the middle way of mediocrity.doc

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The Middle Way of Mediocrity

"One is wealthy in direct proportion to one's contentment with what onealready has. One is in poverty in direct proportion to what one feels onelacks."

A few years ago I told a wise monk, a Burmese sayadaw named U Jotika(or in Burmese, Mahamyaing U Zawtika), about some experiences I had had,and he advised me to share the story with others. Also, I have a strangetendency to make embarrassing confessions to people I hardly know, or inthis case even to total strangers. So, bearing this in mind, I would like todescribe a counterintuitive development in my spiritual progress thatoccurred several years ago. I suspect that the introductory story leading upto this development will be somewhat long in telling.

Since the time of my ordination I have had a reputation for being very

strict in my practice. I studied the rules of monastic discipline intensively andextensively, inside and out; and there was a time when I could go for weekswithout being aware of breaking any rules or having anything to confess,except perhaps for looking into a mirror when I shaved. (A monk is notallowed to look into a mirror unless he is inspecting a sore on his face;although a famous Thai book on monastic discipline says looking into one forshaving should be allowable.) I held a dim view of lax monks and ofcommentarial loopholes in the rules. (For example, a monk is not allowed toeat sugar in the afternoon unless he is unwell---but the commentary saysthat being hungry is a kind of unwellness. Another example: a monk is notallowed to keep more than one set of robes, but later tradition says that if a

monk calls them "accessory cloth" (parikkhra-cola) he may keep as manyrobes as he likes. Because of these loopholes, which even some strict monksexploit, there is a Burmese saying, "If one is skillful in the rules one may kill achicken.") I also practiced some of the optional ascetic practices calleddhutaga. I used to be accused of being overly strict, a fundamentalist, andeven "Hassidic." I would read ancient Buddhist texts like the Sutta Niptaand, comparing myself with the iron monks described therein, despisemyself for being so wimpy and lax---sleeping too much, reading too much,living in an almost comfortable monastery, knowing exactly where I wouldsleep that night and exactly where I would receive my next meal.

So, trying to live up to a lofty ideal, I eventually started living alone in

Burmese forests, and once during the year 2000 went approximately tenmonths without entering a building. I slept on the ground under a rock ledge,bathed in a creek, and crapped under the open sky like an animal. It waspossibly, all in all, the most miserable year of my life. I would go out andwrestle with the devil in the wilderness, so to speak, and the devil usuallycleaned my clocks. He mopped the floor with me. I felt as though myconscious mind had become a battlefield, with the opponents being, inChristian terms, flesh and spirit, or in Freudian terms, id and superego;


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although the terminology of J. Krishnamurti may be more apposite: the realand the ideal. It seemed that all the easy spiritual gains had been made, andthat the situation had degenerated into World War One style trench warfare,with tremendous efforts expended for barely noticeable results. I wasfrustrated, hysterical, and unhappy much of the time. It seemed that the

best I could realistically hope for was the third individual described in a textcalled the Cadhammasamdna Sutta (M45):And what, monks, is a Way taken upon oneself that is uneasy in the presentbut has the fruition of ease in the future? Here, monks, someone by nature isvery prone to desire, and continually experiences unease and unhappinessborne of desire; he is by nature very prone to aversion, and continuallyexperiences unease and unhappiness borne of aversion; he is by nature veryprone to delusion, and continually experiences unease and unhappinessborne of delusion. Yet with unease and with unhappiness, crying and withtearful face, he lives the Holy Life complete and pure. He, at the breaking upof the body, after death, arises in a Higher Realm, in a heavenly world.

Visions of gorgeous, voluptuous celestial nymphs in a paradisical Buddhistafterlife fueled my strivings for a while. I became a follower of the RockyBalboa school of Buddhism: not so much trying to win the contest as justrefusing to throw in the towel and endeavoring to stay on my feet the fulltwelve rounds.

Then, late in 2002, I became ill with what the local villagers called"seasonal fever," a malady apparently caused by violent swings oftemperature, humidity, and barometric pressure at the tail end of themonsoon season knocking one's metabolism out of kilter. It deprived me ofthe few pleasures still allowed to a Theravada Buddhist monk---eating,sleeping, bathing, and of course meditation. Food revolted me (it wasn't all

that great even when I was well); I lay awake nights with insomnia and coldsweats; due to the fever I was exhorted by a doctor to bathe as little aspossible; and my meditation was absolutely on the rocks. To make mattersworse, the situation arose at the beginning of a blazing tropical heat waveand a streak of karmic bad luck. Almost the only joy I experienced wasinspired by visits from a relatively attractive young Burmese village womanwho brought me medicine, fruit juice, and kind words; but that is a rathertroubling sort of joy for a celibate monk. I began falling in love with her.

It occurred to me that if after so many years of diligent Dhamma practiceI could still hit rock bottom like this, that I could still be deprived of virtuallyall contentment and consolation in life, then my efforts to liberate myselffrom suffering and delusion were probably in vain. I brooded upon thiscontinually and became depressed. The fever lasted a month or so, and thedepression lasted a few months longer, but for more than a year there was alingering sense of futility and hopelessness in what I was doing with my life.It seemed that I could notproperly live the Holy Life complete and pure andcould notbe a good monk. I developed a deep sympathy for certainpassages that I would find in books, like this one by Martin Luther:


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I remember that Staupitz was wont to say, "I have vowed unto God above athousand times that I would become a better man: but I never performedthat which I vowed. Hereafter I will make no such vow: for I have nowlearned by experience that I am not able to perform it. Unless, therefore,God be favorable and merciful unto me for Christ's sake, I shall not be able,

with all my vows and all my good deeds, to stand before him." This (ofStaupitz's) was not only a true, but also a godly and a holy desperation (---quoted in The Varieties of Religious Experience, by William James)

Or this somewhat less optimistic one by Schopenhauer:Hence we get the strange fact that everyone considers himself to be a prioriquite free, even in his individual actions, and imagines he can at anymoment enter upon a different way of life, which is equivalent to saying thathe can become a different person. But a posteriori, through experience, hefinds to his astonishment that he is not free, but liable to necessity; thatnotwithstanding all his resolutions and reflections he does not change hisconduct, and that from the beginning to the end of his life he must bear the

same character that he himself condemns, and, as it were, must play to theend the part he has taken upon himself.

