Constructing Our Awakening
A classic teaching story goes like this: An ambitious and confident young man comes to a Zen master and says, “If I do the practices you teach, how long will it take for me to awaken?” The master says, “Ten years.” Not satisfied, the young man says, “What if I’m really diligent and work really hard?” The master says, “Ohhh….. well, in that case, twenty years.”
The story points toward a strong tendency in the human mind to identify with our path and believe that we both understand and are in control of it. Do you think you are in control of your Awakening process? People might not say yes to such a blunt question, but I do observe that some people seem to operate from this belief.
It’s a tricky issue because we do have some degree of control over both our life circumstances and our practice. If they were completely out of our hands, what would be the point of practicing? And some dimensions of practice do require deliberate reflection and effort. The problem comes when we take an extreme position: either I am completely in control, or I have no control here.
In this newsletter, I focus on the first one. It takes at least two forms.
The most common way people identify with the path is to take it on as the ultimate self-improvement project. Using self-reflection or personal assessment tools, people decide what their main “issues” are, and draw up a list of how to address each one.
For example:
I hasten to say: All of the modalities here can be valuable practices to undertake. These and other tools greatly reduce suffering for many people. Doing these things is part of the healthy “control” we can exert in our practice.
The problem with the above scenario is the heavy use of “I” and “my,” with the implication that we are somehow “doing” our Awakening based on a rational plan. Underlying this is the unseen belief that Awakening means all of my personal hang-ups and oddities will be cleaned up and smoothed out so that I become the ideal human that I imagine I will be.
Here is a more likely experience you could have if you follow the meditation instructions: You decide to try out breath meditation, and you begin sitting daily and returning repeatedly to the sensations of breathing each time the mind begins spinning a story or other thoughts. After a few months, you discover that you are far less angry at work.
Where did the anger go? Shouldn’t I have to do an anger management workshop for that? Or at least metta practice? Not necessarily. The path works in unseen and sometimes astonishing ways.
I recently came across this quote from Ram Dass:
“Instead of trying so hard to get out of the shadow, the dark, which I think actually reinforces the shadow and its reality, just do your practices. See, if somebody says, ‘I’m having these terrible thoughts, and I don’t know why, will you help me understand why?’ I’d tell them that I’d rather sit with them and help them to follow their breath. The breath has no content to it at all. It’s just breath. It’s better to strengthen their centering, the quieting, the presence, than to keep strengthening the problem, which keeps being reinforced when you work on it directly.”
It’s not that we never work directly on difficulties in the mind. But approaching them with an attitude of aversion ends up cultivating aversion. A common example is “metta’ing away” our ill will, which actually furthers ill will because we are hating that quality of our mind.
A personal example, a little awkward to share, is that I once went through a period of a few weeks when I felt repulsion at seeing very elderly people. Of course it was my own fear of old age, appearing as aversion. I did not “metta” it away, nor did I seek out active ways to reform this clearly unskillful response in my mind. (Real metta includes everything, including unskillful responses).
Rather, I calmly noticed when this repulsion arose and felt the associated contraction in my mind, heart, and body. After some time, I suddenly had a different response: Respect for this person’s many years of handling the difficulties of human life, along with curiosity about their life story. And a feeling of bodily openness. Something had let go naturally when given the space and awareness to do so. (And the result of letting go could have been any number of things, not just this).
So, we need either to “just do our practice” and stay with the breath or to have enough strength of mindfulness that we can usefully observe the difficulty arising and passing. If your tendency is to actively “work on” what you perceive as problems, it is worth trying out these simpler approaches.
The second way that the mind tries to control the path is more subtle. I’ve shifted to the language of “the mind” rather than “the person” because this one operates not only at the personal level but is also built into the very structure of the ordinary mind.
The mind looks for known patterns. It loves having a template. Even the most creative, unconventional person still carries mental patterns telling them that they see objects outside of themselves, that people generally behave in certain ways, etc. This ability of our minds means that we will inevitably project some idea of how the path unfolds from hearing Dharma talks and reading books, and then we will try to replicate that, possibly subconsciously. This can hinder the process. Understandably, many teachers try not to say much about the experience of Awakening in order not to create such hindrances, but the information is out there.
And of course, teachings are needed. We are not the Buddha, capable of discovering and walking the path all on our own. So we have to hear the Dharma and use our mind to reflect and practice.
Having an idea of the path in the background of our mind means that we will see certain things and not see others. We will accept and remember the experiences that conform with the model, while downplaying or forgetting the experiences that do not. When the mind is deeply concentrated, this manipulation of experience is felt as pushing, pulling, or darkening in the mind, and we get a glimpse of how constructed our everyday world is, due to this deep habit. Awakening is the one thing that cannot be constructed.
The Buddha was aware of these issues because he understood how the human mind works, including the ways it will try to engineer its own Awakening. He devised a “template” or “plan” for Awakening called the Eightfold Path, which includes refining our conduct, learning to see in terms of suffering and its end (rather than “what I want”), and, crucially, meditation. Meditation means following the instructions given, which are designed to undermine the mind’s tendency to identify – with anything, including the path. The Eightfold Path is a construction that undoes itself.
The idea that we can understand and control our own Awakening is based in conceit. We are giving in to the same-old drivenness and egoic striving that spiritual practice is designed to relieve us of.
None of this is to say that we shouldn’t reflect on our path or deliberately address particular areas where we know we have letting-go to do, in some cases. And neither does it say that we should blindly follow a spiritual teacher or meditation instructions when that seems not to be working for us. There is still need for discernment.
The question is, what is behind the decision to undertake a certain practice at a certain time? Wisdom and compassion will prompt us to do things that help further our path. Letting the ordinary mind get involved only complicates and obscures the path. We can take long detours because we are pursuing what we logically think we ought to, or because we are emotionally caught up in a teacher, community, or goal.
A lot of the path is learning to hear the inner voice in the heart. The good news is, you can hear it long before full Awakening, if you are willing to open to it and trust it. Here is where we can place our deepest faith or confidence.
Look at how longtime practitioners practice. They go along with their life, and then from time to time they undertake particular trainings or practices. A retreat with a certain teacher, or a 3-month sabbatical. A time set aside for writing. A trip to Asia. These things come from within, when the fruit is getting ripe and feels ready. Often the result of these practices is a surprise. Truly, we are not in control of this process. It’s only a matter of how deeply you accept this.
More lightly: From Zen teacher Misha Merrill: “You may think you are becoming a chocolate cake, but then you turn out to be a steak!” This could be shocking if you are vegetarian.
So, relax. Just do the practices. The path will unfold, sometimes easily and sometimes not, but always just as it can.
A classic teaching story goes like this: An ambitious and confident young man comes to a Zen master and says, “If I do the practices you teach, how long will it take for me to awaken?” The master says, “Ten years.” Not satisfied, the young man says, “What if I’m really diligent and work really hard?” The master says, “Ohhh….. well, in that case, twenty years.”
The story points toward a strong tendency in the human mind to identify with our path and believe that we both understand and are in control of it. Do you think you are in control of your Awakening process? People might not say yes to such a blunt question, but I do observe that some people seem to operate from this belief.
It’s a tricky issue because we do have some degree of control over both our life circumstances and our practice. If they were completely out of our hands, what would be the point of practicing? And some dimensions of practice do require deliberate reflection and effort. The problem comes when we take an extreme position: either I am completely in control, or I have no control here.
In this newsletter, I focus on the first one. It takes at least two forms.
The most common way people identify with the path is to take it on as the ultimate self-improvement project. Using self-reflection or personal assessment tools, people decide what their main “issues” are, and draw up a list of how to address each one.
For example:
- Anger management workshops for my temper
- Non-Violent Communication training to improve connection with people I find irritating
- Psychotherapy to solve the problems of my upbringing
- Art therapy to help with expression
- Meditation to open my heart and calm my mind
- And once I’ve really processed all of this, I will be well on my way to Awakening
I hasten to say: All of the modalities here can be valuable practices to undertake. These and other tools greatly reduce suffering for many people. Doing these things is part of the healthy “control” we can exert in our practice.
The problem with the above scenario is the heavy use of “I” and “my,” with the implication that we are somehow “doing” our Awakening based on a rational plan. Underlying this is the unseen belief that Awakening means all of my personal hang-ups and oddities will be cleaned up and smoothed out so that I become the ideal human that I imagine I will be.
Here is a more likely experience you could have if you follow the meditation instructions: You decide to try out breath meditation, and you begin sitting daily and returning repeatedly to the sensations of breathing each time the mind begins spinning a story or other thoughts. After a few months, you discover that you are far less angry at work.
Where did the anger go? Shouldn’t I have to do an anger management workshop for that? Or at least metta practice? Not necessarily. The path works in unseen and sometimes astonishing ways.
