Category Archives: Uncategorized
A student recently asked about the relationship between psychedelics and awakening. “It’s kind of like…” I thought for a moment, searching for the right analogy and coming up short. But as so often happens in these situations, the next thing out of my mouth surprised us both, “it’s like …eating pizza in Siberia.”
Of course, that one needed some explaining.
Weirdly enough, I once lived in Siberia. I won’t bore you with the details of how I got there or what I was up to, but I was in a small town near the center of Siberia for close to a year.
In a shopping plaza in the center of town was a pizzeria, which promised authentic New York style pizza. It even had a statue of Liberty painted on the sign out front. This was before Pizza Hut had ventured beyond Moscow into the frozen interior, but there were lots of Pizza Hut commercials on TV. No one in town really knew what pizza was supposed to taste like, but they did know what it was supposed to look like, and everyone was very curious to try it. Being the token American in town, I had to make a visit. But when I got my first slice I immediately realized something was amiss. For one thing, it had corn on it. Corn.
But it wasn’t until I tasted it that I realized what I was really eating. And it wasn’t pizza. It was an undercooked piece of dumpling dough with barbecue sauce. It was topped with fresh dill and salty cheese. After months in the cold of Siberia, far from home, I was eager to have some pizza. It was so disappointing.
But it occurred to me that I was disappointed only because I knew what pizza was supposed to taste like.
As I looked around the restaurant I saw lots of Russians hungrily eating the pizza, nodding to each other, and seemingly enjoying it. I realized that if you’ve never had pizza before, this stuff might not taste so bad. It might be kind of interesting. Maybe even pretty good if you have no expectations on your first bite.
It’s kind of like that with psychedelics and awakening. You’re told that a psychedelic experience is a kind of awakening to reality, and naturally you’re curious. You try it and get a wild light show, energy fluxing through the body, and a radical shift in perspective. It seems to match what the texts describe as awakening. And it’s really interesting because it is so different from the normal way the mind usually functions. If you don’t know what awakening is, then this can seem like the real thing. You may even take up a meditation practice to try and replicate the experience.
But if you keep meditating long enough you’ll find that psychedelic experiences aren’t the same thing as awakening. They just look like it. It’s like eating pizza in Siberia.
None of this is said to diminish anyone’s good time or bash psychedelics. If they inspire you, that’s awesome. I’ve heard from far too many people about how their first big psychedelic experience inspired them to meditate to dismiss them out of hand, and I’ve had enough wonderful trips of my own to know their value. Some meditation teachers discuss their own psychedelic experiences openly and compare the two experiences favorably. I get that. I see the connection. But it is important not to overlook the differences as well, and they are significant.
The first difference is that awakening is not a state. Tripping comes and goes. So its a state. Awakening is not a state. The second is that awakening is a livable experience. That is, it is not like tripping for the rest of your life. You can pay your bills, do your taxes, raise your kids, do your job, and lots of other normal activities from a place of awakening. Not so with psychedelics, which pretty much bring a halt to all normal functioning. Additionally, when psychedelics go bad they bring out deep fear and ugly visions. By the time awakening occurs, those difficulties have been outgrown and left behind.
Finally and most important, awakening is seeing mundane life, the ordinary boring details of our humdrum lives, as they really are, and not wanting it any other way. It is a contentment that allows the mundane to become exquisite. Normalcy does not go away. The ordinary is still ordinary. But one’s contentment and love for being itself brings a sweetness to normal life that no drug ever could.
So have fun. Enjoy the thrill. Get inspired. But understand that when you come home for real, it feels different than any state may have led you to believe.
Michael LaTorra is a fascinating guy. A zen priest, professor, author, and sci-fi expert, he is able to discuss religion in meta terms, from the deeply personal to the historically profound, handily laying out some ideas about what a religion of the future may look like.
Future science might show us how biological life arises and how it can be created anew. We will develop technology that enables us to create synthetic life-forms. Science may show that we live in a multiverse, or a universe of universes, with an unfathomably huge number of inhabited worlds in each one. We might discover that conscious minds with a level of intelligence equal to or greater than ours can exist in many different forms, including artificial ones we create ourselves, in computers and robots. We may also develop ways to merge our minds with these machines, thus becoming cyborgs. Or we may transfer our conscious intelligence into these devices as new substrates for living. Every one of these developments would create major challenges for the old-time exoteric religions, in terms of their cosmologies or their moralities.
Esoteric religions would have a much easier time dealing with all of these. The esoteric religions, or spiritual paths, are rooted in an ancient worldview that always included many worlds, and featured many forms of conscious life existing in them. The transfer of consciousness between different forms of embodiment is a core teaching of all esoteric spirituality.
You can access the full interview here.
Jeff Warren is becoming an important new voice in meditation. He wrote an article for the New York Times about his meditation retreat with Daniel Ingram, and has written a number of good articles published in Psychology Tomorrow. I recommend them. His latest, though, is really very good, and I’m going to do my part to get the word out about his work. Here is a quote from the article:
…most of the clinicians who so enthusiastically endorse mindfulness do not have a proper understanding of where it can lead. The fact is that mindfulness in large doses can penetrate more than just your thoughts and sensations; it can see right through to the very pith of who you are – or rather, of who you are not. Because, as Buddhist teachers and teachers from many other contemplative traditions have long argued, on close investigation there doesn’t appear to be any deeper “you” in there running the show. “You” are just a flimsy identification process, built on the fly by your grasping mind — a common revelation in meditation that happens to be compatible with the views of many contemporary neuroscientists.
You can read the rest of his article here.
I’ve been having a lot of conversations about God lately. People are emailing and skyping me with questions about whether I believe in God. The more presumptuous folks are asking me what he is like. At first I ignored a lot of these queries, or gently changed the subject, but they have become such a refrain that I felt it was best to write something to clear the air.
The reason that this is happening is because of Brad Warner’s fascinating new book “There is No God: And He is Always With You.” Warner is an outstanding writer, and is proving to be a prolific one. I’ve read his other work and enjoyed it. What I like most about him is that he has managed to become popular while breaking free from what I privately call the Cult of Nice (CoN). A CoN has an unspoken taboo against speaking plainly and directly in your own voice for fear of “wrong speech.”
At the risk of oversimplifying or misrepresenting him, my take on his position as it is written in the new book is this: we should stop using the words “enlightenment” or “awakening” and replace it with the word “God.” We should do this because people do not take the words “enlightenment” or “awakening” very seriously. Also, most people do not think of a big man in the sky when they think of God, instead they think of something more akin to the “ground of all being”. Finally, the classic literature in Zen and other forms of Buddhism is peppered with references to “it” and “suchness” which can reasonably be interchanged with “God”.
My intention isn’t to argue against Warner’s position, but to state my own. He has started an important conversation. One that I step into reluctantly because it is so important and can make people act crazy (literally). What I want to do here is present my own view on the matter so that people who may be interested in contacting me for teaching or advice can know where I stand before they reach out. Below is an amalgam of responses that I have made to recent inquiries that I think best represent my position.
