Danaparamita: The Perfection of Sharing

In one of the most important and influential Mahayana sutras, The Diamond Sutra, is found one extended response from the Buddha to Subhuti who asks him:

“On what should a bodhisattva base themselves? On what should they base their minds?”

A bodhisattva is an "awakening being" committed to awakening for the sake of all life. The first thing the buddha reminds Subhuti is that the bodhisattva’s vows include the aspiration to help all beings awaken. However, he adds the caveat that a real bodhisattva takes such a vow while remaining uncaught in egoism, thinking that she is a being helping other beings; that in fact, though they vow to liberate all the numberless sentient beings, they must understand that in truth there are no such beings.

Then, he continues to say that the bodhisattva “ought to practice generosity (dana) without basing it upon anything…. Subhuti, when the generosity of a bodhisattva is not based upon any signs, her goodness is as immeasurable as the vastness of space throughout the ten directions.” Signs, or lakshana, are concepts that refer to something else. In The Diamond Sutra, the signs that we get attached to that must be seen through are perceptions, cognitions and emotions that arise and pass away. The problem is we often identify with these signs, creating a false identity.

He could have begun his extended answer with any number of profound teachings, and yet he begins with what on the surface can seem pretty mundane: “What’s so special about generosity? Anyone can do that!” And that is specifically the point! Whenever the buddha taught to a new audience, he began with the importance of generosity: “If you understand as I do the power of generosity, you’d not partake in a single meal without sharing it with others.” What the buddha also pointed out is that anyone, no matter their circumstances, can share with others, whether it is time, energy, or material resources; whether it’s the offering of a helping hand or a non-judgmental ear, a gentle smile or simply bearing witness, we can practice danaparamita, the perfection of sharing.

It is with danaparamita that the buddha’s teaching on interdependent origination becomes mutual inter-support. The important thing to take note of is that there isn’t a single thing specifically buddhist about danaparamita. Emerson refers to the interdependence of life when he says “The wind sows the seed, the sun evaporates the sea, the wind blows the vapor to the field…the rain feeds the plant, the plant feeds the animal.” Reading this, I am reminded of the poem, variously attributed to Hafiz, Rumi or Daniel Landinsky:

Ands still, after all this time

The Sun has never said to the Earth,

“You owe me.”

Look what happens with love like that.

It lights up the sky.

This is the understanding that nothing ever really "belongs" to us; everything is recycled again and again: the water of our tears may have once been dinosaur piss. Every breath you take is said to contain, on average, one molecule from Caesar's last dying breath.

In traditional societies, all of life was seen as a kind of natural generosity or sharing and so the first form of economics was the ‘gift economy’ with various customs of gift giving and circulating the gift kept primal human society fluid and healthy. In it’s earliest form, the potlatch ceremony of northwestern America was a grand ritual of giving away precious possessions by the tribe on the occasion of naming a new chief.

In Pali Buddhism, there were several categories of dana. One dual categorical model distinguished sharing that is unconditional, looking for no reward or recompense and the other sullied by the motivation for personal benefit. Another categorical model was three-fold: sharing of goods; teachings; and services: we can share time, energy and material resources.

There’s a zen story about dana:

A monk asked Hui-hai, “By what means can the gateway of our school be entered?”

Hui-hai responded: “By means of dana-paramita.”

The monk then said, “But there are six paramitas. Why do you mention only the one? How can this one alone provide sufficient means for us to enter?

Hui-hai then answered: “Deluded people fail to understand that the other five all proceed from the danaparamita and that by its practice, all the others are fulfilled.”

The monk then asked, “And why is it called ‘danaparamita?’

Hui-hai said: “Dana means relinquishment.”

The monk asked: “But relinqusihment of what?”

And Hui-hai then said: “Relinquishment of the dualism of opposites; relinquishment of self and other.”

