Bhikkhu Cintita

Author: bhikkhu cintita

  • Call for Blurbs

    I am finally, after five years, ready to seek a publisher for Through the Looking-Glass: An American Buddhist Life, available for download here on this site. I am gratified that many of you have read this text or one of the various early drafts and have provided favorable feedback, everything from “It’s a real page-turner” to “It sure has, uh, a lot of pages.”

    KymDad1983I am looking for a few distinguished people who are reasonably familiar with this text to write a blurb, much like one finds on the back cover of a book. I don’t expect any readers of my blog to be arbitrary people, but by distinguished I suppose one of the following is meant in this context:

    • The Dalai Lama,
    • Other Monastics or Buddhist teachers,
    • Scholars,
    • Authors or journalists.

    If you would like to submit a blurb, I would like to have them by about September 17 (one week’s time).

  • Karmic Dividends (2/2)

    How Buddhist Communities Accrue Them

    Almost everybody would agree, Buddhist or not, that the practice of generosity is a good idea, and also that the world could use all the generosity it can get. The impulse toward generosity comes naturally, is found even in children and even feels good, but as we live our complex and befogged lives of mixed intention, we often fail to focus our energy in the required direction, except significantly within families, small circles of friends or sometimes within small local communities. Buddhist practice generally involves focusing energy repeatedly in a particular way as a means to establish increasingly wholesome patterns of behavior and thought. The Buddhist practice in the economy of gifts is stimulated by the very structure of the traditional Buddhist community. It is not generally appreciated that it is in accord with the Buddha’s design that the dynamics of the Buddhist community adheres closely to an economy of gifts, and as such generates a pool of karmic dividends in a reservoir of spiritual well-being for the members of that community.

    The roots of the Buddha’s design are found in the generous lay support of ascetics in India since before the time of the Buddha to the present day, enabled by the paucity of the ascetics’ needs, especially in contrast to those of the Brahmin priests. The Buddha’s own awakening was made possible by alms generously provided by laypeople (highlighted in the story of the milkmaid Sujatā prior to his awakening) and lay alms remained his support for the rest of his life (highlighted in the story of his insistence on taking his alms bowl onto the streets of his home town of Kapilavattu to the dismay of his aristocratic father). At the same time he himself gave generously and tirelessly to others through his teachings. The Buddha, in organizing the monastic order, tweaked this lightly spinning vortex of mutual support between lay and monastic by constraining monastic behavior in certain ways. Although the monastic Sangha stands as perhaps the most durable human institution on the planet, the Buddha never organized the lay community, so the desired conduct of the laity could only be determined in response to that of the monastics. Here is how the Buddha composed the monastic code in order to cultivate a general economy of gifts within the Buddhist community.

    First, the Buddha required that monastics live entirely within the economy of gifts. A monk can give, he can receive, but he cannot participate in a transaction of exchange (nor of theft, for that matter). A nun can give a Dhamma talk or teach a class for a group of laypeople, but cannot receive compensation for that offering. A monastic conducts no business, handles no money, but is permitted small equivalent exchanges of requisites with other monastics, such as an alms bowl for an alms bowl. This requires that any association that the laity have with monastics occurs within an economy of gifts.

    Second, the Buddha removed almost every opportunity for monastics to do anything for themselves, even while there are few restrictions on what they can do for others. For instance, monastics cannot grow their own food or cook for themselves. They have no trade or livelihood. Furthermore, monastics are proscribed, except in exceptional circumstances, from asking for anything, that is, they do not beg, but only offer the opportunity to give. On alms rounds they are not to prefer one house (the wealthy one, or the home of the French chef) over another. They are not even allowed to endear themselves through charm and wit to families with the intent of garnering better or greater offerings, nor are they allowed to show off any special psychic powers nor talk about attainments to gain in reputation. They can build themselves a dwelling or sew robes for themselves, but if they do so these must be limited in size and quality. The escalation the vulnerability of the monastics in this way requires much additional involvement of the laity in the economy of gifts to meet and even anticipate of the needs of monastics.

    Third, the Buddha put an expiration stamp on alms. Monastics cannot store food for tomorrow that is given today, except in the case of a small list of tonics, which can be retained for seven days. This ensures that dependence is a daily matter, except for those particularly accomplished in fasting. This also, in spite of the Buddha’s praise of solitude, increases the opportunities for offering teachings to laity. The expiration stamp ratchets up the vulnerability of monastics even more and brings laypeople into the economy of gifts on a more regular basis.

    Finally, the Buddha insisted that even monks whose practice potentially allows them to fast for days enter the village daily for alms anyway. This all but closed the aforementioned loophole to ensure every opportunity for meeting of lay and monastic within the economy of gifts..

