Life is full of suffering. This is not a statement of despair by a pessimist; merely an observation of reality as it is. I will die. You will die. Unwanted events will occur and wanted events will not occur. Mortals such as Thoreau are prompted to pen such words as “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation”. Mortals such as us are prompted to comprehend and remember.
In the absence of any strong, satisfying, religious framework to channel faith into, many of us suppress the natural human urge to look into the void and make sense of life; because no matter how hard we squint, deeper meaning and a sense of purpose never seem to materialise.
We escapists seek refuge, as creatures of habit, in our daily routines and rituals; specialists in navigating our lives on auto-pilot in a futile attempt to avoid reflecting on what it means to exist. Futile because – whatever our strategies – life will throw at us events that force us to engage manually.
We seek refuge in ignorance, convincing ourselves that there are no answers to these grand questions; that to avoid torturing ourselves it is best practice to leave these questions to intellectuals who desire such frivolous indulgences, and that we should just get on with our lives.
We seek refuge in the fragile confidence we have in Western intellect and science, having liberated us from suffocating religious domination. Liberation from religious institutions that have perverted the meaning of spirituality; institutions more about social control, hierarchical power structures, and the enforcement of outward displays of religious conviction than any concern with satisfying the individual intellect and soul.
Although we have achieved a certain liberation of the mind it is a pyrrhic victory for the soul, and when the two exist in a permanent embrace it’s hard to see it as any more than a stalemate in the game of enlightenment. We have disarmed dogma as if that is the end of the battle. But a life which inevitably contains suffering will throw challenger after challenger at our soul, and it seems many of us are armed with nothing but the belief religion provided no honest defence.
Time in India affords a precious opportunity to consider these dilemmas; to ponder the human condition. We used this opportunity to take on a 10 day meditation course in the hills above McLeod Ganj, a hub of spiritual resistance, home to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile. Nestled in the foothills of the Indian Himalayas, snow-covered peaks jut out to 4000 metres in the distance; nearby mountains rise up bristling with pine trees, prayer flags, avalanche-scarred climbs and the living valley sounds of construction, children, dogs, and birds. A narrow road winds higher up to a secluded, forested peak where the unassuming Dhamma Sikhara centre awaits those searching.
The West has a tradition of sending over its children to India on a search for spiritual meaning, whether they are aware of it or not. Ashrams abound across the country: spiritual centres led by gurus and frauds. The land is awash with Hindus, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, and Jains, among others, engaging in rituals, celebrations and spiritual practices that dominate the social landscape.
The practice we engaged in at Dhamma Sikhara was the ancient art of Vipassanā meditation, a technique developed 2500 years ago by an Indian – Siddharta Gotama. Skepticism and curiosity were mixed in equal parts as we walked up the hill to begin the course: skepticism from one who has a distaste for organised religion and outright contempt for the expensive salvation and cheap pop-psychology tricks offered by organisations like ‘Church of Scientology’ and ‘Landmark Education’; curiosity because it seemed this practice offered a path that did not demand my soul or expect my money.
Stringent demands were made however. It would be foolish to assume, like an American traveller, that “This’ll be easy – it’s just meditation right?” – he left the next day. 4am wake-up bells, more than ten hours of meditation daily, a vegetarian diet with little more than a piece of fruit for evening meals, and complete Noble silence. No communication, verbal or non-verbal, for almost ten days.
Noble silence, wandering amongst the trees between sessions, soaked in the majestic silence of nature, staring beyond the course boundaries into the real world – catching glimpses of the jagged peak of Mt Dhauladhar cloaked in a ragged coat of white. Alone but for the incessant chattering of an errant, reckless mind. Jumping from thought to thought, entertaining one moment, horrifying the next. Firing away at consciousness with bullets forged from an alloy of dreams, worries, hopes, and fears.
Why? Only this mind can be so absurd. Only this mind can wander so much during the first day’s sittings. As we initially practice ānāpāna-sati – a method of observing respiration to increase awareness and raise concentration – it seems as if the mind is divided against itself, constantly hijacking consciousness and leading it into the wilderness of imagination. Mental insubordination. Precisely what isn’t wanted, and yet at times seemingly powerless against the impulse to drift from the present moment.
