TRAIN THUS Parinirvana Day, February 15, 2014 As he lay dying, Shakyamuni Buddha said, “Ananda, the two sala trees are quite covered with blossoms, though it is not the season. Disciples scatter and sprinkle and strew them on the Perfect One’s body out of veneration for him. And heavenly mandarava flowers and heavenly sandalwood powder fall from the sky and are scattered and sprinkled and strewn over the Perfect One’s body out of veneration for him. And heavenly music is played and heavenly songs are sung in the sky out of veneration for him. “But this is not how a Perfect One is honored, respected, revered, venerated, or reverenced. Rather it is the bhikku or bhikkuni, the man or woman lay follower, who lives according to the Dharma, who enters upon the proper Way, who walks in the Law, that honors, respects, reveres and venerates a Perfect One with the highest praise of all. Therefore, Ananda, train thus: Live in the Dharma, enter upon the Path, and walk on this Way.” On Parinirvana Day, February 15, we express our gratitude to our great teacher by burning incense and making offerings of flowers, fruit, and tea; by chanting and bowing. But unless we are living “according to the Dharma,” unless we “enter upon the Path and walk on this Way,” these acts of veneration are mere rituals. What is it to “train thus: Live in the Dharma, enter upon the Path, and walk on this Way”? There is no doctrine or dogma to follow. When Ananda and the other disciples cried out in anguish at the thought of continuing on after their teacher’s passing, the Buddha answered with the verse we chant in our morning service, “Atta dipa.” Many years ago, when Soen Roshi traveled to India, he saw this verse inscribed on the lid of a box containing the Buddha’s relics. I’ll never forget his deep voice as he taught it to us, in the tune we still follow. Atta dipa: You are the light. Wake up to who you truly are. The Pali word dipa may also be translated as “island.” Be an island for all beings in the stormy sea of samsara. Viharatha: Dwell in this light; be this island. (see next page) Atta sarana: You are the refuge. Take refuge in your own true nature. Dhamma dipa: Light of the Dharma, or island of the Dharma. (The Pali word Dhamma is “Dharma” in Sanskrit.) Dhamma sarana: Refuge of the Dharma. Take refuge in the teachings, as they are revealed in every moment. Ananna sarana: There is no other refuge. Don’t depend on others; don’t depend on any formula. Find out for yourself. The Buddha said, “Don’t take my word for it; experience your own awakening.” And how? He said, “Train thus: Live in the Dharma.” This Dharma is not something the Buddha owned that you now have to borrow or rent or buy. It is never apart from you. The verse “Opening This Dharma” begins, “This Dharma, incomparably profound and minutely subtle, is rarely met with, even in hundreds of thousands of millions of eons.” It’s so rare to have the chance to meet it, but that’s what we’re doing! Buddha says in the Great Parinirvana Sutra, “The Buddha’s appearance in the world is rare, the human form difficult to attain, and directly having faith in the Buddha’s birth is something also difficult. Being capable of patience is difficult . . . Attaining the human body is rare! Your meeting me must not be passed by in vain.” Here we are, having met with the Buddha’s teachings, this Dharma, in our very own human bodies. How do we requite this rarity? “Train thus,” the Buddha said. Not just when you feel like it, not just when it’s convenient: train with assiduity. Establish your practice with strong intention; don’t miss an opportunity to meet with your teacher in dokusan; don’t miss out on the spiritual nourishment of sesshin. Train thus: train the mind. Everyone knows what the untrained mind feels like. We notice it particularly when we settle down to do zazen. So much unfocused chatter! It’s chaotic. Erratic. Or stuck in the same old grooves. Turgid, like muddy water. Or given over to monkey mind, jumping from branch to branch, thought to thought, past to future. Or just drifting along, lost in a dream state, anywhere but here. Or caught up in negative emotions: anger, irritation, aversion, craving, fear, anxiety. There’s no equanimity, no balance, no harmony. All the manifestations of the untrained mind arise from the belief in a separate self: “I, the most precious one; I, the center of the universe.” Of course the ego entity that must be protected at all costs causes continual unrest and leads to an underlying sense of disgruntlement, resentment, alienation. As our practice matures, we become more aware of how easily we fall into the habits of this mind-set, which creates such suffering. (see next page) After all, it’s why people come to the practice. When we first begin, we might not even notice how enmeshed we are in delusory thoughts, egoistic demands. But we certainly notice that we’re suffering; we may feel a heavy weight of psychic pain, an all-pervasive dissatisfaction and confusion. In fact it’s quite unusual for someone to come for the first time in a state of perfect equanimity; such a one wants nothing, is not trying to get rid of anything, but simply feels immediately at home. More often, people come thinking, “I can’t take it any more! And it’s their fault!” (There’s always a “their” there!) “If such-and-such hadn’t happened, I’d be fine, but it did, so I’m not!” The problem is always “out there,” and that’s really what is meant by “selfcentered”: getting stuck in the perceived duality between self and other, between inside and outside. When we really look within, we see that we ourselves are the cause of our own suffering. It’s very difficult to accept responsibility for our karma. Yet as Eknath Easwaran wrote in his brilliant commentary on the Dhammapada, “When we pursue our own self-interest, we add to a sea of selfish behavior in which we too live. Sooner or later, the consequences have to come back to us. “Karma is stored in