by Pema Chodron
7.72
As such a man would leap in fright
To find a snake coiled in his lap,
If sleep and sluggishness beset me,
I will instantly dispel them.
This is yet another image for enthusiasm that puts the emphasis on urgency. When a snake lands in your lap, you don’t just sit there admiring its stripes; you leap up without hesitation. I’ve always been encouraged to practice like this: as if a snake had just landed in my lap or my hair were on fire!
7.73
Every time, then, that I fail,
I will reprove and vilify myself,
Thinking long that by whatever means
Such faults in future shall no more occur.
Here Shantideva refers back to the practice of confession. Although the word vilify sounds aggressive, his point is that honest self-reflection is crucial. On the spiritual path, we need to make friends with ourselves. Otherwise, Shantideva’s recommendations will backfire into utterly useless guilt and self-contempt.
The only way to heal ourselves is to build on the foundation of loving-kindness. Then it’s not a problem to recognize neurosis as neurosis and connect with our genuine heartbreak. This tender, broken-hearted longing to stop harming ourselves naturally leads to thinking long that in the future such faults shall no more occur.
I think the best way to understand this approach is through the hilarious stories of the Tibetan yogi Geshe Ben. Whenever this eccentric fellow saw in himself any kindness or wisdom, he referred to himself as “Venerable Geshe.” When he saw himself getting hooked by shenpa, he addressed himself as “you fool.”
Once when he was visiting some patrons, Geshe Ben saw an open bag of barley flour hanging on the wall. He needed some flour, and when he was left alone he unconsciously started dipping in. Suddenly, realizing what he was doing, he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Thief, thief, I’ve caught a thief!” When his hosts rushed in, there he was with his hand in the bag.
Another time, the patrons invited all the monks for a meal. Geshe Ben was seated last. As the servers were doling out his favorite yogurt, he began to panic: “What if there’s none left for me?” “How can that fat monk take such a huge helping?” As feelings of resentment grew, he began to connive how he could move ahead of the other monks before it was too late. Then he realized, with remorse, what he was doing and patiently waited his turn. When they finally got to him, he put his hand over his bowl and yelled, “No yogurt for this greedy fellow. This yogurt addict has already had enough.”
Personally, these humorous tales have often helped me acknowledge my small-mindedness, without getting too heavy-handed or judgmental.
7.74
At all times and in any situation,
Mindfulness will be my constant habit.
This will be the cause whereby I aim
To meet with teachers and fulfill the proper tasks.
7.75
By all means, then, before I start this work,
That I might have the strength sufficient to the task,
I will reflect upon these words on mindfulness
And lightly rise to what is to be done.
Shantideva concludes with praises for mindfulness. When we’re fully awake and present, we can better fulfill our tasks and hear what our teachers have to say. Usually, we miss a lot: our mind wanders and large segments of our experience are lost. It would be wise, therefore, to contemplate Shantideva’s teachings on mindfulness and lightly, not sternly, put them into practice.
7.76
The lichen hanging in the trees wafts to and fro,
Stirred by every breath of wind;
Likewise, all I do will be achieved,
Enlivened by the movements of a joyful heart.
This beautiful verse is an image of fruition enthusiasm and gives us a feeling of what is possible for all of us. Despite the heartbreak of seeing the world’s suffering, we’re joyful that we can do our part to alleviate rather than add to that misery. This happiness gives us access to a tremendous bank of energy that was previously bound up in self-absorption. Now everything that took effort happens spontaneously and naturally. Imagine the upliftedness of a life where everything will be achieved, enlivened by the movements of a joyful heart.
*For more in-depth instruction on tonglen, see my book When Things Fall Apart, chapter 15.
Heartbreak with Samsara
Meditation, Part One
IN THE OPENING VERSE of chapter 8 of The Way of the Bodhisattva, Shantideva makes reference to the linear development of the paramitas, with each one building on the one before: based on our cultivation of enthusiasm, or diligence, we can now practice the paramita of meditation. Our spiritual development, however, doesn’t always go in such a straight line. Sometimes our mind is stable and alert; at other times, it’s all over the place. Sometimes we reach out to one another, and sometimes we retreat into our cocoon. Nevertheless, if our intention remains strong, we do become progressively more present and less distracted, progressively more compassionate and less self-centered.
8.1
After cultivating diligence,
Set your mind to concentrate.
For those whose minds are slack and wandering
Are caught between the fangs of the afflictions.
In verses 1 through 24, Shantideva discusses the reasons to tame the mind and avoid distractions. The message is similar to the teachings in chapter 5. There the analogy for wild mind was a crazed elephant. Here, being ruled by a wandering mind is compared to being caught between the fangs of the afflictions. The point of both examples is that an untamed mind causes us to suffer.
8.2
In solitude, the mind and body
Are not troubled by distraction.
Therefore, leave this worldly life
And totally abandon mental wandering.
With this verse, Shantideva begins a discussion on the need for solitude. In contemplating this section, it is helpful to remember three topics: dunzi, or wasting our lives with useless distractions; shenpa, the experience of being hooked; and heartbreak or nausea with samsara.
When Shantideva tells us to leave this worldly life, he’s addressing how hooked we become by the things of this world, and how we need to find time to be free of distractions. After a while, nausea with getting hooked becomes like an ache in the heart that never goes away.
Shantideva is not making an ultimate statement about how to live one’s life. He’s just saying that in order for the mind to become steady, we’ll need to remove ourselves from dunzi, at least for short periods of time. Outer solitude is a support for inner solitude. This is his point.
We can’t kid ourselves: if we never take a break from our busy lives, it’s going to be extremely difficult to tame our minds. This is why it’s recommended to take time every day to meditate. Even short periods of sitting silently with ourselves allow the mind to settle down. Longer periods are even better.
8.3
Because of loved ones and desire for gain,
Disgust with worldly life does not arise.
These, then, are the first things to renounce.
Such are the reflections of a prudent man.
Verse 3 addresses a common addiction: seeking happiness in outer things, as though a partner, food, or some possession could provide the joy lacking in our lives. Our tendency to be overtaken by these drives is what concerns Shantideva here. It isn’t the loved ones and gain, per se, that need to be renounced; it’s the unrealistic hopes we place in these things.
Wishful thinking can easily become more compelling than the longing of the bodhi heart.
8.4
Penetrative insight joined with calm abiding
Utterly eradicates afflicted state
s.
Knowing this, first search for calm abiding,
Found by those who joyfully renounce the world.
Calm abiding again refers to the mental stability of shamatha meditation. The penetrative insight of a calm and steady mind is the basis for working with the kleshas. To cultivate this stability and wakefulness, we’ll need to find time for solitude.
8.5
Beings, brief, ephemeral,
Who fiercely cling to what is also passing,
Will catch no glimpse of happiness
For many thousands of their future lives.
8.6
And thus their minds will have no joy
And therefore will not rest in equanimity.
But even if they taste it, they are not content—
And as before, the pain of longing stays.
When we beings, brief, ephemeral cling to things that are equally impermanent, it’s a setup for dissatisfaction. This isn’t a particularly religious statement; we can see that everything is constantly changing, including ourselves.
Since impermanence defies our attempts to hold on to anything, outer pleasures can never bring lasting joy. Even when we manage to get short-term gratification, it doesn’t heal our longing for happiness; it only enhances our shenpa. As Dzigar Kongtrul once said, “Trying to find lasting happiness from relationships or possessions is like drinking saltwater to quench your thirst.”
8.7
If I long and crave for other beings,
A veil is cast upon the perfect truth.
Wholesome disillusion melts away,
And finally there comes the sting of pain.
8.8
My thoughts are all for them…
And by degrees my life is frittered by.
My family and friends all fade and pass, for whom
The Doctrine is destroyed that leads to indestructibility.
Driving the point home again and again is one of Shantideva’s teaching methods. These verses say once again that when we long and crave for other beings, a veil is cast upon the perfect truth. In other words, this craving blinds us to the unbiased nature of mind and thus our wholesome disillusion with samsara melts away.
Nausea with doing the same thing over and over is called wholesome disillusion because it motivates us to break our habits. By contrast, ordinary disillusionment is ego-based disgust—I don’t like this, I don’t want that—that keeps our habits well entrenched. Shantideva says that when seeking security in outer things clouds our perception of the fleeting, uncertain nature of reality, our longing to wake up may well evaporate. Then sooner or later it’s too late to wake up, because there comes the sting of pain. In other words, we die.
Even hundreds of years later, we can easily understand when Shantideva says my thoughts are all for them. We’re always thinking about others: loved ones, family, and the people we like and dislike. We fritter away whole lifetimes preoccupied with these objects of our craving and disdain. Meanwhile family and friends all fade and pass, leaving us, sadly, with a well entrenched craving “habit.” Sadder still, we may have lost our passion for liberation in the process.
8.9
For if I act like those who are like children,
Sure it is that I shall fall to lower states.
So why keep company with infants
And go with them in ways so far from virtue?
8.10
One moment friends,
The next, they’re bitter enemies.
Even pleasant things arouse their discontent:
Worldly people—hard it is to please them!
8.11
A beneficial word and they resent it,
While all they do is turn me from the good.
And if to what they say I close my ears,
Their anger burns, the cause of lower states.
The Buddha often likened sentient beings like us to children or childish beings. We’re childish in the way we constantly run after the objects of our desire. Shantideva isn’t implying he’s gone beyond this childishness. He’s saying this is the way we all are, and if we keep going like this, there’s no way to weaken our craving.
The time we spend getting hooked into our personal dramas only creates more confusion. One day we childish beings are friends, the next day we’re bitter enemies. Even the nice things we do for one another can create trouble. Have you ever tried to comfort someone or give them a word of encouragement, and get hostility in return? If you close your ears, people get angrier still. At a party, for example, if there’s some really good gossip circulating but you don’t go along with it, people find it very irritating. That’s just the way it is, and it never seems to change.
Reading these verses, you might decide that Shantideva’s a real curmudgeon. But if you take time to contemplate your experiences in the last twelve months, you’ll probably find he’s just stating the obvious.
8.12
Jealous of superiors, they vie with equals,
Proud to those below, they strut when praised.
Say something untoward, they seethe with rage:
What good was ever had from childish folk?
8.13
Keep company with them and what will follow?
Self-aggrandizement and scorn for others,
Talk about the “good things” of samsara—
Every kind of vice is sure to come.
These verses describe how we so often get it wrong. We are jealous of those who are wealthier, more popular, better looking, or have better jobs. We are competitive with our equals. To those “beneath” us, we’re scornful and proud.
It would be so simple to turn these biases into the practice of dharma. With our superiors, we could practice sympathetic joy; thus, by awakening our bodhi heart, their station would bring us benefit. Instead of being competitive with equals, we could practice kindness and respect. With those below, we could practice compassion. We only get it wrong out of habit, and by doing so we miss valuable opportunities.
What often happens when we get emotionally entangled with childish folk is that we egg each other on. Building ourselves up, putting others down, regaling in the “good things” of samsara—our wonderful vacation, an excellent bottle of wine—we get further enmeshed in transitory pleasures. At this stage of the path it is very easy to get hooked into each other’s dramas, and it is very dangerous.
The support we need to dissolve these old patterns, Shantideva says again, will come from finding time for solitude.
8.14
Only ruin can result
From links like these, between yourself and others.
For they will bring no benefit to you,
And you in turn can bring them nothing good.
8.15
Therefore flee the company of childish people.
Greet them, when you meet, with smiles
That keep on terms of pleasant courtesy,
While not inviting close familiarity.
8.16
Like bees that get their honey from the flowers,
Take only what is consonant with Dharma.
Treat them like first-time acquaintances,
Without encouraging a close relationship.
The way we get hooked by relationships always pulls us down. No one benefits and no good comes of it. Like a bee that gets stuck extracting honey from flowers, when we overindulge in gossiping, boasting, and slander, it’s lethal. We could stay on good terms with each other without getting hooked. Like wise bees, we can get what sustains our good heart without getting hopelessly trapped.
These teachings can be very challenging, and somewhat insulting or disturbing. But truthfully, do we use our current relationshi
ps to awaken bodhichitta? Most of us have no desire to be malicious or cause harm. We see our practice as a way of involving ourselves with sentient beings, not avoiding them. But as long as we are so easily triggered and seduced, we need solitude to deepen our stability and awareness.
It’s like becoming a brain surgeon: if this were truly our aspiration, we’d go to medical school for intensive training, and not try it out at home. Shantideva isn’t saying not to have friends or keep company with others. He is giving us advice for becoming less reactive and more wise.
The stability of mind is like a candle flame that at this point is very vulnerable. Solitude is like a glass chimney that keeps it from blowing out in the wind. When the flame is stable, we can take the cover off. The wind is no longer a threat; now, in fact, it will make the flame burn like a bonfire.
The older I get, the more drawn I am to longer periods of retreat, yet I know that spending months in solitude isn’t realistic for many people. You could, however, meditate each day and do day-long or weekend retreats whenever possible. If you can take more time, I certainly encourage you to do so. The main point is to make solitude a part of your life.
In order to work with difficult outer circumstances, we need to gather our inner strength. If even ten or twenty minutes of meditation a day helps us to do this, let’s go for it!
Making good use of our limited time—the limited time from birth until death, as well as our limited time each day—is the key to developing inner steadiness and calm.
One of the most inspiring stories I’ve heard in this regard concerns Dzigar Kongtrul’s grandmother. Her life was extremely demanding. But even though she worked hard from early morning until late at night, she became a highly realized person by practicing in the gaps. Whenever she wasn’t talking to somebody, she would relax her mind and be present. Whether she was milking cows, washing dishes, or walking from here to there, she used any opportunity to settle and expand her mind. With every pause, she found outer solitude and thus discovered an inner solitude that was unshakable and profound.