First, when it comes to wanting “God,” I get it…
We are blessed, and cursed, to live in interesting times. We have been witnesses to the largest expansion of knowledge that has ever occurred. In the space of just a few generations our species has radically shifted from a view of the universe that was primarily supernatural, to one that is natural but far stranger than has ever been imagined. This is not the first big shift we have undergone, but what makes this moment in history so unusual is the breathtaking speed with which we have awoke from what Carl Sagan called “The Demon Haunted World.”
The rapidity of this change has been anything but easy. Nor is it even close to being over, as we have only begun to look at our universe on its own terms and not through the lens of our cultural stories. Frankly, it’s scary. To cope, I suspect that I’ve done what many others have done and kept one foot in that ancient mythic world, gripping tight to beliefs that feel comforting but which stand in flat contradiction to what we now know to be true. It is truly an amazing time we live in. We find ourselves at a moment of history in which each of us rests at a point of conflict: how do we honor and cherish the traditions that have nurtured our ancestors, while also outgrowing them?
Most of us, myself included, are like two people when it comes to religion. One part of me loves the writings of mystics, is sustained by their visions of peace and unity with the divine. Another part of me is a rationalist, a scientist, a skeptic. This part of me cherishes truth above all, and knows that while the idea of God is powerfully attractive, truth is uncompromising and always indifferent to my wishes. These two strands weave together to make my modern humanity, and I humbly accept that it is a product of the forces of history. I suspect that many readers will find that they share this experience with me. For many of us, there is an internal struggle for both reason and realization, and all too often we cannot find a way to reconcile the modern and mystic within us.
I believe that there is a way to reconcile this tension. It goes under numerous names: meditation, insight, awakening… but all these names point to one thing. A method of training the mind to do something radically new: forego all assumptions, stories, and concepts, and simply watch what is really happening. Watch the senses and the mind and what they do. Watch them as closely as you can for as long as you can with the intensity of an astronomer peering through a telescope. Accept only what is actually seen and discard the mind’s attempts to make stories about it. When this is done with sufficient strength profound states of change begin to occur in the observer, states that match the writings of mystics across many traditions.
…but it just isn’t necessary…
I have found that this is possible without appealing to faith, myth, or superstition. To experience these states and the lasting changes they create, all that is needed is sincerity, effort, and an understanding of what to do. If done with sufficient intensity and patience the process can lead to what has been traditionally called “enlightenment” or “awakening.” You do not have to believe in God to wake up. In fact, the fewer beliefs and stories you carry with you, the more likely awakening becomes.
So, I am not a religious teacher. But these writings and what I teach has its roots in religion, so people can easily become confused and think that I believe in God or have a connection to something divine. I do not believe in a God, or in anything supernatural. This might be shocking to some, but from my point of view it should not be surprising at all. I see meditation as no different than all the other countless discoveries that have religious roots. As the writer Sam Harris has pointed out, you do not need to be Muslim to learn algebra, and you do not have to convert to Catholicism to do physics. In exactly the same way you do not need to believe in psychic powers, karma, past lives, heaven-realms, God, or anything else supernatural in order to awaken through meditation.
…because awakening is not supernatural…
Consider that there are lots of awakened people who woke up in very different religions appealing to very different supernatural forces. In fact it is hard to find a tradition in which there isn’t at least one awakened teacher who has done some writing and credited awakening to the benevolence of some mysterious force. What is strange is that all these awakened people have beliefs that contradict one another, leading to endless arguments. Yet, when you get down to the heart of the matter, the descriptions of awakening itself (whatever it is called in that particular tradition) have important similarities that just happen to have the least to do with supernatural claims: the self is not what we think it is, the things we think make us happy really trap us, there is nothing independent of anything else, and peace is available right this instant if you just stop doing things to prevent it (I’m sure there are more). Some also add insights about the nature of god or gods, blissful states or heavens, cosmological claims, and so on, but these appear unique to each tradition rather than common across them. The point is that awakening does not seem to depend on belief. There are loads of hardcore atheists who have experienced the same awakening as the most devout believers. Really. I’ve seen it.
How can all these people believe in conflicting things, or nothing at all, and yet experience fundamental insights that are so similar? Following the principle of Occam’s razor, look to the simplest thing that they all have in common. It is not the beliefs about God, metaphysics, or ways of living. They are all really different. It is not the practices, which vary from dancing feverishly to sitting in deepest stillness. What all these different traditions actually have in common are people. Awakening is not a special quality granted by worshiping the right God, believing the right concepts, following the right traditions, or doing the right practices. Rather, it is a quality that is inherent in the human beings that seek it. Awakening is a special kind of natural human development that has been discovered and rediscovered over and over again by religious mystics. Given the rise of the internet, and less than a decade of serious brain research, we are only now beginning to see this bigger picture for what it is, but a time is coming when awakening will be latest algebra and physics. For people devoted to tradition, this is actually a terrible time, full of uncertainty in the very traditions that promised certainty. For the rest of us, it is extremely exciting. We are finally breaking free from the magic, and this is a very good thing.
Some might say it is the ultimate liberation.
Ron answers questions on a whole range of meditation and psychology related topics, from the online BG community.
Going on retreat is a right of passage for meditators. A retreat gets you outside of your comfort zone, gets you to interact directly with others who are committed to the practice and helps you to focus on your practice intensely. It increases the time you meditate from a small daily child vitamin dose to an all-day immersion. Because of this the effects of the meditation can be amplified and people often have their first “mystical” experience in a retreat setting. Many meditators make it a part of their practice routine to go on a retreat one or more times a year for this reason.
But long retreats at a retreat center aren’t always an option. You might be low on funds or time. Getting out of work for the scheduled retreat center times can be difficult. It may be hard to find a suitable retreat. Also, folks with disabilities or medical conditions can have an especially difficult time finding a suitable retreat. If a traditional retreat will not work for any of these reasons or others, there is another option: the self-guided retreat.
Self-guided retreats are exactly what they sound like: you lead your own retreat, just yourself, and do so on your own schedule. They are a great way to engage in serious practice but they also require serious self-discipline. One of the big advantages of a formal retreat is that all the distractions are subtracted. Television is gone. The phones are off. Internet is out. Books, magazines and newspapers are unavailable. No talking allowed. This highlights a significant disadvantage of a self-guided retreat. The distractions are only as far away as the remote, the phone, or the bookshelf. In an instant the retreat could easily become a staycation, so extra diligence and commitment is required.
To really engage in a self-guided retreat you must be committed and motivated to put in a sincere effort. There is no one there to keep you accountable, so it is all up to you to plan it, set the rules, and follow them. Before trying a self-guided retreat, I would strongly recommend having at least one formal retreat. If you feel like you are ready to give a self-guided retreat a try, here are some guidelines that can help it be a success.
Check in with a teacher
It is a good idea to have a daily call or skype session with a teacher who can support you in your retreat. During a formal retreat you will have interview sessions with teachers who can answer your questions and give you tailored advice. This is one of the best things about retreats and if you can arrange for it during your self-guided retreat please do so. In fact, when you are out of a formal retreat setting it may be even more helpful to check in with a teacher because she or he can help you plan and problem-solve, firm up the practice goals for the retreat, and keep you accountable.
A retreat is backing away from the constant noise of daily life and taking refuge in a deep silence. Some places are more supportive of this than others, and the key to finding a good place to take a self-guided retreat is peace, quiet and a lack of interruption.
Home: No other place already has so few hassles with setting up the space, no other place is going to be as easy to get to, and no other place will be quite as available. But home is also full of temptations. If you’re like me there are dozens of books waiting to be read within arm’s reach. Not to mention that you are conditioned to use your home for lots of other fun things, and there will be a very strong pull to indulge in them. Also, if you have a family, partner, or roommate, then taking a silent retreat at home might become more than a little awkward. If you can get time at home to yourself, and feel strong enough to forego the distractions, then a home retreat may be the very best option for its simplicity.
Camping: this is by far my favorite option. It’s cheap. It’s fun. It is simple. You don’t have to fight the temptation to surf the net or watch the news. All you need is a tent, food and a few basics. The difficulty is in finding a good location. Campgrounds are often a bad option. Many campgrounds these days have camping spaces that are absurdly close together, like a series of canvas-thin suburban cul-de-sacs, but without the privacy. Most campers are right up next to you, and they are on vacation, which isn’t exactly a good mix with a meditation retreat. I did this once. Within a day the other campers gave me wary looks. Why, they seemed to wonder, would a grown man sit quietly, by himself, all day long, and do nothing. Nothing! What is wrong with this guy? It’s best to avoid the whole problem entirely by avoiding campgrounds. You can usually find perfect camping spots on public lands, off of hiking trails, and even on private land if you live in a rural area. This is a great way of getting the silence and privacy you need while also getting out in nature, which is a great place to meditate (as long as the weather is not too extreme). For public land you will usually need a permit to camp and for private land always get the owner’s permission. In my own experience farmers and land-owners are often generous and allow folks to camp if you approach them respectfully.
Rentals: Another option is to rent a space for the retreat, which is a much cheaper and easier option than you might expect. Private community organizations such as the YMCA and most state and national parks have simple cabins that can be rented for a small fee. The most that I have paid for a cabin rental was $35 per day, though if the cabin is in a choice location or has great amenities the price can jump to $100 or more. This is probably the best option of all, as it has all the basics with none of the distractions. Many of the cabins available are very similar to the monks’ kutis found in retreat centers and monastic settings. And since your plan is to meditate the whole time, you can find a great deal during the off-season.
Use your friendly dharma network: Folks who meditate are pretty generous and they will go out of their way to help people who wish to focus on practice. Some people who have posted on forums and in other settings that they are looking for a place to retreat and have been given very generous offers to stay in guest houses, camp on private land, or use parked camper.
Get Specific with your Practice
Have a very clear idea of exactly what practice you will be doing. It is not enough to spend a day “meditating” or “being mindful.” Ask yourself “what will I be mindful of?” Define your terms of your practice ahead of time so you can dive right in and know what you are doing. Something along the lines of “I will spend the entire retreat practicing concentration on the breath”, or “I will practice metta the whole time” or “I will practice noting in the morning and concentration on a kasina in the afternoon.” This is the kind of specificity you are looking for. It is also important that you stick with your plan. Sometimes when going deep into a practice we hit a wall and it seems as if the meditation “isn’t working.” Stay with your plan. Often these walls are exactly what you need to be working on, so don’t give in to the temptation to switch to a different kind of meditation in the middle of your retreat.
Set Some Ground-rules
You’ll want to set some rules for yourself. Some obvious ones are:
No intoxicants. Nothing will wreck meditation faster than drinking or getting high.
No television. (This should really fall under intoxicants).
No internet. You can give it up for a little while.
No phone. This includes texting.
No hanging out with friends.
No video games.
Some less obvious and optional rules can be:
No talking. This could be a non-issue or a major problem depending on where you are and who is around. If you are going by this rule it is best to be on your own. If you can’t get away, try to let everyone around you know ahead of time.
No reading. Sometimes people will make reading a certain dharma book part of the retreat, and that is fine. I would even recommend it for certain practices. However, I’d recommend restricting reading time to a limited time each day. Otherwise you run the risk of spending the whole time reading and “pondering” rather than getting down to it.
Restricted diet. Some people go vegetarian for retreats. Others back off on foods they feel are harmful to their concentration (like sugar or caffeine). This is totally up to you.
No music. While it may seem like music can put you in a meditative state, it actually burns off concentration pretty quickly (the same goes for talking and reading). However, some people like to listen to traditional monastic chants or other contemplative music. The choice is yours.
No (insert your favorite activity here). Playing guitar, gardening, drawing or painting… most of us have activities that we are personally tempted to do rather than meditate. Anticipate the thing that will pull you away from the cushion and resolve not to engage in that during the retreat so that you can focus on practice.
Overall, there is one important guideline for trying a self-retreat for the first time: go easy. The rules and schedule you set should not be too much of a burden. It is not a contest where you pit yourself against yourself. Instead, it should be freeing because it removes obstacles to practice. The place you choose should be comfortable and calming, and the practice should be one that you really want to take a far as you can. You can make the retreat fit your needs in a way that is not possible in most settings, so ahead of time do a realistic assessment of what is possible for you at this stage of practice and what you need.
In 1976 Richard Dawkins published The Selfish Gene, a book in which he proposed that as human beings we are not the pinnacle of the natural world (an idea to which we are comically susceptible) but instead are merely hosts for genes, who are actually in charge. These genes have employed us as their clever and self-obsessed instruments to one purpose: to copy themselves into immortality. The theory was a Copernican-style displacement of our collective egos, and while it is a commonly accepted idea today, Dawkins’ gene-centered view of evolution opened many minds at the time and created new conversations about what it means to be human. Oddly, one of the most powerful ideas in the book is just a bit of an afterthought toward the end. In a chapter called “Memes: the new replicators,” he proposed that another part our nature behaves exactly like genes: beliefs. Dawkins used the term “cultural unit of information” rather than “belief” and he called these self-replicating units “memes” (from the greek “mimeme,” or “imitator”). Today, memes are usually thought of as pictures of cats with punch-lines written beneath them. However, the serious study of memes emerged as a new body of theory and speculation in the past twenty years. As a discipline it had its coming out party in the 1990s with the first issue of the Journal of Memetics – Evolutionary Models of Information Transmission.
