Q&A
Q: If I correctly understood your teaching this morning, the breath should be a pleasant flow, with no holding or pressing, etc. In yoga practice, there is kapalbhati breathing and alternate-nostril breathing, where we hold the breath for 16, 20, or even more counts, which is not always pleasant. How is this breathing technique related to meditative breathing?
A: The technique we’re teaching here is basically designed to get the mind energized through the processes of bodily and mental fabrication and then get it to calm down with a sense of ease. In other words, the main emphasis is on the effect on the mind. We do it as a means for giving rise to insight and tranquility together.
As for the yoga technique, that’s mainly for the sake of bodily health. But you can also use the Ajaan Lee technique for bodily health as well. He himself discovered this technique after he had had a heart attack deep in the forest, and he was able to recover from the heart attack and walk many miles out of the forest after practicing it. I myself used this technique to counteract the pains of malaria and to overcome my migraines. I used to have migraines very frequently, and I found that if I breathed in as much as I could, expanding the stomach as far as I could, it was uncomfortable, but it got me out of an unhealthy breathing cycle. So it is okay to use this technique for health purposes, too.
Q: Nothing in existence seems to escape from dependent co-arising. However, only memory seems to escape it. Why is that?
A: Actually, memory is made up of perceptions, saññā, and fabrications, saṅkhāra, both of which are parts of dependent co-arising. They come under the factor of fabrication and under the factor of name and form.
Q: If I understood this correctly, intention exists before the craving for sensuality, for becoming, or for non-becoming, and then it brings forth clinging and becoming. The question is, what is it that causes this process to get into existence? If the intention exists before the contact at the sense object, what is it that causes the intention to come? Is it the past experience? Is it the memory?
A: The things that influence the present moment can come from past influences, such as past experiences and memory, but because the mind has the ability to observe itself, sometimes what sets things in motion is a decision made right in the present moment. It’s because we have this freedom to act in the present moment that the path of practice to the end of suffering actually makes sense. The Buddha doesn’t explain why we have this freedom, but he says that because we have it, we should learn how to take advantage of it. There’s a passage where he says that the Dhamma is nourished by commitment and reflection. The Dhamma grows within you because of these two things. And the training and practice is a matter of learning how to develop that quality of reflection so that you can be more observant and take more advantage of the freedom that your powers of observation make available to you.
Q: What is the difference between saṅkhāras and kilesas or defilements? Is it that they are the patterns of functioning that are put into action in a repetitive manner in our life? Does meditation permit us to be aware of this or to realize this? Does it let us be liberated from it?
A: Actually, kilesas are a kind of saṅkhāra. Saṅkhāra, remember, is fabrication, which can be good or bad. Sometimes it’s repetitive, sometimes not. Kilesas are basically negative saṅkhāras. What we do in meditation is that we learn to use good saṅkhāras to put an end to bad saṅkhāras. After all, the path itself is a kind of saṅkhāra. Virtue is a fabrication. Concentration, discernment: These are all fabrications. We use them to overcome negative fabrications and then, when they’ve done their work, we let go of them, too. Here again, I think it’s useful to think of the image of the raft that you hold on to, to swim across the river and then, when you’ve arrived, you let it go.
Two questions:
First Q: Something has always seemed paradoxical to me for a long time in the Buddha’s teachings. He teaches us to aim for leaving the cycle of existence, which means to have a desire for non-existence, but nevertheless he denounces this desire for non-existence in other places. Isn’t wanting to get out of the cycle a desire for non-existence?
A: There is a distinction between the desire for non-existence, or rather, non-becoming, and the desire for no further becoming. The desire for non-becoming basically is the desire to see this current becoming destroyed. The desire for no further becoming is the desire not to start up any new becomings after this one. This is why the Buddha’s technique is to allow this current becoming to continue until it runs out on its own, while at the same time you have to be careful not to create the conditions for any new becomings.
Notice, I use the word “becoming” rather than “existence” for the word, bhava. It’s wrong to describe the goal as one of non-existence, because the state of the arahant after death cannot be described as existing, not existing, both, or neither. Because people are defined by their desires, and because an arahant has no desires, the arahant cannot be defined and—for that reason—can’t be described in any way. In the Canon, they illustrate this point with the image of the ocean: The arahant is indescribable in the same way that the water in the ocean is immeasurable.
Second Q: Wouldn’t it be more generous to return as a bodhisattva in existence to aid others to liberate themselves as the Mahāyāna teaches?
A: When you’re liberating other beings, what are you trying to teach them to do? Aren’t you teaching them to leave the process of creating suffering? We all suffer because of our lack of skill. Now, we cannot make anyone else skillful. We can show them how to become more skillful, but each person has to develop the proper skills for him or herself. And one of the best ways of showing people how to do this is to do it by example. Learn how to develop the skills yourself.