    It seems clear that at least one purpose of these tweaks is to add spin to the pivotal vortex of mutual support between monastic and lay, to make it routine and necessary and to keep it without coersion. Generosity is the lifeblood of the Buddhist community and this lay-monastic vortex is its beating heart. The consequences for lay practice are quite striking, for a monk appears much like a house pet: of simple life and needs, yet helpless, vulnerably dependent on the kind hand that feeds him, and of therapeutic value to that kind hand, but a also source of Dhamma. Remarkably, every time the monastic accepts something the lay donor receives a gift; you cannot mistake the sugar plums dancing in the donor’s eyes. Every time the lay person accepts a teaching or benefits from a social or pastoral service, the monastic receives a gift. In either case, delight, a feeling of peace in the heart mark the transaction, and mutual affection and a glowing sense of gratitude emerge. Such is the economy of gifts at its brightest.

    Most importantly this vortex gives the practice of generosity a focus. The monastics sustain a perpetual economy of gifts, and as long as the laity interacts with them, they enter into that economy of gifts. The laity may make this interaction a daily practice, for instance, for the Burmese housewife who routinely prepares rice and curry each morning without fail to offer to monks as they come by on alms round. Moreover, like most practices, the practice of generosity also generalizes quickly. Just as a practice of kindness to insects that one might otherwise dislike will inspire kindness to humans, and just as the practice mindfulness of the breath will inspire mindfulness of step, roadway, doorknob and intention, the practice of generosity generalizes to the community at large, from feeding each other at community events, to support of the sasana in every way, to feeding and housing participants in meditation retreats, to care for the underprivileged or those in temporary need, ever enlarging the scope of the economy of gifts. Monasteries become community and training centers where the priceless Dharma is offered without a price, all needs are freely provided for all. In this way generosity, the nourishing lifeblood of the Buddhist community, flows outward from the lay-monastic vortex, as each participant gives to whatever or whomever gladdens the heart and karmic dividends accrue.

    This economic dynamics has other practical benefits. It extends to the monastics a unique opportunity for progress on the Path, not only through the accrual of karmic dividends but also through the enjoyment of a high degree of insularity from the concerns and influences of the outside world that the economy of exchange would demand, including from the need for livelihood as a teacher or as anything else. This ensures in turn that the Dharma will not become a commercial product, tweaked for popular appeal. It also means that monastics can engage patiently in long-term practice toward profound but long-term attainment without the pressure to produce identifiable results. This is much like the insularity afforded academics from the prevailing concerns of the outside world, unbiased by politics, religion, superstition, other popular notions, practical applications or benefits or profitability through academic freedom and tenure.

    Quite significantly, the pulsating economy of gifts invites the participation of all members of the community in the care of the sasana, the monastery and the community, and does this without the hierarchy or coercion that mark many social structures. Monastics are at the heart of the Buddhist community (along with the most devout laypeople), but not at the head. What authority the Sangha holds arises from its own attainments, teachings and conduct. The Sangha has no coercive power beyond the layperson’s willingness to accept advice or admonition or to view the monastic as a role model. Gifts, on the other hand, are like votes in determining the direction of the community or the sasana. For instance, dissatisfaction with the behavior of monastics can turn into withdrawal of support, a constant external check on the purity of the monastic Sangha.

    The foregoing description of the dynamics of the Buddhist community may appear a bit glorified. To many in the western context, where Buddhist centers typically have an economy that is a cross between a Protestant church and a yoga studio, it may be entirely unfamiliar. In fact it is the living reality of the best of the Buddhist communities in Asian traditions, and should seem at least familiar for almost all. I have no illusions that its dynamics can sweep aside the exchange economy in which most of the laity spend most of the time, nor that that is particularly desirable, since the exchange economy does have a kind of efficiency. But the special qualities of the economy of gifts teach us that the exchange economy should not dominate our culture as thoroughly as it does.

    Traditional Buddhist communities provide very uplifting contexts in which to learn and practice fundamental Buddhist values. Life in a dominant economy of gifts naturally leads to karmic dividends, beginning with delight and a feeling of peace in the heart, affection and gratitude Every act of generosity nurtures one’s inclination toward generosity, makes one kinder, more saintly, less self-centered and therefore of more peaceful and happier disposition. As a monk myself, I am privileged to be consistently in the heart of this context. Buddhist communities encourage participation and provide a wholesome environment into which to bring the kids. They also open into an opportunity to rub shoulders with people of spiritual attainment, to benefit from their wisdom and advice and to begin to learn and practice the Path to Awakening.

  • Karmic Dividends (1/2)

    I’ve been finishing up the series “All My Ancient Karma” more slowly than expected. In the meantime I offer:

    Karmic Dividends

    Generosity is the very first step in the Buddha’s gradual path. It is easily comprehended by all, including children, and brings great karmic benefit, that is, every act of generosity, when carried out with pure intentions, brings benefit that stays with the actor. The benefit starts immediately in the form of delight and a feeling of peace in the heart. Then affection and gratitude grow out of this transaction. And the future becomes brighter as every act of generosity nurtures one’s tendency to generosity, makes one kinder, more saintly, less self-centered and therefore of more peaceful and happier disposition. Perhaps paradoxically, a lifetime of generosity brings with it the liberal sense of abundance, in spite of one’s immediate material sacrifices. Moreover generosity benefits the recipient karmically as well as the donor since the recipient will experience gratitude which itself generally leads to an urge toward generosity.

