November 14, 2020 Saturday Evening, North Carolina Retreat
Two Past Life Stories on Meeting the Dharma
Aaron: Good evening. My blessings and love to you all. I am Aaron. I’m going to share a few stories I’ve never told before. Obviously, I have recall of all of my past lives— a lot to choose from. I do not regard them from an ego’s perspective, but they can be useful to aid communication.
The first story, a lifetime in which I had not formally met the dharma. I suppose we could call it my first lifetime of introduction to many of these teachings, but not from human teachers.
I was literally on a very small ship—I suppose ‘boat’ is a more accurate word, a boat propelled by the wind and with some oars. Four of us together there, traveling from here to there. We were fishermen. We knew these waters well. I had a home and family. I would set out to sea with my comrades. We would spend a few days fishing. We had no ice in those days, so we would catch what we could keep for maybe 2 or 3 days. Bring the fish in, clean them, pack them in wet seaweed, and then bring them all back to shore where we would sell them in the marketplace.
We were caught in a maelstrom—extreme violent weather, waves tossing our boat up and down, up and down. We had no control; we were being tossed like a small piece of driftwood. The sails were gone. I had little hope of survival, was hunkered down near the bottom of the boat, hanging on to the base of the mast, my three friends with me.
What comes next may sound unbelievable, but as clearly as I can tell it, this is how it happened. In an instant, as the boat lifted up, it caught the top of an immense wave and, instead of falling into the trough, it glided along the top of this monstrous wave. I was terrified, and yet it was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to me. I thought, if I die here, if I die in this situation, I will have ridden a wave in a way that was completely beyond my comprehension. I suppose it must have been some kind of a tidal or tsunami wave, and it just caught our small boat in the right way and carried us.
Looking down, I could see over the bow of the boat, ahead of me the deep trough of the wave. As soon as I looked, I was terrified—we’re going to go over that, like going over a huge waterfall. I would be torn to pieces! I would die! But in this moment, there is only the amazing thrill of riding the crest of a tidal wave.
My friends and I, we clung to each other. It went on a minute, two minutes, five minutes. I said to my friends, “It’s likely that we will end up dying. I love you both. You are like brothers to me. We cannot predict what will happen. In this moment, can we truly enjoy this wild ride?”
In all my lifetimes, it’s perhaps the most exhilarating period of 20 minutes or so that I’ve ever known. The wave pulled us in, and in the distance were storm and rain. But the rain was breaking up. Still we were riding the crest of this wave. Then somehow it moved ahead of us, somehow it dropped us not ahead of itself and down into the valley, but it just dropped us behind. It moved into shore, washed over the land in front of us. We were far enough that while we were caught in its backwash, it wasn’t so strong. Gradually everything settled.
We took up our paddles and paddled our way the mile or so to shore. It was raining so we had water to drink. We had fish to eat.
And I thought to myself, “I will never become caught in terror again. Terror is merely an emotion. And the exhilaration of riding the wave is merely an emotion.” But it was so clear this was all arising out of conditions and passing away. I had never heard the dharma in these terms. But it was so clear in that moment: everything is arising out of conditions and passing away, and I am simply on this ship riding the crest of the waves. The human on the ship, and the ship itself.
I returned home, to my home in the hills above the harbor. The storm had passed. We helped those who had bene injured. We were able to patch up our sails, build ourselves a new mast, and create new sails.
It changed the course of my life. I ceased to fish for a living, trying to sell the fish. I continued to fish to feed my family. Instead, I began to live my life sharing with others who were in situations of great pain or fear how to hold space for it. How to ride that wave. So, I suppose that was in some ways my first lifetime as a dharma teacher. There was a lot of joy in that sharing, and I began to see the power of not getting caught in the stories of the mind, but rather to live in the heart, to live in the moment, and with joy and love.
Now, let us fast forward perhaps a thousand years. A lifetime close to 2,500 years ago, the Buddha’s teachings just beginning to spread in the world. I was a boy growing up in India of a very poor family, an Untouchable caste family. I was the youngest child. My family did the most menial jobs in our village, but we got by. Everyone was loving, a beautiful father and mother with caring hearts. And so that’s how I grew up until I was about 10 years old.
Then there was illness in the village and both my parents died. My older siblings went off to try to make their own way. A sister tried to take me with her, but she had no means to support me.
I had seen Buddhist monks on alms rounds through the village and walking here and there. They lived in small communities. I didn’t know much about them; I was Hindu. But they always looked so peaceful.
I could no longer live in our home I walked. Remember, I was a 10-year-old boy. I walked and I walked, picking up what scraps I could to eat, sleeping wrapped up in the rag I carried with me as a blanket.
I met some monks and said to them, “Sir, may I serve you in some way? I want to learn from you. I’ll wash your clothes. I’ll wash your bowl.” They said, “No, nobody does that work for us, but you may just walk with us.”
I felt so joyful and grateful to be in their company and yet so alone, brokenhearted, because while we were poor, there had been love in our home, and now I was alone, and very young. What would become of me?
They realized I had no place to go, no place to sleep, so although it was not usual in the rules that governed the monks in those days, they invited me in. They gave me a place with some shelter. They gave me some cloth to use as a robe to keep myself warm. They shared their food with me.
The first thing that took hold in my heart was the chanting, I suppose something akin to the chanting of the Refuges. What does this mean, “I go for refuge to the Buddha, to the dharma, to the sangha.”?
I couldn’t believe they allowed me to be there with them, because I was an Untouchable. They said, “That doesn’t matter; there are no castes here.” I said that I could not just receive their charity, that I had to do something to make myself useful. They invited me to help repair the small huts where they slept, to keep a fire going in the area where they meditated.
My heart was opening when I was present with these monks, and yet I was afraid to let my heart open, because I was so angry at the villagers who had not helped when my parents became sick and died, had simply let our family fall apart. These were people whom I had known. Some of them, for example, had water buffaloes, and one of my jobs was to pick them up in the morning, take them out to graze, and bring them home. My parents warned me, “They don’t see you; you are simply the servant.” I had thought my parents were wrong. But when my parents died it became clear: I was the servant. I was invisible. I was Untouchable.
This reality brought up so much pain and anger for me. And then came these wonderful monks, who did not see an Untouchable but a human being. And not even a human being, but a loving and beautiful person.
There was one special older monk who took me under his wing, began to share the teachings with me; helped me to understand. He taught me to meditate. Taught me not to get caught in the stories of anger and fear and pain in my mind, but to watch them arise and pass away, and to rest in that which was radiant within me. I owe so much to this monk, who was truly my Dharma Father. I’ve mentioned him once or twice before. It’s hard to say much about him except that his radiance and presence lit the way for me and helped me to find confidence.
Gradually, some of the unwholesome karma began to dissolve. When I was of the right age, I was able to ordain as a monk. There was so much I still did not understand. This was the first lifetime of introduction to the dharma, but it planted the seed that would take birth in future lifetimes, for a much more wholesome rebirth, for a heart that began to understand how to love and not to hold onto prejudice and anger, but truly to open with love. How not to get caught in the old stories of “Poor me!” or “Unfair!” Whatever I come to, however I come to it, still what happens next is my choice. And I do have that choice.
What you are learning here is no different. You always have a choice. Sometimes the doorway may seem narrow, sometimes much bigger. It is never the doorway that is narrow, it is your perspective on the doorway. When your heart is open and you understand that everything is possible, that it’s up to you, then you begin to invite the wholesome and to release the unwholesome. The more you do that, the more the texture of the seas changes, to carry you to a place where there may be pain, but there will not necessarily be suffering.
In these human bodies there will always be pain; this is how the bodies are. When there is spaciousness around the pain, physical or emotional—the pain of loss, of that which you love, all the various pains of the human—when there is space around it, and wisdom, suffering ceases and you begin to live as a light, a radiance that lights the way for others.
And this, my dear ones, is why you are here in this lifetime, at this retreat—so many of you deeply aspiring to be that light in the world, not for your own ego’s sake but because there is such joy to see others open up, giving them the gift as it was given to me and is being given to you. Passing on the truth: presence and love make everything possible.
Many of you have read my book, Presence, Kindness, and Freedom. When there is presence and a heart filled with kindness, then freedom—literal, total freedom, is possible.
And we are headed that way, this world of yours. It takes a huge commitment. It takes much trust in yourself, and in your teachers, and in your life situation.
Why should this boat toss you into that deep trough and drown you? Choose instead to let it set you down gently where you are able to paddle to shore, and perhaps with a cargo hold full of fish to feed many people.
I love you. We’ll have more time to talk tomorrow. Thank you for this opportunity to address you, to share with you.