10 Equanimity
The great lesson here is that it is not what is happening that is important, but rather how we are relating to it.
— JOSEPH GOLDSTEIN
The Tenth Parami: Equanimity
The Pali word upekkha, which we translate as equanimity, is used to designate the tenth parami in Buddhist texts. It means non-reactivity and even-mindedness toward phenomena and is more commonly understood as the quality of composure — an evenness of mind and temper, the ability to remain calm and undisturbed.
Instructions: Path to Peace
“I don’t know if you remember,” Joseph says, “but I often tell the story of two neighbors here in Massachusetts. They were building a house in the woods, in a location where there were a lot of blue herons. When they finally moved into the house, they heard a faint chirping in the unfinished basement area. And they were so happy because they thought the blue herons had somehow made a nest down there. Not wanting to disturb them, they did not venture into the space for several days. Every time they heard the chirping, it brought them much joy. Then one day the contractor came by. He went down into the basement, then came back up and told them, ‘Your smoke alarm down in the basement is broken and chirping. You need to get a replacement.’ After that, they got totally annoyed every time they heard the chirping noise — the very same sound that had brought so much happiness just the day before! These are concepts, obscuring equanimity, obscuring our ability to be with things as they are.”
Joseph’s Instructions: Working with Equanimity
1. First, notice what it feels like when equanimity is present. Then, watch through the day for whenever you have a reaction or desire arise that pushes away equanimity.
• When you see equanimity is not there, investigate why it isn’t there. What just happened?
• Practice when on the receiving end of speech. Watch for little reactions while listening that might push away equanimity.
2. Next we begin investigating what is beneath initial reactions/responses: See if there are certain conditions that automatically tend to give rise to reactivity in small or big ways.
• One way to investigate this is when you notice you have a reaction to something arising, work with letting it in.
• Watch for how the equanimous mind is a support for this process.
• Also watch for how the equanimous mind is a support for work with other paramis.
3. Now we go deeper: When you notice you are not impartial, investigate further. What is the idea or concept you may be holding that gives rise to the reaction you are experiencing?
• Explore the relationship between those concepts and equanimity using the various sense doors.
• Where does the mind tend to get caught, preventing equanimity from arising spontaneously?
4. And finally: Watch the mind’s relationship to pleasant and unpleasant.
• Is the mind impartial, equanimous with each?
• Try observing this in response to others. Am I responding to everyone equally?
• And if not, why not? Where do I tend to be impartial?
“This quote from Ajahn Chah describes the process well,” Joseph says. “If you let go a little, you will have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you will have a lot of peace. If you let go completely, you will have complete peace. Your struggle in this world will have come to an end.”
Our practice is not to follow the heart; it is to train the heart.
— AJAHN SUMEDHO
(IN JOSEPH GOLDSTEIN’S A HEART FULL OF PEACE)
Working with Equanimity: We Ask, What Just Happened?
I have experienced deep states of concentration more profound than the blissful states that precede them, a tranquility so complete that even to take a breath feels like adding something more than what is necessary. It is sublimely peaceful to rest here, quintessentially content. I access this place through meditation. I would like to have more access to it in daily life. Maybe not a tranquility as lucid and fulfilling as can be found in deep meditation, but more than I am experiencing when I am suddenly whipped off center by life’s inevitable surprises and setbacks. This is what I hope to achieve this month working with equanimity.
And so I begin. I am attending a meeting of the Spirit Rock Meditation Center Capital Campaign Committee. This is our first such meeting to discuss raising funds to build several new structures at Spirit Rock. There will be a presentation, but mostly, because it is our first meeting, there is time to socialize and get to know other team members. I arrive with an additional agenda item — investigate my equanimity. As I chat casually, and especially as I listen, I watch for those little non-equanimous reactions. I find many arise from wandering attention, unrelated to the person or the conversation. I smell food: curiosity then desire arise, and I glance around for the appetizers. I am enjoying a conversation, but I am also looking for the next person I want to speak with before the presentation begins.
