In early 2002, just weeks before we were going to fly to India for our unforgettable tour of the Buddhist holy places, I happened to glance inside my passport. That was a fortunate decision: it was due to expire in the middle of our trip! Being very keen to go to India, but also to return, I hopped on a train with my brother and we bolted down to the Passport Office to get it renewed.

As the train raced through the winter countryside on the way to London, I gazed out of the window while Tim perused a glossy magazine. The first stop for him was the cover, which was graced – naturally – by a pretty woman. Turning and seeing her I asked him:

‘Do you think she’s pretty?’

‘Yup,’ he replied.

‘Imagine her without any eyeballs.’

Silence.

And so we see how easily the illusion of beauty is shattered. One little alteration and a pretty spectacle turns into an abhorrent one. And even if those lovely blue eyes were still nestled into those lovely sockets – what lies two inches behind them? A lovely brain.

The way of the world is to be infatuated with the body. But the way of the world is also the way of suffering. The Buddha’s only concern being suffering and its end, he taught us to take a good and sober look at this body to see what it is actually like. Not what we want it to be like, or what we perceive it to be like, but what it is actually like.

This body is not the desirable thing that our delusions tell us it is: it is a bag of flesh and bones with a large range of other slippery bits and pieces that cause us nothing but trouble. We have to feed it, clean it, wash it, empty it, rest it, keep it warm, keep it cool, keep it out of the rain, keep it out of the sun, keep it free from sickness, care for it when it does get sick, fix it when it’s broken, make it look presentable…

Now can we rely upon a thing such as this? Is it really a good idea to be obsessed with and attached to the body? Can such attachment bring anything but mental suffering and anguish? No. No. And no. But our delusions don’t respond to reason, which is why it is important that we contemplate the other side – to address the balance, to straighten our view.

When we remove the blindfold of delusion we view the body as simply an aspect of nature – not as a self, or a me, or mine – but as an amalgamation of a variety of organs, that each fulfil a particular function, but which will one day break down and fall apart just like an old wooden cart. Seeing in this way obviously goes against the worldly way. But it does not produce suffering, and that is what matters.

Whether we are ordained or lay, if we care for our well-being we will cultivate a more disenchanted relationship to the body. Although some of us may be young and our bodies are in reasonable working order, there will come a time – sooner or later – when they won’t be. And if we are attached to the body when it fails then our mind will fail too.

The Practice

It is a very good idea to include a period of body contemplation in our formal practice. In the method below we imagine parts of the body in neat little piles around us. Don’t worry, we don’t have to get too gory here; let’s just stick to the external bits – the first five in the traditional list of the thirty-two parts. And we don’t need to spend too long on it either; just a sweeping review will cause a sense of dispassion – and therefore peace – to arise.

Before we go any further an important point needs to be made: one must be sensible when approaching this practice, and not everyone will find it beneficial. A person with an angry temperament, for example, may find themselves experiencing strong aversion when focusing on the body in this way. This is obviously not what we are aiming for and in such cases that person would be advised to concentrate on more neutral and supportive practices such as mindfulness and breathing and loving-kindness.

For most people however, a sober perspective is sorely needed. But be careful, or that perspective might just lead you to the monastery gate…

(Forty or so years ago a certain young Thai man was preparing to get married. Dutifully following Thai custom he entered a local monastery to ordain for two weeks. Naturally he followed the routine of the monks – going on alms-round, studying the rules, doing the sweeping, learning the chanting. One of the morning chants in Thai monasteries focuses on the parts of the body. It is a kind of discursive meditation: ‘Head hair, body hair, nails, teeth, skin…’. So there was this young monk, soon to be married and full of the joys of spring, chanting away. However, after going over and over these parts he inevitably began to put two and two together: these body parts, and his fiancé!

Two weeks came. And went. But the new monk didn’t leave the monastery. Forty years later and he’s still in robes. I wonder if the not-so-young lady is still waiting?)

Five Heaps

Back to imagining those five heaps.

Firstly we have head hair. In front of you is a pile of your head hair. Oh, how much trouble people go to over their hair! And yet when you imagine it in a pile in front of you can you say it is beautiful?  What about when you are sitting in the hairdresser and you watch those flowing locks tumble off your shoulders and on to the floor? Do you care for it then?

To the right of that delightful spectacle is your body hair. Here it is – a heap of little hairs of varying lengths, thicknesses and degrees of squigglyness. Would you like to find some of those in your soup?

Next we have nails. Again, often dressed up, sometimes with quite extravagant designs. But what about when they are just lying there – semi-transparent, lifeless pieces of skin-cum-bone. When someone cuts their nails do they feel anything for the cast-offs? Do they think – ‘Oh, what a beautiful bit of nail!’ as it drops into the bin?

And next to the nails we have the teeth. Along with adverts telling you how to lose several inches of flab from your belly, I keep seeing ones for whiter teeth. It’s certainly true that we must care for our appearance. (Indeed, I was a little concerned when I was recently asked by a school kid if I brushed my teeth. I’ve been careful to brush them vigorously ever since to try to counter the effects of strong tea!) But we must remember they’re only teeth. Little oblong pieces of yellowing bone, with a jagged top where they are connected to the gum.

