Drifting Like Foam - Disintegrating and Reintegrating Aggregates in the Phena Sutta

Form is like a glob of foam;
feeling, a bubble;
perception, a mirage;
fabrications, a banana tree;
consciousness, a magic trick —
this has been taught
by the Kinsman of the Sun.
However you observe them,
appropriately examine them,
they're empty, void
to whoever sees them
appropriately.

Impermanence and Insubstantiality

Poetically evocative in its weaving together of imagery to convey the impermanent, we find in the Pheṇapiṇḍūpama Sutta a sweeping landscape portrait depicting the frequently overlooked realities of lived experience. As the world erupts in chaos upon crisis upon catastrophe, some may seek ways to deny the reality of mortality, the reality of epidemiological, societal, and environmental illness, the reality of impermanence. In some ways, we are wired, numbed, conditioned to ignore these realities in a desperate struggle for self-preservation. The "Kinsman of the Sun," however, suggests an alternative.

Perhaps counter to popular opinion, it's in our best interest to fully realize the insubstantial nature of not only the external world but the very constituents of who we think we are in order to sustain some semblance of sanity.

Poignant and piercing in how succinctly he summarizes the reality of impermanence, here the Buddha compares the aggregates, the psycho-physical heaps of phenomena that comprise a person, to insubstantial aspects of the natural and mental spheres. Given its timely content, relevant as much to today's challenges as those of yesteryear or yester-millenia in the case of its original context, we stew in the Pheṇa Sutta, letting its teachings on impermanence and insubstantiality percolate.

Aggregates

In each line of the verse section, we find reference to one of the aggregates, the clumps, piles, heaps so often mistaken for me and mine. Accompanying each of these aggregates is a carefully chosen simile.

Form is like foam erupting from pressure as a river's current flows downstream.

Feeling is like a bubble at the water's surface that pops shortly after floating up from the depths.

Perception is like a mirage whose shimmering distortions manifest out of sunlight.

Fabrication is like a banana tree whose core consists of insubstantial onion-like layers.

Consciousness is like a magic trick conjured at the hands of another.

A common theme pervades all of them. In every case, they are not what they appear to be. Some element of illusion or deception is present, even if unintended. The aggregates, these mental and material pieces of our lived experience that so often become objects of attachment for us, are unreliable.

Disintegrating and Reintegrating

Notice that in none of these similes are any of these phenomena said to be non-existent. Rather, they're not as they appear to be. Foam disintegrates when the conditions for its arising are absent, but reintegrates when those conditions return. And yet one never steps in the same river twice.

Form, the body and its elements, disintegrates in every moment. While not apparent to us on such an immediate timescale, this becomes especially clear as we age, grow sick, and die. The form aggregate's constituent parts decay, disintegrate, decompose. Those atoms inevitably find their way into the soil, water, or air consumed by other beings, whether plants or animals, and reintegrate in other shapes and configurations. The same applies to each of the other aggregates, although form is most visible in its transformations.


That all goes to say that the process of disintegrating and reintegrating is, for us, inevitable. We drift like foam through this world. Coming to terms with our own impermanent and insubstantial nature may provoke resistance and discomfort, but to see form as foam also offers us the opportunity to release it when the time comes for it to disintegrate. It never was "me" or "mine" to begin with and when it reintegrates elsewhere it will likewise be ownerless.

This in no way absolves me of responsibility in the present, but it dissolves the tendency to cling desperately to foam that cannot be grasped. In dissolving this clinging, we stand a successful chance at resolving existential dread of what lies ahead. To be continued.

On Moving Beyond Myopic Musings - Seeing the Elephant as it is

The Blind Men and the Elephant

Scattered throughout the literature of ancient India, the parable of the blind men and the elephant has been told in variations preserved in Jain, Buddhist, and Hindu sources. It paints an image of the violence and vitriol that may erupt in the clash between different interpretations of reality, each surmised from a limited vantage point. We here examine one version of the story in detail, its early Buddhist depiction based on the Tittha Sutta of the Pāli Canon.



In exploring the parable of the blind men and the elephant, we aim to draw out its implications for our present state of affairs in a world characterized largely by contention and competing views, many of them starkly contrasting. In untangling the perspectives from the story, we hope they may be pieced together to allow for a collaborative understanding of the bigger picture, allowing the elephant to be seen as a whole rather than parts mistaken for something they are not.

Myopic Musings

The Buddhist version of the blind men and the elephant offers a critique of the tendency toward myopic musings, the narrow-minded and short-sighted perspectives we may be prone to entertain, informed by distorted perceptions of the world. Providing some context, the narration begins by setting the scene.

“There were many contemplatives, brahmans, & wanderers of various sects living around Sāvatthī with differing views, differing opinions, differing beliefs, dependent for support on their differing views.”

Here, the participants in the story are described as being in some way attached and identified with competing sets of doctrine, on which they depend for the sake of sustenance or status in society. For them, their prized views have become a crutch, the basis for their sense of self. Any challenge to such views is taken as a direct threat to their identity.



This attachment and identification is a felt reality for many in the modern world as much as in ancient times, lending itself to the emergence of divided factions in politics and religion. Pitting their precious views against each other, each camp advocates its own perspective as ultimate reality while dismissing all others as unworthy even of consideration.

“Only this is true; anything otherwise is worthless.”

In such a declaration, a single truth is pushed to the exclusion of all competing perspectives. We may witness this all around us, especially in light of differing portrayals of the coronavirus pandemic in the media by various sources, each laying sole claim to reality. In obsessing over their myopic musings, they lose sight of the bigger picture.

Missing the Bigger Picture

Not only do these individuals attach to and identify with their theories, they furiously debate over them, inflicting harm upon each other in the process.

“They kept on arguing, quarreling, & disputing, wounding one another with weapons of the mouth, saying, ‘The Dhamma is like this, it’s not like that. The Dhamma’s not like that, it’s like this.’”

The harm that comes from such vehement attachment and identification is evidenced throughout history up to the present day by wars waged and lives taken over doctrines and dogmas. Illustrating the absurdity of clinging to myopic perspectives, the Buddha in the Tittha Sutta compares these sectarians who quarrel over their cherished views to blind men arguing over their limited understanding of an elephant when coming into contact with but one of its various parts.


From their limited vantage points, each insists that the part they perceive (the trunk, the tail, etc.) is all there is, as illustrated by the image opening our reflections here. Not only that, they fail to even recognize the trunk as a trunk, mistaking it for a pole. The same applies to each of the elephant's various other body parts.

“Saying, ‘The elephant is like this, it’s not like that. The elephant’s not like that, it’s like this,’ they struck one another with their fists.”
Each of these men neglect the forest for the trees, over which they fight each another relentlessly, hacking away at the forest itself. In their frenzy, they miss the bigger picture. Much like many today, they are blinded by their narrow-minded, short-sighted insistence on their own perspectives. Their refusal to closely examine others stands in the way of seeing clearly.