The term “meme” is not used as often as it once was, probably because of all those pictures of kitties deadpanning on the internet, but the core concept, that mental constructs are essentially self-replicating agents, has not diminished with time. In fact, it has shown remarkable staying power for such a radical idea. A number of influencial variants on meme theory have arrived on the scene in the past couple of decades, including philosopher Daniel Dennet’s “rough drafts” theory proposed in his book Consciousness Explained, and psychologist Susan Blackmore’s “memeplexes” in her book The Meme Machine. What all the differing theories suggest is that, just as with genes, we are merely the self-obsessed hosts of beliefs that have us unwittingly convinced of our primacy. We think we are using beliefs to navigate the world and thrive, but actually they are using us, or to be more accurate, it is an exchange. To get a glimmer of how profound is this exchange, and how favorable it is for us, think about what the belief in germ theory has done for your longevity. The radical idea that beliefs use us as much as we use them, and those that help us are helped by us, is slowly gaining ground in mainstream science. However, it is still on the sidelines. It is my guess that once we can track and study beliefs in the same way we do genes, through direct observation, then the field will likely explode into a fertile ground for new discovery. By then we will likely call them something other than “memes.” After all, we’ll want to leave something for all those adorable cats.
What Dawkins and some of his colleagues do not delve into (and which meditators face each day) is an existential correlate of meme theory: if my beliefs are using me and I’m using them, then what am I? Taking meme theory seriously, even a little, leaves one in a very uncomfortable position in this regard. Most of us no longer create an identity exclusively based on familial, tribal, city, state or career affiliations. However, most of us do make an unconscious assumption that what we believe in, have faith in, or “stand for” is actually us. We think that some deep version of our thoughts are who we are. Meme theory proposes that this is a tremendous (if adaptive) mistake. Consider the following thought experiment. Someone asks you who you really are. They insist it must be the “real you” beyond what can be seen by other people. It can’t just be something you do or a role you have in relation to others. Who are you in your deepest self? If you are like most people then you would likely answer this question with a worldview, moral code, or religion. In other words, with a belief. I’ve done this experiment with friends, and most respond along the lines of “I am a Buddhist,” “I am an artist,” or “I am an environmentalist.” While we think that these are the deepest expressions of ourselves, meme theory proposes the disconcerting notion that this cannot be the case. Instead, our beliefs have done something remarkable (and a bit crazy if you consider it), they have convinced us that we are them. Through a clever trick that is not fully understood, we not only accept some beliefs to be true, we assume that they are us. This is the default position of the mind, and it is the most comfortable state for us. Therefore, if you pause and consider the implications of meme theory, you should start to feel a bit anxious. If that last bastion of the “real me, deep down” is seen as just another natural process of the mind, then what is left to be me? The psychologist and popular author Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi saw this connection early on in the 1990s when he tied meme theory directly to the sense of self in his provocative book The Evolving Self. This connection between what we think and what we feel ourselves to be is normally hidden from sight, but it is powerful.
Where does meditation fit into all this? If you are a meditator you already see the connection as clear as the words on this screen. As it turns out, insight meditation practice appears to confirm some aspects of meme theory. With meditation you discover that your thoughts are quite independent of your will and come and go as they please. Even just a minute of calmly watching what the mind produces will reveal that very little of its activity is under your control. Sudden images, memories, plans, judgments, wishes, fantasies and internal lecturing come and go as quickly and as uncontrollably as a babbling stream. There are good neurological reasons for this. It is estimated that the brain processes 38 thousand trillion operations per second. If even a tiny fraction of these operations are what we colloquially call “background noise” then hundreds of thousands of them are occurring within a second. Of those, perhaps only a small fraction fire together in a pattern recognizable enough for us to be conscious of them. Of those, if only a small percent survive in our awareness for longer than a second then we are still left with dozens of flashes of cognitive activity each instant. And of that remaining set we may become fully aware of just one or two. Anyone who has sat in serious meditation for even moment can confirm that a quiet mind is actually very noisy. I have often compared it to a clown car at a circus constantly spinning out of control and revealing new absurdities at every turn. When you sit with this reality long enough the resulting insight is unmistakable: I am not my thoughts. They are not me. They happen on their own, without a controlling agency on my behalf. I can nudge them, judge them, hold them in contempt, dispute them, and distract myself from them. If I am a trained academic, I can make the mind follow a disciplined line of thought for a small amount of time, until exhaustion sets in. But what I cannot do is control thoughts in an ultimate sense. There are simply too many and they are rushing in and out too fast. The mind often gets compared to a garden that we cultivate, but really it is more like a dark and riotous jungle into which we have a few inroads provided by civilization, education, and if we are lucky, meditation. If we look deeply at this cognitive ecosystem we see that it is teeming with all manner of phenomena flashing in the dark and disappearing. An earnest look at this can be both disturbing and awe inspiring.
But although a meditator can see that the many thoughts winking in and out of the mind each instant are not “me,” she or he can still take beliefs as self. This is actually common. Meditators can simultaneously hold: “I am not my thoughts” and “I am a believer” in mind, not realizing the the first dismantles the second. This is because beliefs are felt to be special types of thoughts. They are more fixed, stable and make up a kind of internal cognitive architecture. But they only got that way by being copied and recopied. Beliefs are nothing more than thoughts that have found a footing in the mind and have set up dominion there. They did this because they serve a very important function that can be seen clearly, but is often missed. It is seen when, as one watches the coming and going of cognitive phenomena, a signal arises in the noise. The layers of randomness become a background upon which patterns emerge. Some thoughts repeat themselves, or newer drafts of themselves, over and over again. In other words, some of them are “sticky.” Why is this? Meme theory suggests that the stickiest thoughts either fit well into the existing cognitive ecosystem or offer something useful to the meditator. In other words, our “beliefs” act as selectors, winnowing out what is incompatible and recopying what is in harmony with the existing architecture of thought. With continued investigation a new insight becomes unmistakable: all these thoughts and their sponsoring beliefs have to do with… me. If a thought begins with the phrase “I am…” or is just a few links in the chain from “I am,” then it has pride of place in the cognitive environment and is preserved and copied and re-copied. It begins to seem as if the mind is just repeating different iterations of what it perceives to be “me.” This can become very elaborate and intellectual. Very philosophical and deep. But a dispassionate look at the thoughts will show that any new thought that reinforces “I am” is kept, copied, and can even spun out into a story in the mind. If the thought or belief is particularly adaptive it will have encoded in it the instructions for copying itself. You will feel “called” to share it with others.
