For the current three-month retreat this year, we have a lot of
people who are quite new (less than five years’ experience) to meditation, and so I thought it would be good to go
back to some basics. And of course in doing that, looked more fully into an
area that I’d never
adequately explored myself. The area is thought, or what I’m calling ‘contemplative thought’. For most people (I suppose) who
enter Buddha-Dhamma through ‘meditation’ – i.e. sit up straight, close your eyes, focus on the breath
– thinking is configured as a constant distraction, a mad monkey that one
has to repeatedly drag down to the ground and tether. It’s either that or the restless
parrot of obsessive thought; a presence that sits on your shoulder and chirps
on and on while you’re trying to be quiet. Best kill these creature altogether,
and rely on the soundless angel of non-conceptual awareness to carry you to
nibbāna, right? Well, that’s
not the approach of the Buddha.
The
process that the Buddha encourages is one whereby the mind seamlessly segues
from carefully thinking on skilful lines to the inner quietening of jhāna
(thought doesn’t actually
become redundant until the ‘noble silence’ of second jhāna). So thought isn’t an enemy, in fact in a trained and
honed-down form, it’s an
asset that is essential for samādhi. The main difference between this
kind of thought and the mad monkey is that trained thought stays on the topic
and grows calm. Granted, the parrot of obsessive thought is also good at
staying on topics kindled by grudges, sense-desire and restlessness – but it selects
those that don’t support calming down. Its main job is to keep you tethered to
the world of the personal self, and it gets pretty jumpy whenever the
meditative process causes that world to dissolve. So some careful training is
needed. But, the good news is that rather than leap onwards, or grind around
the track of obsession, thought can be trained to contemplate: to select and circle
around a skilful theme, constantly grounding the mind in its meaning and
directing the heart to reflect on and abide in that.
The difference then
between the skilful and the unskilful pathways of thought is that the skilful
lets you investigate and delight in its nourishing roots. This is contemplation: you create a template, a temple with boundaries, and
your mind stays attentively within that. Hence contemplative thinking on
kindness directs the heart to the experience of goodwill, and to abide in gratitude, appreciation
and the loveability of oneself and others. And if you read through the suttas,
you’ll notice many occasions in
which contemplating the Buddha or one’s own good deeds is a recommended means of gladdening and
comforting the heart. Rightly fed in this way, the heart becomes satisfied,
settles, and stays within the temple. By and by, thought becomes increasingly
unnecessary, and contemplation can proceed in silent absorption.
Well, that’s
the classic paradigm. But for myself, for a long time it never seemed to work.
Thinking ‘May I be well, may so-and-so be well’, mostly featured as one more saying that the parrot chirped for a
while before it got bored and shifted its prattle to zestier themes. Kindness
is a good idea, and I would say that it is definitely an enjoyable part of my
nature. The trouble is that ordinary thinking didn’t get me there; I needed impressions of
others, mostly those that occur in daily life. And while chanting devotions to
the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha for decades, the results and the needs were much the same. I’d
lived close to the Triple Gem, studied it, served it, and taught it for years,
and yet recollecting it brought little of the rapture that is evident in
classical (and even contemporary) accounts. Mostly it was the living examples of teachers that, by establishing
impressions in my heart, have fleshed out my Refuge. I’ve assumed that this is because in the Western mind most
thinking doesn’t go to the
heart. Perhaps it’s because
our environment is so wordy: words babble at us from radios, TVs, newspapers, street signs and advertisements
about events that are often neither immediate nor relevant; many are about
fantasies and distractions. Confronted by all this, maybe the thinking mind can’t take in more than the bare
information; what it then transmits to the heart is just the momentum of need
and agitation.
However, even in
such a scenario, the connection between thought and heart-impression does
remain, but the messages that land are those associated with reactions of fear,
worry or desire. Thinking: ‘Doctors estimate that one out of five people will
develop liver cancer by the
time they're sixty’ is
likely to send a shudder into one’s
heart (Incidentally, I’ve
made that up, for the sake of an example). Think: ‘Bargain offer, this week
only!’ and ‘Mass immigration
threatens employment in the UK!’ or
‘United beat Arsenal 4-0’ (if
you’re a United or Arsenal
supporter) – the heart will jump and jiggle. So, in a way that is uncomfortably
close to the world of Orwell’s
1984, our thinking has become conditioned by headlines and soundbites
that produce knee-jerk reactions, those that hit our fear, hostility and greed
buttons. And ‘May I be well’,
aimed at settling in a benevolent and contented way into the present moment, doesn’t get near those buttons. In fact, although it takes more effort to be
skilful, deactivating the buttons is itself a main reason to cultivate such
thought.
What becomes apparent, to me at least, is that the topic of
skilful thinking points to a need for a necessary psychological rewiring. If
the mind is so conditioned to note the world and oneself in terms of anxiety,
competition, and potential threat – isn’t that going to draw suffering to it like a magnet? And also lessen
the significance and enjoyment of what is good, true and beautiful? No wonder
so many of us imagine that the end of thought has to be accomplished at all
costs, by any means. But even if such quietude
is achieved for periods of time, the matter of right thought, and consequently
right speech and action, hasn’t
been accomplished – so there is no integration of Dhamma into one’s everyday perspectives, actions
and relationships.
For that integration, we have to build on the connection between
the heart and thought; to use thought to establish heart-impressions that are
nourishing. Thought acts as a secretary to the boss in the heart: the secretary
always carries out the boss’s
orders, but mostly the boss is saying: ‘Help, help! Get me to a safe, happy
place!’ and ‘monkey thought’
can only scramble through the familiar
shops looking for a ticket. Thought heads for the familiar, and that
tends to be the compulsive/samsāric. The monkey has to be meaningfully calmed
(rather than throttled) through sending it to the right shop, with staff who aren’t
parrots, and who really seek the heart’s welfare. This is the first step: thought that’s selecting along
the lines of non-sensuality, kindness and harmlessness – ‘right thought’ (sammā-sankappa).
Notice that thought has two actions: to select and to connect to
the heart. From the Buddhist perspective these are the two actions of the ‘thought-formation’
(or, ‘verbal program’ – vaci-sankhāra) that
forms words. Verbalization may not even occur: when you forget someone’s name, you can feel that verbalization energy running around looking for a word and finding a blank
space. But the successful result of that program entails a two-fold process: a)
bringing to mind, or selecting (vitakka), and b) evaluating, sampling or
exploring what has been brought to mind (vicāra). As with a hand: vitakka
is the finger that points to a specific object – ‘that breath’– and vicāra is the palm that
handles, feels and takes the quality of what the finger has selected to the
heart – as in, ‘it feels warm/pulsing/pleasant, etc.’ Now with compulsive thinking, the ‘hand’ of thought is twitchy and
constantly drops objects of attention in favour of the ones that it’s conditioned to hold onto. So ‘thought’
is best understood to refer not to the words alone, but to the entire energetic
and psychological basis of thinking; to where the words are coming from where
they’re headed. Accordingly we
might expand our understanding of ‘right thought’ to include ‘right attitude’ or ‘right motivation’, and so coach the hand of thought
to undertake its process more carefully and meaningfully. It’s not just a
matter of parroting a few words.
For example, ‘May I be well’ doesn’t require intellectual genius, but
it does entail evoking the aspiration for one’s here-and-now well-being, and also bringing to mind a meaningful reference
to assess that with. As for meaningful reference: what I find is that there is
abundant evidence that other people wish me well. Even people who don’t know me are often courteous and
considerate; people who do are grateful, forgiving, helpful and look to
developing in that way. This is because it both feels good to do, and furthers
the potential for a meaningful relationship; for myself that’s the way it seems too. So one way in which I reflect kindness into
the heart is to bring to mind the specific instances of how others’ goodwill has manifested towards
me, today. Then sustaining vicāra, I dwell in the perception, the
heart-impression, of that. And that means there is a real quality, not just an
ideal, to what my mind can bring forth in terms of warmth and sympathy to
others.
