The Friendly Face

This talk was given at the London Buddhist Centre, Parinirvana Day, February 1994

I gave a talk here on our last Festival day – Sangha day in November 1993. At the beginning of that talk I mentioned that my mother had died a few months previously in August (her photo is on the shrine) and I said that my mother's death had “helped me to realise more deeply and clearly that life is important and significant – not urgent but important – not sombre, serious but important and significant. My mother's death helped me to realise that it was important to live a meaningful life” “My mother's life helped me to realise that it was important to live a meaningful life”. ( Talk, Building the Sangha) That's what I said on Sangha day. It is a very fortunate and auspicious thing to be able to be present at someone's death. We come into direct relationship with one of the incontrovertible facts of existence in a very undeniable way.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross in her book “On death and dying” outlines various stage that a dying person goes through in relation to the inevitable fact of their death. She says there is...

• a stage of Denial and Isolation
• a stage of Bargaining
• a stage of Depression
• and finally a stage of Acceptance.

Now Dr Kubler -Ross was addressing herself to the difficulty that terminally ill patients have in accepting their situation. But what we have to remind ourselves of perhaps is that there is no such thing as a person who is not dying. It is not the case that only the terminally ill are dying. Most of us are still at the Stage of Denial with regards to dying. It appears to be so far in the future that we maintain the irrational feeling that it won't happen to us. Of course we all know that we will die and that everybody dies but it is rarely a factor that influences how we live our lives. We often ignore the message of Death, not realising that it will only enhance our lives.

Being present at someone else's death is one way that we get a powerful reminder of mortality and impermanence. This can help us to focus on what is important, significant and meaningful in life. This was what happened for me at the time of my mother's death – I was reminded of what was meaningful in life.

What is meaningful? We have our lives to live – life is, as it were, at our disposal. We have our lives in our hands so to speak. It is our life not somebody else's life. We have to live it. Nobody else can do it for us. What is the best thing we can do with it? What should we do with our lives? It would seem fairly obvious that the best thing to do with life is to cherish and enhance it and celebrate it and live it fully and exuberantly. I think it was E M Foster who said that many of us spend our lives preparing to live rather than actually living. (This quote is attributed to both EM Forster And Joseph Campbell “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” )

What does it mean for us to cherish and enhance our lives and live fully? I see it in terms of going beyond our limitations, constantly meeting the challenge of what limits us, what imprisons us, what causes our energy to stagnate, what stifles our joy.

It is possible for us to overcome whatever limits us. This is the great comfort to be gained from the fact of impermanence of which Death is a particularly poignant example. Because of the fact of impermanence it is possible for us to change – it is possible for us to live life more fully and more meaningfully.

How do we go beyond our limitations? Perhaps first we need to consider what it is that limits us. Why do so many people spend life preparing to live rather than living? We could look at it in a number of ways. We could say we are too shy perhaps or too busy or not good enough or other people hold us back or we haven't got enough money. We could perhaps give reasons like this for why we don't live life more fully, why it's not possible to go beyond our limitations.

According to Buddhism, what limits us, what keeps us going round in circles, what keeps us suffering is

• Spiritual Ignorance
• Selfishness
• and Hatred

These three are interlinked. In the Tibetan Wheel of Life, they are depicted as a pig, a snake and a cock al biting each other's tails.

First, spiritual ignorance – this is when we deny the possibility of change and we see ourselves as separate, isolated individuals. In our ignorance we think that we cannot change – perhaps others can but we can't – it's too much for us, we are not up to it. And our ignorance also isolates us from others – we fail to see the interdependence of all sentient beings and live our lives in a prison of our own making. This is also pride.

Hated is our response to not getting what we want or getting what we don't want. It's almost as if we were still children, believing ourselves to be the centre of the universe and everything must happen as we want it to or we throw a tantrum, we hate what- or whoever gets in the way.

And selfishness is obviously also a function of our ignorance – our belief that we are separate, distinct and unconnected to the rest of the life. Selfishness is the belief that something outside ourselves, another person or material objects, can satisfy us and make us happy if we possess them.