It is this relinquishment that Dogen means when he says with intimate awakening “body and mind drop away.” He’s not talking about some non-physical, dis-embodied state of transcendence. He’s talking about the relinquishment of our limited self-centered orientation. Now, this isn't to say there isn't the unique individual with necessarily permeable boundaries; there is still a ‘center,’ but it’s relational and effusively outflowing: we eat and nourish ourselves in order to be present to all life. Self-care taken with this understanding can never be selfish. For instance, as an older parent wishing to be present to my daughter as she grows up, I feel the need to do what I can (exercise, eat well and moderately etc.) in order to support her development. This is not the outflow of “obligation” nor is it “self-sacrifice.” It is rather the effusive outflow of love. Recreation or “re-creation” is a necessary practice to prevent the bodhisattva’s outflow from drying up!

For dana to become danaparamita, we must move beyond the dualistic view of separation; of binary opposition and see how the giver and receiver are equally empty of any self-nature. There is the awareness that in giving we receive and in receiving we give. It becomes a living dynamic practice of interaction; of mutual action. When thinking of dana, of sharing, we may over-consider the role of the giver, but the receiver is also practicing dana in her sharing.

Receiving a share of something, receiving a gift, we get to practice grace, gratefulness, while also giving the person sharing with us the gift of an opportunity for generosity. And acts of generosity bring joy to the giver, so we are also giving the gift of joy in our graceful and grateful reception of the gift. AND, when we give, we are receiving this precious opportunity to go beyond ourselves by the one who receives our gift.

Dogen Zenji has this to say about giving:

“When one learns well, being born and dying are both giving. All productive labor is fundamentally giving. Entrusting flowers to the wind, birds to the season, also must be meritorious acts of giving… It is no only a matter of exerting physical effort; one should not miss the right opportunity.

Giving is to transform the mind of living beings… One should not calculate the greatness or smallness of the mind, nor the greatness or smallness of the thing. Nevertheless, there is a time when the mind transforms things, and there is giving in which things transform the mind.”

The root of danaparamita is bodhicitta, the aspiration and action towards awakening for the sake of all beings. This is not the self-centered motivation for our own peace and joy, but the realization that at the most fundamental root, none of us is free if all of us are not free.

The thing to keep in mind, as we look to practice danaparamita, is that we do not need to wait for some big realization or experience. You and I can practice dana, the sharing of trust and respect just as we are. Do so as if it were perfected, and it is indeed perfected. We practice “as if” even in the smallest acts, opening the door for someone, answering the phone, volunteering at a soup kitchen,  listening deeply to others, demonstrating in the streets. The only prerequisite is the will do to so.

  

What "Energy" Are You Talking About?

One of the confusions I find in contemporary New Age, Yoga and Buddhist communities relates to the misuse of the word “energy.” It would be helpful if the members of these often overlapping communities would understand and admit that their use of the word is metaphorical. The word “energy” has a very specific definition in science which gives us a very definite way of measuring it:

In physics, energy is simply the ability to do work. Objects can have energy by virtue of their motion (kinetic energy), by virtue of the position (potential energy), or by virtue of their mass (see E=mc2). None of this can be said of qi, prana, or any other alleged 'vital life force.' When someone talks about the "energy of a group of people" and they are speaking metaphorically we can -- for the most part -- understand what they are saying when they say "the energy of this group is very strong."

The confusion arises when new-agers talk about "non-material energy" and invariably refer to Einstein's famous equation: E=mc2 using it incorrectly to assert it is saying that material mass can be turned into nonmaterial energy (and vice versa). In fact, the equation is stating that energy is a quantifiable property of a material object. That is to say, a material object doesn't turn into energy, but into other material objects that carry energy.

Einstein's equation is the 'rest energy' of an object that has mass. It is stating the possibility of extracting E amount of energy from m kilogram of mass. One kilogram of uranium sitting in a stock pile has no energy, but if it is lifted several feet off the ground, it now has some potential energy and once it's made to enter into nuclear interactions, it's mass turns into energy carried away by the nuclear particles produced by the interaction. There is no place for woo. So, when I say, upon entering a room of new yoga students, that the energy seems "strong" or "high" I am simply saying that there seems to be a general excitement shared by the group that I can sense.

