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Equanimity

Good evening again. Tonight I'd like to talk a little bit about equanimity. It's one of those words—equanimity. I don't know how many syllables it has, but it's one of those words that just doesn't feel like it's in our usual vocabulary. It feels very technical. Of course, those of you who have been practicing for a while will recognize this word.

There are a number of ways in which we can describe it: as having a sense of steadiness, of stability in the mind and in the heart. We don't necessarily need to make that distinction, but it is a steadiness and a stability that remains in the face of all conditions, no matter what is arising. This includes all inner experiences—emotions and thoughts—and outer experiences—things that we hear, see, and feel. It is a certain type of unshakability, a strong sense of inner balance where we are not so readily thrown off balance.

Perhaps it is also about seeing the big picture; it is certainly a support for feeling balanced just to see the big picture. It is natural to do this. I find myself doing this when I'm outside and there's a little bit of a hill, even if it's just a minor one. I want to go up to the top of the hill, stand at the top, see how things look, and get a different view. Standing on top of that hill—even if it's just a mound or a knoll—we're still connected to what's happening, but we have a bigger perspective, a bigger view. It is generally accompanied by a sense of ease, a feeling of, "Oh, look at this. Ah."

The Spectrum of Experience

The experience of equanimity is a spectrum; it's not an on-off switch where we are either steady, balanced, connected, and spacious, or we are not. I want to honor all aspects of our lives. Even though we talk about equanimity in Buddhist practice, we also want to honor and respect having an emotional life.

We can ask ourselves, both as human beings and as practitioners: Do I know both ends of this spectrum? Do I know the richness and fullness of being alive and having an emotional life, as well as the richness and fullness of equanimity, where we are not filled with emotion in a way that throws us off balance? We want to both be in contact with our emotions—to recognize, feel, and experience them—and also have steadiness and balance.

Sometimes we get a little bit off balance. As practitioners, the key word here is practice. As we practice equanimity, we will notice times when we're just lost in emotionality. There will be times when perhaps we've slipped off of equanimity and into indifference—when there's a certain amount of coldness, disconnection, or being cut off and not open to our experience. Of course, that is what it means to be a human being; we have this whole range. We can have this emotionality and we can have indifference, but equanimity is about being connected. It is experiencing whatever there is to be experienced while still maintaining some uprightness and impartiality. It is not being pushed around, shut down, cold, removed, dull, or gray.

Sometimes, when we think about equanimity, there might be some hesitation. It might not sound very attractive if we think it is like indifference, coolness, or disconnection. But we must recognize that it is not that; it is really about being connected.

There might be another reason why equanimity doesn't seem so desirable. We might have come to believe that the "juiciness" of our life comes from drama. It might not be so clearly thought out, but we might feel that the drama of trying to get something, or trying to get rid of something, brings a little bit of pizzazz or excitement to our lives. We feel there's that next thing we have to get, or get rid of, that somehow gives our life purpose or meaning. If you were to ask anyone, they would likely say, "No, that's ridiculous. Trying to get things or get rid of them doesn't give my life purpose or meaning." So, it might be a quiet, underlying belief that isn't completely formed.

We must see if there is a belief that equanimity sounds uninteresting. Equanimity actually has a beautiful sense of aliveness, vitality, openness, connection, and spaciousness. It's really quite a supportive and wonderful experience.

The Eight Worldly Winds

Equanimity—the sense of balance and seeing the big picture—makes life easier to navigate because we are not pushed around by our experiences. Whether our experience is in response to an external event—something happening in the news cycle, a comment someone made at dinner, a meal that didn't turn out quite right—or an internal experience like our emotions or thoughts, equanimity helps us not lose our way. It helps us have ease with things that otherwise might cause unease.

Equanimity is a way to not be blown around by the worldly winds. Some of you may know the list of the Eight Worldly Winds^[1]: praise and blame, fame and disrepute, gain and loss, pleasure and pain. Of course, it's not possible to only experience one side of those pairs and not the other. I find it comforting that the Buddha came up with this list thousands of years ago. It means people were concerned about the exact same things we are concerned about now. Developing and experiencing equanimity ensures that these experiences—praise and blame, pleasure and discomfort—don't have to be problems.

This path of practice is not only about making our life more comfortable and pleasant, though it certainly does that. It is also about establishing conditions in the mind that help us be with some of the deepest existential issues humans face. It helps us find freedom, peace, love, and compassion when existential questions arise—about the meaning of our lives, what happens after death, and so on.

Most importantly, equanimity creates the conditions for letting go and a lessening of clinging. It keeps us from being tangled up in things. This type of letting go is associated with liberation and freedom. A liberated person—someone who has some awakening—is not agitated, and equanimity is inherently an unagitated state. Practicing equanimity is practicing for liberation, as the means to liberation show up in the end result. Equanimity is an integral practice on the way to complete freedom.

Lists and Supports for Equanimity

Those of you who have been around the Buddhist scene or have heard lots of dharma talks know that equanimity is part of many lists. It is part of the Seven Factors of Awakening^[2], the Pāramīs^[3], the Brahmavihāras^[4], the Jhānas^[5], and the Progress of Insight^[6].

I certainly am not going to go into all those lists, and you don't need to know their contents for what I'm talking about here. Just recognize that equanimity shows up in many different Buddhist practices. One thing these lists have in common is that they are all supports for liberation. Usually, there is a progression in these lists, and equanimity comes at the very end.

Why does it come at the end, and what comes before it? I'd suggest it comes at the end so that the other practices can be a support for equanimity. It is often not something we can just dip into all the time; instead, other practices support its natural arising.

In broad brushstrokes, we can say there are practices that support wisdom and practices that support well-being. We need both to help create the conditions in which equanimity might arise. Wisdom practices help us shift our perspective and see things differently, so that situations that might otherwise feel like massive disasters don't seem like such big problems.

Well-being acts like the keel on a sailboat. The keel is that deep, long piece underneath the boat that prevents it from tipping over, even when strong winds are pushing against it. Having a reservoir of well-being that we can dip into and drink from acts like this keel. If you don't know how to swim and you get thrown into the water, you're going to thrash about. But if you get thrown in with a life jacket on, you just pop up to the top. You don't need to panic, and you can swim to safety. Well-being is a life jacket that supports equanimity. We all know it's easier to be equanimous if we have a certain sense of contentment, happiness, and love available, independent of our external conditions.

Practicing in Daily Life

For all of these practices, it is incredibly helpful to start where it is easy to begin. Are there simple, easy places in our daily lives where we can practice equanimity without having to build massive supports?

Perhaps there is a holiday coming up with a lot of food, and this year will be different from past years. Is there a way we can bring some ease to that? Maybe there is some tenderness or sadness around those differences. Can we set an intention to not tumble into uncomfortable feelings, and instead feel the support of what is available?

Or maybe we're sharing a delicious meal with others. We might be so happy to be there that we want to eat as much as we can, or tell all our stories non-stop because we haven't had a chance to share what's been happening. Can we intentionally bring some balance and steadiness to that moment?

Perhaps you love pumpkin pie or apple pie. Can you acknowledge that you love it, but take the time to make sure everybody else has a piece of pie and has what they want first? Maybe you even tidy up the kitchen a little bit before allowing yourself to have it. You give yourself the space to feel the desire for the pie, without having to consume it immediately. I'm confident you can come up with your own examples if you set the intention. There are lots of small moments in daily life where we might find some equanimity.

The Reservoir of Well-being

I want to make a note that well-being is not the same as pleasure. There are things that are pleasant, but they don't really fuel us or fill up a reservoir. Chasing after one pleasant moment after another is its own type of suffering. Well-being is more a sense of contentment and ease. It doesn't even have to be pleasant; it can be perfectly neutral. If we are having some difficulties, it might be quite nice to have some neutral experiences.

We can realize that our well-being is not dependent on this or that condition. In meditation, we might notice some contentment or stability, and we can allow ourselves to really feel that sense of connection: Okay, I'm here. We can feel that stability even if there is some restlessness present. Whatever stability there is, we can feel it and not be dismissive of it.

Having the experience of surviving yet another meditation period—even if we were feeling terribly irritated, restless, sleepy, or dealing with whatever hindrance was active—teaches us that our happiness isn't solely dependent on external conditions. Bringing awareness to our experiences during meditation, as well as intentionally cultivating loving-kindness, can build this reservoir. Cultivating loving-kindness brings in an open-heartedness, goodwill, warmth, and delight.

Our reactions to loss or disrepute—for instance, hearing someone say something unflattering about us—are profoundly different if we have a reservoir of loving-kindness that we can dip into. Developing and cultivating this is a process, and it certainly takes time, but it is possible to cultivate feelings of well-being, contentment, and stability that can really support us.

The Wisdom of Zen Master Hakuin

We also want to bring in wisdom practices. There is a story of Zen Master Hakuin^[7], who lived in a village. A teenage girl in the village became pregnant, and her angry parents demanded to know who the father was. The girl didn't want to say, so she told a lie and claimed the father was Zen Master Hakuin.

The outraged parents confronted Hakuin with their daughter's accusation. He simply replied, "Is that so?"

When the baby was born, the parents brought the child to Hakuin and demanded he take care of it, saying it was his responsibility. He replied, "Is that so?" He took the baby and took really good care of it.

After a number of months, the teenage daughter felt terrible about lying and confessed who the real father was. The parents went back to Hakuin with profuse apologies. They explained the mistake and asked if he would return the baby.

Hakuin simply replied, "Is that so?" and handed the baby back.

We might have a number of reactions to this story, but the way the Zen Master was able to say, "Is that so?" creates a little bit of space around the experience. With that space, there is more balance, steadiness, and equanimity. Rather than falling headlong into whatever our conditions might be, we can remember to bring these three words to mind: "Is that so?" It is a way to create the conditions in which equanimity can arise.

Reflection and Conclusion

There are many things we can do to support equanimity, but I will offer one more reflection practice to intellectually engage the mind. When you are experiencing something uncomfortable related to the Eight Worldly Winds, reflect: Do we really think it is possible to only have one side of those pairs? Do we really think it is possible to never experience loss? To only experience gain? To only experience comfort and never pain?

Of course the human experience has both sides of those equations. A reflection like, Okay, this is uncomfortable, can bring us a little bit more into balance. There are other reflection practices, such as contemplating how things change, as well as practices that cultivate well-being, like generosity. We can notice the sense of well-being that arises when we are generous.

The reason equanimity is at the end of all those Buddhist lists is so that we can create the supports for it. When equanimity finally arises, it helps create the conditions for an unagitated mind. It allows us to have the deepest letting go—the letting go that leads to liberation.

Equanimity. It's a word with too many syllables, but it is actually a beautiful, warm, connected experience that can be a tremendous support for our lives and our practice, so that we can, in turn, be a support for others. Thank you.