Being with Bahiya

This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Being with Bahiya ~ Diana Clark. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on June 18, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Being with Bahiya

For those of you who don't know, I'm Diana Clark, as Martha said at the beginning, and it's a delight to be here with you all. Some of you may know that I teach on Monday nights, so here I am on a Sunday morning instead of a Monday night. Today I'd like to share a little bit about a sutta, specifically a story that's in a sutta.

Maybe I'll start by saying Gil and I taught a study course that ended up being almost two years—it just ended. A theme that we kept pointing back to in so many different ways was the importance of direct experience. What is happening right now, in this moment, as opposed to our ideas about it? As opposed to some philosophy, or some mystical or metaphysical ideas? Just this encouragement to come back to what's actually happening in this moment.

It was quite something to see just how this showed up in the suttas in so many different ways. I would say that a big part of practice is learning to make this distinction. You might think, "Well, that's obvious. I know what I'm thinking, and I know when I'm sensing." But it turns out this can be even more subtle: the way that our concepts, our notions, our ideas, our beliefs, and our views are a little bit different than what's actually happening in this moment.

Of course we do this. Humans do this; they have ideas, views, and opinions. Of course they do, we need them. But there's a way in which we are often living in our heads instead of being embodied. We are looking for answers, looking for ease, comfort, and happiness with something that's "out there." "Out there" being something that's going to happen in the future, in another setting, or anywhere but here. And "out there," of course, only exists in our minds; it doesn't happen right here in the moment.

If we're not looking for happiness, well-being, or the end of suffering with something "out there," then maybe it shows up as trying to figure something out. Like, "Everything is going to be okay as soon as I solve this problem." Or maybe there's that problem. Have you noticed it never ends? We do this, many of us, in our professional lives or in education; we've been rewarded for this type of thinking. Just solve the problem, the next problem, the next problem, and everything will be fine. It's such a radical idea in some ways that this teaching is pointing to: can we just be with what the experience actually is right here?

The Story of Bāhiya

Many of you will be familiar with the sutta that I'll be talking about. It's the Bāhiya Sutta^[1], and I'm going to tell this story and drop in some commentary as we go along.

The sutta begins: "Thus have I heard." Many of you know this is the common beginning, and maybe we could say, "Once upon a time." "At one time the Buddha was staying near Sāvatthī^[2] in Jeta's Grove, Anāthapiṇḍika's Park^[3]." So many suttas start like this, giving a setting of where the Buddha is.

"Now at that time, Bāhiya of the Bark-cloth was residing by Suppāraka^[4] on the ocean shore." So Bāhiya is in another place. The Buddha is over here, but Bāhiya is over there. "He was honored, respected, revered, venerated, and esteemed, and he received robes, alms food, lodging, and medicine and supplies for the sick."

They're giving Bāhiya's credentials. Who is this person? He was a spiritual leader. A lot of people followed him and thought that he was a good leader. This list—robes, alms food, lodgings, and medicine—are the usual four things that spiritual leaders need. In particular, Buddhist leaders would say they need those four things and only those four things, but that's another story.

We'll also note that Bāhiya is not a Buddhist practitioner, and partly we know this because he's wearing bark cloth. Just in the same way that we can tell the difference between who's a lay person, who's a Theravada monastic, who's a Zen practitioner, or who's a Tibetan monastic by what they're wearing, in the same way, back at the time of the Buddha, they could also tell. So he's not a Buddhist practitioner, but he's this esteemed spiritual leader.

The Arising of Doubt

Coming back to the sutta: "When Bāhiya was alone in seclusion"—we can understand this as when he was meditating—"this line of thinking appeared to his awareness: 'Now, of those who in this world are awakened or have entered the path of awakening, am I one?'"

He's wondering about his practice. He's wondering, "I think I'm awake, and everybody else thinks I'm awakened, but am I really?"

I appreciate this very much. Bāhiya is not complacent just because everybody thinks, "Oh yeah, okay, this guy is a spiritual leader. Of course he has it all figured out. Of course he's not trying to solve problems or not in the present moment." All these things get projected onto spiritual leaders, but he wasn't buying all of it. This question remained: "Am I really awakened?"

Importantly, he allowed this doubt about his practice to be there. He didn't immediately push it away. He didn't immediately start thinking of other things to distract himself. He had this willingness to stay present to the experience of having this doubt, which you can imagine was an uncomfortable experience. To say, "Well, everybody thinks I am, but am I really?" Maybe this is different from imposter syndrome, or maybe it is the same as the imposter syndrome that sometimes happens when people feel like, "If people really knew me, they wouldn't think what they think about me." I don't really know.

But his willingness to stay present and to stay open, not to just collapse and close down when this doubt about his practice shows up, allows another voice to enter.

