Mindful Meditation

Luang Por Sumedho - "Nothing is more joyless than selfishness" Mindful Meditation

During the last week we have had the opportunity to practise together here at the International Forest Monastery. We met together in the mornings and evenings, at teatime, on Vesakha Puja Day and for Patimokkha – all of this within a brief ten days. There were times for listening, for talking and for discussing Dhamma, a wonderful occasion to contemplate and reflect on our practice.

“Mindfulness” is an interesting word for most of us. We think it is something or other that we have to try and get. Actually, it is just a very natural way of being receptive. When we are driving a car we have to be mindful, unless we are drunk or really in a terrible state. We don’t think: “I’ve got to try to be mindful.” If we are not a very disturbed, heedless and foolish kind of person, we just are mindful. Why is that? Because while driving a car it is quite apparent that we have a dangerous machine under our control. If we are not mindful we are going to hit somebody or kill ourselves or do some damage. So just that sense of self-preservation, respect for life and not wanting to hurt others while driving a car makes us mindful. We don’t practise mindfulness while driving – we are mindful. As for monastic life, if we think of mindfulness as something we must practise, then we form an opinion about it as being something that we’ve got to develop. If we are mindful, we are aware of the whole way of thinking: “I’ve got to be more mindful – I must develop mindfulness in order to get out of the deathbound state and become an enlightened person.” We are aware of the forces, the intentions and habits that are affecting us at this moment.

If I am thinking right now, “I’ve got to be mindful,” if I am being mindful I can see and I am aware that I’ve got this idea: “I’ve got to be mindful” – that’s mindfulness. If I just follow the view that I’ve got to be mindful, I can be quite heedless. One example of this is when I was at Wat Pah Pong. I would go on bindabaht to Bahn Gor, which is a three kilometre walk. One day it looked like it was going to rain and we thought it advisable to take our umbrellas. So I took my umbrella and started off. But then it didn’t rain and so we put our umbrellas outside the village so we wouldn’t have to take them into the village. I said to myself: “You must be mindful, Sumedho, and when you come back from your almsround you must remember your umbrella. Remember where it is so that you can take it back to the monastery.” So I went on bindabaht being very mindful of each step, got back to the monastery and realized I’d forgotten my umbrella. I had concentrated and maybe was very composed while on my almsround, but was not terribly mindful about other things. In other words, if one concentrated on walking in a certain way or in just doing something or other, then one is not necessarily mindful. We need to take into our minds the way it is, what it all implies and the things that are involved. It does not mean just to have an idea that one has to be mindful of each step while walking on an almsround, as a kind of fixed view of mindfulness. Because that can be merely concentration. Mindfulness allows us to really notice the way it is, where we are, the time and the place.

Another time I was walking on bindabaht at Tum Saeng Pet. I was trying to be very mindful, walking barefoot and I had this very sensitive right leg. I had to be most careful of it. It was very bumpy and rocky and rooty up at Tum Saeng Pet and I said to myself: “You must be mindful while walking, Sumedho!” So I was trying to be incredibly mindful, being ever so careful – and I stubbed my toe. It was so painful and I said to myself: “You’re not being mindful, Sumedho!” And while I was saying this I stubbed my toe again. And it was absolutely excruciating. So I heard myself saying: “You’re not mindful at all! You’re just a hopeless case!” – and I stubbed my toe for the third time. I was about ready to faint. And here I was: “You’ve got to be mindful; be mindful; try to be more mindful; I wasn’t mindful.” I was so caught up with my ideas about being mindful and my poor toe was suffering along with the rest of me.

Another occasion was my first year as a novice in Nong Khai. I spent a year at this meditation monastery where they did the Mahasi Sayadaw method, which is to develop mindfulness by doing everything incredibly slowly. There was another Thai monk there who had arrived many months before me. He was their star meditator. I used to see him and think: “This monk is really a wonderful meditator.” I was in a kuti right across from his. Everything he did was extremely slow. So I thought: “This is what I should be doing. Mindfulness is being very slow about everything.” This was the idea of what mindfulness and good practice was. Well, for eleven months the monk did this practice. Then he was rushed off to hospital. Because if one does things very slowly for a long period of time, something goes wrong with the internal organs. He was in a state of quite serious illness. Not having defecated properly, everything had become impacted with constipation. If one doesn’t exercise the body the bowels don’t move and just get clogged up. But he managed to be very mindful of all this.

