The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (58 page)

As we have mentioned already, this meditation is not concerned with trying to develop concentration. Although many books on Buddhism speak of such practices as shamatha as being the development of concentration, I think this term is misleading in a way. One might get the idea that the practice of meditation could be put to commercial use, and that one would be able to concentrate on counting money or something like that. But meditation is not just for commercial uses; it is a different concept of concentration. You see, generally one cannot really concentrate. If one tries very hard to concentrate, then one needs the thought that is concentrating on the subject and also something which makes that accelerate further. Thus there are two processes involved and the second process is a kind of watchman, which makes sure that you are doing it properly. That part of it must be taken away, otherwise one ends up being more self-conscious and merely aware that one is concentrating, rather than actually being in a state of concentration. This becomes a vicious circle. Therefore one cannot develop concentration alone, without taking away the centralized watchfulness, the trying to be careful—which is ego. So the shamatha practice, the awareness of breathing, is not concerned with concentrating on the breathing.

The cross-legged posture is the one generally adopted in the East, and if one can sit in that position, it is preferable to do so. Then one can train oneself to sit down and meditate anywhere, even in the middle of a field, and one need not feel conscious of having a seat or of trying to find something to sit on. Also, the physical posture does have a certain importance. For instance, if one lies down, this might inspire one to sleep; if one stands, one might be inclined to walk. But for those who find it difficult to sit cross-legged, sitting on a chair is quite good, and, in fact, in Buddhist iconography the posture of sitting on a chair is known as the Maitreya asana, so it is quite acceptable. The important thing is to keep the back straight so that there is no strain on the breathing. And for the breathing itself it is not a matter of concentrating, as we have already said, but of trying to become one with the feeling of breath. At the beginning some effort is needed, but after practicing for a while the awareness is simply kept on the verge of the movement of breath; it just follows it quite naturally and one is not trying particularly to bind the mind to breathing. One tries to feel the breath—out-breathing, in-breathing, out-breathing, in-breathing—and it usually happens that the out-breathing is longer than the in-breathing, which helps one to become aware of space and the expansion of breathing outward.

It is also very important to avoid becoming solemn and to avoid the feeling that one is taking part in some special ritual. One should feel quite natural and spontaneous, and simply try to identify oneself with the breath. That is all there is to it, and there are no ideas or analyzing involved. Whenever thoughts arise, just observe them
as thoughts
, rather than as being a subject. What usually happens when we have thoughts is that we are not aware that they are thoughts at all. Supposing one is planning one’s next holiday trip: One is so engrossed in the thoughts that it is almost as though one were already on the trip and one is not even aware that these are thoughts. Whereas, if one sees that this is merely thought creating such a picture, one begins to discover that it has a less real quality. One should not try to suppress thoughts in meditation, but one should just try to see the transitory nature, the translucent nature of thoughts. One should not become involved in them, nor reject them, but simply observe them and then come back to the awareness of breathing. The whole point is to cultivate the acceptance of everything, so one should not discriminate or become involved in any kind of struggle. That is the basic meditation technique, and it is quite simple and direct. There should be no deliberate effort, no attempt to control and no attempt to be peaceful. This is why breathing is used. It is easy to feel the breathing, and one has no need to be self-conscious or to try and do anything. The breathing is simply available and one should just feel that. That is the reason why technique is important to start with. This is the primary way of starting, but it generally continues and develops in its own way. One sometimes finds oneself doing it slightly differently from when one first started, quite spontaneously. This is not classified as an advanced technique or a beginner’s technique. It simply grows and develops gradually.

Wisdom

P
RAJNA
. W
ISDOM
. P
ERHAPS
the English word has a slightly different sense. But the word used in Tibetan,
sherab
, has a precise meaning:
she
means knowledge, knowing, and
rab
means ultimate—so primary or first knowledge, the higher knowledge. So sherap is not specific knowledge in any technical or educational sense of knowing the theology of Buddhism, or knowing how to do certain things, or knowing the metaphysical aspect of the teaching. Here knowledge means knowing the situation,
knowingness
rather than actual knowledge. It is knowledge without a self, without the self-centered consciousness that one is knowing—which is connected with ego. So this knowledge—prajna or sherap—is broad and farseeing, though at the same time it is tremendously penetrating and exact, and it comes into every aspect of our life. It therefore plays a very important part in our development, as does upaya, method, which is the skillful means for dealing with situations in the right way. These two qualities, in fact, are sometimes compared to the two wings of a bird. Upaya is also described in the scriptures as being like a hand, which is skillful, and prajna as being axlike, because it is sharp and penetrating. Without the ax it would be impossible to cut wood: One would simply hurt one’s hand. So one may have the skillful means without being able to put it into effect. But if there is also prajna, which is like an eye, or like light, then one is able to act properly and skillfully. Otherwise the skillful means might become foolish, for only knowledge makes one wise. In fact upaya by itself could make the greatest of fools, because everything would still be based on ego. One might see the situation up to a point and be partially able to deal with it, but one would not see it with clarity and without being affected by past and future, and one would miss the immediate nowness of the situation.

But perhaps we should examine how to develop this knowingness, or sherap, before we go into any further details. Now, there are three methods which are necessary for the cultivation of sherap, and these are known in Tibetan as töpa, sampa, and gompa.
Töpa
means to study the subject,
sampa
means to contemplate it, and
gompa
means to meditate and develop samadhi through it. So first töpa—study—which is generally associated with technical knowledge and the understanding of the scriptures and so on. But true knowledge goes much further than that, as we have already seen. And the first requirement for töpa is to develop a kind of bravery, to become a great warrior. We have mentioned this concept before, but perhaps it would be as well to go into it in more detail. Now, when the true warrior goes into battle he does not concern himself with his past and with recollections of his former greatness and strength, nor is he concerned with the consequences for the future and with thoughts of victory or defeat, or pain and death. The greatest warrior knows himself and has great confidence in himself. He is simply conscious of his opponent. He is quite open and fully aware of the situation, without thinking in terms of good and bad. What makes him a great warrior is that he has no opinions; he is simply aware. Whereas his opponents, being emotionally involved in the situation, would not be able to face him, because he is acting truly and sailing through their fear and is able to attack the enemy with effect. Therefore töpa, study and understanding, demands the quality of a great warrior. One should try to develop theoretical knowledge without being concerned with the past or the future. At first one’s theories may be inspired by reading books, so we do not altogether dismiss learning and studying, which are very important and can provide a source of inspiration. But books can also become merely a means to escape from reality; they can provide an excuse for not really making an effort to examine things in detail for oneself. Reading can be rather like eating food. Up to a point one eats from physical necessity, but beyond that one is doing it for pleasure, because one likes the taste of food, or possibly just to fill up time: It is either breakfast time or lunchtime or teatime or time for dinner. In the development of sherap it is clear that we do not read merely to accumulate information. We should read with great openness without making judgments, and just try to receive. The analogy is sometimes made of a child in a toy shop. He is so interested in everything that he becomes one with all the toys in the shop, and finally he has great difficulty in deciding which one to buy. He loses the very concept of having an opinion, such as “I want to buy this, I don’t want to buy that.” He becomes one with everything to such a point that he just can’t decide. Learning should be like that, without opinions (“I like this, I don’t like that”), but just accepting—not because it is in the scriptures or because some teacher says so and you have to accept it as an authority, nor because you don’t have the right to criticize—but rather accepting out of sheer openness, without any obstacles. So read and study and develop a kind of inspiration from it. You can get a great deal from all kinds of books, but there is a limit, and when you develop a kind of general inspiration and self-confidence, then you should stop reading.

This is the first stage of töpa, where one develops theory. And it often happens at a certain point that this theory appears almost in the guise of experience, so that one may feel one has reached a state of spiritual ecstasy or enlightenment. There is a great excitement and one almost feels one has seen Reality itself. One may even be so carried away as to start writing great essays on the subject. But at this stage one must be very careful and try to avoid laying too much emphasis on the belief that one has made some wonderful new discovery. The exciting part of it should not be too important; the main thing is how to put your knowledge into effect, otherwise one becomes like a poor beggar who has just discovered a sack of gold. He is overcome with excitement at having found it because in his mind gold is vaguely associated with food. But he has no idea how to put it to use by buying and selling to actually obtain the food. He has never dealt with that side of it before, so it is rather a problem. Similarly, one should not be overexcited by one’s discovery. One has to exercise some restraint, although this experience may be even more exciting than reaching the state of buddhahood. The trouble is that one sets such a high value on this knowledge, and by being too excited about it one is prevented from going beyond the dualistic way of seeing the situation. One attaches a great deal of importance to one’s achievement, with the result that this excitement is still based on the self, on ego. Therefore one has to deal with it skillfully and even apply sherap, wisdom, to cope with the situation. So what one has found has to be put into effect immediately. It must not become a kind of tool that one merely shows off to other people. Nor must one become addicted to it, but use it only when the need arises.

Of course this theoretical knowledge is very interesting. One can talk so much about it—there are a great many words involved—and there is great pleasure in telling other people all about it. One may spend hours and hours talking and arguing and trying to demonstrate one’s theory and prove its validity. One even develops a kind of evangelical attitude of trying to convert others to one’s discovery, because one is intoxicated by it.

But that is still theory. And from there we come to sampa, which is reflective meditation, or contemplating and pondering on the subject. Sampa is not meditating in the sense of developing mindfulness and so on, but meditating on the subject and digesting it properly. In other words what one has learned is not yet sufficiently developed to enable one to deal with the practical things of life. For example, one might be talking about one’s great discovery when some catastrophe occurs; say, the milk boils over or something like that. It might be something quite ordinary, but it seems to be rather exciting and terrible in a way. And the transition, from discussing this subject to controlling the milk, is just too much. The one is so elevated and the other is so ordinary and mundane that somehow one finds it very difficult to put one’s knowledge into effect on that level. The contrast is too great and, as a result, one becomes upset, suddenly switches off and returns to the ordinary level of ego. So in this kind of situation there is a big gap between the two things, and we have to learn to deal with this and somehow make the connection with everyday life, and to identify our activities with what we have learned in the way of wisdom and theoretical knowledge. Of course our theory is something far beyond just ordinary theory, which one might have worked out mathematically to produce a feasible proposition. One is involved and there is great feeling in it. Nevertheless this is only theory, and for that very reason one finds it difficult to put it into effect. It seems true, it seems to convey something, when you only think on that subject, but it tends to remain static. So sampa, reflective meditation, is necessary because one needs to calm down after the initial excitement of discovery and one has to find a way of relating one’s newfound knowledge to oneself on a practical level. Suppose, for example, that you are just sitting at home with your family around you, having a cup of tea. Everything is normal and you are quite comfortable and contented. Now, how are you to link your exciting discovery of transcendental knowledge with that particular situation, with the feeling of that particular moment? How can one apply sherap, wisdom, in that particular environment? Of course, one generally associates “wisdom” with some special activity and one immediately rejects the present situation. One tends to think, “Well, what I have been doing up to now is not the
real
thing, so what I must do is leave here and go to such-and-such a place. I must go and practice and digest my knowledge in the wilds of Scotland—in a Tibetan monastery.” But something is not quite right, because sooner or later you have to return to that same familiar street and those same familiar people, and everyday life continues on and on; one can never escape from it. So the point is, one must not try to change the situation—in fact one cannot. Since you are not a king, who could just give an order and stop things happening, you can only deal with what is nearest to you, which is yourself. Still you have a certain amount of apparent freedom to make decisions, and you may decide to go away. But in reality that is another way of trying to stop the world, though of course everything depends on your attitude. If one is thinking only in terms of trying to learn something further and not of rejecting one’s environment, that is fine. The difficulty arises because one tends to go away after a particular incident where things seemed rather unreal and unpleasant, and one has the idea that if only one were in a special environment, or situation, one would see it all clearly. But that is a way of putting things off until tomorrow, and that will not do at all. This doesn’t mean, of course, that one should not go to a meditation center and study or go into retreat for a period, but it should not be trying to escape. Though one may be able to open oneself more in that particular place, that does not mean that the external situation alone could enable one to change and develop. One must not blame one’s surroundings, one must not blame people, one must not blame external conditions, but without trying to change anything, just step in and try to observe. That is real sampa, real contemplation on the subject. And when one is able to overcome the romantic and emotional attitude, one discovers truth even in the kitchen sink. So the whole point is not to reject, but to make use of that very moment, whatever the situation may be, and accept it, and respect it.