The Happy Monk

[camerata]

THE HAPPY MONK:

Ajahn Amaro on Living Buddhism in the West

[After spending time with the Western monk Ajahn Amaro, one is left with

the unique feeling of having been in the presence of a truly happy man,

and one whose happiness is born of wisdom. Ordained by Ajahn Cha in 1979,

Ajahn Amaro has spent most of his life as a monk at the Amaravati

monastery in England. In recent years he has lived in Northern California

for several months each winter. Soon Ajahn Amaro will be taking up

permanent residence in California on 120 acres of forested land in the

Redwood Valley of Mendocino County where a Theravadan monastery will be

established. The land was gifted to Ajahn Sumedho, abbot of Amaravati, and

to the Sanghapala Foundation by the founder of the City of Ten Thousand

Buddhas, Master Hua, who passed away this past Spring. The following

interview with Ajahn Amaro was conducted by Wes Nisker and Terry Vandiver

in March of 1995, on the porch of Ajahn Amaro's residence in Sonoma

County, California.]

INQUIRING MIND: How would you assess the study of Buddha Dharma and the

practice of meditation now being taught in the West?

AJAHN AMARO: In the West people tend to separate their meditation practice

from their lives. Ajahn Cha emphasized that "if you have time to breathe

you have time to meditate." You breathe when you walk. You breathe when

you stand. You breathe when you lie down.

I think part of the problem in the West is the emphasis on retreats.

If you do a lot of intensive retreats you will develop strong

concentration. Many of the people I meet in America have been doing

retreats for 15-20 years and they are really quite accomplished

concentrators. But I'm afraid they have not found much freedom.

Notice how the word "sitting" has become synonymous with meditation

or with practicing Dharma. Sitting is the operative word, meaning, "I am

here on my cushion, my eyes are closed, the world has dissolved into

emptiness." We have learned how to concentrate our minds and then to push

out our worldly irritations and responsibilities. We create this great

space inside and become very good at getting rid of thoughts and feelings.

Meditation can thus become rather like being in a shooting gallery with

the little ducks. You can become a great marksman or markswoman, shooting

down the thought ducks and the feeling ducks.

IM: Is this emphasis on intensive meditation retreats unique to the West?

Or is it imported from Asian traditions?

AA: One reason for the retreat emphasis, at least in vipassana circles, is

due to the Asian systems that have fostered many of our teachers and

styles of practice. Goenka-ji and Mahasi Sayadaw's disciples emphasize a

very controlled retreat situation as the primary path. Retreat, retreat,

retreat. Those teachers have had enormous influence and have helped tens

of thousands of people, but I think that their style has led to this

imbalance, the unhealthy separation between life and retreat.

Of course, if you go on retreats for 20 years you can create

tremendous inner space. But it can become almost like a police state. You

just clear the streets of all the unruly inhabitants of your mind. And

while you may get them off the streets, the guerrillas will still be

active underground. So when you leave the retreat, you begin to experience

your ordinary life as difficult and turbulent. Then you can't wait to get

to the next retreat. I am speaking very generally here, and maybe

exaggerating a bit, but I think I am describing a pattern that many of

your readers will recognize.

IM: In contrast, Ajahn Cha and teachers in the Thai forest tradition did

not emphasize retreats so much, and placed equal importance on community

and daily life.

AA: Ajahn Cha would have us do periods of intensive practice, but we would

still go out on alms round in the morning and there would always be work

to do around the monastery. So even the times of intensive, formal

practice were not so separated from life or so completely free of

stimulus.

When you focus on creating a clear, subjective, interior space, then

your life is built around trying to be in that space with as few

distractions as possible. That space then becomes a counterpoint to the

external world. Even though we might have great brightness of mind or

experiences of selflessness within that space, those states exist in

counterpoint to our family, our society, and the entire phenomenal and

physical world. We are losing half the picture. Furthermore, our peace and

happiness becomes completely dependent on conditions.

