I’ve got some work to do. And it involves my memory – lots of it, too!

Every fortnight – where there are four or more bhikkhus – one monk will be designated to chant the Pātimokkha. It takes approximately forty-five minutes; it is in Pāli; it is usually recited exceptionally quickly (Eminem would be impressed – seriously); and it must be chanted from memory. I learnt it about nine years ago, and chanted it a handful of times during the short period when there were four bhikkhus at the Hermitage. But that was a while ago now and needless to say I let it slip.

But it looks like my time has come again. This isn’t because we have four bhikkhus in residence – it’s been just Luangpor and myself for almost seven years now (with various novices appearing from time to time). It’s because we have some guests arriving from Thailand, and not any old guests, but Luangpor Liam – an early disciple of Ajahn Chah and the Abbot of Wat Pah Pong, Luangpor Anek – a monk of similar standing, and a few assistants including Ajahn Kevali – the current abbot of Wat Pah Nanachat.

They will be here for about five days (before they move on to other monasteries in Europe) and one of those will fall on the first of two new-moon days in June. As it is on the full- and new- moon days that the Pātimokkha is chanted, and as there will be more than four monks here, one of those present will be required to take the hot seat. And, thanks to Luangpor’s suggestion made in my absence, I will be that monk. I can feel the heat already.

So what is the Pātimokkha?

Many moons ago, within a year of the Buddha’s Enlightenment, 1,250 enlightened bhikkhus, all of whom had been ordained by him, gathered spontaneously at the Bamboo Grove near Rajagaha. The Buddha, aware of their presence, descended from his retreat on the nearby Vulture’s Peak rock and took his place among them. He led them in meditation into the night and then, in the small hours, with the full-moon of the month of Magha suspended in the darkness far above their shaven heads, delivered the Ovāda Pātimokkha.

It was a short discourse – it has come down to us as three pithy verses – but it was significant, both for its content: it contains one of the most concise summaries of Buddhism we have*; and for the tradition that it established. That tradition is the fortnightly gathering of bhikkhus for the recitation of the Pātimokkha.

The Pātimokkha is the code of conduct governing the life of Sangha members. The Buddha established the Bhikkhu Pātimokkha for monks, and the Bhikkhūni Pātimokkha for nuns. The Bhikkhu Pātimokkha consists of 227 precepts which govern all areas of our lives. From the seventy-five Sekhiyās – which inform us how to conduct ourselves in public, during meal times, and while teaching Dhamma; to the Pārājikās – the four heaviest rules which entail automatic and immediate expulsion from the Sangha when broken. The pursuit of freedom from suffering is a serious one; and so is the observance of the precepts that lead you there.

I remember how, very shortly after I took full ordination as a bhikkhu – I think even on the same day – feeling as though a giant invisible safety net had just been installed beneath me. Suddenly, I was safe. Suddenly, many courses of action and speech were unavailable to me. But these limitations that are imposed by the Pātimokkha are not restrictive in nature: they are liberating. They liberate you from actions that drag you further into suffering.

Liberation is not doing and saying everything that your greed and hatred demand – that’s slavery. Liberation is being free from greed and hatred, and to be free from greed and hatred we must restrain them, understand them, and let them go. This is one of the prime functions of the Pātimokkha, and of the five precepts of a lay-person for that matter: to help you to restrain the causes of suffering, see them, understand them, and then let them go.

So I gotta learn it all over again. Thankfully, it isn’t taking too much coaxing to get it flowing how it used to, and I do have three months to go until the big day. So, I should be all right.

The photo at the top shows the remains of a little Uposatha hall nestled on an island in Sukhothai, Thailand. Uposatha halls are used for Sanghakammas – ‘actions of the Sangha’ – including bhikkhu ordinations and the recitation of the Pātimokkha. Do you see the little bridge on the left and the stupas in the background?

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* ”Avoid all evil; Cultivate the good; And purify the mind; This is the teaching of all the Buddhas.”.(The Dhammapada, Verse 183)

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An effective Buddhist practice is a daily Buddhist practice. Pulling out the dusty zafu once a year might give you some fleeting respite, but it’ll do little more than that. And plunging head-first into an intensive retreat every six-months might take you to heaven for a few days, but if you’re back to partying and alcopops the day after you probably shouldn’t have bothered.

