Saba ka mangala -- May all be happy

Shri Satya Narayan Goenka, more commonly known as S.N. Goenka or, among his students, Goenkaji, died on September 29, just over a month ago. I count myself among the students, as the very first Buddhist retreat I ever attended was one taught by him (electronically) at Dhamma Kunja in Washington State in February of 2005. It was the hardest thing I've ever done -- mentally, emotionally, and physically, but I was and remain utterly glad that I stuck it out, despite wanting to leave every day. And, although I do not practice the exact technique of meditation he teaches, it's safe to say that I continue to feel that it gave me the basics, which led to my desire to continue as a student of Vipassana and Theravadin Buddhism in general. For this, I will always be grateful.

Yesterday I received an email from the guiding Vipassana group, with a link to a lengthy newsletter devoted to this wonderful man. I wish I could share the link, but the site is password protected and while everyone who has ever completed a 10-day course anywhere in the world knows the login, we are asked not to divulge it, and I honor that request. I found it truly worthwhile to read.

Still, although I can't share the entire newsletter, I will share the following portion:

It was late afternoon of a long day toward the end of August 2000. In the United Nations General Assembly Hall in New York, delegates to the Millennium World Peace Summit were weary and a little jaded. This was the first global gathering of religious and spiritual leaders at the UN, and it had descended into acrimony. Far from finding common ground, the delegates had sharply differed over the question of conversion. Some delegates were highly critical of the practice; others representing some of the leading religions rejected those views. Over the years, the hall had often been the setting for this sort of wrangle involving politicians; it was disappointing to see spiritual leaders doing no better.

To close the session, a lesser-known figure made his way to the podium, helped by an assistant. His silver hair gleamed; he wore a smartly tailored Indian suit. Carefully he paid respects and smilingly surveyed the crowd. Then he started speaking, and within seconds he had caught the attention of the assembled dignitaries.

“Religion is religion only when it unites,” he said. “Religion is no religion when it divides. Religion is not for dividing people. It is for uniting people.”

“So much has been said for and against conversion. I am for conversion, not against it. But conversion not from one organized religion to another organized religion—no. Conversion from misery to happiness. Conversion from bondage to liberation. Conversion from cruelty to compassion. That is the conversion needed today.”

“If I have an agitated mind full of anger, hatred, ill will and animosity, how can I give peace to the world? “Therefore all the sages and saints and seers of the world have said, ‘Know thyself.’ Not merely at the intellectual, emotional or devotional level, but at the actual level. When you know the truth about yourself at the experiential level, many of the problems get solved. You start understanding the universal law of nature or God, which is applicable to one and all.
“When I observe myself and find that I am generating anger, ill will or animosity, I realize that I am the first victim of the hatred or animosity I am generating within myself. Only afterwards do I start harming others. And if I am free from these negativities, nature or God Almighty starts rewarding me: I feel so peaceful.

“Whether I call myself a Hindu or a Muslim or a Christian or a Jain, it makes no difference: a human being is a human being. Human mind is human mind. Conversion should be from impurity of the mind to purity of the mind. This is the real conversion that is necessary—nothing else.”

“Every religion has the wholesome core of love, compassion and good will. The outer shell differs, but give importance to the inner essence and there will be no quarrel. Don’t condemn anything, give importance to the essence of every religion and there will be real peace and harmony.”

The ruler referred to was the great Emperor Ashoka of India, who had issued the message—the world’s first call for religious tolerance—more than two millennia before. And the messenger was a man who always regarded Ashoka as a hero and had devoted his life to teaching a way to inner peace: Satya Narayan Goenka.

Saba ka mangala -- may all be happy -- are the last words heard from Goenkaji at the end of every 10-day course. None of his students are ever likely to forget it. I certainly haven't -- in fact, as he left the hall, chanting this, I wanted to cry because I knew it was over and it was time to return to 'real' life.

Transmogrify

Have you ever had a word stick in your mind and refuse to leave? Come to your attention again and again until you finally had to sit up and take notice? I have to admit, it's a first for me. I've had plenty of songs stuck in my head -- maddeningly so in early meditation retreats where the mind would latch onto anything it could find in order to avoid actually being exposed.

This word -- transmogrify -- stuck in my head all morning. Somehow, I had a vague sense of what it meant -- and tried vaguely to remember where it had entered my life in the past, wondered why it was suddenly coming to the fore so strongly. Finally, I googled the word to get the meaning: one meaning was to change or alter greatly. One I like better, now that I've continued to look at this word as it continues to sit and stick in my mind, is "transform, especially in a surprising or magical manner."