So right thought brings quality to the mind. And it also
encourages the mind to investigate and feel where it’s coming from. Of course,
this is the opposite direction to samsāric thought, in which the main point is
to not investigate the thought process, but to seize upon and get fired up by fear,
restlessness, anger or greed. Right
thought is then not just ethically skilful; through enhancing investigation and
mindfulness, it is the basis for contemplation, the direct awareness of body
and mind.
It seems to me that there are only three topics for contemplative
thought. Kindness, well-being in the here and now, may be the first. How else
do we meaningfully motivate, if that isn’t the underlying reference? Isn’t a lot of our motivation in terms of pleasure and accomplishment
an often partial or shortsighted attempt to realize well-being? Contemplative
thought gets directly to the point; it takes us into the heart. Secondly comes
the topic of direction: where am I going, what holds meaning and value? In
Buddhist terms this is reflected on, investigated and finally celebrated in
terms of Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha. I
value my liberation from confusion, (buddho); I value my clarity and
integrity (vijjācarana–sampanno);
it is directly available (sandiṭṭhiko) as Dhamma; and there are those those (Sangha) who have
cultivated and are cultivating this process.
So the daily recollection of the Triple Gem isn’t about idolization; if its terms are
lingered over, investigated and contemplated, they gather the heart into values,
impressions that are both transcendent and necessary. Life needs meaning;
otherwise it’s just about
getting by. Suddenly devotion gets real.
Finally, a common theme best approached through contemplative
thought is action, kamma. What is good to initiate and sustain, and what is
best to put aside and steer away from? And
furthermore: what is the process that keeps me in touch with the basis of my
actions? Well, contemplative thought and
its integration into one’s
life must be part of that process, one that results in the strengthening and
clarification that is needed to really know what to do and what to give up. I
find two portable reminders useful: firstly freedom and secondly death.
Reflecting on freedom helps to educate the monkey: as it presents all kinds of
things I could be doing rather than meditate, I respond carefully with ‘ Yes,
reading, eating, going for a stroll are all fine, but I value my freedom above that.’
Try that with TV, sport, videos, etc. It’s not about judgement, but about
assessing where things take you, and where you could abide with a little more
sustained attention. Just imagine a moment when one isn’t driven, burdened or
restless: that here-and-now freedom – can you get a feel for that? Then reflection
on my own forthcoming death helps to clear the ‘to-do’ list and gets to the point of what really
needs to be done. To do good and to abide in the clarity and happiness of good
kamma: that’s about all you
can take with you and is the net result of what you bequeath to others.
As I look into the processes that have contributed to my
spiritual education, they all are based on assessing kamma. Investigate,
contemplate: ‘What is good to put aside? What is good to pick up?’ Think it
over. Because it’s only when
the prattling of the confused heart is translated, summed up and meaningfully
resolved that samsāric thinking will subside. You can then bring the clear and
wise mind to attend your breathing. And with that, the skill of silent
contemplation opens like a sensitive and intelligent hand; one that inclines to
the ineffable.
What an absolutely fantastic post.
ReplyDeleteI especially loved a couple of parts: "Isn’t a lot of our motivation in terms of pleasure and accomplishment an often partial or shortsighted attempt to realize well-being?" and the related: "...as it presents all kinds of things I could be doing rather than meditate, I respond carefully with ‘ Yes, reading, eating, going for a stroll are all fine, but I value my freedom above that.’"
That's a wonderfully simple technique that second one. And not just for meditation but for any sort of temptation to fall into samsaric habits.
Thanks for posting Ajahn Sucitto. I'll be over to visit Cittaviveka for a week in May so I very much hope our paths will cross then.
Much love from Holland :)
Duncan
Thanks for writing this.
ReplyDeleteI think it's a downward incline to the ineffable. I think faith and inspiration raises us up and over the spandrel of an arch of sorts, and the fall towards understanding is a natural one past that point. We wind up pretty much where we started, but with a much different perspective, one not of our own making.
Kindness & Well Being
ReplyDeleteDirection
Action & Karma
3 simple focuses that help tame the Monkey.
Thank you