In This Very Life Page 7

  FIRST ARMY: SENSE PLEASURE

  Sense pleasure is the First Army of Māra. Due to previous good actions in sensual or material realms, we find ourselves reborn in this world. Here, as in other sensual spheres, beings are faced with a wide assortment of appealing sense objects. Sweet sounds, rich smells, beautiful ideas, and other delightful objects touch all our six sense doors. As a natural result of encountering these objects, desire arises. Pleasant objects and desire are the two bases of sense pleasure.

  Our attachments to family, property, business, and friends also constitute the First Army. Normally for a sentient being, this army is very difficult to overcome. Some humans fight it by becoming monks and nuns, leaving behind their families and all that they cling to. Yogis on retreat leave behind their family and occupation temporarily, in order to combat the force of attachment that ties us to the six kinds of sense objects.

  Anytime you practice meditation, especially in a retreat, you leave behind a large number of pleasant things. Even with this narrowing in range, though, you still find that some parts of your environment are more desirable than others. At this time it is useful to recognize that you are dealing with Māra, the enemy of your freedom.

  SECOND ARMY: DISSATISFACTION

  The Second Army of Māra is dissatisfaction with the holy life, with the meditation practice in particular. On a retreat, you may find yourself dissatisfied and bored: with the hardness or the height of your cushion, with the food you are given, with any of the elements of your life during the time of practice. Some issue crops up, and, as a result, you cannot quite immerse yourself in the delight of meditation. You may begin to feel that this is actually the fault of the practice.

  To combat this discontent, you must become an abhirati, a person who is delighted in and devoted to the Dhamma. Having found and implemented the correct method of practice, you begin to overcome the hindrances. Rapture, joy, and comfort will arise naturally from your concentrated mind. At this time you realize that the delight of the Dhamma is far superior to sense pleasures. This is the attitude of an abhirati. However, if you are not thorough and careful in your practice, you will not find this subtle and wonderful taste of the Dhamma, and any difficulty in your practice will cause aversion to arise in you. Then Māra will be victorious.

  The overcoming of difficulty in vipassanā practice is, again, like warfare. The yogi will use an offensive, defensive, or a guerrilla style of combat depending on his or her abilities. If he or she is a strong fighter, the yogi will advance. If weak, he or she may withdraw temporarily, but not in a helter-skelter fashion, reeling and running in disorder. Rather, the withdrawal will be strategic, planned and executed with the aim of gathering strength to win the battle at last.

  Sometimes discontent with the environmental or other supports of meditation practice is not entirely Māra’s fault—not entirely due to the wanderings of a greedy mind. Nonetheless, pervasive discontent may interfere with meditative progress. To allow for meditation, certain necessities of life must be available. Yogis must have proper shelter and meals, as well as sundry other help. With these requirements met they can proceed wholeheartedly to practice meditation. The need for a suitable environment is the fourth of nine causes for development of the controlling faculties, and was discussed at length in the preceding chapter. If you find a deficiency in your environment that you are certain is hindering your meditation, it is all right to take reasonable steps to correct it. Of course, you should be honest with yourself and others; make sure that you are not merely succumbing to Māra’s Second Army.

  THIRD ARMY: HUNGER AND THIRST

  Is food the problem? Perhaps a yogi has to overcome desire and dissatisfaction, only to be attacked again by Māra’s Third Army, hunger and thirst. In the days of old and even now, Buddhist monks and nuns have depended for their food on the generosity of laypeople. The normal practice for a monk is to go for an alms round every day in the community or village that supports him. Sometimes a monk may live in a secluded area and take all his support from a small group of families. One day his needs will be well taken care of, another day not. The same goes for lay yogis. At a retreat, the food is not quite like home. You do not get the sweet things you are fond of or the sour, salty, and rich foods you are accustomed to. Agitated by missing such tastes, you cannot concentrate and thus are unable to see the Dhamma.

  In the world also, one can spend a lot of money in a restaurant and then not like the dish. Rarely, in fact, do human beings get everything precisely as they like. They may hunger and thirst not only for food, but also for clothing, entertainment, and activities, either reassuringly familiar, or exotically exciting. This notion of hunger and thirst relates to the entire range of needs and requirements.

  If you are easily contented, adopting an attitude of being grateful for whatever you receive, Māra’s Third Army will not bother you very much. One cannot always do everything one wishes to do, but it is possible to try to remain within what is beneficial and appropriate. If you concentrate your energy on furthering your meditation practice, you will be able to taste the real taste of the Dhamma, which is incomparably satisfying. At such a time, the Third Army of Māra will seem an army of toy soldiers to you.

  Otherwise it is hard to adjust to hunger and thirst. They are uncomfortable feelings that no one really welcomes. When they strike, if there is no mindfulness, the mind inevitably begins to scheme. You come up with fantastic justifications for getting what you want—for the sake of your practice! Your mental health! To aid your digestion! Then you begin moving around to get the things you desire. Your body gets involved in satisfying your craving.

  FOURTH ARMY: CRAVING

  Craving is the Fourth Army of Māra. At times a monk’s bowl may not be quite full at the end of his normal alms round, or some of the things most suitable for his diet have not yet appeared in it. Instead of going home to the monastery, he may decide to continue his alms round. Here is a new route, as yet untried—on it he might get the tidbit he desires. New routes like this can grow quite long.

  Whether one is a monk or not, one might be familiar with this pattern. First comes craving, then planning, then moving about to materialize these schemes. This whole process can be very exhausting to mind and body.

  FIFTH ARMY: SLOTH AND TORPOR

  Thus, the Fifth Army of Māra marches in. It is none other than sloth and torpor, drowsiness. The difficulties caused by sloth and torpor are worth dwelling on, for they are surprisingly great. “Torpor” is the usual translation of the Pāli word thīna, which actually means a weak mind, a shrunken and withered, viscous and slimy mind, unable to grasp the meditation object firmly.

  As thīna makes the mind weak, it automatically brings on weakness of body. The sluggish mind cannot keep your sitting posture erect and firm. Walking meditation becomes a real drag, so to speak. The presence of thīna means that ātāpa, the fiery aspect of energy, is absent. The mind becomes stiff and hard; it loses its active sharpness.

  Even if a yogi has good energy to begin with, sloth can envelop him or her so that an additional burst of energy will be required to burn it away. All the positive forces of mind are at least partially blocked. The wholesome factors of energy and mindfulness, aim and contact, are enveloped in the shroud of weakness; their functions are retarded. This situation as a whole is spoken of as thīna middha, thīna being the mental factor of torpor, and middha referring to the condition of the consciousness as a whole when the factor of torpor is present.

  In one’s practical experience, it is not worthwhile to try to distinguish between the two components of thīna and middha. The general state of mind is familiar enough. Like imprisonment in a tiny cell, sloth is a restricted state in which no wholesome factor is free to carry on its proper activity. This obstruction of wholesome factors is why sloth and torpor together are called a hindrance. Eventually Māra’s Fifth Army can bring one’s practice to a complete standstill. A twitching sensation comes to the eyelids, the head suddenly nods forwa
rd… How can we overcome this noxious state? Once when the Venerable Mahā Moggallāna, one of the Buddha’s two chief disciples, was meditating in the forest, thīna middha arose. His mind shrank and withered, as unworkable as a piece of butter that hardens in the cold. At this point the Lord Buddha looked into the Venerable Mahā Moggallāna’s mind. Seeing his plight, he approached and said, “My son Mahā Moggallāna, are you drowsy, are you sleepy, are you nodding?”

  The elder replied, “Yes, Lord, I am nodding.” He was frank and candid in his reply. The Buddha said, “Listen, my son, I will now teach you eight techniques of overcoming sloth and torpor.”

  Eight Ways to Stay Awake

  The first is to change one’s attitude. When torpor attacks, one may be tempted to surrender to thoughts like, “I’m so sleepy. It’s not doing me any good just to sit here in a daze. Maybe I’ll lie down for a minute and gather my energy.” As long as you entertain such thoughts, the mental state of sloth and torpor will be encouraged to remain.