Here it’s important to understand the word, saṁsāra. We usually think of saṁsāra as a place in which beings die and are reborn. Actually, it’s an activity. The word literally means “wandering-on.” It’s something we do. We create a state of becoming, enter into it, and then, as it falls apart, we wander on and create another. The Buddha teaches that this activity is a bad habit. You could say that it’s like smoking or drinking. He was able to kick the habit, and he’s showing the rest of us how to kick it, too. To say that it would be more compassionate to keep on wandering on to aid others, rather than to stop wandering on, is like saying that it would be more compassionate to keep on smoking and drinking while you teach others to stop smoking and drinking.
I must admit my image of the Mahāyāna view, that you shouldn’t leave saṁsāra until everyone else has left, is this: There’s a fire in a movie theater, and everyone is rushing for the door. Bodhisattvas are clustered at the door, and one says, “You first,” and each of the others say, “No, you first.” The result is that everyone is going to get burned to death.
Q: What relationship exists between the kamma of parents and those who are their children? Is it an illusion to want to repair or ameliorate the unskillful behavior of our parents? And do our children carry with them part of our own kamma in them?
A: The fact that you were born to your parents means that you have some kind of kamma in common. Either you did this kamma together or you did it separately in separate places, but it’s still similar kamma. That’s why we have the phrase in the chant “kamma-bandhū”: We’re related through our kamma. But each of us has our own individual kamma. Your parents do not infect you with their kamma, and your children don’t carry on part of your own kamma. However, if you’re the child and you want to improve your parents’ kamma, it is possible. You set a good example. But you know how difficult it is for children to teach their parents, so you have to be very diplomatic. The best way to teach is through example.
Q: Can you form the hope to be welcomed at the moment of death, the grand passage, with “people” you’ve loved or the “people” for whom you may have some devotion or teachers who have put us on the path of the Dhamma? I have lots of gratitude for these “persons.”
A: There’s no need to put the word “person” or “people” in quotation marks. There is the belief sometimes that the Buddha teaches that there are no persons, but actually, he teaches that there are persons as long as there’s the process of becoming. We keep on taking on the identity of people, of persons, through our attachments and clingings as we go from life to life to life. It’s only when you reach nibbāna that you go beyond being a person.
Now, the question concerns the hope for being welcomed by the people you love or to whom you’re devoted: You have to be careful, because sometimes the people you have loved are not in really good destinations. They may have gone to a lower destination. If you tell yourself, “I want to be with them,” that aspiration might pull you down to their lower level.
Second, the fact that you loved each other in this lifetime doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re going to love each other in the next lifetime.
In Thailand, I knew of a monk and a nun who were meditating one time, and each saw that they had been married in a previous lifetime. So they disrobed and picked up where they’d left off. Apparently in the previous lifetime, they had loved each other very much, but in this lifetime they separated eight times and had eight children. When I met the woman, she looked pretty miserable. This is why the Buddha says not to focus on people. Focus instead on the good actions you’ve done. He says that your good actions will actually be like relatives welcoming you to the new life.
Q: At the moment of death, is it possible that there will be beings who will come to look for you or to accompany you to the next life? Is this going to be good or bad?
A: Well, it depends on the beings. There are stories of devas coming to help you go up to the deva world; there are stories of hell wardens coming to take you down to the lower realms. There are also stories of people who don’t have anyone to guide them at all: Either they go to a new life of their own accord, or they get lost and wander around aimlessly for a while. So, it’s best to depend on yourself. But if you see hell wardens come for you, that’s when you should bring to mind all the good actions you’ve done in this lifetime: your acts of generosity, virtue, and meditation. That’s your protection from hell wardens.
Q: Even though there are not necessarily treatments or doctors against aging, from the point of view of the practice, is there a particular difference between aging and an incurable disease, such as a degenerative disease?
A: From the point of the view of the practice, you treat them the same. You realize that because of the weakening of the body, you need to strengthen your mind, which is going to be the topic of tonight’s talk.
Q: Because morphine is considered to be an intoxicant, in the case of a human being—such as a dying relative, or an animal who is suffering the pains of death—is it appropriate to give morphine to them or would it be contrary to the fifth precept?
A: No, it’s not contrary to the precept. The fifth precept is against the use of intoxicants such as alcohol, but there is an exception. For the monks, the use of alcohol is allowed when it’s part of a medicine. Based on that principle, morphine and other similar drugs are considered to be allowable as painkillers.