    In western culture, we tend to prefer the reciprocal exchange to the one-sided act of generosity. Although many people give generously to charities, or volunteer in civic projects and, indeed, generosity is upheld as a core value in our society (except maybe among readers of Ayn Rand). I think that in general we are poor receivers of generosity: We tend not to be gracious recipients of gifts, except of those from family members. We feel uncomfortable as recipients of charity, or if someone offers to pay for the meal we insist on paying and feel internally disgruntled when the other insists more convincingly. Self-sufficiency is also upheld as a core value in our society. This tends to close opportunities for others to practice generosity.

    Aside from gift and exchange, there is one other way in which goods and services change hands: plunder. Stealing is not a step in the Buddha’s gradual path. It is easily comprehended by all, including children, but brings great karmic detriment, that is, every act of plunder, when carried out with tainted intentions, brings detriment that stays with the actor. The detriment starts immediately in the form of constriction and turmoil in the heart, then ill-will and animosity grow out of this transaction. And the future becomes darker as every act of plunder nurtures one’s tendency to plunder, makes one meaner, more exploitive, more self-centered and therefore of more violent and unhappy disposition. Perhaps paradoxically, a lifetime of plunder brings with it the stingy sense of lack, in spite of one’s immediate material gains. Moreover plunder tends to harm the victim karmically as well as the perpetrator since the victim will experience resentment which itself generally will lead to an urge for recompense.

    In western culture we tend to be gracious recipients of plunder, with some reservations in the case of blatant illegality. Businesses love to “externalize costs,” merchants love to give their customers less than they paid for, advertisers love to sell customers a sexier new “you” when all customers actually get is a bar of soap, empires love their colonies, bankers love to fix the system to ensure a continuous inflow of plunder. Almost everyone loves to be able to put one over on the other fellow. Moreover, we tend to be forgiving of this behavior in others because we would do the same thing if we could.

    We might discern, at least for exposition, three kinds of economy: an economy of exchange, an economy of gifts and an economy of plunder, although in practice these are inextricably intertwined. Often the three kinds of transactions involved even produce identical material results: If I give someone an A spontaneously out of generosity and that person later gives me a B out of generosity, this might have the same result as a fair exchange of A for B. Or if I steal a B from someone out of greed, while they are stealing an A from me also out of greed, this might also have the same result as the fair exchange of A for B. In any of these cases we might say that the economy is humming along. BUT there is a huge non-economic but spiritual difference in these three economies, the kind of karma that is generated in each case is quite dissimilar:

    • A transaction of fair exchange is in principle karmically neutral.
    • A transaction of generosity brings a karmic dividend.
    • A transaction of plunder carries a karmic forfeiture.

    I should note that the ostensible exchange may hide plunder, or it may hide generosity. The first is the case, for instance, in fraud or deceit, the second, for instance, when someone values customers and takes pride in exceeding expectations. Intentions are what matter.

    Note that the proportion of these three components vary in regional and global economies. For instance, anthropologists tell us that primitive societies, as well as those of our primitive ancestors, rely much more heavily on gifts than on exchange. The prevailing economy in a giving society have karmic consequences for their participants. We predict, on Buddhist principles, that the people who live in predominantly economies of gifts to have a high level of relative well-being, and that the people who live in predominantly economies of plunder will have a low level of relative well-being, as the populations busy themselves daily accumulating karmic dividends or forfeitures respectively.

    With these differences in mind, we note that devout Buddhists are admonished not to participate in the plunder economy (at least as plunderers), for they are counseled to follow the precepts of not taking what is not freely given nor to say what is not true, and to choose a right livelihood, in which they are not allowed to profit from the suffering of others, nor use deceitful means in exchange. We also note that monastics are furthermore strictly disallowed from participation in the economy either of plunder or of exchange. They can have no business dealings, no trade (except in limited circumstances with other monks, like swapping otherwise ill-fitting robes), no handling of money. They practice generosity toward others, most notably by offering the Dharma, but can accept no tit-for-tat compensation for this. Monastics live as a matter of vow entirely in the economy of gifts. Monastics thereby gain a unique opportunity for spiritual progress.

    A crucial point in these economic considerations is that the social context in which we live typically restricts the choices available to us, and therefore is a limiting factor on our practice, which, after all, consists of choices (karma). For instance, most of us would love to be able to walk to work each morning, but the social conditions may dictate that we commute for half an hour in heavy traffic. Likewise, we would love to have neighbors that are all generous farmers with whom we might share our own produce rather than having to sell it to distributors. We may need a job but cannot find a livelihood that does not involve deceiving customers or disadvantaging someone in some way. If we are in debt or under other social obligations our options become even more limited. Social context can force us from the economy of gifts increasingly into the economy of exchange, or from exchange into plunder, with inevitable dire consequences for our spiritual progress.

