Becoming Bodhisattvas
Page 5
The practice of confession is an excellent way to move beyond guilt and self-deception. It relies on the view that neurosis, while it may feel monolithic or immutable, is essentially transitory and insubstantial. It is just very strong energy that we mistakenly identify as a solid and permanent “me.” Confessing, like making offerings and prostrations, helps us let go of this fixed version of who we are.
When we do something we wish we hadn’t, we don’t remain oblivious; we acknowledge it with what Dzigar Kongtrul Rinpoche calls “positive sadness.” Instead of condemning ourselves, we can connect with the openhearted tenderness of regret. Thus the habits of self-deception and guilt have a chance to wither away. This is the essential point of the practice of confession.
2.27
To perfect buddhas and bodhisattvas,
In all directions, where they may reside,
To them who are the sovereigns of great mercy,
I press my palms together, praying thus:
2.28
“In this and all my other lifetimes,
Wandering in the round without beginning,
Blindly I have brought forth wickedness,
Inciting others to commit the same.
2.29
“I have taken pleasure in such evil,
Tricked and overmastered by my ignorance.
Now I see the blame of it, and in my heart,
O great protectors, I declare it!”
In these verses, Shantideva introduces the traditional Tibetan practice of the “four powers of confession,” four methods for laying aside neurotic deeds. These are: (1) recognition of misdeeds with “positive sadness,” (2) reliance on basic wisdom, (3) remedial action, and (4) the resolve to do our best to not keep making the same mistakes.
Verse 27 presents “reliance” on basic wisdom. In the presence of the unbiased, nonjudgmental wisdom of the sovereigns of great mercy, Shantideva declares, in verses 28 and 29, that he has caused harm. With honesty and trust in his basic goodness, he acknowledges that he has missed the mark.
This healing acknowledgement is the power of recognition with positive sadness. When he says Blindly I have brought forth wickedness, inciting others to commit the same, he applies the kind of compassionate self-reflection that brings freedom. As Dzigar Kongtrul says, “We can admit to ourselves that out of ignorance we’ve done harm, without getting caught in story lines about ‘bad me.’ ”
The third of the four powers is called “remedial action,” or “opposing power.” Having recognized the unfortunate things we do, this action allows us to resolve the past, thus freeing us to move beyond repression and guilt.
Examples of remedial action range from classical to contemporary practices. The Vietnamese master Thich Nhat Hanh, for instance, worked with an American veteran of the Vietnam War who could not shake his overwhelming guilt for having killed innocent bystanders. For him, the healing action was to return to Vietnam and spend time helping people in distress. In the same spirit, if we’ve killed animals in the past, perhaps now we could protect them.
Another method is the “life review.” At least once a year, I imagine that I am about to die. Looking back as truthfully as I can at my entire life, I give full attention to the things I wish hadn’t occurred. Recognizing these mistakes honestly but without self-recrimination, I try to rejoice in the innate wisdom that allows me to see so bravely, and I feel compassion for how I so frequently messed up. Then I can go forward. The future is wide open, and what I do with it is up to me.
Shantideva’s remedial action is the declaration In my heart, O great protectors, I declare it. By openly expressing his regrets, he performs the healing, remedial action.
The fourth power, resolve, comes in the last verse of this chapter, verse 65. Shantideva vows to do his best not to repeat the same mistakes and to go forward without the unnecessary baggage of guilt.
These four powers of confession generate a more openhearted relationship with the world. We can transform the regret that we’re basically bad and wish we weren’t into the understanding that we’re basically good and don’t want to keep covering that over.
2.30
“Whatever I have done against the Triple Gem,
Against my parents, teachers, and the rest,
Through force of my defilements,
By the faculties of body, speech, and mind;
2.31
“All the evil I, a sinner, have committed,
The sin that clings to me through many evil deeds;
All frightful things that I have caused to be,
I openly declare to you, the teachers of the world.”
This translation I, a sinner may be misleading. Buddhism stresses going beyond any fixed identity: good, bad, or in-between. Basically, with the right methods for working with our minds and the willingness to use them, we all have the ability to turn anything around. We can get beyond the solid opinions and prejudices that cause us to act unwisely; and we can uncover our basic openness and goodness. In verses 30 and 31, Shantideva declares everything that keeps him from living a compassionate life, without any sense of badness or guilt.