I have recently been addressing this issue through the story of the

Buddha's enlightenment. During the course of the night, as the story goes,

the Buddha-to-be made his vow not to get up from his seat until he was

completely enlightened. The Lord of Illusion, Mara, tried to disturb his

meditation with fearful and sensual images but was unsuccessful. By the

end of the night, the Buddha's realization into truth was complete, but

although he was fully awakened the armies of Mara were still around him.

Then Mara asked him, "What right do you think you have to claim

enlightenment?" The Buddha then reached down and touched the earth,

invoking the Earth Mother who appeared and said, "This is my true son and

he has done everything necessary to claim complete and full enlightenment.

He is the supremely awakened one." Then from her hair she produced a great

flood of water which washed away the armies of Mara, who eventually

returned carrying flowers and other offerings.

I think the story is saying that if our liberation is simply a

subjective, mental, interior experience then we are only half-cooked.

Wisdom has to reach out into the world. Even the Buddha has to make that

gesture of humility and ask the earth for her blessing. In order for the

armies of Mara to really be dispelled, we have to open our eyes and step

out of that blissful interior space. For liberation to be finalized we

have to touch the earth.

IM: What prompted you to become a Buddhist monk?

AA: When I first visited Ajahn Cha's monastery in Thailand, I found a

group of Westerners like myself, with very similar backgrounds, who were

living in the forest doing Buddhist meditation practice. And they all

seemed remarkably cheerful.

When they explained their way of life and the basis of their

practice, it made perfect sense to me. Previously I had assumed that

freedom came from having no rules and no boundaries. I'd never really

questioned that premise, even though trying to live that way had been

painful and difficult. These monks suggested that I look for freedom where

it could actually be found. They pointed out that the material world is

filled with limits, and you don't look for that which is boundless in the

place where you find limitation. They explained that by living a life

which is disciplined, simple, and harmless one could discover the true

freedom that lies within us. Upon hearing their words, my immediate

reaction was, "How could I have been so stupid?" I felt simultaneously

embarrassed and relieved.

IM: Did the monk's life live up to your initial expectations?

AA: Absolutely. Even though the last thing I would have planned for myself

was a lifetime of celibacy and renunciation, what I discovered was a new

delight in simplicity and the deep satisfaction that comes from not

actively seeking satisfaction. It is a strange but sweet irony that in the

monastery I find the very delight that I was so rabidly searching for

outside the monastery. It just looks like I've given up everything, but

actually, the inner experience is one of great delight. In fact, this

monk's life is a feast! When I was first ordained I used to think, "I

don't deserve this," or "I'm not going to get away with this for very

long."

IM: Are there any particular difficulties that you encounter as a Buddhist

monk in the West? How do you feel walking around in robes in this culture?

AA: For me it has always seemed like the most normal thing in the world. I

think, to a degree, we all feel like outsiders in life. We all feel

slightly different from other people in one way or another, and being

dressed like a Buddhist monk in the West is just another form of being

different.

Besides, even though we are Buddhist monks and nuns, we are only

alien when we are outside the monastery. Inside the monastery it is normal

to have a shaved head and wear brown robes. The women have shaved heads

and the men wear skirts.

Living as part of a Buddhist monastic community makes all the

difference, whether you are in the West or the East. Ajahn Cha always

emphasized the Sangha, the community, as a method of practice in and of

itself. It wasn't a matter of living with a bunch of other people just in

order to do meditation practice. The life of the community of monks and

nuns was itself a method of practice and a method of liberation. Although

Ajahn Cha did teach individual meditation techniques, over and over again

he stressed the importance of community. I think that is one of the

reasons why our monasteries have succeeded in the West.

Also, when you live in a community, then the monastic traditions make

a lot of sense. They work and they work well. We aren't just trying to

sustain some archaic Asian system as a curio or a formality. The life of

renunciation -- living on alms, wearing the same robes as everyone else --

and all of the rules are methods whereby we train ourselves. Through those

forms the heart can be liberated.

IM: Most Westerners don't seem to be very attracted to community as a

path. Perhaps one reason is because that path clashes with our cultural

belief in the primacy of the individual, the importance of going it alone.

AA: I would agree. Community life is about setting aside my own desires

for the sake of the group. It's self-sacrifice. To the individualist,

that sounds like death. But the training in communality is, for many

Westerners, a blessed shift in perspective. Because what makes us suffer

most of all in life is having "me" at the center of it all. Our society

supports and validates that attitude, which has led to deep feelings of

alienation and insecurity.

When we learn how to surrender our own urges and biases, we are not

inherently giving up our freedom or denigrating our individuality. Being

able to listen and to yield to other people is a way of recognizing our

relationship with them and our interdependence with all the life of the

planet. As we let go of our selfish demands we begin to recognize the

vastness of our true nature. That dynamic is extremely important in the

full development of spiritual life.

IM: Do you feel there are significant differences between being a monk in

Europe or America and being a monk in Asia?

AA: One of the great blessings of Buddhist monasticism in the West is that

it becomes free of the formalism, ritualism, and cultural accretions of

Asia. In many ways, it is much easier for Westerners to get to the essence

of the teachings. Even our Asian teachers have remarked on this. They say,

"You are really lucky. We have all this cultural baggage that we have to

work through with our students." Westerners don't know anything about the

"ism" of Buddhism before we start our studying and training.

IM: On the other hand, Western monks and nuns don't get as much support

from the lay population as their Asian brothers and sisters.

AA: Yes, and that respect and support is very sweet. When I go to

Thailand, I get treated like a visiting dignitary. In the West we still

have to earn our respect. I've had people say to me, "What do you do for a

living? What do you contribute to the Gross National Product?"

IM: You should just tell them you are working on the Subtle National

Product.

AA: I respond by asking them what makes a nation healthy? Does it depend

on how many sacks of wheat it exports or how many tons of steel it sells?

Or does the health of a nation include the well-being of individuals, and

furthermore, is that well-being only dependent on their physical health

and comfort, or does it also involve their peace of mind? I try to expand

the definition of national well-being.

IM: What are the hardest monastic rules to keep when you are living in

Western culture?

AA: It is different for different people, I think, but for many of us the

hardest rules are those around celibacy, maintaining a kind of evenness in

our relationships with other people. And it's not just about refraining

from sexual intercourse. Ordinary human affection and friendliness can

easily lead to a flow of emotion that suggests something more intimate.

While there is nothing wrong with that flow between human beings, when you

have taken vows of celibacy, then that suggestiveness or flirtation is in

violation of your commitment.

IM: What about entertainments? Do you miss listening to music?

AA: Not much, although I used to be a big music fan and listened to it all

the time. Now that I don't deliberately listen to it, I find that when I

do happen to hear music, it's as if I'm hearing it for the first time.

Music used to be such a constant presence in my life that it had lost its

power. If I hear it now, it has an astonishing quality of freshness. I am

with every note, every phrase.

When we adopt the renunciate life we aren't condemning the world of

the senses, per se, because that leads to aversion and negativity. Instead

we are learning to accept whatever is offered to us with full

appreciation. Whatever arrives is received and cherished, but we don't try

to add anything. I think many people listen to music because they love the

place that the music takes them to, which is the present moment. You are

not thinking about anything else; you are experiencing the harmony,

balance, and rhythm that the music suggests. But all of those qualities

are present in a meditative mind. If we need music in order to get us

there, then when there isn't music (or delicious food or beautiful

surroundings or whatever it might be), we are likely to feel bereft. We

immediately start to look for another experience that will take us to that

place of beauty.

What the precepts do is to shut the door on all our habitual sources

of satisfaction so that our entire attention is directed inward. That is

where we discover a beauty and clarity, and a vastness of being which is

unshakable, independent of circumstances and conditions. Then when we hear

a piece of music, or see a beautiful blue sky or the fine shape of a tree,

that's an extra.

Believe it or not, I became a monk because I am a hedonist at heart.

The fun began when I became a monk. I am not trying to be flip by saying

this. For me at least, being a monk is the way I can most enjoy my life,

and I do mean en-joy. My life is en-joyed, filled with joy as an ongoing

experience.

IM: Everybody is going to want to ordain after they read this interview!

AA: That's fine. But remember that the joy only comes after the self-

surrender and sacrifice. I think as a culture, we are afraid of sacrifice.

