The Practice of Sangha - Thich Nhat Hanh

The Practice of Sangha
02.23.24

“Sangha.” What is it? Essentially, it’s a Buddhist term for community — from a specific community of Buddhist monastics to a meditation buddy you meet with every day, or anything in between.

Whatever your definition, sangha is invaluable; it’s one of Buddhism’s famed three jewels, along with the Buddha (teacher) and the dharma (the teachings). So this Weekend Reader is all about sangha: what it is, why it matters, and what it means to be part of one (or not). May the wisdom here help you feel more at home.  —Rod Meade Sperry, editor, Buddhadharma: The Practitioner’s Guide

What Is Sangha?  Thich Nhat Hanh explains that sangha is more than a community, it’s a deep spiritual practice.

A sangha is a community of friends practicing the dharma together in order to bring
about and to maintain awareness. The essence of a sangha is awareness,
understanding, acceptance, harmony and love. When you do not see these in a
community, it is not a true sangha, and you should have the courage to say so. But
when you find these elements are present in a community, you know that you have
the happiness and fortune of being in a real sangha.

In Matthew 5:13 in the New Testament of the Christian Bible, we find this statement:
“Ye are the salt of the earth; but if the salt hath lost its savor, wherewith shall it be
salted? It is thenceforth good for nothing but to be cast out and to be trodden
underfoot of men.” In this passage, Jesus describes his followers as salt. Food needs
salt in order to be tasty. Life needs understanding, compassion, and harmony in order
to be livable. This is the most important contribution to life that the followers of Jesus
can bring to the world. It means that the Kingdom of Heaven has to be realized here,
not somewhere else, and that Christians need to practice in a way that they are the
salt of life and a true community of Christians.

Salt is also an important image in the Buddhist canon, and this Christian teaching is
equivalent to the Buddha’s teaching about sangha. The Buddha said that the water
in the four oceans has only one taste, the taste of salt, just as his teaching has only
one taste, the taste of liberation. Therefore, the elements of sangha are the taste of
life, the taste of liberation, and we have to practice in order to become the salt. When
we say, “I take refuge in the sangha,” it is not a statement, it is a practice.

The trees, water, air, birds, and so on can all be members of our sangha.
A beautiful walking path may be part of our sangha. A good cushion can be also.

In the Buddhist scriptures it is said that there are four communities: monks, nuns,
laymen and laywomen. But I also include elements that are not human in the sangha.
The trees, water, air, birds, and so on can all be members of our sangha. A beautiful
walking path may be part of our sangha. A good cushion can be also. We can make
many things into supportive elements of our sangha. This idea is not entirely new; it
can be found throughout the sutras and in the Abhidharma, too. A pebble, a leaf and
a dahlia are mentioned in the Saddharmapundarika Sutra in this respect. It is said in
the Pure Land Sutra that if you are mindful, then when the wind blows through the
trees, you will hear the teaching of the Four Establishments of Mindfulness, the
Eightfold Path, and so on. The whole cosmos is preaching the buddhadharma and
practicing the buddhadharma. If you are attentive, you will get in touch with that
sangha.

Sangha as our roots

I don’t think the Buddha wanted us to abandon our society, our culture or our roots in
order to practice. The practice of Buddhism should help people go back to their
families. It should help people re-enter society in order to rediscover and accept the
good things that are there in their culture and to rebuild those that are not.
Our modern society creates so many young people without roots. They are uprooted
from their families and their society; they wander around, not quite human beings,
because they do not have roots. Quite a number of them come from broken families
and feel rejected by society. They live on the margins, looking for a home, for
something to belong to. They are like trees without roots. For these people, it’s very
difficult to practice. A tree without roots cannot absorb anything; it cannot survive.
Even if they practice intensively for ten years, it’s very hard for them to be transformed
if they remain an island, if they cannot establish a link with other people.

The practice of Buddhism should help people re-enter society in order to rediscover
and accept the good things that are there in their culture
and to rebuild those that are not.

A community of practice, a sangha, can provide a second chance to a young person
who comes from a broken family or is alienated from his or her society. If the
community of practice is organized as a family with a friendly, warm atmosphere,
young people can succeed in their practice.

Suffering (dukkha) is one of the biggest problems of our times. First we have to
recognize this suffering and acknowledge it. Then we need to look deeply into its
nature in order to find a way out. If we look into the present situation in ourselves
and our society, we can see much suffering. We need to call it by its true names—
loneliness, the feeling of being cut off, alienation, division, the disintegration of the
family, the disintegration of society.

Our civilization, our culture, has been characterized by individualism. The individual
wants to be free from the society, from the family. The individual does not think he
or she needs to take refuge in the family or in the society and thinks that he or she
can be happy without a sangha. That is why we do not have solidity, we do not have
harmony, we do not have the communication that we so need.

The practice is, therefore, to grow some roots. The sangha is not a place to hide in
order to avoid your responsibilities. The sangha is a place to practice for the
transformation and the healing of self and society. When you are strong, you can be
there in order to help society. If your society is in trouble, if your family is broken, if
your church is no longer capable of providing you with spiritual life, then you work to
take refuge in the sangha so that you can restore your strength, your understanding,
your compassion, your confidence. And then in turn you can use that strength,
understanding and compassion to rebuild your family and society, to renew your
church, to restore communication and harmony. This can only be done as a
community—not as an individual, but as a sangha.

In order for us to develop some roots, we need the kind of environment that can
help us become rooted. A sangha is not a community of practice in which each
person is an island, unable to communicate with each other—this is not a true
sangha. No healing or transformation will result from such a sangha. A true sangha
should be like a family in which there is a spirit of brotherhood and sisterhood.
If we see a group of people living mindfully, capable of smiling,
of loving, we gain confidence in our future.

