Blogs Blogs

Back

Conversations with an Advanced Yogi

Hi Charles,

This report is exactly the sort of thing I was hoping for with regard to the development practice. With this kind of clear description of your experience we can refine the language and the techniques. It also provides a platform for making a clear distinction between the instructions for development and the instructions for non-dual practice.

Please scroll down to see where I have responded to your experiences and impressions. Your comments are in italics, mine are in standard type.

Mudita,
Kenneth

Dear Kenneth:

First, I would like to report how my morning meditations have been influenced by this ongoing conversation. For a long time now, I have been mixing myself a bowl of Japanese green tea and then happily sitting for anywhere between 45 and 90 minutes doing my regular practice. What is that? Just sitting in naked awareness. Often the mind wanders and I simply notice. Happy sitting.
Tsoknyi's perspective is, when sitting "anything goes." No problems. And his initial instruction on my very first retreat with him was: "Be Happy!" He added, "not hippy happy," which I interpreted as, "Relax!"
This was a revelation for me. Teachers up to then always had some instruction: "Watch your breath," "Sit up straight," "Observe your mind," and so forth. Here was somebody who gave permission to be easy with one's self when meditating, and moreover, whatever happens doesn't matter! It's all grist for the mill of primordial awareness.


These paragraphs bring into focus the fact that development practices and non-dual practices are not at all the same. It is tempting for vipassana students to imagine that dzogchen is some subset of vipassana, e.g. Mindfulness of Mind, one of the Four Foundations of Mindfulness. It is not. Non-dual practice, by whatever name, is completely outside of that

At that first retreat with Tsoknyi, there were many Vipassana practitioners, and I imagined hearing a great sigh of relief when he offered his initial teaching. I certainly had it in my own mind. Relax, Be Happy.
It was a curious retreat because in the Tibetan modality there is a great deal of teaching and a great deal of whispering when we were on breaks. Also, breaks did not include an walking practice. This was really foreign for me as I was accustomed to fairly strict rules regarding any contact between yogis: auditory, visual or touch. Everybody on this retreat seemed to be just messing around. Still, lo and behold, at the end of this first retreat, I felt very much as I did at the end of the many strict programs of Vipassana in the previous years. Yet, here in this relaxed atmosphere, something had happened.


Yes. If the object of awareness is the contents of the mind,as in vipassana or samatha (jhana) practice those contents must by carefully nurtured, even controlled. Hence, "no looky, no touchy, no talky." If, on the other hand, that which we are interested in is outside of the small mind, the contents of the mind are not relevant.

I was amazed. I had been conditioned to believe that one had to struggle, to work hard, obey the rules, use a great deal of effort, hold on tight. That was what a retreat was supposed to look like. And the payoff was great on those retreats; altered mind states and very high feelings. So I assumed that the hard work was a necessary ingredient for the results at the end.


But what if one could discover a transforming modality of practice that was actually relaxed, not so quiet, not such a struggle? This was a completely new understanding. Tsoknyi calls this (non) practice: "non distracted, non meditation."
There is nothing to do, no point of focus, and yet the key idea of "non distracted" suggests that in fact one is "not doing," which is the flip side—and in many ways the same as—doing! Not doing what? Not being distracted, that is, not falling into the trap of the grasping mind. Simply allowing whatever arises without pulling, pushing or altering in any way. This, I believe, is one of the great attractions to the non-practice of Realization.
And it works!


It works. As you say, the idea of "non distracted" is key. The mind has to be at rest, together in one place, for realization to happen. If one is frantically chasing chickens, one forgets to look up at the clear blue sky. In just that one aspect, non-dual practice is like the vipassana or jhana practices.

 

But in its essence, non-dual awareness could be said to be the opposite of development practice. As always, we must be careful with language. Development practices like vipassana and samatha (pure concentration leading to jhana) urge the yogi to "look inward." From the perspective of non-dual practice, however, all such practices are actually looking outward. If, as in the case of vipassana, one is carefully observing "the changing phenomena of mind and body," one is still looking away from the most fundamental aspect of experience, i.e. the knowing of said experience. It is that very knowing that is the object of awareness in non-dual practice. (And already the language has broken down, as knowing is simultaneously the subject and object of non-dual practice.) Development practices are the opposite of non-dual practice because the former focus on the contents of the mind, while the latter focuses on the mind itself.

