I left my job, the one I'd held for 8.5 years, on January 13. I suffered a fair amount in that job. Pretty much every day since then I've experienced delight and relief at not having to go to that job anymore.
I've also gone over and over the numbers in my head and convinced myself that I really don't need earned income anymore. In other words, I could consider myself retired. Upon reaffirming this conclusion I have also experienced delight and relief.
Today, however, for the first time, I've noticed that the glow of my new situation is beginning to wear thin.
Experiencing this daily delight and relief over the past four months, I have tended to view it as a permanent state. Rationality tells me otherwise: all mental states are impermanent. In this case, although the facts that have delighted me (not having to go back to work at ISB, probably not needing to earn income ever again) have a good chance of sticking around, their newness will not stick around. And it's the newness, the contrast, that has been so delightful. Like falling in love, or recovering from a long illness. It is remarkable that, even so, the mind has clung to the fantasy of permanence.
Settling into this state of unemployment, of not needing to do anything in particular most days, I've watched myself expand the amount of time I spend on certain things that used to, of necessity, take only a small fraction of my time: cleaning house, cooking dinner, attending to finances, weeding the garden, attending to email. Spending time in bed with my partners. I've also watched myself become more sensitive to irritants in the home environment: the barky dog next door; the sounds of weed whackers, lawn mowers, and leaf blowers; sharing space with my partners 24/7 rather than being in a separate physical space 8-10 hours/day.
For the most part, the irritants haven't impinged on the overall sense of delight, and spending more time on mundane tasks has been enjoyable. This will, likely, gradually change.
Upon realizing that I didn't need to earn income, I put on hold the development of my new dementia care business, Team Emily. It might be soon time to begin developing it again. Perhaps toward the end of the summer.
teamemily.net
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Thursday, May 11, 2017
Exploring my difficulties with samatha, part 2
Some postscripts:
Another familiar difficulty that arose on this retreat is uncomfortable, distracting facial tension. This tended to increase as the days went by.
I want to describe how I get into what I think of as Kenneth's first jhana: In a single gesture, I close my eyes, quiet my breathing, place attention on a broad area that includes the sinuses, and will myself to enter a trance-like state. I can do it immediately. This is a version of a gesture I learned to make in order to enter the first jhana on Tina and Stephen's 2009 retreat. The state I enter now is much less deep, but the gesture is, I think, the same. To sustain this state, I then put attention lightly on the breath at the anapana spot.
This state feels less coarse, less physical, than the state I reach by trying to put all my attention directly on the breath. The hindrances are still present. I feel more locked in than with anapanasati, but not solidly locked in.
I would like to note that I had pretty much not thought at all about Kenneth's jhanas for the past 4.5 years, since he taught them to me. And when he taught them to me, I don't know what he told me about how to get to the first jhana, but I responded by making the familiar gesture above. Since I was able to get to Kenneth's second jhana from there, I figured it was what he meant by first jhana.
Another observation about sleepiness: when I am able to crisply remove my attention from the desire for sleep and back to the breath, I notice a surge of energy/sensation in the body. Does the sleepiness arise from aversion to energy/sensation?
Here are some questions I'm holding now:
-- are the mildly irritating sensations that arise for me with samatha practice the "pleasant" sensations that Leigh wants me to focus on? Or should I try to find something that's actually pleasant to me?
-- is there any use for the state I'm calling Kenneth's first jhana? More specifically, is it a state that can either support insight practice, or help me get to Leigh's jhanas or Tina/Stephen's jhanas? Might it qualify as a way of practicing anapanasati meditation, one that's perhaps easier than what I've been doing?
-- how can I get the guidance and support of a good teacher such as Tina/Stephen, Shaila, or Leigh, without going through the suffering of a residential retreat? I've thought a lot about how to make retreats more tolerable for me. Can I go any farther in making them more tolerable? Would it make more sense to do skype sessions with teachers while on home retreat? Or, what about Shaila's online courses? There are none scheduled at the moment but I could ask her what her plans are. I could also talk this over with Leigh and see if he either has suggestions for how retreat could work better for me, or how he could support me in home practice.
Another familiar difficulty that arose on this retreat is uncomfortable, distracting facial tension. This tended to increase as the days went by.
I want to describe how I get into what I think of as Kenneth's first jhana: In a single gesture, I close my eyes, quiet my breathing, place attention on a broad area that includes the sinuses, and will myself to enter a trance-like state. I can do it immediately. This is a version of a gesture I learned to make in order to enter the first jhana on Tina and Stephen's 2009 retreat. The state I enter now is much less deep, but the gesture is, I think, the same. To sustain this state, I then put attention lightly on the breath at the anapana spot.
This state feels less coarse, less physical, than the state I reach by trying to put all my attention directly on the breath. The hindrances are still present. I feel more locked in than with anapanasati, but not solidly locked in.
I would like to note that I had pretty much not thought at all about Kenneth's jhanas for the past 4.5 years, since he taught them to me. And when he taught them to me, I don't know what he told me about how to get to the first jhana, but I responded by making the familiar gesture above. Since I was able to get to Kenneth's second jhana from there, I figured it was what he meant by first jhana.
Another observation about sleepiness: when I am able to crisply remove my attention from the desire for sleep and back to the breath, I notice a surge of energy/sensation in the body. Does the sleepiness arise from aversion to energy/sensation?