However, you want to be as alert as possible at the moment of death. If you’re the patient, ask the doctor to give only the amount that’s really needed to take the edge off the pain, and not so much as to make you confused. The amount will depend on how much pain there is and how much pain the person can stand. They’ve found in America that if you allow the patient to control the amount of morphine that he or she gets through a morphine drip, the patient will tend to take less. Often in hospitals, the nurses are overworked: They won’t have time to come back and give you another shot for the next 24 hours, so they tend to overdose you to carry you through the whole day.
As for animals, I would give them a little morphine. They don’t need to be all that sharp, and you can’t ask them, “Is this enough morphine or is it too much?”
Q: A close friend of mine is in palliative care, aware that morphine will make her less and less present. She meditates, but none of her close family does. What can she do for herself, besides remembering all of her good actions rather than the not-good ones. What else? What can I do while I’m here on retreat? What happens to the mind when the body is under powerful sedation, which is going to be the case because of the pain?
A: The best things she can do for herself are, one, to think of her good actions in the past, and two, to learn how to relate to her pain in the present in such a way that she can see that the pain and her awareness of the pain are two different things. This is a point that we explained in previous retreats, and we’re going to be talking about it again tomorrow night. If you want to read a book to her while she’s in palliative care, read the relevant passages from Good Heart, Good Mind and The Five Faculties, which are available in French translation.
What you can do while you’re here on retreat is that you can spread lots of goodwill in her direction. When the body is under sedation, the mind tends to be in a suppressed state. It’s as if it’s in a fog, so it’s difficult to make clear decisions. The power of your goodwill might help to lift some of the fog.
There’s always the question of what exactly happens at the moment of death to people under sedation. Sometimes they suddenly wake up and come to their senses when they realize they’re dying; sometimes they don’t. And that moment of death: Even though for us it looks like a very short moment, for the person who’s experiencing that moment, it can be quite long, and choices can be made in that moment.
I was almost electrocuted to death one time. For me, it felt like five minutes; but for the people who saw it happening, it was just like a finger-snap. It seems long because your mind’s spinning very fast. So, if you’re with a person who’s passing away, even if they seem to be sedated or in a coma, it’s good to read passages of Dhamma to them or to talk to them about the good things they’ve done. Things like that may help to penetrate the fog.
Q: How to deal with the death of a loved one: your loved companion, your dearest grandmother, your cat—the best cat ever? How to deal with loneliness, emptiness, absence, lack of contact, no exchange, just silence? I’m afraid of that.
A: This is a topic that we’ll be covering later on in the week, but the first thing to realize is that death is not the end of your contact with that being. Because of your kamma in common, you will most likely meet each other again unless either of you attains nibbāna first. So it’s not totally the end.
Second, the worst part of the silence is the sense of being powerless to help the other person, but as the Buddha explains, you can make merit and dedicate it to the person who’s passed away. You can do this with animals, too.
From the Buddha’s point of analysis, when you leave someone or someone has left you like this, it’s almost as if a part of your identity—your sense of “what I am”—has been ripped out, so it’s going to take a while for that wound to heal. So whatever expression you want to give to your grief, go ahead and express it until you realize that it’s becoming self-indulgent. Then bring to mind the fact that this happens to everybody. Look around: Everybody’s lost somebody. When you reflect on this, it can turn your grief into compassion for all the suffering that goes on in saṁsāra, which is a much more skillful emotion than grief. We’ll talk more about this later in the week.
Can I tell one funny story before we go? One time, when I was at the monastery in Thailand and Ajaan Fuang was away, one of the local neighbors came in and said he wanted two monks to come to his house to chant a funeral chant. So I asked him, “Who died?” He smiled. I said, “If somebody has died, how can you smile?” And he said, “You’ll see.”
So two of us went to the house. They had planted vegetables the Chinese way, in raised beds with little walls, with each bed full of vegetables. And in several of the raised beds, all the vegetables had died. The wife was convinced it was foul play, so she wanted to monks to chant the funeral service for the vegetables. Then, when the monks gave the blessing—you may have seen Thai people do this sometimes, they’ll pour water into a little bowl to dedicate the merit to the deceased, and then they pour the water in the bowl under a tree. But this time, the wife was going to put hot peppers and salt in the water, and she was going to put a curse on whoever killed the vegetables.
So we said, “Wait a minute. What if your husband used a tank for pesticide and then put fertilizer in the tank without washing out the pesticide? Do you want to put a curse on your husband?” My favorite part of the story was that she stopped for a moment before she said, “No.” But then the neighbors, who had come to watch, said to us, “Well, as long as you’re here, go ahead do the chant anyhow.” So we did it. I think the other monk and I are probably the only monks who ever did a funeral service for vegetables.