One positive view of words like “sin” and “sinner” is that they get our attention and remind us this is not a subject to be taken lightly. I prefer to avoid words that are culturally loaded, so we don’t infuse Buddhist teachings with misleading projections. Trungpa Rinpoche, for instance, translated the Tibetan word dikpa as “neurotic crimes” rather than “sin,” choosing a psychological rather than an ethical interpretation. Words that identify us as fundamentally marred don’t seem helpful. Without them, we’re more likely to feel inspired to connect with our inherent strength and goodness.
2.32
“Before my evil has been cleansed away,
It may be that my death will come to me.
And so that, come what may, I might be freed,
I pray you, quickly grant me your protection!”
2.33
The wanton Lord of Death we can’t predict,
And life’s tasks done or still to do, we cannot stay.
And whether ill or well, we cannot trust
Our lives, our fleeting, momentary lives.
2.34
And we must pass away, forsaking all.
But I, devoid of understanding,
Have, for sake of friend and foe alike,
Provoked and brought about so many evils.
2.35
My enemies at length will cease to be;
My friends, and I myself
Will cease to be;
And all is likewise destined for destruction.
In verses 32 through 46, Shantideva introduces impermanence and death. His intention is to point out the need for self-reflection before it’s too late. Any of us could suddenly pass away. This produces a strong motivation for reviewing our lives with an attitude of self-forgiveness. Then we can die with no regrets.
In verse 32 Shantideva says grant me your protection, and in other Buddhist liturgies we read “grant your blessings.” But from whom are we asking help and blessings? How can we understand this nondualistically? Trungpa Rinpoche explained that it’s not so much the notion of someone protecting or blessing us; it’s more an attitude of “let it be so.” May I be protected and blessed by the inspiration of wisdom mind. Let this be so!
Verse 34 discusses a provocative topic: long after our friends and foes are gone, we still carry the imprints of our positive and negative reactions. Our habitual patterns remain in place long after the objects of our attachment and aversion cease. The problem is not our friends and foes, per se; the problem is the way we relate to them, or to any external circumstance. What habits are we strengthening when we get enmeshed in our attachments and aversions?
How will we experience the world a month, a year, or five years from now? Will we be even angrier, more grasping and fearful, or will some shift have occurred? This depends entirely on the tendencies we reinforce today.
Shantideva tells us it’s futile to get worked up about those who, just like us, live fleeting, momentary lives.
2.36
All that I possess and use
Is like the fleeting vision of a dream.
It fades into the realms of memory;
And fading, will be seen no more.
2.37
And even in the brief course of this present life,
So many friends and foes have passed away,
Because of whom, the evils I have done
Still lie, unbearable, before me.
2.38
The thought came never to my mind
That I too am a brief and passing thing.
And so, through hatred, lust, and ignorance,
I’ve been the cause of many evils.
2.39
Never halting, night or day,
My life is slipping, slipping by.
And nothing that has passed can be regained—
And what but death could be my destiny?
Verse 36 evokes the insubstantial quality of our lives. It is Shantideva’s first reference to the illusory, dreamlike nature of reality. Whenever we feel ourselves getting hooked, just recalling these words can be a powerful support. They can help us cut through emotional entanglements and tune into a bigger view.
These verses address the essential groundlessness of our experience. If we are trying to ignore the truth of death, we might find ourselves in the kind of panic Shantideva describes. Any degree of attention to our experience will easily convince us that life is slipping, slipping by. In my own experience, getting older is a good motivator for not wasting this precious human life.
2.40
There I’ll be, prostrate upon my bed,
And all around, the ones I know and love—
But I alone shall be the one to feel
The cutting of the thread of life.
2.41
And when the vanguard of the Deadly King has gripped me,
What help to me will be my friends or kin?
For only goodness gained in life will help me:
This, alas, is what I shrugged away.
We die alone. Friends, family, or material abundance can do nothing to change this simple fact. When my children were teenagers, I took them to meet the Sixteenth Karmapa. As they weren’t Buddhists, I asked His Holiness to say something that didn’t require any understanding of the dharma. Without hesitating, he told them: “You are going to die; and when you do, you will take nothing with you but your state of mind.” In verse 41, Shantideva reiterates this and then talks graphically about the horrors of death.
2.42
O protectors! I, so little heeding,
Had hardly guessed at horror such as this—
And all for this brief, transient existence,
Have gathered so much evil to myself.
2.43
The day they take him to the scaffold,
Where his body will be torn and butchered,
A man is changed, transfigured by his fear:
His mouth is dry, his eyes start from his brow.
2.44
If so it is, then how will be my misery
When stricken down, beside myself with fear,
I see the fiend, the messenger of Death,
Who turns on me his fell and dreadful gaze?
