La satisfaction dans le samsara

Śantideva, un très grand érudit du 8e siècle, a fameusement dit que tout bonheur provient du fait de se soucier du bien-être des autres, et que toute souffrance provient du fait de se soucier que de soi-même. Pour prendre une exemple élevée et admirable, le Bouddha atteignit l'Éveil parce qu'il œuvrait pour le bien des autres. Peut-être plus concrètement, nous pouvons même voir au niveau ordinaire que les qualités telles se sentir bien dans sa peau, être entourés de famille et d'amis sûrs, et vivre à l'abri des tromperies, naissent de notre intérêt à l'égard du bonheur des autres. Par contre, s'il n'y a qu'égocentrisme, nous voyons même les bonnes circonstances de façon négative. C'est comme dit le Dalaï Lama:

«Si chacun de nous se mettait du fond du cœur à cultiver le souhait d'aider les autres et même l'ensemble des êtres, nous gagnerions alors une solide sentiment de confiance qui mettrait notre esprit dans un état d'aise. Lorsque notre esprit jouit de ce genre de tranquillité, le monde entier pourrait bien se tourner contre nous et devenir hostile que cela n'affecterait pas notre calme mental. À l'inverse, quand notre esprit est agité et perturbé ou que nous affichons de la malveillance à l'égard d'autres êtres, même s'ils n'ont aucune mauvaise intention à notre endroit, notre propre attitude nous les fera sentir négatifs et sévères à notre égard. Ceci est le reflet de notre attitude intérieur, de nos sentiments intimes, et de notre manière de ressentir. C'est pour cette raison que nous vivrons constamment dans la peur, la contrariété, l'anxiété et l'instabilité.»

Dommage, donc, que nous passons notre temps à nous soucier de nous-même. Du coup, nous ne sommes ni omniscients, ni libérés de souffrance. Nous n'arrêtons pas de nourrir un moi éphémère; il est un dicton qui nous rappelle que «Depuis ma naissance, j'ai mangé un montant de nourriture égal au mont Meru (dans la cosmologie bouddhiste, ce dernier est haut d'au moins 1,184,000 km), j'ai bu de l'eau en quantité égale à l'océan (qui est large de 2,220,000 km), et toujours je ne suis pas satisfait.»

Namkhai Norbu

Back in September, I had the great pleasure of attending Chögyal Namkhai Norbu's teachings in Paris, even if I could only be away from my family for one out of the three days. I had been waiting for these teachings with a degree of excitement that had me check my desire and attachment, for the subject matter of the entire event was of supreme interest to me. Not only was Namkhai Norbu teaching on Dzogchen practice and bestowing transmissions, but there were concurrent demonstrations of vajra dance, an encyclopedic exposition of the Dzogchen system, and yantra yoga classes.

All of these were excellent. I was not able to glean the profound techniques of the vajra dance, but it was lovely to watch for the brief period I could, and I understand that it requires a clear meditation practice that flows with the movement. Yantra yoga has interested me for some time, so it was with great joy that I attended Zhenya Rud's class on that subject. It was an introductory level practicum, since attendees were small in number and therefore placed together. Zhenya focused on breathing techniques, which differ from those of the Indian yogic traditions (e.g., Hatha yoga), and the opening of the chest, something most all of us can use, especially if we hold jobs or occupations which require us to continually or repeatedly close up the fronts of our bodies.

I was delighted to find out partway through the day that Philippe Cornu would be giving a seminar on the topic of Dzogchen. For those who don't know him, Cornu is a French Buddhologist, president of the Université Bouddhique Européenne, and the author of the definitive French language dictionary of Buddhist terms along with a dozen or so other major works. His presentation was lively, intelligent and incredibly informative (if a little highbrow), a wonderful exposition of his obviously vast knowledge of all things Buddhist. The attendant discussion that took place among the two dozen or so of us was stimulating, and although it needed tempering by Cornu to remain within the realm of what could be rationally discussed within the two allotted hours, it breathed life into my Buddhist study, which has tended to be a little lonely since I moved to France.

Most amazing of all were the teachings of Namkhai Norbu himself. Here is a teacher with a stage presence worthy of a king; a deep, seemingly bottomless well of diamond-like wisdom; and a gentle kind of glow that emanates from his warm smile, blessing even the most nonchalant of interlocutors. Since I don't know how better to put the experience of his teachings into words, I invite you to take it in yourself via webcast over the next few days, by visiting http://shangshunginstitute.net/webcast/video.php at the times listed below.