And so, with all this weighing heavily in my mind, I finally threw up myhands in despair and gave up. I wrote a letter to my teacher and greatbenefactor ven. Taungpulu Kyauk Sin Tawya Sayadaw telling him I had givenup, that I was apparently unable to eradicate my imperfections in this lifeand had reconciled myself to being a mediocre monk. I had no intention ofdropping out of the monkhood, as I deeply resonated with the simple, quiet,and rough lifestyle, but I just wanted to stop struggling and to have somerelative peace of mind. I wrote a letter to my father saying essentially the

same thing. Then, about two days after finishing the letters, mainly to givemyself an excuse not to sleep all day long, I began writing an essay on theThree Marks of Existence---inconstancy, unease, and no self---an intuitive,experiential understanding of which is considered to be the essence of trueinsight in Theravada Buddhist philosophy. And within a few days of beginningthe essay, something remarkable happened: I began spontaneously enteringmild trance states, so that I would be walking around with my eyes wideopen and my feet barely touching the ground. Furthermore, I beganexperiencing some really lovely, lucid mindfulness intermittently throughoutthe day, which was also spontaneous and seemingly effortless. For example,while drawing water at the well I would experience very clearly the feelings

of the well rope in my hands, the movements and sensations of my musclesas I pulled the rope, the heaviness of the bucket, the feel of the breeze onmy skin, and on and on. Also, my meditative practice became drasticallyimproved, so that I was able to sit with my mind wide awake, silent, andclear like glass every day for several months, which for me is unprecedented.I do not often meditate very well.

Also during this time valuable insights arose. A strange one occurred oneafternoon when I was descending a stone stairway on my way to the well to


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take my daily bath. As I walked down the steps I suddenly beganexperiencing rather severe abdominal cramps. This was not very unusual, asthe weather is hot and the villagers who fed me have no refrigerators; so itwas pretty likely that I had eaten some curry that was a bit "off" thatmorning. Anyway, I was doubled over in pain, and anyone who saw my face

might have thought I was dying. I considered that in all likelihood I'd bemaking around three emergency trips to the outhouse that night. Rightabout that same time it also started raining unexpectedly; and because Iown only one set of robes and had not brought an umbrella I was alsoconsidering that I'd be wearing a wet robe the following day. Then, as Islowly walked down the steps doubled over in pain and getting soaked in thedownpour, a spontaneous shift in perspective occurred: It seemed as thoughall the commotion---the pain, the expectations of midnight trots to theouthouse, and the gratuitous drench in the rain---was like waves at thesurface of a body of water, but that "I," the center of awareness, was deeperdown where it was quiet and still, looking up and noticing the waves at the

surface, but not being moved by them. I was still doubled over in pain, andanyone who saw me might still think I was dying, but the experience was sobeautiful and so profound that I nearly wept for joy; just the knowledge thatsuch a blissful, detached state is possible, even in the midst of trouble, wasand is an indescribable blessing.

Another insight arose more gradually, as I meditated day after day: I hadlong considered that suffering is essentially a matter of refusing to acceptthe way things are, of struggling against What Is---but it finally dawned onme that this applies not only to external circumstances like weather, badfood, and bad company, but to one's own internal mental states as well. Inother words, if I wish to be enlightened I should patiently, consciously,

compassionately, and whole-heartedly accept my own "defilements." Thisdoesn't mean that I should wallow in them or reinforce them, but it doesmean that I shouldn't struggle against them either. Wallowing in ("takingup") is one extreme, and struggling against ("putting down") is the other; theMiddle Way goes between these two. And if out of weakness or foolishness Ido wallow in unskillful mental states or struggle against them, well, then Ishould whole-heartedly accept that too, without struggling against it. As theteacher Paul Lowe says, don't be against your own againstness. Conscious,aware acceptance is key, with control being largely if not wholly irrelevant.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with yogic effort, of course, but if westrive spiritually it should be out of love for spiritual striving, not out of

aversion for our own supposed imperfections. And if you who is reading thisare able to be a perfectly virtuous saint, then by all means be one, with mysincere blessings upon you; but if you are not able, then don't. It may notreally matter. A saint and an enlightened sage are not necessarily the sameperson. It may be that one logical conclusion of Schopenhauer's quote aboveis this statement by Krishnamurti:You have a concept of what you should be and how you should act, and allthe time you are in fact acting quite differently; so you see that principles,


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beliefs and ideals must inevitably lead to hypocrisy and a dishonest life. It isthe ideal that creates the opposite to what is, so if you know how to be with"what is," then the opposite is not necessary. (---from Freedom from theKnown)

Or consider the following verses from the Mahviyha Sutta, a very ancient

discourse from the Sutta Nipta:

If he is fallen away from his morality and observancesHe is agitated, having failed in his action;He prays for and aspires to pure freedom from wrongLike one who has lost his caravan and is far from home.

But having abandoned all morality and observancesAnd that action that is criticized or uncriticized,Not aspiring to "purity" or "non-purity,"He would live refraining, not taking hold even of peace.

Or in the words of the Devil (alias William Blake), "Prisons are built withstones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion." As some of you may recall, itwas the knowledge of Good and Evil that got Adam and Eve kicked out ofParadise. Compassion is heavenly, but judgements of right or wrong are hell.Yet hell isn't necessarily right or wrong; it's just hell.

Incidentally, after the expansive experiences described above Iconsidered the possibility that I had seen a glimpse of enlightenment andwas consequently, in Buddhist terms, an Ariya; but, like anything else thathas a beginning, the expanded states also had an end, and eventuallypassed. It is interesting that these experiences began while I was working on

an article on the Three Marks (now included on the website nippapanca.org),as a knowledge of these marks is considered by orthodox tradition to lead toliberating insight. More interestingly, it began very shortly after I threw upmy hands and gave up. Much of the spiritual literature of the world endorsesthe idea that simply letting go of the struggle is often a key factor insignificant spiritual growth, or even in full awakening---especially if theletting go occurs when the tension of the struggle has approached thebreaking point. Mere laxness, or giving up almost as soon as one has begunstriving, tends not to work so well.

The insightful experience of the winter and spring of 2004 resulted in agreat experiment. The experiment was essentially to continue living a

monk's life, but within a context of unrepentant mediocrity. My years ofstrictness established some pretty good habits, so I haven't gone entirely toseed, plus my temperament remains pretty much the same as before,although I certainly am not quite as strict as I used to be, and am lessfrustrated and "uptight." After the experience, even while still living in cavesin Burma I would look deeply into the eyes of pretty girls, work offfrustrations by occasionally drawing erotic pictures (I can draw well), andslap the occasional mosquito, to mention just a few of my lapses of virtue.


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Since my return to the USA I've gone even wilder---I've listened to music,watched movies, consumed a few mind-altering chemicals, and have evenenjoyed the physical touch of a female, although I have willingly undergonethe required penance for such breaches of the rules. I suspect that next yearI'll be somewhat more restrained in my behavior, although I really can't say I

regret my relative relaxation of restraint, and make no apologies. I havecalled it my Great Experiment in Mediocrity.

Buddhism Meets Skepticism

Being a stereotypical Westerner who thinks too much, I lack the sort offaith that is richly possessed by the majority of people born and raised in asystem like Buddhism. I look at Buddhism from the outside as well as theinside, and do not take the truth of the scriptures for granted (the taking for

granted of which being practically required in more faith-based traditions). Iattempt to use critical thought, compare Buddhism with other traditions, andindulge in some Devil's-Advocate-style skepticism from time to time.Although some conservatives might consider me to be a heretic, possibly noteven a Buddhist, I consider a hard look at one's own philosophy of life to bevital for avoiding the unnecessary gambles of blind dogmatic belief; and thefollowing paragraphs are a rather extreme hard look at something which,believe it or not, I consider to be sacred.
http://thebahiyablog.blogspot.com/2012/07/buddhism-meets-skepticism.htmlhttp://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zn3znLBld1k/UJ2ktl9gIhI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/S_Kdpp6JrOw/s1600/standing+on+the+wall.jpghttp://thebahiyablog.blogspot.com/2012/07/buddhism-meets-skepticism.html


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* * *Please consider that nobody on this planetcan logically, demonstratively

prove the following four points:1. That a great Indian sage called Gotama Buddha ever really existed;2. Even if he did exist, that he was a fully enlightened being;

3. Even if he did exist and was a fully enlightened being, that he alwaysspoke the truth (or that any fully enlightened being necessarily alwaysspeaks the truth); and

4. Even if Gotama Buddha really, historically existed, and was a fullyenlightened being, and always spoke the truth, that the Pali Buddhisttexts accurately, reliably represent what he said.

As I say, nobody on this planet can reallyprove ANY of the above fourpoints---yet most Theravada Buddhists, and of course most Asian TheravadaBuddhist scholar-monks, take for granted the truth ofall of them, and even

most Western monks stubbornly persist in insisting on at least the first three.(A similar state of affairs is found in other traditions, like Christianity---forexample, who can reallyprove that an ancient Galilean carpenter's sonnamed Yeshua was the only begotten Son of God Almighty, or that he wasborne of a virgin, or that he died for our sins?)

With regard to the first of the four points, I do consider it very likely thatfrom the point of view of conventional truth (as opposed to Ultimate Truth)Gotama Buddha was a real historical personage. It does seem pretty darnlikely. But a hardheaded skeptic could easily retort that even DNA analysis ofthe Buddha's relics, like pieces of charred bone dug out of a reliquarypagoda, would not really prove his existence. We cannot demonstrativelyprove even the existence of Abraham Lincoln or Winston Churchill, despitemountains of historical evidence, and in Churchill's case people old enoughto have known him. As the philosopher Bertrand Russell once pointed out, forall we know some deity with a strange sense of humor could have createdthis universe half an hour ago, and created us with memories implanted inour heads of events which never actually took place, along with bogus scars,a fossil record, etc. It sounds pretty far-fetched, but there is really no way toprove that it isn't so.

As for the second point, I admit that I use the Buddha's enlightenment asa very convenient working hypothesis; but I also admit that there is no wayto prove it. Even if the Buddha were alive today and standing in front of apanel of experts they couldn't reallyprove that he was fully enlightened.How could anyone prove such a thing? Perhaps enlightened sages couldclairvoyantly look into the past and clearly see that the Buddha really was aBuddha, but how could the sages prove it to anyone else? We couldn't safelytake their word for it, partly because we couldn't prove that they wereenlightened either.


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The third point is more problematic. For example, in the Pali textsthemselves there is some evidence which suggests that fully enlightenedbeings may occasionally be mistaken. For example in the canonical history ofthe First Council the members of the Council, who reportedly were allenlightened, did not agree on what constituted lesser, minor rules of

discipline (and they presumably couldn't all be right); and in the rules ofdiscipline themselves there is a story in which the Buddha allowed certainmedicines for sick monks, but that these medicines, taken in the way theBuddha allowed, only made them sicker. The Buddha is also portrayed asendorsing ancient Indian cosmology with a flat earth floating on waterandso on, and so on. One may argue that with the cessation of delusion onewould always know the truth; but perhaps the truth that is realized is largelyirrelevant to the phenomenal world of delusion in which we are wallowing.Would an enlightened being necessarily know how to repair a carburetor?How to speak fluent Swahili? How to work out equations in integral calculus?Then again on the other hand, could an enlightened being deliberately tell a

lie? The Pali texts say that one cannot, but the reliability of those texts isalso at issue. One possible example of a "dishonest" enlightened being inmodern times is Neem Karoli Baba, who, according to his own devotees,could not be trusted to keep his promises---yet who was extremely highlyadvanced spiritually. It would seem that an enlightened being absolutelyincapable of lying would be thereby limited, and thus not entirely free. Or soit would seem.

The fourth point is not all that controversial outside of very Theravadincountries like Burma, where faith far outweighs critical thought on suchmatters as Religion. Most Western Theravada Buddhists, including mostWestern Theravada monks, consider the texts not to be 100% reliable.

However, many of these who have already renounced a fundamentalistbelief in the infallibility of the texts as a whole fall back on a semi-fundamentalist belief in the near-infallibility of the so-called "core texts"which compose roughly one half of the Pali Canon. These core texts, though,also cannot be proved by anyone on this planet to be authentic teachings ofa fully enlightened being. A belief in their reliability is essentially aconvenient guess. My guess is that they are nowhere near to being 100%reliable. The reasons for this guess will be explained in a different place at adifferent time, as they are not necessary here. All that is necessary here isroom for skeptical doubt, and of that there is plenty.

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So, a reasonable question to ask at this point is, If everything that can bereasonably doubted by a devout Skeptic is set aside, what remains ofBuddhism? What aspects of Dharma are reliably true even without Dogmaauthoritatively backing them up?

Well, for starters, we could consider the Four Noble Truths. The Truth ofSuffering is pretty obvious, at least from a practical, conventional point ofview. Even if there is some real pleasure and happiness too, the presence ofsome degree of chronic unhappiness in everybody's life is pretty obvious,


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and becomes more obvious the more mindfully the mind is observed.Nobody, except for maybe a hypothetical fully enlightened sage, is alwayscompletely satisfied. Furthermore, the Truth of the Origin of Suffering isobvious to anyone who carefully examines his or her own mind---we sufferwhen things aren't the way we want them to be, or when we worry that

before long they won't be the way we want them to be. Even the suffering ofa toothache is not directly caused by the pain itself, but by the desire for thepain to stop. This can be seen clearly for oneself. And the Noble Truth of theCessation of Suffering logically follows from the Truth of its Origin: If desirecauses all unhappiness, then the cessation of desire would cause thecessation of unhappiness. If the second Truth is true, then the third Truth isalso true. It is really only the fourth Noble Truth, the Truth of the PathLeading to the Cessation of Suffering, that can easily be doubted by one whocarefully observes the facts. We won't know if Right View and all the rest willenlighten us until we reach the end of the Path, if we ever do reach it. (Let ustrust that we will.) Buta clever Skeptic may doubt such "truths" by

appealing to mysticism and the limitations of human understanding, or somesuch.