Curiously, each time my focus wanders away from the person I am speaking with, so does my equanimity, my open mind. Surprise! I watch as I slide into desire. One or two distracted moments and suddenly I want something. I want something else. I want something different than the conversation I am having. Refocus. I continue watching reactions, feelings, emotions, and desires arising as I am speaking and listening to the other person. I decide they are using too many words to make a point and I fade out, eavesdrop on a neighboring conversation that is much more animated and looks like fun. Or I notice the person I am speaking to is looking over my shoulder at someone else! Or I hold an opinion different than the one they are articulating and I tune out while rehearsing my response. In fact, a fountain of unskillful, disheartening, but also familiar reactions continues to arise as I work my way around the room. Not all of the time. But much more often than I had imagined.
As the presentation begins, slides are shown with renderings of the new buildings drawn into the existing landscape. Also depicted are ethereal, white, translucent figures wandering the grounds, sitting at picnic tables, standing on a bridge together, and gazing toward the hills. I guess this is how architects depict humans in the future, but I do think they looked enlightened, and appropriate, gracing a place offering the possibility of transformation. They look heavenly but also insubstantial. Our strong fog winds would surely blow them all away. And then I smile, recognizing the same insubstantiality in my earlier stumbles and reactions. It is simply behavior habituated after years of often tedious business cocktail parties. I remind myself to just begin again, and settle back into my chair to do just that. Relaxed and open, I welcome back equanimity with renewed aspiration.
I think of equanimity as that deliciously languid place where I feel everything is just as it should be. Everything is fine. I am working easily within what is. Often in meditation I find this quiet serenity. Cooking — just chopping, mixing, sautéing — can bring it on. I am tranquil and content. This week, I am eager to watch for where and how I can slide out of that wondrous feeling that nothing arising has the potential to disturb or ruffle me. And then, right on cue, I take a call from upset clients, or I am missing a key ingredient for the dish I am making and need to go out to get it. Instead of just habitually reacting and then toppling further into desire for something different, I try to catch that dynamic in progress, determined to see if and how I can respond differently. I want to learn how to open to what is not in my grand plan for life and practice how to stay in that beguiling open place of equanimity.
I am very busy at work this month, and life is piling up on itself — rescheduled meetings, pressing calls, appointments, reports, emails, plus home chores and family responsibilities. I am experiencing many periods of feeling overwhelmed by all the commitments, and then more overwhelmed at the idea of investigating overwhelm as a concept perhaps up for some scrutiny. Overwhelm is simply another restrictive perception that if allowed to fester unchecked can add more misery and unclarity to a currently difficult moment. We can get trapped inside a mind of delusion. Joseph has told me the feeling that “this is too much” is a signal the mind is not equanimous. So I try working with opening to and allowing the situation of “too much” to just be what it is. Then I stretch to letting it all in by dissecting it into its pieces: the overwhelm, resistance, discouragement, panic, and so on. This questioning and breaking it into pieces, surprisingly, I find immensely refreshing. Oh, it’s just this. Just that. I can handle this quickly now. I can tackle that tomorrow. The overwhelm dissolves into the pieces that fueled it, which seem much easier to address and tackle individually. Sylvia Boorstein says, “May I open to this moment fully. May I greet it as a friend.”
I wait. Take a breath. Wait. A couple more slow breaths. Look again, more deeply. I wait until I feel a moment of balanced, equanimous mind. Then I ask — very cautiously, very gently, with curiosity — “What just happened?” Again I find just the willingness to make the inquiry brings respite. Now I am the one outside, investigating what is transpiring inside. Reaching this place of serenity, if only for a moment, within tumultuous emotions, feels empowering. I have the thought that before I tumble into the next unguarded moment, I want to look around here. I want to anchor this place and program the route.
Just those few moments, and more like them repeated throughout the day, begin to genuinely shake up a seemingly solid, unsatisfactory, and very familiar mind state, allowing for clearer comprehension and an opening to options I had not seen. When we pause and step outside a habitual reaction, wisdom helps us see that overwhelm is just another painful but untrue concept, a story we are painting and then stuck in. Just seeing that, if only for brief moments at a time, begins to crack its solidity. After a while, continually feeling (choosing) a response of overwhelm begins to seem just a tad indulgent, and that woe-is-me syndrome a bit old.
Another morning, while showering before work, I play with labeling whatever is arising. Pleasant body sensations are present, warm water massaging my scalp, tight calves, sleepy face. I linger, indulging in the pleasant sensations. Thoughts drift by. I chomp on some, let others pass. Planning thoughts, of course. But as soon as I use the label “planning,” the thought dissolves in the steam. I am getting quite skilled at heading planning off at the pass.
We can also use the loving-kindness phrases, repeated a few times silently, to help balance the mind, bring it back into equanimity. On clearer days, we may find the loving-kindness phrases arising unbeckoned as we begin to drift out of balance. Then, resting in equanimity again, loving-kindness just naturally becomes our response to whatever is happening. We can also add viriya energy into the pursuit — asking the question, listening, opening again. So many shiny new tools we have assembled for ourselves.
Dropping a concept = equanimity. Equanimity = no concept. I am in the kitchen getting breakfast when I slowly become aware of a whining noise. What new construction device do they have now up the hill? It continues to get louder, and I, more annoyed. Then I see the street cleaning machine go by. Oh! Instantly I feel my shoulders drop as I perceive the noise as welcome instead of unwelcome. The street needed a good washing. Concepts — so pervasive, so restrictive, so blinding. I’m suddenly reminded of Joseph’s beeping smoke alarm story. One of his famous early talks was entitled “Concepts and Reality.” Notice he didn’t call it “Concepts versus Reality.” Just one and the other.
We have a choice. We can watch helplessly as we tumble into a concept, or we can remain in an open, easy, welcoming awareness of every piece as it arises. Ah, concept. Ah, reaction. Ah, aversion to reaction. And so on. Sounds, smells, sights, thoughts, concepts arising and passing away. The choice to make up a story around them is ours. You may find, as I did, that it is not as difficult to be open and equanimous as it is difficult to remember to be, especially as our tendencies can be well habituated. But each time we are able to recognize the tendency and still remain equanimous, we widen the pathway, broaden our chances it will appear as an option, not a given, the next time. We do not have to be swept away with the hubris.
Last night I watched a documentary entitled Wagner’s Dream. Have I mentioned I love opera? The movie was about the process of producing the New York Metropolitan Opera’s first Ring Cycle in over twenty years, a production that included a massive new machine designed to serve as all the sets. Just the visioning, designing, and production of the machine alone was filled with confusion, missed deadlines, and failures. Once it was miraculously installed on stage, rehearsals were filmed, many with machine-related mishaps: a terrified Rhinemaiden frozen in place on a tilted piece of the machine; a star singer stumbling and falling during a rehearsal and proclaiming he would not return; the machine failing during the grand finale on opening night.
Throughout, the producer, the stage manager, the opera general director, and the technicians were incredibly unruffled and composed. I was struck by their response of calm curiosity as various mishaps were presented to them. Did they become this way gradually over years of dealing with the turmoil of live performances? Did they work on achieving that steadiness, or were they just born with it? The even-mindedness they brought to each challenge, each discussion, and each mishap certainly looked like equanimity to me. Their continued open response and curiosity were inspiring.
Naturally, as has happened in so many previous months, the perfect foil to my best-laid equanimity aspirations arises in the equanimity month. We have a new neighbor, something rare in this close-knit neighborhood of longtime residents. And she has quickly become a serious obstruction to my aspiration for expanding equanimity. The weather is warm now, and we sleep with the bedroom windows open. Our bedroom is on the back of the house, and the new neighbor’s house and outdoor parking space are across a small lane from us. Suddenly we find ourselves being awakened most every night between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. by the sounds of her coming home. She drives up the lane and into her driveway with music blaring, then sits in the driveway, music ripping holes in the quiet. Finally she exits her car only to, repeatedly, open and slam the car doors shut, music still rocketing through the night. Twice already this week I have to restrain Ron, who wants to jump from the bed and go out to the street to speak to her. I lay awake, long after it is quiet again, with visions of recruiting all the neighbors to stand silently together, in our pajamas and bathrobes, in the street. This, of course, is not a response I would characterize as compassionate.
Ron and I have worked hard to get along with all our neighbors, but this new neighbor is now a serious challenge to that aspiration for equanimity. Last night we heard a neighbor yell out into the darkness, “Turn off the fucking music.” I feel she is unaware of her impact, but I am also loathe to be the one to say anything. Ron feels she is inconsiderate and that the issue needs to be addressed, although he, too, hesitates. He also appreciates that we are friendly with everyone. This has taken some effort, and some restraint, over the years.
Then something curious happens. I am having breakfast in the backyard, Ron already at work, when a tow truck backs up the small lane and stops. At the edge of our backyard is a two-story-high, thick bamboo hedge — great for privacy but not as a sound barrier. I can clearly hear our new neighbor speaking with the mechanic. Her car has a flat tire. The mechanic is talkative, friendly. I hear him ask her what she does as he drags equipment from his truck to change the tire. And I am fairly certain that her answer is “rock star.”
Now my first (yes, non-equanimous) thought is, Who would describe themselves as a rock star, even if that is what they do? Musician, maybe. Singer. Performer. I have seen her only once, briefly, from afar, but I do suddenly remember the barely-there jean shorts, cowboy boots, and wild, curly blonde hair. As soon as I hear “rock star,” everything falls into place. Her appearance fits. The late nights fit. The music and unloading of the car fit. Even the gravelly voice, now, clearly resonates as a singer’s voice. I am not sure I overheard her words correctly. But still . . . rock star? Really?
They continue speaking about recording studios and bands, and I figure I must have heard what I heard. Now I am pretty certain she may not be aware of the impact her late night arrivals have on the rest of us, and my resistance dissipates. When I tell Ron what I overheard, his response also now becomes one of more equanimity. We laugh. Suddenly she is no longer the Inconsiderate One. She is the Inconsiderate Rock Star! We did eventually see her on the street and expressed kindly our feelings about the late night music. She did promise to turn the music off as she entered the street, and did so, but within a couple months she had moved on. We heard other neighbors were not so kind.
As I complete this last month’s parami work, many times throughout a day I will feel all the paramis working together like a symphony. Sometimes it is the violins, loving-kindness, sweetly and softly gladdening the heart. Sometimes the drums predominate; that would be viriya. Equanimity feels like the conductor, from whose direction all the players know when to enter, when to play, and when they have a solo.
Of course, there are moments when I do get angry, but in the depth of my heart, I don’t hold a grudge against anyone.
— THE DALAI LAMA
Look at others, remembering everyone wants to be happy.
— JOSEPH GOLDSTEIN
Check-In Conversation: The Essence of the Path
“Hi, Joseph.” I am calling on a lazy Sunday afternoon, from my bed, having just attempted to nap away the resurgence of a cold.
“Well, hello, Gail.”
I cough several times, then sigh. “I seem to have caught your cold,” I say, which makes us both laugh, as we have only spoken by phone since he had a cold.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” he commiserates.
“I am definitely under. You know, I heard myself boast to you about not having been sick for three years, and I think it was less than a week later . . .” I laugh.
“Uh-huh. That happens to me, too,” he says. “I have the thought, Oh, I haven’t been sick in a while, and then . . .”
“That’s it!” I say, laughing, then coughing. “Last night Ron said to me, ‘How nice it must be to just lie around the house all day, because you can’t do anything.’ And I said to him, ‘No, no, no . . . don’t go there. You’re going to be sick next!’ But actually, it has been rich territory for investigation of equanimity while feeling so lackluster now at the end of the month.”
“Oh, definitely.”
“I’ve now added being sick to my list of places where I don’t always feel equanimous.”
“Yes, and that’s an important practice.”
“It took me a couple of days to see that, however,” I say, coughing again. “OK, so my report on equanimity. You said equanimity means non-reactivity. And I found that really useful, because equanimity is kind of tough to recognize in daily life. But that quality of being non-reactive I can definitely feel.”
“Another good word I like for it is ‘impartiality.’”
“Mm-hmm, that’s good too.” I am quiet while considering this. “Again, using sickness as the arena, that would be like saying, ‘OK, just this cold now.’” I laugh, feeling how untrue that is for me in this moment, coughing, trying to focus, trying to sound like I have properly completed the homework. Clearly I am not impartial about being sick. “Being impartial. Tough.”
“Right.”
“First, I admit I am a little unclear about exactly how to work with or differentiate equanimity from loving-kindness or compassion.”
“Well, compassion is actually a more active state. It’s the movement toward the suffering, followed by the motivation to do something about it. That idea is behind Thich Nhat Hanh’s phrase ‘Compassion is a verb.’ You know that one?”
“Yes.”
“Which really implies, ‘How can I help?’ So that is different than equanimity. And it is different also than loving-kindness, because loving-kindness focuses on the good qualities of others. It is the feeling that arises from that place. Equanimity just sees everything as it is. It’s not particularly focusing on the good or the bad. It is seeing everything just for what it is. I know you’re familiar with the equanimity phrase ‘All beings are the heirs of their own karma; their happiness and unhappiness depend upon their own actions, not upon my wishes for them.’”
“Yes! I loved that phrase the first time I heard it from you, years ago. My heart relaxes each time I hear it, and I say it to myself often, like when I am frustrated with another’s . . . stubbornness,” I say, chuckling.
“That is the wisdom mind of equanimity. It is bringing understanding, through equanimity, to that level of understanding, that of the karmic unfolding.”
“So it is equanimity first, then, that opens us up for a response of loving-kindness or compassion?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
This is a new and useful idea, I’m thinking. It seems obvious that equanimity, that state of just being OK with things as they are, is the starting point for the heart to open with loving-kindness, or with compassion, or both. They would naturally be our response when we have no preconceived notion or concept or desire or aversion.
“Then, watching myself through the Spirit Rock event, for example, whenever I had a reaction or desire arise that was pushing away the equanimity, that was pretty easy to see,” I say.
“Right.”
“Also watching for all the little reactions that were happening as I listened. I guess everyone has that experience of listening while watching those thoughts and feelings and reactions arising uninvited as someone is talking.”
“Yes.”
“OK. A question. I am feeling a bit dull, but here goes: Is working with equanimity more about investigating why or when one is not equanimous, thereby opening us up to its natural arising? That feels very different than doing something, as with generosity or loving-kindness or renunciation. In other words, it doesn’t feel so much like a process of doing; it feels more passive. Is this right?”
“Well, I think that, in one respect, one could say that. But it is also, as you know, something that can be practiced. So in that sense there could be a doing aspect to it.”
“I guess that’s what I’m a little unclear about. How exactly does one practice strengthening equanimity, as opposed to watching for its presence or absence?”
“Well, for example, when you are doing the equanimity meditation, repeating the phrase, you are cultivating the quality of equanimity. It’s a state, just like all the others, that can be cultivated.”
“But in daily life, when you are practicing or working with it, it seems more passive. Or is it the quality of noticing when it’s not there? — First you notice that it’s not there and then, by paying attention, you are able to choose to just drop into it?”
“Well, but remember,” he says slowly, “that process you are describing would probably take a little investigation . . .”
“To naturally drop into it?”
“To recognize that equanimity is not present. That recognition. When you see it’s not there, then you ask the question, ‘Why isn’t it here?’ You have the recognition it’s not there and then ask the question. So all of that, you could say, is a kind of doing.”
“Ah. That’s true. I’m with you now. And then, by actively watching for those times when equanimity is not present, we begin to see if there are certain things that habitually give rise to reactivity, in small or big ways. Or certain groupings where we are less than equanimous, like cocktail parties! And that is a process, a strengthening of our skillfulness. That’s basically how I’ve been working with it. I see.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“To which I have now added being sick! This has been several days now,” I laugh, “and I find ‘Enough already!’ often arising and clouding the equanimity.”
“Yes,” he says, chuckling.
“OK, Joseph, watching for how the equanimous mind is a support for the other paramis — for everything, actually — was very insightful, because I found it went from theory to actually something specific for me to focus on and work with. It was especially insightful using it as an investigation of all the crap arising . . .” Joseph laughs. “I mean all the unskillful mind states that arise while I’m sick. It is really a bounty of new behaviors to investigate, when I’m not totally lost in the ‘poor me saga,’” I say, laughing.
“Oh, yes.”
“You mentioned that one of the useful ways to investigate here is, when you have a reaction to something arising — especially if it’s something complex, like the concept of “overwhelm” — to work with just letting it in. Opening to it without preferences or aversion. So that would be equanimity, right? To actually embrace the feelings of overwhelm? You know, ‘Oh, there’s Gail toppling into overwhelm again. No worries.’” We laugh.
“Right,” he says.
“I don’t think I’ve explored that dynamic with the other paramis. And I can see now how valuable that could be.”
“Yes.”
“So if one is experiencing an equanimous state, the mind balanced and open, we just naturally respond with compassion. But when we don’t have that equanimous mind that’s balanced, then we can struggle just to let something be, to let anything in, right? I think that’s really helpful to understand.”
“Right. In our vipassana tradition, when we talk about the brahmaviharas (or four immeasurable attitudes), when we study them, we always begin with loving-kindness. In the Tibetan scheme, when they talk about the brahmaviharas, it is my understanding that they always begin with equanimity. And I think for just that reason.”
“Oh. Because it is a good basis for opening to everything else.”
“Yes. It’s just what you’re talking about.”
“That’s interesting. And it’s funny because when we were working with resoluteness, I felt certain we should have started there, that resolution should have been the first parami, because it gives you the energy and the carry-through aspect to better succeed in this work. But in fact each parami is so different, and the way to work with each is so different. You just can’t push,” I say, laughing. “Before you can know what to do with it, you’ve got to first notice what is arising, and that understanding really comes more easily from a balanced place of equanimity.”
“Right. Exactly.”
“So I was just thinking equanimity should have been the first factor, and now you say it is in the Tibetan teachings.”
“Yes.”
“That is interesting to me. OK, so here’s another challenge to my equanimity that I am struggling with. I, oh so lovingly, call it the “Leaf-Blower Rhapsody.” You probably don’t deal with this much, because your house is set off apart, but you know how close the houses are here. Every day there’s a different gardener in a different yard with a different leaf blower. Or so it seems, especially being home sick this week and wanting to nap! It’s terrible. Really. It’s obnoxious, loud, annoying, and irritating. So working with it . . . any suggestions for being more equanimous with leaf blowers?”
Joseph is laughing. “Well, this will be coming up a lot in the next three-month course here at IMS, because we’re going to be doing construction of the new building. So what we’re planning to do, actually, is to use the basic instructions of a big mind meditation, you know, where you start with sounds. You open to all the sounds around you, open to them simply as sound. And then that in itself becomes the meditation, so that you are not struggling. You’re not trying to keep out certain sounds. You’re letting everything in, from the very beginning. Construction work becomes just another sound in space. And there can be a lot of richness and depth to explore here. There can be equanimity present, in making that very sound the object of the meditation. It’s the same thing, as we discussed, when one is feeling sick. If one has decided this is an unpleasant feeling, then the tendency is to contract. The practice of equanimity requires that we just open to a sound the same way you described opening to the unpleasant sensations of not feeling well. When we can do that, we will find that the mind just relaxes. It’s just hearing, that’s all it is. Sounds are not inherently annoying.”
“Hmm. I can feel what you’re describing. Yes.”
After a few moments I start laughing. “Joseph, I remember another story you tell — the one about a Colgate with Gardol commercial. The Gardol ingredient worked as some sort of invisible shield that wouldn’t let the bacteria in. You used that commercial as an example of a more fixed, stable mind. And I think people who meditate have probably experienced this, where one gets deep enough that things going on around them just aren’t as engaging or intrusive.”
“Right. But keep in mind . . . you probably have this in your notes somewhere. The near enemy of equanimity is indifference.”
“Oh.”
“I think it is important to make that distinction, because equanimity is very different from indifference. Indifference is a non-caring.”
“And equanimity also implies some activity.”
“Right,” he agrees.
“One of the bad raps Buddhism has, I think, comes from that misunderstanding of indifference.”
“Exactly. That’s why I also like the word ‘impartial,’ because it implies an openness to, rather than a withdrawing from.”
“Oh, yes. Impartial. Letting one know they are fine either way. It is an opening word. I like that.” We are quiet a few moments as I look through my notes, still feeling woozy.
“OK, so I’ve also been working with the concept of concepts,” I say, “with leaf blowers, construction noise, noisy neighbors, whatever. Trying to remember that they are concepts, labels, and not what is actually happening. Like last night there were howling winds, but the howling was also somehow kind of cool. Ron and I both thought so, even though the winds were also disrupting our sleep.”
“Right.”
“It certainly wasn’t a particularly pleasant sound. But it was easier to lie in bed without cringing or complaining when I could recognize it as just another sound to be listened to. It would do no good to step outside and yell at it to stop. I remember you told me a story once about when you first started teaching. You had a preconception about what to say, what to do, what to be. And that now, you just trust your response in the moment will be skillful. Now your teaching and your speaking is open and easy. That would be a form of equanimity. Right?”
“Ah, yes, I guess you could say that.”
“At least in the moment, as you are present with whatever is arising?”
“Yes. That openness allows for creativity and intuition because the mind is not caught in anticipation or reactions.”
“It also takes a big level of trust,” I say, laughing, “that you’re going to have something to say!”
“Well, either that or trust that it’s OK to say nothing.” This makes us both laugh.
We are quiet for a while. “Wow, that would take some trust,” I agree.
“Yes, it would.”
“And equanimity for one’s ego,” I add. “Joseph, ever since beginning to work with the concept of concepts during truthfulness month, I continue to hone my discernment there. It was your suggestion, when you notice you are not impartial, when you feel a reaction arising, to investigate the connection of that reaction with the idea of a concept you may hold. That did it! That was it for me. I got it. In a way it makes it more impersonal and therefore a little easier to open to and work with. It’s very good. I think that really says it all about equanimity.”
Joseph laughs. “Did you come up with examples for that?”
I start by telling him my insights after watching the Wagner movie. But as I am speaking, I keep stopping, coughing, sipping water. I am unwrapping a cough drop when I see it and begin laughing. “Wait! Yes, actually I can come up with a really obvious one,” I say, coughing and laughing. “Right now is a perfect example: I am not impartial or welcoming or equanimous to . . . drumroll here . . . the concept of being sick anymore! Especially now that this is the fourth day. Not at all. The reaction coming up is a combination of self-pity . . .”
“Yup.”
“. . . and impatience and aversion, and and and! Still another piece of that unwelcome concept of being sick, something further feeding all that turmoil, is the aversion or the notion that I am a healthy person. Why am I sick? You know, me of all people!”
“Right,” Joseph replies, laughing.
“So the conceit of that is really sobering,” I add.
“Yes,” he agrees. “And you can apply this with any of the paramis, but in the example of being sick and focused on equanimity, the equanimity makes possible the understanding of the selflessness of the process. The body is not always amenable to our wishes. It follows its own laws. This is a transforming insight.” He begins that low throaty chuckle, and my ears perk up. “And, it is an insight you have to learn over and over again. The non-identification with the body becomes clearer when there is equanimity present.”
“Ahhh, and especially as we get older.”
“Exactly. The body is clearly out of our control,” he says, laughing. “That’s another meaning for anatta (‘selflessness’). The idea that the body is ungovernable.”
“Oh, it certainly is! Most times I feel I’ve forged a decent relationship with my body. We have conversations, I listen, and I certainly treat her well. It’s not her fault she got sick.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s just what happens.”
“Exactly.”
I am coughing and laughing. “Actually, what I am most interested in right now is this idea of an open mind, a mind free of all the limiting concepts. The instant I see something, I realize I have already categorized it into some concept I hold. It’s amazing. I can sense the equanimity that lies just beyond those initial, immediate concepts. Oh, I want to go there,” I say, laughing again.
“So, Joseph — paying attention, taking the right action, and then letting go of any attachment to the outcome; would that be a more active version of equanimity?”
“Yes.”
“Looking at people and remembering that all beings want to be happy, as with our neighbors and co-workers — that too is equanimity?”
“Yes.”
“That simple thought has been helping me release the initial irritation or anger that may arise first as an unconscious, habitual reaction. When I remember that — even when the other person may not be acting wisely, from my perspective, if I can just come from that understanding, that wisdom — it allows me to be open and not so attached to my preferences for their behavior. Especially when I feel they are going about things in all the wrong ways,” I say, laughing.
“Right. I think that particular understanding can be used in support of all the paramis. Reminding oneself that everyone wants to be happy can be a cause of loving-kindness or generosity, certainly ethical conduct, and so forth. I think it can be used with any of them.”
“Yes, I see that now. And one final question. I have heard you mention there are two types of equanimity, and that either one is fine. One is the fixed and stable mind state equanimity, in that case being a deep-in-the-marrow-of-the-bones tranquility.”
“Right.”
“And then the other type of equanimity you mentioned is a vipassana mind state, open and spacious like you might have walking through a forest or looking up at the stars, being mindful from a place of everything is OK just as it is.”
“Yes. This can also be an advanced meditative state in vipassana practice. In that vipassana stage, it has the quality of openness you describe, but it is also a very refined state. So that is very different than just ordinary equanimity.”
“Would it be, for example, that feeling of equanimity one has just coming out of a retreat?”
