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Equanimity

Introduction

So I'd like to start tonight with a quote from Bhikkhu Bodhi^[1]. Some of you may know Bhikkhu Bodhi. He's one of the key figures in this tradition. I think he's from the Bronx or Brooklyn or something like this; he has a little bit of an accent. Bhikkhu Bodhi is his ordination name. He was ordained, I don't know, maybe 30, 40, or 50 years ago, and he lived for decades in Sri Lanka as a practitioner, as a monk. He is conservative, and he's also the primary translator of the texts that we have today. He is quite a remarkable person, really. I have so much respect for him. His translations, as well as just his writings, I think are fantastic.

But he is a monk, and as part of the rules for monastics in this tradition, they don't drive. If they want to go somewhere, somebody else has to drive them. They also don't handle money, and they have all these restrictions on their lifestyle to keep their lifestyle really simple. It is also to ensure that they have this relationship with non-monastics, so that the monastics aren't sequestered off doing their own thing, but they rely on a relationship with others to go to the doctors, or anything like this.

But Bhikkhu Bodhi, somebody who probably hasn't driven in—I don't know how old he is, it's conceivable maybe 40 or 50 years—says, "The mind is like a drunken driver." I just kind of get a kick out of this idea of somebody who doesn't drive recognizing this. Sometimes drunken drivers, of course, want to go down the middle of the lane like we all do, but when you have this drunkenness, you find yourself swerving and going a little to this side. You might hit a car or nearly miss a car, hopefully, and then you'll go off the edge of the road, and then this way and that way.

In this way, he's pointing to how the mind—we kind of wish that we would go the direction we want it to go, that it would be in the middle, not getting pulled one direction or the other. But there is this recognition that often we are having craving, getting pulled towards something over here, or maybe we have some aversion, and we want to get rid of something over there. So we're going this way and that, anything but going down the center of the lane.

Sometimes this craving, or this longing is for something that was in the past and doesn't even exist. Or maybe we have this craving for something in the future that doesn't exist either. The only thing that really exists is this moment. So there's this idea that the mind is kind of careening back and forth, being pushed around, even though there's this wish to be going down the middle.

Equanimity is this quality that enables the mind to go down the middle of the lane. Not careening from one side to the next, not leaning from one side to the next. One Pali word for equanimity is tatramajjhattatā^[2]. I like saying that word; I don't expect anybody to know how to spell it or even to repeat it. But if we were to translate it into English literally, it means "standing in the middle". So this idea of equanimity is being able to stand in the middle. It's pointing to this stability, this steadiness, or this sense of balance or unshakability. We're just staying here, going this direction, not getting pushed around. It is this strong sense of inner balance that might come from what we might say is like a ballast—a heavy thing that is preventing the mind from getting off course. That is one Pali word that gets translated as equanimity.

There's a second word that also gets translated as equanimity into English, and this word is upekkhā^[3]. This word is more about seeing clearly, or seeing the bigger picture. Not only is there standing in the middle, but there's a steadiness or balance that comes from perhaps being on a hill where you have a view. You can see things that you can't quite see when you're in the midst of it. From the hillside, maybe you can see things in the distance that are about to arrive. If you were down there, you wouldn't be able to see them yet, but if you're on the hill and you see them coming in the distance, then you're not surprised when they arrive. It's like, "Oh yeah, of course. Of course this is here." So this equanimity is being able to see the bigger picture, but it also has this quality of even-minded acceptance of ourselves, of others, of whatever is arising. Not getting pushed around by craving or aversion.

Another way of saying that is a certain amount of acceptance: "Yes, this is how it is right now. I'm not going to demand or insist that it be otherwise. This is how it is." But it's not this resignation like, "Oh okay, yeah, I'll just wait until this ends, until something better arises." Instead, it's this acceptance that grows out of a respect. A respect for ourselves, respect for others, a respect for all the conditions that come together to make whatever is happening right now happen. Things don't just start to happen magically, of course not. There are reasons. And so this kind of respect acknowledges that even though we don't know all the reasons, there are reasons for why things are happening.

Right now, you're hearing my voice most likely. There are so many reasons for this. One is that I have a microphone that required somebody to invent microphones. It required the Insight Meditation Center (IMC) to decide that they wanted microphones, to purchase them. It required Svet over here to push the right buttons to make sure that the voice is going out. It required me to have this idea that I wanted to speak, and that I had breath in my lungs that I could put through vocal cords, and we could go on and on and on. Equanimity is part of this respect, this acknowledgment that there are so many things that come together to make everything happen. It's this recognition that we don't have to take it so personally. It doesn't mean that we're a good person or a bad person, or that it's always going to be this way. Of course we make up all these stories; human beings do this. But this recognition that it's just this coming together of all these different conditions supports this equanimity.

Part of the reason why I'm talking about equanimity tonight is because I'm continuing this series on the Seven Factors of Awakening^[4]. These factors of awakening are these qualities of the mind and the heart that really create the conditions in which awakening can occur. We can think about awakening in so many different ways. One way is just this increase in freedom, this increase in peace, this increase in well-being. We can also think about it as what the Buddha taught: there are these certain attainments of awakening when there's this radical letting go that allows a permanent shift in one's perspective. With this letting go, there's much more equanimity available.

Equanimity is the seventh factor of the Seven Factors of Awakening, so it's the last one. I'll quickly list the other six. There's mindfulness, and then there are these energizing factors of investigation, energy, and joy, and then there are these calming factors of tranquility, concentration, and equanimity. I'll continue in some other talks on how these seven all work together, and how they're sequential and balance each other, but today I'd like to continue a little bit more with equanimity.

[Applause]

For some of us, when we hear this word "equanimity"—it certainly was not part of my vocabulary before I found these Buddhist teachings—it doesn't sound very attractive. It sounds like, "Okay, whatever that is, it kind of sounds boring and dry and dull." There might be a way in which it doesn't sound attractive because equanimity might feel like it's a type of disconnection. A way in which we're not present for what's happening in our lives or in the moment. Or maybe it feels like it's a type of coldness or indifference. Or maybe it feels like it's a kind of grayness or aloofness.

But equanimity has this quality of vitality and openness and spaciousness and warmth. It's not having to be removed from life, not having to be removed from our connections with other people, not having to be removed from what's being experienced, but being able to have some steadiness or stability no matter what's happening. This radical idea that there might be so many things that happen in our external conditions—the news, what others are telling us or not telling us—or maybe there are inner conditions, maybe we don't feel well, maybe we have a disease or an illness. What a beautiful idea that we don't have to be careening off course, or into some territory that we know isn't good for us or supportive for us, when these conditions change.

Having said all this, part of practicing with equanimity is this kind of slide into indifference. I would say that this is what happens sometimes: we want to disconnect because it feels uncomfortable or painful, and so sometimes it tips over into indifference. I love this so much about the Buddhist teachings, that this is how we learn. "Oh yeah, this is indifference. I feel kind of closed down. I don't have a sense of vitality, I don't have a sense of contentment. Instead, I feel maybe sad or tight or something like this." So part of the way that we discover what equanimity is, how it's available for us, and how it can show up, is learning how it isn't. It's natural that humans fall into indifference on occasion. Maybe it's a lot, maybe it's only on occasion. But can we recognize that? I recognize that there's an alternative: stay connected, but still have this stability, this uprightness.

[Applause]

There's another reason why equanimity might sound unattractive, and that is, it's not uncommon to have this belief—maybe in the back of the mind, not in the front of the mind—that in order to have some juiciness in our lives, something that feels invigorating, we have to have a certain amount of drama. A certain amount of angst, big huge problems that have to get solved. So much of the human experience is about solving this problem and solving that problem. So this idea of having some contentment and uprightness and this ballast, some steadiness, in some ways might feel a little frightening. Who would I be if I weren't the person that had all these problems that had to be solved? Or who would I be if I didn't have these emotional outbursts or difficulties? Would I just be gray and dull and boring, and nobody would like me? Would I just sit in the corner very quietly?

Often, it sounds a little silly to say these things, and these thoughts certainly aren't in the front of our minds, but there might be a little bit in the back of our minds thinking, "Well, this is what it means to be human. To be alive is to be filled with energy." Maybe that's born from anger, or this wish to fix things that aren't right, or just wanting things to be otherwise. Equanimity might sound like it's a little bit frightening, a little bit dull. There is this fear that it might be dull, but there's this openness, this spaciousness. If you have this stability, then you don't have to protect yourself, and things that arise can just kind of go right on through. We feel them, we acknowledge them, we know them, but we aren't being pushed by them.

The Spectrum of Equanimity

This experience of equanimity—I'm talking about it like it's one singular thing, but in fact, it's really a spectrum. I like this idea of spectrums instead of a binary on/off switch where you either got it or you don't, because most often we feel like, "I don't got it. I don't have it." But there is this spectrum, from really having little stability where the slightest thing sends us off kilter, to having a lot of stability. This practice is just moving one direction towards greater and greater stability without insisting that anything less than that is somehow not enough. It's not an on/off switch; it's a spectrum.

We might say that with equanimity over here, maybe emotionality is on the other end of the spectrum. But a part of being human is having emotions. Of course it is. It would be awful if somehow this teaching was about how you can never have emotions again, or thinking that we should have this staid demeanor all the time. So we can ask ourselves, do we know both ends of this spectrum? Do we know what it's like to have emotions, to be sometimes overwrought or to be gleeful, and do we also know what it's like to be really steady and to have this fullness, this richness, this vitality that's available with a rich emotional life, and also with steadiness?

Do we know how to maybe move back and forth? We don't want to be in equanimity if somebody in our family is really injured or emotionally hurt. We don't just want to be standing in this stability; we want to connect with them. We want to have compassion, and maybe it breaks our heart to see their heart breaking. So can we practice in such a way that we are in contact with our emotions, not pretending that they're not there, having respect for them, but also recognizing that there's something else that's also available in this life: equanimity. There's emotionality, and there's equanimity. Can we get to know both ends of this spectrum? Can we move from one end to the other when it's appropriate, when that's what life is asking of us at that moment? I appreciate this very much because it's not asking us to be different than we are. It's just asking us to stretch or expand our capacity, or our idea of what it means to be a human, or a Buddhist practitioner, or somebody who does mindfulness practice.

The Eight Worldly Winds

One of the functions of equanimity is that it just makes life easier to navigate. Maybe this goes without saying. If we recognize these two ends of the spectrum and we can move from one to the other, then we can respond to what's needed at any particular time. Not only that, we don't have to hide from difficulties. Having equanimity allows us to have confidence that whatever is going to arise, I can be with it, I can handle it. It allows us to not be blown around by these Eight Worldly Winds^[5]. Maybe some of you are familiar with this. I'll unpack this at a later time in another talk, but tonight I'll just mention them.

Something else I appreciate about the Buddhist teachings is that the Buddha is saying there is nobody who is immune from these Eight Worldly Winds. Praise and blame: sometimes we get praise, sometimes we get blame. Fame and disrepute: sometimes we have a good reputation, and sometimes something bad gets said about us, whether it's true or not. Pleasure and pain: of course, we all have this. And then the last one, gain and loss. Our life cannot just be gain, gain, gain without any loss. Just this recognition that all eight of these winds will blow in our lives. We don't get to have just the positive ones and completely avoid the negative ones, no matter how much we might wish that were so. Equanimity allows us to be able to have some steadiness when these different winds of our lives start blowing.

Another function of equanimity is as a support for letting go. It's so much easier to let go of whatever it is we're holding on to if we have a sense of, "It's okay. I'm not off balance. I'm not out of kilter." Then we can let go. What comes to my mind is kind of like water skiing. When you're off balance, you're holding on so tightly. But there's a way in which sometimes maybe it's just best to let go and just kind of go into the water, instead of being pulled in a way that's unhelpful. There's this expression that's kind of like a rope burn, right? You're just holding on so tightly and it just hurts because things change and we're holding on. Equanimity allows us to let go, not to take rope burn.

Of course, awakening, liberation, and ease come with letting go. I think we all know this, that clinging eventually leads to suffering. If not immediately, eventually it always leads to suffering, to difficulties. To support our not clinging, equanimity helps us to let go.

Starting Small

How do we practice equanimity, or what are some supports for it to arise? I'll just mention a little bit now, and I think in the talk that I'll give next week, I'll talk more about this. But one thing I wanted to say is that with equanimity, we start where we are. We start where we are; of course we do. We can't start anywhere else, right? We begin by bringing equanimity to little things in life. Small things. We don't have to do anything completely radical.

During retreats, the meals are served buffet-style where there are these big platters or containers of food, and then there's a line. Maybe equanimity is saying, "Oh my goodness, this is my favorite," maybe there's cookies or something, and thinking, "Well, maybe I'll just wait and see and make sure that everybody else gets one. And if there's still some, I'll come back and get one." Maybe equanimity is something very simple like this. Letting the car in front of you get into the lane. Just really small things. If we think of difficulties on a scale of one to ten, start with things that are like a one or a two, and just practice some steadiness. "Okay, I don't have to go towards this or get away from that. I can practice some equanimity here, some steadiness."

[Applause]

So don't underestimate how powerful this can be. Even though I'm saying start with a one or a two, there's a part of us that often thinks, "No, no, no, I really want equanimity, so I'm going to start with a nine." But usually it works best if we start where it's easy. Start where it's easy, and just get used to it. We realize how much confidence it gives us, and it's a good feeling to not always be going after something or pushing away, but instead to have this steadiness.

To talk about this, I would like to read a poem. This poem is by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, and it's called Driving with My Son the Night Before His Driver's Test.

We turn off the music, practice left turns onto the highway, park on the bias, park on the street. We get gas, drive backwards, use the median, change lanes, use the blinker, slow down, full stop. There’s a rule for everything, and a comfort in knowing the rules, and you can practice everywhere. Notes are DMV guidelines, so have at it.^[6] Imagine if we all practiced everywhere. If we all signaled before every turn— of heart, turn of mind, turn of plans. Imagine if we all agreed no matter where we're going, and no matter where we've been, that we are all travelers on the same side, knowing we're on this road together. Imagine if we agreed to stop in an orderly way, no drama, no shaming, no blame, so that someone else might take their turn to go. Imagine getting along with others no matter what they believe. Could it be as simple as keeping it steady, looking over your shoulder, making eye contact in a crossing, giving each other some space?

Poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Driving with My Son the Night Before His Driver's Test. I appreciate this very much, just pointing to driving as representing so many things, but just this idea of keeping it steady, keeping it in the middle of the lane, as Bhikkhu Bodhi says in the beginning. So I'd like to stop there and open it up if there are some questions or comments.

Q&A

If you want to type in a question, you're welcome to do that too.

Question: When you say the spectrum of emotionality and equanimity, is there not a way that you have some emotion—you could have a lot of strong emotion—but you don't allow it to take over? Does that make sense?

Diana Clark: Yes, that's kind of what I'm pointing to. Sometimes in our lives it does take over and we just collapse into our emotions, but there can be a way in which there's tears and it's like, "Okay, this is what sadness feels like." And there's a lot of sadness, but there's a certain not getting lost in it, while still really feeling it. Of course, humans grieve and we have some losses when dear ones die or something like this. Of course there's going to be tears.

Does anybody else have a comment or a question? No requirements, but if you'd like.

Question: My question is, how do we keep this from becoming a really easy way to absolve ourselves of responsibility for broader social responsibilities? I can see it being very difficult for equanimity to become a problem very close to home, like in our families, and there's something happening. But I could see it really easily becoming a way for people just to say, "Well, at 60,000 feet, impermanence, and things will change."

Diana Clark: Yes, so equanimity is not indifference. It's often easy to feel like it is, but instead it allows us to feel the pain of the social injustice and to really feel that, and still be able to have contact with our greatest wisdom that allows us to say, "Okay, how can I make a difference? What can I do next?" That comes from a place of wisdom and care, not from a place of fear or anger that's out of control. Is that helpful?

Questioner: Thank you.

Diana Clark: Yes, I certainly had this idea that it was about indifference too because the only thing that I knew was that you were either disconnected and aloof or you collapsed into emotion. I didn't realize that there's something like a third alternative: to be feeling and knowing what's happening, and feel that pain and the sadness or whatever it might be, and still be present and be steady, be available.

So we have a couple of questions here. "Could you please say a little more about how the eight winds are part of equanimity?"

Equanimity, the way it's defined, is that it's the steadiness, this ballast, this stability when these eight winds blow. It's not being pushed around by these eight things. Part of equanimity is seeing the bigger picture. Part of the bigger picture is to recognize, of course, there is gain and loss. Even though we only want gain, loss is unavoidable. And of course, we only want pleasure, we don't want pain, but pain is unavoidable. Fame and disrepute, to have a good reputation or a bad reputation—there's always going to be somebody who's displeased with us. It's impossible to avoid that. So that's part of how equanimity is seeing the bigger picture of that: the negative things are going to happen, and not being pushed around when the negative things happen, or when the positive things happen. I think when we have this good reputation, or maybe we get our 15 minutes of fame, not to think, "Okay, I finally made it and now I don't have to take care of anything else in my life," and not to get out of balance for that.

There's a question about the relationship between tranquility and equanimity. This is such a good question. I would say tranquility is more of a bodily experience, or it's definitely a settledness. But equanimity has this flavor of wisdom, like seeing the bigger picture. Tranquility is non-agitation and stability and settledness. They're in the same family, but equanimity has this quality of wisdom of seeing the bigger picture and having this understanding of conditionality, whereas tranquility is more just about the settledness. This is a good question, and I'll talk about this more in a subsequent talk on the relationship between all these awakening factors.

Commenter: Thank you for your talk, Diana. It triggered a number of things in me. I won't say them all, but one of them was I just recently watched the movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood about Mr. Rogers.

Diana Clark: Oh, yeah. I haven't seen it, but yeah.

Commenter: And there's one scene in which he comes into a family's home, and the father of the family is dying of cancer. Nobody's really talking about it. And he said something like, "Death is part of life, and it's part of being human." And he said, "Anything that's part of being human can be talked about. And anything that can be talked about can be managed." So that's what came up when you had been talking about facing anything.

Diana Clark: I love this. Mr. Rogers, Won't You Be My Neighbor? Yes, I love this. Thank you, Jim, for saying that. I'll have to see this. I meant to see it when it came out years ago and I didn't, so that just makes me smile thinking about Mr. Rogers.

Okay, so maybe with that as an ending, thank you for your kind attention and thank you for your practice. And may you have some equanimity in the upcoming days. Thank you.