Spiritual Ignorance, Selfishness and Hatred sometimes manifest as fear, loneliness, depression, romantic love, cynicism, aggression, arrogance, pride, self-pity, blaming others,indecisiveness, insecurity, putting on a brave face and a host of other states that we get into.

What can we do? How can we go beyond these limitations and learn to live life more fully? We are all dying after all. It would be a shame for us to waste our lives being cynical or lonely or something like that. It wouldn't be a very good use of our opportunity.

To make it easier, I am going to reduce the three limitations to just one – they are all included in each other anyway, all biting at each other anyway. I'm going to suggest that we just deal with one of these limiting factors in our lives. That should be more manageable. I suggest we just look at our selfishness and see what we can do about that – and in doing that we will, I think, make inroads into all our limitations.

Selfishness has been defined by Sangharakshita as “an unwillingness to face new experiences.” (The Religion of Art, p.87. Complete Works, Vol 26) Facing new experiences means going beyond ourselves – rather than thinking 'why me' we can think 'why not'. It means being willing to change, willing to expand beyond what is known, willing to let go of the habitual and comfortable and face into the unknown.

Now the phrase “new experiences” here doesn't refer to going to a new film or eating at a different restaurant. Here we are talking about “new experiences” that have the effect of changing us, of modifying our character. It may be a matter of being more open and honest in our communication, or experiencing our feelings and affections more freely, or facing our fears. For some people it's a new experience to slow down and stop doing things for a while, for others it's a new experience to get up in the morning before 10am.

Facing new experiences then is a matter of trying to go beyond what is habitual for us. We are limited by our habits, by our habitual way of seeing ourselves and others and by facing and engaging with new experiences we get to see ourselves and others in a different light. We go beyond our habits, beyond our limitations.

In Buddhism there are various practices to help us go beyond our limitations – the sum total of these practices is the Dharma. The direction in which these practices lead us - the direction of constant self-transcending or habit-transcending is represented by the Buddha, and all the people who, like ourselves, want to go beyond their limiting habits and selfishness by engaging with these practices, are the Sangha. The aspiration and willingness to overcome our limiting selfishness and transcend our habitual selves by engaging with the Dharma and the Sangha is what Going for Refuge to the three Jewels is about.

We need to consider how we can go beyond our limitations, beyond our habits, in a more specific way. We need to know what it is that can help us face new experiences in a creative manner. We face our experiences in two areas of our lives – which could be termed our internal world and our external world.

Meditation opens up the internal world of new experiences for us. As we meditate over a period of time we are likely to discover things about ourselves that we weren't aware of. We see different aspects of our personality, we find things coming into consciousness that were unconscious and it can take courage to be open to this new experience of ourselves and to acknowledge that we are perhaps different from how we thought we were. Perhaps we are more generous than we give ourselves credit for or more angry than we imagined. Whatever we discover, whatever we see, our task is to acknowledge and integrate, to expand to include our new knowledge. Through communication, ethical practice and reflection we can allow these new experiences to transform our lives.

We encounter new experiences externally in our interactions with the world around us, which in fact often means our interactions with other people. Other people are so so different and we are all changing all the time, so that every encounter with another person is a new experience if we are open to the newness of it.

Whether we meet and face new experiences internally or externally – eventually the transforming effect of these new experiences has to manifest in our behaviour, in our whole being – eventually we have to be transformed, be aware of being transformed and be seen to be transformed. This transformation, this going beyond limitations, this openness to new experiences is manifested very clearly in our practice of the Precepts.

When I spoke on Sangha Day I went into the practice of the precepts in some detail, so I won't do that again today. In fact what I want to suggest today is that the practice of the five precepts can be reduced down to one practice, down to one word in fact, and that is friendliness. The practice of the precepts is essentially a practice of friendliness, growing in time to a practice of friendship. So friendliness is the antidote to Selfishness. Friendliness is the willingness to go beyond limitations, to change, to grow, to be open to new experiences.