Here are some questions I'm holding now:
-- are the mildly irritating sensations that arise for me with samatha practice the "pleasant" sensations that Leigh wants me to focus on? Or should I try to find something that's actually pleasant to me?
-- is there any use for the state I'm calling Kenneth's first jhana? More specifically, is it a state that can either support insight practice, or help me get to Leigh's jhanas or Tina/Stephen's jhanas? Might it qualify as a way of practicing anapanasati meditation, one that's perhaps easier than what I've been doing?
-- how can I get the guidance and support of a good teacher such as Tina/Stephen, Shaila, or Leigh, without going through the suffering of a residential retreat? I've thought a lot about how to make retreats more tolerable for me. Can I go any farther in making them more tolerable? Would it make more sense to do skype sessions with teachers while on home retreat? Or, what about Shaila's online courses? There are none scheduled at the moment but I could ask her what her plans are. I could also talk this over with Leigh and see if he either has suggestions for how retreat could work better for me, or how he could support me in home practice.
Exploring my difficulties with samatha
This is a detailed and technical post about the silent home retreat I am currently in the midst of. My previous post provides context.
I set aside May 5-12 as a silent home retreat to explore samatha practice. I began the evening of the 5th, and practiced diligently for 72 hours following the instructions I received from Tina Rasmussen and Stephen Snyder back in 2009, the instructions that led me to some kind of jhana state back then. I did anapanasati meditation (mindfulness of breathing), focusing specifically on the sensations of the breath as it passes across the upper lip and outer nostril area, and viewing the breath as an unchanging object rather than as a stream of constantly changing sensations.
Each day I spent about eight hours in seated meditation. I tried to meditate as much as I could without an attitude of forcing myself. I abstained from conversation, using my phone, and doing anything online other than finding audio recordings on this topic. As breaks between meditation sessions, I would walk, do other exercises, work in the garden, prepare and/or eat food, or do simple household tasks such as tidying or folding laundry. Sometimes I did more complex tasks: I steamed the wrinkles from some clothes which required reading the instructions for the steamer, and I organized my storage space in the attic which required thinking about how easily I wanted to access various items. Once I gave a light massage to my partner E, partly as a way to offer him nourishment during this period when I was secluded from most interaction him. I also did a guided compassion meditation with E, and once exchanged 5-minute verbal check-ins (each of stating how we're doing in life). Most mornings I stayed in bed quite late and snuggled with him, usually sitting upright to meditate for part of the time. On the 7th I walked to Janet's house for her weekly Sunday evening sitting, and left immediately afterward, before the conversation. So, in brief, the components of my retreat were meditation and seclusion from mental and sensory stimulation, with low-stimulation tasks interspersed between meditation sessions.
Sometimes my meditation was easy and enjoyable, and sometimes it was difficult and/or dull. Sometimes I felt that I was progressing-- that samadhi was deepening-- and other times I felt that I was not progressing. When I felt I wasn't, I reminded myself that progress does not necessarily feel like progress. I know this from experience and it is incredibly important.
The most effortful practice, but also the least dull and most gratifying, was during the first 24 to 48 hours, while the mind was settling from the busyness of non-retreat life. It was not exactly enjoyable, but I knew what it was I had to do, I knew how to do it, and it produced the desired results. Initially, distraction was strong; the mind repeatedly (every second or so) wanted to dwell on something other than the breath. I felt skillful during this period. I knew how to redirect the mind back to the breath. I could recognize each of the traditional five hindrances (desire, aversion, restlessness, sloth/torpor, doubt) as they occurred and could, as soon as recognized, immediately return attention to the breath. I employed appealing (to me) metaphors that I'd learned from various sources: slowly submerging my body in a cool pool on a hot, humid day (the Buddha's teaching); kneading soap flakes and water into a homogeneous ball of soap (also from the Buddha); cleaning house (one of Shaila Catherine's students, as reported in one of Shaila's books), deflecting the attacks of the hindrances one by one with ping-pong paddles (also from Shaila's books). As I write this, I feel gratitude for these small supportive teachings, and this leads me to gratitude for the deeper and greater teachings that have supported me in so many ways on this retreat.
Often the mind wandered into trains of thought that could last for several breaths. When I noticed this, I would bring attention back to the breath. At some point I realized I was doing this harshly and with self-judgment, and I remembered there was another way: to instead call up delight that I'd noticed the wandering mind. Still later I re-read Leigh Brasington's instruction which in the past I had found quite useful: when it is noticed that the mind has wandered, pause and relax before returning attention to the breath. This really helps the mind avoid harshness and self-judgment.
Somewhere during the first 24 hours, I realized that doubt was strong. Doubt can be hard to recognize. It dawned on me that it was not only a frequent momentary hindrance, it was a pervasive attitude that was coloring my entire practice. I remembered that on perhaps day 6 of my 2009 retreat with Tina and Stephen, Tina began the evening dharma talk with, "Why do you not yet have jhana? It could be one of the defilements." She then gave a talk on how to work with the defilements, which are deep delusions that color our experience. I don't remember any of the content of that talk, but I checked online and saw that doubt is listed by some as a defilement. I saw that I had a belief that I was not good enough, not worthy, that this practice would never work for me, that I was wasting my time. And this belief was leading to pessimistic judgments of every activity and experience. I was glad to recognize this and hoped that simple awareness and self-compassion would relieve me of the harmful effects of this doubt. To help, on May 7th I did something that is almost universally recommended but that I have long resisted: I began the day with a statement of purpose that included my immediate goal of developing and understanding samadhi, my overarching goal of relieving my own suffering and the suffering of all beings, recognition of my own skill, wisdom, and worthiness, and expressions of gratitude for all that supports me in my practice. I had the sense that this was helpful. But it was hard, so I didn't do it the next day.
[Note to self: perhaps creating more ritual around my day will be useful. It was hard to start my day on the 7th with a statement of purpose partly because I don't normally do it. To support myself in doing it regularly, I can compose a statement and just read it each morning. The idea of composing such a statement is appealing.]
Often I was visited by sleepiness. For many years my strategy with sleepiness was to struggle to stay awake, perhaps by switching to a standing posture. Later, averse to struggle and seeing it as counterproductive, I adopted a practice of yielding to the sleepiness by taking a nap; this resulted in a lot of sleeping and unpleasant grogginess upon waking, and I knew that the sleep was probably not actually needed. More lately, including on this retreat, I've tried seeing sleepiness as a defect or mistake in attention, as I think I read in Shaila Catherine's book Wisdom Wide and Deep. I can see now that sleepiness is a desire for escape that suddenly arises and that attention immediately goes to. When it appears, sleepiness is very seductive, like a piece of delicious chocolate cake-- I feel like I just have to have it! Sometimes directing the attention immediately, firmly, and without fuss back to the breath is enough to dispel the sleepiness, and this is wonderfully gratifying. But sometimes it doesn't work. During some meditation sessions I would attempt this 3 or 4 times, and in the end find myself falling asleep or, quite unpleasantly, with a story of struggle and defeat. Such stories are quite demoralizing in my practice.
So these were my challenges during the initial day or two. I was more or less happily meeting these challenges and looking forward the pleasure and satisfaction of deepening samadhi. Once the mind is concentrated, it locks onto the meditation object, and less effort is required. This state is sometimes called access concentration because it is the state that allows access to the jhanas. Enjoyment increases as the jhana factors of piti and sukha arise. I was hoping that the nimitta would arise-- typically a bright white light in the mind's eye that is necessary for the attainment of the deep jhana states taught by Pa Auk Sayadaw-- but I really felt it would be OK if it didn't, that I'd be quite happy and satisfied if all that occurred on this retreat was access concentration.
But, by the 8th, I was still not in access concentration. Ever. My mind was always drifting off into thought for multiple breath cycles. Further, meditation was less engaging because the hindrances were weaker. Now, one wants the hindrances to weaken! This is desirable! But without desire, aversion, restlessness and doubt assailing me over and over and over again, the mind didn't have anything to occupy itself with, and it grew lazy. At least that's my interpretation at the moment.
The one time when I knew every breath, when the mind didn't drift into thought, was when I was listening to talks online. I listened to talks by Tina and Stephen on the 6th and 7th and found them very motivating. And while I was listening, I was putting my attention on my meditation object, the sensations of breath at the nostrils. And my sense was that I was aware of each one without interruption. So, by giving my mind something additional to do (listening to the talk), I supported it to be able to pay attention to the subtle sensations of the breath. It seems there is something to be learned here.
But when I was not simultaneously listening to a talk, my meditation became dull, unengaging. I can't think of any better words for it. And I just didn't want to do it. I remembered my experience of doing samatha practice for six weeks straight at the Forest Refuge in 2011. It was such a slog! Some of my sittings were easeful and joyful, but it was not consistent at all. Often ease and joy only arose after an hour or more of sitting; often they did not arise at all in a given sitting. After the first few days, it didn't appear to me that samadhi was deepening further. I kept practicing, kept trying to have faith, kept using readings and the teacher's words for inspiration, kept trying to adjust my practice. Now, as I write, I am quite aware that I am telling a particular and sad story, and I am aware that putting this story onto the page is to reify it. Reader (especially future Terry), keep in mind that this is just one view of what happened for me at the Forest Refuge. But, anyway, given the story that six weeks of slogging at the Forest Refuge didn't teach me a lot about samatha practice, I didn't have a lot of hope that slogging was going to help me now. I don't feel motivated to slog again.
The evening of the 8th, I went to select another audio recording for inspiration. There were only a few relevant Tina & Stephen talks, and I wanted to ration them, so I thought I'd listen to a talk by Shaila Catherine this time. Also, I was quite interested in hearing varied perspectives on the practice. Shaila had only one pertinent talk online, entitled "concentration". I listened to it and was disappointed-- it was quite general, without specific instructions for practice. (I just now found that she purposely chose to not provide talks with specific instructions, preferring to offer them only in contexts where she can give individual attention to students. She does occasionally provide online courses in samatha practice, something I may someday want to consider.)
I came away from this general talk without the added inspiration I'd been seeking, and, in retrospect, it was then that I gave up on my initial specific intention for this retreat: to attain access concentration by practicing samatha meditation many hours each day with the support of seclusion. I still held the more general intention of exploring samatha practice. But I began to be less stringent about seclusion, and I began to add more diverse activities to my day, including the very engaging post-gate Liberation Unleashed inquiry work I'd been doing before the retreat.
