Into the Heart of Life (23 page)

The sixth verse points to the wonderful opportunities we may meet in life to further develop our compassion and patience:

Even if someone whom I have helped

And in whom I have placed my hopes

Does great wrong by harming me,

May I see them as an excellent spiritual friend.

When we feel let down by those in whom we have placed our trust, instead of feeling upset and betrayed, we can learn to see through it. This is the ultimate test. It often happens in families and other sorts of relationships that those who at one time were close and loving end up as bitter enemies. This is tragic because everybody suffers. Nobody gains. But one could take conflict and transform it. One could see it as a supreme spiritual challenge. Instead of falling into enmity, anger, and bitterness, one could open the heart to understanding and compassion and give love in place of hatred.

But seeing this clearly is hard for human beings all over the world. Parents turn against their children; children turn against their parents; siblings blame each other; husbands and wives divorce with acrimony; business partners fall out. Nobody wins in these situations. This verse offers us a way to turn such situations right around. Instead of ending up angry and bitter for the rest of our lives, our hearts have the remarkable opportunity to open up. The whole point is that we have to use our lives for something worthwhile. If we just carry on with the same kind of reactivity as an animal possesses, then we have basically wasted this lifetime.

The seventh verse refers to a practice which in Tibetan is called
tonglen
. It is traditionally a very popular practice, and most practitioners, great lamas included, engage in it. Tonglen is the practice in which we take the pain and suffering of others and give out our goodness and happiness.

In brief, directly or indirectly,

May I give all help and joy to my mothers,

And may I take all their harm and pain

Secretly upon myself.

In this practice of tonglen,
tong
means to give out and
len
means to receive: it is a practice of giving and taking. There are two main applications for tonglen: as a meditation practiced for those who are sick or in trouble, and as a meditation practiced for oneself when one is sick and in trouble. But the basic idea is the same in both. The common sense idea would be that we expel all negativities from ourselves and draw in the light. Everybody can understand that. But in tonglen that is reversed. We call in the darkness, and we send out the light. The easiest way to explain tonglen is to simply share in the practice.

Tonglen

Imagine before you someone that you care for, someone who is suffering, either physically or mentally. If you are not good at visualizing, at least get a feeling that this person is with you, right here. Right now. You can even look at a photograph if you have one. The point is to have a sense of their presence and to picture their suffering.

Now, with the in-breath, inhale that suffering in the form of black light or smoke. It is like being a vacuum cleaner: we suck in all this person’s pain and all the negative karma that has created it.

Take in this dark light along with the breath. The dark light goes down into the center of our chest, where there is a small black spot, like a black pearl, which represents that deep dark point of our self-cherishing mind. Normally, however much suffering we see in others, and however much compassion and empathy we may feel for them, we still keep something at the back of our mind that says, “I’m glad it’s not me!” Drawing in this dark light strikes at that point. It counteracts all our usual instincts for self-preservation.

As the dark light dissolves into the black pearl of our self-cherishing, the black spot instantly transforms into a brilliant diamond that represents the true nature of the mind: luminous, clear, cognizant, pure awareness. And empty! This is our buddha nature, which is always present. Like a diamond, it can never, ever be tainted, no matter how much dirt and darkness is absorbed.

It is important that the incoming dark light strike this small black spot of self-cherishing at the center of our chest. We don’t hold our breath; rather, the spot instantly transforms into a diamond of clear pure light that then radiates out on the exhalation.

Just as a diamond cannot ever be defiled however much dirt or mud we stick on it, likewise the pure nature of the mind can never be defiled no matter how much darkness we inhale. The nature of the mind is always totally pure.

So then, from this perfect diamond in the center of the heart radiates out a tremendously bright clear light which represents all our wisdom, compassion, good karma—everything that is positive and good within ourselves. It travels out with the outgoing breath, washes over, and dissolves into the person we have imagined in front of us.

This process of giving and taking rides on the breath. The incoming breath brings in the darkness; the outgoing breath gives out the light. It is a very simple concept.

Tonglen can be very useful when we visit someone in the hospital, or anyone who is troubled or sick or dying. We can just sit there, breathing, engaging in this visualization on their behalf while they are unaware of it. Often when we are in the presence of great suffering we feel so helpless, and this practice is something we can do quietly, without any notice or cause for concern. If we were to get down on our knees and pray or wave incense over our sick friend or relative, it might be embarrassing for all concerned. But with tonglen practice, no one has to know that we are doing the most that we possibly can to benefit them. As to the matter of distance, if our motivation is sincere, then it makes no difference. If we are really concentrating on that person, our ideas of near and far are relative. When we conceive with sincerity that they are present, then tonglen works just the same.

In the Tibetan tradition, tonglen is frequently practiced when one is sick or troubled. When asked what meditations they practice when they are ill or even dying, many practitioners, including great lamas, reply that they practice tonglen. For example, imagine we have cancer. We draw in on our in-breath all the cancer in the world in the form of dark light, and on the out-breath we send out, in the form of light, all the health and happiness from our inexhaustible pure nature and all the good karma we have ever created to all those beings who are suffering from this disease. With tonglen, we make use of what is actually happening. Instead of just lying there, feeling sorry for ourselves, we can use our own difficulties as a means of genuine benefit—for others, through compassion and pure intention, and for ourselves, as we reduce our self-cherishing attitude.

The last verse of our text draws us yet deeper into our self-inquiry.

May none of this ever be sullied

By thoughts of the eight worldly concerns.

May I see all things as illusions

And, without attachment, gain freedom from bondage.

“May none of this”—meaning all of the verses which exhort us to deepen our understanding and practice of mind training—”ever be sullied / By thoughts of the eight worldly concerns.” The eight worldly concerns are gain and loss, praise and blame, good reputation and bad reputation, and pleasure and pain. Usually we all want gain and praise, a good reputation, and pleasure; and usually we try to avoid the other side of these mind states. We should not be motivated, the eighth verse enjoins us, to put others before ourselves just to gain some benefit. As we know, we have to ascertain our strengths and weaknesses and be very honest with ourselves.

There are three levels of involvement as we engage our Buddhist practice. First, we hear or read about the subject. Then, we intellectually absorb it and inquire into it, as we try to understand exactly what it is all about. Finally, we put our learning into action—we try to become what we have intellectually understood. This is very important. It is naive at best to imagine that the minute we try something we become instantly proficient. We need to train in our practice, as with any other skill.

The
Eight Verses of Mind Training
counters all our normal instincts of self-preservation. And so we need not only to hear about it, we need to get used to the idea. Our present-day culture promotes the notion of self and self-enhancement, and how one can manipulate others to gain advantage—or maybe I should say, how to manipulate ourselves for the advantage of others! Naturally then, some of these ideas need time to percolate through our consciousness, and it is not surprising if initially there is resistance. Actually, resistance can be a good sign, because it means that one has understood what these verses imply. If we just think, “Oh, very nice,” and put the text aside, this means we have not really understood what is being offered here. Of course all genuine Buddhist practice is about seeing through the delusions of ego and cultivating the path of wisdom and compassion. The
Eight Verses of Mind Training
is a direct confrontation with our self-cherishing mind from the point of view of everyday life, not only our meditation practice on the cushion. And so for that reason, the author of these verses, Geshe Langri Thangpa, enjoins us to be careful of our motivation and not try to practice this bodhisattva path in order to gain a good reputation, for example, so that everybody will exclaim what a lovely and compassionate person we are. The other side of this state is fear: if we do not act like a bodhisattva, we fear people will criticize us and our reputation will diminish. Either way, an impure worldly mentality is revealed. Our motivation should be inspired purely by our deep empathy and compassion for others and our wish to relieve them of their suffering. But may I emphasize here that the Buddha called Dharma the path of joy, and we should not use this teaching of putting others before ourselves as a way to suppress and demean ourselves, or to feel guilty any time we experience delight. That is still an ego-based approach.

A story comes to me. My grandmother was one of those women who, if you took her out and offered to buy her a nice piece of cake, she would say, “Oh no, don’t bother. I don’t need to have anything special. I am quite happy to just have that little piece over there which doesn’t look very good. It’s all right. Don’t worry about me.” Of course you would give her an extra big piece of cake just to make her feel better, but that kind of false self-denigration is not what we are talking about at all.

A clear example of what we do mean is someone like His Holiness the Dalai Lama: when you see him in action, you see that he is always there for others. When they meet him, people are always struck how, in that moment, they are the only one who exists for him. It doesn’t matter who they are—he is completely on their side. There was a lovely photo of him that appeared on the cover of a Dharma magazine, and it showed a security guard standing with his rifle. Walking past him, his back to us, His Holiness has put out his hand, touching the man as he goes by. His Holiness is reaching out to him, acknowledging him. And the man is beaming.

His Holiness is always so cheerful. But if you tell him something sad, he will cry—his heart is completely open. He doesn’t care about it being considered unmanly to cry. If it is something sad, he just weeps, being completely with you. But five minutes later, he is laughing. There is so much joy emanating from him, and this is the point. His Holiness has such joy because he is not concerned with himself. He is totally concerned with others and with making others happy. And that gives him tremendous energy and delight. It does not make him grumpy or bitter.

At the age of twenty-five, His Holiness attained the Geshe Lharampa degree, which is the highest degree in Tibetan scholastic circles. He is extremely intelligent and learned. He has also engaged in a lot of advanced meditation practices, yet when we meet him he seems so simple. He is not considering, “I am a great pandit; I am a great scholar!” In fact, he always says, “I am just a simple monk.” Even hard-core journalists when they meet him are very affected by his presence and often leave their meetings with tears in their eyes. They can’t fathom how he has such ability to touch people. But of course, this is true not just of His Holiness the Dalai Lama but of many great lamas. However, since he is the Dalai Lama, we all know him. He is generally the one Buddhist whom the ordinary person the world over knows. And it is very fortunate for us that His Holiness is the image of a Buddhist that most people know. His Holiness recites this very text, the
Eight Verses of Mind Training,
every day. He has based his life on it.

We have been exploring thus far what is called relative bodhichitta. It assumes that there is a subject and an object, and is based on the concept of self and others: one puts others in place of oneself. But this implies duality. When people are ill-natured, for example, we take them nonetheless to be our spiritual friends. This is all very good, but it assumes that there are self-existent individuals who interact with one another. The last two lines of the eighth verse, however, point us toward ultimate bodhichitta.