Opening Heart and Mind
by Pema Chodron
Tonglen, or exchanging oneself for others, is another bodhichitta
practice for activating loving-kindness and compassion. In Tibetan the
word tonglen literally means "sending and taking." It refers to
being willing to take in the pain and suffering of ourselves and others
and to send out happiness to us all. The bodhichitta teachings that
Atisha took to Tibet included the practice of tonglen.
Although there are many ways that we can approach tonglen, the
essence of the practice is always the same. We breathe in what is
painful and unwanted with the sincere wish that we and others could be
free of suffering. As we do so, we drop the story line that goes along
with the pain and feel the underlying energy. We completely open our
hearts and minds to whatever arises. Exhaling, we send out relief from
the pain with the intention that we and others be happy.
When we are willing to stay even a moment with uncomfortable energy,
we gradually learn not to fear it. Then when we see someone in distress
we're not reluctant to breathe in the person's suffering and send out
relief.
The formal practice of tonglen has four stages. The first stage is a
brief moment of stillness or openness.. The second stage is visualizing and working with the
texture, the raw energy, of claustrophobia and spaciousness. The third
stage is the essence of the practice: breathing in whatever is unwanted
and breathing out a sense of relief. In the fourth stage we extend our
compassion further by including others who are experiencing the same
feelings. If we want, we can combine the third stage and the fourth
stage, breathing in and out for self and other at the same time.
So the first stage of tonglen is a moment of open mind, or
unconditional bodhichitta. Although this stage is crucial, it is
difficult to describe. It relates to the Buddhist teaching of
shunyata — often translated as "emptiness" or "openness." Experiencing
shunyata at an emotional level, we might feel as if we were big enough
to accommodate everything, that there's no place for things to get
stuck. If we relax our mind and stop struggling, emotions can move
through us without becoming solid and proliferating.
Fundamentally, experiencing openness is having trust in the living
quality of basic energy. We develop the confidence to allow it to
arise, to linger, and then to pass on. This energy is dynamic,
ungraspable, always in a state of flux. So our training is, first of
all, noticing how we block the energy or freeze it, how we tense up our
bodies and minds. Then we train in softening, relaxing, and opening to
the energy without interpretations or judgments.
The first flash of openness reminds us that we can always let go of
our fixed ideas and connect with something open, fresh, and unbiased.
Then, during the following stages, when we begin to breathe in the
energy of claustrophobia and unwanted feelings, we breathe them into
that huge space, as vast as the clear blue sky. Then we send out
whatever we can to help all of us experience the freedom of an open,
flexible mind. The longer we practice, the more accessible this
unconditional space will be. Sooner or later we are going to realize
that we are already awake.
Many of us have no idea what flashing openness is supposed to feel
like. The first time I recognized it was simple and direct. In the hall
where I was meditating a large fan hummed loudly. After a while I no
longer noticed the sound, it was so ongoing. But then the fan abruptly
stopped and there was a gap, a wide-open silence. That was my
introduction to shunyata!
To flash openness, some people visualize a vast ocean or a cloudless
sky — any image that conveys unlimited expansiveness. In group practice,
a gong is rung at the beginning. Just listening to the sound of the
gong can act as a reminder of open mind. The flash is relatively short,
no longer than it takes for a gong to stop resonating. We can't hold on
to such an experience. We just touch in briefly and then go on.
In the second stage of tonglen we begin to breathe in the qualities
of claustrophobia: thick, heavy, and hot. We might visualize the
claustrophobia as coal dust or as yellow-brown smog. Then we breathe
out the qualities of spaciousness: fresh, light, and cool. We might
visualize this as brilliant moonlight, as sparkling sun on water, as
the colors of a rainbow.
However we visualize these textures, we imagine breathing them in
and out through all the pores of our body, not only through our mouth
and nose. We do this until it feels synchronized with our breath and we
are clear about what we are taking in and what we're sending out. It's
fine to breathe a little more deeply than usual, but it's important to
give the inbreath and the outbreath equal time.
We may find, however, that we favor the inbreath or the out-breath
instead of keeping them balanced. For example, we may not want to
interrupt the freshness and brightness of the outbreath by taking in
what's thick, heavy, and hot. As a result the outbreath may be long and
generous, the inbreath short and stingy. Or, we may have no trouble
connecting with claustrophobia on the inbreath but feel we don't have
much to send out. Then our outbreath may be nearly nonexistent. If we
feel poverty-stricken like this, we can remember that what we send is
not our personal possession. We are simply opening to the space that is
always here and sharing it.
In stage three, we start doing the exchange for a specific person.
We breathe in this person's pain and we send out relief. Traditionally,
the instruction is to begin doing tonglen for the ones who
spontaneously spark our compassion.
As we breathe in we visualize our hearts opening wide to accept the
pain. As we breathe out we send that bravery and openness. We don't
cling to it, thinking, "Finally I have a little relief in my life; I
want to keep it forever!" Instead, we share it. When we practice like
this, breathing in becomes opening and accepting what is unwanted;
breathing out becomes letting go and opening even further. Breathing in
or breathing out, we are reversing ancient habits of closing to pain
and clinging to anything comforting.
