Feelings: Beyond Good and Bad

Ajahn Thanasanti

(excerpt from Awakening Presense)

from a Dhamma talk given in Ottawa, Canada (August 2003)

While I was staying at Amaravati recently, I talked with Ajahn Sumedho about practice. One of the points of the discussion I remember clearly was around the nature of ‘feeling’. In the monastery, although there may be some occasional disagreement among the community about aspects of the discipline, the place where the greatest amount of agitation arises is around feelings – what people feel about things. Problems arise due to habitual tendencies of mind that emerge when we are with others, when we’re in this area of relationship. In meditation, one of the first signs to manifest when the mind becomes unified in concentration is that the hindrances fall into abeyance. Similarly, when we apply mindfulness to objects of mind, they are known for what they are; so even if the object of mind is a hindrance, mindfulness can restrain the habitual tendencies associated with it. Classically, concentration and insight practices are taught to sharpen the faculties of mind and to develop insight into the characteristics of feeling – also to observe the sense of self that gets constructed around the feeling. These methods have been tried and tested; the insight that can be realised through them is transformative. Most of us are still affected by habitual tendencies when we emerge from states of concentration however, or when mindfulness is not strong enough. So integrating the practice into daily life will centre largely around dealing with these feelings and habitual tendencies – all part of the common experience of living in the world. So, how do we allow feelings into conscious awareness? How do we see them for what they are; see what they are rooted in? Can we see the fear and contraction that often happens around feelings? Rather than taking a position about different ways and techniques of practice, we need to recognise that suffering occurs in our lives because we’re not looking in the right way at our relationship to feelings. In order to understand suffering and the end of suffering, it is useful to ascertain from where the suffering is arising. We all experience the five hindrances – desire; ill will; sloth; restlessness and doubt, so it is imperative that we develop tools to work with them. For example, when anger is arising, it is important to understand how to bring that into a balance, to allow the intensity and fire of that experience to soften. When there is greed, we need to find a way of relating to that experience that enables release and letting go. When the energy is low, it is useful to find ways of stirring it up and bringing more juice to the system. The Theravada tradition has many ways of cultivating specific attitudes as antidotes to each of these hindrances. One way we can work with hindrances is by consciously cultivating their opposites. When there is anger, for example, we cultivate a kindly attitude; when there is greed we can look at the unbeautiful qualities of the object associated with it; when there is restlessness and agitation, we can focus on that which brings calm and collectedness. Another approach is to cultivate the Factors of Enlightenment that bring counterbalancing qualities. For example, equanimity and concentration can be a counterbalance for restlessness; investigation of themes of Dhamma can help us to work with dullness. Likewise, we can contemplate feelings in terms of Right View – by seeing their inherently unstable, changing nature (anicca); by seeing that the feelings we experience are not who we are (anatta¯ ), and that they aren’t the place to find ease (dukkha). These tools I mention are specific to what is arising, and how we are relating to it. The problem is that often we forget the context, and simply identify with the object, taking ourselves to be what we are experiencing. So we might think: ‘Desire is bad, greed is bad, anger is bad, ill will is bad, sloth and torpor is bad, restlessness is bad...and because these things are bad, then, when I am angry, I’m bad!’ When there is identification with these feelings, the corresponding judgement arises, since this is who we take ourselves to be. So, in addition to developing skill in bringing difficult mind states into balance, we also need to learn how to be present with them just as they are. When we’re asking something to be different, there is often a subtle form of judgement: ‘It’s not okay, there’s something wrong in this experience.’ Shifting from a goal-orientated practice to a practice of choiceless awareness – seeing things for what they are – addresses the dilemma in two ways. Firstly, when we notice that there is judgement arising, we see that our motivation is no longer coming purely from compassion, we see we are actually eliciting the very forces we are trying to overcome. Secondly, it is in the nature of goal-orientated practice to see things in terms of time, and good and bad – a dualistic view that carries within it great potential for solidifying a sense of self. When, from a position of ignorance, ‘self ’ is trying to get rid of a feeling of ‘badness’ associated with whichever object it is identified, it simply perpetuates suffering. Let’s say we’re listening to a guided meditation on the sound of silence and we find ourselves thinking: ‘What is this? I don’t understand. I can’t hear the sound of silence. What is she talking about?’ Then there is judgment: ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think like that, she’s a nun.’ Then there is doubt: ‘Now what do I do?’ Then there is a contraction around the doubt. So rather than just being present with what is arising, and responding skilfully: ‘Oh, there’s aversion; aversion feels like this,’ there’s contraction around the doubt, and a not wanting around the contraction, and the whole thing becomes a mess. It solidifies. We are far away from the present moment because we have identified with the feeling, without really watching what is happening. We feel disconnected; we cannot hear anything except the rattling of reaction on top of reaction. We begin to wonder: ‘What’s the problem? How did I get here? I’m supposed to be meditating!’ The truth of the present moment is what is actually happening right now. It is a direct path to seeing things clearly. We can inquire: ‘What is this? Oh, this is aversion. Okay, what is holding the aversion in place? It’s being held in place by the fear, anxiety and the tension around not wanting to feel the aversion. Well, that’s okay too.’ That’s perfectly okay as an object of meditation; there is nothing at all inappropriate about fear, anxiety and tension being an object of meditation. When there is spaciousness of heart and mind to feel what we are feeling, things fall into place. The sense of the present moment imbued with fullness returns when we ask: ‘What is this?’ ‘Oh, she said something I didn’t understand – that I can’t relate to. I feel a sense of shame not understanding what I am supposed to be doing.’ When we are able to be with complexity, and then allow it to return to its simple fundamental form of unpleasant or pleasant feeling, the layers reveal themselves. This is how we can be present with things as they arise – in our personal relationships, with our family, and with the world. So when a disturbing mood or an irritating thought arises, we can release it into the sound of silence, and watch where it goes – like throwing a pebble into a pool of water. What happens to it? Are there ripples left when something is released into the sound of silence? The sound of silence is a vast, empty, embracing capacity that can hold all thoughts, moods and feelings, good and bad. It has no preferences, it just is. This all-embracing quality of the heart and mind brings us to an experience of refuge – a place of safety that can be relied upon. The fear and contraction that we habitually experience begins to find an avenue of release. With this, we are able to be present with all experience. This is the way to the end of stress. However slippery, uncertain and unstable feelings may be, when there is the right relationship with them, they lead to peace. With Right Understanding the heart is full. This is a blessing. Some of my recent experience in Australia relates to this. I was living at ‘Wat Buddha Dhamma’, a remote place in the middle of the Darug National Park, about two and a half hours’ drive north of Sydney. I was there for over two years. For most of that time I lived in a small kuti on sandstone rocks in the middle of the bush. Before going there I had spent many years in monasteries in the English countryside. On weekends and on festival days in particular, there are many visitors that come through the gates and share and delight in the Dhamma, as Amaravati is a pilgrimage place for Buddhists from all over the world. At Amaravati, remote wilderness and sometimes the experience of silence and solitude are to be discovered in the heart rather than in the environment. Australia was on the other side of the planet from where I had been living. The retreat centre and hermitage were off a dirt road; it took a 40 minute drive that separated your ligaments from your bones to get there. The facilities were rustic. There was some solar power but no mains electricity; water was collected from gutters on the roof. There was only one trip a week to do the shopping and to collect the post. Although I love nature, when I first got there it felt completely foreign. The trees and creatures were different, and there were many unfamiliar poisonous snakes and spiders. The seasons were opposite. At first, I was petrified to go off any path because I thought ‘they’ were going to get me. I did not know who ‘they’ were, but I was convinced ‘they’ were out there and were going to get me! It took me about six weeks just to find the confidence to walk off the path, and trust I would be all right. However, once I got to know the people living there, I had a sense that I was placed in a context, and not just dropped on another planet. I began to feel more comfortable. I started my retreat with the clear structure for formal practice that I was used to and that I felt comfortable with. It included sitting and walking meditation, paying respects to teachers and elders, and some study of the Vinaya and Suttas. Over time, I began to see more of the creatures and feel more comfortable with nature, and I finally realised there was nobody ‘out there’ to get me. When I discovered how rare it was to see the snakes, I felt privileged and gladdened when I saw them. I began to feel an increasing sense of welcome from the land. I felt relaxed, comfortable, confident and at ease. I felt a sense that the land was happy that I was there. Feeling genuinely welcomed in the marrow of my bones gave me confidence. I felt safe. The bush taught me the value of feeling welcomed. The ants started teaching me the value of respect. I was born in a city and I did not understand the ways of the bush. The Australian bush is different in many ways from any other wilderness I had experienced. Firstly, there are thousands of species of ants, and when you walk, the ground is continuously moving with ants. I was raised to think, ‘It’s just an ant. Who cares?’ Now at one time, there was an anthill by the path on the way to the meditation hall; it was spilling over onto the path, so I had the bright idea to sweep it up – to move it slowly, gently, day by day. But the nature of bright ideas is that they can be totally disconnected from nature. When I started sweeping the base of the anthill, instantaneously, the whole anthill was on red alert and thousands of ants were charging towards me! I realised: ‘Well, what I did was rather insensitive. After all, it’s their home, and who am I to say they’re not supposed to live here? Who am I to decide whose path this is?’ So I put the broom down and decided to give them some healing energy. As I approached with a different intention, they calmed down immediately – they seemed to understand the difference between the intention to harm and the intention not to harm. I began to think: ‘What would it be like if respect was just a way of being, rather than something that had to be earned?’ This realisation changed the way I started relating to the nature around me, as well as to myself. Another kind of ant called a bull ant has pitchforks that it uses as hypodermic needles to inject its poison. If they bite you, it is two weeks’ worth of feeling: a week of pain, and another week of itch. The bite swells up to the size of half a golf ball. So it is an experience you do not easily forget. These ants are big, over an inch long. They are not that common, but when they are around everybody knows to respect them. It does not matter how tall you are, whether you are six or eight foot tall, they will fight to defend their territory. They are ferocious. There was a bull ant nest near my kuti. I walked on their path several times a day. It was their path, and that was obvious from day one. I had to step out of their way on their path; however, ten feet further along was my walking path. They were often on it looking for dead bugs that they could drag back to their nest, but I could walk with my eyes closed at any time, and they would get out of my way. They knew it was my path. This is the intelligence of an ant! What I began to realise is that in nature everything has a boundary, and responds to respect – only we do not allow ourselves to experience this, because we tend to block out any sense of connection with the idea: ‘It’s just a tree,’ ‘It’s just a rock,’ ‘It’s just a dumb ant.’ We wall ourselves into a prison, where we cannot feel or connect with the world around us, and suffer because of the separation we have created. Gradually, I began to relax my sense of formal meditation practice, and just began being present with nature as it was arising. Slowly, over the time I was there, I began to stop differentiating between nature that was internal and nature that was external. There was just nature arising; sitting in nature, watching the birds, the lizards, the various animals; observing the trees and the sky – all the while watching my heart open and feeling my body enliven. The sense of welcome that I received from the land created a context that enabled awareness to rest in the heart and open to feelings that I had not previously been able to tolerate or accept into consciousness. Layers of feelings began peeling off. I had no idea how much fear I had lived with all my life. I thought I was a courageous person. I would do the most frightening things, but it was because I did not want to be ruled by fear. It was fear of fear, rather than courage that was driving me. I did not know it. Being in a place where I felt welcome and safe created an opportunity to see things about myself that I had never seen before. Held consciously and with kindness, they were allowed to release and end. This process allowed a sense of aliveness to emerge. The energy that went into keeping a lid on feelings, and the corresponding tension in the body was released. So it is really helpful to create contexts where we feel safe enough to feel what we feel, to enable ourselves to be present with fear, to understand it and not react in the face of it. Fear is underneath many of the most disturbing emotions, such as anger and greed. When we can be present with fear, and respond compassionately rather than with reactivity, we undermine many other negative habits of mind. In bringing fear into conscious view, we relax into the heart that is resting in awareness rather than identifying with the object. Not only is fear released, but also there is a change in the whole basis with which we view feeling. When we look to the conditions of our body and feelings for fulfilment or perfection, we are setting ourselves up for frustration. Yet, it is through this very experience that we can discover the heart of awareness that is luminous – untainted by the qualities of what it embraces. Instead of trying to fit experience into a system or technique, we develop a sense of the richness of the human territory. We are able to respond to life with awareness, kindness, and genuine respect. Such respect honours it all, without differentiating internal and external, nature here and nature there. There is just nature arising. Beyond good and bad, life is full of blessings. Note: The sound of silence is a powerful tool that can bring balance to conditions, and act as a gateway to experiencing the heart of stillness. When we listen in an attitude of relaxed attention, we can sometimes hear a high-pitched humming sound in the background. To practise with the sound of silence, we let our attention rest with this sound. When we allow the sound into the fullness of the body, the muscles relax, the tensions of mind dissipate, the mood brightens and energy is gently aroused. Thus it brings balance to the body, heart and mind, and leads to the stillness of the heart, the purity of the essential mind. We let the sound take us through this gateway, and rest there.