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Excerpts from How to Break the Chains of Thought

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Like dominoes falling, it’s interesting to see how one thought leads to another … or not.

Lion’s Roar online magazine shares a full article on How to Break the Chains of Thought. Below are a few excerpts for your consideration. For the full article, go to http://www.lionsroar.com/break-the-chains-of-thought

How to Break the Chains of Thought

When you study your thought process, … you see how it rules your life. In the breaks and gaps between thoughts, you can experience awakened mind on the spot.

Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche 8 September 2024

We are all citizens of the Information Age, when attention-consuming data is abundant and human attention itself is regarded as a scarce commodity. In the noise and chaos of this flood of information, how often do you notice where your mind is and what it’s doing? …

The starting point for discovering the true nature or reality of your mind is just this awareness of thoughts. When you can see these patterns clearly, that’s the beginning of discovering the sanity and wakefulness within your own mind. …

Chaos and sanity coexist—they depend on each other. Without insanity, there is no sanity. So please don’t worry about your thoughts and the chaos of your mind. They can serve as the basis of your transformation.

When you look at your thoughts and emotions, the starting point is very important. It’s like chaos theory, which looks at the dynamics of highly sensitive systems. A very small change at the outset or starting point of a motion makes the system behave completely differently, and that very small change can make a big difference after a while. An often quoted example in popular culture is the “butterfly effect,” in which a butterfly flapping its wings in the forests of Brazil could cause a hurricane in the East China Sea.

It’s the same with thoughts. You may have just a glimmer of a judgmental thought about someone. It seems so small and harmless. But that tiny thought has the potential to intensify and color your next thought, and the next, in the end triggering deep-rooted habitual patterns that have a big effect. …

The interesting thing here is that within the seeming chaos or randomness of our thoughts, there are patterns, including how our thoughts and emotions interact. … thoughts are viewed as always at play with our emotional energies, driving them one way or the other. …

We have so many thoughts—positive thoughts, negative thoughts, coarse thoughts, subtle thoughts—but when you look directly and closely at any thought, or any emotion, perception, or appearance of mind at all, what do you see?

The first thing you see is that the thought you’re looking at disappears. As soon as you think, “Oh, there is a thought, I am going to look at it,” it is gone. And after the thought is gone, then what do you see?

Between the dissolving of one thought and the arising of the next, there is a gap, an open space. When a thought arises, it’s there for just a moment, then starts to dissolve. When it dissolves, there is a clear, open space where there’s nothing happening until the next thought. If we can totally let go, rest, and relax, then that point where thoughts vanish is where we will find our natural liberation, our genuinely awakened heart.

With these momentary gaps, our chaotic thoughts are being quite kind, offering to give us a break and a chance for awakening. But usually we don’t take that opportunity. We run right over it. We are attached to our busy, workaholic pattern that keeps us moving on to the next thought, the next moment, the next experience. That’s one of the main patterns of our mind—to always be moving, instead of pausing and resting where we are, even for a moment.

Although thoughts are momentary, it feels like our mind is always thinking. That’s because we don’t notice the gaps. We create the illusion of continuity by linking thoughts together seamlessly, so they have a feeling of permanence and oneness.

... each momentary thought is like a link in a chain that connects to another link in the chain, and so on. Who knows where the chain began or where it will end? At some point, without even knowing it, we’ve created a chain that effectively binds us. We are a captive of our own thoughts. Positive thoughts we attach to may create a pretty golden chain, but we are still bound.

To accomplish our aims, it’s important for us to have a good understanding of our thoughts and how the patterns they form blind and control us. …

When you can see the full display and just let it go, there is liberation right there. Not liberation in a religious sense, but simple freedom from being controlled by your thoughts. You don’t have to take this on faith. You can discover it yourself. As you get closer to it, you can feel it, and then finally you can see it.

Most of all in this process, we need to have a genuine measure of compassion for ourselves and others. Even if it’s just a little, it can still have a profound and far-reaching effect, like the flapping of the wings of our butterfly. …

Seeing these patterns, we get to know our mind so that it works better for us and helps us to achieve our goals in this life. …

We see that thoughts are momentary, arising and then dissolving, and in the open space between them we can discover awakened mind on the spot.

Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche

Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche is the author of several books including, most recently, Emotional Rescue: How to Work with Your Emotions to Transform Hurt and Confusion into Energy That Empowers You.

Confessions of a Zen Novelist

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Successful novelists must develop their “voice” and their “backbone.” Ruth Ozeki, in an archived Lion’s Roar article, tells us her story about learning to tell “her truth.”

See an excerpt from her article below. For the full article, see http://www.lionsroar.com/confessions-of-a-zen-novelist/

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When bestselling author Ruth Ozeki becomes a Zen priest, she finds out Zen and novel writing do not easily go hand in hand.

Ruth Ozeki

“In 2003 … I found myself unable to write.

No, that’s not quite right. Let me clarify. I was writing, or trying to write. …

(Poet and Zen writer, Norman Fischer said), “You were such a nice writer, I was afraid Zen would wreck it for you. I’ve watched you getting so serious about your prac­tice, and I wanted to warn you. Practice will ruin everything! It will change you so you won’t be able to write in the same way anymore. Maybe you shouldn’t practice Zen so much.” He was smiling when he said this, so I knew he was joking—sort of. He shrugged and continued, “But I knew it was hopeless; it was already too late. You were in too deep already, and besides, I knew you wouldn’t listen.”

It wasn’t a matter of wanting to be a writer. I simply was one. I was a writer because I wrote.

There is something inhuman—or perhaps relentlessly human—in what writers do, in their naked attempt at truth telling. I’ve long been aware that I write from remorse, usually over something I’ve done or not done. My regret acts as an irritant, like a lump in a mattress that trig­gers a dream, and I then write in an attempt to understand my behavior, to test alternative pos­sibilities and outcomes, and to discover some­thing true. But every book I write misrepresents something else, generating more remorse, which I then must try to address in the only way I know, by writing another book. In trying to get at one truth, I distort others. It’s a process fraught with contrition, and I used to think this was good news, in that I would never run out of things to write about. But the bad news was that as my work got published, my sense of remorse intensi­fied, and I stopped being able to write.

Publication is a kind of exposure. … How could I write with honesty and candor about the core questions of my life without implicating my family and friends? How could I write humor­ously without hurting others? How could I write dramatically without distorting the truth? How could I write fiction without lying or stealing other people’s stories? How could I take on the responsibility and consequences of representing the world with what I knew was my flawed and limited vision?

I knew that were I to continue writing, I would need a backbone, too.

Thomas King, a Canadian aboriginal writer, wrote, “The truth about stories is that that’s all we are.” My old story is that I am a novelist. My new story is that I am a priest. Ordination didn’t eliminate one story; it just added another plotline, and the two often feel irreconcilable.

Have you heard the one about the two monks crossing the river? An old monk and a young monk happen across a beautiful woman on the bank of a fast-flowing river. She needs to get across, and the older monk offers to carry her. The woman clambers onto his back, and he wades into the water. The young monk fol­lows silently, quivering with umbrage. When they reach the other side, the old monk lets the lady off, she thanks him, and the two monks go on their way. But of course, the young guy can’t let it go. He keeps thinking of the woman’s legs wrapped around his master’s waist, and the old man’s grizzled fingers clutching the white flesh of her thighs. Finally, he can’t contain himself anymore. “How could you do that?” he cries. “Touching that woman! Breaking your vows!” The old man looks at his student and shrugs. “I left her back on the riverbank. Are you still car­rying her around?”

I’ve always liked that young monk. He’s a novelist like me.

We are all the stories we tell ourselves. As the heroes of our own I-novels, we never stop conceiving and reconceiving ourselves and those around us.

Birds live in air, fish live in water, and human beings live in language. That’s what Norman (Fischer) says, and I agree. We can no more remove our­selves from language than we can stop breathing. Dogen Zenji, the founder of Soto Zen, was an incorrigible writer. He agreed that language was a prison of delusion, but he had a more expan­sive view of the matter, maintaining that we can escape the thrall of language only through lan­guage itself. His all-inclusive approach has become my backbone, one that keeps me upright and enables me to write, or not write, as the case may be, and, either way, to hold my stories just a little bit more lightly.

Ruth Ozeki

Ruth Ozeki is a Soto Zen priest and an award-winning writer. Her novels include All Over Creation, My Year of Meats, and A Tale for the Time Being. She lives in New York and British Columbia.

Speaking “The Naked Truth” to Power

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Award-winning novelist, literary scholar and artist, Charles Johnson shares his take on the children’s classic The Emperor’s New Clothes in a Lion’s Roar article entitled The Dharma of Fiction. See Johnson’s excerpt below. For the full article, see http://www.lionsroar.com/the-dharma-of-fiction/

The Naked Truth

Charles Johnson on “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

A truly great story like “The Emperor’s New Clothes” can be compared to an old, old coin. It has traversed continents and civilizations, picking up slight changes along the way, yet still bearing the palm oil and wisdom of the millions who’ve handled it.

We know the famous 1837 version by Hans Christian Andersen, but I was delighted to discover that there was a 1335 version in a collection titled El Conde Lucanor, by Don Juan Manuel, prince of Villena. According to Wikipedia, Andersen read this in a German translation from the Spanish. An even older Indian variant exists as well.

All versions of the story that I’m aware of have the same basic premise. A silly king and his royal entourage are tricked by cunning weavers who supposedly present him with finely wrought clothing—with an interesting catch. They claim, depending on the version, that anyone who was born “illegitimate” or not fathered by the man he or she thinks is their father, or who is unworthy of the official positions they hold, or is a fool, will not be able to see such finery.

‘What’s this?’ thought the Emperor. ‘I can see nothing at all! That is terrible. Am I stupid? Am I not fit to be Emperor?’—Hans Christian Andersen

Naturally, everyone fearing disapproval, shame, or social ostracism says, yes, they can see the invisible clothes!

While not intentionally influenced by Buddhism, this story speaks beautifully to our zeitgeist today, and to the power of collective illusions. We conform. We go along to get along socially. We act and talk as if we believe, for example, that there is something enduring and substantive called the “self,” because everyone speaks that way. And how often have we heard award-winning films, novels, and products praised to the skies, only to realize on inspection, like the child in Andersen’s version, that there is no “there” there? We act as if we believe. Even wrong speech can be powerful, especially if it appeals to our vanities and fears, seducing the mind to accept what it knows—by the evidence of its senses—is not true.

It is a child in Andersen’s version of the story who sees reality clearly. The child has a Zen-like beginner’s mind, one unconditioned by fears of personal loss or gain. It is the child innocently blurting out, “But he hasn’t got anything on,” that liberates the intimidated crowd watching the promenading, naked king to at last speak truth to power.

May we all one day have the courage of that child.

There She Was – Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway Highlights

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Five authors contribute to the Lion’s Roar article The Dharma of Fiction where fiction reveals greater truths. The first contribution comes from Emily France on insights gained from Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. See an article excerpt below.

For the full article check out http://www.lionsroar.com/the-dharma-of-fiction/

There She Was

Emily France on Mrs. Dalloway.

Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs. Dalloway follows a single day in the life of a British socialite in 1923. The plot is simple. Mrs. Dalloway buys flowers in a London shop, has a visit from a former suitor, and hosts a party. But the novel isn’t about all that. It’s about the vast inner life of one woman, her mind a field of immeasurable size. Woolf painstakingly traces every thought her heroine experiences, and this is part of what makes it remarkable: it was one of the first novels to follow the stream of consciousness.

Woolf wrote Mrs. Dalloway in the wake of World War I, when writers were turning away from the chaotic details of outward events to the fragmented movements of inner ones. Mrs. Dalloway is pummeled by delicious memories of her youth, feelings of inadequacy in the present, and fears about what may come. And aging! Oh, the horror of all this aging. The powerful undertow of mind is pleasing and terrifying by turns. And it’s nothing if not familiar.

Mrs. Dalloway’s story captures the very essence of dukkha, the Buddhist term for a dissatisfaction that permeates our lives, even at the best of times. She feels something is off-kilter. Things aren’t as they’re supposed to be. Desperate for a solution, her mind tries to solve the puzzle of this discomfort.

‘Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.’—Virginia Woolf

I see a woman at peace. Awakened to her life.

An Angry Person with a Zen Practice

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The brief Lions Roar article below is much more than an American jazz singer, Bobby McFerrin lyric: Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

I highly recommend this piece written by Karen Maezen Miller. See excerpts below:

An Angry Person with a Zen Practice

by Karen Maezen Miller

I wasn’t an angry person until I became a Zen Buddhist. Sure, I yelled. I slammed things. I broke things. But I wouldn’t have called myself angry. It was always another person making me angry. How was that my fault?

But there was hope because I was an angry person with a Zen practice.

No one makes us feel, think, or do anything except as we allow.

Anger comes from our attachments.

We don’t get our way all the time, and besides, even when we do, it doesn’t last.

The wisdom of impermanence shows us the way to work with anger, that is, to not work with it at all.

Without my ruminations and reactions, anger does what all sensations do. It goes away by itself, providing I don’t chase after it.

One more thing has changed my relationship with anger: admitting it. When I feel myself getting angry around others, I try my best to say, “I’m angry right now.” Spoken, the words by themselves are safe. Unspoken, they smolder into fire and brimstone.

These days, though I still get angry, I’m no longer afraid of my anger. I don’t try to hide or avoid it. I remind myself not to rationalize it, justify it, or react in anger. I let it be, and then I let it be gone.

http://www.lionsroar.com/how-3-buddhist-teachers-work-with-difficult-emotions/

Excerpt from How to Free Yourself from the 7 Obsessions

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I hate to wait and that has been a life-long challenge for me. Below is an excerpt from a recent Lion’s Roar article that helps me better understand why.

Valerie Mason-John, M.A. is a public speaker and master trainer in the field of conflict transformation, leadership and mindfulness, the author of ten books and the Co-Founder of Eight Step Recovery, an alternative to the 12-step program for addiction.

http://www.valeriemason-john.com

How to Free Yourself from the 7 Obsessions

To free ourselves from habitual patterns, says Valerie Mason-John, we need to see how they have become part of our identity.

VALERIE MASON-JOHN 8 MAY 2024

Watch your thoughts; they become habits.
Watch your habits; they become stories.
Watch your stories; they become excuses.
Watch your excuses; they become relapses.
Watch your relapses; they become dis-eases.
Watch your dis-eases; they become vicious cycles.
Watch your vicious cycles; they become your wheel of life.

Every time we habitually react, the past is present.

We transcend our habits by allowing a part of our superego to die.

For more from Valerie Mason-John check out these two websites:

http://www.lionsroar.com/how-to-free-yourself-from-the-7-obsessions/

http://www.valeriemason-john.com

May 17 – Bowing

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Today’s senryu: Bowing

bowing together

our hearts and minds connected

love and respect shared

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Below is a repost of a Lion’s Roar article written by Br. Phap Hai. It’s a great introduction to the basics of bowing. May this bring you comfort and peace today.

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How to Practice Bowing

BY BROTHER PHAP HAI| AUGUST 29, 2021

When we bow to another person, says Brother Phap Hai, we honor both their goodness and our own.

In the famed Lotus Sutra, there is a wonderful chapter in which we meet a bodhisattva named Never Despising. His practice was not doing long hours of sitting meditation, chanting the sutras, or reciting mantras. Upon seeing another person, he would put his palms together, bow, and say, “You will become a buddha one day!” This was bodhisattva Never Despising’s only practice.

One of the first things that made an impression on me when I visited a traditional Buddhist temple was seeing practitioners join their palms in front of their heart when they met each other. I immediately felt a sense of respect and sacredness, not only toward the shrine but toward each other.