It is an act of friendliness to abstain from harming living beings, including ourselves, and to act with loving kindness or metta. It is an act of friendliness not to take anything from others without their consent and to be generous in an open-handed, spontaneous manner.

It is an act of friendliness to refrain form exploiting others sexually and to practice contentment. It is an act of friendliness to refrain from telling lies either actively or by omission and to practice truthfulness at all times. It is an act of friendliness to keep your mind clear, so that you can maintain an awareness of others and a sensitivity to them.

Friendliness and friendship doesn't really exist outside the context of these values and principles. If we do try to live our lives according to the values set out in the five or ten precepts we will experience the great benefit of a clear conscience and a clear conscience enables us to meditate better and also to be generally happier. The more we have a clear conscience the more joy we experience in our lives.

In order to have a clear conscience we need three things

1. We need to get rid of irrational guilt.
2. We need to be willing to confess our unskilfulness
3. We need to try to practice the precepts.

Irrational guilt is a feeling of guilt even when we have done nothing unskilful or regrettable. It's usually connected with feeling that we are being disapproved of by some authority such as a god. People often experience irrational guilt in relation to sexuality. It's not so easy to get rid of irrational guilt – it may be deeply rooted – but we will be doing ourselves a favour if we try to clarify whether any regret or guilt we feel is appropriate or not. It's appropriate to feel regret or shame if we have harmed someone. But it's not appropriate to to feel guilt or shame merely because we have a body and instincts.

It's good for us to try to clarify whether we have acted unskilfully or whether we are just guilt-ridden for no good reason. This might involve rejecting some of the beliefs and assumptions we've held since our childhood indoctrination. It might even involve what Bhante Sangharakshita has called therapeutic blasphemy in his essay Buddhism and Blasphemy.(The Priceless Jewel, p.93. Complete Works, Vol.11) But I won't go into that now.

Assuming that we manage to get clear of the thorny jungle of irrational guilt, then we can deal with our unskilfulness by acknowledging it, confessing it – as in the Puja – and where possible making amends. If we practice like this, if we take seriously the practice of friendliness which is the essence of an ethical life, we will develop a clear conscience and a clear conscience is a prerequisite for joy or happiness. As Subhuti puts it:

“One feels then the inner satisfaction of knowing that there is nothing with which one can reproach oneself. One's conscience is clear and one feels fully at peace with oneself. The fact that one is putting one's aspiration into practice means that one has none of that sense of self-disgust and disappointment that comes from failing to live up to one's ideals.

Not only does one feel happy with oneself but one also feels at ease with others for there is nothing with which they can reproach one. Often our social difficulties arise because of our defensiveness against the blame of others but, in the stage of delight, there is no corner of inconsistency by means of which others can manipulate us. We feel psychologically secure and confident.” (The Buddhist Vision, p158)

A clear conscience also enables us meditate and take our meditation further so that we can begin to knock on the door of Wisdom. Wisdom is the key to spiritual freedom, freedom from greed, hatred and delusion. Through Wisdom we gain Insight into the nature of Reality, how things really are, and we are liberated from floundering in the swamps of ignorance.

Wisdom can be divided into three kinds. There is, firstly, Wisdom based on hearing, or listening, where you simply take in information. You learn from what you hear or read. The second kind of Wisdom is based on Reflection. You reflect on on what you've heard and you make it your own. This is a process of creative thinking. Seeing how what you have learned applies to your life and experience. The third level of Wisdom is the level of Insight into the nature of things as they really are. At this level you are transformed by your insight – your realisation becomes who and what you are.

When we encounter death – when somebody we know dies, we come face to face with one of the basic facts of existence. We come face to face with impermanence. We encounter one of the situations in life that is most likely to precipitate us into Wisdom, into Insight.

What do we do when we meet death? I remember in the Elia Kazan autobiography (He was a famous film director) he talks about some of his friends and acquaintances dying - these were people from the world of films and theatre – and the most common response to dying was anger and rage. (Elia Kazan: A Life) They were ill and dying and angry. This seems a great shame – a great wasted opportunity.

In the Buddhist scriptures we have the story of Kisagotami and her response to the death of her child. She was fortunate enough to meet the Buddha.

“…….at that this moment there came up a young girl carrying a dead baby on her hip. I had seen her when I was last in Savatthi. Her name was Kisa Gotami. She was thin of body and plain of feature, and born of a poor family. She had been treated disdainfully by all, especially by her husband’s family. Then she had borne a son, and people no longer saw her ugly features, but respected her for he boy-child. That was when I had last seen her. Now the child lay dead upon her hip and she was distraught with grief. She told the Master that she had gone from door to door pleading with folk to give her medicine to restore her child to life, but they had all laughed at her. Then one kinder than the others had told her of the Master, saying that he could give her medicine for her child. And that was why she now came. She held forth the child to the Master, and the depth of agony in her eyes made her seem crazed. He looked upon her with deep tenderness and said:

“Sister, go enter the town and bring back a mustard seed; but - it must come from a house where no one yet has died.” The young girl took the dust from his feet and departed with great hope and joy. That evening she returned. “Gotami, have you found the little mustard seed?” he asked. “The work of the little mustard seed has been done,” she answered, and went on to tell him what had happened. She had inquired of the first house for a little mustard seed, which the great Buddha had said would cure her child. The folk there were glad to give her mustard seed, for they felt pity for her. Then she added: “But the mustard seed must be from a house where none has yet died.” Then they of that house said softly: “Who shall say how many have diedhere? Last week the house-mother died here. The dead are many; the living are few.”

“Such mustard seed will then have no virtue,” she said, and departed sorrowfully to a second house, where she was told the same thing, and then to a third, but always they of the house replied: “The dead are many; the living are few.” By evening she knew her quest would have no ending, and the dead child grew heavy on her hip. Suddenly it came to her that it was out of his great compassion the Master had sent her upon this quest that she might find out for herself the first great truth that all must suffer. Her eyes filled with tears that the World Honoured One should seek to help her, even her, the despised and ugly one. She took the dead child and laid him in a charnel field, for she was poor and had no money for cremation. It was late at night when the Master finished teaching Kisa Gotami. He looked across to the city where the lights flickered and were extinguished, as one by one the folk lay down to sleep. Even so, he concluded, as little lights are the lives of men. They flicker for an instant and are gone.” (Marie Beauzeville Byles, Footprints of the Buddha,Quest 1972, p.96/97)

Kisagotami found it impossible to accept that her child had died and the Buddha very gradually showed her that death was a fact of life, and seeing this she was eventually able to accept that her child was dead. For Kisogotami, the death of her child changed her life in more ways than one because she realised the significance of death itself and became the Buddha's disciple – going for Refuge to the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha.

Another more recent story I came across about someone being helped to progress in the spiritual life through an encounter with death was in Golden Drum magazine in 1990. Vessantara was writing about a visit to Northern India. He said:

“Ghoom is a small village crouched on a frequently mist-shrouded ridge, 7,500 feet up in the foothills of the Himalayas. I was there last February, visiting the monastery of the late Dhardo Rimpoche. As I was exploring the dusty nooks of the old monastery, someone rushed in, picked up a conch-shell horn, went out onto the steps and began blowing it. I guessed what that sound sailing into the mist signified: a funeral procession was passing, making its way to the cremation ground on the hillside below the monastery.

I and a friend decided to attend the cremation. We arrived to find a group of about thirty Gurkha men beginning to build a funeral pyre. They were cutting up logs, which were damp from the mist, and placing them on an open structure which looked a little like a small bandstand: circular, with pillars supporting a roof surmounted by a seated Buddha figure.

Eventually the pyre was finished, and the men added incense, to mitigate the effects of the tyres (which were supplementing the pyre). They carried the body from a low building where it had lain, removed the coffin, and hefted the corpse on the pyre. Then they gathered in a circle, and we were invited to to join them. From my new vantage point I could see that the deceased was an old man, of the typically wiry Gurkha build. He was dressed in a cheap clothes – none of the men looked as if they had much money.

Four men took burning brands and circumambulated the body three times, then they plunged them into the damp wood. It took some time for the fire to take hold, but eventually there was a good blaze.

From being outsiders, my friend and I gradually became guests of honour. Someone appeared with metal cups of sweet milk tea, which we were offered. We were then ushered to the best seats – a log laid on the ground within three feet of the pyre.

The wind was blowing down from Kachenjunga, and we all huddled around the fire for warmth. I sat in the midst of the crowd, warming my hands by the fire, chatting with the Gurkhas, amongst whom were several children. It was a merry blaze, and welcome. A friendly and convivial occasion. As I stretched my hands to the fire again and again, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, part of my mind insisted, it was incongruous to be happily warming myself when, within touching distance, the body of an old man was being consumed by the flames. Between mouthfuls of tea, I could watch the skull blackening, note how the flesh on the limbs was being burnt away to the bone. Ghosts from my Western Christian upbringing kept whispering to me in the wind. This was Death I was facing, the great mystery, the fear of all fears.

I consulted my body and feelings for my “gut reaction”. “No”, they replied, “what is happening is simply natural, another part of life, something very human and ordinary, just like drinking tea, joking with friends, or sheltering from a cold wind”. With that awareness,, I felt a fear fall away from me, a fear of whose existence I had hardly been aware. I felt a fear fall away from me, a fear of whose existence I had hardly been aware.” (Golden Drum magazine,1990)

Sangharakshita says in the Religion of Art, that all fear is fear of death. If we can really overcome our fear of death there is nothing left to fear. Fear is often what holds us back on the spiritual path, what prevents us form overcoming our limitations, going beyond our habits, rising out of our crouched position of selfishness and strolling forth in friendliness to meet the world. An encounter with death can be a great opportunity in our lives, an opportunity to face the source of all our fears, an opportunity to attain a realisation of the fact of impermanence and even perhaps to have an insight into Reality itself.

At the outset of this talk I mentioned that I had been present at my mother's death last August and that it had an effect on me of reminding me of the value of living a meaningful and worthwhile life – perhaps that's one of the reasons why I'm talking to you now by the way – following on from that, I asserted that to live a meaningful life meant living life more fully and overcoming our limitations and habits. I said that our basic limitations are spiritual ignorance, selfishness and hatred. I suggested that since these three are very much interlinked, we could concentrate on one, namely Selfishness and try to work with that.I went on to say that observing the precepts was an antidote to selfishness and that in essence observing the precepts was a practice of friendliness.

I said that Selfishness had been defined as an unwillingness to face new experiences

ie. experiences which have the effect of changing us and that Friendliness on the other hand takes us beyond ourselves into a new experience. I went on to say that if we lived our lives according to the values of the precepts, if we practised Friendliness we would be likely to have a clear conscience and to experience some happiness in our lives. This I said would be a basis for taking our meditations further and also for taking our reflections further, so that we might catch more and more glimpses of how things really are.

This is also the best basis from which to face the experience of death, whether our own or someone else's. With a clear conscience and the knowledge that we have endeavoured to live a meaningful life we can meet our death with acceptance rather than denial or anger. We can be helpful to others at the time of their death. If we practice friendliness in our lives we will be met by friendliness and a the end of our lives even Death will show us a friendly face.

I'll finish now with a title story form Glen Mullins book Death and Dying (p26). It's another story from India.

“One year in Bodh Gaya the Dalai Lama gave a week of teachings and initiations, and over 100,000 people came from the various Himalayan kingdoms. Babies were born in this time, and several old people died. One night I saw an old man sitting under a tree. He sat in peace and serenity, quietly sayings his prayers and rejoicing in his good fortune at having made it to the holy place of Bodh Gaya at such an auspicious time. He looked over at the group I was with and beamed us an enormous smile. A few minutes later he leaned his back against the tree and, still sitting in the meditation posture, passed away. His face expressed perfect contentment.”