Settled Clarity

We are thus reminded of the importance in considering experience collectively. In Jain contexts, here is where the notion of anekāntavāda or "many-sidedness" comes into play. The parts of the elephant function as valuable pieces of the puzzle, but such parts must be accurately discerned with settled clarity rather than mistaken for something they are not.

In a Hindu version of the story, the blind men conclude that each of them must have encountered an entirely different animal, and so they are at least spared of the fundamental delusion of mistaking parts of the elephant for inanimate objects found lying around the house or yard. However, this does not go far enough.

Rather, we are invited to consider the possibility that we perceive different sides of the elephant. If one can understand the elephant's trunk as the elephant's trunk, the elephant's tail as the elephant's tail, and so on, all belonging to the same elephant, then eventually one may piece the parts together and perceive the elephant as a unified whole, as it actually is.


In contemplative contexts, this discerning capacity is chiseled by practices such as meditation to facilitate the mind's settling and clarifying processes. By bringing such settled clarity into our everyday activities, we may develop greater immunity to the forces of attachment and identification, psychological drives that draw us into unwholesome relationships with our unchecked versions of reality, often informed by obstructions to settled clarity in vision. In so doing, we stand to widen our perspective.

Even so, successfully integrating such a widening of perspective into the broader realm of politics in an effort to resolve interpersonal conflict continues to prove itself an immense challenge.

Some "blind men" of our day and age refuse to step back and entertain any perspective other than their own. In those cases, without stirring up more dust to obscure both our own and their vision, we may attempt to calmly and clearly demonstrate to them, to whatever extent is possible in individual exchanges, that a rope is a rope and not the snake for which they mistake it. This may at least begin to shift the directional momentum of perspectives on the whole from a contracting to expanding orientation. To be continued.

Ground Sprouts Vanished - A Buddhist Depiction of the Climate Crisis and Civilization's Collapse

"Due to corruption and unskillful things among us, the earth's nectar vanished, ground-sprouts vanished, bursting pods vanished..."

Aggañña Sutta

Origin of the World

Painting a portrait eerily reminiscent of the current state of our world, the Aggañña Sutta records an early Buddhist origin story. In fact, the Pāli word "aggañña" itself means origin, from "agga" or the Sanskrit agra, first or foremost. Despite this emphasis on origination, the Aggañña Sutta's contents reflect what appears to be a process of decline, with implications for both the climate crisis and civilization's collapse through neglect of basic civil rights and universal civility.

The origin of the world is intimately tied into its mode of undoing. Much like the way in which the cycle of dependent origination begins with ignorance and culminates in suffering, any alteration to its conditions stands to unravel the process. As we discuss below, the Aggañña Sutta identifies greed as a primary cause for the origin of the world, which we interpret as a psychological basis for our present state of affairs. If our present world originates from greed, it will disintegrate via greed as well...

We thus take up the Aggañña Sutta's story on the origin of the world as a topic of inquiry, especially given the increasingly tumultuous state of the environment, economy, and epidemiology amidst various forms of suffering deriving from racial injustice and inter-generational trauma extending back through time immemorial.

Feasting on Nectar

The Aggañña Sutta begins with an idyllic image of beings unconstrained by coarse bodies, floating through the ether, rapturous and radiant. As if breathing, the cosmos contracts and expands as these beings flicker out and back into radiance, all the while feeding on rapture. During a stretch of cosmic expansion, sweet nectar forms on earth, piquing the curiosity of these beings. It solidifies on the earth's surface, tempting them down from the ether.

What happens next in some ways closely resembles the story from the Garden of Eden. Perhaps it functions as an archetypal literary device, as its basic themes traverse traditions.

Abandoning their rapture, one of these beings recklessly dips their finger into the nectar. Upon tasting its delectable sweetness, craving is born in them. From this moment forward, ruled by desire as if addicted, these previously radiant beings begin greedily feasting on nectar.

Ground Sprouts Vanished

As they feast, the nectar is said to break into chunks, becoming the celestial bodies, including sun, moon, and stars. Despite their beauty, these once glorious beings deplete this cherished resource from the earth.

In the absence of nectar, ground-sprouts appear, like mushrooms blooming from the earth. No longer sustained by rapture, no longer sustained by nectar, the beings whose bodies have by now become coarse and heavy feed off the ground-sprouts. Lo and behold, they deplete the ground-sprouts through their greed. In the absence of ground-sprouts, bursting pods appear, like fruiting trees. Those are soon depleted as well. In the absence of bursting pods, ripe untilled rice appears, for a while regenerating with each passing of the sun. What has by now become a self-perpetuating pattern, driven by greed, continues.

As these beings dig themselves deeper into greed, they think to themselves, "We'd better divide up the rice and set boundaries," hoping to preserve their resources. The plan backfires, given that "While guarding their own share, they took another's share without it being given and ate it," leading to widespread jealousy and theft.

Climate Crisis and Civilization's Collapse

Greed ultimately tips the dominoes in motion for a series of other unwholesome outcomes. "From that day on, stealing was found, and blaming and lying and the taking up of rods." In this chain reaction of events, an initial moment of greed eventually culminates in violence, characterizing the present climate crisis and civilization's collapse. When beings greedily covet resources and deprive others, then further harmful activities are sure to follow.

Greed → Depletion of Resources → Scarcity → Stealing → Blaming and Lying → Violence
What, then, can be done to reverse the cycle? If we treat this web of causality similar to that of dependent origination, there are multiple points at which the process can be re-routed. The Aggañña Sutta suggests a basic foundation in morality - refraining from killing, stealing, and so forth. Interestingly, in the Buddha's teaching that comes immediately before the Aggañña Sutta in the Pāli Canon, the Buddha goes a step further, crossing into the realm of politics. He advises rulers to distribute resources to the masses in order to ensure their basic needs are met. This, says the Buddha, will prevent the emergence of scarcity, poverty, stealing, and other such events.


So where does that leave us? We stand at one of the most complex crossroads, a momentous junction in the earth's history, on multiple intersecting levels. The complex web of causality is coalescing around events with huge potential to shift the state of affairs drastically in the years to come. What role do we play?

Let us collectively reflect: In our present situation, what steps can each of us take to overcome greed, to prevent the depletion of resources, to avoid scarcity and relieve others from poverty? Social justice requires our collective efforts.

What responsibility will you undertake, what responsibility will I undertake, in order to help co-create a world in which all may experience the greatest benefit and the least harm? Each thread in the web, no matter how small, stands to make a difference. To be continued.

Vimalakirti's Sick Room - A Bodhisattva's Contemplations on Illness, Compassion, and Wisdom

Vimalakīrti's Sick Room

"Because all living beings are subject to illness, I am ill as well.
When all living beings are no longer ill, my illness will come to an end."

Vimalakīrti



We turn here to the Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra, an early Mahāyāna Buddhist text with origins traceable to approximately 100 CE, shortly after the life of Jesus Christ. Its content orbits around the layman Vimalakīrti while on his deathbed, confined to a tiny sick room yet visited by countless beings who somehow manage to all squeeze inside, listening to him teach on subjects ranging from illusions to non-dualism and beyond. While obviously not following the guidelines of social distancing, the story of Vimalakīrti's sick room is still especially relevant to the present pandemic.