There is a lot of silliness and foolishness in meditation. People don’t wisely consider the limits they are under, and what mindfulness and wisdom really amount to. They get fixed ideas about doing certain techniques and practices and do not take into account the nature of the human body, with its limitations, and the time and the place. At that monastery they once asked us to attend an important meeting. Everyone was to congregate at two o’clock in the sala. I arrived on time. But then we had to wait for forty-five minutes while these slow walkers moved ever so slowly into the sala. Forty-five minutes we were waiting so that they could walk from their kutis into the sala to attend this meeting. It was “good practice” as we say euphemistically – good practice, yes – to sit there and just wait for these people to walk very slowly. But somehow one didn’t feel it was very wise or considerate. It’s not very mindful to arrive late at a meeting when one is asked to be there at a certain time. One keeps everybody waiting for oneself, while performing this method that one has become so bound to. Or, if one wants to do it that way, one should have set off long before, instead of waiting for the bell, which implies one walks a normal pace to arrive at the sala. This is reflection, isn’t it? If one is really determined to keep to slow walking, then one needs to consider the time and the place and how to arrive in time. Or maybe one can walk faster that day in order to arrive in time. Whatever one decides, one should consider and contemplate time and place, what is appropriate, what is beautiful, what is kind. This takes wisdom rather than just mere will power or blind grasping of conditions.

Here in Wat Pah Nanachat, contemplate this monastery as a place to practise, as a community, where we share our lives together, being mindful of our Vinaya, the customs and traditions. What is the way things are done here? One doesn’t make up one’s own rules or go one’s own way in a community. In Sangha we determine to agree to live in a certain way. If we don’t want to live in this certain way, then we shouldn’t be here. We should go where we can do what we want. The advantages of community life lie in our ability to be sensitive and caring; to be considerate and thoughtful of other human beings. A life without generosity and respect and giving to others is joyless life. Nothing is more joyless than selfishness. Thinking of myself first – what I want and what I can get out of this place – means that I might live here, but I am not going to have any joy living here. I might because of my seniority be able to intimidate, and because of my size be able to push my weight around and get my way – but I am not going to be joyful by doing that. Just asserting myself and getting my way is not the way to peacefulness, equanimity and serenity of the heart. As we get seniority in the Sangha, we have to think about other people more. We need to consider how to train and look after the junior ones – and how to help the senior ones. Nothing is more depressing than to be in a community of bhikkhus who don’t really bother and just want to do what they want. They are so blind or self-centred, they don’t look and see, they don’t ask, they don’t notice – you have to tell them everything. It is very frustrating to have to live with people who are not willing to put forth the effort to try to notice, and to take on responsibility. We have to grow up in other words. Maybe some of you came to be monks so you could get out of marriages and having children. Getting out of that responsibility of having to take care of somebody else. Maybe you weren’t Prince Siddhartha leaving your beautiful wife and child – those whom you loved the most in the world – in order to realize the ultimate truth and be enlightened. Maybe you came here because you couldn’t stand the idea of having to work and make money to be able to support a wife and kids. Does that ring true for any of you? It can be pretty dreary to have to go around taking care of someone. You can’t go your own way if you’re married. You have to think of somebody else, don’t you? You have to include somebody else in your life – the one you marry – and not many people do that, even when they get married these days. Then when you start having children, you have to open up your heart even more to include them too. Babies are pretty helpless, they can’t do anything, so you have to do everything for them. You have to give up your freedom and independence, your rights and privileges, in order to look after a little baby with stinking nappies and a wife and maybe a mother-in-law... We have to open our hearts wide to be able to look after and meet the needs of a situation like that.

As Buddhist monks here in Thailand it’s easy to just go off and find oneself a nice cave and live there. The lay people are so generous in this country, they love to feed monks. They think it is wonderful and will give one nice robes and build lovely kutis for one. If a monk is a fairly decent and pleasant type of person, they will send him to the best doctors in Bangkok for any treatment he might need. So one can work it in Thailand to be a very selfish kind of person, based on the idea: “I must get enlightened and nobody else matters but me.” But this is a very joyless and dry way to live. It becomes increasingly dreary operating in this narrow-minded way.