However, when new-agers and spiritualists use the term "energy" as in reference to one's body's "energy field," they're really saying nothing even remotely meaningful. Yet, as Brian Dunning has written, "this kind of talk has become so pervasive in our society that the vast majority of Americans accept that energy exists as a self-contained force, floating around in glowing clouds, and can be commanded by spiritualist adepts to do just about anything." For instance, alleged Qi or Chi Masters are said to be able to move objects without touching them. A whole school of martial arts is supposed to be based upon the control of qi where a master can take down a slew of opponents without touching them. Of course, if you have complicit students willing to believe anything can seem possible then near miraculous effects can be simulated, but when such woo fantasy meets reality, reality wins. Ironically, the MMA martial artists who exposed the delusion of this qi martial arts "master" was excoriated by many in China for insulting tradition!

Dunning suggests that "when you hear the word "energy" casually used to explain a mystical force or capability, require some clarification. Require that the energy be defined. Is it heat? Is it a spinning flywheel?

He offers this good test: "When you hear the word energy used in a spiritual or paranormal sense, substitute the phrase 'measurable work capability.' Does the usage still make sense? Are you actually being given any information that supports the claim being made? Remember, energy itself is not the thing being measured: energy is the measurement of work performed or of potential."

Dunning gives a good example from a claim made by Kundalini Yoga adepts:

The release and ascent of the dormant spiritual energy enables the aspirant to transcend the effects of the elements and achieve consciousness.

He writes: "This would be a great thing if energy was indeed that shimmering cloud that can go wherever it's needed and perform miracles. But it's not, so in this case, we substitute the phrase "measurable work capability" and find that the sentence is not attempting to measure or quantify anything other than the word energy itself. We have a "dormant spiritual measurable work capability" and no further information. That's pretty vague, isn't it? For this claim to have any merit, they must at least describe how this energy is being stored or manifested. Is it potential energy stored in the chemistry of fat cells? Is it heat that can spread through the body? Is it a measurable amount of electromagnetism, and if so, where's the magnet? In any event, it must be measurable and precisely quantifiable, or it can't be called "energy" by definition." 

Dunning continues: "There's a good reason why you don't hear medical doctors or pharmacists talking about energy fields: it's meaningless. I think it's generally good policy to remain open minded and be ready to hear claims that involve energy, but approach them skeptically, and scientifically. The next time you hear such a claim, substitute the phrase "measurable work capability" and you'll be well equipped to separate the silly from the solid."

RESOURCES:
https://skeptoid.com/episodes/4002 http://ascienceenthusiast.com/the-d...

Here It Is (A Post-Midnight Reverie)

The Blue Cliff Record, Case 52 is sometimes referred to as “Seppo’s ‘What is it?’” The introduction to the koan says, “As soon as there is affirmation and negation you lose your mind in a flurry, but without descent into stages, there is no way of seeking. So tell me, is it right to let go, or is it right to hold still? Dogen-zenji said, “Breathing in or breathing out, after all, what is it?” I'm asking now, "Who can tell?"

“Here is your crown

And your seal and rings.

And here is your love

For all things.”

My teacher, Samu Sunim, would often remind us to pay attention to “Just this; Right here; Right now.” His “just this” would reverberate through my bodymind and sometimes illuminate my actions and sometimes dumbfound me. But today, listening to Leonard Cohen’s “Here It Is” I felt a frisson of recognition. And I thought of one of my favorite stories found among the koan collections:

Guishan asked Daowu, “Where are you coming from?”

Daowu said, “I’ve come from tending the sick.”

Shan said “How many people were sick?”

Wu said, “There were the sick and the not sick.”

“Isn’t the one not sick you?” Guishan said.

Daowu said, “Being sick and not being sick have nothing to do with the True Person*. Speak quickly! Speak quickly!”

Guishan said. “Even if I could say anything, it wouldn’t relate.”

Later Tiantong commented on this, saying, “Say something anyway!”

Who are the sick? Who are the not sick? How can we tell?  Is there a difference or is there not? Especially if being sick and not being sick are ultimately irrelevant to living the authentic life. To help understand the questions being asked here, it may be helpful to know that from at least one understanding of this dialogue, all of us are sick, suffering from a fatal disease called "life." We all know the prognosis: we will die. Given this, who can the "not sick" possibly be?

“Here is your cart,

And your cardboard and piss;

And here is your love

For all this.”

It’s all piss, isn’t it? We’re born, we age, we love, we lose love, and we die. And yet, Cohen reminds us that we can live from a place where we love “all this.” How is this possible? Or, again, might we understand this phrase, "For all this," to mean what does love matter in the face of all this? It seems the statement can go either way.  And yet...

“May everyone live,

And may everyone die.

Hello, my love,

And my love, goodbye.”

My daughter asked me this morning, upon hearing this refrain, “Why does he say ‘goodbye’ to his love?” Why, indeed? Can we ever say “goodbye?” Or, perhaps more accurately, when we say “Goodbye,” (because we do and it happens more than we like to contemplate) what do we mean? What are we really saying? Everyone alive lives and everyone alive dies. We’re alive until we’re not. There’s no discrete point where we go from “living” to “dying.” Love, too, lives and dies in each heartbeat, each breath, each moment. And yet, what is it? What is "love?" And what lives? What dies? Is it (love), like living-dying, something that cannot be pinned down?

“Here is your wine,

And your drunken fall;

And here is your love,

Your love for it all.”

Really? Even for the heartbreak? Can we, do we love even the fall? When my heart breaks, as it does now, I find it hard to even imagine loving the fall, and yet, if I’d never loved; if I’d never felt loved, could I ever have experienced such a fall? So, isn’t this fall an integral part of “it all?” And I do; I really do want to love it all. And I remember this long night, that a Marist brother once told me, “We can love it; we don’t have to like it.”

“Here is your sickness;

Your bed and your pan.

And here is your love

For the woman, the man.”

Daowu, when asked by Guishan, “Where are you coming from?” responded by saying “I’ve come from tending the sick.” But, as Guishan points out, we aren’t sure who and how many are sick. How can we even tell the difference? He asks, “How many people were sick?” After Daowu says there were the sick and the not sick, and Guishan then further muddles down the path of discrimination by asking, ““Isn’t the one not sick you?” Daowu’s retort, “Being sick and not being sick have nothing to do with the True Person” can really put one’s knickers in a bind. Or turn our world upside-down. How is this possible? “As soon as there is affirmation and negation you lose your mind in a flurry…” As soon as we speak of being ill and not being ill, our mind is lost in confusion.

“And here is the night,

The night has begun.

And here is your death

In the heart of your son.

And here is the dawn,

(Until death do us part).

And here is your death,

In your daughter’s heart.”

Here, in the play of night and day, here is your love for it all, but, lest we forget, the Sandokai advises, “In the light there is darkness, but don’t take it as darkness; In the dark there is light, but don’t see it as light. Light and dark oppose one another like the front and back foot in walking.”

Notice that the front foot is never the front foot for long; nor does the back foot remain the back foot. “Each of the myriad things has its merit, expressed according to function and place.”

And within the very hearts of our children, those, in other words, who follow, perhaps including even the consequences of our actions, already lives our death. So what is “life?” What is “death?”

“And here you are hurried,

And here you are gone;

And here is the love,

That it’s all built upon.”

Such a fragile foundation to build upon. And yet, can anyone propose something of greater strength and value? What is it?

Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom

When the jungle shadows fall.

Like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock

As it stands against the wall.

Like the drip, drip drip of the rain drops

When the summer showers through

A voice within me keeps repeating

You, you, you….

Cole Porter knows of what he sings. Night and day, day and night, “it’s no matter” where s/he is. The longing follows wherever we go. Whether in the traffic’s boom or the noisy silence of one’s lonely room, there is the “hungry, yearning, burning” that ceaselessly torments the lover. But what is it?

“Here is your cross,

Your nails and your hill;

And here is your love,

That lists where it will.”

“And may everyone live,

And may everyone die;

Hello, my love,

And my love, goodbye.”

Here it is...

* The concept of the "true person" is a bit problematic. There is within the zen traditions, the influence of Vedanta and Taoism that has led to a persistent tendency to reify the "mind" as a kind of subtle atman. The "true person" in this understanding is the essence behind the deluded, ever-changing bodymind.

From a naturalist perspective, however, talk of the "true person" can be understood as merely a metaphor for living from intimate authenticity.