Illness and Compassion

The Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra takes place primarily in a single space, a sick room occupied by the householder Vimalakīrti, who is described as a wealthy devotee. Vimalakīrti is depicted as entirely bed-bound, afflicted with illness, practically on the verge of death. While initially the exact nature of his illness remains unclear, Vimalakīrti later explains it through analogy to the existential unease afflicting sentient beings.

Because all living beings are subject to illness, I am ill as well. When all living beings are no longer ill, my illness will come to an end. Why? A Bodhisattva, because of (his vow to save) living beings, enters the realm of birth and death which is subject to illness; if they are all cured, the Bodhisattva will no longer be ill.

So long as we are subject to birth and death, we are subject to illness. A bodhisattva, an awakened being or a being in the process of awakening who willingly remains in the rounds of cyclic existence in order to liberate other beings, is only ill insofar as other beings remain ill. She vows to remain by their side, through sickness and health, and to assist them in awakening from the dream until all are free. Thus, Vimalakīrti remains bound to his sick room yet continues to teach living beings, millions of whom come to his bedside.



Illness is no impediment to the bodhisattva's continued service. In fact, in dialogue, a close, even causal association is drawn between compassion and illness.

Mañjuśrī asked: “What is the cause of a Bodhisattva’s illness?”
Vimalakīrti replied: “A Bodhisattva’s illness comes from (his) great compassion.”

Given this association, the bodhisattva path may seem undesirable for one's own good. If a bodhisattva's compassion leads to illness, then isn't that technically a form of self-harm? Indeed, we find in the modern era that compassion fatigue and burn-out increasingly afflict individuals in service-oriented professions, including healthcare, especially in light of the present pandemic. Out of compassion, they may put themselves in harm's way, risking their health and lives in order to care for the sick and ailing, occasionally succumbing to infection and dying as a result. While the bodhisattva does not flee from sickness and death, she must also exercise wise discernment while serving beings rather than recklessly throw herself into danger. Hence the appearance of Mañjuśrī, the bodhisattva of wisdom, in dialogue with Vimalakīrti.

Wisdom and Compassion

An essential coupling in much of Buddhism is that of wisdom and compassion. When wisdom is lacking, compassion is easily depleted as a result of its haphazard deployment. One may even lose life and limb in the process. When compassion is lacking, wisdom remains stale and lifeless. Occasionally understood by Buddhist practitioners as the two wings of a bird, wisdom and compassion are complementary qualities to be cultivated, especially on the bodhisattva path.

The choice to enter into the realm of sickness out of compassion must be tempered with wisdom in order to succeed in freeing beings. Compassion without wisdom would only perpetuate the cycle of illness, whereby both patient and doctor succumb to infection and die. Thus, the wisdom teachings of emptiness, as well as discernment in conduct, are invoked throughout the Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra as a means of striking an appropriate balance. Although at a literal level, it may not seem that packing millions of beings into a tiny sick room is a medically wise or even compassionate course of action, Vimalakīrti clarifies that the illness he speaks of is metaphorical, a spiritual illness, which may be cured through contemplative practice. The beings in attendance manifest with ease, free of disease, in an entirely contemplative capacity.

While we pause here for the time being, we conclude with a brief reflection on the meaning and implications of bodhicitta, literally the mind of awakening. Such a mind is imbued with both wisdom and compassion, serving as the foundation for the bodhisattva's vows in service of all beings. As long as beings learn from the suffering that characterizes the present pandemic rather than attempting to mask its visceral reality, the seeds of bodhicitta may germinate for the freedom of all. For Vimalakīrti's confrontation with illness, bodhicitta informed by both wisdom and compassion was key.

Regenerative Remedies of the Lotus Sutra - Diverse Herbs Receive the Same Rain

Suppose in the great manifold cosmos there are mountains, rivers, valleys, and plains where many kinds of grasses, trees, shrubs, and herbs of different names and colors grow.

Dense clouds thoroughly cover this great manifold cosmos and rain falls at the same time everywhere, moistening the small, medium, and large roots, stems, branches, and leaves of all the grasses, trees, shrubs, and herbs.

Regenerative Remedies

An influential, core scripture of Mahāyāna Buddhism, the Lotus Sūtra is perhaps best known for its use of parables. It is also among the strata of Buddhist texts responsible for introducing the doctrine of the "single vehicle" (ekayāna, 一乘) describing the sole path to liberation upon which all beings ride to awakening. This single vehicle, depicted through diverse contemplative metaphors, comprises an all-inclusive path of regenerative remedies for social and ecological disease.

While not always immediately evident in the Lotus Sūtra due to its frequent parables and analogies, the path to awakening is intended to be as inclusive as possible. As such, the parables of the Lotus Sūtra, including the chapter on "grasses, trees, shrubs, and herbs of different names and colors," draw out, through analogy, the diversity of beings who are included on the single vehicle as it winds its course. During times of divisive rhetoric, growing separation due to panic, pandemic, and pandemonium, and, sadly, mistrust of that which is deemed "other," such teachings of inclusivity are especially pertinent.

We therefore examine the implications of the Lotus Sūtra and its discussion of diverse herbs for our present circumstances, finding a place for unity in plurality in forging ecologically and socially regenerative remedies for our present ills.

Diverse Herbs

An image by no means exclusive to Buddhism, we find in the parable of the herbs an elaborate plant-based illustration of society and ecology at large. Though only a handful of pages in length, the parable describes in vivid detail the social and ecological plurality that characterizes a flourishing global community, which given our present circumstances, is placed under dire threat.

As a collective human organism embedded in the plurality that is our ecosystem, we must adapt and evolve, especially given rapidly accelerating societal and ecological disruption. Due to long-coming, on-going environmental degradation and the recent outbreak of the novel coronavirus, we presently inhabit what may appear to be sheer chaos. Offering a contemplative metaphor for the broad means by which our climate crisis and the coronavirus pandemic may be resolved, however, the Lotus Sūtra situates us among a world of diverse herbs. Especially striking are the chapter's verses:

Everywhere, equal, and immeasurable
The rain pours down and moistens the earth.
Grasses, herbs, large and small trees,
All kinds of crops, seedlings, sugarcane, and grapes
Growing in the depths of the mountains,
In rivers and in precipitous valleys,
Are all watered and completely nourished by the rain.
The dry earth is moistened everywhere
And the herbs and trees grow up thickly.
Out of this cloud the same rain
Waters these grasses, trees, and shrubs
Each according to their capacities.
All the trees, small, medium, or large
Are able to grow in accordance with their capacities.
The luster and colors of the roots, stems,
Branches, leaves, and flowers
Are all freshened by the same rain.
Each of these, although receiving the same moisture,
Reaches a greater or lesser size
In accordance with their different
Dispositions, characteristics, and natures.

