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Guided Meditation: Sacrificing Self for Oneself

Warm greetings. I'm very happy to be back here in California at the 7:00 a.m. sitting with you all. It was very nice to have my friends Paul Heller and Phu Schrader lead these sittings and talks. I participated, was here with you all, and enjoyed them quite a bit. I'm also very happy to be back in this way with you all.

Trying to think of a theme for this week, I felt that I didn't want to jump right back in with a similar Dharma orientation that I've done much of this last year. Because of the way my friends were teaching, it felt like a way to respect them and not have too abrupt of a change. So, what I thought of doing is telling you stories during the 7:30 a.m. time. I'll say this again afterwards, but this marks a little different approach for this week.

In doing the guided meditation today, I want to say a few brief words. I want to say something that's a little bit provocative, that points to something, and will hopefully support you to take a leap of faith into giving yourself over to the simplicity of the meditation.

I like the word sacrifice—not for some of the English connotations it has, but rather because of its Latin root. It comes from the Latin root to make sacred. With that in mind, along with the common English definition of giving something up, one of the things we're doing in meditation is sacrificing ourselves for ourselves. We're sacrificing one part of ourselves for another part.

We're making something sacred by, at least temporarily, letting go of the constructed self. We are letting go of the self that's built up from stories, ideas, desires, and aversions—a self that's been created from its hurts, its joys, its fears, and its conceits. This is not to dismiss or deny it, but rather, for the next 30 minutes, just to sacrifice it for yourself.

You are sacrificing it for that part of yourself that is unlimited, that's not defined by stories, not preoccupied with what's in the future or past, or with fantasy, defending oneself, building oneself up, or even healing or fixing oneself. We are aiming for the self that is free, the self that breathes easily, the self that can just be here in a very contented, deep, full, and peaceful way. We're sacrificing ourselves for that self for these minutes.

So, enter into a meditation posture that's suitable for you and gently close your eyes. Make a transition from the usual way you are involved in yourself to a different way. You might take a few long, slow, deep breaths. Breathe in deeply, and as you exhale, imagine that you're letting go of everything. Everything but sitting here in your body.

Breathing in deeply, and as you exhale, letting go into your body. Exhaling and relaxing your body. Then let your breathing return to normal.

This process of making sacred, of sacrificing, is represented by sacrificing the tension we hold in our body. It is sacrificing not so much by having aversion to something and pushing it away, but making sacred by relaxing the unnecessary tension we hold.

You might begin by softening around the eyes and the forehead. Relaxing the muscles of the face. As you're exhaling, softening the shoulders. This relaxation is a sacrifice that's worth making: to sacrifice the tense body for a body that's more relaxed.

Softening and relaxing in the chest. Maybe at the end of the exhale, the front ribcage can relax a bit more. And relaxing the belly.

Maybe there's a global relaxation you can do throughout your body. A global sacrifice of tension, contraction, holding, and resistance that you willingly offer out as a way of making sacred. Sacrificing to feel the body more at ease, to feel the living experience, the lived body from the inside out.

Then, within this body, begin to feel and sense your breathing. As you exhale, let go of your thoughts, your ideas, your fantasies, your plans, your past. For these minutes, let that be sacrificed for the way that mindfulness of breathing brings you into the non-constructed self. The self that is not limited by any of the ideas and stories. The simplicity of being here, breathing in and breathing out.

Perhaps lovingly, with a kind of love for this unconstructed self, you can let go of all the ideas and thoughts. Willingly sacrifice it for something that's better—that which is not a story, a conceit, or a thought. That which opens up in the simplicity of breathing in and breathing out mindfully.

Perhaps it's worthwhile to let go. What you gain is so much greater than what you're holding on to.

Reflections

As we come to the end of this sitting, one of the great treasures of the sacrifice I'm talking about today is that when we let go of the small self, the constructed self, and the preoccupations of the mind about the past, the future, and fantasy, there is a natural, simple care for other people. There is a simple opening of our awareness to include the humanity of others.

It is a kind of awareness, a way of thinking about, feeling, sensing, and being aware of people where a simple form of care can arise. It is the simplest form of appreciation, friendliness, and kindness. It doesn't have to be known by others or be put into action necessarily, but just a simple kindness.

If such a thing is available to you at the end of a meditation session, one way to continue the sacred sacrifice of letting go of the small self and giving room for something else is to spend a few moments with thoughts, feelings, and attitudes of well-wishing for others.

May it be that others may be happy. May it be that others feel safe. May it be that others are peaceful. May it be that others are free.

May whatever well-being you experience from meditation be shared with others. May we live our lives caring kindly for all living beings. May all beings be happy.

Dharmette: Stories - The Parrot and the Fire

Good morning and good day to all of you. I see now that we're coming into that time of the year where we have a light show on the wall, and the Buddha looks like he's disappearing into the shadows for a while. Probably I will too! If I remember tomorrow, I'll try to put up another light in here that helps you see better. But also, I don't want to take away this wonderful light show that happens on the wall this time of year.

I want to start by expressing my gratitude to my friends Paul Heller and Phu Schrader for teaching these last two weeks. I was with you all during that time, meditating and listening to them. I was delighted and really happy to listen to their wonderful teachings. Their own wonderfulness and years of practice are so palpable. They got to share themselves with you, and you got to meet them.

Partly because of what happened these last two or three weeks, I feel a little bit hesitant to jump in and offer new teachings in the mode that I've usually been doing this last year. I thought a nice transition from that time is for me to tell some Buddhist stories. The Buddha^[1], in particular, was very fond of stories. There is a theory in the field of religious studies that, for most religions, stories are more important than doctrine. For most people, the stories of the religion evoke their imagination, provide examples of how to live their lives, and offer guidance. I don't know how universally true that is, but it's an interesting theory, and certainly, stories are important.

The first story I want to tell today is one that is perhaps a bit poignant for California these days, where we have a lot of wildfires. Already, we have more wildfires so early in the season than we did last year, so we'll see what happens the rest of the year.

This is a Jataka^[2] tale from the ancient world of India. These tales are kind of like Aesop's fables, usually having to do with animals. In these stories, there is one main character who turns out to have been the Buddha in a previous life, developing the virtue required to become the Buddha in the future.

This story involves a little parrot and a great forest fire that sweeps through the jungle. As a bird, the parrot can relatively easily outfly the fire and reach safety. But as this little parrot is flying away, he sees underneath him all these animals running through the forest to get away from the approaching fire. However, they come up against a great lake and become trapped. Many of these animals can't swim, so they are stuck between the approaching fire, where they would burn, or the lake, where they would drown.

The little parrot said, "I have to do something. I can't just let this continue the way it is." So, the parrot dives into the lake to make its wings wet, then flies over the hottest part of the fire, flaps its wings, and sprinkles the few drops of water it has onto the fire. It does that over and over again, back and forth. It doesn't really make any difference on the fire. The few drops coming down probably evaporate before they even hit the flames. But the parrot keeps doing it.

Because of the parrot's great dedication, sacrifice, and virtue, it has an impact in the unseen world of ancient India. The great god Brahma^[3], or Sakka^[4] depending on how it's named—kind of like the Zeus of the pantheon of ancient Indian gods—notices. His throne heats up, which is apparently a phenomenon in the unseen world when someone on the earth is being very virtuous. He decides to come down to see what's going on.

He turns himself into a great eagle, flies down, and sees what the little parrot is trying to do. He flies next to the parrot and says, "This is ridiculous. It doesn't make any sense for you to be doing what you're doing. No matter how many times you drop some water onto the fire, you're not going to extinguish it. You're not going to save your friends. This doesn't make any sense."

The parrot, flying next to the eagle and heading back to get more water, says, "If not me, then who? Maybe if I keep doing it... I don't know what the consequences are, but this is what I have to do."

This moved the great god tremendously. To see this steadfastness, courage, and dedication to be of help to others, no matter how seemingly pointless it is. Inspired by this, the great god created a massive rainstorm that very quickly put out the fire and saved all the animals. The parrot then said, "Yes, you see, I couldn't quite know what effect my efforts were going to make, but you see they worked."

What I like a lot about this story is the naturalness of the parrot's helping. Its whole being was dedicated to doing this. I liken it to parental care. Parents would do whatever it took; they would sacrifice themselves for the life of their child. There's something almost natural about parents caring for their kids, and you see that in the natural world as well—mammals caring for their young with a tremendous sacrifice, dedication, and willingness to die to protect them from predators. The exact nature of that care, love, or devotion, I don't know, but when it occurs, it has a naturalness to it.

So, this parrot was simply acting on natural instincts, acting on a natural good heart that was not limited by the small sense of self that is constructed around "me, myself, and mine." It wasn't concerned with, "What's in it for me?" or "Will people like me if I do it?" or "Maybe I have to do this so people won't think badly of me for abandoning my friends." All those calculations and concerns of self are a contraction, a constriction, a limiting factor to how people live their lives.

When all those stories we live in—stories that predict the future and what this all means—fall away (which is part of the function of meditation), we tap into something very different. We find a very different orientation, a very different set of values, a very different way of being in the world that's not boxed in or limited by conceit, ideas, or "shoulds and shouldn'ts." We aren't even limited by ideas of obligation and what we're supposed to do.

The parrot was not living under some duty-bound rule that it was supposed to save all these beings. I think of it as just the natural movement of the good heart. We don't know what the unseen world will do. We don't know what effects or impact we're going to have. Sometimes people do a small act, and it has a huge impact that changes the world. The seventeen-year-old woman who filmed George Floyd's murder had no idea she was doing anything but trying to record and have justice by having a record of what she saw. But her little action had a huge impact on the nation and the world. We never know, and maybe we shouldn't know the impact we have.

I'll end with one more little story that comes from the Sufi tradition. There was a genie who came to a Sufi and said, "I will grant you two wishes. What would those wishes be? You can have anything you want." The Sufi said, "Wherever I go, I want to benefit people, but I don't want to know that I'm doing it."

So the genie gave the Sufi a big bag to carry. It was a special bag that had seeds of all kinds of wonderful, beneficial plants, and it had a little hole in the back. As the Sufi was carrying it and walking along, the seeds would fall out of that backpack onto the ground and sprout. But because it was always happening behind the Sufi as he traveled, he never got to know the way in which he was benefiting all the people behind him through the growing of plants, food, forests, and trees.

Who knows what the unseen world responds to when our goodness and our care come not from obligation, but from the awakened goodness in our own hearts.

May we all be parrots. Thank you.