And lastly we have the skin. If there is one part of the body towards which so much lust, desire and delusion is directed it is skin. ‘Oh what soft skin!’ ‘Oh what smooth skin!’ ‘Oh what tanned skin!’ ‘Oh what moist skin!’ ‘Oh what young skin!’. And on and on it goes. But what about if it were heaped up next to you, stripped off like a discarded snake skin? On a typical Forest monk’s day out a few years ago we went to an exhibition in London called ‘Bodies’. It was fascinating. A technique has recently been developed whereby plastic is injected into body parts to preserve them. This was an exhibition of those parts, among which was a complete human skin, lying there, full-length, empty of everything else. It was remarkable. But it wasn’t attractive.

Just a Body

So that’s the body. And, as Ajahn Chah taught us to frequently repeat: ‘It’s just a body’. Very bland, purely functional, nothing special. An aspect of nature that is born, is aging and will die soon enough.

But the way of the world is to not see this. Watch the young models and actors dominating our screens and newspapers. They are principally there because of their looks. But can they depend on those looks? Or will those looks one day fail them? And if those looks do fail them will they suffer? The answer can be found by observing the people who were in exactly the same position as these youngsters 30 – 40 years ago – the Sophia Lorens and Elizabeth Taylors. Here they are, with aging bodies, but still clinging on to the illusion of beauty – getting a lift here, a little tuck there – desperate to retain a fraction of what they once had in abundance. But now it has gone. And they are suffering. Why not just let go?

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Inside Venerable Ajahn Chah’s stupa on January 16th

- the anniversary of his passing.

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Overcoming Doubt

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Doubt is the fifth of the five hindrances to the development of meditation and wisdom. Of the five doubt is in many ways the most disabling. Its milder form is easily waved aside; its most virulent is like a disease: it can spread to every part of your mind, undermining every positive thought and crippling every effort. So be careful, and keep it in check.

People new to Buddhism naturally question doubt as a hindrance: “ Surely if you are saying that doubt is an enemy to progress on the Buddhist path you’re promoting blind belief?” That’s not the case and that’s why it is very important to make the distinction between a healthy scepticism and the cancerous doubt that prevents you from doing anything at all.

[...]

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The Five Factors of Concentration

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In order to progress in our meditation we must be clear in our minds what exactly it is we are trying to develop. The Buddha taught that full concentration comprises five factors. It is therefore these five factors that we need to develop.

By understanding these factors and their functions we are able to see where our meditation is lacking and where it is progressing. Understanding our own practice in terms of these factors will serve to give us a definite direction; a clear path with recognisable markers along the way.

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The Five Hindrances Part III,

Sloth-and-Torpor

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While pursuing the Noble Eightfold Path with commitment and diligence a sublime peace will eventually begin to establish itself within. As you see the various phenomena that appear in the mind as being impermanent then a sense of relief arises – relief due the fact that what had once caused you so much suffering – the feelings, the emotions, the regrets, the worries, the resentments – are not as real as you had thought them to be. On probing these mental events you unveil them as being “void, hollow, and insubstantial”*, and subsequently they lose their weight and the mind is relieved...(*SN 22:95)

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..

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The Five Hindrances Part II

Ill-Will

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This is the second of a series of posts on the Five Hindrances to meditation.

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First, the bad news. Ill-will is more blamable than sense-desire. The good news: ill-will is easier to remove. (The Buddha stated this, though I can’t, for the moment, find its source.) So, for those of us who tend to suffer more from this particular concentration corrupter, we have some good news.

Ill-will is the second of the five hindrances to concentration. It comes in various guises such as anger, aversion, irritation and plain dislike. It covers all those states ranging from the slightest resistance to something, to full blown hatred for everyone and everything. Sometimes in our practice we go through periods where this hindrance dominates our meditation. We may at times feel utter contempt for the breath, or for whatever our object of meditation is. But don’t worry, because this is just the hindrance of ill-will and it’s trying to divert you from the path.

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The Five Hindrances Part 1

Sensual Desire

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Let’s say you’re planning on growing some vegetables in your garden. You’ve decided you’d like some horseradishes, cabbages, parsnips and asparagus. Now, before you embark on your voyage of vegetable cultivation you need to know that in the shadows there lurk certain beings whose sole purpose in life (it seems) is to torment you. These go by the names of rabbit, butterfly, slug and snail. These creatures will do their utmost to hinder your progression in the art of vegetable growing. So, in order for you to grow a humdinger of a horseradish, you’re going to have to work out how to overcome these charming little chompers.

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We interrupt this series of posts to bring an important teaching!

(I thought I’d temporarily suspend the posts on meditation and write on something that’s been in my mind. So you’ll have to wait for the nail biting end of the last post to be resolved!)

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Raging Bulls

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.“Whatever you frequently think about, that

  will become the inclination of your mind”

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In the Majjhima Nikaya of the Pali Canon is found a small sutta called ‘The Removal of Distracting Thoughts’ (MN, 20). In it the Buddha gives us five ways with which we can become a ‘master of the paths of thought’.

Powerful

Thoughts have an immensely powerful influence on our lives. Unfortunately most people don’t understand this, let alone the fact that we can actually take control. I was talking about this last night with the group of Banbury meditators, and we commented that most people do not realise that they don’t have to be ruled by their thoughts, and that they can, in fact, become the ruler of their thoughts. Two factors are essential to the development of thought mastery.

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This is going to be the first of a series of posts on meditation. I’ll start by talking about the prerequisites and how we can ensure we give our meditation the best possible start. In the subsequent posts I’ll move on to talk about the process of developing and maintaining a solid and reliable practice.

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