real” way to make progress in meditation is through quiescing the mind’s incessant inner talk.

So my final evaluation of metta practice is kind of contradictory. On one hand, I can’t point at anything specific that it “did” for me, and it didn’t even feel like meditation to me. At the same time, I do think my habitual judgments and irritation with other people have moderated, and it has inspired me to devote a chunk of time to actively cultivating compassion. So in that sense I think it was worth the investment of time. But I’m also looking forward to the karuna practice, because I think it might prove to be a lot more transformative for me.

Time for a grab bag of Buddhisty observations based on some recent readings, dharma talks, and workshops.

At a recent talk, Ajahn Geoff was asked about the Buddhist concept of Right Effort: specifically, how to cultivate the discipline to perform actions you don’t want to do, but which you know will have positive results. To my surprise, he responded by outlining my longstanding belief that you must be guided by how you will feel on your deathbed about the choice you made. I’ve mentioned this guiding view of mine in blog posts from 2005 here and 2003 here.

My belief that the brahmaviharas of metta (lovingkindness) and karuna (compassion) are very similar was confirmed by Narayan at a recent CIMC workshop. The main difference is that compassion is more specifically targeted at suffering, whereas metta is a more general friendliness toward all, irrespective of the conditions of their life.

The phrases Narayan uses for compassion practice are “May I care for your [physical] pain” and “May I care for your [emotional] sorrow”. I feel that “May I” is semantically much weaker than “I do”, and “care for” is weaker and more vague than “care about”. So the phrases that speak to me most compellingly are “I care about your pain” and “I care about your sorrow”.

While on the topic of the compassion workshop, I should mention the following. Although I am currently halfway through my intended year of intensive metta practice, my current intention is to follow that up with a year of intensive karuna practice. That’ll cover the first two brahmaviharas, but I do not plan on devoting the same time and energy to the remaining brahmaviharas of equanimity and sympathetic joy.

When someone expresses dismay with the phrase “It’s not fair!”, I have always taken glee in pointing out that “Life isn’t fair, and you’re setting yourself up to be disappointed if you expect it to be”. I have recently begun to appreciate that although life indeed isn’t fair, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have compassion for those who suffer from life’s injustices, and take action to remedy them.

The two figures on the table behind the teachers’ platform at CIMC are Avalokitesvara, the bodhisattva of compassion (aka Guan Yin, Chenrezig), and Manjusri, the bodhisattva of transcendent wisdom. It seems a bit odd to have them so honored in a Theravadin meditation center, but it does underscore how relaxed CIMC is about borrowing from other Buddhist lineages.

We are often so preoccupied with planning about the future or reminiscing about the past that we aren’t paying any attention to the present moment. We must be present for our minds to process the sensory input we receive in each moment. If we are absent, one might say that we are “Out of our minds”. Are you “out of your mind”?

One of the observations in the Pali Canon is that our egos exhibit certain seemingly contradictory impulses: the desire to exist, and the desire to not exist. These can be seen, of example, in the desire to “leave one’s mark on the world”, or the parental impulse to live solely for one’s offspring’s benefit, losing oneself in something other than one’s own life. The Buddha stated quite clearly that these are not helpful preoccupations. However, many Buddhists also espouse the idea of cosmic unity: the view that we are all one entity, one living expression of universe, rather than many unique and separate individuals. To me, this seems to be just another, more politically correct manifestation of the desire to not exist. Submersion in some anonymous universal being is just as much a manifestation of the ego’s desire to find oblivion as any other human activity.

One of the ways that karma works is by one action setting up the conditions that influence one’s future state. For example, if we choose not to pay back a debt, we have created the conditions that cause others to mistrust us. Thus our bad acts indeed precipitate negative reactions from others, which impinge upon our future lives.

In “Walden”, Thoreau writes about mankind’s advancement of science and contrasting lack of progress in the ethical sphere thus: “Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end.” Technology is a tool that multiplies our capabilities, but it’s up to man to create something meaningful with that enhanced capability, and our philosophies haven’t advanced in any meaningful sense in the past 2000 years.

One way of looking at mindfulness is being mentally and physically present and open to the beauty in each instant of life in its fullness. If there is so much beauty and joy to be experienced in this world (and I believe there is), that raises the question of how to avoid being overwhelmed by it. At any given instant, I am presented with all kinds of sensory input and myriad potential objects of attention; so if I am to appreciate any of it fully, how do I choose what part of that experience to focus my attention on? This difficulty is compounded by the Buddhist affinity for what is called “choiceless awareness”.

