Alert to the needs of the journey,
those on the path of awareness,
like swans, glide on,
leaving behind their former resting places.
Let us consider together this short teaching from the Buddha.
When we begin on this journey we are all seeking, in some form or another, an increased sense of freedom. Maybe we were motivated by an altruistic vision of living with greater compassion. Or perhaps it was the clarity and detail of the Buddha’s analysis of the human mind that inspired us. For many it was maybe just a matter of trying to find relief from the burden of suffering. Whatever it was that brought us to the beginning of this path, we all benefit from the encouragement offered by those who have travelled ahead of us.
Here, in this Dhammapada verse 91,[1] the Buddha is pointing out the benefit of cultivating a willingness to keep beginning again in our practice. He doesn’t want us to settle anywhere short of realizing the goal of freedom. He wants us to keep practising whatever happens.
When we start out we can’t know what the journey will be like. There will be periods of gladness and possibly periods of sadness. Sometimes we will feel as if we are making progress, and at other times we might feel thoroughly stuck. At times we will feel confident, and at other times we might feel as if we are sinking in a swamp of doubt. The Buddha encourages us not to settle anywhere, but to keep letting go until the wisdom that knows the way to freedom becomes perfectly clear.
Fortunately for us, throughout the centuries this Theravada Buddhist tradition has maintained tried and tested teachings on the cultivation of letting go in the pursuit of wisdom. The teachers and the tradition are still readily available to offer us guidance. And there will definitely be times in our training when we need that guidance.
There is a word in the Pali language that we recite in our chanting when describing the qualities of the Buddha: lokavidu, which means ‘one who knows the world’. ‘Knowing’ here refers to a direct, transformative kind of knowing. It is not the knowing with which we are generally familiar, a knowing about things. This path of practice is characterised not by what we learn about on it, but by the effort we make to develop a fresh, new way of seeing.
When we say Dhammaṃ saraṇaṃ gacchāmi, ‘I go for refuge to the Dhamma’, we are saying that more than anything else we are interested in seeing the reality of the world. Here the world is not just the outer world, but the inner worlds too, all that we create in our minds. Being a knower of the world means knowing the truth of gladness and sadness, confidence and doubt, liking and disliking – and being able to accord with this truth; being at peace with it. There is no limit to the information we can accumulate about the world, but now we are learning to see what the world looks like when we have let go of habits of clinging. We are training to see with insight.
There will be times when we feel love and gratitude towards our teachers and the tradition, and probably there will be times when we don’t. I spent the early years of my monastic training, most of the period between 1976 and 1979, at Wat Pah Nanachat in NE Thailand. I recall first arriving there and feeling filled with gratitude; there was a tremendous sense of relief. At last I was somewhere I truly wanted to be. I didn’t want to be anywhere else in this whole wide world, and I felt privileged to be received into that community. The monastery had only been established for a few months. To say food and accommodation were basic is an understatement, but the grass-roof huts and the modest one meal a day were just wonderful. To be in the company of the radiant and gracious Ajahn Sumedho and his fellow Western wayfarers was a source of joy and inspiration.
I can also vividly recall wondering months later what it would be like if only I could escape from this hell-hole. One morning, as we walked on alms-round and crossed over some railway tracks, I stopped for a few moments to feel the tracks beneath my bare feet, and imagined how those railway lines went all the way to Bangkok, and how perhaps there I could be relieved from the intense misery I was having to endure. It can be difficult to release ourselves from the momentum we have generated by following the habit of believing in our moods, including both agreeable and disagreeable moods. Thankfully on that occasion in my training I didn’t completely believe in what the mood was telling me, otherwise I would have given up.
Whether we love our teachers and our tradition or not, what training in insight is about is learning to let go of the way things appear to be, to stop merely believing and see that which is true. When we see accurately, we arrive at a true appreciation of whatever there is in front of us, be it our teachers, our moods or anything else. We won’t have to be driven by conditioned liking and disliking, and that means we won’t get stuck. All this conditioned activity of liking and disliking is what is meant by the world. Insight sees through the world, revealing its instability and the fruitlessness of our habits of clinging. Wisdom sees how the clinging creates resistance and causes suffering. The warm-hearted expression of such wisdom is compassion.
The Buddha doesn’t want us to settle too soon, but to keep moving on until we arrive at real wisdom and compassion. It is because of unawareness regarding the truth of our preferences – our liking and disliking – that our view of the world is distorted. Having preferences is not wrong per se; it is the way we have them which makes the difference. The untrained mind is regularly fooled by the way things appear to be. The Awakened Ones are never fooled, hence they never suffer.
Before his enlightenment the Buddha-to-be was also lost in liking and disliking, he too was fooled by the way the world appeared to be and suffered accordingly. When he felt happy he believed ‘I am happy’. When he felt sad, he believed ‘I am sad’. But eventually, growing tired of the mediocrity of such an existence, he set out in search of a solution. He trained his inner spiritual faculties to the point where eventually he could see beyond all the conditioned activity of mind, beyond the ‘world’, to what he referred to as the unconditioned. From that point onward he knew directly that whatever conditions arose in his mind, they were simply passing through. Nothing could get stuck. He was fully freed and fully available to bring benefit into the world.
The Awakened Ones view all existence according to what is real. Unawakened beings see according to what we project onto the world by way of our preferences. Every time we attach to something, we become stuck there for a while. If we are training rightly, we gradually learn to recognize sooner what we are doing. If we want to measure our progress in practice, it should be in terms of how long it takes us to remember that we are doing the clinging, we are doing the suffering; it is not something external that is happening to us. Whether gross or refined, the same principle applies.
One reason for emphasizing the importance of establishing practice on the principle of beginning again, over and over, is because the temptation to settle, to get stuck, can arise at any stage. We don’t only need to be careful about our coarse fluctuating moods. It is also possible to become stuck in refined levels of concentration.
My first meditation teacher in Thailand, Ajahn Thate[2] was very adept at abiding in highly refined states of samādhi. He relates how he spent ten years stuck in unproductive states of tranquillity. It took the penetrative insight and helpful support of Ajahn Mun to guide him away from his fondness for samādhi and, by establishing his meditation in body contemplation, to proceed towards awakening.
Some of you will be familiar with the discourse by the Buddha known as the Mahā-sāropama Sutta,[3] the Discourse on the Simile of the Heartwood. In this teaching the Buddha likens someone setting out in pursuit of awakening to someone going in search of heartwood, the most valuable portion of a tree. Initially spiritual aspirants trust that reaching the goal is possible and are energized into making an effort. However, quite quickly they find that just being on the spiritual journey means they gain increased respect; their status in society rises, and they decide this level of increased well-being is good enough and cease making efforts. The Buddha likens this to someone setting out in search of the heartwood but settling for a bunch of twigs. In other words, if we find ourselves feeling pleased with the praise we receive, for having impressed a few friends with our spiritual efforts, that is not the place to get comfortable.
The discourse goes on by likening the aspirant who settles for the level of elevated ease and contentment which comes with upgraded integrity to someone settling for a portion of the outer bark of a tree. Then the seeker who grows comfortable with the increased well-being which comes with concentration and tranquillity is likened to someone going away with a portion of the inner bark. Resting at the level of initial insight is likened to the seeker becoming contented with a portion of the sapwood. It is not until full awakening is reached that the Buddha says the seeker has arrived at the heartwood.
