“Umm . . .” replied the woman thinking quickly, “I just remembered that I have to see my dentist this afternoon. Sorry, C. F., I can’t make it.”
Would you like to go out for a cup of coffee with someone who tells you where to go, what to eat and drink, where to sit, and what to discuss? No way! And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, C. F. stands for Control Freak.
Compare this to someone meditating. “Mind, listen up! We are going to meditate now. You are going to watch the breath, which is what I want to do, not wander off wherever you want. You are going to place your awareness on the tip of the nose, which I like to do, not outside on the street. And you are going to sit there for exactly sixty minutes, not a minute more or less.”
When you are the control freak who treats your mind like a slave, no wonder your mind always tries to escape from you. It will think of useless memories, plan something that will never happen, fantasize, or fall asleep—anything to get away from you. That is why you can’t keep still!
The same woman receives a call, “Hi! K. F. here. Would you like to come for a coffee this afternoon? Where would you like to go? What would you like to drink and eat? We’ll sit where you like, talk about your favorite topics, and stay as long as you like.”
“Actually, I have a dentist appointment this afternoon,” replies the woman. “Heck! Never mind the dentist. I’m coming to have coffee with you.” Then they have such a relaxed and enjoyable time together that they stay much longer than anyone expected. K. F. stands of course for Kindfulness Freak.
What if you meditate by treating your mind like a best friend: “Hey buddy! Do you want to meditate now? What do you want to watch? How do you want to sit? You tell me how long.” When you treat your mind with kindfulness, your mind does not want to wander off anywhere. It likes your company. You hang out together, chilling out, for far longer than you ever expected.
101. No Fear
One evening, just after dusk, I was meditating alone in one of the last stretches of natural jungle in northeast Thailand. It was getting dark, and the village was many miles away. A monk can become very still meditating far away from people and surrounded only by nature. I could hear only the evening sounds of the forest. I felt comforted by the reassuring background hum, which I knew well by this time, and soon became very peaceful.
That was until I heard the sound of an animal approach.
Most animals in the Thai jungles were benign. But there were also tigers, bears, and elephants in that forest. They were all capable of doing serious injury to people, even killing them. We were told scary stories about these very dangerous killers. The old villagers used to tell me that the big animals usually left the monks alone, but I was not reassured. I figured out that the villagers would never know about those monks who were not left alone by the tigers, elephants, and bears because they would not live to tell the story of their deaths!
To be on the safe side, I carefully listened to the animal that was approaching in the dark. By its sound, it was only a small creature and therefore nothing to worry about. So I resumed my meditation.
The animal came closer and the noise got louder. I became concerned. I mindfully listened, used my reason, and realized I had underestimated the size of the creature. From the way I heard it move through the jungle underbrush, it sounded like a midsize animal, maybe a civet cat. That was also nothing to worry about, so I started meditating again.
Then the noise became very loud. I could tell by the crunching of the leaves on the ground and the cracking of twigs of wood that this was a large animal, a very large one, and it was coming right toward me! I stopped meditating. My heart was pounding. I was so scared that I opened my eyes, turned on my flashlight, and started searching for a tiger or an elephant or bear. I was ready to run to save my life.
After a few seconds, I saw it in the beam of my flashlight. It was a tiny forest mouse.
I learned that fear magnifies things. When you are scared, the sound of a mouse seems like a monk-eating tiger approaching. Fear makes a minor sickness appear like the worst cancer, and a rash becomes the bubonic plague. Fear makes everything much larger than it is.
102. The Coffin
A man was returning from the temple late one evening. He decided to take the shortcut past the cemetery. He was a scientist and did not believe in ghosts. At least that is what he told his friends.
I don’t know why this is, but the lampposts that illuminate the street are always farther apart next to a cemetery. Or perhaps this is just what it seems like. Cemeteries are always spooky at night, whether you believe in ghosts or not.
Having passed the middle of the cemetery, he felt a little better. Then he thought he heard a strange sound, as though something were following him. He dismissed the perception as mere imagination and carried on walking.
But no! Something was following him. So he began to walk a little faster. The thing following him sounded like it was walking faster too. Even though he did not want to, trying to convince himself this was a trick of his mind, he looked behind him. That was a big mistake!
His eyes widened in horror. His jaw dropped and began to quiver uncontrollably. The blood drained from his face in shock. Following him, only a few meters behind, was a coffin. A vertical coffin, covered with cobwebs and loose soil. Bump! Bump! Bump!
He turned and ran. The coffin came bump, bump, bump after him. It was catching up.
He ran as fast as he could to the end of the cemetery, hoping the coffin would stop there. But no! The coffin continued after him along the suburban street. Bump! Bump! Bump! It was getting closer and closer. He was pouring sweat, willing his legs to go faster, but they would not.