There is a lot of suffering, yes, and we have to embrace all this suffering. But to get
strong, we also need to touch the positive elements, and when we are strong, we can
embrace the suffering in us and all around us. If we see a group of people living
mindfully, capable of smiling, of loving, we gain confidence in our future. When we
practice mindful breathing, smiling, resting, walking and working, then we become a
positive element in society, and we will inspire confidence all around us. This is the
way to avoid letting despair overwhelm us. It is also the way to help the younger
generation so they do not lose hope. It is very important that we live our daily life in
such a way that demonstrates that a future is possible.

We need a sangha

In my tradition we learn that as individuals we cannot do much. That is why taking
refuge in the sangha, taking refuge in the community, is a very strong and important
practice. When I say, “I take refuge in the sangha,” it does not mean that I want to
express my devotion. No. It’s not a question of devotion; it’s a question of practice.
Without being in a sangha, without being supported by a group of friends who are
motivated by the same ideal and practice, we cannot go far.

If we do not have a supportive sangha, we may not be getting the kind of support we
need for our practice, that we need to nourish our bodhichitta (the strong desire to
cultivate love and understanding in ourselves). Sometimes we call it “beginner’s
mind.” The mind of a beginner is always very beautiful, very strong. In a good and
healthy sangha, there is encouragement for our beginner’s mind, for our bodhichitta.
So the sangha is the soil and we are the seed. No matter how beautiful, how vigorous
our seed is, if the soil does not provide us with vitality, our seed will die.

One of the brothers from Plum Village, Brother Phap Dung, went to Vietnam some
years ago with a few members of the sangha. It was a very important experience for
him. He had been in the West since he was a small child. Then when he went to
northern Vietnam, he got in touch with some of the most ancient elements in
Vietnamese culture and with the mountains and the rivers of northern Vietnam. He
wrote to me and said, “Our land of Vietnam is so beautiful, it is as beautiful as a
dream. I don’t dare take heavy steps on this earth of Vietnam.” By this he meant that
he had right mindfulness when he walked. His right mindfulness was due to the
practice and support he had in the sangha before he went to Vietnam. That is
beginner’s mind, the mind you have in the beginning when you undertake the practice.
It’s very beautiful and very precious, but that beginner’s mind can be broken, can be
destroyed, can be lost if it is not nourished or supported by a sangha.
To practice right mindfulness, we need the right environment,
and that environment is our sangha.

Although he had his little sangha near him in Vietnam, the environment was very
distracting, and he saw that if he stayed too long without the larger sangha, he would
be swept away by that environment, by his forgetfulness—not only his own
forgetfulness, but the forgetfulness of everybody around him. This is because right
mindfulness for someone who has only just started the practice is still weak, and the
forgetfulness of the people around us is very great and capable of dragging us away
in the direction of the five cravings.

To practice right mindfulness, we need the right environment, and that environment
is our sangha. Without a sangha we are very weak. In a society where everyone is
rushing, everyone is being carried away by their habit energies, practice is very
difficult. That is why the sangha is our salvation. The sangha where everyone is
practicing mindful walking, mindful speaking, mindful eating seems to be the only
chance for us to succeed in ending the vicious cycle.

And what is the sangha? The sangha is a community of people who agree with each
other that if we do not practice right mindfulness, we will lose all the beautiful things
in our soul and all around us. People in the sangha standing near us, practicing with
us, support us so that we are not pulled away from the present moment. Whenever
we find ourselves in a difficult situation, two or three friends in the sangha who are
there for us, understanding and helping us, will get us through it. Even in our silent
practice we help each other.

In my tradition they say that when a tiger leaves the mountain and goes to the lowland,
it will be caught by humans and killed. When practitioners leave their sangha, they
will abandon their practice after a few months. In order to continue our practice of
transformation and healing, we need a sangha. With a sangha it’s much easier to
practice, and that is why I always take refuge in my sangha.

How a sangha helps us

The presence of a sangha is a wonderful opportunity to allow the collective energy of
the sangha to penetrate into our body and consciousness. We profit a lot from that
collective energy. We can entrust ourselves to the sangha because the sangha is
practicing, and the collective energy of mindfulness is strong. Although we can rely
on the energy of mindfulness that is generated by our personal practice, sometimes
it is not enough. But if you know how to use that energy of mindfulness in order to
receive the collective energy of the sangha, you will have a powerful source of energy
for your transformation and healing.

Your body, your consciousness, and your environment are like a garden. There may
be a few trees and bushes that are dying, and you may feel overwhelmed by anguish
and suffering at the sight of that. You may be unaware that there are still many trees
in your garden that are solid, vigorous and beautiful. When members of your sangha
come into your garden, they can help you see that you still have a lot of beautiful
trees and that you can enjoy the things that have not gone wrong within your
landscape. That is the role that the sangha can play. Many people in the sangha are
capable of enjoying a beautiful sunset or a cup of tea. They dwell firmly in the present
moment, not allowing worries or regrets to spoil the present moment. Sitting close to
these people, walking close to these people, you can profit from their energy and
restore your balance. When their energy of mindfulness is combined with yours, you
will be able to touch beauty and happiness.

Nothing is more important than your peace and happiness in the here and now. One
day you will lie like a dead body and no longer be able to touch the beauty of a flower.
Make good use of your time; practice touching the positive aspects of life in you and
around you.

Don’t lock yourself behind your door and fight alone. If you think that by yourself you
cannot go back to embrace strong feelings, you can ask one, two or three friends to
sit next to you and to help you with their support. They can give you mindfulness
energy so that you can go back home with strength. They can say, “My brother, I
know that the pain in you is very deep, and I am here for you.”

Taking refuge in the sangha is a very important practice. Abandoned, alone, you get
lost, you get carried away. So, taking refuge in the sangha is a very deep practice,
especially for those of us who feel vulnerable, shaky, agitated, and unstable. That is
why you come to a practice center, to take refuge in the sangha. You allow the sangha
to transport you like a boat so that you can cross the ocean of sorrow.

When you allow yourself to be in a sangha the way a drop of water allows itself to
be in a river, the energy of the sangha can penetrate into you, and transformation
and healing will become possible.

When we throw a rock into a river the rock will sink. But if we have a boat, the boat
can carry hundreds of pounds of rocks and it will not sink. The same thing is true with
our sorrow and pain. If we have a boat, we can carry our pain and sorrow, and we will
not sink into the river of suffering. And what is that boat? That boat is, first of all, the
energy of mindfulness that you generate by your practice. That boat is also the
sangha—the community of practice consisting of brothers and sisters in the dharma.
We don’t have to bring just joy when we come to the sangha; we can also bring our
suffering with us. But we have to walk on the path of joy with our suffering, we have
to share joy with our brothers and sisters. Then we will be in touch with the seeds of
happiness in ourselves, and the suffering will grow weaker and be transformed. Allow
yourself to be supported, to be held by the sangha. When you allow yourself to be in
a sangha the way a drop of water allows itself to be in a river, the energy of the sangha
can penetrate into you, and transformation and healing will become possible.

Practice is easier with a sangha

The only way to support the Buddha, to support our sangha, to support the earth, to
support our children and future generations, is to really be here for them. “Darling, I
am here for you” is a statement of love. You need to be here. If you are not here, how
can you love? That is why the practice of meditation is the practice of being here for
the ones we love.

To be present sounds like an easy thing to do. For many of us, it is easy because we
have made it a habit. We are in the habit of dwelling in the present moment, of
touching the morning sunshine deeply, of drinking our morning tea deeply, of sitting
and being present with the person we love. But for some of us it may not be so easy,
because we have not cultivated the habit of being in the here and the now. We are
always running, and it is hard for us to stop and be here in the present moment, to
encounter life. For those of us who have not learned to be present, we need to be
supported in that kind of learning. It’s not difficult when you are supported by the
sangha. With sangha you will be able to learn the art of stopping.

The sangha is a wonderful home. Every time you go back to the sangha, you feel that
you can breathe more easily, you can walk more mindfully, you can better enjoy the
blue sky, the white clouds and the cypress tree in your yard. Why? Because the
sangha members practice going home many times a day—through walking,
breathing, cooking and doing their daily activities mindfully. Everyone in the sangha
is practicing in the same way, walking mindfully, sitting mindfully, eating mindfully,
smiling, enjoying each moment of life.

We are always running, and it is hard for us to stop and be here in the present
moment, to encounter life. With sangha you will be able to learn the art of stopping.
When I practice walking, I make mindful and beautiful steps. I do that not only for
myself but also for all of my friends who are here; because everyone who sees me
taking a step like that has confidence and is reminded to do the same. And when they
make a step in the present moment, smiling and making peace with themselves, they
inspire all of us. You breathe for me, I walk for you, we do things together, and this is
practicing as a sangha. You don’t need to make much effort; your practice is easy,
because you feel that you are supported by the sangha.

When we sit together as a sangha, we enjoy the collective energy of mindfulness,
and each of us allows the mindful energy of the sangha to penetrate us. Even if you
don’t do anything, if you just stop thinking and allow yourself to absorb the collective
energy of the sangha, it’s very healing. Don’t struggle, don’t try to do something, just
allow yourself to be with the sangha. Allow yourself to rest, and the energy of the
sangha will help you, will carry and support you. The sangha is there to make the
training easy. When we are surrounded by brothers and sisters doing exactly the
same thing, it is easy to flow in the stream of the sangha.

As individuals we have problems, and we also have problems in our families, our
societies and our nations. Meditation in the twenty-first century should become a
collective practice; without a sangha we cannot achieve much. When we begin to
focus our attention on the suffering on a larger scale, we begin to connect with and
to relate to other people, who are also ourselves, and the little problems that we have
within our individual circle will vanish. In this way our loneliness or our feeling of being
cut off will no longer be there, and we will be able to do things together.

If we work on our problems alone, it becomes more difficult. When you have a strong
emotion come up, you may feel that you cannot stand it. You may have a breakdown
or want to die. But if you have someone, a good friend sitting with you, you feel much
better. You feel supported and you have more strength in order to deal with your
strong emotion. If you are taking something into your body that is toxic, even realizing
that it will make you sick, you may not be able to change your habit. But if you are
surrounded by people who do not have the same problem, it becomes easier to
change. That is why it is very important to practice in the context of a sangha.
Because you feel supported there, the sangha is the most appropriate setting and
environment for the practice of looking deeply. If you have a sangha of two, three,
maybe even fifty people who are practicing correctly—getting joy, peace, and
happiness from the practice—then you are the luckiest person on earth.

We don’t have to force ourselves to practice. We can give up all the struggle and
allow ourselves to be, to rest. For this, however, we need a little bit of training, and
the sangha is there to make the training easy.

So, practicing in the setting of the sangha is much easier. We don’t have to practice
so intensely. Our practice becomes the practice of “non-practice.” That means a lot.
We don’t have to force ourselves to practice. We can give up all the struggle and
allow ourselves to be, to rest. For this, however, we need a little bit of training, and
the sangha is there to make the training easy. Being aware that we are in a sangha
where people are happy with being mindful, where people are living deeply the
moments of their days, that is enough. I always feel happy in the presence of a happy
sangha. If you put yourself in such an environment, then transformation will happen
without much effort. This is my experience.

Practicing in the sangha

The sangha isn’t perfect

If you are a beginner in the practice, you should not worry about what is the correct
thing to do. When surrounded by many people, we might be caught by the idea, “I
don’t know what the right thing is to do.” That idea may make us very uncomfortable.
We may think, “I feel embarrassed that I’m not doing the right thing. There are people
who are bowing, and I am not bowing. People are walking slowly, and I am walking a
little bit too fast.” So, the idea that we may not be doing the right thing can embarrass
us.

