Luang Por Sumedho - “Life is quite sad, isn’t it?” Feel MeditationReflecting on this moment we can see the interconnectedness between meeting and separation. Everyone here that comes together must separate. This is one reflection on travelling. We always leave some place and move on to meet someone else. Being invited to some place we go flying from airport to airport. When it’s time to leave there is always this feeling of sadness. Especially with people we like being with. There is always a gladness of meeting people who are Buddhist, or people who are pleased to have us with them, or interested in what we are doing. We can watch this in the mind. Like going to a Buddhist group: the happiness of people receiving us and then the sadness of separation from people who have treated us well and have been very respectful. This is the way things are. We don’t need to make anything out of it, but by reflecting on Dhamma it helps to understand what it means to be human. We’re not trying to feel nothing and to be able to go to some place and just be totally blank. Everyone says: “Oh, Ajahn Sumedho, how wonderful that you’ve come” (blank, stone-faced expression). And then, when it’s time to go: “Oh, we’ve enjoyed having you so much” (blank, stone-faced expression). Not feeling anything, just being totally indifferent. Not daring to feel any gladness or sadness or any emotional state but being indifferent and insensitive is not the Middle Way at all. Sensitivity requires that we feel these things, that we know what they are. We’re not afraid to feel likes and we’re unafraid at feeling pain. We can see it as Dhamma rather than taking it all in a personal way. Trying to avoid forming any attachments and kind of cutting our hearts out is having very callous ideas about practice. Having been born into this form means that we are very sensitive and we have emotions. That’s just the way it is – the way we feel, and we’re going to feel it until we die. When we’re dead we don’t feel anything. So being human is like this. We have these human attractions and aversions. Male and female, there it is, human attractions on the human plane with its sensory consciousness. We feel hot or cold and we feel well or sick. We enjoy people who have common interests. We get angry or annoyed with people that do things we don’t like. This is the way it is, but as a meditator we are reflecting on the whole process, seeing and understanding it with wisdom and knowledge; not just trying to cut our heart out so we don’t have to feel anything whatsoever.
Before my mother died she told me about this scene that she was part of. My mother wasn’t an emotional person at all. She never cried. She couldn’t cry. She didn’t play emotional games with anyone. She was quite an honest and a very good person. Sometimes, because she wasn’t an emotional person people tended to think she didn’t feel things. When my father was dying in hospital, he was very emotional. He was crying and felt terrible about dying and leaving her. She would stand there, and she wouldn’t be crying. And he yelled at her: “You don’t care, do you?!” She quietly said: “I feel just the same as you do, but I can’t cry. I’d like to be able to cry for you, but I just can’t do it.” Not that she was trying to hold back or trying to resist it, but it was her manner, her way. Later on, when she was eighty-seven, I asked her: “Life is quite sad, isn’t it?” And she said: “Yes, very sad.” And she said it not in a complaining or bitter way but simply a woman at the end of her life, who had lived quite well and wisely and realized that there’s a pathos and sadness to our life. It’s just the way it is. There is always this dying. This is the death-realm. The sense-world and the conditioned realm is a realm of death. And we are always trying to find life in it. We’re always trying to hang on to that which is dying, changing. And because of that there is always this sense of desperation, anxiety and worry. It pursues and haunts us. Like a spectre walking behind us, we can’t quite see it but we can feel it.
Sadness is actually not depressing. We can become depressed by wanting it to be otherwise, thinking: “There must be something wrong with me.” But this realm is a realm of death, of sadness, of separation: having to separate from the loved. We give our hearts and have great feelings of love for each other, and then the separation which is part of it, the sadness that comes from separation. Now this we can see in our own everyday experiences. We can contemplate this in our life, just noticing it in little ways. Children, before they become egos and personalities, are very immediate and spontaneous about their feelings. A young child, when her father leaves to go to work, cries: “Don’t leave, daddy!” And he says: “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” A couple of hours doesn’t mean anything to a young child. It will mean something later on, but for a young child there is only that feeling of separation. Daddy’s leaving and the immediate response is crying. Not wanting to separate. Then we have: “I’ll be back in a tiny little while,” and everything is well. Dad’s only going away for a little while and he’ll be back. So we have ways of dealing with it.