Each being, whether plant or animal, is metaphorically one of these crops. Each must be handled according to their growing conditions. Indeed, in addition to its multifaceted ecological and social parables, the Lotus Sūtra also consistently interweaves the theme of "skillful means," from the Sanskrit upāya, rendered 方便 in Chinese. Such skillful means are an essential pedagogical tool, an adaptable teaching device, intended to wisely package and compassionately deliver much-needed lessons in a context-appropriate manner, suited to the audience and setting.

In order to effectively apply skillful means, one must have cultivated a refined contemplative discernment. The same teaching, packaged and delivered in the same way, will not be equally effective for all beings. Given their unique conditions, the amount of rain and sun each requires in order to flourish must be adapted accordingly. Multiple routes to regeneration exist. Rather than a "one size fits all" vehicle, there exist countlessly diverse iterations and adaptations, varied grasses, trees, shrubs, herbs — all included on-board the single vehicle — quite viscerally, a form of unity in plurality.

The Same Rain

Perhaps most significantly, the Lotus Sūtra invokes rain as the necessary ingredient — a panacea — for the flourishing of all herbs.

Such rain falls equally on all. Even so, while all receive the same rain, the diversity of beings receive it in different quantities, by different means, and grow to different sizes. We may perhaps conceive of rain as medicine, a remedy for the ills that afflict us, leaving us parched and brittle like dried plants. Medicinally, rain restores our vitality. This, then, begs the question: What in our present situation offers us medicinal rain?



Our present circumstances offer an invaluable training ground for regenerative efforts and ongoing lifestyle adaptations in preparation for forthcoming existential shocks, which will inevitably continue in the years to come. These regenerative remedies, in their various forms — including contemplative varities of inner and outer cultivation, both of psychosocial mindscapes and bioregional landscapes, both of which are detailed in the Lotus Sūtra — serve as sources of rain and relief, crafting the conditions for a sustainable future. For such a future to even be possible, we must undergo a global, societal, ecological paradigm shift in every act of body, speech, and mind in the days, weeks, months, and years to come, which the Lotus Sūtra and other classics anticipated well in advance of our present crisis, describing the means to do so at length.

Although brief, we hope these reflections, inspired by the Lotus Sūtra — whose name itself conveys the potential for infinite beauty to emerge from the most putrid and muddy of conditions — will contribute to ongoing efforts at seeding the solutions through a plurality of regenerative revolutions.

To be continued.

Mountains Closing In - Contemplative Remedies for Existential Threats

Existential Threats

Given the severity of public health concerns, ongoing environmental crisis, the possibility of economic collapse, and various other seemingly insurmountable challenges weighing upon society in the present age, it may currently seem as though we have mountains closing in on us from every angle.

Such mountains represent the existential threats looming overhead. Their rocky, towering, formidable presence casts shadows over society, blanketing civilization in darkness and despair. Not only are these mountains standing threateningly over us, they are moving in rapidly. Life as we know it will come to an end, whether sooner or later. The quickness with which the mountains close in only seems to be accelerating in light of worsening conditions across the globe.

This sort of image features prominently in a discourse attributed to the Buddha known as the Pabbatūpama Sutta, the Simile of the Mountains, case 3.25 of the Saṃyutta Nikāya in the Pāli Canon. Although some 2,500+ years old, it speaks equally to us now as it did to contemplatives then. We thus take up this discourse as a classic encounter with the urgent need for liberating practice in the face of existential mountains closing in from all directions.

Mountains Closing In

Contextually, the Simile of the Mountains is a teaching imparted by the Buddha to a prominent ruler, King Pasenadi of Kosala. An important lay figure who acted as a patron of Buddhist monasteries during the early period, King Pasenadi was nonetheless ruler of a mighty kingdom known for its bustling activity. Kept constantly on his toes, the king frequently sought guidance from the Buddha for how to rule in the secular sphere as well as how to live a spiritual life.

Setting the stage for their conversation, we are informed that the king visits the Buddha after having busied himself with the duties of kings "who are infatuated with authority, and obsessed with greed for sensual pleasures."

In the course of their conversation, upon hearing King Pasenadi speak of his duties and activities as ruler, the Buddha proposes a hypothetical situation to the king. In this situation, the king receives news from a messenger claiming, "I saw a huge mountain that reached the clouds. And it was coming this way, crushing all creatures." He hears this not from one messenger, not from two, but from multiple sources reporting on a rogue mountain closing in from every direction, an set of avalanches advancing upon the kingdom from all sides.

With this image in mind, the king is asked how he would respond to such an emergency.

“Should such a dire threat arise—a terrible loss of human life, when human birth is so rare—what would you do?”

“Sir, what could I do but practice the teachings, practice morality, doing skillful and good actions?”

“I tell you, great king, I announce to you: old age and death are advancing upon you. Since old age and death are advancing upon you, what would you do?”

“Sir, what can I do but practice the teachings, practice morality, doing skillful and good actions?”

Faced with such questions, the king responds without hesitation that the best he could do under such conditions would be to practice diligently. His response is not to funnel resources to fortify the city, nor to evacuate the masses, nor to response through sheer force of military troops, as these would do no good in the face of such existential onslaught. With mountains closing in, with old age and death closing in, the only way to leap over them is by putting what one has learned into practice, existentially.

This kind of response flies in the face of emergency responses we may typically perceive as most practical and effective.

Certainly, if something can be done to prevent the mountains from closing in, then by all means, preventative measures should be taken. In the face of the climate crisis, the elimination of non-biodegradable waste, the promotion of restorative and regenerative efforts, and other such responses are worthy undertakings that must be pursued, lest the situation worsen irrevocably. In the face of violence and war, we should directly address the root of conflict rather than merely applying bandages over a festering wound.

With the mountains of old age and death closing in, an existential onslaught that cannot be prevented, contemplative practice may be an immediately relevant and viable remedy.

Contemplative Remedies

Recognizing that there are mountains closing in upon us, confronting the visceral reality of existential threat, instills in us an urgency to practice. We need not wait until the last moment to "practice the teachings, practice morality, doing skillful and good actions," as the king describes.

The sooner we undertake such practices (whether meditation or abstention from activities that harm ourselves and others, broadly understood) the better chances we face. A significant and central aspect of contemplative practice entails cultivating this awareness of the severity of our condition, not as a mere after-thought, but so it remains in the foreground, informing our every move. That said, there is a certain balance that must be struck so that the salience of this existential awareness leads not to paralysis, but moves us, motivates us to practice.

Indeed, near the conclusion of the discourse, a set of verses drive the message home for us:

Suppose there were vast mountains
of solid rock touching the sky
drawing in from all sides
and crushing the four quarters.

So too old age and death
advance upon all living creatures—
aristocrats, brahmins, merchants,
workers, outcastes, and scavengers.
They spare nothing.
They crush all beneath them.

Given the unrelenting, undiscriminating nature of old age and death, all are equally susceptible to their avalanche-like advance, kings and commoners alike. Rather than cling to superficial demarcations that set us apart, perhaps our efforts would be better spent if we banded together in addressing the existential threats that face us all.

Contemplative remedies work well at the individual level in reducing the stress associated with existential threat, often by contemplating the impermanence of conditions and meeting such unstable conditions with a stable mind, but what can be done at the collective contemplative scale?

Moreover, what can be done to prevent mountains from closing in upon us in the first place? While the mountains of aging and death will inevitably affect us all, contemplative practice will significantly transform how we respond to them, tending to their onslaught with wisdom and equanimity rather than ignorance and panic.

Climate change and spread of disease, on the other hand, can be mitigated. Bioregional regeneration and whole-systems permaculture are deeply promising solutions deserving of further exploration. As are contemplative methods such as mindfulness, not only in our everyday activities to prevent the spread of disease and in making informed choices in the realm of sustainability, but also in a much broader recognition of the occasionally invisible threads of ecological and epidemiological interconnectedness, an awareness that will enable us to co-evolve with ecology and remedy the challenges of epidemiology. Such awareness is the foundation for sustainable behavioral change that may spare lives.

Opportunities for practice abound in every waking moment today. Let not a moment go to waste. To be continued.



Source: Bhikkhu Sujato. Pabbatūpama Sutta: The Simile of the Mountain (SN 3.25), SuttaCentral, 2018. Dedicated to the public domain via Creative Commons Zero (CC0).

Sifting the Mind's Soil - Kasi-Bharadvaja's Inquiry to the Buddha

Farming the Fields

Farming the fields of the mind in many ways aptly captures the intricacies of contemplative practice. Indeed, sages have long cultivated the fields of awareness, employing imagery from their former careers as farmers in order to best convey the ecological qualities of meditation, which entails tending the mind's fields with the utmost care and concern. Thus, through skillful use of symbolism, contemplative poetry often evokes the experience of farming the fields of the mind.

The Kasibhāradvāja Sutta from the Sutta Nipāta of the Pāli Canon depicts a particularly vivid instance of cross-fertilization between horticulture, ecology, and permaculture on one hand and contemplative practice on the other.

Here, we examine in detail the Buddha's verses to Kasi Bhāradvāja, illustrating the connection between mental and environmental cultivation in what unfolds as a succinct poem richly permeated with ecological analogies on farming the fields of the mind.

Plow and Sow

The Kasibhāradvāja Sutta recounts the Buddha's encounter with a farmer by the name of Bhāradvāja, a prolific plowman (kasi) who tends a vast plot of land, laboring over the field, reaping a bountiful harvest that he then distributes.

Upon seeing the Buddha begging for alms, however, Bhāradvāja seems taken aback. Not knowing whether this seeming newcomer is worthy of offerings, he states, "I, contemplative, plow & sow. Having plowed & sown, I eat. You, too, contemplative, should plow & sow. Having plowed & sown, you (will) eat." One who has not worked, who has not pulled one's own weight, should not partake of the fruit belonging to others, or so he implies.



The Buddha replies that he indeed plows and sows, not unlike his fellow plowman Bhāradvāja. Confused, Bhāradvāja asks where the Buddha keeps his yoke and plow. In response to the plowman's suspicion, the Buddha describes his version of "plowing" in verse.

Conviction is my seed,
austerity   my rain,
        discernment my yoke & plow,
conscience   my pole,
mind      my yoke-tie,
     mindfulness my plowshare & goad.
Guarded in body,
guarded in speech,
restrained in terms of belly & food,
     I make truth a weeding-hook,
     and composure my unyoking.
Persistence, my beast of burden,
bearing me toward rest from the yoke,
takes me, without turning back,
     to where, having gone,
     one doesn't grieve.
That's how my plowing is plowed.
     It has
     as its fruit
     the deathless.
Having plowed this plowing
     one is unyoked
from all suffering
     & stress.

We find here an elaborate analogy for contemplative practice expressed in horticultural terms. Cultivation is, after all, a word of varied meanings, ranging from mental to environmental, introspective to ecological. This is exactly the sort of contrast that the Buddha aims to collapse through these verses.



In other words, the inner work one undertakes via contemplative practice is no less valuable, no less arduous, no less intensive than that which is performed in the field. While the fruits of one's labor differ significantly, one psychological and the other physical forms of nutriment, they are inextricably intertwined.

To plow and sow thus takes on an additional range of simultaneously existential and ecological meanings in the context of the contemplative path. To illuminate these intertwined aspects of cultivation, we offer a break-down of the symbolism invoked by the Buddha in these verses.

Sifting the Soil

At the outset of the verses, conviction is likened to a seed, the initial and arguably most essential component of one's cultivation. In the field of awareness, the seed of conviction (Pāli: saddhā), variously understood in terms of faith, trust, confidence, is the basis for the rest of the crop, as in its absence, nothing will become of the field. Conviction is thus the seed from which all else grows.

Austerity, likewise, plays a central role in a similar manner as rain. Interestingly, this austerity is from the Pāli word tapa, related to the Sanskrit term tapas, referring to intensive practices and spiritual exercises, conveyed by the term askēsis in Greek, which carry the connotation of heat. Rather than fire, however, this austerity is likened to rain, providing the nourishment required by seeds in order to germinate.



Discernment is then likened to a yoke and plow, providing the means to till the field. Such discernment (Pāli: paññā) is wise and penetrating, capable of sifting the soil in preparation for planting. Once the ground of awareness has been turned over with discernment, ensuring no weeds or rocks are present to obstruct growth, then the crop may take root in a healthy field.

Meanwhile, conscience (hirī) is depicted as a pole, mind (mano) as yoke-tie, and mindfulness (sati) as plowshare and goad, each serving as tools presumably directing the "two oxen" referenced in other contexts, namely samatha and vipassanā, while these complementary sides of meditation further prepare the field.

Unyoking

The next verses tell us that one who is well-guarded in body and speech, one who is restrained in eating, makes truth (sacca) a weeding-hook and composure (soracca) their unyoking. Through keeping a watchful eye over one's impulses and regulating their otherwise thoughtless enaction, one cultivates truth and composure, a keen sense of what is real and a gentle sense of tact on the contemplative path.

At this stage, persistence is compared to a beast of burden, enabling forward progress "toward rest from the yoke...to where, having gone, one doesn't grieve," according to the verses. Such persistence is from the term vīriya, energetic application, etymologically related to vigor. This vigor is what drives one toward the harvest one intends, complete and utter liberation from all bondage.

Ultimately, the fruit of this harvest is "the deathless," from the term amata, which also conveys the meaning "ambrosia" in some contexts. Such a state is free of all suffering, the supreme source of safety and security, liberated from the cycle of further becoming. As the verses aptly conclude, "Having plowed this plowing, one is unyoked from all suffering & stress," completely unbound, free.

Planting the Seeds

As can be discerned from these contemplative verses, the parallels between mental ecology, the whole-systems permaculture of the mind, and environmental ecology run deep. We hope these reflections contribute to planting the seeds for regenerative practices, both mental and environmental, seamlessly amalgamating the two.

To be continued.



Source:

Thanissaro Bhikkhu (Trans.), Kasi Bharadvaja Sutta: To the Plowing Bharadvaja, Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 2013.

Plowing the Mind's Field - Milarepa's Reflections on Contemplative Horticulture

Milarepa's Reflections

One of Tibet's most honored poet-sages, Milarepa is known for his long periods of meditation in mountain caves, spurring a depth of realization with regard to the human mind. His life spanned the eleventh and early twelfth centuries, at the peak of Buddhism's re-introduction to Tibet, a period known in some circles as the Tibetan Renaissance.

The stories that surround Milarepa's contemplative career are preserved in The Life of Milarepa, a biography written by Tsangnyön Heruka in the fifteenth century of the common era, as well as The Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa by the same author.


Criminal turned convert, Milarepa underwent a significant shift in perspective during his life. Although born into a wealthy household, his family lost their means to other relatives, leaving them in a state of desperation. Milarepa was called to pursue sorcery and violence as a means to restore his family's wealth, leading to a murderous saga.

Although exceedingly cruel in conduct at one point, Milarepa later expressed remorse for his actions and became a student of the Buddhist translator Marpa. Under Marpa's guidance, Milarepa underwent arduous training in meditation and other austerities, experiencing a complete change of heart.

Interestingly, much of Milarepa's reflections in his later life, after reforming his conduct and perceiving the intricate inner mechanics of the mind, draw on ecological themes and imagery in order to convey the details of mental cultivation. While the body of work left behind by Milarepa is quite vast, we here examine one of his many poems, a particularly striking set of inspired verses he spontaneous sang in response to a dream.

Plowing the Mind's Field

Milarepa's contemplative poetry depicts his insights during a particularly challenging period of his life. At this stage, he has already retreated into the mountains, but runs out of provisions and cannot find a generous donor who is willing to support him. His home is still in utter shambles and his family questions why he no longer farms the fields in order to make ends meet. Both his aunt and uncle treat him with hostility, deeming him a disgrace to the family. They set dogs after him to chase him away and bombard him with stones and arrows. Eventually, his aunt agrees to provide for him so he may continue to meditate.

Although hoping for some stillness and clarity, ideally even a blissful reprieve through meditation, Milarepa's efforts prove fruitless. Too much remains unsettled in his mind.



At this point, Milarepa appears to enter a state of delirium, in which he dreams of plowing a field whose ground is too firm to dig. Despite his best efforts, he cannot till the soil. As Milarepa is about to give up, suddenly, the renowned meditation master Marpa appears to encourage Milarepa and rouse his will. Under Marpa's guidance, Milarepa successfully plows the field and procures an abundant harvest. Upon waking from the dream, he finds inspiration to persevere in his meditation and exclaims several verses in song.

I beg you. Compassionate Master,
Bless the mendicant that in solitude he may live.
I cultivate the field of fundamentally non-discriminatory mind
With the manure and water of faith,
And sow the seed of a pure heart.
The powerful thunder of my invocations reverberates,
And the rain of your blessings falls effortlessly.

In these verses, Milarepa likens contemplative practice to farming or horticulture. One's field, the terrain inside which all of one's cultivation transpires, is the mind itself. Most saliently, this mind is fundamentally without discrimination, its soil rich in health. Drawing upon this imagery, Milarepa's meditation entails plowing the mind's field.



Faith, comments Milarepa, serves as fertilizer, the field's source of moisture and nutrition, ensuring the flourishing of one's contemplative practice. In this field, in this fundamentally non-discriminatory awareness, one sows the seeds of a pure heart. Only under such supporting conditions can seeds of compassion sprout.

Upon this field rains the blessings of the Buddhas, summoned by the thunder of one's invocations. If understood in metaphorical terms, then these invocations need not be to any external beings, but may instead represent inward affirmations and aspirations. Contemplative practice relies immensely on the power of mind to redirect one's default mode away from excessive outward preoccupation and external influence and back to a conscientious, inwardly reflecting, yet all the while intersubjectively attuned mode of being. Through one's affirmations and aspirations, one plants the seeds of wholesome intention, shifting the quality of the entire framework, the entire field, in which one operates.

Two Oxen

Reflecting further upon his method of cultivation, Milarepa recites these additional verses upon emerging from his dream-state, perhaps a trance through which he was able to achieve a break-through, restoring his confidence and obliterating all doubt from his mind.

Upon the oxen of a mind free from doubt
I put the yoke and plow of skillful means and wisdom.
Steadfastly I hold the reins without distraction.
Cracking the whip of effort, I break up the clods of the five poisons.
I cast away the stones of a defiled heart,
And weed out all hypocrisy.

In this case, skillful means and wisdom are the methods by which Milarepa is able to guide the "oxen" over the by-now softened terrain of the field, his mind imbued with confidence and free of doubt.

While the exact nature and identity of these oxen is not specified, they appear in other Buddhist contexts as the meditative practices of śamatha and vipaśyanā, calming and contemplation, or tranquility and insight, stabilizing the mind and cultivating clarity, respectively.



These two oxen are often depicted as yoked together by a harness, cooperating seamlessly in the process of plowing the field, with neither going astray. Tranquility and insight are mutually supportive in cultivating the field of awareness. Skillful means and wisdom, the ability to adapt to the constantly shifting terrain while at the same time discerning the proper means of doing so that will ultimately accord with the mind's originally undefiled nature, are the tools that assist in this process, enabling forward progress on the contemplative path.

The whip of effort is invoked by Milarepa to ensure that the mind, otherwise prone to distraction, stays on track. One must remain disciplined through even the most challenging of conditions. Through dedicated practice, whatever obstacles appear to obstruct one's progress are pulverized, like clods of dirt disintegrating into soft soil or rocks tossed out of the way so the path may be cleared. Any hypocrisy is weeded out so that the foundation of the mind-ground remains pristine. One must keep a watchful eye on the field in order to weed out unwelcome qualities of mind and ensure the flourishing of the seeds one plants intentionally.

Fruits of Harvest

As his cultivation of the mind's field progresses, Milarepa finds himself ready for the harvest. His next verses convey this stage of farming, reaping the fruits of his efforts.

I cut the stalks and reap the fruit of action
Leading to liberation.
I fill the granary with the fruit of excellent instructions,
Without the support of mental concepts.
This excellent grain, roasted and ground by the dakinis,
Is the hermit's food for inner growth.
This is the meaning of my dream.

Here, Milarepa's cutting of stalks and reaping the fruit of action is an allusion to karmic processes. Karma (कर्म), a Sanskrit term meaning "action," is of a particularly volitional sort in Buddhist contexts. Volitional activity directly alters how one experiences the vicissitudes of life.

In other words, volitional activity (anything that one intends through body, speech, or mind) plants a seed in the field of experience which, under proper conditions, ripens into fruit. The quality of that fruit depends on myriad factors, ranging from the quality of the seed (the initial action) to the conditions of the field (mind) in which it is planted to the nutrients (such as faith or confidence) supporting its growth. In Milarepa's case, this fruit is liberation from the suffering and stress he had previously encountered among his family and in his previous career in the realm of magic and murder. He succeeds in completely transforming the field, his own mind.



Milarepa accumulates his harvest with no need for conceptual plotting. The fruit of liberation arises on the basis of the appropriate balance and combination of causes and conditions while cultivating the field, not through meticulous calculation, but through the unfolding of natural processes in accord with his reformed conduct in the transformed field of his mind and meditation.

In handling the fruits of his labor, Milarepa alludes to the assistance of the dakinis, goddesses of high spiritual status in the Indo-Tibetan cosmology. With their help, he is able to accumulate instructions for cultivating the field. Such cultivation procures liberation, enabling all to experience an abundant harvest, feeding off of the fruits of their efforts.

Practice Diligently

Upon reflecting thus, Milarepa utters a final set of verses, emphasizing the experiential over the intellectual, planting the final seeds of inspiration for potential future aspirants of enlightenment who may have struggled like himself.

Realization does not arise out of words.
Understanding does not come from mere suggestions.
I urge all those who work for Enlightenment
To meditate with perseverance and effort.
Endurance and effort overcome the greatest of difficulties.
May there be no obstacles for those who seek Enlightenment.'

Here, Milarepa acknowledges that even the verses he speaks cannot produce realization while the advice he offers cannot produce understanding. He nonetheless conveys his insights through words and suggestions, as they may still set the process in motion for others, perhaps as a spark of inspiration. Much like the Buddha's final words upon his deathbed, Milarepa likewise encourages all who aspire to awakening to practice diligently.

Contemplative Horticulture

With salient analogies embedded throughout, the contemplative poetry of Milarepa provides us with a foundation for additional inquiry into the ecological processes underlying cultivation, both of the mind-ground and the earth on which we live with myriads of other forms of life. Contemplative horticulture may take on both metaphorical and ecologically viable meanings in the face of mental and environmental stressors from both within and without.

Indeed, the quality of the mind, the internal field of practice upon whose ground we stand psychologically, features prominently in a mutual feedback loop with the external world. Mental and environmental interact in every instant. We must sow both fields with wisdom and compassion.

Such reflections by Milarepa on contemplative horticulture help shed light on the importance of perseverance in the face of adversity. When the mind seems too hardened, when the intensity of the climate crisis or other conditions show themselves to be seemingly impenetrable, we may use the tools available to us to come up with innovative new methods, breaking through sedimented ways while finding alternative horticultural strategies for regenerating what has otherwise degenerated. Through continued efforts, we may eventually restore the field, the mind itself, to its originally uncorrupted state.



Source:

The Life of Milarepa. Translated by Lobsang P. Lhalungpa. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers, 1984.

The Lotus Sutra - Dousing the Flames of a Burning House

Our House Is On Fire

Alarms brazenly blare amidst the blaze. Plumes of smoke billow upward, blanketing the surroundings in a soot-ridden haze. Toxic fumes sear into the cellular fabric of all, animals and plants alike. Our house is on fire.

Under such dire circumstances, one in their right mind would make every effort to put out the flames or at least escape them. Unfortunately, despite the warnings, regardless of how loudly the alarms blare, it seems that not many have heeded the signs of climate crisis. The intensity of the situation has only grown, leaving many feeling hopeless and disempowered. Meanwhile, the masses seem to prefer to turn away from this reality, distracting themselves with shiny objects that offer the illusion of comfort.

Despite the planet going up in flames, both environmentally and in various other spheres, humanity seems largely unmotivated to act. Our house is on fire, much like a striking scene depicted in the Lotus Sūtra, among the most popular of Buddhist texts. We draw on this scene, known as the "Parable of the Burning House," as an analogy for the present state of affairs. Perhaps some insight may be gleaned from this case study for the sake of expedient responses to the various fires, both literal and metaphorical, spreading across the globe.

The Lotus Sutra

A Buddhist scripture with many layers, in various ways documenting the transition between multiple systems of thought, the Lotus Sūtra often draws on parables and analogies to convey its teachings. Its first few chapters set the stage for a dramatic unfolding of events, both human-worldly and cosmological in scope. The tables are turned when the Buddha announces a completely new teaching, previously withheld on account of the inability of beings to understand. It is revealed that there is but a "single vehicle" (ekayāna, 一乘) to liberation and that all beings are of the nature to awaken. This single vehicle is the means by which they will all become Buddhas, whether they like it or not.



Upon laying the foundations through reference to setting, cast and characters, and a general sense of plot-line, namely to unite beings on the single vehicle bound for ultimate liberation, a revelation which deeply confuses some but infinitely inspires others, Chapter 3 of the Lotus Sūtra introduces the first of the text's major parables. As if from a helicopter above, we are dropped into a disaster zone. Here, we enter the Burning House.

The Burning House

The Parable of the Burning House begins with the Buddha describing to his disciple Śāriputra, foremost in wisdom, a story of an old, wealthy man who lived in a mansion with several hundreds of residents. Perhaps due to wear and tear from so many inhabitants running wild through its halls, the structure begins to rot and crumble. The present state of the earth is much like this decrepit building, overpopulated and treated carelessly, tread upon without concern for sustainability. In his description of events, the Buddha exclaims:

Suddenly and unexpectedly, fires break out everywhere, setting the house swiftly aflame. The children of this man, ten, twenty, or thirty in number are in the house. The affluent man, seeing the fire breaking out everywhere, becomes alarmed and terrified. He thinks:

"I am capable of escaping through the burning entrance in safety, but my children are absorbed in play within the burning house and are not aware [of the fire], do not know, are not alarmed or terrified, and the fire is approaching them! They are not troubled about their suffering nor do they intend to leave the house."

The great majority of humankind seem like these children, too absorbed in fun and games to notice or care about the flames that threaten to engulf them. We are like children whose attention is consumed by play-things, ignoring the severity of the situation around us. The father is the only one to notice, reflecting further:

There is only one entrance to this house and it is very narrow. The children, who are immature and still unaware, are attached to their place of play. They may fall into danger and be burned by the fire. I should now tell them of the danger; this house is already burning! They must escape as quickly as they can to avoid being burned by the fire!

Alas, despite beckoning his children to leave the house before the flames consume them, they pay no attention to his pleas. Likewise with our present circumstances. Despite repeated warnings, most have not responded sufficiently to the severity of the ecological crisis for reasons ranging from perceived inability to make a difference given the scope of the situation to sheer ignorance.



Perhaps some children in the burning house are wiser than others, but all are nonetheless small and relatively helpless. Indeed, the Buddha sums up the situation thus:

Although their father in his concern has given them the proper advice, the children are immersed in their play and do not accept it; they are neither alarmed nor afraid and have no intention of leaving [the burning house]. Moreover, they do not even know what a fire is, the condition of the house, or what they may lose. They merely run about, back and forth, looking at their father.

Under such circumstances, what can be done?

Skillful Means

A central theme of the Lotus Sūtra that features explicitly in the Parable of the Burning House is "skillful means," from the Sanskrit upāya, rendered 方便 in Chinese. Such "skillful means" are a pedagogical tool, a teaching device, intended to package and deliver a lesson in a context-appropriate manner.

The effective application of skillful means requires contemplative discernment. How can the teachings be adapted to the context? Given the audience, what does the situation call for? How can one get the message across to beings under these particular circumstances? The Buddha explains:

Since the father already knew that his children were attached to various rare toys and unusual things that each of them liked, he said to them:

"The toys you are fond of are rare and hard to obtain. If you do not take them you will certainly regret it later. Right now, outside the house, there are three kinds of carts. One is yoked to a sheep, one to a deer, and one to an ox. Go play with them. Children! Run out of this burning house immediately and I will give you whatever you want!"

The children, hearing what their father had said about the rare toys, became excited and, in their eagerness to get to them they pushed each other out of the way in a mad rush out of the burning house. Then the affluent man saw that his children had got out safely and were sitting unharmed in an open area at a crossroad. He was relieved, happy, and joyful.

By appealing to their preference for play, the father successfully lures the children safely out of the burning house. His motive is pure — spare their lives and health. The "means" entail giving in to their desires in some capacity. Except once they're out, the father is asked to deliver on his promise.

In place of the exact toys he promised previously, however, the father gives each of his children an even greater prize in return for their cooperation. The toy carts, sheep, deer, and ox, whose images he planted in their minds did not exist in actuality. Instead, each of the carts he bestows upon the children are all the same, larger than imagined, far more impressive. They symbolize the "single vehicle" that brings all beings to ultimate freedom and relief from suffering. We set the intricacies of this vehicle and the social complexities of its implications aside for the time being and instead begin to unpack the possibilities this parable might open up for addressing our present climate crisis.

Dousing the Flames

With the health and lives of billions at risk, the climate crisis and related pandemics of political, economic, and social magnitude demand an urgent response. In our present case, we may even be able to salvage the burning house, though not without first dousing the flames.

Perhaps one solution to the present situation is to appeal to what the masses want. What does the majority of humanity feed off of? If we are to get everyone on board the "single vehicle" that promises to bring freedom to all, some "skillful means" might be necessary to lure the masses on board.

But isn't the promise of toys deceptive? It seems the father had to lie to his children to get them out of the burning house. The Lotus Sūtra, however, maintains that no deception took place, perhaps because the intent was always to lead them to a higher truth than their otherwise myopic version of reality, following a narrow orbit around fun and games while the house was going up in flames. Through what means might we succeed in dousing the flames of our present reality? What skillful means might save us from the burning house? And how can the house itself, the very earth we call home, be rescued and restored? To be continued.

Contemplative Silence - Know From The Rivers

Contemplative Silence

Containing some of the earliest material attributed to the historical Buddha, the Sutta Nipāta forms the basis for our next inquiry. Arranged in verses, this particular book of the Pāli Canon often waxes poetic, employing metaphor and imagery based on the natural setting from which its teachings take their inspiration. Comprising an early strata of pre-sectarian material, prior to the formalization of the Dhamma into organized dogma, its contents may help shed light on universally relevant aspects of the contemplative path.

In particular, we examine a passage from the Nālaka Sutta, featured in the third chapter of the Sutta Nipāta.

Honing in on contemplative silence, we find the Buddha in this case offering an ecological analogy for the use of speech. "Know from the rivers," begins the passage. Both literally via the metaphor that follows, we are asked to learn from the natural world.

Know from the Rivers

Contextually, the Nālaka Sutta takes its name after the character Nālaka, nephew and student of the sage Asita who is said to have predicted the infant Buddha's future course shortly after the prince's noble birth. Many years later, after hearing of the Buddha's "turning of the wheel," Nālaka is intent on leaving home to pursue the contemplative life.

A contemplative aspirant keen on spiritual progress, Nālaka asks the Buddha to explain to him the utmost state of sagacity. Heeding the seeker's request, the Buddha provides instruction on cultivating the virtue, concentration, and wisdom of the forest-dwelling renunciate. After covering these foundations, there occurs a section addressing contemplative silence via a particularly salient image of flowing water.

Know from the rivers
in clefts & in crevices:
those in small channels flow
noisily,
the great
flow silent.
Whatever's not full
makes noise.
Whatever is full
is quiet.

Employing nature-based imagery, the Buddha perhaps directs Nālaka's attention to a nearby creek or even simply the memory of flowing water, instructing him to "know from the rivers."

"Small channels" and "whatever's not full" refer to those with immature spiritual faculties, while "the great" and "whatever is full" allude to those who have matured on the contemplative path. It's suggested that those who are immature are reckless and unreflecting in speech ("flow noisily"), while those who are mature tend to be careful and reflecting, knowing when to refrain from speech ("flow silent"). One who is immature "makes noise" while one who is mature "is quiet."

A Full Lake

Immediately following these verses, the Buddha extends the analogy and makes explicit the subjects. Again, a body of water is invoked as a teaching device, whether physically present or via imaginative construction.

The fool is like a half-empty pot;
one who is wise, a full lake.

While the text makes no mention of whether a pot or lake were present to drive the point home, they are nonetheless conjured for comparative purposes. Such verses liken the fool to a half-empty pot and the wise one to a full lake. One is obviously lacking in some capacity while the other is perfectly sufficient as-is. Like a half-empty pot, the fool is lacking in understanding, while like a full lake, the wise one's understanding is complete. The fool speaks empty words, while the wise, despite speaking little, conveys a fullness of meaning, making every word count.

Silent Sagehood

It should be clarified that speech is by no means rejected outright. One who speaks is not necessarily a fool. Rather, the purpose of speech ought to be closely examined.

A contemplative who speaks a great deal
endowed with meaning:
knowing, he teaches the Dhamma,
knowing, he speaks a great deal.
But he who,
knowing, is restrained,
knowing, doesn't speak a great deal:
he is a sage
worthy of sagehood;
he is a sage,
his sagehood attained.

The Buddha acknowledges that there are indeed contemplatives who speak at length and with meaning, teaching what they know, sharing unconditionally for the sake of growth. Nonetheless, one who, despite also knowing, is restrained in speech, one who has nothing to prove, one who chooses one's words wisely can truly be called a sage. In such a case, still waters run deep.

...

Given even these few verses, one can perhaps begin to appreciate the early Buddhist version of contemplative silence, which finds parallels across contemplative traditions. Perhaps speech may be transcended by the quiet sage, but not to the point of aversion. Ultimately, speech must be employed skillfully, to the benefit of others, for the sake of progress on the path.

That which flows quietly knows its course, with no need to crash against the banks of the river. On the surface of the full lake are reflected all ripples, momentarily arising and subsiding across its face.

In the spirit of contemplative silence, we let these words go for the time being. Perhaps with the help of stillness, they may leave a lasting impression despite fading from the water's surface.