Luckily, his house was close by. He jumped over the garden gate and ran to his house door. The coffin bumped against the gate, harder and harder. Reaching the front door, he took his house keys from his pocket. With a loud “Bump” the coffin broke through the garden gate. He dropped the keys. The coffin came bumping toward him. Terrified he reached for any key in the bunch and tried to put it in the lock. The coffin was almost upon him. Luckily, a key slid into the lock. He opened the door, jumped inside, and slammed the door shut just as the coffin reached the door. Perspiring and shaking, he let out a sigh of relief.
Bump! The coffin started to strike against the door. BUMP! It crashed with more force against the wood. BUMP! The hinges started to give way. In terror, he ran up the stairs to the only room with a lock, the bathroom. At the top of the stairs he turned around to see the coffin, with supernatural force, break down the front door and enter his home. He darted into the bathroom and locked the door. His heart was pounding.
He could hear the coffin come bumping up the stairs. He heard the coffin come crashing against the bathroom door. If the solid front door could not hold off the coffin, the bathroom door surely would give way. BUMP! And the bathroom door did give way. There were no more places to run. The coffin came toward him. Instinctively, he reached for something to throw at the approaching coffin. It was a bottle of medicine from the shelf. The glass bottle smashed on the coffin, and the pungent liquid spread all over the cobweb-covered wood. The coffin stopped. It was a miracle. The coffin ceased.
The bottle had contained cough syrup. Just as the pharmacist had said, “This will stop any coffin.”
103. Kind Ghosts
A friend was a poor builder’s laborer in Perth. He was helping renovate an old house built on stumps. While cleaning up after everyone else had gone home, he was passing by the outside of the old building when he heard someone say, “Put your hand under here!”
There was no one around, so he thought that he had imagined the voice.
Then he heard it again, “Put your hand under here!” This was not his mind playing tricks. This was real. This was a ghost!
What would you do? Please don’t run away. Many ghosts are kind.
So he carefully put his hand in the space between the ground and the raised floor of the house, and pulled out a large ti
n box. Opening it, he found many thousands of dollars in cash. He suspected that the previous owner, who had died, had hidden the money under the house to avoid paying taxes. The laborer used that money for the deposit on his first house. It was how he got his start in life.
So if you ever hear a ghostly voice say, “Put your hand under here!” you now know what to do.
Another friend lived alone with her dog. She would go for a walk with him in the woods twice a day. She loved her dog as if it were her only child.
One morning, playing with her dog in the woods, she lost her ring. It was not an expensive piece of jewelry, but it held treasured memories for her. She had a reasonable idea where it must have fallen, but no matter how long she searched, she could not find that ring. Disappointed, she gave it up for lost.
Soon after, she forgot all about the ring when her dear dog died. She missed him terribly. Her walks in the forest without his company made her so sad. So she preferred to remain at home. But one strange thing lessened her grief. For many days after the death, she clearly heard him barking in her house. She was not imagining this. The barking was real, and she easily recognized the sound as her dear dog. It made her a little less lonely.
But she could never see the ghost of her dog. She would hear it in another room, rush there, but there was never a dog to be seen.
One day, she was inside her house by the entrance door when she heard the ghost of her dog bark just outside. She quickly opened the door, expecting to see him for sure this time, but again her beloved dog was not to be seen. Something else was there, however. She looked down, and in the very middle of the welcome mat was her lost finger ring. Her deceased dog had found it for her.
Much of her sadness disappeared after that. Death was not as final a separation as she had once thought. From then on, she heard her dog no more.
Tim had migrated to Perth from London. In the middle of one night, alone in his house, he woke up and turned on the bedroom light. Standing at the end of his bed was his old mother.
His mum lived in Essex. He knew that this must be a ghost. However, he wasn’t scared at all, he told me. He was so happy and peaceful seeing his mother silently standing there, smiling at her son with unconditional love.
He knew his mum must have died, but he never felt sad. The love coming from his mother’s smile smothered any sadness.
The apparition lasted a long time, several minutes. When the ghost eventually vanished, Tim did what any Englishman would do in such a situation. He got out of bed and made himself a cup of tea!
Drinking his tea, the house phone rang. It was his sister in England.
“Tim, sorry to wake you up in the middle of the night, but I have some bad news.”
“Yes, I know,” Tim interrupted. “Mother has died.”
“How on earth did you know?” his sister exclaimed, incredulous. “We have only just returned from the hospital!”
Then Tim described his mother’s ghost. It was one of the most welcome and wonderful experiences to see his mother and bathe in her love one last time.
104. Scottish Mist
When I was a student, I spent many summer vacations in the mountainous wilderness areas of northern Scotland. On one cloudless day, I trekked with the warden of the local youth hostel to the top of a nearby peak. The view at the summit was breathtaking.
Being young and energetic, I suggested continuing on to the next peak, but the older warden had had enough. He told me to go alone. That was some bad advice that almost led to my death.
Halfway up the second mountain, some clouds rolled in. When I got close to the summit, the clouds descended so quickly that I was suddenly enveloped in a thick mist. I could see no more than a meter in front of me.
