A Woman’s High Blood Pressure
Another case happened about twenty years ago. This was a woman who lived in the center compound. She was related to one of the staff members. For a long time she had suffered from high blood pressure and had sought treatment and drugs from doctors. Sometimes she came to me, and I would encourage her to meditate, saying that even if she died in the course of the practice, she would enjoy a lot of happiness in her next rebirth. She always had an excuse, though, and continued to take refuge in her doctors.
Finally I gave her a scolding. “Many people come from long distances, even from foreign countries, to taste the Dhamma in this retreat center. Their practice is deep, and they experience many fantastic things. You live here, and yet you haven’t meditated to any level of satisfaction at all. You remind me of the fierce-looking stone lion that guards the foot of a stupa. Those lions, you know, always have their backs to the stupa so that they can never pay it any respect.”
The woman was quite hurt by this scolding and agreed to try meditation. Within a short time she had reached the stage of great pain. The pain of her illness, combined with the pain of the Dhamma, gave her a really tough time. She could hardly eat or sleep. Eventually her family members, who also lived at the center, began to become alarmed at her condition. They begged her to return to their quarters so that they could take care of her. I was opposed to this and exhorted her to continue her practice rather than to listen to them.
Her family members came to her again and again, and I for my part insisted that she continue. It was quite a battle for this woman, but she persisted with her meditation. She was very tough. She had a new surge of inspiration and resolved to see her practice through to the end, even if she died.
The woman’s pain was fantastically severe. She felt as if her brain was going to fall apart. The veins in her head throbbed, pounded, and hammered. She endured all of it with patience, simply watching the pain. Soon a great heat began to emanate from her body. She emanated and radiated a great fire. Finally she overcame all these sensations, and everything became still and calm. She had won the battle. Her high blood pressure was completely cured, and she never again had to take medicines for that disease.
Other Diseases—and Don’t Forget Liberation!
I have witnessed cures of impacted intestines, uterine fibroids, heart disease, cancer, and more. There is no guarantee of this outcome, though I hope the stories are inspiring to you. Nonetheless, if a yogi is ardent, persistent, heroic, and courageous in trying to be mindful of painful sensations that arise from diseases or old injuries, he or she may find a miraculous recovery from these troubles. Persistent effort carries a great possibility.
Satipahāna meditation is perhaps especially useful for cancer patients. Cancer is terrible. There is so much suffering both in the body and in the mind. One who is versed in satipahāna meditation can lighten his or her burden by being mindful of pain, no matter how dire. He or she can die a peaceful death, perfectly and impeccably mindful of just the pain. This kind of death is good and noble.
May you make full use of the knowledge you have gained through this exposition on the seven factors of enlightenment. May you cultivate each factor, starting from mindfulness and finishing with equanimity, so that you can become a fully liberated being.
5. THE VIPASSANĀ JHĀNAS
SOFTENING THE RIGID MIND
The Buddha said, “Indeed with meditation, one can develop knowledge and wisdom as grounded and as vast as the earth.” The quality of such wisdom permeates the mind, making it expansive and vast. In the absence of meditation, however, the mind becomes narrow and rigid under the constant assault of kilesas. Each moment we are unmindful, the kilesas penetrate into the mind, making it tight, tense, and agitated.
The objects that bombard us at the six sense doors are sometimes good and sometimes bad, sometimes pleasant, sometimes unpleasant. A pleasant visual object presents itself: the unguarded mind will naturally fill with craving and clinging, closing tightly around that object. Seized by this tension and agitation, the mind begins to scheme of ways to get that very pleasant object. From this plan to grasp the object, speech and physical movements may develop.
If the mind is unguarded and an unpleasant object appears, aversion will naturally arise. Again, the mind will become agitated. Some manifestation might be seen: a bright face twisted into a scowl, harsh and dreadful words, or even acts of violence.
In the face of objects neither pleasant nor unpleasant, if the mind is unguarded, delusion will cloud the mind, stopping it from seeing what is true. At this moment, too, there is tension and hardness of mind.
It would be foolish to think that we can eliminate pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral objects from our lives. What is important is to maintain a wholesome relationship with them. Perhaps one could stuff one’s ears with cotton wool, blindfold oneself and grope about while maintaining a meditative state of mind. But obviously one could not block one’s nostrils or anesthetize one’s tongue, nor cut off the sensitivity of the body to heat, cold, and other sensations. Sitting in meditation, we try to concentrate on the primary object. But we will still hear sounds, and strong sensations may arise in other parts of the body. Despite our best effort, our practice could slip for a few moments, and our thinking mind could run completely wild.
The Power of Restraint
The practice of restraint is an effective way of preventing this assault by kilesas. Restraint does not mean becoming dead and numb. It means guarding each sense door so that the mind does not run out through it into fantasies and thoughts, plans and schemes. Mindfulness is actually the cause for restraint to arise. When we are mindful in each moment, the mind is held back from falling into a state where greed, hatred, and delusion may erupt. If we are vigilant, eventually the mind will become somewhat tamed and content not to escape into danger of ambush by kilesas.
We have to be on our toes. As soon as we come into contact with an object, we note it immediately for what it is. We want to be sure that in seeing is only the seeing, in hearing only the hearing, in touch only the touch, in taste only the taste, and in thinking, just the thought. Each of these processes should be clear and simple, not burdened with a lot of extra rumination, not clotted with kilesas. If we are able to be really mindful, objects will arise and pass without further thoughts or reactions, just the process in itself. No matter what kind of objects we are forced to encounter, we will be safe from desire or aversion.
There was a great king in the Buddha’s time who was once very curious as to how monks could keep their precepts. Young monks, he observed, remained chaste even in the vigor of their prime, when lust easily arises. He asked a senior monk about this. The monk said, “When young monks come across a girl younger than they are, they consider her as their younger sister. When they come across a woman of the same age or slightly older, they consider her their elder sister. When they come across a woman older than that, they consider her their mother. If she is advanced in age, they consider her their grandmother.”
The king was not satisfied. He said, “But the mind is very quick, and even if you make yourself think in those ways, lust may already have arisen.”
The elder tried again. “If a monk comes across a woman, if he is unmindful and begins to admire her features, her body, then naturally lust will arise. But if he should look at a woman by dissecting her into pieces, in terms of the thirty-two parts of the body—hair, teeth, nails, and so forth—and if he reflects on the repulsiveness of these parts, he will be filled with disgust and not desire her at all.” This meditation on the body was given by the Lord Buddha.
The king then asked, “What if a monk has more imagination than concentration?” On the subject of imagination, I would like to interpolate another story here.
Somewhere on the premises of a certain meditation center there is a little closet in which a skeleton is hung. The skeleton is for people to come and look at, reflecting upon the imminence of death, and perhaps also on bones
as a repulsive body part. Under its bony feet is a small sign that says, “Sixteen-year-old girl.”
Possessed of wise attention, one visitor might say, “Oh, that poor girl, only sixteen but she had to die. I too will die one day.” Spiritual urgency might arise, and this person might try to do more good deeds, or practice meditation with greater ardor. Another visitor might reflect on the repulsiveness of the bones, and see that there is nothing to the body, just bones, this frame.
Along comes a young and imaginative man. Standing in front of the skeleton, his eyes fall on the placard that says what it once was. He says to himself, “What a pity! How beautiful she must have been before she died.” He looks at the skull and starts to flesh it out with a beautiful face, adding nice hair and a very nice neck. His eyes travel slowly downward, filling out each part of the body. He is filled with craving by the image he has called up, an image perhaps not so different from the creations of a taxidermist.
Let us return now to the story of the king. The older monk replied, “All the young monks practice mindfulness. They activate restraint of their senses, so that they are guarded at each sense door. Their minds are not wild. They don’t fantasize about the things they see.”
The king was impressed. He said, “Yes, that must be very true. I can testify from my own experience that when I go to my harem without mindfulness, I get into a lot of trouble. But if I am mindful I have no problems.”
I hope these tales illustrate the importance of sense restraint.
Intensive Restraint for Retreats
During an intensive meditation retreat, the value of restraint cannot be overestimated.
The scriptures give four practical guidelines for restraint during intensive practice.
First, a yogi must act like a blind person even though he or she may possess complete sight. The yogi should go about with lowered eyelids, incuriously, to keep the mind from scattering.
Second, the yogi must act like a deaf person, not reflecting, commenting upon, nor judging the sounds he or she may hear. A yogi should pretend not quite to understand sounds and should not listen for them.
Third, though a yogi may have a great deal of learning, may have read a tremendous amount about meditation and tried fifteen techniques, during actual practice he or she should put away all this knowledge. Keep it under lock and key, maybe even under the bed! A yogi should act like an ignorant person who does not know much and does not talk about the few things he or she does know.
Fourth, a yogi should act like a hospital patient, frail and sick, by slowing down and moving very mindfully.
There ought also to be a fifth principle. Even though a yogi is very much alive, he or she should behave like a dead person with respect to painful sensations. As you know, a corpse can be chopped to pieces like a log without feeling anything at all. If pain arises during meditation, a yogi should summon all of his or her courage and energy simply to look it in the face. He or she should make a heroic effort to penetrate and understand the pain, without shifting posture or letting aversion take over the mind.
In each moment we try to be mindful and present with whatever is arising. We try to note “seeing, seeing” at the moment of seeing; “hearing, hearing” at the moment of hearing, and so forth. Real effort is being made to note. There is also accuracy of mind, a precise aim that enables the mind to hit its target of observation. Mindfulness also is present, penetrating deeply into the object. And with mindfulness comes right concentration, which keeps the mind collected, not strained or dissipated.
How Wisdom Softens the Mind
Right effort, right aim, right mindfulness, right concentration: all these are factors of the Noble Eightfold Path. When they are present in the mind, the kilesas have no chance to arise. The kilesas, which make the mind so hard and rigid and agitated, are dispelled when one is with the moment, and so the mind has a chance to soften.
With continuous noting the mind gradually becomes more able to penetrate into the true nature of things. There comes the insight that everything is made up of just mind and matter, and the mind experiences a huge sense of relief. No one is there, just mind and matter, with no one creating them. If we can further see how these phenomena are conditioned, the mind will be free of doubts.
A yogi full of doubt is difficult to work with, rigid and tough and tense. No matter how much the teacher might try to convince him or her of what is beneficial in the practice, the effort will be in vain. If such a yogi can be persuaded to practice at least enough to gain insight into cause and effect, however, there will be no more problem. This insight clears the mind of doubt and makes it soft. The yogi will no longer wonder whether these phenomena of mind and matter might be created by some external force, another being invisible or supreme.
As we go deeper and deeper into the moment, the mind becomes softer and more relaxed as the tensions of the kilesas loosen. Observing the fleeting nature of mental and physical phenomena, one gains insight into their impermanence. As a side effect of this process, one is freed from pride and conceit. If one sees clearly the tremendous oppression brought about by phenomena, one gains insight into their suffering nature and thereby is freed from craving. If one sees the absence of self in all phenomena, realizing that the process of mind and matter is empty and not at all related to one’s wishes, one can be freed from the wrong view that there is some permanent entity called the self.
This is only the beginning. The deeper we penetrate into the true nature of reality, the more our mind becomes flexible, pliable, workable, dextrous. If one attains the first path consciousness, the first experience of nibbāna, certain kilesas will never make the mind tense and rigid again.
I hope that you may be continuous and active in mindfulness, so that you can develop that vast and expansive wisdom, as grounded as Mother Earth, the basis for all that exists on this planet.
BLOWING OUT SUFFERING
Neither Wandering nor Stopping: A Riddle from the Buddha
As a teacher I observe that many yogis’ minds seem prone to wander, unaware of what is present here and now. Because I would like to help you understand the nature of the wandering mind, I will give you the following riddle. The Buddha said, “One should not allow the mind to wander without. Neither should one allow the mind to stop within. A bhikkhu who is able to be mindful in that way will eventually be able to extinguish all suffering.”
First of all I would like to say that all of you who sincerely practice may consider yourselves bhikkhus. Those of you who want to be free from suffering may be eager to apply this advice. However, it may be hard to know in which direction to make one’s leap. What is meant by wandering without, and how can we ensure that the mind will not do it? Perhaps we believe that the task is not so difficult. We have all experienced wandering mind, and we could just use force to prevent it. But if we do not let the mind wander outside, then it must have to stay inside, and the Buddha just told us not to do that!
You have probably noticed that the mind occurs within you. If you focus your attention on the present moment, where is your mind? If it is not outside, then it must be inside. What can you do now? Should you take a tranquilizer and forget this whole problem? Would even this be against the Buddha’s advice not to let the mind stop within?
Ah, but the Buddha promised that if we follow these instructions, we can escape from rebirth and its consequences—old age, diseases, and death—all the things that happen against our wishes! He made this very pithy statement and then retired to his Gandhakuti, or fragrant chamber, leaving most of his listeners bewildered.
Looking around for help, people finally selected the Venerable Kaccāyana to explain the discourse. He was an arahant and was famous for explicating the very short discourses that the Buddha sometimes gave.
Solving the Buddha’s Riddle
Unravelling this discourse is a challenging and rewarding intellectual exercise. I suggest you begin by asking yourself what would happen to your mind if you did not keep it under control. How w
ould it respond to objects?
If the mind comes into contact with a pleasant, desirable, tempting object, it naturally fills with greed. This is the moment we say it has wandered off. When it touches a disgusting, painful object, it fills with aversion. Again it becomes a wandering mind. The mind veiled in delusion, unable to see what is happening, is also a mind that has run away. So the Buddha was actually instructing his disciples not to allow the mental factors of greed, aversion, and delusion to arise.
The experiences of seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, and smelling: are these to be considered part of the wandering mind as well?
The Sensing Process With and Without Mindfulness
All the sensing processes occur through a series of consciousnesses, which are neither wholesome nor unwholesome. Immediately after this series, however, if mindfulness does not intervene, there will occur a second, and perhaps a third or fourth and further, series of consciousnesses accompanied by greed, hatred, and delusion. The point of vipassanā practice is to sharpen mindfulness until it can catch the bare sensing process at the end of the amoral series of consciousnesses, and forestall the arising of further series accompanied by greed, hatred, and delusion. If a mind can make this interception, we say that it is not wandering. The wandering mind is the mind that has been polluted by kilesas as it reflects on what has happened or what is happening.
In This Very Life Page 18