by Pema Chodron
Once I heard a dharma practitioner boast: “I don’t have to tame my mind or work with my kleshas because I received a special Tibetan transmission. At the moment of death, I’ll just use those instructions to eject my consciousness into open space.” But what a joke! If we can’t even handle being told off or not getting what we want, how will we be able to handle death?
We still have time to prepare ourselves: this is precisely the reason for Shantideva’s urgency. Our death could then be a liberating experience, a falling apart into openness.
7.8
“This I have not done. And this I’m only starting.
And this—I’m only halfway through….”
Then is the sudden coming of the Lord of Death,
And oh, the thought “Alas, I’m finished!”
I saw a cartoon entitled “Reasons not to Meditate.” First there’s a drawing of an infant, with the caption “too young.” Then there are students, parents with children, and people at work, with the caption “too busy.” The next drawing shows an elderly person, with the words “too old.” Finally there’s a corpse, with the message “too late.”
When we’re about to die and we’re having our last thoughts, will they be about the dream house we didn’t build, the mortgage we didn’t pay off, the novel we didn’t finish? Feeling that we’ve failed to accomplish our worldly goals is not the frame of mind we want to be in when we die.
It’s not uncommon to find ourselves thinking that we’ll practice when we have more time. We’ll start meditating when the conditions are better. Meanwhile, our kleshas only get stronger, and our mind is even less able to relax.
I was recently with a dying practitioner who admitted that her dharma practice now seemed meaningless. She didn’t understand what relevance it had for her as the ground was slipping away. This could happen to any of us if we don’t use our bodhichitta practices and meditation as a way of surrendering and letting go.
With each meditation session, you could train in opening to whatever arises, and relaxing with the immediacy of your experience. Just acknowledge your pleasant and unpleasant thoughts without bias and let them pass away. Then at the time of death, you will be ready to let go of your attachment to this life and surrender to the process of dissolving.
7.9
Your tear-stained cheeks, your red and swollen eyes,
Such will be the depths of your distress.
You’ll gaze into the faces of your hopeless friends,
And see the coming servants of the Deadly Lord.
Shantideva presents death as the grim reaper. If we haven’t relaxed with groundlessness during our life, death may well be terrifying. But if we’ve given birth to bodhichitta, death won’t cause us to retreat into self-absorption, no matter now afraid we might be. Even fear will connect us with all the others who are equally terrified and alone. Right there, in what might be our darkest moment, we will be able to connect with the tenderness of basic goodness. Dying like this is said to be a joy.
7.10
The memory of former sins will torture you;
The screams and din of hell break on your ears.
With very terror you will foul yourself;
What will you do then, in such extremity of fear?
At a certain stage in the dying process there is an extremely loud and penetrating sound, as if the screams and din of hell break on your ears. This needn’t be frightening, but if we’ve spent our life running from discomfort, it will be. And if we’ve been oblivious to the harm we’ve caused, we may be tortured by our memories at the time of death.
Because our whole life flashes before us in our last moments, nothing we’ve done remains hidden. If we’ve already looked honestly at our actions and been saddened by our misdeeds, there will be nothing left to haunt us when we die. This is the healing power of the practice of confession: it allows us to leave with a smile.
A cold-hearted, unrepentant Mafia man was once put into solitary confinement, a dark room that prisoners referred to as “the hole.” After two hours alone with his mind in that darkness, visions of all the people he’d tortured or killed returned to haunt him. When they took him out eight hours later, he was raving and completely shattered. This is how we find ourselves in hell: it’s a projection of our former harmful deeds that we’ve justified or repressed.
7.11
And if you are so scared while still alive,
Like fishes writhing on the open ground,
What need to speak of pain unbearable
In hells created by past evil deeds?
7.12
The hells in which the boiling molten bronze
Will burn your body, tender like a baby’s flesh—
All is now prepared, your former deeds have done it!
How can you lie back, so free of care?
In the introduction to the Padmakara translation of The Way of the Bodhisattva, there’s an excellent discussion of Shantideva’s teaching technique. As I’ve mentioned before, he alternates between scaring us with the consequences of our evil actions and pointing out the wonder and benefit of practicing the dharma. The way to learn from this is to remember Shantideva’s advice: there is no time to lose, so don’t waste your life sowing seeds of misery.
Depending on the mental habits you’ve strengthened, you will find yourself in pleasant or unpleasant surroundings. Illusory though they may be, you will experience them as extremely real.
7.13
Much harm will come to those with small forbearance,
Who wish to have the fruit without endeavor.
Seized by death, they’ll cry out like the gods:
“Alas I fall, by pain and sorrow crushed.”
Wouldn’t we all like to have the fruit without endeavor? If only we could attain enlightenment by lighting some candles or circumambulating a stupa, instead of committing to ongoing self-reflection and letting-go.
In the traditional teachings on the six realms of samsara, the god realm is depicted as a place of long-lasting pleasure, free from any pain. It’s the kind of place the average person longs for. The catch, of course, is that everyone and everything is fleeting, even the long-lived pleasures of the gods.
The problem with the god-realm mentality is that we become complacent about pleasure and comfort. However, at some point, as with all samsaric existence, the good fortune of the god realm wears out. The teachings tell us that this degree of enjoyment is intensely painful to lose—as painful as the sufferings of hell.
7.14
Take advantage of this human boat;
Free yourself from sorrow’s mighty stream!
This vessel will be later hard to find.
The time that you have now, you fool, is not for sleep!
Shantideva again teaches himself the dharma. This is not the time to be foolish, but to take advantage of this human boat. This precious human birth may be hard to find again. We have no way of knowing how long we will have these supportive outer conditions.
A human birth, however, is always precious for those who awaken bodhichitta. No matter how bad our circumstances are, no matter how sick or disabled we may be, it is still a precious birth if we use these difficulties to awaken our compassion and kindness. If we don’t make use of these opportunities, of course, outer losses and mental anguish will inevitably throw us into a tailspin. Then we’ll become too lost and despondent to think of others’ pain and recall the good heart and open mind of bodhichitta.
7.15
You turn your back upon the sacred Doctrine,
The supreme joy and boundless source of bliss.
What pleasure can you have in mere amusement
Straying to the causes of your misery?
Having reflected on death, Shantideva here discusses the s
econd kind of laziness: not being willing to make an effort, or loss of heart. The Dalai Lama describes this kind of laziness as “having no wish to do good.” We feel too lazy to help ourselves or others. By turning our back on the dharma and aimlessly distracting ourselves with trivial pursuits, we are straying to the causes of our misery. In other words, we’re doing the very things that make our loss of heart grow worse.
In verses 16 through 19, Shantideva will discuss the third kind of laziness: the despondency of self-contempt. This is an important topic for Western practitioners. Freeing ourselves from confusion and suffering depends on honest self-reflection. The practice of patience, for instance, depends on honestly acknowledging our impatience and aggression. It’s essential, however, that this inquiry be based on respect and kindness for one’s self.
Dzigar Kongtrul stresses the importance of having a good relationship with oneself; otherwise, the path of awakening can backfire and fuel discouragement. Seeing our kleshas and the wildness of our mind, more clearly than ever before, can certainly heighten feelings of guilt and self-contempt. But buying into negative thinking only slows down our spiritual journey.
In verse 16, Shantideva gives us three antidotes for self-contempt. These are three ways to cheer up and develop a compassionate relationship with oneself: a relationship so respectful and loving, it can include clear-sighted recognition of our shortcomings.
7.16
Do not be downcast, but marshal all your strength;
Take heart and be the master of yourself!
Practice the equality of self and other;
Practice the exchange of self and other.
His first advice is to marshal all your strength. Instead of further denigrating yourself, teach yourself the dharma. To marshal your strength, remind yourself, in whatever way is personally meaningful, that it is not in your best interest to reinforce thoughts and feelings of unworthiness. Even if you’ve already taken the bait and feel the familiar pull of self-denigration, marshal your intelligence, courage, and humor in order to turn the tide.
Ask yourself: Do I want to strengthen what I’m feeling now? Do I want to cut myself off from my basic goodness? Remind yourself that your fundamental nature is unconditionally open and free. Kleshas are just relative, impermanent phenomena, whose transitory energy doesn’t need to be solidified. In this way, we can teach ourselves the dharma and interrupt the chain reaction of discouragement.
We can cheer ourselves up by remembering that our mind is tamable. As Trungpa Rinpoche put it: “Whatever occurs in the confused mind is the path. Everything is workable. It is a fearless proclamation, the lion’s roar!”
The second way to rouse your spirits is to take heart and be the master of yourself. This means taking responsibility for your moods. The instruction is to acknowledge that you’re not a victim. Then find a way to interrupt discouragement’s momentum, instead of mindlessly doing what you’ve always done before.
The third suggestion is to look beyond the narrow perspective of self-centeredness at the equality of self and other. This recognition of our sameness can be cultivated by doing the practice called “just like me.” If you’re burdened with self-contempt, remember: just like me, many others are struggling with this same state of mind; just like me, all of them prefer comfort and ease, and to be free of misery and guilt.
This kind of reflection helps us look outward and open our heart to others. Instead of armoring ourselves, the softness of empathy can set in. With this as our ground, we can practice the exchange of self and other.
This practice is commonly known as tonglen. We begin by getting in touch with our own thoughts and emotions. Without doing this we have no idea what others also go through. This means contacting our feelings—of rage, self-contempt, resentment, envy, and so on—and realizing that these feelings are shared by everyone. They are not hindrances on the path. By leading us to a genuine understanding of others’ distress, they are, in fact, necessary stepping-stones in the process of awakening genuine compassion.*
At any given moment, people all over the world are feeling exactly what you feel. If you’re angry, you can remember the billions of people who feel exactly the same way. Then, for your sake and theirs, take in the feeling of rage, on the medium of the breath. Just breathe in the anger, with the aspiration that each and every angry person, including yourself, be relieved of it. Then breathe out spaciousness and relief to us all.
A more daring way to do this practice is to breathe in the pain with the intention of taking it into yourself. If you’re angry, for instance, you might say to yourself, “Since I’m already suffering from this anger, may this pain ripen in me, so no one else has to feel it.” This is a revolutionary way to ventilate self-absorption. On the in-breath, feel the pain and own it completely. On the out-breath, send out relief with the wish that everyone else could be free of their emotional distress.
If you don’t feel ready for this more daring approach, it’s not a problem. You don’t have to jump into the deep end of the pool before you know how to swim. Just practice the form of tonglen that feels doable for you. It will still fulfill the same aspiration. Your ability to put yourself in other people’s shoes will grow over time.
As we connect more profoundly with bodhichitta, the unchanging, nonconceptual openness of our being becomes more accessible. Because our basic nature is never altered by worldly confusion and pain, even glimpses of this skylike mind deepen our experience of tonglen. Knowing this, even intellectually, we breathe in, with the wish that all beings uncover their true nature; and we breathe out with the same aspiration.
7.17
“Oh, but how could I become enlightened?”
Don’t excuse yourself with such despondency!
The buddhas, who declare the truth,
Have spoken and indeed proclaimed,
7.18
That if they bring forth strength of perseverance,
The very bees and flies and stinging gnats
Or grubs will find with ease
Enlightenment so hard to find!
Shantideva looks further into the unnecessary burden of self-contempt. Seeing our confusion, it’s easy to wonder how we could ever become enlightened. When we feel really low, we doubt we have any potential at all. But Shantideva says, Don’t excuse yourself with such despondency! Don’t indulge in such negative thoughts, when you can train in letting them go. I can just see him giving us meditation instruction. As we start caving in, he says “Cheer up, if stinging gnats or grubs can persevere and reach enlightenment, so can we!”
7.19
Able to distinguish good from ill,
If I, by birth and lineage of human kind,
Devote myself to bodhisattva training,
Why should I not gain the state of buddhahood?
Shantideva is being very tender here. He’s saying we can trust ourselves. Human beings, unlike gnats, bees, and our beloved pets, have a natural ability to know what’s harmful or helpful. We can distinguish between actions that bring benefit and those that cause confusion and pain. We can see when we’re hooked by the charge of shenpa and when we’re not. Through trial and error, we know where these habitual urges lead; and we know the relief when, instead of acting them out, we just relax with our immediate experience.
Most importantly, we know that when we do lose it, we have the tools to recover. We can practice remaining like a log; we can do tonglen; we can teach ourselves the dharma; or we can relax with the ungraspable energy behind all the labels and words.
We discover we do have a choice: we can strengthen old habits and suffer, or interrupt them and break free. Frequently we miss this point, but the natural ability to know the difference never goes away.
7.20
“That I must give away my life and limbs
Alarms and frightens me”—if so you s
ay,
Your terror is misplaced. Confused,
You fail to see what’s hard and what is easy.
7.21
For myriads of ages, measureless, uncounted,
Your body has been cut, impaled,
Burned, flayed—for times past numbering!
Yet none of this has brought you buddhahood.
These verses begin a teaching on the power of gentleness to dissolve self-doubt. Someone who feels discouraged and hopeless might well say: I can’t do this training. It’s too painful and too frightening. It asks too much of me.
To this, Shantideva replies: Don’t set your standards too high. This isn’t an endurance test. If austerities like cutting or burning were all it took to attain enlightenment, you’d be there already. You’ve already suffered tremendously in this life, let alone in previous lives.
7.22
The hardships suffered on the path to buddhahood
Are different, for their span is limited,
And likened to the pain of an incision
Made to cure the harm of hidden ailments.
7.23
The doctors and those skilled in healing arts,
Use bitter remedies to cure our ills.
Likewise we, to uproot dreadful sorrow,
Should bear what are indeed but little pains.
7.24
And yet the Supreme Healer does not use,
Like them, these common remedies.
With antidotes of extreme tenderness
He soothes away intense and boundless suffering.
Of course, there are hardships on the bodhisattva path. But they are temporary, like taking small amounts of bitter medicine to ward off a life-threatening illness. The austerities commonly practiced in India were not recommended by the Buddha. His instructions encourage moderation and relaxation. We practice nonaggressively, catching ourselves when our mind wanders off and gently returning to this fleeting, ungraspable moment.