This is why meditation is such a rebellious act. Through meditation one begins to do something that threatens the constant trance of the babbling mind: you begin to witness beliefs instead of becoming them. Upon awakening, it is as if you realize you have been tricked into believing that you are the main character of a play only to find that you are in a seat in the theater. You begin to see, sometimes to your astonishment and dismay, that beliefs are just scripts, and if you observe them critically you see that they are empty of self. You have no ultimate interest in them. Even more disturbing, meditative investigation will show that the thoughts you took to be yourself do not survive in the mind by whether they are conventionally “true” or “false”, but rather by whether they play well with other beliefs. You begin to realize that your internal compass for belief was not set to look for truth, but for “self.” This insight upsets everything, because now you begin to understand that all beliefs could be wildly off the mark, and often this is exactly the case. The implications for this are astonishing. In the most extreme cases, we can believe things that are not only mind-bogglingly contrary to the world around us, but positively harmful to ourselves and others. This is in no way an unusual thing. Most of us know, or are, the hosts of some patently false and disturbing ideas. Just to cite some of the more vivid examples: there are people alive today who are convinced that the Earth is flat and others that it is hollow. There are those who sincerely think that air can be food. That if they think about something hard enough it will manifest. That sitting inside of a pyramid will cure illness. How can that be? Because those beliefs serve their hosts in some way and have convinced them of their truth. I have met people who literally believe that they have a cosmic karmic bank account in the red. Or that they receive instructions for what to have for lunch from an invisible being. Or that they have a long neck because they were a giraffe in a prior life. They believe these things sincerely and whole-heartedly, and they are no different from myself or anyone else. They simply became host to some particularly strange beliefs. How it happens is still being worked out, but if you would like to learn some of the science behind it look into Michael Shermer’s excellent work on the topic.
Meditation changes everything, because if it is done with sufficient strength and honesty it reveals the process of self-making through belief and therefore makes non-belief, rather than belief, the default position of the person. Seeing the process of identification with thoughts as it is happening is one of the things that meditation does for us, and simply seeing it happen shakes the very roots of belief. You will never see thoughts the same way again. This is something that meditation masters in virtually all the traditions have been professing for thousands of years, and ideas like meme theory may be the west’s initial attempt to catch up. I am not proposing that ideas like meme theory are “correct” or “true” in an ultimate sense. That would simply create another belief to hang the self on. To return to the analogy of the play, meme theory, or the meditative insight that “I am not my thoughts” is like a character walking onto the stage and talking directly to you in the audience about the play itself, “you know you’re not in this play, right?” It is a disrupter, a protester that crashes the show and keeps one from suspending disbelief and getting lost in the drama. Notions like this are nicely described by the Buddhist phrase “skillful view.” Meme theory is not so much an idea as a very skillful way to view ideas, and it is skillful because it supports us in breaking loose of all views. It changes how we think, not just what we think. The more we can view beliefs in a way that distances our sense of self from them, the easier it is to experience the kind of liberation that comes from being free from the constant demands and expectations they place on us and our world. This is the most skillful thing we can do. Ultimately, we come to see that not only is there no self in the play, there was never one in the audience either. The whole theater was a prop.
I don’t often reblog, but this was so spot-on and important that I had to share. If you like this, check out the rest of Stephen Schettini’s site, which is well worth the time.
The idea that life can be explained and mastered is a superstition. So’s the idea that it’s possible to live without doubt, or that existence is meant to be joyful, that someone or something out there is watching out for us. Do you hope to be enlightened by your Buddhist practice, or saved by your God? Okay. Why?
You’ll probably never fully answer this question, but that’s no reason to stop asking it. We need to be reminded that we can’t know, not just intellectually but viscerally. To abandon mystery is to lose our potential for change. Worse, to think we can manage that change is to be lost in superstition.
In one sense the Roman Catholicism and Tibetan Buddhism in which I was immersed for my first thirty years were more superstitious than the plain life I lead now, but in another sense, I’m more tempted than ever to believe in impossible things. I watch TV and find myself thinking that fame and fortune would make me happy. I browse the Internet and hope that a new app will solve my poor time management. I read about the Dalai Lama’s latest trip and feel pangs of regret for leaving Tibetan Buddhism and my illustrious friends.
You might consider the Tibetan belief in invisible demons a superstition. So literally are they taken that Ganden monastery in South India is divided by a wall, separating those who believe that Dolgyal is a good demon from those who believe he’s an evil one. There’s no place for those who don’t believe in him at all.
“Jill” is 32 and works as a lawyer in the southwest. She wrote to me explaining that during her meditation she sometimes feels a panic attack coming on and has disturbing mental images. She cannot control it and does not know what she is doing wrong. When we talk for the first time I ask her when it began. “It started a few months after my therapist taught me mindfulness…”
Third wave Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is the marriage of modern psychology and ancient buddhist meditation. It has grown rapidly in the past decade, and many psychologists and meditation teachers are enthusiastic about the development, seeing it as a blend of the very best of eastern wisdom with western psychological science. Third wave CBT goes under a variety of names such as Mindfulness-Based CBT (MBCBT), Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) and Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR). There are also less structured approaches and informal sitting groups springing up in clinics across the country. It is the rare hospital or clinic that does not have a meditation group these days. This has resulted in a historically unique situation. Psychologists, medical doctors, social workers and counselors are rapidly becoming the vanguard of meditation in the west, introducing people who may have never meditated to the practice.
All these approaches have the common elements of CBT (recognizing and challenging maladaptive thoughts) and a version of meditation that goes under the moniker “mindfulness meditation” or sometimes just “mindfulness.” A review of the treatment manuals for DBT, ACT, MBSR and MBCBT suggest that “mindfulness meditation” is something close to a “soft-vipassana.” The person doing meditation in these treatment protocols is instructed to watch thoughts and feelings come and go on their own without judgment. This leads to the insight that one does not need to believe in, or act on, thoughts or feelings. This is perfect for CBT, which emphasizes the importance of thoughts and beliefs as the drivers of mood disorders. I call mindfulness meditation a “soft” version of vipassana because it stops short of instructing the person to see that everything in awareness is coming and going and is not owned. It also does not emphasize the kind of intense or rapid momentary concentration that marks some vipassana techniques. Instead, clinical mindfulness focuses on relaxation and gentleness (but not samadhi) and points the person to watch thinking and emotional reactions. I would argue that these differences are a very good thing because, despite popular opinion, traditional vipassana would be terrible medicine for a person who is emotionally distraught, unstable, and unable to cope.
That last sentence may be a bit shocking to some. If you are like most people, you associate meditation, all types of meditation, with happiness, relaxation, and maybe even bliss. The idea that it could produce difficulty is not only counter intuitive, it is anathema to how meditation is presented in the west. If anything difficult does occur during the meditation the meditator is likely to feel that they are doing something wrong. If he or she goes to a meditation teacher the advice will likely be to just “let it go,” “drop it,” or my favorite, “thank your mind for it.” This is patronizing. It gives the false impression that if anything distressing does occur during meditation, the problem is one of technique or reactivity on behalf of the meditator. In reality difficult experiences in meditation, ones that are remarkably similar to the symptoms of many mood disorders, are so normal that the most ancient surviving meditation manuals in Buddhism go into great detail about them, categorizing them into six distinct types that occur in a specific order. Far from being a sign of poor meditation, they are actually described as a sign of deepening insight. In other words, the most ancient manuals not only affirm that difficult experiences occur during serious meditation, they posit that these experiences are supposed to happen. They are a definite sign of one’s movement along what the famous Burmese meditation master Mahasi Sayadaw coined The Progress of Insight, and are known as the “dukkha nanas” or “insights into suffering.” This might sound bad, but the good news is that these more distressing insights only occur when one is well on the way and down the path. Meditators usually have to go through a lot of sitting time, develop strong concentration, and become very equanimous before they can enter into the later insights. For this reason it is unlikely that a soft-vipassana approach can get one very far beyond the initial insights and into the dukkha nanas. So in a clinical setting if you stick to the instructions and don’t overdo it, nothing unsettling is likely to occur. I do not believe mindfulness meditation is intentionally designed for this, but if it was it would be a damn clever modification of traditional vipassana.
Despite the limits of mindfulness meditation, there is a problem. A small number of people in clinical settings are unexpectedly good at meditation. With the barest instruction, some people are able to launch themselves deep into the rabbit hole of insights that vipassana is intended to produce. It is an experience that can be troubling and even destabilizing, particularly if one has no idea that it is coming. As third wave CBT has boomed in the past decade these people have become a significant minority in the meditation community. Introduced to meditation through therapy, they find themselves on an emotional ride to which they never agreed, encountering upheavals and difficult truths at the very moment in their lives when they are least able to handle them. That is bad enough, but much worse is that many of the well-intentioned clinicians who teach these techniques have no idea that anything troubling could occur.
Many of the developers of these approaches received their training in meditation through Zen, which eschews the more old fashioned stage-models of insight, and therefore does not formally recognize the predictable difficulties that arise (though every Zen teacher I’ve met is cognizant of them and is well-prepared to handle them). Additionally, for reasons too complex to go into here, traditional vipassana teachers in the west have elected to present the practice without much emphasis on the traditional stages of insight. And so, without intending to, they often leave the simplistic impression that there are no difficulties associated with insight, and that more meditation equals more happiness. The inspired psychologists who learn from these teachers come away greatly impressed with meditation, but with little to no knowledge of the dukkha nanas. They return to their clinics, offices and hospitals and find novel ways to integrate meditation into the treatments of unstable people. Most of these people get great benefit. Some have a different experience, one that is unsettling. And while many meditators may object to this characterization, pointing out that their own experience of dukkha nanas was not so difficult, I would argue that most people who go through it with little trouble are not in the midst of therapy or suicidal.
People who have had this unexpected experience are growing in numbers and are starting to share with each other and with more traditional meditators. They have come to call the dukkha nanas the “dark night” after the Christian experience (some teachers believe they may be in the same mystical family if not the same thing). They are sharing and seeking advice on internet forums and in settings such as the Cheetah House and Dark Night Project where they feel they will not be told to simply “drop it” but will be supported in gaining understanding. They are an unseen, and as yet unrecognized, growing minority of western meditators. Many have no sangha, no formal teacher, no texts or canon, no philosophy or anything resembling “faith.” They are frequently alone, searching the Internet for anyone like themselves, trying to sift through the overwhelmingly positive pitch for meditation for some nugget of information that can illuminate their experience. Like refugees with no home, they do not understand what is happening to them or why, and they often do not know what to do or where to go for help.
This issue is not abstract for me and perhaps my own experience will shed light on why I care so much. Two years ago I received the green light from my teacher to begin teaching insight meditation. I put up a website, told those who knew me what I was up to, and waited to see who would be interested. While I made an effort to write in my own voice, which can be irreverent, what I presented was right down the middle vipassana. However, I did do one thing that was unusual and for which I am very grateful. I went against the common practice of downplaying the insight stages and instead put them front-and-center on the site. I did this because my teacher was clear about them with me, so I followed suit and was candid about them in my teaching. I made sure to include a rich description of the dukkha nanas and cautions to those who may be about to plunge into them. Unbeknownst to me this one gesture of understanding came to define my experience of teaching for the next two years, as the great majority of people who contacted me, and continue to contact me, are in the dark night. Most got into it through formal practice (amazingly, it doesn’t seem to matter much which technique or tradition). But I was alarmed when it seemed that a significant number, perhaps a third, learned to meditate from their therapist or from a group in a clinical setting. Sometimes they were actively suicidal at the time they learned to meditate. Interestingly, the majority never discussed their negative experiences while they were in therapy. Like the therapists themselves, they wanted to believe that meditation was helping, and so they dismissed what was occurring or blamed it on the thing that brought them to therapy in the first place.
As a psychologist this is more than a bit embarrassing, it is troubling. It is one of the ethical principles of psychology that no intervention is done without fully explaining the risks and benefits of the treatment. If an intervention could possibly cause distress, even mild distress, psychologists are ethically obligated to inform the person of this possibility and gain their informed consent before proceeding. Psychologists are not doing this when it comes to mindfulness meditation, chiefly because they do not know there are risks. But more and more people who have participated in it know that there are. This is not a situation created by malice, but by ignorance. Psychologists simply were not told this could ever happen, and were given the impression that the results of meditation were exclusively happiness, calm, and increased wellbeing. They are not to be blamed for this situation, as they have merely borrowed a problem that already existed in the way meditation was being taught to students in the west. It is a problem that continues and in some ways defines what “mainstream” meditation teaching is in the west.
While this is not psychology’s fault, it is only a matter of time before the consequences lay squarely on the shoulders of psychologists who teach mindfulness meditation. Sooner or later, those who teach it will learn about the progress of insight and the dark night. Either from writings like this or from patients themselves. When they do they will face an ethical dilemma about whether to continue teaching meditation in clinical settings. While meditation teachers can essentially “get away” with not telling people about the dark night, psychologists do not have this luxury. Ethically, we are obligated to acknowledge the risks and be cautious. This is not happening yet, but it is my sincere hope that those enamored of third wave CBT will examine not only the manuals and the studies, but look deeply into the descriptions of insight in the pali cannon. Even better, talk with meditators who have experienced a dark night, researchers who study it, or best of all dive into it and see what it is like. Psychologists might benefit most from going beyond mindfulness meditation, breaking loose of the manual, and seeing how far this practice can go. Then there might be more respect for the powerful, and sometimes life-shaking, changes that vipassana can create in the heart and mind. It is my hope that psychology will soon lose its infatuation with meditation, and begin to evaluate it as a tool for change in a more mature light, seeing both the promise and the dilemmas. Until this happens I expect the community of mindfulness meditation refugees to grow.
Recently I was following a debate between two meditators (yes, we do debate). It ended with one of the debaters, whose views had been soundly taken to task, accusing the other of “wrong speech.”George Orwell, I thought, could not have imagined a more ironic outcome.
For those who are not familiar, “right speech” is a Buddhist concept, and is one of the steps in the Buddha’s eightfold path. Although the intent behind right speech is to help people behave skillfully by being truthful and not hurting others with words, in practice it can be anything but useful. In fact, it can be used to squash dissent, shut out alternative views, and put the brakes on important and revolutionary ideas. Wrong thinking about right speech can be a hindrance to innovation and authentic sharing.
The Wrong Speech Accusation
Few things stop a person in their tracks faster than accusing them of wrong speech. For those protecting their attachment to a deeply held view, such an accusation can be a trump card, a way to hold off challenges to beliefs that have become an identity. This is especially true when the person accused of wrong speech is persistent, critical and direct. This is often when the wrong speech card gets played in Buddhist circles, and staying with right speech actually takes some guts.
Sometimes a person can be rough, or even harsh, but still be engaging in right speech. To some folks this might sound crazy, but it is totally true. In reality right speech can be both gentle and kind or strong and challenging. It can be encouraging or dissuading. It can comfort and it can push others out of their comfort zone. It can make you feel great and give you a boost, or it can challenge who you think you really are. The Buddha himself was extremely compassionate, but he also jumped into many heated debates to give his two cents, and even called people “stupid” when they made ridiculous assertions (MN 4.8).
How can this be so? Right speech is not determined by how it looks to others. It is determined by the intent of the speaker and the context in which it is spoken. It can look divisive, harsh and anything but compassionate. But if it nudges the listener and the speaker in the direction of honesty, self-examination and awakening, then it is skillful.
(One caveat: if you’re reading this you’re not likely a Buddha (harsh, I know). So, be cautious with the name-calling and attitude when debating others. If the mythology around the guy was any indication, he was likely perceived as being compassionate even when calling a person “stupid.”)
The Wrong Speech Cop-Out
Some people use right speech as a cop-out, as an excuse for not confronting bone-headed superstitious thinking or even injustice when it presents itself. For example, deciding not to tell a person that they are hurting others, when they clearly are, is an example of wrong speech. This is not at all academic. Consider for a moment the many scandals in Sanghas that began with a teacher verbally harassing and belittling students. The most common question after such scandals is: why didn’t anybody say anything? In such instances right speech would be considered harsh and divisive if it were done at the appropriate time.
Another example is not confronting a person when they are speaking or behaving in a bigoted manner, or staying silent while public figures espouse hateful views. We have all too many instances of this in our recent history. Not openly disagreeing with these views when you have an opportunity to do so is not skillful. People who are genuinely on the fence about racism, homophobia, sexism and other social ills hear your silence as agreement – and that is absolutely wrong speech.
The point is that silence is likely the most common form of wrong speech.
How Do I Engage Socially, Politically, and Still Use Right Speech?
If you want to engage in right speech you need to think before you speak. In particular you need to consider a few things before you say something:
Is this false?
Am I trying to hurt this person?
Am I trying to serve my ego? To boost myself up in some way, to make myself look important, smart, or cool?
Is saying this just serving a favored identity of mine?
Am I confused and trying to hide it?
If you answered yes to any of these, then it’s best not to say anything. In other words, check your motivations for speaking. If it is selfish, hurtful, or comes from a place of confusion, then abstain. However, I would add one caveat. Before abstaining ask yourself this question:
Am I simply avoiding speaking up because it will be uncomfortable?
If you answered yes to this, then reconsider. Don’t let misguided ideas of right speech get in the way of doing the right thing.
When I first began meditating and read about things like the “path,” “way” and “journey” I assumed that these terms are just metaphors that describe a kind of personal growth that takes place on one’s spiritual quest. I had a vague notion that if I meditated I would gradually become a better person, and that it was this personal transformation that was referred to by the language of “paths” and “journeys.”
Boy was I wrong. What I did not know when I first started, and regrettably took me years to find out, is that there is a clear and richly detailed description of what happens to a meditator from their first sit all the way to enlightenment, and this is what is actually meant by the term “path.”
The map of the path has been developed collaboratively by many master meditators over thousands of years, and can be found in ancient meditation manuals like the Vimuttimagga (The Path of Freedom) and the Visudimagga (The Path of Purification). It is also in relatively newer guides like Mahasi Saydaw’s The Progress of Insight. Some modern-day descriptions are out there as well, and can be found in Jack Kornfield’s Living Dharma and A Path with Heart. However, the clearest modern descriptions of the path can be found in Mastering the Core Teachings of the Buddha by Daniel Ingram and In This Very Life by Sayadaw U Pandita.
What the map shows is that there are a series of predictable states and stages that constitute the “path.” Like signposts on the way to enlightenment, the states and stages are signals that one is doing the technique correctly and making progress. These signposts are universal, automatic and impersonal. They happen to everyone who does the technique correctly and have nothing to do with personal growth or individual needs. Rather, they provide a way of seeing clearly into the nature of reality. There are 17 stages on the path to enlightenment, and I will describe each one in detail, but first I would like to present the theory upon which the whole thing sits…
To understand the map, and the path in general, it is useful (but not necessary) to understand the underlying theory. If the map describes what states and stages one experiences, the theory describes why one experiences them. In other words, the theory answers the question: what is it a map of?
To understand the theory it might help to start with what actually happens in meditation. Insight meditation, or Vipassana, is “clear seeing” of anything and everything that happens to us in the moment. So, when we do insight meditation we pay very close attention to our experience in the moment and try to see it as clearly as possible. When we do this we soon see that everything in experience follows a similar pattern of arising and disappearing in awareness. It doesn’t matter if it is a thought, feeling or a sensation, it arises and passes away in awareness in the same way. This might seem a little trivial at first glance, but it is actually a radical insight if you fully get it. Everything that you experience is impermanent in the sense that, no matter what it is, it follows the exact same pattern of arising and falling in awareness:
Any experience in awareness would roughly have that same shape through time, whether it was an itch, a thought, a craving for chocolate, or bad mood.
Our attention cannot clearly apprehend this arising and passing without special training, especially very quick successions of arising and passing away, and that is what meditation does: trains the mind to see how all things come and go in awareness at a very fine-grained level.
So this is all pretty geeky, but how does it lead to enlightenment? The reason that this knowledge is useful is because we can use it to experience Nirvana, and ultimately it is experiencing Nirvana which leads to enlightenment. Nirvana is essentially what you experience when you follow all sensations to their very end – they cease completely, and in that moment of cessation Nirvana is there. Nirvana is the unconditioned, the foundation, ground, background, the page upon which existence is written. All phenomena arise and fall out of existence, but Nirvana is always there when everything vanishes. By becoming an expert at watching phenomena closely and training your mind to follow all phenomena as they disappear, you are training the mind to catch a “glimpse” of Nirvana in that sweet spot when the sensations have ceased.