At any stage of practice we can be fooled into believing that ‘this is good enough’ and abandon making efforts. We manage the risk of this happening in advance by cultivating the wholesome habit of willingly beginning again. This doesn’t mean we never rest or pause to delight in the increased sense of freedom which comes from letting go. Certainly, taking all the time we need to regularly refresh and renew our body and mind is skilful – so long as a pause doesn’t turn into a fixed position. The pleasure that comes with receiving praise and popularity, for instance, can be intoxicating. Or perhaps the more subtle pleasure that comes from samādhi could tempt you to settle. Maybe you feel it’s time to start sharing your wisdom and compassion with the world, and set up your own YouTube channel. But if you feel it is ‘my’ wisdom and compassion, it would definitely be better to ‘keep moving on, leaving behind former resting places’.
And it is not only our own increased ability that might distract us from the path; we could become blinded by somebody else’s aura. There are many teachers around looking for disciples, and if they catch us in their spotlight we can lose perspective. Allowing ourselves to become overly impressed by stories about the magic powers and super-abilities of others, however noble they are, does not necessarily bring benefit. As the Buddha advised in the Mahā-Maṅgala Sutta,[4] we can learn from ‘association with the wise’, but if we are truly learning, we will keep letting go.
Our ability to keep moving on is not always going to feel comfortable. We won’t automatically start out with an ability to glide on smoothly. Especially early on, our excessive enthusiasm can cause our efforts to be somewhat clumsy. When I was living under Ajahn Chah, there was an occasion when I was called upon to translate for a newly arrived novice. This eager young man wanted Ajahn Chah’s advice on how he should set up his practice during the approaching Rains Retreat (vassa). He explained that he was determined to practise really hard and intended to take on several of the ascetic practices (dhutaṅga vaṭṭa).[5] He listed all the various practices he was aiming at adopting. Ajahn Chah listened until I had finished translating, and then advised, ‘What I recommend you should do is determine to keep practising regardless of what happens. No need to do anything special.’
On another occasion Ajahn Chah most helpfully instructed, ‘There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of, so long as you are not caught up in desire.’ Wanting to make progress can feel normal. Longing for understanding can seem perfectly appropriate. But if we haven’t really studied closely the actuality of desire, apparently virtuous motivations might in fact be fixed positions. It takes some subtlety to see the truth of the matter, beyond the way wanting appears to be. If it is true that we are not caught up in desire, there will be no fear. If we are still concerned about having special experiences, perhaps it is because we are being fooled by the ‘apparent’ nature of desire.
The truth of desire is that it is a movement in the mind. It is not who we are, though we readily make a sense of self out of it. We feel happy and think we ‘are’ good when wholesome desires pass through the mind, or we feel guilty and believe we ‘are’ bad when there are unwholesome desires. On closer inspection, these desires can be seen simply as activity taking place. These movements only define who we are when we decide that is so.
Rather than special practices which tempt us to look for special results, it is increased honesty which is more likely to prevent us from settling too soon. Whenever we become attached, we get stuck. It might be attachment to our teachers, to the tradition, to techniques or to the results of practice. But wherever and whenever we cling, we are in effect betraying our aspiration for freedom; in a way we are lying to ourselves. Conversely, every time we make the effort to see through the stories that our mind tells us, to see beyond conditioned liking and disliking, we grow in honesty. Incremental increases in honesty are a more reliable measure of the value of our effort than whether or not we are having special experiences.
Our teachers, the tradition, the techniques, are all approximations. They are like maps to which, if we are wise, we will learn to relate. Fixating on the map, no matter how impressive it might be, is missing the point. If we are walking in the Swiss Alps and focus on the stunning precision and detail of the map, we could fail to see the ice beneath our feet and slip, seriously hurting ourselves. The map won’t necessarily show us where the ice is, or if there is an angry mountain goat about to attack and knock us over a cliff.
If we are being honest with ourselves, we admit to the part we play in creating the suffering in our lives. We admit that we are the ones doing the clinging; it is not happening to us. We acknowledge that although all beings experience pain, suffering is something extra that we add to it. The Buddha and all the realized beings experienced pain, but they didn’t suffer. Every time we allow awareness to constrict around an activity of mind, we impose the perception of being limited; that is, we suffer. We are responsible for this. When we are busy looking for results in practice, we risk not seeing what it is that we are doing and then believing that if we are suffering it is someone else’s fault. Likewise, if we attach too much value to books we have read or meditation techniques, we run the risk of missing the truth which is in front of us. When we are suffering, the truth is that here and now we are imposing limitations on awareness. If we are honest we won’t blame others, we won’t blame the world. And we won’t blame ourselves either; instead we will investigate. This image the Buddha has given of swans continually moving on, leaving behind their former resting places, helps serve the cultivation of such honest investigation.
And when we are honest, here and now, we will be careful about the risks we do take. One of life’s lessons is that when we have acquired a new skill, we then need to refine that skill. It’s like learning to ride a bike: in the beginning we have someone holding on behind, but eventually they let go and we can manage on our own. Even if we fall off a few times, at last we learn. Once we have a feeling for the increased ability that riding the bicycle gives us, perhaps at first we get a little carried away and even hurt ourselves, before arriving at a level of competence and safety. Hopefully we don’t get too badly hurt, but experimenting is normal.
The spiritual journey does indeed involve daring, and we need to know that there is heedful, helpful daring, and heedless, harmful daring. If our effort in practice is smooth and constant, we can rely on our intuition to tell us whether or not daring is safe and appropriate. If we listen carefully to what our teachers share from their experience, that will help protect us from hubris. And we can trust that our commitment to keeping precepts will also protect us and indicate when it is safe to venture into territory where we don’t feel familiar. If intuition is informed by modesty and is not an expression of deluded ambition, our daring is less likely to be heedless.
Our commitment to simple honesty gives us a frame of reference. We can trust that impulses to attach and become lost in ambition will show up on the radar before it is too late. On those occasions when we miss the signs and do get caught in clinging, honesty means we will own up to our part in creating the suffering that follows, which in turn means we are best placed to learn the lesson.
The agility which accompanies simple here-and-now honesty shows us where and when we are hanging onto false levels of security, where and when we are lying to ourselves. It can also help us prepare for the unexpected. Much of this spiritual journey involves meeting the unexpected. We can’t know how or when awareness will reveal our attachments; those places where we hold to fixed positions. And not just fixed positions, but also when we are feeding on praise or popularity, like the person setting out in search of heartwood and settling for a bunch of twigs. Our relationship to power is similar. As years pass by, don’t be surprised if you discover you are not as equanimous towards power as perhaps you thought you were.
We might also have to look again at something as basic as our relationship to food. Take sugar. It took me over 40 years as a monk before I really got a handle on sugar. These days I refer to it as low-grade heroin and stay well away from it. I regret that I couldn’t own up sooner to what was behind my addiction to sugar.
If our effort in practice is consistent and the emphasis is on letting go rather than achieving, we will be in the optimal position to own up to attachments when it is the time to do so. Whether attachments manifest as an insensitivity to how we relate to power, or as addiction to a false source of energy like praise or sugar, or perhaps a subtle identification with some long-standing unacknowledged personal ‘problem’, they can all be met and let go of. And it certainly makes a difference if we have prepared ourselves in advance with a conscious willingness to keep moving on, however good or bad things might appear.
If we start out from a place of confusion and insecurity, we might feel tempted to settle for a modest degree of increased confidence. Or if we have had to work very hard in our practice, perhaps we feel tired of making an effort and want to give up. But even wanting to give up can be acknowledged and let go of. Wanting to give up doesn’t mean we have to give up. When we are able to see desire as a movement in mind, this means the desire is ready to be received and released. Don’t assume it defines who we are. Being able to see it is one of the fruits of practice.
Our teachers have shown us what agility looks like, and how it is possible to live without fixed positions. We are most fortunate to have the example of their lives. Regardless of how likeable or dislikeable any experience might be, our task as students of the way is to have the honesty and daring to turn the light of attention around and to face the experience, to see it for what it is, and keep moving on.
Thank you for your attention.