Year: 2014

  • Newly Old: a Fantasy

    I have been working with a student to proof my pending autobiography. A number of passages are fanciful, each of which is intended to make a Dharmic point, at least obliquely. I thought I would begin to post these as a series. Most, maybe all, have been posted independently in a previous incarnation as separate pieces before, but generally a number of years ago.

    The first was originally written in Myanmar, in the Sagaing Hills. No other background is required, except Wigglet, the dog I refer too, was a feral dog who befriended me. She was actually much better cared for than most dogs around the monastery because she was smart enough to claim the Guest House as her territory, where many foreign visitors stayed, who tended to take more interest in dogs than the natives.

    Newly Old

    While living in Sagaing I became officially old: I turned 60!

    In Buddhism we have this Self thing, or rather don’t have it. To be a Self requires the view that there is something in or around this body that is unchanging, besides a Social Security Number. That unchanging Self is what is known in Buddhism as “a mental formation,” and also as a “Wrong View.” In my case this delusion of a mental formation must have arisen many years ago complete with many wonderful unchanging characteristics. So it is not surprising that that Self is someone actually much younger than me. The landmark event of turning 60 put me once again face to face with that unchanging youthful Self, and gave me three choices:

    The first choice is denial. Under this choice I try all the harder to convince myself that I am this youthful unchanging Self. After all, I have the still unchanged energy to be an international globetrotter, like I was in my 20’s, and now without depending on Youth Hostels. My health is excellent, except when I’m not feeling so chipper. I can always grow some of my lush head of hair back. I’ve had many more years of experience being young than any of the young of today — the whippersnappers — so I should be really good at it. Why, I just might get me a skateboard, and what I think they call a “Walk Man” so I can listen to the latest “Disco” music, just like the youth of today. Monks don’t have hats to speak of that they could wear backwards, but maybe I’ll express my youthful rebellion by wearing my robe over my right shoulder.

    After I began with such thoughts to settle into a happy state of denial my daughter Kymrie emailed from America, “I don’t think the skateboard is a good idea. After all, you are 60.” That suddenly took the wind out of my sails. I then began to realize how denial must always slide the slippery slope gradually into despair. So I placed my mind there to see how it felt.

    So, the second choice is despair. Under this option I lament the unfairness of the universe for not being the way it is supposed to be, for failing to respect who I really am, for not according me what was promised to me, for being like a fancy restaurant that has inexcusably lost my dinner reservation or a hotel that has put me in a room next to the elevator or over a, uh, disco. I might even try to organize something to do about it, like a gray folks’ protest.

    Or I might just relish the despair. You know, I would probably make a really great Bitter Old Man, famous for my Bodhidharma frown. I would learn the art of striking fear in the hearts not only of children, but even of dogs and cats. And it would just get better as I get older and older and older, and more and more bitter. The Despair I would experience with Flair, with a Penetrating Frown and a Horrifying Glare. Wigglet would no longer want to come to my door, relieved instead by the mangiest mongrels of Sagaing, my kinda dog. I would learn to peal paint and wilt flowers as I walk by. Ha ha. If I have to be a Bitter Old Man, I’m going to do it right. By next rainy season my mere presence will pop meditators right out of samādhi into a thicket of unwholesome impulses. My former fans will say, “Don’t do It, Bhante, don’t become a Bitter Old Man,” and “No, Not Bhikkhu Cintita.”

    … But wait, what am I thinking? Am I not just replacing one Self with another, the Young with the Old, then clinging equally to the new (Old)? Do I really think I can find satisfaction with the Old (new) Self, any more than I could with the old (Young)? Is not the new (Old) equally subject to dissolution? Oh, Impermanence, What Vexation Have You Wrought? And what would the Buddha say? One of his monks turning into a modern (new but Old) Mara. Besides, I can see that this Bitter Old Man bit will wear thin pretty quickly. “Oh, Wigglet! Wigglet!”

    The third choice is acceptance. Under this choice I regard this situation as a good Practice Opportunity and Topic for Contemplation. This is the Buddhist Way! It goes something like this:

    If I am not this unchanging youthful Self, then who is that guy, and who am I? I seem to have his memories of who he is supposed to be, so we must have intersected at some point, maybe that time in 1965. If he is not me, he must be around here somewhere, since he is unchanging. And I must be another Self, so two Selves. And if there can be two Selves that I identify as me, aren’t there likely to be more? But I know that guy used to be me, so what happened? The mind not able to wrap itself around any of this, exhausted, all the Selves shatter and what is left is nothing but the recognition of change, a continual relentless flux of the whole universe morphing into new forms. Even as the idea arises that this is me, all the parts and their relations are already morphing into something else. Any Self that tries to hold onto itself does not fit into the way things really are, is no more than the product of a very active imagination trying to find something solid in an ocean of change. It is silly to try to hang onto something I never was and could not possibly be.

