Being Dharma Page 8

  We are just like this scarecrow. When consciousness leaves this body, there is nothing—no different from the skeleton of grass. The scarecrow in the field does not go anywhere, and ultimately it is just discarded there.

  But now we can move, we can go places. We have all sorts of thoughts and feelings and desires to do things and travel about. We think about going and we go. We think about staying so we stay. We want to sing and dance and play according to the way of the world. To put it simply, it’s just as if we are waiting for the day of death. The harvest time comes, the crop is reaped, the rice gathered and carted away, and the scarecrow is discarded in the field.

  When the day of harvesting comes, we depart. Someone who doesn’t know the beginning or end of things will feel elation and depression and go on spinning around. Not wanting to have illness when he gets sick, not wanting to get old when he gets old, not wanting to die when he dies, not wanting life to disappear. But things are like this.

  We don’t understand the law of nature, and we want things to be stable and permanent. “This is me, that is her”—everything is seen in terms of me and mine, and Dharma is never contemplated. The point is, when it gets to the end, everyone must leave it all behind. Material gain, reputation, praise, whatever happiness or suffering there is, it is all left here in the world. They are worldly accomplishments.

  We people are no different than a bird confined in a cage or a fish in a tank. Whenever the owner wants to take them, he can do so. If he wants to kill them, he can do that, because they are trapped in his tank or his cage. This is suffering in the cycle of samsara. There is no way out, other than learning the Dharma to know things according to the truth.

  Looking at Dharma, don’t look far away. If you look far away, you won’t see. If you have doubts about Dharma, look at yourself. Look at this body and this mind. What is there that is certain or reliable? To what extent are they your self? How much essence do they have? How stable, how permanent or long lasting are they? There’s no such part that is like this.

  We have hair, and it will gray. We have teeth, and they will decay and fall out. The ears will lose their hearing, the vision will weaken. The skin will become dry and wrinkled. Why is it like this? Because we have no power to force things to be the way we want. They follow their own conditions and do not listen to the commands of anyone.

  It’s like a river that flows to the south. If we see it and want it to flow in the other direction, can that happen? There can only be frustration then. The water flows south, and we want it to flow north. When will this ever be resolved? Is the water wrong, or are we wrong? It is just a way to create frustration. Nature is like that, things following their laws. No matter how much we wish to force it to be otherwise, it just continues on in that way. What should we do? If we think like this, where can we find happiness? The river flows on in the same direction. Thinking, we cannot make it change; trying to do something about it, we find it is beyond our ability.

  So the Buddha wanted us to practice meditation, to listen to the Dharma and investigate, and to see according to the truth, the truth of the river. If it flows south, let it flow that way. Don’t fight it. If there is a person with the eye of wisdom who stands by the river, sees it flowing south, and can accept that because it is just the nature of things, there is no conflict or frustration. The water flows in its way, and that’s all there is to it. That is Dharma, that is nature. There is aging, sickness, and death. In the beginning there is birth, in the middle aging, and in the end breaking up and disappearing. Those who can contemplate and see the truth of this will be at peace.

  The Buddha taught about the wisdom that knows sankhara. Water is sankhara. This body that we suppose to be our self is merely composed of earth, water, fire, and air, and they are all flowing constantly. Since being born, since being in the womb and flowing out into the world, we have kept on flowing—formerly small children, growing to adulthood, getting older and heading for old age—flowing right up to the present day, flowing according to nature.

  When we see this, we can see that it is not really a being, not a person, not self or other. It is just nature. Whoever will cry over it, it is still the same. Whoever may laugh over it, it is still just that. Whoever tries to impede it, it is still that. It does not endeavor to please anyone. The Buddha urged us to look into this. It is something that is not permanent or stable; if not known as it actually is, it is a source of suffering, because this nature is not a being or a person, self or other. There is merely earth, water, fire, and air. That’s all. In the end, they separate and break up. This is the law of nature.

  If we wish to practice Dharma and live according to Dharma, we should look at nature. Have you noticed trees? There are big ones and small ones, tall and short trees. When the dry season comes, the leaves fall. When the rains come, the leaves appear again. When the time comes to fall, they fall. When the time comes to grow, they grow. When the time comes to dissolve, they dissolve. Just like us. That is the nature of sankhara. We are born, we age and fall, then we take birth again. Like the trees, like the leaves—not different.

  In the forest there are beautiful trees and ugly trees. Some are bent and gnarled, some straight and tall. There are trees with pith and those without. Just like people. There are bad and good people, crooked and straight people. This is also nature.

  But in the case of the trees, what are the causes and conditions of their existence? It is the soil and the water that nourish them and enable them to grow and blossom. For us humans, it is karma. Karma means our actions, which cause us to be strong or weak, to have little or much wisdom. Trees have seasons—hot, cold, and wet—which occur according to nature. Humans appear according to karma, their actions.

  Doing good actions, things become good; doing harm, the results are painful. Beautiful actions make life beautiful, while ugly actions bring ugliness. This truth of the existence of beings is called karma. Today, for instance, why did you come here? You came in search of a certain type of karma—you want to find peace, to be happy and at ease. Taking and observing the precepts today, practicing meditation and listening to teachings, is a root cause, creating the source, making positive karma.

  Listening to Dharma, there needs to be understanding. If you have great understanding, there will be great fruit; if your understanding is little, the fruit will be little. If there is little right view, there will be a lot of suffering. With much right view suffering will vanish and tranquility will come about.

  Coming here today you are seeking spiritual nourishment. We are trying to educate the mind by looking externally and internally; this is called coming to practice Dharma. Throughout this body Dharma exists. We can see it clearly, without having to look far away.

  When we do see it clearly, there arise dispassion and detachment, there comes world-weariness; there is some fear, and the mind chews it over with concern. Thus the Buddha urged us to look into the realities of birth, aging, illness, and death, to see them according to the law of nature, which is Dharma.

  If we see according to the law of nature, it can be said that we are practicing Dharma. We will see that we humans are not different. It does not matter which village or province or country we hail from. If we really look, we will not see differences. In the beginning, we are born; in the middle, there is change; and in the end, we disappear from this world. It is the same for absolutely everyone. So the Buddha wanted us to contemplate morality and Dharma, to see that they are the same as us, and we are the same as them. Then there can be understanding and forgiveness, because we are all the same; we are kinfolk in birth, aging, sickness, and death. We are all members of one clan. If we know this, there is a sobering urgency born within the heart. When we contemplate this body, we know that we are all the same. Someone else’s child is like our child. Others’ parents are like our parents. Our own existence is like that of someone else’s; someone else is just like us. If the mind comes to see in this way, there is an end to harming, to envy and strife, to aggressivenes
s.

  Seeing like this is right view. If there is right view, it is path. When view is right, then thinking is right, action is right, livelihood is right, speech is right, effort in meditation is right—everything is right, having entered the path through right view. If we are doing this, there is always Dharma practice, no matter where we are.

  The Buddha taught us to look at ourselves. He did not point up at the heavens or down to the earth, at the mountains, the clouds, or the sky. The Dharma is something that is with us. If we come to know ourselves, attachment and grasping start to wither away and decrease, to back off. It is because of seeing that this can happen. If there is no seeing, there is no decrease, no breathing room.

  Practitioners of Dharma should know how much fruit is born of their efforts. It is not that one practices and has no idea; one should definitely know, know what is going on with oneself, whether one is practicing correctly or wrongly, and what kind of results one is getting. If people do not know this yet, they are not getting any fruit from their practice. There is nothing really going on. It’s just like they are doing things because someone told them to, blindly following along with the group. Someone told them so they do it, with nothing happening on their side. The Buddha wanted us to have wise discernment, to be astute and employ wisdom to see and know things in the present moment. It is not a matter of waiting for death so we can know. If we don’t see and know now, we will not know later on. We must see now.

  If we investigate the body until there is dispassion and detachment, we will see that we are like the bird in the trap or the fish in the tank. The hunter or owner can take us out and destroy us at any moment. Our limbs, senses, and organs—our bodies—can break down on us any time. Such is the characteristic of these things. We cannot stop it from happening. They will not obey our commands. Why? Because they are not real; they are not actually ourselves, nothing dependable. They are not really and definitely our legs, our arms, our eyes or ears. That is conventional reality, mere designations. They are only spoken of as ours.

  If we all contemplate these things; these heaps; the aggregates of form, feeling, perceptions, thoughts, and consciousness—you can call them the five aggregates, the dharmas of name and form, or simply mind and body, which is what it all comes down to—then it is not something else, something far away.

  The Buddha said, “Bhikkhus, whoever watches over their minds, they shall escape the snares of Mara.” But do we really know the mind? It tells us to cry and we cry, it says “Laugh” and we laugh. When it says to crave something, we crave it. These things are not so difficult to see; the mind should actually be easy to teach, but people don’t teach it. If it gets angry, discipline it immediately—take up the stick and it will behave. But we don’t train ourselves like this.

  If we really did teach ourselves, oh! How could we sleep like we do? When we sleep, it would not just be a matter of falling into a stupor every night. Teach yourself this every day. When you put your head on the pillow, contemplate the in and out breath. Think to yourself, How about that—tonight I am still breathing! Tell yourself this every day. You needn’t do a lot of chanting and recitation. “Am I still breathing?” You wake up in the morning and think, Hey, I’m still alive! The day passes, the night comes again, and you ask yourself once more. Ask yourself, “If I lie down, will I get up again?” Rest for a little while and get up; when you get tired again, ask yourself again. Day after day, you have to do this. If you keep at it, things will come together and you will see. You will see the truth of what is taken to be self and others. You will see what is convention and supposition. You will understand what all these things really are. Then that which is heavy becomes light, that which is long becomes short, and that which is difficult becomes easy. But you have to generate enthusiasm. Then it can be done. If you are one of the lazy ones who just wants to sleep, what will you get from that?

  If you look outside, you won’t see. We have it already, if we look. Having been born, it is all here. As soon as things arise, we can see immediately that they are impermanent, leading to suffering, and not our selves. We see this, and we recognize that we are like this and that others are like this. This is the first step in contemplating Dharma. This is the path that has an end. This is the path to ending birth. This is the path to ending death.

  If we pay attention, we will know. Just like when we are working in the fields. Is the sun high yet? Is evening coming? Just by looking at the sun, we know. When dusk is coming, there is no more we can do, and it is time to return home.

  When we work, we have to know the time and occasion. If we pay attention throughout the day, then we know. Is it time to go to the fields? Is it time to return home from the fields? If we are looking, we will necessarily see and know. If we are continuously looking at mind and body, we will likewise know. Was it like this before? How is it now? Is it like a small child? If we think like this and investigate, the mind will turn. The heart will become forlorn; it will feel the insecure desolation and loneliness that result from a life of delusion. Continuing to look here will cause the mind to turn over. If it does not turn over, we cannot see the Dharma.

  There must be causes. Things arise from causes. When we make efforts to practice Dharma, we are creating causes. For example, a husband and wife live together. They experience love as well as disagreements and quarrels. If one of them dies, leaving the other alone, where there was a loving couple, now there is only one. That person will most probably go to find a monastery. Like people who are sick—when an illness happens, they will immediately think about finding a doctor. If they are not sick, they don’t have such an idea.

  Things that happen thus are called the cause. The feelings of people work like this. If we are living comfortably and happily, we don’t think about these things, and the mind will not turn. Likewise, in practicing Dharma we are supposed to contemplate to the point where we develop world-weariness and detachment, but we can’t do it. We listen to the teachings; the venerable teachers use different approaches and similes to instruct us, to help us see clearly. What is the hair like? What is the truth of the teeth, skin, nails? Look! Are they fresh and youthful as before? Are they aging? Are they changing? So the Buddha told us to contemplate our bodies. See within your own body. If you see, it is just as if you have an infection, a disease, or some unbearable pain. You will only think about finding a cure for it. You will naturally want a doctor and medicine. That’s natural. If the fever or pain increases and won’t go away, this will be your only thought, to find a doctor. But previously, before you were ill, such thoughts weren’t relevant. If someone had told you to go to a doctor, you would have had no interest. Now there is a cause.

  Our meditation is similar. Why are we told to contemplate the hair, skin, and so on, these things that we already have? This is where the cause lies, the cause for dispassion, weariness, and detachment. There can be knowledge here. There can be delusion here. If there is knowledge, delusion ceases. If there is delusion, knowledge ceases. If there is seeing, blindness ceases. The Buddha constantly talked about contemplating birth, aging, illness, and death. What was that all about? The causes are right here.

  Speaking about death leads to detachment and dispassion in regard to this life. If you keep on investigating this point, entering deeper and deeper into it, weariness with the world and detachment will come. Investigating Dharma, you will eventually see Dharma, meaning the truth, and when you see Dharma, you will be able to find peace. Where else would it take you?

  This is the cause, the meditation called establishing mindfulness on the body, or contemplating the body. From the top of the head to the soles of the feet, back again from the feet to the top of the head, over and over again. Meditate like this to give rise to weariness and dispassion, to make the mind turn over.

  For example, you have a family, a home, and ample possessions. When everything is going well, the mind is not likely to turn, because you are happy and comfortable. Just as when you are sailing in a boat, if the boat is
well built and the water is smooth, who is thinking about swimming? But if the boat starts sinking, swimming becomes important—or could you remain indifferent? Some people ask, “What’s the deal, always telling us to meditate on these body parts?” Well, this is how it is for us. If you are sailing along, you might not be thinking that you need to be able to swim, but you’re really much better off if you’ve already learned how. If the boat starts sinking, will you have any concern other than swimming?

  When we meditate on this and really see the truth of it, the result will come by itself. When you really make up your mind through having seen impermanence, suffering, and absence of a self in this body, you are called one who has contemplated the Dharma, who is practicing Dharma.

  When you know this one point, you will know many things. Having mastered this point, your practice will roll along unimpeded, seeing instability, unsatisfactoriness, and lack of self in your own body and the bodies of others, internally and externally. The source of virtue is here; this is where you have to look. This is what the Buddha taught. He did not talk about things that are extraneous, about places people do not go or things people cannot see. He pointed out things that are facts of our own existence. When we sit, these things are sitting with us. When we walk, they are walking with us. When we lie down to sleep, they are lying down with us.