The practice of bowing, whether as a physical or mental practice, helps us connect with others as human beings who are just like us in their search for happiness and peace. For me, bowing to another person is a practice of touching what is real and alive—within me and within them. Doesn’t that sound like the heart of meditation?

Recently, a practitioner asked me about the benefits of meditation. I knew that she was hoping I would talk about dazzling lights, profound insights, or psychic powers. Perhaps to her disappointment, I shared with her my growing sense of appreciation for the ordinary moments of my life—a cup of tea in the morning, warm sunshine, laughter. Before, I had taken these things as a given rather than a gift. Now as I practice more, my experience of them has become richer, deeper, and more meaningful.

When I reflect in this way, even inanimate objects become dear, dear friends on the path. Whenever I sit down in the meditation hall, I bow to my cushion because it is a very kind friend to my buttocks and lower back. Practicing in this way, I experience a lot of joy and gratitude.

Within the confines of a monastery or practice center, I will physically bow to others, but sometimes I find myself in situations where that might be thought strange. In that case, rather than focusing on the physical act of joining my palms, I do a mental bowing practice. I simply open myself to the other person and touch the realness within both of us.

Perhaps the greatest advice I ever received in my spiritual life was when a senior meditation teacher told me that as Buddhists we should always avoid “covering things over with a whole lot of bells and incense. Just be yourself, truly yourself.”

The act of joining our palms and bowing is first of all a physical practice, but most importantly it is a moment of mental stopping and recognition. Here are some different ways that you can practice bowing:

On the most basic level, one practice of bowing is to look into the eyes of another person and gently bring your palms together in front of your heart. You might bend slightly at the waist or bow your head in respect.

When we join our palms in front of another person, we are recognizing the essential quality of goodness in ourselves and in them. That is truly a moment of celebration. When somebody joins their palms in front of me, I feel as if a mirror is being held up to me. In it, I see who I truly am. It is always a powerful moment.

Another practice is to visualize your hands as a lotus flower. As you join your palms together in front of your heart, make an offering to the buddha in front of you. You might find it helpful to recite silently the following gatha: “A lotus for you, a buddha-to-be.”

Bowing can also be a mental practice. Too often we fail to appreciate the ordinary moments of our life. Bring your awareness to encounters with people whom you might normally overlook—the person at the checkout counter, the people in line with you at the airport. Stop and take a moment to recognize the person in front of you. With soft eyes and an open heart, send them your respect and appreciation. Mentally bow to the true nature of goodness you share.

ABOUT BROTHER PHAP HAI

Originally from Australia, Brother Phap Hai is a senior student of Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh. Prior to becoming a monk, he trained as a chef. Brother Phap Hai is known for his ability to convey complex teachings in an accessible and humorous manner and leads retreats and workshops throughout the United States, Canada, South America, Australia, and Asia. He currently resides at Deer Park Monastery, in California, where he breathes, walks, and smiles on a regular basis. He is the author of Nothing to It: Ten Ways to Be at Home with Yourself.

http://www.amazon.com/Nothing-Ten-Ways-Home-Yourself

http://www.lionsroar.com

Jan 12 – A Sane Life

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Today’s senryu: A Sane Life

A Cadillac won’t,

maybe enlightenment will,

and dogs can teach us.

American Zen teacher, Charlotte Joko Beck, co-founded the Ordinary Mind Zen School and wrote three books:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joko_Beck

Beck also authored a keen article for Lions Roar magazine in August 2011 called A Sane Life; see https://www.lionsroar.com/a-sane-life/. I love her opening paragraph:

“My dog doesn’t worry about the meaning of life. She may worry if she doesn’t get her breakfast, but she doesn’t sit around worrying about whether she will get fulfilled or liberated or enlightened. As long as she gets some food and a little affection, her life is fine. But we human beings are not like dogs. We have self-centered minds which get us into plenty of trouble. If we do not come to understand the error in the way we think, our self-awareness, which is our greatest blessing, is also our downfall.“