It’s easy to fall into extremes: to neglect meditation and party like Keith Richards for ninety-nine percent of the time, and then go at it like a Himalayan sage for the rest. But what really counts when travelling this path is a commitment to a steady, consistent and methodical daily practice.

Formal meditation must, of course, be central to this. One or two thirty minute sittings each day, for example, will keep you gliding along nicely. If, for whatever reason, you find this is too much sometimes, then do it for five minutes… three… one… but certainly not none! If we meditate consistently we will soon reach a point where we experience withdrawal symptoms when we don’t meditate: the mind has become accustomed to being fed – when we stop, it gets hungry!

Then there’s the cultivation of mindfulness, and, in particular, mindfulness of the body. Maintaining awareness of the body provides a refuge for the mind. It grounds us, makes us less impulsive, and, crucially, enables us to quite easily step back from and observe our feelings, thoughts and mental states. To keep our mindfulness battery charged we can pepper our day with brief spells of slow-motion mindfulness exercises, for instance while making a cup of tea or folding the towels, where we closely follow every stretch, bend and turn with a precise and concentrated awareness.

To direct and inspire our efforts to cultivate our mind we turn to the words of the Buddha and those of realised (or soon to be realised) teachers – noble beings who have crossed over to the far shore and are beckoning us to join them. Reading and listening to Dhamma Talks probably won’t be something we do every day, but still we shouldn’t neglect them.

Daily attention to meditation, mindfulness and sprinklings of instruction are thus key elements of a successful practice. But at the heart of it must lie something else, something which on the surface seems quite mundane and in some cranky people’s eyes spiritually stifling, but which is actually an essential tool in our quest to understand the true nature of things and be free from suffering. That something is the observance of the moral precepts.

Harmony

Keeping the precepts brings harmony: harmony within and harmony without. Refraining from harmful actions frees us from remorse and worry – hence the harmony within; and nurtures human relationships based on respect, confidence and trust – hence the harmony without. Having as the basis of our practice this lush and fertile soil of harmony, our development of concentration, mindfulness and insight is able to flourish.

The Buddha, referring to the bhikkhu and his maintenance of the numerous moral precepts found in the Vinaya, said he experiences a blameless joy that comes from living a life ‘as pure as a polished shell’. It is a joy that arises, not from anything having been done, but from the simple fact that something has not been done – that is: harm.

It’s funny to think of the lengths that people go to in order to experience elation and joy: roller-coasters, sky-diving, horror movies, snorting cocaine… when all they need to do is purify their virtue. Try to tell them this, however, and they’ll probably burst out laughing. What they don’t understand is that their actions follow them everywhere, and that the oppressive shadow of their harmful words and deeds will be cast over every attempt they make to experience happiness. If we live a life of moral purity there will be no shadow. We can lie in bed at night and experience that pure joy welling up in our heart as we reflect: ‘I have done no harm today!’

But this harmony is not limited to our own minds: it permeates our relationships with others. Do we feel secure and comfortable when in the presence of a killer? a thief? an adulterer? a liar? a drunk? Or do we feel our personal safety threatened? On the other hand, when we are in the company of a virtuous person, how do we feel then? safe? secure? at ease? As human beings we have this kind of moral scent which others intuitively pick up on. If someone stinks we want to get away; if they smell sweet, we’d like to stay. To keep the precepts is thus to give the gift of social harmony: the harmony that comes from people feeling secure in the presence of one another.

Just for a moment imagine a world where everybody kept the five precepts. What a heavenly place it would be! But, alas, on our little scruffy patch of the universe very few people do. Even society’s role models and leaders: politicians, sportsmen and women, writers, actors, pop-stars and so on, are largely beacons of moral decadence. So if they’re at it, what about the rest of the population? The world is in a pitiful state because it’s bereft of virtue.

To bring the five precepts into your heart and let them guide you through each moment of your life is a powerful means to cultivate this sorely needed harmony – both within and without.

But the benefits that arise through keeping the precepts don’t stop here; the harmony and joy, though delicious, are merely the first fruits. As a direct result of holding fast to the precepts through the hum-drum of day to day existence we find the liberating qualities of mindfulness, concentration and insight riding in their wake.

The Precepts and Meditation

When we close our eyes to meditate we look directly at our mind. Consequently, we become very aware of how it is coloured by the moral ‘tones’ of our actions, and, more importantly, how those tones dictate how we feel. Generally speaking, people are blind to how their thoughts, words and deeds affect their minds; ceaselessly chasing pleasure and fleeing pain they never stop to look. But the honest meditator is unable to hide. He or she witnesses how each action deposits an impression in the mental stream, and, depending on whether the action was harmful of not, how it produces suffering or happiness.

The impressions left by unskilful actions are like little monkeys on our shoulders. As soon we stop to meditate they start causing trouble. ‘La la la la laaa! I’m not going to let you meditate! I’m not going to let you meditate!’, they sing, while jumping up and down, tugging our ear lobes and pulling our hair (if we have any). But if our actions have been pure then there won’t be any disturbance. The monkeys will remain fast asleep while we close our eyes and effortlessly let go of a past that is not regretted, and a future that is not feared.

The mind fortified by virtue is a mind that can let go of past and future at will and thus become concentrated.

The Precepts and Mindfulness

When we keep the precepts we must be vigilant. We must be continually observing ourselves. They bring us right into the present moment as we keep guard over what we say and do to ensure that they are not broken.

As monks, living by hundreds of precepts, we are naturally made to be mindful of even the most seemingly insignificant of actions: we can’t lick our lips when we eat (try that with a jam doughnut!), we must wear our robes in a particular way, we mustn’t twiddle our thumbs in public, we mustn’t gaze at our reflection in the mirror… To somebody who doesn’t understand Dhamma practice these rules seem a tad ridiculous; but to one who actually trains with them their value proves to be inestimable: they make you so very aware. And not only aware of what you are doing, but, more importantly, of your intentions that are bubbling beneath the surface. The precepts reveal all.

The Precepts and Insight

It is this restraint, concentration and all-encompassing awareness that are generated by the precepts which combine to offer to us on a golden platter the most important quality of all: liberating insight.

Insight comes through observation and the precepts give us a lot to observe.

When our practice has no moral structure our greed, anger and delusion do as they please. Like great powerful tigers they eat whatever and whenever they want. With a full belly they sleep, purr and saunter around, admiring their silky coats and flexing their deadly claws, all the time increasing in strength and becoming potentially more and more dangerous.

Lock them in a cage made of precepts, however, and there’ll soon start to weaken. How can they increase in strength when they aren’t getting fed?

But they don’t always go quietly: no longer able to do as they wish they start to make a fuss. And this, though sometimes uncomfortable, is actually what we want. Because when these harmful mental forces are aggravated we can see them more clearly. Seeing them clearly we are able to observe and investigate them. And it’s through investigating them that we reveal their true nature. We see how they rise and fall, how they don’t last, how in reality there is no substance to them. By understanding this they fall away.

When this three-fold process of uncovering, investigating and understanding is repeatedly practised, our insight accumulates. Gradually the defilements wither under our ever-present gaze of mindfulness, concentration and wisdom. Eventually, they disappear altogether.

In some ways this isn’t such a difficult thing to do. It simply requires patience and a consistent practice that is led by the modest yet deceptively powerful hand of the precepts.

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We monks are half way through the annual three month ‘Rains Retreat’ (Vassa). As I’ve said before we often use this period to undertake special practices, focus more intently on our formal meditation, and develop certain skills in a concentrated and systematic manner.

Over the past few days I have been honing my throwing snotty tissues into the bin abilities whilst lying in bed. I have the flu, possibly of the swine variety. So, bye for now. Time for another three-pointer.

(All being well, I’ll get something up in the next few days.)

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What is the Sangha?

In the Buddhist Suttas the term Sangha (literally ‘community’) almost always refers to the orders of ordained Buddhist monks (bhikkhus) and nuns (bhikkhunis) which were founded by the Buddha over 2,500 years ago. Apart from that, we occasionally read of the ‘Ariya Sangha’, which refers to the community of the Buddha’s disciples – both ordained and lay – who have reached one of the four stages of Enlightenment. These are the two meanings of ‘Sangha’. The Sangha is the third of the Three Refuges.

Why did the Buddha establish it?

To provide a means for those who wish to practise the Dhamma full time, in a direct and highly disciplined way, free from many of the restrictions and responsibilities of the household life. The Sangha also fulfils the function of preserving the Buddha’s original teachings and of providing spiritual support for the Buddhist lay-community.

What is the relationship between the Sangha and the Buddhist lay-community?

It is one of reciprocal support. The Buddha ensured that his monks and nuns maintain daily contact with the laity by forbidding them to keep money and to store, grow, cook, or procure in any way their own food. Thus monks and nuns depend on the laity for material support. On the other hand, the laity depend on the Sangha for inspiration and guidance in matters concerning the Dhamma.

“Monks, householders are very helpful to you, as they provide you with the requisites of robes, almsfood, lodgings, and medicine. And you, monks, are very helpful to householders, as you teach them the Dhamma admirable in the beginning, in the middle, and in the end. In this way the holy life is lived in mutual dependence, for the purpose of crossing over the flood, for making an end to suffering.” (Iti. 107)

How is the life of a member of the Sangha different from that of a lay-Buddhist?

The most significant difference is that a monk must live according to the Vinaya – the body of rules laid down by the Buddha. This code of conduct dictates in great detail how a monk is to live his life. At the heart of the Vinaya lies the Patimokkha – the set of 227 precepts. The rules of the Patimokkha are graded from heavy to light: the breaking of the heaviest (of which there are four) entails expulsion from the Sangha; the breaking of the lightest results in a short confession.

Why did the Buddha lay down the Vinaya?

He was asked this question and gave ten reasons:

“For the welfare of the Sangha, for the comfort of the Sangha, for the control of unsteady men, for the comfort of well behaved bhikkhus, for the restraint of the pollutions of this present life, for guarding against pollutions liable to arise in a future life, for the pleasure of those not yet pleased with Dhamma, for the increase of those pleased, for the establishment of true Dhamma, for the benefit of the Vinaya.” (AN. v.70. From a copy of the Patimokkha translated by Bhikkhu Nanamoli, Mahamakuta Press, Thailand.)

A recent development

During the 2500 years following the Buddha’s passing, across all legitimate schools of Buddhism, the term Sangha referred to the order of monks and nuns. However, in the West, in the past 60 years or so, the term has come to include not only all Buddhist people – ordained and lay, but sometimes even those who attend Buddhist meditation classes who have not actually taken refuge in the Triple Gem themselves. So misappropriated has this term become that we now find the likes of the ‘Buddhist Military Sangha’!!!

Being deeply ingrained in Western Buddhism it is hard to see this aberration being rectified. So for those of us who do know the correct meaning of the term Sangha, we should strive to preserve it, and with it the Triple Gem.

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Right View as the First Step on the Path

Right View, the raison d’être of Buddhist practice, the antidote to all suffering, lies not at the end of the Noble Eightfold Path, but at the beginning. Why so? Because without a small degree of it we wouldn’t even consider walking this path. Indeed, we would see no reason to.

What is Right View? It is wisdom. It is seeing things clearly – as they really are. On the ultimate, transcendent, level it is the total comprehension of the Four Noble Truths. In its initial stages it comprises an understanding of these truths to a lesser extent, and in a sometimes indirect way; and of the law of kamma – of how our actions result in either happiness or suffering depending on the intent behind them. Both of these truths will no doubt have had a bearing on our own decision to tread this path.

Appreciating the Law of Kamma

So one very important aspect of right view concerns the law of kamma. Put simply we can say that to possess a modicum of right view one must have some appreciation of the fact that good actions bring happy results and bad actions bring unhappy results.

Just over nine years ago I phoned my father. “I’ve got some news for you Dad.” “I don’t mind if you’re gay.” He said. “No, I’m not gay (but thanks anyway!).” “You’re going to join an ashram?” (he knew I meditated). “Warmer…” “What then?” “I have decided to become a Buddhist monk.”

Then over the course of the following weeks we had a number of lively conversations. On the whole he was fairly relaxed about the whole thing; after all, he left home when I was five, so it wasn’t as if he would see a lot less of me. Having said that, he wasn’t going to let me go too easily.

During one of our characteristically demanding chats I told him that one of the reasons I wanted to ordain was in order to invest in my future. “The future? You should be living now!” he retorted. “Make the most of your life now!”