Another self-evident teaching of Buddhism is Dependent Co-arising---solong as one's interpretation of it goes no farther than the idea that one'spsychological, phenomenal world consists of states that are only relative, notabsolute in and of themselves. "This being, that is; in the arising of this, thatarises. This not being, that is not; in the ceasing of this, that ceases." Thiscan be seen through deep mindfulness, and also can be demonstratedlogically (as I tried to do in my article "On the Three Marks of Existence,"readable on the nippapanca.org website). If we interpret Dependent Co-arising in terms of causation, which is the more orthodox way of interpreting

it, we run into the wall built by David Hume, who showed that causation ismerely an assumption and cannot directly, really be known. But perhapsdetermined skeptics could doubt the validity of any interpretation ofDependent Co-arising, for example by comparing them to some possiblemonistic Absolute Truth.

Yet there is one aspect of Buddhism that stands up to the most vehementskepticism, and that is Consciousness. No amount of doubting can make it goaway. And this Consciousness is really the essence of Buddhism, and also itsultimate goal; so long as we have not achieved Bodhi, Awakening, then weare still to some degree unawakened, unconscious. It is the full awareness ofour Consciousness that is the highest state attainable.

I hypothesize that the Buddha (assuming that he existed) was a kind ofSkeptic himself, but it wasn't that he was an agnostic, that he didn't knowthe Truth; he knew that real Truth cannot be expressed in words, but mustbe experienced directly. And that, my friends, is mysticism. So Buddhismmay have begun as a radical, yogic, relatively pure form of "mysticalskepticism" before it was converted into a scholastic system and a popularfaith. But one problem with mysticism, as William James pointed out in hisclassic The Varieties of Religious Experience, is that it has no persuasive


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power over anyone who has not experienced it. It cannot be demonstrated toanybody. So the essence of Dharma/Dhamma may not be demonstrable, butit can be experienced directly in this very life, if we set our heart on it.

A full experience of Consciousness is the ultimate Goal of Buddhism,which can be known more and more fully by those who cultivate it skillfully;

and all the methods and theories found in the texts and elsewhere arehypotheses that presumably have worked for others in the past, and maywork for us also. If they don't, we may skillfully seek out others that do.

Dear Anonymous,

Well, there certainly was a time when I would have been incomplete agreement with you.

It seems to me that "seeing danger in the slightest fault," asexhorted in the texts, may stray into the realm of silabbata-paramasa, adhering to morality and observances, which isconsidered to be a hindrance to spiritual development. Thecommentaries limit this adherence to the obviously absurdpractices of imitating the behavior of dogs or cattle, but evenrigid adherence to monastic discipline (depending upon thevolitions of the monk) may qualify as silabbata-paramasa. Onepossible example given in the commentaries is the case of aforest monk who was tied up with living vines by robbers. Asthey left they started a forest fire, and the monk preferred

burning to death to damaging a living plant in order to escapehis bonds. The commentary justifies this monk's behavior bysaying that he became enlightened at the moment of death (howcould anyone know that?), but his rigidity in following a relativelyamoral rule strikes me as rather extreme. Another more extremecase might be a monk letting a young girl drown rather than riskbreaking a rule by rescuing her.

There is a rule of discipline which states that a monk is notallowed to open (or close) a door with his alms bowl in his hand.So, I used to go through the following ritual: I would approach a

door, put my bowl down, open the door, pick the bowl back up,go through the doorway, put the bowl down again, close thedoor, pick the bowl back up, and continue on my way. Iperformed this ritual for 17 or 18 years. But, the rule wasformulated because in very ancient times alms bowls weremostly made of clay, not iron like mine, and might break ifknocked against the door; also, in Burma there are plenty ofmosquitoes, including anopheles ones, that one would prefer not


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to enter an open doorway. So, I finally decided that following therule "just because," seeing danger in the slightest lapse, was notserving me all that well. I break that rule almost every time now.

Whether you are a monk or not I don't know, but you are very

welcome to follow the rules as strictly as you like, with myblessings upon you. I admit that some rules are more importantto follow than others, and any monk who breaks one of the 4parajika rules is simply no longer a monk. Handling money is alsoa messy one, because technically a monk cannot even makeconfession for it until after he has forfeited all his money and allthat he had bought with it. And if he doesn't forfeit his loot, thenif he listens to the patimokkha recitation with other monks he'salso technically guilty of lying, and lying is a lapse fromfundamental virtue.

As for the issue of my disrobing, it is always a possibility, but I'mnot planning on it anytime soon.

Disentangling Ancient India from Buddhism

India ceased being a Buddhist country after centuries of rivalry with

unfriendly Brahmins, with the final collapse evidently being caused by Turkic

invasions during the middle ages, in which the conquering invaders sackedand destroyed monasteries, shrines, and Buddhist universities. The Hindus,

being somewhat less pacifistic than the Buddhists in those days, were more

inclined to fight back against the Muslims and often won, but Buddhism was

almost completely wiped out. The majority of Buddhists who were not killed

either converted to another religious system or fled to nearby Buddhist

countries like Tibet and Burma. However, all schools of Buddhism that have

not abandoned the historical Gotama Buddha are still deeply conditioned by

ancient Indian culture.

It is sometimes said that the Buddha was a Hindu, and that Buddhism wasessentially a reform movement of Hinduism, much as Jesus, a devout Jew,

began a reform movement of Judaism. From a historical point of view this is

not a very accurate statement however, partly because it is anachronistic;

Hinduism as it exists today simply did not exist in the Buddha's time. The

Brahmanism that was the prevalent religion in Vedic Indian culture in many

ways more closely resembled the paganism of ancient Greece than it does
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modern Indian religion: it was a relatively world-oriented system in which

men sacrificed animals to the gods for the purpose of receiving worldly

benefits such as increased livestock, more sons, and victory over enemies.

Even a few of the gods were shared with the Greeks; for example the Rig

Veda mentions a sky god named Dyaus Pitar, equivalent to the Greek Zeus

Pater, the Roman Ju-piter, and Ziu or Tiu of the ancient Germans (in whose

honor Tuesday is named). To say that the Buddha was a Hindu is somewhat

like declaring that Jesus was a Muslim. The Muslims might accept that

statement as true, since they consider Jesus to have been a genuine prophet

of Allah; in a similar way, Hindus may consider the Buddha to have been a

Hindu. The Hindu tradition that Buddha was an avatar of the god Vishnu

further complicates the issue.