The next day I read samatha instructions from two authors who teach lighter jhanas: Leigh Brasington (who teaches what I'd call middle-depth jhana) and Daniel Ingram (who writes about a pretty light jhana). Both authors instruct the meditator to get to access concentration before attempting to enter jhana, but their criteria for access concentration are correspondingly less stringent.
After reading, I sat and meditated, and, interestingly, found that my mind for the first time all retreat did stay on the breath without distraction for something like 20 minutes. Maybe "giving up" allowed me the relaxation necessary to concentrate. This success was pleasant but not hugely inspiring.
The day after that-- yesterday-- I remembered that on my 2009 jhana retreat with Tina and Stephen, thoughts were always more present in my mind than it seemed they were supposed to be according to the instruction. I vaguely remember reporting this to Tina and having her tell me that it was probably not a problem. I vaguely remember that even on the threshold to jhana, and perhaps in the jhana state itself, there was more than just "wispy" thinking happening. Tina and Stephen, Shaila Catherine, and Leigh Brasington all state that in access concentration thoughts are not only "wispy" but usually about the meditation itself, rather than planning, daydreaming, or judging thoughts. But if I remember correctly I always had planning, daydreaming, and judging thoughts all the way through that 2009 retreat.
Yesterday I thought, "My assessment has been that I do not have stable access concentration. But maybe that assessment is incorrect. Let me try to use the samadhi I do have to enter Leigh Brasington's middle-depth jhana." I've known about Leigh's technique for years. It's simple: once one attains access concentration, shift attention to pleasant sensation and wait for jhana to arise. I've known about this technique, but have hesitated to apply it, for two reasons: I'm still interested in, and have hope of attaining, a stable nimitta, and I have the notion that if I'm going to do Leigh's technique I want to do it right and not just play around with it. This notion is consistent with the part of my personality that deeply fears straying from instructions.
So yesterday I did anapanasati (mindfulness of breathing) for just a few minutes, then shifted attention to pleasant sensations in my hands and arms. When I am doing samatha meditation, pleasant sensations are usually present throughout much of my body. They generally arise immediately with the first breath. I think of these sensations as instances of piti, the first jhana factor. I should add the caveat that, over the years, I've actually shifted from seeing these sensations as entirely pleasant. In fact, I now see them as kind of irritating-- and it is said that piti can become irritating. But I think these are the sensations that Leigh is talking about, so I shifted my attention to those. I found it required significant effort to keep attention on those sensations. Leigh's specific instruction is to pay attention to the pleasantness of the sensations. Since I didn't find them totally pleasant, it might be more accurate to say that I put attention on the character of the sensations.
I tried this for two or three meditation sessions. In each case I waited for jhana for only a few minutes. (It didn't arise.) In the afternoon I noticed that my body was filled with these sensations at an uncomfortable and distracting level. I did something, can't remember what, to take my mind off of them, and they subsided.
I tentatively concluded that I actually did have strong enough samadhi for Leigh's jhana practice, and that all I now need to do is refine the way I pay attention to pleasant sensation.
I've been writing this in fits and starts for several hours, and there is still more on my mind to say, but I want to turn toward practice now. So I will end this here. Maybe I will try Leigh's practice again now.
I set aside May 5-12 as a silent home retreat to explore samatha practice. I began the evening of the 5th, and practiced diligently for 72 hours following the instructions I received from Tina Rasmussen and Stephen Snyder back in 2009, the instructions that led me to some kind of jhana state back then. I did anapanasati meditation (mindfulness of breathing), focusing specifically on the sensations of the breath as it passes across the upper lip and outer nostril area, and viewing the breath as an unchanging object rather than as a stream of constantly changing sensations.
Each day I spent about eight hours in seated meditation. I tried to meditate as much as I could without an attitude of forcing myself. I abstained from conversation, using my phone, and doing anything online other than finding audio recordings on this topic. As breaks between meditation sessions, I would walk, do other exercises, work in the garden, prepare and/or eat food, or do simple household tasks such as tidying or folding laundry. Sometimes I did more complex tasks: I steamed the wrinkles from some clothes which required reading the instructions for the steamer, and I organized my storage space in the attic which required thinking about how easily I wanted to access various items. Once I gave a light massage to my partner E, partly as a way to offer him nourishment during this period when I was secluded from most interaction him. I also did a guided compassion meditation with E, and once exchanged 5-minute verbal check-ins (each of stating how we're doing in life). Most mornings I stayed in bed quite late and snuggled with him, usually sitting upright to meditate for part of the time. On the 7th I walked to Janet's house for her weekly Sunday evening sitting, and left immediately afterward, before the conversation. So, in brief, the components of my retreat were meditation and seclusion from mental and sensory stimulation, with low-stimulation tasks interspersed between meditation sessions.
Sometimes my meditation was easy and enjoyable, and sometimes it was difficult and/or dull. Sometimes I felt that I was progressing-- that samadhi was deepening-- and other times I felt that I was not progressing. When I felt I wasn't, I reminded myself that progress does not necessarily feel like progress. I know this from experience and it is incredibly important.
