Right now, I am hungry. Or let me rephrase from more of a Buddhist perspective: there is hunger arising in the framework of this body-mind experience that is currently being known. I've been awake since early this morning, have only eaten breakfast and lunch, and just got home from a long day at work, but I won't eat anything else before going to bed.
You might be thinking that I am too poor to afford to buy food, which is a reasonable guess for those of you who know me. Even though it's the end of the month, and I have a long history of being broke, I actually have more than enough cash in my pocket to afford food for the next couple days until I get paid again. Not only that, but there is plenty of good food in my kitchen.
As some of you might know, if you've been reading my blog lately, I've been experimenting with a more austere lifestyle in order to get a taste of freedom. After discovering that I feel more freedom by practicing restraint than indulgence, I've been compelled to continue to up-the-ante. I've already got enough rules to try to live by for the time being, so I'm not going to bother using force here, but I am going to make an effort to just eat two meals a day when it seems like it won't cause too much suffering.
Herein lies the dichotomy: in order to find freedom from suffering, we must invite it into our lives. Only then will we be able to recognize it, understand its causes, and eventually learn to overcome it. At least that is the Buddhist perspective. If you have another way that is easier, let me know.
By sitting here and deliberately allowing myself to feel this hunger arising I am creating the space for which to be able to hold this experience of suffering. What I should say is that I'm building up a tolerance for unpleasantness, because I don't actually feel like I'm suffering, in spite of the fact that it's a little uncomfortable. I've been doing this for the past few days--just eating two small-to-normal sized meals a day, and watching my reaction to skipping dinner at night. What I've found is that the mental reaction is worse than the physical discomfort, and this in itself is a wonderful reminder of the relationship between pain and suffering.
Pain arises, and then it is the mind that complains and causes suffering. If the mind was able to change its beliefs as to what should or shouldn't happen, the suffering would cease altogether. Plenty of people go to bed hungry in this world every night, and it's not by choice. Do you think they are disappointed that they don't have dinner? If you never had dinner, would you expect it? Certainly not. It is the conditioned needs of the mind that sets us up for suffering, not the situation itself.
Now that I am one week into Khao Phansa, the three month Buddhist Lent period during which many Buddhists undergo stricter adherences of austerity in their lives and their meditation practice, I've already had the opportunity to see the benefits that such practices have to offer. Instead of seeing things as being so final, or black and white, having a time period for which to experiment with such matters seems to offer some mental ease when it comes to the whole thing. If I told myself I was going to meditate for 90 minutes daily for the rest of my life, I would undoubtedly become overwhelmed with the daunting task and throw in the towel. But with a shorter time period of 90 days, I have some faith I can actually do it, and at the end, I'll be able to decide whether or not I continue, with no pressure either way. So far, I've been able to adhere to this more austere lifestyle, and have even found ways to go beyond my initial goals in things like 2 hours of meditation on many days and now eating only two meals. Another thing that I'm playing around with is not using any seasoning in my food, in an attempt to not allow craving for the sense pleasure of taste to arise while eating.
When it comes to these practices, which I've experimented with before with varying degrees of success, it seems that a stepping-stone approach works best. I've often failed in the past because I tried to make too large a leap, and I just fell short. I had been so excited about this spiritual path that I just got too overzealous. Now I see that it's best to let it come sort of naturally, and not try to control the progression too much. When I feel compelled to do something, I will try it, but not because I feel like I should, but because it seems like the logical next step.
I highly encourage you to investigate the nature of your own being and its relationship to suffering by willfully engaging in experiments of living a more austere life. The easiest thing to do is to go to a monastery or meditation retreat in which you will be expected to follow such guidelines and you will have the support of others who are doing the same. But if that isn't available to you, maybe you can try something at home. I know many people who are trying to lose weight will experiment with skipping meals with great success. The challenge becomes to not over-eat during the other two meals of the day. This is a good lesson that is worth noting. If we take it to an extreme that we aren't ready for, we're likely to come crashing down and be worse off than we were before. We need to be careful here, to not over-do it and to be reasonable with where we are in our capacity to live with austerity. We don't have to lie to ourselves, thinking that it is easy. We can accept that these experiments are difficult and that just by trying, we are doing something good for ourselves.
When we challenge ourselves in wholesome directions in order to become better people, the fruits of our efforts benefit those around us as well. Not only do we become stronger and more disciplined, but we also become more compassionate on account of our intimate relationship with our own suffering. It's too easy to just come home, stuff ourselves, and sit in front of the TV. The reason why we like doing this so much (and believe me, I like it too) is that it offers us a chance to escape any sort of discomfort. But if we keep avoiding discomfort at every opportunity, we are crippling ourselves from learning how to deal with it when it inevitably arises in our lives.
Similar to the way I felt while doing a 1-week raw-food diet experiment in India earlier this year, I feel like this experiment is putting me in touch with the bare experience of what it means to be alive. Instead of feeling comfortably numb, like I do after indulging, I feel like I am vibrant and full of life. It's actually so unfamiliar to me that my mind thinks it's discomfort, when really it's something quite special. Buddhist monks in the Therevada tradition live by 227 precepts, one of which is refraining from eating after 12-noon. Moreover, in the Thai Forest Tradition of Northeastern Thailand, which is known for being especially austere in it's practices, monks only eat one meal a day, usually around 9 or 10am. I've stayed at a couple forest tradition monasteries and found that the one meal a day isn't really so bad, if you can get past the whining and complaining of the mind.
So that's just it, it's just this mind that separates us from the freedom that is our birthright. In order to connect with this freedom, we have to work to purify our hearts and minds in order to see what's really happening, the truth. When we are able to see the truth, we can develop wisdom and we are on the path to becoming freer, better people, for ourselves and all living creatures everywhere. Don't give up!