“No, it’s more. It’s the equivalent, in vipassana, of the equanimity of deep concentration states. There’s that depth to it. And that is different than a more casual meditation. So that’s all. We have been talking about equanimity in our ordinary lives, working with and cultivating equanimity there. And there is also a state of equanimity to be found in deep meditative states. This is not the thrust of this work, but equanimity also refers to these more refined meditative states.”
“Good. I find that distinction helpful.”
“Yes, it’s the understanding that equanimity covers a broad spectrum of experiences, but all with that same quality.”
As Joseph and I reach the end of our check-in, I drift again to discussing being sick, probably because I keep coughing as we chat.
“When I was meditating this morning, the mind was yammering, yammering, and then there would be moments of this incredible surrender. It was really sweet. I’m not sure why. The mind yammering, and then the sweetness, and I thought, Let’s have another long sweet breath of surrender, then off the mind would wander again, yammering. That was about all I got, but it was remarkably peaceful when I let all the chatter about being sick just go, pass on by as just another thing that was arising.”
“That surrender you are describing is really about the willingness to open to unpleasant feelings.”
“Oh.”
“Our whole conditioning is avoidance of unpleasant feelings.”
“It’s so true!”
“Oh, yes.”
“That is exactly what was going on! I could open to feeling so miserable, even for just a few moments, a few breaths. I surrendered. I just let it go — all the complaints and aches and disappointment about being sick. I just sort of set them aside to open to a few clear moments of peace, peace with and peace within things just as they were.”
“And that is the essence of the path,” he says softly. “The Buddha said, ‘As long as there is attachment to the pleasant and aversion to the unpleasant, liberation is impossible.’ This points to the profound nature of equanimity in terms of liberation. It is a very powerful practice. What you just described is really the essence of equanimity.”
“Perhaps that’s why it felt so sweet, because it was so clean and clear.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s really great, Joseph. Thank you for that last bit. I can feel the difference. And I think I’ll end this lovely conversation for now.” We both laugh.
The next day I wake up feeling much better. And then . . . a neighbor’s leaf blower begins. So I try just letting the sound of the leaf blower blow right through this mind of equanimity. When it rattles my bones, I toss in some loving-kindness. I say the phrases to the laborer, who is just doing what he thinks is best, what he is being paid to do. I add the high-pitched whine as background to the crows’ harsh cackles, the fog wind slamming a window shut, the construction clatter nearby. Sometimes it works. Applying the wisdom of impermanence, remembering the blower will round the corner of the neighbor’s house and the sound will become dimmer, also helps. And sometimes, well, it still sounds very much like an annoying whine. There is a marvelous poem by Billy Collins entitled “Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep a Gun in the House” that addresses the attempt to incorporate a nuisance sound, his neighbor’s barking dog, into his listening to a Beethoven symphony. He imagines the barking dog as one of the musicians in the orchestra, not always playing on cue or in tune. Leaf blowers — just another instrument playing in the symphony of a Sausalito morning.
I open the newspaper and immediately try extending equanimity to what I feel are, at best, misguided politicians. This troubles me deeply — the dug-in positioning and posturing of the current political arena. And not just ours. Europe’s keenly crafted alliance is also teetering because of an either/or mentality and finger-pointing. It is a dismal mirror to our own system, mired in antagonistic barbs delivered over thick walls of innuendo, mistrust, and downright stubbornness. It is disappointing and worrisome. It sounds naive, but if I can find a way to get along with my neighbors’ leaf blowers and continual construction projects, why can’t the folks whose job it is to negotiate, do so? Isn’t remaining equanimous when negotiating with the opposition a worthy endeavor? Isn’t it part of what they vowed to do when they promised us they would operate with integrity? Wasn’t our support based on their promise? Even with my friends, I hesitate to repeat a wise or thought-provoking comment said by an “opponent” because the comment can provoke a spirited, not always equanimous response. How did Gandhi and Mandela and His Holiness the Dalai Lama find the strength to walk their paths with such searing equanimity and loving-kindness and wisdom? Can you even imagine a political arena, a country, a world populated by such valor and truthfulness? I wish I could.
This verse by Atisha is a useful reflection, a final instruction on equanimity:
Consider all phenomena to be dreams.
Be grateful to everyone.
Don’t be swayed by outer circumstances.
Don’t brood over the faults of others.
Explore the nature of unborn awareness.
At all times, simply rely on a joyful mind.
Don’t expect a standing ovation.