The most effortful practice, but also the least dull and most gratifying, was during the first 24 to 48 hours, while the mind was settling from the busyness of non-retreat life. It was not exactly enjoyable, but I knew what it was I had to do, I knew how to do it, and it produced the desired results. Initially, distraction was strong; the mind repeatedly (every second or so) wanted to dwell on something other than the breath. I felt skillful during this period. I knew how to redirect the mind back to the breath. I could recognize each of the traditional five hindrances (desire, aversion, restlessness, sloth/torpor, doubt) as they occurred and could, as soon as recognized, immediately return attention to the breath. I employed appealing (to me) metaphors that I'd learned from various sources: slowly submerging my body in a cool pool on a hot, humid day (the Buddha's teaching); kneading soap flakes and water into a homogeneous ball of soap (also from the Buddha); cleaning house (one of Shaila Catherine's students, as reported in one of Shaila's books), deflecting the attacks of the hindrances one by one with ping-pong paddles (also from Shaila's books). As I write this, I feel gratitude for these small supportive teachings, and this leads me to gratitude for the deeper and greater teachings that have supported me in so many ways on this retreat.
Often the mind wandered into trains of thought that could last for several breaths. When I noticed this, I would bring attention back to the breath. At some point I realized I was doing this harshly and with self-judgment, and I remembered there was another way: to instead call up delight that I'd noticed the wandering mind. Still later I re-read Leigh Brasington's instruction which in the past I had found quite useful: when it is noticed that the mind has wandered, pause and relax before returning attention to the breath. This really helps the mind avoid harshness and self-judgment.
Somewhere during the first 24 hours, I realized that doubt was strong. Doubt can be hard to recognize. It dawned on me that it was not only a frequent momentary hindrance, it was a pervasive attitude that was coloring my entire practice. I remembered that on perhaps day 6 of my 2009 retreat with Tina and Stephen, Tina began the evening dharma talk with, "Why do you not yet have jhana? It could be one of the defilements." She then gave a talk on how to work with the defilements, which are deep delusions that color our experience. I don't remember any of the content of that talk, but I checked online and saw that doubt is listed by some as a defilement. I saw that I had a belief that I was not good enough, not worthy, that this practice would never work for me, that I was wasting my time. And this belief was leading to pessimistic judgments of every activity and experience. I was glad to recognize this and hoped that simple awareness and self-compassion would relieve me of the harmful effects of this doubt. To help, on May 7th I did something that is almost universally recommended but that I have long resisted: I began the day with a statement of purpose that included my immediate goal of developing and understanding samadhi, my overarching goal of relieving my own suffering and the suffering of all beings, recognition of my own skill, wisdom, and worthiness, and expressions of gratitude for all that supports me in my practice. I had the sense that this was helpful. But it was hard, so I didn't do it the next day.
[Note to self: perhaps creating more ritual around my day will be useful. It was hard to start my day on the 7th with a statement of purpose partly because I don't normally do it. To support myself in doing it regularly, I can compose a statement and just read it each morning. The idea of composing such a statement is appealing.]
Often I was visited by sleepiness. For many years my strategy with sleepiness was to struggle to stay awake, perhaps by switching to a standing posture. Later, averse to struggle and seeing it as counterproductive, I adopted a practice of yielding to the sleepiness by taking a nap; this resulted in a lot of sleeping and unpleasant grogginess upon waking, and I knew that the sleep was probably not actually needed. More lately, including on this retreat, I've tried seeing sleepiness as a defect or mistake in attention, as I think I read in Shaila Catherine's book Wisdom Wide and Deep. I can see now that sleepiness is a desire for escape that suddenly arises and that attention immediately goes to. When it appears, sleepiness is very seductive, like a piece of delicious chocolate cake-- I feel like I just have to have it! Sometimes directing the attention immediately, firmly, and without fuss back to the breath is enough to dispel the sleepiness, and this is wonderfully gratifying. But sometimes it doesn't work. During some meditation sessions I would attempt this 3 or 4 times, and in the end find myself falling asleep or, quite unpleasantly, with a story of struggle and defeat. Such stories are quite demoralizing in my practice.
So these were my challenges during the initial day or two. I was more or less happily meeting these challenges and looking forward the pleasure and satisfaction of deepening samadhi. Once the mind is concentrated, it locks onto the meditation object, and less effort is required. This state is sometimes called access concentration because it is the state that allows access to the jhanas. Enjoyment increases as the jhana factors of piti and sukha arise. I was hoping that the nimitta would arise-- typically a bright white light in the mind's eye that is necessary for the attainment of the deep jhana states taught by Pa Auk Sayadaw-- but I really felt it would be OK if it didn't, that I'd be quite happy and satisfied if all that occurred on this retreat was access concentration.
But, by the 8th, I was still not in access concentration. Ever. My mind was always drifting off into thought for multiple breath cycles. Further, meditation was less engaging because the hindrances were weaker. Now, one wants the hindrances to weaken! This is desirable! But without desire, aversion, restlessness and doubt assailing me over and over and over again, the mind didn't have anything to occupy itself with, and it grew lazy. At least that's my interpretation at the moment.
The one time when I knew every breath, when the mind didn't drift into thought, was when I was listening to talks online. I listened to talks by Tina and Stephen on the 6th and 7th and found them very motivating. And while I was listening, I was putting my attention on my meditation object, the sensations of breath at the nostrils. And my sense was that I was aware of each one without interruption. So, by giving my mind something additional to do (listening to the talk), I supported it to be able to pay attention to the subtle sensations of the breath. It seems there is something to be learned here.