You might be thinking that I am too poor to afford to buy food, which is a reasonable guess for those of you who know me. Even though it's the end of the month, and I have a long history of being broke, I actually have more than enough cash in my pocket to afford food for the next couple days until I get paid again. Not only that, but there is plenty of good food in my kitchen.
As some of you might know, if you've been reading my blog lately, I've been experimenting with a more austere lifestyle in order to get a taste of freedom. After discovering that I feel more freedom by practicing restraint than indulgence, I've been compelled to continue to up-the-ante. I've already got enough rules to try to live by for the time being, so I'm not going to bother using force here, but I am going to make an effort to just eat two meals a day when it seems like it won't cause too much suffering.
Herein lies the dichotomy: in order to find freedom from suffering, we must invite it into our lives. Only then will we be able to recognize it, understand its causes, and eventually learn to overcome it. At least that is the Buddhist perspective. If you have another way that is easier, let me know.
By sitting here and deliberately allowing myself to feel this hunger arising I am creating the space for which to be able to hold this experience of suffering. What I should say is that I'm building up a tolerance for unpleasantness, because I don't actually feel like I'm suffering, in spite of the fact that it's a little uncomfortable. I've been doing this for the past few days--just eating two small-to-normal sized meals a day, and watching my reaction to skipping dinner at night. What I've found is that the mental reaction is worse than the physical discomfort, and this in itself is a wonderful reminder of the relationship between pain and suffering.
Pain arises, and then it is the mind that complains and causes suffering. If the mind was able to change its beliefs as to what should or shouldn't happen, the suffering would cease altogether. Plenty of people go to bed hungry in this world every night, and it's not by choice. Do you think they are disappointed that they don't have dinner? If you never had dinner, would you expect it? Certainly not. It is the conditioned needs of the mind that sets us up for suffering, not the situation itself.
Now that I am one week into Khao Phansa, the three month Buddhist Lent period during which many Buddhists undergo stricter adherences of austerity in their lives and their meditation practice, I've already had the opportunity to see the benefits that such practices have to offer. Instead of seeing things as being so final, or black and white, having a time period for which to experiment with such matters seems to offer some mental ease when it comes to the whole thing. If I told myself I was going to meditate for 90 minutes daily for the rest of my life, I would undoubtedly become overwhelmed with the daunting task and throw in the towel. But with a shorter time period of 90 days, I have some faith I can actually do it, and at the end, I'll be able to decide whether or not I continue, with no pressure either way. So far, I've been able to adhere to this more austere lifestyle, and have even found ways to go beyond my initial goals in things like 2 hours of meditation on many days and now eating only two meals. Another thing that I'm playing around with is not using any seasoning in my food, in an attempt to not allow craving for the sense pleasure of taste to arise while eating.
When it comes to these practices, which I've experimented with before with varying degrees of success, it seems that a stepping-stone approach works best. I've often failed in the past because I tried to make too large a leap, and I just fell short. I had been so excited about this spiritual path that I just got too overzealous. Now I see that it's best to let it come sort of naturally, and not try to control the progression too much. When I feel compelled to do something, I will try it, but not because I feel like I should, but because it seems like the logical next step.
I highly encourage you to investigate the nature of your own being and its relationship to suffering by willfully engaging in experiments of living a more austere life. The easiest thing to do is to go to a monastery or meditation retreat in which you will be expected to follow such guidelines and you will have the support of others who are doing the same. But if that isn't available to you, maybe you can try something at home. I know many people who are trying to lose weight will experiment with skipping meals with great success. The challenge becomes to not over-eat during the other two meals of the day. This is a good lesson that is worth noting. If we take it to an extreme that we aren't ready for, we're likely to come crashing down and be worse off than we were before. We need to be careful here, to not over-do it and to be reasonable with where we are in our capacity to live with austerity. We don't have to lie to ourselves, thinking that it is easy. We can accept that these experiments are difficult and that just by trying, we are doing something good for ourselves.
When we challenge ourselves in wholesome directions in order to become better people, the fruits of our efforts benefit those around us as well. Not only do we become stronger and more disciplined, but we also become more compassionate on account of our intimate relationship with our own suffering. It's too easy to just come home, stuff ourselves, and sit in front of the TV. The reason why we like doing this so much (and believe me, I like it too) is that it offers us a chance to escape any sort of discomfort. But if we keep avoiding discomfort at every opportunity, we are crippling ourselves from learning how to deal with it when it inevitably arises in our lives.
Similar to the way I felt while doing a 1-week raw-food diet experiment in India earlier this year, I feel like this experiment is putting me in touch with the bare experience of what it means to be alive. Instead of feeling comfortably numb, like I do after indulging, I feel like I am vibrant and full of life. It's actually so unfamiliar to me that my mind thinks it's discomfort, when really it's something quite special. Buddhist monks in the Therevada tradition live by 227 precepts, one of which is refraining from eating after 12-noon. Moreover, in the Thai Forest Tradition of Northeastern Thailand, which is known for being especially austere in it's practices, monks only eat one meal a day, usually around 9 or 10am. I've stayed at a couple forest tradition monasteries and found that the one meal a day isn't really so bad, if you can get past the whining and complaining of the mind.
So that's just it, it's just this mind that separates us from the freedom that is our birthright. In order to connect with this freedom, we have to work to purify our hearts and minds in order to see what's really happening, the truth. When we are able to see the truth, we can develop wisdom and we are on the path to becoming freer, better people, for ourselves and all living creatures everywhere. Don't give up!
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