I recently came across this quote from Ram Dass:
“Instead of trying so hard to get out of the shadow, the dark, which I think actually reinforces the shadow and its reality, just do your practices. See, if somebody says, ‘I’m having these terrible thoughts, and I don’t know why, will you help me understand why?’ I’d tell them that I’d rather sit with them and help them to follow their breath. The breath has no content to it at all. It’s just breath. It’s better to strengthen their centering, the quieting, the presence, than to keep strengthening the problem, which keeps being reinforced when you work on it directly.”
It’s not that we never work directly on difficulties in the mind. But approaching them with an attitude of aversion ends up cultivating aversion. A common example is “metta’ing away” our ill will, which actually furthers ill will because we are hating that quality of our mind.
A personal example, a little awkward to share, is that I once went through a period of a few weeks when I felt repulsion at seeing very elderly people. Of course it was my own fear of old age, appearing as aversion. I did not “metta” it away, nor did I seek out active ways to reform this clearly unskillful response in my mind. (Real metta includes everything, including unskillful responses).
Rather, I calmly noticed when this repulsion arose and felt the associated contraction in my mind, heart, and body. After some time, I suddenly had a different response: Respect for this person’s many years of handling the difficulties of human life, along with curiosity about their life story. And a feeling of bodily openness. Something had let go naturally when given the space and awareness to do so. (And the result of letting go could have been any number of things, not just this).
So, we need either to “just do our practice” and stay with the breath or to have enough strength of mindfulness that we can usefully observe the difficulty arising and passing. If your tendency is to actively “work on” what you perceive as problems, it is worth trying out these simpler approaches.
The second way that the mind tries to control the path is more subtle. I’ve shifted to the language of “the mind” rather than “the person” because this one operates not only at the personal level but is also built into the very structure of the ordinary mind.
The mind looks for known patterns. It loves having a template. Even the most creative, unconventional person still carries mental patterns telling them that they see objects outside of themselves, that people generally behave in certain ways, etc. This ability of our minds means that we will inevitably project some idea of how the path unfolds from hearing Dharma talks and reading books, and then we will try to replicate that, possibly subconsciously. This can hinder the process. Understandably, many teachers try not to say much about the experience of Awakening in order not to create such hindrances, but the information is out there.
And of course, teachings are needed. We are not the Buddha, capable of discovering and walking the path all on our own. So we have to hear the Dharma and use our mind to reflect and practice.
Having an idea of the path in the background of our mind means that we will see certain things and not see others. We will accept and remember the experiences that conform with the model, while downplaying or forgetting the experiences that do not. When the mind is deeply concentrated, this manipulation of experience is felt as pushing, pulling, or darkening in the mind, and we get a glimpse of how constructed our everyday world is, due to this deep habit. Awakening is the one thing that cannot be constructed.
The Buddha was aware of these issues because he understood how the human mind works, including the ways it will try to engineer its own Awakening. He devised a “template” or “plan” for Awakening called the Eightfold Path, which includes refining our conduct, learning to see in terms of suffering and its end (rather than “what I want”), and, crucially, meditation. Meditation means following the instructions given, which are designed to undermine the mind’s tendency to identify – with anything, including the path. The Eightfold Path is a construction that undoes itself.
The idea that we can understand and control our own Awakening is based in conceit. We are giving in to the same-old drivenness and egoic striving that spiritual practice is designed to relieve us of.
None of this is to say that we shouldn’t reflect on our path or deliberately address particular areas where we know we have letting-go to do, in some cases. And neither does it say that we should blindly follow a spiritual teacher or meditation instructions when that seems not to be working for us. There is still need for discernment.
The question is, what is behind the decision to undertake a certain practice at a certain time? Wisdom and compassion will prompt us to do things that help further our path. Letting the ordinary mind get involved only complicates and obscures the path. We can take long detours because we are pursuing what we logically think we ought to, or because we are emotionally caught up in a teacher, community, or goal.
A lot of the path is learning to hear the inner voice in the heart. The good news is, you can hear it long before full Awakening, if you are willing to open to it and trust it. Here is where we can place our deepest faith or confidence.
Look at how longtime practitioners practice. They go along with their life, and then from time to time they undertake particular trainings or practices. A retreat with a certain teacher, or a 3-month sabbatical. A time set aside for writing. A trip to Asia. These things come from within, when the fruit is getting ripe and feels ready. Often the result of these practices is a surprise. Truly, we are not in control of this process. It’s only a matter of how deeply you accept this.
More lightly: From Zen teacher Misha Merrill: “You may think you are becoming a chocolate cake, but then you turn out to be a steak!” This could be shocking if you are vegetarian.
So, relax. Just do the practices. The path will unfold, sometimes easily and sometimes not, but always just as it can.
