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Guided Meditation: Accompanied by the Wise

Hello. Welcome.

There's a way in which when we meditate, maybe with our eyes closed especially, maybe if you're in your own place alone, that meditation is a personal affair, something we do very much within ourselves. And it's wonderful to feel like we're doing it in community, that we're accompanied by many other people doing it. This week, reading the poems of the nuns, some of them talk about their meditation. It's a reminder that we've been accompanied for thousands of years by people doing this kind of inner exploration, this inner movement of meditation, and around the world currently many, many people are meditating. It has persisted down through the ages because it's a wise thing to do. Wise people have found it beneficial to meditate.

Wise people have found it beneficial to be very patient with the meditation. To give it its time, to not rush it, to not judge it, but to engage in—for some people—a sacred or special activity done by the wise. And now it's our turn to sit this way.

Metaphorically at least, the idea of sitting up straight when you meditate is an idea of really taking our place in this life, in this world, really showing up and being here with no apologies and no hesitation. But in these minutes, to really sit up erect in a way that gives importance to what we're doing—not tension, but a kind of uprightness that allows something very deep inside to settle and be reassured.

And for those who can't sit upright, there are other ways of doing this: leaning back into a chair, laying on a bed. Some people do their meditation standing. Some people even do it during walking meditation because nothing else works. But the same principle applies: to somehow adjust the posture, the body, our state of mind to make this an intentional uprightness. It's going to be an inner uprightness. Here we are doing this practice, the practice of the wise. We're joining and are accompanied, for us to be wise, for us to be present. This is our turn.

So, gently close your eyes and feel from the inside. Are there small adjustments you can make to have this uprightness literally or metaphorically? Maybe a sense of participating in something that the wise have done for centuries. We're joining them, and they're accompanying us to dive into this moment's experience here and now. Just here, just now.

It is as if the past and the future are two-dimensional. Being lost in thought is one dimension. But the present moment is three-dimensional or four-dimensional. It has so much in it, and we're diving into the fullness of here.

Taking some long breaths, relaxing as you exhale. See these longer inhales and exhales as an invitation, a welcoming to dive into this present moment through the lived experience of your body.

Let the breathing return to normal. And to the degree that you can, make yourself simple. So that how you accompany the present, how you dip into this three-dimensional, four-dimensional present moment, is through a radical simplicity of being in the middle of it. Here we are. Moment by moment.

[Silence for meditation]

As we come to the end of this sitting, if you wish, consider that coming out of meditation, there's a choice to bring your mindfulness, your attention, your presence into this world, to accompany others, to be present for others. Maybe not with words, maybe not with advice, but to really be present—to accompany, to share this life with others, to let them know they're not alone. Because you're standing close. You're standing attentive. You're standing aware of them with the fullness of your being.

May this practice of mindfulness that we do support us in stepping into this world to make the world a better place. Let's not wait for someone else to do this work. Let it be your work. In the small little activities of your day, in your way, contribute to the welfare and happiness of this world.

May all beings be happy. May all beings be safe. May all beings be peaceful. May all beings be free.

[Bell]

Thank you.

Dharmette: Nuns' Poems (5 of 5) Vaddha and Kisogotam

Good morning everyone, and good day. I have one more day now to read you the poems from the earliest Buddhist nuns, these great wonderful practitioners from a long time ago. A record of them somehow captures the spirit and the practice of these ancient women. It survives here, and it's called the Therigatha^[1], the verses or poems of the elder nuns, the Theris. This is a translation that I've done, and eventually, maybe it will be published. I'll do a class on my translation of these verses in October through the Sati Center. I think it's Thursday afternoons, 4:00 or so, 3:30 California time. If you would like to hear some of these again and have more discussion and teachings around them, that's an opportunity to do more.

Also, before I start, I just want to mention that I have a number of online programs that start at the end of August and the beginning of October. They are year-long, or eight, nine, ten-month-long programs to delve into certain areas of this practice. The one coming up in August is called Anukampa^[2]. It is an eleven-month program borrowing from the chaplaincy program that I teach to look at chaplaincy and Buddhist teachings in order to help individuals in their own practice and growth. It's been a wonderful program. You can find that on the Sati Center website, sati.org. The other program is at IMC, and you'll find information about that on IMC's website. It's called "Deepening Meditation Practice." It will be an eight-month program to go through the sixteen steps of mindfulness of breathing—not so much to really do those steps, perhaps, but to use that as a way of exploring the different dimensions of meditation that come alive as the meditation deepens. I think that starts October 2nd.

So, the verses of the nuns. We don't know who composed this first one, but it's a conversation between a mother and a son. The mother is a nun, and the son—there is a poem by him in the comparable set of poetry called the poems of the elder monks, the Theragatha. So he probably was a monk at this point, visiting his mother. His name is Vaddha. And so the mother is called Vaddha's mom, Vaddhamata. She begins the poem by saying something to him. "Vaddha" means prosperity, so there's wordplay that goes on in the poem. Many of these poems have wordplay around the names.

She begins with the city of a thicket. A thicket is a tangle of shrubs or bushes so you can't get through, like a jungle or a forest, and it is used in Buddhism as a metaphor for craving.

"Vaddha, never enter the thicket of craving for this world. My son, do not partake in suffering again and again. Vaddha, sages live happily indeed, unagitated and with doubt severed. They have become calm. They are tamed. They are free of stains. You should practice the path of the seers for attaining insight and make an end to suffering. You should be devoted to your prosperity."

You can imagine a very heartfelt teaching, advice, and encouragement from a mother to a son, encouraging him to get on with it, to work for his own freedom and liberation, to bring his own suffering to an end.

Vaddha then says: "Mother, you speak to me with confidence about the goal. I surely imagine no thicket of craving is found in you."

Vaddha's mother responds: "For whatever created phenomena exist, whether lowly, exalted, or in between, not the slightest tiniest thicket of craving is found in me. All my taints are destroyed. Vigilantly, I meditate. I attained the three knowledges and accomplished the Buddha's teachings."

The son suspects that his mother knows what she's talking about in encouraging him to go for the highest goal, and she confirms that she does. Then Vaddha says:

"Truly excellent is the goad my mother, out of kindness, used on me. That is, these verses about the ultimate goal. Hearing these words, my mother's instruction, I acquired urgency in the Dhamma, attaining peace from bondage, being resolute in effort, not sluggish day or night. Urged on by my mother, I touched the highest peace."

You get a sense in this poem of a lovely, touching mother-son relationship. Amazingly, the mother is fully enlightened, and the son comes to visit. She encourages him to move forward and do it himself. He is inspired when he discovers in the process of this teaching that his mother is enlightened. He realizes, "This is my own mother. Maybe I can do it too." He gets a sense of urgency, realizing this is the time, and then he attains it as well.

A lot of the poems have to do with people's attainment, celebrating over and over again that this first attainment of profound peace, freedom from bondage, and shattering the darkness is possible. In the ancient context, these Therigatha poems are celebrating that women could do this, too. Not only could they be enlightened, but they could also teach.

One more poem, and this is also very touching. The poem begins with a narrator—we don't know who it is—setting up the poem with verses that champion spiritual friendship, kalyanamitta^[3]. This sets the context for what's going to follow. Scholars of this poem say the poetry is disjointed and jumps around, so they don't know how to interpret it. My interpretation is that there's a narrator and two people in conversation. It is stated in the verses themselves that these two women are present. One of them is Patacara^[4], who we read about before. The other is Kisa Gotami^[5]. Kisa Gotami is a fairly famous, maybe one of the more famous early Buddhist nuns, because the story of her losing her son is quite prominent. She is the one who goes around to the houses to get mustard seeds.

Here is the poem. It's kind of dramatic and powerful. But we have to remember as we hear the words of these nuns that they are enlightened. They've come to peace. There's a confidence, a steadiness that they hold, and a friendship.

The narrator says: "To this world, the sage has taught and praised spiritual friendship. By associating with a spiritual friend, even a fool can become wise. Associate with good people, and one's wisdom will grow. By associating with good people, one will be freed from all suffering. One should know suffering, the arising of suffering, and its cessation, the noble eightfold path, and also the four noble truths^[6]."

Then Kisa Gotami says: "Womanhood is suffering, declared the trainer of people to be tamed. Being a co-wife is suffering. And for some, so is giving birth even once. Some women cut their throats. Those who are discreet eat poison. Some fetuses within are killers of their mother. And both mother and fetus share the misery."

In the ancient world before modern medicine, this was the reality.

Patacara then speaks, talking about her own suffering, maybe as a testament to what was just said: "Walking around, about to give birth, I found my husband dead. Before I reached my house, I gave birth on the road. For poor miserable me, two children died. A husband dead on the road, and mother, father, and brother burning on one funeral pyre."

She lost her whole family within a day. Then Kisa Gotami says: "Miserable with family destroyed, the suffering you've had was immeasurable. You have shed such tears for many thousands of births."

And Patacara says: "I lived in the middle of a charnel ground, where my children's flesh was eaten by the animals. With family killed, I was despised by all. But then, with husband dead, I attained what is without death."

She became enlightened. And then Kisa Gotami says: "And for me, I cultivate the noble eightfold path, leading to the absence of death. I have realized release, and have looked into the mirror of the Dhamma. I have removed the arrow, laid down the burden, and done what had to be done."

At the beginning of the poem, it talks about spiritual friendship, and that one of the key things you can do for a spiritual friend is teach them the Four Noble Truths. As stated here, one should know suffering, the arising of suffering, its cessation, and the noble eightfold path. The poem then demonstrates this. These two women knew suffering. They experienced it, no question about it. Through the practice, they saw how it arose, the birth of it moment by moment. And they saw it ending. With that, they understood and lived the noble eightfold path. They lived the life of freedom. They discovered how to be free.

It takes an ancient teaching that's very present today—the Four Noble Truths—and demonstrates it in the lives of these two women who had a phenomenal degree of suffering. They could talk about it with clarity and calmness because they knew it, and they knew the end of it. And they're celebrating; they, too, became free. This is called Kisa Gotami's poem, even though I think it's a conversation going back and forth.

I hope these poems have been nice for you. I hope they inspired you to have a realistic view about the difficult life we live even today, and that it is possible to find a deep, abiding sense of peace. It is possible to come to the end of craving, the end of clinging, and the end of suffering.

Thank you very, very much. I'll be away teaching a retreat the next couple of weeks. Next week, the wonderful teacher of Insight Santa Cruz, Dawn Neal, will be teaching. And the week after, a wonderful teacher from Portland, David Lorey, will teach. Both people trained here at IMC, and you'll be in good hands with them. Thank you.