    Therefore a crucial part of success in Buddhist practice is to optimize our social context, favoring the economy of gifts over the economy of exchange and the economy of exchange over the economy of plunder. I don’t expect readers to be inspired by these words to become activists in the cause of tearing down the system of global neo-liberal capitalism, which is certainly a system based as much in plunder as in exchange, but there are less daunting ways to negotiate the social landscape to optimize our individual or community social context. One is choice of livelihood, another is voluntary simplicity, another is choice of living place, rural rather than urban, for instance, or even Costa Rica rather than America. Migrate in the direction of happier people, because they are likely to live under a more favorable gift-to-plunder ratio.

    A useful way to implement the Buddhist practice of generosity, beyond the occasional charitable contribution or favor to improve an otherwise mixed economic existence, is to be ever mindful, with every economic transaction, of what economy one is acting in right now. The economy of plunder is an insult to Buddhist practice. The economy of exchange is a world of wasted opportunities in which fair transactions are performed but with no karmic benefit. The economy of gifts is worlds apart. If one, like sincere monastics, can in one way or another spend all or most of one’s time in the economy of gifts, one’s spiritual progress will flourish. If one combines this practice either with a meditation practice or with unplugging oneself from media for the masses, it will soar. If one combines it with both, it will astonish.

    Next week I would like to consider the opportunities Buddhist communities enjoy for nourishing an economy of gifts. It is significant that the Buddha was already on top of this issue.

  • Unplugging yourself from media for the masses

    This adjustment to your life style may produce more benefit than any other aspect of a Buddhist life, for instance, more than an intensive daily meditation practice. Though little mentioned in the early discourses, in the modern context this is huge.

    Modern culture was devastated by two parallel developments in the twentieth century that working together have magnified the power of government and corporations to shape the popular culture in harmful directions: mass media and the public relations/marketing industry. Supplementing print media at the turn of the century came radio, moving pictures and the gramophone, television, video games and home video, and all of the various forms of access and intrusion explosively afforded by the Internet. On the foundation of modern psychology around the turn of the century, which discovered the irrational underbelly of human motivation, came the public relations industry, successfully wielded in the interests of mass government propaganda in the United States to sell US involvement in World War One and in Germany to elicit support for the Nazi Party and its plans, all the while selling everywhere increasing numbers of the products of ever expanding industrial production. Today, children spend more time each day wired to the devises of mass media than they spend in school, certainly far more than they spend in interaction with their parents, and for parents, often of less leisure, it is not much better.

    I call these developments devastating because they have overwhelmed the highest values and ideals of civilization and of the religious life, things like frugality and restraint, intellectual curiosity and kindness, to create efficient producers, consumers and supporters of the current corporate/state agenda. The means by which this has been done is particularly alarming from a Buddhist perspective, because of its unconscionable appeal to the basest human impulses of greed, hatred and delusion. Consumers of entertainment witness thousands of violent deaths each year and are vulnerable to tens of thousands of ads promoting junk food, unnecessary gadgets, useless cures and means of self-gratification and self-enhancement, all the while being sucked into a ruthlessly competitive and intolerant world in which they learn that violence is solution to every difficulty and stuff and wealth are the means of salvation. What is more, this system of mass manipulation is motivated itself primarily by greed for profits – Bitter seeds produce bitter fruits. – and overwhelms the quiet voices of wisdom and compassion – parents, village elders, the wise, teachers, clergy and monastics – that under other circumstances would be expected to uphold the purest values and ideals of the culture.

    It is incumbent on all who wish to live a Buddhist life to live apart from these toxic influences of mass marketing/public relations. Here are some suggestions to adopt in whole or in part:

    • Never watch or read an ad. If you are watching TV and an ad comes on, mute the volume until the danger has passed. If an ad pops up on your computer hit the “back” button, quick. Be ready to take cover under a large cushion if all else fails.
    • Don’t own a TV, or if you do, use it very sparingly to watch commercial-free programs.
    • If you are a sports fan, go to games personally in your community, support the local high-school team, rather than catching professional sports between ads on TV.
    • Find reliable non-commercial news sources on the Internet (commercial sources are rarely reliable in any case). Find real journalism rather than hate- or greed inspired punditry.
    • View movies and other shows of social, spiritual or intellectual merit. Avoid mindless shows, such as those that convey celebrity gossip. Ask, does this entertainment option endorse anger or violence or class-consciousness, or does it promote kindness, open-mindedness, non-violence? What are its values? You will find at least 90% of the options lacking, but there are uplifting options out there. Documentaries are often good options.

     

    The challenges of this regime are that most of us have media addictions and routines. Certain TV personalities become like personal friends or family, certain sports stars the same. We also expend a lot of time in front of the screen, often accustomed and deserved downtime, and the alternative ways of killing that time are less familiar or less enticing, alternatives like reading, conversation, star-gazing, macramé or board games. Also, adopting this regime generally requires the cooperation of family members or roommates. But, hey, we make sacrifices to maintain a consistent meditation practice as well.

  • All My Ancient Karma (2/5)

    Discovering My Ancient Twisted Karma

    All my ancient twisted karma,
    From beginningless greed, hate and delusion,
    Born through body speech and mind,
    I now fully avow. – Zen verse of repentance

    Is my karma older than me? Will its results outlive me? Or is karmic history limited to a fathom-long body and a few decades of life? Since in this essay I take an experiential stance I will begin with a personal account.

    In the early stages of my Buddhist practice, I came to understand that I was on a path of purification, purification of character for the benefit both of me and of those around me, purification from the unskillful habit patterns, conceits and views, the habituated ruts and grooves etched into the landscape of my life that defined who I, often to my dismay, had become. Practice was karma. It was a matter of making skillful choices of body, speech and mind, moment by moment, with the awareness that such choices in the past had shaped what I had become, and that present choices would shape what I would become. With skill, I could shape a character that I and the rest of humanity could live with more comfortably.

    Skillful choices were those that avoided the behavioral and mental ruts and well-worn routes that led into the ooze of greed, through the brambles of hatred and down the crevices of delusion that constellated my karmic landscape. As I developed a greater awareness of my own accustomed habit patterns, aided by the practice of mindfulness, I almost never liked what I found there, and so I understood increasingly with time the urgency of purification. Nonetheless, I seemed to be gaining some skill in stepping aside when coming upon certain well worn routes that I had identified as leading to ooze, bramble or crevice. For instance, I seemed to have become slower to anger and less needy of the approval of others. Once scrupulously avoided, a particular route in my karmic landscape seemed gradually to erode, fade and then eventually disappear. I was reshaping my karmic landscape. Cool.

    There were many non-Buddhist ways in which I might have improved my prospects in life, such as ballroom dancing, or working out to improve my manly physique even more, or earning big money in derivatives investment, but I had already experienced enough of the broken promises of life to see that these would probably be among them. Moreover, the Buddhist practice I had committed to carried the promise of Awakening, in which all of my problems would end irreversibly for the rest of my days. This would be a seismic event that would obliterate in one big shake all the routes and ruts that defined my karmic landscape. How long could it take, five or ten years?

    As a particular example of the satisfaction that I had already realized in Buddhist practice, I had discovered early on how remorselessly judgmental I had been all my life. I had had only to look at someone, a complete stranger, and a judgment was set off, “n’er-do-well nerd,” “misguided moron,” “confused cad,” almost always derogatory, unless that someone happened to be a “bonny babe.” As I stepped repeatedly into this same accustomed rut, often a hundred times in a single day, it occasionally occurred to me to ask, “How can I possibly know so much about this person?” And the answer would come back, “It’s the shoes,” or, “He talks too much.” My judgmental mind embarrassed me, and that embarrassment brought with it a little sidestep at the critical moment of judgment. As promised, this particular mental rut began to change, then to fade.

    In short, I looked forward to an increasingly favorable life, a few decades of greater happiness, kindness and wisdom, the life promised to the assiduous Buddhist practitioner by the law of karma. I looked forward to a more benign reshaping of my once unskillfully trodden karmic landscape. Although it was difficult for me to assess the full scope of my tainted and deeply rutted habit patterns, conceits and views, I was quite settled in my life of Buddhist practice, with a quiet determination that entailed daily meditation, reading Dharma, acts of generosity and virtue, and an occasional Zen meditation retreat (sesshin), blended into an otherwise busy workaday life. I was convinced my life would one day be a shining example of ease in a mixed-up world.

    Buddhist practice often entails, as many readers can attest, an occasional distinct moment of insight, a small epiphany, often sparked by happenstance, in which some truth, previous unnoticed, is suddenly laid bare. I experienced one of these moments during a sesshin at Green Gulch Farm in California in the spring of 1998. Each early morning during this sesshin, we sat a couple of periods of meditation, then we stood up for a bowing and chanting service which began with the quote at the beginning of this section, which I had not heard before:

    All my ancient twisted karma,
    From beginningless greed, hate and delusion,
    Born through body speech and mind,
    I now fully avow.

    My first suspicious thought on hearing this was,

    “Oh, someone is trying to push the rebirth thing,”

    which I had decided by this point that I’d believe if I could ever remember a previous life, but until then I’d be unconvinced about, not that it mattered much, because practice is in the present and rebirth in the past and future. However, the next morning while once again intoning this verse, I discovered that my eyes had unaccountably teared up and that I had such a lump in my throat that it was difficult for me to croak along with the words, and every morning thereafter I had the same response. It had nothing to do with accepting a speculative theory about rebirth, and everything to do with standing nose-to-nose with a previously unnoticed aspect of my experiential world.