the mind. What we call personality is made up of karma, for it is the accumulation of everything we have done and said and thought.” Recently, preparing for my dialogue with Princeton neuroscientist Brent Field at the Rubin Museum, I was rereading a book by His Holiness the Dalai Lama called The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality. He writes, “Literally, karma means ‘action’ and refers to the intentional acts of sentient beings. Such acts may be physical, verbal, or mental–even just thoughts or feelings–all of which have impacts upon the psyche of an individual, no matter how minute. Intentions result in acts, which result in effects that condition the mind toward certain traits and propensities, all of which may give rise to further intentions and actions.” Most of us think we have a free ride when it comes to mental acts. Since nobody can see our thoughts, which may include some rather nasty things, we assume that as long as we don’t act on them, they’re OK, right? No! Back in 1965, the Chiffons sang, “Nobody knows what’s goin’ on in my mind but me.” But as His Holiness points out, even thoughts have impacts upon our psyche, and these set in motion an ever-widening ripple effect. Harmful speech and actions begin in the mind, with these secret thoughts. The Dhammapada reminds us, “Our life is shaped by our mind; we become what we think.” (see next page) We’ve all experienced how craving builds upon itself. Say you love sweets. Not only does your consumption of cake or candy or ice cream set up a pattern in which you need more and more of the same, it actually changes your brain in a negative way. Your mind is conditioned “toward certain traits and propensities.” You crave more. Conversely, when you train in meditation, it changes your brain in a positive way, and you feel the results of your disciplined practice pervading everything you do. So training the mind is essential. His Holiness says, “From the Buddhist perspective, the human quest for knowledge and understanding of one’s existence stems from a profound aspiration to seek happiness and overcome suffering.” We all have this aspiration, which may simply feel like an inchoate yearning for something better. We can choose to ignore it, or we can respond fully to it and begin serious, consistent practice. Aspiration is not just a vague wish for superficial and temporary relief; it’s not a mere self-improvement project. We may start there, but that’s only the first step toward what can become a vow “to live in the Dharma, to enter upon the Path, to walk this Way.” All beings seek happiness and want to overcome suffering. When selfish motivation falls away, we are open to the suffering of others and feel the mandate to respond with insight and compassion. The more we sit with profound aspiration, the more we train thus, the more the bodhisattva impulse arises, and we can become one with Kanzeon, hearing all cries and responding with loving-kindness. Interestingly and fortuitously, the more we train the mind, the more that trained mind affects the brain, and the brain itself changes. As researchers have discovered, the brain has plasticity. His Holiness noted that discoveries in neurobiology “have uncovered a remarkable potential for changeability in the human brain even in adults as old as I am . . . This phenomenon (brain plasticity) suggests to me that traits that were assumed to be fixed– such as personality, disposition, even moods–are not permanent, and that mental exercises or changes in the environment can affect these traits. Already experiments have shown that experienced meditators have more activity in the left frontal lobe, the part of the brain associated with positive emotions, such as happiness, joy, and contentment.” These findings simply reaffirm ancient Buddhist teachings of the mind’s capacity for transformation from agitated negativity to tranquil purity. (see next page) So there you have it. We’re doing mind training; our mind training is affecting the brain; the brain becomes happier. We want to go to the zendo more often. We want to share this experience. We feel more content in our lives. When difficult circumstances arise, we attend to them without added consternation. The left frontal lobe becomes more active, and the more active it becomes, the happier we are. New situations confront us, and we sit, return to the breath, find our equilibrium, and from the clarity of zazen, we do what’s necessary. Then when we approach death, perhaps we greet this process not with terror, but with a very different feeling. Every one of us will come to this point. With this practice, we can greet death simply as a fascinating change–taking off this suit of clothing, putting on a new one. The left-frontal-lobe consciousness that we have developed in this life of practice naturally brings equanimity into our next lives. You don’t have to believe this, but, just in case you do, imagine: a little baby is going to be born somewhere in beneficent circumstances. Having done this mind training assiduously and then reaching this point of transition, the liberated consciousness looks through the universe and then says, “Oh! There’s a nice couple, over there. I think I’m going to go . . . Hmm! There’s another nice couple. Maybe I’ll go there! Ah!” The Mountains of Tibet, a children’s book, shows this passage into the next life in a most adorable way. So you choose the best parents, the best circumstances to continue practice. This is the point, right? We’re not practicing for some self-centered, short-lived alleviation of suffering, but for positive transformation. Each one of us has chosen this life. Your good karma brought you to this practice. You may not realize it; you may still be kicking and screaming in resistance. Nonetheless, there’s something that brought you here from the past. And here we are, living this life of practice together. Isn’t it wonderful? Do you feel your left lobe resonating?