CHÖGYAL NAMKHAI NORBU

11-17 November 2011 - TENERIFE RETREAT:

      Ati Yoga retreat of Rigdzin jangchub Dorje’s terma  "Nyangyud Khorva Dongtruk”  (Tib. Snyan-rgyud ‘khor-ba dong-sprug).

Tenerife Spain- GMT (+0) - OPEN WEBCAST

• 11th Nov.5-7pm.            Teaching start.        
• 12th Nov.10-12am.         Teaching of transmission of Guru Yoga.
• 13th Nov.10-12am.         After Guru Yoga altogether, teaching of “Nyangyud Khorva Dongtruk”.
• 14th Nov.10-12am.         After Guru Yoga altogether, teaching of “Nyangyud Khorva Dongtruk”.
• 15th Nov.10-12am.         After Guru Yoga altogether, teaching of “Nyangyud Khorva Dongtruk”.
• 16th Nov.10-12am.         After Guru Yoga altogether, teaching of “Nyangyud Khorva Dongtruk”.              4-7pm.                  Gana Puja and so on.
• 17th Nov.10-12am.         Giving some advice for daily practices and some tridlungs.  We finish our retreat with Ati Guru Yoga practice altogether.

Dalaï Lama Toulouse 2011, Partie 4

Dans les religions hindou et jainiste, il y a une croyance en atman, une notion du soi permanent, indépendant et absolu. On croit que l'atman est dans sa vraie nature en relation avec brahman, le pouvoir pur, suprème et absolu de l'univers entier. Mais dans le bouddhisme, on réfute cette idée. Il n'y a pas de soi indépendant et absolu.

Pas indépendant, parce que si on parle d'un soi qui est l'esprit, et bien on trouve qu'il dépend du corps. Si on parle d'un soi qui est le corps, il dépend à son tour de l'esprit. Même cet ensemble corps-esprit n'existe pas indépendamment d'autres phénomènes. Si on cherche le soi - où est-il? - on ne le trouve pas en un endroit, mais seulement en relation avec d'autres phénomènes.

Ce sont les rouages de ce qu'on appèle pratityasamutpada, la coproduction conditionnée, ou la loi de la causalité. Tout phénomène est produit en dépendance d'autres phénomènes, en dépendance de causes et de conditions. C'est le fonctionnement de toute chose, des phénomènes mentales comme les non-mentales. Big Ben continue son tic-toc avec une énergie énorme, provenant de causes et de conditions, de coproduction conditionnée.

Le système du cerveau est pareil, bien que plus subtil et d'un niveau plus profond: Nos cinq sens physiques (ou sphères sensorielles) forment chacun un niveau mental de conscience: la conscience visuelle; la conscience auditoire; la conscience olfactive; la conscience gustative; et la conscience tactile. Nous avons un sixième sens, le pouvoir de la pensée, le sens mental, duquel survient la conscience mentale. Donc, il y a le sens (e.g., le pouvoir ou le potentiel de la vue), l'objet sensoriel (e.g., l'objet visuel), et la conscience sensorielle (e.g., la conscience visuelle). Ce dernier survient au moment de l'interaction entre sens et objet, mais peut aussi ne pas survenir, pendant le sommeil par exemple, quand on n'a pas la conscience visuelle de l'arrière de nos paupières.

On peut très bien observer ce qui est présent en ce moment au niveau sensoriel, tout simplement. Le mental peut rajouter des pensées par-dessus pour penser par exemple au futur, et ça serait alors la conscience mentale en vigueur. Un jour lors des enseignements, juste avant la pause à midi, Sa Sainteté nous a donné l'instruction d'observer la différence entre la conscience gustative et la conscience mentale. L'exercice consistait à choisir un conscience sensorielle et de mener une enquête la-dessus, d'être présent non seulement avec la conscience sensorielle mais avec la conscience mentale, pour pouvoir bien comprendre l'évènement. On n'acquiert pas de certitude sans que la conscience mentale y soit.

Big Ben et tous les objets non-mentales forment le niveau grossier des phénomènes; le mental et le fonctionnement du cerveau comme on vient de voir sont bien plus subtils. Au moment de la mort, le niveau physique cesse: cerveau, cœur, respiration. C'est la mort clinique. Mais le corps peut très bien rester frais, comme dans la vidéo qui suit. La seul explication est qu'un niveau très subtil de l'esprit reste dans le corps. Il y a des recherches en cours de réalisation, pour pouvoir mieux comprendre.



Les niveaux grossiers d'esprit, comme les sensations liées au physique, se développent à partir des niveaux subtils; les niveaux subtils, à partir des niveaux encore plus subtils. Un exemple de niveau très subtil d'esprit est le sommeil profond, où les éléments mentales ne se manifestent pas.

Dalai Lama Toulouse 2011, Part Three

Here is more of what I heard of His Holiness' excellent teachings.

There is always both appearance and reality; the whole purpose of education is to reduce the gap between perceived appearance and reality. The tantrayāna, or vehicle of the text, is seen by some to stray far from its origins - the teachings of the Buddha - and even to have been created by demons. But there are both a conventional meaning and an ultimate meaning of the teachings, which correspond respectively to the appearance of things, and the reality of things.

The Sanskrit tradition is very literal, and makes use of logic. Sanskrit texts are the backbone of the entire Buddhist tradition, and without them, something essential would be missing. Śakyamuni's first - and most concrete - turning of the wheel of the dharma, at the deer park in Sarnath (near Varanasi), centred on the Four Noble Truths, which correspond to the conventional meaning, and which henceforth became the basis of all forms of Buddhism.

The second time the Buddha turned the wheel of the dharma, he did not teach to everyone indiscriminately. His concern here was with the notion of pervasive emptiness, which is so easily misunderstood and requires a certain amount of insight and/or training to comprehend.

The third turning was to teach the tantrayāna approach to consciousness: using the clear light of wisdom or the nature of the pureness of mind to attain wakefulness for all beings. Imagine that the Buddha had started here with the ultimate meaning of the teaching, or given it to someone with no background knowledge: what kind of a practice would emerge for this person? I am guessing it would resemble a new-age melting pot of bliss-seeking, without regard for the quality or purpose of bliss in a wider context. This sort of practice certainly does exist today, but its ultimate value is questionable.

Between Hindu tantrayāna and Buddhist tantrayāna there are many similarities; for example, among the two traditions there are common deities, and the common notion of kundalini energy. In fact, Buddhist tantrayāna has been criticized as being the same thing as Hindu tantrayāna, not improving on or adding to the ancient system, simply touting it as Buddhism's own. One of the main differences between them, though, is the development of bodhicitta, which serves to put Buddhist tantrayāna in a league of its own.

Le But

Vous devriez aussi réaliser ceci: que vous atteignez la bouddhéité ou non, votre but reste le même: aider les autres êtres. Que vous vous trouviez dans les cieux ou en enfer, votre but est d'aider les autres. Peu importe le temps que cela vous prendra.

Sa Sainteté le XIVe Dalaï Lama (2000),
Identifier la nature de la souffrance.
Dans Les étapes de la méditation;
Commentaire de Sa Sainteté sur le texte
de Kamalashîla (pp. 70-71).
Guy Trédaniel Éditeur: Paris.

Dalai Lama Toulouse 2011, Part 2

Fortunate to have attended Chögyal Namkhai Norbu's wonderful teachings in Paris last weekend, and keeping up with sundry dharma activities in real life, I am sorry that my posting here has been so sparse. Such is the way of a modern layperson's life, especially one that involves small children: so many things arise and fall away in a day that the mind loses at least some of its tracks at least some of the time. The dharma is ever-present, though I do forget to write about it here on the Internet.

The Dalai Lama spoke to us in Toulouse of prayer, its main function of giving hope, and its meaningfulness only in light of a clear understanding of the system of which it is born. There are multiple excellent reasons for which prayer is important, for which it is very good for us to pray, but it is no good to do so without the right amount of background information and comprehensive knowledge.

This seems very important to my situation as "teacher" (for no matter which title I find for myself it is exaggeration and requires quotation marks, reminding me that I was named as such by one of my own teachers even though I was not ready), in that those who come for meditation sessions here generally have very little background in Tibetan Buddhism, apart from having read a few popular books. In this case, then, I have two options, depending mostly on who attends: explain as much of the background as I can, or leave out the prayers and prostrations.

Although it has crossed my mind and been suggested to me more than once, I cannot separate meditation from Buddhism and hold secular mindfulness sessions. I am Buddhist, and to me the two come as an inseparable package deal. So, I have the altar, and sessions are held in the altar room, where the ambience is decidedly Tibetan, and decidedly Buddhist. I can, however, do opening prayers, make offerings and do prostrations before people show up for sessions, and say closing prayers silently to myself, if needed. I haven't yet omitted anything during sessions, but I can, when those present are new and/or not themselves Buddhist.

His Holiness urges today's Buddhist to be a good 21st century Buddhist, one who is full of knowledge about everything. He says an open mind is essential. This is to say that we must remain open to revising our way of thinking, and on this Path, we cannot very well do otherwise, can we? If we are closed to possibility, there is no way we can learn anything or understand how phenomena work, not to mention the mind. We may not let new information in even if it goes along with our preconceived notions, if we close our minds. This is also to say that even if the holy scriptures hold something to be true, and over the millennia millions of Buddhists have held it to be true, if it is satisfactorily proven to be untrue, we have to accept that. Constant re-questioning, re-investigation and re-vision is what will show us the way to the truth.

Dalai Lama Toulouse 2011, Part 1

There were 7,500 of us in attendance at His Holiness' teachings in Toulouse. The topic was Stages of Meditation, based on the second treatise of Kamalaśīla's text, the Bhāvanākrama. The Dalai Lama told us that this text is dear to his heart, since it was written by a Tibetan, in Tibet, and he'd chosen to teach it to us for that reason.

Beautiful Toulouse is a six-hour drive (not including any stops) from my home, and with my two small children I was able to attend only the first two days of talks during His Holiness' visit. The third and last day, he gave a public talk that was broadcast live on some very large screens outside the Zenith where all of the events took place, since many, many more than the Zenith's 7500 capacity had wanted tickets. All talks were broadcast live on the Internet for the benefit of those who couldn't be there.

I felt reconnected with the greater sangha as soon as I checked into my hotel, which was very close to the Zenith and temporarily housed many other attendees. I quite enjoyed being in the long lineup to get into the teachings themselves, which shouldn't be surprising; I generally do. But now especially, living in a rather non-Buddhist part of the country, just about scrambling to gather a small sangha together, this time I felt the little void fill in. At the lunch breaks over the two days, I had some particularly fulfilling - though too short - experiences of connection.

At 76 years old, His Holiness looks well, and much less fatigued than three years ago in Nantes, although he appears to find increasing difficulty standing up and sitting down. He taught in English for the most part, but when it came to more serious aspects of Buddhist philosophy, he used Tibetan, saying, "I think that now my English is not sufficient." The amazing Matthieu Ricard translated it all into French, and there were others translating into other languages via headphones for the multilingual audience. I myself benefited very much from both the English His Holiness used and the French translations Matthieu Ricard provided.

The first thing that struck me was the fact that the Dalai Lama's teachings always begin with an extensive introduction to Buddhism in general, and a broad history of Tibetan Buddhism in particular. I recognized that in my own meditations sessions, I should do more of that, so as to establish a firm basis and a way to contextualize the spiritual work we are now doing. I have tried to do the introductory thing, but since history is neither my passion nor my forte, I've left a lot of it out. When it comes down to it, though, recounting history is a lot like telling stories, and these particular stories are both fascinating and touching. The great masters in Buddhist history led inspiring lives. I have since learned about differentiated units of shedra teachings by correspondence, including one on Buddhist history, which I would like to take, if time permits.

His Holiness spoke of social and religious harmony as not just essential, but as a very real possibility, citing India as an example of a place where many traditions - all the traditions of the world - peacefully coexist. He insisted on openness, and on the importance of respecting, understanding, and learning from traditions other than our own. There were, incidentally, six or seven Catholic monks on the stage, along with the several dozen monks from various Buddhist schools. To the Dalai Lama, these are all, equally, spiritual brothers and sisters. It is also very important, he noted at the public talk on Monday, to respect those who do not believe.

when we go deeper

Behind the hardness there is fear
And if you touch the heart of the fear
You find sadness
And if you touch the sadness
You find the vast blue sky

--Rick Frost

irreducible openness

On the long and fruitless drive to the Temple des Mille Bouddhas yesterday (the fruitlessness being a story in itself) I put on a great mixed CD my partner had years ago compiled and named Irréductible Gaulois. As I was mostly focused on my driving, I heard the following lyrics out of all context (from what I have since learned was Sinsémilia's Je préfère cent fois):

Pour être en sécurité
Il faut fermer son coeur à clef

(If you want to live in security
Put your heart under lock and key)

Immediately I disagreed. Thankfully, it was a long drive, my kids were sleeping in the back seat, and I was on my way to the temple (though I didn't end up there) on this Guru Rinpoché day, meaning my mind was already turned toward the dharma. These conditions led to the ability to properly reflect on just why I disagreed, a luxury I don't often come across these days.

There are things that we're scared of, from which we want to keep safe by locking up our heart. They can be heartbreak or another form of personal devastation, news of terrorism or disease or disaster, or even our own demons like envy or anger or selfish grasping. In the case of the song, though I wasn't really listening to it, I assumed we were talking about the dangers of falling in love, of opening so completely to one person that if that basket were to drop, all our emotional eggs would be broken.

What I understood the author to be saying was that to be free from the possibility of our basket of eggs dropping, we need to close off from the possibility itself. We need to prevent ourselves from falling in love, or from the heart-opening situation at hand. Of course, opening our hearts brings risk; I think everyone would agree on that, and most people are willing to take some degree of risk.* However, I think that if we can manage to fully open, to see things as they are in reality, there simply is no risk. If we are wide open to the possibility of the basket of eggs dropping, it will bring no harm when and if it happens. I would even say that security is openness itself, the epitome of which is characterized by stainless awareness of the absolute reality of phenomena.

There is a vast difference between ordinary love and metta, or sublime, ultimate loving kindness. While the love we may have for our partner or friend is ordinarily tangled up with attachment (not to say that this is a terrible thing by any means!), loving kindness emerges from a consciousness free from any idea of self. Free from any idea of other, for that matter. It is the wish for all beings, without exception and without discrimination, to attain happiness. It has nothing to say about how enjoyable it is to spend time with a certain person, how much someone has contributed to our own happiness, or how much we stand to gain from making someone happy. It makes no difference if that someone is a good or bad person, or a spider, or a whale, or a god. And let's not forget that when we talk of all sentient beings, we include ourself, even if (and precisely because) the self/other distinction is not made on an absolute level.

Can we open our hearts to this degree? That is the challenge Buddhist practitioners face. It's no small task, but it is one of our main goals. I believe that when such lovingkindness is perfected, we have reached enlightenment, and have equally perfected our understanding of reality. The self/other distinction falls away, as do all other erroneous, dualistic perceptions, and we can see the interdependence of phenomena very clearly. We are open as wide as wide can be; anything can happen, and we accept all possibilities unconditionally. Things simply appear as they are, all while having no inherent qualities of their own nor any enduring independent existence. Emaho!

There are dangers to the heart, yes. They do show up when we put our hearts on the line, and can even terrify us into closing off. When we think about it, we can see that these menaces are just projections of what could be, and are nothing at all in the present moment. On an absolute level (which we can realize if we truly open ourselves to it), even if the risk comes to fruition and we experience devastating heartbreak, this does not exist. It appears before us, but it is empty of true existence. Just the thought of it is comforting in times of distress, and grounding in times of excitement.

By the way, I made it to the temple today.
_________________________________________

* The song lyrics - which actually go as follows - are indeed a good example of this relative line of thought:

Si pour être en sécurité
Il faut fermer son coeur à clef
J'préfère cent fois me faire plomber
Comme un oiseau en liberté
Plutôt que de vivre planqué
Comme, comme, comme le cafard sous un évier

(If wanting to live in security
Means putting your heart under lock and key
I'd a hundred times rather get shot down
Like a bird flying free
Than live a sheltered life
Like, like, like the cockroach under the sink)

Kyabjé Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoché Centennial

What a profound blessing it was to take part in Khyentse Yangsi Rinpoché's first teaching event in the West! This was the centennial celebration of Kyabjé Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoché, Yangsi Rinpoché's predecessor, who was born 100 years ago. As you know, I was looking so forward to this event that I nearly conjured up obstacles to attending. Thankfully, none arose.

Yangsi Rinpoché gave teachings on taking refuge, bodhicitta, and the four noble truths. He conferred the refuge and bodhisattva vows, as well as a Sakyamuni Buddha empowerment. We did two tantric visualization practices: that of Sakyamuni, and that of Dilgo Khyentse.

Yangsi Rinpoché just turned 17, and I get the feeling he is teaching more out of a combined sense of duty or moral obligation and compassion than a feeling of readiness on his part. He has been highly solicited; people everywhere have made offerings and requests for teachings, even at his very young age, because of their devotion to Khyentse Rinpoché and their connection to him. Yangsi Rinpoché made it clear that he feels devoid of Khyentse Rinpoché's qualities. But he was born with his mind, and I am sure these qualities will develop and fully ripen in time.

The teachings he offered us were simply formulated, and I gained quite a few take-home messages from them. In particular, I learned about the Seven Branch Prayer to Guru Rinpoché, about the meaning and practical utility of each line. I also retained a quote from Shantideva, who said that all happiness comes from wishing others happiness, while all suffering comes from wishing happiness for only ourselves. Another piece of the teachings that struck a chord for me was when Yangsi Rinpoché said to really rejoice in having taken the bodhisattva vow, a much more valuable thing to have been given than a castle or the World Cup, because not only does the vow benefit oneself, but all sentient beings. Its value is beyond comparison. I was really grateful for these and other insights.

The highlight of the retreat was a guru yoga practice, which took the entire last day. The Aurora of Blessings (what a beautiful name!) sadhana, composed by Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoché himself, brought us an opportunity to strengthen the ties we had to him and emulate him to whatever extent we could. All of this in the presence of his reincarnation, Yangsi Rinpoché, who is not other than himself. It is no more likely that I should come across this chance than that of plucking a star out of the sky.

I knew and felt the preciousness of this opportunity, and yet on that day, I had very limited view and found it difficult. The morning was long and there was much I didn't understand. There was repetition in the three languages (Tibetan, French, English) for every prayer and visualization instruction. There were many prayers from a booklet I didn't have, and like many others, didn't know I could have. In the afternoon, there were very long sitting periods on the very hard floor in addition to the morning's issues. There were seemingly endless mantra meditations with mantras that were difficult to pronounce and even more difficult to memorize, adding discomfort to discomfort. On that day I deeply felt the tendency to reject and even hate discomfort. I deeply felt my attachment to ease, and anger at the lack of it.

I saw during the course of the teachings that I have a very long way to go, not that I wasn't already acutely aware of the fact. My attentiveness is apparently dull even given the kind of space a retreat like this offers. I was not present enough at the time to perceive the immensity of the gift I was receiving. Beforehand, yes, and afterward, yes, but not at the time when it mattered the most. I was happy that my family made their sacrifices to get me there, and appreciative of Rinpoché's time and that of all the people who contributed to the event's organization, but at times I was more focused on my own discomfort - mostly psychological - than on the celebration and blessing surrounding me. It ended up penetrating my skin, and I received it in a matter of days, but I wonder if this dull quality of mine would have permitted it even to do that had I stayed in retreat.

I had thoughts of doubt along with my intense desires and aversions. Not doubt in the dharma itself, but in my own capacity to persevere on the path. Those long mantra recitations were hard. By the end of 1½ hours I had long since returned my rudraksha mala (the Nyingma mala of renunciation - how pompous!) to its idle position on my left wrist, and I'm sure my eyes darted around the room as much as my mind went around the sphere of ridiculous, vagabond cognitive activity. I changed position many times, "meditating" mostly with my arms hugging my knees.

When the second consecutive mantra recitation began, I wanted nothing more than for it to end. I paid no more attention than a passing listen to the lama's instruction to experience the presence of Kyabjé Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoché as if he were actually there, let alone the many details of his appearance. I held his image in my heart for surely no longer than a few minutes. I was sincere in my wish to practice, and while Rinpoché's image was with me I felt true devotion. I just couldn't do it for longer. I have a long way to go.

Where was the peace I sometimes found in my personal meditations? Did I forget it at home, at my altar? I had brought my cushion; why was it so uncomfortable here? This was aversion at its best: When would it STOP?! Yangsi Rinpoché had earlier quoted Shantideva, saying that all suffering comes from wanting happiness for only oneself. Indeed, it does. So what to do in moments like these, when that is our only desire? How do we just get over ourselves?

The blessings are worth the difficulty. I faced head-on the samsaric grasping and rejecting, attachment and aversion. This sadhana consists of the words of the guru himself, Kyabjé Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoché. These are the very instructions, the map to ultimate happiness, which Yangsi Rinpoché made clear, is so much more valuable than worldly pleasures. What I didn't understand at the time, I take now as a simple blessing. The experience has brought me to a place, in the days since the teachings ended, where I can weather storms of negativity and flurries of excitement with equanimity. I have seen what this mind is, and now I know what it can do. I hope to persevere in making Dilgo Khyentse and Yangsi Rinpoché's aspirations bear fruit. May I and all beings, by the tremendous merit of this event, be liberated in the expanse of the dharma.