Of course he had a point. A very big point. When are we ever going to live our life if we don’t live it now? But what we do now has consequences; our present actions are continually shaping our future state. And dependent on what lies behind these actions is nothing less than our own happiness and suffering. Considering the future with right view in this way we cannot help but live fully now.

I had always been very aware that however I might live my life, barring following this path, I would only find myself being unhappy. How could I possibly end up being happy? What was I doing that would bring happiness? I distinctly remember going out for a drive with my brother not long after I had passed my driving test, stopping in the countryside somewhere, and having a deep and not so jolly conversation with him. We both came to the conclusion that we would never be truly happy. Why would we think that? Well, I guess it boiled down to a smidgen of right view: an understanding that maybe we weren’t providing the conditions for that happiness to arise in the future; that the paths we were currently treading could not lead to that happiness.

So it was an investment, I told my father. I had often looked at older people and observed how they were just not happy. I did not want to be like that. But why this path? Well, I had been practising Buddhist meditation seriously for a good half a year or so and it had opened up two appealing avenues for me: happiness and wisdom.

When we consider that we are – at this moment – creating our future, then it makes us take stock. If we project our mind into the future and consider what kind of life we want to be living, what state of mind we want to have, what level of wisdom we want to possess, and how happy we would like to be, then we shine the light of right view on our thoughts and actions now and see whether they are leading us in that direction, or whether they are not. If they are not then we make an effort to change that.

Think of a potter at his wheel. There he sits with the lump of clay poised ready before him – its future shape entirely in his hands. Around spins the wheel and the potter begins to shape the supple clay. At every moment that clay is the perfect record of the movements of the potter’s hands. No movement will go unnoticed; each one will be unfailingly recorded in the clay. And so it is with our life. In every moment, with every intentional action, we are shaping our future state. And consequently, at every moment, our life is a record of our actions that have gone before.

This is one reason why it so crucial that we as Buddhists feel able to reject outright the existence of a creator God as wrong view. As soon as we lay the responsibility for our existence elsewhere we undermine this fundamental aspect of right view: that we are our own creators, that we alone are responsible for our present and future happiness and suffering; that the reasons for our existence are none other than our own ignorance and craving. These two things are the causes, the conditions, for us being here, now. And it is by uprooting them – which is done by gaining a direct insight into the Four Noble Truths – that we are able to free ourselves, through our own efforts, from this realm of birth and death.

So it all comes back to what we are doing now, and most importantly to what is behind what we are doing now. We trace these actions and our thoughts to their roots. And what do we find when we do this? We find six things: greed, hatred and delusion, and non-greed, non-hatred and non-delusion (put positively, the last three are generosity, loving-kindness and wisdom). These are the six roots (mula) of action – the architects of suffering and happiness; those that lead to happiness should be nurtured; those that lead to suffering – starved.

It is often very difficult, however, to simply begin being generous, loving and wise. There needs to be a bridge between the three unwholesome and the three wholesome roots. That bridge is restraint. Without restraint there can be no development on this path. There is a famous account in the suttas of the Buddha speaking to young Rahula the novice. The Buddha tells him that if, before, during or after an action, he sees that it will cause himself, another, or both himself and another harm, he should stop and refrain.

Mmmm… Pringles

We as monks naturally depend on others to provide and cook our food. Being thoroughly unenlightened this sometimes leads to a stirring of the three unwholesome roots in my mind, and therefore the potential to heap more suffering upon myself.

For instance, say I’ve observed that a lovely fresh pack of ready-salted Pringles has been given. There they are, taste bud tinglers in a tube, destined for my tongue. But they don’t appear at the meal time. Concern arises. Why aren’t they being offered? And so the desire to make a subtle hint manifests: ‘I noticed some Pringles were offered the other day…..’ – Just a casual, just thought I’d mention it in passing, type comment – you know the kind. ‘But hold on!’ I say to myself. ‘What is there in my mind right now? Why do I want to say this? What is the root of this potential action?’ Well, I give you three guesses: greed, hatred and delusion!

