Planning and the Busy Mind

This is an edited transcription of a talk by Shaila Catherine.

As I sat in retreat, my mind was restless, thinking about what I was going to teach in Europe the following year. My mind had jumped way ahead of itself. By noticing the extreme future orientation of the mind’s content, I was able to recognize what was happening: in that moment, I wasn’t teaching—I was experiencing an agitated mind.

Planning is a common form of mental restlessness which can manifest as anxiety—we’re so uncertain about the future that we try to gain control by planning it. In Buddhist teaching, planning is part of papañca—a Pāli term that is usually translated as conceptual or discursive proliferation or the diversifying tendencies of mind.

Restlessness is not a new challenge for meditators. Hundreds of years ago in Tibet, Geshe Shawopa urged his students, “Do not rule over imaginary kingdoms of endlessly proliferating possibilities.” We cannot put all the blame on technological demands and the fast pace of contemporary lifestyles—restless planning has always been a distraction to meditation.

In the Buddha’s teaching on the path to enlightenment, restlessness is one of the last obstacles to be overcome—not at the first stage of enlightenment, not at the second stage, and not even at the third stage. It is one of the fetters that falls away only with final enlightenment, at the fourth stage of the arahant. So we need diligence and perseverance.

Although it can appear that planning is a useful activity, we might examine our actual planning activities to assess how effectively and efficiently we plan. How many of your daily plans don’t actually turn out as planned? Many of our plans are not preparation for action—they’re the expression of anxiety or restlessness. This mind simply hasn’t discovered how to rest and be present for things as they’re unfolding.

But some plans are useful; therefore, we must assess our planning on a case by case basis. And to do that, we first have to recognize when we’re planning and how we’re doing it. Are you aware that you’re planning when you are thinking about how something will be in the future? Are you mindful of the process of planning projects, activities, and events in your daily life? Are you enchanted by the content of your plans, imagining scenarios of future possibilities? Or can you shift your attention periodically to the sensations of the breath or the sensations of the body sitting? Do you notice the peacefulness that arises when you’re not planning anything— just sensing present moment experience with a calm and clear attention?

Planning is a Barrier to Awakening

The problem with planning isn’t just that it agitates the mind, but that it disguises the basic characteristics of existence to which we want to awaken: anicca, dukkha, and anattā. Anicca is the Pāli term for impermanence, dukkha for suffering or unsatisfactoriness, and anattā for not-self. When we are in a planning mode, imagining how things will be in the future, we can’t recognize these three characteristics; we can’t see things as they actually are right now.

Planning Disguises Impermanence

When we are planning we tend to cling to fantasies of the future, and divorce ourselves from the truth of moment-by-moment change. Because we’re planning a particular result in the future, we might not be aware of the process of change. We forget to observe how things arise and pass away. When we ignore impermanence, we can delude ourselves into believing that we can control the future if only we plan it well enough.

People might try to plan anything, even things that are completely beyond control. Sometimes meditators imagine, “I’m going to make this happen in the next sitting”—trying to plan their meditative development. Thinking we can control our meditative experience is delusion. While we’re expecting a future to be a certain way, we might miss the wonder of what’s actually happening as things are changing in this present moment.

Planning Disguises Unsatisfactoriness

Planning also masks dukkha or unsatisfactoriness. Every plan can be imagined with variations in outcome. If we like the imagined outcomes, we might be disappointed when our experiences don’t turn out as planned. If we have an idea of how things should turn out, we can suffer by comparing our experience with ideals, imaginings, or other peoples’ experiences.

What is the mind doing to distract us from deeply knowing the first noble truth—that conditioned things are unsatisfactory?

For example, we might find ourselves using pleasant fantasies to try to hide, avoid, or deny unpleasant feelings. Planning a pleasurable future is a common response to sadness, pain, and fear. It can be difficult to open our hearts and minds to the painful feelings in our lives, and so people try to stay busy and keep their attention occupied by pleasurable distractions. But when we sit down to meditate, there is nothing to do except to see our own minds.

As we bring attention to meet disagreeable experiences, we may discover that a deep peace arises by being present and unreactive in their midst—a peace more desirable than any plan or fantasy. As we open a little bit, our capacity to receive all feelings, pleasant or painful, increases. When the mind is at ease and equanimous, habits of compulsive planning fall away whether the experience is pleasant or painful. We find a deep rest with experience as it unfolds.