Within the solitary confines of this silent existence – with no option to share experiences – thoughts arise that you are alone in this suffering. They pass away as the first night’s video discourse humorously reveals the universality of this mental condition, to the muffled laughter of relieved students.
It takes days for the mind to quieten down. It takes a strength of effort you never knew you had to discipline it to live wholly in the present. The ingrained habit pattern of the mind is to take up residence in past memories or future plans, only ever visiting the present for brief holidays. As the slow mental battle to permanently relocate to now is won there comes a realisation that so often we travel through events with a sense our existence in time is akin to a ghosting image on a badly-tuned tv: a temporal fuzz of being.
When the mind is disciplined to dispel this fuzz, to exist wholly in the present, surprising effects begin to emerge. All sensations are heightened. A vividness in colours, a clarity in sound that cannot be wholly attributed to the enforced silence and closed eyes of this environment. There is an overwhelming awareness of the present moment that has never been more keenly felt. A mind once restless becomes welded to the present. Many effects seem too trivial to recount, but the totality of these amount to a dramatic, positive shift in perception.
This flows through to an ever-increasing awareness of self in meditation. Subtle sensations throughout the body are perceived with a sensitivity that is at times unnerving. Focusing on your upper lip you feel the tension of skin, the temperature of the air, and the pulse of blood, but suddenly your awareness searches deeper to feel your teeth and bone in exquisite detail. The hidden talents of a focused mind begin to make themselves known.
A hidden mental strength of will also makes itself known during Adhitthana sittings. These are sittings of strong determination in which an attempt is made to hold the same position for an hour, refraining from opening hands, legs, or eyes. Itches become conspirators in plots to move hands, and screaming muscles instruct a weak will to Give In Now, at every single moment. At every single moment there is a firm belief that in the next moment it will be all over. Every single moment is an eternity. But when the ancient Pali chants of wisdom begin to play, signifying the end of the hour, a fierce determination Not To Give In becomes overwhelming. Sitting there at the end you gaze into nothingness wondering where on earth this determination sprung from, and what on earth this is all for.
This becomes clearer when the technique of Vipassanā meditation is finally taught. Vipassanā means a special kind of vision: observation of the reality within oneself. By observing the sensations within the body objectively, both pleasant and unpleasant, the mind is trained not to react but to remain equanimous, and aware. Equanimous in maintaining a calm and balanced mind, and aware of our sensations and also of the nature of their impermanence, like our own existence. The theory behind this training is that our mind responds automatically to cravings and aversions, and these are the root causes of human suffering. We crave pleasant sensations, and are averse to unpleasant ones, all the time ignorant to their power over us, and the nature of their impermanance. By living in this habit pattern we develop intensified feelings of craving or aversion that eventually overwhelm the mind in various forms: addictions, vices, passions and so on.
By becoming aware of this we can begin to insert intelligent consideration between sensation and reaction, and so extract ourselves from an ignorant existence continually dictated by these feelings of craving and aversion. The realisation of the simplicity of this technique, at first disappointing, becomes empowering when the practicality is considered. Desires, anxieties, arguments, and any number of issues we face seem to have a solution with this technique.
Of course, there is much more to Vipassanā; a simple reduction to “Think before you act” would not be correct. It is not only a meditative technique, but an instruction in the art of living. Siddharta Gotama developed, along with Vipassanā meditation, moral codes of conduct and practice common to many religions, and after his own enlightenment at Bodhgaya, when he became known as the Buddha, he developed and preached a path to enlightenment free of dogma and blind faith. He was not a god, and believed rites, rituals, and worship are meaningless when one realises all importance is given to whether a person adheres to simple moral precepts and follows a path of right living. By following that path to the end any person can become a Buddha, or ‘enlightened one’.
It is consistently emphasized that the reality or truth of your own existence has to be understood at the experiential level, and not just the intellectual level. It has to be experienced directly by yourself. It cannot be understood because society tells you so, or because an authority says so, or because a deity called God, Allah, or Shiva deems it so. For myself, Vipassanā was the hardest, most rewarding experience I’ve undertaken so far. There was no instant enlightenment and sudden liberation, but there was a sense that certain realities and truths are there to be experienced directly, if the time is taken to discover what they are.
A 10 day course in Vipassanā meditation costs nothing, is run by volunteers, and the organisation only accepts donations from past students. Centres are located throughout various countries, and more information can be found at http://www.dhamma.org/