I was pushed into a more responsible kind of position by Ajahn Chah. I didn’t want to do it either. I didn’t want to have to teach or be responsible for anything. I had all kinds of romantic ideas of being a monk. Going off to an island, living in a cave in the Himalayan Mountains, developing magical powers, living in a state of bliss for months at a time. I had all kinds of hopes in that direction. Having to think about somebody else was somehow not something I found very attractive. I was married once before – I didn’t like that – what a drag that was. And then, being a monk in Thailand they even praised me for being totally selfish: “He’s really a good monk, very strict, doesn’t speak to anyone, likes to be alone, practises hard” – one gets praised for that. But then life forces us sometimes to look in different directions. That’s obviously what Ajahn Chah was doing to me. He was putting the pressure on me, so I began to see and actually realize that if I just kept going the way I was, I would be just a miserable, unhappy, selfish person. I began to think in terms of: “How can I help? What can I do?” When I went to India in 1974 I had this strong experience of what is called “kataññu katavedi.” Gratitude to Gotama the Buddha, to Ajahn Chah, to Thailand and to all the lay people who had been supporting me and helping me. This sense of gratitude and gratefulness was very strong. At that time I had really wonderful opportunities. After five months in India I had a lot of adventures. I had gone tudong, just wandered and begged for food. I met some wealthy people who wanted me to spend the vassa at some marvellous place down in Southern India. There was another invitation to go to Sri Lanka. All kinds of places in rather nice setting and idyllic environments were suddenly made available to me. But all I could think of was I must go back to Thailand. I must find a way of serving Ajahn Chah.

So I thought: “What is the best way I can help and serve Ajahn Chah?” I had left Thailand to go to India and get away from all those Westerners who were piling up at Wat Pah Pong at that time. I was the only one who could speak Thai then. So they depended a lot on me for translating. Well, the least I could do is to go back and help translate for Ajahn Chah. So I left India, came back to Thailand, went to Wat Pah Pong and offered my services. I decided to be a non-complaining monk and just do what Ajahn Chah wanted me to do and no longer ask for anything for myself. I determined that if he wanted me to stay at Wat Pah Pong, I’d stay at Wat Pah Pong; or if he wanted to send me off to the worst, most horrible branch monastery I’d go there. Wherever I could help I would do that, without asking for any special privileges. I thought of the worst branch monastery of Ajahn Chah. At that time it was called Suan Gluay. I remember going there one time and I was taller than all the trees there. It is called “Banana Garden Monastery,” but I don’t think there’s a banana tree in the whole place. It was a hot, unattractive, and difficult place, with rather coarse villagers and terrible food. So, still hoping to do some kind of ascetic practice, I thought: “I know, I’ll help Ajahn Chah by volunteering to go to Wat Suan Gluay, because nobody wants to go there. He always has difficulty keeping monks there.” I went to Ajahn Chah and said: “Luang Por, I volunteer to go to Wat Suan Gluay,” and he said: “No, you can’t go.” I was quite disappointed. I was actually looking forward to it. But then, a year or so later we started this monastery here. “Wat Pah America” it was called as a joke, because most of the bhikkhus then were Americans. It was my responsibility to try and look after it.

In England then, one really has to give up any selfish desires for one’s practice. Somehow in England Buddhist monasticism forces us to be selfless, where here in Thailand, as I’ve said before, we can feed our selfishness very much. The reason why is that there aren’t many options. One can go to Amaravati, Chithurst, Devon or Harnham and that’s about the only choice one has. So sometimes people start thinking of coming to Thailand. But very seldom do any of the bhikkhus in England ask for anything. This is quite impressive. Hardly anyone ever asks to go to any of the branch monasteries. They will just go to wherever they’re needed. If they get tired of one place, saying: “I’m tired of Amaravati, I want to go to Chithurst, or I’m tired of Chithurst, I want to go to Amaravati,” they just don’t think like that. So generally the attitude is one of “how can I best help and how can I serve the Sangha?” This is the advantage of living in England as a Buddhist monk: one can’t be selfish there! Selfishness stands out like a sore thumb, like a big foot. It’s just an inappropriate attitude and way of behaving. Now here in Thailand, whether we want to be selfish or not is up to us. We want to think of ourselves first and do our own thing – that’s our privilege. I mean we have the opportunities to do that here in this country. But we should also recognize how we can help each other. Do we really care or take an interest in serving and trying to help in various ways? In, say, taking on a responsible position, that maybe junior monks are not yet ready for. Perhaps it is good practice for the senior monk to do everything and not have any help. But for us it is not – so I want to encourage everyone. A community is as good as the members of the community. One person can’t make this community good himself. The goodness of this community depends on all of its members. This is for your consideration. If we want to have a really good monastery and a place that is worth living in and practising in, then we all have to give to it something. We all have to give ourselves to it by opening our hearts and taking on responsibilities. Being sensitive to the needs and the type of people we are with, the time and the place and the kind of culture we are in – all of this is part of our practice, of being mindful.

To offer our services and to be eager to help is really praiseworthy. It is something I appreciate very much. It is not always what one wants to do, but it is a very lovely gesture and very important. Many of you are new monks. Without elder monks who are willing to help out, there would be no way possible for you to be trained. In a monastery we are working together – each member reflecting wisely on how to support and help the whole community in the position one finds oneself in. At Amaravati, for example, I am the abbot and the teacher. So I reflect on how to use this position for the welfare of the whole community, rather than: “I am the abbot; I am the teacher; I have many rights and privileges; I am senior to you; I can do this and you can’t; you better obey me because I’m the powerful figure here: Let’s see what I can get out of this for myself.” That’s not a wise reflection, is it? A tyrant is like that but not an abbot. If we want to be a proper bhikkhu and we happen to be abbot or teacher or senior monk, then we reflect on how to use that position for the prosperity of the Sangha. This also applies to the most junior member, the last anagarika or the guests. Whoever is living here they can reflect: “In my position, what can I do for the welfare and happiness of the community?” As a new bhikkhu, as a majjhima bhikkhu or as a thera bhikkhu, as a samanera, as an anagarika or as a visitor, we consider: “With my talents and abilities and the limitations I have, how can I best serve this community?” Then we have a very harmonious community because everybody is reflecting in a way that is supporting it. We are willing to give according to our abilities and our position within it. We are not trying to get something for ourselves anymore. Or if we are, we can see that as an inferior attitude not to be grasped or followed. We often tend to think in terms of our rights. Now that I have ten vassas, what are my rights? What are the advantages? What perks do I get now for having ten vassas? But if we cultivate a more mature attitude in the spirit of Dhamma, we no longer demand rights and privileges, but offer our services. How can I best help and serve this community? Ask yourselves that.

Here in Thailand after five vassas one gets the inevitable five-vassa-tudong-itch. One thinks: “I’ve got my five vassas now; I can go tudong. Whoopee!” This can become not a very nice tradition actually, where one is encouraged to think in that way. I used to be concerned about training monks in England, because Thailand always seemed to be the ideal place to be a monk. I’ve had to establish monasteries one right after another. Always being in the process of building things and trying to set up situations for monks and nuns to train. And so for the past fourteen years since Wat Pah Nanachat, I have been put in this position of always having to start and initiate things; to set up everything. But then the results of, say, twelve years in England are very good. The quality of the monks and nuns is very worthy. Their practice and understanding of Dhamma doesn’t seem to be damaged, or in any way inferior on account of the kind of conditions they’re under. So one has more confidence in just loving Dhamma and determining to realize the truth. One learns to do the best one can with the conditions around one. One doesn’t have to have ideal conditions, the best of everything or long periods of time to practise, tudong experiences or this or that. All this is all right – there’s nothing wrong with it. But to grasp those ideas and expect and demand all of that is really a hindrance to the understanding of Dhamma. It’s not that one shouldn’t go on tudong after five vassas. I’m not saying that. But to hold on to that view without seeing it for what it is, can be a great obstacle to one’s practice. To be dishonest with oneself, to demand rights and to follow one’s own views and opinions is not the way to Nibbana. If we really look at these mental states of selfishness and self-concern and grasping, we see that they are painful – dukkha. They don’t lead to peace and clarity, to letting go, to cessation, to “desirelessness” or to Nibbana – and that is what we are here for, isn’t it, to realize Nibbana.

Now it is quite wonderful to see so many new monks here. I haven’t been to Thailand for two years and now there is an impressive line of inspired and aspiring bhikkhus. This is something to really treasure, to encourage and protect for all of us. I try to do everything I can to help and support this monastery because one wants to encourage this and make offerings that will benefit you in your training and your understanding of Dhamma, in your aspiration to realize truth.

“Life is quite sad, isn’t it?”
...The effort has to come from ourselves. For the Holy Life we have to develop that effort from the heart. There is no way that somebody else can make us enlightened...