During a retreat I attended in 2005, the teacher read from one of the "forbidden texts" of Tibetan dzogchen. One phrase that particularly struck me was "turn the light around." When the ubiquitous "knowing" turns around to take itself as object, only then can it be said that the yogi is looking inward. Non-dual practice is a completely different kettle of fish from development practice. And when the light is turned around, subject and object are seen to be one. "It knows Itself."

I was in a transcended experience of my own consciousness and primordial Awareness just simply by having this pointed out. (The transmission itself is called the Pointing Out Instructions.) With this new form, clearly in contradiction to my Vipassana practice, everything changed.

While on retreat at Elat Chaim last year, I heard Eliezer Sobel tell the story of how he went to see Tsoknyi Rinpoche. Eliezer said he was not surprised when he heard Tsoknyi say, "Do not hang out in the past." Eliezer yawned when he heard Tsoknyi say, "Do not hang out in the future." But Eliezer was completely blown away when he heard Tsoknyi say, "But, above all, do not hang out in the present."

The present, as Eliezer then explained, is still in the "time stream." The time stream is a construct of thought. The dzogchen practice is to step outside of time to notice that which is neither then nor now nor later. The moment of non-dual awareness cannot be compared to anything within time. As J. Krishanamurti used to say, it is completely revolutionary. As Ganga-ji says, it won't get you anything, but is "its own good news."


So my sitting from that time on (for at least ten years) has been relaxed and open to whatever arises. On the positive side, the ease of the practice brings with it a sense of spaciousness and freedom. Within it, a sense of liberation arises, and deepening of the wisdom of emptiness seems to grow on its own. My annual retreats with Tsoknyi over the years brought increasingly wonderful insights in the dzogchen modality, which, as I understand it, is very close to the Mahamudra teaching that you speak about.


We are on the same page. As I understand it, there is no fundamental difference between dzogchen and mahamudra. Both point to that which is beyond time and space, but which is present in each and every moment of experience - the simple quality of awareness. When all of the contents of the mind are allowed to arise and pass away naturally, Knowing is revealed as the only constant. When Knowing knows itself, there is nothing more to be done.


The downside of this practice is the inclination to drift away, which itself is a major distraction. Sitting with alertness allows the presence of Awareness to simply be "what is," and this works quite well. But without an anchor, so to speak, there is a tendency to graze the inner territory with realizing that one is a grazing like a cow, completely oblivious, as opposed to allowing whatever arises to happen with the essential alertness that one always has of "knowing" that one is grazing (ever alert with an observant consciousness.)
Not being distracted is not so easy in a busy world. So when I am doing my regular morning (non) meditation, I have discovered that it is ever so easy to drift away. The more free time I have throughout each day, the less I drift.


This is important for me to hear. I have to be reminded that I cannot reasonably extrapolate my experience to others. This mind doesn't wander as much as it once did. It is fairly compliant. But I remember. And you are right. One way or another, the mind must be trained. This reminds me of a nifty little saying that is attributed to the Buddha: "It is good to tame the mind, because a well-tamed mind brings happiness."

When the mind is tamed to the point where it will rest, undistracted, in primordial awareness, happiness is inevitable.

Just a few days ago, I began to follow the development instructions you are outlining (beautifully, I might add), and instead of sitting in naked awareness, I began to hold the concentration in the way I was trained many decades ago. Almost immediately, within the first five minutes, my mind said quite loudly, "Oh, I remember this!" And it was happy, joyful to remember what happens to one's consciousness when simple concentration is applied.
It was interesting to note, as a beginning meditator notes, the scattered thoughts of the chicken farm. But there was already a different quality to that experience. Whereas an untrained meditator tries to control the mind, to zero in on the chicken, my access to more advanced practice along with the depth of Realization that I have experienced, it was a delightful sit exploring the physical and emotional experiences of the first nana, the very first step on the ladder.


This is huge! The beginning meditator shoots himself in the foot by imagining that he must continue to apply effort in order to hold onto the experience (i.e. the same kind of effort that got him there in the first place). By holding onto the very mental factor which must be released in order for the next phase of concentration to arise, the untrained meditator actually prevents himself from settling into the next phase. Jhanas are defined by what is lost as you move from one to the next. It is always a matter of letting go into the next experience.

Yesterday, I put together the first nana with the first jhana (I'm still not completely sure of the difference), which for me was like an exhalation, a release, a very familiar place that I never "named." Your analogy of the pillow case has been very instructive, for my inclination is to quickly investigate and probe in a way the moves me into mindfulness. So, yesterday and today I have been more surrendered and more focused in allowing the shades of consciousness to reveal themselves as they will.


Excellent. As you continue this comparison of vipassana vs. samatha, the difference will become ever more apparent

The first ñana is the insight that arises when the stratum of mind where the first jhana lives is explored via the vipassana technique. Same territory, different lens.

Today, I started with a meditation on the breath, and stayed with it to see what would happen. After a while, the ground shifted from a kind of symphony of sound, to clearly noticing individual instruments. I kept coming back to the breath, but it was clear that without seeking anything, I was on a deeper layer of concentration than the previous day. Accompanying this was a persistent inner glowing light that I had experienced in 1999 on a three month retreat. On that retreat, the glow lasted for hours every day for two of the three months.


I'll be interested to hear what you conclude as you continue to explore this territory via the samatha technique. This last description sounds to me more like the second jhana than the first. As you say, you were "on a deeper layer of concentration than the previous day." You can test it by grasping your nose with an imaginary thumb and forefinger, and sustaining the slight, continuous effort that is required to do that. If you can do that, you are in the first jhana. This ability to point and sustain the attention on the object in a very tight focus is one of the mental factors that is unique to the first jhana and must be left behind in order to move to the second. If it feels forced, as though the mental gesture is dragging you out of a deeper state, you are in a more advanced jhana (in this case, probably the second). If so, when you abandon the imaginary nose tweaking, you will settle back into whatever jhana you were in.

Today this felt to me like a fixation. I just sat with it for a long time for most of the sit. When it was time to move on from the meditation, I realized that if I had been on retreat I might have continued sitting for a number of hours with the inner light and the ground with its individualized sounds. But as I moved to end the sit, everything slowly collapsed, one by one, into my "mundane," everyday mind.


This is good description of the way the mind returns to its habitual state after emerging from jhana. Another way to describe it would be to say that the mind reconstructs itself, layer by layer, until all layers are present and the grossest phenomena take center stage.

It is fine that it feels like a fixation. Jhana is fixation. But that does not in any way conflict with the rigpa instructions. For now, it will be better to consciously decide, in advance, to do one or the other. Once you master jhana, you can do both at the same time. To paraphrase one of my favorite meditation teachers, there is plenty of room within the boundlessness of rigpa for a little fixation.

The bottom line is that it feels very good to begin practicing concentration once again, especially with the experience I am bringing to it. It feels tremendously powerful and positive to follow what you have outlined so far.


Your concentration is obviously very well developed. Don't be surprised if you see more jhanas soon. And I am eager to hear about what happens when you practice with a kasina object, which is the best way I know of to develop "rock solid" jhana.

In your description of samatha jhana, from lightness to rock solid, I am wondering about my sense of fixation on the inner light as described above. It held rock solid steady for many hours each day for a couple of months. Since that experience, I have been able to invoke it at any time.


You have already developed that jhana at some time in the past. Now you "own it." You can access it at any time via either the vipassana or samatha technique. As such, that particular jhana, which I suspect is the second, will be an excellent laboratory for doing A/B comparisons of the vipassana and samatha technique, and for practicing the four parameters for mastery of a jhana, viz. adverting, entering, abiding (dwelling), and exiting. The inner light is called the nimitta or "sign of samadhi." More on this below.

In some ways, I identify this inner light as a gateway to emptiness. But the possibility of my clinging mind concerned me. After a number of years, I consulted with Tsoknyi, not describing the inner light but rather my question was, "I seem to be holding on to emptiness; is that o.k. for my practice?"
His response: "Stop Meditating!" His view is that is it more difficult to stop a practice than to begin one and in the dzogchen world, one never holds on to any kind of practice—one should be able to cut through (trekchod) any mind set at any time. Any kind of clinging is unskillful practice. This appears to be a major contradiction to the idea of "hard jhana." I'm o.k. with the contradiction, but just want to clarify.


It isn't possible to hold onto emptiness, if by emptiness you mean primordial awareness. That is why your teacher knew you were meditating. You were holding onto your concept of emptiness. Emptiness is that which cannot be held onto.