  If, on the other hand, one states decisively, “I’ll sit through this sloth and torpor, and if it recurs I still won’t give in to it,” this is what the Buddha meant by changing one’s attitude. Such determination sets the stage for overcoming the Fifth Army of Māra.

  Another occasion to change one’s attitude is when meditation practice becomes quite easy and smooth. There comes a point where you have more or less mastered following the rise and fall of the abdomen, and not much effort is needed to observe it well. It is quite natural to relax, sit back, and watch the movement very coolly. Due to this relaxation of effort, sloth and torpor easily creep in. If this happens, you should either try to deepen your mindfulness, looking more carefully into the rise and fall, or else increase the number of objects of meditation.

  There is a specific technique for adding more objects. It requires greater effort than simply watching the abdomen, and thus it has a revivifying effect. The mental labels to use are, “rising, falling, sitting, touching.” When you note “sitting,” you shift your awareness to the sensations of the entire body in the sitting posture. Noting “touching,” you focus on the touch sensations at one or more small areas, about the size of a quarter. The buttocks are convenient. During this “touching” note you should always return to the same chosen areas, even if you cannot always find sensations there. The heavier the state of sloth, the more touch points you should include, up to a maximum of six or so. When you have run through the course of touch points, return attention to your abdomen, and repeat the series of notes from the beginning. This change of strategy can be quite effective; but it is not infallible.

  The second antidote to drowsiness is to reflect on inspiring passages you remember or have learned by heart, trying to fathom their deepest meanings. Perhaps you have lain awake at night pondering the meaning of some event. If so, you understand the function of the Buddha’s second antidote to sloth and torpor. In Buddhist psychology, when thinking is analyzed in terms of its components, one component is the mental factor of vitakka, or aim. This mental factor has the capacity to open and refresh the mind, and is the specific antidote to sloth and torpor.

  The third strategy for dealing with sloth is to recite those same passages aloud. If you are meditating in a group, it goes without saying that you should recite only loud enough for your own benefit.

  Resort to more drastic measures if your mind still has not perked up. Pull on your ears; rub your hands, arms, legs, and face. This stimulates the circulation and so freshens you up a bit.

  If drowsiness persists, get up mindfully and wash your face. You could put in some eye-drops to refresh yourself. If this strategy fails, you are advised to look at a lighted object, such as the moon or an electric bulb; this should lighten up your mind. Clarity of mind is a kind of light. With it, you can make a renewed attempt to look clearly at the rising and falling from beginning to end. If none of these techniques works, then you should try some brisk walking meditation with mindfulness. Finally, a graceful surrender would be to go to bed.

  If sloth and torpor are persistent over a long period, constipation could be responsible; if this is the case, consider measures to gently clear the bowels.

  SIXTH ARMY: FEAR

  The Sixth Army of Māra is fear and cowardliness. It easily attacks yogis who practice in a remote place, especially if the level of ardent effort is low after an attack of sloth and torpor. Courageous effort drives out fear. So does a clear perception of the Dhamma that comes as a result of effort, mindfulness, and concentration. The Dhamma is the greatest protection available on earth: faith in, and practice of, the Dhamma are therefore the greatest medicines for fear. Practicing morality ensures that one’s future circumstances will be wholesome and pleasant; practicing concentration means that one suffers less from mental distress; and practicing wisdom leads toward nibbāna, where all fear and danger have been surpassed. Practicing the Dhamma, you truly care for yourself, protect yourself, and act as your own best friend.