But when I was not simultaneously listening to a talk, my meditation became dull, unengaging. I can't think of any better words for it. And I just didn't want to do it. I remembered my experience of doing samatha practice for six weeks straight at the Forest Refuge in 2011. It was such a slog! Some of my sittings were easeful and joyful, but it was not consistent at all. Often ease and joy only arose after an hour or more of sitting; often they did not arise at all in a given sitting. After the first few days, it didn't appear to me that samadhi was deepening further. I kept practicing, kept trying to have faith, kept using readings and the teacher's words for inspiration, kept trying to adjust my practice. Now, as I write, I am quite aware that I am telling a particular and sad story, and I am aware that putting this story onto the page is to reify it. Reader (especially future Terry), keep in mind that this is just one view of what happened for me at the Forest Refuge. But, anyway, given the story that six weeks of slogging at the Forest Refuge didn't teach me a lot about samatha practice, I didn't have a lot of hope that slogging was going to help me now. I don't feel motivated to slog again.
The evening of the 8th, I went to select another audio recording for inspiration. There were only a few relevant Tina & Stephen talks, and I wanted to ration them, so I thought I'd listen to a talk by Shaila Catherine this time. Also, I was quite interested in hearing varied perspectives on the practice. Shaila had only one pertinent talk online, entitled "concentration". I listened to it and was disappointed-- it was quite general, without specific instructions for practice. (I just now found that she purposely chose to not provide talks with specific instructions, preferring to offer them only in contexts where she can give individual attention to students. She does occasionally provide online courses in samatha practice, something I may someday want to consider.)
I came away from this general talk without the added inspiration I'd been seeking, and, in retrospect, it was then that I gave up on my initial specific intention for this retreat: to attain access concentration by practicing samatha meditation many hours each day with the support of seclusion. I still held the more general intention of exploring samatha practice. But I began to be less stringent about seclusion, and I began to add more diverse activities to my day, including the very engaging post-gate Liberation Unleashed inquiry work I'd been doing before the retreat.
The next day I read samatha instructions from two authors who teach lighter jhanas: Leigh Brasington (who teaches what I'd call middle-depth jhana) and Daniel Ingram (who writes about a pretty light jhana). Both authors instruct the meditator to get to access concentration before attempting to enter jhana, but their criteria for access concentration are correspondingly less stringent.
After reading, I sat and meditated, and, interestingly, found that my mind for the first time all retreat did stay on the breath without distraction for something like 20 minutes. Maybe "giving up" allowed me the relaxation necessary to concentrate. This success was pleasant but not hugely inspiring.
The day after that-- yesterday-- I remembered that on my 2009 jhana retreat with Tina and Stephen, thoughts were always more present in my mind than it seemed they were supposed to be according to the instruction. I vaguely remember reporting this to Tina and having her tell me that it was probably not a problem. I vaguely remember that even on the threshold to jhana, and perhaps in the jhana state itself, there was more than just "wispy" thinking happening. Tina and Stephen, Shaila Catherine, and Leigh Brasington all state that in access concentration thoughts are not only "wispy" but usually about the meditation itself, rather than planning, daydreaming, or judging thoughts. But if I remember correctly I always had planning, daydreaming, and judging thoughts all the way through that 2009 retreat.
Yesterday I thought, "My assessment has been that I do not have stable access concentration. But maybe that assessment is incorrect. Let me try to use the samadhi I do have to enter Leigh Brasington's middle-depth jhana." I've known about Leigh's technique for years. It's simple: once one attains access concentration, shift attention to pleasant sensation and wait for jhana to arise. I've known about this technique, but have hesitated to apply it, for two reasons: I'm still interested in, and have hope of attaining, a stable nimitta, and I have the notion that if I'm going to do Leigh's technique I want to do it right and not just play around with it. This notion is consistent with the part of my personality that deeply fears straying from instructions.
So yesterday I did anapanasati (mindfulness of breathing) for just a few minutes, then shifted attention to pleasant sensations in my hands and arms. When I am doing samatha meditation, pleasant sensations are usually present throughout much of my body. They generally arise immediately with the first breath. I think of these sensations as instances of piti, the first jhana factor. I should add the caveat that, over the years, I've actually shifted from seeing these sensations as entirely pleasant. In fact, I now see them as kind of irritating-- and it is said that piti can become irritating. But I think these are the sensations that Leigh is talking about, so I shifted my attention to those. I found it required significant effort to keep attention on those sensations. Leigh's specific instruction is to pay attention to the pleasantness of the sensations. Since I didn't find them totally pleasant, it might be more accurate to say that I put attention on the character of the sensations.
I tried this for two or three meditation sessions. In each case I waited for jhana for only a few minutes. (It didn't arise.) In the afternoon I noticed that my body was filled with these sensations at an uncomfortable and distracting level. I did something, can't remember what, to take my mind off of them, and they subsided.
I tentatively concluded that I actually did have strong enough samadhi for Leigh's jhana practice, and that all I now need to do is refine the way I pay attention to pleasant sensation.