The Deva's Intervention

A continuation of the sutta: "Then a deva^[5] who had once been a relative of Bāhiya's, compassionate and desiring Bāhiya's welfare, and knowing with her own awareness the line of thinking that had arisen in Bāhiya's awareness"—so this deva knows what's going on in Bāhiya's mind—"went to Bāhiya and on arrival said to him: 'You, Bāhiya, are neither awakened nor have you even entered the path to awakening. You don't even have the practice whereby you would become awakened or enter on the path of awakening.'"

You can imagine Bāhiya is like, "Well, okay." So here we go, we have a deva meeting Bāhiya in this sutta. I don't know exactly what devas are. There are different ways we might understand them; some see them as disembodied entities. One thing that I do know is that in all the sutta teachings, devas are just like humans in the sense that they are not awakened either. They're not completely awakened like Buddhas or anything like that.

Something I appreciate very much is a perspective by Douglas Phillips, another Dharma teacher who teaches both in this tradition and in the Zen tradition. One way that he considers this deva is by the role that she plays, rather than exactly what a deva is. What is the function in the story of having a deva come and meet Bāhiya? Douglas Phillips has this idea that the deva is the embodiment of feminine wisdom.

Of course, being a woman myself, I kind of like this. We can imagine sometimes there's this masculine side of us that's trying to go get things, to make it happen. This is a gross generalization, of course, and not completely accurate, but it's a way we might think about what the role of the deva is. There's also this feminine wisdom that asks, "Wait, is that the only thing that there is, this going and getting things?" And she challenges Bāhiya with this brutal honesty. It's kind of painful. She just cuts to the chase: "Nope, you're not awakened, and you're not even going to get awakened." She tells Bāhiya that despite his years of practice, and despite having all these admiring students, he's not even a beginner on the path.

Another way we might think of this idea of feminine wisdom—making this distinction between masculine or feminine no matter which gender we are—is that there are sometimes aspects of ourselves that we're cutting off a little bit. We're ignoring them, not paying attention to them. We can just drop this idea of feminine or masculine; there are often parts of us that we are trying to avoid, that we're trying to pretend aren't there, and maybe secretly wish they would go away. This is one way that Douglas Phillips is interpreting this deva.

Meeting Doubt with Practice

No matter how we think about it, we might notice that maybe doubt has arisen in our practice too. Maybe you've had thoughts like, "Am I doing this right? Everybody else seems like they're awakened or on the brink of awakening, and I'm here struggling with being lost in thoughts," or whatever it is that we might be struggling with at the moment.

We might have doubt about our capacities. We might have doubts about the teachings—what's this idea of devas? We might have doubt about the teacher: "Do they really know what they're talking about? Does she really know what she's talking about?" Or maybe we've had expectations about the results of this practice. We had this idea, "Okay, I'm just going to learn this meditation practice and everything is going to be easier, my life is going to be better." And maybe it hasn't turned out exactly the way that you were hoping or wanted it to be. In some ways, we're kind of like Bāhiya.

But what do we do when we have these doubts about our practice, or we have indicators that we still have some work to do? There are two ways that we could approach this when doubt arises. One is to go down the path of resignation, self-judgment, despair, bitterness, blaming, and disdain. There are all kinds of words I could use here. Sometimes we might travel some distance down this path before we realize this actually is leading to more suffering, not to less suffering. It isn't making things better to resort to blaming, collapsing, or resignation.

That's one way to go. Chances are all of us do some version of that, and I know I certainly did. Earlier in my practice, I would just get angry at the teachers. These poor teachers, they didn't know what I was projecting onto them. I just thought it was their fault somehow that this was so hard, and I didn't know how to do it, or I was getting lost or having difficulties. I thought, "If they would only be better teachers!" Now I'm one of those teachers, and I can tell you we don't have all the answers for everybody. We have to find our own way. Of course we do.

That's the second path, or the second response we could have when we discover that there are difficulties. Rather than the path of blaming or self-judgment, we could go down the path of practice. That is, we could bring attention to our experience at that moment. "This is what doubt feels like. This is what blaming feels like. This is what despair feels like. This is what feeling confused and angry, and not even sure I want to do this practice anymore, feels like." It feels like this, and it's uncomfortable.

There's a way in which we can just bring our practice to our experience. This, to be sure, might be the precise thing we don't want to do, but it is what is asked of us. Not to be somebody different, not to have different experiences, but to be with what's arising as best we can. To be as best we can with whatever is arising.

If we do have some doubts about our experience, the teachings, or the teachers, what can we do? We can be with our experience but bring to it a sense of curiosity. Do some investigation: talk to a teacher, read Dharma books, listen to Dharma talks, talk to other people. There are so many ways in which we can share our experience in a way that feels comfortable for us. That is a part of the practice. I certainly would not have stayed with this practice if it weren't for friends that I had along this Dharma path, to share the difficulties with. After Dharma talks, we would talk about things like, "I didn't get it, did you get it?" Or just to share ideas.

When we're having difficulties engaging with the practice, bringing some curiosity to it—maybe some of you will recognize this as investigation. Many of you will know that investigation is a factor of awakening. It's an integral part of this path towards awakening. It's not something that we do on the side until we can get back to the "real" practice. It is the practice to bring curiosity, just being present to what's going on here, to what's actually happening.

Meeting the Buddha

To get back to the sutta: the deva just told Bāhiya, "Okay, you're not awakened, and you're not even going to be awakened." I give Bāhiya a lot of credit, because here's what happens next. Without hesitation, Bāhiya asked the deva, "But who in this world is awakened or has entered the path to awakening?"

And she said, "Bāhiya, in the northern city of Sāvatthī lives the Blessed One, the Buddha, a rightly self-awakened one. He is truly awakened, and he teaches the Dharma that leads to awakening."

Then Bāhiya, deeply chastened by the deva, left Suppāraka and traveled all the way to where the Buddha was staying. Put this in context: this was thousands of years ago, and the distance between where Bāhiya was and where the Buddha was is over a thousand miles. He had to walk. Maybe he had a chariot part of the way, I don't know, but a thousand miles is a long way before there are roads or pavements. He undergoes this. He has this commitment and he's willing to travel this distance. Adding this little detail into the story points to the amount of commitment that Bāhiya has; he really wants to get awakened.

He doesn't defend or rationalize. He doesn't say, "But everybody else thinks I'm awakened, are you sure?" Instead he says, "Well, if I don't have it, where can I find it?" And then he goes to see if he can find it. He travels to where the Buddha is.

Getting back to the sutta, Bāhiya found a number of monks doing walking meditation outside. He went directly up to them and asked, "Where, venerable sirs, is the Buddha staying? I must see him immediately." He has this urgency.

He was told that the Buddha had gone into the city for alms round. Of course, the monastics every day are getting alms. So the Buddha wasn't at the place where the other monastics were; he was in the town. Bāhiya hurried immediately to the city, where he found the Buddha on alms round.

"The Buddha was moving with great calm, his mind at peace, tranquil and poised." This is how Buddhas are. "Bāhiya approached the Buddha, threw himself to the ground before him, and with his head at the Buddha's feet he said, 'Teach me the Dharma, Blessed One. Teach me the Dharma, O Holy One, so that it will be for my long-term welfare and happiness.'"

The Buddha replied, "This is not the time, Bāhiya. We have entered the town for alms." In an irreverent way, in my mind, he's saying, "I'm on my lunch break, I'll get back to you later." I'm sure the Buddha would be a little bit different, but that's kind of what happened. Recognizing that at this time the Buddha only ate one time a day, he needs to eat. He needs to have a meal every day.

But Bāhiya pleaded with the Buddha a second time: "But Holy One, it is hard to know for sure what dangers there may be for the Buddha's life or what dangers there may be for my life. Please teach me the Dharma, O Blessed One, so that I may be happy and free." Bāhiya is saying, "No, no, teach me now, because we don't know what's going to happen in the next moment."

Again, the Buddha tried to put off Bāhiya, saying that it wasn't the right time to teach because he was on alms round. But Bāhiya is persistent. He has a certain amount of diligence, and he also recognizes impermanence—the recognition that we're not guaranteed a next moment. None of us are, not even Buddhas. Even though we might be thinking, "Okay, I'll be doing this later. Everything will be fine later. I'll figure that out later. I'll practice later. I'll be with my present moment experience later," Bāhiya has enough wisdom to recognize, "No, we don't actually know what's going to happen the next moment." He is respectful, but tenacious.

The Buddha's Instruction

The sutta continues. Bāhiya pleaded his case a third time. (This is a common theme that we see in the suttas. I don't know the origins or the story around this, but it's common that if you ask a Buddha three times, after the third time he will relent. Just keep that in your back pocket the next time you meet a Buddha; you can ask them three times for something.)

This time the Buddha relented and said, "Well then, Bāhiya, you should train like this: In the seen, will be merely the seen. In the heard, will be merely the heard. In the sensed, will be merely the sensed. In the cognized, will be merely the cognized."

The Buddha is pointing to just being with the present moment experience. "Cognized" we could have stand for whatever mental events are happening in the mind. "Sensed" we could say is a shorthand for any senses in addition to seeing and hearing. When seeing or hearing is happening, just to be only seeing or hearing or sensing or having mental events.

A big part of practice is discovering all the extra "things" that we do besides just being with our experience. Sometimes the experience is uncomfortable, and then, as we spoke about earlier, there might be this feeling: "But I don't want it to be here." And then there's a whole story-making that happens.

Many of you might be familiar with this idea of papañca^[6], this mental proliferation that often starts when something is really pleasant or unpleasant. There's a way in which the mind wants more, and it starts to make a story about how it wants more. "I want this," or "I don't want that," or "This reminds me of the time that XYZ happened," or "This means something about me." This often happens, and then we're no longer with the present moment. Instead, we're lost in our stories. The Buddha is pointing to the importance of just staying with the present moment experience.

The End of Suffering

Then the sutta continues. It's more than just being with the present moment experience. The Buddha says, "And when you have trained in that way—in the seen will be merely the seen, in the heard will be merely the heard, in the sensed will be merely the sensed, in the cognized will be merely the cognized—then, Bāhiya, there is no 'you' in connection with that. And when there is no 'you' in connection with that, there is no 'you' there. And when there is no 'you' there, there is no 'you' here, nor yonder, nor in between. And just this is the end of suffering."

Upon hearing this brief explanation from the Buddha, Bāhiya's mind was immediately freed from the defilements, from grasping, and he became an Arahant^[7].

You might wonder, "Wait, what? What happened there?" What the Buddha is pointing to is that imputing a sense of self, or having this self-concept, is extra, and it's associated with suffering.

We might consider the Buddha's description of when the seen is just the seen, or the hearing is just the hearing, as a description of what it means when there isn't this self-concept getting overlaid on top of our experience. There is a pattern of experience, but there's no entanglement with it; there's no papañca happening after it.

As an example, you might have noticed that sometimes during meditation sessions, the most peaceful, delightful part of the whole session is when the bell rings at the end. Because at that moment, there's a little release. Any "doing" that was being done—like, "There's a meditator here trying to meditate" or "I'm meditating"—for that moment when the bell rings, the sense of "I have to meditate" gets put down. There's this relaxation, an opening. Like, "Oh okay, now what's next? I finished that." Before there's the thought "I finished that," in that brief moment, there can be this peacefulness.

At your next meditation session, notice what happens at the moment when the bell rings. There is often this opening, relaxation, and ease, because at that time the mind isn't doing anything. You're not trying to meditate. You're not trying to be a meditator. Nothing needs to happen right at that moment. It might just be a flash or a flicker, but notice how at that time there's this peacefulness or delightfulness.

Not only is there no longer this sense of somebody who's doing the meditation, but at that moment the reactivity and the measuring have been quieted or dropped. There's often such a subtle way—it might be so constant and familiar we don't even recognize it—when we're meditating or trying to meditate, that we think, "I like this more than that. Oh, it was better yesterday. What am I going to do tomorrow so I can have this experience again? Or I don't like this as much as that." There's this subtle measuring or comparing, a sense of "me" trying to make things happen, that gets tangled up with our experience.

What the Buddha is pointing to is that that's extra. We don't actually have to do that. That doesn't need to happen; in fact, that can get quieter and quieter and quieter. Usually this extra is on a spectrum. Sometimes it's so obvious, like, "I don't like this, please make it go away. I hate this. When is that bell going to ring?" There can be a really strong sense of wanting something in particular to happen. Or it could be really quiet, where every now and then a thought floats up like, "Oh yeah, this is nice, I hope it stays like this. Wow, look at me, I'm meditating." It can be really strong or really subtle. It's not a binary on or off when this extra is added.

This reactivity, this measuring, and this entanglement is caused, we might say, by the self-concept. There's this idea of a self that wants things to be a particular way, wants things to be pleasant and comfortable. It's this way of trying to bolster and protect the notion of a core, or an essence, that underlies suffering. Whether that suffering is just stress, uncomfortableness, or flat-out awfulness, it's this self-concept at the beginning—this sense of being at the core—that is the source fueling the reactivity. It's fueling the suffering.

Conclusion

Whatever is happening in each moment, this can be the entry point of practice. Learning to live fully in the life that we have, not in some imagined future or remembered past, but living to just be here. "Oh yeah, this is sensing, it feels like this. Seeing, seeing is like this. Hearing, hearing is like this." Whether you're in a meditation posture, just washing the dishes, driving, or whatever it might be, whatever your experience is, this can be a doorway to practice.

Just to be with the seeing or the hearing or whatever mental experience is happening, freedom is possible right there at that moment. We don't have to wait for imagined, perfect conditions. Whatever is happening right there, we can be with the experience. Maybe it's just a moment, a flicker of a little bit more ease, but this is exactly how the practice unfolds. It begins with a tasting or a recognition of, "Oh yeah, there's a little bit more ease in this direction when I'm just with the experience. There's less ease in this direction when I'm adding on all the thoughts and ideas of how I should be or how this experience should be."

Being with our experience and the life we actually have can be the doorway to greater freedom. Thank you.