Planning Disguises Not-self

Planning also disguises the characteristic of not-self—anattā. This might be obvious when you look at the content of your plans. How many times have you planned what you will say, what somebody will think about you, or how you will succeed? We construct a sense of self by imagining how we will be in the future.

Sometimes we’ll sit in meditation or go on a retreat and decide “I’m going to change something about myself,” and then imagine ourselves emerging from that retreat as this new me. We have constructed a new concept of self. But what would we be if we just let experience unfold, without the need for the story of self and the attempts to control the outcome?

What’s Behind Planning?

The basic forces behind the planning mind are none other than greed, hate and delusion. When things are pleasant, and there is restlessness that we’re not mindful of, the tendency is to plan how to get more of the pleasant things. When things are unpleasant, we plan how to have less unpleasantness. Greed or desire can manifest as shopping fantasies, fantasies about cooking or food, sex or romance—basically anything that we want. Planning that’s rooted in hatred can manifest as revenge fantasies, musing over snide remarks, or nurturing grudges. Delusion fantasies might revolve around self image—how we’ll be seen, what we’ll say, what we’ll do. I label it all: planning dukkha. This label highlights the aspect of unsatisfactoriness in the restless mind and points to the opportunity to learn about suffering.

Once I heard a question posed to one of my teachers, Joseph Goldstein: “Is planning always suffering?” His answer was yes. And then he explained that the problem with planning is that we don’t recognize that a plan is just a thought. We create a story and we get lost in it. When we don’t recognize that it’s a thought, we suffer. It is possible to plan very useful things in life, but if we do that without recognizing that it’s a thought, we will be perpetuating ignorance and suffering.

Working with Planning

Mindfulness is very important in practicing with planning: we need to be mindful of hindrances or habits so that we can work skillfully with them.

One of my teachers told me, “If I think a thought five times, and I’m not learning anything new from it, I don’t think it anymore.” We can cultivate this powerful ability to refrain from repetitive thinking.

It can be helpful to count how many times you plan an event or imagine a scenario. How many things did you plan during your last meditation session? How many times did you plan the same event, conversation, or activity? In a retreat there is very little that needs to be planned. We sit, then walk, then sit, then walk. Yet, in the simplicity of the retreat environment, a restless mind might entertain itself with wild plans—planning our lives, our partner’s lives, planning what we will say to the teacher in our next interview, planning our next retreat, planning what we will experience in the next meditation session, planning what we will do when we return home enlightened.

In retreat, the planning habit is obviously absurd and a cause of suffering, so I remind myself to “make no plans.” Nevertheless, my mind might still engage in planning. So I count the plans. I count one the first time my mind plans something. The second time my mind reviews the plans, imagines alternate outcomes, or reconstructs plans for that activity, I count two. After the third time, I can’t make any excuses. It is obviously just the hindrance of restlessness, and I firmly resolve again, to “make no plans.” When supported by clarity and resolve, the mind will relinquish its fantasies for the future and settle into present wakefulness.

Simple reminders can help prevent the pursuit of planning from getting out of hand. We can remind ourselves to just pause for a moment. Take a breath. Interrupt the flow of that restless thinking. Recognize that “this is restlessness.” Comprehend that restlessness is suffering. We can investigate the forces that sustain restlessness; we can learn what fuels suffering.

Restless planning can erupt even after the mind has become concentrated and calm for a while. We don’t need to judge ourselves when these habits re-assert themselves. We simply return to present moment awareness and diligently reestablish mindfulness.

We can explore the feelings that lie underneath the planning—anxiety, insecurity, or the discomfort of not knowing how things will turn out. We might recognize a mental rigidity associated with planning. We might feel the burden of struggling to sustain consistent stories of an imagined future. Restless planning takes a great toll on our energies: it is an exhausting habit.

On the other hand, sometimes the absurdity of the planning mind gives us a good laugh. Humor helps to dissolve our enchantment with fantasy, enabling our resolve for present moment wakefulness to return.

