Becoming Bodhisattvas

by Pema Chodron

  8.17

  “Oh, I am rich, surrounded by attention,

  I have so much, and life is wonderful!”

  Nourish such complacency and later,

  After death, your fears will start!

  8.18

  Indeed, O foolish and afflicted mind,

  You want, you crave for everything,

  This “everything” will grow and turn

  To suffering increased a thousandfold.

  Verses 17 to 21 address the way we get distracted by good fortune. The great meditation master Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche taught that sometimes good circumstances are more difficult to work with than bad ones, because they’re so much fun. He called them “positive obstacles.”

  When someone is angry with us, it might remind us to meditate on patience. When we get sick, our suffering can put us in touch with the pain of others. When things go well, however, our mind easily accepts this. Like oil absorbing into our skin, attachment to favorable circumstances blends smoothly and invisibly into our thoughts and feelings. Without realizing what’s happening, we can become infatuated with our achievements, fame, and wealth. It’s difficult to extricate ourselves from positive obstacles. If we could have everything we wish for—wealth, a comfortable house, nice clothing—he advises us to view this good fortune as illusory, like a beautiful dream, and not let it seduce us into complacency.

  As Shantideva says, O foolish and afflicted mind, you want, you crave for everything, but everything is never enough. As those in advertising well know, the more we get, the more we feel we need.

  8.19

  Since this is so, the wise man does not crave,

  For from such craving fear and anguish come.

  And fix this firmly in your understanding:

  All that may be wished for will by nature fade to nothing.

  8.20

  For people may have gained a wealth of riches,

  Enjoying reputation, sweet renown.

  But who can say where they have gone to now,

  With all the baggage of their gold and fame?

  All those people throughout history who’ve gained riches, fame, and good reputations, where are they now? They’re gone forever. And in the end, what use was all the baggage of their gold and fame? It didn’t help them at death and it won’t help us.

  Worldly delights could, of course, support our awakening. When we are comfortable and at ease, we can devote more time to meditation and benefiting others. Usually, however, they lure us into further busyness and shenpa. As Trungpa Rinpoche put it, “Aren’t we ridiculous?”

  8.21

  Why should I be pleased when people praise me?

  Others there will be who scorn and criticize.

  And why despondent when I’m blamed,

  Since there’ll be others who think well of me?

  Shantideva refers here to the “eight worldly concerns”: praise and blame, pleasure and pain, fame and obscurity, gain and loss. He asks why be happy when people praise me, or unhappy when they condemn me, since there’ll always be those with other opinions. Nevertheless, these worldly concerns are the very things we constantly strive to get or get away from. The shenpa tug of want and don’t want keeps us spinning in samsara.

  Just the thought of someone saying something nice about us makes us feel good. If someone treats us in a neutral way, maybe has a deadpan response to our story, just remembering this makes fears, but we can all count on it happening.

  This is not just personal neurosis; it’s another example of our universal dilemma.

  8.22

  So many are the wants and tendencies of beings,

  Even Buddha could not please them all—

  Of such an evil man as me no need to speak!

  Better to give up such worldly thoughts.

  8.23

  People scorn the poor who have no wealth,

  They also criticize the rich who have it.

  What pleasure can derive from keeping company

  With people such as these, so difficult to please?

  8.24

  Unless they have their way in everything,

  These children are bereft of happiness.

  And so, shun friendship with the childish,

  Thus the Tathagata has declared.

  Here Shantideva wraps up the section on getting hooked by people and good fortune. There is no wisdom in trying to satisfy worldly cravings—our own or anyone else’s. The fact that even Buddha could not please them all is sobering. Shantideva advises us once again to not get sucked into the drama.

  8.25

  In woodlands, haunt of stag and bird,

  Among the trees where no dissension jars,

  It’s there I would keep pleasant company!

  When might I be off to make my dwelling there?

  8.26

  When shall I depart to make my home

  In cave or empty shrine or under spreading tree,

  With, in my breast, a free, unfettered heart,

  Which never turns to cast a backward glance?

  8.27

  When might I abide in such a place,

  A place unclaimed, by nature ownerless,

  That’s wide and unconfined, a place where I might stay

  At liberty without attachment?

  8.28

  When might I be free of fear,

  Without the need to hide from anyone,

  With just a begging bowl and few belongings,

  Dressed in garments coveted by none?

  When Shantideva praises solitude, he is not suggesting we run away and hide from all unpleasantness. Even if this were possible, he wouldn’t recommend it. One could spend years alone in a cave without really letting go of anything. The question is how best to attain the inner solitude that will bring lasting happiness.