I would like to tell you what really is the right thing. The right thing is to do whatever
you are doing in mindfulness. Mindfulness is keeping one’s consciousness alive to
the present reality. To bow may not be the right thing to do if you don’t bow in
mindfulness. If you don’t bow but are mindful, not bowing is the right thing. Even if
people are walking slowly and you run, you are doing the right thing if you run
mindfully. The wrong thing is whatever you do without mindfulness. If we understand
this, we will not be embarrassed anymore. Everything we do is right provided we do
it in mindfulness. To bow or not to bow, that is not the question. The question is
whether to bow in mindfulness or not, or not to bow in mindfulness or not.
If you take a step and you feel peaceful and happy, you know that is the correct
practice. You are the only one who knows whether you are doing it correctly or not.
No one else can judge. When you practice breathing in and out, if you feel peaceful,
if you enjoy your in-breath and out-breath, you know you are doing it correctly. You
are the best one to know. Have confidence in yourself. Wherever you find yourself, if
you feel you are at ease and peaceful, that you are not under pressure, then you
know you are doing it right.

The function of the bell in a sangha is to bring us back to ourselves. When we hear
the bell, we come back to ourselves and breathe, and at that point we improve the
quality of the sangha energy. We know that our brother and our sister, wherever they
are, will be stopping, breathing, and coming back to themselves. They will be
generating the energy of right mindfulness, the sangha energy. When we look at each
other, we feel confident, because everyone is practicing together in the same way
and contributing to the quality of the sangha. So we are friends on the path of practice.

You don’t sit for yourself alone, you sit for the whole sangha—not only the sangha,
but also for the people in your city, because when one person in the city is less angry,
is smiling more, the whole city profits.

The sangha is made out of the work of individuals, so we have the duty to help create
the energy of the sangha. Our presence, when it is a mindful presence, contributes
to that energy. When we are absent during the activities of the sangha, we are not
contributing to sangha energy. If we don’t go to a sitting meditation, we are not feeding
our sangha. We are also letting ourselves go hungry, because we are not benefiting
from the sangha.

We don’t profit from the sangha, and the sangha doesn’t profit from us. Don’t think
that we sit for ourselves. You don’t sit for yourself alone, you sit for the whole
sangha—not only the sangha, but also for the people in your city, because when one
person in the city is less angry, is smiling more, the whole city profits. If we practice
looking deeply, our understanding of interbeing will grow, and we will see that every
smile, every step, every breath is for everybody. It is for our country, for the future,
for our ancestors.

The best thing we can do is to transform ourselves into a positive element of the
sangha. If members of the sangha see us practicing well, they will have confidence
and do better. If there are two, three, four, five, six, seven of you like that in the
sangha, I’m sure the sangha will be a happy sangha and will be the refuge of many
people in the world.

Our transformation and healing depend on the quality of the sangha. If there are
enough people smiling and happy in the sangha, the sangha has more power to heal
and transform. So you have to invest in your sangha. Every member of the sangha
has his or her weaknesses and strengths, and you have to recognize them in order
to make good use of the positive elements for the sake of the whole sangha. You also
have to recognize the negative elements so that you and the whole sangha can help
embrace them. You don’t leave that negative element to the person alone, because
he may not be able to hold and transform it by himself.

You don’t need a perfect sangha—a family or a community doesn’t have to be perfect
in order to be helpful. In fact, the sangha at the time of the Buddha was not perfect.
But it was enough for people to take refuge in, because in the sangha there were
people who had enough compassion, solidity and insight to embrace others who did
not have as much compassion, solidity and insight. I also have some difficulties with
my sangha, but I’m very happy because everyone tries to practice in my sangha.
If we lived in a sangha where everyone was perfect, everyone was a bodhisattva or
a buddha, that would be very difficult for us. Weakness in the other person is very
important, and weakness within yourself is also very important. Anger is in us,
jealousy is in us, arrogance is in us. These kinds of things are very human. It is thanks
to the presence of weakness in you and weakness in a brother or a sister that you
learn how to practice. To practice is to have an opportunity to transform. So it is
through our shortcomings that we learn to practice.

There are some people who think of leaving the sangha when they encounter
difficulties with other sangha members. They cannot bear little injustices inflicted on
them because their hearts are small. To help your heart grow bigger and bigger,
understanding and love are necessary. Your heart can grow as big as the cosmos;
the growth of your heart is infinite. If your heart is like a big river, you can receive any
amount of dirt. It will not affect you, and you can transform the dirt very easily.
The Buddha used this image. If you put a little dirt in a pitcher of water, then that
water has to be thrown away. People cannot drink it. But if you put the same amount
of dirt into a huge river, people can continue to drink from the river, because the river
is so immense. Overnight that dirt will be transformed within the heart of the river. So
if your heart is as big as a river, you can receive any amount of injustice and still live
with happiness. You can transform overnight the injustices inflicted on you. If you still
suffer, your heart is still not large enough. That is the teaching of forbearance and
inclusiveness in Buddhism. You don’t practice to suppress your suffering; you practice
in order for your heart to expand as big as a river.

One time the Buddha said to his disciples: “There are people among us who do not
have the same capacity as we do. They do not have the capacity to act rightly or to
speak rightly. But if we look deeply, we see in their hearts that there are good seeds,
and therefore we have to treat those people in such a way that those good seeds will
not be lost.”[1] Among us there are people who we may think do not have the capacity
to practice as well as we do. But we should know that those people also have good
seeds, and we have to cultivate those good seeds in such a way that these good
seeds have a chance to be watered and to sprout. We don’t need to be perfect. 
I myself am not perfect, and you don’t need to be perfect either.

The Buddha saw all his disciples as his children, and I think of mine in the same way.
Any disciple of mine is my child that I have given birth to. In my heart I feel at ease, I
feel light and happy, even though that child may still have a problem. You can use
that method, too. If there is a person in the sangha who troubles you, don’t give up
hope. Remember, “My teacher has given birth to that child. How can I practice in
order to see that person as my sister? Then my heart will feel more at ease and I will
be able to accept her. That person is still my sister, whether I want her to be or not.”
That feeling and those words can help dissolve the irritation that you are having with
that person.

If we have harmony in the sangha, we can give confidence to many people. We don’t
need to be perfect. I myself am not perfect, and you don’t need to be perfect either.
But if in your own way you can express your harmony in the sangha, this is your gift.

