The mythologist Joseph Campbell believed that a common pattern exists beneath the narrative elements of most great myths. I can almost hear the loud protests of those who believe that their religion is literally true, not a myth. But one has to admit, it’s still a story.

 

By Angel Roberto Puente

Good stories can affect us deeply.

They can change our outlook on life, and even change our behavior. The first experience I had of this was when I read the story of Jesus. All the catechism I received in Catholic school did not prepare me for a direct encounter with his story. His teachings were impressive in themselves, and they came accompanied by supernatural acts like walking on water and raising the dead.

Many religious stories take on a life of their own and accumulate new interpretations. Siddhartha Gautama went from being a prince who wanted to end his dissatisfaction with life to a supernatural being that walked and talked the moment he was born, among many other powers. In the “Twin Miracle,” to defeat rival teachers, the Buddha rose into the air and simultaneously emitted roaring flames from the top half of his body and gushing water from the bottom half, before reversing the display.

Consequently, most stories about Jesus and the Buddha eventually became mythological.

The mythologist Joseph Campbell believed that a common pattern exists beneath the narrative elements of most great myths. I can almost hear the loud protests of those who believe that their religion is literally true, not a myth. But one has to admit, it’s still a story.

Looking at the practice of Zen, I can see the story that accompanies it.

I think it tries to mirror the experience Buddha went through: encountering suffering, starting on a search, discovering a path that progressively becomes clearer, and finally reaching the goal. The 10 oxherding pictures are supposed to illustrate this experience. But this story suffers from the complications of being locked into a religion or tradition: no reevaluation is allowed. This holds true even, when in fact it goes against the original teachings of the Buddha himself: “Luminous, monks, is the mind, and it is defiled by incoming defilements. The uninstructed run-of-the-mill person doesn’t discern that as it actually is present, which is why I tell you that—for the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person—there is no development of the mind.”

“Luminous, monks, is the mind, and it is freed from incoming defilements. The well-instructed disciple of the noble ones discerns that as it actually is present, which is why I tell you that—for the well-instructed disciple of the noble ones—there is development of the mind.” (AN 1:50–53)

This raises the question: why search for something we already have?

In Zen, the clearest exposition of this always-present “luminous mind” came from Bankei Yōtaku. For him the proof of its presence was easy to discern. By noticing the many sense objects included in awareness at any given time, and recognizing that no conscious effort was necessary to achieve this, the underlying field of the “Unborn” was exposed. (The two terms are interchangeable, but the Unborn emphasizes its eternal aspect while the Luminous points to its clarity and purity.)

Some contemporary teachers also express this.

Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche says, “This is simple, but not easy. This is so familiar, so close, that it seems too simple to be meditation. This knowing quality of awareness is with us all the time. All we need to do is rest the mind to touch into it. Simply resting in this way is the experience of natural mind.”

Loch Kelly teaches what he calls “mindful glimpses,” a way to connect with “awake awareness.”

“Awake awareness is the foundation of knowing, like the quantum field from which individual particles of thoughts or waves of feelings appear. Awake awareness is formless and contentless, yet knowing. At first, awake awareness feels like the absence of thought and an opening into more space. Then, we notice an alertness, a clarity, and a feeling as if we are aware from the open space. It’s not the same experience as knowing from thought, and it does not feel like ‘I’ am aware. It is more as if we’ve shifted into an awareness that is already awake by itself, without our help. This is why it is called awake awareness.”

So, perhaps, the story of awakening can be modified: No searching is necessary.

Start with whatever reason makes you think that “meditation” would be good for you. Get comfortable, and sit with a straight back so your breathing is free. Standing or lying down works also. Rest: don’t do anything. Let any thought, feeling, sights or sound, appear and disappear without getting involved with them. Become aware of all that is present simultaneously. Do this for brief moments until you develop a taste for it. Soon you will get a feel for the space where all this activity happens.

As Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche indicates, “The only difference between nonmeditation (open awareness) and the ordinary, everyday process of thinking, feeling, and sensation is the application of the simple, open awareness that occurs when you allow your mind to rest simply as it is—without blocking anything, following thoughts, or becoming distracted by feelings or sensations.”

I learned from Bankei that the practice is to “abide in the Unborn.”

Essentially it’s an abandonment of the fixation we have on the contents of our mind. Recognizing the original spacious awareness that we have always had, resolves the sense of unease that drives us most of the time. This is a vantage point from which we can face the changing difficulties of life without despair. From a position of stability we can survey situations and take appropriate action. This is something anybody can achieve. Why don’t you?

What is your story?

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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Bankei Zen: A New Narrative

The Natural Marriage of Alan Watts and Zen: Talking Zen Book Review

 

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