But it would be inaccurate even to assert that the Buddha was a faithful

member of the Brahmanistic Vedic religion, despite the fact that he

participated in a clearly Vedic culture. Buddhism uses many Vedic terms and

ideas, but it is more the product of an indigenous subculture than of Vedic

tradition. I suppose this requires some explanation.

Before the Indo-Aryan speakers of Vedic Sanskrit invaded in the second

millennium BCE, northern India was dominated by what is called the Indus

Valley Civilization, one of the five great prehistoric civilizations known to

archeologists. It was apparently an intensely spiritual culture, although very

different from what many modern people would associate with religion; the

spirituality of the prehistoric Indus Valley evidently was characterized byatheism, materialism, and what may be called, for the sake of convenience,

austere pessimism.

It was atheistic for the simple reason that a God was not seen as the

creator or lord of the cosmos. Much like modern science, the prehistoric

Indus Valley "religion" emphasized impersonal Law as the governor of the

Universe. Gods and goddesses apparently were acknowledged to exist, but,

like the gods of the Greek and Roman Epicureans, they themselves were

subject to this Law, and had relatively little influence over the destinies of

human beings. They had their own lives to live, their own business to mind.

It was materialistic in that physical matter was deemed ultimately real,

not an illusion or the manifestation of some kind of Divine Thought, as later

mystical traditions have seen it. It may be that even their philosophical

equivalent of karma was seen as a material substance.


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And it was "pessimistic" in that it saw this world as a bad place to be;

existence here was considered to be, in plain language, icky, and something

to be escaped from. A spiritual life was thus seen as a process of

disentangling oneself from all defilements that keep our spirits burdened and

weighed down on this plane of existence, and this generally involved yogic

practice, including some rather extreme asceticism for those who were really

dedicated.

After the Indo-Aryans conquered the land many of the conquered people

presumably continued following their ancient traditions. These traditions

certainly affected the Vedic culture of the Buddha's time; for example the

superhuman beings calledyakkha in Pali may have originally been deities or

nature spirits revered by the earlier inhabitants, which were granted a status

lower than the Vedic gods but still respected (to be on the safe side) by the

Sanskrit-speaking conquerors. More importantly, the aforementioned

atheistic, materialistic, and pessimistic spiritual tradition was kept alive. It

may have held a fascination for many, as it was of a deeper and more

philosophical nature than the paganism practiced by the Vedic mainstream.

It is likely that the yogic practices and many of the beliefs of the older

system influenced the trend toward more unworldly spirituality among the

Brahmins, culminating for example in the Upanishadic literature. Some of the

older Upanishads probably existed in the time of the Buddha, although it is

difficult to say how familiar the Buddha was with these still esoteric, even

secret, texts.

In the Pali literature there is much mention ofsamaas and brhmaas,

"philosophers and priests," with the priests of course being the Brahmins,

members of the priestly caste and intermediaries between men and the

Vedic gods. The philosophers, on the other hand, were more a product of the

older tradition. Possibly the purest representatives of this tradition nowadays

would be Jainism, of which there are still a few million followers, and

Sankhya, the primary philosophical basis of Yoga. The Buddha was not a

Brahmin, and was apparently born and raised on the very outskirts of

Brahmanistic culture. So it should be no surprise that Buddhism is more of an

Indus Valley phenomenon than a Vedic one, even though the Buddha didtranslate his terms into the language of the mainstream.

Thus Buddhism began with some basic, very ancient assumptions that

most people can't relate to very well in the modern West. The absence of a

supreme God looking over us, as well as a somewhat materialistic

orientation, have been readily accepted; but the idea of the world being a


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place to escape from, and even more importantly the idea that it is escaped

from through renunciation of society and rigorous, even ruthless austerity,

are hardly likely to be appreciated by a large percentage of Westerners any

time in the foreseeable future---unless some huge crisis turns our view of the

world upside down, which, I suppose, is possible.

The prehistoric assumptions on which the Buddha-dhamma was largely

based, and which were added to it even more as the philosophy developed,

effective as they are for those who can relate to them and accept them, may

ensure that Theravada Buddhism especially, which is the most conservative

and Indian of the surviving sects, will never become more than a fringe

movement in the West.

This may be seen in the radical transformation Theravada has undergone

upon its arrival here. Aside from a scattering of monasteries (following Asian

traditions and being mainly supported by Asian communities), almost all thatremains of Theravada after the migration is a few elementary meditation

techniques, plus some philosophy for those who have the time for it. Even

the traditional minimum requirements of the Three Refuges and Five

Precepts are often ignored. This sort of degeneration of tradition, of practice,

and of the results of practice may be inevitable if Dhamma remains so

deeply conditioned by the ancient foreign culture in which it arose.

Western scholars point out that the Pali texts are not reliable authorities

on what the Buddha actually taught---the texts evolved over a period of

centuries, and even the so-called "core texts" shared by all the ancient

Indian schools evolved over the course of a century or so (and as the history

of early Christianity shows, a great deal of change may occur in one

century). Yet even if we could analyze the Pali Canon and determine with

certainty what the Buddha really taught, which is a virtual impossibility, still

we have this matter of ancient Indian assumptions taken as axiomatic, which

modern Westerners do not consider to be self-evident at all, but which are

thoroughly mixed up with essential Dhamma.

That the Buddha apparently took for granted some of the assumptions of

his culture, or subculture, does not mean that he was not enlightened; an

investigation of the spiritual literature of the world shows that the greatest

sages have gone along with their cultural conditioning, if only for the sake of

convenience.

But by this same token, if the people of the West are to be guided

effectively in their spiritual seeking, they should be guided in a way that they


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can relate to and accept. Telling them that they should renounce the world,

become wandering ascetics, and cultivate very deep and subtle

contemplative states isn't likely to be very effective. True Dhamma is alive,

and cannot be contained in words, especially in dogmatic words, and

especially especially in the dogmatic words of an extinct foreign culture.

So, the natural question is, how is Dhamma to be most effective in the

West? How does one take what is essential to true Dhamma, disentangle it

from ancient Indian culture (not to mention the culture of South Asia, whence

Theravada has come to us), and inoculate it into a cultural system

dominated by scientific materialism, consumerism, lukewarmness, self-

importance, artificiality, and pervasive stress?

To give a very simple, basic, and obvious example of the issue: If the

Buddha were alive today in the West it is hardly likely that he would have his

most dedicated disciples dressed in yellow, brown, or orange robes. Theoriginal monk robes were just a shabbier version of what laypeople wore at

the time. Nowadays they might be wearing secondhand grey sweatpants and

a sweatshirt.

It also seems unlikely that he would set up multimillion-dollar luxury

Dharma resorts.

I suspect that wandering asceticism is pretty much out, but that the

Western habit of avoiding discomfort and pandering to our own fussiness and

weakness simply is not going to work either. Avoiding what we like may notcatch on very well, but consistently trying to avoid what we dislike is bound

to keep us asleep. It is mainly through emotional discomfort, not physical

discomfort, that we see what our attachments are ("Attachment is the cause

of all suffering"), and we can thus gain insight into how to transcend those

attachments. I won't presume to prescribe what an effective Western

Buddhism would be like here, but I feel that "emotional asceticism" would be

part of it---looking at what makes us uncomfortable and not blaming

whatever it is, but seeing the attachments, the preferences, the ego issues

behind it that require protection and feeding to keep them alive. For this sort

of practice, living a life full of unsettling, challenging interactions, possibly in

a community of more or less like-minded people, may work better than

meditating and chanting alone in a forest.

Another very likely element of modern Dhamma would be a minimum of

theory or dogma, with what little theory there is not insisted upon, but

received as a working hypothesis. There would be no "Only this is true!


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Anything otherwise is wrong!" with regard to Buddhism, the secular world, or

anything else. Another one, naturally, is being present in the present

moment, being mindfully aware, which includes a non-judging awareness of

arising mental states, including icky, negative ones. There would also

probably be more emphasis on love. Whatever form (or formlessness) an

effective Western Dhamma would have, it would have to include whatever it

takes to jostle or jolt us out of the ruts of our habit-driven stupor. It may not

conform to any of the recognized schools, however, and traditional Buddhists

may not even recognize it as Dhamma.

Despite the more psychological and less physical nature of a probably

successful Western Dhamma, some physical austerity also is called for, if not

for the sake of spiritual development, then for the sake of not ruining the

world with our waste. A cooler house in winter, fewer luxuries, less travel,

etc. may be a real necessity on a planet inhabited by more than

7,000,000,000 people, not to mention countless other beings sharing the

space. In the Buddha's time there was no danger of the human race

wrecking the earth's ecological balance and turning it into a desert, which

may be one reason why solitary renunciation was the ideal; but now the idea

of worldwide cooperation, harmony, and peace is pretty much mandatory. A

feeling ofus---not me, not us versus them---may be essential to the success

of this. As the saying goes, we are all in the same boat.

A Sample of Modern Burmese Buddhist Poetry

Several years ago in Rangoon I came across a little yellow booklet which poetically describesa Burmese man's experiences as a newly ordained monk (probably a temporary one) at a

monastery/meditation center in Burma, alias Myanmar. The booklet appeared to be privately

printed and published, and had no copyright information that I can remember. What it contained

moved and inspired me, because it conveys thefeelof being a newly ordained monk---theidealism, the gratitude, the reverence for the profundity of Dhamma---better than anything else I

have ever read. Even the nervousness of the postulant waiting outside the congregation hall

before his ordination ceremony is suggested by the verse beginning "jasmine and gardeniadrench the walk," and the very next verse contains a poetic rendering of part of the upasampad

kammavc, the formal act of ordination, chanted in Pali at the creation of every bhikkhu since

ancient times. I'm not nearly so starry-eyed as I was at my ordination, although I feel that I amwiser and more content nowadays. Still, I liked the little booklet and transcribed its contents into

a notebook, and I think it's good enough to share with you who are reading this.

I don't know who U Win Pe is, although, like very many Burmese laypeople, he obviously

knows his Buddhism: the following lines are embellished with plenty of philosophical allusions
http://thebahiyablog.blogspot.com/2012/09/a-sample-of-modern-burmese-buddhist.htmlhttp://thebahiyablog.blogspot.com/2012/09/a-sample-of-modern-burmese-buddhist.html


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and symbols that a beginner in Dhamma may not notice. I don't know who he is, but I am

grateful to him. Here is what he wrote:

The Yellow Robe: A Travel Diary

by U Win Pe

Self did not make me, nor self nor any other. Yet the notion of Self or self or some othermade me. And with a body and mind caused this body and mind which will cause another body

and mind so long as there remains the notion.

from the ambulatory I can see

beyond the tops of mangodoorian and mangosteen

the shoulder of a hill

in the morning it is dim with ground mistin the afternoon it is blurred with haze

walking beside the jasmine bushthe mynahs do not heed me

they cluck and whistle and flutter and hop

and one flying in low from somewhere

alights with a whirr of wings

tea-dust swirl in the cup

dark brown specks in amber liquidslowly drop to the bottom

there they stay

Travelling the round of births of Samsara. Treading the Eightfold Path. Winning the Stream.Metaphors of Wayfaring. Incessant movement, there is no standing still. For one is not doing

nothing at any time, one is always doing. And to do is to impel. So one goes -- going on or

getting out.

jasmine and gardenia drench the walk

with their delicate flavours

I take 31 steps up this wayand 31 steps down that way

and 31 steps this way again

let the assembly, revered brothers, hear me

to whatever venerable it seems good

let him remain silentto whomsoever it does not seem good

let him speak

to the assembly it seems good

silent it remainstake it so


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head shaven

carrying only the eight requisites

the heavy robe somehow seems lightas I take the first steps slowly

from the Ordination Hall

onto the path

salted boiled peas and plain hot tea

to help this body get out ofthe low round table seating five

body, sensation, and so on

a small cloud passes quickly across

the sky in the refectory window

a round face in an aged head

a low voice beneath soft words

standing beside the coconut palmtalking of pain and the end of pain

wayfaring

The life lived without awareness is the tainted life: tainted with wanting, tainted with not

wanting, tainted with not knowing about the notion of Self and self. Awareness should be of eachdoing every moment. Mindfulness is the watching and warding of awareness.

4a.m. the stream of breath216 cycles per minute

in-breathing, out-breathing, in-breathing

watching the touchaware of sensation as it is

airflow at the nostril tip

the morning is noisy with birdtalk

koels, jays, mynahs, sparrows, bulbuls

I follow each song and twitter

not koel shout, jay song, sparrow twitterbut each note as it falls upon my ear

the wind rises in the afternoonit ruffles the topmost branches of

the doorian

then it shakes it thoroughlyraises a flurry in the almond tree

flutters the window curtain

and comes to me

9p.m. mindful of sensation

when sensation is full with mind


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and mind is full with sensation

the bright green world beneath the waves

at Set-se beachthe sea is permeated with one taste

Colours seen with the eyes closed are brighter than colours seen with open eyes. Brighter thanthese are the colours seen when the mind is brought to a point. But colours, lights, and images

are distractions.

mango tree, sky, monastery wall

sun brings out the green

the blue, the whiteand sunlight all bright yellow

on monk's robe hanging out to dry

lights are a curtain hiding Light

lights are a turn-off to delight

lights are bright coloursnot hot but cool

lights are a pleasant quiet pool

lights do not light the way to ardour

lights are a curtain hiding Light

The end of the world is not reached by travelling. Within this fathom-length body with itssense-impressions, thoughts and pains, is the world, the making of the world, the ceasing and the

way to the ceasing.

inside this cell

sleeping, sitting, walkingreading, thinking, praying

meditatingbetter to look

inside this body

several fields west of the monastery wall

one under paddy, one under melon

one under peasa speckled bull grazes there during the day

this body my grazing-ground

it goes from field to field

feeding indiscriminately

on straw, duckwort, poisonweed

browsing here or lying therechased by men with sticks in the field beside the road

pelted by boys with stones in the water-meadow


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rope it with in- and out-breathing

tie it to the hitch-post pain

No pain, no gain. This banal expression describes what is so but we would take it

metaphorically. There is no path that has no pain. Pain is the stumbling-block or the stepping-

stone.

the aching inner muscle of the thigh is painthe thin thread of sharpness along the bone is pain

the burning hands is pain

pain is the general tone of discomfort

only pain isor that which we have named pain

it is not the hardness of the floor plankwhich hurts

it is the softness of my foot

pain is not in the windit is in the bones the bands

pain is in the mind

discomfort from sitting too long on the floorthe bother of setting out in the sun

to retrieve the robe

vexation from holding the book too longdispleasure from thinking about the task to be done

pain from the meditation exercise

unease is the common element

We err by naming that which is itself. We err by clothing the world in concepts. Knowing

happens in time present and not by reaching before and after. Knowing happens in its own way.

I say this robe this mat this razor

this alms bowlthis water-strainer this needle and thread

this over-robe

but pain is

a jay sits daily on the almond tree

it whistles several phraseswhom is it telling all that to

how to watch the pain in my ankle

as it is without saying

in present pain is birdsong and jasmine

in present pain is the cup of hot tea

in present pain is the wind in the afternoon


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in present pain is the shoulder of the hill

in present pain is the path through the orchard

in present pain the cup of tea is smashed

drawing water

the well is wide and shallowI draw a bucketful and put it in the tub

another bucketful and put it in the tub

14 buckets and the tub is filledgetting to know is not filling a tub

Joy does not come through pleasure, joy comes through pain. Agitation accompaniespleasure. The way to stillness accompanies pain. The end of pleasure is dissatisfaction. The end

of pain is joy. Then comes whatever has to come in its own way.

a set of sharp knives

turning and turning in the ball

of my ankle five days nowsuddenly

it went away this morning

joy

this flesh hung on these bones

and knit with nerves

I have seen shreddedand dropping

like great cliffs falling

flesh is not solid

sunbursts burn at every pore

no arms no thighs no legsonly the play of electricity

vanishing in small flashes

the monk on my leftthe coming does not make him glad

is the monk on my right

the going does not make him sadgruel is food, boiled peas is food

hot tea is food

pain comes and goes, joy comes and goessun in the morning, stars and moon at night

unattached

novices planting a jackfruit tree9 years before the first fruit

they laugh and quarrel and banter


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to them the world is trees and food and walking

the world is trees and food and walking

One sets out to arrive. One fares as one should. Arrival is in accordance with its own nature

and in its own way. One sets out and goes on faring.

not a garden of roses and junipers

nor a valley of liliesnot a palace with cool drinks in the windows

nor a moon and a finger pointing

not the path through an orchard

to the shoulder of a hillbut a journey across hot sands

to a river

a small cloud moves in the southern sky

the morning breeze carries a wetness of river water

namo Buddhassa

Fast, Big Lessons in America

My experiences on coming back to the USA after many years alone in Burmese forests have

often been amazing and invaluable, and sometimes rather painfullargely due to forgetting how

to be an American. I was originally ordained in California (at Taungpulu Kaba-Aye Monasteryin Boulder Creek, near Santa Cruz), but during my almost two years there the interactions were

primarily with Burmese monks (I was the only American-born monk there) and Burmesesupporters of the monastery, as relatively few Westerners came to the place. Over the years Ivisited my parents in Aberdeen, Washington on a few occasions, but I stayed in my father's

house pretty much the whole time, and made few forays out into the Western World; in fact I felt

very self-conscious and somewhat intimidated walking down an American sidewalk with mybrown monk's robes and bare feet. So when I finally left Burma and went out on the limb of

Being the Only Bhikkhu in Bellingham, I found myself plunged into a brave new world that I

was not entirely prepared for as a monk.For starters, Theravada Buddhism originated in ancient India, and the canonical texts caution

monks not to be too friendly with laypeople (although at the same time to be compassionate),

always to have downcast eyes and behave in a very detached, restrained manner in public, and

generally not to act like "householders who enjoy pleasures of the senses." The spiritual ideal ofthe world that the Buddha lived in involved radical introversion and detachment from worldly

affairs---while of course the ideal of a Good Person in the modern West is very much more

directed toward extraversion and being outwardly helpful to others. Thus a conscientious,strictly-practicing monk who follows the ancient texts could be seen by many in this part of the

world as cold and unfriendly, and possibly useless besides. Although at the time I showed up in

Bellingham I was not 100% strict in my following of the texts, still I was rather too serious toplay well with others.


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More importantly, I had spent almost all of my monk life immersed in Burmese culture,

which is possibly the most devoutly Buddhist culture on earth. In the Burmese language the word

for "human being" is not used for monks; monastics are not considered to be human, butsuperhuman, and literally worshipping them is standard practice for a Burmese Buddhist.

Furthermore, the Burmese are embarrassingly generous to monks and monasteries---partly

because since childhood wise-guy monks have drilled it into their heads that for enthusiasticallymaking offerings to the Bhikkhu Sangha they will skyrocket straight into Heaven, or at the very

least they will be born into their next life rich and beautiful for it. Consequently, monks in

Burma are exposed to the danger of being spoiled absolutely rotten. This is especially true offamous monks, and I was slightly famous in northwestern Burma for various reasons, not the

least of which being that I was practically the only foreigner in the area.

And to top it all off, I have a natural tendency toward arrogance anyway (not to mention

faultfinding and occasional ingratitude), which was not kept well in bounds by reasonablefeedback for many years. Simple-hearted people who are literally groveling on the ground before

you tend not to be very critical in their comments to you. They are much more likely to agree

with anything you say, plus maybe ask for some water you have blessed. In such a situation one

tends not to be fully exposed to one's own blind spots and shortcomings, allowing one to drift inunskillful directions, and to become set in one's ways. Thus I came back to America with a self-

image of the Tough Forest Ascetic, and very used to being treated like a king, or at least a knight,with what should have been easily predictable results.

