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Guided Meditation: Trusting Coming and Going

Hello everyone, and welcome. To jump right in, there is a significant, very important teaching that the Buddha gave to a monk named Kaccāyana Gotta^[1]. I'm going to paraphrase or exemplify the teachings, rather than saying them directly, to support this meditation today.

When we breathe in, when the inhale begins, we cannot say that the inhale doesn't exist. But when the inhale finishes and we begin exhaling, we cannot say that the inhale exists anymore. Certainly, we cannot say that it exists continuously, non-stop, as a solid, static phenomenon. Rather, it is something that comes and goes. It exists as a process. In terms of breathing, the inhale exists for a few moments.

If we see the inhale as a temporary process, we can't say that it either exists or doesn't exist as a static, ongoing, non-stop phenomenon. It exists as it goes through its motions.

The reason why this kind of teaching was emphasized to Kaccāyana Gotta—said more universally and generally—is that if we see that the breathing comes and goes, that the inhale comes and goes, it doesn't make any sense to grab ahold of it or to get attached to it. If we grab it and get attached to it, soon enough it disappears. But if we get upset about it disappearing, it only reappears a few moments later.

So, in relationship to breathing, we learn to trust the process. We learn not to be attached to it, not to hold onto it, and we also learn not to resist it. As meditation deepens, there becomes a deeper and deeper trust in the natural process of the body just breathing by itself. The breathing breathes itself. The same thing is true of the exhale.

When the exhale begins, we can't say it doesn't exist. When it ends, we can't say it exists. It exists as a phenomenon that appears and disappears, comes and goes. By emphasizing this with breathing, maybe you can appreciate one of the many reasons why mindfulness of breathing is useful. As we get centered and focus on breathing, it is possible to savor—or have an intimacy with—that aspect of each inhale and exhale: how it begins, appears, and disappears.

In that appearing and disappearing, there is an opportunity for spaciousness, for allowing, for non-clinging. There is a trusting of letting it appear and letting it disappear. One way to trust it is to not get caught in thoughts about it—ideas, wishes, and hopes around breathing—because those thoughts also have the nature of appearing and disappearing. Thoughts are fickle that way, even though some of them might predominate. As we center ourselves in breathing and see its coming and going, we might, with time, begin appreciating how a lot of things come and go. Things that we thought were "just the way things are" turn out to be related to thoughts that think that way, but those thoughts themselves come and go.

So, assuming a meditation posture, gently closing your eyes... With your eyes closed, appreciate your body, your mind, and your heart. Appreciate that you are taking this time for an intimacy, for a caring, protection, and support that is provided with meditation.

Bring forth something that maybe doesn't exist yet, but will appear for a little while and disappear: a few deep inhales and long exhales. Breathe deep enough, just enough—not too much, not too little—but just the right amount for a greater connection to the present moment, to your body, and to relaxing in your body.

Let your breathing return to normal. Some things don't come and go quickly, but we can watch, see, and support their passing. There might be some tension in the body that you can relax a bit, supporting the passing of tension. Maybe as you exhale, relax the face. Maybe as you exhale, relax the shoulders. There might be a small feeling of relaxing that begins, and then after the relaxing, it fades away. Relaxing the belly. Relaxing the arms and hands. Maybe the thighs and legs. And relaxing the thinking mind.

Maybe with a feeling that as the mind relaxes, it expands or spreads out quietly, in the way that waves in the ocean might settle and spread out to create a flat surface.

Then, breathing normally, follow the exhale to the end of the exhale. When it is time to breathe in, allow the inhale to occur. Be as receptive as you can to the body beginning to breathe in. Receptive to the full inhale, and recognizing it when it stops, when the inhale ends and is no longer there.

The inhale appears and disappears. Even if you're controlling it, it still appears and disappears. In some ways, it exists, and then it doesn't exist.

When the inhale has ended, allow the exhale. Allow it to begin. Let go as you end the exhale to allow it to finish. Staying aware this way of inhales and exhales keeps you connected to the fullness of breathing, the full experience of the body breathing. Sensations appearing and disappearing, all connected to breathing.

