Don't Worry, Be Grumpy

  A friend told me of the time he visited a quiet temple in Bangkok. As he entered the precinct, he noticed a woman sitting alone on a bench, sobbing. Not knowing Thai culture, he felt too uncomfortable to offer any assistance. Instead he went into one of the buildings to complete his own errand.

  Half an hour later, when he came out, he saw that woman still sitting on the bench, but now no longer crying. So he went up to her to ask if she needed any help.

  The woman spoke good English. She explained that she had just experienced a tragic event and was so distressed that she came to the monastery to calm herself down. She didn’t need counseling from any of the monks, nor did she need any help from the stranger. Having found this quiet bench and having had the freedom to cry for as long as she needed, without anyone interrupting her, she now felt so much better. Then she smiled and got up to leave.

  “What was the tragedy, if I may ask?” inquired my friend.

  “Oh,” she replied, “I lost my car keys.”

  92. Inner Silence

  The famous founder of Taoism, Lao-tzu, would go on a walk every evening accompanied by one of his students. Lao-tzu held a strict rule that the student must not speak during the walk.

  On one occasion, a new student was granted the honor of accompanying Lao-tzu on his walk. That day, the master and his disciple reached a ridge in the mountains just as the sun dropped below the horizon. The western sky was streaked with deep crimson, gold, and yellow, like fluttering banners for some celestial celebration.

  The young student, in awe at the natural spectacle, burst out excitedly, “Wow! What a beautiful sunset!”

  He had broken the strict rule of silence.

  The master quietly turned around and walked back to the monastery. Once he had returned, Lao-tzu decreed that the young student could never again accompany him on a walk. He had broken the rule.

  The young man’s friends tried to intercede for him. After all, it was only one sentence. What was wrong with commenting on such a glorious sunset anyway?

  Lao-tzu explained: “When my student spoke, he was not seeing the sunset any more. He was only noticing the words.”

  There is a fundamental difference between perceiving a description of something and experiencing the thing itself. It is just like the difference between a signpost and the place it is pointing to. Thinking is not the same as knowing.

  So how do we achieve inner silence? Most people are so addicted to thought that they claim that they cannot stop thinking. The following exercise shows how easy it is to establish silence within, and how delightful it feels:

  1.Sit comfortably, close your eyes, and relax your body for a minute or two.

  2.Instead of indulging in thought, voicelessly recite to yourself the phrase “Namo tassa” over and over again for a minute.

  3.Next, start to put pauses between the syllables: Na . . . Mo . . . Tas . . . Sa . . . Na . . . Mo . . . Tas . . . Sa . . . and so on.

  4.Gradually increase the length of the pauses: Na . . . . . . Mo . . . . . . Tas . . . . . . Sa . . .

  5.If thoughts come in between the pauses, shorten the spaces: Na Mo Tas Sa. This will crowd out the thoughts. Then try lengthening the pauses again.

  6.Soon the spaces between the syllables will become long, and in those spaces, you will experience for yourself the indescribable inner silence.

  It doesn’t matter what namo tassa means. It is better that you don’t know. Otherwise, it will start you off thinking again.

  93. When There Is No Silence

  In my first year as a monk in northeast Thailand, the local village held a three-day-long party. Electricity had yet to reach the village, but petrol-driven generators, amplifiers, and huge loudspeakers certainly had. Although the village was over a kilometer away, the sound of the party was disturbing the precious serenity of our monastery.

  Buddhism has always taught a “live and let live” philosophy, but when the party was still at full volume at 2:00 in the morning, we resolved to ask for a “sleep and let sleep” compromise. After all, we monks had to rise at 3:00 to start our monastic day.

  We asked the headman if they could stop at 1:00, thereby giving us two hours of sleep at night. The answer was a polite no. So we sent a delegation to see our highly revered teacher, Ajahn Chah, and requested that he tell the villagers to turn down the volume at 1:00. We knew that the headman would follow whatever Ajahn Chah said.

  It was on this occasion that Ajahn Chah taught us that “It is not the sound that disturbs you. It is you who disturb the sound!”

  That wasn’t what we expected, but it worked.

  The noise would still reverberate in our eardrums but no longer in our minds. We made peace with the inconvenience. It was only three days and soon passed.

  Many years later, one of the monk’s brothers visited our monastery in Australia. Unfortunately all the guest rooms were full, so the monk asked me if his brother could share his room, just for one night. After all, they had grown up together sharing a room.

  “Ah, but you are both much older now,” I pointed out. “You probably both snore.” The monk insisted there would be no problem, so permission was granted.

  The monk’s brother fell asleep first and, as predicted, snored so loud that the monk could not get to sleep. Exhausted and sleepless, the monk remembered the advice he had been given. “It is not the sound that disturbs you. It is you who disturb the sound!”

  So he started to play with his perception of the snoring, overlaying the sound with imagining it was a soothing melody from a famous classical composer. He could not change the sound of snoring, but he could change the way he perceived it.

  When he woke up the next morning, the last thing he remembered, before falling into a refreshing sleep, was how melodious had become his brother’s snoring!

  So if you have a husband who snores, imagine you are listening to the Grateful Dead or whatever music you like. When the dog barks in the middle of the night, perceive it as an interpretation of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture or something similar. When you can’t escape the noise, try changing your perception of it.

  94. The In-Between Moments

  Much of life is spent having left somewhere but not yet arrived. These are the “in-between moments of your life.” They are too often wasted.

  Before I was a monk, while I was teaching in a high school, a fellow teacher told me that he had applied for a much better job. He had secured the position but now had to wait a long six months for his teaching contract to expire before starting his dream job. He said that he was surprised and anguished to find himself wishing away a whole six months of his life.

  “My life is too short to write off the next half year until I start the new job, but that is what I found myself doing!”

  How much of your life has been wasted wishing away hours, days, and months waiting for something to happen: the aircraft to leave, the workday to finish, or the baby to be born? Unfortunately, most of our life is spent in such in-between moments.

  Once it is recognized how so much of life is wasted, the tragic “murder rate” in society will decrease significantly. Not so many people will be killing time.

  No more will we focus so intently on getting to the destination. Instead we will find new value in the journey, be able to relax in the traffic jam, be willing to speak to fellow commuters on the train, and discover the many adventures that only occur in those precious in-between moments of our lives.

  95. Are You a Human Being or a Human Going?

  It is very rare to find a human being today. They are always going somewhere, hardly ever being here. That is why I call them “human goings.” We have lost the art of just being.

  One weekend in my Buddhist temple, I was busy with administration work when an old friend asked me how things were going.

  “I’m getting there,” I answered.

  “Where is it that you are getting to?” he continued wisely.

  I immediately got the point and stopped rushing around.
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  “You have caught me out,” I answered, a little ashamed. “I guess the only place I am getting to, rushing around like this, is an early grave!” We both smiled.

  If you are one of those “human goings,” ask yourself, “Where am I going to? And when will I arrive, if ever?”

  As for me, I’ve already arrived. I’ve made it to here, and I can now call myself a human being. “Here” is a very comfortable place. I recommend that everyone visit and stay a while, instead of always running away from here, perpetually going somewhere else.

  Now, when my friends ask me how things are going, I reply, “I’m just being here!”

  96. Don’t Worry, Be Hopey

  Anxiety is looking at the future and considering all the things that could go wrong. Such unnecessary worry is a cognitive sickness of epidemic proportions in our modern world.

  The antidote is looking at the future considering all the things that could go right. It actually increases the likelihood of success. It’s adding hope rather than negativity to your future. So don’t worry. Be hopey!

  A long time ago, a wise but unorthodox spiritual leader taught that there were only two religions to be found in the world:

  1.Those that bend the truth to fit their faith

  2.Those that bend their faith to fit the truth

  He was a follower of the second religion, always ready to abandon a dogma or ritual, no matter how cherished, if well-established facts did not support it.

  He was never short of enemies among the traditionalists. Soon his foes found the means to destroy him.

  He gave so many public talks, his foes accumulated statements he had made, portrayed them out of context, and accused him of heresy. At the trial, he was found guilty, and the penalty was death!

  After the sentence of capital punishment was handed down, the spiritual leader sighed, “Oh, what a pity! I was planning to teach the wife of His Honor the judge a simple form of meditation so that she won’t argue with him ever again. Now I will not be able to teach her to be compliant. What a pity!”

  “Do you know a method of meditation that can make my wife not argue with me?” asked the judge, intrigued.

  “I know all types of meditation, Your Honor,” he replied.

  “Hmm,” considered the judge. “All right. I will grant you a stay of execution for twelve months so that you may teach my wife not to argue with me. But if she is still argumentative after one year, I will personally attend your execution. Court is adjourned.”

  As the spiritual leader left the courtroom, a free man for twelve months, his disciples asked him what this powerful method of meditation was that could make wives stop arguing with their husbands.

  “I don’t know,” replied the spiritual leader. “I haven’t found such a method yet, but I might! Anyway, who knows what may happen in the next year? The judge’s wife might die, and that will stop her arguing with the judge—ha ha! Or else I myself might die of natural causes. Whatever, I now have twelve months of freedom. Remember the saying: Don’t worry, be hopey!”

  97. Being a Visitor, Not an Owner

  Visitors to my monastery would often tell me how tranquil and beautiful the monastery is. I would think they were crazy! Couldn’t they see how much work needed to be done? The buildings and grounds had to be maintained. The young monks had to be trained. And the endless questions of those visitors had to be answered. To me, the monastery was a busy work-camp. Something was wrong. I soon realized that it was my attitude.

  So I changed my attitude.

  One morning each week, usually on a Monday morning, I pretend to be a visitor, not an owner, in the monastery where I have lived for thirty years. As a visitor, I do not have to worry about maintaining the buildings and grounds. Teaching the monks is no longer my business. And, as a visitor, I don’t have to answer all those questions. On such mornings, I can appreciate this monastery just as a visitor can. I have found that the visitors are right. It is a beautiful and tranquil monastery, when you don’t own it.