2.45
Who can save me, who can now protect me
From this horror, from this frightful dread?
And then I’ll search the four directions,
Seeking help, with panic-stricken eyes.
2.46
Nowhere help or refuge will be found.
And sunk beneath the weight of sorrow,
Naked, helpless, unprotected—
What, when this befalls me, shall I do?
Shantideva uses two traditional teaching techniques. One proclaims the beauty and benefits of connecting with bodhichitta. The other employs fear tactics to shake us loose from our neurotic habits and frighten us into wakefulness.
The latter style doesn’t work very well in the West; without trust in our basic goodness, its message is easily misunderstood. The point is to understand that everything we do has consequences, and they won’t always be comfortable. Each day, we’re either strengthening or weakening negative patterns. But as Trungpa Rinpoche once said, “Karma is not punishment; it’s the consequences that we’re temporarily stuck with. We can undo it by following the path.”
While death can indeed be terrifying, it also presents an opportunity for enlightenment. This depends on what we cultivate during our lifetimes. In preparing for death, it’s extremely helpful to cultivate familiarity with bodhichitta and the unconditional openness of our mind.
In bodhichitta training, we learn to use whatever pain or fear we experience to open our hearts to other people’s distress. In this way, our personal misery doesn’t close us down; it becomes a stepping-stone toward a bigger perspective. By training this way during life, dying will awaken compassion. Even the discomfort of physical pain, breathing difficulties, or fear will automatically awaken bodhichitta.
The best possible preparation for dying is to recognize the nature of mind. In watching people die, I’ve observed that death can be a strong support for waking up. Everything is naturally falling apart: our body is falling apart, our way of perceiving reality is falling apart, everything we’ve clung to is dissolving. The letting go that we cultivated during our life is happening naturally; this is what we’ve wanted, and now it’s occurring on its own.
For those who spend their lives learning to relax with groundlessness, death is liberating. But if we live our lives trying to hold on to this brief and transient existence, we’re going to be scared, very scared, when we die. Death is the ultimate unknown that we are forever avoiding; it’s the ultimate groundlessness that we try to escape. But if we learn to relax with uncertainty and insecurity, then death is a support for joy.
If we spend our lives searching for outside help—through looking good, shopping therapy, addictions, and so on—we will look for something solid to hold on to when we die. When we find ourselves seeking help, with panic-stricken eyes, we’ll discover too late that this habitual response will not help. This is Shantideva’s sobering message.
We have to ask ourselves, “In what do I seek refuge?” When I’m feeling scared, unhappy, or lonely, in what do I personally seek refuge? Shantideva infers that seeking refuge in the ungraspable, inconceivable heart and mind of bodhichitta will pay off at the time of our deaths.
2.47
Thus from this day forth I go for refuge
To buddhas, guardians of wandering beings,
Who labor for the good of all that lives,
Those mighty ones who scatter every fear.
2.48
In the Dharma that resides within their hearts,
That scatters all the terrors of samsara,
And in the multitude of bodhisattvas,
Likewise I will perfectly take refuge.
If we take refuge in awakened mind itself—courageous and limitless—instead of seemingly solid ground, it will scatter every fear at the time we need this most.
2.49
Gripped by dread, beside myself with terror,
To Samantabhadra I will give myself;
And to Manjushri, the melodious and gentle,
I will give myself entirely.
2.50
To h
im whose loving deeds are steadfast,
O my guardian, Avalokita,
I cry out from depths of misery,
“Protect me now, the sinner that I am!”
2.51
Now to the noble one, Akashagarbha,
And to Kshitigarbha, from my heart I call.
And all protectors, great, compassionate,
To them I go in search of refuge.
2.52
And to Vajrapani, holder of the diamond,
The very sight of whom will rout
All dangers like the deadly host of Yama;
To him indeed I fly for safety.
2.53
Formerly your words I have transgressed,
But now I see these terrors all around.
To you indeed I come for help,
And pray you, swiftly save me from this fear.
In verse 53, Shantideva infers that when he didn’t understand the workings of cause and effect, he continued strengthening negative propensities. Now, however, he comprehends that he is the one creating the causes of his future happiness or unhappiness. He is therefore inspired to follow the example of the master bodhisattvas mentioned here, and to put their teachings into practice. In this way, they will always be with him, protecting him from fear.
2.54
For if, alarmed by common ills,
I act according to the doctor’s words,
What need to speak of when I’m constantly brought low
By lust and all the hundred other torments?
2.55
And if, by one of these alone,
The dwellers in the world are all thrown down,
And if no other remedy exists,