As we continue, can you bring forth trust? A trusting of this process that allows breathing to come and go. Inhales come, they go. Exhales come and go. Thoughts appear and eventually disappear. There is a deep trust in this process of coming and going, the process of unfolding that happens best when we allow things to follow their own course of coming and going. Trusting the awareness that makes room for all things to come and go.

In awareness which is intimate with breathing, trusting the coming and going of inhales and exhales—in that awareness, in that way of being, can you recognize freedom from clinging? Freedom from resistance? A kind of freedom of letting it all unfold on its own, getting out of the way. Are there any hints, even a small sense, of that freedom?

As we come to the end of the sitting, might there be something within you that has a little bit more taste or feel for freedom? A freedom from being a little less preoccupied, caught, or attached. If there is something that gives you some sense of freedom, take a few moments to breathe with it, breathe through it, and make space for it to grow.

Allow whatever sense of freedom there is to grow and expand, maybe only with your imagination. Imagine bringing this freedom to your whole life, maybe with a sense of ease or peace, and that you can bring this with you to your contact with other people. Imagine that this is so. Imagine that in this freedom, peace, or ease, there is space for your goodwill, for your kindness, for your well-wishing and care for this world.

May this practice that we do be for the welfare and happiness of others. May all beings be happy. May all beings be safe. May all beings be peaceful. May all beings be free. Thank you.

Dharmette: What is the Dharma? (5 of 5) Dharma as Transformation

As an introduction for the last talk on "What is the Dharma?", I want to say that there is a long history of Buddhists down through the centuries, in different countries, having a celebratory attitude towards the Dharma. Sometimes when you spend a lot of time with Buddhist monastics, you don't quite get a sense of celebration because they're required to have a decorum of being calm, quiet, and not so expressive. In fact, however, many Buddhists will celebrate, sing, and chant, and historically have a wonderfully rich, celebratory feeling about the Dharma. They feel so fortunate, so lucky, and it's so wonderful that the word "Dharma" represents something huge for them.

The famous Buddhist teacher—a somewhat naturalistic teacher in Thailand—Ajahn Buddhadasa^[2], was a great intellectual who reformed much of Thai Buddhism from its superstitious background in earlier times. He was involved in inter-religious dialogue, and he was quite content to equate the Christian and Muslim idea of God with Dharma. Exactly what he meant by that and how it worked is one thing, but the word "Dharma" has a similar place. This concept, this reality of Dharma, has a huge place in the life of Buddhists. They celebrate it, they're delighted by it, they're inspired by it, and they go to it for protection. It is something that protects them and keeps them safe.

It is a powerful and wonderful topic. I think that as Buddhist Dharma practice deepens, fills out, and grows, there can be a wonderful sense of support and protection. There is this inspiration, this growth, this tremendous value that comes from the Dharma, that almost treats it as something that has its own existence. However, the Dharma we're talking about is inseparable from the people who practice it. The Dharma is something which exists within us as a natural process. It is something natural that's available if we make room for it, if we allow for it, if we practice.

It's a little bit like someone who lives a very stressful life—very busy, always running and doing—and their health suffers dramatically. The doctors say, "You're not going to live much longer unless you change." Sure enough, the person changes radically. Maybe they retire, they go on a long vacation, they slow down, they meditate, they go on retreats, and mostly, they stop doing. In that not-doing, a whole settling, opening, and healing process can unfold. It's mostly not because they "did" the healing, but it's a natural process. Releasing the distress allows for a movement towards health that the body can, to some degree, allow for.

Even if it's not physical health, there are people who feel like they were healed while they were dying. To some people, that sounds counterintuitive. They weren't cured, but there was a deep psychological, spiritual healing that happened in the process of dying. It didn't necessarily seem to be their own doing, but it was available in this letting go, this opening up, this allowing something to unfold, flower, and come to fruit.

The last meaning I want to talk about this week regarding the Dharma goes back to the first day. I said that there were three primary meanings of Dharma, and all of them are kind of verbs. It's important to understand that there is an involvement and engagement when we talk about the Dharma. It's not something abstract or removed, though it's easy to say, "Well, the Dharma is the teachings of the Buddha, I'll get a book out to read about it." But the real Dharma comes from engagement.