So there we have them: the architects of suffering; the enemies of happiness; the seamstresses of the veil of darkness before my very eyes. I then consider that if I am to act on these contemptible corruptions I will create future suffering for myself and possibly others. Just as if I were to throw a stone into the sky it would surely come back down, so too if I were to act on these unwholesome forces I would suffer in the future. Considering in this way and teaching myself to be careful, I refrain (usually).

A Reward

As humans who have access to the Dhamma we are very fortunate indeed. To have an affinity with the Dhamma, and to possess a healthy degree of right view, shows that much work has been done already. Furthermore, we should look upon this opportunity that we have as a reward, a reward for countless lifetimes of striving and struggling towards the light in this beginningless cycle of birth and death. So let’s not throw this opportunity away. It’ll be gone before we know it.

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The next teaching will be on:

the full moon day, Thursday 6 August

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Note: ‘The Sangha’ and ‘Links and Books’ pages have been updated.

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The first few weeks of my life at this monastery were not the easiest I have ever experienced, to put it mildly. The difficulty was by no means a result of ‘outside’; it was what was going in ‘inside’ that hurt. But I can tell you now, I am glad I am still here to tell the tale. Who knows what a troubled human being I might be were I not in robes.

On the 3^rd of September 2000, with my soon to be lopped locks, blue jeans and beloved guernsey jumper, and not the faintest idea of what lay ahead, I stepped through the monastery gate armed with a pot plant, a colossal old-fashioned all-hell-breaking-loose alarm clock, and my brother. But he wasn’t staying.

After a few days word got back to me that some residents thought I had begun to resemble a startled rabbit. It was an accurate description. After three weeks I had planned my escape several times (my home was only ten miles away); fantasised about living on a desert island with my mother, a deck-chair and a book; turned from taking ¼ of a teaspoon of sugar in my tea to taking ¼ of a teaspoon of tea in my sugar; dreamt of the next meal as soon as I had finished eating the last (it was a mere 23 and ½ hour wait); and I was walking around in those same work-tired jeans, a once white tea-shirt, a bald head, and green flip flops – waiting for October 14^th, the day I was to become a novice. In short, it had been a turbulent time for me.

But it was a test. And I passed it. Because I am still here. I was there for the meditation, and I knew that there were no other options open to me – if I was to be happy, that is. So my survival was down to a devotion to my meditation practice, a firmly entrenched disillusionment with the world, exemplary support from my fellow strivers, tea that contained so much sugar it actually made me giddy, and a few words from Luangpor that I will never forget…

One day after the meal it became very apparent to all present that the startled rabbit was not a happy bunny. There was Luangpor heading the line, followed by the two novices, and myself sitting in the corner in front of the glass doors where the cold draft used to remind me that I wasn’t wearing anything but a white sheet. And boy was I going through it. Now, I’m not sure what the expression on my face was but Luangpor was clearly concerned for me: “Are you all right?” he asked. Then, without restraint, I exclaimed: “It’s HORRIBLE!”

Then those three immortal words fell upon my ears, three words which in my mind now are spaced well apart to relay their significance: “….It ….will ….pass….“

And it did. Two months later and it was all gone. The despair, the escape plans, the Mach 4 emotional roller coaster: it seemed now to have been just a dream. Did I really go through all that?

But when I was clinging on to my little plank of wood for dear life in the throes of the raging ocean that was my experience I couldn’t see how it would ever be different. It all seemed so REAL – the despair, the self-pity, the longings – they were rushing in at me from all angles as I tried to stay afloat. Why did I stick it out? Why didn’t I run?

Well I didn’t run, and it passed.

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The next teaching will hopefully be on:

The new moon day, Monday, 22 June

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In 1977 Ajahn Chah came to England and while here he visited many meditation groups. One particular group invited him to teach but stated beforehand that they wouldn’t bow. They didn’t do tradition.  “Well,” said Ajahn Chah, “If they don’t bow, I don’t teach.”

So, relenting, the group bowed, and Ajahn Chah taught.

Now, Ajahn Chah was not being proud or conceited, and it wasn’t that he was offended by their tone. He simply felt that if practitioners of the Dhamma are not able to humble themselves – to show respect, and to resist the demands of the ego – then there would be little point in teaching them. It would be a waste of time. For how can someone who proclaims: “I don’t bow.” be in a fit state to even begin to comprehend a teaching which leads in the direction of freedom from all notions of self? If we refuse to humble ourselves then we are turning our backs on the Dhamma; we are abandoning the path to freedom.

Bowing is an incredibly powerful practice. And, for that matter, all demonstrations of respect and humility are too. In this monastery we maintain the small gestures of respect such as putting the palms together when addressing a senior monk, not standing over a senior monk when they’re sitting down, and generally being mindful of the nuances (which many Buddhists in the West are quick to abandon), knowing that these surface gestures nurture the deep roots of concord, mindfulness and wisdom.

Monastic life is bound by a precise code of respect. Respect holds the thing together: it keeps order, it gives strength and it maintains stability. Look at the state this country is in. The lack of discipline, the lack of morality, the lack of respect. It is disturbing. It hasn’t always been like this. Respect was once an important part of life here too, though not to the same degree as, for instance, Thailand and Burma.

So bowing is firstly an outward expression of respect; a putting down of a part of one’s attachment to self; a letting go. But it is also a profound practice in a number of other ways. For bowing composes us; it helps us to establish mindfulness. And it serves to remind us of the goal.

Humility and Respect

I was thinking about the above incident involving Ajahn Chah and I realised that there is a very potent message to be found in the life of the Buddha that shows how fundamental humility and the showing of respect are as we follow the Path.

Seven weeks after his Enlightenment the Buddha spent some time considering who he might first teach. He thought of Alara Kalama and Uddaka Ramaputta – the two great teachers whose doctrines he had mastered during his six year search – but found they had died only days before. “That is a great loss for them.” He reflected. “They would have understood.” Then he thought of the five ascetics who had attended on him whilst he had been engaged in severe asceticism; they had ‘little dust on their eyes’ and were capable of understanding. So he set off in the direction of the deer park at Benares – the place where they were staying.

Now, as far as the five were concerned the Buddha had given up the search for enlightenment. Previously – through his fasting, privations and extreme self-torment – he very nearly died. Having thus realised the futility of his bitter practices, and the need for a strong body if he was to conquer the defilements, he took solid food to replenish his strength. But, still well and truly mired in the view that the way to liberation was through self-torment, the five turned up their noses and abandoned the Buddha-to-be, thinking he had ‘reverted to a life of luxury’. The truth, of course, was far different.

So, when the newly enlightened Buddha arrived at the deer park and appeared to them in the distance, the five were not pleased. “What does he want?” they thought. And they spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves, glancing sideways in the Buddha’s direction, and they made a pact that they would not observe the duties of pupils to a teacher: they would not receive him, nor take his bowl, nor wash his feet. They wanted nothing to do with him.

But as the Buddha approached them it was clear that something had changed. It is impossible to imagine what effect on the mind seeing a Buddha walking towards you would have, but clearly the five were awestruck: their pact fell apart and they rushed to attend on him. One took his bowl, another set up a seat, and another washed his feet. They humbled themselves. They showed respect. They lowered the ‘I’ and primed their minds ready for the Dhamma.

Then of course the Buddha delivered the First Sermon and on hearing it one of the five attained to the first stage of enlightenment. Thus the Matchless Wheel of Dhamma was set in motion.

Now, that wheel would not have been set rolling, nor would it still be rolling, if it wasn’t for those five having humbled themselves and having shown respect. Imagine they had kept their pact. What effect do you think that teaching would have had then? None at all. So it was this priming of the mind with humility and respect that allowed their minds to absorb the Dhamma.

The Castle of Ego

Generally people are very protective of their ego. It’s how we are brought up. We build a great castle around it, with thick, impenetrable walls, and towers and turrets, to ensure that nothing is able to harm or undermine it. When the ego does come under attack we fire out nasty little arrows through the slits in the towers: the harsh words, the excuses, the boasting, the lies, the punch in the face, etc.

But what sits smack bang in the middle of the front of a castle? The drawbridge. It is through the opening of this drawbridge that things are able to enter the castle.

Showing respect lowers the drawbridge. When we humble ourselves and show respect and perform the various duties and disciplines of respect, then we lower the drawbridge of the castle of the ego. We lower it to allow inside that which can help us – that which can cure us. We lower it to the Dhamma. The Dhamma then comes in and does the work, the work of liberation.

On that night when the Buddha gave his First Sermon those five ascetics lowered their drawbridges and the Buddha’s words entered. Those teachings went straight to the heart of the castle of one – Kondañña – and blew his sense of self to smithereens.

So to bow to the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha is to lower oneself and open one’s mind to that which is higher and better and able to lead one out of suffering and into happiness.

Bowing Stabilises Us in the Present Moment

As monks in the Forest Tradition we are taught to bow all of the time. Ajahn Chah was very fussy about it. On waking we should bow. Before sleeping we should bow. And as often as possible in between these two times we should also bow. Why is this? Well, apart from the reason just covered, it helps us to constantly reestablish our mindfulness.

We enter out kuti, put down our robes, kneel down, put our palms together over our chest, close our eyes, and bow three times. This putting down of what we are carrying is an excellent metaphor. Because when we stop to bow not only are we putting down our physical possessions but we are putting down past and future. We recollect: “Where am I? What am I doing?” And then we mindfully and graciously bow.

Bowing is Beautiful

It is such a shame that the showing of respect is disappearing out of Britain’s door faster than you can say Jack Robinson. When I get on the plane back to Blighty after our annual pilgrimage to Thailand I’m quickly made uncomfortably aware of how privileged I have been to have experienced the undercurrent of respect that floods Thai culture from top to bottom. How’s this then? Well, what can I say? Because I’m reintroduced to Westerners! To be frank, most of the Westerners I encounter on the plane have abysmal manners. They’re rude, they push and shove, they’ve about as much finesse as an ostrich on stilts. It’s not that they aren’t aware of how to treat monks: how should they know? It’s simply that they don’t seem to show much courtesy to anyone. It really does underline the style, manners and respectful nature of the people of the culture I have sadly just left behind.

And of course one of the central ways Thais and Asian Buddhists in general uphold the banner of respect is through their bowing. I love to see people bow. What does it say about them? It shows that they are willing to humble themselves. And this is such a profound statement. These days people are so ‘in yer face’. “Look at meeeee. I’m so wonderful.” Everybody wants to be noticed. Everybody wants to be known. I read a bit of an article the other day which stated we are in an age where one of the prime concerns of people is the wish to be known. Look at the popularity of social networking sites. How many Facebook ‘friends’ have you got? The more the better, obviously. Or Twitter: it seems that people are obsessed with how many Twitter ‘followers’ they have. They want to promote themselves. They want to be seen. They want to be known.

But this is all wrong. This is the way to suffering, suffering, and more suffering. The root of all of our suffering is this believing in the sense of self. Our suffering lies with this identification with body and mind as being me and mine. So don’t be special. Don’t be anybody. Have as few ‘followers’ on Twitter and as few ‘friends’ on Facebook as possible. Go on. Go against the grain.

Bowing can go against the grain, especially when we don’t necessarily respect the person we are bowing to. As monks it is our duty to bow to a senior monk, even if he was ordained only two seconds before us. Now sometimes we may question that monk’s integrity. We may think he is sloppy. But whether he ‘deserves’ our respect or not is besides the point. It is not him we are bowing for; it is for ourselves. We bow, and we lower the drawbridge. We allow humility to take root in our mind and we move that little closer to enlightenment.

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The next teaching will be on:

The new moon day, Saturday 23rd May

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PS: Thanks to David for setting up twitter.com/ForestHermitage, where you will find the Hermitage’s news, needs, info, etc. being regularly updated!

Well, I’ve had one of those weeks. Dukkha. For some reason it just hits you sometimes. Anyway, I’ve been through it before and so I know what to do: hang in there, endure, and wait for it to pass. Because it does pass. It all passes*.

When you become more aware of the Noble Truth of Dukkha it is often in an experiential way. So you actually experience suffering more acutely. You become more aware of the unsatisfactory nature of life.

“WHY!!!???” I yelled in my kuti the other night.

“WHY AM I HERE!!!???…

WHAT’S THE POINT!!!???…

WHAT KIND OF SICK JOKE IS THIS!!!???…

LOOK AT THIS WORLD!!!…

PEOPLE ARE BORN, THEY GET OLD, THEY GET SICK, AND THEY DIE !!!…

WHOOPEEEE!!!…

WHAT A PARTY!!!…

ARRRGHHHHHHHH!!!”

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