Sarva Mangalam.

humility

Humility is a state of questioning... you are simply in a place of openness and receptivity. You don't know and don't pretend to know what is going to happen next.

Laraine Herring (2007). Humility. In Writing Begins With the Breath: Embodying Your Authentic Voice (pp. 27-28). Massachusetts: Shambhala.

la vraie nature de l'esprit

On peut se demander, qu'est-ce que l'esprit? Souvent notre réponse est que l'esprit est ce qui se passe dans la tête - les idées, les pensées, peut-être aussi les émotions, positives ou négatives. L'enseignement bouddhiste est que toutes ces choses sont les qualités de l'esprit, et non sa nature. L'esprit a donc deux aspects: ses qualités qui s'expriment, et sa nature. La nature de l'esprit ressemble au soleil, alors que les qualités sont comme les rayons du soleil. Ce ne sont pas tout à fait les mêmes.

La nature de l'esprit est très difficile à décrire. On fait parfois l'expérience de cette nature alors que les qualités de l'esprit cessent - les pensées, idées, etc. se calment. Alors on voit que derrière tout ça il y a une sorte d'ouverture paisible, de l'espace. Cet espace n'est pas le vide, mais une ouverture cognitive, totalement consciente, paisiblement vigilante. Cet espace est toujours là, même quand les pensées sont sauvages et vagabondent, mais on ne le perçoit pas.

Les qualités de l'esprit sont très éphémères. Ils vont et viennent, apparaissent et disparaissent. On peut facilement se rendre compte que l'esprit ne cesse pas quand ces qualités disparaissent. Il reste bien quelque chose quand on a déjà terminé de penser à ce qu'on va faire a manger ce soir, et on n'a pas encore eu l'idée de donner un coup de téléphone. Pendant la méditation, quand tout cela, toutes les qualités de l'esprit, se calment, la nature de l'esprit est toujours là. Il est même très clair.

Attention, ce n'est pas l'égo. Ce n'est pas "moi". "Je" n'existe pas, et on peut s'en rendre compte en le cherchant. La vraie nature de l'esprit est la nature de tout phénomène. En contactant cette nature on entre en contact avec tout phénomène dans sa vérité absolue (la vacuité d'existence propre).

La nature de l'esprit, c'est la conscience pure. C'est ce qui est simplement conscient, sans embellissement, une simple présence éveillée. C'est, comme dit Mathieu Ricard, «ce qui dans la colère voit la colère sans être la colère ni s'y laisser entraîner» (2008). C'est une conscience non-conceptuelle, et donc pure et non-erronée.

Depuis cette conscience pure surgissent les pensées, et dans la conscience pure elles se dissolvent. En fait, on peut constater que tout phénomène surgit et se dissout dans la conscience pure. L'esprit est comme l'océan vaste et profonde, et ses qualités sont comme les vagues qui occupent qu'une toute petite surface sur l'océan, sans être autre que l'océan.

On peut considérer l'espace comme le fondement en lequel s'organisent tous les autres éléments, et à partir duquel se manifestent à la fois notre monde temporel familier et notre monde sacré éveillé. (Wangyal Rinpoché, 2002)

Il faut apprendre à reconnaître notre vraie nature, et à y demeurer. Ce n'est pas évident. On a peut-être tendance a se dire, «ce n'est pas cela, c'est trop simple et trop ordinaire.» Pour cette raison, on a du mal a reconnaître la nature de l'esprit. Il faut accepter que ça n'a rien d'exceptionnel, que la conscience pure est en effet la conscience simple. Et il faut apprendre a ne pas rechercher la prochaine pensée.

Ainsi, on se repose dans la nature de l'esprit.

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Ricard, Mathieu (2008). L'art de la méditation (p. 129). Paris: NiL éditions.