When Planning is Necessary

Even though I’ve been speaking about planning as suffering, we must make plans. To drive anywhere we need to anticipate the need to have gas in the car. Planning helps us to live responsibly, train for a career, organize a business, save for retirement, and prepare for death. To have dinner on the table in the evening when we get hungry, we must first have earned money, shopped for groceries, and taken the time to cook the meal. Planning projects and goals in partnership allows people to live and work together respectfully and intelligently, rather than merely being manipulated by the forces of impulsive desire, fear, or power.

One helpful guideline is to plan in near time frames. Just plan what needs to be planned, and know that we are engaged in planning thoughts while we are doing the planning. Become conscious that you are planning when you are planning.

Resting In How Things Are

Plans are foiled again and again, and this can be a good thing. Equanimity is needed to accept the results of anything that we have planned. When our plans are thwarted, we might remember anicca, impermanence, dukkha, suffering, and anattā, not-self. Beyond our plans, projections, and thoughts, we learn to rest, and allow a peaceful awareness to meet life as it unfolds.

Working with Our Discouragement

An edited talk by Shaila Catherine

At some point in the practice, everyone feels discouraged. For some people disappointment is an occasional hindrance; for others it is a chronic obstacle. What are the roots of this obstacle?

Misunderstanding the Nature of Right Effort

Sometimes it is when we are trying our hardest, perhaps even using excessive effort, that we might be most vulnerable to discouragement. We might think that if our full effort is not good enough, then there is no hope of success.
 
However, strong effort does not guarantee predictable success. Preoccupation with “doing it right” or perfecting techniques will not free the mind. We need to learn to patiently persevere in our efforts—trust the unfolding of the path. The effort in meditation should not be directed toward gaining particular states according to a personal timeline; right effort is directed toward release.

The Delusion of the Self

Disappointment, discouragement, and self-doubt arise through the activity of the comparing mind. People may feed the hungry ego through accomplishments, appreciation, and praise. Often when students become discouraged, there is no real problem in their practice. But the hunger for validation and the habit of comparing tortures the mind.
 
Self-judgment can go either toward praise or blame. The flip side of discouragement is pride and overconfidence.
 
Perceptions of both worthlessness and arrogance are rooted in the same delusion of self, function through comparison, and describe a mind that is lost in a story of self. They are manifestations of conceit. Through mindful investigation, we see the root of conceit in the activity of comparing; we don’t believe stories of either success or failure. As the Buddha urged, “His mindfulness holds him posed in a constant evenmindedness where arrogance is impossible; he makes no comparisons with the rest of the world as ‘superior,’ ‘inferior,’ or ‘equal’ (Sutta Nipata, Purabheda Sutta, verse 855).”

How can we counteract discouragement?

We need equanimity with gain, loss, praise, blame, success, and failure. To maintain a steady meditation practice, we must confront the stories that we tell ourselves about our own progress.
 
Investigate the underlying force of conceit. Bring the resource of your mindfulness and wisdom to the painful comparing mind.

Support from the Sangha

When we are caught in a reactive pattern and entangled in the story of who and how we are, meeting with a teacher or good friend can have a balancing effect. Good friends, whether peers or teachers, offer a stabilizing and encouraging presence because they are usually not caught in your story of personal failure or self-grandeur. Teachers and friends might offer simple encouraging words that remind you of your good qualities and the potential of the practice. What strengths do you bring to the spiritual path? Notice how far you have come. Bring a little kindness (metta) to your endeavor.
 
Just as therapists offer a stabilizing presence that allows clients to explore patterns and issues that agitate the mind, the equanimous presence of dhamma teachers supports students as they ride the inevitable ups and downs of meditative development. Being with our stories in the presence of people we respect, who don’t buy into them, can transform our perception of the story. In the mirror of another’s nonjudgmental presence, we see that it is just a mental pattern, just a habitual thought.

Staying with Our Commitment

Remembering the commitments that we have made to ourselves is a powerful support. By doing what we say, we don’t let ourselves down. I have seen that students who leave discouraged before the end of a retreat harbor feelings of failure for a very long time. Whereas those who remain to the end and complete the process of breaking silence together, often find support in other sangha members and humor by sharing their experiences.
 