I've been writing this in fits and starts for several hours, and there is still more on my mind to say, but I want to turn toward practice now. So I will end this here. Maybe I will try Leigh's practice again now.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
My experience with samatha meditation
Samatha meditation: any form of meditation intended to cultivate a one-pointed focus on an unchanging meditation object, or samadhi.
Samadhi is pleasant. The mind in samadhi is calm and undistracted; the body experiences physical pleasure. Every meditation experience includes some degree of samadhi, and it is common to mistake this pleasantness as the end goal of meditation. In actuality, the pleasantness is a temporary side-effect; the end goal is liberation, and if one single-mindedly pursues samadhi in one's meditation, one misses the real fruits of a meditation practice. According to the Theravadan Buddhist path, liberation arises from insight into the true nature of reality, which in turn arises from Vipassana or insight meditation. The effectiveness of insight meditation is said to be greatly enhanced by samadhi, and this is the more wholesome reason to pursue samatha meditation.
I began earnestly pursuing samatha meditation in 2009 when I did a weekend retreat, followed several months later by a two-week retreat, taught by Tina Rasmussen and Stephen Snyder. During the two-week I experienced a deep state of samadhi called jhana; this state is said to be extra powerful in enhancing the effectiveness of insight meditation. Since then, I have wished to build my skill in attaining jhana so that my insight meditation can be more effective. Although jhana is very valuable in this way, it's also difficult to achieve and master (depending on the standards for jhana; more on this below), and that is one reason why most Western lay practitioners do not master it. Over the past decade the jhanas have been taught much more in the West than they had been previously, but still, although a good number of experienced meditators have now been exposed to jhana practice and have tasted the state of jhana, few have mastered it such that they can enter jhana routinely and make use of it in the course of their daily practice, or even in the course of their Vipassana retreat practice.
------------------
After the happy and rewarding, though effortful, retreat of 2009, I signed up for a two-month retreat in 2011 to develop my skill in jhana. This retreat was going to be taught by Pa Auk Saydaw, the great master who had taught Tina and Stephen. I was joyful on the fifth day of this retreat to experience the familiar jhana state I'd experienced in 2009. After emerging from the state, I went on my afternoon run with a post-jhana lightness and mental clarity that was also familiar from 2009. My joy was short-lived, though. When I reported this experience to Sayadaw, saying, "I think I entered the first jhana today," he immediately replied, "Full absorption is sure". (The jhana state is described as a state of absorption.) With Sayadaw's Burmese accent, it initially sounded like "pull abchorpchon eschure," and it took a while for me to comprehend the disappointing message: my teacher did not think I'd entered jhana to his standard-- if I had, I wouldn't have had any doubt about it. The immediacy of his answer suggested he knew this before I even said a word. It is said that great masters have the ability to sense the jhana factors present in other meditators for a short time after each meditation session; I wonder if he saw that I did not have all five of the necessary factors.
Every day on this retreat I practiced with sincere determination. The teacher's assistant instructed me to not try to enter jhana again until the nimitta, a bright white light seen with the mind's eye, was strong and continuous. This never happened. A weak nimitta was sometimes present but usually it was completely absent. As the retreat progressed I developed an aversion to samatha practice. I strategized techniques to work with the aversion, to ignore it, power through it, or inspire my way past it. After six weeks I felt so angry and discouraged that I abandoned samatha practice and spent the rest of the retreat doing the Vipassana practice I'd been doing as my main practice since I became a regular meditator in 2001. Aversion to samatha practice was persistent and I did not try to do this practice again for several months, perhaps over a year.
Was the jhana I'd experienced in 2009 not "full absorption"? Was the state I reported to Sayadaw in 2011 the same as what I'd reported to Tina and Stephen in 2009, or somehow lesser? The fact is that in the world of meditation there is a wide range of standards for jhana (see Richard Shankman's book for a review), and Pa Auk Sayadaw is known for having probably the most rigorous standards in the world. In both 2009 and 2011 I'd experienced some kind of absorption that some experts would have called jhana. Each state called jhana is useful as preparation for Vipassana meditation, but the deeper the jhana (the more rigorous the standards), the better.
I did not intend to choose the teacher with the most rigorous standards. My path simply led me to him. He had taught my good friend Shaila Catherine, and she advised me to learn his method. At the time I didn't know there were choices. On the other end of the spectrum, in 2012 another teacher, Kenneth Folk, led me through what he considered to be all eight jhanas in the course of a single skype session. I played with those states for a couple of weeks but never made them an integral part of my practice. Let's try to remember ... yes ... I do remember how to enter Kenneth's first jhana, I just did so and it took me about two seconds to enter it! I never placed value on this jhana. I see now that I never even believed that it could be a useful prelude to Vipassana meditation. It just seemed too easy. Let me say that it would probably not be easy for a beginning meditator. It was easy for me, someone who'd practiced Vipassana for over a decade and who'd just come out of a 2-month silent retreat.
--------------------------
Fast forward to 2017. This year I am, by choice, unemployed. I have vast amounts of leisure due to good health, financial security, and few obligations. I have felt interest in again pursuing samatha meditation, but at a more leisurely pace than before, without necessarily going to any retreat centers but by, instead, creating conditions of seclusion in my own home. So far I have done three four-day periods of seclusion, of "home retreat", and I am now in the midst of a seven-day. During all of these home retreats I've explored, with varying levels of intensity, samatha practice. I intend to talk about these explorations in another blog post.