"Hard jhana" has nothing to do with emptiness. All jhana is an illusion, just as your life is an illusion. Primordial awareness is beyond all of that, and gives birth to it. Jhana is like changing a spare tire, or eating, or defecating. It is purely a construct of the mind, and exists within time. It has its value as part of a full human life, but must not be confused with emptiness. It is possible, (and encouraged!) to notice emptiness from within jhana, or jhana from within emptiness. But emptiness looks the same whether it is seen from within the illusion of jhana or the illusion of the experience of driving a car. While driving a car you must hold the steering wheel tightly in order to avoid damaging your (illusory) body. Awareness is operating equally whether driving or experiencing jhana. Hold onto the wheel, and hold onto jhana, but Awareness is beyond being held. There are times when it is a good idea to contract into the small self in order to accomplish some task or respond to a situation. Driving a car comes to mind, especially in a crisis. All of your attention must be brought to bear in the mundane world in order to avert disaster. Of course, most of the time driving a car is automatic, and driving is one of my favorite times to practice rigpa. With practice, jhana is as automatic as driving a car, and your practice time can serve double duty. But until you feel very at-home in the jhanas, I recommend putting non-dual practice aside while you apply all of your attention to the object of concentration.

By the way, I think you have seen that although the object of awareness can be the breath, a mantra, or a kasina object, etc, once you enter jhana, the jhana itself becomes the object. You pay attention to the pleasant sensations or visual manifestations of the jhana, and let yourself bathe in the jhana as it becomes ever more solid.

Your inner light may indeed be a gateway to emptiness, if for you the inner light represents a concentrated state from which you can "see through" the contents of the mind to its essence. But herein lies a trap. There are infinite gateways to emptiness, as there is no situation in which Awareness is not present. The price of admission to emptiness is simply to turn toward it. If you were to equate the inner light with emptiness you might miss the myriad opportunities that arise in each moment.

I remembered an interesting point out of the blue this morning during my practice. A number of years ago, one of the teachers was a younger man in the Vipassana world who had just finished a period of time in Burma with U Pandita. Clearly he had been impressed with this experience, and he kept saying things like: "Get in close with the breath," "Become one with the breath," "Get tight, closer, closer with each breath."
I remember his passion and intensity. Something had touched him. I also remember that I was put off by the instruction as it seemed too pushy, too much effort. (By the way, it turned out that this young teacher ended up very influenced by Papaji, and for a while became an Advaitist, and then moved to Tibetan practice when he got one of the early copies of the Flight of the Garuda—which I have found to be an extraordinary text that most of my students are unable to understand!)
This idea of merging with the breath sounds very different from: "Relax, be with what is, etc." Again, it is interesting that many Buddhist practitioners seem to focus on releasing the clinging mind as a key factor of practice—the second and third of the four Noble Truths—while these concentration practices, on the jhanic level, seem to invite a very tightening of focus, to the point of fixation, locked in, that sounds like hard jhana.


I agree with you that "relax and be with what is," is different from "fixate on this jhana." We must be careful not to make a category error. Jhana is apples and rigpa is oranges. Rigpa contains jhana but is not limited to it. In other words, you can stand aside and let rigpa be as it is even as you stand aside and let your illusory self fixate on jhana. And you can learn to allow them to happen simultaneously. It isn't you in either case

Anything within time cannot be compared to rigpa. Primordial awareness just is, and can be noticed anytime. Any strain that goes into the noticing will just prevent the noticing from being continuous, as the noticing mind veers away from its intended target as in the first phase of chickenherding.

At this point, if in fact I was touching the 1st Jhana during the past couple of days, it's main feature is a calmness in comparison with my ordinary state of mind. At its depth, equanimity may reside, but it is not yet identifiable. I can feel the potential for joy and bliss, but, again, they are not clearly part of the initial experience. So, the fresh baked bread of calmness (exhilaration?) is the most notable feature.


Yes, this is a good point. Equanimity cannot be seen clearly, if at all, in the first three jhanas because it is too subtle to compete with the other, grosser jhanic factors. And the first jhana only seems exhilarating in comparison with the second and subsequent jhanas. In comparison with our "ordinary" mind states, even the first jhana is supremely calm. In any case, I am interested to see whether the jhana you experienced today reveals itself to be the first or second upon continued examination.

At some point, I plan to write about the nimitta, or "sign of samadhi," which is the main visual component of jhana, and is the source of the inner light you are describing. I have left it out of the description so far, as I find that it is not necessary in order to enter and explore jhanas, but it is significant and deserves a discussion of its own. It will be interesting to see how it relates to the lights you saw during your dark retreat.

I eagerly await your next adventure in chickenherding!

Comments
Trackback URL: