The Buddhist world comprises three broad traditions. Much of
Southeast Asia (Ceylon, Burma, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia) preserves an early form of
Indian Buddhism, the Theravada. A very late and highly evolved expression of Indian
Buddhism, Vajrayana or Tantra, has dominated in Tibet, Mongolia and Nepal. In East Asia,
we find Buddhism greatly transformed at the hands of the Chinese. It is this
“Sinified” form of Buddhism which enters Korea, Japan and Vietnam. Zen is a
product of East Asia.

Within each of these three spheres, numerous schools, traditions and
individual approaches exist for the practice of meditation. Yet concerning basic
principles, there is remarkable agreement among Buddhists as to what is involved in the
meditative process.

This distinctive Buddhist orientation towards meditation
can be summed up concisely. Meditation consists of two aspects or components. The
first, called shamatha in Sanskrit, is the step by step development of mental and physical
calmness. The second, vipashyana¹, is the step
by step heightening of awareness, sensitivity and observation. These two components
complement each other and should be practiced simultaneously. Some techniques develop
primarily calming, others primarily clarity, still others both equally. It is of utmost
importance, however, that one component not be enhanced at the expense of the other. To do
so is no longer meditation. Tranquility at the expense of awareness is dozing; awareness
at the expense of calm is ‘tripping.’

Shamatha, if taken to an extreme, leads to special
trance states; these may be of value, but they are not the ultimate goal of Buddhism.
The practice of clear observation, on the other hand, if developed with sufficient
intensity and consistency leads to a moment of insight into the nature of the self
identification process. At that moment, awareness penetrates into the normally unconscious
chain of mental events which gives us the rock-solid conviction “I am separate and
limited.” This insight brings with it a radical and permanent change in perspective…a refreshing sense of freedom which is not dependent upon circumstances². The attainment of this perspective and the full
manifestation of its implications in daily life are the goals of Buddhist meditation.

What follows will amplify upon the above ideas and describe briefly
a few specific practices drawn from the three Buddhist cultural spheres of East Asia,
Southeast Asia, and Tibet.

Shamatha

Shamatha is the practice of stilling the mind through letting go. In
Buddhist usage, it is virtually synonymous with the term samadhi. This latter term is
usually translated as “one-pointedness” or concentration. Unfortunately, the
word concentration often carries the connotation of repressing the mind, forcing it not to
wander from a certain object. Such a tug of war between the desire of the mind to hold an
object and its desire to wander is exhausting and produces unconscious tensions. This is
the very antithesis of the shamatha state.

The nature of concentration is detachment. Realizing this marks an
important step along the path to the attainment of mental power. In real concentration,
one simply rests the mind on the object at hand and then proceeds to let go of everything
else in the universe. The mind then remains on that object until it is appropriate to
shift attention. Thus, the ability to focus, to totally concentrate on one thing, is
essentially equivalent to the ability to let go of everything. But, in order to do this,
it is necessary to relax the body in a special way.

First one learns to keep the body upright and utterly
motionless entirely through balance and relaxation, without using muscular effort. The
ideal posture for this is the cross-legged lotus, although satisfactory results can be
achieved with a variety of postures, including sitting in a chair³. The important thing is to align the vertebra,
find a position of equilibrium, and simply let the body hang from the spine by its own
weight. This feeling of letting go then extends to the breath and finally to the mind
itself.

Since shamatha has the dual nature of letting go and
one-pointedness, two approaches to the mind are possible. One is simply to allow the
emotional and conceptual content of the mind to settle of its own weight. A way this may
be achieved is through the elegant technique of “analogy.” One feels a part of
the body, such as the arm, relaxing, then discovers the mental analog of that feeling,
i.e., what it feels like to relax thought.

The second approach is to rest the attention on a
specific object and gently return it there each time it wanders off. Eventually this
wandering habit weakens, then disappears. The object may be physical or visualized,
outside the body or within. The so-called “elephant taming pictures” of Tibet
portray this process in detail.⁴

It is common in all Buddhist traditions to give beginners some form
of meditation which brings the mind to rest on the breathing. In Zen this usually involves
counting the breaths or following the breath in and out. In the Theravada approach, one
typically cultivates awareness of the touch feeling of the breath at the nose tip or
abdomen. Here no attempt whatsoever is made to control the breath. But in Vajrayana,
elaborate channels for the breath are visualized in the body, and cycles of inhalation,
retention and exhalation in fixed ratios are practiced as in Hatha yoga.

Chanting is also common to all traditions. When done with proper
posture and intention, it can be very tranquilizing. In East Asia, chanting the Buddha
Amitabha’s name is especially popular. The Chinese call this practice Nien-Fo, the
Japanese Nembutsu, the Koreans Yombul and the Vietnamese Niem-Phat. Many Tibetans
incessantly chant mantras aloud or silently. Even in Theravada countries, the chanting of
special scriptures, called pirit, represents a major event in the monastic year, often
going on unbroken for many days and nights. The mind-stabilizing nature of chant and
mantra recitation was also recognized in Christianity as witnessed by the “prayer of
the heart” so popular in Eastern Orthodox spirituality. Chanting has a strong
shamatha effect, but, as usually practiced, there is little of the vipashyana component;
thus its power to bring liberating insight is weak.

Physical Effects

As body, breath and mind settle, a distinctive slowing down of the
overall metabolism begins to take effect. One needs to sleep less, eat less, breathe less.
In fact, spontaneous slowing of breath is probably the most easily observed physical
barometer of depth of samadhi. Normal adults at sea level breathe about fifteen times per
minute. During seated meditation, at a middle level of shamatha, the breathing rate may
drop to only two or three breaths a minute. Because shamatha practice produces such
conspicuous changes in the body’s function, there has recently been a good deal of
physiological research on meditators. A few results of this research will be summarized
here.

Meditators’ brainwaves are usually highly synchronized; typically
this takes the form of increase in the alpha rhythm whose frequency ranges from eight to
twelve cycles per second. This enhanced alpha production in meditators continues even when
their eyes are open. In non-meditators, opening of the eyes normally stops production of
alpha waves. Electromyography reveals deep muscle relaxation in spite of the upright,
unsupported posture. Skin conductivity (GSR) decreases, probably indicating less sweating
and hence decreased sympathetic activity. This too implies relaxation.

Researchers at Tokyo University made an interesting
discovery about brain wave behavior in Zen practitioners. A group of meditators and a
group of non-meditators were asked to sit quietly with electrodes attached to monitor
brainwaves. A click sound was repeatedly presented to both groups. At first, both groups
showed momentary “blocking” of alpha. This was as expected, for such blocking is
part of the normal orienting response to a new stimulus. After several clicks, the
non-meditator group no longer showed this blocking. This also is normal. They had
accommodated to the stimulus: it was no longer new and fresh. But the Zen practitioners
continued to momentarily block alpha with every click as if each time they were hearing
the click for the first time. This fits nicely with the Zen ideal of “living in the
moment.” In India, a similar click experiment was done with some yogis. They showed
no alpha blocking. Apparently, withdrawn in trance, they did not hear the sound.⁵

Shamatha is a continuum of states of progressive settling of the
mind associated with growth in detachment, concentration power and a distinctive set of
physiological changes. At the deep end of this continuum, these phenomena become extreme,
and states, called in Pali jhanas (Sanskrit dhyana), are entered. In deep jhana, the
drives to which everyone is normally subject are actually suspended, though not
necessarily extinguished. This may last for a few hours or several days. One does not feel
driven to move, eat, sleep or think. Indeed, the metabolism so slows that the breath seems
nonexistent. The mind, which in its uncultivated state is like a torrential cataract,
becomes a rippleless, limpid lake. The deepest jhana is a kind of trance, but by no means
is every trance a jhana state. The characteristics of the jhanas are distinct and
well-defined in a class of Buddhist literature called Abhidharma literature. In all, nine
levels are distinguished.

Development
and Use of Shamatha

Shamatha is best developed by a daily, sitting meditation practice.
What are the typical experiences of a person who takes up such a practice? – How is it
likely to affect his or her day-to-day life?

At first, the body strains to remain upright during sitting, the
breath is rough, piston-like. and the mind wanders terribly. One may even feel more
agitated than usual. Actually, one is just becoming aware for the first time of the
appalling extent and intensity of the chaos within. This awareness is really the first
stage of progress. Until the mind has had a chance to really experience the discomfort
caused by its habitual drivenness and fixation, there will be no motivation to develop
different habits. In the Tibetan tradition, this initial sobering experience is called
“realizing the mind as a waterfall.”

As with any other art, however, time and regular practice bring
skill at shamatha. Body learns to settle into the posture, breath becomes smooth and slow,
and irrelevant thoughts no longer scream for attention but whisper and are more easily
ignored. By the end of each half-hour or hour meditation period, one experiences a
noticeable calm, lightness and openness. Then the task is to remember this calm state and
to remain in it throughout the activities of the day!

At first, it may be possible to recapture this settling effect only
during the simplest mechanical tasks such as walking, sweeping or gardening. The emphasis
on manual labor in all forms of monasticism, East and West, is meant to provide situations
wherein it is relatively easy to preserve inner silence while moving the body. After
sufficient experience, the awareness of calm can be preserved throughout the day, though
its depth may vary depending on circumstances. One can drive a car, make love, even have
arguments and write books without leaving the shamatha state. One even dreams in it.

Even a person with no meditation experience can appreciate the
advantage of a calm and concentrated mind in carrying out physical or mental tasks. With
the deepening of shamatha, most activities of daily life are enhanced as one brings this
ever more powerful, ever more stable mind to bear on them. In addition, the associated
settling of the body produces an abundance of energy. Further, shamatha is a state of
openness and acceptance, key factors in successful interpersonal relationships. Also, the
detachment associated with shamatha makes it much easier to stick to one’s principles and
approach one’s moral ideal.

For many shamatha practitioners, the events of the day are seen as a
sequence of opportunities to deepen and apply skill at one-pointedness.

Peculiar inversions in values may take place. Normally unpleasant
situations turn into gold.

Overwork and physical discomfort become “feedback
devices”. Uncomfortable? Go deeper! Chaotic and fearful situations are accepted
as challenges to one’s meditative prowess. Wasting time is no longer conceivable. Being
unexpectedly kept wafting for an hour somewhere means an hour of “secret use, hidden
enjoyment.”⁶ The Sung dynasty Ch’an master
Wu-Men summed it up when he said, “Most people are used twenty-four hours a day; the
meditator uses twenty-four hours a day.”

The states along this “shamatha continuum”
from superficial calming to total trance are known outside Buddhism. Indeed, they are
central to the systematic cultivation of mystical experience in all religious traditions.
For example, in the Roman Catholic Church, cover terms for such states are oratio quies
(prayer of quiet) and recollection⁷. Sometimes
these states are referred to as “nondiscursive prayer” as opposed to usual
prayer which uses words and thoughts. There is copious literature on the subject in both
the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic traditions of Christianity. Different authors use
different terminologies to distinguish benchmarks along the continuum⁸. The deepest trance level of prayer of quiet was
sometimes called “infused contemplation” or simply “contemplation.”
After the 16th century, the practice of nondiscursive prayer declined in the Western
church for interesting historical reasons. This, however, is beyond the scope of the
present discussion.

The classical Raja yoga of Patanjali, another
non-Buddhist system, distinguishes three stages along the continuum of settling which
are referred to as the ‘inner branches’ of yoga. The first is dharana (holding on) during
which the yogi strives to hold the object of concentration, returning to it each time the
mind wanders. When the second stage, dhyana, is reached, concentration upon the object is
unbroken, like a “flowing stream of oil.” Finally, all mental fluctuations
cease, trance is attained, and the yogi feels that mundane limitations have been
transcended. Patanjali calls this last stage samadhi. Note that, while in Buddhism the
word samadhi is usually used as a general term for any state of one-pointedness, here in
classical yoga it refers only to the very deepest of such state.⁹

Nor is the experience of shamatha found only within the context of
religious mysticism; it sometimes crops up in the arts, sports and other
“secular” activities which require intense concentration and relaxation.

It is interesting to see how beliefs and attitudes influence
people’s perceptions of the shamatha process. The musician who sometimes experiences a
light transient samadhi while performing will likely associate this state only with the
art and, being unaware of its broader potentials, will not strive to deepen and maintain
it. In this case, the artist’s daily life will never be engulfed and transformed by the
experience.

The Value of
Trance

Mystics in traditions with dualistic philosophical outlooks tend to
see trance as the pinnacle and ultimate goal of the mystic path. This makes perfect sense.
If you believe in the dichotomy of spirit versus matter as did the Neoplatonists of
Hellenistic Europe and the Sankhya theorists of ancient India, then your goal will be
conceived of in terms of freeing spirit from the trammels of matter. The absence of drives
and extreme withdrawal which characterize the deep end of the shamatha continuum will
allow you to do this but, of course, only for limited periods of time. Eventually one must
come out of trance, at which time there may or may not be a permanent transformation of
consciousness. Patanjali’s Raja yoga is, in fact, simply the practice associated with the
Sankhya philosophy, a system which postulates a radical dichotomy between purusha (spirit)
and prakriti (matter). Likewise, if you believe in a God who stands outside creation, then
the way to meet God directly is to pull out of creation for a while. Furthermore, it you
are theistically inclined, you will likely perceive these states of tranquility,
particularly the deeper ones, as special graces conferred by God. In her “Interior
Castle,” the 16th century Spanish saint, Teresa of Avila, vividly describes the
various levels of prayer of quiet culminating in what she calls perfect union, which
roughly corresponds to the very deep jhana in Buddhism or “samadhi” in
Patanjali’s yoga.

For Buddhists, the attainment of samadhi at its various depths is
more a skill than a supernatural grace. Like piano playing or golf, it is something that
can be learned reasonably well by most people with sufficient motivation and regular
practice. Of course, it is a special skill because of its great generality and power. Most
other skills are enhanced by this one skill. More important, it is special because of the
changes it brings to one’s life.

However, shamatha, no matter how deep, is not the
ultimate goal of the Buddhist. The intensity and enrichment which habitual
one-pointedness brings to daily life are but pleasant byproducts of the meditative
process. Even the jhanas, though purifying and refreshing, are conditioned, impermanent
and ultimately unsatisfying. They may even become a hindrance to realizing the true
Buddhist goal, Nirvana.¹⁰ Shamatha is merely a
tool which facilitates the attainment of Nirvana.

The word Nirvana literally means extinction. Not the extinction of
self, but extinction of the kleshas, the “afflictions” which prevent happiness.
The kleshas may be broadly grouped under three headings: raga, dvesha and
moha. Raga
(desire) is the drive to repeat pleasant sensations. Dvesha (aversion, hate or antipathy)
is the rejection of unpleasant sensations. Moha is confusion and lack of clarity. Moha is
responsible for our sense of limited identity and prevents us from noticing the subtle
malaise and discomfort which underlie all experience.

Concerning raga and dvesha, there is an important point which is
sometimes missed. Raga means hankering for mental and physical pleasure, not the pleasure
itself. The serious Buddhist seeks to eliminate this hankering because it is a source of
suffering. Pleasure of itself is most definitely not evil and need not be abjured.
Likewise, dvesha is the reaction of rejecting, psychologically and physically. Fighting
with pain causes suffering. Pain, if not frantically rejected, causes little suffering.
One who has come to grips with raga and dvesha, then enjoys the pleasant without feeling
frustrated when the pleasant cannot be had. Likewise, he or she naturally avoids hurt yet
does not feel imposed upon when harm is unavoidable. Such a person no longer carries
around that internal sword of Damocles under which the majority of humanity labors, i.e.
the constant threat of hell within if we don’t get what we want.

So Nirvana is what life feels like to a person for whom:

• No matter how assailed, anger need not arise.

• No matter what the pleasure, compulsive longing need not arise.

• No matter what the circumstances, a feeling of limitation need not
  arise.

Such a person is in a position to live exuberantly, to experience
life fully, and also to fully experience death. The former is called “Nirvana with a
remnant,” the latter “Nirvana without a remnant.”

There are two ways in which shamatha serves as a tool for attaining
Nirvana. Firstly, it confers a sense of letting go which aids in the gradual renunciation
of desire and aversion. Secondly, it gives the mental stability and one-pointedness
necessary for effective vipashyana practice. Vipashyana destroys moha.

Moha means basically not knowing what is going on within oneself.
According to Buddhism, it is the fundamental kiesha, lying at the root of all our
problems. The cure lies in extending clarity and awareness down into normally unconscious
processes. This sounds like much of Western psychology. The difference lies in the fact
that, in meditation, awareness is cultivated within the shamatha state, that distinctive
profound settling of mind and body described above. This allows for an exposing of the
unconscious which is far more direct, unrelenting and keener than that usually attained in
psychotherapy. Not surprisingly, the results are different. Therapy, when successful,
solves specific problems. Meditation, when successful, provides a general solution
applicable to any problem, even “biggies” like guilt, loss of loved ones,
failure, intractable disease, old age and death. Psychology tells us something about how a
person’s problems arise. Meditation reveals something about how the idea of
“person” arises and, in doing so, frees one from the necessity to always
identity with being a particular person. Within the context of such radical objectivity,
personal problems can then be dealt with very efficiently.

Liberating Insight

The term vipashyana is derived from three Sanskrit morphemes,
vi-pash-yana.  -yana is suffix used to form nouns denoting actions or processes
(technically it is the “iotacized” or “y-” form of the common nomen
actionis suffix -ana).  Note the short ‘a’ in yana.  It should not be
confused with yana meaning vehicle. Vi- is a prefix connoting both separation and
penetration just as its Greek counterpart dia- does (dia-critic “serving to separate,”
dia-thermy “passing heat through.”) Both vi- and dia- are ultimately
derived from the Indo European *dwi- believed to be related to *dwo- meaning
“two.” Pash is a shortened form of spash, which is ultimately connected both to
the Latin stem spec- (as in spectacle) and the English word spy.  It means simply to
see.  So vi-pash-yana means both to “see with separation,” i.e. to discern
clearly the components of ones experience, and to “see through,” i.e. gain
penetrating understanding into the nature of experience. Thus vipashyana connotes both the
practice of investigation (mindfulness) and the wisdom that arises as the result of the
investigation (insight). In the most general sense, vipashyana refers to the clarifying
side of the meditation coin while shamatha refers to the calming side. In this general
sense, all forms of meditation, Buddhist and otherwise, can be analyzed in terms of
shamatha and vipashyana effects. But the term vipashyana (or its Pali equivalent
Vipassana) is also used as a proper noun (hence the capital ‘V’ here). In this sense, it
refers to a specific style (or more accurately, a group of related styles) of meditation
practiced in the Theravada countries of South East Asia, South East Thailand and Burma.
This style emphasizes systematic observation of the sense gates…infusing ordinary
experience with precision and equanimity.

Sustained vipashyana leads to a moment of liberating insight when a
huge mass of moha falls away like a chunk of concrete revealing a vista of freedom. In
scholastic Buddhism, this is called “entering the stream of nobles.” The Rinzai
school speaks of kensho (seeing one’s nature) or satori (“catching on”).
Sometimes in English it is referred to as initial enlightenment or breakthrough. At that
moment, the wisdom eye opens, but wider for some than for others. In any case, it never
closes again. This is no “peak experience” which later fades. It is a permanent
change in perspective, a revolution in the basis of the mind.

A breakthrough of insight into oneness sometimes occurs
spontaneously to people who have never practiced meditation and may not even be
particularly “spiritually” inclined. However, without some background in
clarity, it is difficult to hold on to and integrate such an insight and the experience
usually fades into a pleasant memory after a few moments, hours or days. Occasionally,
such an unsought experience does work a permanent transformation, but, even then, without
systematic practice it is difficult to realize its full implications in daily life.

Late in life, Saint Teresa de Avila came to an
experience of God which was permanent and independent of trance. She called it
spiritual marriage and says it was occasioned by an “intellectual vision.” From
her description, it seems similar to the initial breakthrough in Buddhism, though
conceived of entirely in Christian terms, of course. Concerning this experience, she makes
the remarkable statement, “There is a self-forgetfulness which is so complete that it
really seems as though the soul no longer existed…”¹¹
For another classical Christian source which clearly distinguishes “trance
mysticism” and “insight mysticism”, see “The Cloud of Unknowing”
particularly chapter LXXI, which describes the fact “that some may feel the
perfection of this work only in a time of ecstasy while others may feel it whenever they
wish, in the common state of mans soul”.

According to Buddhist concepts, at this first breakthrough, one
realizes “no-self”. But this expression, no-self, which Buddhists are so fond
of, can be very misleading. At first blush, the idea seems un-inviting if not positively
absurd. It sounds like a negation of individuality, a frightening loss of controlling
center, or a kind of deluded regression. But what is meant by no-self is becoming free
from the perspective of “self as thing” (satkayadrishti). Conceptually this is
not quite the same as losing self nor does it imply the absence of a
“personality of self.”

What is meant by “becoming free from a concept?” One is
free from a particular thought or concept if that thought always arises without the
slightest unconscious tension, repression or break in awareness of the thought as thought.
Then one is experiencing the thought so fully that there is not time for the mind to tense
and solidify the thought. And so the thought ceases to be in one’s way. In other words, a
thought, concept, mental image or memory has no hold over us if we always experience it
totally (vipashyana) and yet remain relaxed (shamatha). This is no easy matter in any
case. Initial enlightenment comes when we discover that it is possible to allow our
deepest moment to moment image of “me and mine” to arise in this full, empty
way. From then on, the distinction between self and other (or between enlightenment and
non-enlightenment) loses its hold. This, of course, is but one of many ways of interpreting
the experience.

Later tradition dilates upon the great merit and karmic resources
necessary to achieve this. However, it should be strongly emphasized that, with skillful
guidance, a person may well come to such an experience within a few years of highly
motivated practice.

Most people, even after such a breakthrough, still find themselves
becoming confused, doing wrong things, feeling bad, giving in to unwholesome habits, etc.,
though they are no longer constrained to identify with these negativities. So they
continue to practice, even more assiduously than before, working to eliminate raga and
dvesha, rooting out subtle remaining moha, eradicating the stubborn sway of old bad
habits.

Along the way, as one moves closer and closer to
complete Nirvana, there may come a point where priorities shift from
“wisdom” to “compassion,” i.e., from meditation to action¹².

If you really feel oneness with everything, it is only natural to
take responsibility for all your parts. Helpful words and actions begin to flow forth
spontaneously.

Although in Mahayana, compassion (really love) is conceived of on a
par with wisdom, in practice priority is usually initially placed on gaining liberation.
Its just more efficient that way. Clearing away some moha first makes it less likely that
one’s efforts to help others will be misguided. Eliminating raga and dvesha makes it less
likely that one’s zeal will lead to aggressiveness and the sacrificing of principles for
an end. Further, after one is free from the concepts of helper, helped and helping, there
is less feeling of chagrin or loss of enthusiasm when ones efforts to help fail.

The specific direction which such activities take depends upon the
culture, circumstances, abilities and personality of the individual. They range from
wizardry to political activism.

To summarize what has been said so far, shamatha and vipashyana then
are tools for attaining “enlightenment,” insight into the nature of the sense of
separate self. That perspective is a tool which, facilitates the achievement of complete
Nirvana.

According to some Mahayana conceptualizations, Nirvana itself is a
kind of tool, a tool which allows a person to effortlessly and efficaciously exert a
beneficial influence on others. If you are completely free and if your influence is such
that it helps a great many people to also become free (as did that of Sakyamuni), you are
called a Buddha.

The following are a few specific techniques for developing the
liberating awareness described above.

Mindfulness
Meditation

A common approach used in the Theravada tradition is to flood the
consciousness with more and more complete and precise information about mental and
physical events. Typically, one first learns to experience this intense “vipashyana
mode” of observation for a single simple event. Once learned, this can be generalized
and applied to any aspect of experience. With practice, a habitual suppleness is developed
which allows one to perceive each event in the stream of daily life in this totally aware
way without having to work at it.

Take, for example, the act of walking. Most people do
it unconsciously. There’s nothing wrong with that, but suppose you would like to
enhance awareness of this event “walking.” You could start by mentally noting
which foot is swinging at any particular time. This gives you a tiny bit more information
about the reality of walking than doing it unconsciously. Next, with regard to each foot,
try to note the very instant when the foot begins to rise and the instant when it again
touches the ground¹³ . Left up, left swing,
left down, right up, right swing, right… For still more detailed observation, it is
useful at the beginning to walk much more slowly than normal and perhaps to pause between
each component of the walking. Now, note the instant the left heel rises, note the sweep
of tactile sensation as the sole lifts away from the ground. Note the moment the toes
leave the ground, the beginning of the forward swing, the swing itself, the end point of
the swing, the beginning of lowering the foot, the lowering, the instant the foot touches
ground, again the sweep of tactile sensation and the instant when the foot has completely
returned to the ground. Now pause. Note when the will to move the right foot arises. Now
begin to move the right foot, observing each component as before.

Such an exercise builds much samadhi, but this is a byproduct. The
important thing is increased clarity about the process. After more practice, it is
possible to apply an even finer analysis. Within each component of the motion (lifting,
swinging, lowering, etc.) can be distinguished numerous subcomponents, tiny jerks each
with distinct beginning and end points and each preceded by a separate will to move.

If this keen observation is sustained, alterations in
perception begin to occur. The event seems to slow down, a subjective sensation
independent of any actual physical slowness. Each component of the event seems to contain
vast expanses of time and space within which to perceive information in an unhurried way¹⁴.

But wait. As your information about the foot gets fuller and fuller,
the foot seems to be less and less there! It expands, contracts, becomes light and hollow,
merges with things, disappears and reappears. Without being seduced or frightened, just
keep on noting the simple reality of the foots moment-to-moment motion.

This “vipashyana mode” of awareness can be applied to
every type of experience. One can gently move the eye over an object, drinking in
information about it so rapidly and fully that the consciousness has no time to solidify
and limit the object. Likewise with other senses, touch, taste, smell, hearing, etc. This
is the fundamental paradox of meditation: see something fully and it is transparent, hear
fully and there is silence. The feeling of solidity and separateness of objects, which
most people take for granted, turns out to be merely an unnecessary and toxic byproduct of
the process of perception. It clogs the flowing stream of life. One can function quite
well without it.

Applying this total mode of awareness to emotions, concepts and
mental images is the most difficult but most productive exercise of all. The stream of a
person’s thoughts and feelings is so unpredictable and gripping … not at all like
raising and lowering a foot! Yet with the detachment and one-pointedness of shamatha, one
can catch a thought at its very onset and note each minute permutation until the very end
in that same slowed down, complete, unsolidified mode of awareness. A person who can
unrelentingly apply this mode to his or her deepest images of self will enter a refreshing
new world.

The Rinzai Zen
Koan

The meditator attempts to establish direct contact with deep
processes. One approach is to pose a question which can be readily answered by the deep
spontaneous mind but is utterly intractable for the discursive surface. This approach was
developed within certain schools of the Chan-Zen tradition, that important East Asian
expression of Buddhism. Nowadays, it is particularly associated with Rinzai-shu, one of
the two major schools of Japanese Zen. Such a conundrum is called a koan in Japanese;
“What is the sound of one hand?” and “Mu” are two famous ones. The
koan question is mercilessly pressed to deeper and deeper levels, and, in the process,
great samadhi power is developed. When an answer wells up, it carries with it a valuable
insight. In this way, by answering many such koans, the wisdom faculty is gradually
exercised. However, if the question is pressed deeply enough, the insight accompanying its
solution will be sufficient to crack moha and bring kensho (initial enlightenment). It is
important to remember, however, that there are many kinds of koans for specific purposes
and that individual teachers use koans in different ways.

The Tantric
Tradition

Meditation is sometimes described as a journey, a journey from the
surface mind to the Source Mind, a journey made by progressively extending calmness and
awareness to subtler and subtler levels, eliminating layer after layer of unconsciousness
in great sheets. But along this journey one may experience various phenomena which have
significance, though are not in themselves the goal. The meditator may experience warm
blissful energy flowing in parts of the body, see dazzling light, hear symphonies of
internal sound, seem to float out of the body, etc. Or one may encounter what appear to be
archetypal entities: gods, demons, sages and spirits. In most traditions of Buddhism, such
experiences are denigrated as stray paths and impediments along the “main line”
to liberation. Zen teachers usually dismiss them as makyo (obstructive hallucination) and
recommend simply ignoring them. This phenomenon was well know to Christian contemplatives
who referred to it as phantasmata.

The Tantric tradition takes a different tack. The Tantrics
systematically explored and cultivated these byways. But, and this is really the point,
they interpreted these experiences in Buddhist terms and skillfully harnessed them towards
the realization of the twin ideals of Mahayana Buddhism, wisdom and compassion. Herein
lies the distinctive and powerful contribution of Buddhist Tantra. It successfully
incorporates experiences from the subtle “realms of power” in a way which is
both philosophically and practically consonant with the goals of Buddhism. This is part of
what is meant by “skillful means” of which the Tibetans so often speak.

Tibetan tradition has preserved and developed a rich repertoire of
contemplative techniques. Here we will discuss just one, that of “visualization”
which perhaps could be more accurately described as mental creation.

We have pointed out how Buddhist meditation seeks to understand the
process of identification with a particular self. One way to get such understanding is to,
step by step, build another self from scratch! One visualizes body parts, imputes mental
states, speech and personality until one can see this artificial being in front of oneself
as vividly as anything in the natural world. This, of course, is no easy task, but it is
made possible through the great mental stability which shamatha confers. Then the
practitioner learns to fully identify with the created being for a specific period of
time. Here we are talking about something very different from shamanism and possession
phenomena. This is a learning process which, when done properly, is perfectly controlled,
lucid and contrived to bring insight into the arbitrary nature of self-identification. But
it confers even more, because the alternate self which is created and identified with is
an archetype, an ideal image: a Buddha, Bodhisattva or Guardian. Not only is concentration
power and liberating insight developed by this practice, but one begins to take on the
virtues and positive attributes of that ideal, quickly eliminating the subtle remaining
kiesha blocks to Nirvana. In this way, visualization is a skillful means for rapid
progress toward complete liberation. It is, however, also relevant to the compassion
aspect of Buddhism. This is because habitually perceiving oneself as a spiritual archetype
has a subtle and pervasive influence on other people, drawing them in and fostering their
own spiritual growth.

Liberating insight achieves the “dharmakaya,” or body of
the absolute, which is formless. Within, there is constant identification with an ideal
image. This is called technically “sambhogakaya,” or body of glory.”
Outwardly the visualizer appears to others as a normal human being, the nirmanakaya -
normal but somehow special, magic in a way that people can’t quite put their finger on.

The Paradox
of Meditation: Soto Zen

So far we have spoken of meditation in terms of growth, development,
rewards and attainments. In Japan, there is a school which approaches meditation in an
utterly different way, refusing to speak of any “attainment” such as samadhi,
enlightenment or Nirvana. According to Soto Zen, meditation is most emphatically not a
tool, not a means to an end. Rather it is an expression of the fact that the means and the
end are not separate. Soto Zen advocates something called “just sitting.” To
appreciate this, we must consider for a moment another “fundamental paradox” of
the meditation process.

At the end of “Little Gidding,” T. S. Eliot says,

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

If meditation is a journey, it is a journey to where one is. The
distance separating starting point and goal is zero. The mystic’s freedom is none
other than noticing that the bonds don’t exist to begin with. In ultimate terms, to create
in people’s minds a solidified concept of enlightenment as a future goal is already to
mislead them in some way. Soto Zen refuses to speak in any but ultimate terms. This is the
perspective of the so-called “original enlightenment” school of thought which
Dogen, the founder of Japanese Soto Zen, had studied as a youth under Tendai masters.

If everything is already perfect, then what should we do? Soto Zen
says, every day, for a period of time, place the body in meditation posture and just sit.
Let go of everything but the reality of sitting. Don’t daydream; don’t seek Buddhahood. In
a sense, Soto Zen is a form of vipashyana practice in which one is simply totally aware
from moment to moment of the fact of sitting. But it is much more, because this is done
within the context of the Mahayana philosophy of original enlightenment and, moreover,
with the deepest faith that such sitting is the perfect expression of that inherent
perfection. This last element, faith, characterized the ethos of the Kamakura period
during which Dogen lived and during which pietistic sects like Pureland and Nichiren-Shu
flourished.

Misconceptions

Finally, a few words about misconceptions and misapplications of
meditation. To begin with, it is common for people to fool themselves into thinking they
meditate when in fact they don’t. One often hears statements like “I meditate with
kung-fu” or “Life is my meditation.” This is possible. It is also extremely
rare. By Buddhist criteria, only a practice which palpably and relentlessly destroys the
grip of desire, aversion and confusion is worthy of the name meditation.

Glorifying the guru is another aberration, in my opinion. True, one
needs guidance and encouragement, but people who are searching for the perfect guru often
fail to make solid progress. The Buddha Sakyamuni urged self-reliance and downplayed the
role of authority in spiritual life.

Some people meditate for one-upmanship and special powers. They
think meditation will give them an edge on the other guy. Actually, the purpose of
meditation is to learn to embrace failure as effortlessly as success. As for special
powers, Buddhism (particularly Tantric Buddhism) says it is legitimate to explore those
realms in order to help others. However, in general, it is best to do this after
liberation has been glimpsed. Only then do special powers cease to be seductive,
frightening or at all impressive.

Everyone who develops habitual shamatha will sometimes misuse it. If
one does something wrong, it will be done wrong very one-pointedly! There is even a
technical term for this. It’s called miccha samadhi. Also, it is easy to use the
withdrawal of shamatha to avoid facing unpleasant realities. In particular, one can
silence the internal voice of conscience with it. This is why cultivating sila (wholesome
character, morality) is a prerequisite to cultivating samadhi. It is also another reason
why vipashyana awareness should accompany shamatha detachment.

If some is good, more is better is not necessarily true of sitting
meditation. Some people who sit all day and night for years have amazingly little to show
for their suffering.

One of the most insidious traps on the meditative path is getting
stuck in a good place. By this is meant achieving some good results and becoming
complacent, not moving on to the incomparably better results which lie around the corner.
In Zen, a person who gets a taste of enlightenment and does not move forward is referred
to as “a worm in the mud”.

Deep contemplative attainment does not make a person perfect; it
confers mind power, a sense of happiness which is not dependent on circumstances, and a
basically loving orientation toward one’s environment. It does not, however, automatically
guarantee immunity from stupidity, poor judgement or cultural myopia.

Furthermore, each meditative system has its characteristic
weaknesses. Theravada “Vipashyana” meditation could make one humorless and
depersonalized if not balanced with “loving kindness meditation.” Tantric
practice can easily degenerate into manipulativeness, sterile ritual and obscurantism.
Belief in original enlightenment and just sitting could get in the way of rapid growth. In
Japan, Zen training, particularly Rinzai training, can be brutal and imbue a tendency
towards authoritarianism. In fact, Zen suffered a temporary eclipse in Japan following
World War II precisely because it had been widely used as an underpinning for militarism.
The practice of meditation to get tough and the cultivation of detached repose so that one
may kill and be killed without fear or compunction represents a tragic perversion.

Finally, it is a mistake to identify meditation with a particular
life style. Obviously, if one’s daily life is seamy and chaotic, it will be difficult to
attain a settled mind, but it is ludicrous to think that a person must be a vegetarian or
enter a monastery to make headway in meditation. Such externals can help. They can also
distract. The path to freedom is systematic and open to all. You don’t need to be a
Buddhist to profit from Buddhist meditation.

That these aberrations and misdirections exist should not in the
least surprise, dismay or discourage us. Every tool can be misapplied. The fact is that
each of the above approaches to meditation, if skillfully and persistently cultivated,
produces a well-balanced, fulfilled individual whose very presence benefits his or her
fellows. As such, they represent significant and powerful contributions to human culture.

To Sum It Up

“There are many paths for entering the reality of Nirvana,
but in essence they are all contained with two practices: stopping and seeing.

Stopping is the primary gate for overcoming the bonds of
compulsiveness. Seeing is the essential requisite for ending confusion.

Stopping is the wholesome resource that nurtures the mind.
Seeing is the marvelous art which fosters intuitive understanding.

Stopping is the effective cause of attaining concentrative
repose. Seeing is the very basis of enlightened wisdom.

A person who attains both concentration and wisdom has all the
requisites for self-help and for helping others… It should be known, then, that these
two techniques are like the two wheels of a chariot, the two wings of a bird. If their
practice is lopsided, you will fall from the path. Therefore, the sutra says: To
one-sidedly cultivate the merits of concentrative repose without practicing understanding
is called dullness. To one-sidedly cultivate knowledge without practicing repose is called
being crazed. Dullness and craziness, although they are somewhat different, are the same
in that they both perpetuate an unwholesome perspective.”

From the Hsiao Chih-Kuan by Master Tien-T’ai, 6th Century
China
Shinzen