I had heard stories of English visitors like me being lost in the mist for days but had not believed those tales. I believed that I had a good sense of direction, so I simply turned around and went back the way I had come. With the confidence of youth, I was sure I would soon find my way back. As I carefully walked, looking at the ground two feet in front of me, which was as far as I could see, I suddenly saw the ground fall away in front of me. I almost lost my footing and fell over the precipice. I had come within one foot of a vertical cliff, within one step of a certain death.
I realized I was lost in a dangerous wilderness, in a mist that could last for days. I became worried. My confidence evaporated. I was in serious trouble.
Fortunately, I was studying physics at university. I remembered Einstein’s theory of general relativity, which also confirms the well-known fact that water travels downhill. So I found a small mountain brook, followed it to a bigger stream, and then followed that down the mountain until I was below the mist. Then I could see the landmarks to give me directions and return safely to the hostel.
Later, I looked at the map to find that the only cliff on that mountain, over a hundred feet down, was in the direction exactly opposite to where I thought I was going. So much for my innate sense of direction!
I use that anecdote to help guide people in their spiritual journeys. We all start off enveloped in the mist of not knowing. Monks and masters, teachers and guides, all tell us which path to follow, but they all say different things. Their advice is so confusing. We have no innate sense of direction.
So I suggest you find a stream, something you can follow that you know goes in the right direction, that will take you below the mist of not knowing, to see for yourself which way to travel further.
That stream is virtue, peace, and compassion. Whatever religion you follow, and even if you follow no religion, these three qualities will lead you to truth. Follow them. And experience the stream of kindfulness become wider and deeper. Soon it will take you beyond the mist of not knowing to where you can see for yourself and find your way home.
105. Bowing
Buddhists are famous for their bowing. Westerners often ask why we bow. I answer that Buddhist bowing is an effective exercise for the stomach muscles so that you don’t get so fat!
Becoming more serious, I explain that when we bow to a statue of the Buddha, for example, we bow to the qualities that the Buddha represents to us. My own three bows to a Buddha image are to virtue, peace, and compassion.
When I lower my head to the floor for the first time, I think of virtue. Goodness is so important to me that it is easy to worship it. I find so much happiness living in a community of monks that I can trust completely. When I have the privilege of meeting good people, it brings confidence that this world is a good place. Virtue is well worth a bow. Moreover, when I bow to virtue and remember its importance, I find that my own goodness grows. Whatever you worship and remember grows stronger with every prostration.
Next I bow to peace. Peace is also important to me, both in the world outside and in the private world of my meditation. Without peace of mind and peace between peoples, there is no happiness to be found. So I worship peace, and my life becomes more serene.
Lastly I bow to compassion. Acts of kindness bring warmth and light to the world. They make suffering bearable, even giving it meaning. A life without kindness is not a life worth living. So when I bow to compassion, I become more compassionate.
That is why Buddhists bow.
A few years ago, I was invited by a Christian friend, the chaplain at a top Perth private school, to give the spiritual address at the morning assembly. When I arrived, my friend the chaplain greeted me along with the school principal.
The principal explained the order of proceedings. “We wait until the whole school is assembled and quiet, and then the three of us will walk in. As we enter,” he continued, “the chaplain and I will make a small bow to the statue of Jesus, because we are Christians. But as you are a Buddhist monk, you don’t have to bow.”
I saw an opportunity to make an important point. I turned to the principal, pretended to scowl, and remonstrated, “I demand my right, as a Buddhist, to bow to your image of Jesus!”
The principal was taken aback, allowing
me to explain that I would bow to those qualities in Jesus that I, as a long-practicing Buddhist, respect. Obviously, I don’t agree with all the Christian teachings, otherwise I would be a Christian not a Buddhist, but I can see plenty that I respect and can worship, and I wanted to bow to that.
Thus it was that the three of us entered the assembly and worshiped the figure of Jesus. Then some months later, the principal visited my Buddhist monastery and worshiped the figure of Buddha.
106. God in Buddhism
Many people today do not like organized religion. That is why Buddhism has become so popular. Go to any ceremony in a Buddhist temple and you’ll discover why we qualify as “disorganized religion.”
Some people even ask whether Buddhism is a religion at all. The answer is “Yes, Buddhism is a religion. For tax purposes anyway.”
But what about the Buddhist idea of God?
At a chaplaincy seminar at our local university, I was co-presenting with a Benedictine abbot who happened to be an old friend. At question time, a well-known Christian in the audience asked me to explain the Buddhist concept of God.
It would have been easy for me to quote ancient Buddhist texts or sayings handed down from my teachers, but that would have taken the question nowhere. So I decided to answer in a way that would go deeper into wisdom and create greater harmony between two of the world’s great spiritual traditions.
“My friend Abbot Placid,” I began, “who is sitting next to me, has often told me that one of his core beliefs is that everyone is searching for God. I respect my friend so much that I accept the truth of this belief. So what do I and other Buddhists search for?