    In fact, it felt as if my whole bungled karmic past, the mistakes I had made, the people I had hurt, the opportunities and energy I had squandered, were suddenly revealed extending back in time, past the bounds of this one life into periods beyond memory, to produce the cumulative karmic results that now loomed menacingly and inescapably behind me, around me, and in me. The task I had undertaken with Buddhist practice suddenly become huge and daunting. I saw my karmic landscape, shaped by accustomed habit patterns, conceits and views as an enormous and intricate etching of deep and twisted ruts and channels, many leading straight to marshes of muck, thickets of thorns and complexes of chasms. I realized that feet of unskillful volition had been treading and shaping this landscape for millennia, actions of body speech and mind from beginningless greed, hatred and delusion. Most astonishingly I discovered that well-worn tracks of ancient feet criss-crossed even distant fields and obscure corners of my mental landscape that I could in this life scarce remember having ever visited, yet even there, as soon as mindfulness slipped, I fell effortlessly into seemingly well accustomed though completely unfamiliar habit patterns.

    Just to take one example, from earliest childhood anger had for me followed this accustomed pattern: I would initially tolerate a great amount of vexation passively without outward expression, until a certain threshhold was reached, after which rage would erupt quite unexpectedly. The source of the vexation, generally an otherwise dear family member, would morph into something demonic. Since he or she looked deserving of any mishap that might befall him or her, retribution was in order. Violent thoughts would often lead to acts of property damage if not personal attack. This would always turn immediately around into a sense of remorse and shame for my lack of control. In the end the short-lived anger would dissipate and to my relief the former source of my wrath would shrink back to his or her former less threatening self.

    I must have staged this little soap opera hundreds of times on different stages. But who had written this script and how had I learned it so thoroughly? Certainly this script had been acted out since long before I was born, many many times over and over; I was, as far as I could see, just following the well-worn ruts.

    In contrast, my older brother Arthur followed, I recall, a totally different script from me. When vexed he would express his anger from the beginning grumpily in direct proportion to his vexation. But once his vexation had attained a certain threshhold he would simply sit in a corner to mope. For Arthur vexation collapsed, for me it exploded. Although he was widely recognized as a relatively grumpy child, and I as rather placid and agreeable, he rarely had to deal with the shame of rage turning to external expression that I experienced. Other children I knew also reached the rage stage, but many were much more adept at fabricating justifications and convincing themselves that they were in the right all along, which seemed to enable them to avoid shame, but which rang hollow for me.

    Response to vexation is one part of any karmic landscape. It would serve as well to explore the fields and valleys of intellectual or artistic talents or skills, forms of social interaction (reticence, loyalty), personal neediness or acquisitiveness, particular patterns of sexual arousal (which I recall as absurdly evident before I knew what they could possibly mean), and on and on. Any of the more problematic features of the karmic landscape could, through practice, be unlearned, but how were they learned in the first place? I would not have been clever enough to have invented these behaviors and then habituated them.

    Indeed, the quality of my Buddhist practice changed quickly and markedly after avowing my ancient twisted karma. Before, it was like a new office job in which my task is to take documents, let’s say, insurance claims, mindfully one by one from the “in” box, process them and place the results in the “out” box. Not so difficult and able to pay the bills. The sense that emerged with a developing sense of karmic continuity was like learning from a colleague that the person who had had my job before me had gotten so woefully behind in his work that he had been known to take documents from the “in” box and to store them in the adjacent room for eventual processing. Looking in the adjacent room I discover boxes of unprocessed documents, along with bundles of still more documents tied together with twine, stacked up high, bundle on bundle, box on box and bundle on box.

    I recognize that there is suffering, an unpaid debt, in each of those pending documents. Dismay toward a bungled past brings with it an urgent sense of responsibility toward a still untainted future. I could, in the interests of my own convenience, ignore my responsibility thereby to free up time for tango or working out at the gym, but that would not resolve the underlying urgency, only leave it for whoever would have my job after me.

    I relate this account of my exploration because I would like to offer this contemplation as an exercise to the reader of this essay as an experiential alternative to theoretical speculation about rebirth as a means to encourage a proper sense of karmic continuity.

    In this exercise I consider it fair to draw on early childhood memories, as I have done, as well as to include observation of others you may be intimate with, as I have also done. Any parent knows that children manifest well-articulated little characters from the earliest age. One is terrified of thunder storms, another of dark places. Paradoxically infants seem in other respects to perfectly exemplify the fabled tabula rasa, having to discover, for instance, basic laws of physics and the nature of their own bodies on their own. But this is misleading, because right behind that comes a remarkably firmly established karmic landscape, a recognizable little character. One child seems particularly stingy, another freely generous at a very young age.

    A close family member of mine could not, by about the age of two or three, sit through any kind of even marginally smoochy romantic scene during family video nights; she would become visibly agitated and have to leave the room to return a few minutes later. Where did that come from? She also refused to wear a dress almost from the time of owning her first. When she went on to announce, as a young teen, that she was a lesbian, nobody was at all surprised.

    It is also not misplaced to extend this investigation to anecdotes about others’ experiences, as long as they are reliably documented. Worth considering is the occasional prodigy, like Mozart, who possesses some remarkable talent, almost as soon as he or she can speak, that an adult would generally have to spend decades trying to master. Particularly intriguing are reported cases of early childhood memories of past lives, some of which are astonishingly well documented, most notably by the late Prof. Ian Stevenson and his colleagues particularly at the University of Virginia. Although among these are virtually irrefutable isolated cases of remarkably detailed past-life memories that defy conventional explanation, such cases are rare and they fall short of establishing the conclusion that one might wish for, that your or my karmic landscape has been trampled by a long string of previous inhabitants living out non-overlapping previous lives.

    At some point you are likely to ask, whose footprints are these that have been trampling your personal karmic landscape from ancient times? You alone are the heir of your deeds, but if you came into existence mere decades ago, then you seem also to be heir to somebody else’s deeds. By the same token, somebody some day will be the heir of your deeds after you have breathed your last. Who are all these people?

    With these questions we begin to slip into theory, the kind of speculation I suggested we avoid from the outset. Perhaps all the ruts and channels of one’s early karmic landscape were intricately encoded in a pattern of ancestral genes that descend into the mother’s womb. Perhaps an intact karmic landscape took flight with the last breath of some unknown life to descend into the mother’s womb. Perhaps a newly vacant karmic landscape was somehow assigned to a newly born infant at birth to occupy and to reshape until it is ready to vacate it in turn. Perhaps the infant or toddler taps into and absorbs the karmically sustained memes rampant in its cultural context to select and construct the intricacies of the karmic landscape it will occupy. More than likely it is a combination of such factors. None of these mechanisms seems to be excluded by Buddhist metaphysics as long as it is expressed in terms of cause and effect, certainly not for not being soul-like enough.

    Nonetheless, I don’t think the answer to these questions is critical to suffering and the ending of suffering; the bare experiential sense of karmic continuity suffices. For the more skeptical, understanding its mechanisms might dispel doubts about the reality of karmic continuity, but I am not sure this is the case: I am still trying to comprehend how there can be a moon. The scientific explanations, seem to underdetermine the experience; golly, look at it! For the more credulous, one runs the risk of attaching to a particular theoretical view only to find it later to be demonstrably false. For instance, a prominent Western monk once asserted that if rebirth were ever disproven, then he would disrobe. To make one’s commitment to Buddhist practice contingent in this way on theory seems a bit ill considered: Buddhism emerged from personal experience and it is verified there.

    The main point is to avow our ancient twisted karma, to recognize that our present lives are woven at the most intimate level into a rich and immense tapestry of ancient history and future potential, inextricably into something far grander in scope than this fathom-long body and few decades of life. A karmic landscape is something far more enduring, a panoramic context for practice that reveals the profound significance of the goal toward which practice points and that instills the proper sense of dismay toward the past and responsibility toward the future to propel our pursuit of the path.

    In the third post in this series, we will turn from our personal experience, yours and mine, to learn what the Buddha himself had to say about all this.

  • All My Ancient Twisted Karma (1/5)

    Perceiving what can be expressed through concepts,
    Beings take their stand on what is expressed.
    Not fully understanding the expressed,
    They come under the bondage of death. – Itivuttaka 3.14

    Discussions of rebirth generally focus on theory, that is, rebirth is conceptualized into a belief or proposition, a topic of speculation or conjecture, that is then open to objective scientific or philosophical verification or debate. In the Western context opinions about this topic abound:

    “It just feels right in my bones that I have lived before this life.”
    “I dunno about this rebirth thing. It sounds like unicorns and flying spaghetti monsters to me.”
    “I’d believe it if I could remember a previous life, but until then I’m not convinced.”
    “Buddhism is not about belief. It is about practice. You can practice the same way whether or not you believe in rebirth.”
    “Practice is about being in the moment, rebirth is about the past and future. Who cares?”
    “The Buddha never taught rebirth.”
    “The Buddha taught rebirth … and that’s good enough for me.”
    “Hogwash!”
    “Scientists at the University of Virginia have proven rebirth!”

    Speculation about rebirth seems to have been much alive in the Buddha’s India, to have largely abated for many centuries in the Buddhist world, only to have emerged anew in the modern world. Noteworthy is how spectacularly unproductive speculative debate about it has been. Rarely does a participant in the debate seem to change his view, but rather generally ends up instead holding it all the more firmly once he had taken a firm stance in debate. Occasionally it is even a deal breaker for someone who is not yet resolute in Buddhist practice.