Once I was certain of the meaning -- and my earlier sense that it meant 'change' was surprisingly correct -- I began to look back and see where it entered my life. I still don't have the answer to that question. It's not a word that is generally found in my lexicon and I have no clue why it's sticking around or how I even began to sense that it meant change.

None of that managed to rid the word from my mind. It's still there, strong enough to prompt me to write this. What is it trying to tell me? Is there some 'surprising or magical' change about to enter my life? Is it already underway? What's going on here? Does my mind know something it hasn't told me yet? I'm stumped -- but curious.

Thoughts from the forest

My kuti -- the newest one, named Access

My experience here this summer is diametrically opposed to my experience here last summer. How can that be? I've asked myself that -- and come up with several possible or combination of answers. One is that my expectations this year were based on past knowledge of what I'd find, rather than whatever unknown expectations I had last year. Another (gained from a posting by our Abbess, Ayya Tathaaloka) is that my perceptions are different this year. I'm looking at the forest as home, seeing its value, its ability to heal, its beauty, its peace and silence and being surrounded by nature all as wonderful opportunities, not as an obstacle.

Once again, I packed the wrong clothing for the weather we are experiencing -- I brought warm things based on my cold experience last year. The few cool t-shirts I have see frequent washings, while the heavier things languish on the shelves. And that's never a complaint -- give me warm, sunny, breezy and totally beautiful days anytime, and I will adjust to meet the circumstances.

And that, as I type this, reminds me once again (and again, from reading Ayya Tathaaloka's words recently) that anything life presents us with can be viewed and perceived as an opportunity, rather than an obstacle, if you open your heart-mind to the possibilities. I see nothing here as an obstacle that can't be overcome.

Here on the land -- a fitting illustration.

Switching topics a bit, I want to quote something wonderful that I read a couple of days ago in a book called A Still Forest Pool, the Insight Meditation of Achaan (Ajahn) Chah.  I haven't finished the book because by evening, when I have time to read, my brain is tired and not much of it sticks. But this stuck: "The heart of the path is so simple. No need for long explanations. Give up clinging to love and hate, just rest with things as they are. That is all I do in my own practice."  Never have I read anything that cut so deeply, so quickly and simply to the heart of how we are meant to practice. Although I could never have stated it with such clarity as this, I can say with all honesty that this is where my practice is trending at the time, mostly off the cushion as I go through each day with this intention fully in my mind.

Being here has already developed this ability in me to a much greater degree, and continues to do so daily. Things change here with sometimes startling rapidity.  My options are to sit back by the wayside and grumble (clinging), resist the change in plans, or to just roll with it, which is what I do almost seamlessly now. I sometimes smile at an unexpected change, but don't cling to whatever it was that changed.

Walking down to the creek.

Now, on to fun! We had a wonderful young woman visit for a bit over a day, filled with questions about life here, about the mechanics of ordaining and such. Yesterday before she left Ayya took us for a creek walk (our creek, fittingly named DharmaCreek) that led us to a lovely waterfall -- shown in the above photo. And I mean literally a creek walk -- not walking alongside the creek, but for the most part walking in the creek, scrambling over and around huge boulders, along narrow bits of land alongside a really huge rock, through and around trees and branches, whatever it took to pick a path to the waterfall. To be clear: I love creekwalks! Have enjoyed them in the past -- the long ago past. I expect that the last one was maybe 1993-1995, and I was pleased and surprised that this body would still do it.

The pool again, and the rocks. All so beautiful. The air was warm, the cool water felt so wonderful on my feet. Not only am I a nature girl, I'm also a water girl.

Once here, we talked for awhile then sat in meditation for 20 minutes or so before reversing our course back to the cars. This is just a tiny taste of what is available here, if we (I) but only take advantage of it.

Not a fascinating photo, taken from the waterfall looking back, but it does show the beauty of the creek, the forest, all that surrounds us as we dwell here happily and peacefully. How can this be perceived as unpleasant?

The Buddha's Forgotten Nuns

Today I was made aware of the completion of this new documentary and wanted to share it with all of you that may be interested. I watched it just now, and can report that it is really wonderful -- well produced, beautifully photographed and narrated, and totally non-confrontational with regard to the larger Bhikkhu sangha which stands in the way of Bhikkhuni ordination. There is a small fee ($3.99) to watch, but that seems minor indeed and will hopefully repay expenses for this film and inspire the producers to do more. I was happy to pay it.

Watch the trailer, or the film, here. Some of you may be shocked to learn the state of women monastics within Buddhism, others are already well aware.

I was pleased to see some familiar faces among the various Bhikkhunis interviewed, and I also enjoyed a brief film clip of the first ordination at Aranya Bodhi a few years ago.