I used to notice it is difficult to say good-bye when we are not going to see each other again. It’s always: “See you again.” “When will you come again?” This idea of meeting again in the mind. Because even if there is not a lot of attachment, there’s something in us that doesn’t want to say: “Good-bye forever.” A very sad feeling. I had lived away for so many years, but there was always this: “See you again,” in my mind. When I attended my father’s funeral in August I took leave during the vassa in England. And then my mother said: “I’ll see you again in March. Welcome back in March.” She was very happy I would be back in March. And when I went back in March she was there and then she died. Now I can’t say “I’ll see you again.” I’ll never see her again. I was thinking at the funeral when they took her coffin to the cemetery: “I’ll never see you again.” It was a very sad feeling. And so we can witness this as a characteristic of our humanity. If we’re taking it personally, we might think: “Well, if we’re really mindful we won’t feel anything. We won’t feel any sadness. It’s just anicca, dukkha, anatta. That’s it. Mother is only a perception anyway. Death is the end of something that’s not self, so why make a problem about it. You know, just dismiss the whole thing as anicca, dukkha, anatta.” This is an intellectual kind of business in our head, isn’t it? But it’s not looking into the nature of things. We are not penetrating. We’re just applying a nice theory to simply dismiss life and not feel anything. We needn’t be frightened or resist feeling, but rather contemplate it. Because this is very much the realm we have to put up with and be with for a lifetime. Emotions, feelings and intuition are an inseparable part of it all. If these are not recognized, witnessed and understood we become callous and insensitive rationalists. We just shut everything down because we don’t want to be bothered with sadness, gladness and other feelings. That’s the realm we sometimes feel quite frightened of and resist.
For men there is a very strong resistance to emotional experience. Sometimes we get very irritated with women because they’re so emotional. Take the movies for example. There was movie on the aeroplane – a real melodrama. A saga of just solid tears from beginning to end. We can see that all that can become an indulgence; if we are constantly seeking this heartfelt emotional state, can also become a bit sickening and silly. But to understand the nature of sensitivity is not being morbid or foolish or indulgent. It means to be really willing to allow our senses to be what they are, to learn from this realm of perception, feeling, emotion and consciousness. In a monastery we use the situation to observe things.
One thing that is really moving here in Thailand is the dana aspect. Thai people are so generous. It really touches me and it means a lot to me. I didn’t expect anything like that. Being a foreigner, why should anyone bother feeding and looking after me? And they don’t really ask for very much in return. When I was a junior monk they didn’t expect me to do anything. I’d just sit there like a bump on a log. In fact, they often want to give you too many things. They really love to support people living the Holy Life. It made me feel I really wanted to be worthy of that. I had the intention of being worthy of that kind of generosity. Something we can try is to be as good a monk as possible. To practise and keep the Vinaya. Trying our best to be a proper monk and practise the Dhamma. We can quite deliberately bring to mind the generosity of this country. It’s probably one of the most generous countries we could ever live in, or at least have ever lived in. The level of giving to people living the Holy Life is amazing. We can get used to it of course. If we’ve never lived as a monk in any other country we can take it for granted, but it’s really outstanding. The way they take foreigners in, give us everything and support us in every way for us to fulfil our spiritual aspirations. And they expect hardly anything from us; maybe a smile now and then or a friendly gesture. So this is something that touches the heart. It touches my heart. I’m not just sitting there saying: “Well, generosity is anicca, dukkha, anatta! Don’t get attached to it!” It’s using feeling in a kind of way that’s uplifting. When I contemplate the goodness, generosity and compassion of Ajahn Chah, this has an elevating influence on my heart. It helps in our practice and in developing samadhi. This sense of devotion and gratitude is a powerful foundation on which to build up samatha and vipassana.
In the community itself we can learn from each other. This is where we also have to forgive each other. And as a reminder we perform this ceremony of asking for forgiveness. We learn from the way we don’t understand each other very well. We see each other in fixed ways and so we feel threatened by certain types of character. We have to work through this. And that is where we need to allow each other that space of forgiveness for not being perfect, totally wise and without flaws all the time. Even monks like myself, having been ordained much longer than others, still ask forgiveness for wrongdoing. Anything said or done, intentionally or unintentionally, that may have offended or upset anyone, or caused some kind of unhappiness. This is a way of clearing and cleaning, of setting things right in ourselves, and in our relationship with each other. Fourteen years ago, when I first came here and began to teach, I wasn’t very confident as an abbot at all. I had never done it before, so I was petrified. Western monks are full of ideas and all kinds of different views and opinions. And I was supposed to be the abbot – sitting there with all these monks giving me a piece of their minds and throwing opinions at me. They would always conflict with each other until it got really awful. One morning I remember I got really heavy and I laid it down to them saying: “I’m the abbot here; you follow me and shut up! I can’t operate in this position if you’re going to do this to me. One person wants to do it this way, another wants to do it that way. How am I supposed to function as an abbot?” Westerners believe in their own views a lot. They strongly follow their opinions: “This is the way it’s got to be done! It can’t be done any other way!” Then we also have our own views about Ajahn Chah: “Ajahn Chah said. Ajahn Chah would do it this way. Ajahn Chah would never do that.” One gets that thrown at one. Always being compared to the top man. It was my first year as an abbot and everyone was already comparing me with the best. This is not fair. So then I would react with things like “Shut up” and “Obey.” I tried just being heavy and domineering. That helped actually in the beginning. I think everyone appreciated it, because it did somehow clarify the situation. They were good monks so they stopped those habits. But then, as a way of life one doesn’t like to live in that style: “You shut up! Just follow and obey!” We keep learning – everybody learns. So eventually we find a way of living that is truly beautiful and sensitive and fair. Yes, it can even be fair.
If at one time any of us gets into this position, we’ll find out what happens. If we’re insecure we tend to revert to certain patterns that we’ve seen before. I tried to copy Ajahn Chah or Ajahn Jun. I’d spent a vassa with Ajahn Jun. He was really quite fierce. If one got up during an all night sitting he would follow one to one’s kuti. All the time he was on one’s back. That’s a way too. Just keeping control over everything and not letting everyone get away with anything. As soon as one sees a little sign of weakness, one tiny mistake – one jumps on them: “Stop that! Shameless monk!” But my character is just not like that at all. I began to hate the idea and just tried not to look at things, developing a way of not seeing, squinting my eyes so that there was a haze. I don’t like to go around, always feeling obliged to tell people off and set them straight – a really awful way to live one’s life. And that isn’t what Ajahn Jun does anyway. We might pick up that particular thing, because he is willing to admonish continually. So then we think maybe that’s what we should do. But with Ajahn Jun I found it very helpful. He’s actually a very kind monk. It wasn’t coming from a nasty place. But as for myself, I used to get pretty nasty, you know, because I resented being in that position. I would be quite unpleasant, but this is how we learn. We learn from all this by reflecting on the results. More and more I realized that I was just trying to copy someone else. I could never be like Ajahn Chah. I could never be like anyone else. I had to trust my own quality and character and develop that from there. We’re not trying to copy someone we very highly respect, like Ajahn Chah, a “Xerox copy” of Ajahn Chah.
Here at Wat Pah Nanachat there are senior monks, junior monks, novices, eight precept men and women. We can all use our reflective mind more instead of creating problems. And slowly we develop a sense of supporting and helping each other rather than forming factions or just becoming very insensitive and demanding, feeling disappointed because someone doesn’t live up to our expectations. We can really suffer a lot by wanting the senior monk to be perfect, never doing anything wrong and always understanding things properly. Sometimes others don’t so we feel very disillusioned and disappointed. But I recommend using such situations as Dhamma. Even if we’ve been treated unfairly we watch that. We can learn a lot from being treated unfairly, actually. There is much resentment when we’ve been accused of something we haven’t done, or when we are treated badly for no reason that we can see. We feel bitterness and anger. But we can try and use that as Dhamma in our lives. When I hear people’s gossip, or when I hear stories about myself that aren’t true and people blaming me for things I haven’t done – now I can sit back and just watch my mind. If my mind starts: “It’s not fair!” I try to use life for reflection. So I am not bitter about the injustices and unfairness that we might experience.
I remember the first winter at Amaravati. It was a cold winter, very snowy and we were having a winter retreat. The heating system wasn’t very good then. We had a fireplace in the meeting hall and they put me right in front of this lovely fireplace. Being the head monk I had the best and warmest position. Of course everybody else was freezing at the back. We were doing an hour’s sitting and then an hour’s walking. The bell would go and it was time to go out and walk. Sitting in front of a warm fire while it’s freezing outside, I could see in my mind this strong resistance to going out into the cold. Thoughts would come up like: “What about my health? I’m not getting any younger.” The kind of way the mind starts operating to justify comfort. So I got out there to walk in the snow. It was very bleak and cold and I just started meditating on that. After some time I realized that this was all right. There is nothing bad or even uncomfortable about it. We had warm things to wear, so it wasn’t painful or dangerous to one’s health. It’s just that warmth is so attractive. If it’s cold there is always this kind of aversion to the cold, wanting to get to the warmest place. I just contemplated this: the bare trees, the bleak landscape and the grey sky in the colourless winter light. And I began to quite enjoy being out in the cold. It was really nice and peaceful. I could see the desire in one of wanting the warmth again. Like having a mother to protect one. Something nice to hold one, to feed and nurse one and to keep one warm. But out in the cold we have to be aware of what we’re doing. There is something strengthening and ennobling about being out there. Being mindful and not complaining or running away. Because in itself there is nothing wrong, bad or dangerous about it. We learn to let go of that tendency to choose. It’s like growing up a little bit more. Just through that reflection I felt a sense of growing confidence.
What are the worst things that could happen to a human being? Starving, being ostracised and thrown out into the cold, being humiliated and misunderstood by the community, being accused of a thing one hasn’t done, getting old and sick with wild animals howling in the distance and no hope of anyone ever coming to rescue. Total deprivation of anything comfortable or reassuring and nurturing; or even being tortured and persecuted. I realized that one can cope with all that in life if it happens. That even the worst is somehow all right. When I really thought about that more, I realized how much of life we live on this level of a kind of cowardice and laziness. We’re afraid to take any risks because we might suffer just a bit. Or something might go wrong and we might be a little uncomfortable. Or we might lose something that we really think we must have. How easily we compromise for just mediocrity and comfort and a false sense of security. We don’t really bring this attentiveness to our ordinary life. Most of my life it was very unlikely I would be tortured or thrown out of the Sangha. I don’t expect that to happen. But at the same time I don’t really care if it does. I don’t mind. I can see now how to work with those kind of situations. How to use the misfortunes of life with wisdom. That allows us a sense of courage. We don’t have to waffle about all the time, holding on to this or that and being worried. Because even the worst possible thing that might happen to a human being – it’s all right. If those things happen I know how to practise with them. It’s the way life flows.
Anything I’ve said during this time is for reflection. It’s important for us to understand Dhamma ourselves. I’m not trying to tell anyone how they should practise or what they should do. It is for our consideration on how to cultivate our own reflective mind. Because in this life the effort has to come from ourselves. In the Holy Life we have to develop that effort from the heart. There is no way that somebody else can make us enlightened. I can push and intimidate everyone by using fear and fierceness, keeping everyone awake through making them frightened. That just tends to condition us again to be a kind of frightened creature who is obedient and does all the right things because we’re afraid of being punished and beaten up if we don’t. But this life as a monk or as a nun is a matter of rising up and growing up and developing effort from there. We need to cultivate this right effort (samma-vayama), right mindfulness (samma-sati) and right concentration (samma-samadhi). It is part of the Noble Eightfold Path. I encourage everyone in doing that and using the situation here for practice. It’s a good situation: something to treasure, to respect and to use properly.
“We can’t attain it – we realize it”
...As we move into different situations, if we exercise our reflective capacities, then we keep learning from life’s experiences. All kinds of strengths and abilities develop to cope with exotic or strange, difficult or uncertain situations that before we would have been absolutely overwhelmed by...
We Cant Attain it - Luang Por Sumedho