In the sangha there must be difficult people. These difficult people are a good thing
for you—they will test your capacity of sangha-building and practicing. One day when
that person says something that is not very nice to you, you’ll be able to smile, and it
won’t make you suffer at all. Your compassion will have been born and you will be
capable of embracing him or her within your compassion and your understanding.
Then you will know that your practice has grown. You should be delighted that such
an act does not make you angry or sad anymore, that you have enough compassion
and understanding to embrace it. That is why you should not be tempted to eliminate
the elements that you think are difficult in your sangha.

I am speaking to you out of my experience. I now have a lot more patience and
compassion, and because I have more patience and compassion, my happiness has
grown much greater. You suffer because your understanding and compassion are not
yet large enough to embrace difficult people, but with the practice you will grow, your
heart will grow, your understanding and compassion will grow, and you won’t suffer
anymore. And thanks to the sangha practicing together, thanks to your model of
practice, those people will transform. That is a great success, much greater than in
the case of people who are easy to get along with.

I take refuge in the sangha

The reason we take refuge in anything is because we need protection. But very often
we take refuge in people or things that are not at all solid. We may feel that we are
not strong enough to be on our own, so we are tempted to look for someone to take
refuge in. We are inclined to think that if we have someone who is strong and can be
our refuge, then our life will be easier. We need to be very careful, because if we take
refuge in a person who has no stability at all, then the little bit of solidity we have
ourselves will be entirely lost. Many people have done that, and they have lost the
little solidity and freedom they once had.

When a situation is dangerous, you need to escape, you need to take refuge in a
place of safety. The sangha is that.

Thich Nhat Hanh (1926-2022) was a renowned Zen teacher and poet, the founder of the
Engaged Buddhist movement, and the founder of nine monastic communities,
including Plum Village Monastery in France. He was also the author of At Home in the
World, The Other Shore, and more than a hundred other books that have sold millions of
copies worldwide.

Where You Fall - Tricycle Daily Dharma, April 12, 2014

Where You Fall | April 12, 2014 You get up where you fall down. You don't get up somewhere else. It's where you fall down that you establish your practice. —Ryokan Steve Weintraub, "Umbrella Man"

NEW FILM CLUB: PAYBACK Our new Film Club selection looks at debts that can't be paid back with money. Based on the Margaret Atwood book Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth, the film explores debt in its various forms—societal, personal, environmental, spiritual, criminal, and of course, economic—along with the intriguing debtor-creditor relationship.	BLOG: BRIDGING THE GAP With his Tibetan Buddhist academy in Kathmandu, Nepal, Chökyi Nyima Rinpoche hopes to bridge the gap between study and practice, reviving the age-old tradition of the scholar-practitioner.

More at Tricycle...
NEW TRICYCLE E-BOOK: CONVERSATIONS: VOLUME 1 Join the Tricycle community and download Conversations: Volume 1, our newest e-book featuring interviews with the Dalai Lama, Pema Chödrön, Robert Aitken Roshi, the actor Jeff Bridges, and more.	5th ANNIVERSARY OF BUDDHAFEST! Join us June 19-22 in the Washington, DC area. Featuring Gelek Rimpoche, Ram Dass, Tara Brach, Roshi Joan Halifax, Allan Lokos, Barbara Bonner, Fleet Maull, and Sharon Salzberg. Plus films and music.	ENLIGHTENING CONVERSATIONS CONFERENCE Tricycle & Spring Journal present a new conference series exploring the intersection of Buddhism and psychoanalysis. This year's meeting investigates the opportunities and obstacles in human awakening. May 9-10, 2014. 7.5 CECs approved.
= Tricycle member-supported content. Visit tricycle.com/join to become a member.

Forward this email to a friend This email was sent to clindsay@wwt.net by tricycle@tricycle.com |   Update Profile/Email Address | Instant removal with SafeUnsubscribe™ | Privacy Policy. The Tricycle Community | 89 5th Ave | Suite 301 | New York | NY | 10003

Masahide - Barn’s Burnt Down

https://insig.ht/PiGqEZYzn0b

“The Tao Te Ching shows how loss reveals hidden usefulness. When we release what we to, new space appears, echoing how the burned barn exposes the moon, and the illusions we mistook for shelter.”

Reading this haiku, I hear Marcus Aurelius whispering: adversity isn’t the end, it’s the path. Resistance shapes us. “The impediment to action advances action.” Each obstacle is an opportunity for building strength, clarity, and resilience. Walk it. 💕

(Iki, Australia)

Resistance keeps us stuck in the ashes. Acceptance helps us to see the moon.

When life burns down one of our familiar structures, it’s easy to slip into victim mode or get lost in frustration, but much of our suffering comes from resisting what’s already here. Resistance pulls us out of the present moment and disconnects us from peace. Acceptance isn’t pretending we like what happened. It’s simply telling the truth: this is what is. From that honest place, we regain our ability to respond with clarity rather than react from agitation. And something else becomes possible too. When we stop fighting reality, we often begin to notice what we couldn’t see before, a lesson, a strength being formed, a new perspective, or even a quiet blessing that only becomes visible after the loss. Even when we can’t yet see a gift, acceptance itself is a gift because it returns us to presence, and from presence we can take the next right step forward.

May we meet life‘s challenges with honest acceptance, staying rooted in the present, allowing new clarity to rise as we move forward with wisdom and peace🙏🏼❤️☕️

Mike McCain

Michigan

—————

https://insig.ht/NhVQtGyDr0b

I am struck by the Taoism reference that empty space is what makes the vessel useful. I’m working my way out of the hustle and achieving culture and finding a life of far greater meaning. Creating that empty space is definitely opening up my vision to what truly matters. 🌙

Before It Breaks (@beforeitbreaks)

https://substack.com/@beforeitbreaks/note/c-198700022?r=iabwa&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action

A Chan Student’s Guide to Buddhism’s famed Heart Sutra

 A Chan Student’s Guide to Buddhism’s famed Heart Sutra

https://shorturl.at/BSbup

For a long time, in my daily life and on Chan and Zen retreats, I had absolutely no clue what I was repeating when chanting Buddhism’s famous Heart Sutra — it was just words without any correlation to my practice or my life. Yet my heart has been pushing me to repeat and contemplate it, until I fully understand its wisdom; that’ll be a lifetime of study and effort, I’m sure! 