    Thinking this way gives me the ability to lighten up, … and to sound very philosophical while I’m at it.

    Just when I had not only resigned myself to no longer being a youth, or a Self, but also thought I was joyfully present with this reality, one of the monks at Sagaing told me he thought I was already 70! That suddenly propelled me back to Square One. I began to picture myself in the upcoming spring once again zipping around Austin on a skateboard wearing full burgundy robes.

  • Through the Looking Glass: the book

    Screenshot

    Hot off the Press!

    I have completed my autobiographical narrative, after about five years of writing. This is a proof, for which I request any constructive criticism, particularly editorial corrections. This is available as a pdf file, and is about 340 pages long.

    Please click on the picture to the left for more information.

     

  • “Culture of Awakening” available on-line

    CoverFinalMy new book, A Culture of Awakening: the life and times of the Buddha-Sasana is now available on this site. Just click the cover image on the left.

    In the meantime, I’ll keep working on my other projects. I recently became aware of an interesting blog, Burma Dhamma, in Israel, of all places, that links to a lot of Theravada and Buddhist resources, and particularly Burmese resources. If you scroll down you will find a post on “Through the Looking Glass,” my autobiography, currently in draft form.

     

     

     

  • The Latest on Cintita and Austin

    I haven’t been submitting weekly Uposatha Day posts for some time. Realizing that I have quite a few subscribers undoubtedly waiting in suspense, I thought I would send out this morsel and perhaps set a precedent for myself.

    The primary reason for suspending Uposatha Day posts is not that I have ceased writing, bubook coverv7t that I am working more intensely on book projects, largely based on shorter or serialized writings posted here in the past:

    1. I am on the verge of finishing for publication A Culture of Awakening: the Life and Times of the Buddha-Sasana. I only have to tinker with the subject index, then will make it available as a pdf and in hardcopy form probably at Lulu.com.

    2. I am writing and researching for Rebirth: Reasonable Reflections for Reluctant Rationalists. I hope to substantially finish this by the end of the year.

    3. I am making a revision of my perpetually in progress autobiographical Through the Looking Glass.

    4. I am trying to gather materials for a biography in English of Sitagu Sayadaw. There are a lot of materials available, but they are all in Burmese. I am recruiting some Burmese to produce rough translations into English. I hope to have enough material to focus my own time on this during 2015.

    image-1390697859929-VIn the meantime, construction has still not been completed here at the monastery where I live (the Sitagu Buddha Vihara, sitagu.org/austin/). Recall that we had scheduled our grand opening ceremony for November of 2012. Since then the City of Austin has made quite a few demands having to do with drainage and sprinkler systems, including an 18,000 gal. water tank to pressurize the sprinklers, for our many buildings. For this reason we have not been scheduling major events, like meditation retreats. All the underground work is now complete and it looks pretty certain we can have our grand opening sometime this year, though we have stopped counting on anything.

    The additional I am teaching my weekly sutta class at the Austin Zen Center and we are supporting limited meditation, Dhamma instruction, pagoda tours and such on an individual basis at the monastery. We have four monks actually resident here (two of whom are at the moment in Myanmar), our kappiya Koyin (a young Karen) and at any one time generally at least someone making use of our many cabins. I invite any of my readers to come by and stay for a few days if you can get to Texas.

    We still plan to invite Pa Auk Sayadaw to lead a one-month retreat after our grand opening. Many of you might know that Pa Auk Sayadaw spent the last rains (vassa) at his new center in Sonoma County, California. Our secretary helped him apply for an R1 (religious worker) visa so that he can continue to be active in the USA, and the easiest way to do that was to list him officially as a resident of our monastery. Though he has never been here, he will probably visit in a couple of months.

    Our beautiful library is growing by leaps and bounds. As chief librarian I control new book purchases, and we receive substantial donations of used books. We’ve recently acquired quite a few books on early Buddhism, a number on Buddhist art, I.B. Horner’s translation of the Vinaya, and a few Buddhist movies (DVDs). I have a nice staff of volunteers, all bibliophiles, including my daughter Kymrie. I may start submitting some short book reviews to this blog. I am always reading about three or four books at any one time.

    AriyaHonor

     

     

     

  • Alms Round in America?