  Ordinary fear is the sinking form of anger. You cannot face the problem, so you show no reaction outwardly and wait for the opportunity to run away. But if you can face your problems directly, with an open and relaxed mind, fear will not arise. On a meditation retreat, yogis who have lost touch with the Dhamma feel fear and lack of confidence in relating to other yogis and their teacher. For example, some yogis are severely attacked by sloth and torpor. Such people have been known to sleep through five hour-long sittings in a row. They may have only a few minutes of clear awareness in an entire day. Such yogis tend to feel inferior, shy, and embarrassed, especially if they begin to compare their own practice to that of other yogis who seem to be in deep samādhi all the time. At times in Burma, torpid yogis slip away for a couple of days and miss their interviews. A few slip all the way home! They are like schoolchildren who have not done their homework. If such yogis would apply courageous effort, their awareness would become hot like the sun, burning off the clouds of sleepiness. Then they could face their teachers boldly, ready to report what they have seen for themselves in the light created by Dhamma practice.

  No matter what problem you may encounter in your meditation practice, try to have the courage and honesty to report it to your teacher. Sometimes yogis may feel that their practice is falling apart, when actually it is going fine. A teacher who is trustworthy and well qualified can help you to overcome such insecurities, and you can continue on the path of Dhamma with energy, faith, and confidence.

  SEVENTH ARMY: DOUBT

  Sloth and torpor is only one reason why yogis may begin to doubt their own capacities. Doubt is the Seventh Army of Māra, dreadful and fearsome. When a yogi begins to slip in his or her practice, he or she will probably begin to lose self-confidence. Pondering the situation does not usually lead to improvement. Instead, doubt arises and slowly spreads first as self-doubt, then as doubt of the method of practice. It may even extend to becoming doubt of the teacher. Is the teacher competent to understand this situation? Perhaps this yogi is a special case and needs a special new set of instructions. The experiences narrated by fellow yogis must be imaginary. Every conceivable aspect of practice becomes dubious.

  The Pāli word for this Seventh Army is vicikicchā, which means more than simple doubt. It is the exhaustion of mind that comes about through conjecture. A yogi attacked by sloth and torpor, for example, will not be able to muster the continuous attention that fosters intuitive vipassanā insight. If such a yogi were mindful, he or she might experience mind and matter directly, and see that these two are connected by cause and effect. If no actual observation is made, however, the true nature of mind and matter will remain obscure. One simply cannot understand what one hasn’t yet seen. Now this unmindful yogi begins to intellectualize and reason: “I wonder what mind and matter are composed of, what their relationship is.” Unfortunately, he or she can only interpret experiences based on a very immature depth of knowledge, mixed up with fantasy. This is an explosive mixture. Since the mind is unable to penetr
ate into the truth, agitation arises, and then perplexity and indecisiveness, which is another aspect of vicikicchā. Excessive reasoning is exhausting.

  Immaturity of insight prevents a yogi from reaching a firm and convinced position. Instead, his or her mind is condemned to run about among various options. Remembering all the meditative techniques he or she has heard of, a yogi might try a bit from here and a bit from there. This person falls into a great pot of chop suey, perhaps to drown. Vicikicchā can be a terrible obstacle in practice. The proximate cause of doubting conjecture is lack of proper attention, an improper adjustment of the mind in its search for truth. Proper attention, then, is the most direct cure for doubt. If you look correctly and in the right place, you will see what you are looking for: the true nature of things. Having seen this for yourself, you will have no more doubt about it.

  To create the proper conditions for wise attention, it is important to have a teacher who can put you on the path leading to truth and wisdom. The Buddha himself said that one who is intent on finding the truth should seek out a reliable and competent teacher. If you cannot find a good teacher and follow his or her instructions, then you must turn to the plethora of meditation literature available today. Please be cautious, especially if you are an avid reader. If you gain a general knowledge of many techniques and then try to put them all together, you will probably end up disappointed, and even more doubtful than when you started. Some of the techniques may even be good ones, but since you will not have practiced them with proper thoroughness, they will not work and you will feel skeptical of them. Thus you will have robbed yourself of the opportunity to experience the very real benefits of meditation practice. If one cannot practice properly, one cannot gain personal, intuitive, real understanding of the nature of phenomena. Not only will doubt increase, but the mind will become very hard and stiff, attacked by kodha, aversion and associated mental states. Frustration and resistance might be among them.