The first meaning is the process of learning those teachings. This means not just memorizing them, but engaging them, arguing with them, exploring them, and discovering how they work for ourselves. The second meaning of Dharma is the practice that we do. In some ways, that probably is the most important. I put tremendous value on the practice; I love it. And the third meaning is attainment: a higher arrival, coming into a new way of being.

In this threefold definition of the Dharma, this last one is sometimes called "penetration"—to penetrate for oneself, to know for oneself the heart of the Dharma, not just by knowing it, but by the transformation of it. This last definition is the attainments that transform us, so we can call that "Dharma as transformation." This is in the realm of freedom, in the realm of all the good that the Dharma represents, including compassion, care, love, freedom, wisdom, joy, happiness, honesty, and a lot of other things.

This attainment—this third definition of what Dharma is—is itself sometimes divided into three categories. The first two have wonderful terms: path and fruit. There is the path that we practice, which puts us on a path. The Dharma is onward leading. There's a road, a conveyor belt, a stream that we enter into. Entering into the stream, entering into this path, is a phenomenal, wonderful thing. It usually doesn't happen in an instant, but for people who practice, at some point it dawns on them: "Wait a minute, there's something happening, growing, developing, and unfolding here that's supporting me. I'm really in the stream. I'm in this current, I'm on the conveyor belt. There's not really any getting off it anymore." This is a powerful momentum for health and freedom.

So that's the path when we enter into it. And then the path comes to fruition. This is called "fruit." This is a beautiful, organic metaphor of something which naturally grows and ripens. After the winter, there aren't even leaves on the tree. First the leaves grow, then the flowers appear. The flowers get pollinated, and the fruit begins to grow slowly. By the end of the season, the fruit is ripe.

A wonderful example of the fruition of practice is that if you leave the fruit alone—like an apple on a tree—at some point, the connection of the apple's stem to the branch falls apart, and the apple falls. In the same way, at some point in this practice, we ripen. The most natural process is that when the ripening is full—which we can't know exactly when it is—something releases, something lets go in a deep, full, complete way. You don't put the apple back up on the tree with tape and try to reattach it. The process is irreversible once it falls off. So, fruition is an irreversible change, a transformation.

The third category is Nibbana^[3]. This is the experience and knowing of the absence of clinging. It is the release and the knowing of that release—knowing the freedom of no longer clinging, resisting, craving, wanting, or holding on tight to ideas or anything else. The idea of a path, fruit, and release (or freedom) is available in hints and small ways from the very beginning of a person's practice.

At some point as we practice, it's really helpful to get a feel, a sense, or an intuition for the momentum of what's opening up: "Oh, something's opening here." We feel a sense of coming to fruition, a fullness, a possibility of really being free. And then there is a feeling, a sense of what that freedom and release is like. These can be found right there in mindfulness of breathing, by really trusting the coming and going, the arising and passing of the inhales and the exhales, as I pointed to in the meditation just now.

There can be little hints: "Oh, this is what it's about. Here it is." It's unfolding. From the beginning to the end of the meditation, something unfolded. I was in the stream. I was in this onward-leading nature. I am more settled, more open, with a little more sense of being released and not caught. Take these into account, know these, and appreciate these so they can grow.

Sometimes practice doesn't go in a nice, linear fashion. Sometimes, that conveyor belt of practice brings us to places in our lives where we encounter difficulty and unresolved issues. We might feel, "I don't want to look at this, I don't want to deal with this, this is painful." But the Dharma knows best. The Dharma knows it's time for me to practice with this too. It might be quite a bit more difficult for a while, but it is good that, in the context of this practice, this has arisen, and now I get to face it and work with it.

This adds to the freedom that we can live with—the freedom of being willing to be with the difficulties of our life, and to practice with them as well. If the freedom we're finding in practice doesn't include a willingness to also practice with our difficulties, then I think this Dharma doesn't have a chance to grow into its fullness. It wouldn't really be a real thing that has to do with our life. Dharma is a foundation. Hopefully, the understanding I offered this week will offer a foundation for what we'll do in the upcoming months during these morning teachings.

Thank you very much. Next Monday and Tuesday, I'll be at the retreat center, so I'll be broadcasting from a quite different location. I'll probably sit with the statue of the nun Paṭācārā^[4] that we used to have here early in the pandemic, but is now down at IRC. Thank you, and I look forward to Monday.