    Adapted from my autobio for publication in our monastery newsletter.

    When the Buddha returned to visit his princely home after his alms-financed Awakening, he continued his rounds in the streets of Kapilavatthu much to the distress of his aristocratic father. The alms round was for the Buddha a key feature of the monastic life and, even when food was close at hand, the alms round was not to be disregarded. For the alms round was not simply a  way to feed the monks and nuns but also to give layfolks the opportunity to make merit and learn Dhamma as the Sangha, dignified and mindful, passes silently from house to house to receive offerings, and also to promote the growth of the Sāsana. Ashin Dr. Paññasīha of the Sitagu center in Yangon takes this ancient obligation quite seriously and I used to join him in this remarkable practice, crossing over Bailey Bridge, down some stairs, past a small Burmese version of a strip mall (about five tiny abutting shops), across another busy road and into a small neighborhood of many closely packed dwellings and muddy alleys trafficked by bicycles, pedestrians and chickens and beslumbered by lazy mutts.

    Once, as my departure from the Land of Pagodas neared, U Paññasīha admonished me, “When you go back to America you should continue alms rounds.”

    “I don’t think you can do alms rounds in the States,” I replied, “Nobody will know what I am doing.”

    “I did,” he responded.

    Indeed, he had lived in America for one and a half years where he had attended Vanderbilt University in Nashville. He explained how he had been determined to walk for alms no matter where he lived, how he had printed up fliers and distributed them through his neighborhood in anticipation of people’s bewilderedness, and how he ended up with many American students eager to learn Buddhism.

    “In a lot of places in America, including Austin,” I objected, “I could be arrested for ‘begging’!”

    “I wouldn’t have minded getting arrested,” he retorted, “I would teach Buddhism in jail.”

    Whew, this venerable argued an awfully strong case.

    Within thirteen days of my arrival back in Austin, I found myself living for seven months at the Sitagu Dhamma Vihara near St. Paul, Minnesotta, a northern land peopled primarily by tall lumbering Vikings under baseball caps, fair of skin, hair and eyes, just like me (for I am also of tall lumbering nordic descent), but without the robes. Although my old alms bowl stood on my shelf to remind me of Ashin Paññasīha’s alms admonition, I had trouble picturing myself seeking alms on County Road C, walking along the edge of the road, dumbfounding the occupants of cars as they flashed past, gaining little notice from the neighbors (undoubtedly Lutheran Protestants), all of whose houses stood well back from the roadway. What I pictured seemed hardly promising of alms, nor even of significant human contact.

    That is, unless I just happened to pass the right house at the right moment: Once, while on my long daily walk, a swift bicycle passed me from behind then screeched to a halt, ejecting a dark-haired woman who, with a sidewards toss of the bike, dropped to the ground and bowed at my feet. She was, as she explained, from Laos and was now married to an American. As she had been washing dishes in her kitchen, she happened to glance up to see the very last thing walk by that she had ever expected in rural Minnesota. She dashed out the door, jumped on her daughter’s bicycle and hastened after me. Had I instead been walking by with alms bowl in hand, I would certainly have attained to left-over waffles, bear mush or even better!

    But no, I had by this time fastened on an alms plan that would leave little to chance. This was inspired by an American nun (named Ayya Thanasanti, and now a bhikkhuni), who, according to my sources, had started collecting alms in Colorado. Brilliantly, she performed her alms round at a farmer’s market! A farmer’s market provides the ideal set of circumstances under which even Nordic inhibition might be set aside in favor of an ancient rite that is over twice as old as Viking plunder: a wide variety of amiable people in a relaxed and interactive frame of mind, and food close at hand, available for purchase on a whim. I phoned the director of the nearest farmers’ market and easily obtained permission to walk barefoot, bowl in hand, robes formally adjusted over both shoulders, along the bustling row of booths.

    I also invited the four monks from the local Karen monastery in St. Paul to join me, and a few members of our community to bring some food to offer, to prime the pump that would then suck up broader participation. The Karen monks, never having expected to go for alms in America, a bit apprehensive about the response they might invoke, and of less than Nordic stature, suggested we forgo the normal monastic custom of queuing up according to ordination date (for mine would be most recent) and, much like novices or ducklings, line up according to height … tallest first.