So I’m not saying I fully understand it yet. I am not a Buddhist scholar. But I’m a serious practitioner — and did get my bachelor’s in religious studies — and would like to offer some insight to this ancient sutra that might benefit your life and your practice. 

First, let’s look at the English Heart Sutra translation I am most familiar with, which comes from the Dharma Drum Chan Buddhist lineage of Master Sheng Yen.

The Prajnaparamita Heart Sutra

When the Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara
was coursing in the deep Prajnaparamita,
he perceived that all five skandhas are empty,
thereby transcending all sufferings.
Sariputra, form is not other than emptiness
and emptiness not other than form.
Form is precisely emptiness and emptiness precisely form.

So also are sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness.
Sariputra, this voidness of all dharmas
is not born, not destroyed,
not impure, not pure, does not increase or decrease.
In voidness there is no form,
and no sensation, perception, volition or consciousness;
no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind;
no sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, thought;
there is no realm of the eye
all the way up to no realm of mental cognition.
There is no ignorance and there is no ending of ignorance
through to no aging and death and no ending of aging and death.
There is no suffering, no cause of suffering,
no cessation of suffering, and no path.
There is no wisdom or any attainment.
With nothing to attain, Bodhisattvas relying on Prajnaparamita
have no obstructions in their minds.
Having no obstructions, there is no fear
and departing far from confusion and imaginings,
they reach Ultimate Nirvana.
All past, present and future Buddhas,
relying on Prajnaparamita, attain Anuttara-Samyak-Sambodhi.
Therefore, know that Prajnaparamita
is the great mantra of power,
the great mantra of wisdom, the supreme mantra,
the unequalled mantra,
which is able to remove all sufferings.
It is real and not false.
Therefore recite the mantra of Prajnaparamita:
Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha. 

Upon first chanting or reading this, especially with no prior Buddhist background or study, this can all be overwhelmingly unclear and confusing! So let’s consider the wording throughout the sutra. 

When the Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara
was coursing in the deep Prajnaparamita,

I still remember the first time I chanted this on my very first retreat, fumbling around with the pronunciations of Bodhisattva and Avalokiteshvara. “What am I even saying?” I thought to myself. Eventually, I learned the meaning of the first line. “Bodhisattva” literally translates to ”awakened being,” someone who is not only wise but also compassionate, willing to spend their entire life (or perhaps many lifetimes) easing the suffering of the world. Avalokiteshvara (known as Guanyin in Chan Buddhism) is the bodhisattva of compassion whose name literally translates to “the one who hears the cries of the world,” sometimes depicted with many arms, each one reaching out to ease the suffering of the world. 

I personally don’t believe in deities or gods, so my understanding of Avalokiteshvara is that he is a personification of the potential for infinite compassion that already exists within us all. I am not praying to some god outside of myself, but to my own inherent ability for unlimited and unconditional compassion. Much like an acorn that has the potential to become a great oak tree, each one of us has the possibility of becoming a wise, compassionate being like Avalokiteshvara. Buddhists call this “Buddha-nature,” and I have found this concept to be quite helpful for my life. Growing up Catholic, I had the belief that I was born a sinner and needed to be saved by someone outside myself. Buddha-nature flips this concept around and reminds us that we are all born with basic goodness, but due to an innocent misperception of reality, we don’t always recognize it. This sutra, along with our dedicated practice, reminds us that if we tend the garden of our hearts and minds, we too can liberate ourselves from our suffering and become a bodhisattva who can help heal this broken world.

Then comes the second half of that first sentence. Coursing in the deep, what in the what now? Prajnaparamita means for the perfection of wisdom, or perfect wisdom. So, putting it all together, this great compassionate being was resting deeply in perfect wisdom; completely free at home in their true nature. 

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that this perfect wisdom is already who we are. This has simplified my practice tremendously, as early on, I used to practice feverishly for enlightenment. I was hoping for some awakening outside of my direct experience; some blissful explosion that would somehow magically fix my life. Although transformational experiences have happened, they – like all things – have come and gone, and they surely didn’t fix everything I believed was wrong with my life. Over the years of reflecting on this sutra, I eventually realized what I’ve been searching for has been here the entire time. Like a fish swimming around searching for the Great Ocean, I have been intimately connected to what I’ve been looking for all along. This realization, which continues to deepen, has allowed me to relax into my life, warts and all, and recognize that it’s all an expression of the awakened mind. Although I’m nowhere near enlightened, I’ve definitely learned to rest a little more deeply in what I call a profound okayness that lies just beneath the chaos of my everyday life.

he perceived that all five skandhas are empty,
thereby transcending all sufferings.

The five skandhas are form, sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness. Put another way, that may be more helpful: form is our body. Sensations are the feeling tones of any particular object we experience through our senses that are either pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Perception is our mind’s ability to remember, recognize, and categorize the world around us. Volition is all the mental activity that arises in our minds (memories, judgments, expectations, storylines, etc.), and consciousness is that which knows experience; the silent observer that bears witness to every moment of our lives.

Although it’s pretty easy to understand what the five skandhas are, it’s another thing to decipher what the sutra means by them being empty: My body is empty? Empty of what? Empty of a solid, unchanging, separate self. Typically, we cling to this body and mind and believe that these experiences are who we are. We have a body, and we feel “I am this body,” or at the very least that there is some solid entity that is the owner of the body. But through deep investigation in meditation, we begin to see that things are not necessarily the way that we think they are. 

Where in your body can you locate some unchanging essence that you can call “me” or “mine”? Ever since it was born, your body has been in a constant state of change. We constantly lose skin cells, and even cut our hair and nails, often with no loss to this sense of self. Are we located in our bones? Skin? Organs? When we really observe deeply, we begin to see that “I” cannot be found anywhere in the body. 