My own journey continues Wednesday, when I fly to California for a month's stay at Aranya Bodhi hermitage, in service to the hermitage in general and to Ayya Sobhana (the only monastic left onsite at the moment) in particular.

Please note: Ayya Tathaaloka, Abbess at Aranya Bodhi, has offered some critical commentary on descrepancies in this film of which she has personal knowledge. I'm not sure the link on her comment (below) works, and some of you may not notice the comment, so I will offer the link here for those of you who wish to read her wise words.

Mindfulness

We talk so much about mindfulness, and I've just returned from a wonderful, but short, retreat at Bhavana taught by Bhante Gunaratana himself (I can die happy now, by the way, since this was way at the top of my bucket list). Mindfulness was mentioned and explained often during the week. But what does it mean in daily life? How do we put it into practice? Fortunately, this is a gift I learned and learned well 7 or 8 years ago, and something I continue to hone. It IS possible to train our minds to be aware all the time -- during all waking hours as we go about our daily lives. Here's an example of some current mindfulness in my life.

Last week at Bhavana I got a nasty insect bite on my thigh. I have no clue what bit me -- I was sitting on the deck of my little kuti reading when it began itching. When I scratched, I could already feel the welt of swelling. Over the next day or so the welt and swelling grew to about a 3-inch diameter spread of angry redness and itchiness, with a little pimple-like center. I kept my eye on it, determined not to say anything or let it impact my retreat. Thankfully, it reached a point where I could tell it wasn't getting worse. Since I've been home the redness and swelling have subsided, leaving that big circle of ugly yellow bruising in its place. Whatever bit me was a nasty little creature.

Then, not long before I left Bhavana, I noticed an itching on my calf -- which has progressed to an angry, itchy cluster of blisters that reek of poison ivy or poison sumac, all of which are rife in those woods. I didn't stray off paths often, but all it takes is once, and there were a couple of times when I might have brushed against something. I'm not usually allergic -- must have been potent.

Both these things have been great objects of mindfulness. Constant companions, bodily sensations to observe. Merely observe with equanimity, without drifting off into either grasping or aversion. Knowing they are impermanent. Trying not to scratch (although in both cases I admit to occasionally scratching the skin surrounding the bite and the blisters). Certainly not letting myself whine and moan and get all caught up in a sense of unpleasantness or reactions around all that itching. It just is. And it will pass.

Life throws us (me, anyway) opportunities of this kind for mindfulness constantly. All we have to do is be aware as they arise, and stay aware until they recede. It just takes training the mind. And if I can do it, anyone can do it. It just takes effort.

Naturally, I learned a great deal more during this retreat and eventually as thoughts reach coherence I'll write about them. But, probably the best moment for me was being asked to help the monks with the Eight Lifetime Precepts ceremony that closed the retreat. When they asked, I was so surprised and honored that my eyes got a little damp. But even then, I understood that I wasn't singled out for any reason other than that the job requires a female and I was the only female on the premises who had already taken these precepts. Normally, a nun would do the honors for the women taking them (Sayalay Susila did the honors for me, two years ago), but this time no nun was available. Another good moment for mindfulness -- no attaching of pride or ego to the selection! Still, I have to say that it was really, really cool to sit up front next to Bhante G and take part in this ceremony.

There were 3 men, 6 women taking the precepts. After bowing to Bhante G, receiving their Pali name and being doused with water by him, each person would move to the side to have a medallion necklace placed around their neck and a string bracelet tied around their wrists. Men moved to Bhante Seelananda, shown here next to Bhante G, the women moved to me, on the woman's side of Bhante G.

All of the people in white in the first couple of rows took the precepts. It's a fun event, filled with laughter and happiness (particularly when Bhante G's aim with the water is especially good!).

The women who took the precepts.

It's really hard to find words for how good this felt, especially for the two women in the group that I had known before this retreat. This woman sat the retreat taught by Sister Susila at Southern Dharma in April.

I was out of my element in some ways, totally aware of Bhante G watching my every move and hoping I was doing everything right, but I know this is a once-in-a-lifetime happening for me, and I enjoyed every moment of it. Many thanks to the resident who used my camera to take these photos.

Silence

That's what these last nine days have been about, and it was beautiful.

This was nothing like a group retreat, where there is always talking of some kind, where there are always sounds of people moving about, and where there are always people around, period. I had none of that. I had total silence, total stillness -- and that total outer silence and outer stillness led to total inner silence and inner stillness that was a thing of beauty to experience. The only sounds -- outside of the background sounds of the refrigerator or dehumidifier humming, or a fan spinning, or cars and neighbors -- came from the soothing voice and exquisite wisdom of Bhante Gunaratana, three times each and every day.

I made a last-minute decision to use his jhana CD, which I've had for a couple of years, instead of online retreat talks from Sister Susila, and that was a good decision indeed. Essentially, while the discussion and training was for jhana, it was a metta (loving friendliness, or loving kindness) retreat, as he teaches a method of attaining jhana through metta. This -- the metta -- was what influenced me the most. Jhana became secondary. One entire guided meditation was centered on relaxing the body and mind -- so peaceful that after the 30 minutes were over I continued to sit and continue relaxing both body and mind for the rest of the two hours.

All that metta, and all that inner silence eventually pointed to a place inside me where a great big knot of resentment lived. And friends, that resentment was all aimed at myself! Once I saw it, I also clearly saw the source: 70 years accumulation of blame, guilt, remorse, regret for everything I've ever done or said -- and there have been thousands of them -- that I later regretted in one way or another. Once again, I clearly saw the suffering this has caused me over a lifetime. 

The antidote is metta -- to myself and to others, along with compassion for myself and others. If we hold others in metta and compassion, we cannot say or do things we will regret.

And, as Bhante G said in one of his dhamma talks, the way we treat ourselves is most likely the way we will treat others. I've felt a lot of resentment towards other people from time to time. In fact, it's been really easy for some otherwise innocent person to pull that resentment out of me. Now that I'm aware of it, I can stop that. I managed to let go of a lot of that resident self-resentment and replace it with resident self-love and compassion. It will be an ongoing effort to rid myself of all of it.

This was an extraordinary experience for me, and I plan to do one of these each month (although without an electronic teacher, to keep the temptations of the internet away). Clearly, I would make a good hermit! That cave in the Himalayas is sounding better all the time. Too bad it's too cold and too far away. The 'cave' I'm in works just fine.

I realize this is something that many people could not do -- jobs, family and such do not offer the time and silent place for such things in the home. But if you ever have the chance to do it at home or in a remote cabin or even a tent -- do it! You won't be sorry.

Solitude

It's ironic that I find so much discontent with my life of relative solitude as it exists, yet seek solitude in a monastic environment somewhere.

There's an old saying of some kind about how often we humans look and look and look all around, far and wide, sometimes for years -- then discover that what we were looking for, what we wanted, was with us all the time.  I've been hearing and gathering little bits of data on that subject in the back of my mind for some time now, and I'm beginning to listen.

Some of the frustration I've found with the various monasteries I've visited has to do with solitude -- or lack thereof. I want a place where I can spend long hours meditating, but none of the monasteries really offers that, although I suppose I could arrange my own schedule in Austin to fit that need. Most, if they have any meditation schedule, offer a morning and evening meditation that are mandatory, but they're short -- generally no longer than an hour. And they include chanting, which I don't care for.

I'm looking for silence, for a peaceful place to just meditate for longer stretches, without having other scheduled activities or responsibilities to think about. In short, I want a retreat environment. In a perfect world there'd be some senior monastic around to offer advice and answer questions that might arise. But I haven't found a way to get both.

Those little thoughts in the back of my mind have been telling me that I have the perfect place right here, if I am willing to use it as such, and if I can find the discipline to do so. With that in mind I've set up an experiment that I hope to begin on Monday: 10 or so days 'on retreat' here in my home. No computer. No radio. I have taken the basic retreat schedule used at Bhavana and will follow that, breaking the 'no computer' rule each day long enough to listen to one of Sayalay Susila's dhamma talks from her 8-day retreat last December. No email, however!

Once I decided that, I needed to literally get my house in order. Neatness and cleanliness are the rule in any monastic environment, and necessary for the attainment of peace. I also had to get in a good supply of food, things that are easy to prepare for myself each day. Aside from general cleaning and neatening, the most necessary and wonderful thing I did was reinstate the beautiful meditation room I spent months re-doing, and which I abandoned over the winter due to cost of heat and then gave in to using it for staging Goodwill donations, storing empty boxes, and even curing garlic from the garden. It was a mess. Now, it's a meditation room again, as beautiful, calming and peaceful as ever. And as always, merely walking into or through the room brings instant calm and peace to me. I closed the reed blinds for the sake of photography, but they are generally open to the peaceful greenery outside.

 Solitude is happiness for one who is content, who has

heard the Dhamma and clearly sees.

There are a few more details to take care of: returning library books, some last-minute shopping and laundry, general straightening of the desk that won't be used, and hoping the rain stops long enough for my neighbor to cut my grass tomorrow so I won't be disturbed during my 'retreat'. I'll have meal, work and rest periods just as at Bhavana -- the rest is meditation.

Will I have the determination and discipline to make this work? I'll let you know.