  There’s a story about Patrul Rinpoche visiting a yogi who had been meditating in retreat for many years. His main practice was the perfection of patience. Rinpoche arrived unexpectedly and immediately started needling the yogi, ridiculing his practice, and calling him a charlatan. Finally the man got furious and screamed at Patrul Rinpoche to go away and leave him alone. As Rinpoche took his leave, he said to the yogi, “I was just testing your perfection of patience.”

  8.29

  And going to the charnel ground,

  When shall I compare

  My body with the dry bones there,

  So soon to fall to nothing, all alike?

  8.30

  This form of mine, this very flesh,

  Is soon to give out such a stench

  That even jackals won’t come close—

  For that indeed is all its destiny.

  Yet again, Shantideva contemplates the impermanence of his life. In charnel grounds filled with exposed corpses, he compares his body with the dry bones there and understands that after death, this form of mine, this very flesh, will give off such a stink that even the jackals won’t come near. In this pensive mood, Shantideva then teaches himself the dharma.

  8.31

  This body, now so whole and integral,

  This flesh and bone that life has knit together,

  Will drift apart, disintegrate.

  And how much more will friend depart from friend?

  8.32

  Alone we’re born, alone we come into the world,

  And when we die, alone we pass away.

  For no one shares our fate, and none our suffering.

  So what are they to me, such “friends” and all their hindrances?

  Our very life depends on this body being relatively healthy and together. But our body will di
sintegrate, and that’s it. It will leave us, just as a friend departs from a friend. In a kind of “ashes to ashes” verse, he says that we’re born alone, and when we die, no matter how much we love people or they love us, we will go through that transition without company. There is nothing our dear ones can do to help us. Clinging to them will only hinder our ability to let go and move on with ease.

  8.33

  Like those who journey on the road,

  Who halt and make a pause along the way,

  Beings on the pathways of the world,

  All halt, and pause, and take their birth.

  8.34

  Until the time comes round

  When four men carry me away,

  Amid the tears and sighs of worldly folk—

  Till then, I will away and go into the forest.

  This life is like a rest stop on a journey. We could think of our body as a hotel room: we rent it, we rest for a while, and we move on. Shantideva aspires to not waste his brief life running after meaningless distractions. Until the time comes for his corpse to be carried away, he’ll put his days to good use and go into retreat.

  8.35

  There, with no befriending or begrudging,

  I will stay alone in solitude,

  Considered from the outset as already dead,

  Thus, when I die, a source of pain to none.

  8.36

  And likewise, staying all alone,

  The sound of mourning will not hinder me.

  And no one will be there distracting me

  From thinking of the Buddha and the practice.

  This is instruction for dying. If, due to our training during life, we can connect with the openness of our mind, the experience of death will be joyful and expansive. But what if our mind is all over the place and easily distracted by emotional entanglement? Then the death process will be confusing and frightening. Shantideva’s aspiration is to die alone, in hope of avoiding these unnecessary complications.

  8.37

  Therefore in these lovely gleaming woods,

  With joy that’s marred by few afflictions,

  I shall pacify all mental wandering,

  And there remain in blissful solitude.

  8.38

  Relinquishing all other aspirations,

  Focusing myself on one intent alone,

  I’ll strive to still my mind,

  And, calming it, to bring it to subjection.

  This aspiration ends the section on seeking outer and inner solitude. Calming the mind refers to shamatha meditation; bringing it to subjection means taming the wildness of the mind. Despite the harshness of the language, we already know that doing this depends on gentleness, patience, and enthusiasm.

  In the next section, Shantideva teaches at length about abandoning distractions that disturb the mind, particularly sexual desire.

  What is especially noteworthy about this section is Shantideva’s breathtaking logic. He relentlessly undermines the reasoning of craving. No matter what we lust for—a lover, a car, a hot fudge sundae—it’s always much ado about nothing.

  8.39

  In this and every other world,

  Desire’s the fertile parent of all conflict.

  Here in this world, bonds and wounds and death,

  And in the next, a hell is all prepared.

  8.40

  You send your go-betweens, both boy and maid,

  With many invitations for the prize,

  Avoiding, in the quest, no sin,

  No deed that brings an ill renown,

  8.41

  Nor acts of frightful risk,

  Nor loss and ruin of both goods and wealth—

  And all for pleasure and the perfect bliss,

  That utmost penetrating kiss.

  Some of what’s being discussed is the way people in Shantideva’s time went about finding partners—hence the go-betweens and invitations. It is interesting to note that, unlike many of the Nalanda monks, Shantideva was well acquainted with the customs of lay people. As a prince, he most likely had had intimate relations and was not a sexual prude.

  What he’s addressing here is not sexual passion itself, but how obsessed we become and the crazy things we do to satisfy our desires. As he says in verse 39, out-of-control passion can result in jail, injuries, or even death. Sadly, the O. J. Simpson syndrome is not all that uncommon.

  In the following verses, Shantideva asks us to look intelligently at the nature of our lover’s body, as he challenges the logic of our unreasonable preoccupation with sex.

  8.42

  Of what in truth is nothing but a heap of bones,

  Devoid of self, without its own existence!

  Is this the only object of desire and lust?

  Sooner pass beyond all suffering and grief!

  8.43

  Oh what pains you went through just to draw the veil,

  And lift the face that modestly looked down.

  That face which, looked upon or not,

  Was always carefully concealed.

  8.44

  That face for which you languished so…

  Well, here it is, now nakedly exposed.

  The crows have done their work for you to see.

  What’s this? You run away so soon?

  8.45

  That body that you guarded jealously

  And shielded from the eyes of other men,

  What, miser that you are, you don’t protect it,

  Now that it’s the food of graveyard birds?

  8.46

  Look, this mass of human flesh,

  Soon to be the fare of carrion beasts,

  You deck with flowers, sandalwood, and jewels,

  And yet it is the provender of others!

  There are two traditional antidotes for lust. The first is to replace lust with aversion. Shantideva uses this approach when he looks at the body after death and asks us to contemplate the unreasonable craving for this mass of human flesh. Desire, he says, fades quickly when your lover becomes a rotting corpse.

  The other antidote relies on seeing the body’s insubstantial, dreamlike nature. As he remarks in verse 42, those we lust after are nothing but a heap of bones, with no permanent or solid existence.

  From this point of view, it’s helpful to question the solid picture we hold of our sexual partner. Maybe we see them as sexy and irresistibly attractive; but catch them when they’re unwashed and smelly, and passion may rapidly change to aversion. What if we desire them fully dressed, but are shocked when they take off their clothes? Maybe they’re fatter or thinner than expected, or we don’t like their choice of tattoos. If passion can evaporate so quickly, what is it we’re really obsessed with?

  A friend of mine quickly ended a relationship after coming down with mumps. When her partner saw her so disfigured, he temporarily lost all interest in her. By the time she recovered her beauty, she had lost all interest in him!

  8.47

  Look again, these heaps of bones—

  Inert and dead. Why, what are you so scared of?

  Why did you not fear them when they walked around

  And moved with ease, like deadly revenants?

  Here again is Shantideva’s wit. Why, he asks, are we so afraid of a dead body, when this same body when it’s up and moving about doesn’t freak us out at all?

  8.48

  You loved them once, when clothed and draped they were.

  Well, now they’re naked, why do you not want them?

  Ah, you say, your lust is no more there,

  But why did you embrace them, all bedecked and covered?

  He’s re
ferring again to seeing our lover’s body as a corpse. What is it we’re so hooked on? If we think it’s their body, then why does everything change when that body is dead?

  8.49

  From food, a single source, come equally

  Their bodies’ filth, the honey-nectar of their mouths.

  So why are you delighted by saliva,

  And yet revolted by their excrement?

  It may be obvious why our lover’s saliva is more appealing than their shit. But think of it: a fly would find that shit very desirable. Is anything really intrinsically desirable or revolting?

  8.50

  Taking no delight in pillows,

  Soft though they may be to touch and stroke,

  You claim the human form emits no evil stench;

  You don’t know what is clean, befooled by lust!

  8.51

  Lustful ones, befuddled by desire,

  Because you cannot copulate with them,

  You angrily find fault with pillows,

  Even though they’re smooth and soft to touch!

  When Shantideva speaks of being befooled by lust and befuddled by desire, he addresses the heart of the problem. It’s not the sexual object that’s at fault, it’s our unreasonable degree of shenpa.

  8.52

  And if you have no love for filth,

  How can you coddle on your lap

  A cage of bones tied fast with sinews

  Plastered over with the mud of flesh?

  8.53

  The reason is you’re full of filth yourself,

  And wallow in it constantly.

  It is indeed just dirt that you desire,

  And therefore long for other sacks of filth!