Not only can we not find any sense of self in the body, the body itself follows its own nature of change, subject to aging, illness, and death. Although there is some volition in how we decide to move this body, ultimately most of its functions are out of our conscious control: think of your heartbeat or your digestive process. These functions follow their own nature and are empty of some solid self pulling the strings.

Alternatively, instead of the word empty, it may be useful to try “boundless” or even “not independently arising.” Rather than saying the body is empty of a self, we can say the body is boundless and doesn’t arise independently of non-body causes and conditions. 

This isn’t as confusing as it sounds. In order to have a body, there needs to be oxygen for the body to breathe. Oxygen depends on trees, which depend on soil, rain, the sun, and the atmosphere. If one of these non-body conditions vanishe,d there wouldn’t be a body. We can’t have a body without all the proper causes and conditions that allow it to arise in the first place. In this way, the body is boundless because its existence depends on infinite causes and conditions. This body is an expression of the universe being exactly the way it is. If one condition were different, the body wouldn’t be here. If the Earth were closer to or further from the sun, the conditions wouldn’t be optimal for life, hence there would be no body. 

Now, if this all seems very confusing, please don’t worry. What is trying to be expressed is beyond words and intellect. The important point is to contemplate, investigate, experience, and realize it for yourself. 

The last part of this section declares that Avalokiteshvara is now free from all sufferings. How is this possible? Because all of our suffering comes from believing in and living from this solid sense of self. I call this delusion “Me-world,” and define it as the self-centered part of the mind that filters every experience we have. The main theme of Me-world is, “What does this have to do with me?” If it’s pleasant, we want more. Unpleasant, we want to destroy or avoid it. And so we go through life limited by this small filter that has been conditioned by our lives. Once we are able to realize that this self we think we are isn’t as real and solid as we believe it to be, there is immense freedom, ease, and joy.

I have found reflecting on the emptiness of self to be quite liberating, especially when in the middle of a stressful or painful mind state. In moments of suffering – if I’m lucky enough to remember to practice – I pause and reflect on the experience I’m having. Who is it that’s mad at this moment? Is my hair upset? My fingernails? Bones? Organs? Where is this solid, unchanging person that’s creating this issue? No matter how many times I contemplate this, I never find the self I’m looking for. There’s definitely an experience happening, yet the self having that experience is nowhere to be found. Much like a rainbow which exists based on certain causes and conditions, but cannot be found upon searching for it, my self seems to always elude me when I look for it. Realizing the fluidity of the moment and the lack of any self-existence in my thoughts and feelings, which are coloring the moment, my mood lightens, and there is a softening that happens. From this “still point of the turning world,” as TS Eliot once wrote, I’m able to respond to the moment out of wisdom rather than blindly react from my limited conditioning. I’m not saying I have freed myself from all my sufferings, but I’ve definitely reduced some.

Sariputra, form is not other than emptiness
and emptiness not other than form.
Form is precisely emptiness and emptiness precisely form.                        

So also are sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness.

(Sariputra is the name of one of the Buddha’s original disciples, known for his sharp intellect and deep wisdom. This whole sutra is a dialogue between Avalokiteshvara and Sariputra, and I don’t find that to be a coincidence. As I see it, one represents the heart, the other the mind or wisdom. The meeting of wisdom and compassion is not only the essence of this sutra, but is at the heart of all Buddhist practice.)

The next lines further the point made above. Not only is our body boundless and empty of some solid, unchanging entity, but so are the sensations, perceptions, volition, and consciousness. Each of these skandhas are just like the body, all arising due to their own specific causes and conditions. Pleasant sensations, for example, have no sense of self and are simply an expression of certain causes and conditions. If we take a bite of a cookie, the sugar hits the taste buds, which (for most of us) generates a pleasant experience. Perceptions and mental activity generate in the same way. We can only name things in a language that was taught to us. And how our minds respond to what we are experiencing is also conditioned by many factors outside of us, and all of this is subject to change. If I love cookies and eat so much that I throw up, the next time I see a cookie, it may not be a pleasurable experience. The belief that I love cookies may change, now that I’ve gotten sick from eating them. Because the belief changes, so do the cravings and desires associated with it. In this way, there is no self that’s doing all of this, but rather conditions are constantly interacting and playing themselves out.

This all makes sense for the body and mind, but what about consciousness? Isn’t that who we are? Can’t we find a self there? 

Although I won’t argue that it sure does feel like I am the awareness which knows, it’s not actually the case. In fact, as soon as I say that I am aware, I’ve already added a thought on top of the immediate experience of awareness. 

I once heard someone call awareness the “ownerless open,” and I absolutely love that because it’s a perfect expression of consciousness. Ownerless, because no one owns the clarity and luminosity of mind, and open because, like the sky which can hold any amount of storms without being affected, awareness can do the same as it holds all the changing conditions of our lives. As Tara Brach once said, “However it is, there’s room for it.” So, although there is an experience of knowing, there isn’t a solid, unchanging knower that owns it. Consciousness is simply what is, not me or mine. In my own practice, I’ve found that simply pausing and resting in this silent witness, “Buddho” as they would say in the Thai Forest Buddhist Tradition, can be profound and transformative. Once I really got the sense of Brach’s message, I realized at any given moment I could pause and hold things just the way they were. Having a stressful full-time job, along with being a husband and father of four young children, I can’t tell you how many times I simply stop what I’m doing and bear witness to the moment just the way it is. Although not a magic pill by any means – I still usually feel the frustration or stress – there is a sense of relief and coolness that can help refocus my attention and bring me back to the situation from a calm, more balanced space. 

Sariputra, this voidness of all dharmas
is not born, not destroyed,
not impure, not pure, does not increase or decrease.

This verse continues the theme of boundlessness. Because there isn’t one thing that exists separate from everything else, nothing is actually born or destroyed. Anything experienced in this life is an empty, temporary expression of the whole body of life. There is no pure or impure, no coming or going, no increasing or decreasing, but instead the ever-changing play of the one body of the universe. 