Although in some situations it is wise to leave a retreat early, pride and discouragement should not be the deciding force. For example, if we registered for a seven-day retreat, we should not let discouragement start our packing early. If we registered for a ten-month course, we practice integrity by completing it, and not letting our interest be overshadowed by competing distractions. Notice when the mind is agitated by the story of: “I can’t do this,” “I’m not good enough,” or “Everyone else is doing better than me.” Do not let comparison, self-judgment, shame, emotional insecurity, desire for praise, or any of the myriad habitual thoughts sabotage your practice and keep you from your goal. Examine conceit and the comparing mind in the context of practice. Bring mindfulness to thoughts that spark disappointment. See the story as a story; do not believe it.
 
Although encouragement is often needed just to get back on track, ultimately it will be the meditator’s direct insight into the painful force of conceit and its manifestation as discouragement that will free the mind.

Wisdom from the Buddhist Tradition

Meditators will face many difficult moments as they look into the mind. The Buddhist tradition offers several ways to uplift the discouraged mind including reflection on Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, reciting suttas, and association with dhamma teachers and friends. In ancient times, soldiers in the midst of battle might look up at the crest of the standard of the king and thereby regain their sense of purpose, commitment, and the courage needed to face the enemy.
 
Similarly, by reflecting on the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha, we can regain the confidence to overcome the fear and trepidation that might otherwise stall a meditation practice. Recollecting that “the Tathagata, the Arahant, the Perfectly Enlightened One is devoid of lust, devoid of hatred, devoid of delusion; he is brave, courageous, bold, ready to stand his place,” we recognize the potential that we all share and again resolve for the goal (Samyutta Nikaya, 11:3).

The Buddha also said this about expectations: “What people expect to happen is always different from what actually happens. From this comes great disappointment; this is the way the world works” (Sutta Nipata 3.8, The Dart, Salla Sutta, verse 588). Just do the practice without expecting anything from it, without expecting it to be easy, without expecting to progress at a predictable rate.
 
In one discourse (Samyutta Nikaya, 2:6), a young deva complained to the Buddha that the practice was difficult: “Hard to do, Blessed One! Very hard to do, Blessed One!” As the Buddha offered a gradual teaching on virtue, contentment, calming mind, concentration, and walking the path, at each stage the deva again remarked that it is hard to do. And to each complaint, the Buddha acknowledged that “They do even what is hard to do … they gain even what is hard to gain … they concentrate even what is hard to concentrate … though the path is impassable and uneven, the noble ones walk it.”

The Buddhist teachings offer us a very worthy goal: the complete ending of greed, hatred, and delusion. It is not realistic to expect it to be easy. We cannot expect to have our hand held through every habitual thought that the mind conjures up. This practice does not promise immediate gratification. But it leads to a noble goal: the ending of the causes of suffering—awakening.
 
I find reading the Discourses of the Buddha to be an unparalleled source of inspiration. The ancient suttas illuminate the highest purpose, offer tips for practice, help me keep the goal in mind, and remind me that we are part of a long and effective practice tradition. My petty inabilities, skills, and personal patterns are of little importance in comparison to the depth of wisdom and the possibility of liberation that is offered in the teachings. Contemplating the Discourses of the Buddha instills patience in the pace of my own development.

I encourage all serious practitioners to read the Discourses of the Buddha, join a sutta discussion group, and periodically memorize a few inspiring verses for reflection and recitation. 
Find ways to remind yourself of the potential of liberation. Take every opportunity to let go of habits and stories of self. Using the support of Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, without expecting to be transformed overnight and without letting the mind become discouraged, you can systematically and consistently uproot any habitual tendencies that perpetuate suffering

Originally published in the IMSB newsletter, January 2013.

Equanimity: Our Greatest Friend

by Shaila Catherine
Dharma talk given to Southern Insight Meditation retreat, at Staveley, New Zealand, October 2006.

I’d like to begin with an early Buddhist poem from the Therigatha:

If your mind becomes firm like a rock
and no longer shakes
In a world where everything is shaking
Your mind will be your greatest friend
and suffering will not come your way.

To have a mind that is our greatest friend, that’s something that most of us want. The mind that doesn’t shake is a description of the mind that is equanimous.

Stay connected and loving with things as they are

Equanimity describes a complete openness to experience, without being lost in reactions of love and hate. It’s a powerful quality in its own right, and it fortifies other qualities. It supports wisdom because when the mind doesn’t shake, we can stay with the truth of things long enough to have a deep insight. Equanimity has a balance that empowers loving-kindness (metta) with patience, so that we care, even in times when the people that we love do self-destructive things. Without equanimity we might demand that happiness occur in the ways that we think it should, rather than stay connected and loving with things as they are. Equanimity endows compassion with courage, so that we have the courage to face the pain in life and to face the cruelty in the world. When we care deeply, we try to help, but we can’t always alleviate pain. Sometimes what we do doesn’t actually help.

You can not control what another person will do

At the time of the Buddha a very wealthy merchant named Anathapindika was a great supporter of the Buddha. He was renowned for his generosity, and not just to the Buddhist monks and other recluses. He provided the initial capitol for many of his relatives to start businesses.

But Anathapindika had a spendthrift relative who squandered the gifts and investments, and repeatedly asked for more. Each time Anathapindika tried to help, but finally he said “No more. That’s it!” The relative continued his spendthrift habits, fell into debt, and in not too long a time, died; his body was discarded in the rubbish heap.

When Anathapindika heard about this, he felt terrible. In grief, he spoke with the Buddha, asking “Should I have given him more money?” The Buddha’s response was that there was nothing more that Anathapindika could do. He did what he could with a pure intention, but he could not control how another person used those resources.

We need equanimity when we’ve done what we can, and there’s nothing more we can do, and we have to experience the results. Equanimity describes a state of balance. Even when things don’t turn out the way we want them to, equanimity imbues the mind with a calm radiance.

Some people say, “I don’t want equanimity” because they think it means indifference, or coldness, or hesitation, or withdrawal. But these are forms of aversion. With equanimity, we accept the world as it is, and connect anyway. An equanimous mind accepts the fact of pain in the world. It understands suffering and cruelty as part of this world that is dominated by ignorance; it engages and responds anyway.

“If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain”
—Dolly Parton

You must experience this here in New Zealand. It seems the weather is quite changeable. It seems that if I just walk 500 meters I’ll be in a different weather pattern. When I was living in England, where they also have rapidly changeable weather, I was reminded of equanimity. I liked to meditate outside in the English gardens.

I would be sitting outside, and I’d have shawl or a sweater on, and two or three minutes later the sun would come out from behind the cloud and it would be scorching hot. So I’d strip off my shawl. Two or three minutes later the cloud would come back, and I’d get the shawl and put it on again. I put the shawl on and off like this until I finally realized that there was no way I was going to experience calm if I didn’t have equanimity. These are situations to practice equanimity.

Cultivating Equanimity

Some years ago I talked with my mentor, Christopher Titmuss, about equanimity. He offered a succinct structure for cultivating equanimity through two primary areas. First is the movement between pain and pleasure, and the second is equanimity with future results of our actions. So I want to speak about these two primary areas.

Pleasure and Pain

Did anybody have both pleasure and pain today? There’s always some fluctuation between pleasure and pain. Even if your whole body aches and you’re in agony, there’s still a moment of pleasure when you smell the toast at breakfast; or when you step outside and the warmth of the sun just catches the cheek.

We need equanimity to remain balanced and present in the flow, between pleasure and pain. In the Middle Length Discourses (M. 38) the Buddha said:

On seeing a form with the eye, one does not lust after it if is pleasing and one does not dislike it if it is displeasing. … Having thus abandoned favoring and opposing, whatever feeling one feels, whether painful or pleasant, or neither painful nor pleasant, one does not seek gratification through feeling or remain attached to it. As one does not do so, craving for feeling ceases. With the cessation of craving comes cessation of clinging; with the cessation of clinging, cessation of being; with the cessation of being, cessation of birth; with the cessation of birth, aging and death, sorrow, lamentation, pain , grief, and despair cease. Such is the cessation of this whole mass of suffering.

You might see some garbage, and there’s a reaction against it, see a beautiful flower and there’s a movement toward it. Abide with mindfulness, comprehending things as they actually are. Abandoning both the movements of favoring and opposing, one still feels whatever one feels, whether painful or pleasant. He’s not talking about the cessation of feeling here. He’s not talking about being numb, or dulled. Rather, whatever one feels, one feels it without craving.

More Pleasant Experiences?

Every day moments and experiences change, not just the weather. When we’re sitting with a pain, we may be feeling sharpness, stabbing. But then there’s a tingling within that sharp sensation, and when you look just at the tingling, the tingling is sort of pleasant. Then there’s a throbbing, and the throbbing has a pulse to it, a warmth. It’s all part of what we get with the body and the mind. It’s part of life, and for the most part life is beyond what we can control or predict.

The simple fact is that in life there is pleasure, and there is pain, and there are experiences that are neither pleasurable nor painful. The question isn’t how can we get more pleasant experiences. People who haven’t trained their minds seek an accumulation of pleasant experiences. But you’ve already had a lot of pleasant experiences, haven’t you? Did it really make you happy? No, it was just a pleasant experience. It came, it went.

So are we going to be tossed back and forth, pushed and pulled, between pleasure and pain? Can we stay steady with the simple fact that feelings shift? Equanimity is this quality of mind that is balanced and present with any of the three kinds of feeling as they change. The mind when it is equanimous is free of the habit of grasping and lusting, of aversion and pushing away, and of indifference.

In an untrained mind, when pleasure arises, the mind grasps after it, tries to make it stay. The movement of lust and greed is stimulated. When an unpleasant feeling arises, aversion, anger, blame, withdrawal, fear—some form of pushing away occurs. An untrained mind tends to dull when encountering a feeling not distinctly pleasant nor unpleasant. There can be a floating, numb, indistinct quality almost like confusion, that brings uncertainty as to what is actually present. The perception is not exciting enough to pay attention to, basically, because it’s not quite pleasant and it’s not quite unpleasant. These three states of mind fall into the general categories of what are called the three poisons—greed, hate and delusion.

An ancient Buddhist text (Anguttara Nikaya VI, 55) says:

Just as a rocky mountain is not moved by storms, so sights, sounds, tastes, smells, contacts and ideas, whether desirable or undesirable, will never stir one of steady nature, whose mind is firm and free.

I like this image of a mountain that’s not moved by storms because sometimes we can feel an inner storm occurring, and we can’t quite scramble around for the teachings. “Now what was I supposed to do in relationship to this one?” Just think mountain, imagining the storm blowing through, but the mountain doesn’t shake.

How do we develop equanimity?

Probably the best way of working with equanimity is to embrace our obstacles, to open to our challenges, whatever they may be. Obstacles test our balance and poise in life. We learn from life’s situations so that we don’t try to avoid, control, manipulate and contain every experience, but allow the possibility of just being with something, as it is, equanimously.

Travel also supports equanimity. There are things you do in this country that are a little different than what I am accustomed to, even though we’re not from radically different cultures. Sometimes my first thought is “You’re doing it wrong!” and then I remember “No, this is just different.” I remind myself to notice how this way works. It’s a good opportunity for the mind to free itself from reactivity, attachment, and to practice equanimity.

How many people here have been to India? If you didn’t practice equanimity, you would have been on the first plane out.

When I landed in India, I needed local clothes. I bought material and went to the tailor’s shop. The tailor took measurements, and said to come back next week. When I returned to the shop, it was not ready, but the tailor said “Come back tomorrow.” Well, those of you who have been to India know that when I went back the next day, it wasn’t ready. I would visit the tailor, and each day he said to “Come back tomorrow.” I finally realized that tomorrow does not always mean the same thing in Indian English as it does in American English. This is a simple example of the daily opportunities we have to practice equanimity.

I understand that you have quite a good health care system in New Zealand, but sometimes you have to wait a long time for surgery—another opportunity to practice equanimity. But some situations will require persistent action, other situations will invite patience and equanimity. We need wisdom to know the difference. When there is nothing to do but wait, is waiting going to be a time when anxiety, worry, blame, and anger build, or is it going to be a time for peaceful equanimous waiting?

We can bring a quality of poise and composure to the task

Sometimes the big obstacles, the big difficulties, are a little bit easier to deal with. They call forth a deep wisdom from within us. I was privileged to be the family member present when my grandmother died. I remember very clearly being in the hospital with her and holding her hand—just being present. It didn’t take any effort to be present with her. I didn’t have to try; the profundity of the situation called forth a quality of equanimous presence.

But a couple of weeks later, my task was to clean out her refrigerator. For some reason, that was a more emotionally volatile task. It was painful to sort through all of the stuff that’s left behind. Whatever the challenge is, whether it is intense and profound, or as mundane as cleaning out a refrigerator, we can bring a quality of poise and composure to the task.

Equanimity with results of our actions

Mindfulness practice naturally develops equanimity because when we’re mindful, we’re experiencing things without judgment or distortion. Concentration practice also develops equanimity because when our minds are concentrated, we develop a calm presence with things as they change. In a concentrated mind, thoughts, feelings, and experiences may arise, but they just roll off. We don’t become engaged in a movement of desire or aversion, for and against, favoring and opposing.

Contemplation of cause and effect supports equanimity. This is the approach of wisdom. We see how things arise due to causes, how the effect has been determined by the cause, not by our wishes, and how desire and aversion complicate matters.

Essentially, life develops equanimity as we open more and more to our day to day experiences, present for both the things that we like and those things that we don’t like. In our daily lives, relationships, work situation, and on retreat, we cultivate the willingness to be equally close to all things.

Practical explorations of equanimity

What would it take to enjoy the hour-long sittings? The full hour long sitting is a little bit more than what you usually do on a Vipassana retreat. Somehow the custom of the nice neat forty-five minute meditation period has become the habit. We get used to it, and it becomes comfortable. Then you come on this retreat, look at the schedule and think—“Is she nuts?!”

The last retreat that I sat was with PaAuk Sayadaw, a Burmese teacher. When I looked at the schedule I thought—“Is he nuts?!” The minimum sitting period was an hour and a half. So consider yourselves lucky that it’s only an hour here. It gives you a good opportunity to play with things that are difficult to do in shorter sittings. If we get used to sitting for forty-five minutes, those first forty-five minutes may not be so challenging, but those last fifteen will be the chance to practice equanimity.

It’s totally fine to move postures–mindful standing, mindful sitting, mindful walking, and mindful reclining. Wakefulness does not depend upon the legs being folded in a particular manner. But before you move, consider if you actually need to move. Will a change in posture increase the alertness or would just a little bit more effort, diligence, relaxation or interest in present moment sensations be enough to stabilize the attention?

You can develop equanimity by sitting just a little bit longer than you are comfortable sitting. When you hear the bell marking the end of the scheduled sitting period, and your mind calls out “Oh, thank God,” experience the relief of the thought “Oh, thank God,” and then settle back. The bell is just an experience of hearing; it does not compel you to get up. Wait. Stay seated. Remain composed until the intention arises consciously within yourself to stand up. Then stand mindfully and enter into the next movement consciously. Don’t be swept away by the energy of the group. Make a choice to move or remain still.

Itches and insects

Itches are fabulous opportunities for equanimity practice. Nobody has died of an itch. So take the opportunity to feel it. Feel the intention arise to scratch, but let the intention pass. Wait for three intentions to scratch before you allow the hand to move.

One time I taught a retreat on a farm. It was summer, and the windows were open in the meditation hall. The flies must have thought it would be lovely to join the meditation retreat. There were so many flies—dozens landing on each person—a perfect opportunity for equanimity practice. We felt each little foot step, and the unusual sensations of the flies drawing moisture from between our lips. It’s not a painful sensation, yet many beginners were overwhelmed with the impulse to swat.

In meditation practice you welcome opportunities like that—experiences that won’t hurt you, yet challenge you to keep the mind steady and unswayed by desire and aversion. Equanimity practice trains attention in the face of pleasant, unpleasant, or fluctuating experiences.

Situations of inconvenience

When your car breaks down, you can fret and worry about being late, but the fact is simple—it broke down. Maybe the room is a little too cold or a little too hot for your comfort. Equanimity is a good option.

Maybe your family wants to do one thing, and you want to do another. In the compromise you never quite get what you want. When we have to be present with things that are not the way we think they should be, we have a chance to develop equanimity rather than blame society, blame an institution, blame the system, or blame a person. I once lived in a community that would make rules about everything. Should the toilet seat covers be left up or down? What kind of food was permitted? Could personal decorations be posted in public hallways? When would the cleaning occur? Who was a welcome visitor? How would the community rooms be used? Where was exercise and yoga permitted? Although there were only about ten or twelve people living together, we almost needed a law librarian to keep track of all our policies. Why was it so difficult for people to just rest with the experience of inconvenience, and find a sense of inner balance with that?

Waiting is an opportunity for equanimity, whether we’re waiting for an appointment, an e-mail, or for the bell to ring. Illnesses and accidents invite equanimity and patience. Can we stay steady in the face of accidents or tragedies?

When Flattered

We also need equanimity when we’re praised, flattered, and things are going our way. If we don’t have equanimity when we’re praised, we’ll be suckers to con artists, or vulnerable to advertisements, salesmen and politicians.

Equanimity permits us to experience life without being hooked by either desire or aversion. It’s a quality that allows us to be independent in the world. Equanimity is described by the Buddha as the highest form of happiness.

Equanimity is the fourth of the traditional Brahma Vihara practices—loving kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity. It is a way of cultivating equanimity by contemplating equanimity in relationship to many kinds of beings, perhaps reciting phrases such as the traditional contemplation:

All beings are the heirs of their own karma, their actions. Their happiness or unhappiness depend upon their actions, and not on my wishes for them.

This contemplation requires reflecting on cause and effect. We often shorten it to Things are as they are, or May I accept things as they are. Regardless of how we describe it, equanimity matures when we contact things, whether pleasant or painful, with a mind that is balanced. When we understand that things arise due to causes and conditions, we stop struggling to control the results. All sorts of factors collide to create the end result. Even in meditation we might notice the tendency to try to control experience.

“You can only do the practice. You can not make it work”
—Sharon Salzberg

It’s helpful to watch for those little attempts to control, the demanding energy of imperative that thinks, It’s got to be this way. It’s got to be like this. Do you impose ultimatums upon your meditation experience such as If I don’t get calm by evening, I will leave the retreat. It is important to feel that compelling energy. It’s not going to feel nice, but feel it anyway. Drop into the experience; feel where you are standing; feel your feet on the ground. And where are you standing emotionally? Is it sparking anger, demand, fear? Is there desire or aversion obscuring attention? Become aware of your own presence in that experience. If the experience is riddled with self-interest, you will feel off-balance. Equanimity allows us to abide beyond our preferences. When we abide beyond our preferences, we have another angle through which to experience the selflessness, or at least the selfishlessness.

The Third Zen Patriarch said:

The great way is not difficult for those who have no preferences. When love and hate are both absent, everything becomes clear and undisguised. Make the smallest distinction, however, and heaven and earth are set infinitely far apart. If you wish to see the truth, then hold no opinions for or against anything. To set up what you like against what you dislike is the disease of the mind. When the deep meaning of things is not understood, the mind’s essential peace is disturbed to no avail.

Equanimity is a conditioned state

Equanimity is a very lovely way of experiencing phenomena. In fact, it’s so lovely it can easily be confused with freedom. Several years ago I was doing a four-month Brahma Vihara retreat. Equanimity was profound and deep. For many days mindfulness was remarkably continuous and effortless; neither desire nor aversion arose. Eventually I wondered, “perhaps I’m free of desire and aversion” and something to that effect in an interview. My teacher Christopher Titmuss, very kindly said, “Shaila, equanimity is a conditioned state.” This clarity did not dismiss the significance of a sustained absence of reactivity or the value of saturating consciousness with deep equanimity. But my desire had taken a simple absence of reactivity into a fantasy, a thought, a hope, that it was something more than it is.

I and mine still operate even in very deep states of equanimity by creating the position of being the one who is equanimous. The very sense of being the one who is free from desire and aversion revealed the limitations of equanimity. Equanimity must be seen for what it is—a beautiful factor of mind; but it is not freedom. It is a conditioned state.

The Buddha described equanimity as the conditioned state that most resembles the liberated mind. It’s a pseudo-freedom, or the semblance of freedom. It only feels like liberation. As one colleague says, “As long as there is an I, there is still work to be done.”