Wangyal, Tenzin Rinpoché (2002). Les sons tibétains qui guérissent: Sept pratiques guidées pour écarter les obstacles, faire s'épanouir les qualités et découvrir votre sagesse inhérante (p. 29). Saint-Cannat.: Claire Lumière.

mathieu ricard on the ego

Notre identification à l'ego est fondamentalement dysfonctionnelle, car elle est en porte-à-faux avec la réalité. Nous attribuons en effet à cet ego des qualités de permanence, de singularité et d'autonomie, alors que la réalité est tout au contraire changeante, multiple et interdépendente. L'égo fragmente le monde et fige une fois pour toutes la division qu'il établit entre «moi» et «autrui», «mien» et «non-mien». Fondé sur une méprise, il est constamment menacé par la réalité, ce qui entretient en nous un profond sentiment d'insécurité. Conscient de sa vulnérabilité, nous tentons par tous les moyens de le protéger et de le renforcer, éprouvant de l'aversion pour tout ce qui le menace, et de l'attirance pour tout ce qui le sustente, et de ces pulsions d'attraction et de répulsion naissent une foule d'émotions conflictuelles.

-Ricard, 2008 (p.124)

Translation:
Our identification with the ego is fundamentally dysfunctional, for it goes against reality. In essence, we apply to the ego qualities of permanence, singularity and autonomy, while reality is the opposite: changing, multiple and interdependent. The ego fragments the world and solidifies the division it has established between "me" and "other", "mine" and "not-mine". Founded on error, the ego is constantly threatened by reality, which leads us to a profound feeling of insecurity. Conscious of its vulnerability, we attempt to protect and reinforce it by all means possible, feeling aversion for all that threatens it and attraction to all that sustains it, and from these impulses of attraction and aversion, legions of conflicting emotions are born.

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Ricard, M. (2008). L'art de la Méditation. Paris: NiL éditions.

haiku

My friends Izak and Angela sent me a copy of their book, recently published under the name of Go To the Pine: Poetry in Japanese Style (Bouwer & Sumegi, 2009). You can read the synopsis and learn a bit about my friends here, at BuschekBooks. It is a beautiful book, and it inspired me to write the following. I have no idea if I've followed all the rules of haiku; for proper poetry I suggest you see my friends' book. "Go to the pine" - which comes from the Japanese saying translated as "Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine" - applies well here!

Hats off and many thanks, Izak and Angela. Your poetry is wonderful.

Here is mine:

bright afternoon moon
proud above cemetery
her light not her own

father-in-law's corpse
rotting and teeming below
his life not his own

from my mother's womb
to chasing and nursing kids
body not my own

from life to life
vagabond thoughts or stillness
mind's great perfection

dharma seeds

My dear friend and teacher Lama Lhanang recently came to visit for a few days. I am blessed to have taken in many important teachings just by virtue of the lama's presence here, both from his energy and his example. As if those weren't enough, he gave a personal teaching in our home, on the subject of relationships, a topic on which he had given a weekend retreat in Ottawa in October. There were five attendees; not a bad turnout in fact.

I think we all took something substantial away from the teaching. I, for one, took mostly this: Three things should take the foreground in any relationship, be it parent/child, teacher/student, work relationships, partners or friends, and three things should be avoided. Communication, trust and appreciation are to be emphasized, while jealousy, complaining and arguing are to be avoided. In the course of his stay Lama Lhanang also advised partners to do yoga together, and meditation, and that sort of thing. We will likely do more playing soccer together, since yoga and meditation don't suit my partner's fancy...

We had a wonderful few days while the lama was here. Life just seems easy in his presence; all of these spontaneous manifestations appear as dharmakaya. Partly, he was very helpful, with the kids and with chores like dinner and dishes (which he should not have been doing), as well as spiritually with his many teachings. But mostly, he just gives off that kind of vibe. I was so moved by his visit, I can't even begin to tell you how happy it made me to welcome him to this country for the first time.

He told me he came to plant dharma seeds. He left me an instruction to teach meditation myself and to see through the nurturing of the seeds. I intend to carry out this instruction, but I need to begin slowly, because it is going to take a whole lot of confidence-building, some language perfection, a little bit of financial investment, and some marketing. Still, this is an incredibly exciting prospect. Here is one good reason, articulated by Jon Kabat-Zinn in Healing Emotions (p. 114) to nurture these seeds I've been given:

We are driven by the mind, by thought, by expectations, by fear, by wanting to get somewhere else. If you always want to be some place else, then you are never actually where you are, and therefore not fully alive. Nor are you capable of dealing with the pressures and difficulties that arise if your mind is inattentive and is half not here. In stressful or threatening situations, your reactions will be highly conditioned and automatic. The deeper levels of intelligence and wisdom that come from clear and full seeing will not be available to you because of this foggy cloud in the mind.

How better to help humanity than to teach meditation, the way to those deeper levels?