One of the reasons western society is so focused on acquisition as a method of seeking happiness is the very affluence we have achieved. Consider the experience of a child going through a mega-warehouse toy store. The child is presented with thousands of wonderful things that create and fortify his sense desire. But even though his parents might give him numerous toys that far exceed what children in most other cultures would have, no parent can buy everything in the store, so the overwhelming majority of that child’s experience is being repeatedly told that they cannot have what they want. This cultivates an incessant feeling of lack, which over time solidifies into a longlasting sense of dissatisfaction, with a particular focus on acquisitiveness as the solution to life’s inherent disappointments. The scenario of a child surrounded by toys—seeking happiness from material objects they cannot have—is played out throughout adulthood as we are enslaved by our compulsive desire for the newest electronic gadgets, a sleek car, a wonderful home with the nicest television and kitchen appliances, and a trophy spouse. But ultimately it is the very profusion of consumer goods available to us that makes us feel deprived, impoverished, and unloved.

Most American adults suffer from some form of self-esteem issues. As a result, our childcare and education systems have changed to place an immense emphasis on cultivating self-esteem in our children. Today’s youth have grown up in an environment where they are not criticized, they are not disciplined, and they never face emotional hurt. However, since they have rarely if ever seen one of their peers suffering and in emotional pain, they have also never learned the skill of compassion. And even if they do see another person hurting, their own lack of trauma means they haven’t developed the ability to empathize with another person. To one who has never been hurt, the sight of another person’s suffering brings up feelings of aversion and disgust and fear rather than compassion; others’ suffering becomes something that divides and separates people rather than unites them in sympathy. By putting so much effort into raising children with a strong sense of self-esteem, we have accidentally raised a generation of youth who are self-absorbed and stunningly lacking in the virtues of empathy and compassion.

I recently finished reading Ajahn Brahm’s book “Mindfulness, Bliss, and Beyond: A Meditator’s Handbook”. I’ve got a lot to say about it.

The book is intended to be an accessible description of the jhanas, the most advanced states of concentration practice that Buddhists cultivate.

The jhanas are also somewhat controversial. Since they involve complete dissociation with the senses, the physical body, and the concept of self, many folks question whether the jhanas are real. The center where I practice goes to some lengths to direct students away from this kind of intense concentration practice, known as samadhi. But at the same time, the jhana states are repeatedly and persistently emphasized as the path to awakening throughout the Buddhist suttas of the Pali canon, which is why I was interested in learning more about them.

One of the most rewarding aspects of the book for me is the run-up; Ajahn Brahm spends seven chapters describing the path of practice that leads to the jhanas in a very progressive, step-by-step way. It’s really the first time I’ve seen meditation described as a linear process, rather than a bunch of diverse but unrelated practices to use at your own discretion. It’s nice to see what steps occur in what sequence along the path of increasing insight and wisdom.

And he hits it all. There’s detailed descriptions of the five hindrances, the sixteen steps of mindfulness of breathing from the Anapanasati Sutta, the four foundations of mindfulness from the Satipatthana Sutta, the feelings tones (vedena), the cycle of dependent origination, and the techniques of walking practice, lovingkindness (metta), and open awareness. He doesn’t even shy away from providing a description of what enlightenment (nibbana) is like once you get there! And all of it is related to specific steps along a documented path of developing one’s practice.

Ajahn Brahm divides that path into seven major steps.

The first step is simply to focus on the present moment, letting go of all thoughts about the past and the future. Step two is silencing the mind, letting go of thinking and the perpetual inner dialog that most people live with. The third step is to narrow one’s attention to the breath, which means giving up the awareness of input from the physical body and the five senses.

The fourth step is simply sustaining that degree of attention on the breath for a long period of time. Gradually, the doer—the person who intervenes and causes action to occur—fades into the background, allowing the knower to come to the forefront. Rather than living in a state of reacting to stimuli or being on the verge of doing something, the practitioner rests in the state of simple awareness. These first four steps are the easiest ones, and what most meditators focus on. And that’s probably as far as most practitioners take their practice.

Step five is where concentration really takes hold, and things start getting a bit farther from our normal experience, as even the awareness of the breath itself disappears.

Step six is the manifestation of the nimitta, a vision usually described as an unstable mental image of light. It’s unstable because meditators usually respond to its manifestation with either fear or excitement, which destroy the stillness of the mind the nimitta occupies. Eventually, one can resist this inclination and manifest a stable vision. Ajahn Brahm describes the nimitta as a reflection of the knower, an image of the mind itself. This is the doorstep of the jhana states.

The jhanas are the final, seventh step. When one enters the jhanas, one is no longer letting go of some thing or any mental object, but of the person doing the thinking: the observer, the knower. The doer is completely gone. That eventually includes the dissolution of the ego and an accompanying loss of control, will, sense input, thought, decisionmaking, and time. The first-person perspective falls away in favor of a broader sense of unity.

Ajahn Brahm gives such central importance to the jhanas that he describes them as the true meaning of the final step in the Buddhist Eightfold Path: right mindfulness. He also cites an example of a man who, while in a jhana state, was so unresponsive that he was rushed to the hospital and evaluated as having no brain activity and no pulse until he came out of the meditation. See what I mean about things getting a bit esoteric?

It’s no coincidence that in each of those steps I describe the meditator as letting go of something. Ajahn Brahm asserts that the whole Buddhist path is one of renunciation, culminating in letting go of everything. That process begins with a simple practice of generosity, then giving up harmful actions and speech through the training precepts; relinquishing thought, the physical body, and the five senses; then finally banishing both the doer and the knower and any sense of a separate, eternal self.

As such, he describes the main barrier to enlightenment as attachment to the body, the five senses, one’s thoughts, and the will to act; in short, the doer and the knower. These are what block access to the jhanas. While it’s easy to believe one is free of those attachments, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Concentration practice—the jhana states—are there to get you close enough to see the ultimate reality, at which point insight practice is what brings the final understanding that there is no eternal self—nor any self at all as we conceive of it—and what the implications of that realization are.

So, as you can see, after humble, mundane beginnings, Ajahn Brahm does indeed get way out there. Yet his is the most down to earth explanation of jhana practice that I’ve come across. That doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though.

Along the way, Ajahn Brahm drops some pretty good bombshells in his prose, too. He asserts that belief in rebirth is an absolute requirement. He believes that our actions are purely the result of the conditions that preceded them, and therefore there is no such thing as free will or choice. He asserts that one of the first experiences one has as a result of jhana practice is the ability to remember past lives. He says that celibacy comes naturally, as one gradually lets go of desire. He goes so far as to say that psychic powers often come with enlightenment. Although at the same time, he points out that it is against the Vinaya, the Buddhist monastic code, to claim any particular level of enlightenment to laypeople (and that it’s also against the rules for monks to run).

On the other hand, he also provides some great suggestions and observations, as well. These include:

• He advises against the common meditation practice of mental noting of what is arising, because it puts one clearly in one’s head and reinforces the knower.
   
• He warns about how easy it is to overestimate one’s level of attainment along the path. Such overconfidence leads to more difficulties down the road, and that focus on achievements reinforces the very ego that one is trying to overcome.
   
• He suggests that one defer all judgment of a meditation until after the meditation period, at which point it is wise to review the session and examine what came up and what one can learn from it.
   
• He stated that restlessness arises primarily because one is not finding enough joy in the present moment. It’s a way of avoiding being present, and his prescription is to find the joy that is happening right now.
   
• Finally, he also suggests that meditators examine their state of mind at the start of a sitting. He indicates that advanced practitioners are perfectly wise in selecting the particular meditation technique that is best suited to address their present experience.

So in the end, I have mixed feelings about the book. The introductory chapters are incredibly useful in terms of revealing the progressive nature of practice, and relating all the individual techniques to one linear path. For that reason alone, I would suggest it to longtime meditators. But while I have great faith in Ajahn Brahm’s ability to represent the jhanic states as described in the Pali canon, I retain a healthy dose of skepticism, and I will continue to be challenged to believe and have confidence in all the aspects of jhana practice that he describes.

And I have one final thought to share. Although it wasn’t brought up by the book, I did experience one revelatory insight around the same time.

Typically, we are taught that an ethical way to live is to look at other people and realize that they are just like you, with the same kind of thoughts, emotions, hardships, and aspirations. That is, they’re not just animate objects you manipulate to obtain your desired outcomes. You are supposed to cultivate compassion and empathy by realizing that everyone else you meet is just as deep and genuine and vulnerable as you are. In short, they’re as “real” as you are.

But a Buddhist might say that’s the exact reverse of the truth. The reality is that you are just as shallow, surfacy, and impersonal as everyone else appears to be. You are just an automaton, responding mechanically or instinctually to the stimuli you encounter, even though you’re convinced you’re “real”. If you look at yourself in this way, I think you’ll be much closer to the Buddhist point of view than if you force yourself to see everyone else as deep and complex.

Interesting thoughts.