Aspiration

I read an interesting article in the New York Times the other day, titled Can We End The Meditation Madness?. What the author objects to is that some people attribute to meditation things it cannot deliver and load it up with expectations of outcomes, while pushing others to join in the crusade. This can be a serious disservice to both meditation and the practitioner. I couldn't agree more.

On the other hand, it certainly isn't up to me or anyone else how one chooses to use meditation. It might even be useful, I suppose, in becoming a better thief or murderer. Meditation is a tool. I can use a crowbar to help build a house, to break into a house or to kill the householder. It is not the crowbar's fault if I choose to use it unskillfully.

This gets to the heart of something that is integral to Buddhist practice, but easily misunderstood: the characteristic of aspiration. This article addresses the difference skillfully. Aspiration, in the Buddhist sense (the translation of the Pali word sankappa), does not mean desiring, or focusing on a particular outcome. This last point is of great importance.

The problem with aspiring to an outcome in meditation is that we then feel we can determine whether or not our practice is successful or unsuccessful. We have criteria by which we can judge the experience. And, of course, this is fine if you choose to use this tool to do these things; reduce stress, for instance, or become more mindful. But one must realize that these are extremely short-term aspirations and have the potential to sell short the benefits of meditation. There is also a good chance that if the practice does not fulfill your expectations in a fairly brief period of time or (heaven forbid!) actually exacerbates the problem, you will abandon meditation altogether as a failure. To do so is to risk missing the view from the top of the mountain because there are a few rocks on the trail leading up to it.

Actually, it is quite common for meditation, when done correctly, to add to your stress and struggle. This happens because you are systematically removing the blinders from your experience. As such, it's not that difficulties increase but that your awareness of them is greater. Which is actually a gift, because it is only to those things of which you are aware you can apply the principles that will give you freedom from them.

Once again, though, I must say that it is not for anyone to determine how you use these tools. Jon Kabat-Zinn, for one, has made a career of teaching mindfulness-based stress reduction and has helped many people to come to a place of peace with what is going on in their lives. I wish him and his acolytes all the best, and hope for them that this leads to joy. But this would not be enough for me. I am in this thing for the long haul (in the Buddhist cosmology it may even take several lifetimes). That's OK with me. I understand that true stress reduction comes with the wisdom derived from long-term practice of these ways of being in the world. I know that peace of mind is not the outcome of 15 minutes on a cushion, but of a lifetime of practice and study and aspiration to becoming one among the many Bodhisattvas who seek enlightenment in the hope that we can bring joy and harmony to all sentient beings and the entire universe. I know, this seems like something beyond the possible, and so it is if thought of as something achievable by one person in a single lifetime, not to mention in just a few days, weeks, or months. But even to merely point our hearts and minds in that direction is to move toward peace and well-being for all. Surely, that is something worthy to which we can aspire.

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Did I Mention That The Buddha Wasn't A Fat Guy?

This is the last post in a three-part series about the food choices I am making and how that all fits in with everything else in my life (big topic!). The first part is here and the second here. You might want to read those to make more sense of what I am writing about in this post.

I am not suffering, I hope that is evident. I remember before I gave up other of my addictions (alcohol and tobacco in particular), one of the primary reasons I gave myself for not wanting to stop was that I would no longer have any fun, that these things were what gave me pleasure and without them my life would be dull and featureless. I felt much the same way about my food indulgences.

I was just speaking with someone yesterday who was curious about what I ate and I began to list off the things which I no longer consume: alcohol, drugs, tobacco, caffeine, sugar and all sweeteners, almost any processed food, nearly all fried food, meat, gluten, and most oils other than olive oil. I eat dairy sparingly. What a  bore my eating life must be!

But it isn't. Just as with alcohol and tobacco, I was kidding myself that these foods gave me pleasure. I should also point out that I did not give these things up all at once. I have been a vegetarian for nearly 20 years. I quit smoking 25 years ago, drinking 16. I haven't indulged in any drugs for even longer. And every choice I made regarding these things was made from a desire to avoid suffering. I have no impulse to be a purist, I really don't. But each of these had in some way or another caused me pain or difficulty.

As mentioned in an earlier post, one of the magical moments in following the elimination part of this dietary plan is the discovery, when foods are added back, how much they have been causing difficulties. My sister-in-law, who is also following this plan, went through a particularly stressful event not long ago and decided to treat herself to some ice cream. A lot of ice cream. Though previously she would not have attributed the consequences to the sugar therein, she had given it up entirely prior to this and knew that the body aches and pains and other bodily struggles had to be because of it. It was for her a revelatory moment.

But here is the most important thing: I am enjoying eating more than I ever have. In the absence of sweeteners, fresh fruits and vegetables taste more flavorful than ever. Grain salads (gluten-free, of course) are delicious to me. A dish full of (sugar-free) yogurt is a treat. A slice of good cheese is a delight. I made an eggplant Parmesan the other day that was to die for. I don't miss chips or ice cream (well, not much, anyway), chai tea lattes, donuts, cakes, pies, or cookies. I don't miss the digestive issues, the body aches, the tiredness, the malaise, the hangovers of indulgence. I feel better than I have in years. And I am no longer a fat guy.

And isn't this the very nature of what the Buddha meant when he talked about the end of suffering? At one point he said (I am paraphrasing) that what we believe gives us pleasure is precisely what causes suffering and what we believe causes suffering is what leads to freedom, which is the ultimate pleasure. While we pursue the short-term satisfaction of desire, we remove from our lives all possibility of Nirvana, which is not a place but a state of being that can only be found through concerted effort. But this effort is not that of conforming to a certain ideal. Rather, it is an internal investigation to find what is true for each of us. What Dharma means, after all, is Truth. And the only way we can find this Truth is to look closely at what causes us to suffer and what causes those around us to suffer.

I know this all doesn't sound like much fun. I wish I could convey to you more clearly that it is, in fact, the ultimate joy. It is as if we are surrounded by beauty and looking down at the dirt wishing for beauty. All we need to do is look up. Look up.