    We had a number of glitches at first. The Burmese recruited to prime the pump were, as I should have anticipated, far too generous to provide a reasonable example for emulation, for they handed us what appeared to be entire grocery bags of food, which gave the row of monks the appearance of a kind of human shopping cart, already brimming and hardly in need of still further alms. Luckily, in subsequent weeks, with decreasing numbers of the Burmese community showing up, brim became less of an issue. Although many of the shoppers must still have wondered why grown bald men in dresses were playing choo-choo in the middle of their shopping experience, week after week more shoppers and vendors caught on. Once an apparent immigrant from Southwest Asia, who presumably had not seen an alms round in many years, was thrilled to be able to explain to her lanky grandson how to drop an offering into each of our bowls. Once a vendor gave each of us a little bottle of honey. Our alms practice finally ended with the end of the farmers’ market season as the chill of the northern winter approached.

    Back in Austin, a small group of Burmese families has been considering purchasing and subdividing a lot adjacent to the monastery to build five houses. This would constitute a small village into which the Sitagu Sangha might venture, barefoot, bowls in hand, robes formally adjusted over both shoulders, along a short row of houses, to attain to rice, curry and more.

  • Happiness or Meaning?

    Following on the heals of my recently posted essay, “The Cushion or the World?,” the present post may establish what we can call the “or” series. This is not really an essay as much as a report of some interesting things I have been reading on the Internet about the difference between happiness and meaning, along with a few comments from the Buddhist perspective.

    I ran across these readings while doing background research for an upcoming essay on rebirth. As many of you know, who have read my previous writings on rebirth, I feel the most relevant question we can ask is not “Is rebith literally (objectively or rationally) true?” but “Why would the Buddha teach such a thing?” The short answer is not “Because everybody happened to believe in it at the time and place of the Buddha,” but “Because it confers upon Buddhist practice and understanding, transcendental meaning of epic proportions.”

    Since meaningfulness is not commonly discussed in Buddhism, and happiness, for its part, tends to be eclipsed by suffering, I googled around for some interdisciplinary discussion and found some articles in psychology with provocative titles like, “Why a Life without Meaning will Make you Sick,” “The Problem with Happiness,” and “There’s More to Life Than Being Happy.”

    Happiness is the American Way! “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” is right there in our Declaration of Independence and the pursuit of happiness is the engine of our economic system, both as titillated consumers and avaricious investors. In fact, many of us tend to think of pursuit of happiness as the very meaning of our lives. However, the research I uncovered seems to put the wisdom of the pursuit of happiness into grave doubt.

    Meaningfulness is, in all of the reported research, understood as something beyond ourselves or our personal happiness. It is to have a stake in something larger than ourselves: our family, our nation, mankind, the health of the planet, knowledge, the march of human understanding, artistic creation. “Being happy is about feeling good, meaning is derived from contributing to others or to society in a bigger way” (Smith 1) Generally meaningfulness is equated with virtue, while happiness is equated with getting what one wants. It is a matter of giving rather than taking.

    Yet, we all want to live happily. The dilemma around happiness, as around Awakening, is that it is so illusive. The psychologist Victor Frankl, developer of Logotherapy, wrote, “Happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue.” He also wrote, “It is the very pursuit of happiness that thwarts happiness” (Cooper). This brings to mind the classical Zen koan:

    Chao-chou aked Nan-chuan, “What is the Way?”
    Nan-chuan said, “Ordinary mind is the Way.”
    Chao-chou asked, “Then may I direct myself towards it or not?”
    Nan-chuan said, “To turn toward it is to turn away from it.”

    This dilemma is borne out by recent psychological research that finds that people “putting the greatest emphasis” (which I assume means “pursuing”) on being happy, enjoy “positive emotions” 50 percent less frequently, have 35 percent less “satisfaction,” and suffer from 75 percent more depression and 17 percent less “psychological well-being,” than people with priorities beyond personal happiness. (Kashdan)

    Another, startling, recent study by Barbara Fredrickson and Steve Cole finds health risks in the lack of meaning, even in those that are otherwise “happy.” They found that people who are happy, but lack meaning in their lives (roughly those “simply here for the party”), exhibit similar immune system responses to those who are struggling with prolonged adversity, such as grief at loss of a loved one. It is if their bodies were preparing to fight off bacterial infections. An immune system in this state for a prolonged period can increase the risk of illnesses like cancer and heart disease, because the body will be in a constant state of inflammation (Cooper, Smith 1). “Empty positive emotions are about as good for you for as adversity,” says Fredrickson (Smith 1).

    Another study shows that a short-term drive for happiness will have immediate consequences as well: Subjects deliberately primed through a simple exercise temporarily to value happiness in a test environment, then immediately subjected to a positive event, such as watching a funny film clip, appreciate the positive event less than those primed toward other values (Kashdan).

    Meaningfulness, for its part, is correlated with improved resilience, that is ability to overcome adverse circumstances. This was reported by Viktor Frankl in Man’s Search for Meaning, which correlates survival of victims of the Holocaust, like himself, with having something meaningful to live for beyond the fence. Recent research correlates ego- and spiritual transcendence with resilience (Hanfstingl).

    The difference between pursuit of happiness and pursuit of meaning brings “to mind the great philosophical debate, which has shaped Western civilization for over 2,000 years, about the nature of the good life. Does happiness lie in feeling good, as hedonists think, or in doing and being good, as Aristotle and his intellectual descendants, the virtue ethicists, think?” (Smith 1).

    As I was reading about these studies, the temple cat, Maung Wah, came to visit me in my kuti. He planted himself on my lap and purred effusively, which I suppose the researchers in these studies would have regarded as a species-specific indicator of transitory happiness. I was surprised, though, that after about five minutes Maung Wah had had enough, and wanted to be let out and be on his little way. I surmise that he did not find me all that meaningful.

    Now, what does Buddhism have to say about all of this? These concerns shaped Buddhism well over 2,000 years ago. The modern research exemplifies the way in which modern science can fruitfully intersect with Buddhist ideas.

    The pursuit of happiness flies directly into the face of the second of the Four Noble Truths, that the origin of suffering is craving, since the pursuit of something desirable is at most a short and perilous step away from craving. This research verifies that the Buddha knew what he was talking about, and usefully begins to qualify and quantify at least some of the kinds of suffering the Buddha discusses. Notice that for the Buddha, happiness is not the problem; in fact happiness (sukha = su+kha) is the opposite of suffering (dukkha = dur+kha, where su and dur are opposing prefixes meaning ‘good’ and ‘bad’). Craving happiness is the problem, which is why happiness is almost impossible to pursue successfully, except for that fleeting moment when, as a result of excruciating craving, a need is temporarily satisfied.

    Buddhism is un-American, insofar as it shrinks from the pursuit of happiness, though not from life nor, uh, liberation. This is why Buddhism is called the Path of Renunciation. This is why I am a monk. Still happiness readily ensues for the Buddhist when practice is directed beyond personal interest. Nuns and monks are naturally subversive of the American way simply by being, as a group, just about the happiest people there are, in astonishing defiance of conventional norms or common sense that prevails in our (or any other) land.

    Meaning is something we rarely identify as such in Buddhism, but nonetheless pervades the Buddhist life as it displaces pursuit of happiness or personal advantage. The most foundational Buddhist practice is generosity, learned in Buddhist lands almost from infancy, then virtue through training in precepts and attention to merit-making, then virtue through the development of the mental qualities of kindness, compassion and renunciation. All of this turns us away from self-concern, self-absorption, self-advantage,and towards self-transcendent meaning. As our practice advances we bring the same concerns to the micro-level through close attention to our own intentionality and through our meditation practice. Ultimately we enter the path toward Awakening, which for us has a transcendent meaning of epic proportions and which leads to the perfection of human character as ideally selfless, compassionate, serene and wise.

    Furthermore, whereas common-sense tends to view virtue and pursuit of personal happiness as rough opposites, the law of karma equates personal well-being with the enactment of virtue and self-transcendence. This captures the lesson of this psychological research, that happiness cannot be effectively pursued for itself, but instead ensues from pursuing what is most meaningful beyond the self. Pursuit of self-interest, driven by greed, hatred and delusion (the triple fire of desire, ire and mire), is bad karma, while pursuit of virtue is good karma. The accrual of good karma results in personal benefit. The practice of merit-making is the pursuit of virtue, generally of generosity, reinforced, should one’s intentions otherwise weaken, with the constant reminder that personal benefit will accrue.

    In short, as Buddhist we turn away from the pursuit of happiness and toward the pursuit of meaning, more and more as we advance in our practice. But thereby happiness, otherwise so illusive, ensues.

    (Cooper) Bell Beth Cooper, Happiness Is Not Enough: Why A Life Without Meaning Will Make You Sick, LINK.

    (Hanfstingl) Barbara Hanfstingl, Ego and Spiritual Transcendence: Relevance to Psychological Resilience and the Role of Age, LINK.

    (Kashdan) Todd Kashdan, The Problem with Happiness, LINK.

    (Smith 1) Emily Esfahani Smith, Meaning Is Healthier Than Happiness, LINK.

    (Smith 2) Emily Esfahani Smith, There’s More to Life Than Being Happy, LINK.