We feel that we must own and accumulate things in order to be complete,

and not just material objects but people and relationships as well. It is

hard for us to understand that letting go is not a loss, not a

bereavement. Of course, when we lose something that is beautiful or dear

to us, there is a shadow that crosses the heart. But we enlighten that

shadow with the understanding that the feeling of loss is just the karmic

result of assuming that we owned anything in the first place. The

renunciate life is based on the realization that we can never really

possess anything.

http://www.skepticfiles.org/mys1/amaro.htm

[robitusson]

Here's a link to MP3's of talks by Ajahn Amaro.

http://www.forestsangha.org/amaro5.htm

[sabaijai]

I attended a retreat with Aj Amari in Woodacre, California, a few years ago. He has a rare gift for communicating the dharma and because of this, he's is in very high demand these days at Buddhist centres all over the world.

[nokia]

Of course, if you go on retreats for 20 years you can create

tremendous inner space. But it can become almost like a police state. You

just clear the streets of all the unruly inhabitants of your mind. And

while you may get them off the streets, the guerrillas will still be

active underground. So when you leave the retreat, you begin to experience

your ordinary life as difficult and turbulent. Then you can't wait to get

to the next retreat. I am speaking very generally here, and maybe

exaggerating a bit, but I think I am describing a pattern that many of

your readers will recognize.

What the precepts do is to shut the door on all our habitual sources

of satisfaction so that our entire attention is directed inward. That is

where we discover a beauty and clarity, and a vastness of being which is

unshakable, independent of circumstances and conditions. Then when we hear

a piece of music, or see a beautiful blue sky or the fine shape of a tree,

that's an extra.

AA: That's fine. But remember that the joy only comes after the self-

surrender and sacrifice. I think as a culture, we are afraid of sacrifice.

We feel that we must own and accumulate things in order to be complete,

and not just material objects but people and relationships as well. It is

hard for us to understand that letting go is not a loss, not a

bereavement. Of course, when we lose something that is beautiful or dear

to us, there is a shadow that crosses the heart. But we enlighten that

shadow with the understanding that the feeling of loss is just the karmic

result of assuming that we owned anything in the first place. The

renunciate life is based on the realization that we can never really

possess anything.

Since it's not possible for most people to be on a permanent retreat like the working adults, elderly, sickly or handicapped, can you bring the 'retreat mood' into your home instead? Does the less fortunate eg handicapped have the privilege of entering monkhood?

------

Five things that the newly-ordained monks are exhorted to do. Laypeople should take heed, too?

Andhakavinda Sutta

At Andhakavinda

Translated from the Pali by

Thanissaro Bhikkhu

On one occasion the blessed one was staying among the Magadhans at Andhakavinda. Then Ven. Ananda went to him and, having bowed down to him, sat to one side. As he was sitting there the Blessed One said to him, "Ananda, the new monks — those who have not long gone forth, who are newcomers in this Dhamma & Discipline — should be encouraged, exhorted, and established in these five things. Which five?

"'Come, friends, be virtuous. Dwell restrained in accordance with the Patimokkha, consummate in your behavior & sphere of activity. Train yourselves, having undertaken the training rules, seeing danger in the slightest faults.' Thus they should be encouraged, exhorted, & established in restraint in accordance with the Patimokkha.

"'Come, friends, dwell with your sense faculties guarded, with mindfulness as your protector, with mindfulness as your chief, with your intellect self-protected, endowed with an awareness protected by mindfulness.' Thus they should be encouraged, exhorted, & established in restraint of the senses.

"'Come, friends, speak only a little, place limits on your conversation.' Thus they should be encouraged, exhorted, & established in limited conversation.

"'Come, friends, dwell in the wilderness. Resort to remote wilderness & forest dwellings.' Thus they should be encouraged, exhorted, & established in physical seclusion.

"Come, friends, develop right view. Be endowed with right vision.' Thus they should be encouraged, exhorted, & established in right vision.

"New monks — those who have not long gone forth, who are newcomers in this Dhamma & Discipline — should be encouraged, exhorted, and established in these five things."