February 22, 2009 Sunday Morning, Stone House Retreat
Presence, Kindness, Freedom, Equanimity
Keywords: Presence, kindness, freedom, equanimity
Aaron: Good morning. My blessings and love to you all. The question relates to an arahant who said that his experience was of kindness. The title of one of my books is Presence, Kindness, and Freedom. I’ve been asked how I feel this title relates to the man’s statement.
Q: Kindness and peace.
Aaron: The title of my book relates directly to my talk last night. We need presence, mindfulness, if you want to call it that –– to be present in this moment. If you’re not here, you don’t learn anything. So you need to learn to pay attention, to be present. The texture of that presence must be kindness. If you are present as a warrior is present with his sword, ready to strike out at anything that moves, always seeking to defend, there’s a lot of contraction and fear. There’s not a basic attitude of kindness.
We develop presence that is grounded in kindness. We do that not by trying to fix unkindness but rather by observing when we move into that belly-tightening, throat-tightening, teeth-clenching contraction of fear, just noting it as contraction. I like the note, “contracting,” because it doesn’t have any value judgment to it. A contraction is just a contraction. Each time you breathe, the body contracts and releases. It’s part of the life process, so contraction is not bad, but unbalanced contraction held in the body creates suffering.
With presence and an intention toward kindness, one begins to note these kinds of unbalanced contractions and to ask the question that has been pointed out to you, “Right here with the fear or anger or pain that’s heightening this contraction, can I find spaciousness?” That spaciousness is right here in this moment when you pay attention. The contracted and the uncontracted, where would it go?
Could somebody give me a plain white piece of paper, please? Thank you. Perfect white piece of paper, unwrinkled, yes? (crumples it) Can you see that the perfect piece of paper is still there, and there are wrinkles. Can anybody see the perfect white piece of paper? (yes) I don’t have to iron out the wrinkles, the wrinkles are there, not a problem. Where would the perfect piece of paper go? It’s still there.
Imagine a deep underground spring of pure water. It emerges up through cracks in the rocks and tumbles down the hillside. Right there where it emerges you can drink from it; it’s pure and free of any pollution. It runs down the hill and a few hundred yards away, it widens into a place where cattle come and drink, and the bottom is muddy. The water is churned up. Instead of looking fresh and clear, it has a brown hue.
You walk down the mountain, you come to this wider stream. You’re thirsty. Do you need to go back up to the spring? Let’s say you have a very good filter. The perfect water is still there and the mud is there. You’re not going to lean down and drink there next to the cattle; you’ll get sick. But you also don’t have to climb back up to the perfect spring. The water you seek is right there; just filter out the impurities.
When we are present and view the world from a perspective of kindness, the heart is more open. Contractions will still arise. You don’t have to fix anything. If distortions in thinking arise that lead to anger and fear and blame, just note them with presence and kindness. It’s the way of filtering that particular stream. When you filter it, you come back to lovingkindness.
When you do this––the third word in my book title––there’s freedom. As J said, there’s freedom of choice. The anger is still there, just as the mud is still there from the cattle’s feet. You have a choice to filter the water or not to filter the water. You can always make the decision to climb back up the mountain but you’re thirsty and that’s a long climb. Why climb all the way up the mountain? What you seek is right here in this moment.
When this arahant said kindness is always present, there’s something very important to be aware of here. Kindness is always present for all of you, only you lost it underneath the mud. Where does it go? There’s always choice to go rushing off in a frantic way, “Where did I put my kindness?” or to stop and remember, to do the different kinds of practices you’ve all suggested, whatever brings you back into contact with that kindness.
You are all enlightened at some level. You haven’t fully realized this true nature of yours that’s grounded in kindness; you’re still seeking to understand it. But you are all already there. You’re not so different from that arahant, only he has realized what you are yet striving to realize.
Further questions?
Q: Last night we spoke about equanimity. I wonder if you would talk about equanimity related to big decisions like where to live or work or who to be in relationship with.
Aaron: Tension may arise around those questions, “which job, where to live, what about this relationship.” Ah, tension, tension, wanting to get it right. When one watches the tension arise around the question, notes the nature of this arising as grasping and fear, and makes space for the grasping and fear in such a way that even if the tension still exists there’s equanimity about it, the tension then has nothing left to feed it. It’s not perpetuated, and slowly it dies away. Then the question answers itself. The answer doesn’t come from the rational mind, it comes from the heart and from a deeper place, not in the mind but from the heart. But as long as you’re feeling, “I have to fix this tension,” and there’s not equanimity about the tension, then the heart can’t be heard.
It’s an interesting process. First there is the thought and the tension around that thought. For example, “which job?” There is the thought, “There must be a right decision here. What if I get it wrong, I’ll be condemned in a wrong job. I’ll be unhappy. I’ve got to get it right.” Just note, “Ah, tension, tension.”
Don’t stay with the question, “which job?” which is a story, but move attention to the direct experience of tension. The tension points you into whatever else is there, perhaps sadness, really wanting peace and happiness and well-being, and how hard the human experience is.
Being present with the tension might lead you to early memories of lack of control and fear. Gradually you come back into your heart so you’re able to say, “Tension, come have tea.” The tension still has not disappeared but you’re not feeding it anymore. It will drink its tea and, seeing there’s no dialogue to be found, that it can’t rile you up, it will get up and walk off leaving you with a spaciousness that can again regard the question, “Which job? What does my heart say?” So it’s important not to get lost in these stories that create contraction but to find equanimity with contraction.
I see that we’re out of time. We’ll have some small groups in which you may ask further questions. I will look forward to talking with you further this morning and today.