I already knew that Americans in general have little use for shaven-headed fellows in brown

robes, but one of my first surprises was that many if not most AmericanBuddhists have little usefor shaven-headed fellows in brown robes. I seem to have elicited straightaway a wide spectrum

of responses among local Buddhist groups in Bellingham, from enthusiastic respect to scowls,

with the mean being somewhere in the neighborhood of polite standoffishness. Much of this last

was simple shyness around a rather strange stranger, I think, but I certainly wasn't expecting it,and my pride and spoiledness didn't like it much. But in addition to bruised pride at the lack of

respect toward me personally, there was also a fair (or unfair) amount of indignation at lack of

regard for monks in general. After all, Theravada is traditionally a system directed first andforemost toward monks! For more than 2000 years Theravada has been, so to speak, a spectator

sport, with renunciants being the professional athletes and the laypeople being fans supporting

their favorite team. The image of lay meditators living relatively unrestrained lives and callingthemselves Sangha, which in Asia is a word referring to monks, or a layperson sitting on a chair

teaching Dharma while a monk sits in silence on the floor, would have many Asian Buddhists

gasping in horror, and doing the Buddhist equivalent of Roman Catholics crossing themselves,

whatever that may be. From the traditional Burmese point of view it would be the road to Hell---and I had just spent most of my adult life in Burma. To make a long story medium length, rather

than being respected on sight I was being judged by egalitarian American standards of whether

or not I was a Good Person, and at that I didn't do very well. By American standards I was not allthat Good of a Person. To tell you Good People the truth, it was probably the best thing that

could have happened to me.

All of a sudden I started being beaten over the head with the plain fact that I had to treateveryone as my equal and be not just polite, but positively friendly. I had to express gratitude,

even though traditionally monks aren't supposed to say such things as Please and Thank You. I

lost my social status and was required to be just another person---one dressed in weird clothing,

but just another person nevertheless.


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I had to start taking a crash course in Interpersonal Relationship; and although I learn rather

quickly I had a long way to go just to catch up with the average teenager. I began seeing the vital

importance of friendliness, humility, and gratitude in a world where I was not taken for grantedas a superhuman being. I'm still working on that.

The way I see it, in very ancient times monks were homeless wanderers living in a spiritual

but not overwhelmingly Buddhist culture, not knowing where their next meal was coming from,and exposed to all sorts of experiences, some of them at the hands of cruel antagonists. In other

words they had a great variety of experiences and had plenty of opportunity to be "triggered" in

various ways. But the life of most monks nowadays tends to be rather isolated, usually in acloistered, protected environment, so that monks often have few stimuli to try them, to test their

mettle. Presumably many monks do not require such a challenge-rich environment, but I

apparently did, especially since I didn't have an enlightened teacher looking into my mind and

prodding me when needed. In Burma I lived a simple life and was assured of support; I hadchallenges like heat, rats, and malaria, but some trying experiences that I needed were much

more available here in Bellingham, and I am grateful for them.

Closely related to this is another great lesson I have learned, which was rather a heartening

surprise. Because in Burma I was assured of support I was not required to have sufficient faith inDharma (or as a Theist would say, in God) to really throw myself upon the mercy of the world---

which, however, is fundamental to many spiritual systems, including Buddhism and BiblicalChristianity. "Give no thought for tomorrow, what you will eat or where you will sleep,"

"Consider the lilies of the field," and all that. Strangely, it wasn't until I returned to rich,

comfortable America that I really had the opportunity to put it to the test; and so far it hasworked in a strange and beautiful way. In fact there is a feeling of freedom and exhilaration in

just letting go and not worrying about how I will survive, even though I'm not sure how I will.

"God will provide." For example, on the day that I write this I was informed that I will be

required to find other shelter within five days, and I honestly don't know where I will go, but Itrust that everything will work out. I feel strangely grateful for this. As the spiritual teacher Paul

Lowe has said, gratitude will get you farther than indifference.

Sometimes I get the feeling that all my years of sweating and meditating in tropical Asia weretraining to prepare me for the return to the West. It is now that I'm putting that training to the

test. I feel that my years of practice have finally made me strong enough to exist in what

essentially is a spiritually bankrupt materialist culture without being destroyed by it, so thatperhaps I may even be able to contribute in some small way to helping America Wake Up. Life

is interesting, and I'm happy to be back.

After more than a year I'm still not sure how being a Theravadin monk in the West will work

out---for the Sangha in general, not just for me. A Theravada Buddhist monk is supposed tofollow a lifestyle designed for ancient India, and now, here, there seems to be some dissonance,

as though bhikkhus are an awkward and anomalous addition to the culture, something on the

verge of Politically Incorrect that makes for a strange fit. A Theravadin monk can be comparedto a kind of tropical orchid: in Asia it can grow naturally, outdoors; but in a temperate-zone non-

Buddhist country it must be grown in a protected environment with people having to take special

care of it. (Thus it is appropriate that one of my first monastic residences in Bellingham was agreenhouse.) The other alternative for a monk is to stop following strictly the ancient rules of

monastic discipline, for example by handling money and preparing his own meals. I must admit

I'm not nearly as strict as I used to be. I still eat only once a day and don't handle money, but the

rules concerning highly restricted interaction with women, for example, have gone out the


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window. Which reminds me of another benefit of living here---one has more exposure to female

wisdom, to the Divine Feminine. Or at least that is my experience.

There is much to be said for living in a quiet, protected environment if one wishes to progressspiritually. It certainly helps to deepen one's meditation and strengthen one's understanding of

how the mind works, and a healthy amount of it may continue to be necessary, at least

sometimes. Yet there is also much to be said for embracing life and using the resultant turmoil asan invaluable way of bringing up "stuff" lying latent in the psyche, which otherwise might not

come up at all. As the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once said, the Christian prayer "and

lead us not into temptation" really means "let us not know who we are."May all of you out there find out who you really are, whether you choose solitude and

introspection, whole-heartedly embracing the experiences of an outwardly active life, or some

middle path between these two extremes. When you do find out who you really are, I bet you'll

see that you are beautiful and perfect, and that you always were, but you just didn't notice.

This mind, monks, is shining forth, but it is defiled by visiting defilements.

The unlearned common person does not understand this as it really is.

Therefore I say there is no development of mind for the unlearned common person.(---Anguttara Nikya, 1:6:1)

By the way, today, the day after I wrote that part about having to move and not knowing

where I would go, I received a message from a person generously inviting me to stay in his extra

room for a few weeks. The First Noble Truth says that to exist is to suffer; but to exist is also aninscrutable mystery, and a miracle.

the middle way of mediocrity.doc

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