The Myth Of A Permanent Personality

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(From the October 2016 Newsletter. To see the whole newsletter go here.)

I recently came across an episode from the Invisibilia podcast that I found to be interesting. While the episode isn’t necessarily Buddhist, it does point to some important ideas that might help to illuminate the nature of the self and how we might be able to change ourselves for the better.

The Personality Myth — Invisibilia, July 24th, 2016

From the perspective of practice, we build our personality through the repetition of behaviors and thought patterns; these patterns are often called habit-energy and in large part habit-energy makes up our personality. If you have ever tried to deliberately change these patterns you will pretty quickly come to realize that they can be quite deeply ingrained and difficult to change or work with. While they may be challenging, it doesn’t mean that they are somehow permanent. Happily, even the deepest patterns of our minds can be worked with and redirected.

An example of this comes to mind recently as I encounter division and hostility, directly from others and also in the news and on various media. Often, this external problem really isn’t addressable through conversation. I can address my side of it though (the fear and defensiveness, etc.) through the simple practice of wishing that others find kindness. We can wish that beings be free from suffering and we can try to be kind and patient in dealing with others. Whether it appeals to us or not, we are on this earth together and it is difficult to maintain one side of various opposites when trying to be kind to others. Being patiently kind in the face of division helps to dissolve those polarities that we encounter outwardly and helps to change our inner habit energy.

Focus On Practice

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(This post is from the September newsletter; to see the whole newsletter, go here.)

As the days shorten and the activity of summer slows down, my mind, as it usually does at this time of year, begins to turn within. Perhaps this is the natural course of things in the cyclic rhythm of the seasons or maybe just long conditioning, I don’t know. In any case, I do try to make use of this movement within to become a bit more intentional about my practice: I try to be a bit more regular about my sitting and to put a little more effort into being still and kind in my day to day activities. And I try to listen a little more carefully to the promptings of the heart or conscience about what might be good to do, both to promote general well-being in myself and others, and to encourage and support my practice.

We all come to practice for different reasons and these reasons are important, if only to us. While the reasons may shift and change with time and deepening wisdom, there is an essential part of our reason that does not have to change. That is the sense, or intuition, or belief, that there is something more to life, or that there is a better way of being in this life. This intuition is true: there is something more to life and we can find it, or create it, through the effort of doing practice. Each little bit of practice that we do helps us on our path and helps to create peace; it is a positive contribution to the world and it would be sad to loose track of that intuition or to give up on it. Happily we can just take the next step, which is how we keep that intuition alive until we know for certain that that “something more” really does exist.

What follows is a short piece on the factor of the Eightfold Path, right effort. It is excerpted with permission from a longer essay on the Eightfold Path written by Reverend Master Daizui MacPhillamy and is available on the OBC website.

Right Effort

The right application of effort to Buddhist training is a bit of a paradox. If we do not try to make some changes in our lives, what is the point of undertaking training in the first place? But letting go of things such as “trying” is itself one of the changes that we need to make! What are we to do?

Effortless Effort

We read in Zen texts about “effortless effort” or the “goal of goallessness”, and sometimes that sounds like all we need to do is “what comes naturally”. And in a sense that is true, but what is needed is not the “what comes naturally” to our self, for this would simply be to indulge impulsiveness. Instead, we need to do what comes naturally to our Unborn Buddha Nature. And finding that is what training is all about. This situation is actually not as much of a paradox as it seems, because there are different sorts of effort. The one which we are used to is one in which “we” are in control: we have a goal or ideal and direct our behavior in ways which we think will achieve it. There are difficulties with this in several places. There’s really no “me” in the first place; secondly, goals and ideals may be nice thoughts, but they are lousy descriptions of how the world really works; the same is true for my ideas about what will achieve change; and finally, whatever “we” may be, we don’t seem to be wise enough to direct or control a life. With all of these difficulties, is it any wonder that our attempts to “reform ourselves” generally end up somewhere other than where we hoped they would?

But there is another type of effort entirely. It is more “willingness” than “will”. It is the willingness to let go of things moment-by-moment: ideas, opinions, wants, fears, ideals, judgments, … everything. It is the willingness at all times to learn, to be open to seeing new ways, as Dogen Zenji put it “to be disturbed by the Truth”. And it is the willingness to do whatever comes next. “Doing what comes next” is more a matter of honesty and courage than of will. The honesty is that of looking straight at what lies before us, at what is shown to us simply and clearly by the Unborn at all times. And this involves trust: trust that a wise and compassionate Buddha Nature really does exist, trust that It can do Its work without us having to control or direct anything, and trust that we can perceive Its teachings directly from the experience of our senses without analyzing, fearing, judging, or worrying about what we perceive. The courage is that of doing what is obviously to be done and of abstaining from what is obviously to be abstained from. This, then, is the “effortless effort”. No “I” is involved, no ideals, no thinking or planning of how, no control, no direction. The work is that of the Unborn; the direction is that of the Unborn; the trust is placed in the Unborn. And, simply there are things which are to be done, and things which are to be abstained from.

A Journey into Fear

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by Gary Fear, Lay Minister, O.B.C.

(Reprinted with permission from the Spring 1994 issue of the Journal of the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives)

Several years ago, I experienced a fear of being violently attacked by humans. This fear developed and grew in intensity over several months. I thought it might be helpful to share how this particular emotion of fear grew over time, eventually reaching a critical point, and how it was finally dealt with.

I didn’t really know at the time why this particular fear of attack took a foothold and developed. I had worked in the heart of the same crime-ridden neighborhood for years without incident. I had learned to be cautious and respectful of the potential dangers constantly around me, without the anxiety of being harmed. Gang shootings, murders, robberies, drugs and violence were, and still are, commonplace in that area.

I do know of a rash of crimes that began hitting close to my place of employment. A gang shooting and a drug shooting took place within a few blocks of my work. A transient male was found, stabbed to death, at our company’s doorway when we arrived at work one morning. A fellow employee was also attacked coming into work early one day, barely escaping serious injury and possible death.

I began to fear for my own safety and gradually became more and more anxious about arriving and leaving my workplace. I found myself picturing in my mind possible attack scenarios with growing frequency. These imaginings seemed to grow one upon the other, increasing in intensity and emotional impact. I became very concerned about protecting myself, even to the point of thinking about carrying a weapon of some sort, which was totally contrary to my usual way of thinking.

It wasn’t long before I had a close call when I was leaving from work alone one evening. I got away with only a dent in my car where a thrown rock hit my vehicle as I hastily left the scene. This incident served to fuel my fears even more.

A few weeks after my close call, I remember standing in line at a gas station to pay my bill. For some reason, I began to see the person in front of me as a potential attacker. I can still vividly recall the feelings of separation that I felt from this other human being as I perceived him as a possible threat.

At this point, I felt I had quite literally experienced Dogen’s words: “…for, when the opposites arise, the Buddha Mind is lost.”[1. Rules for Meditation. See The Liturgy of the Order Of Buddhist Contemplatives for the Laity, comp. Rev. Master P.T.N.H. Jiyu-Kennett, M.O.B.C., 2nd ed. rev. (Mt. Shasta, California: Shasta Abbey Press, 1990), p. 98. ] My fear had reached a point of causing a division, a split in what had formerly been experienced by me as being fundamentally one. There was now a “me” that was strongly reacting to and completely separated from “them”.

As l drove from the gas station, I felt a bit stunned by my new change of perception. At that moment, it became clear to me that the worst violent death I could possibly imagine could not compare with the spiritual harm I felt from living with the effects of my fear. The minute I realized this, the fear that had been building in intensity for many weeks, and which had come to dominate my thinking, seemed to vanish in an instant without a trace.

As I write this now, several years later, I have not experienced this fear returning. I still work in the same neighborhood and I still remain cautious, but without the accompanying anxiety that so burdened me.
I remember a teaching from many years ago that used an analogy of going down into a deep hole with a rope tied around one’s waist. To me, this rope has stood for faith which, through constant training, we can come to know and rely upon as a means to true safety in the Eternal. This refuge is constantly present, no matter what situation or how dark the circumstances we find ourselves in.

I feel as if I had lowered myself into a dark hole of fear. Had I not looked up, I would not have seen that there was an opening above and a rope leading to safety. As depicted in the Buddhist painting of the six worlds, a Buddha sits patiently in each of the worlds, ever present, and quietly ready to help.

“Om to the One Who leaps beyond all fear!
Having adored Him, may I enter into the
heart of the Noble, Adored Kanzeon!
His life is the completion of meaning;
It is pure, it is that which makes all beings
victorious and cleanses the path
of all existence. ”[2. The Litany of the Great Compassionate One. lbid., p. 78]
Notes: