27 posts tagged “dharma”

What pre-existing conditions of my existence have the greatest potential or the most potency within them already to evoke drala, to invite the dharma to blossom in/as my life? What challenging and charged situations occur and recur most frequently, stir the most emotion and provoke the most conceptual reactivity? In short, where are my sticking points, where are my triggers, and what passions and interests inspire me most, and how can I relate to those particular aspects as fuel for the journey?

Shantideva wrote the Bodhicaryavata, so the story goes, as instruction for himself, which he later shared with the assembled folk of Nalanda University.  His instructions are per his particularities, his peculiarity, his preferred metaphor.  His primary klesha, at least as indicated in the text, was anger, and his favorite metaphors those of warriorship and battle.  While this is useful/helpful insofar as I can generally relate to it, anger isn't my primary mode. Military and combative imagery is for me more injurious than instructive. How can I relate to Shantideva's brilliant work and find a way, through reflection on his metaphors, to evoke my own method to work with my peculiarities?

My sticking points are around passion and ignorance -- the hallmarks of padma and buddha energies, if one is inclined toward the maitri or wisdom energy model derived from the Bon tradition via Tibetan Buddhism (they teach classes on it at Naropa, it's curious).  Regardless of the systems of relating to these root kleshas, passion and ignorance are identifiable in anyone's experience. How I delve into the Bodhicaryavata as a way to work with my own bodhisattva path might be beneficial to others who find that passion in particular is more generally a "thing" for them than anger.

What is passion?  In my experience:

• desire to connect intellectually, emotionally, physically
• palpable chemistry/energetic connection with an other
  
• vigorous enthrallment
• heady intoxication with the other/love
• falling in love with love/the other
  
• rhapsodic reflection and related busts of creativity
  
• tendency to relate to that which conveys meaning with a strong heart-filled warm emotion, often teary-eyed
• relying on my heart as the arbiter of truth and meaning

Bodhicitta is the inseperability of wisdom and compassion in our experience.  It's an experience, not a thing, arising from a direct realization of emptiness, from which we can cultivate a richer and deepening compassion. It is a blaze which can be kindled from any spark of love or heart-felt-ness.  My particular spark arises in intimacy. From/within that ground of loving another in a way that is not about me or them or us or selves or good aspects or ignoring bad aspects but simply the shared recognition of our interdependence, impermanence and potential to be awake in any and every moment, love/compassion/wisdom may take root and grow.

How did I get there, that loving that is not about selfish attachment or self-structuring or self-reinforcing or ideas of what that person can do for me or what I do for them or how we are as a pair or what the point of it all is or a sense of goal or a sense of relationship as a solid reference point or something permanent or any of the usual ways of codifying and normalizing and regulating relationship?

For myself, it begins with the disconnect between intimate relationship and the heteronormative modes of marriage and family.  While "marriage" of a sort and family are now recognized by American society as reasonable possibilities for "same-sex" couples, in the timing of my development of a sexuality and sexual identity, these possibilities were divorced from my horizon. For me now...well, that's a divergent topic. But let us say for now that my formative experience relates to view separate from the "traditional" and "normative" models of relationship.

A key piece is a recent remembering: when I first heard the names Santideva and Nagarjuna, it was at a Mahayana Buddhist retreat, from an ordained monastic.  A woman on the retreat had recently lost her husband, and was asking the monk if she would see her husband in a future life. He told her that it was very unlikely, and that the more she wanted it in this like the more unlikely it would be that they would ever connect. This was, of course, heartbreaking for her to hear.

It occurred to me at the time that the monastic perspective on human intimate relationship might be a bit lacking in the realm of sensitivity and understanding.  I developed a fierce sense of relationship being an important thing to understand, to have and share in healthy ways, and that it necessarily must relate to and contribute to a larger spiritual journey.  In a sense, this was a conceiving of the spirit of enlightenment, an awakening of my heart with a fierceness of conviction: what my heart knows is the path and provides fuel for the journey.

A sudden flash of enlightenment does not need training. It does not require an educational system. It is inborn nature, not dependent on any kind of training at all. The whole concept of needing training for things is a very weak approach, because it makes us feel we cannot possess the potential in us, and that therefore we have to make ourselves better than we are; we have to try to compete with heroes or masters. So we try to imitate those heroes and masters, believing that finally, by some process of psychological switch, we might be able to become THEM. Although we are not actually them, we believe we could become them purely by imitating -- by pretending, by deceiving ourselves constantly that we are what we are not. But when this sudden flash of enlightenment occurs, such hypocrisy doesn't exist. You do not have to pretend to be something. You ARE something. You have certain tendencies existing in you in any case. It is just a question of putting them into practice.

from Crazy Wisdom by Chogyam Trungpa

Free passion is radiation without a radiator, a fluid, pervasive warmth that flows effortlessly. It is not destructive because it is a balanced state of being and highly intelligent. Self-consciousness inhibits this intelligent, balanced state of being. By opening, by dropping our self-conscious grasping, we see not only the surface of an object, but we see the whole way through. We appreciate not in terms of sensational qualities alone, but we see in terms of whole qualities, which are pure gold. We are not overwhelmed by the exterior, but seeing the exterior simultaneously puts us through to the interior. So we reach the heart of the situation, and if this is a meeting of two people, the relationship is very inspiring because we do not see the other person purely in terms of physical attraction or habitual patterns. We see the inside as well as the outside.

from Myth of Freedom by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

Since Dathun, I've been remembering a lot of when I was 10 years old, reliving it viscerally, returning to places in my experience filled with ...well, a lot of unpleasantness I'd rather not recount at the moment, no more than I'd like to find myself re-experiencing it in any given moment. But there it is, inescapable and therefore available to the mindful eye.

On this particular date, 22 years ago, a teacher wheeled a television into our classroom, plugged it in and turned it on, tuning into news coverage of the Challenger Disaster, marking what would be a worldview-changing event for myself and my cohort. At the moment, the most remarkable piece is that it feels so very long ago in memory, in my sense of time and the events that fill in a life day-to-day, and yet in my body the stunned feeling, a stinging numbness, still lives and is felt in the space between heartbeats, as if waiting to lurch suddenly beyond an unexpected pause into a fluttering that shakes my bones.

This time of the year, the last ten days before the Losar, the lunar new year, is known in Tibetan culture as the döns -- a time when the döns themselves are running rampant, bringing with them all manner of unpleasantness.  My buddysatva Brenda related the perspective from the Sakyong that this time of year is when the entire past year's worth of accumulated karmic tendencies are experienced in a concentrated way. She said that it's a time when we can review our activities of the past year, our quality of engagement, our intention, and so forth, and decide what we wish to continue and carry forward into the new year, and what we would like to discontinue.

For the döns and any time of year, when negative experience comes pouring in, the basic instruction is to welcome it like a beloved guest. For myself, when looking at old shame, anger and frustration welling up from memory and from within my body like a suppurating wound, "welcoming the experience like a treasured friend" doesn't even rank last on the list of my preferred approaches. My usual response, residing alongside these flesh-bound memories, is to numb out, shut down, disconnect, dissociate. My preference is that whatever unpleasantry cease immediately and never reappear.

From the somewhat pop-psychological perspective, the inner child needs the outer adult to take care of her now in ways she wasn't able to when the pattern and energy became somatically ingrained. So, whether it's welcoming the unwelcome guest, or comforting the inner child, or making offerings to the döns, the nonviolent approach is the way through the negativity and confusion. Somehow, I have to welcome with gentleness what arises in my experience, whether that's somatic memory, storylines, people, conflict, illness, etc.

I believe, however, that one shouldn't be too loose with gentleness--there's always a need for precision. How can I be gentle with myself in those same moments when looking at where I have really erred during this past year?  How can I both hold myself accountable and firmly plant the intention to do no such harm again, while also avoiding swaddling myself up in blame, immobilized in guilt?  How can I come back out of the downward-spiraling numbness of dissociation and re-engage the tender edge of my experience.

With the bitumen taste of irony at the back of my throat, I recognize that faith remains a crux of my spiritual life, despite all attempts to move past and beyond what I learned in my Catholic upbringing. That faith sometimes still says "I believe in..." but it is also hope, trusting that whatever may occur is somehow part of the journey, fuel for the fire, and so on. I don't believe in a god or gods or g-d, but I still operate with some sense of that placeholder for a highest signifier. I try to remember that the only thing I might coherently conceptualize and hold in that highest place is love. Remembering that, just in the tiniest bit, even just conceptually, brings to heart the courage to step forward, again. And again. And again. Perhaps with a fluttering heart and shaky bones, but stepping forward into an unknown.

I remember also that in 1986 the movie Space Camp came out. When I went to Purdue University, I met so many peers who felt inspired by that movie that they chose to study engineering and other sciences at Purdue with intent to to become astronauts and/or engineers at NASA. What happened to the Challenger did not dissuade them, but perhaps instead gave them a sense that there's room for improvement and growth that they personally can participate in. In that memory of disaster and a finding of brilliant aspiration, there is some sense of faith.  Faith can, I believe, be a trust in that which is as incontrovertable as basic principles of physics as much as a trust in the unknown.

For myself, I hope that the many disasters and misdeeds of my past year are activities I will not re-engage in. I want to learn well from my follies, mistakes, blunders, and outright failures. I also hope that the many kindnesses I expressed, the gentleness I embodied, the love that I gave, will be growing capacities for the same. I hope that others may forgive me. I hope that I may forgive myself. I hope that I may engage in all activities with more mindfulness than I have previously, whether the previous year or the previous moment. I hope that I might remember love in each breath.

I'm going crazy. Time is a simultaneity; the stone dropped in the calm pool creates ripples moving forward and backward, lapping back to center once bounced off the shore. I'm already on retreat; my mind is showing itself to me in the spontaneous perspicacity of my actions. I keep stepping forward into opportunity, all caution catabatic. Each moment of self-reflection in which I am stunned dumb by my audacity. Whose? What?

I'm already on retreat: I touch my heart and start sobbing with the feeling I've resumed from where I left off five days from now. I feel my body in the clenching depth of it and perceive no difference in how she feels from orgasm from convulsive laughter. Sobs/laughter/coming birth/sex/death.

I'm already on retreat: I feel each hug as if I want it to last forever; I melt into the other feeling body/heart/mind flicker discontinuously then merge past the typical resistance. Sweetness pervades the meeting of lips, the sharing of breath. In the space between breaths I hear the clack and rattle of sound/noise/music/movement making to the wrathful fierce protectors (devour them/me with ferocious delight). No one speaks of the pain of the Vows, but I recognize the glimpse/grimace of it in the undertone of humor/pain in DPR's voice. Can I really do that? Or is the fortunate circumstances of this lifetime enough to show me that I have already done that, that the vow is merely reaffirming what was said long ago? This life is so good; the sweetness kills me. The more love I receive, the more I have a soul-deep responsibility to give.

I'm already on retreat: I've fallen in love, breath in air, a jigger into the sea. I yearn to dive into the brine up to my nostrils, savor the scent and taste of you. Let you go when it's time, but oh sweet, not just yet? Hook into me, catch and release. Fetch me out into ecstatic evocation; say my name.

I'm already on retreat: my appetite has shrunk, my sense of alcohol and other intoxicants has shifted; all altered states of consciousness evoke the desire to practice. My guts in particular are squirmish at indulgence, meat tastes of blood unconscionably spilt. With each whiff of ego's usual selfish aims I feel a nausea, vertigo, unable to stand. I cannot continue forward in this broken way, applying salves to a wound insatiable.

Brokenheartedness. Loneliness. Sadness. No way out of this. No solution to the basic human situation. Still, I chase it but the chasing continually fails to satisfy.

Thorn-pierced, ravaged bleeding and flaming heart of yours/mine, open, sun-scorched and wind-seared. Love is most true when freely given, beyond the edge of grasping.

Some reminders from Reggie:

1. Stay in your body
• Don't worry about other people
• Don't care about what others think
• Be very independent
• You are on your own
• Don't look to others
2. Stay in your practice
• if you are a cool, thinking person, be you
• don't try to be someone else.
3. Stay true to yourself, no matter what
• Listen to your inner voice, be who you are
• Do the work and REALLY be who you are
• No one will ever really understand you.
4. The dharma is truly is about outrageous openness
• 99% of the journey is clearing the space
  
5. Whatever is happening to you is the trustworthy thing
• You have to completely trust your own experience

I'm going crazy, but I'm willing to trust it. But can I ask you to trust me in that?

I just cranked this out during class time, as assigned:

1.      First Noble Truth

The dharma is about becoming fully and completely who one is.  Our relationship to suffering in this process is one of continually engaging with our sense of self-limitation, conscious and unconscious.  Wherever we are holding back, life comes in to meet us there. The suffering in the first noble truth is not only that of the basic suffering that all experience (birth, old age, sickness and death), but also the suffering of resisting, struggling against life as it is.

      Looking deeply into our suffering, we discover what those self-limitations, resistances and struggles are protecting: the fragility of our sense of self in the face of the truth of the tender heart.  We already know who we are—it is in the very cells of our body, permeating each breath, echoing in each thought. Underneath a veneer of constant, basic ignorance, which forms the basis of all of our suffering, the struggles we face and create in life are the very key to opening up to who we are.  Only by really looking into the cravings, aversion and aggression can we discover the path.

It is vital to understand suffering at the beginning of the path because suffering is the way.  It is not in the sense of pursuing pain masochistically—it is that suffering is the truth of relative experience.  We cannot avoid suffering, and so we must engage it directly.  To do otherwise is not the way.

Everywhere, people are in pain due to hunger, lack of shelter or care, war conditions, socioeconomic injustice, and so forth.  No matter what comfort and safety we may be afforded in our lives due to fortunate circumstance of seemingly arbitrary birth, suffering is everywhere, even in our little discomforts.  Through opening to our own pain and the pain of others, we find the way out, which is in and through suffering.

2.      Second Noble Truth

We suffer, in part, because we do not recognize that life and humanity are fundamentally good and sacred.  The societies in which we live continually tell us that some people are better than others, and other people are lower than dirt. These notions are reinforced continually by the messages of the modern world in the media, in the political actions of nations, in the marketplace, and so forth.  Against this onslaught of external perspective, it is difficult to recognize that everyone is fundamentally good and sacred in the same way, that life itself is worthwhile.  We suffer because we internalize this view in so many ways, leading to self-abnegation, self-deprecation, self-containment, self-destruction.  We internalize the view of how to treat our discomforts, turning to entertainment and pills and drugs and alcohol, and ever deeper into ignorance.

It is vital to understand the causes and conditions behind our suffering because without this understanding, we cannot begin to approach the reality of our suffering in a way that genuinely alleviates and gradually ends it.  No one suffering has a sole cause; each cause arises from other causes and other conditions.  It is impossible to understand the whole scope of causation, but an individual can begin to look within the scope of her own life, slowly tease apart the threads of elements like: family of origin issues, experiences in childhood, messages from the larger social context, personal beliefs and systemic ideologies, and so forth, and begin to see some of the influences that bring about experiences.  Furthermore, when looking at a particular aspect of suffering, such as racial prejudice, one can look directly at their experiences of encountering people of other races, notice the texture and qualities of that emotional and visceral experience.  Looking into that, one can identify the elements of fear, aversion, projected thought, judgment based on widespread racism, and so forth. Untangling these threads, the practitioner can come to work with what is there. 

This process of self-examination helps us to become more fully who we are by peeling back the layers of what is not actually us, such as anger and ignorance based on internalized views, and allow the more genuine parts of ourselves, which are open and curious, based on gentleness, to step forward.  Underneath all of those layers is a root of basic ignorance, which can be gradually illuminated through practice. That basic ignorance is a turning away from self and other and the interdependence and non-separateness of each.

3.      Third Noble Truth

In Old Path White Clouds, realization is presented as a complete dawning of wisdom, often expressed as a radiance, joy and light, full of gratitude toward the Buddha.  In the Buddha’s realization, the process of awakening is presented as completely immersed in and enmeshed with the environment, relating the non-separateness of the Buddha, his realization, and the Dharma.  The Buddha here is everything and yet nothing at the same time—the sense of a discreet “I” is dissolved into realization.

The Buddha’s realization is founded in his commitment to sit unmoving until he fully awakens.  In this, he must face the threat of the elements, which storm over him during the night.  Through his sitting, he realizes aspects of egolessness not just in this lifetime, but throughout the aeons of all of his lifetimes.  He also realizes the egolessness of all others, and sees that his awakening bears with it a commitment to others, to help liberate them from the binding circumstances and ignorance which keeps them in suffering.

The relation of relative experience to enlightenment is that the relative is the way.  Without knowing personal experience, without sitting mindfully unmoving through the struggles of pain or the assault of the elements or visions of Mara, there is no awakening.  In enlightenment, it is not the truth of relative experience that is transcended—it is the clinging and attachment to that relative experience as a separate “I” or “me” that is dissolved.  Realization is the full knowing of the interdependence of all things, self included, the radical continuity of individual experience with the entirety of the world.

Realization of interdependence is found in its entirety in the Tangerine of Mindfulness.  First, there is the beginner’s mind perspective of the children; their view is open, fresh and unprejudiced.  Next, there is the tangerine itself: the color of its skin shaded in response to sunlight, the pores of its skin open in exchange with the air, sharing its fragrance, the hand that plucked the fruit, the life of that individual, and the many routes that tangerine traveled in order to make it into your hand, the tree upon which it grew over the time it took to become a tangerine, the origin of the tree in the seed, the seasons in which it grew, the soil it was planted in, the worms and weevils and microscopic life within that soil, the rain and sun, the cycles of seasons, the influences on the microclimate within the geography of that region, how that geography came to be formed, the scope of geologic time back through to the origins of the earth, the distance between the earth and the sun, and so on. The chain of interdependent connection is endless, unfathomable, but can be glimpsed in the contemplation of a tangerine.

Peeling and eating the tangerine can be done mindfully, appreciating not just that single fruit, but the whole of its origin, the whole of oneself’s origin, the origins of others sharing the moment.  This is not a mere mental exercise, but a full-bodied engagement with what is, as it is experienced.  Appreciating the uniqueness of that one fruit, that one being, is a glimpse of realization.

4. Forth Noble Truth

The theme of the precepts on the path helps the individual by providing a sense of proper conduct.  Ethical behavior is not easily understood when basic ignorance is what is driving one’s whole way of being in the world, and so the precepts provide an outline of how to be in the world, in a very basic and approachable way, which reduces suffering in oneself, one’s relationships, and with whomever one encounters.  This helps one develop into a fully realized individual by providing a very basic sense of ground.

The theme of meditation on the path helps the individual by continually orienting them to the present moment as it arises in experience, mentally, physically, emotionally, and so on.  Meditation establishes the ground of being for the practitioner, familiarizing them with the vehicle for the journey: oneself. Meditation calms, stabilizes, develops concentration and opens the possibility for insight, all of which are vital for developing wisdom and realization, growing out of habit into full being.

The theme of relationship between teacher and student helps individuation by providing the student with an external reference point of someone who might just understand more or know better, or who has been there before, or who otherwise has sufficient critical view to help the student get past many aspects of ego-clinging and self-delusion.  The teacher also serves as a model, in some ways, of what the individuated person looks like.  The teacher also serves as a mirror, and a target for projections.  Through relating to the teacher, the student can see their mind and conceptions and misconceptions of self, other, practice, the path, enlightenment, and so forth.

For the teacher, the student provides some of the energy and liveliness which invites the Dharma into being.  The Dharma is not a static thing, recorded in sutras as spoken by the Buddha long ago.  The Dharma is a living thing, coming alive into each moment, nestled deeply and inextricably from the present circumstance of the person for whom it is expressed.  For the teacher, the student is the invitation for the Dharma to come alive, again and again, ever being and becoming its own entity individuated from the static record of history.

The theme of intimate relationships and relationships in general help us grow into fully individuated persons in ways similar to the student and teacher relationship with the mirroring, projecting and modeling.  However, it is more intimate because of the intensity of craving, grasping and clinging.  The intimate other, by simple fact of their presence in and sharing in our lives, show us how we are holding back from the tremendous intimacy of being, of love, which is not unique to that one relationship.  Through that intimate relationship, the practitioner can begin to glimpse the totality of being, of love, which may find its fullest expression in that particular relationship, but which is truly not apart from any relationship.  The intensity of love is the very most basic truth of being in connection with all beings.  The fully realized person recognizes this texture within their every interaction with every being.

5.      Conclusion

Thich Naht Hanh’s presentation of the Four Noble Truths is a departure from the traditional presentation because it so relative to life as it is lived by modern people.  Throughout the text, TNH presents themes which are more relevant to people who are lay practitioners in the modern world, such as: intimate relationships, family, politics and social justice.  The Four Noble Truths are illustrated throughout each theme.

The more traditional presentation, as seen in readings for this semester, is bone dry—it is for the reader to determine examples of how it may bear the most relevance.  As a scholar-practitioner, I do seek to cultivate the perspective and critical skill necessary to read sutras and derive from them the implicit teaching for my life, but as a relative beginner in this field of study, the more tangible and visceral examples provide the base for how to feel out that sense of meaning, vitality and instruction.

Rather than the traditional approach of writing to monastic audiences or elite scholarly audiences, TNH’s approach is rooted in basic humanity, what we have most in common. The theme of children, in particular, shows that a child-like innocence and curiosity is vital, fresh and completely appropriate for looking at the most basic and fundamental teachings of the Buddha.  The theme of intimate relationships too shows that the Four Noble truths may be discovered and known most deeply in the relationships we cleave to most strongly and feel most vulnerable in.  Rather than presenting the renunciant’s view, TNH shows that Buddhism and the Dharma can and rightly are a part of everyday life, available to all, and that the lay person’s path is as valid and fruitional as that of the monastic or the forest renunciant.

Aware of the suffering caused by invalidating or denying another person's experience, I undertake the training to refrain from making assumptions, or judging harshly any beliefs and attitudes that are different from my own or not understandable to me. I commit to being open-minded towards other points of view, and I commit to meeting each perceived difference in another person with the willingness to learn more about their world view and individual circumstances.

-- from the Precepts for Diversity

(notes from a class lecture on 11/6 in The Three Jewels with Reggie)

We have to come to terms with suffering as an inherent part of the sacred journey.  If you don't understand your personal suffering, you will never know real joy.

Suffering shows us where we are holding back; it's an indication of our disconnection within our own life.

Suffering is the only hope we have in getting through and over our narcissism.  Suffering is the very struggle with life as it is. We have to see what we're doing, how we're resisting, how we're fighting, how we're scared of our own experience, and open up to it.  This groundless engagement with the reality of our experience is terrifying to our most intimate self-conception.

The 4 Seals of the Dharmic Relationship:

1. We have no idea what we're doing together.
   
2. We have no idea what's going on
3. We have no idea where it's headed.
4. We have no idea why it's happening at all.

This is not about intentionally creating chaos--that's ego. This is not about having a tidy life. It's about being willing to welcome what turns up.

(my exposition)

Whenever Reggie gives a talk on dharmic relationship, I get the distinct sense that he's talking about the experience he has in his marriage. From an outsider's view point, including outside the dharma, not just outside that particular relationship, it sounds profoundly unhealthy.  It's enough to make one wonder why anyone would suffer so within a relationship.

We suffer so in relationship to ourselves, do we not?  What if you were to love another person's full being as much as your own? What if you were to cherish their ego-clinging in the same way you do your own, with the constant intent for freedom and the willingness to support the other's journey with the same vigor with which you pursue your own?

This all sounds very crazy, until you find that it is your experience.  And then it's sheer terror.  There's nothing to hold onto, not even a texture of experience.  There no reference point, not even the sense of commitment. It opens up and falls apart in each moment.  There's no control. There's no expectation. There's not even something to hope for or be in fear of, although hope and fear may play you out on a line, endlessly. The world of direct experience reveals to you the very emptiness at the heart of all the noise and chaos and mayhem you cling to as a sense of self and you realize that to commit to that other person is no different from committing to yourself, for your sense of self, you realize, is completely interdependent with all others.

The question then arises: why have intimate relationship at all if you realize the emptiness of self and other? Why not make that commitment of love to all beings? 

Why not do both?

Intimate relationship is a very real human experience and potentiality.To "sacrifice" the intimacy you may create, give, receive, and know for the sake of an idealized generalized relationship to all beings is a hollow idealism which conveniently (from the ego's perspective) sidesteps the difficult challenges of such intimacy. It's easy to experience a transcendent love for all beings when they don't challenge you, don't get up in your shit, don't point out where you're a selfish bastard, don't complain of the stink of your dirty laundry and your messy personal life.

Be fully human. Love fiercely. Fall apart. Get it back together, and fall apart again. Find your intimate capacity and push the edge wherever you find yourself met. Love with reckless abandon. Make love with reckless abandon. And fall apart again. Make it a practice, a journey, a way of life. May each moment of radical destabilization grow into greater capacity to be/become who you are and do the work you believe to be most important in this world.

Do no violence to yourself or others via your sense of idealistic expectation. Love self/other fiercely, against/within all fear.

I am also very glad to be studying with RAR.  Today in class we had a panel on safety and vulnerability (quite out of the usual context of talking about the life of the Buddha), in response to request from several of the MDiv students last week during one-on-one meetings. It is much food for contemplation.

What is it to feel safe enough to be vulnerable?  What kind of containment do I need?  How can I express who I am and what my experience is when I feel like another is waiting in ambush, to take advantage of, manipulate or impose their own agenda on my vulnerability?

Reggie spoke little during the class -- it was a panel and discussion.  When he did speak, he talked about the three levels of safety that he and the Dharma Ocean folk take care to establish and maintain for dathun:

1. Physical safety: Boundaries around non-retreat people coming onto the site.  Also around the shrine room/meditation hall, so that the structure of the space is maintained -- no people going in and out.  Protocol of movement and behavior in the shrine room: sequences of walking and sitting meditation, silence, and so forth.
2. Interpersonal safety: each person's experience is their own, and is not subject to judgment or interpretation by others. The meditation instructors and other staff there serve to support your practice and keep you practicing, not to shape your experience.  Also, a code of conduct for all participants which covers the whole scope of retreat, on or off cushion.
3. Experiential safety: This level of safety depends on the first two: there needs to be space for you to have/be your experience, and space to not be judged for it or taken out of it through any subtle manipulation. This is the level of safeyy necessary to permit the structure of ego to let go--you can experience chaos, catharsis, dissolution, whatever comes up, and continue to return.