    This may explain why the Buddha avoided this debate at a speculative level altogether, instead to treat it as a purely experiential, subjective, empirical matter, or, as a last resort, to justify it for its practical contribution to the results of spiritual practice. The reason the speculative debate has been unproductive is perhaps most closely addressed by the “not about belief” guy quoted above. There is a disconnect between the terms of the debate and the needs of the actual practitioner, whose needs, one would suspect, would also reveal the motives of the Buddha – generally quite parsimonious of conjecture and grounded in experience – in making critical reference rebirth at some of the most critical points in his teachings.

    In this series of short essays I would like to approach what is at issue not by way of speculation, but rather from experience and efficacy. I will generally avoid the word rebirth, because it readily brings to mind the speculative perspective we wish to avoid, in favor of karmic continuity, as something we may progressively and fruitfully explore and refine in our own subjective experience. Karmic continuity is the sense that our karmic conditioning derives from before birth, then plays out in our few decades of life and practice, to produce results that extend past death. I hope this shift in perspective will be useful to the reader who may either have already dismissed the notion of rebirth as hogwash, or hold too tightly onto any of the other speculative views of rebirth, to reach a full personal understanding of what has been expressed as rebirth. My conclusion will be that embedding our moment-to-moment practice in such a context of karmic continuity makes a huge difference in the quality of our practice that cannot be dismissed.

    In the next weeks I intend to submit four more posts on this subject. In Discovering My Ancient Twisted Karma, I will consider these questions from an experiential perspective, “Is my karma older than me?” and “Will its results outlive me?” In The Long and the Short of It, I will look at the Buddha’s teachings relevant to karmic continuity, particularly what he had in mind when he taught samsara, the continuous round of rebirths. In Putting Practice into Context, I will take up the question, “Why, if practice is in the present moment, is it so crucial to frame our practice in a wider temporal context?” Finally, in Our Present Task, I will summarize the conclusions of the foregoing about the nature of Buddhist practice in the context of karmic continuity.

  • Universal Beatniks

    A counterculture – think of the romantics, the bohemians, the beatniks or the hippies – defines itself in opposition to the dominant or mainstream culture in terms of its values and social norms. As if to underscore its role, it often distinguishes itself even in coiffure and apparel. A counterculture holds a mirror up in which the mainstream can see itself for what it is. No one wants to look unsightly, and so the natural response of the dominant culture can be quite harsh; the -nik in beatnik, for instance, was an attempt to associate this peaceful movement absurdly with the much feared Communist menace of its time. But over time many of the counterculture’s values and social norms become mainstream. Since a counterculture is likely to arise in response to something askew in the mainstream, its influence is likely to be corrective.

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe monastic Saṅgha represents the universal counterculture that defines itself in opposition to any mainstream culture of any time and place in terms of the ancient radical values and social norms espoused by the Buddha. It even distinguishes itself in coiffure and apparel. The Saṅgha holds the looking-glass up in which the mainstream, the looking-glass world, can see itself for what it is. However, in Buddhist lands, the challenge of this reflection is actually welcomed as a reality check and a wholesome counterweight to the rampant unwholesome influences found in any dominant culture. Rather than eschew, Buddhist cultures appreciate and even support these orthodox radicals in their midst. This is the contract implicit in taking refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Saṅgha. As a result, the values and social norms of the Saṅgha have a continual civilizing influence on the dominant culture.

    The Saṅgha is both orthodox and radical. It is orthodox in that the Buddhist monastic order is plausibly the world’s oldest human organization in continual existence, still recognizable in terms of attire, life-style, practice, function, values and social norms after 100 generations. It was there as great empires arose and grew mighty, it was there as those empires collapsed. Its charter, the Vinaya, is the most widely recognized scripture in Buddhism. From India it extended its civilizing reach to Ceylon and Southeast Asia and into Indonesia, into Central Asia where it followed the Silk Road eastward into China and East Asia and westward as far as the Mediterranean. Even as Buddhism has adapted quite freely to new cultures and ideas, its most constant and conservative factor has been the Saṅgha, the fixed point around which the freewheeling folk elements of Buddhism are allowed to revolve. The well-being of the Saṅgha has historically correlated with the well-being of Buddhism. It will be no different in the West.

    The Saṅgha is radical in that it lives according to Dharma, which has always been, as the Buddha described it, against the stream. It points to another way of being, recognizing that left is really right and right is left, forward is backward, outside is inside and what is alluring is generally too hot to handle. Monastics are walking science experiments that illustrate something to all that otherwise defies common sense, giant test tubes that allow everyone to see how this renunciation thing outside the looking-glass world is working out. And it does. We are a reality check on the allure of the triple fire of desire, ire and mire. We are Saṃsāra Anonymous, living in the rarefied environment ideal for letting go of our addiction to the soap opera of life. As long as we are practicing and living according to the Vinaya, the Buddha tells us, the world will not lack Awakened ones.

  • 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.

     

  • Delightful Resourses for Burma-philes

     

    Short film with views of Myanmar

    Blog with interesting posts on Buddhism in Burma