Postscript: I just noticed that earlier this year I wrote another post on this same theme.
Samadhi is pleasant. The mind in samadhi is calm and undistracted; the body experiences physical pleasure. Every meditation experience includes some degree of samadhi, and it is common to mistake this pleasantness as the end goal of meditation. In actuality, the pleasantness is a temporary side-effect; the end goal is liberation, and if one single-mindedly pursues samadhi in one's meditation, one misses the real fruits of a meditation practice. According to the Theravadan Buddhist path, liberation arises from insight into the true nature of reality, which in turn arises from Vipassana or insight meditation. The effectiveness of insight meditation is said to be greatly enhanced by samadhi, and this is the more wholesome reason to pursue samatha meditation.
I began earnestly pursuing samatha meditation in 2009 when I did a weekend retreat, followed several months later by a two-week retreat, taught by Tina Rasmussen and Stephen Snyder. During the two-week I experienced a deep state of samadhi called jhana; this state is said to be extra powerful in enhancing the effectiveness of insight meditation. Since then, I have wished to build my skill in attaining jhana so that my insight meditation can be more effective. Although jhana is very valuable in this way, it's also difficult to achieve and master (depending on the standards for jhana; more on this below), and that is one reason why most Western lay practitioners do not master it. Over the past decade the jhanas have been taught much more in the West than they had been previously, but still, although a good number of experienced meditators have now been exposed to jhana practice and have tasted the state of jhana, few have mastered it such that they can enter jhana routinely and make use of it in the course of their daily practice, or even in the course of their Vipassana retreat practice.
------------------
After the happy and rewarding, though effortful, retreat of 2009, I signed up for a two-month retreat in 2011 to develop my skill in jhana. This retreat was going to be taught by Pa Auk Saydaw, the great master who had taught Tina and Stephen. I was joyful on the fifth day of this retreat to experience the familiar jhana state I'd experienced in 2009. After emerging from the state, I went on my afternoon run with a post-jhana lightness and mental clarity that was also familiar from 2009. My joy was short-lived, though. When I reported this experience to Sayadaw, saying, "I think I entered the first jhana today," he immediately replied, "Full absorption is sure". (The jhana state is described as a state of absorption.) With Sayadaw's Burmese accent, it initially sounded like "pull abchorpchon eschure," and it took a while for me to comprehend the disappointing message: my teacher did not think I'd entered jhana to his standard-- if I had, I wouldn't have had any doubt about it. The immediacy of his answer suggested he knew this before I even said a word. It is said that great masters have the ability to sense the jhana factors present in other meditators for a short time after each meditation session; I wonder if he saw that I did not have all five of the necessary factors.
Every day on this retreat I practiced with sincere determination. The teacher's assistant instructed me to not try to enter jhana again until the nimitta, a bright white light seen with the mind's eye, was strong and continuous. This never happened. A weak nimitta was sometimes present but usually it was completely absent. As the retreat progressed I developed an aversion to samatha practice. I strategized techniques to work with the aversion, to ignore it, power through it, or inspire my way past it. After six weeks I felt so angry and discouraged that I abandoned samatha practice and spent the rest of the retreat doing the Vipassana practice I'd been doing as my main practice since I became a regular meditator in 2001. Aversion to samatha practice was persistent and I did not try to do this practice again for several months, perhaps over a year.
Was the jhana I'd experienced in 2009 not "full absorption"? Was the state I reported to Sayadaw in 2011 the same as what I'd reported to Tina and Stephen in 2009, or somehow lesser? The fact is that in the world of meditation there is a wide range of standards for jhana (see Richard Shankman's book for a review), and Pa Auk Sayadaw is known for having probably the most rigorous standards in the world. In both 2009 and 2011 I'd experienced some kind of absorption that some experts would have called jhana. Each state called jhana is useful as preparation for Vipassana meditation, but the deeper the jhana (the more rigorous the standards), the better.
I did not intend to choose the teacher with the most rigorous standards. My path simply led me to him. He had taught my good friend Shaila Catherine, and she advised me to learn his method. At the time I didn't know there were choices. On the other end of the spectrum, in 2012 another teacher, Kenneth Folk, led me through what he considered to be all eight jhanas in the course of a single skype session. I played with those states for a couple of weeks but never made them an integral part of my practice. Let's try to remember ... yes ... I do remember how to enter Kenneth's first jhana, I just did so and it took me about two seconds to enter it! I never placed value on this jhana. I see now that I never even believed that it could be a useful prelude to Vipassana meditation. It just seemed too easy. Let me say that it would probably not be easy for a beginning meditator. It was easy for me, someone who'd practiced Vipassana for over a decade and who'd just come out of a 2-month silent retreat.
--------------------------
Fast forward to 2017. This year I am, by choice, unemployed. I have vast amounts of leisure due to good health, financial security, and few obligations. I have felt interest in again pursuing samatha meditation, but at a more leisurely pace than before, without necessarily going to any retreat centers but by, instead, creating conditions of seclusion in my own home. So far I have done three four-day periods of seclusion, of "home retreat", and I am now in the midst of a seven-day. During all of these home retreats I've explored, with varying levels of intensity, samatha practice. I intend to talk about these explorations in another blog post.
Postscript: I just noticed that earlier this year I wrote another post on this same theme.
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