Bringing in the New: The Dharma of Beginning

Post Date:December 28, 2010

The deep darkness of December and the promise of the New Year often spark a desire for transformation as if the changing of the calendar necessitates a new beginning—one that is clean, without marks, and perhaps void of regret, grief, and yearning.  To be “new” is tempered by the fact that we are inextricably woven with the past.    In Buddhist practice, this is referred to as the inevitable chain of causality—or Karma—from which we cannot extract ourselves regardless of how “new” we become.
    Even though we know we can’t become entirely new, this doesn’t stop us from wishing for it, and many of our convictions sprout from the hope that we can somehow start over or at least become better:  we will exercise more and lose weight; we will control our anger; we will be happier; we will work on better communication with others.  These are all fine goals, and in theory, wonderful things to aspire to attain.  The problem arises when we confront how to implement these goals, which is why so many New Years resolutions fail.  We think that we do not have the means to enact real change.
    Our very way of being in the world makes transformation difficult to actualize since we are often reacting instead of responding to the world.  Even more problematic is that reacting is reinforced so strongly throughout our culture.  Think of the “man-on-the-street” news interview that asks “What is your reaction to this situation?”  Things happen and we react.   Our agency is secondary, and we are often defined by our emotions:  “This makes me angry.”  “That makes me sad.”  We are a reflection of what happens around us, which determines who we are.  Our responses are secondary to the world, and we become habituated patterns of “when this happens, I do/think/feel this.”
    The historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, recognized this process when he exclaimed in The Dhammapada that
   
    We are what we think.
    All that we are arises with our thoughts.
    With our thoughts we make the world. 

The world that we inhabit is an extension of ourselves and our reactions.  We are the makers of the world, and our reactions are the manifestation of that constructed world. For that very reason, the Buddha added

Speak or act with an impure mind
And trouble will follow you
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
[But]  speak or act with a pure mind
And happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unshakeable.

The outcome of our interaction with the world depends upon the state of our own mind.  To change the world, then, requires a change of mind that alters our responses.
    To make such a transformation of the mind is to reclaim our own agency and the world that we inhabit.  As the poet Robert Duncan once said, “Responsibility is the ability to respond.”  Reaction, on the other hand, is not responsible or even controlled.  How often do we have to apologize for our “reactions”?  “I am sorry I over-reacted.”  “I am sorry I reacted the way that I did.”  Our responses, though, usually require no apologies although others may not necessarily like them, but we generally do not feel remorse over them since they emerge from a more careful reflection.
    In another passage from The Dhammapada,  the Buddha offers insight into the important distinction between reacting and responding when he warns that

    An unreflecting mind is a poor roof.
Passion [selfish desire that breeds the three poisons of greed, anger, and ignorance], like the rain, floods the house.
    But if the roof is strong, there is shelter. 
   
Reaction is often loaded with emotionality which has the latent potential to overwhelm and generate a flood of suffering.  To respond, on the other hand, is an extension of the reflecting mind—a mind that is aware of itself, its patterns, and passions—which not only offers shelter but also peace.
    The great Japanese Zen Master Dogen elaborates upon this when he remarks,

To study the Buddha way is to study the self.  To study the
Self is to forget the self.  And to forget the self is to be
Enlightened by the 10,000 things.

To dedicate oneself to the path of Buddhism is to become aware of the self that reacts and responds.  The world (the “10,000 things”) still remains but the interaction with that world is not sullied by the three poisons of greed, anger, and ignorance that constitute the ego.  What remains is the ever present state of enlightenment unclouded by the ego.
 
    Taoist masters refer to this appropriate relationship between self and world as “Wuwei.”  The Taoist classic Huainanzi (literally “The Masters of Huainan”) offers an explanation of the often misunderstood term wuwei:

    Real people know without learning, see without looking,
    achieve without striving, understand without trying.  They
    sense and respond, act when necessary, go when there
    is no choice, like the shining of light, like the emanation
    of rays.

But how does a person actualize being “real” and responding instead of reacting?  How does a person “see without looking,” “achieve without striving,” “understand without trying”?
    When we “look,” “try,” and “strive,” we are reacting through the filter of our ego with all of its conditioned emotional history.  To “see,” “achieve,” and “understand” is to simply be in the world and to respond when and as necessary.  The problem is that we get in the way.  What we experience is our ego’s view of the world when we are preoccupied with looking, striving, and trying.  The Real person is. 
    The entire scope of Ch’an Buddhism with its seated and walking meditation, chanting, interviews, and Dharma talks is designed to cultivate Being—what is called Samadhi—so that the practitioner is vigilantly aware and can recognize the habituated patterns that obscure the Real.  What looks, tries, and strives in relation to the world is the Ego; what sees, achieves, understands, and responds is ones inherent Buddha nature.  The meditative arts cultivate awareness—a state of Being—that embodies wuwei.  That awareness shines both upon internal processes and the external world: it allows one to observe oneself in the world and by doing so, sparks appropriate responses that are extensions of ones pure mind.
    While Buddha nature can be accessed through other means, and practices such as T’ai Chi Chuan and Chi Kung are designed specifically to do so,  meditation itself is the most expedient means to cultivate awareness and the state known as Beginners Mind—the mind that is honest and open as if it is encountering things for the very first time.  Meditation in general—and Mountain Wind’s central practice of staying and returning—is an act of beginning again, over and over.  To let go of the past, to not worry about what may come, and simply be in the moment.  In this state of being, we are free.  We are new.
    At this time of year, when so many people make resolutions to “try” to become the person they would like to be, to recommit to meditative practice is to return to being the person that one already is:  enlightened, awakened, joyful, and calm.  As written in The Secret of the Golden Flower, a book of deep significance to my own practice:

You should each practice diligently; it would be too bad if you wasted time.  If you do not practice for a day, then you are a ghost for a day; if you practice for a single breath, then you are a realized immortal for a breath.  Work on this.

In the New Year, if we truly wish to transform ourselves, we need to rededicate ourselves not just to the wish to begin again, but to Being.  We need to commit to being “Real” people, realized immortals, and not “ghosts.”   Awakening to the real is extremely arduous and requires great discipline, and being responsible is not without hardships as well, but the results are beyond measure. 
   
    With wishes for a joyful and peaceful New Year, and with hopes that your practice continues to deepen throughout 2011,

Amitabha!
Ven. Shih Tao-Fa
Resident Priest
Mountain Wind Zen Meditation

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