In voidness there is no form,
and no sensation, perception, volition or consciousness;
no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind;
no sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, thought;
there is no realm of the eye
all the way up to no realm of mental cognition.

The sutra repeats what we’ve been saying all along, that everything that makes up who we think we are is not actually how we imagine it to be. Here we go through the six realms that make up our experience and find them all negated. At any given moment, we experience our lives through the six sense doors. Each sense door has its own consciousness, which experiences the six realms that make up our lives. There is the eye, eye consciousness, and sights; the ear, ear consciousness, and sounds; nose, nose consciousness, and smells; etc. Any moment of life has these six realms of experience. Why would the sutra negate them?

It is helpful here to consider the Buddhist concept of the relative and the absolute. Since this whole sutra represents an enlightened being’s expression of perfect wisdom, we are speaking about the absolute; the one body of the universe, the True Self, the Big Mind. From this perspective, there is oneness. And actually, to say all is one still doesn’t capture the actual truth because oneness implies duality, where oneness in truth has no duality. In this sense, the true oneness is actually zero, hence the negation found in the sutra. What’s true is impossible to contend with via only concepts and words, which is why the sutra refers to everything in the negative sense. 

When chanting many of these lines, especially the part which mentions the six senses, I like to go slowly through it and feel and experience each body part, and wonder what the sutra is pointing to. For example, when I get to “no sight, sound…” I pause for a moment and experience both sights and sounds, and rest in the wonder of what I’m chanting. Avalokiteshvara is saying there are no sights and sounds, yet at this moment, I am experiencing both. What could this mean? I like to think of this sense of wonder (or “great doubt” as they call it in the Chan / Zen tradition) as a tea bag steeping in hot water: While I repeat the sutra with this sense of doubt, I let its mystery steep in my heart and mind until it infuses me. If we practice in this way, over time,e the understanding will begin to be experienced directly.

There is no ignorance and there is no ending of ignorance
through to no aging and death and no ending of aging and death.
There is no suffering, no cause of suffering,
no cessation of suffering, and no path.
There is no wisdom or any attainment.
With nothing to attain, Bodhisattvas relying on Prajnaparamita
have no obstructions in their minds.

As the sutra goes on, it even begins negating the foundational teachings of Buddhism: Ignorance as the cause of our suffering, the Buddha’s four noble truths, dependent origination, and the attainment of wisdom. Does this mean that it’s all a waste of time and nothing matters? Not at all. Again, this seems to be the experience of life on the absolute level. Of course, we have a life that begins and ends, and in between there is a path we must walk and cultivate. Yet, on the other hand, there is simply this moment: the one body of life, perfect exactly as it is. This holding of both the relative and the absolute reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from the Lankavatara Sutra, “Things are not what they seem, nor are they otherwise.” An old Zen saying explains similarly, “In the beginning, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers; later on, mountains are not mountains and rivers are not rivers; and still later, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers.” I reflect on these teachings often, understanding that on one level, I’m Mark and I have my life to live, yet at the same time, I’m not Mark at all, but rather an expression of the entire cosmos. I try my best to live my life with this understanding, taking it absolutely seriously, while also living light-heartedly, understanding that everything I take to be solid and real, actually doesn’t exist the way it seems (nor is it otherwise!). 

Having no obstructions, there is no fear
and departing far from confusion and imaginings,
they reach Ultimate Nirvana.
All past, present and future Buddhas,
relying on Prajnaparamita, attain Anuttara-Samyak-Sambodhi.
Therefore, know that Prajnaparamita
is the great mantra of power,
the great mantra of wisdom, the supreme mantra,
the unequalled mantra,
which is able to remove all sufferings.
It is real and not false.

If throughout our entire lives we’ve been afraid of a boogeyman in our closet, and finally realize that there wasn’t ever one there to begin with, instantly all our fear should disappear. In the same way, when we get a glimpse of the emptiness or boundlessness of our experience, instantly we recognize freedom, and all our fear and confusion will go away, at least for that particular moment of awakening. 

Although I can’t say too much about Ultimate Nirvana or perfect enlightenment — the translation of Anuttara-Samyak-Sambodhi — I do know that we human beings are capable of waking up to this truth the sutra is pointing toward. Over many years of practice, we can continue to deepen our experiential understanding of the sutra’s mysterious depth, and this can be powerful for our lives. I’m not asking you to believe me, but to see for yourself as the Buddha counseled us to do.

Therefore recite the mantra of Prajnaparamita:
Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha.

The final line is the “mantra of perfect wisdom,” which can be translated as, “Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond, Oh what an awakening!” It’s the sutra’s parting wisdom, encouraging us to continue our journeys to the other shore of enlightenment. Repeating this short mantra can remind us of the essence of the Heart Sutra and motivate us to continue practicing.

Recently, I’ve been using this mantra to cultivate concentration during my meditation sessions and to stay present and less in Me-world throughout my day. Sometimes it’s a little more convenient to repeat the short mantra instead of the whole sutra. The mantra alone is filled with just as much mystery, depth, and wisdom, and I find that repeating it can infuse my body with its meaning. 

When studying any text or sutra, one of my favorite professors during my time studying religion would always ask us, “What does this have to do with Tuesday afternoon?” I took that to mean, What does this sutra have to do with my life, here and now? I am now encouraging you to take some time with this sutra yourself and find out what it’s saying about your actual experience. Don’t just read through it once or twice. Recite and contemplate it every day for a few months, a year, a lifetime… 

It is my hope that, at the very least, you can now better understand the Heart Sutra and feel more empowered to reflect on and put into practice its wisdom, ultimately freeing yourself from suffering and being of growing benefit to this world. 

Mark Van Buren

Mark Van Buren is a Buddhist author, meditation instructor, and mindful living trainer. He is the author of Your Life is Meditation and A Fool’s Guide to Actual Happiness. He lives in New Jersey. He can be found online at www.buymeacoffee.com/meditatewithmark