  I teach this same method to my friends. For a few hours every week, maybe on the weekend, pretend that you are a visitor in the house in which you live.

  When you visit others’ homes, do you wash the dishes for them? No! Do you vacuum their carpets and tidy up? No! Do you mow their lawn? No! And you don’t feel guilty about not doing any of these chores either, because you are a visitor, not an owner.

  So when you pretend to be a visitor in your house, not an owner, then you can enjoy its beauty and tranquility. You can rest without feeling guilty. You can enjoy the home with nothing to do. You are just visiting.

  Only a visitor can let go. An owner has to control.

  98. Don’t Just Be Mindful, Be Kindful

  A wealthy woman went to her meditation class one evening. Many of her neighbors had been robbed, so she told the guard at the gate to her mansion to be alert and mindful at all times.

  When she returned, she discovered that her mansion had been robbed. She scolded her guard, “I told you to be mindful of burglars. You have failed me.”

  “But I was mindful, ma’am,” replied the guard. “I saw the burglars going into your mansion, and I noted ‘Burglar going in. Burglar going in.’ Then I saw them coming out with all your jewelry, and I mindfully noted ‘Jewelry going out. Jewelry going out.’ Then I saw them going in again and taking out your safe, and I mindfully noted again ‘Safe being stolen. Safe being stolen.’ I was mindful, ma’am.”

  Obviously, mindfulness is not enough! Had the guard been kind to his employer as well as mindful, he would have called the police. When we add kindness to mindfulness we get “kindfulness.”

  A few years ago I had food poisoning. Monks of my tradition depend on almsfood, offered every day by our lay supporters. We never really know what we are eating, and we often put into our mouths something the stomach later has an argument with. An occasional stomachache is an occupational hazard for monks. But this time, it was far worse than a bout of indigestion. This was the agonizing cramps of food poisoning.

  Instead of going to the hospital, which a sensible monk would have done, I used kindfulness.

  I resisted the natural tendency to escape from the pain and felt the sensation as fully as I could. This is mindfulness—experiencing the feeling in the moment, as clearly as possible, without reacting. Then I added kindness. I opened the door of my heart to the pain, respecting it with emotional warmth. The mindfulness provided me with feedback. I noticed that my intestines had relaxed a little because of the kindness, and the pain was slightly less. So I continued with the kindfulness. Little by little, the pain decreased as the kindness did its job of relaxing the digestive tract. After only twenty minutes, the pain had gone, totally. I was as healthy and relaxed as if the food poisoning had never occurred.

  That was full-on food poisoning. The cramps hurt like hell and made me double up in agony. But it was countered by full-on kindfulness. I have no idea what happened to the bacteria that are the cause of food poisoning, but I didn’t worry about that. The pain had gone completely. This is but one personal example of the power of kindfulness.

  Kindfulness is the cause of relaxation. It brings ease to the body, to the mind, and to the world. Kindfulness allows healing to happen. So don’t just be mindful, be kindful.

  99. Kindfulness When You Are Broke

  Thomas (not his real name) had spent many months meditating in our monastery in Australia before returning to his home in Germany to pursue further studies. He told me this story of how kindfulness had made him twenty euros when he really needed it.

  On Thomas’s first day on the campus of a German university, an ATM machine emitted a strange sound as he passed. “A type of gurgling sound,” as he described it. He imagined that the university ATM was welcoming him to campus.

  From that day on, Thomas repeatedly sent thoughts of kindness to his friend, the ATM, whenever he passed it: “May your bank notes never run out,” “May your customers never hit you when they discover they h
ave no funds,” “May you never suffer a short circuit,” and so on.

  After many months, Thomas was sitting in the warm sun having his lunch within a few feet of his friend, the ATM, when he heard the familiar gurgling sound again. He turned around to see a twenty-euro note emerge from the machine!

  He had been by the ATM for at least fifteen minutes and no one had come close to the machine, let alone tried to make a withdrawal. He went to the machine, took the note, and then waved it in the air to see if anyone claimed it. No one did. Thomas, the poor student, said “Danke” to his friendly ATM and pocketed the cash.

  I repeatedly interrogated Thomas as to the truth of that tale. He vehemently insisted it was true so many times that I now believe him. So please be kind to ATMs, and who knows, one day they may be kind to you!

  100. Kindfulness and Stillness

  Many people try to practice meditation these days. Their biggest problem is that they cannot keep their mind still. No matter how hard they try, they are unable to stop thinking. Why?

  A woman received a call one afternoon, “Hi, this is C. F. Are you free this afternoon for a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure,” the woman replied.

  “Good,” continued C. F. “We will go that coffee shop that I like, not the one that you prefer. You will have a short black, not one of those high-cholesterol lattes that I know you like. You will have a blueberry muffin, just like me, not one of those silly pastries that I have seen you eat so often. We will sit in a quiet corner because that is where I want to sit, not out on the street where you always go. Then we will discuss politics, which is what I like to talk about, not that spiritual mumbo jumbo that you always twitter on about. Lastly, we will stay for sixty minutes, not fifty minutes nor seventy minutes, just exactly one hour, because that is how long I want to stay.”