Some AIDS hospices encourage patients to do tonglen for others who
have AIDS. This connects them in a very real way with everyone in
their situation and helps to relieve their shame, fear, and isolation.
Hospice workers do tonglen to create an atmosphere of clarity so that
the people around them can find their courage and inspiration and be
free of fear.
Doing tonglen for another person ventilates our very limited
personal reference point, the closed-mindedness that is the source of
so much pain. To train in releasing our tight hold on self and to care
for others is what connects us with the soft spot of bodhichitta.
That's why we do tonglen. We do the practice whenever there is
suffering — either ours or others'. After a while it becomes impossible
to know whether we are practicing for our own benefit or for the
benefit of others. These distinctions begin to break down.
For example, perhaps we are practicing tonglen because we want to
help our ailing mother. But somehow our own reactive emotions — guilt,
fear, or pent-up anger — arise and seem to block a genuine exchange. At
that point we can shift our focus and start breathing in our conflicted
feelings, using our personal pain as a link with other people who feel
shut down and afraid. Opening our hearts to stuck emotions has the
power to clear the air and also benefit our mother.
Sometimes we might not know what to send on the out breath. We can
send something generic, like spaciousness and relief or
loving-kindness, or we can send something specific and concrete, like a
bouquet of flowers. For example, a woman who was practicing tonglen for
her schizophrenic father had no difficulty breathing in with the wish
for him to be free of suffering. But she would get stuck on the out
breath, because she had no idea of what to send him that could help.
Finally, she came up with the idea of sending him a good cup of coffee,
one of his favorite pleasures. The point is to use whatever works.
The practice is about opening to whatever arises, but it's important
not to be overly ambitious. We aspire to keep our hearts open in the
present moment, but we know it won't always be possible. We can trust
that if we just do tonglen as best we presently can, our ability to
feel compassion will gradually expand.
When we are practicing tonglen for a specific individual, we always
include the fourth stage, which is extending the compassion to everyone
in the same predicament. For example, if we are doing tonglen for our
sister who has lost her husband, we can breathe in the suffering of
other people who are grieving for lost loved ones and send them all
relief. If we are practicing for an abused child, we can breathe in and
out for all frightened, unprotected children and expand it even further
to all beings who are living in terror. If we are doing tonglen with
our own pain, we always remember those who have similar anguish and
include them as we breathe in and breathe out. In other words, we start
with something particular and genuine and then widen the circle as far
as we can.
I recommend using tonglen as an on-the-spot practice. Doing tonglen
throughout our day can feel more natural than doing it on the cushion.
For one thing, there is never any lack of subject matter. When a
strong unwanted feeling arises or we see someone hurting, there is
nothing theoretical about what we'll use to practice. There are no four
stages to remember and no struggle to synchronize textures with the
breath. Right there when it's very real and immediate we breathe in and
out with the pain. Daily life practice is never abstract. As soon as
uncomfortable emotions come up, we train ourselves in breathing them in
and dropping the story line. At the same time, we extend our thoughts
and concern to other people who feel the same discomfort, and we
breathe in with the wish that all of us could be free of this
particular brand of confusion. Then, as we breathe out, we send
ourselves and others whatever kind of relief we think would help. We
also practice like this when we encounter animals and people who are in
pain. We can try to do this whenever difficult situations and feelings
arise, and over time it will become more automatic.
It is also helpful to notice anything in our daily life that brings
us happiness. As soon as we become aware of it, we can think of sharing
it with others, further cultivating the tonglen attitude.
As warrior-bodhisattvas, the more we train in cultivating this
attitude, the more we uncover our capacity for joy and equanimity.
Because of our bravery and willingness to work with the practice, we
are more able to experience the basic goodness of ourselves and others.
We're more able to appreciate the potential of all kinds of people:
those we find pleasant, those we find unpleasant, and those we don't
even know. Thus tonglen begins to ventilate our prejudices and
introduce us to a more tender and open-minded world.
Trungpa Rinpoche used to say, however, that there are no guarantees
when we practice tonglen. We have to answer our own questions. Does it
really alleviate suffering? Aside from helping us, does it also benefit
others? If someone on the other side of the earth is hurting, will it
help her that somebody cares? Tonglen is not all that metaphysical.
It's simple and very human. We can do it and discover for ourselves
what happens.
This
article was excerpted from:
 The Places That Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times
by Pema
Chodron.
Reprinted with permission of the publisher, Shambhala Publications, Inc. ©2001. www.shambhala.com
Info/Order this book.
More books by this author.
About the Author
PEMA
CHODRON is an American Buddhist nun and one of the foremost students of Chogyam
Trungpa, the renowned Tibetan meditation master. She is the author of
The Wisdom of No Escape,
Start Where You Are, and the
best-selling
When Things Fall Apart. She is
the resident teacher at Gampo Abbey, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, in Canada, the
first Tibetan monastery for Westerners.
| Comments () >> |
 |
 |