How does this actually work in practice? When we sit to meditate and begin noting our experience, the mind does a very surprising thing. All by itself, the mind begins to sync up on the arising part of the wave-form of all phenomena happening in that moment. For reasons that I have not yet fully understood, when meditation is done properly the mind begins to focus on just one part of the wave-form of phenomena, and it likes to start at the beginning. So, as you are sitting and you notice an itch, then a sound, then a thought and so on, the mind is actually noticing just the arising of those things, just the beginning. Then, an even more amazing thing happens, as you continue attention begins to move along the wave-like structure. You journey along and the mind syncs up on the peak of phenomena arising and passing, and rides the high crest of sensate experience. Then as you continue down the path the mind begins to sync up on the disintegration of phenomena in experience, noticing all the endings of things. Eventually, you get to the far end of the tail of the wave, and attention begins to focus on the instant where phenomena completely cease to be. When the mind fully syncs up with the complete ending of all phenomena it experiences a moment in which all phenomena disappear for a moment, and this is “the mind alighting upon Nirvana” as Mahasi Sayadaw put it so well.
The theory behind the “path” is that essentially it is a process of attention following the birth and arising of sensations, to their peak, to their falling away and utter disappearance. When the mind fully experiences their disappearance, or cessation, it experiences something that lays beyond all of the phenomenal world and which changes the mind of the meditator permanently. It is called it “Nirvana” in the ancient suttas, which simply means “extinction” or “to go out.” When the meditator experiences Nirvana enough times, a profound and subtle shift occurs within them, deep insights become permanently fixed in the forefront of awareness, and certain illusions are seen for what they are. This is enlightenment.
The Map of the Path
I divide the map in five overall sections, each with a series of stages. While the stages themselves are standard and can be found in the Vissudimagga and Mahasi Saydaw’s The Progress of Insight, the sections are my creation. I created the sections because they help to organize the path in a way that, I believe, makes the overall experience more understandable. The sections are the Physio-Cognitive Stage (which covers the initial rising arc of the wave-form), The Arising and Passing Away (which rests upon the top of the wave), Extinction (which covers the downhill side of the wave-form), Equanimity (which is at the leveling-off on the far tail of the wave) and Cessation (where the wave ends).
The overall path, from first sit to Nirvana, looks like this. To learn about a section of the path, click the name of the stage (currently under construction).
1. Mind and Body
2. Cause and Effect
3. Three Characteristics
9. Desire for Deliverance
12. Insight Leading to Emergence
People meditate for a lot of reasons. I’ve heard people explain that they meditate to be a “better person”, or as a kind of low-cost alternative to therapy, or simply to relax. However, there is a big difference between what is often promoted as meditation and real insight meditation. Many versions of meditation that are taught are not much more than mystical versions of self-soothing. However, if you learn to do insight meditation properly you will find that there is a huge difference between what we are told meditation is for and what it is actually like. We find that with true insight meditation we do not necessarily become a better person and it is likely that we will become a lot less relaxed (at least for a time).
With real insight meditation you will find yourself identifying less and less with the very idea of being a “better” person. All those personal goals that might have prompted you to meditate in the first place will start to ring hollow. If you do the technique properly you will indeed relax somewhat at first, and this a great thing. However, this will be a prelude to moving along the progress of insight and right into what St. John of the Cross called the “Dark Night.”
The Downside of Meditation – What you need to know
The “Dark Night” in Christianity, also known as “the knowledge of suffering” in Buddhism, is a stage in which the meditator experiences “misery”, “fear” and “desire for deliverance.” During this part of the path you are likely to be a pretty unhappy camper, and for those living with you, they’ll likely wonder why on earth you chose to meditate in the first place. As my wife once diplomatically explained, living with a meditator in the midst of the Dark Night “is the opposite of fun.” Not only will you not be a better person or more relaxed, you may seem a lot worse off than before!
So if good meditation leads to misery, makes you cranky and disconnects you from what you once thought were valuable personal goals, why would anyone ever do it?
Enlightenment: The purpose of meditation
Forget what you have been told about meditation making you more relaxed, less irritable, or a better person. Forget about any goal related to “me” in meditation. Because ultimately, the reason to meditate is to outgrow all of that, and completely let go of “me.” The reason to meditate is to become enlightened.
Enlightenment is the completion of the process that is started when one begins to meditate seriously. Enlightenment happens when the process of waking up to the truth of non-self becomes irreversible. It is the shift from being all-consumed by the drama of a “self” to the realization that the self and all its problems and fantasies were never real in the first place. Being a better person? As insight deepens the idea of becoming a better self seems a bit laughable. After all, who becomes better?
Making a Fully Informed Choice
Why would you, a self, want to wake up? What is the benefit of enlightenment? A lot of the sales-pitches of meditation out there make it sound like a great thing for the self: being more relaxed and a better “me”, who wouldn’t want that? But now that you know that the sales-pitch is essentially BS, you have to ask yourself, why meditate? The path is not easy. Like any other serious goal in life – getting a college degree, running a marathon, raising a family – it is a lot of work and not always a lot of fun. The truth is that, to a “self,” there really is no tangible benefit at all. From the perspective of the self it just makes no sense at all to wake up, in the same way that it makes no sense to the dreamer to get out of bed. The dream is awfully interesting, so why wake up?
If you are not interested in waking up – then don’t. If you simply cannot understand why anyone would ever want to see the self as a fiction, do not start meditating. This might seem like radical advice, but it really isn’t. If you have not started down the path of awakening in earnest, and you really aren’t interested in enlightenment, I’d recommend not getting started at all.
The reason that I give this advice is because there is what I would call a “point of no return” on the path, where the meditator has to finish. Unfortunately, this point comes right at the Dark Night, and if you don’t finish the path you remain stuck in the Dark Night. That sucks. You cannot go back to sleep, so to speak, and yet you aren’t fully awake. You know something is wrong, and feel terribly out of sync with reality. If you stop meditating at this point you stop making progress and stay in misery.
The reason to meditate that most experienced meditators give is “to end suffering.” And though it is correct to understand this to mean the suffering of life itself, there is also a deeper meaning: that the reason to meditate is to end the suffering inherent in the path itself. Advanced practitioners want to awaken because they are tired of being on the path, tired of being stuck in the twilight between awake and asleep. If you aren’t prepared to work your way through that twilight, don’t begin the path, and do not take up a meditation practice.
So Why Do It?
Ultimately, the answer to the question “why meditate?” is “I don’t know.” That is meant very literally. The “I” cannot know.
Even though the sense of “I” doesn’t know why, there is still a drive that impels some people to meditate. It is an undercurrent in your life that nags at you that is much deeper than the “I.” You may not fully understand what it is, and you will likely express it in all kinds of ways, but when you hear that there is a way to wake up from the dream of the self, you will be intrigued.
If you are one of these people, you just know it. For you, the reason to practice is because you are driven to do so. You’ve likely tried to be a “better person” and that seems empty. Trying to relax seems like a temporary fix to a problem with no name. The drive that moves you to meditate is the same one that has moved thousands of enlightened folks over centuries: you know something isn’t right but you can’t quite put your finger on it.
This is what is meant by the first noble truth of Buddhism; that life is “suffering.” More accurately, the dream called “me” is dissatisfying. If you feel that in your heart, if you are tired of being in the dream, you don’t need any more reason than that to meditate.